The Seventh Star Inn

[Rimbaud]

The Seventh Star
Portal to the Land of Gondor.

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

The door creaked somewhat ominously as the leader of the party pushed, with some trepidation, upon its rough-hewn oak surface. A voice surprised all of them, well-toned and even.

“Welcome to The Seventh Star, famed throughout Gondor, and indeed Middle-Earth, for its storytelling!”

The visitors entered the large, spacious common room. The Innkeeper rose to greet them as they looked around themselves, uncertain. He was dressed in a well-fitting dark grey tunic, with a thin blue sash at the waist. He spoke, in the same low voice, as he shook them by the hand, one by one.

”Gondor is the Barrow-Downs’ premier Role-Playing arena and as such has a very limited membership. To succeed in Gondor, you must display in The Seventh Star a virtuosity in prose unmatched throughout the realms of Middle-Earth!

My name is Rimbaud and I am the Innkeeper here at the Seventh Star.”

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

Inside The Seventh Star it was eerily silent, yet imbued within the well-appointed building was a powerful sense of purpose, a sense of unseen creative forces at work. Lights angled upwards onto the bleached white ceiling were evenly spaced around the walls. A lone but fiercely bright candle burned on each clean and uncluttered table top. The pale, wood-panelled floor was spotless. Grey clad staff drifted silently through the room, towards the footsore group. They were impossible to describe, being human yet somehow indistinct. The looks they gave the weary travellers were deferential as they took their coats and arms, and they disappeared as abruptly as they had appeared.

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

The Innkeeper finished his welcome speech, stepped back, and looked upon the small group before him doubtfully. He nodded imperceptibly. The room suddenly dimmed. Terrifyingly quickly, darkness rushed into the room, spewing from the walls, floor and ceiling. As the obsidian blackness billowed about them, all they could perceive were the steady blue eyes of the strange Innkeeper, unquenched by the cloud. The air grew thick and unyielding . Their hearts quailed but they did not falter or cry out, but stood firm, despite their fear.

The darkness evaporated as swiftly as it had arisen, and light streamed in through the tall windows around the hall. Their host stood smiling before them. The ceiling arched gracefully over him, slender beams supporting the simple, skilful plasterwork. It seemed that they had passed a test of some sort.

”Hail and well met!” he exclaimed. “Here you will find succour in the creation of many a fine tale.”

Several of the party had noticed the great iron plaque hanging over the fireplace at the far end of the common room. On it was written a list of names, in a long flowing scipt. The hulking oval shape was flanked by two lamps, fashioned in the likeness of Great Wyrms, the flame licking from within the great jaws of each. Upon noticing his guests’ questioning glances, Rimbaud endeavoured to explain.

“Here is writ the names of those Story Tellers of Gondor that brighten this land. These are they who can create the Tales of this land, so that in a lifetime those tales may become legend, and ‘ere long, myth. The Seventh Star welcomes many story-tellers, but these are the creators. The list is ever growing.”

The party nodded approval and their leader moved to inspect the names. The others followed, more cautiously.

The header for the beautiful engraving read thus: The Founding Scribes of Gondor.

Behind them, they heard the voice of the Innkeeper again, reciting the names.

“The Lords Mithadan, Thenamir and Gilthalion there are, fair Bethberry, noble Gandalf and Rimbaud of the Star. There is Piosenniel, Birdland and The Seventh Age’s Child. Estelyn Telcontar and Mark12-30 do complete the List of Gondor.” He paused and then started afresh, his voice harsher and more urgent. “Yet there is fell work afoot, upon this chart and when ‘twas scribed, it gave all men a fright, for atop the list in letters bright, Lies the name o’the dread Barrow-Wight!” His voice rose in volume steadily until the last words came out in a roar, shocking the party with its intensity. The room grew still and silent again, as the echoes faded.

The tense atmosphere slowly faded as the party made themselves comfortable, settling down with pipes as food was prepared for them in kitchens unseen. Food and drink, for oft-times The Seventh Star was a merry place, to be filled with laughter and good converse.

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

Welcome to The Seventh Star. Post here so that you may join the Great List of Gondor!

The Seventh Star is the meeting place for the élite of the Barrow-Downs Role-Players. The List mentioned above is by no means closed and any who prove their worth in The Shire and especially in Rohan can come to the Star and talk with the members here about joining Gondor.

If a decision is to be made, it will be made by myself in collaboration with the other Innkeepers, at The Green Dragon and The White Horse, and approved by members of the Downs Admin team, or more pertinently, The Barrow-Wight and Mithadan. There will also be discussion, here at the Star, with current Gondorians over the criteria for posting at this level.

The Innkeeper can also be contacted at rimbaud@barrowdowns.com


Keep watching here and at Ecthelion's Tower (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=21&t=000008) for the Rules pertaining to Gondor.

[ February 11, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Rimbaud]

The Innkeeper rose to his feet, in the centre of the room.

"I am proud to declare this Inn open!" he announced, firmly. "The Seventh Star shall be the home of the finest story-telling anywhere in Middle-Earth! Come, share your thoughts with the literary denizens of the Star."

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Melichus]

Game Founders have the discretion to make their RPGs invitation only. If an RPG is open and/or searching for Members, it is up to the applicant to post at The Seventh Star, and so communicate to the Innkeeper and Game Founder their desire to join. At this point, a decision will be made by the Game Founder, with assistance from the Innkeeper if requested or necessary.

(Well, I read this was supposed to be in character, so...)

As he slowly trudged up to the inn's looming entryway, Eledrim paused. Peering up slowly at the heavyset door, he resolutely raised his fist to knock but now stepped back, a bemused frown on his face, as it swung open. The inn-keeper, peering around the door's edge, silently appraised the new stranger, noting the worn, brown cloak, the mud-spattered boots, the calm eyes staring back at him from under a heavy hood.
"Well met," the man muttered. And then, unexpectedly, he flashed a smile from under the hood.
"Name is Eledrim, if ye want to know. I seek only food and a bed for the night, my good sir. Ah, yes, I fear I'm not as spry as I used to be, but...well, I get along well enough in my travels if I just rest these old feet now and then.
"I haven't had company in a long time, sir... Perhaps--if t'isn't too much to ask, that is, I could just sit by that fire and listen to some of the ol' tales being told. Rest up for a bit, you know, maybe tell a tale or two of my own. Hah, goodness knows I have a lot of them!
"So, begging your pardon, sir, mightn't I stop here for the night? If No's the word, I'll understand."

[ November 19, 2002: Message edited by: Melichus ]

[Susan Delgado]

Susan paused outside the Seventh Star and took a moment to sigh with satisfaction. She'd been on the road for weeks and she'd finally arrived at her destination. Silenlty, she called Feaer and together they went in. She nodded to those she knew and went to the bar to order an ale.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Ransom]

OOC: I'm here! No RP yet, but I'm here! Hope this is ok. smilies/biggrin.gif

BIC:
Ransom Deviolana was shivered as he pulled his cloak tighter around his body. This was only natural, considering both the dreary weather and the fact that the man had a cold. His long black hair was damp with resperation, despite the fact that Ransom had removed his healm. Both dark black eyes peered into the wind, seeking any sign of his destination. As he approached the inn, he let loose an enormous sneeze that would have sent any ambushing orc running back to their mothers in Mordor. His mount, a black warhorse named Sandor, shifted expectedly. They’d traveled for many a lonely league, and the horse was looking forward to a long hiatus from his responsibilities.

Eschewing the assistance of the stable boy, Ransom fed and watered his horse by himself. She was worth a nice chunk of money, and her master didn’t want to see the horse dying from some accursed illness because of an accidental slip up. Three sneezes, two coughs, and half a dozen sniffles later, Sandor happily munched hay within her stall while Ransom paid the stable attendant to keep watch over the horse, slipping the boy a steady tip to ensure the animal’s good care as well as his baggage’s safety.

The man made his way through the weather to the inn, only the dull and silent clink of metal under his cloak giving his position away. He glanced up at the signpost and smiled. If half the rumors were true, this place was the best place for a world-weary traveler. Even one with a bad cold. Ransom pushed gently against the door, slipping in to the common room. One of the staff made his way toward the man before speaking in . “Greetings, good traveler. I’ll take your cloak, if you don’t mind. May I remind you that arms are not permitted upon your body under the roof of Master Rimbaud.”

Ransom coughed, a bit taken back by the server. They seemed like automations, and somewhat less than alive. However, their requests didn’t faze the soldier. Ransom’s employers often made much stranger demand upon their guards. He removed the cloak, revealing a dark black suit of chain mail with several blue plates of steel forming the breast plate, shoulder plates, greaves, and even the gauntlets upon the hands now moving to unclip the webbing that secured his shield to his back. Ransom smiled at the server before suggesting, “Well now, you’d best lead me to your armory, sir. I’ve got quite a bit more than you can carry at one time.”

It took but a moment for the gray figure to point the man toward a series of heavy iron chests in a small room to the right of the common room. Here, Ransom unstrapped his various webbings and laid the large shield on the bottom of the chest. A ornate scabbard containing an even more ornate long sword found itself on top of the shield, rapidly followed by half a dozen throwing knives. Ransom pause for a moment before reaching underneath various places in his armors, adding another six hidden blades and a multitude of needles into the chest. Seeing that the man had surrendered his arms, the servant locked the iron chest with a key and handed it to Ransom. “I trust that you’ll be wanting to ensure your property’s safety. Rest assured that not even us touch your gear.”

With that, the servant seemed to leave, melding into the woodwork. Ransom seemed somewhat taken back, but quickly got over the shock. After all, if the owner of said fine establishment saw fit to keep a barrow wight around to tell tales, he could deal with unusually stealthy servants. The soldier walked back into the common room and found a nice seat in front of the roaring fire. The room seemed almost too clean and too sparse for the man who was used to guarding the plush quarters of the rich and standing watch over the stone cold but truly beautiful White Tower. He noted with some interest the plaque above the fireplace, though he preferred to warm himself in front of the fire before satiating his curiosity.

Presently, his cold receded for a bit, allowing him the freedom to seek a bowl of warm soup and perhaps a little bit of bread. Ransom doubted that his stomach was ready for the trials of a full meal of meat, though he didn’t doubt that he’d enjoy it. He stood and stretched, listening happily to the clink of his metal cocoon. Master Rimbaud of the Seventh Star was not hard to find, mainly because of the little blue sash that he wore and the fact that he didn’t disappear into the woodwork like the rest of his staff. Ransom approached him found a seat at the nearest table, waiting for the Master of the inn to have some time to spare for a patron. The sneezes and the coughs did help in this respect, though Ransom didn't intend to be rude. It was all the fault of that accursed storm outside....

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Mithadan]

A tall Man entered the Inn dressed in black and wearing a sword sheathed on his belt. His hair was black as a moonless night but shot through with silver like the stars. At his throat was a shell hung on a fine chain.

He waved to Ransom and Susan who were well known to him. To Eledrim (Melichus -- I'm from Boston myself at least originally) and Dorathain he offered a hearty "well met" (fine tale Dorathain -- and welcome to the Barrow Downs; you've chosen an ambitious place to begin your career here).

He sat at the bar, where his features were lit by a flickering candle. The barkeep approached, wiping a mug on his clean white apron. "What shall you be having today, Mithadan?" he asked.

"Tequila Sauza, white and straight my good Rimbaud," he answered. Straightaway a silence fell over the room.

"Woman trouble," intoned Rimbaud as he pored a full three fingers into a glass for his friend. Mithadan drained half in a single gulp and signaled for more.

"You try wedding an Elf," he complained as he nursed the remainder of his drink. "Yes, she's fair enough, but all she speaks of is adventures and her 7000 years of life before she met me. See these white hairs?" Rimbaud shook his head in polite denial. "When I met her I had not a one! And I'm too young to have any!" Susan snickered at this and received a withering glare in return.

Mithadan sipped at his second glass and continued. "She wants to visit Lindon. Lindon! Where's the profit in that? Lindon is self-sufficient. It exports nothing and imports nothing. I'll be lucky if I can book half my cabins either way. Lindon!"

Rimbaud prudently excused himself and began carefully examining a tray of glasses for flaws as if it were the most important task in the world...

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The door of The Seventh Star flew open boisterously, the autumnal wind driving a flurry of leaves and moisture inside. All heads turned, startled by the appearance of a cloaked figure storming into the room. With an impatient movement, the hood was thrown back, revealing dark, tousled curls glistening with droplets. A female face showed agitation; restless eyes roamed the room, looking for something or someone.

Her eyes found the Innkeeper in the same instant as he took a step in her direction. Hurriedly, she strove toward him, stretching out both hands to greet him with a firm clasp. Urgent whispers caused the other guests to listen, yet they could not discern what was being said.

Rimbaud turned to speak to the visitors standing by the fireplace; they had ceased even the appearance of conversation and waited with bated breath. “Here has come Estelyn, of the House of Telcontar,” he announced, “bringing a tale most astonishing to our ears. Pray tell the assembled company of your discovery.”

“I come in haste,” said she, “for I travel on as soon as I have gathered supplies for my journey. Yet I may as well speak of my errand; what little I know will not delay me much.

“I have received news of ancient manuscripts that have been found. Long did they lie hidden, and once revealed, were long in the hands of scholars learned in the lore and language of the Onodrim.”

“Onodrim?” a guest murmured. “What is that?”

“Shht!” another reprimanded. “Have you never heard of the Ents, Tree-Shepherds of Fangorn? I would hear this tale!”

Estelyn continued, “Few there are who are able to translate this language; long are the words and difficult to transcribe into our tongue, yet what has been done tells of atrocity such as is hither unknown in Middle-Earth, and of great heroism. Know that in ancient days a band of orcs did hew an Ent for the use of its living wood.”

The gasps of shocked listeners were heard; involuntarily, they drew closer to each other and to the warming fire.

“The orcs found that this wood had the strength of oak and the suppleness of willow branches, being light to carry and certain in the aim of an accomplished archer. They made bows of it, using them for their fell purposes. It can only be imagined what torment it must have been to the Entish bows, forced to subdue themselves to such evil work. Yet one escaped by the hand of a brave and beautiful Elven maiden. The manuscript tells its story.

“I hasten now to take into my hands this writing, that it might be stored in the library of Minas Anor, where all who wish may read it. I hope to return, though I know not how soon, and will then most certainly know more of this tale.”

Agitated whispers arose among the assembled guests as she turned to the Innkeeper and said, “Now, friend Rimbaud, help me to collect supplies, that I may continue my journey, for I am eager to reach the halls of those scholars who have transcribed this story.” With these words, both strode to the store rooms.

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]

[Ransom]

Aye, the stories are certainly good,thought the young human, but where’s the food?

Seeing that the innkeeper had departed to assist Estelyn as she gathered supplies for her trip, Ransom rose from the chair and ambled over to the fireplace. The heat and light provided by the roaring flames was truly welcome, and Ransom drew one of the chairs in front of the fireplace and sat back down. True, it was strange that the logs didn’t seem to burn at a normal rate, but Ransom could live with that. Indeed, he would have to visit this place much more often.

Sadly, his powers of higher thinking were greatly diminished by the overwhelming human impulse to support their internal metabolism through termination and consumption of other organism. Simply put, Ransom got hungry. One of the gray-cloaked servants had approached to stoke the fire, and he temporarily became the object of the soldier’s attention. “Good sir, would you be so kind as to procure a bowl of soup and some bread for me?”

To his utter bemusement and amazement, the servant simply nodded and left, returning almost immediately with a bowl of hot soup, laden with every kind of meat and vegetable imaginable, as well as a large loaf of bread. The servant set the tray down and left, disappearing like the one that had greeted him at the door. Ransom shrugged and began to eat, careful not to eat too much or too fast. It would be highly unsightly if he lost his dinner because he’d swallowed an extra pea. He continued to eat, occasionally glancing around the room and waiting for the next tale….

[Rimbaud]

Upon his return from the stores with the Princess Telcontar, Rimbaud noted that the Company at the Inn had swelled. He smiled to see some familiar faces.

He greeted Melichus and sat him at a table and motioned for wine to be brought. "All are welcome here, Sir," he murmured. He nodded approval at the Tale of Dorathain, and bid the man softly to introduce himself to the Star.

Then, he straightened from his work and scanned the great hall.

"Welcome all! It is fine to see so many talented writers gracing The Seventh Star."

The Innkeeper smiled a smile to himself at the tale and appearance of the tall Mithadan. The Man had not suffered as greatly at the hands of the she-Elf as he would have others believe, thought the barkeep, but kept his counsel silent.

To the others, Rimbaud beckoned service and bade them good welcome. As they made good their repast, he spoke of the strict code of story telling existent in Gondor.

"Ah, but it is an ambitious mortal that steps through these gates. When our Founders of Tales embark on the telling of some new legend, there will be opportunity to examine these fresh faces and keen young minds." Rimbaud paused, as he poured himself a glass of a deep red wine. He paced back and forth before the great fireplace, as if deep in thought.

Finally, he looked up and gazed around the room. All eyes, as he had expected, immediately turned away, as if they had not been watching, anticipating.

"All are welcome at the Star," he began, quietly. "Yet those whose faces are new to the Star may have to wait for suitable opportunity and an invitation." He sighed and looked troubled. "Neighbouring Rohan will soon have tales to be told, and opportunities there will be manifold, especially for such experienced writers as I see in this room. For the Tales of Gondor are few, as yet, and their membership complete - if not replete."

At this gentle rhyme, his demeanour altered and he stopped his pacing, and stood by one of the great, gilded golden lamps at the fireplace. "However!" he cried in a deep and sonorous voice. "Pray continue to regale us at the Star, that we may come to know thee better." His voice dropped again, yet carried clearly. "For all are welcome here, for a time at least."

The room fell deathly quiet upon these last words. Quiet apart from Mithadan who was chuckling into a drink of some indeterminate liquid. If Rimbaud had been the sort of gentleman prone to rolling his eyes - no gentleman at all, some would warrant - he most likely would have indulged himself at this juncture. Instead he clicked his fingers. The fire in the great hearth sprang afresh, and the lights brightened.

Musicians bounded from doors not yet noted, and struck up a strangely melancholic verse. Rimbaud returned to the great black desk at the head of the room, dipped the quill that was ever within his blue waist sash in the inkwell, and busied himself with writings unknown.

Talk returned slowly to the the Seventh Star. The melodies drifted and swayed beneath the graceful ceiling beams, and smoke from the fire wreathed its way into the chimney.

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Yielding up to the cloak-room attendant an Elven blade whose smooth-worn runes had caught his attention at a pawn shop, a Cloaked Guest ambled into the Common Room. Leaning on a staff, he waved greetings to old time friends and strangers alike. *

* Rimbaud, Susan, Mithadan, Estelyn were all welcome and familiar faces. As well, a genial old fellow in a brown cloak whose boots were spattered in a matching shade of mud warmed himself by the soft-crackling hearth. A young eager tale-spinner smiled a challenge all around to discover any who dared live such adventures as he dared tell. And then there was a poor fellow huddled with occasional sneezing and coughing, taking refuge over a bowl of soup. *

* Gandalf thought he remembered this last one as one Ransom from a Picnic at the Bonfire Glade. The wizard couldn't be quite sure, as Time had whirled about in rippling semi-circles that day in the Old Forest. Still, he'd learned the tiniest bit of healing lore from well-spent time being around Bethberry and her stored expertise. Striding over to Ransom, he plunked down on the table beside him a vial containing powdered ginseng and the root of the bloodroot plant. *

Dissolve the vial's contents in water, Ransom, for your cough. If you've a sore throat, perhaps there's some goose grease back in the kitchen to apply outwardly to throat and chest, as I believe our good Innkeeper Rimbaud might object to the similar use of skunk fat inside the Seventh Star.

* Gandalf then gestured towards the fireplace with his staff. Several hot flat stones that had lain among logs and embers levitated through the air and came clonking down to land on Ransom's table, scattering ashes on table, chairs and floor. Pungent powdered herbs and crushed wildflowers were duly sprinkled atop the sizzling stones, and the patient urged to lean over and inhale the vapors. *

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[*Varda*]

The wind howled outside as Varda battled her way up to the doors of the Inn. She read the sign above, it read ‘The Seventh Star’. The elf sighed with relief and cast her hood back as she approached the door. Her long dark hair, now damp with rain, blew in the wind as she pulled open the door, and literally fell in as the wind blew her over.

From her vantage point on the floor, she lifted up her head and looked at the group of people staring down at her. From the corner she heard a stifled giggle. Her cheeks starting to go crimson, she hastily got up and brushed down her cloak and mud stained travelling gown. Inwardly she cringed. Certainly not the best way to make her first appearance. Blushing, she simply introduced herself.

“Well met, my merry friends. My name is Varda, from Imladris…I didn’t make the best of entrances..” From the back she heard someone chuckle. “But I’m sure it will be a fine evening listening to all your tales and stories from long ago.”

With that, she walked over to the innkeeper.

“Good sir, do you have a room for the night for a wandering elf. The weather is cold and dismal outside, and I do not wish to go further in search of shelter.” The innkeeper nodded in assent, and Varda looked around the room. Storytelling already seemed to have begun, and she went to sit by the fire to listen, and await her turn.

[Amanaduial the archer]

A slim figure made her way through the rain, a flickering ball of mage-light hovering above one gloved hand. A pair of black haired wolves flanked her, looking bedraggled, as any creature would after this weather for an indeterminate amount of time, and as fed up as is possible.

Amanaduial's mage-light finally gave up in the storm and she was plunged into darkness. Muttering and cursing under her breath, she groped for the handle of the door that had been here a moment ago, illuminated for a second by a melodramatic flash of lightning. Eventually her hand touched the smooth metal and she turned it, the door blowing open immediately in the strong wind. She blinked in the strong light, illuminated against the door with a wolf on either side. Slowly she lowered her hood, looking around the room. Most of the inhabitants of the homely, warm place seemed absorbed in a tale being told by the huge fireplace and few spared her a glance, but the innkeeper shot her an amused look from a large black desk, his quill paused above a sheet of parchment.
Amanaduial smiled at him, realising what a state she must look, her long hair darkened with rainwater and a pair of wolves that would currently put you in mind of a pair o drowned rats. She nodded to him, touching her forehead lightly.

"Well met, friend. What brings you to the Seventh Star?"

"The Seventh Star?" Aman mused over the mysterious name, turning it over in her mind. "My name is Amanaduial. I come from...elsewhere." She was loathe to reveal too much about herself at the moment. "The weather outside would make a hardened sailor quake; may myself and my friends stay the night?" The two wolves, Obsidian and Jet looked up and tried hard to look respectable, not an easy feat for ones such as themselves.

Rimbaud nodded gracefully, indicating the group around the fire. "Make yourself at home. All I ask of you in return..." the elf looked at him sceptically, holding her breath. "...is a good tale in return. And many indeed are already being told."

Aman let out her breath and smiled at him. "Well, Ive got plenty of those..." She murmered as she walked towards the fire. Sitting cross legged on the rug, her back against the fireplace, the wolves lying at one at her feet, the other at her side, she sighed, satisfied and listened to the tales being woven around her...

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Just as one tale had come to its ending, the heavy door burst open and two determined figures strode in, seeking shelter from the storm. The one was the young maid Andreth, tall and slender with a mop of red hair and freckles to match. Her companion, the hobbit Cami, sported brown curls and deep grey eyes that were well hidden within the folds of a hooded cloak. Water dripped from both their skirts, as they huddled near the warmth of the hearth fire.

Cami emerged from her hood long enough to take a peek and wave greetings to a number of those she knew--Estelyn, Gandalf, Rimbaud, and Varda-- as well as a few whom she hoped to meet later. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the lean black figure seated near the bar. She shook her head and scowled. Ah, I had hoped for peace and quiet. With the Man here, the angry Elf may not be far behind! Out loud, she only murmurred a word of greeting to Mithadan and tilted her head in his direction.

Rimbaud turned his attention away from Varda and approached the waiting women, nodding a welcome. "How goes the road, fair ladies? Do you have a tale for us?"

"The road? Not well, I fear." The spunky Andreth held up her head and spoke with conviction. "As to a tale, our only one is full of woe."

She went on to explain. "My companions and I were trekking down the path to Tharbad when a great pit opened under our feet. Several of my friends tumbled in, and I barely escaped with my life."

"But then why are you here?" pressed Rimbaud. "Surely you must go rescue your friends."

"Aye, that's the rub," the girl ruefully acknowledged. "As I have no rope or healing skills, I can do little to aid my companions. This is only my first adventure. I regret I am so ill prepared. I will await the outcome here, hoping that others may have planned with greater care."

Trying to take the conversation elsewhere, Rimbaud asked, "How can I help you then? Is there anything you need?"

Two voices spoke up in perfect harmony: "Coffee! Two cups, hot and thick."

Rimbaud scratched his head in irritation. Only open one day and already his customers were making unreasonable demands! Did these two think they were in Harad? What tavern in Gondor kept a stock of coffee for customers? None that he knew.

He thought carefully and then replied, "Let me see what I can do for two distressed damsels." Rimbaud disappeared in the back and magically emerged a minute later, carrying two steaming flagons. He hoped that no other customers would take up the hint and place another order for coffee. Grateful for Rimbaud's efforts, Cami and Andreth sat at a table, revelling as much in the smell of the brew as its warmth and taste.

[ November 20, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Birdland]

A tiny, evil snicker was heard from somewhere near his elbow. Mithadan looked around him, thinking perhaps a tipsy Hobbit had sidled up to the bar to regale a handy stranger with genealogical lore, but the stools next to him were empty.

"Down here, Eagle-Eyes", came a tiny voice, and Mithadan finally spotted the small, black and silver Neekerbreeker sitting next to him on the bar top.

"So, warming a bar stool instead of spending the evening with the little Elf-woman, eh Mith? Rimbaud, the usual." Rimbaud set a small saucer of ale on the counter, and gingerly plucked a rotten piece of lettuce from the garbage to add as garish. Mith shuddered as the insect extended its probosis into the foamy ale and proceeded to suck the saucer dry.

Bird, must you loiter around in that form? It really doesn't suit you, you know." The Numenorean picked up his glass and started to rise from the bar, hoping to seize the chance to mingle. But he was too late.

"What's that I hear you telling folk? Dogging my old traveling companion?" Birdie quickly leapt from the bar top to Mith's shoulder. "You know, I warned you. Your buddy Aragorn took sixty years to test the waters before he took the plunge. But 'no'. You two had to jump right to the plighting of troths and the exchanging of rings. Not to mention the two 'passengers' you picked up on the way." Birdie snickered again "That's what comes of shipboard romances, y'know. Something about the salt air just sweeps people off their feet. That and the sword-battles against impossible odds."

Mith rolled his eyes. "Bird, you know Pio is my Star, My Light, My Life. I just didn't realize she could be so...mecurial."

She's an elf, isn't she? Nobody ever said she was a day at the Gray Havens"

Mith scanned the room, hoping to find an old friend - any friend - and tried to change the subject. "Hmmmmm, the room's filling up fast tonight. Lots of new faces. Why don't you morph to woman's form, Bird, and introduce yourself around."

"I like checking things out in this form, Mith. Gives me a chance to size up the crowd." Bird waved her antenna around her head and rubbed her front legs together leisurely. "Looks like the tale-tellers are showing up from all over. That's the thing: a place gets one write-up in the penny press, and suddenly everybody has to come down and 'check it out' - Hey, Gandalf! New staff?"

The old wizard raised his pipe in salute and held out the six foot length of lingum vitae for inspection.

Birdie hopped off, and Mith breathed a sigh of relief. He had gotten off lightly, but knew that his extoskeletal antagonist would be back for a second round soon. He held up his glass to Rimbaud, signalling for the same again.

[Rimbaud]

After he had greeted all the newcomers, friendly faces all, Rimbaud stood apart from the bustle and looked deep in thought. His blue eyes were shaded by his hand and he cast a tall, slender shadow upon the white-washed walls.

"It is good to see new faces amongst those of the List that gather here," he said, startling a nearby large insect, which sprang from the adjacent table-top. Mithadan chuckled again, surprising himself and nearly toppling his newly-filled glass.

Rimbaud went on. "Two great tales we have here, the strong fledgling Legend of Castle Maladil and the behometh known to all as The Lonely Star. At the summation of the one, a new tale will doubtless arise, phoenix-like, from the ashes.

"At this time Gondorians will embark again on a voyage of words and images. Those that accompany them shall be gleaned from the ranks of the story-tellers from Rohan, who doubtless will have begun their journey in The Shire.

"So, my mild entreaty to new-comers would be: do not neglect the Inns and Stories of the other Realms, for they hold the passport to Gondor! When tales arise in those Realms, which they are soon to do, look to yourselves! Bear yourself to the Discussion threads and the fine establishments, The Green Dragon and The White Horse.

"There, you will encounter others starting out on their journey. For, it is well-known to most, that you do not begin your journey at the end.

"To my friends here invited, I ask thee: help soon, in the creation and nurture of Tales in the other Realms, if you find the time. Later, we may begin another great labour, here in Gondor, but more pressing matters are there to the West, in the lands of the Rohirrim and Hobbit-folk."

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[*Varda*]

Varda sat there for some time, looking around, after listening to Rimbaud’s speech. She got up and went over to the bar, where she noticed a man named Mithadan speaking to a small creature on his shoulder. She frowned slightly, and turned away. No doubt she would find out about it later. She ordered ale, and after receiving it, turned to sit. She surveyed the room, and chose the seat by Gandalf. She hadn’t seen him for a while, being on her travels through Middle-Earth. And no one knew tales of old better than Gandalf.

Varda especially loved the tales from the West, but knew no one who could tell her many of these. Elven lore fascinated her deeply, and she quietly sang the Lay of Leithian, placing her ale down on the table on front of her.

[Ransom]

Whatever herbs Gandalf had sprinkled immediately began to work upon the sniffiling soldier. His head began to clear, allowing him to perceive the occasional sounds as music and not some demon’s attempts to stimulate his migraine headache. He gently put down his spoon and wordlessly emptied the vial into the small cup of water that the servants had provided him with. After sloshing it around for a few moments, Ransom downed the entire mixture. Despite the bitter taste of the mixture, the soldier’s coughs gradually became quiter.

Ransom set the cup down on the table and looked at the wizard. “Thank you kindly, Gandalf, for your timely intervention on my behalf. I feel obligated to order you dinner at this fine establishment, but I am at a loss at the finder points of the menu. This soup does seem to be a nice place to start, though.”

Another of the gray cloaked servants approached the table. He briskly wiped the ashes off the wood before placing a bowl of soup in front of the wizard. Ransom noted with some interest that this servant walked through a small door on the other end of the common room instead of simply disappearing. Perhaps they were human after all.

He noticed that two other cold figures were sitting in the table to his right. Both were certainly female, and they both seemed to be sipping some strange black broth. Ransom sniffed the air for a moment looking surprised. They were drinking coffee! The last time he’d dealt with the wonderful liquid, he’d almost been skewered when the coffee loving noble got himself into a bar fight in the middle of Gondor.

But the siren’s calls of his soup was too much for him, so Ransom turned and continued to eat. It seemed he’d just had another sip of the soup before a female elf slid into one of the empty seats at their table. Ransom smiled to himself. Having some sentient companionship was greatly welcome after weeks of wandering upon the road.

[piosenniel]

The road from the quay at Harlond had been a long one. And now she was thirsty and out of sorts from having been left behind. Her high boots of supple leather were caked with mud from the recent rain, and water dripped from her grey, travel-stained cloak as she stood on the landing of the Inn.

‘A new watering hole!’ she murmured to herself. ‘Perhaps they haven’t heard of me as yet.’ Her eyes gleamed from beneath the shadow of her hood as she savored the promise of anonymity.

Pio glanced again at the new carved sign to her right that swung crazily in the wind. ‘The Seventh Star.’ she read. ‘How interesting.’ She saw that only the lettering had been done. A large blank space still waited for the signifying image of the Inn, and she wondered if it would hold the image of The Burning Briar or a ship of Númenor, whose banner bore the six-pointed star of Elendil and his heirs. ‘Perhaps neither.’ she mused. ‘It may just be a singular, sibilant quirk of the owner.’

Someone was talking as she slipped in the door; all eyes in the room focused on the tall, slender man who held them in his sway. His bright, blue eyes glanced once her way and she quickly slipped into the shadows, making her way to a back booth.

She sat well out of view, her long legs stretched out in front of her on the booth’s seat. Catching the eye, of some grey clad serving man, she motioned him over with a nod of the head. He asked if he might take her cloak and arms, and she surrendered the two short knives visible in her belt, keeping the cloak wrapped round her. No need for him to know that she bore a slender blade strapped to each forearm, concealed by her long sleeved leather tunic, and a throwing knife hidden in the top of each boot, snugged safe against her soft leather leggings.

‘A pint,’ she said quietly to him, frowning when he looked at her blankly. ‘Of stout black – make sure it has the creamy head on it. And not served cold like those Westerners prefer it.’

She was enjoying her pint, savoring bitter brew as it flowed over her tongue in long draughts. ‘A three ring pint!’ she laughed, looking at the rings of foam left along the mug’s interior. ‘Another, if you please!’ she said, raising her mug to a passing server.

The drink had worked its way to her toes, warming them exquisitely. She sat back, resting her head against the pale wood of the booth, her eyes lightly closed. A familiar, rasping sound roused her from her daydreams.

‘Bye the One!’ she swore, pulling her hood further forward, her face completely now in shadow. ‘Bird!’ she muttered. ‘And that means the whole crew must be here . . .’

[mark12_30]

"Excuse me."

The grey-clad servant emerged from his shadowy door, and blinked twice. "No children served in here without their parents or guardi-- ah-- Oh. My apologies, good sir. Please excuse me."

The hobbit glowered resentfully, and grudgingly replied, "It's all right."

"Weapons should be left at the door, " the grey servant apologised.

"I left all my rocks on the riverbank, " the hobbit grumbled sarcastically. "Are there any elves in there?"

"Eh... yes, I believe there are."

"All right, then. Thanks." And with that, the hobbit stealthily slipped inside, and remained unnoticed.

Sure enough, two elves. One was seated by the fireplace. And the other had her cloak drawn closely around her to avoid recogni--

...Piosenniel?

He scanned the room. Mithadan, too; and Cami?

He sighed. So much for an unsupervised adventure. All he needed was for Birdland to arrive, if she wasn't already Neekerbreeking around someplace, and he'd have four overly-watchful guardians. He considered slipping out again and finding another inn. Despite the fact that the local soup smelled awfully good, Gamba was headed back towards the door, when he heard Cami's voice behind him.

"Gamba Tuk! You are out way past your bedtime! And how on earth did you get in here without a guardian of proper age?"

[Susan Delgado]

Susan got up and wandered back to the bar for another ale. . She nodded thanks to Rimbaud when he brought her drink. As she turned away, a thought brought her back and she asked for a bowl of soup as well. She returned to the circle around the fireplace, eagerly waiting for the next story.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Rimbaud]

To the assembled, listening, Rimbaud turned from his duties and spake thus: "It is fine to have you all with us, what a fine Company we make! I enjoy reading your well-constructed Stories and I hope that you continue to enjoy the hospitality of the Star."

He bowed, briefly and returned to his desk. The musicians struck up again, a slightly more jaunty melody than before. Delicious smells emanated from the kitchens and the patrons wondered what Rimbaud had up his sleeve.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[mark12_30]

Gamba bowed his head beneath the avalanche of indignant questions that came from Cami. On cue, he replied, "Yes, Ma'am... No, Ma'am... Yes, Ma'am,", evading serious accusations as best he could, and hoping to evade serious consequences as well, long enough to have some kind of fun.

So Piosenniel was one of the elves, but there was another, "Varda", over by the fireplace. The name sounded familiar; maybe from a song. And there were a few others that looked rough and ready for action besides Mithadan. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he spied Ancalimon, dressed in long robes and looking much older than Gamba remembered; but people were calling him Gandalf.

"Yes, Ma'am... No, Ma'am..."

Cami finished, and with a stern warning that Gamba behave and keep in sight, she dragged him over to sit between her and Andreth. Oh misery, to be trapped between two loremasters when there was adventure to be had!

He listened, fidgeting, while Rimbaud spoke of stories, and fiction, and tales, and adventures. Now that sounded worthwhile. As Rimbaud continued, Gamba meandered slowly out from between Cami and Andreth, still fidgeting, and when Cami got distracted enough, he slipped away.

Mithadan absently reached for his half-finished drink, and was surprised to see one of the grey-clad attendants refilling it already. He frowned, and glanced suspiciously round at his neighbors.

Under the table, Gamba cringed and grimaced and wondered why Mithadan would want refills for something that tasted so horrible. He slipped out from under the table when Mith wasn't looking, and made his way over to one of the tables by the fireplace. Looking up at Ransom, he sat down nearby, hoping to learn about Varda, and wondering about Susan, and Amanaduial-- worried about the scary looking creatures with her; better not get too close-- and Eledrim, who looked a bit mysterious.

"Hello, " he smiled. They considered him, wondering if he was as young as he looked.

"I heard you singing the Lay of Leithian, " the hobbit said to Varda. "Nice voice. Who taught it to you?"

[ November 21, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Birdland]

The new staff was lovely, but 20 minutes of the finer points of staff-making, the finish, the charms, the heft, its reactions to Perishible Fire compared to Unperishible Fire, were beginning to wear thin.

Politely excusing herself from the Wizard, Bird hopped up on the fireplace mantel and scanned the room again. A crowd was gathered around the man telling the tale of Gondor. Andreth and Cami were taking a coffee-break from their adventures in the back. Bird wondered if she could get a cup with a "touch of Entish" in it, but Rimbaud kept coffee off the menu. You had to ask for it, and then he might plead unreliable Dwarfish delivery services as an excuse to not sell it to you. Bird wondered how much Cami had had to tip the innkeeper to get their cups.

And there was Gamba, the little rascal. Apparently, no one had "carded" him. Bird figured he had chosen the Hobbit life becaues Hobbrim had no taverns. Or did they? She'd have to ask Kali.

Suddenly, she spotted a familiar figure in the very back booth. Jumping down from the mantel and morphing into woman's form (Rimbaud had scolded her for morphing first, saying the mantelpiece wouldn't hold up to such treatment) she made her way over to the mysterious Elven figure.

"Pio, if you are going to travel incognito you should really lose that "grey, travel-stained" cloak. I can spot that cloak a mile away, you know."

"Sit down and listen," Pio hissed, grabbing Birdie by the arm and pulling her down into the booth.

"What, don't you want to know who else is here at the "Seventh Star" tonight?" Bird giggled. She'd hope to stage a meeting between Mith and Pio. It was always the same. They started out arguing, had a few drinks, and then left the tavern arm-in-arm.

"I'll argue with Mith later." said Pio, knowing the drill as well. "Right now I have some information for you. Concerning Skinchangers."

At that, Birdie was all ears...

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[*Varda*]

Varda smiled at the hobbit next to her, and answered his question.

“I first heard it when I was young. I loved it so much I learned it, and never forgot it,” she replied.

They made polite conversation for a little longer, but Varda was unwilling to divulge much about her past, and many details about how she had made her way to the Seventh Star, so far from the Elven regions.

She gasped slightly when she saw the small creature morph into a woman on the mantelpiece. A skinchanger in the Inn? This could be an interesting stay…

[mark12_30]

So Bird was here, too. Four guardians. But at least Bird knew how to have fun. Gamba looked at Varda, and smiled. "She's good at that. You should see her change into a dragon."

Varda's eyebrows went up. Gamba basked in her surprise, and thought, "So it's stories they want here? Perhaps that's the next bit of fun." He checked on Mith, Pio, and Cami; they all seemed distracted. He sat still a few more moments, scheming.

[Mithadan]

Bird's shape-shift surprised Mithadan. She usually did not morph in public, particularly around strangers. He watched as she proceeded to a table in the rear of the Inn occupied by a dim figure in a worn, travel stained cloak... He squinted at the figure and smiled. This place certainly attracted an interesting crowd.

He reached for his drink and found that it had somehow been filled again. He looked over to Rimbaud with arched eyebrows. The Innkeeper wandered over and said, "Had enough?" Mithadan nodded. "For now at least," he answered. Rimbaud walked away towards another customer. To Mithadan's surprise, the glass was now empty.

Shaking his head, he stood and made his way over the the booth occupied by Bird and Piosenniel. He smiled a greeting. "Belovéd..." he began.

[mark12_30]

Gamba listened happily as a new song began, but several verses into it, his scheming came to completion. Gamba jumped up on a table, and cleared his throat, and looked around expectantly. Heads turned. The musicians finished the verse they were on, and played softly.

"Hear now the tale of Piosenniel and the Drowning of the..."

Cami's jaw dropped. He knew better than to tell anyone about their secret adventures in Numenor! Gamba caught the sudden blaze in her eye and smiled...

"... Lonely Star. Many long leagues this faithful ship has borne its passengers, through many adventures and perils, but it is of the past three days that I would speak."

Mithadan and Pio turned to each other, each realising that neither had heard from The Lonely Star in several days. Bird sat up, worried.

"This ship, having faithfully served her co-owners for so long, was rocking at anchor in the south of this land, when a disagreement arose between two of the owners. One wanted to set sail for Lindon, and the other did not.

"Piosenniel, the lovely elf-lady, whose beauty would astonish you all, is nevertheless a force to be reckoned with. Many who perceive her great beauty are foolishly misled by it into thinking that she's also well-balanced and rational. The lovely Lady Pio declared in her unmeasureable wrath that if the ship would not sail to Lindon, it would sail no more. And so while the other owners celebrated the end of our journeys on the shores and in the inns, Piosenniel scuttled the ship."

Mithadan leaped to his feet. Bird spun towards Piosenniel and whispered savagely, "How COULD you!" Piosenniel stood, hands in front of her, backing towards the door, protesting her innocence and ignorance of everything the hobbit had said.

But across the room, Cami scowled icily at Gamba, and began to stand.

Gamba noticed Cami, and hurriedly wrapped up his tale. "But it has all worked out well in the end, " Gamba announced with a flourish. "For the Hobbrim have raised the ship and the Mermen and Merwomen have repaired it." Cami's eyes blazed and her fists clenched-- the Hobbrim were also supposed to be a complete secret. Gamba continued. "Thanks to their heroic hard work, today in harbor, the Lonely Star rocks at anchor as if nothing whatsoever had happened to her." Gamba bowed with a fourish, and hopped down off the table, amid scattered clapping and some cheers, and not a little consternation.

He would have liked to stay and enjoy the applause, but the room had suddenly gotten a bit too warm. He fled, disappearing out the servants' door.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[piosenniel]

‘Listen, Bird,’ whispered the Elf, leaning close to her friend’s ear, ‘do you remember how we talked about you doing the footwork and me doing the brain wo . . . er, research about your roots?’ She reached into the leather purse at her belt and pulled out a worn map drawn in dark blue on some worn greyish colored hide. An indecipherable script in faint red ink edged the areas drawn within its boundaries.

‘Where did you get this?’ asked Bird, fingering the odd feeling material. ‘And what is it drawn on!’

‘I got it in one of the lower level taverns in Minas Anor. I was thirsty, and stopped off at the One-eyed Corsican, on my way to catch up with all of you – you all who so rudely left me sleeping on the Star, at Harlond, and went off to have fun.’ She sat back in her chair and smiled at her old friend. ‘You remember the One-eyed Corsican, do you not? It is much the same as when we frequented it.’ Bird grinned, recalling some wild times and narrow escapes from the even then dilapidated tavern.

‘The serving boy, Marúk is still there, though now I should perhaps call him “man”, as his hair is streaked with grey, and his sweet, brown face is lined with years.’ Pio’s face softened as she spoke of him. ‘But he is still all eyes and ears and nimble fingers.’

‘And when I asked him what of interest he might have for me, he told me of a recent group of olive-skinned men who passed through. Men whose language he had not heard before. From signs and gestures and crude maps drawn on the table, he discovered they had come from lands far to the south and east of Gondor. Their funds were low, and they offered him some items of interest in exchange for the coin of the realm, and he obliged them. This map, drawn on cured mumak hide, was one of those items. ’

She smoothed out the map, and showed Bird the intriguing symbols she had noted. Scattered about the regions in discrete groupings, were cross-hatched areas. In the middle of each area was drawn a crude stick figure, each with the drawing of a different animal, insect, or bird where their head would be. ‘The big problem here is that we have no idea what regions this map refers to, only that it is somewhere east and south of Gondor.’

She looked at Bird, who was running her finger lightly from figure to figure. ‘What do you think? Could this be a lead you might somehow follow up?’

Mithadan had by this time come over to the booth, and she moved her legs, inviting him to sit beside her. ‘Give us a kiss, love.’ she laughed, kissing him lightly on the lips.

‘And your opinion on this map . . .’

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

Pio had her thoughts turned toward Gamba. The young scamp was up to something, she could tell. She caught the thoughts of 'Guardians' and a certain glee over an image of a ship sinking. The Lonely Star! and Hobbrim! 'What was he thinking, that he should want to stir up so much trouble for himself with Cami? Best let her deal with him.'she thought to herself.

'Play along.' she told the two at her table, as she told them what she had sensed from him. 'He needs an audience and some sort of reaction, so let us give it to him. The Lonely Star is fine, I just left it not even a day ago. And as for the Hobbrim - they are not here.'

The small tempest had come and gone and Pio continued her conversation with Bird and Mithadan.

[ November 23, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[mark12_30]

Gamba skidded out the door, nodded at a startled grey-clad waiter, found his way through the kitchen and out an open window. He melted into the evening shadows, and was still. He listened for pursuit, and was almost disappointed that he heard none. Still, having been seen leaving, the last place he would be searched for was back inside. So he slowly made his way around to the front door again.

When another guest arrived, he melted into the inn behind them, tasking advantage of the smoky gloom. He slipped under a table, and listened, and shared several unsuspecting customer's drinks.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Gandalf_theGrey]

THE CATCHING BLACK-HANDED OF GAMBA IN HIS CUPS

* The roast chicken soup and brown bread with dill-butter graciously provided by Ransom was followed by a compost of pickled winter vegetables and pears, venison, rice with almonds, custard pie, and strong red wine. Varda too, came to join their dinner-table fellowship and feasting. Gandalf bade her a warm welcome and promised a tale for later, though likely he'd save it for the White Horse Inn at Rohan. *

* Meanwhile, the Seventh Star hummed with song and story, goings and comings. Gandalf had watched as if out of a dream the entrance of the Lonely Star crew ... Pio, Mith, Cami, Gamba, Bird. But though he'd known them as Ancalimon, perhaps even closely, he now felt the distance of many years between them, and looked at them as though seeing through a pane of glass seven inches thick. It had been all the wizard could do to make small talk with Bird, and then it had only been trifling silliness about his staff. *

* Suddenly, there was a tiny sound of breaking glass. Then, a tinier sound of hands sweeping it away. Funny thing, the hands seemed to be reaching out from below Gandalf's table, and the wizard's wine-glass had disappeared. With a firm grasp, Gandalf's own hands bent down and reached around two small wrists, until their owner came up into full view. *

* Gamba was quite a colorful study, face flushed beet red from wine and discomfit, hands covered in ashes and soot where the fireplace stones had sprinkled their debris on coming to rest in front of Ransom to cure his cold. *

* Gandalf smiled. * From the lowest place to the highest you'll now go, young Gamba! You tell a fine tale, perhaps now you shall become a tale for our telling. smilies/smile.gif

* Placing the end of his staff inside the back collar of Gamba's shirt, Gandalf hoisted him up to a standing position on the mantlepiece, next to one of Rimbaud's fancy Great Wyrm lamps beside the elegant plaque. * Now we can let the good Innkeeper decide your fate.

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Rimbaud]

Upon noticing the mild commotion, Rimbaud sighed and rose. He exchanged a brief and good humoured glance with the venerable wizard. His blue eyes sparkled with some inner amusement as he crossed the Inn towards the great fireplace. People fell quiet as he approached the prostrate young Hobbit, the better to hear his judgment. The Elf Pio looked as though she wished to stand and intervene, but Mithadan laid a hand on her forearm and she remained seated, although she watched proceedings intently. Birdland sat, observing with apparent nonchalance.

Rimbaud reached the lamp. Gamba's head, with its unruly curls was on a level with his own. Rimbaud sighed again. With no visible effort, he picked Gamba up by his collar, unhooked him from the Great Wyrm lamp and help him at arms length, examining him.

"Good Sir," he started gravely, and those listening laughed at the adult formality within the Innkeeper's voice, as the addressed dangled ridiculously before him. "Good Sir, your face is not familiar to me. I do not remember your arrival," This was untrue, the Innkeeper had a knack for knowing precisely who was in the Star at any time. "It seems we have received a complaint about you, my good man...Hobbit."

Rimbaud squinted at the Hobbit, who was flapping his arms and legs and trying to speak, but no words would come. "Wait...are you old enough to be here?" asked Rimbaud in a slightly incredulous voice, as if the fact had only just become apparent to him.

"Sir...I....Sir, I am here with them!" cried the Hobbit child. He pointed, as best he could, at the table where the fair Elf couple sat, amongst friends. The tall Mithadan quirked an eyebrow and Rimbaud nodded.

"And it is good you came," declared Rimbaud, solemnly, placing Gamba back on the ground and straightening his shirt. "For the cook has been looking for you."

"The cook?" stuttered Gamba, thoroughly confused.

"Aye, the cook," said the Innkeeper. "He has been waiting for you, as there is a great pile of dishes that needs to be washed!"

Gamba spluttered indignantly, but there was no arguing with Rimbaud, and before the laughter in the room had died down, he had been swept out of the common room and through the small wooden door, recessed in the white wall to the right of the fireplace.

Gandalf nodded mock gravely as Rimbaud returned to his great desk. Birdland was still thumping the desk, convulsed in helpless laughter, mirthful tears streaming down her face.

[ November 26, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Birdland]

Bird was mollified by Pio’s declarations of innocence concerning the Star. Where had that young scamp Gamba ever come up with such a tale? And the memories of the “Cross-Eyed Corsican”, and especially of Marúk, brought a smile to her face. She hoped the Elf had given her regards to the “young” pot-boy. But then she reluctantly turned her attention back to the map. After a moment of confused puzzling, Pio had reached over and turned it “right way round” for her, but it still made little sense to Birdie.

“Pio, this map shows just a small piece of a vast country. It may serve some purpose to the local who drew it, but what help can it be to us? And these figures,“ she gestured at the stick-men with the animal heads. “they could mean anything! A representation of some outlandish gods, signs to mark a good hunting spot, even nicknames for various tribes! It does us no good at all!“

Bird slumped over the table, chin in hand, and fingered the thick, soft skin of the map. She wondered why Marúk had even bothered to trade food and drink for such a useless item. Perhaps he intended to make shoes out of the leather.

She ran her fingers lightly over the faded red lettering around the margins. “This may explain everything, if we only knew someone who could read this.”

At that moment, a crash from across the room made them all turn their heads. The companions laughed as they watched Gandalf fish around under the table and pull out a protesting Gamba by one ear. As the wizard seized the young hobbit and placed him high on the mantelpiece for safekeeping, Mith gestured with his glass towards the scene and said, “Well, if you are looking for someone with knowledge of foreign tongues; I’d put my bets on the Grey.“

[ November 23, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Bêthberry]

In transit and unable to stay, Bethberry peered in the window of The Seventh Star, seeing many friends frolicking. She wished she could stop in, and hoped to be able to join when her journey turns her eastward.

Bethberry

[Susan Delgado]

Susan happened to be looking out the window and saw Bethberry's forlorn visage peering in, but before she could call a greeting, the face disappeared. Disappointed, Susan hoped her friend would return as soon as she could.

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion and Menelduliniel bustled to the Inn door.

"We would have been here sooner, if you had not insisted we take that 'shorter' route!" Menelduliniel said to Estelarion angrily, nearly yelling.

"How would I know that a tree had caused the bridge to fall?" Estelarion said, exhasperated. It was obvious they had been arguing about this for some time by the resigned look on his face.

"You know the land better than I do. And you hear more stories," Menelduliniel said, "I would think that even just once someone would mention that the bridge had fallen!"

"Elbereth Gilthoniel! How, in the name of Manwë, am I to hear a story when I have your voice in my ear every three seconds yelling at me for minor mistakes such as these?" Estelarion said, mockingly, "'Oh, Estelarion! You should have had visions and seen that the tree was going to fall across the way, forcing me to exert my poor little body to climb over the two-foot tall log! You are more gifted than I am! Why did you not see it? It is all your fault! I am not speaking to you! But it is still your error! And, furthermore-' and on you go! I sometimes wish you were telling the truth when you threaten not to speak to me! It would at least give me some quiet!"

Menelduliniel took in a breath and looked at Estelarion indignantly, "I do not do that!" was all she could manage. She turned and angrily entered the Inn.

A story was already in progress. She silently moved across the room, her agitation still showing clearly. Estelarion entered a few minutes later and sat at the opposite side of the Inn. They bristled in rage as they listened to the stories being told, both drinking large amounts of ale...

[ November 23, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[piosenniel]

Mithadan took the map from Bird's hands, and made his way to where Gandalf now sat. He stood before the grey cloaked figure, remembering with pleasure the 'Dragon' which had diverted the ships of Gorthaur from discovering the crew of the Star.

'Anca . . .' he began, but the wizard, his eyes twinkling at the figure of the Man before him, cut off the further saying of that name, and bade the man sit with him. 'It's Gandalf, here, Mithadan. Well met, my friend!' He called for a bottle of good Dorwinion wine and two cups, and asked how he might be of service to the Star.

'For it looks as if you have a question on your mind,' he said, 'and I would be of help to you all as I can.'

Mithadan cleared a space on the table before them, and spread out the map that Pio had found. He pulled a small candle lantern near, so that it threw a soft pool of light across the grey hide. His fingers traced the red script which ran round the maps edge and pointed to the curious figures drawn on it. 'Might you recognise this script at all, Gandalf?' asked Mithadan, his eyes now on the wizard. 'And these drawings, have you seen any like these in all your far travels?'

Gandalf pulled the map closer to him, peering closely at it . . .

[Gandalf_theGrey]

AHA!

* Intent on the further mystery which discovery now uncovered, Gandalf leapt to his feet, knocking against the table as he rose. Mithadan's wine-glass tilted at the rim of the table. Clutching the stem of the glass, the wizard saved himself from joining Gamba for kitchen duty, though his robes now bore penalty stains. Rimbaud smothered a smile and muttered something about patrons showing respect for the elegance of his Inn by the neatness of their clothing. Varda smiled in anticipation of a story. Ransom gazed at the map noting its script's similarities to Easterling writing. *

* Gandalf pronounced his verdict: *

The Ithryn Luin have had a hand in the making of this map. Though the flowing red script is unfamiliar, note well the subtle shading of dark blue along the lower edge of the hilly pass at the bottom: The Tengwar marks for both Pallando and Alatar have been interwoven to form part of a boundary line.

As for the red script, it distantly resembles the Harad writing style. Not closely enough, however, for me to do anything besides guess at the likely translation of a handful of words based on the easternmost dialect of Southron speech.

[ November 24, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[mark12_30]

Cami peered around the door, returning smiles for the kitchen staff's quizzical glances. She smiled at the cook, and gestured at the redfaced dishwasher who was, despite standing on a stool, still barely chin-high to the sink. "How's he doing?"

"Only broken two wineglasses so far, " the cook said, straightfaced.

"Oh, dear. Gamba, you really must be more careful."

"Yes, Ma'am, " Gamba slurred, concentrating with great effort on the next dish.

"My goodness, " Cami murmured, looking at the great stacks of dishes on the counter beside the boy, "He'll be busy for quite a while, won't he?"

The cook nodded.

Cami smiled, and retreated with pleasure to the main room of the Inn.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel sighed and looked around the Inn. She saw a person looking nearly as melancholy as she felt. She walked over.

"Mae govannen," she said to the stranger, "I am Menelduliniel. What are you called?"

"I am Susan," the girl said, still looking fairly depressed.

Menelduliniel sat next to the girl.

"You do not look to be having much fun either," she said.

"I am fine," Susan said. She seemed to not want to speak. That was just too bad for her, for Menelduliniel needed to speak to someone.

"Ai, well, that is well," Menelduliniel sighed, "I just had a fight with my travelling companion. We always fight."

"Yes, I think I heard you two," Susan said.

"Really?" Menelduliniel said, speaking all the while very quickly, "I did not think we were that loud. And we were outside as well. I am from Mirkwood. Well, I was. I no longer reside there. Not much my choice, however. I have been travelling for the past years. Estelarion and I generally travel around to inns and just look for adventures. We were in Harad for a while. The Inns there are the most enjoyable. The music there is amazing. And the dancing...while I admit I am no expert, I picked it up pretty well. It is always fast dancing. And I met up with the Huin-en-Lhuig. They are the best artists I have ever heard. Estelarion and I travelled with them for a while. We all played instruments. They are all exiles as well. Did I mention that I was exiled? Ai, well, there are some things in all of our pasts that we are not proud of, right? I am over it though. Well, not over what I got exiled over, but over what I did to get exiled, if you understand what I mean. I mean, I should not have been exiled. It was an accident. Well, it was not an accident, but they did not necessarily not deserve it. All right, maybe the fact that they were marrying him was not a reason, but it was the only option at the time. You do not think I am a bad person, right? I did not think so. I loved him. Was that wrong? I think he loves me. True, he never even spoke to me, but that means nothing right? I mean, we still have a chance. Estelarion says that I am crazy, but I can still have hope, right? That is was estel means, hope, so you would think that he would have more hope for me than that. But no, he says that I should move on and get over him. But, you know, it is hard to get over one you love. But, Estelarion is wise and I suppose he knows best. I hate to admit it too. He is older than I am, though, and has been through more. If it were not for him, I would be dead or worse by now. He is my best friend. I cannot even begin to tell the endless ways he has aided and saved me. I do not know if I should give up hope, though. Do you think I should listen to Estelarion?"

Menelduliniel finished speaking and looked at Susan, who gave her a fairly surprised expression.

[Ransom]

Ransom studied the map, his mind idly sifting through the possible meaning of the map. He had very little experience in the matters of the Easterlings, especially when they didn’t directly influence Gondor. His last meeting with the inhabitants of Harad resulted in several painful bruises and a deep cut to his calf. The Grandmaster of the Blade began to reach for one of his namesakes, but groaned in frustration when his fingers closed around the sheath of his main gaunche. What was he supposed to use for a pointer now that he’d surrendered his weaponry to the gray servants?

“Tis a very interesting map, Gandalf, but I am afraid I am unfamiliar with creature of which you speak. I am a simple soldier, and I know not what these Ithryn Luin are. Could you enlighten me?

[piosenniel]

Her grey eyes narrowed as she saw the man holding the grey map in his hands. She had not meant for a stranger's eyes to study it. Rising lightly from her seat, she stepped past Bird and made her way to where she could watch him closely.

'Who is that?' she whispered to a passing servant. 'Ransom, m'Lady, is what he calls himself.'

Pio moved up quietly behind Ransom, her right hand tucked curiously beneath the loose, left sleeve of her tunic. 'The map, sir, and now.' she said softly, her voice just inches from his ear.

[mark12_30]

It seemed to Gamba that the more dishes he washed, the more dirty ones appeared at his elbow.

Actually, that wasn't far from the truth; the inn was quite busy, many people were eating and drinking, and there was no shortage of dishes to be done. And the cook was content to let him wash them. Blearily, he kept scrubbing, with the occasional punctuation of a cavernous yawn.

[Susan Delgado]

Susan stared at the Elf in surprise. Had she done that all in one breath? And who was this "he" she mentioned?

Menelduliniel continued to look at Susan eagerly, waiting for her reaction. After a few seconds, Susan closed her mouth and cleared her throat while she thought of something to say.

"So you're from Mirkwood? Last time I was there was...well I don't remember the last time I was there. Must have been a long time ago." She shrugged and took a drink of her mead. "Anyway, I'm in the business of story-gathering, you know, and one thing I do remember was having a meeting with King Thranduil to see if there were any worthwile stories I could record. I met his sons too. That Legolas is a piece of work, I tell you. You ever meet him?" She started to take another sip of her drink, but paused halfway to her mouth. The Elf's face was beet red and her fists were clenched on the table top. Susan put the mug down, concerned. "Are you all right?" She asked.

[ November 26, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Mithadan]

Mithadan plucked the map from Ransom's formerly over-zealous and presently nerveless hands. He noted that the point of a dagger protruded from Piosenniel's sleeve with its point dimpling the skin of Ransom's neck just below his ear.

"I'm certain the gentleman was trying to help, darling," said Mithadan gently as he looked into Ransom's eyes. "Ithryn Luin. 'Blue Wizards'. Gandalf would be better able to elucidate I think. Speak to him. And have an ale on me."

The Man walked towards Gandalf while rubbing his neck. He glanced back at Piosenniel, than joined the Wizard at his table. An ale appeared quickly at his elbow. Mithadan tossed a silver coin to Rimbaud with a nod.

[Rimbaud]

Afetr depositing some takings with the exceptionally tall barman, Rimbaud pushed his way into the kitchens. He almost laughed to see the short, hairy-footed Hobbit struggling with the great plates and mugs of the Inn. Perched on a stool, all red-cheeks and puffing, the sight was highly comical and many of the staff in the kitchen were barely concealing grins.

"There, there, good master," he exclaimed. "It seems you have more than earned your keep."

Gamba scrambled down and peered anxiously up at the grey-clad Innkeeper. He rather suspected what was coming.

"Time for you to dry your hands and face your friends again," said Rimbaud sternly, but a twinkle in his eye belied his words and for a moment it seemed he would tousle the young hobbit's unruly mop of curls, but instead the blue-eyed man pivoted on his heel and made a swift egress from the bustle of the kitchens.

Gamba looked at the wooden door to the common room, swinging shut after Rimbaud, with some trepidation.

[mark12_30]

Gamba cracked the large door and peered through into the smoke while the kitchen staff looked on, smiling. He hesitated, and closed the door again. A waiter came in, gathered a platter of steaming dishes, and with an amused glance at the redfaced and dishevelled hobbit, headed for the door.

Gamba ran his fingers through his mop of curls, succeeding only in making them wilder; he straightened his shirt hastily, tucked in his shirttail, and then as the waiter proceeded through the door, melted behind him, and used him for cover til he could slip under a table again.

Rimbaud kept an eye on the door and wondered when the hobbit would gather his courage and come back out, when suddenly a mop of curls appeared by his side. "Reporting, sir, " mumbled a sheepish voice; wide brown eyes gazed up at him as a pair of very clean fists were jammed deep into breeches-pockets.

[ November 27, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel closed her eyes a second and took a ragged sigh.

"Fine," she said, "Yes...fine. I am fine. The stories he could tell you if you had gone within the last, oh, say twenty years. Even if you had gone within the last fifty years, he would have had plenty of stories. Yes, so many stories he could have told you. I have not been welcomed peacefully to Mirkwood in fifty years, but I saw it about twenty years ago. So-" she broke off a second, her voice shaking, then continued, "So much had changed."

Susan looked at her closely.

"And," Menelduliniel said, praying that she would not break down in a fit of rage or tears, she knew not which, "Yes. I have met the Prince. He is more of a 'piece of work', as you labelled him, than you could ever imagine. He was to be married once. Did you know that? To Lady Poldorawen. She was a trainer of shieldmaidens, actually. It would not have been much of a marriage. She was too headstrong. The Prince is so strong-minded that, if he were to marry an equally strong woman, the kingdom would be torn apart. But he claimed he loved her. None know if he truly did or not. I do not believe he did. I believe he loved m-...a person of quite a different rank."

"And of you?" Susan asked the Elf.

"I...I was...am...the daughter of two servants of Thranduil. Laeron and Draugien are their names. They are good and faithful to the King. That, I suppose, is why they did not leave when I did. The King loved them. I think he liked me as well. He allowed me to rise above my station and train with other shieldmaidens of noble birth. Poldorawen was my master. She worked us too hard. I believe she killed a few maidens in the process, but none believe me since I have no proof. They say it is just my jealousy. Well, I am no longer jealous of her. She is dead and gone. She will no longer plague anyone."

"What were you jealous of?" Susan asked Menelduliniel.

"Of what she had in life," Menelduliniel said, sighing and fighting her emotions.

She could tell that Susan knew of what she spoke.

"Yes, he is a 'piece of work'," Menelduliniel continued, "He is a good man, but he does not realize his charisma. I suppose I may have mistook kindness for love, but could I make such a serious folly?" She paused, "Yes...I suppose I may have. I have made many errors over the past decades. He made it quite clear to me upon our last meeting that he holds me in no higher esteem than he would an Orc. No, he did not say those words, but I knew it. He still claimed to love Poldorawen. Could you imagine that?" Menelduliniel laughed bitterly, "Ai, well, Estelarion tells me I must move on. I suppose I shall. But, how can I move on when I am here and everything I see reminds me of him? In Harad it was different. Everything was so very different. The language and even the culture was foreign. I never even thought of him. But here...I know he is merely many days away. But, we must remain here, I suppose. Estelarion wishes to journey to Rivendell at some time to visit his kin. I wonder if I shall be able to journey there? Well, we shall soon see."

Menelduliniel fell quiet into a mass of self-pity, as she was wont to do, even when the occasion did not demand it.

At that time, Estelarion came over. He seemed to no longer be mad.

"Suilannon, hiril nîn," he said, addressing Susan.

"Greetings," she replied.

He sat down next to Menelduliniel.

"Is she getting melodramatic again?" Estelarion asked Susan.

"I am not melodramatic," Menelduliniel argued.

"You do not know how lucky you are to be free, hûn nîn," Estelarion said.

"I would be better off dead," Menelduliniel pouted.

"We shall soon be off to Harad again, Menelduliniel," Estelarion said, "And you would have been better off dead had the Orcs kept you prisoner. Think of your blessings. I know you told this beautiful lady all about estel and how you cannot see how I could be named hope and all that you complain to me, for you tell all that, but I am a realist Menelduliniel. I believe in hope where hope dwells. I can see no hope in what you strive for. I do, however, see hope in you moving on. You will find your own place someday, Menelduliniel. It will most likely be in Harad, for you adapted to that culture more quickly than I could ever have thought. You will return there and your life will be good again. You will see that someday."

"How can you be so pessimistic, yet so optimistic?" Menelduliniel complained, "It is just not right!"

"Did you listen to what I said at all?" Estelarion asked. He then realized that Susan was still listening. He turned to her and said, "And what of you, kind lady? What of your tale? Or do you know any, even if they are of other people, that might cheer this cold heart that sits next to me, denying yet desperately grasping at a love that does not exist?"

Estelarion looked at Susan with pleading eyes as Menelduliniel continued to pout like an infant.

"Please," he mouthed, "She needs this merriment if you can provide it."

[ November 27, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Susan Delgado]

Susan looked at the two expectant faces before her and sighed. She didn't usually use any of her stories for herself, but Menelduliniel still looked like she wanted to cry, and Estalarion had such concern for her. This situation was probably worth giving up a story for. She began.

"A long time ago, before the Wars that cracked the world, an Elf lived in Doriath. He was nobody important, just one of the many who followed King Thingol away from the Sea when Tulkas the Mighty was leading the Elves West to the land of the Valar. His name was Helevorn.

"Helevorn lived there happily for many years, and was never unsatisfied, never wished for more than Eru had alloted him by his own choices, until the Noldor returned to the land. Then, when Lady Galadriel came to Doriath shining with the Light of the Trees, Helevorn realised what he'd given up when he followed King Thingol away from the host of Elves.

"As time passed, he became more and more unsatisfied with his peaceful life in the Forest and one day he left. He wandered in the world for several years, seeking he knew not what. All he knew was that he hadn't found it.

"He eventually found his way to the sea and in its wildness, he finally found a match for the wildness in his spirit and thus, a restless peace. He built a house there by the shore and lived there for a long time, ignoring the outside world and being ignored by it.

"He was walking by the shore one day, watching the clouds, when he became aware that he was being watched. He peered through the trees on the far side of the beach and called out to the figure he saw there. The bushes twitched, and then out stepped a woman. A tall, beautiful, dark haired Noldor.

"Her name was Culúrien. She'd followed Feanor into exile with the rest of the Noldor, but had realised how misguided he was and had run away into the wild. She'd found this beach and had been watching Helevorn forr several days, but she had been alone for a long time and was glad to have been discovered.

"Helevorn was equally glad, for he'd yearned for another voice in the stillness by the sea.

"They dwelled there together for a time and the seasons turned and Culurien was with child.
Helevorn rejoiced, but Culúrien's reaction was harder to judge.

"Then the time came and the child was born. A girl. Helevorn named her Erana, his gift from the sea.

"For five days they were happy. On the sixth day, Helevorn woke and Culúrien was gone. No explanation, no trail, just vanished. In a panic, he rushed out the door to find her, leaving the child in her cradle. Neither he nor Culúrien were seen or heard from again."

Susan stopped talking and let out a long breath. She looked around, surprised; she'd gathered quite an audience.
"What happened to the child?" Someone in the crowd asked.

Susan gave a small, tight laugh and said, "Ahh, the child. She was found by Men and raised by them. They named her-- they gave her a different name and raised her as best they could, but they were Men and she was an Elf. Her adopted mother died when she was still a child, as did many of the others in the village. She grew up wild." She took a drink of her mead and looked at the table. Even after all this time, the pain was still fresh. She looked up at a light touch on her arm. It was Meneduliniel, and she was smiling.

"Thank you," she murmured.

[Birdland]

Bird watched carefully as Pio confronted the stranger who had shown such interest in the oliphant-skin map. But the situation seemed to have resolved itself, with Mith stepping in to bestow a peace-offering of ale.

Birdie could not think why Pio had made such a fuss about the map. Perhaps she was missing something that the Elf perceived. It would not be the first time, thought Birdie.

But all thoughts of the map and its riddles were suddenly replaced by a most wonderous, delicious smell that had started to waft through the kitchen door. Everyone in the inn raised their heads and drew in a warm, satisfying sniff of the marvelous aroma.

Bird waved over one of the mysterious pot-boys employed by Rimbaud and asked "What wonderful dish is being prepared behind those doors? I have never smelled anything so scrumptious!" And the sudden growling of the skin-changer's stomach concurred with Bird's opinion.

"Ah!" said the servant with a smile, "a special dish is being prepared tonight. What you smell is the roasting flesh of the Meleagris gallopavo, a most wonderous, beautiful and wily bird, which dwells in the deep forests of the North Lands. It's head is naked and white, but it's body is clothed in feathers of black, bronze, red and gold. And the bird can spread it's wonderous tail into the shape of the rising sun, and walk with all the majesty of a King of Men."

"Seldom is this bird taken, for it is most cunning and secretive, but my Master, Rimbaud, has actually managed to procure a flock of these mysterious fowl, and is raising them in a secret location outside the city walls."

"Might I and my companions partake of this wonderful bird?" Birdie asked, with little hope, for it sounded as if a feast of this sort would be beyond their means.

"Of course!" cried the servant with a wink. "My master Rimbaud has prepared a banquet to celebrate the anniversary of the opening of his most successful inn "The Seventh Star", and all here are invited to celebrate with him, and share a feast of these most delicious roasted birds. There will be enough for all! Not just for today, but for many days to come."

"And for that we are all most thankful!" said Bird with a laugh. 'Bring us a bottle of your best Mirkwood Golden wine, and we will be happy to "honor" your birds with our company!"

"There is one thing you should know, before you eat of the flesh of the Meleagris gallopavo." said the servant with a mysterious air.

"What is that?"

"Whoever partakes of this bird will shortly fall into a deep slumber for at least one hour. But do not fear!" He said, seeing the look of dismay on Bird's face, "for you will have the most wonderous dreams while you sleep. And when you awake, all will be ready to feast on dessert!"

A Happy and Peaceful Thanksgiving to all my fellow Barrow-Downers around the World - Birdland

[ November 27, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel smiled. The others probably would not know of whom Susan spoke, but Menelduliniel had hidden her identity enough to recognize when another was doing the same.

"I hope that Erana will someday find it within her to return to her people. Her true people," Menelduliniel said, "I know that they would welcome her back. Although there are many different kinds of Elves, I am sure any would welcome her willingly."

She looked into Susan's eyes, showing that she understood.

"Find it in your heart to come back," Menelduliniel mouthed to her, smiling, "And thank you again."

She rose and fetched herself some more mead.

Estelarion muttered a quick "Thank you", smiling a bit, then he got up and helped her get more mead. The returned and sat back in the chairs.

"Tell another story!" another person called out.

"Not tonight," Susan said, smiling.

EDIT: Told you I'd come back today! Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Wishing you a long, peaceful celebration!

[ November 28, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Susan Delgado]

"A toast," Susan proposed when the two Elves returned to the table, "A toast...to friendships, old and new." She raised her mug to Menelduliniel and Estalarion and drank.

"Now, she continued when they'd drunk as well, "What brought you two from Harad to here? I came because I heard the gwaith-formen were coming, but I've since heard they're farther West, in Rohan. I'll stay here for a while though; the mead is rich and the company is good." She took another drink.
She watched Menelduliniel especially. How had she known who Erana was? She hadn't connected that long-lost maiden to herself in thousands of years, and wasn't even certain now what had brought that story out instead of one which was more innocuous. She smiled at them to cover her thoughts and gave a mental shrug. It most likely wasn't too terrible that Menelduliniel had discovered her secret. As long as not everybody listening had, she could handle one knowing it.

edit: Happy Thanksgiving all smilies/smile.gif

[ November 28, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[VanimaEdhel]

"We came because he," Menelduliniel said, elbowing Estelarion hard, causing him to almost choke on his drink, "Desires to travel to Imladris to seek his family. He will not listen to me that, knowing the close kinship that Elrond and Thranduil hold, I will most likely not be welcome. Ah, we will see where the trail ends. Who knows, Lord Elrond may be kind and enable me to stay in Imladris as long as I am with Estelarion."

"They will let you come," Estelarion said, "Why would they not?"

"I know not," Menelduliniel said, somewhat sarcastically, "Maybe because the Prince, himself, drove me out of Mirkwood when last I saw him?"

"That was a few years ago," Estelarion rationalized.

"A few years is nothing, my darling friend," Menelduliniel said, bitterly.

"Imladris will be a refuge for you," Estelarion said, "They will permit you to pass through and even stay there."

"We shall see," Menelduliniel said, doubtfully. "I, personally, think I would have more of a chance venturing into Lothlorien and living to tell the tale than Imladris."

"They will not kill you," Estelarion said in an exhasperated voice.

"And what is to prevent them? I am a murderer to those people."

Estelarion stifled a laugh, causing a low grunt to come from his throat. "If they only knew you," he said, "They would know you were no killer. They may still want you dead for your nagging, but they would know that you would never willingly extinguish the spark of another life. Unless, of course, you were whining them into their grave."

He got a sharp smack in the stomach from Menelduliniel.

"Ow! Stop!" he exclaimed.

"Then do not be rude in the presence of a lady," Menelduliniel said.

Estelarion held back the urge to make a comment on the "lady-like" nature of Menelduliniel.

"To return to your question," Menelduliniel said to Susan, "I am pressing Estelarion to return to Harad after this venture. You may travel with us if you please."

She gave Susan a look, obviously showing that she wished Susan to say no and that she really meant that Erana should find her home.

"We are always looking for company," Estelarion added. The poor Elf was clueless to the silent understanding between Menelduliniel and Susan.

He also missed the small look of frustration that Menelduliniel shot at him. She proceeded to role her eyes and look at Susan, mouthing something. Susan could just make out the words "Men" and "Blind". She smiled and nodded.

[Susan Delgado]

Susan smiled and nodded at Menelduliniel, then glanced at Estelarion. The poor man had no clue what was really being said between the two women. If she'd been a bit younger and had less self control she might have laughed at him for it, but she didn't. She too had had unobservant moments in her life and it did no one any good to have them pointed out. To his credit, he looked a bit disappointed when she replied, "Thank you for the offer, but I've been to Harad and their stories are bit...bloodthirsty for my taste. Although that was some time ago, so things might have changed there. Tell me, is "The Hunter's Bow" still repeated in the inns and taverns of Lowenna?"

The two sitting across from her looked surprised. After a moment, Menelduliniel responded, "No, I haven't heard of that story, nor have I heard of a city named Lowenna, although we've stayed mostly in the capital, Ariwenna, so perhaps we've simply never been there."

Susan leaned back, shocked. Lowenna was no longer the capital of Harad? How long had it been since she'd journeyed South? She leaned forward, determined to get to the bottom of this. "The capital is Ariwenna, you say?" They nodded. She leaned back again and took a drink of mead. "I was in Harad a long time ago, longer than I'd realised. I wonder if it's a different city altogether or simply a diferent name...can you tell me where it is?"

Estelarion described the city, sitting next the Anduin delta, overlooking the City of the Corsairs across the river. Susan nodded, relieved. The city of her memory was still there, just called by a different name. She was surprised they hadn't heard "The Hunter's Bow", though. When she'd been there, that story was repeated at least once a week as a parable of what happened when a person got careless. Ah, well, perhaps she'd go back someday and reintroduce it, but not today. Estelarion's mention of Rivendell had sparked an old memory. She realised someone had spoken. "I'm sorry, what?" She said, looking up from her mug.

Estelarion repeated himself patiently, although the expression on his face was irritated. "I asked if you were certain you couldn't go with us to Harad. We could use the company."

Susan glanced briefly at Menelduliniel. She seemed to be looking anywhere but at her partner, as if embarrassed at his persistence. Susan smiled. "No, but thank you again. After I leave here, I think I'll make my way to Imladris. I believe I have some distant relations there I haven't seen in a while." She looked at Meneldulinel as she said it.

Estelarion nodded. Still, he looked a bit disappointed. Susan reached across the table to pat his hand, then reached for her mug again. To her surprise, it was empty. How had that happened so quickly? Ah, well. She flagged a passing server and asked for a refill. He nodded and made his way back toward the bar, then brought her mug back, brimming. She smiled and took a long draught.

[ February 08, 2003: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel noted her partner's keen interest in Susan (or Erana), and smiled inwardly. Later, she would have to remember to tease Estelarion about this fascination...

But Susan had been to Harad. This was good.

"Was there a Huin-en-Lhuig when you were in Harad?" Menelduliniel asked.

Susan nodded her head. "They must be fairly new," Susan said.

"I believe they must be," Menelduliniel said, "Although there have been enough for there to be a few generations of men. Not of the same family of course, but..."

"Ah, yes. My travelling there was done long ago," Susan smiled.

"You cannot be very old," Estelarion said, still seemingly flirting with this new friend. Menelduliniel could not take it anymore. She let out a small laugh.

"What?" Estelarion asked.

Menelduliniel quickly got herself under control.

"Nothing, nothing at all," she replied, sharing a smile with Susan.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami shook her head and sighed. The first day of roast Meleagris gallopavo had indeed been special. Both Cami and her friend Andreth had eaten a large plateful of the tasty fowl and begged Rimbaud to bring them more. They had stuffed themselves to bursting, and, as Rimbaud had promised, promptly fell asleep for one hour, sprawled out on the benches in the tavern.

But that delicious feast had now been several days ago. The strange thing was, although considerable time had passed, Rimbaud still seemed to have a bountiful supply of the bird. Cami would not admit this to any of her fellow guests, but, truthfully, she was getting a bit tired of the strips of white and brown fowl that Rimbaud persisted in serving to them in a variety of guises. She'd had meleagris stew, meleagris pot pie, smoked meleagris, meleagris fricassee, and even taters and mushrooms with meleagris on top.

"Excuse me, Rimbaud," she intoned. "Do you have anything else in that kitchen except for leftover poultry? Perhaps some lamb or even a sausage or two?" Cami wondered if she should take her business elsewhere to find an establishment that had a bit more variety on its menu.

"Ah," said Rimbaud, in a rapturous voice. "That is the mystery of this bird. The more you eat, the greater the stack that is left to eat the next day."

Cami shook her head in dismay. She'd been raised on a farm, and had never heard of such a thing as a platter of meat that replenished itself. This would be quite handy for some hobbits she knew who had families with nine or ten children. However, she did not have quite such a large brood to feed, and the taste of the fowl was becoming a bit boring, especially since she continued to fall asleep every time she ate it.

Rimbaud brought Cami and Andreth the lunch special, vegetable broth with chunks of meleagris gallopavo. Cami sighed, but seeing no other options in sight, raised her spoon and attacked the steaming brew, hoping that the bird would soon grow tired of replenishing itself.

Happy Thanksgiving leftovers!

[ November 30, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Susan Delgado]

Susan stared at Estelarion. Was he trying to flatter her? She was not young. She'd seen three Ages of the world, was older than Lord Elrond himself, and this Elf, whom she doubted had been born before the beginning of the Third Age, told her she was too young to have been to Harad before the formation of the Huin-en-Lhuig. What were three or five or a dozen generations of Men to one such as her? Still, he seemed sincere in his flattery, so she merely smiled and drank her mead.

[piosenniel]

Pio watched as a seemingly magic drowse induced by Rimbaud's fowl soup crept over the patrons of the Seventh Star. 'An interesting phenomenon,' she thought to herself, 'and one which could easily be avoided if one did not partake of meats for food.' She picked an orange off the tray of a passing server (amazing how the thing needed seemed always to be close at hand here)and peeled it slowly, popping each succulent section into her mouth with great relish.

She nudged Cami with the toe of her boot and got no response except a small snore. The same with Mithadan and with Bird. Even Gandalf seemed to be nodding off under his great, pointed hat.

Pio picked the map up from the table, tucking it in her belt, and went looking for Rimbaud. She found him discussing a recipe for Meleagris gallopavo hash with the cook, a wicked smile on his face. So engrossed was he in the discussion of this delicacy that he did not hear her as she approached.

His head snapped round as she drew his attention with a polite cough. 'Excuse me, Rimbaud, but would you do a slight favor for me.' He nodded his head, his blue eyes fixed on her. 'Between the next courses of poultry and sleep, can you tell my companions from the Star I have gone out for a walk, and shall return in due time? Thank you.'

She watched in mild amusement as the cook took his cleaver to the pile of poultry scraps and pulverized them. A fierce determination to best the phoenix-like leftovers gleamed in his eyes, but still the pile lay heaped there as large as ever. Leaving him to his dogged pounding of them, she pulled her cloak tight about her and silently slipped out the kitchen door.

[ December 01, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Susan Delgado]

A companionable silence fell over the three as they sat and drank. After a while, Menelduliniel and Estelarion began a quiet conversation on their side of the table, which Susan politely ignored.

She casually glanced around the inn. Most of the audience that had gathered when she told the story of Erana had dispersed, but there was one left, she saw now. A Man, sitting at the next table, watching her with eyes as blue as the midsummer sky before a thunderstorm. She could see that he was young, though she'd never been good at discerning the ages of Men. He stared at her for a moment longer, then deliberately looked away, as if he'd lost interest. She shrugged. After a moment, however, a voice came quietly from his direction, "Tell another story, Lady Elf."

She turned toward him, eyes hooded. "Young Man, I am not a teller of tales but a gatherer. If you have a story, by all means speak up and I will gladly make a record of it."

He leaned back, seeming surprised. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "I know the story you mentioned. "The Hunter's Bow". My family's told it for generations."

She looked at him directly for the first time. "How could you? You're not Haradrim and you certainly weren't around when I was there. That was...a very long time ago."

He chuckled a little, then stood up and headed for the bar. "Wouldn't you like to know?" He murmered as he passed the table.

Susan stared after him, open mouthed in astonishment, then looked down to meet Menelduliniel's gently amused smile. Estelarion was still watching him at the bar.
Menelduliniel took a drink of her ale. "Now there's a strange one, and no question," She commented.

[Rimbaud]

The gluttonous feasting appeared to have abated, and Rimbaud happily delegated the running of the Inn to itself. Quite often the Inn seemed better able to cope with things than he did. He hummed under his breath carelessly as he moved to the rear of the kitchens. A small painting of a girl standing amongst willow trees hung, incongruously, alongside a rack of pots and pans. Rimbaud gazed at the painting expressionlessly.

The staff in the kitchen knew better than to trouble him when the quietness descended upon him and moved about their business in an even more efficient manner than normal, which meant an eerie silence in the kitchens, despite the activity.

When the Innkeeper was sure that all eyes were averted from him, he pressed a corner of the painting as if brushing dust from it. A thin section of the wall behind the painting slid soundlessly away and he stepped through into the darkness beyond. Behind him, as the wall slid back into place as inobtrusoively as it had departed, the common noises of the kitchen resumed. No comment was made, these staff were loyal.

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

Not loyal enough for whoever designed the Inn in times past, however, mused Rimbaud. Despite the pitch blackness, he walked unerringly forward, here turning right and then right again, the stone flags beneath his feet cold and smooth. He walked for a short time before reaching out with his right hand. It met rough, crumbling, moss covered stone. The short passageway met an abrupt halt here. At this point, the ignorant would falter, for some of the staff knew of the secret door from the kitchens, but none had come beyond this point.

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

The conversation in the Inn flowed naturally and few missed the unprepossessing Innkeeper with the curious eyes. Those that did, knew little of where he was. Only one suspected the truth, and she was as tight-lipped as ever.

[ December 04, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[*Varda*]

Varda had sat quietly in the Seventh Star for some time, observing the goings-on. She
laughed slightly as she watched people drift off to sleep after eating Rimbaud’s soup, wisely, after seeing the effects, she had declined the offer of soup.

She wondered how the meat could possibly keep replenishing itself, but shook her head and decided not to confuse herself thinking about it.

She saw Menelduliniel and Estelarion with some other elf, sitting drinking together, and went over to join them. She knew Menelduliniel and Estelarion from travels, but this other elf, she hadn’t met before.

“Greetings, I’m Varda,” she said politely, before sitting down.

[ December 02, 2002: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Estelarion smiled and greeted Varda.

"Suilad!" Menelduliniel exclaimed in greeting.

Varda smiled back at Menelduliniel.

"What do you suppose is with that gentleman?" Menelduliniel said to Varda, indicating to the mysterious man that had passed by, "Do you know who he is?"

"Nay," Varda replied, "Why? Do you know him?"

"No," Menelduliniel said, "That is why we wanted to know. Well, I guess there is only one way to find out."

"Menelduliniel..." Estelarion said in a warning voice, "Do not disturb men you do not want to tangle with."

It was too late, Menelduliniel had already arisen. She crossed the room to the stranger.

"I am sorry," she said in a polite tone, "But I did not get your name."

"That is because I did not give it," the man rebutted into his ale.

"Why not?" Menelduliniel said, not getting a response. "Please tell me?"

The man smiled, "Persistent, yes?"

"Of course," Menelduliniel smiled.

"Well, all right."

Menelduliniel sat across from the man as he finished his ale and waited for him to tell her who he was...

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn had been wondering about the contents of the letter she had secretly delivered to Rimbaud when he accompanied her to the storeroom. He seemed withdrawn since reading it, though no one would have noticed without knowing him well. She did not ask him about it, but watched unobtrusively to see if she could be of help in any way.

She often carried messages when she travelled and had thought nothing unusual of this request, yet it seemed the letter had not been as harmless as she had considered it to be. A dark and menacing shadow seemed to hang over her friend, and she postponed her journey to aid him if possible. When she realized that he had vanished into the kitchen an unduly length of time, all her senses were alert for danger…

[ December 04, 2002: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]

[Mithadan]

A rider wearing the livery of Gondor burst into The Seventh Star bearing a rolled-up scroll under one arm. He waved to those he knew, then proceeded to the end of the bar where he unrolled the scroll. He tacked up the parchment over the bar, then cleared his throat and cried "Adventurers wanted!" Then he backed away as the patrons crowded around the notice which read:

quote:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Findereg, Elf of Mirkwood, seeks adventurers to assist in a trade mission to Laketown. Reasonable pay and usual benefits. Payment of wages guaranteed in the event of untimely death. Death benefit doubled in the event of consumption by spiders or dragons.
For details, speak with Susan Delgado in The Shire. Please refer to the mission by name. It is called "Roll Out the Barrels."

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

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

[Rimbaud]

Murmurs swelled around the Inn as the messenger repaired to the bar and sat unobtrusively on a tall stool. Patrons turned to each other and discussed the missive. The parchment was peered at and prodded a good deal. The Inn was humming with intrigue, rumour and good humour...


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

The doors to the Inn were flung open. They slammed against the walls to either side of the doorframe with a simultaneous and resounding crash. People jumped to their feet, hands grasped at sword belts for absent weapons. The Elf Piosenniel stood adjusting her sleeve demurely, but she was leaning forward, attention on the door intently. Mithadan had swept to his feet smoothly and taken two steps towards the door way, cloak billowing in the cold gusts from outside until the figure in the doorway was discerned.

It was the Innkeeper, but he did not appear the neat and reserved character of scant minutes previous. Those who had seen him enter the kitchens earlier looked puzzled at his entrance through the front. Rimbaud looked disheveled and frantic, the wind had blown his hair wildly and he appeared to be at a loss for words. He moved inside the Inn swiftly and, with some difficulty, pulled the doors shut and bolted them. He then turned, leaning against the wood panels of the dark doors, panting. All eyes were on him. He appeared to gather himself and straighten his hair and adjust his tunic.

Without explanation, he strode to his desk and sat, in his customary position, head downcast, although few believed they escaped his attention. One had seen his hand gestures and knew them of old. She rose swiftly and moved to the edge of the great black desk. Her deep blue cowl still shaded her face from view. She stood patiently, hands clasped in front of her. Her thick, rich blue robes hung down to the floor.. Slowly, the uncomfortable air in the Inn abated, and low conversation resumed. Mithadan returned to his seat. The wizard nearby studied the Innkeeper intently but did not rise and did not speak.

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

She watched him intently, noting the stretched and drawn nature of his face, flushed from the cold air outside. He sat silently, head bowed. Her keen eyes saw the thickness of the texts on the desk and the worn nature of the quills set along the rim of his well-appointed desk, and she wondered at them. What writings are these? Yet she left the question unasked, although he surely saw her gaze.

Finally he motioned with his hand, rose and made his way through yet another small wooden door, to the left of the great fireplace this time, and led her up the wooden staircase there. She followed, swallowing her irritation at his presumption and his overly mysterious air.

When they entered his rooms above the common room, she pulled down her hood and shook loose her hair. When she was composed, she faced him and said firmly, "Now, Master Innkeeper, tell me what message I brought to you, to send you so far from decorum."

Rimbaud stood by the window, looking outward. The room was silent, although below them they heard the Inn resuming normal service.

"The message was a warning," he began. She quelled an urge to question him, and instead shifted her robes and sat on the wooden chair at the functional desk. She turned slightly to look up at him, framed by the cold grey of the outside through the window. She saw his jaw clench and unclench and a muscle jump in his cheek. She missed little.

He sighed and spoke again, calmly, clearly having mastered himself again. "The message was a warning, sent from an unknown source - it is for this reason I need to question you. It led me to a place within the Star that I had not been for many a year."

The well-dressed lady said nothing, her face remaining composed. She knew something of the secrets of the Inn but volunteered little.

"But more than that," he went on, "More than that, I need your help with a puzzle. A riddle that scares me - yet fascinates me, I do not deny. You have the knowledge that I...that the Inn needs to guarantee its safety."

Princess Estelyn of the House Telcontar looked at him squarely, her eyes on his. "I will help you, for the sake of our friendship." Her voice gained an intensity. "But! I will not risk my life on half-tales and hearsay from thee, Master Innkeeper. I know your past too well to think of you as a simple publican. Tell me fully and tell me now."

He turned from the window and told her.

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

To read of what happened to Rimbaud and the Princess, and of the future of the Inn, see here (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=5663).

[ December 06, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Susan Delgado]

Susan wasn't sure what to say after seeing Rimbaud run through, closely followed by a Princess of Men. She glanced around at her table companions and then the Inn at large, but it seemed no one else knew what to say either.

She sighed and rose to wander the room. As she neared the huge fireplace, she inspected the Founders' plaque and felt an odd flush of pleasure upon finding that, by whatever power the plaque had been imbued, her name had appeared on it among the other distinguished scribes.

[ December 07, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Errand-Rider Karigan]

Click. Click. Click. Swish... click... drip...

The figure of a woman, shadowed beneath a huge green greatcoat, dripping with muddy water, walked across the common room of the Seventh Star and sat down in an empty chair near the fire. Not a word, not a sound, no noise came from her person, save the faint dripping of her coat. She stared into the fire, consumed with deep personal thought.

The time would soon come, she knew. No doubt about it; since she had chosen to leave little Mir in the care of Adannon, she had felt the weight heavy in her heart... the day was coming when she would be called to ride again. But in whose service? Who would Karigan of Gondor serve?

Finally she stood. Advancing over to a table with empty seats at it, she looked at the free folk sitting around it, trying to discern if there was a leader. "Is there room for another traveler at this table?"

Her voice was the slightest bit gravelly, a little low for a woman, though her face showed her quite clearly to be a still young female of the human race, though she stood only 5'2". Nothing remarkable about her person in the slightest, unless it could be her hands, which, gloved in brown leather, bore white trees. Nothing remarkable at all.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Rianna Steelfeather smiled as she entered The Seventh Star. It had been a long time since she had been in Gondor. A long time to Rianna, at least.

She walked in, standing just at 5'3 and trailing just a bit of mud that had clung to her boots. She searched for a place to sit and rest for a time. She found a chair near the blazing warm fire, and sat down, warming her cold hands.

No one around her stared in the slightest, for it seemed to be the night for strange travellers. The young human female's travelling clothes were comfortable and worn. The only token that would cause one to guess where Rianna had hailed from was a small patch on her cloak, depicting two crossed axes and a hammer at the bottom.

Rianna's loose, dark brown curls fell to her shoulders after she took her cloak off. Her tan skin glowed in the firelight. She gazed around The Seventh Star, smiling as people told tales, made friends, laughed together, and drank to their heart's content. She wondered what story she would tell if the chance arose.

(BTW, welcome to the 'Downs, Errand-Rider Karigan smilies/smile.gif!)

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Rimbaud]

Susan had not been mistaken. Others noted her flush and sideways glance at the plaque. Some patrons gasped and murmurs sprang up around the inn. The penultimate name on the list, still glowing as if freshly scribed by some magical hand was Susan Delgado. On seeing this, Gandalf rose, slowly and said, "A round of applause for our newest Gondorian!"

The cheers and claps went on for quite some time, and Susan became quite weary of the back-slapping. Yet the smile still visited her face more often than she would have cared to admit.

**********************
The List of Gondor

Barrow-Wight
Bethberry
Birdland
Child of the Seventh Age
Estelyn Telcontar
Gandalf the Grey
Gilthalion
Mark12_30
Mithadan
Piosenniel
Rimbaud
Susan Delgado
Thenamir.

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

[Gandalf_theGrey]

Indeed, Susan,

Well done! smilies/smile.gif

For I am one of but a few ... souls, shall we say ... privileged to know of some fine work you've been doing for Castle Maladil behind the scenes. When the extent of your work comes to light, all will deem you doubly worthy of the well-deserved honor thus bestowed on you.

To better celebrate, * opens a window, points his staff out in an expansive gesture towards the heavens, quickly backs away and bids you to look out *


http://www.richmond-ky.com/ttalk/April/fireworks.gif

* bows and again takes his seat. noticing a recently-arrived woman with a gravelly voice walk up and ask whether there's any more room at the table for another traveller, Gandalf moves over to make room * Well met! Always room for one more. smilies/smile.gif

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Errand-Rider Karigan]

Karigan clapped along with the others, realizing that there was a specific initiation ceremony and smiling broadly at the woman known as Susan. She nodded greatfully as the older man- an oddly familiar one- made room for her at the table.

"My thanks, sir." She sat down, and there was a long pause where she regarded him carefully. "You would not be Mithrandir, the gray pilgrim, would you, sir? Your face seems familiar, though there are few men of such age still hale enough traveling the worlds these days."

(My thanks, Aylwen. I'm glad to be here.)

[Bêthberry]

A myriad of twinkling prisms seem to hover in the trees outside the Seventh Star; it was an early winter hoarfrost settling onto the branches, the poles, the wires, the eves of the buildings. And in the sharp edges of the night sky there rose star after star and, finally, the sliver of silver moon. The cloudless sky meant a cold night, but the conviviality continued inside the Star.

A woman in travelling clothes, heavy lined cloak, high boots, even a muff for her hands, although she held several large boxes in her arms, walked into the Star and watched the assembled guests. Some were celebrating the end of a long web of story; some were commending the successful entry of a newly loomed narrative; others were watching a flying shuttle cock, hoping it would begin to show the warp and weeve of a new pattern. She felt she would intrude upon their conversations if she spoke to them, so she silently passed on to the table.

Bethberry noticed the absence of the Innkeeper and a well-known companion but she spoke not of it. Rather, she quietly laid on the shining surface of the table two gifts for her friends assembled and friends absent, one a tin of rumballs glazed with powdered sugar, the other, a small wooden crate of oranges, swaddled in tissue paper. She left both on the table and then sought out a chair by the fire to warm herself, marvelling at the crisp, pristine walls. The texture of white leaped out at her as if rebuking layer after layer of daily habit and inertial activity, until, finally, her mind arrived at the small inner luminescence of idea and thought. Words darted on her tongue, soundlessly, and then settled into a ferment. Eyes closed, she sat deeper into the chair.

[ December 13, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Errand-Rider Karigan]

Karigan nodded to Mithrandir and ate. As she ate, she spoke.

"The world seems a dangerous place to be, especially in Gondor. My son is with a friend in Minas Tirith, but I fear in my heart he may not be safe." She looked concerned, and it seemed to age her greatly. Sighing, she shook off her worry and continued. "But as for what adventure I seek? I'm looking for a place my son can grow up without fear. I want to travel, to see what lies beyond an errand-rider's road. And if I find a place in Gondor safer then Minas Tirith, I will take my son there." She smiled. "If such a place exists. My mind would say no, but my heart pleads otherwise."

She sat taller and took a drink of wine. "But to offer? I have nothing but the experiance of an errand-rider and some knowledge of the sword... I can read maps and have some contacts along the errand-rider's route, and I have the slightest of healing knowledge, but every woman who is raised in the white city has at least that or more." She shrugged. "In short, I don't offer much, save my spirit."

[ December 13, 2002: Message edited by: Errand-Rider Karigan ]

[Mithadan]

From a nearby table, Mithadan raised his glass in salute. "Well met, Karigan! It is good to see a new face here. I am Mithadan, captain of the Lonely Star, a vessel but recently returned from a long voyage at sea."

He stood and walked over to the Errand Rider, motioning for the barkeep to serve a new round of drinks. "I see that you have met Gandalf. A good friend to have, who may be found frequently both in this Inn as well as those in Rohan and The Shire." He lowered his voice to speak in a conspiratorial tone, "He is well fond of Inns, they say, and others might say overfond. Nonetheless, there are few about who can tell tales better than he..."

[mark12_30]

A curly head appeared beside Bethberry's chair, and a subdued voice brought her out of her reverie. Gamba held up an orange, still wrapped in its paper.

"What's this?"

Bethberry smiled. "It's an orange. Take the paper off, and then peel it..." she showed him how to peel and section it.

He tasted a section, and nodded, smiling; he gave Bethberry several sections, and then set to in earnest, and it was soon gone. She smiled quietly at him, and then looked back at the fire. He watched her for a few more moments, and then quietly curled up at the foot of her chair on the side closer to the fireplace. Together they watched the flames, and soaked up the heat.

[ December 13, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry smiled down at the curly haired hobbit and gently mussed his hair.

"Bless you, Gamba. You understood the mood and tone of the thought. For that I am exceedingly grateful. Sometimes sharing silence is as important as sharing words."

[Birdland]

Birdie eagerly explored the precious gift that had appeared with the return of Bethberry. She held an orange to her nose, savoring the sweet smell, full of sunshine and desert breezes. It stirred a longing in Bird of lands that she had never seen, yet called to her heart and fea. It was the smell of home.

But she was here now, and seasons changed far more radically in Gondor than in the friendly climes of the Southlands. The first snows had already coated the roof tiles of the White Tower, and wood was being hauled into the city from the surrounding lands. "Why, Yule will be here before we know it!" Birdie loved Yule. A time of celebration and reflection. A send-off for the old year, and an anticipation for the new. it was her favorite celebration of Middle-earth and one that all the races shared.

"Well, now's as good a time as any to see if folk around here will be interested in what I have in my pack. Gold and jewels are fine, but what I have even the Dwarf Lords cannot mine. And yet it may turn out to be just as precious." She turned with a smile to Bethberry and Gamba, sharing the fire and the orange. "And I can't think of a better person to help introduce my wares to the rest of Gondor. If she likes what I have, and can use it properly, I'll have everyone in Minas Anor clamoring for it, including the King's own baker!"

So the little skinchanger walked over to the daughter of Bombadil, and reaching into her pack, pulled out several small parcels wrapped in linen, and placed them on the table. A strange, faint, mingled oder rose up, encouraged by the heat of the room. It seemed to clean the air as well as athelas, but with a earthier, more homely fragrance.

"Good Yule, to you Bethberry, and to you, Gamba. I thought I would give you your yule gift early, seeing as how you were so kind to bring us your own gifts, thinking of us even after returning from such a hard journey."

"What is it, Bethberry?" asked Gamba eagerly. Gamba loved presents, even if they weren't for him. "Well, let's just open it and see, shall we?" said Bird. "Actually, I've been planning on selling this in the city. But most folk wouldn't really know what to do with it. So I thought Bethberry here should have this. The first in all the city. Once folk see what she can do with what I have here, I believe it will be all the Star can do to keep up with the demand."

Bethberry reached out and slowly unwrapped each linen parcel. The smell grew stronger, and wafed around the inn, sending heads up as the fragrance flowed over the inn. In each parcel were a small bundle of twigs, seeds, bark, and buds. Gamba looked a little disappointed. "Why, it's just herbs. Like the Herb Master keeps in the House of Healing."

"Not herbs, my good Gamba". Bird picked up a small curl of red bark. "This is called cinnamon. It comes from the bark of a tree in far Harad. And this," she said, picking up a small dried bud, "is called clove, from an evergreen of the same name. Stick some in that orange, Gamba, and see how the smells go together." Gamba did this, and was delighted at the marriage of the two odors, orange and clove.

"Now this odd looking root here is called ginger. And see these beans here? Vanilla. You soak them in alcohol to make a tinture. This is the seed of the nutmeg tree. Goes well with the vanilla. "And this," here Birdie slowly unwrapped a parcel as if it were full of gold dust. "This comes from the insides of a rare orchid, each little piece gathered by hand. It is called saffron."

Bethberry's eyes gleamed as each bundle was laid before her. Here was a wealth of the earth such as had never been seen in the cold Northlands. She was already matching each twig, each seed, instinctively with a purpose. But Gamba still looked puzzled. "It all smells wonderful. But what do you do with them. Is it medicine?"

Bird laughed out loud. "Medicine! Well, perhaps medicine for the heart, and the stomach. You cook with these things, Gamba. Each tiny piece, and it doesn't take much, adds a flavor to foods such as has never been tasted in Middle-earth. These gifts of tree and flower are used all over in the Southlands, especially in baking. Once you've tasted a cake made with the taste of the vanilla bean, you'll never want any other cake. And cinnamon in warm wine? Ah, you'll think you had gone to Valinor. I think that our good Bethberry here can think of many other ways to use these things."

"What do you call them, Birdie?" asked Gamba.

"Spices, Gamba. From the far lands of the South. And their value is higher than diamonds. A good gift to give to our good Bethberry, don't you think?"

[ December 14, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[piosenniel]

The Inn smelled wonderful as she opened the door and strode in. The scent of oranges and spices tickled at her nose and lifted her spirit. It had been a long trip back from the Shire and the homey comforts of the Green Dragon, and she wished now only to sit at ease before the great fireplace and see old friends.

Her eyes adjusted to the low light in the room. There was her old friend, Bethberry, sitting at the fireside with Bird and Gamba. She must have just returned from study at the Houses of Healing. Her face bore new lines of sadness and fatigue. 'Hard lessons, those must have been.' she thought as she studied the woman's face in the firelight. 'Though, ones worthy of being learned.' she mused, noting the deeper radiance which had settled about the figure of her friend.

The Elf shrugged off her cloak, hanging it on a peg near the door, and asked a passing server to bring mulled wine and four cups to the trio by the fire. Chafing her arms, cold from the brisk air of the outside, she went to join them . . .

[Gandalf_theGrey]

(OOC: Bethberry -- Thank you for editing your post. As an author, I had not been able to read your intentions before, ... (I lack Gamba's skills, I know) ... and I definitely would have approached Bethberry in a different manner had I been able to understand. I've gone back and deleted my previous post.)

* Gandalf walked over to join those gathering near to Bethberry, hoping his presence would be welcome, though he had utterly no idea of what to do or say. *

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[mark12_30]

Gamba looked up at the tall wizard, gave him a wry, slightly guilty smile, moved over to make room for him (being small even for a hobbit, it was more of a gesture than a practicality) and sheepishly held his cup of mulled wine towards Gandalf.

"I think my mom would appreciate it if you would help me finish this."

Gandalf shared a knowing smile with Gamba, and quietly took a sip of the wine.

[Susan Delgado]

Susan had been standing nearby during the gift giving and observed the excitement with which the new spices had been recieved. She reached into her pocket and fingered the bulb there, then decided the cheer would be worth it to give the precious thing away.

"Hello, mind if I join you?" They looked up, surprised. She smiled at Gamba, who seemed nervous, and at the Elves and Bird, who were giving her slightly puzzled looks, as if they were trying to remember where they seen her before. Gandalf gave his usual hearty greeting.

"Hello, Susan! Come, join us."

She smiled, and sat, then introduced herself. "I'm Susan. I'm the newest member of the Society of Gondor," She added the last bit and they nodded in recognition.
"Bethberry, I wonder if you'd like this to go along with Bird's Yule gift?"

She put her hand in her pocket while the others leaned forward to look. She pulled out a small conical bulb, with a papery wrapping.

"What is it?" Gamba asked curiously.

"It's garlic," Bethberry answered, taking it from Susan's hand.

"That's right," Susan continued with a smile, "You put it in stews and it gives a nice spicy flavor. You can also bake it and put it on bread."

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[*Varda*]

Varda smiled upon hearing that Susan had now become a member of the society of Gondor. She had met Susan before, and felt she was certainly worthy of this.

For the time being however, she sat and sipped at her ale, observing the goings on in the inn. The Inn smelt fruity and spicy, and Varda absorbed these smells with with pleasure, reminding her of her childhood.

Before long, Varda grew weary of sitting still, and felt it was time to become better acquainted with some of the people in the Inn. She stepped over to where Bethberry and Susan were discussing the properties of garlic, as she desired to know more of herbs and plants, as she felt healing would be a useful skill to have on her journeys throughout Middle-Earth. However, none had yet wished to teach her, or found the time, but she hoped that perhaps she could learn a little from Bethberry, if she so wished, while they remained in the Inn, passing the time.

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Buoyed by the gift-giving and good fellowship around him of people like Karigan, Mithadan, Gamba, Susan, and others he considered as friends, Gandalf finally strode forward to Bethberry. *

Here is my gift to you, Bethberry, which we shall share together with all here present at The Seventh Star. I've invited the Glasshammer minstrels here for the evening's entertainment.

(OOC to Bethberry: I also hope you like the two Glasshammer CDs that I sent to you for your Christmas present, from whence come these songs.)

Dwarf and Orc Song (http://www.glasshammer.com/audio/Glass_Hammer_-_Dwarf_and_Orc.mp3)

Dwarf and Orc Lyrics (http://www.glasshammer.com/dwarfandorc.html)

The Last Ship (http://www.glasshammer.com/audio/Glass_Hammer_-_The_Last_Ship.mp3)

The Last Ship Lyrics (http://www.glasshammer.com/lastship.html)

The above songs come from the following website:
http://www.glasshammer.com/livefrom.html

* bows *

Gandalf the Grey

[ December 15, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[Bêthberry]

What a contrast of inner and outer walls there was this night at The Seventh Star.

* * * * *

If any of those celebrating the feast of fellowship inside the Inn had looked up--and only one did--they would have seen under the dark umber of the Inn's eaves, hovering near the window, a shadowy presence. It hung over the strange bird that had set upon the window sill and seemed to pick up the rhythm of the bird's nodding head. Suddenly, the bird took wing and the presence furtively glanced left, right, even into the White presence of the Seventh Star itself, before disappearing into the folds of night. After a moment or two a second bird swooped down, landed on a different window and peered anxiously into bright interior.

* * * * *

Everyone was warmed and made hearty by good-natured fellowship celebrating life and light. Gamba handed around to Rianna, Karrigan, Mithadan, Vanima and Varda more of the hot mulled wine. Birdland, piosennial, Gandalf, Child and Susan choose to try the egg nog which Bethberry had insisted she make.

"The Innkeeper would forgive us our intrusion," she had said, striding into the kitchen holding Birdie's exquisite gifts of rare spices. She called for eggs, and cream, good thick, heavy cream that could be whipped into a concoction neither liquid nor solid, sugars, all blended together with some of the precious vanilla of Birdie's gift. Truth be told Bethberry also added a golden-hued beverage, in small quantity, to add a piquant warmth to the egg nog. Grating some of the precious nutmeg and cinnamon, she sprinkled them over the large bowl of egg nog, which she then carried ceremoniously back into the main room of the Inn, where Gandalf's magic had woven music as well into foot, hand and soul. Each who was inclined helped himself or herself to the rich drink.

"Gandalf, many thanks, for your gift of melody and song here at the Seventh Star."

"Susan, your unique gift of garlic is as pungent as those of Birdie's spices and just as precious. It not only flavours stews and casseroles, but is said to ward off colds and catarrhs and the grippe. It soothes body and spirit. For your thoughtfulness, I thank you kindly from my heart and also offer my happiness at the inclusion of your name on the List of Gondor. A distinction well-earned and much deserved."

The River-Daughter's daughter then turned to Birdie.

"Gladly will I help you market these precious spices, Birdie. I have but heard of them and never 'til now was acquainted with their pungent aromas, their intoxicating scents. To the south I have never been, but you, from the strange light in your eyes, I suspect have found a treasure which means more than helpful use. Doubly, even thrice grateful am I for your clever kindness and your thoughtful care."

At that point, the Glasshammer minstrels struck up a new song and all the voices rang in merriment. The fellowship was heard throughout the land, spreading even as far as the Downs and the Old Forest, for it seemed to pick up a theme of music unmarred.

* * * * *

Yet as the music and drink rang out its cheer, Wyrd managed to catch Bethberry's eye. The falcon shook his head once over his shoulder and then nodded three times. When none were looking, she slipped away ....

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Rianna smiled as she was handed a glass of wine. The scents of the wondrous foreign spices filled the air, and the music of the Glasshammer minstrels started a new, fast-paced and merry song. Rianna sang once she learned the chorus, delight and joy filling the air around the Seventh Star as travelers chimed in. Celebrating Yule had always been Rianna’s favorite thing of the year.

Rianna’s eyes lit up suddenly as she remembered something. She rummaged through her pack trying to find something, and when her hand found it she pulled it out with a slight ‘Aha!’ escaping from her lips. Rianna found a wooden stool by the bar and stepped up on it. She cleared her throat, and called out in a loud voice as soon as the Glasshammer musicians were done with the song:

“A gift from the northlands, up ways from Erebor and Dale, I bring with me,” Rianna called, holding up a small green plant with tiny pale-yellow flowers and wax-white berries; “ a plant that we called Mistletoe! ‘Twas said in times of old that it was the plant of Peace and Friendship. If foes met under a tree with Mistletoe, they would lower their weapons and call a truce for the day. If friends alike met under this plant, they considered their friendship blessed with luck. Yes, it’s small, but it is my gift to you fine folk at the Seventh Star!”

Rianna reached up to the ceiling and positioned the plant under a slightly loose nail. She smiled and jumped down from the stool and looked at the plant hanging slightly lopsided.

“Happy and Merry Yule.” Rianna called to the people at the Seventh Star.

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Estelarion smiled at Rianna.

"Ar le aníram Ar Rhiw meren, gwend bain (And we wish you a merry Yule, fair maiden)!" Estelarion called back.

"Is now a good time for a song?" Menelduliniel asked.

"Nay," Estelarion said, "I believe we take up enough time with our singing as is. If they want it, they will ask."

Menelduliniel shrugged, and smiled, mouthing, "Congratualions!" to Susan across the room. She turned back to her wine.

"Le annon veleth nîn," Menelduliniel began to sing to herself, quietly...

[ December 18, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Bêthberry]

The Saving of the Seventh Star (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=21&t=000009) blends back in with this thread here.

* * * * * * * * *

It was midafternoon before Bethberry could make her way downstairs to take lunch. She noticed Ulaf and caught the slight notice from the corner of his eye which signified that she should cease concern about the Innkeeper.

She wished she could think the same of the Princess, who had spent a fitful morning while Bethberry cleansed the wound thoroughly this time, bled it again, dressed it, and then attended to serving Estelyn, in small sips, a herbal broth to counteract the poison. Only when the feverish thrashing had finally stopped and Estelyn had sunk into more restful repose did Bethberry feel safe in leaving her briefly.

She caught up with others at the lunch table, all enjoying a special stew flavoured with Susan's garlic and a cake scented with Birdie's vanilla. Some of the patrons still hummed tunes made memorable the previous night by Gandalf's Glasshammer minstrels. Bethberry did not avoid anyone's eyes, but she could only comment that neither Estelyn nor Rimbaud would explain what had happened.

Lunch and some sociable conversation over, Bethberry returned upstairs to keep watch over Estelyn. A long watch.

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Birdland]

Birdie, not realizing that there was a real life and death battle going on upstairs in the inn, and full egg-noggy Yuletide joy, proposed an outing for all the people at the inn.

"There is a group of mummers who have arrived this day in Gondor, and tonight at midnight they will re-inact one of our most beloved and oft-told tales; that of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom!

At that all in the inn were overjoyed, because all knew this tale and never got enough of hearing it told and re-told. To see it acted out on the stage would surely be a special celebration!

"Yes", said Birdie, "the merry troupe portraying this tale is infinitely talented, and I can vouch for this, having seen them perform in the past. The cast consists of many players - some acting dual roles, of course - and tis said that all aspects of the tale will be enacted, including mighty battles and the most touching love scenes. It's said that one will feel themselves to be swept away to those long-ago times of the Third Age, and think themselves set in the midsts of history in the making!"

"There is one small problem though. The Epic of Frodo and the Ring is so vast and broad, that it most be represented in three parts, and tonight the players will only be presenting the second part. But since all here are so familiar with the tale, none should be left behind to wonder what led to the events being shown".

So it was agreed that all the inhabitants of the inn should retire at midnight to the mighty amphitheater of Minas Tirith, and after the performance return to The Seventh Star to discuss all the details of the play; from the actors performances to how closely the script stuck to the actual facts of history. And of course, to drink some more eggnog while they were at it.

And a splendid time was guaranteed for all...

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

[Susan Delgado]

Susan cheered along with the rest, then sighed and returned to her meal. She happened to know that the acting troupe Birdie referred to was going to be performing their play every day for several weeks, which was good, because Susan herself would not have a chance to see it for nearly another week. She was a bit disappointed and did not relish seeing everyone else discussing it in the detail she knew they would, but well, there really wasn't much she could do about it and she supposed she could get some pleasure out of seeing the people so happy about it. But she would definitely be avoiding certain rooms until she'd actually seen it.

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[mark12_30]

Gamba looked through the window of the empty Inn, and realised that everybody must have congregated somewhere else to discuss The Second Part of the Tale of Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom. He trooped off to look for them all elsewhere, hoping for a glass of eggnogg.

[ December 20, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Errand-Rider Karigan]

Her head spinning with all the cheer and goodwill around her, Karigna realized how content she was. She hadn't been this happy since...

Well, since before the events that lead up to the birth of her son. There had been brief moments, with Adannon, but none that had lasted as long as this. And so, it was with a shockingly full heart that she surveyed the area around her.

There were two faces she would have given her life to see, but she knew that was impossible- both were gone now, gone though she had loved both errand-rider and captain. But what was past was past- and so, with a heart full of joy mingled with melencholy, she made a private toast to her fallen companions, fallen friends, and fallen lovers with the spiced wine she had taken with her to ward off the chill.

[Maikadilwen]

The door to the Inn opened slightly and a figure slowly entered the warmth and light of the common room.
Too short to be a man but nothing else could be told, since the person was almost entirely covered by a large, hooded fur-coat made from grey wolfpelts. It was obvious that this was not the original owner since the coat was much too large for the person now wearing it.

Quickly the figure strode toward a lonely spot in one of the corners and sat down without removing the warm coat, though opening it.
It was a young woman, or so she seemed for much about her was hidden that only her eyes revealed.
Her hair was black as a starless night and her nearly black eyes had a haunted look.
It was difficult to make out the features of her face, since it was stained with dirt and bruises from recent beatings, but one thing was obvious and made her stand out from the rest. Her skin had a darker tan than the people of Gondor were accustomed to and revealed that she was not a native of these lands.

A grey-clad waiter came over to her and she looked at him with a smirk. "Ale! And lots of it!"
The waiter left and she drew a pouch from her coat and looked at it with a smile. Whoever had been the owner of this pouch, received a nice thought for being so careless that he had carried it in a way which made it so easy for her to slip it out of his pocket.

The waiter came back with her ale and quickly she emptied the mug and gave him a wink. "Just keep it coming" she said and leaned back with a sigh.
She wasn't one to speak much but she knew she could talk her way out of almost any situation.

Gazing around she took in all details of the room, noticing the people and their behaviour in order to spot potential enemies. Or a potential victim. If someone was foolish enough to not be careful with his money she would be delighted to relieve him of the task.
Strange people had gathered here and her eyes narrowed as she noticed several Elves. Ever had she disliked that race and throughout her life she had cursed the Elven part of her blood.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a waiter placing another mug of ale in front of her and she sighed.
Better let it go, Rhana! she thought and drank slowly while listening to the people around her.

Stories were being told and some people were planning future adventures. She recognized many of the places she heard mentioned for she had already lived a long life and had seen many places on her travels. She had been far to the North and to the South. On the western shores.... and in the East. A hint of a smile appeared on her face by the thought of her homeland.
Ah yes, the stories she could tell from there.

[ December 26, 2002: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Errand-Rider Karigan]

Karigan cast her eyes about and saw a strange figure- a newcomer, she thought. With a little start, she realized she had seen the likes of that woman before... but never in the service of Gondor.

Be not hasty to judge a soul simply on their appearance. Nothing marks you for as you are, and many things mark you as you are not. Karigan warned herself as she watched the other woman out of the corner of her eye.

After a long moment of internal debate, she casually got up from her seat near the fire and took one closer to the woman- in speaking distance. "You have traveled far." Karigan said by way of conversation starter. "Whence have you traveled from?"

[Maikadilwen]

Rhana looked at the woman in disbelief. Some nerve! she thought as she looked her over, trying to determine her purpose, then shrugged.
"Such interest in my business and even without telling me your name."
Her eyes were hard and her tone was harsh but quickly she continued. "But you're right! I have travelled far through many years and I've seen more than most. Name a place and chances are that I've been there."
She emptied her mug and immediately a waiter exchanged it with a full.

"I have been in the service of many over the years. I've even sailed the great sea though that ended when the captain refused to give me my payment."
A faint smile crept over her face at the memory of the unlucky captain who now sailed his ship on the bottom of the ocean after she had changed the course of the vessel and had fled in a skiff.

She leaned back in her seat and sighed. "Now I get by from day to day with what money I can s.... find. But I am for hire for any job there may be, IF the price is right, of course. And now I believe you've heard more than enough since you still haven't told me who you are. I can tell from the sorrow in your eyes that you know more about the dark side of life than most, yet it has given you great strength."

She did not take her gaze away from the other woman's face, but flashed her a smile, the first real smile she had given anyone in a very long time.
"I'm Rhana and you...?"

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Rimbaud]

New Light through Old Windows

Morning wandered in through the windows of the white-washed Inn of Gondor. With the curtains undrawn all night and the fire now ebbing away, the air was chill inside. Some patrons had not yet repaired to their rooms and woke slowly and with sore heads as the soft light stroked its way across the high-arched wooden beams of the ceiling, and danced among the table-tops.

The small door to the left of the fireplace opened to allow a figure to enter, slightly hunched. The familiar smart grey tunic was gone, replaced with a long woollen tunic, of a light blue. Those that observed the Innkeeper's low-key return would also have noted, perhaps with some wry amusement, that his tunic was fastened with an ash-grey sash around the waist.

He carefully closed the door behind him. He looked around the room. Most of the patrons still there from the previous day's feastings were well-known to him. There was no sign of the newcomers he had been told about; they had retired to bed, he supposed.

He sighed at seeing the state of the fire and the mess in the great Common Room. He clapped his hands twice, abruptly and straightened to his full height. There was no response for a long moment and then...all of a sudden the kitchen double-doors sprang open and a stream of grey clad staff streamed out, bearing mops and pails, wood and tongs for the fire. The room was a bustle of activity within minutes.

Rimbaud nodded with satisfaction. He would sweep his house into good working order!

"Cook!" he barked. "Breakfast will be in half an hour, sound the bell and start preparing!"

He smiled, a trifle ruthlessly. He bowed his head and stood, still and collected, in the centre of the cleaning whirlwind. He hoped his companions would accompany him at breakfast. He had much to consider and great need of stout hearts and quick minds.

[ January 02, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Errand-Rider Karigan]

"A freelancer." Karigan felt odd kinship for the other woman... she had been having thoughts like those herself. "You are the first I've met." She paused. "I'm Karigan." She returned the other woman's smile slightly. "I am an errand-rider in the service of- well, I was. After the birth of my son, I let that go."

The birth of your fatherless son... idiot. The thought was almost subconscious it was put to mind so often, and Karigan was not aware she grimaced slightly.

"What brings you to the Seventh Star? People, I have found, do not come here unless they are looking for something." Or hiding from someone. Like her. She'd always been riding away from life. Away from, or to? More rhetorics. More questions. Why didn't life have any answers for her?

[Bêthberry]

Long night vigils wear down those who keep watch. Bethberry was very tired, more from worry than from lack of sleep. Yet there was some relief in sight as the Princess slowly sank into a calmer sleep.

Hearing the breakfast bell and the commotion downstairs, Bethberry finally rose, covered her shoulders with a worn plaid shawl of soft wool, and sought the main room, where the Inn's staff was quickly laying a large table of comestibles and potables. She helped herself to a tray of two plates, filled with fruits and breads, mugs of hot beverages, and a bowl of thin gruel, to take upstairs to the invalided Estelyn.

The Innkeeper refused her questioning look of concern for his health, which made her all the more certain that he was hiding something about his condition from her, so she determined simply to watch him from time to time, from a distance. Her immediate responsibility was Estelyn.

Returning upstairs, she found the Princess awake, sitting up even, but wan in face. More worrisome was the apathy in the Princess's manner. She had no inclination to eat or even to talk, although her eyes acknowledged the presence and the concern of the woman who had saved her life.

Bethberry left the tray at the bedside, picked up a steaming mug of warm drink for herself, and walked over to the window, where the day's new light gave no hint of the night's terrifying activities.

[ January 06, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

A ray of pale winter sun shone through the windowpane onto the coverlet of the bed where Estelyn lay. Slowly it wandered upwards until it reached her face. The light and warmth on her eyelids awakened her from troubled dreams, yet she was strangely reluctant to open her eyes. She felt as if she were floating on a dark sea, with nothing to grasp that could pull her back into life.

When her eyelids finally fluttered open, she saw nothing that she recognized. This was not her room – where was she? Why was she here? She struggled against the weakness that lamed her limbs, trying to sit up, attempting to take stock of her surroundings.

The door opened and a woman entered the room. The face seemed familiar; she gazed at her with knitted brows, puzzled. The woman approached her with a bowl, but the smell of food and drink repulsed her. Her eyes dropped shut again and she fell into restless sleep.

When she awoke later, the sunlight had wandered to the far corner of the room. She felt refreshed and stronger, grasping eagerly the cup of water that stood on the low table at her bedside. Bethberry, who had been dozing in the armchair, was awake instantly and came to feel her brow and pulse.

“Bethberry!” Estelyn smiled. “Why are you here? Where are we?”

“Shhhh,” Bethberry admonished. “Slowly now, one question at a time is enough!”

Estelyn’s eyes widened as she listened to the brief account of the last days. Memories of dark tunnels came back to her mind, and she became aware of the pain in her wounded side.

“’Twas the poison, not the wound, that caused your illness,” Bethberry informed her. “Praised be Yavanna for healing herbs that have helped you! But now you must regain your strength.”

After a few spoonfuls of gruel, Estelyn was again exhausted and fell asleep. It was night when she awoke; a shaded lamp gave a flicker of light in the darkness. She remembered where she was, but why was she here? There was something she had wanted to do, somewhere she had wanted to go, some task she had wanted to fulfill.

A story! She sat bolt upright in bed as she remembered. It was a manuscript of which she had been informed! She was to take a long journey to receive the rare document for the library of Minas Anor. Excitement flooded her heart and mind as the royal family’s chief loremistress pondered the significance of the adventure that awaited her. A translation from Entish – what a find! She could hardly wait for morning to come.

* * * * * * * * *

The story emanating from the manuscript is Revenge of the Entish Bow (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=21&t=000010).

[ January 08, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Rimbaud]

The tale went on, and the crowd gathered around the story-tellers. An air of warmth and happiness suffused the common room. The laughter, the mirthful tears and the general sense of glee with the story swam around them. Eyes sparkled and wits blinded, as the story held them entranced, men, women, children and other monsters.

Estelyn, pale, thin and covered in a thick blanket sat at the centre, smiling as she wove the stories from the apointed tellers. Rimbaud lounged most unprofessionally upon his desk, gently ading and abutting the story; he did receive one or two exasperated looks, which he replied with a most forthright eye.

Smoke from the fire wreathed up among the beams, curling, twisting. The Inn was indeed a jolly and comfortable place to be this eve. What fine tales were being told!

Unseen, or unnoticed, the staff at the Inn bought food and refilled cups, cleared messes and guided guests. Those with sharper eyes, whose wits were less addled by the smoke, ale and merriment, may have noticed that each of the servers now bore a thick, short knife at the belt, in a plain sheath. The Innkeeper's own scabbarded blade leant against the great black desk, an unheard of event. The scabbard appeared freshly polished and the hilt rebound.

Those with the sharpest eyes of all would notice that Rimbaud's apparent relaxation and enjoyment masked a fierce tension. To those closest to him, he seemed a tightly coiled spring.

Yet the evening went on, and the story drew more and more laughs and the atmosphere of well-being was hard to dispel...

[Bêthberry]

Not even the iron-cold blast of gale-like winds as the doors creaked opened was enough to disturb the raucous laughter in the Seventh Star.

It seemed as if everyone was mesmerised by the tale Estelyn was weaving, something to do with a plucky bow and much stringing. Her hands told the story as much as her voice, as they seemed to measure, in their rapid extensions and contractions, some sort of rising and falling action. Whatever the true nature of the story, giddy titters and snickers and hearty chortles rose to echo in the ceiling's rafters.

Bethberry was able to pass into the room unnoticed, hang her cloak on the wall hooks near the Innkeeper's desk, and stand before the hearth, seemingly to warm her chilled bones and blanched flesh while she waited to converse unobtrusively with the Innkeeper. She observed Rimbaud, who to all and sundry appeared the very model of proper Innkeeper deportment. He looked towards her once, and her trenchant gaze saw through his pose, but he would give nothing away--and yet, gave all, with that one glance.

From somewhere outside the Inn, her ears picked up the wavering howl of a stray wolf, a strange sound for the White City, and she knew that matters remained unresolved. She watched Rimbaud until he could feel her eyes upon his secret and then she quietly apprised him of her news; he barely acknowledged her whispered confidence and then she passed on towards the large group of patrons laughing around the storytellers.

Warmed now as much by the rousing, spirited comraderie as by the fire, Bethberry sought out those with whom she might share a plan or two. Conversation had moved on towards the other main story currently making the rounds in Gondor, Gandalf's story of castle curses and lost treasures, of dangerous travel and daring odds. Bethberry looked around for Gamba, but couldn't see the hobbit for all the patrons there that night. Nor could she see Pio, who she knew was hard pressed by the long night watches she had been keeping at the House of Healing. Bethberry sighed as she remembered that Birdie was called away by other demands; she missed the woman's ready humour. Bethberry decided to listen to the discussion of how to approach the castle...

* * * * * *

OOC: In honour of our storytelling, I make here my 1001st post.

* * * * * *

[ January 19, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rimbaud]

Rimbaud absorbed the information quietly. There were plans within machinations here. He would need to collect the trusted to him. He mused.

* * * * * * * * * *

Concentrating hard on the stories, the crowd let the evening draw on. The fire started to fade and the night drew in around the white Inn. With a start, Rimbaud broke from reverie.

"This is no good!" he cried. Clapping his hands in the familiar way, he rose and strode for the kitchens, thoroughly disturbing the tellers of the story.

"Pray, what ails thee, Grey Rimbaud?" questioned Estelyn.

He turned at the kitchen door, one hand resting on the frame.

"Only this, your Highness," he proclaimed. "It is much past dinner, and I have been neglectful! Musicians!" He barked at the drowsing lute-players, who were shocked into wakefulness.

Rimbaud pushed hurriedly through into the kitchens. Behind him, music started up again, and the other patrons, freed briefly from the enchanting spells of the Tales, grinned sheepishly at each other. There was a small stampede for the bar and the waiting staff were hurried off their feet as the crowd realised the dryness of their palates...

[ January 27, 2003: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Envinyatar]

He picked up his lute, the merry ribbons on its neck fluttering as he joined in the airy melody. His fingers pressed the strings and picked the chords in light succession. Head bent over the instrument, as if to watch the notes fly from it, he mouthed the somber words writ for the song -

Wise men patience never want,
Good men pity cannot hide ;
Feeble spirits only want
Of revenge, the poorest pride :
He alone, forgive that can,
Bears the true soul of a man.

Done! The last notes barely fallen away, and now the lute-master calls for another sweet melody, its harmony enlarged by the clink of tankards on the tables and the counterpoint of conversations as they rise and fall.

Derufin, softly singing the lyric, looked out upon the inattentive throng.

Now winter nights enlarge
The number of their hours;
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o'erflow with wine,
Let well-tun'd words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey’d Love
While youthful Revels, Masks, and Courtly sights,
Sleep’s leaden spells remove.

_________________________________

Verses from Thomas Campion's Firste Booke and Third Booke of Ayres

[Estelyn Telcontar]

As much as she enjoyed the cozy friendliness of the Seventh Star, and as much as she enjoyed the story that she had begun to tell, in which others had now joined, Estelyn longed for her own room. She felt well and strong again, eager to take up her work as Loremistress in the Library of Minas Anor. She took advantage of a pause in the story to consult with Bethberry in whispers, then announced, "Let the story continue; our faithful scribe will record it for all to read. I have recovered enough to be able to go home now, though I promise to visit and tell what I know of the Entish Bow as often as possible." There were some disappointed murmurs and many calls of farewell as she left the common room with the Innkeeper, who helped her to gather her few belongings. They spoke in low tones at the entrance; she laid her hand reassuringly on his arm, then opened the door and was gone.

[Lugbúrz]

He had never understood why he felt misplaced. Did he have a choice? He never stopped to consider that, but he felt misplaced, and thoroughly at that.

Perhaps it was the City. He had considered many a time to venture outside it, but each time the call of duty had pulled him back.

Little did he know that someday, maybe soon, he would travel to the very Edge.

To a place called Home.

[Rimbaud]

The Innkeeper stood and cordially invited the Members of Gondor and any other interested parties to a discussion of the story-telling, in The Shire, Rohan and Gondor. The discussion can be found here (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=21&t=000012).

[Hirilaelin]

Stars sparkled in the cold heavens as a figure made its way to the doors of the inn, seeking refuge from the chilling night air. With a soft creaking, the doors opened, and the person stepped inside shrouded in a heavy woolen cloak. A burst of music, song, and happy voices greeted the woman as she pushed the hood of the cloak from her head. A heavy looking pack was set upon her back, and the wood of a highly polished quarterstaff gleamed in the firelight.

She reveled a moment in the glorious warmth of the inn before walking up to the bar. Many people were crowded there, eating, drinking and talking. Managing to get a place at the counter, she addressed the barkeep in a suprisingly low voice for a woman, asking for a drink. "Warm spiced wine please."

[ February 12, 2003: Message edited by: Hirilaelin ]

[Burzdol]

Gondor, faithful land of awe. I have finally made it to thee. The hooded ranger looked at the cheerie inn and a sliver of a smile came upon his long despairing face. The hood slipped of and lengths of black hair fell near his shoulders. His eyes glint green in the morning sun. He found his legs moving towards this place though his mind was else where, in memories of old. The door was in reach of his hand and thus was slightly opened. He looked in and more things filled his mind. His father's war epicts and mother's stories about wizards, hobbits, and dragons. Stopping at the door lasted only a moment before will let him inside. Entering was like a rush of warm water, soothing his wild soul. His hand slipped of the handle of the sword and it was forgotten.

The will lead him right to a small table at the back of the inn. He remembered what his father's last words, "Ildur, my son. I love you. Share my love and vengence with Middle Earth. Become a ranger." Tears ran slowly down the man's face, but were quickly wiped away by the tip of his cloak. Then he remebered a passage from his mother's favorite novel,
Be who you want,
Do what you want,
Just don't forget who you are,
When you believe life is over,
Remember what you lived for,
So be not who they want,
Do not what they want,
If something happens just remember this,
Life may be tough,
But the greats didn't give up,
And neither should thou.

He hung his head in silence and memory. Ten years ago they were taken, why not me in their place? All I am is a ranger, my father was a warrior. Why did they take him? Wiping more tears from his eyes he looked up. Laughter was about in this place, floating in the air like smoke. Men sat together talking and joking, all happy. It felt as if the world of hate and fighting didn't reach its stone hard grasp on this inn. No bloodshed stained the floors. Men weren't fighting for their lives and barely surviving. His father had been in those situations, fighting for the freedom of Middle Earth.

An old man sat across the table and spoke gently, "You look like you need a drink. What do thou like? Malt beer, ale, whiskey?"

"A malt beer will be fine, here's some money," the ranger held out money to the man.

"No thanks, young 'un. This one's on me," the old man walked away. Moments later a foaming glass of beer came before Ildur.

"Thank you sir," as he looked up the old man was gone. He emtied the glass and lay his head on the table. Slumber overtook his weary eyes. Visions of things he could not name filled his head.

[ February 18, 2003: Message edited by: Burzdol ]

[Burzdol]

Ildur awoke to the same cheerful inn. Hateless it seemed to the eye, yet something clouded his mind. Growing danger, presence of something to happen. Whatever it was, it was coming closer. Closer to him. Ildur had sensed something of this sort while he passed through the Misty Mountains.

The inn door burst open and an obviously rich man walked inn. He was dressed in furs of different sorts and a large broad sword hung at his side. The gold on him confirmed Ildur's suspition, he was most likely a prince. The man walked to Ildur's table and sat down.

"Hi. I'm Prince Celof," he said as if Ildur was at his table. He pulled out of his coat a large champange bottle and started to drink. After a little he had drunk the whole thing. Eltor watched as Celof swaggered to a table that people were playing cards at.

Sometime that night Iltur made his way to the fireplace and fell asleep in a chair. He awoke to find the prince still drunk and rid of all his gold. Iltur laughed out loud at the man. Hah. Just what I need to start my day. This is going to be a good day, wakeing up to this.

[Cuthalion]

The Inn door opened to reveal a rather sinister character one would have taken for an Elf at first glance, yet the ears were a bit too blunt and the face a bit too broad. He walked with swagger, for he was one who was extremely sure of himself, no matter what the occasion, be it wine, women or song...well, maybe not song, but wine and women anyway.

His looks and manners were those of a gentleman, but those that had known him well knew the truth behind his facade. He was a cold-blooded killer, an assassin of great finesse and skill, charming, humorous and deadly. Of course, those that had known him were, alas, quite dead. A testament to his talent, and his loneliness.

He entered slowly, looking the place over, then after nodding to the innkeeper, he selected a place near the fire, but not so near as to let its light shine on his face. A barmaid sidled up to him and he ran the back of his hand up her arm, then he grabbed her hand and kissed it. "An ale and some food, my good woman. Make it fast and this will be yours." He flipped a gold coin onto the table and she eyed it greedily. With a wink, she disappeared and his eyes followed her with appreciation.

[Rimbaud]

Welcome to the Star, Burzdol and Cuthalion. Your characters sound interesting, are these ones you use regularly? Cuthalion, one minor point on your post: the staff in the Inn, if you read back a little, are very unobtrusive and barely noticeable. They are so normal that the eye drifts over them, the faintest hint of sorcery. I like the sense of impending darkness in both of your posts.

No new games in Gondor for a small while yet, I would think, but do not be disheartened. smilies/smile.gif

[Cuthalion]

*Is badly shaken as the aforementioned bar-maid suddenly vanished* The newcomer shook his head and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. A glamour? Too many years in the Wild by himself? "Guess this means I don't get my ale or a hot meal either. Drat the luck! I would walk into an enchanted Inn." he grumbled to himself as he walked over to the innkeeper and placed his order in person.

[Burzdol]

Ildur awoke from an odd slumber. He hadn't remembered where he was or why he was here. Then he remembered once he saw the rich man laying curled up on the floor.

Ildur walked to the bar. "Malt beer please," he said to the friendly bartender. A pint was set in front of the ranger and he paid the man. The drink didn't hold him over, so he ordered a small breakfast. Ildur ate the food and walked outside. The door opened suddenly and the rich man walked was shoved out. He fell over and Ildur took a large sack of money from his belt.

Ildur walked back into the inn and sat back down. He laughed to himself and then sat in silence. Ildur walked to the bar and around the inn.

[Ransom]

The playful winter wind whistled through the skeletal trees, playfully tumbling and dancing down the lane. Most of the population of Gondor were probably working themselves into a frenzy as they hunkered down for what promised to be a long, harsh winter. Only a few travelers wandered the lonely path toward the White Tower this time of year. Here a peddler making a final round before finding a nice village to settle down for the winter. There a team of workman making hasty repairs to the road before the first snows. The sound of horns betrayed the location of a group of young nobles riding out for a day of fox hunting.

Sir Barak Mindalel felt an odd apprehension as he neared his boyhood home. He idly patted his Lochaber axe. It demonstrated his simple views on life and aesthetics. If it works, it’s beautiful. Designed to lop off limbs with a single blow or shell an armored man like an oyster, the two-foot long blade mounted on a four-foot handle lay quietly across the man’s lap. The wariness acquired from years living in the land of Harad did not leave quickly. A soft clinking sound emerged from beneath his simple brown cloak, betraying the suit of partial plate beneath. His face was careworn and scarred. The man’s dark brown eyes roamed across the land, silently studying the terrain. He unconsciously pulled the hood of his cloak over his closely cropped black hair before glancing at his companion.

Barak had endured no small amount of jokes and ridicule over his choice of a traveling companion. While most knights of any position had several pages and a squire or two to attend his every need, Barak’s traveling companion was a female Gondorian named Mara. At five foot three inches, she seemed like a little girl next to the six foot five knight. Her tanned hands, relics of Harad, idly stroked a dark black cat. The knight felt a pang of guilt as he studied her face. Her resemblance to his deceased wife was uncanny. Neither was especially pretty or eye catching, save for their brilliant red hair, piercing green eyes, and their iron will. He’d found her in the slave markets of Umbar, owned by a particularly fat merchant. She was his unwilling playmate and, as the merchant smugly informed the knight, knew several branches of esocentric knowledge. After a lengthy period of interrogation, Barak delivered the merchant’s soul to the Gods with the business end of his Lochaber. While he could admire her spirit, her absolute silence still startled him. As far as he knew, she hadn’t said a sing word since her first birthday.

The sun had scarcely to set as the unusual pair arrived at the Seventh Star. Barak slowly turned a critical eye over the inn. He’d frequented a fair number of inns in most of the cities in the known world, but this was probably one of the best he’d visited. Maybe he’d even get a good night of sleep without being bitten by an errant bedbug. But Mara’s health was fickle at best, and a brief stopover would do her good. The knight’s gaze fell upon a stable boy. “Hail, neighbor. How much is a room with two beds for a night?”

Barak refused to sleep near Mara.

“Three silver coins, sir.”

The knight carefully counted out seven silver coins and handed to the boy. “Six for two nights, one for you and the other boys. Stable our horses and move our gear to the room. They’ll be another one for you later if the horses are well taken care of.”

Barak dismounted and handed the reins to the boy. The unusual feeling of safety and peace were already beginning to grate his nerves. Mara, on the other hand, seemed almost content as she marched toward the door. The cat, on the other hand, yowled its displeasure at having its nap interrupted. The knight paused for a moment to transfer his weapon from his saddle to a sheath hidden under his cloak before hurrying after his friend.

****

Mara glared harshly at her dear friend as he idly picked at his breakfast. He quickly caught the unspoken message and redoubled his efforts to conquer the offending omelet. The knight swallowed another mouthful before attempting what passed as conversation. “We’ll be resting here for some time, Mara. The Gods know you’re more tired than I am, and I won’t have you catching pneumonia again.”

“Besides,” he added with a slightly smug tone, “they say that they’ve got some of the better storytellers here. And I know how much you like stories.”

Mara’s left boot moved with extreme speed, smashing into her friend’s leg greave. It wouldn’t hurt, but it did make a fulfilling banging noise. She smiled back at him before leaning back and scratching behind her cat’s ears. She did love stories.

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[ February 21, 2003: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Burzdol]

Ildur was bored of walking for now. Instead he walked out into the cold again. Even though his eyes were still slumping a little from lack of rest, he stood for awhile. He let the icy mist hit him dead on. When ice had filled his thick, black hair he walked slowly to the stables.

"Here's your horse, sir," a small man said.

"Yes. Thank you very much." He started saddel the all black horse when the man came back up, his hand was held out for payment. "Yes here you go." He continued to finish saddeling the horse and then mounted. Time and time again he rode through these parts. Still this was the first time he was here at this inn. He took one last look at the place and turned and rode into the chilling wind.

[Cuthalion]

Impressed by the rogue's lightness of hand in relieving the gentleman if his riches, Gilbarad was disappointed to see him leave. "Might have been interesting company. Ah well, best go eat this while its still relatively warm." Shrugging his shoulders, he picked up a bowl of stew that had been placed in front of him in which swam several pieces of meat, (he hoped) along with a few carrots. Settling near the fire again, he longed for someone or something to come along to ease his boredom.

[Mithadan]

A soldier of Gondor entered the Seventh Star and proceeded quickly to the end of the bar. He took a scroll, unrolled it and tacked it to the wall in a prominent place.

Then, with an imperious glance at the denizens of the Inn, he proclaimed in a loud voice, "By Order of the King, this scroll is posted here for all to see!"

Even as he retreated to the door, the patrons of the Inn rushed over to read the scroll. It said:

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

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BARROW-DOWNS!

On May 1, 2003, the forums at the Barrow-Downs will reach the ripe old age of THREE! While the site itself is a bit older, the third anniversary of the opening of the forums is a cause to CELEBRATE!!!!! Therefore, we will have a PARTY in celebration of the third birthday (uh, death day?) of the Barrow-Downs forums and all members are invited!!!!!

This year’s party will include the presentation of the first Barrow-Downs Awards, known far and wide as the Downies. The celebration will begin with a red carpet entrance before guests enter the Grand Hall where the ceremonies will take place. Come in costume and in character assuming the proper flourishes and airs of the Barrow-Downs elite and don’t forget to strike a pose before the paparazzi; this may be your 15 minutes of fame. But remember, there may never again be so many Administrators, Moderators and Assistants assembled in one place at the same time again, so while the party will be fun and funny, don’t forget to maintain some slight sense of decorum.

PLACE: The Grand Hall of Minas Anor (the Gondor RPG forum in a thread to be opened there).

TIME: Thursday, May 1, 2003 beginning at 9:00am EDT until????

DRESS: Formal Middle Earth Wear.

There will be an open bar, and meals will served by our polite wait staff.

COME CELEBRATE THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE BARROW-WIGHT AND THE BARROW-DOWNS!

RSVP

[piosenniel]

The great iron plaque over the fireplace had been taken down for a brief period. Pio sat at a nearby table wondering why the new Innkeeper was fussing over it with a polishing cloth. He kept spitting on the cloth wrapped round his index finger, and seemed to be going over a portion of the inscribed letters on the great oval disc.

‘I hope you are not thinking of spitting on my name, my dear. Very unsanitary habit.’

She rattled the ice cubes in her tumbler, and took a last swig of gin, bending closer to see whose name he was polishing up.

‘Ah! About time that name was graved there!’ she thought to herself.

She stopped a passing server and exchanged the empty for a full. ‘This calls for congaratulations!’ Pio looked about the darkened Inn, peering as best she could into the shadows.

‘Hey! Where are you, sweets! Come up and join me, I’ll buy you a drink and show you round if you’ld like . . .’

[ May 09, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Mithadan]

The Innkeeper glared at Piosenniel as he completed the polishing of The List. Of course, this was the List of adventurers whose skills were recognized as being of the highest calibre and worthy of recognition.
; those approved for the organization and managing of adventures in the realm of Gondor. Even as he finished his work, a similar plaque was being prepared in the Tower of Ecthelion.

He looked meaningfully to the shadows and, without a word, several assistants appeared to assist the Innkeeper in raising the plaque and returning it to its original position. It had been some time since the List had last been revised and, on this occaision, a new name had been added, that of Amanaduial the Archer.

Settling in behind the bar, the Innkeeper waited for the arrival of the newest adventurer to be so honored. For somehow, each such person knew when the time had come to present themselves to the denizens of the Inn for congratulations...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Amanaduial fought her way through the windy night to the Inn door, where she glanced up at the sign. The Seventh Star name and logo swung in the wind, but the brass hinges looked steady enough. Aman took a moment to steady her own slim frame before going in. It hadnt been that long since she had visited the Star, just under six months, but it had been longer than she had intended. Of late though, it had seemed there was a more pressing need to get here...still, she was blowed if she knew what it was. Her wolves still travelled with her, weaving around her legs. They were determined to come in out of the wind, and Aman just hoped the Innkeeper wouldnt mind- word had it that there had been a new Innkeeper here, as well as in its sister inns in Rohan and the Shire, The Green Dragon and The White Horse. Well, he'd better not mind wolves...

Stepping through the door she let in a blast of wind that blew several papers and light objects from their perches. Aman winced. Talk about making an entrance. The wolves slunk in behind her and Aman half expected to be thrown out immediately; a dark-cloaked figure with two rather villainous looking wolves at her heels. Hesitantly, Aman pulled back her hood and looked around the Inn...

Among the things Aman may have expected to happen were being thrown out, having her wolves thrown out, or being given funny looks all night and being asked whether 'they' were house-trained.

What she certainly wasnt expecting was a cheer.

"Ah, and talk of the devil, here she is!"

Aman froze, her hands still on her cloak as she was about to take it off and hang it on a coatstand at the door. She stood stock still for a moment, then, veeeeery slowly, she turned around. To her surprise, she saw smiling faces, two of them familiar as...

"Pio! Mithadan!" Aman exclaimed, surprised. The latter smiled and nodded appreciatively where he sat behind the bar, and Pio grinned happily at her, walking quickly across the room. Aman met her halfway, hugging her friend. She released her, Pio's infectious grin making her beam as well, but she was still puzzled. "Wait a minute...whats all this about talk of the devil? And cheering? Gracious me Pio, I dont think Ive been cheered in at least five score years!"

Pio covered her mouth for a moment, gasping but still smiling. "You don't know? Oh, how odd that you appeared now!" She turned to the Innkeeper, eyebrows raised. "Wouldnt you say so?"

The Innkeeper simply smiled mysteriously and raised an eyebrow. Pio held his gaze for a moment, before apparently remembering the slightly worried Aman, still hovering uncertainly in front of her. She inclined her head, motioning for the other to follow and she led her to the plaque over the fireplace.

Aman had of course seen the plaque before, the last time she came. It listed all of the noble Lords and Ladies of Gondor; Mithadan, Thenamir, Gilthalion, Bethberry, Gandalph the Grey, Piosenniel, Rimbaud, Mark 12-30, Child of the Seventh Age and Estelyn Telcontar. But there was something different about the plaque now, the way it gleamed in the soft light, the reflection of the flames in the fireplace illuminating the curves and swirls in the letters. But there was a new name there as well beside those of the scribes of Gondor.

"Oh good gods..." Aman murmered, then her voice raised to an exclamation. "Amanaduial the Archer! Here?!"

She traced the letters with her fingers. Turning she looked at the still grinning Innkeeper, and pointed a finger at him as if about to reprimand him. "You knew I would come! But how?"

Once again he only shrugged. Aman smiled, then gave a small, happy laugh, fuelled by her surprise. Her, little Aman, beside the nobles of Gondor. "Well then mystery man, even if you can somehow get me here from the Shire simply by the power of a small, indecipherable letter and maybe even simply the power of your mysterious persona, I thank you for this."

"Tis a pleasure Aman, a pleasure."

Pio smiled now. "See, he can speak! A drink Aman? After all this calls for celebration!"

Aman nodded gratefully. "Please, thankyou Pio. I'll have...do you do mulled wine? I've gotten rather used to the stuff in the Shire."

[piosenniel]

Obsidian and Jet sniffed cautiously at the silent grey clad figure that hovered at Aman’s elbow. Their hackles raised slightly as he came round to face the young woman, their lips drawing back slightly to reveal the glinting tips of sharp teeth. Unphased, the server bowed politely to Aman, offering her the tray with a single goblet of mulled wine.

Pio smiled at the two canines, one of whom, Jet she thought, had stuck his wolvish nose deeply into the grey robes and sneezed upon inhaling deeply.

You’ll not get much but dust from those robes, my furred friends. Startled the wolf looked up at her as her thoughts came to him. They have no scent. And as far as I can tell, there is a real possibility that there is nothing beneath their raiment.

Both wolves chuffed at this remark, and narrowed their eyes at the servant, who was now just as quietly withdrawing. Obsidian nipped at her mate’s ear and both settled down round Aman’s feet, protectively.

Pio, sat down at one of the tables near the fireplace and admired the plaque for a moment. She tipped her chair back and swung her long legs up to the table’s top, much to the consternation of the new Innkeeper.

‘So, Mithadan, now that you’ve got that birthday party just about squared away, how about a small affair here in the Inn for the new denizen?’ She heard him stifle a groan at the mention of the word ‘party’. ‘Something small, but fun. How about it?’ She looked about at the high ceilings and rafters in the Inn, wondering how a little techno music might sound bouncing off them . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami pushed against the heavy wooden door, and poked her head inside to take a good look around. She thought she'd heard a few scratching sounds emenating from the direction of the White Horse Inn, but couldn't be certain. Perhaps it was only one of the small mice scurrying about the Inn looking for a few scraps that could be used to supplement his bedding.

Cami could scarcely remember the last time she'd seen a visitor at the Inn. The traffic had slowed down considerably from what it had been in better days. There was still a drowsy Innkeeper who'd fallen asleep over his brew, raising his head occasionally to nod vacantly in her direction. He looked familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

In any case, the fellow's snores reached up to the rafters like a cacophonous symphony. Speaking of rafters, Cami rapidly scanned the beems to see if Bird was anywhere in sight, but she could not catch even a tiny glimpse of her sparkling black feathers. She reminded herself to ty and drop Bird a note and see if she was available for a little bar hopping.

A quick look about the room revealed a very surprising thing. There were indeed three people in the Inn, all of whom she knew. She ran over first to Aman to congratulate her on the recent news that she'd been added to the list of those able to start a game in Gondor.

After giving Aman a warm hug, Cami added, "Gondor has been too quiet of late. I hope you'll consider stirring things up a bit so we'll have more writing and tales recited, both in the Inn and throughout the land of Gondor."

Over in the corner, Piosenniel and Mithadan seemed to be having a good natured spat as to whether there should be a party to celebrate Aman's arrival. They were squabbling about who should plan it, whether there should be invitations and what foods should be prepared for the festive event.

Laughing at their silliness, Cami took the broom out of the closet and also armed herself with several pails and rags. Then she began vigorously attacking the piles of dust balls and hanging cobwebs which adorned the area of the bar. First things first. Until the Inn was cleaned up and made presentable, it would be senseless to invite guests for a party.

[mark12_30]

She didn't hear the door open or close. When a soft voice spoke gently at her elbow, Amanaduial looked down in surprise.

"Congratulations, Loremaster Amanaduial."

She met the gaze of a small, slender, quiet hobbit, blandly dressed in a greyish-brown cloak that had made him easy to miss in the smoky room. Her eyebrows went up, and she studied him. The only distinctive thing about him in hobbit-terms was that his hair was long and braided.

His eyes sparkled at her surprise. "There are few hobbits living in Gondor, but some of us outlanders visit occasionally." He smiled at Cami, who let go of her broom long enough to wave and say, "Hello, Lindo."

Lindo turned back to Amananduial, with Cami's greeting lingering gently in his mind. "Amanaduial, I have some things to attend to, but I do hope the rumors of a celebration in your honor are true, and I look forward to your stories here in the city. It will be good to hear some new tales. Welcome, Amanaduial. We are honored to have you here." He stood, bowed to her, and with a wave at Cami, softly departed the Inn.

[ May 14, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Birdland]

A black and white dart skimmed through the open door of the inn, dive-bombing the wolves and causing them to leap and snap at the tempting target.

But Birdie just landed high in the rafters, where she submitted a quite impressive imitation of a raspberry to her audience - considering she had no lips in this form.

Then she leapt down to the floor, morphing into woman's form as she fell, and landed with a thump and a cloud of dust on the battered, beer-polished boards of the "Star".

"Amanaduial! I knew we'd see you here before long! Congratulations!"

"However," Birdie pouted, "while you were reciting the roster of Loremasters here in Gondor, methinks you neglected to read one name...THERE!" Birdie pointed dramatically at the bronze plate above the mantel. Then her head poked forward as she squinted in the dim light.

"Hold on a minute. What was Rimbaud thinking?" Birdie strode over to the mantel and started shoving aside two candlesticks, a tinderbox, a wooden shoe with some loose change and a mouse nest, and a model of a smiling tree with "Souvenir of Fangorn" carved in its belly.

Finally clearing away the Middle-earth detritus, she again pointed to the plaque. "There! Right there. 'Birdland'. I always get left off the old lists, even when I'm on the old lists." she grumbled. "I know I haven't been around much, but still..."

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman grinned as Birdland muttered away to herself. The shapechanger always made Aman smile, with her melodramatic and mischievous way, although she hadnt had much track with her in recent times.

The wolves growled slightly, but more than a little confusedly- they had been following events right up to the point when the bird falling from the rafters had become a woman. Obsidian walked forward rather cautiously, for a wolf, and sniffed at Birdie's leg. The woman looked down at her, hands on hips, returning the wolf's golden gaze for a moment, eyebrows raised. After a moment, Dia nodded slightly, as if satisfied with something.

Birdie looked back up. "Well, what was that about?" She demanded.

Aman shrugged, smiling still. "Do not meddle with wolves, for they are mysterious, and curious of Neekerbreekers." She replied, as if quoting something.

Birdie looked perplexed for a moment, a slight frown on her face, before throwing her hands up. "Oh, I don't know, first my name is completely ignored, then I'm inspected by a wolf, no less..."

Aman laughed, shaking her head. "Sorry about that, Birdland, I...sorry anyway."

She looked around the Inn, stepping back slightly as Cami breezed past, bearing her broom before her like a weapon, a dustpan hanging off one arm on a piece of string like a shield. Goodness, two hobbits in one dat, all the way out here in Gondor. Aman had never met the other, Lindo, before, but his manner was very friendly, and she hoped to meet him at more length later maybe, wishing that he would have stayed longer.

"Techno? In this Inn? Oh please Pio, techno music in the Seventh Star?!"

Aman smiled at Mithadan's indignant voice as it was raised momentarily to be heard throughout the almost empty bar. She decided to add her own two cents, in a way...with a mischievious smile she strolled up to the bar.

"I think rock could be interesting."

Both turned to look at her at this point, staring at her incredulously, before disagreeing simmultaneuously. Aman raised an eyebrow, before getting up once more and walking slowly around the Star, so quiet and empty now, when before it had been so full of life. Well, a party would certainly do something about that...

[*Varda*]

Poppy Took pushed open the door of the Seventh Star, peering round it to see who was there. The large room was nearly empty, as she saw Cami in one corner, Aman nearby, and a few others. The Inn had once been so much busier.

Easing her whole body round the heavy door, Poppy wandered over to Cami and Aman, wondering when others might start to appear.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman heard the door click shut and turned. Her face broke into a grin when she saw who the opener of the door was.

"Poppy! Poppy Took!" She exclaimed. Well, three hobbits now?!

[Bêthberry]

A grey and brown falcon who answered to the name Wyrd hovered over the Seventh Star, remembering the last time he was useful to his owner Bethberry. This time he noticed the new Gondorian, Aman, and realized this would be news of great interest and happiness to her. He cocked his head cheerily at Aman, warbled a single note, and then flew off in search of his owner to tell her the news.

[*Varda*]

“Aman!” Poppy smiled. “You can start new games in Gondor now? Congratulations!”

Looking around at the few people about the forsaken Inn, she sighed. Where was everyone? The Seventh Star was a graveyard, apart from the few who occupied it and were full of life, trying to revive the deathly silence. Mithadan and Birdland seemed to be discussing party affairs, but there didn’t seem to be too many around to celebrate. Surely the room would liven up soon.

Setting her bag down on the table, she rummaged around for a minute, before pulling out a large banner saying ‘Congratulations!’ Just one of the things she had picked up on her way here…

Standing on a table, the hobbit pinned it to the wall, wobbling slightly. Once certain it wasn’t squint, she let herself down, looking at the bright addition to the room.

[mark12_30]

After several hours had passed, the door opened, and the hobbit in the greyish-brown cloak entered. He pushed his hood back, revealing the elvish braids, and looked across at Poppy with a smile. Then he hung up his cloak on a peg, revealing well-worn clothing with a noticable elvish influence, especially in the brooch (which he did not leave on the cloak, but re-pinned on his jacket) and in a small ring he wore. He rolled up his sleeves, and came over to Poppy and Aman.

"Good to see you again so soon, Amanaduial," he said, with another smile. "Hello, I don't believe we've met; my name is Lindo, " he said to Poppy.

"My name is Poppy. Hello," she replied.

"I hadn't planned on returning so soon, but I am glad that I could. May I join you?"

Poppy smiled. One more. "Please."

"How's the apple cider here?"

Poppy grinned. "I haven't tried it."

"I'll let you know. " Lindo signalled to a waiter. Then he raised an eyebrow at Aman. "What kind of rock?" he said with a sly twinkle in his eye.

[ May 17, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[*Varda*]

Poppy smiled at the new arrival to the group, one she had previously not met before. The hobbit standing in front of her seemed to have distinctly elvish qualities, not only in his clothes. Sipping some of the apple cider Lindo had asked a waiter to bring over, she talked away.

“Well, it’s nice to see some more people turning out for the party,” she observed, though in truth the room was still noticeably empty. “I’m sure even more will pop by sooner or later,” optimism rising in her voice. “And if not, we can still have a good party by ourselves.”

A spider dropped from a cobweb above Poppy’s head, scuttling off across the floor. Eyeing more cobwebs and spiders above her head, Poppy frowned. Finished her apple cider in a gulp, she turned to Lindo and Aman.

“Perhaps Cami needs a hand with the cleaning, it has been a while since the room was last aired,” and grabbing a small rag, set off across the room and began vigorously cleaning at a stain on a table, hoping for no spiders to fall upon her curly head.

[Orual]

A pair of sharp green eyes spotted the Inn a little ways down the road. Their owner smiled, slinging her pack over her shoulder. Rest was ahead, with a solid roof above her, and a warm meal.

The traveller's face was weatherbeaten, creased and tanned by many years of wandering, many years since she had left her father's home. Her cloak, dark green, was patched and sewn many times over, but the silver clasp still shone as brightly as it had the first day she had worn it. Her hair was covered by the hood, though several strands of dark red slipped by her face. The tunic she wore, once beige, was now splotched and stained with wear, and her brown trousers, once her brother's, were more patched than her cloak. Her leather shoes were cracked and dirty, but intact, so she still wore them.

She slipped into the Inn, opening the door only enough to let herself through. She threw back her hood, letting her whole mane of red hair show. She was a bit of a wild sight, not having paused to brush her hair in a while, but her eyes were gentle and her face kind. She ordered a glass of wine, and, after receiving it, sat down by herself at a table by the fire.

She liked the look of this inn, the feel of it, especially the feel of a warm fire at her back. Tonight she would eat well, and have a bed to sleep in, and perhaps, if she was fortunate, conversation. She loved travelling in the wild, but she was sometimes lonely out there, with no human contact. Tonight, though, tonight would be different.

Talmérië walked over to Amanaduial, and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry if I startled you," she said, smiling. "You may not recognize me, but we've met before. I want to congratulate you on your achievement. You deserve it."

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman gave a small laugh. To be having this conversation. She tipped her head to one side and looked at Lindo.

"Hmm...more indie rock, like the White Stripes? Or harder stuff, like Muse or-" A hand on Aman's shoulder made her look around into the green eyes of an elven woman. The other smiled disarmingly.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," She started. Aman shook her head, but she was still looking into those oddly familiar eyes. "You may not recognize me, but we've met before. I want to congratulate you on your achievement. You deserve it."

Aman grinned back, nodding graciously. "Thankyou. I'm sorry, there is something familiar about you, but I...I cant seem to place your name..."

[mark12_30]

Poppy glanced at Lindo, as if expecting him to know the new elf. Lindo indicated he didn't, but his eyes twinkled. He was enjoying finding elves in the city of men, and rested happily in the comfortable and homey presence of Poppy. With one foot in both worlds, he was happy enough with the company that despite his empty glass, he didn't want to introduce a waiter.

He smiled at Poppy, and waited for the new stranger to introduce herself. How unusual to meet an elf with red hair and green eyes, he thought. I wonder who she is descended from. He liked her patchy faded clothes and especially the tangles in her hair, and wondered what songs or tales she had to share, and whether she liked storms or not. He suspected that perhaps she did.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami glanced back at Poppy and Lindo. Party or no party......this place needed a cleaning. She grabbed a mop and began vigorously swabbing the floor, knocking over the bucket in her exuberance and sending rivulets of water streaming out in all directions. She snatched up several rags and fell hastily to her knees, making wide arcs with the dry cloths until she'd sopped up the worst of the mess.

As she worked, the small hobbit reflected. What we really need is for some brave soul to wander in through the door with a tale to tell or an adventure that needs doing. It had been a long spell since any ships had unfurled their sails and set out from Gondor, or warriors had mounted upon their steeds and gone galloping off into the night.

Cami threw open the sash of the Inn's front window and thrust her head out into the dank midnight air. It was black in the heavens. Not a single star was visible. She blinked and looked around, waiting for someone, anyone, to appear who could sit by the fire and spin misty tales that would send her chasing off into the world of dreams.

[mark12_30]

Lindo mused over Cami's thoughts, not sure whether to chuckle or sigh. All of Lindo's tales were known to Cami, and even if not, at this point Lindo had no urge to step forward.

He settled further into his companions' company, and resolved to wait, eyeing the door and hoping that someone would bring a song, or a tale, for Cami and for the rest of Gondor to hear.

He still waited for the redhaired, windblown elf to introduce herself. But if she didn't soon, Lindo was going to reopen the discussion about music. White Stripes... the melancholy side of their recent song appealed to him even if the ir vocalist didn't; something about dirty leaves on the ground, or leaves on the dirty ground... Anyway, the line about each breath in her lungs being a tiny gift to him had been haunting him, and he wondered what the rest of their music was like.

But there was time, and watching the redhaired windblown elf, he turned to Poppy and said, "Elves have an eternity; perhaps they occasionally forget that our days are more numbered. My patience grows thin."

But he didn't mean it. He was content merely to sit with his newfound friends.

[ May 19, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Orual]

Talmérië fiddled with the ring that hung from a chain around her neck, briefly lost in thought about the man who had given it to her. Suddenly she felt Aman and Lindo's eyes on her, and she flushed violently, her face turning the same shade as her hair. Lindo, turning to Poppy, said dryly, "Elves have an eternity; perhaps they occasionally forget that our days are more numbered. My patience grows thin."

She fiddled anxiously with a lock of her red hair and bowed, smiling sheepishly. "My apologies, friend; my journey was long, and my mind clouds with thoughts of other things. I am Talmérië, daughter of Almarien. I am no Elf, though many people have mistaken me for one. May I pull up a chair?" Nods from Aman, Lindo, and Poppy reassured her, and she sat down. "I am sorry to have interrupted. You were speaking about music, I believe? The White Stripes, I think you had mentioned, Aman. I'm rather fond of them myself, though I prefer..." Here she hesitated, then continued, " 'harder' rock." She grinned, then sang, "I'm gonna fight them off...A seven nation army couldn't hold me back..." Her green eyes twinkled as she sat back in her chair. "Don't let me kill the conversation," she said, and smiled.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"They're gonna rip it off, takin' their time right behind my back..." Aman continued the song then grinned at Talmérië, who smiled back, delighted. "And I'm talkin' to myself at night because I can't forget...Aye, know it and love it."

"But where is it you are from, Talmérië? I didn't know this type of music had spread afar, but indeed it does work in mysterious ways here..." She asked the elf, but her eyes was caught by the sight of Cami attempting to clean some water from the floor. If the new elf wasnt as slow as before, Aman resolved to go and help Cami.

[Orual]

"I was raised in west Gondor, near the Ered Nimrais," Talmérië replied, again fingering her necklace. "My father was a Ranger, as were all of my brothers. When I was nearly twenty I ran off, looking for my own adventure since my father would not take me with him anywhere, and I did not want to be a smith like my mother.

"I then travelled to Eriador. That's where I met you, Aman. I met you, as well as Nurumaiel Firithbor, and I was reunited with my twin brother, Talômi. But it's a long story." She twisted the chain of her necklace around her finger, then changed the subject. "I have a little bit of money, but I think I'll be here for a while. Could I work for my keep instead? Can you do that here?"

[ May 19, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]

[mark12_30]

"Nurumaiel-- that's a lovely name, and I almost feel I've heard it before, " mused Lindo, glancing at Amanaduial with a puzzled, faraway look in his eye.

Then he nodded towards Cami. "Talmérië, I suspect that Nitir might know the answer to your question, " he said. "She is familiar with this city, and with Innkeeping in general. Or you could ask Rimbaud."

He eyed the necklace she was fiddling with, and said, "That's a lovely necklace. Where did it come from, and is there a story associated with it?"

[Mithadan]

The Innkeeper wiped his hands on his apron and eyed the oddly-tresses Hobbit and the red haired Talmérië. "Well now," he said. "If you wait for Master Rimbaud, it seems to me that you'll be waiting quite some time. He's gone. Left on some errand or other. So if you wish to speak to the man in charge, you're looking at him."

He turned to watch Cami chasing a fleeing spider with a broom. Smiling, he turned back to Talmérië. "I assure you that the wait staff here is quite competent and well-trained..." He held out a hand and a figure wearing a grey cloak and hood appeared with a steaming cup of coffee which the Innkeeper grasped without looking. "However, it seems that this Inn has some need for cleaning and upkeep. If you'd like to assist Cami for a time, you'll be welcome to some room and board."

"Thank you," replied Talmérië. "But what is your name?"

The Innkeeper scowled and turned away, sipping at his mug gingerly...

[Mithadan]

The Innkeeper walked around the bar and headed to the door. He swung the portal open just in time for a Man bearing a lute to enter. He was followed by others bearing instruments of various kinds.

"What took ye?" scolded the Innkeeper. "We've guests to entertain! Set up yer things over there by the fire and have at it!"

The minstrels set up their instruments and consulted quickly before tuning. Then at a nod from the singer they began to play.

"In honor of the Lady Amanaduial!" he cried.

Let me bring you songs from the wood:
to make you feel much better than you could know.
Dust you down from tip to toe.
Show you how the garden grows.
Hold you steady as you go.
Join the chorus if you can:
it'll make of you an honest man.

Let me bring you love from the field:
poppies red and roses filled with summer rain.
To heal the wound and still the pain
that threatens again and again
as you drag down every lover's lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.

Let me bring you all things refined:
galliards and lute songs served in chilling ale.
Greetings well met fellow, hail!
I am the wind to fill your sail.
I am the cross to take your nail:
A singer of these ageless times.
With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes.
Songs from the wood make you feel much better.

Let me bring you songs from the wood:
to make you feel much better than you could know.
Dust you down from tip to toe.
Show you how the garden grows.
Hold you steady as you go.
Join the chorus if you can:
it'll make of you an honest man.

[mark12_30]

Now that's music, thought Lindo, surreptitiously studying the vaguely familiar inkeeper. He suspected Nitir could fill him in on the fellow's identity... if he really needed to know. Tapping his fingers in time on the table's edge, his sipped appreciatively at his refilled cider (the greycloaked waiters were almost ghostly, and sometimes Lindo was surprised by a heavier glass than he expected.

He turned to Amanaduial. "I don't suppose you know the dance called Falling Appleblossoms? It's quite old."

Amanaduial smiled. "Actually, I think I do remember it. Most of it, anyway."

"I'm sure it'll come back, " Lindo smiled. "Join me. There's plenty of room."

"How did you learn an elvish dance?" Poppy called after him, as the two took the floor.

"From children, " Lindo shot back, and the two swept into motion. It was rather funny to see the hobbit and the tall lady dancing. But like falling apple-blossoms they did not touch; the dance swirled and spun and it worked despite the disparity in height.

"Do you think we could learn it?" Poppy asked Talmérië.

"Yes, " Lindo called. "Come on." They stood, and watched for a few moments, and then Lindo and Amanaduial began to weave the dance around them where they stood. Laughing and bewildered at first, they soon realised that Lindo and Amanaduial were sending them subtle directions with their fingertips. They began to watch for them, and simply go where they were pointed to; the dance succeeded, although both Talmérië and Poppy felt they would like to understand it a little better next time.

[mark12_30]

Brushing back a stray lock from her forehead, Poppy regqained her breath, and said, "I think I have the first part, but the second..."

Telmerienodded. "It goes around and then...?"

"Spin first each way, then weave," Amanaduial said, and she and Lindo demonstrated. "The more people you have, the longer the weave takes, so the dance tends to break up into groups of six or eight."

"But you didn't spin in place, " Telmerie objected.

"Once you get used to it, it's more fun to wander during the spins. Like ..."

"...falling apple blossoms, " chimed in all the ladies together.

"So it's really rather simple," Poppy said.

"Once you learn the weaving patterns, yes. There are three, but they change depending on the number of people. One is circular across the circle; one is based on a line; and the third is circular around the circle. And to make it more fun, you just spin as you weave."

"But if you only have two dancers?"

Amanaduial giggled. "Then you make it up as you go along."

The minstrels began again.

Have you seen Jack-In-The-Green,
With his long tail hanging down?
He wear the colors of the summer soldier,
Carries the green flag all winter long.

Telmerie looked askance. "Odd lyrics," she said.

"But danceable music. Let's work on those weaving patterns. Come on, you've almost got them, " Lindo said. And they took to the floor again.

[Nurumaiel]

An Elf maiden stood on the road, looking at the inn in front of her with a bewildered expression on her face. The Seventh Star was the name painted near the door. The sound of merry music and singing drew her closer, and, looking through the window, she saw that some were dancing. Taking a deep breath, the Elf looked down at her white dress and silently scolded herself for wearing so light-colored a garment. Dirt and streaks of mud clearly showed all over her clothing, and she dreaded entering the inn. Yet an idea passed swiftly through her head, and a pleasant smile came to her face.

Turning away from the door, she went back to the road where her gray mare, Menethon, was waiting for her. Reaching into one of the saddlebags, she produced a long dark cloak, warm, but of light material. She threw it over her shoulders and pulled it so it fully covered her dress. She need not suffer the humiliation of entering the inn so dirty and disheveled.

She strode forward slowly and her mare followed her. She was still hesitant to enter the inn. She was shy by nature, and afraid of meeting new friends. And what old friends of hers would be in Gondor? Well, first things must come first. A young lad approached her, holding out his hand towards Menethon, murmuring something about caring for her horse. Smiling kindly at him, she thanked him and watched as the mare was led away. So there went the last one she knew in this place. But then again, she was certain the innkeeper wouldn't take too kindly to her bringing a horse into the inn, especially such a fiery-tempered one as Menethon!

Laying her hand on the door to the inn, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. She had felt this very same way when she had first gone to The White Horse in Rohan. A little afraid, afraid of meeting new people, worried that she should make a bad impression, worried also that she might make a fool of herself as the 'bad Elf' or the 'foolish Elf.' But that hadn't happened, so why should it happen here. Indeed, it had always been her impression that Gondor was tamer than Rohan, though she had never been to the former until now.

Taking one more deep, long-drawn and long-released breath, she turned the handle and pushed open the door. She was surprised to find herself calling out cheerfully, "Hello!" and even more surprised to hear others greeting her, though she knew no one. Or did she? A young woman with flaming red hair and a familiar face turned to her. Nuru stared at her for a moment, then gasped out, "Rie!" Her former smile returning to her face, she laughed with delight as she looked at her old aquaintance. Here at least was one friend.

[Orual]

Caught up in learning the steps to the dance, Rie did not notice the door opening. She watched Aman's feet very carefully, slowly copying the motions, looking around to Lindo and Poppy for approval. A grin spread across her face as she picked up speed. She wished that she was wearing lighter shoes, but as it was her boots did not impair her too much. She laughed aloud as she finally understood the dance, and she danced it vigorously until she felt a small gust of wind and heard a familiar voice call out, "Hello!"

She turned around, astonished, and her face broke into a huge smile. Her dear friend's face echoed it. "Rie!" Nuru cried.

Laughing, Rie ran over and embraced Nurumaiel, practically swinging her off of her feet. "It's been so long!" Rie exclaimed, holding her friend at arm's length to take a thorough look at her. "Well, you look as good as ever, but that's to be expected, is it not? A little travel-worn, but you've always been able to get rid of that soon enough." She smiled warmly, the beginnings of tears stinging her eyes. Wiping them away briskly, she led Nurumaiel to a chair.

"Now, Nuru," she said in a cheery voice, "what news of the outside world? Have you seen Talomi or anyone lately?"

[*Varda*]

Her hair hitting her in the face as she danced, Poppy began to feel rather dizzy weaving in and out and moving in constant circles, and fumbled her way to a seat. From there, she watched the others learning the moves, and noted that the atmosphere had certainly brightened up. Now, if only they could get Cami to stop cleaning and join in...

Hearing the door creak loudly, she looked over, to see it being pushed open, and a head peering round and calling ‘Hello!’ Poppy got off her seat to join the newcomer, who had already been heartily greeted by Rie. They were clearly old friends.

Joining them, she extended her small hand in greeting.

“Hello,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’m Poppy Took, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

[Nurumaiel]

Nuru laughed as Rie embraced her and gave her a hearty hug back. It had been so long since they had last seen each other... to think that Rie would be here in Gondor, not to mention The Seventh Star, at the very same time as herself! It was too good to be true, and Nuru was wise enough to know that this was not to be called luck.

Hearing Rie's comment about how well she always looked, Nuru grinned a bit ashamedly. That was luck. "I suppose you've never seen me looking as I usually do," said she. Making sure no one was watching, she moved aside her dark travelling cloak a little so Rie could see the streaks of mud on her white dress. Rie looked a little surprised, but then laughed and questioned Nuru as to watch she had been doing lately, and whether or not she had seen Talomi.

"No, I haven't seen him, more's the pity," said Nuru. "Of course this is just a guess, but it is possible Firramer has invited him to stay with him in Rohan for awhile. They do seem like good friends."

"Yes," said Rie. "They do."

"Have you heard anything from Eohsecg recently?" A mischievous light came into the Elf's eyes. Rie blushed and looked downwards. Nuru knew well that Eohsecg and Rie were good friends, at that at least the former had a stronger feeling than friendship.

A hobbit approached a little shyly, maybe a little worried that Rie and Nuru would be annoyed that their talking was broken up. She extended her hand and said in a polite tone, smiling pleasantly, “Hello. I’m Poppy Took, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

"Greetings, Miss Took," said Nuru, taking the hand and shaking it. "A hobbit, by your names and even more by your looks." She smiled and gave a little nod of her head, her way of greeting when she was sitting. "Indeed, it does surprise me to see a hobbit here, so far from their own country. Tell me, Miss Took, what brings you to Gondor?"

[*Varda*]

Poppy smiled and sat down on a chair, her legs dangling off the side, nowhere near the floor.

“Great,” she muttered to herself. “I really must see the Innkeeper about getting hobbit-friendly seating…I could break my leg climbing off and on these chairs.”

Noticing the strange glances Nuru and Rie gave her, Poppy turned pink.

“Oh, I’m just wandering,” she said. “After leaving Castle Maladil, I didn’t feel like going straight home, so I took a…detour…through Gondor, to see a bit more of Middle Earth. And please, call me Poppy. Miss Took sounds far too formal for the likes of me!”

“Anyway, that’s enough about me!” Poppy laughed. “Tell me, Nuru – it’s all right to call you that, isn’t it? – what brings you here? And do you have any interesting stories to tell? We could do with a few more of them around here. And perhaps you could give us a hand with the party celebrations!”

[Nurumaiel]

"I, like yourself, am wandering," said Nuru. "I have just recently come from Rohan where I was visiting an old friend of mine. I have always desired to see Gondor, for those who stop at the Green Dragon, where I often am, have told wonderous and beautiful tales about it." She glanced quickly at Poppy. "No doubt you think it odd, an Elf so strongly desiring to see a land of mortal folk, but so it is, and I cannot change it."

She stopped and looked down, gathering her thoughts and pondering over what she had just said. Why had she wished to see Gondor? Recently she had more and more been interested in the ways of Men and in hearing tales of her home. As of late Elven company had not satisfied her, so she was much away from her home in Rivendell, staying at the inn in Bywater where she could converse with Men, Hobbits, and Dwarves, not having to speak to Elves. What was this strangeness that was coming over her?

Looking up, she realized Poppy had just asked her something and was looking at her expectantly. Apologizing, she asked the hobbit to say it again, then she replied, "I would enjoy telling some tales, but I fear most of them will be fantasies from my mind or tales that would bore a hobbit like yourself."

"Not at all!" Poppy cried, smiling. "I would love to hear any tales you might want to tell." She paused, and thought back to what they had been doing before Nuru had arrived. Dancing, that was it. Or, rather, teaching Rie how to dance. "And perhaps you could give us a hand with the party celebrations!" she suggested eagerly.

Nuru laughed, a light laugh full of fun. Tossing her head, the warm light from the fire caught her brown hair, and, as it did with the Elf's hair when light shone upon it, it seemed to be as gold for a brief moment. She looked scornfully about the room. "Where shall I begin?" She looked back to Poppy and Rie. "What were you doing when I came in?" She listened eagerly as Rie told her the whole story, then she laughed again. "Then let us start there. Come, Rie and I will learn the dance together!"

[*Varda*]

Poppy jumped off her seat to join in the dancing again, her dizziness now completely gone.

“Ok, I don’t know the dance well, but Lindo tells me it’s really rather simple…lots of weaving patterns.” Nuru nodded, as Poppy demonstrated, spinning and weaving. “Rie, help me out here, you know the dance a little.” As they danced together, Nurumaiel looked a little confused at the way the hobbit and the human wove in and out, spinning as they went.

“Well, the best way to learn is to practice,” cried Rie, grabbing Nuru’s hand and drawing her into the group. Nuru laughed as they span round and round, before all three, elf, human, and hobbit were begging for rest and collapsing in a seat.

Poppy, her cheeks now flushed pink, clambered off the seat again and wearily made her way to the bar, to get a drink, and to ensure a few nights rest at the inn, as she felt sure she would only get lost in her tired state and the pitch black of the night.

Having duly paid for her ale, Poppy observed the goings on from her low vantage point. Aman and Lindo were still dancing, and Rie and Nuru were chatting busily in the corner. Cami was nowhere to be seen, and Poppy privately suspected she had probably fallen asleep with her mop and broom.

[mark12_30]

Lindo and Amanaduial shared a long laugh as another song ended. "Rest?" suggested Lindo, and nodded towards Poppy, Rie, and Nuru.

"Yes," Aman said, smiling at the thought of meeting someone new. "I will join you shortly." Lindo nodded, and headed towards the three.

"Nicely danced, ladies. You each picked up the patterns quickly; especially you, lady, " he said to Nurumaiel. "Or did you know it from your youth?"

"It was new," laughed Nurumaiel. "Should I have known it?"

"I suppose not, " Lindo smiled. "I am Lindo."

"My name is Nurumaiel. What is the dance called?" Nurumaiel asked.

"Falling Appleblossoms, " Lindo replied.

Nuru looked a little puzzled. "I haven't heard of it."

Lindo nodded. "A children's dance from Gondolin. Basically it's very simple, but easily embellished which makes it look more complicated . But since it's quite old, I'm not surprised you've never heard of it."

Nuru gave him an odd look. "Oh."

"Once people catch their breath, pehaps we'll try a different one. Amanaduial is newly recognized as a Master Story teller here in Gondor. This celebration is in her honor. I think she will join us shortly. I am quite glad you have joined us." Lindo waved at the waiter, and smiled at Poppy and Talmarie. "Nurumaiel, what would you like to drink?"

[mark12_30]

Poppy pushed a stray lock away from her face. "A new dance?" she asked. "Is it easy or hard?"

Lindo conisdered the question, and thought, "Well, most of the ones I know start out easy, and then you can make them as difficult as you want to. The Running River is like that. Why don't we try it next?"

"The Running River, " Nuru echoed. "All right; how does it go?"

"The dancers form a line. The dancer at the top of the line faces downward; he is The Leaf. All others face upward; they are The River. The Leaf weaves and spins his way down to the end of the River. There are three patterns; you can touch hands or not, and if dancers come back around below The Leaf, then it takes The Leaf longer to get to the bottom of the river."

"Hmmm. Weaving and spinning down the line--is it like Strip The Willow?" Amanaduial asked.

"A little, only The Leaf never goes upriver. If you want to lengthen The Leaf's journey downriver, then other dancers in The River have to circle below The Leaf."

"You're going to show us how it works, I hope, " Poppy said.

"I think we have enough people. We'll start out walking til you all have the patterns. Come on, " Lindo headed back up to the dance floor. "Poppy, would you be the first Leaf? When you get to the end of the River, then the dancer at the top of the River becomes the next Leaf." He gestured through the first weaving pattern. "Offer your hand to each dancer you pass, alternating your left and right hands."

"Like a Grand Chain, " Amanaduial said.

"Yes, only in the first phase they stay still. When that's easy, add a swing around each person. When that's easy, add a turn in between. When that's easy, dancers in the river can start circling below and lengthening The Leaf's journey."

"Are any of these written down?" Telmerie asked, furrowing her brow as Poppy wove in and out. Amanaduial followed, then Telmerie, then Nurumaiel, then Lindo.

"That's a good thought," Lindo said. "I wonder what the next music will be? The musicians seem to be on break." Lindo shot the band a raised eyebrow, and they guzzled from their mugs and took up their instruments again.

The lutes and fiddles and flutes and hand-drums now sounded out a pulsing rhythm, but the tune was a little jarring and the beat was rather fast. Telmerie and Amanaduial grinned at each other. "White Stripes!"

[ May 28, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[mark12_30]

Lindo donned his cloak with a contented sigh, and stepped out into the night. He hadn't had that much fun dancing in a while, and he was sad that the festivities had run their course. He could have easily kept dancing.

But hopefully, the dances would find their way to other celebrations. And hopefully, they would return to hear some of Amanaduial's tales soon.

[*Varda*]

Sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, Poppy watched the room. It had certainly died down lately – the dancing was over, Lindo had disappeared somewhere, and very little seemed to be going on here. She assumed Lindo had gone off to get some sleep, since the dancing had taken a lot of energy. A large yawn escaping from the hobbit’s mouth, she finished her drink, and retired to go to her bed, to awaken when more life inhabited the Inn.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: *Varda* ]

[Nurumaiel]

Nuru sat down, panting for breath and laughing in between. The dances had been lively and took much energy to dance and even learn. She smiled widely at Poppy, Rie, Lindo, and everyone else in the inn and sat back for a rest. Rie gave her a strange look and Nuru returned it. The redhead scooted down the bench to lean over and whisper in Nuru's ear. "Nuru, you were going to tell a tale?"

"I fear, my dear friend, that I wouldn't be much good at storytelling," said Nuru easily. "I prefer to just sit here. And, at any rate, no one would want to hear any story that I would tell."

[mark12_30]

Lindo, delighted to find his friends still there when he returned from his walk, nudged Nurumaiel's elbow. "Nuru, we would love a tale. Please, indulge us."

"Oh, I don't know, " Nuru began modestly.

"I doubt that!" Lindo laughed. "Come, we are weary, and thirsty, and ready to listen. Pick a tale. Any tale."

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Nurumaiel]

Nuru sighed a gave a little shrug. "Well, as I haven't yet had time to think on it, I can only tell one tale, mainly known as the most boring tale anyone can tell: the story of my life." She laughed. "But I promise after I have some time to think, I can tell something much more interesting.

"Now, where to begin? Most cannot remember when they were mere infants, but many are told what their life was like. I was not told. As far as I know, I was raised by Rinnanwen of Lothlorien, and my parents are either dead or have crossed over the sea, or do not care about. I was only told that Rinnanwen found me in the Golden Wood and took pity on me, and raised me.

"I could not enjoy life at Lothlorien as much as other Elves. I have heard that it is the fairest of all Elven cities, and that many dream to go there. My dream was to leave. Rinnanwen sensed this and, being compassionate, said farewell and sent me to Rivendell, where begin the most beautiful days of my life... and the most horrible.

"Beautiful, for I loved that place more than any other, but horrible because some Elves were not so kind to a traveller. Girithtil was her name, and her nature matched it perfectly. She was as cold and uncaring as the most freezing winter. She totured me, mocking me in every way she could, laughing at me, and worst of all... she was cruel to my horse. I doubt if I could have survived it if I hadn't met Nicrabanwen, another Elf who was kind and sympathetic towards me. We found we had much in common, the main thing being that Girithtil despised us both.

Nurumaiel paused and looked about her. "Shall I continue?" she asked. "Or have you become weary of my tale?"

[mark12_30]

Lindo's eyes glittered coldly. "Cruel to your horse?" he said. "I have never known an elf that was cruel to horses before. Never. Careless, perhaps, or thoughtless when distracted, but cruel-- never. Please go on."

[Nurumaiel]

Nurumaiel looked at Lindo as he spoke and her eyes widened. "Very true," she said. "I never thought of that before, yet..." She gave a bitter laugh. "Sometimes I believe Girithtil is half orc. And she uses it all against me."

She sat back, looking at the floor and trying to gather her thoughts. Where had she been? Ah yes, speaking about Girithtil. And what happened next? She thought desperately, seeing that many pairs of eyes were fixed on her. That was it! When Elrond...

"Well, the 'battle' between Girithtil and myself grew greater, and began to cause a disturbance of the peace at Rivendell. Lord Elrond knew something had to be done, so he sent me back to Lothlorien. I left angrily, thinking that he was cruel. But it was actually the greatest kindess he has ever shown to me.

"I had to travel through Rohan, so therefore I passed through the Gap of Rohan. There I was stopped by a band of Rohirrim, suspicious of me and wanting to send me back. You must remember that this was many years back, taking place just before the War of the Ring, so the Men of Rohan did not take kindly to Elves. I think they feared them?" Nurumaiel hesitated, unsure. She could see no reason why the Elves were to be feared, but it was the only emotion she could attach to the behavior of the Men.

Shaking it all away, she continued. "But one was wiser than the others, and had grown hearing tales of the Elves, always wanting to meet one for himself, and so while he doubted me, he let me pass. Firramer of Rohan was his name." She looked at Rie, and then stopped to catch her breath before continuing with her tale, and to give anyone who might want to comment a chance to do so.

[mark12_30]

"Oddly enough, " Lindo said, "I have yet to visit Rohan. When I come to Gondor it is never through their fields. Yet I would love to go there. I hear that their horses are beyond comparison. Do they have ponies too?"

Nurumaiel puzzled over that for a moment. "Ponies..." She reviewed all her memories visually, and then began to nod. "Hmmm. Yes, I saw one.. two... ah, I saw several. Handsome ones at that. Well-proportioned yet rugged."

Lindo's eyes glowed warmly as he quietly hoped his path would lead him to Rohan-- or at least to their ponies. "Please go on. DId you see any more of Firramer after he let you pass?"

[ May 31, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[mark12_30]

Nurumaiel sat back, giving her response some extra thought. Lindo glanced about looking for Cami. Nitir would like this story, he thought. I wish she would join us and listen. But she gets so terribly busy sometimes.

Glancing around at Poppy, Amanaduial, and Telmerie, he saw empty glasses, and he signalled a waiter, who refilled his and Poppy's cider glasses, and got more wine for Telmerie, Amanaduial, and Nurumaiel. There was a lull, and Nuru sighed, thinking back over her story.

They gave her time, and soon she started her story back up again.

[Nurumaiel]

"Yes, as a matter of fact I did," said Nuru. She glanced at Rie. "Rie can tell you that much. We were visiting Rohan just recently and we saw and spoke to him at The White Horse. I also spoke to him on my way back to Rivendell, for after some time Master Elrond sent a message saying that if I so desired, I could return. Needless to say, I rode there as speedily as I could!

"About a month passed at Rivendell with Girithtil still torturing me with cruel words and deeds, until at last I found her in a time of trouble (my memory seems to not wish to recollect what it was) and I was the one thrown to her to help her quite by chance, for I stumbled upon her weeping in the night. We were not friends, but I could not leave her in sorrow, so I spoke to her and helped her, and we became wonderful friends. Since then, everything has been a dream at Rivendell, as it should be.

"And there ends my tale thus far. I've travelled to the Shire, where I met Rie and we became friends, I've travelled to Rohan to see Firramer, and I've travelled here to meet all of you. Some day my story will grow greater and longer and so interesting everyone will want to hear it." She gazed out the window, her eyes shining with excitement. "I'll write it down in words and leave it here for all the Men, Dwarves, Hobbits, and Elves, and those yet to come, and I'll pass over the sea to the Undying Lands, where I'll live in peace for all time."

[mark12_30]

As the elves and humans chatted softly about Nuru's story, Lindo sat back and exchanged glances with Poppy. Suddenly, it seemed oddly ironic that the Big Folk and the elves, with all their advantages, still had personality clashes and resulting heartache.

He looked up at the doorway to the kitchen. It had a small glass window at eye-height for a man, and on the other side of the window someone had painted: COMMON-ROOM. But from this side, it was backwards: MOOR- NOMMOC. The words looked strange, and curious.

They're just runes, even when I look at them backwards; why do they catch my attention so? he wondered. And then he realised that he was fascinated by Nuru's simple story in the same way. Hostility turned to friendship seemed no great surprise between hobbits; but between elves, or men, it held for Lindo a strange wonder, like something seen in a reflection or somehow inside out or backwards. He could see that Poppy felt the same.

Nuru was chatting with Rie and Aman. Lindo sat back and slipped into a reverie, listening to their musical voices, familiar, and yet not comfortable; musical, but not a tune that one could hum or sing. He let the sounds swirl and grow strange in his mind til they melded into wonder, something strange and foreign yet somehow familiar, like the runes on the other side of the window.

As he daydreamed, half enchanted, he imagined Kheled Zaram, the Mirrormere, showing a crown of stars dimly replected even in broad daylight. He looked about him, and thought that these folk were like that; stars, shining softly in broad daylight; and he wondered, whether they were real, or just a reflection in the water. But the reflection must come from somewhere, he thought. They are real, even if all I am allowed to see is the reflection.

One of the elves slipped into song and the music enfolded Lindo and wrapped him into a dream.

(Note: post inspired by
[ June 09, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]
mooreeffoc (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=1&t=003300)thread, started by X-Phial.)

[ June 09, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Mithadan]

The Innkeeper started at the ringing of a bell in the back room. He trotted quickly through the door, only to return moments later carrying a scroll. Wiping his hands first upon his apron, he unrolled the paper and began to read. As he reviewed the message, a scowl creased his face. With a sigh, he walked over to the bulletin board which hung over the end of the bar and tacked up the scroll.

By now, everyone in the room was watching the Innkeeper. He looked up, and shook his head wearily. Then he spoke loudly to all the patrons of The Seventh Star. "Well they've gone and done it again. Can't leave well enough alone. If it ain't broke, don't fix it I always say. But no! They're never satisfied leaving things be. Always tinkering with this and tugging at that!"

Nuru looked at the barkeep with confusion, then whispered to Lindo, "Who might 'they' be?" Lindo shrugged.

The Innkeeper's face was turning red and sweat began to form on his brows. He was now waving his arms as he spoke. "Post this! Announce that! Without so much as a by your leave! Well fine. If that's how it is, that's how it is and you all better look!"

The crowd stared at the Innkeeper in confusion. Some shook their heads sadly or tapped meaningfully at their temples. He looked from one to the other, then threw up his hands. "By the One! I'm surrounded by half-wits and fools! The Rules! They've made new Rules! Read 'em!"

He strode away muttering. Settling in behind the bar, he began scribbling at a piece of paper. "Wait til they hear in Rohan and the Shire..."

[Estelyn Telcontar]

There was a buzz of discussion after the guests had read the scroll. The rules were debated enthusiastically. In a brief lull in the conversation, a clear voice spoke, “Hear, hear!” Heads turned to gaze in astonishment upon the speaker.

There stood the Loremistress of Minas Tirith, Estelyn Telcontar, head held high. She looked as royal as was possible with a face brimful with mirth. Her eyes danced, and her lips seemed ready to burst into laughter.

“Many have been sad, thinking that the tale of the Entish Bow has ceased and no more shall be heard of fair Merisuwyniel and her companions. Indeed, the Bow has been avenged, for those who hewed the Ent were slain, yet are still many parts amiss that are needed complete its reunification. The tale shall continue shortly; therefore let those who assisted me in its telling hear this call:

Arise, arise, Writers of Théentishbow!
Fell puns awake: spoof and parody!
Humour shall be shaken, canon be shattered,
Poetry slaughtered, ere the Itship succeeds.
Write now, write now! Write in Gondor!

“All those who participated in the story are requested to assemble at the discussion thread,” she continued. “There shall we meet anon.” With those words she opened the door, letting in a breath of fresh air, then disappeared in the blinding sunlight.

[Rimbaud]

As light descended warily into the courtyard, scattering spiders and illuminating the worn cobbles, the Innkeeper sighed his way out of the side door. Another day was beginning and he had barrels to haul up to the bar, and his help was late. As always. He adjusted his apron, freshly washed and starched, and therefore remarkable in its discomfort.

The side-door swung closed behind him silently, as it always did. He wondered how a door that he had never seen oiled or adjusted could not make a whisper, even after many years of service.

Then he cursed, lowly and bitterly, as he had not remembered his keys. Not only could he not return upstairs to his predecessor’s warm and functional bedroom, but the cellar was closed to him as well.

He wrung his hands in frustration and stared down at the ground, just beginning to lighten as the sunlight washed weakly over the white walls of the Inn.

Then he forgot his worries and nearly cried out with shock.

The dawning day revealed a grey, curled body just three paces within the main gate. Even in this light he could see the remnants of the vivid blue that slashed across the pale tunic of the body. He also saw many other stains as he ran forwards. Dark red they seemed, and many of them.

As he approached, his heart nearly stopped as he discerned, just barely, the slightest movement of the thin ribs beneath the shredded clothes.

As Summer turned to Autumn, as night turned to day, Rimbaud of the Seventh Star had returned home.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

In the midst of the tale she was trying to tell,
in the midst of the laughter and glee,
she had softly and suddenly vanished…


Whatever instinct it was that had prompted Estelyn to come to the Inn at this early hour, she was thankful to have heeded it. Her face filled with concern as she gazed upon her wounded friend. What had befallen him during his mysterious absence? Was there a connection to the dangerous adventure they had experienced together some months ago?

However, all questions were of secondary importance; she was relieved to see Bethberry already there, the one person who was needed most. Carefully she helped the others to lift him up; he groaned weakly, his face turning ashen with pain. They carried him inside, placing him in a room on the ground level to avoid jolting him by climbing the stairs.

Estelyn went to get a basin of water and a towel. Gently she wiped the feverish face, then stood aside to let the healer examine him. She felt helpless, not knowing what to do. She could only wait…

[ August 21, 2003: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]

[Rimbaud]

He grappled with the light. He could not remember how long he had been straining to grasp the white glow. Every time he felt he had a grasp, it melted away. Those moments scared him, for when he touched at the light, there was more. Pain and noise, and a wrenching fear coursing through him, in this hollow place.

The light he had to reach, for he would not fall into emptiness. Yet it kept slipping further and further away from his nerveless grip.

[mark12_30]

A mouse crept along the mantel, nose twitching. No crumbs. In the dark corners there were several shadows that were vaguely man-shaped, some with glasses nearby. But they had not moved in the mouse's memory even when the wind blew the candles. They didn't smell very good. And they weren't dropping crumbs, either.

With fond memories of orange peels, and a rather less appealing memory of spilled Tequila, the mouse climbed down, and snuffled at the kitchen. No orders had been taken; no one had come in or out. The kitchen door had not opened in a long, long time.

His marketplace cousins were fat and shiny. The mouse pondered his own protruding ribs, and sighed. Once this place had been good living. The old customers had wearied of it, but perhaps new customers would come. He decided not to move out to the marketplace just yet.

[ November 24, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Though the darkness of early morning still shadowed the room when the Loremistress opened her eyes, she knew immediately where she was. She lay in her own bed, savouring the luxurious warmth of her own room after the discomforts of a long journey. Estelyn yawned, then stretched her arms, deciding that it would feel better to get up and go for a walk than to sleep longer.

Some minutes later, she stood at the entrance to the ‘Seventh Star Inn’. She had hoped to combine two pleasures, a cup of hot tea and a visit with the Innkeeper, but instead of the expected lights in the kitchen windows, darkness welcomed her forebodingly. Puzzled, she pondered the significance of the long-grown grass on the doorstep and the slightly unkempt appearance of the yard. She could hear none of the usual animal sounds from the stables which normally accompanied the presence of guests.

True, the Innkeeper had been away often before; she and all others were used to his sudden absences. But his well-trained personnel had kept the Inn running smoothly, thus keeping up the feeling that he would be back soon. She had never allowed her thoughts to dwell long on the possibility that one of his journeys, though she was one of the few who knew how dangerous they were, might be her friend’s last. The wounds of their perilous adventures together had healed, but a deep-seated fear still haunted her dreams occasionally. What if…

She walked around the Inn, looking to make sure there were no observers before slipping into a hidden entrance. There was no fire at which she could light a candle, but the sky was less dark by now. She threw open the shutters and the windows to freshen the stale air, pacing from one room to another to look for anything that might explain the abandonment of the building. A slight movement caught her eye, but when she turned, nothing was there. Must have been a mouse, she thought.

[mark12_30]

He hesitated behind the leg of a chair. The wind was in the wrong direction, and however much he twitched his nose, he could not catch the woman's scent. She floated from one window to another opening curtains and shutters and the windows too. The air stirred and sweetened. He could even catch a faint whiff of yesterday's marketplace.

He followed the shadows to the fireplace. Climbing up to the mantel, he hid behind a picture frame and peered at the woman as she restlessly studied her surroundings. Disappointed that she showed no sign of preparing any food he yet lingered, watching as she went into the kitchen and returned with a large mug. She drew near the fireplace, and skeptically considered the dusty kettle dangling over the cold ashes.

[mark12_30]

In contrast to the bright morning air and the early smells of the marketplace, an odd musty smell reached her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and rearranged the napkin over her bread-basket. As she walked away from the market, her eyes checked to and fro for the source of the musty smell.

The windows were open at the Inn! There had been no activity there for so long. Her brother would be thrilled! And then she sighed, and shook herself. She had to find him first.

Perhaps he was at the inn! Her steps quickened, and she approached and tried the front door. It was shut. Puzzled, she went to an open window, and cautiously peered inside. An elegant woman stood facing the dark fireplace with a mug in her hand.

Clasping her hands around her basket-handle, she bowed her head slightly. "Beg pardon, my lady, and a good morning and good health I bid you. I am looking for my brother; perchance have you seen him?"

[ November 24, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn stood still, holding the slip of paper in her hand. A wave of relief washed over her, and she was aware that her fear for Rimbaud had been greater than she had let herself realize. The message, though terse, was clear enough to her, and knowing that her friend was with the healer reassured her. Yet what was to happen with the Inn? Her thoughts spun in circles, considering and rejecting plans for the future. She registered the scampering of a mouse on the fringes of her attention. Fond though she was of the falcon, she was glad that the little creature had survived. Perhaps that was a good omen for this once so hospitable place.

Suddenly she remembered the face and voice that had been at the window and disappeared at Wyrd’s arrival. Hurriedly her steps took her to the door and she peered out. A woman, unknown to her and not yet clearly to be seen in the twilight of dawn, was stooping down to pick up a basket and its contents. The Loremistress walked over and said, “Can I be of assistance to you?”

The face looked up at her with fearful eyes. “What was that?” she asked, trembling slightly. “Some demon, flying in and out of the Inn?”

Estelyn smiled reassuringly. “You need not fear – that was a falcon, bringing a message for me. He is gone now. Will you not come in and have a cup of tea with me – if I can find some, that is.”

Together they went into the Common Room, then rummaged through stores in the kitchen until they found both tea and a tinder box to light a fire. Shyly, the woman offered her basket, saying, “I have fresh bread – would you like some?”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Estelyn. “Now we have almost a real breakfast!” When they sat at one of the tables, cradling their cups of tea in their hands and chewing the crusty bread, she spoke again. “Now, if I remember rightly, you were looking for your brother. There is no one here; the bundles in the corner that I first took for people are only old cloaks and blankets left here. Will you not tell me about yourself and your brother and why you are searching for him?”

[mark12_30]

"Yes, Lady, I will," she replied. "First let me tell you about my brother. His name is Fingon but all call him Mellondu. He is a good lad, hardworking, and always responsible, even though he is quiet and dreamy. We are apprenticed to the same family here in the city. I was apprenticed first, of course, five years ago, and he was apprenticed three years later. He has learned metal-smithing; and sometimes he learns a little carpentry from our Master's neighbors."

"That sounds like a good combination," Estelyn said. She considered the young woman and did some guesswork; apprenticed five years ago-- probably at age fifteen. That made her twenty now, and her brother perhaps about seventeen or so. "And what about you? What skills are you learning?"

"Oh, " she said with a little laugh, "Embroidery of course, and sewing, and cooking. And cleaning." She sighed. "I would like to learn to do the books, but I do not know my numbers, and I keep hoping that they will teach me runes. They have not. Not yet."

"I see. Go on, " Estelyn said. "And what is your name?"

"Finduilas, my Lady, but no one calls me that. They call me Mellonin."

"Finduilas and Fingon are noble names. Your parents like history?"

"Yes. Our family was important, generations ago. But not now. Noble names are now all we have. That is why Mellondu and I prefer our nicknames."

"Mellondu, Mellonin. So he is Friend-dark, and you are Friend-white?" Estelyn pondered the girl's dark hair and dark grey eyes, and waited for a more logical explanation.

Mellonin considered the depths of her teacup and answered, "He's very moody. But of course, he is never rude, or impolite, or careless. Just sad, and quiet. My parents said that he is gloomy and I'm the cheerful one. So, Darklove and Lightlove. It started out as a joke, of course. He isn't really dark. Just sad."

"I see. And why are you looking for him?" Estelyn prompted.

"Two nights ago, he did not come home, " Mellonin replied. "Our Mistress was very worried, and our Master was angry and said he must have had too much to drink and fallen asleep somewhere, and that he'd be back at dawn with a headache. I did not think he would drown in his cups, but I held my tongue." She fidgeted with her teacup. "But then the next morning, he did not return, nor last evening. Nor this morning either. And no one in the marketplace had seen him, yesterday, nor the day before. I've been asking, and no one has any news."

"What does he look like?" Estelyn said.

"Well, people say he looks like me, only an inch taller, and a finer, thinner face."

"Ah. You resemble each other quite closely?"

"I wore his clothes one day, and fooled many people."

Estelyn's eyes sparkled. "Indeed. And did he wear yours?"

"No, my Lady!" Mellonin replied with a shocked giggle. "No, he didn't!" She decided that she liked this Lady. She raised her eyes, shyly, and searched the Lady's face, softly lit by the growing daylight on one side and firelight on the other. "But my Lady, what would you do? Where would you look for him? I've already asked all his friends that I can find. He misses the Innkeeper here, I know. He used to come here and listen to songs and tales. That's why I had hoped you knew of him."

[ November 24, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[mark12_30]

He had heard tales of a hawk that came into the Inn. He shuddered, and his heart calmed down little by little as he listened to the conversation of the two visitors, Lady and Servant-girl. The frightening hawk faded from his mind as soon as the servant-girl uncovered her bread-basket.

Oh, happy morning, happy destiny, that brought these visitors here today! In the dancing firelight, under the table, he believed he saw... crumbs. Perhaps one of them would even spill a few grains of sugar, or some drops of honey.

His nose twitched, and his mouth watered.

[ November 23, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Mithadan]

The door to the Seventh Star crashed open and a broad shouldered Man bearing two great sacks entered, ushered in by a chill breeze. He dropped the bags to the floor and turned, rubbing his hands together vigorously. Upon seeing the other occupants of the common room, he froze with a frown on his bearded face, then stepped forward drawing a long knife from his belt as he moved.

Mellonin stepped back with a slight gasp, but Estelyn stood still with a slight smile upon her face. As the Man advanced, she reached down to the guttered lantern and turned up the wick, illuminating her face. "Mae govannen," she said. "I know that Yule approaches rapidly but is it not too early to be doing any carving?"

The Man halted, then slid the knife back into its sheath. With a deep rolling laugh, he strode forward and grasped Estelyn in a great hug. "My Lady!" he cried. "I've not seen you in a week of ages as they say. Pardon my blade, but one cannot be too careful, you know. I thought you might be a squatter or worse yet some wight come to haunt the Inn." Then the smile seemed to fade from his face and he held her at arms length as if to examine her for some sign of darkness. "How is...?"

"Being cared for," she answered. "By one whom we trust. He will live."

"Good, good!" he boomed, his voice echoing off the rafters. Then he returned to his bags and rummaged through on quickly. When he straightened, he held a bottle which he tossed to Estelyn, who caught it deftly. "Open that and we'll have a toast to the Old Man after I put these things away."

"And what might these 'things' be?" asked Estelyn.

"Why supplies of course," he cried. "I've six more bags in a cart outside. And in a week's time workers will arrive to remodel this place." He waved at some cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. "After our friend went away, I took over here for a time. But I had unfinished business at home in Lossarnach and had to shut down for a bit. But we're re-opening soon."

"You!" he shouted. Mellonin cringed in fear. "If you want some wine, be a good girl and lend a hand with those bags. If I leave them too long they'll likely grow legs and walk off on their own. Now scoot...!"

As the young lady scrambled to the door, he smiled and spoke softly. "Good to see you, My Lady. Good to see you indeed."

[mark12_30]

Nose a-quiver, eyes bulging, he savored one promising whiff after another. When the servant-girl re-entered, more aromas followed her. Flour, honey, cheese, roots, apples. The day had only just begun; it would be a long wait til nightfall.

He found a gap in the wall, squeezed through and turned around. He still had a view of the fireplace and surrounding tables. And if some crumbs went unguarded long enough, he would know.

********

Mellonin returned hastily with a large bag, placed it carefully beside the others, and turned to get another. But the booming voice spoke again. "Take them to the pantry; no sense in making two trips!"

She re-shouldered the bag, and turned for the kitchen door, shooting a questioning look towards the lady, who gave her quick directions to the pantry. She hurried through the kitchen door, found the pantry and put the bag down. Then she hastened through the common room to fetch the next one. The Lady and the Booming Voice were laughing and had begun catching up on old times, so she carried the remaining bags undetained. When all eight bags were lined up in the pantry, she listened a moment; they were still talking.

She returned to the kitchen and paced a little, and then quietly stepped back through the door. They paused, and looked at her.

"Shall I have a look in the cupboards, sir? The pantry smells a bit rank."

[ November 24, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[piosenniel]

Rôg

The last part of their journey, from Druadan Forest to the White City, had been a pleasant one. There had been much to see and discuss as they passed on the outskirts of the forest, making their way to the thickets of Grey Wood. ‘We can pass through these,’ the old man had said. ‘It will be safe for you to do so. No poisoned arrows to be wary of.’

Late autumn held the woods in thrall. Birds were few, just the hardy souls who had not as yet gone south to warmer climes. Or those brave ones who staked their claims in these trees year round. Ravens and crows – their raucous tale-telling echoing off the bare trees as the travelers passed.

Three days of travel had brought them to Gondor, and to an Inn the old fellow said was comfortable, the owner discrete. ‘The ale is good,’ he’d said. ‘And wine and other spirits from Elessar’s kingdom find their way to the cellars of the Seventh Star. Possibly something from your homeland.’

Rôg smiled within the folds of his brown hood, pulling his cloak more tightly about him as a chilly breeze gusted. He would be glad to leave these northern lands with their promise of increasing cold. And gladder still to be spending the night in the warmth of an Inn.

‘Come,’ he invited, holding the door open for his companion. ‘We’ll find a table by the fire. I’ll see if they have the spiced wine you favor.’

The old fellow’s eyes glinted with anticipation, his face wreathed with a merry smile. Twitching his cloak about him, so as not to catch on the roughened frame of the door, the old man entered, his staff thumping loudly on the wood, small swirls of dust floating up from each footstep.

Rôg entered close behind, shutting the door firmly against the outside cold. His nose wrinkled slightly at the musty smell; his eyes narrowed at the layers of grime and dust.

‘So, this is the Seventh Star, eh, my friend,’ he murmured softly to his companion as they seated themselves at a table near the small, crackling fire. ‘And the ale, you say, is good?’ Rôg propped his feet on the nearby hearth, relishing the feel of the welcome heat through his boots. He pushed back his hood as he leaned toward the flames to warm his hands. The flickering fire caught the small gold stud that winked from the top inner curve of his left ear. Shoulder length black hair fell forward, brushing across the olive plane of his cheek.

‘Shall I get us something to drink then?’ he asked after a few moments, sitting back in his chair. ‘And perhaps something to eat?’

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:10 AM December 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn and Mellonin had cleaned pantry cupboards for quite awhile when the Loremistress noticed how high the sun stood in the late autumn sky. She stretched her aching back, ruefully realizing that increasing age and her recent journey were taking their toll. She would welcome a break now, she reflected, smiling slightly to see the young woman’s energetic enthusiasm for the task they had undertaken. She was a good worker, no doubt – and suddenly she remembered that Mellonin was not the mistress of her own time; she was an apprentice, and no doubt a stern Mistress was waiting for her to come back to her tasks at home.

It won’t do to have her punished for forgetting the time and helping us here, she thought. Wiping her dusty hands clean on the cloth she had bound around her waist as a makeshift apron, she called the girl. “You have been a wonderful help,” she said warmly. “I fear we have both forgotten the time though. Your Mistress will be awaiting you, I’m sure.”

Mellonin’s eyes opened wide, startled. She had not thought of her work at home, and had actually enjoyed the hard labour here, since she did it of her own free will. “Oh yes, Lady, I am afraid she will be angry with me for staying away so long.”

“I have an idea,” Estelyn said. She went to the Innkeeper’s desk, searching for a piece of paper and a quill. Sitting down, she penned a few lines, signed with a flourish, and folded the page. Lighting a candle at the fireplace, she dropped some wax onto the edges and took out a chain that had been hidden under her dress. A ring was attached to it; she pressed it into the wax, blowing to set it before handing the missive to the young woman.

Mellonin looked at the rune imbedded in the wax with big round eyes. Though she did not know many runes, this one was so familiar that any child would have recognized it. It was the rune of the King, though slightly different than she knew it from coins – a tiny feather, perhaps a quill, was added to one side.

“Do not be afraid,” the Princess smiled. “I have every right to use it – but I only do so when I think it might be useful to impress someone. Give my letter to your Mistress, do your tasks as faithfully as you have helped with ours, and when you are finished, if you may, come back here to tell me more of your story.”

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Though she had spent the rest of the day attempting to clean the rooms, soliciting some necessary help to assist in the task, the Inn was far from its usual hospitable appearance by evening. She had hoped to have another day before guests came, but when the door opened, she smiled at the two men who entered and sat down near the fire. Fortunately, the flickering light disguised the weariness in her face. She approached the table and asked, “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

[mark12_30]

Taking the sealed letter and dropping a quick curtsey, Mellonin raised her eyes to meet Estelyn's. "Thank you, my lady. I will return as soon as I may."

She turned, glancing about for her basket, and found it on the table. It was much lighter than it had been; with an inward groan, she draped the napkin over it and turned towards the door. As soon as she passed through it, she gathered her long skirts in her free hand and ran.

[Mithadan]

Ai! Customers and the common room's not near ready! The Innkeeper placed two fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. After a few moments, the kitchen door swung open and several cloaked figures issued out into the room, only to seemingly melt into the shadows. A refilled cup of wine appeared at the elbow of the Innkeeper, who sat back and watched as Estelyn approached the newcomers.

The sound of a bucket dropping into a well came from outside. The scratching of a broom on the stone floor could be heard though it was difficult to see where the noise came from. When the Innkeeper glanced behind the bar several minutes later, the wood shelves had been wiped and a line of bottles and glasses had appeared. Soon a fire was roaring in the hearth.

The Innkeeper nodded with a smile. Good! they haven't forgotten how to work.

[ November 25, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[mark12_30]

Oh, this day was just getting better and better. Goodbye, protruding ribs; it wouldn't be long now til he grew sleek and shiny. These guests did not look like the neat-and-tidy sort, not at all. And the Innkeeper's Booming Friend had already left a trail of crumbs beneath him, in addition to spilling several drops of wine.

He put his chin down on his forepaws, and settled in to wait for the wee hours.

[piosenniel]

Rôg

A courteous voice intruded into the space between the old man and the younger. Looking up, Rôg acknowledged with a nod the woman who had asked the question. ‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?’

‘Wine, goodmistress,’ he replied with a look at his companion. ‘Warm and spiced, if you will.’ He leaned close to the old man and murmured something to him, a question, an observation. ‘And a loaf of brown bread, if you please, with some of that soft farmer’s cheese to spread thick on it.’ The old man leaned near him, the breathy softness of his request barely audible. ‘And honey . . . yes, honey . . . and an apple . . . that would be nice.’

When the food had come, the two settled in to enjoy it. That is, they did so after a few moments of silence, and the placing of a small amount of each of the foods on an extra plate they asked for. Noting the curious glances of the others when he placed the little plate of offerings toward the far edge of the hearth, Rôg smiled at the woman, who stood nearest.

‘For our friends,’ he said, as if she were to understand it was an everyday occurrence. He nodded at the little plate partly hidden behind the hearth broom that leaned against the stones. ‘They may be hungry, and we have plenty to share, thanks to you.’ His voice drifted off as his hand hovered over the remaining food, seeking his next delight. The explanation, such as it had been, was punctuated by the crunch of his even white teeth through the crisp, red apple.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:11 AM December 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[mark12_30]

He could hardly believe his eyes. But he couldn't argue with his nose; the food was real. And there was a path of shadows he could follow to get to it.

The wee hours had not yet arrived. Should he wait?

It was the bit of cheese that convinced him to emerge. He crept along the shadows, and came to the hidden plate, and carefully picked up the cheese. Nobody was watching. That is, nobody was looking directly at him. But the two men, young and old, that had put the plate down were gazing into the fire, and trading whispers.

He took the cheese back through the shadows, and settled into his hiding place, and ate. Then he fetched the bit of apple. Again, the two men looked near him, but not straight at him; this time they chuckled softly. When he finished the apple, he went back out for the bread; but there was that honey, and the drops of wine. He was tempted to stay. But he took the brtead, and returned to his hiding place, and ate it. He would go back for the honey and wine and scout for crumbs when the common room emptied for the night.

As it was, he was quite content. He curled up, and drifted off to sleep, with the welcome noises of travellers in his ears. He hoped more would come. But he was growing rather fond of those already here.

[ 5:56 AM November 30, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Mithadan]

Word of the re-opening of The Seventh Star travelled quickly. By the evening of the day that the large, bearded barkeep arrived at the Inn, several of the former regulars had stopped by for a drink and a song. The fire burned bright in the hearth that night and passersby may have heard snippets of The Lay of Leithien or even the comic song Skinflint The Twisted Ent.

News travels as fast as tongues wag, or so say the goodwives, and the next morning some came by even for the break fast. Those who did pronounced the fare as good as ever, and the service as well. If there was any complaint at all, it was that despite being asked, the new Innkeeper would give no one his name.

Tiring of shouting "Barkeep!" one of the locals decided that a nickname would have to do and cheerfully dubbed him "Morien", which is "Blacky". The Innkeeper smiled at this, stroking his full beard, but shook his head, saying only, "Close!". But thereafter, the nickname stuck and he was known as Blacky, and several less flattering names as well, though the latter were used always behind his back.

[Elora]

The inn's door opened on a conversation that had been going for some time now, revealing two individuals wrapped carefully in travel-worn cloaks.

"It is merely an inn, and fortuitously named also," said one with a note of exasperation in her voice. "What could go wrong," she threw back over her shoulder as she stepped through and into the common-room. The deep cowl of her cloak concealed the wry smile that some have described as impish in the past for good reason. The individual behind her knew many of such causes, which in turn lead him to sigh and shake his head as he followed her through.

"I would have thought the wisdom of the years past would incline you to not ask such questions." His reply was partial lament and partial resignation. The pair threw their hoods back to reveal their faces and a better view of the Seventh Star/

"Wisdom," the woman snorted with some amusement, "You speak of wisdom when all I want is some refreshment." She turned to hang her cloak on a vacant peg by the door, lips twitching in private laughter. Her companion merely took in the mischevious expression that flittered across her face and said nothing. With a shrug, he added his own cloak to the peg by hers. The problem with Elora is that what she considers refreshing many others consider baffling, peverse, improper or just plain bad behaviour in polite company.

At least, he conceded inwardly, she had made an effort with her clothing to blend in. Elora's hands smoothed her tunic over her hips and then moved to flick an intricately woven thick copper braid back over her shoulder. She surveyed the common-romm openly and was soon on the move to the bar. Ronnan caught her up, a little self-conscious of his elven appearance. There were few places that Elves could pass without comment, and Elora insisted mainly on avoiding them.

Ronnan adopted a more composed expression, the antithesis to Elora's lively one, and managed to arrive with her at the bar without the indignity of having to run to catch her up. Yule decorations warmed the common-room, an interesting Edain tradition that was just one of the things Elora found endearing about the Second Children.

"An ale, please, good Innkeeper," Elora requested with a generous smile. She reached into a pouch that dangled from a curiously wrought metal and leather belt at her hips, examined the coins and then placed them upon the bar countertop. Ronnan cast a surreptious glance at their currency, to be sure they were appropriate to use in an inn in the White City. Elora waved a hand at him and added, "A wine, no doubt, for him." There was a hint of laughter at that, which Ronnan ignored. Gondor may well be the heart of mortal kingdoms, but that did not mean he had to imbibe their ales when there was perfectly good wine available. He would soon discover whether the vintage met with his Eldarin high standards.

Ronnan looked about the common-room as wine and ale were found. The Seventh Star was nice enough. Elora had dragged him into worse places, some of them inns also. Still, he failed to understand why she had insisted on coming to Gondor, to the White City and also why had had to come along with her. That had been a point of contention for them both, rare in their long association with each other.

The innkeeper set down a glass filled with a clear liquid in front of Ronnan and a tankard of ale before Elora. Elora gave generous thanks and Ronnan nodded politely, wary of any wine that did not come from the famous Dorwinion Estates of his people.

"Let's find a table," Elora said with some enthusiasm, taking up her ale gratefully and turning about to face the room. If the innkeeper noticed any oddity about her, he hid it well. Not only had Elora's eye colour shifted from green to blue since entering inn, but her tunic did not completely hide her unusual garb beneath it. There was no shirt or skirt beneath it, but leather clad arms and legs.

That had been the source of dispute before arriving at the inn, Elora ending it by throwing the tunic over her leathers and asking Ronnan if he was happy, which he plainly was not. When Ronnan made no reply to her suggestion concerning a table, Elora breezed towards one. He trailed in her wake, sipping experimentally at the wine in his glass. She was seated and watching him in time to register the look of pleasant surprise upon his features. The wine was more than passable.

Ronnan took his seat and set his glass on the table.

"See, not so bad after all," Elora said companionably. Ronnan sighed and sucuumbed to the temptation he had resolved not to indulge in earlier in the day when Elora had hinted at her intentions for the evening.

"What are we doing here, Guardian?" Elora's eyes were a deep sapphire at the moment, a dangerous colour. She leant forward with a smile and replied, "I knew you'd get curious sooner or later, Ronnan."

"What are we doing here?"
"Refreshing ourselves, Ronnan," Elora replied with mock innocence. "What could be more pleasant than a cool drink after a long road in a nice inn at Yule time?"

With some, that may be a rhetorical question. Ronnan could name several things that leapt to mind, such as remaining comfortably ensconsed in his halls, enjoying the exquisite art of the bards for example. He also knew that Elora could name several things.

"I have a feeling I will find out," he said, sipping at his wine once again. Elora nodded, leant back, uncurled her tall frame and took up her tankard.

"That you will, my friend, that you will." From over the rim of her ale, she took to examining those also in the common-room, one by one. Some moments of silence passed between the two, until Ronnan sat upright hurriedly.

"Where did you get Gondorian coin from," he asked in a hushed whisper. His worst fears were confirmed when he watched a single delicate copper brow arch over her eyes. "Acquired it," she replied demurrely, masking her smile behind her tankard and resuming her study of the patrons.

Ronnan set his glass down and spread the fingers of each hand over the table for a moment. "You've been wagering again," he said with certainty. "I don't know where or how on the road over the past weeks, but you have." Elora said nothing, watching him now.

"It's the only way you could have changed Rhun for Gondorian coin."

"Does it matter, Ronnan," Elora mildly asked, lowering her tankard to the table.

"Yes," Ronnan replied hotly.
"Why," she asked with customary curiosity sparkling in her gaze.
"It matters because apart from the improprietry of the Guardian touring the White City on a gambling bent, I have spent five weeks in a saddle to accompany you to honour our oaths of service and duty. I will not play beard to your improper behaviour on this occassion!" The righteous outrage was clear in Ronnan's face and voice.

Elora remained silent for a moment, leant forward and without a trace of a smile said, "Elves don't make good beards, Ronnan. They can't grow them." Only then did she smile, resume her langourous posture and take up her tankard. Ronnan's mouth opened and then closed on a hot retort.

"You can leave if you wish. I did not ask you to come with me, if you recall." Elora sipped at her ale as if it mattered not one whit to her. Ronnan knew better though.

"If you think to slip away to wager like a common street rat in the inns and bars of Minas Tirith, you can think again."

This time it was Elora's turn to sigh, which quickly became a fluid ripple of her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. Dear as Ronnan was, it was sometimes burdensome to carry their expectations of proper decorum about with her wherever she may go. Elora pushed Elven pre-conceptions of appropriate conduct for one such as she to one side and turned her mind to blessedly lighter diversions. Just once, she would like to not have to labour under weightier things and tonight she would have her wish.

She had not ridden five weeks, forced to sneak off and wager her currency to the proper Gondorian coin, to allow Ronnan to prevent her now. Tonight, if there was a willing partner, she would wager. Her gaze slid to Ronnan as she considered what she was willing to put into the pot. Perhaps one Elf could be bid... she'd need to get him more wine though. Elora's lips curved into a soft smile as she played with that thought and her eyes roamed once more.

There was another question as to what would be wagered over. She curious as to what those in the White City considered game for such wagering, and it had taken her hundreds of years to find the opportunity to discover this for herself.

"Ronnan, be a dear and go get some more ale and wine. Please?" Ronnan had drained his glass. He shot her a glance that let her know exactly what he thought, gathered up the glass and mug and went to do as bidden.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin slowed as the inn came into sight, and paused to catch her breath. She gazed at the sunset, sad and happy at the same time, and wondered why; wondered why she felt hopeful, when her brother had not been heard from in four days.

She looked down at the letter in her hand, and puzzled over it again. It had been written late last night. The Master and Mistress had been closeted away yesterday, and mum today; the Mistress tight-lipped and angry, the Master absent-minded and nervous. The forge-workers had been puzzled, and even the animals had been ancy.

At sunset they had ordered her (washed and combed and in her best dress) back to the Inn, bearing a mysterious letter and a basket of gifts. She puzzled over them. Jars of honey and jam, a spiced ham, a bottle of very good wine, and a round of cheese. Still mystified, she approached the door, and softly entered.

She was not unattractive, and the mistress had ordered her to look her very best. All eyes followed her. They puzzled at the basket she carried and the letter in her hand. She blushed under their stares, and scanned the people. At one table sat an old man and a young man; she nodded nervously to them. At another table sat a woman and ... was that an elf? And there was something very strange about the woman, also.

And at another table sat the Innkeeper, Morien. Not seeing Estelyn, she approached Morien.

"She'll be right back," Morien said. "Have a seat." He pulled at his ale.

She would rather have stood, but neither did she dare disobey him. "Yes, sir." She sat bolt upright, clutching the basket in her lap.

"You could relax," Morien growled at her.

"No, sir," she replied.

Estelyn returned, and Mellonin hastened to her, taking refuge in her kind glance. "Please, my Lady. My Mistress sends you these foods and my Master sends you this wine, with their compliments. And they have written you a letter, my Lady."

Estelyn raised one eyebrow, and suppressed a giggle. The twinkle in her eyes set Mellonin at ease. Estelyn accepted the basket, opened the letter, and read it as Mellonin waited.

"And what do you think of this?" Estelyn asked her.

"My Lady?"

"Don't you know what this letter says?"

"No, my Lady."

"Come with me." Estelyn led Mellonin to an empty table and motioned her into a seat. Lowering her voice, she motioned Mellonin to lean close, and softly she read the letter to her.

"To the Most Esteemed Royal Princess and wise Loremistress Estelyn Telcontar, greetings and salutations. We wish to express our most profound and humble gratitude for your kindness to our beloved servant Mellonin, whom we cherish as our own precious daughter...." At this Estelyn glanced at Mellonin, who looked rather surprised. Nodding, Estelyn continued. "We estimate that we shall never be able to repay our debt of gratitude for your kindness toward our beloved servant... ... feh... blah, blah, blah. Anyway, the important part is this, down here." Estelyn pointed towards the bottom. "Remaining at the Inn, she will of course be better able to inquire after news of her missing brother. We have contacted her parents and they are agreeable to our plan. Therefore, should you find the plan agreeable to you, please accept our offer of her apprenticeship and service for as long as you enjoy her services or at least until the fate of her brother can be ascertained. She has few belongings and will be able to gather them quickly at whatever time you see fit. We are grateful to entrust her to one so learned, wise, kind, generous, trustworthy... blah, blah, blah."

Estelyn lowered the letter, and considered Mellonin. "You didn't know about this."

"No, Lady."

"What do you think of it?"

Mellonin sat back. Much of the letter confused her; three points were clear in her mind. One: they claimed to cherish her as their own daughter; that, she doubted. Two: At the Inn, she would be more likely to hear news of her brother. That she believed. And third, her parents approved of the mysterious plan.

"What plan, my Lady? Do they mean that I should work here at the Inn?"

"They are offering your service not to the Inn or the Innkeeper, but to me," Estelyn said.

A slow smile spread across Mellonin's face, and Estelyn watched it deepen and brighten until the young woman shivered with joy.

"I should like that, my Lady," Mellonin replied, "if it is agreeable to you."

[ 11:31 AM December 02, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

“I do not know how your mistress could let such a good worker go,” Estelyn mused. “Apparently she credits me with more importance and influence than I actually have. However, to reject her offer would likely offend her and bring you more difficulties than advantages, I think, and I can indeed use a capable helper. I gather you would rather stay here than come to the palace complex…”

She looked at Mellonin questioningly, and saw from the frightened expression in her eyes that the mere mention of the palace intimidated her. “I thought as much,” she said. “I must take a few moments to consider what is best; in the meantime, I promised you some wine as thanks for your help.” She went to get a bottle and some glasses for both of them, pouring the fragrant liquid before raising her glass and saying softly, “To a good future for you and also for your brother!”

After a few moments of light chatter to ease the young woman’s nervousness, Estelyn left her, walking to the table where the Innkeeper sat. “Blacky, is it?” she spoke with one raised eyebrow.

With a seeming meekness belied only by a twinkle deep in his dark eyes, the Innkeeper answered, “Some call me Morien, yes.”

“Nonsense!” she retorted briskly. “If you insist on playing hide-and-seek with your name, there’s no need to dignify it by saying it in Elvish. You could just as well ask to be called ‘Lord Blacky’! Be that as it may, I have a matter to consider with you.” She handed him the letter and watched as mirth welled up in the somber face.

“What do you intend to do with this generous gift?” he asked.

“I think it would be best for her to stay here, for she seeks news of her brother, who disappeared without a word. If anyone has heard of him, you will find out here first. This would give me the opportunity to be of assistance to you and still pursue my own work – I must see to the new documents I brought from my journey. How is it – have you already found enough helpers to run the Inn, or can you use a diligent worker in the kitchen?”

[mark12_30]

Mellonin watched uneasily as Estelyn showed the letter to Morien, the Innkeeper. To distract herself she looked around at the other guests. She studied the two men for a moment, but her eyes were drawn to the oddly dressed woman, and-- could that really be an elf?

"Ronnan, be a dear and go get some more ale and wine. Please?"

As Ronnan stood and walked toward the bar, their eyes met, and Mellonin, despite all her training, did not drop her gaze. He nodded politely at her, and continued on his way.

As he returned with a drink in each hand, she stood. "Please, Mr. Ronnan, I am looking for my missing brother Mellondu. He could be my twin but that he is taller and thinner. Have you seen or heard any news of him?"

The elf studied her a moment and then replied, "I have no news of your brother. I am sorry."

She nodded. "I bid you good day, " she replied, and sat back down. Ronnan returned to his table. Mellonin had another sip of her wine, and tried to gather her courage to address the two men at the other table.

[ 3:25 PM December 02, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Mithadan]

"Hmmmm," said the innkeeper as he scratched at his beard. Then he directed a meaningful and pointed look at a member of the Inn's staff. Clad in grey, he stood unnoticed by the hearth, surveying a few occupied tables nearby. The older man who had entered earlier put down an empty cup and continued his conversation with the younger guest. The server stepped forward and snatched up the empty cup, bringing it over to the bar where it was duly refilled and returned to the table. The old man raised a hand as if to summon a server, then noticed the refilled cup sitting next to his elbow. He looked about with a moment's confusion, then nodded to the innkeeper in appreciation.

Estelyn watched these proceedings, then nodded in understanding. "Efficient, unobtrusive, silent and very well-trained," she observed. "It's as if the Inn were their life." The innkeeper nodded in turn. "One might say so," he murmured under his breath.

"Then what shall we do with the girl?" asked Estelyn. "For better or worse, she has been passed on to me and I would not turn her into a personal servant. I daresay it would not suit her well, and I have little doubt that this is why her fosters have let her go so easily. And there is the matter of her brother."

"Aye, her brother," he answered. "Very well. I suppose we have need of one to welcome guests both to the Inn and its common room. One who speaks, that is," he added with a laugh. "But she must not get the idea that she is in charge of the staff. They might...take offense. She must let them do their job while she does hers."

He reached below the bar and withdrew an apron which he handed to Estelyn. As she turned and walked towards Mellonin, he called after her. "And she'd best smile! The customers like that!"

[mark12_30]

Mellonin watched Estelyn walking towards her with an apron, and heard Morien call out. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever might come, wryly smiling at Morien's comment.

Smile? Smile!? Perhaps Morien knew more about Mellonin than Estelyn did. She took another deep breath, and another, and then burst out laughing.

Morien glared at her, and she put her hand over her mouth, and blushed as several guests turned. Morien's glare turned into a scowl, and then he turned his back on her.

She was almost fully composed by the time Estelyn stood before her holding the apron.

[Nonesuch]

Mellonin had barely tied the apron's strings when the door to the Inn swung open again. The girl turned to welcome the latest arrival, blinking against the morning sun which streamed in through the open door. A smile, however, did not quite reach her face. Instead, her eyes opened wide as the morning's light was eclipsed by a figure which filled, nay, more than filled the doorway.

He turned slightly sideways and ducked so that his mane of brown hair cleared the portal's frame. Then he straightened and sniffed dubiously at the air before stepping forward into the common room. "Mercy!" said a patron, the first to recover his voice. "Darkness at mid-day! Would you look at the size of him!"

'He' was a good head taller than the innkeeper and broader as well. His hair, which was long and tied in a single plait reaching halfway down his back, was brown as the leaves of an oak tree in the fall. The length of his hair in back was nearly matched by his long and curling beard in front. He wore a heavy green cloak over a brown tunic and breeches held by a woven rope belt. His boots were of some sturdy padded cloth. In one hand he held a staff, but if he bore any other weapon none there could see it.

Stepping forward, he looked down at Mellonin and grinned slightly at her sagging jaw. Then he spoke in a voice as deep as distant thunder. "A table if you please? And a cup of..." At that moment, a grey-clad server hurried up with a large cup of mead which she placed upon a table. Still unable to speak, Mellonin pulled out a chair for the new guest. He sat gingerly, waiting for the seat to stop creaking before resting his full weight on it.

At this point, with the eyes of all patrons upon the newcomer and the innkeeper's eyes upon her, Mellonin found her voice at last. "M-m-m-ay we get you some breakfast sir?" she asked. "Perhaps some bacon or ham?"

The man shuddered as if he had been offered a dragon's venom. "No!" he said sharply. "But some bread with butter and honey and perhaps a few apples would do me well."

Even as Mellonin turned towards the kitchen, a server swept by, dropping off a platter with a half of a loaf of bread, slathered with butter and honey and a small basket of green apples. Almost dizzy, Mellonin turned back to the table with a gasp. Then, regaining her composure, she nodded her head and said, "Welcome to the Seventh Star, sir. I am Mellonin." At that moment, she remembered to smile.

The man drained his cup in a single draught, then answered. "I am Baran and I am from the Vale of Anduin where I dwelt in the North 'ere beginning my journey."

[mark12_30]

Mellonin stared at him, wide-eyed, and struggled. "Anduin. The Vale of Anduin. In the North. Ah... Mr. Baran, do-- did you enjoy living there?"

He considered her, bit an apple in half, chewed thoughtfully, and said, "The bees are happy and the crops grow well." Her popped the other half into his mouth as he broke the bread in half. "It's cooler there."

"So you... came from quite far north. And you like bees and honey... " Mellonin stammered, and then took a very deep breath and mustered another smile. She was desperate to ask abour her brother, but Baran was clearly interested in food and not talk. "Perhaps later when you have had your fill and are rested you could tell us a tale or two about your journey?"

Baran eyed her sidelong as he finished half of his honeyed bread and reached for another apple. "Rrrmph." One of the grey-clad servants silently disappeared through the kitchen door, and by the time Baran finished the rest of the half-loaf, another plate of honeyed, buttered bread was laid before him, with more apples. He glanced at Mellonin. "Perhaps." Then he broke the bread in half and set to.

"Please call me if I can help you, " Mellonin murmured. As she wandered towards another table, she let her path take her behind the great big man, and she studied his glossy brown hair, which seemed determined to escape the braid. It was much lighter in color than the average Gondorian's hair, and had a curl to it, and it glistened in the candlelight. She lingered another moment, studying his massive frame, and wished she could think of something interesting to say to him.

The door opened again, and another guest entered. This one looked so ordinary compared to Baran that she smiled at him without a second thought. It turned out to be an aquaintance, and they had a brief pleasant chat before he ordered some ale.

After that she busied herself about the common room, humming and occasionally singing a single verse. Few heard what she sang, but the elf could hear.

The city walls run glistening
Round Mindolluin's knee
Ecthelion's tower is listening
To Anduin's tales of the sea.
While in the dark sky shimmering
Gilthoniel's fires burn free,
The Seventh Star is hidden here
On Mindolluin's knee.

[ 7:34 PM December 03, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn’s cloak, already fastened, though the hood was not yet over her dark head, made obvious that she was about to depart from the Inn. She saw Mellonin’s apprehensive glance as she approached the younger woman and smiled reassuringly.

“You are leaving, my lady?” the girl asked.

“Yes,” the Loremistress answered, “but I will come back as soon as possible. I have made provisions for you to stay here – you will have a room and meals, in exchange for your help.”

“But what am I to do?” Mellonin asked, with a troubled glance around them. “The servants are so quick that they take care of tasks before I have a chance to help.”

“I know,” answered Estelyn. “They have been well-trained by the first Innkeeper here and are used to managing even when he was absent. But do not forget – you are not in the service of the Inn. You have been placed in my service, and I have a purpose in keeping you here. You see, I travel far to collect tales and documents for the library of the White City, but sometimes the best tales come to us right here, told in the Inn. That is why I come here often when I can, but I must now tend to my duties. There is much to be done after my last journey; I must order and sift the books and parchments I brought with me. I would like you to be my helper here; listen to the stories the guests tell and record them for me.”

Mellonin blushed and bit her lip, looking to the ground uncomfortably. Estelyn laid her hand on the girl’s shoulder gently. “If you do not know all the letters, I will teach you to read and write well enough. You are a bright young woman; I’m sure you will learn quickly. Do not worry! Send a message to me if anything concerns you, and take heart – you will have news of your brother soon, I hope.”

With a brief glance to the Innkeeper and a tiny conspiratorial wink, she opened the door and left.

[mark12_30]

"Tales," Mellonin thought, as she watched the door close behind Estelyn.

She glanced at the elf and the puzzling woman with him, and wondered what story they had to tell. The elf met her glance, and then the woman looked up also, and Mellonin took several steps towards them. But the woman looked away, and with an apologetic glance, the elf waved her off. They were not yet in the mood to talk, it seemed. Hopefully, their tongues would loosen after a little more ale and wine.

Baran was still working his way through the basket of apples.

Morien kept to himself, of course; no doubt Estelyn knew all of his tales anyway. Mellonin's mental image of him consisted mostly of his shoulder or his back.

She turned hopefully towards Rôg and his older companion, and cautiously approached them. Perhaps they would be in the mood to chat.

[mark12_30]

He had heard of men like this.

Following the shadows, he came out of hiding and crept along til he was below the great man's table, and then he cautiously stepped out into view, whiskers quivering.

Great brown eyes gazed down at him, and a rumbling chuckle rolled down the man's curly beard. "Well, declare yourself. Friend or foe?"

The mouse sat back on his haunches, and stared back.

"All right. Crumbs, I suppose?" And he tipped his mostly-empty bread plate onto the ground. But the mouse's belly was full from the generosity of Rôg and his friend, and he sniffed at Baran instead.

Reaching for another apple, Baran watched the mouse, and the mouse watched him.

As he neared the bottom of the apple barrel, the girl wandered back to his table. Raising her eyebrow at the mouse, she smiled at Baran.

"I heard you humming," Baran growled. "So... sing, and perhaps I'll find a tale to tell after that." He raised a hand to wave for an ale, but one was already by his elbow. "Ah." He sat back.

Mellonin hesitated, but then a greycloaked shadow appeared at her own elbow, and offered her a tall glass of water. She took it. It was lukewarm. Her jaw dropped; how did he know? But the greycloaked shadow was already walking away. She took a deep drink, put the glass down, composed herself and began:

Anduin springs near Gunabad
Then mingles with Langwell;
He flows beneath the eagle's Eyrie
And round the Carrock tall.
Past Gladden, Lorien, through the Wold,
He bravely leaps the Falls,
Parts Nindalf, caresses Andros,
Washes Osgiliath's walls.

He gleams past Tirith, Lossarnach
And through Emyn Arnen;
He gathers strength at Erui
And Sirith of Lebennin.
Past Pelargir and Peres, there
he spreads upon the sands
by Dor-En-Ernil, and Belfalas
beyond the realm of men.

Oh Anduin, what sights you see!
In every vale and dell
The Elder and the Younger fill
Your shores, and secrets spill
Of home and flight, of peace and war
of victory and death's knell,
Alas! could we but read your runes,
What stories could we tell?

[ 1:47 PM December 04, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Mithadan]

Nonesuch's Post:

Baran listened to the tune and nodded his head at the lyrics. A few of the other patrons clapped with varying degrees of enthusiasm when she finished. Mellonin blushed at the accolades and hurriedly sat down with Baran.

"Pretty," he said. "Very pretty. I can't vouch for its accuracy as I didn't come here via that route though I don't doubt you have it right."

"You live in the Vale of Anduin but did not follow the river in your journey to our city?" she asked.

"Well, you see, I was not specifically travelling to Minas Anor," he answered. "I've been wandering a bit, an indirect route if you will." He paused and drained his cup again. Although this was his third cup of mead, the strong drink seemed to have little effect upon him. A server apparently agreed and his cup was quickly and quietly filled again.

"I owe you a tale," he said. "I'll give you a bit of one. Not the whole story, mind you. Can't be too careful, begging your pardon. But here it is.

"My people are...private in nature. We don't like outsiders much, except maybe for purposes of trade. We've been living in the same area for a long time. A very long time. Legend has it that long ago we traveled west with other men and even reached the ocean. This was ages ago when the Great Dark Lord still dwelt in the north. Well, we suffered there, in the west of Middle earth, and chose to turn back and move east again. So we crossed into what is now called Eriador. But even there we found Orcs and Trolls and other evil things. Then some of my kin decided to head south and get away from the evil that dwelt in the north. So they did and my people did not hear from them, except for an occaisional rumour, for ages. Some said they didn't exist."

He paused to wipe a stray bit of honey from his beard and sipped at a cup of water that had appeared on the table. Then he continued. "Well, the Great Dark Lord was defeated and the lesser Dark Lord who lived yonder," he said, motioning vaguely to the east. "He arose and evil things stirred again. They didn't bother with us much at first because we...we're very strong. Though later they caused us enough trouble and we had quite a bit of fighting in the last War. But among my people it was said that there would come a day when they, meaning the people of the Dark Lord, would die and then we would return to the west and meet again our long-parted kin.

"Now most among us thought this a fable and even more didn't care whether we ever met up with our kin. We don't care much for strangers, like I said. Anyway, about 5 years or so before I was born, some strangers came up the Anduin. They brought with them a young child, maybe 3 years old, and begged us to take her. She was our kin from far away, they said, and indeed she was for she had the same sort of...skills, talents that my people do. So we took her in, even though she was kind of...different. She was a bit older than me so we didn't speak much, but I know she missed her family and her people. Truth be told, some of my people didn't care for her much, though we never mistreated her. I always thought she was nice enough...clever she was. And funny. She had a way with a joke.

"Anyways, about five years before the War, she took off on her own. She went looking for her family. Then came the War, and after the Dark Lord fell, his people, the orcs and trolls went into hiding or disappeared. Lots of them died. And some among my folk began whispering that our old legend was maybe true. Some wanted to cross the mountains again and others wanted to look for our kin, and many of the latter recalled the girl...she'd be a woman now of course.

"To shorten the story a bit, I was sent to look for her. I'm the curious type and I kind of like new things and people. So I went after her into the west and wandered about for a long time looking for clues about where to find her or my kin. I haven't found her, but...well, tell me young lady, have you heard anything about dragons hereabouts?"

[ 7:01 PM December 04, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[piosenniel]

Rôg

Oh Anduin, what sights you see!
In every vale and dell
The Elder and the Younger fill
Your shores, and secrets spill
Of home and flight, of peace and war
of victory and death's knell,
Alas! could we but read your runes,
What stories could we tell?

The old man chuckled, and thumped his cane to the rhythm of the girl’s tune. He murmured the last two lines, slightly out of tune . . . a weird echo of sorts to her own singing of them that made the fine hair on Rôg’s arms prickle.

‘There’ll be no secrets spilled here,’ he said to himself, drawing up the hood of his cloak. His dark eyes blackened, the pupils widening to accommodate the shadows now thrown over his face. The man, Baran, he had called himself, listened appreciatively to the girl’s song. The thick fingers of one hand tapped on the table’s top, while his other brought the apple in its grasp mouthward, to be sundered by one chomp of his strong jaw and sharp teeth. Yes, he would like apples, thought Rôg, watching the man closely, as he applauded the girl’s song.

He turned back to the fire, sipping at his ale, and watched the flames wrap hungrily round the logs, their ever changing shapes dancing wildly in the thick, hot air. ‘Why has such a one come south, Dester’ edre?’ he asked the old man quietly.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:12 AM December 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[mark12_30]

Mellonin knitted her brows and quieted her voice, lest more folk than Baran also think her stupid. "Dragons? I thought you were looking for a woman. Oh-- Can she--" Mellonin dropped her voice still lower. "Like Luthien Tinuviel becoming a bat, and making Beren into a wolf? Can she enchant herself?"

Baran's eyes eyes twinkled and he said nothing. Realizing she had answered a question with another question, Mellonin sat up as tall as she could, and gathered her wits. "Dragons. Well, let me see. Eighty or perhaps ninety years or so ago, there was a dragon in Erebor; the Elder Baggins spoke with him and enticed him to leave his lair, and Bard the Bowman shot him. But it sounds like that was before she was born, which is a good thing, isn't it?"

Baran smiled.

"And then during the war there were those fell beasts. They didn't spout flame, but they did have wings, and they were leathery, scaly sorts of creatures. I suppose they could have been cold-drakes, of a sort. Is that what you mean?"

Baran shook his head.

"Good, they weren't very feminine and anyway they are all dead. Then there was that... well, in the war, that big flaming monster Mithrandir defeated, up under the mountains, before he came back from the dead. It seemed dragonish to me, in the tales I've heard. Very fiery. But that was male, I think, and he's dead too."

Baran's eyes began to glaze.

"I'm sorry. Perhaps there are more recent tales and sightings that I don't know about. I only just began here at the Inn. Would you like me to ask the others?" she said earnestly.

"No. Have an apple, " he said.

"What was she like?" Mellonin asked, taking a dainty nip out of the apple. Raising her eyes to his, she waited. His eyes were brown, not Gondorian grey, and there was a richness to them that puzzled her.

[Nonesuch]

"Well, to be truthful, I barely recall," he answered. "It was long ago that I last saw her and I was yet a child of perhaps seven years. She was short with jet black hair, quick to laugh and just as quick to anger as I recall. And she couldn't...'enchant' herself as a dragon." He laughed for a moment. "At least I don't think so," he added with a smile.

"The dragon or dragons I seek are...well, I suppose you've not heard of them. Silly I guess. Everyone says there are no dragons left unless perhaps in the Withered Heath far to the north and that kind of dragon is not what I seek."

Mellonin gnawed at her apple, but her eyes expressed confusion. Behind her, the Innkeeper cleared his throat. Realizing that she had overstepped her bounds, she jumped up and looked about. Seeing that two new customers had entered, she waved to Baran and walked off to greet the newcomers.

Baran laughed under his breath, mostly at himself. What would such a one know of wyrms or the Last Desert? You're a fool who has been wandering alone for too long. He stretched and yawned mightily. Even before he dropped his arms a server approached and motioned to a stairwell which led up to the Inn's rooms. Baran nodded and rose wearily. Mid-day or not, a bed seemed like a good idea. He dropped some coins on the table and walked towards the stairs.

Then he paused and looked back at a neighboring table. The old man there looked very familiar, but he could not quite place him. Baran nodded a greeting, then turned away and continued on. But at the foot of the stairs, he stopped again with a smile on his face.

"Where are my manners?" he exclaimed. He stooped and reached down to the floor. When he arose, in his hand was the mouse. He stoked the tiny head for a moment, then knelt and let the animal go. It stepped away, then turned and squeeked. "Well met to you too, little one," said Baran. Then he proceeded up the stairs...

[mark12_30]

The mouse hesitated, sniffed left and right, and then followed the giant man up the stairs. The mouse had more than eaten his fill for the night, there were several hiding places in the big man's room, and there would be no safer place for a small furry creature in all the city. He chose a chink in the wall, climbed in and contentedly curled up for the night.

******

With a gasp, Mellonin turned and looked at the now empty stairwell. She had forgotten to ask Baran about her brother! Poor Mellondu! What a poor excuse for a sister she was; her brother needed her, and she was that easily distracted, flitterint about and twittering like a sparrow. Daft, daft! Muttering, she turned to the other guests.

The day wore on. People came and went, some chatty, some secretive. Rog and his friend did not talk much. Neither did the elf and his strange lady-friend, except for his arguing over how much she drank. The common room filled and then emptied as the evening drew to a close. Mellonin watched the guests leave the common room, some by the front door, some up the stairs to their rooms. No one had seen her younger male 'twin', or if they had they weren't admitting it. "Tomorrow I will ask again; there will be news soon," she whispered.

Morien was wiping down the bar with a grimy rag, and he waved it at her. "Third floor, second-to-last door on the left. Small, but near the chimney; you'll be warm enough."

She nodded wearily, and then paused. She had no nightclothes! She had never fetched her things. With a sigh, she decided there was no time like the present. Morien guessed her thoughts, fished in his pocket for a key, changed his mind and said, "The kitchen window will be loose. Reach in and unlock the door that way." He poured a glass of something golden and melted up the stairs.

An hour later, Mellonin was back, all her belongings awkwardly bundled in her winter cloak. She reached through the window and unlocked the door, and dropped her bundle inside. But the stars were too lovely, and after the walk she was wide awake. She lingered outside the kitchen door.

[piosenniel]

Rôg

Night at last. The old man had gone to bed, several cups of spiced wine glowing pleasantly in his belly. ‘Time enough to see to those parchments on the morrow,’ he told Rôg, sinking down onto the soft mattress with a satisfied oomph and a bone weary sigh. ‘The library has been there for scores of years. It will be there when the sun comes up again.’ A few moments later and soft snores floated from beneath the pile of thick woolen blankets, along with the occasional murmured word or two.

Rôg sat quietly in the chair drawn up to the small fire in their room. When the murmurings had subsided and the snores settled into a gentle rhythm, he got up, stretching his limbs, shaking the long day from his muscles. The draw of the welcome warm had faded against the urgency of his feelings that they should soon be on their way. They only needed to check on something the old man had half remembered seeing in the great library in the city. Then they would be heading south.

The young man stood by the window of the room for a long while, his gaze falling on the young woman below and to his left who lingered before the kitchen door. The singer, Mellonin - her eyes turned star-ward to the clear night sky. For a moment she dropped her gaze, following a spiral of moths that had seen the low light from the kitchen window and were now heading toward it.

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

The slim-winged grey brown bird flew high in the air with easy strokes, the inn falling away quickly beneath him. Strips of moonlight through breaks in the clouds caught the broad white bar across each pointed wing, glinting off the white bar across his notched tail. The sharp calls of other nighthawks followed him, indicating his traverse of their hunting territory. He paid them no heed, nor did he veer from his course, intent on reaching the fifth tier of the hillside city before the night grew older.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:14 AM December 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

The old man sat up in bed and wearily rubbed his eyes. He stared out the open casement looking for outward confirmation of the flutter of wings and the soft whir of feathers that had enticed him up from sleep. Over the years, he'd lost at least some of his physical strength and vitality, but time had not dulled his senses. He could still catch the slightest movement of small beasts in a grove, or make out the shadow of a tiny bird silhouetted against a distant bank of clouds. He could even untangle the strange utterances of the creatures whom he passed in the woods, although that was no longer so easy.

Again searching the skies, he glimpsed a small brown bird pushing against the wind, gliding gracefully towards the stars with no apparent effort. For an instant, he wanted to throw back the covers and join in, to leap out towards the sparkling night. But then came the sad realization. He could not do it. The old man slumped back in bed too weary to rise, unable to recall the hidden secrets of his past.

Back home, he had never been accounted among the wisest or most powerful, but many had acknowledged his mastery of shapes and hues. Vague memories of a former life tugged quietly at his mind. The old man could recall a time when he had slipped on the form of a Great Eagle atop the craggy peaks of Taniquetil. But now his body controlled his every step; he could barely recollect the shape or form of the rich green fields and gardens that had once been his home.

Complaining to others was not his way. By day he said nothing; indeed, until recently he had walked only by himself. Now, sensing the emptiness all about him, he had chosen to plod along with Rôg, a younger scholar who was ostensibly his servant. He nodded politely to any who addressed him as they strode along the road, but rarely said more than that. Wholly absorbed by the intricacies of the birds and beasts around him, many mistook his simplicity and singlemindedness for lack of understanding. Yet that was far from true. He lacked cunning, not intelligence.

At night, trapped within fears, the old man wondered about many things. He'd been told to come and care for the olvar and kelvar. He had not neglected this charge. So why could he not step onto the sleek Elven vessel and sail back to the sandy white shores where there was no death or despair, a place so unlike that in which he now found himself? Why was he still here when so many others had left? Perhaps if he could untangle the answer to that riddle, he would find his way home. The old man lay back in bed, purposefully shutting out the sounds of the night, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

[mark12_30]

The mouse's nose twitched and he shifted in his sleep. The rush of wings faded into the distance, and he heard a few night-cries in the distance.

He curled himself tighter and buried his nose with both front paws and his tail. So the previous bird of prey had not been a fluke? With hunger also departed whatever tenuous safety he had known?

For now, he would not leave his hiding place, not until the curly-brown man woke up again.

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

The rush of wings startled her and she looked up again, but her eyes had adjusted to the candle that had drawn the moths, and she saw nothing at first. By the time her eyes adjusted to the stars again, there was nothing to see or hear, except the moths, and the stars. She enjoyed each in turn.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:12 AM December 06, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Nerindel]

A fully laden wagon rumbled through the gates of the white city, flanked by four riders all clad in bright green cloaks a silver swan embroidered to the left breast of each. The riders consisted of two men and two woman, the first man riding at the front right of the wagon was unmistakably Gondorian, tall and proud his dark eyes bright and keen followed the winding road. The woman riding to the left side of the wagon was also Gondorian and her straight dark hair whipped in the mild winter winds, both held their heads high as they guided the wagon through the winding streets of the city of their birth. The man to the rear and right of the wagon was also tall, his hair short and raven black, his hazel eyes keen if not a little grim and the solid wooden bow on his back marked him a man of Dale. The final rider was an elf woman fair of face and her pale grey eyes holding the wisdom of three ages, her fair hair shimmering in the moonlight.

The wagon with its heavy load also had passengers, at the rear of the wagon sat a sturdy red headed dwarf, a long grey clay pipe clenched firmly between his teeth as he studied the stonework of the white city, passing the occasional comment to the hobbit who sat next to him. The hobbit too had a pipe in his mouth and was content to listen to his dwarven companion while blowing smoke rings into the encroaching night, his brown locks bouncing as he shook disagreeing or nodded agreeing with his friends comments. Like the riders both the stout hobbit and his dwarven friend wore green cloaks with the silver swan motif.

Up in front either side of the wagoneer sat two young olive skinned women identical in every way, their long dark hair braided to their waists, their rich amber eyes staring in awe at the wonders of the city. Both wore soft red silk veils which revealed only their soft kohl lined eyes, but unlike the others they were wrapped in dark fur cloaks, even their boot were fur lined, being from the south they felt the cold more than the others.

"Are we nearly there?" they asked in unison, pulling their cloaks tighter about them.

"Yes my young friends you will soon feel the warmth of the Seventh Star," the tall vibrant female wagoneer laughed, "Captain Aerant said that the inn is renowned for its hospitality, and the innkeeper will welcome us when we bring him his latest shipment of ales and wines from north and south of arda!"

"There's even several casks of Dorwinion wine back here!" the dwarf interrupted. "Your father must think highly of the innkeeper to impart such a gift!"

"Nay master Odrin, Have you not served under my father long enough to know that he gives nothing freely, even the advice he imparts often has it's price?" she laughed heartily, the dwarf nodded lending his deep rumbling laugh to her mirth. "Nay the innkeeper, a master Rimbaud, paid in advance asking us specially to acquire the Dorwinion wine if we could."

"Aye an' it took us, near on a month with many songs and story telling before the wine merchants of Dorwinion would agree on a price." the tall Gondorian man laughed good heartedly.

"Ha! so that is where you and Brandwin disappeared too several months past!" the stout hobbit cried, jumping up and promptly hitting his head on the lantern that swung from the roof of the wagon, setting the group into another chorus of ructious laughter.

"So master Fastred has discovered the reason for our mysterious absence, Hámalin?" the grim looking Dale man laughed, coming forward at the mention of his name.

"Yes I have, and I might well have liked to see those lands and played my pipes on the shores of the sea of Rhûn, for the pleasure of the lords and ladies?" he huffed rubbing the bump on his head.

"And I am sure they too would have loved to hear those pipes, Fastred my friend, but would you have really suffered the long journey on horse back?" The Gondorian man, Hámalin asked gently.

"I just might have," the hobbit groaned, plopping himself down heavily on a large wooden trunk.

"Well Master Fastred when next we are required to pass that way we will all go and take the wagon then you will not return to us bruised and saddle sore!" the Wagoneer laughed her coppery brown curls bouncing lightly about her shoulders as she did, with that promise the hobbit brightened considerably .

"Look the star still shines !" The Gondorian woman called pointing to the light that shone through the dusty windows, As they halted in the yard of the seventh star.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen remember we are here to work if we can, the swan is berthed for the winter and will not sail again until the spring, how long we remain in the white city will depend on our audience and our ability to hold their attention!" Nerindel announced addressing them standing tall and confident upon the wagon. "How many of us will require rooms at the inn? " she asked looking to the two Gondorians in her company.

"Odrin and Fastred made it clear before we even disembarked the swan that they wished to take up a room at the inn, but Brandwin has agreed to be a guest at my families home." Hámalin answered and the man of Dale nodded that this was so.

"Ashra and Ashru have both agreed to be my guests," the twin Haradwaith women nodded excitedly, "and Lírësule too if she will?" the Gondorian woman said looking to the elf woman for her answer.

"I thank you for the kind offer Finríel, but I think at least one of us with more sense and less thought of fine ale and food should remain to look out for the lady Nimsûl!" the elf laughed nodding towards the dwarf and the hobbit, "Hey, we can look after the lady!" Fastred retorted looking truly offended, "Come now, my young friend you know she is right!" the dwarf laughed, slapping the hobbit playfully on the back as they dismounted.

"Then it is settled, Myself, Líresule, Odrin and Master Fastred will take rooms in the inn and the rest of you will be guests of our Gondorian friends, but first to deliver our cargo and see about offering our services to the good Master Rimbaud." Nerindel grinned jumping down from the wagon.

"Hámalin! Líresule! come with me the rest of you help unload the wagon." With a round of nodded assent , she turned and with the same movement swept the right side of her cloak over her shoulder, revealing the figure hugging russet bodice and the russet and burnt orange skirts of her fine apparel. Her two companions did like wise, Líresule revealing a simple green travelling dress of elven make and a small golden hand harp hanging from her fine silvery belt and Hámalin wore a fine cut blue shirt with his black leggings.

It was late and the door was locked for the night, she knocked long and loud, after a short wait a great bear of a man opened the door and stepped out infront of her, "Can I help you?" he asked, plainly annoyed by the lateness of their arrival. She regarded him for a second with her bright sea blue eyes then smiled "Yes I am looking for the innkeeper of this fine establishment."

"Then you have found him!" the large man answered, Puzzled Nerindel cast a questioning looked back to Hámalin, who only shrugged. This man did not fit the description they were given of the innkeeper of the Seventh Star! "You are Master Rimbaud?" she asked raising a questioning eyebrow.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:51 AM December 06, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[mark12_30]

A young Gondorian servant-girl swept breathlessly arund the corner of the Inn from the direction of the back kitchen door.

"Nay, my good guests, his name is Lord Morien. Welcome, " she said with her very brightest smile, "to the Seventh Star, and well-met. May I take your cloaks and scarves?"

The elf-lady giggled, turned a quizzical look on the Innkeeper, and made a sweeping curtsey. "Hail and Well Met, Lord Blacky of the Seventh Star." She followed the gibe with a sweet smile and a catching laugh which began to soothe the Innkeeper's dignity.

What was left of his ire was spent on the girl. "Next time wait to ask for their cloaks until they are inside. You have a lot of goods to carry in first. And why are you still outside at this hour?"

Excuses never helped; better just to get back to work. "I'm sorry, sir. " She shouldered a barrel.

"Here, lass, I'll take that--" began the dwarf but she looked down and swept inside. "Sturdier than she looks, " he muttered. Catching up another barrel, the dwarf and a few of the others unloaded the stores.

Mellonin studied them as whe worked, and resolved to speak with as many of them as she could, They certainly looked like they had tales to tell. A halfling! How terribly exciting. And those two elegant, darkeyed women... she was bubbling with questions. But at the moment, all she had time to say to several of them in passing was, "I do hope you'll be able to stay a while. I'm so very glad you've come."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:56 AM December 06, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[piosenniel]

Rôg

‘Mmmm . . . tasty!’

The nighthawk’s bill snapped up a fat silverfish that dared the desk top. Hidden under a thin sheet of parchment it had been chewing on, the insect wriggled hurriedly for safety on its thin spidery legs, antennae waving wildly when the plop and scrabble of the bird’s feet had first hit the edge of the paper.

The bird had spent a good half hour poking about the clerestory windows that flanked this section of the library. And at last had been rewarded with one whose grout had crumbled, allowing him to move it out of the way and enter, gliding silently down to the reading desks that lined the center aisle. A few small lamps burned low – one at the entryway door, and two at each end of the great table. He wondered what sleepless librarians wandered the halls this night, guardians of the papery treasures locked away in the maze of rooms. Thank the powers that be that the old man’s memory of this place had been so clear, so precise.

In the shadows of the stacks he changed to his two legged form – more convenient for browsing through the dusty rolls of vellum piled one upon the other in the small cubicles. The leather bound tomes he ignored. The old man had been specific – it was a small, single, yellowed piece of parchment; the edges crackling into dust with age. He had rolled it loosely, he said, securing it with a bit of red string.

Ah! As if that would help him in this search!

He was colorblind – the red of the string would be so much grey to him, indistinguishable from the other dusty strings that wrapped round the myriad of rolls. Nothing to do but sort out the larger rolls from the smaller, the single pieces of paper from the others, and begin.

It was nearly dawn when he found the one he sought. Rolling it up carefully, he left himself enough of a loop to carry it securely

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

The flight back to the Inn was torturous. The roll of parchment caught the vectors of the breezes in odd ways, slowing him down or sending him flying in odd directions a he tried to maneuver with the cumbersome burden. A clutch of small brown wrens took advantage of his plight and dive bombed him unmercifully, trying to knock him from the sky. He grew tired and frustrated. Folding his wings tight against his body he dove toward the ground, a feathered missile, the wrens spiraling just above him, and straight into the midden of the Inn’s kitchen.

Peels of potatoes mingled and ripened with those of apples. The head, skin and bones of fish, slimy tops from the garden carrots, half eaten bits of bread now mouldered in a pungent stew. In one of his other forms he might have enjoyed the tangy mess he found himself wing deep in. But now his feathers were sodden and stuck together, his beak stained red from some castoff beet it had chanced into, and on his head, like some limp cockade sat a bit of old kale. Disgusting! And to make matters worse he could hear the birdish laughter of the wrens as they sat in the leaf bare plum tree at the corner of the Inn.

He stood up in the midst of the oozing mess and found the window the Innkeeper had pointed out to the young woman just last night. He pressed tentatively against it, feeling it give way. Reaching in carefully, he unlatched the door and opened it quietly.

A trail of ripe compost marked his journey through the kitchen and up the stairs to the room he shared with the old man. Aiwendil, sat up in bed as his companion entered the close confines of the room. His eyes watered and his nose wrinkled at the stench.

‘Open the window,’ he gasped, drawing the bedclothes up over this nose. ‘By the One, you stink!’

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:15 AM December 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[mark12_30]

The mouse stirred uneasily as voices sounded in the dimness. Baran's rumbling snore had been a comfort, but these hushed whispers were puctuated by snorts and derisive comments. One voice sounded like Rog, the other like Rog's elderly companion. He wondered what had woken them so early, and if the hawkish bird had anything to do with it.

One thing was for certain. Something smelled absolutely delicious.

[littlemanpoet]

A young man walked through the doors of the inn, his eyes wide, his expression rapt. His hair was red and settled on his head like a mop. He walked up to the bar, looking around, taking in his surroundings as if he would memorize every inch of it.

Once he got to the bar, his face screwed up with a comical frown, and he fished in his pockets. His brow rose in surprise, and he pulled out a handful of coins, staring at them, studying the face of the King on the front, and the tree and seven stars on the back.

"May I help you, lad?"

The young man's eyes shot up. "Yes! I'll take one of the stoutest you have."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:22 PM December 09, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[mark12_30]

Here it was midmorning already, and she was already looking forward to a good night's sleep. Next time, Mellonin promised herself, I won't stargaze quite so long. She drew the back of her hand across her eyes, took a deep breath and stretched tall, and reminded herself to smile.

The wagonfull of folk had settled in, the elves were exploring the Inn and the hobbit and dwarf were enjoying a late breakfast.

She hesitated, watching the young redheaded man at the bar, and waited while Morien poured the ale and the redheaded man tasted it, and gave a nod of approval. Then she stepped closer. His intense gaze unnerved her a little, but she composed herself.

"Good morning, sir, and welcome to The Seventh Star." He nodded over his ale; she continued. "When you are rested, I would like to hear what brings you to The Seventh Star. Perhaps you are newly come to the City?"

[littlemanpoet]

The young man was most pleased with the stout ale. The lady's question was forthright, but asked in a way that for courtesy could not be equaled, as far as he could tell.

"Yes, I am new to the city. First thing this morning I found myself at the front gate, not knowing where I was, or who, but knowing this is not where I am from. Yet I was amazed and glad, because this place is a wonder!"

He smiled over his ale, his delight written on his face.

"This is The Seventh Star, you say? And these coins have seven stars on the back, and a tree. Who is the King on the front? And what city is this?"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:23 PM December 09, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[piosenniel]

Rôg

The old man stood at the window. The shutters were flung back and that troublesome host of sparrows sat on the ledge chirping at him, shaking their feathers to gain his attention. One of the bolder ones, the leader in the flying ‘V’ that had assailed Rôg last night, had claimed a perch on Aiwendil’s shoulder. His bright black eye was fixed on the younger man in a challenging stare.

‘I surrender, Master Sparrow,’ said Rôg, grinning at the little brown bird. ‘Gondor is yours, from leaf to sky.’ He packed his hard won prize of last night in his leather bag and placed it on the bed beside the old man’s. ‘I’ll see to breakfast,’ he said, opening the door to the room. ‘Just come down when you’re ready.’ From the floor to the left of the door, Rôg picked up the pillowcase he’d stuffed with his aromatic garments and, holding it away from him, proceeded down the stairs.

The Common Room was already starting to fill up he noted, his foot resting on the next to the last stair. Naught to do but hurry through to the door, hoping that the unsavory smell would not linger long. A glance to his left showed the young woman of last night at the bar speaking to a red-haired man he had not previously seen in the Inn. And as his ill placed stars would have it, there stood the Innkeeper, his gaze already on him as he dithered on the stairs.

Like a man delivering a suspect and distasteful package, Rôg held the bundle well away from him. He fixed his sights on the main door and started boldly across the room, picking up speed with each muttered comment as he went.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:16 AM December 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[mark12_30]

Her consternation that the redheaded man did not know the name of the city he stood in was exceeded by a well-composted stench. She snatched a corner of her sleeve and put it over her nose, and then glared at Rog as he hurried past. THen she studied the redhaired man again. He seemed gentle despite his wild eyes; but his questions unsettled her. "I wish the Lady Estelyn were here. She would know what to ask, and what to do," Mellonin thought. "But no doubt she would tell me to do my best..."

Once she could breathe without gagging, she pointed to the coin and said, "The King is Elessar, well beloved and just. The seven stars and the one white tree are part of Gondor's insignia. And the name of the city is Minas Anor, the tower of the Sun. But all this you would have learned from the guards at the gate; did you not pass through the gate? Forgive me, but with hair like yours I cannot imagine you would have passed unnoticed. You say you do not know who you are nor where?" Se frowned, and glanced at the Innkeeper. He was busy pouring a drink.

Studying the redhaired man, she thought hard. "Were you injured? Do you feel well? Do you have a headache, or were you drinking a little too much perhaps? Or by chance are you feverish?"

And then with a sudden hope she interrupted him even as he began to answer. "Do you know what happened to Mellondu? Have you seen him? Do you know where he has gone?"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:01 AM December 09, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Mithadan]

The Innkeeper assisted in the offloading of the wagon. He smiled when he saw the mark which identified some of the casks as being of Dorwinion origin, though he squinted and puzzled over the odd southron runes which marked the other casks.

"Master Rimbaud told me to expect you," he said. "But I feared that I might have missed the shipment. I returned to reopen the Inn just a day ago."

"Reopen?" asked Nerindel with a frown. "It has been closed? And where is Rimbaud."

"Aye," answered the Innkeeper. "The Star has been closed for some months now. Master Rimbaud went off on a journey. When he returned, he was...ill. He is now resting in the care of a healer. Perhaps someday he will return, but for now I am the barkeep and master of this place."

Nerindel nodded with a bit of suspicion, which evaporated quickly once the last cask was unloaded and the Innkeeper invited them in to settle accounts and have a drink. He disappeared into the back room for a moment as the servers quickly and quietly attended to the customers. Then he returned bearing a cloth bag which he delivered to the wagoneer. "There!" he said. "I believe this is what was agreed to. Though I'm a bit surprised at the size of your cavalcade. Will you all be staying?"

Nerindel opened the bag and checked its contents quickly. Then, with a nod and a smile, she passed it to Hámalin who fastened it to his belt under his shirt. "No...sir," she answered, realizing she had not caught the Innkeeper's name. "I will stay with Líresule, Odrin and Master Fastred, if we may. The others will stay with our friends elsewhere in the city."

"Good, good!" cried Morien. "Your first night will be on the house as will be dinner. Now where is that woman? Mellonin! Girl! Come here!"

Mellonin had been chatting with a young man, but trotted over quickly. She stared openly at the Dwarf and the Hobbit as the Innkeeper spoke. "Rooms for these four, girl. On the house for this night as will be their dinner. But not their drinks! There'll be many of those if I'm any judge." He wiped his hands on a towel and walked off towards the young man as Mellonin took the new guests to a desk to sign in.

The Innkeeper stopped before the young man. He noted that the mug of stout was nearly drained and nodded his head. A server swept by, grabbing the mug as he passed and replacing it with a full one. "Thank you," stammered the man, but the server was already gone.

"Are you new to Gondor?" asked Morien.

"Yes," answered the lad as he sipped at his mug. "At least I think I am. I'm not sure..." Morien frowned and sat down next to the young man.

[littlemanpoet]

The smell was offensive in the extreme. Once it passed, he was better able to listen to the young lady's answers, and her questions. Elessar. Gondor. Minas Anor. The names resonated deeply within him. He wished he could remember why. The young lady's questions were disconcerting, and apt. Had he in fact started at the gate? Or had it been a different gate he had come through? Or had he passed through one gate, thinking it to be another? He wished he could remember. Then she startled him with an entirely unrelated question: "Do you know what happened to Mellondu? Have you seen him? Do you know where he has gone?"

"I'm sorry, lady, I do not know who this man Mellondu is, so I cannot say whether I have seen him or not. Is he a friend?"

"Melonnin!" called a man's voice, and the young lady left him to obey the man's orders. So she was in employ at this Inn. Melonnin; a gentle name. He took another draft of his ale. It seemed to be morning here, but it felt to him like late afternoon. He wondered what that meant.

Morien was the man's name, and he clearly had authority in this Inn, considering that the barkeep settled another stout ale just like the previous in response to Morien's gesture. Morien asked him if he was new, and he answered the man honestly, of course. Morien frowned and sat down next to him as the young man sipped the foam of the top of his stout.

"I do not mean to be difficult, sir," the redheaded young man said. "I wish I could remember much at all!"

"Do you remember your name?" Morien asked.

"Not even that, sir, though it occurs to me that the name I once had was given me for my hair, so if you were to call me 'Red', in whatever tongue, it would serve as well as any other, I suppose. But tell me, if you please, who is this Elessar, and what is his story? Melonnin holds him in high esteem!"

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

‘Ammë! I’m thirsty! Are we there yet?!’

The fidgety little five year old was tucked in close against her mother, shielded from the morning’s breeze by the folds of the great blue cloak. Dark brown curls surrounded the fair face that poked itself out through the woolen edges, and curious brown eyes swept the road ahead for their promised destination. She wished that her mother’s mount would sprout wings like the dragons from the stories and fly them to the Inn at a faster pace.

‘You shall just have to have patience!’ piped the twin chorus of the young girl’s siblings, impishly echoing the phrase they had been hearing now for the last half hour. Gilwen and Isilmir, six years old, their black hair and grey eyes a mirror for each other, broke into laughter at their mimicry. They urged their ponies alongside their mother’s horse and grinned up wickedly at their little sister – who promptly stuck out her tongue at them.

At long last, at least to the little girl, though if truth be told it was only another quarter of an hour, the Inn hove into view as they crested a rise in the road. At a nod from their mother, Gilwen and Isilmir took off at a gallop toward The Seventh Star, their excited voices challenging each other to a race.

Little Cami stretched herself low over the horse’s neck. ‘We could beat them, Sinda,’ she whispered in a coaxing voice, her little fingers winding themselves into the coarse salt and pepper hairs of the grey gelding’s mane. Pio grinned as the horse flicked his ears back toward Cami, indicating an interest in showing up the ponies. She flicked the reins gently and urged him to a faster pace with a light tap of her heels against his flanks.

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

A short time later the four riders found themselves in the front yard of the Inn. In a rush and a chorus of laughter they dismounted, Gilwen arguing good-naturedly with her brother that her pony’s nose had been the first to the hitching post. Isilmir took the reins of the other two mounts and handed them along with his own to the grey clad hostler who approached.

Shaking the dust off their cloaks, and pushing their wind tousled hair back from their reddened cheeks, the chattering trio ascended the steps, Pio in tow. Their little voices were loud in the near emptiness of the Common Room as they burst through the door.

‘A ginger beer for me! And me!’ cried the two girls, dashing for a table near the fire. ‘A birch beer for me,’ requested Isilmir, in a considering tone to the grey clad server who had hastened to see to their needs. He waited for his mother and sisters to take their seats, then took his own.

Pio, her eyes sweeping the room for a familiar face, asked for a glass of Southron red, if they had it. And could he ask Master Rimbaud to come speak with her for a moment . . .

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:17 AM December 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn had slept restlessly, walking the aisles of the library in her dreams, looking for something, always searching, incessantly wandering. She awoke well before dawn, not unusual for her, but she was more exhausted than refreshed. Dressing hurriedly, she hastened her steps to the part of the palace tower which housed the archives of the White City. Why should she feel as if she had to find something, she wondered. On the contrary, she had new documents that needed to be placed on the right shelves, so that they could be found by those who might want to read them later.

She opened the heavy door to the library rooms and picked up a small lamp that stood on the table next to the entrance. Not that she needed it to find her way; she knew these halls well. But she felt the need to see – what, she did not know. Her eyes wandered to and fro as she walked through the aisles; all seemed to be as usual. Yet there was a breath of fresh air enlivening the mustiness; she followed it, glad of the closed lamp that kept her light from flickering, until she found a window that had been opened slightly. Puzzled, she held the light closer to inspect the dusty sill.

There were marks, scratches, as if a bird had landed there, but no sign of finger marks. Who had opened the window, and above all, why? Certainly the documents and books were valuable, but not so for a common thief. They could hardly be sold for enough money to be interesting as a booty. Had something been taken, and if so, what? The window was located high in the tower; how had someone been able to climb up that far?

She closed the window, noting that the horizon was lightening almost imperceptibly, though the stars still shone brightly. Lifting her lamp, she began to search methodically, scanning each shelf for signs of a departure from the usual order. The slight coating of dust that was ever-present in these rooms showed no disturbance; the books stood in their rows as always, old friends that seemed to greet her invitingly. Finally, in a cubicle farther back in a corner, she discovered that the parchment rolls were not as carefully stacked as normally.

Yes, undoubtedly someone had been here, and it was not one of her well-trained library assistants. They knew better than to risk her ire by handling the precious rolls with less than meticulous care. She paged through several of the parchments, making note of their content and trying to ascertain what could be missing. But not even she knew the contents of the archives by heart, and there were many aged documents that had not been recorded. Making a mental note to ask one of her helpers to reorder that shelf and record which rolls it contained, she left. Oh, and she must ask a carpenter to have a look at the window – it wouldn’t do to have it open so easily!

She decided to walk to the Seventh Star later on that day; perhaps she would see if someone new had come to the city, someone who had an unusual interest in old records…

[Nerindel]

After off loading the cart and settling with the new innkeeper, the young Gondorian woman who had first greeted them showed them to they're rooms. The men in her troupe helped to carry up two large gilded oak chests, then taking their leave Nerindel reminded them that they were here to work as well as have fun. "You two mind to keep out of trouble!" she said taking the southern twins into her knowing gaze.

"Us!" they chimed innocently, But Nerindel caught the mischievous glint in the young women's eyes, "Finríel, I charge you with keeping these two out of mischief!" she laughed. The Gondorian woman replied with a laugh of her own, "I will do my best but I'm not promising anything."

"We will come back in the afternoon," Hámalin told her in his more business like manner, "No hurry my friend, I'm sure the girls and Brandwin would like to see a bit of the city?" at this the twins nodded excitedly. "Evening will be soon enough." she smiled.

"Lady remember to be mindful, this may be the city of the King but even here their may be enemies!" Brandwin warned, the Grim faced Dale man always counselled caution where ever they went. Although she thought his caution unnecessary, she smiled and nodded all the same, knowing the man would not be satisfied least she did.

With the others gone, Odrin and Fastred's thoughts turned to food and fine ales, "I'm starved do you think they have Mushrooms here," the hobbit mused patting his stomach, "And maybe some seed cake!" he added excitedly. "Your thinkin' o' food when there's fine ale to be had!" The dwarf rumbled, "Come then me young friend! lets see what the Seventh star has to offer a hungry hobbit and a thirsty Dwarf?"

Nerindel and Lírësule watched the two friends with amusement, "The Innkeeper was wise not to include free drink into his generous offer!" the elf woman laughed. "Yes Odrin would surely drink him dry !" Nerindel laughed. "Odrin! Myself and Lírësule are going to have a look around, Save us some breakfast will you!" she called to the dwarf. "Aye I'll try, but our hobbit friend is already talkin' o' second breakfast!" The dwarfs roaring laughter echoed around the room, but stopped abruptly when a frowning and very sour looking Fastred dug him hard in the ribs.

Still laughing at the sight the two women exited the common room. "Did you catch the innkeepers name?" Lírësule whispered as she took in the surrounding as they passed down the hallways of the inn, "Yes, I noticed that he failed to mention it, even at my prompt!" Nerindel frowned. "But the Gondorian serving girl, Mellonin gave it, Lord Morien she said his name was" Nerindel stopped and looked round to see if her elf friend was jesting with her, "Lord Blacky, eh!" she laughed seeing that Lírësule was not fooling with her. The elf woman frowned seeing an all too familiar glint of interest in her friends sea blue eyes, "Oh no! I've seen that look before and I will be no part of it, not all puzzles need solving!" she laughed shaking her head, determined that she would not be dragged into one of Nerindel's plans.

"Oh come on it's out there plain waiting to be solved, I'll not pry, I just what to see if I can't get the good innkeeper to give it freely!" she grinned. Lírësule sighed with relief and the pair moved on to explore the inn yard.

Nerindel raised her face to the fresh morning breeze as she walked beside Lírësule, they explored the grounds, even checking in on their team of horses, who to their surprise were already groomed, watered and well feed if their contented nickering was anything to go by. If truth be told it was the elf woman who had done most of the exploring, Nerindel was lost in her own thoughts and only half heartedly listened as Lírësule meticulously memorised every entrance, exit, stairwell and out building.

"Do you think we will see him this winter?" Nerindel asked lowering her sea blue eyes to meet those of her elven friend, there was no need to say of whom she spoke for the elf woman although she hid it better, had also been thinking of their old friend. She sighed and shook her head, "I do not know! it may be that he has passed back unto the lands from whence he came, after all his task was complete and the dark one was defeated, he lingered long with us, perhaps longer than he should have?"

"Perhaps," Nerindel nodded, "But I do so miss his wise counsels."

"As do I," Lírësule smiled, " But come let us not dwell on what has passed, we have a whole new day before us and good friends to share it with." With that she took her friends arm and they passed back into the inn to find Odrin and Fastred.

Entering the common room they soon spotted the boisterous dwarf and his hobbit companion. Odrin an ale in hand beckoned them over, and as they sat down Fastred lifted his head only long enough to acknowledge their presence then lowered it to continue enjoying the mushrooms before him. "How many?" Nerindel asked raising an intrigued eyebrow, "That's his third." Odrin laughed.

"Here catch" the dwarf said tossing each of them the reddest apple they had ever seen, "Is that all you could save?" she teased, but even as she spoke two servers placed bowls of hot steaming apple and cinnamon porridge before her and Lírësule, they both nodded their thanks and as the servers drew away they turned to see a satisfied look on the dwarf's broad face.

She drizzled a little honey over her porridge, then lifted her spoon to take a large mouthful, but before she had even got the spoon half way, Odrin had grabbed her wrist, she looked at the dwarf's frowning face. "You can never be too careful!" he whispered taking the spoon, looking at her other companions she saw that they too wore concerned frowns, "But this is the city of the King!" she protested. "Did ye not listen to Brandwin's words lass, even here there could be enemies!" he whispered hastily. Realising that she would not win this argument, she reluctantly relented.

"Go on lass give us a taste!" he laughed, hiding his true intent and so as to avoid insulting the innkeeper, by suggesting his food was not safe to eat.

"Well!" Nerindel frowned after the dwarf had swallowed the spoonful of porridge, "Mmm, very nice" the dwarf grinned after a moments pause, handing the spoon back to her and nodding that it was safe to eat. "Told you!" she muttered trying the porridge for herself.

Just as she was taking the last mouthful she noticed an elven woman with three young elven children enter the inn.

"She looks familiar do we know her?" she whispered to Lírësule. The elf woman lifted her head to regard the other elf woman, "Half elven" she whispered "The Gondorian trade vessel The Star had a half elf among it's crew if I remember right, but we have only encountered that ship once and briefly so I can't be sure if this is the same elf!"

Unclipping her purse from her belt and stopping the server as he returned with the women and the children's drinks, she paid for the order and bade the man to tell the lady the drinks were compliments of the crew of the Edhellond trade ship the Silver Swan. "What are you doing!" Odrin blustered, "Seein' if the lady is who I think she is, have you not heard the stories of The Star!" she answered calmly still looking at the elf ladies table. "An' if she's not?" the dwarf huffed. "ah! stop your worrying and drink your ale." she laughed watching the server speak to the woman and point their way, The four of them raised their drinks and with warm smiles they gave a curteous nod to the elven woman, her hobbit companion and her young children.

&lt;font size=1 color=339966&gt;[ 11:13 AM December 10, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]&lt;/font&gt;

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:34 PM December 12, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Mithadan]

OOC: For purposes of the current iteration, the events at the Inn are taking place 18 years after the War of the Ring. This places the Inn at a time sufficiently remote from the War to allow for creativity, but still close enough to known events for a familiar frame of reference to exist. No posts need be changed irrespective of the timeline assumed in them. I will delete these OOCs once everyone has had a chance to review them. Thanks.

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel


The mug of ginger beer covered the bottom half of little Cami’s face, and Pio stared in wonder at the child. She had the drink tipped so far up and was drinking so greedily that Pio half expected the liquid to go up the child’s nose. Not so – the mug came down with a satisfied clunk on the table top, a few missed drops flying onto the smooth surface of the wood. She glanced hopefully in the direction of her sister’s ginger beer, but Gilwen only pulled hers in closer and took a sip.

‘Who are those people,’ she asked tugging at the sleeve of her mother’s tunic, and pointing toward the table where the woman, Elf, Dwarf, and Hobbit sat.

‘Stop pointing,’ whispered Isilmir. ‘It’s not polite.’ He leaned nearer his younger sister and spoke low. ‘They are from a ship called The Silver Swan.See their cloaks - that silver bird on the green. We were docked near them once, in Cobas Haven.’ He looked a little smugly at her. ‘Of course, you were just a baby then.’ Pio arched her brow at him and his necked reddened at being caught egging on his sister.

Little Cami snorted at his discomfiture and turned back to her mother. ‘They were nice, weren’t they,’ she asked. ‘They bought us our drinks.’ A familiar look came on her features, and before Pio could catch hold of her, she had grabbed her now empty mug and scooted off the chair. Her little legs carried her to the Swan’s table at a quick pace, and she squirmed in between the Dwarf and the Hobbit.

‘That was a good drink! Thank you!’ Her mug was carefully set on the table as she smiled, taking them all in. Her eyes drifted to the plate of seedcake slices that sat near the elbow of the Hobbit. He was busy with a plate of fried mushrooms, and she tugged on his sleeve to catch his full attention. ‘I’m Cami,’ she said, her eyes straying to the cake. ‘I like seedcake, too.’

Gilwen and Isilmir stared at their sister, then back at their mother, who had watched the little scene with some amusement. Pio approached the table, a half smile playing on her lips and shook her head. ‘She is my adventurous one,’ she laughed, tousling the girl’s hair. ‘And yes, thank you for your kind offer of drinks. My crew was quite thirsty.’

The twins had by this time abandoned their drinks and come to stand at their mother’s side. ‘I am Piosenniel, by the way and these are my children. Little Cami, you’ve already met. And this is Gilwen. And this Isilmir.’ Both of them nodded politely at the group and smiled. ‘We see you are from The Silver Swan. How was your last trip? Profitable, I hope.’

Pio motioned for one of the servers to come near and ordered drinks all round for the table.

[Mithadan]

Morien smiled at the lad's eagerness. "Elessar is our King. The King of Gondor," the Innkeeper answered. "As for his tale, well, that'd take some telling and I can't say as I know all of it. You'll hear it in bits and pieces, or maybe even all at once if you stay around here long enough."

Then the Innkeeper looked at the boy with some concern. "You don't know who you are or where you're from," he muttered. "Very well. Then Red it is. Lad, you'd best stay here for a time until you recover your wits. There's a loft in the stable, where you can sleep for free. That'll save you some coin and if you want to earn more, I guess I can find something for you to do. And take care, mind you! Minas Anor's a safe enough place, but just as anywhere there's some bad eggs who wouldn't mind parting you from your money." The lad nodded appreciatively and thanked the Innkeeper, who waved off the boy's gratitude and turned away.

He ambled across the room to the wagoneer's table, where the odd company had been joined by a fair lady and three children. "Did someone call for Master Rimbaud?" he asked. "He's not about, nor is he likely to be for some time. May I be of service?"

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

‘Perhaps you can,’ said Pio, stepping forward. My name is Piosenniel. Master Rimbaud and I were old acquaintances and had an understanding of sorts. He would always put back one of the older bottles of Dorwinion wine for me, to be picked up when I came to the Inn.’ She glanced up at the rafters, taking in the cobwebs still gracing the corners of the beams. ‘And I must confess I have not been here in quite some time.’ Her face took on a worried look. ‘Have I missed some news about my friend?’

Morien introduced himself, giving a brief account of the former Innkeeper, and how he had come to take on the duties. In passing, he mentioned he was from Lossarnach. ‘Not kin to Old Forlong,’ she almost said, then bit it back noting that though he was a large man, he did not possess the girth of the former Lord of Lossarnach. Instead she told him that her family dwelt in a small holding just outside the southwestern edge of the Rammas Echor. ‘Up against Mindolluin,’ she said. ‘So I guess you might call us neighbors of sorts.’

He told her there was some Dorwinion wine just come in, but as to its age, he could not guarantee that it was not of recent vintage. He turned away, saying he would just fetch her a bottle, when she laid her hand lightly on his arm. ‘One other request, if you will, Master Morien. A friend of mine often sends me letters here.’ Pio laughed remembering Bird had told her the Inn was more likely to stay in one place than was the Elf, and so she intended to send her letters into the keeping of Rimbaud. ‘They would have my name on them, and be sealed with the silver outline of a small bird in flight on black wax.’

[mark12_30]

Visitors settled in, rooms squared away, introductions complete, Mellonin returned to the common room, and surveyed it. Then she turned, and retreated to the bookkeeping room, and stood at the doorway.

There was only one pen and the supply of parchment was small. She did not relish the thought of explaining to Morien why his pen or parchment was missing.

Perhaps she had not gathered everything she needed from her former master's house, after all. This time, she could not return late. She turned, and headed for the common room.
Morien was walking past, muttering about letters and wine. She halted him, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Please, sir, I need to make one more trip to my old master's house to ask for some other things, so I must do it while they are awake. Sir, the Inn is busier at night then at mid-day, is it not? I will be needed this evening. May I go now?"

He waved her on. "Don't be too long." And he continued on his way. She watched him go. And then she snatched up her cloak and hurried back to the forges and her old home.

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

The mouse woke up hungry, and followed the shadows to the kitchen. Outside, there was a lovely new mulchpile forming. After eating his fill, he returned through a chink in the walls to the common room, and snuggled into his old hiding by the fireplace.

***********


With another awkward bundle in a brown cloak, Mellonin came in through the kitchen door, and sprinted up to the third floor, to her little room by the chimney.

She laughed with relief, and laid the bundle on the bed. Her previous mistress had been willing for her to have her brother's things, but the previous master had not. The mistress had won.

She spread her brother's cloak on the bed, and removed each item, studying it. Two pairs of brown breeches; two shirts, one green and one white. No boots; he only had one pair. No belt, no knife, no tunic; Mellondu only owned one of each, and had been wearing them the night he disappeared.

She paused. Why had he not been wearing his cloak? Had it been a warm evening? Yes, it had. And now it was growing colder, and he did not have one. She frowned.

One pair of breeches was rolled up in a very heavy bundle. The old master had been especially loath to part with Mellondu's hammer and tongs, but they had been a parting gift from father. She hefted them, as she had so often before. She had tried her hand at the forge, twice, when both the master and the mistress had been away. She had not lasted long, but she had managed to start one knife. Mellondu had finished it while she watched. She leaned the hammer and tongs in the darkest corner of the room and returned to the bed.

The white shirt she had folded; the green shirt she had rolled. She unrolled it now to reveal a pen and a bottle of ink. The other shirt was folded around five sheets of parchment. Three were blank. The other two had tables, drawn with an inexperienced and uneven hand. One table was for cirth, the other for tengwar; metalsmiths had to learn them for forging weapons, and Mellondu had just begun to study them. She ran her fingertip over each table in turn.

I can do this, she thought; Mellondu is wiser than I am, but I'm not stupid. I can learn these. The Lady Estelyn expects me to, I've always wanted to, and this is my time.

She turned and surveyed the awkward little room. It was gloomy unless she left the door ajar, but she could do that long enough to study. She would review these tables every day. Perhaps someone at the Inn could help her, too.

She laid Mellondu's clothes across the bed, and thought about a belt, a knife, a tunic and boots. The tunic was the most easily solved. She had four dresses, and the skirts of all of them were forest green; her lips tightened, and she reached for her needle and pocketknife, but then remembered that she was expected downstairs. She faced the three dresses hanging up on the wall, chose her least favorite of the three, and tossed it on the bed beside the breeches. She would have a tunic before long.

She guessed she could find, or make, a belt without much difficulty. She had her own pocketknife until she could get or make a man's knife for herself. The boots were the worst problem, but she could not solve that today.

Humming, she went back downstairs. In between chores and greetings, she looked about for runes or tengwar wherever she saw them, and tried to interpret them as best she could.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:34 AM December 12, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Mithadan]

The Innkeeper slipped through the kitchen and stopped in front of a heavy wood door. From his pocket he withdrew an intricate key which he inserted carefully into the lock. With a click, the door opened and swung inward. He stepped into the office with a frown. Dust covered the surface of a heavy oak desk which stood to one side of the room. On the other wall was a bookshelf. Lighting a lamp to illuminate the dimly lit room, he scanned the surface of the desk.

Seeing no envelopes which met the description provided by the Elf, he proceeded to the bookshelf. There, he found a small stack of packages and envelopes. He lifted one, pausing first to blow the dust from the heavy paper. Then he cursed imaginatively and walked quickly from the office. The door swung shut behind him and he did not have to wait to know that the lock had snapped shut even as he rushed through the kitchen towards the common room.

He proceeded to the wagoneer's table where the children were gleefully holding court to the amusement of those nearby. "My lady!" he cried. "My apologies! This letter must have arrived before Rimbaud went on his journey. He left in quite a hurry as I recall. It is dated nearly two years ago! I am very sorry. It is addressed to Piosenniel."

He handed the envelope to the Elf, whose brows furrowed with annoyance as she took it. At that very moment, a deep voice rumbled through the room. "Piosenniel? She is here? Which one is Piosenniel?" Keeping a neutral expression upon her face, she dropped the letter to the table and turned to face the speaker. At the same time, her hands disappeared beneath the table.

"Oooo! Ammë! He's big!" cried Cami. Behind the Innkeeper, looking at the faces of the table's occupants one by one, was Baran...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Not half a mile from the Inn, was a small enclave of trees, their leaves apparently eternally in the throes of autumn. If any passer-by had chanced to stray a few metres from the path and look behind the wide trunk of the closest of these trees, they would be greeted with a rather unexpected site, although it was apparently camouflaged: a woman, her hair the same autumnal browns as some of the leaves, and covered in the leaves: leaves nestled in her hair, which was loosely tied back, strands falling over her face, leaves almost burying the ankles of her high leather boots, and yet more strewn across her dark tunic and drawn up knees clad in fine brown breeches. Her eyelids flickered delicately, the eyes underneath them following the dreams that flitted through her head, a private theater.

If this passer-by continued to watch, they may have seen a greyish brown bird land to perch on the branch above the dreamer, black ink-droplet eyes watching this lean, leggy character, apparently one with autumn, to see whether she was alive or simply a sprite turned to stone in the manner of a troll. Well, it could happen...

When he wasn't rewarded with any movement save the constand flicker of the woman's eyelids, the bird decided to move things along a little and to check if this really was some strange form of troll turned human turned to stone. Leaving its perch, it flew down the few feet before alighting elegantly on the sleeper's head. The result was spectacular.

"Gargh!" Aman gave a rather unlady-like yell, unearthing herself in a flurry of leaves and wings as she bird, understandably startled, took flight again. In her feet in a flash, Aman looked wildly back at the spot she had been sleeping then, loosing her balance, she promptly took the oppurtunity to collapse again. But as she did so her sharp green eyes took in the path and she froze before grinning at her own foolishness - fool, if there was anyone on the path, they would have seen or heard the chaos of Aman's untidy wakening already. Absent-mindedly picking a leaf from her hair, the woman stared at it for a moment, bemused, as she tried to recall her dream, looking up from the leaf into the tree where the bird, from a higher perch than before, was watching her warily.

"Pio!" She clicked her fingers suddenly in revelation, causing the bird to start slightly, shuffling its feet but not flying off, intigued by this emerald-eyed stranger. Noticing the bird starting, it seemed dream and reality seperated themselves at last and Aman herself stepped back, causing the bird to do the same, a strange dance in the middle of the trees, a small browd bird and a woman still covered with leaves. "I do apologise," the woman said, then waited. No reply. Bother. "Are you....?"

Still no answer from the bird, although Aman fancied there was pity in it's eyes. Well, pity would not come from him, so it was indeed simply a little brown sparrow that she was speaking to, despite the likeness...but if one is going to make a spectacle of oneself, there is no-one better to do it in front of than one of Nature's own messengers. Hesitating and with the vague ideas of her dream flitting through her mind, the woman then picked up her pack and slung it onto her back, fastening her cloak, a dark, weatherbeaten garment, deftly at her throat, before starting towards the path. When she wasn't rewarded by wingbeats behind her, she turned back to the tree where, sure enough, the sparrow was still watching her curiously.

"Well, are you coming then?"

~*~

Accompanied by the little sparrow who had in the course of their journey devoured both Aman's life-story, idle ideas on her dreams and the crumbs she found and fed to it, and who she had become quite fond of, Aman pushed open the door of the Seventh Star, her destination since she had woken up. Looking around purposefully, Aman's eyes alighted finally on a woman of elvish countenance, seated at a table with...Aman's jaw dropped as she saw the two dark haired children, a boy and a girl, as similar in appearance as it was possible for such a pair to be. She had seen Pio, the mental image from several years ago, in her dream, heard her friend sending the message...but she had not seen the twins yet, not since they were but very, very young, her last image of them being when she fastened the necklaces, one gold, one silver around their necks...

The elf's eyes suddenly flitted around the huge man in front of her to Aman and she smiled, surprised, but not too much.

"Pio!"

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

Her thank-you’s to Morien were cut off by the loud voice and looming presence of the person who stood across the table from her. Her gaze locked on him, trying to recall where she might have met him. He was a massive figure of a man, one who would not be easily forgotten. In her long memory she could find nothing that marked him friend or foe.

The deciding factor was the stout staff he clenched in his large hand.

Fëanen . . . Fëasolme . . . Fëalor! Quarë, híni!

Quick and silent, the three children gathered behind her, a tightly closed fist at her back.

For a brief moment, as she stood and moved back from the chair, her awareness took in a familiar voice calling her name, then shut it out. Pio backed up slowly, moving her children toward the door to the kitchen – like a mother bear, keeping herself between them and the stranger. ‘What chance meeting is this,’ she thought to herself, watching for any advance on his part. Her right hand slid beneath the left sleeve of her tunic as she spoke.

‘Who comes seeking Piosenniel? And why?’

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:39 AM December 12, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Pio's post - Rôg

Wiping the last few drops of water from the well on the front folds of his cloak, Rôg crossed the narrow, wooden verandah and pushed the Inn door open. He had sluiced his hands off thoroughly, removing any lingering odors from the bundle of soiled clothes he had carried out to the refuse heap. And now he had plans to secure a table by the fire for himself and his traveling companion. Breakfast, and plenty of strong, hot tea to wash it down, occupied his thoughts as he stepped into the Common Room.

‘Pio!’

He heard the young woman who had entered ahead of him call out to someone she had seen across the room. His gaze, drifted from the sparrow on the woman’s shoulder, toward the small scene playing out a short distance from him. With a sharp intake of breath he stepped backwards toward the door, seeking a quick exit back to the Inn's front yard. He abhorred violence, and the promise of it was too near for his comfort.

~*~

The wrens had flown off, their attention caught by a field of sunflowers in a field to the north and the lure of abundant seed for the taking. The old man lingered at the open window for a moment, watching the tiny brown cloud of them grow smaller in the distance.

A soft whirr, and the feathery brush of delicate wings tickled against his left ear. His hand came up to brush the source of irritation away and was stopped by a barely audible murmuring.

‘Move your stumpy fingers! You’re about to crush my antenna!’

The small brown, gypsy moth latched on to the old fellow’s fingers and rode them in a dizzying arc to a position just in front of Aiwendil’s eyes. A moment of sudden queasiness ensued, followed by the irritated twitching of the moth’s antennae. ‘Yes, it’s me,’ he squeaked, his front leg smoothing out the crook in his right antenna left by the brief pressure of the old man’s fingers. ‘I’ve come to suggest we skip breakfast and hit the road. That big fellow who came in after us yesterday – some Elf, named Pio, I think, has challenged him. The atmosphere in the Common Room has taken a decidedly tense . . . and possibly ugly, turn.’

**********

Child's post - Radagast:

Aiwendil sensed another gentle whirring, this time near his right ear, as the brown moth fluttered up to land on his shoulder. But the wizard seemed not to notice. His round eyes blinked once, then twice, as he stared off into the distance, struggling to retrieve a memory from behind the grey haze.

Pio?... Pio was in the Common Room? Faint hints of a forgotten time sparkled beneath the surface. It was a time when he had first journied to this world. He and Gandalf had worked together to sow the seeds of resistence within the hearts of the Free Peoples. His own heart had been much stronger then. There had been that strange business with the hobbits and the Anduin he'd never fully understood. But the little ones had made good neighbors. He had first met Piosenniel along the river and made his promise to her and her friend, the feisty and insistent Skin-changer, that he would check on the hobbits now and again. That promise, at least, he had kept.

Nor had that been his last encounter with the Elf. Time and again, he had come across her on the road. And, just a few years ago, she had unexpectedly shown up with a husband at her side and two babes in her arms, looking quite content. At the moment, however, the thought uppermost in the wizard's mind was the fine ship that belonged to her and her husband Mithadan.

Aiwendil stood up so abruptly that Rôg tumbled off his shoulder and landed on the broad arm of the chair. The moth lowered his head and tried not to listen as the wizard began lecturing him, "If Pio is in the Common Room, we've no time to lose. That is, unless you intend to walk all the way to Harad! Come along now!"

Seeing the stubborn look on Rôg's face, the wizard shook his head, "I'm more concerned about the safety of my neck on the roads to Harad than I am about Pio. And she may be able to help us with that. Anyways, I know her well enough. The Elf can be hasty, but she's not likely to strike a blow unless the fellow truly deserves it."

Aiwendil headed towards the door, walking purposefully in the direction of the Common Room, and beckoned to Rôg to follow him.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:05 AM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Quite out if breath from the short climb, Edelis entered the Seventh Star directly behind a young man who had followed a woman dressed for travel and with leaves in her hair. Just a few leaves and brightly colored dangling quiet tentatively to the back of her hair. It did look rather nice, Edelis admitted to herself, but would be that much more attractive if less randomly placed, in a row perhaps and a little higher. She wondered distractedly if the young man would pluck them out or not.

After a few steps this strange traveler stopped short in front of them both, uttering something, which she didn’t quite catch the meaning of, but she evidently seemed to be engaging in a reunion of sorts. Apparently unnoticed, the young man backed up toward the door, Edelis moving quickly to make way as he disappeared from the room. Skirting the speaker, she smiled politely as she cast a curious glance toward the table opposite, where an elfish looking woman stood transfixed staring at the looming figure of a man with a stout staff, her children shuffling in behind her. Oh, Edelis had seen enough of various encounters in the past few harried days to know that this one was definitely to be avoided. Hurriedly crossing over to the hearth -the furthest place she could find- she unclasped her cloak, draping it over a chair before settling down to rest.

She wasn’t as young as she used to be, and that hill got steeper every year! But at least here she could attempt to find some peace if not quiet as well. She looked up again and sighed as she doubtfully eyed the situation at the other end of the room. Well if this did become volatile at least she would not be in a small three-room house when the explosion came, and of course the children were welcome to sit with her if the conversation turned harsh. She might even have some sweets tucked about her somewhere, that the nieces and nephews hadn’t found yet.

But best of all, to enjoy a meal cooked by another hand other than her own, though by the tension she discerned, she wondered if she might be taking an unnecessary risk to her health.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:18 AM December 12, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[mark12_30]

Mellonin had no idea what to do about the tension in the room. Feeling vaguely guilty as if she had somehow not smiled enough or failed to greet someone, she looked about, and saw the redheaded man still at his table watching the growing tension.

Keeping her eyes on the elven lady and Baran, she quietly slipped over to stand behind the redheaded man's table, and watched. She wondered how Morien would respond if a fight was to break out in his common room. She did not like the idea. What would she do? She did not know.

[Mithadan]

"Who comes seeking Piosenniel? And why?"

Baran's eyes fixed upon Piosenniel, taking note of the children who huddled behind her. The Innkeeper, alarmed at the sudden tension in his common room, scowled and stepped between the massive man and the Elf. "Here now..." he began. But Baran interrupted. "I do," he said. "I have travelled a long ways to find Piosenniel."

At that moment, the boy, Isilmir wriggled away from his mother and stepped forward, looking at Baran with curiosity. "Are you going to kill him, Ammë?" he asked. The room fell silent at the child's words.

Baran laughed, a booming sound which seemed to echo through the rafters. Then he took note of the Elf's serious expression and her failure to chuckle in turn and his laughter died. He set down his staff, propping it against a table, and stepped back, placing his hands behind his back. Among his people, extending one's hands outward away from the body was a sign of aggression. But his movement only made Piosenniel drop into a fighting stance. Baran cleared his throat and smiled.

"I am Baran," he said. "I am a Beorning from the north." At this many of the patrons muttered and some backed away towards the door. "A Beorning! A shape-shifter!" But Baran ignored the others, focusing upon Piosenniel.

"You are Piosenniel? Who once worked at The Green Dragon in the Shire?" he asked. The Elf nodded cautiously without moving. A knife had appeared in her hand. "Well met!" he continued. "I have travelled throughout the northlands seeking certain of my kin, though I know not where they might be. I seek one in particular who is known to me. Is it not true that you are friends with one named Bird?"

Piosenniel started at the mention of her friend, but did not lower her knife. However, her children danced in excitement at the name. "Auntie Bird!" cried Gilwen, clapping her hands. Baran nodded with a smile and eased his bulk into a chair at a nearby table. "Come!" he cried. "Let us speak! I bring you tidings from Imladris!"

After a moment's hesitation, Piosenniel sheathed her blade, to the relief of the Innkeeper who had been looking uneasily at the massive Baran. "Sit with our friends," she instructed her children, motioning towards the wagoneer's table. Then she joined the Beorning at his table. A server appeared and deposited a tall cup of ale at Baran's elbow.

"Why do you seek Bird?" asked the Elf suspiciously. Baran sipped at his mug before answering. "I do not really seek her, but rather her people. But she seemed a good place to begin. She and I were aquaintances in the northlands. I cannot honestly say friends, because I was yet young when she left and did not know her well. But I know she is one of our long-lost kin. Indeed, some among my people believed them to be but a myth before she arrived in the north."

He then drunk deeply from his mug and the Elf began to relax. "The Darkness has departed," he continued with a wipe at his beard. "There is a legend among my people that when the Darkness lifts, we will again dwell west of the Misty Mountains and be reunited with our kin -- Bird's people. Most think I am a fool to chase after the stories of old women, but I remember Bird, her humor and the fair shapes which she could take. Perhaps I...my people can learn to take shapes other than the Bear, if we meet our kin. So I have ignored those who ridiculed me and sought after them...and Bird. Where is she?"

[Nerindel]

Introductions were brought to a sudden halt first by the innkeeper, then by another larger man if that were possible! But as the children rallied behind their mother and the tension grew, the crew of the Silver Swan casually moved their hands to unseen weapons, they made no move but watched the encounter ready to move to the elf's defence if needed. Even Fastred had put aside his beloved mushrooms to finger his hidden dagger. Nerindel was already playing out how they would move in her mind, as she watched the scene unfold, Lírësule reading the woman's thoughts issued unspoken orders to the others.

'Odrin, Fastred flank the mother coming between her and the children, they are your charge, Myself and Nerindel will backup...'Here was a pause as the innkeeper stepped infront of Piosenniel '... The innkeeper!' the elf finished. None of the crew flinched they were well accustom to receiving orders in this fashion, when the situation called for it. To all outward appearance they looked as stunned and surprised by this encounter as the other patrons.

But the mans echoing laugh at the young lads question, caused them to grip their weapons tighter and they only released them when Piosenniel had sheathed her own weapon and instructed her children to join their table. The children hesitated staring after their mother, till Fastred rose "now who was it who was eyeing my seed cake, I'm sure I could be talked into sharing," he laughed jovially, giving the youngest a wink and ushering them to the table.

"Now, where were we?" Nerindel smiled taking all three children into her friendly gaze.
"You where going to tell us your names!" Cami chimed taking the largest piece of seed cake from the plate Fastred offered to them.

"Ar' ye sure your not a hobbit in disguise?" Odrin laughed eyeing the size of the piece she had taken.

"You never mind him and take as big a piece as you like lass, My name is Fastred, Musician and galley master of the Silver swan" he gave a slight bow, "and his name is Odrin Dwarven storyteller, musician and quarter master of our ship" he said casually pointing to the dwarf who bowed in his turn, his long red beard sweeping the floor as he did.

"And this pretty lady is Lírësule, Song mistress and Crows woman" Fastred continued gesturing to the elven woman sitting across from him.

"Mae govannen nessaerea" Lírësule smiled inclining her head to each of the children in turn.

"And I am Nerindel entertainer and first mate of the silver swan , the leader of this merry band." Nerindel grinned introducing herself.

"Or she would like ye te think so!" Odrin whispered to Islmir, but seeing the young lads attention still drawn to the table were his mother sat he tried a different tact. "all right! now that introductions are properly made, I think it's time for a tale o' two!" The dwarf exclaimed in his deep rumbling voice.

"Now you three what sort o' tale would ya like ta hear? or do you have a tale o' ye own ta share?" he laughed and waited to see if the prospect of a good tale would distract the lads concern.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:49 PM December 12, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

‘You are a fool, indeed, if you think the Darkness has departed altogether,’ she thought to herself, wondering if he were some sort of simpleton, or skillfully cunning to make her think so. Pio waved away the server with his offer of wine, and leaned across the table. Bird had spoken little of her time among the Beornings, only that they had been kind to her in their own way. For that kindness to her friend she was prepared to grant the man some measure of tolerance.

He looked the sort who would be a Beorning, at least as Bird had described them. She, herself, had never met one, though she had traveled somewhat where they were purported to live. Her business at that time had kept her to herself, wary of others. And she had learned from Bird since then that the Bear folk were not that sociable to those outside their kind. Her brow furrowed. As she recalled, her friend had also said they were an insular sort, not given to travel and exploration. Behind his simple explanation, there must be other desires that drove him.

Yet, here he was, saying he brought news from Imladris. And saying it quite loudly, she noted, seeing the reactions of folk to the word Beorning and how they leaned closer at the mention of Imladris. Gossip and speculation would run rampant if he continued on in this manner.

Pio put on a gracious smile and spoke low to the man. ‘Perhaps this is not the best place to share what information we might have. I would prefer to hold my business in this matter close, not sharing it with whoever might have heard bits and snippets of our conversation. Perhaps the day after tomorrow you can come to my house. We can talk there more fully.’ She gave the man directions, saying she would look for him sometime after midday. ‘I will know more then of where Bird has gone, by then,’ she thought to herself, fingering the letter she had jammed into the waistband of her breeches. ‘And more of you, if I can.’

‘Cook will make some honeycakes. Bird likes them, too, when she visits. And my children will be delighted to meet an old friend of their Auntie . . . and assist you in the disposal of the treats.’ She chuckled at the image of this man in competition with her little scavengers and cajolers. Her wager would be on them.

‘Are we agreed, then? Will you come?’

Nonesuch

Fool, waving that little potsticker at me. "Are you going to kill him" indeed! Why this little she-Elf would be lucky to stand against a cuff of my left paw! And now she fears to speak, even with me present! As if any here might threaten me. Baran sniffed with barely concealed amusement at the Elf's sudden concern, after her feeble attempt to protect her cubs. But he was in the world of Men, and he must play by the rules of the realm. And as he understood it, courtesy was required in this situation.

"Very well," he said. Then he rose and bowed politely, favoring the Elf with a smile. "I would be delighted to visit your home and discuss these matters further in the quiet of your parlor." He lifted his staff from where it was propped against a table and wandered off toward the bar...

&lt;

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:11 PM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: Mithadan ]

[Ealasaide]

When they reached the front door of the Inn of the Seventh Star, Isabel waited as Avarlond opened the heavy door for her and, rather pompously, she thought, took her elbow and guided her over the threshold into the common room of the inn. There was already a fairly good-sized crowd present, which surprised her as for the last several months the inn had been closed tighter than a oyster at low tide. She was pleased to see such a turnout now that its doors stood open again.

"She's here," Avarlond said to her in low voice, interrupting her thoughts. He nodded into the crowd at the two elves who were present. "I'm not sure which she is, but I am certain she is one of them."

Isabel nodded and allowed Avarlond to lead her to a table. She was a tall, slender woman, with a graceful air about her. Her long ash blond hair flowed down her back like a veil as she made her way across the room. Her fiancée had once told her that she reminded him of one of those long-legged, white, wading birds they saw so often standing, still and mysterious, in the shallows around the river deltas. He said she had the same elegance and fragile grace. In return, she had told him that he was a scoundrel and a shameless flatterer, and he had only laughed in response, but not denied it. The conversation had only happened a few short months ago, but now it seemed like years. First Mate on a sailing vessel, he had taken what was supposed to be only a short trading mission across the Bay of Belfalas to Umbar, but now the ship was growing overdue. No one had heard from anyone on board in weeks, and Isabel was beginning to fear that the ship had been lost at sea. So, she had sent a note to Avarlond, Airefalas’ older brother. Perhaps, she thought, he had heard something, but he had not. What he did know was that the merchant ship was co-owned by an elven woman by the name of Piosenniel. He thought he knew where he might find her.

Isabel didn’t know how Avarlond would know such a thing, but she decided not to ask. A powerful merchant, himself, he knew lots of things. Actually, she was a little bit surprised that he did not already have a passing acquaintance with this Piosenniel. He seemed to know everyone else of consequence.

Taking her seat, Isabel turned a quick glance around the room. She smiled happily when she caught sight of her friend Edelis, who was seated at a table by herself. Catching Edelis’ eye, Isabel waved. Smiling warmly, Edelis waved back.

“Your friend?” asked Avarlond, following her gaze.

“Oh, yes,” answered Isabel with a soft laugh. “Actually, I’ve just come from a wedding she hosted for her cousin, Elliana. It was quite a lovely affair. Poor Edelis! She must be exhausted.”

“I can imagine,” answered Avarlond absently, his dark eyes still studying the crowd on the other side of the room. He was a stern man, fortyish, with a handsome, though rather craggy face that was prone to frowning more often than not. So different from his younger brother. While Airefalas had definite waggish tendencies, Avarlond struck Isabel as an awful grind...but a good-hearted grind. She knew he cared deeply for the welfare of his brother.

“May I ask her to join us?” Isabel asked, indicating Edelis with a gesture.

Still standing beside Isabel’s chair, Avarlond nodded. “But of course. I will find the innkeeper. Word has it that Mr. Rimbaud is no longer here. Ah!” - he broke off abruptly - “I see the fellow now.”

“Ladies..” he nodded politely, first to Isabel and then to Edelis across the room, then turned and walked purposefully across the common room in the direction of the innkeeper. Isabel watched him go, then got to her feet. Rather than making Edelis get up and come to her, she decided to join Edelis at her table, provided she was welcome.

“Edelis!” she said, arriving before her friend. “What a lovely wedding you put on for dear Elliana. She must be so happy.’

“Oh, yes,” Edelis smiled. “Today she is the happiest I think I have ever seen her. Oh, but you should have seen her yesterday - what a nervous wreck!”

The two women shook their heads, clucking sympathetically, as Edelis offered Isabel a seat beside her. Dropping her voice, Edelis asked softly, “And what of Airefalas? Any word?”

Isabel shook her head. “None,” she replied growing suddenly serious. “Actually that’s what brings me here. The gentleman I arrived with is his brother. We came seeking information. He believes we may find the co-owner of the ship and the wife of the captain here at the inn.”

Edelis’ eyebrows raised slightly. “Both of them? Well, that’s a bit unscrupulous, isn’t it? The owner and the wife of the captain?”

Isabel paused for a moment in bewilderment then began to chuckle. “Oh, no, no...it’s not like that at all. They are one and the same. One person, I mean.”

“Oh!” Edelis began to laugh as well, tears of mirth rising in her eyes. “Oh, dear. I am tired.”

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:39 AM December 13, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

“Yes, yes, of course you are, but it all was well worth it, wasn’t it?” Isabel said waving down a server.

“Oh to see Elliana beaming so! It was most definitely worth it, but I should think that I might warn the others in my family that there will be no more marriages until I’ve a chance to get well rested. One can take only so much of stumbling through the house to start the fire for breakfast. There have been so many bodies laying on the floor in the mornings, if not for the thunderous snores you’d think that a massacre had happened there!” Edelis laughed.

“Then they have all left now?”

“The last one early today. I’m as free as a lark and I intend to enjoy it for a while!” she said, her dark eyes smiling as a young Gondorian girl drew up to their table. Turning to her, Edelis placed their order, “Could we have two, no three glasses of wine Miss? No, no, better make that a bottle and something we might eat as well.”

“Yes, Ma’m,” the girl said hurrying across the floor.

“Ma’m?” Edelis echoed a smirk crossing her face. “Now doesn’t that make me feel old?” She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “You are lucky you came when you did Isabel, there was very nearly a row in here a moment ago.”

“A row? So early in the day?” the fair-haired woman remarked.

“Yes, shall I tell you of it? It seems we have a Beorning in our midst, see there he is! That large fellow there. He came looking for the elf woman at the table with him, it looked like it was going to be a bit of a challenge at first, not at all friendly. Can you believe the elf’s child actually asked if she were going to kill him? I nearly had to leave when I heard that! Entertainment is one thing but one must consider one’s safety you know.”

“Child? Which one is hers?” Isabel questioned glancing at the three handsome children in the room.

“Why, all of them!” Edelis exclaimed. “Now what sort of life this little one knows that he should ask such a question I leave you to speculate on. And what sort of mother would inspire it?” She shuttered dramatically. “Certainly not my own mother, nor any other I have known. This lady must be some sort of renegade! I only wish she would speak a little louder.”

[littlemanpoet]

Red listened to all the people who had arrived in the last few minutes, and was quite confounded with the sheer multiplicity of them. Pio. Baran. Beorning. The girl, Mellonin, having come in the front door and stood behind his table. The inkeeper, Morien, intervened, and the tension increased! Pio, the elf woman, held a dagger. Somehow, Red was not quite sure, the tension dissipated, and then there were introductions. Auntie Bird. The Green Dragon in the Shire. Odrin. Fastred. Nerindel. Some of the names resonated deeply, as had the name of the king, Elessar. Red wondered why some names did so and others did not.

This place was more dangerous than where he had come from. No, he corrected himself as a strand or two of thoughts slipped and shifted into place, the danger was more straightforward than where he came from. Red decided that it would be wise to become proficient in some weapon or other. He turned and faced Melonnin, who seemed none too sure that all was now well in the common room.

"Pray, tell me, Melonnin," he said in a voice he hoped only she could hear, "do all peop- er - folk carry weapons here? Do you? Would I be wise to?" She opened her mouth to answer when a couple called her over. She gave him an apologetic expression and hurried off. Well, this is frustrating! he said to himself. Next chance he got, he would tell her that he had been given employment by the innkeeper, Morien. He hoped she would not be angered by that. Melonnin seemed a friendly sort, someone who could help him find north and south in this land, as it were.

[mark12_30]

Mellonin answered several summons, the last of which was from Morien. "Red, the new lad will be staying out in the loft. Make sure he has enough blankets, " Morien ordered.

She went upstairs, got several blankets, and slipped out the kitchen door and deposited them on the third rung of the loft-ladder, stroked the noses of several inquisitive horses, and then she returned to the common room and approached the redheaded man.

"Red, is it? Because of your hair?"

Red nodded.

She smiled. "Red-haired-man. Well, Raefindan, I left you some blankets on the loft ladder. And as to your question about weaponry-- yesterday I wouldn't have seen a need. But after today: yes, I think you should have a knife at least. If my brother was here I'd ask him to make you one." She threw a look toward the elf-lady. "I didn't think there was anything nasty about Mr. Baran. I had quite a nice talk with him yesterday. I wonder what made her so defensive." Mellonin shrugged. "Maybe I'm naive. I usually am. Well, Raefindan, or Red if you prefer, welcome to the Lonely Star and good luck. I'm a grizzled veteran of two whole days. I hope you enjoy working for Morien." She smiled. She was tempted to add a wink, but thought it would seem too forward. She began humming the Lay Of Nimrodel, and went to check with Morien for something more to do.

An elven maid there was of old,
A shining star by day...

[Bêthberry]

A brown and grey falcon winged overhead, circled, and spiralled down to drop a rolled scroll at the feet of the Innkeeper. He unrolled it and read to all assembled at the Seventh Star,

The Writers of the Mark invite all Gondorian gamers to join them in a battle of epic proportions at The "Snowed" Inn in Rohan (a temporary thread). Who can build the biggest snowwraith? Who will build the best orc defense? Beverages and sweets to follow. signed, Bêthberry

The Innkeeper turned to speak to the falcon, who he knew as Wyrd, but the bird had flown and was away as soon as he finished reading the scroll.

[mark12_30]

Where now she wanders none can tell,
in sunlight or in shade,
For lost of yore was Nimrodel,
and in the mountains strayed.

One of the silent grey servants brought out a tray of just-washed mugs; Morien caught up a towel, and motioned at him to put the tray on the bar. Morien dried a mug and put it back on its shelf.

Mellonin hummed another couple of lines, and then said, "I wonder why people disappear. "

Morien, busy drying mugs, listened with a bartender's patience.

"It amazes me that people can just disappear without a trace. Even an elf-maiden betrothed to a king. How could they just lose her like that? You'd think somebody would have learned what happened to Nimrodel by now, wouldn't you?"

Morien dried another mug, and Mellonin considered him, and glanced at Red before she continued. "I wonder if Red is lost, and has someone looking for him. And I wonder where he got lost from. Maybe he lives right here, but he just can't remember. I wonder if Mellondu has just forgotten who he is, and is wandering around the city. Or maybe in the Pelennor, or beyond."

"Maybe. I take it no one has told you any news?" Morien dried another mug.

"No, " Mellonin said. She turned to consider the common room; it was bustling, and many of the people seemed to know each other. But none of them knew her brother.

Morien paused, and then handed her the towel. "Here, I don't know why I'm doing this. Finish up."

"Yes, sir." She dried the mugs one by one, and put them away.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:22 AM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[piosenniel]

Rôg

Rôg followed the old man down the stairs to the Common Room. He kept his eyes on the stair treads, not wanting to be witness to any mayhem that might be taking or might have taken place. His ears, thankfully, were assaulted only by the normal sounds of the busy room. The ebb and flow of conversation was a constant back drop against which the sharp clink of mugs and glasses and the raised voices used for calling the attention of others played counterpoint. No screams. No moans. He raised his gaze and dared a look about the room.

No blood, no fallen combatant.

With a lighter tread, he stepped off the last stair and caught up with Aiwendil. The old fellow had spotted the Elf and her large table companion and was making his way toward them.

~*~

Cami

Little Cami slid off the seat of her chair, a half-eaten piece of seed-cake in her hand. Isilmir and Gilwen were just settling in to listen to some tale from the dwarf, and Cami, too, would have stayed to hear the story had she not caught the movement of two interesting folk toward her mother and the large fellow.

Scuttling toward the older fellow in his long brown robes, she fell in slightly behind and to the side of him. He reminded her of someone, she could not remember exactly who . . but it was someone her ammë had told her about in one of her stories.

The name hung on the tip of her tongue, and a few more steps alongside him, jogged it tenuously into place. Cami reached out and tugged on the man’s robe, drawing his attention. Ignoring the other fellow who looked at her askance, she waited until the old man had stopped and faced her. She smiled up at him, her cheeks dimpling, then motioned for him to bend down near her.

‘I have something to ask you,’ she said in explanation, whispering in his ear. ‘Did you know him?’ she asked, as if the old fellow might have been privy to her previous train of thoughts.

‘Know who, child?’ he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

‘My ammë’s friend,’ she went on, pointing toward Pio, whose back was to them. ‘She called him Uncle’ . . . Cami frowned trying to remember the rest of the name; then, her features brightened, as she recalled it.

“Uncle Leemon . . . that’s who it was. Did you know him?'

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:52 AM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Bêthberry]

Her cloak wrapped tightly around her, Bêthberry pulled Cailleach up to slow her down as they approached the Seventh Star. It wouldn't do to arrive in a mad rush and the horse needed care first.

After stabling the mare and seeing her contented with hot mash and hay, Bêthberry picked up her bundles and boxes and made her way towards the pristine white walls of the Seventh Star. She remembered her arrival a year ago, pensive and sad. So much had happened since then. This year she brought pomegranates and nuts, all manner of nuts from walnuts and pecans to cashews and hazelnuts and groundnuts. Wyrd had told her the mouse still roamed the Great Hall. She was glad he had let the little creature go; she felt in her pocket. Yes, it was there. A small piece of orange peel. She would have to leave it by the fireplace in hopes it would be found there.

The noisy chatter of the Inn spoke of its popularity. It was good to see it up and running again. Entering the door, she was immediately noticed by Estelyn, whose questioning face deserved an answer. Bêthberry hurried over.

"Yes, he has recovered. But off now on his own pursuits. Perhaps you know what is afoot. He would speak not to me of his illness and pain."

A sharp look from the woman cautioned Bêthberry to say no more of the previous innkeeper.

"I have brought pomegranates this year as my gift. Where shall I leave them?"

Estelyn called Mellonin over, for she would know where to keep them. The three clasped hands in fellowship and began to reminisce and then sought the fire to warm Bêthberry's bones, chilled by the long days' ride. There was much to catch up on.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:01 PM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn beamed – she had come at just the right time to meet Bêthberry! Her talk with Mellonin would have to wait, for the River’s granddaughter did not often come to the White City. There was much of which they would want to speak. They exchanged news of each others’ lives, shunning the topic of the whereabouts of the previous Innkeeper by mutual, silent agreement. Sharing stories was an enjoyable pastime for the Loremistress; she forgot about the intruder in the library, at least for the time being.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Later on, she smiled at Mellonin’s enthusiasm over her parchments. The young woman asked her to name those runes she did not yet know; she learned quickly, but after several, the Loremistress protested with a chuckle. “No more!” she exclaimed. “You will learn better if you practice a few at a time, repeating them often. Next time I will gladly explain the next ones. Now,” she continued, remembering her errand, “tell me about the guests that have come. Have you heard any stories worth repeating?”

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:09 PM December 15, 2003: Message edited by: Estelyn Telcontar ]

[mark12_30]

"Oh, yes, my Lady. At least, I think they are. There have been all manner of guests; why, a whole troop of performers and artists from The Silver Swan is here. Over there, is a man-- Morien named him Red-- he doesn't know who he is or where. And that great, burly man with the shining curls, is from the north Anduin. And most of them are here to see the elf-- that elf over there, the one with three children; and one asked if she was going to kill him. Baran, I mean, the one with the curly brown hair. And she-- that elf with the children-- she drew her knife. Imagine, my lady! Right here in the Inn!"

Supressing rising giggles, Estelyn exchanged several glances with Bethberry. Young Mellonin had a great deal to learn about how to tell a story-- and how not to. Facts, impressions, events, opinions and wild conjectures tumbled out of her. When Estelyn herself could no longer keep it all straight she burst out into peals of laughter, and Bethberry joined her.

"All right, Mellonin. I see that there are some people I should raise a glass with. If you can, come and join me when I do, and listen. We'll see if we can't organise some of these stories into genuine tales."

Mellonin looked at her fearfully, unsure whether that was a rebuke or not. Estelyn smiled. "Your skills are young. We'll work on them." And Estelyn turned back to Bethberry.

**********

Sniffing, he poked his nose just outside of his cozy hole. A faint whiff... ever so faint. It brought back memories of a year before, when the common room had been crowded and a lady had brought... oranges. He sniffed. There it was again.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Uncle Leemon?,,,,,

Slipping down to his knees, the old man stared quizzically into the solemn eyes that gazed boldly back at him. His brain felt addled and stiff beside the nimble mind of this obviously gifted child. He tried puzzling out the meaning of her words, thinking through the names of all the folk he'd met since his arrival at the Havens, and every variation in Quenyan or Sindarin that he could remember, but he still could not understand what the child was asking.

Once more, the little one tugged on the hem of his sleeve and repeated her request, "You know....Uncleleemon," impatiently slurring her words together.

As realization dawned, he turned and beamed at her, his eyes catching fire like great blue jewels sparkling under a sunbeam. For an instant, the weariness of his body faded as he reached out to tousle her soft brown curls. "My, my! Aren't you clever! Many a grown Man would not have seen that resemblance. No, I am not Ancalimon. But we are distant kin. And I do know your ammë as a friend, though perhaps not so close as Ancalimon did. Indeed, I would like to speak with her."

A small voice interrupted. "Do you know where Uncle Leemon is then? I'd like to go visit him." For, although this gentleman looked interesting to Cami, her mother's tales of the other fellow had sounded a bit more exciting, involving things like swords and displays of flying dragons. This fellow did not seem to carry any weapon at all.

The wizard stood up and sadly shook his head, "No, I'm sorry. I can't help you. I believe Ancalimon now dwells in a distant land close to Elvenhome. And I have no way to reach him there."

Cami didn't know where Elvenhome was, since she had not heard her ammë discuss this before. But she politely tugged on the old man's sleeve, guiding him over to where her mother stood.

Pio looked up and smiled, extending her hand in greeting. For it had been a number of years since they had last seen each other. Aiwendel inquired as to the name of Pio's youngest, since only the twins had been born at the time of their last meeting. Upon hearing that the little girl was named 'Cami', he fought back a smile, but said nothing more. So many years ago.... Glimmers of a time when he still understood why he was here.

After brief greetings were exchanged, Aiwendel led the Elf over to meet Rôg, explaining that he was his companion and servant, and that the two of them intended to travel to Harad to track down some of the rarer birds and animals. Aiwendel looked up expectently at Piosenniel, "Please forgive me for asking, but do you and your husband still have that splendid ship that sails under the emblem of the Lonely Star? For we wish to hire a vessel, and would gladly pay well for passage down to Umbar. I have long wanted to travel to Harad. Such a fascinating place, it would seem! And, now that things are settling down a bit, it would appear to be the perfect time."

[littlemanpoet]

Raefinden. His nerves tingled to the sound of that name. There was something positively smashing about it! Positively smashing? Now, where on earth did that term come from? He knew he had reconnoitered it to his own working vocabulary quite some time ago, but he had absolutely no inkling from where.

So much was happening so fast in the common room of this Inn, it was hard to keep track of it all. So many people. Um, folk. It seemed to be the appropriate way to express oneself here. The rather grand elf lady and her three children, and the court she kept - if it could be called a court; she did seem rather queenly after all - were apparently headed for some place called Harad. It sounded desert-like. Yes, he was certain of it. How he knew, he could not say.

Red, or Raefinden, as it pleased him to name himself, decided that it was high time for him to busy himself in some way to pay for his room. He got up from his table and walked over to Morien.

"Sir, I would be most gratified if you would find some means of emp-" he stopped. The innkeeper looked at him blankly, as if trying to make sense of his grammar. Take care of your speech, Red he said to himself. "Forgive me." He bowed. "Please give me work, to pay for my room, sir."

[Ealasaide]

Avarlond

"Silly creatures, the both of them," thought Avarlond, casting a backward glance over his shoulder at Isabel as she joined the dark-haired woman, Edelis, at her table. Isabel was the fiancée of Airefalas, Avarlond's younger brother, while Edelis was someone he knew socially by way of her husband, a man of similar standing to his own in Gondorean merchant society. In Avarlond’s opinion, the two females shared barely a wafer of true substance between the two of them. Nonetheless, he could still see their appeal. They were highly ornamental, both of them, with their large eyes and flowing hair. One could cut a fine figure at court with either one of them on his arm. And both were more than adept at navigating the complicated waters of Gondorean high society. Avarlond had to admit that though he preferred a woman with a little less looks and a little more character, his brother could have made a worse choice in terms of a wife.

Even as beautiful as she was, though, Avarlond found Isabel a little tall for his tastes. Slender and straight as a willow wand, she could stand in her stocking feet and look his brother straight in the eye... not that he had ever seen dear Isabel in her stocking feet. (What would proper society say?) He actually preferred them smaller with a few more curves, like his own wife, Tessa. Thinking fondly of his wife, he turned his back on the two beauties at the table by the fireplace and continued across the common room toward the bar where he had last seen the innkeeper standing.

“Ah!” he repeated to himself. “There’s the fellow now.” He raised his hand in greeting and was just stepping forward to speak to the man, when a red-haired young man stepped in front of him and addressed the innkeeper regarding a job. He had the look of a vagabond, which made Avarlond’s habitual frown deepen slightly. Here Avarlond was, a wealthy and powerful man of business, waiting while the riff-raff begged for handouts.

Wasting his time, more like. He should be back at his office, working, seeing to the important business of the day, not hanging about an inn. Well, no matter. He had intended to ask the innkeeper which of the two elven women was Madame Piosenniel, but, seeing the man occupied, Avarlond decided to take a more direct tack. He drifted in the general direction of the largest group, carefully eying each of the two elven women, trying to determine which would more likely be the woman he sought.

Just then, he heard a very elderly man say to one of them, “Please forgive me for asking, but do you and your husband still have that splendid ship that sails under the emblem of the Lonely Star? For we wish to hire a vessel...”

The Lonely Star! That would be the vessel that Airefalas had sailed on to Umbar, which meant that this woman would be Piosenniel. Watching her as she spoke to the elderly man and his companion, he studied her face and was struck instantly not only by her beauty but by the air of wisdom and strength that she carried about her like a cloak. Those two bits of fluff in the corner would do well, he thought, to spend time at this woman’s side. They could learn quite a lot from the likes of her, that is, if they were capable of learning anything other than which fan to carry with which gown and who should be seated next to whom at a banquet.

Avarlond’s characteristic frown turned to a bit of a smirk. He knew he should be more charitable in his judgments of others. His wife and his dear mother, who was the most generous, good-hearted soul he had almost ever encountered, reminded him of it constantly, but he found their generosity of spirit hard to maintain. The truth was, Avarlond was a busy man. And, as a busy man, he was also an impatient man. And, nothing made him lose patience quicker than the spoiled fatuousness of women like Isabel and Edelis.

He edged closer to the elven woman’s group. She was still busy with the elderly man and his companion, but Avarlond would see to it that she would not leave before having a quick word with him, as well.

[Ealasaide]

Isabel

Isabel listened with interest as Edelis described the scene that had taken place just prior to her and Avarlond's arrival at the inn. Her large blue eyes widened in amazement as she heard tell of the lovely elven woman's brandishing a knife...and, in front of her children, no less.

"This lady must be some sort of renegade!" finished Edelis breathlessly. "I only wish she would speak a little louder."

"Me, too!" rejoined Isabel, covering her eager smile with a carefully manicured hand. She cut a quick glance under half-lowered eyelashes in the direction of the elven woman's party and was surprised to see Avarlond standing on the fringe of the group, his attention focused on the woman Edelis said had been brandishing a knife not five minutes earlier.

"Oh, dear!" Isabel gasped, turning quickly back toward her companion. "Don't look," she said urgently. "But it seems Avarlond is waiting to speak to her."

"Really?" Edelis leaned back and took a long look in Avarlond's direction. "My goodness, I think you're right. Do you suppose that's the captain's wife he came to see?"

Isabel sat up very straight in her chair. "Oh, I hope not," she whispered. "It would make me worry so for Airefalas. I mean, if the wife is hanging about brandishing knives in front of her children, what sort of cutthroat is the husband? Hmm?" She clasped her elegant hands dramatically in front of her. "The man could be a pirate for all we know."

Edelis took another long look at the elven woman on the other side of the room, then shook her head, more than a touch of skepticism entering her dark eyes. "Oh, surely not."

Isabel turned in her chair and took a long look of her own in the direction of the elven woman. Then, she, too, shook her head. "No, I think not," she pronounced after a moment. "She hasn't the look of a cutthroat. As a matter of fact, her children are quite presentable. Not little pirate urchins at all."

"No, not at all," agreed Edelis. "They are quite attractive little people. Lovely manners, I must say... aside from suggesting that their mother might kill someone right here in the common room."

"Well, as they say," rejoined Isabel. "Out of the mouths of babes..."

"What?" asked Edelis with interest.

"What do you mean?" asked Isabel in response.

"Out of the mouths of babes, what?" persisted Edelis.

Isabel felt genuinely perplexed. What was the rest of that saying? She had heard it her entire life, but for the life of her, couldn't think how it ended. Finally, she laughed and threw up her hands. "Fly dragons, of course!"

Edelis laughed and Isabel felt pleased with herself for being such a wit, but, even as she laughed and joked with her friend, her thoughts strayed constantly to Airefalas and, by association, Avarlond. Airefalas, she knew, was an experienced seafarer. He had been at sea in one capacity or another since he was a wee boy of nine, and was well-respected as a first mate and, more recently, as a captain himself. Then that unfortunate event in the Bay of Belfalas, when he lost one of Avarlond's ships to corsairs. Isabel sighed. He had only recently been ransomed back with his crew when he and Avarlond had gotten into that horrible row. It wasn't as though Airefalas could have helped losing his ship, but, no, Avarlond had reduced him from command, anyway. It wasn't fair. Avarlond could be such an unforgiving man. So, Airefalas had left his brother's firm and signed on for the voyage on the Lonely Star. Isabel looked again at the elven woman, wondering if she knew what a good officer she and her husband had gotten for their voyage.

Isabel missed Airefalas terribly, though she didn't wish to admit to anyone quite how much. While he was away at sea frequently, his absence usually didn't trouble her much. She usually had plenty to do to amuse herself around Minas Tirith, but this time it just felt different. He had gone to Umbar, where everyone knew things were still a bit touchy. Anything could happen. She wondered what tidings Avarlond would hear from Miss Piosenniel. She wanted desperately to be in on the conversation, but knew that Avarlond would not allow it. She knew he thought of her as silly and pointless, with no head for anything but parties and pretty dresses. All her presence would do is confuse the issue. Well, whatever he managed to learn, she supposed she would find out soon enough.

Turning once again toward Edelis, Isabel smiled pleasantly. The serving maid was just returning with their wine. They would drink a glass to Airefalas and pray together for his safe return. And... she gave Edelis a considering look... the safe return of Edelis' husband as well. Wasn't he somewhere abroad, too? Investigating new markets or some such thing. They would drink a glass for him, too.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:05 PM December 16, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

‘And now that things are settling down a bit . . .’ Pio frowned at this phrase, thrown in among the old man’s other words. From what she had gathered in conversation with those recently returned from the South, ‘things’ were not yet settled enough that a pair of birding enthusiasts would feel comfortable wandering about the countryside in search of rare species. She glanced at Aiwendil’s companion – no bodyguard, if she had the right of it. He looked the sort to be soft and hesitant. And the old fellow . . . were he cut from the same mold as her old friend she would not worry about him. But he looked less sure of himself, if that were possible, than her last chance meetings with him.

Aiwendil had come to the end of his speaking, and stood looking at her expectantly. What she wanted to tell him was to wait . . . that when Mithadan returned they would take them south. The old man had seen Pio’s friend safely to her destination, and Pio, in turn, would return the favor. Problem was, she chided herself, Mithadan would not return for at least three weeks, and the two companions, she sensed, were eager to be off.

‘Ah, Aiwendil. Were the Lonely Star at Harlond, I would welcome your booking passage on her. Unfortunately, she is gone for at least three more weeks. Can you wait that long?’

Rôg had drawn near his companion and now spoke quietly with him. The old man nodded his head in agreement. Turning back to Pio he said that they really could not. One of the birds they were studying would have migrated by then, and they would miss their opportunity. Could she suggest another ship and captain? The Scuppered Gull, she told them was one that might meet their needs – its captain was one Faragaer. They would find him a fair man to deal with, she said. ‘Just let them know that I have sent you.’

A few more pleasantries passed between them, then Aiwendil thanked her, saying they would seek out the captain after the morning meal. As he turned to find the table Rôg had gotten for them, Pio put her hand on his arm to detain him. ‘A favor, if you would,’ she began. ‘Bird is traveling in the south. She has been seeking news of her kin.’ Pio pulled the letter from her waistband, to share parts of it with the old man. ‘This is the most recent letter I have had from her. Unfortunately it is two years old. But, in it she mentions a growing unrest in the area around Umbar. Not all favored the rise of the new King and the dominance of Gondor. There were faint rumblings of changes in the making then, and unfavorable, I think, in Bird's opinion. I fear that over these last two years the disquiet may have grown. And for some reason she has not been able to send messages.’ She grasped the old man’s sleeve more tightly. ‘Be careful; be circumspect when you are down there. Pay attention to the little details you pick up. And . . . should you see Bird, send word to me. And if she can, have her send word also.’ Rôg, by this time, stood fidgeting near the two, obviously eager to be on their way. Aiwendil nodded to Pio, saying he would do his best, and thanked her once again for her help in finding passage south.

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

At a smile and a motion of her hand, her children gathered about her. ‘Oh, ammë, can we stay just a little longer?’ Isilmir’s plaintive question was followed by Gilwen’s explanation that they had a new friend, one Odrin, the Dwarf sitting at the table with the Hobbit, Elf, and woman. ‘He’s only just finished one story,’ continued the boy, ‘and I should like to hear another.’ He raised his brows, giving another argument. ‘He was just about to begin one. And we shouldn’t be rude and leave before it’s done. Father would want us to be polite.’ A smile crinkled the corners of Pio’s eyes. So, he had brought out the heavy artillery! Gilwen picked up on this leverage, saying she thought this story would have something to do with a trip south they had made. ‘We’ve never been there! Can’t we stay to hear what it’s like where Father is?’

Little Cami watched the negotiations between her brother and sister and her mother with interest. She wanted to stay a little longer also. The old fellow she had met was sitting at a nearby table with his companion, and she had heard him tell her mother they were going south. Perhaps she could get a message to her father – that he shouldn’t forget the small present he had promised her. Some little carved figures for her toy ship . . . animals from the desert lands. As she slipped away toward their table, she saw her brother and sister with smiles on their faces as they waved to Odrin and headed back in his direction.

Pio shook her head and laughed. ‘Like herding cats!’ she murmured. From across the room, Aman caught her eye and waved her over. She was just on her way to her friend’s table when a man’s voice called her back.

‘Avarlond,’ he said, seeing the questioning look on her face. ‘ Airefalas is my brother, Mistress Piosenniel . . .’

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:13 PM December 17, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Ealasaide]

Avarlond

Avarlond waited patiently as the elven woman finished her conversation with the elderly man and his companion. She had just settled her children and was beginning to move away from him again when he managed to catch her eye. She turned toward him, a questioning look on her face. Avarlond acknowledged her with a courtly gesture that could have been seen as either a deep nod or a short bow.

“Avarlond,” he said to her by way of introduction. “Airefalas is my brother, Mistress Piosenniel. He sailed with your husband to Umbar on the Lonely Star.”

Piosenniel returned his nod, smiling graciously. “Yes,” she said. “I remember meeting him. How can I help you?”

“It is not so much how you can help me,” he answered, a faint smile twisting on the corners of his lips. “But how you can - begging your pardon, Mistress - help the womenfolk of my family. You see, my brother and I had a bit of a falling out over a matter of business, so I wouldn’t expect to hear from him, but Lady Isabel -” he nodded in the direction of Isabel and Edelis “- is his fiancée. She hasn’t heard from him in some time and grows concerned. His mother - our mother - is greatly concerned as well. I promised to make some inquiries on their behalf, which is what brings me to you.”

He paused, nodding again. “I was hoping, Mistress, that you might have some word of the ship, how she fares, or whether she might be soon returning to port. It would comfort the ladies so to know that all is well.”

[littlemanpoet]

Whatever else was true, Red was sure that he had not spent much time in his forgotten past doing much by way of hard labor. His back was screaming! He was on his knees, scrubbing the wood floor in one of the inn's rooms with hot, soapy water, using a very sturdy wooden brush.

When he had asked Morien for work, this was not what he had been thinking of. Rather, something more on the lines of reorganizing the scrolls alphabetically, or sweeping the floor in the common room, or waiting tables even. This was hard work. Morien was getting his room paid for, no danger!

Red left the brush in the puddle on the floor, and leaned back, still on his knees, pressing both hands into the small of his back. The ceiling was crawling with spider webs that needed removing. He would have to tell Morien about that.

Just then he heard a muffled noise from the hallway.

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

And it would comfort me as well if I knew all was proceeding smoothly.

Pio’s grey eyes darkened for a moment, then flicked to where Avarlond had nodded. An expectant pair of large blue eyes looked quickly away from where she stood with Arefalas’ brother, the long ash blond hair falling forward like a veil to cover the crimson staining her fair cheeks. ‘One does not wish to appear to be too eager,’ she remembered her sister-in-law instructing her when first she came to live in Gondor. ‘Society does not favor the woman who cannot temper her emotions. It is not convention to be so forthcoming.’

Isabel appeared the very model of frail womanhood – a well-crafted air of vulnerability, innocence, and powerlessness was about her. A half smile appeared for only a second on Pio’s face as she wondered if that same steel backbone she had seen in other ladies of Gondor held the young woman’s figure so ramrod straight. Perhaps when the Lonely Star returned she would meet the First Mate’s intended one.

For now, she held her gaze on Avarlond. ‘It has only been three weeks since the Star went south; there has not been time to hear back yet from Umbar. We estimate that it will take at the very least five weeks to complete the trading mission and return. Though, since it is a new area for trade being opened for Gondor, it will most likely take a number of weeks longer to secure the contracts.’ She wrinkled her brow at him. ‘But then you must know that, being a merchant yourself.’

Pio looked briefly toward the two ladies at the table, their heads bent together in hushed conversation. ‘Tell her that there have been no ill tidings from the south. The mission is only half done by the Captain’s schedule, and I expect the Ship and all its crew to return safely in three or four weeks time, and with their pockets well lined with the riches of the Southlands.’ Isabel glanced toward them for a moment, then turned away again. ‘And tell her I will send word to you if I do receive news from the Star.’

Like little leaves caught in a sudden breeze, Isilmir, Gilwen, and little Cami came racing up to surround their mother. ‘The story is finished, ammë! And Odrin has promised us another when we see him again.’ Isilmir’s eyes were alight with images of closely fought battles, and Gilwen gave out with a Dwarven battle cry she had just mastered. Cami, not one for tales of well fought battles, was already thinking about how the Dwarf had promised a story of the great Wyrm who had stolen his people’s gold. ‘A clever Wyrm,’ Fastred had chimed in, ‘but not clever enough to outwit a Hobbit.’

‘You will excuse us, Master Avarlond,’ laughed Pio as the children clamored for her attention. ‘It is time for us to be heading home now. Dreams of glorious battles . . . and dragons, if I have the right of it,’ she said winking at her youngest daughter, ‘await my little crew.’ She reached out and touched him lightly on the arm. ‘I will send word when word comes to me.’

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

In the flurry of capes being put on and good-byes said, Cami seized the opportunity to visit the old fellow once more. She tugged at his sleeve as he sat at his table drinking the last of his wine. ‘Ammë said that you were leaving soon. If you see my atar will you tell him to remember his promise to me?’ Aiwendil smiled fondly at the little one and nodded his head ‘yes’, chuckling a bit. ‘How small and safe a world she moves in,’ he murmured.

‘Yes, kept safe like other small creatures by the hands and eyes and wisdom of those about her . . . at least for now, and as we can,’ rejoined Pio, as if he had addressed her. She fastened Cami’s cloak about her and pushed the curls back from her brow. Gilwen leaned patiently on the back of an empty chair, watching the slender fingers of Aiwendil’s companion draw lines in the beaded perspiration on the ale mug’s sides. Her eyes considered his face next, and his dark brown eyes. Light from the small lantern above the table caught the small stud in his ear as he turned his head to look out the window. The light from the window threw his features into relief. Gilwen frowned at the image, and prodded her brother who had come to stand hear her. ‘Don’t we know him?’ she asked, prompting Isilmir to look closely at the man.

His answer was cut off as Pio said good-bye a last time to Aiwendil and herded the three out the door and to their waiting mounts. In the ride home and the recounting of Odrin’s stories, amidst the plans for honeycakes and Baran's visit, the question was forgotten.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 4:36 AM December 21, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Rôg

Rôg watched the four as they swirled out the Inn’s door, letting it bang shut behind them. His companion’s eyes followed them with interest, still chuckling at the comments of the littlest one. Turning back to Rôg he downed the last few drops of wine and stood up with the aid of his staff. The young man shouldered the larger of the packs, helping Aiwendil to adjust the strap of the smaller satchel across the folds of his robe.

‘I’ll meet you outside,’ he said, opening the strings to the soft leathern pouch that hung at his belt. ‘Let me just pay the Innkeeper and we can make our way to the docks.’ A few moments later he was standing by the old fellow, their feet turning south toward Harlond.

A fair distance was passed in companionable silence as the two made their way down the path along the river. Gulls wheeled in the air along the edges of the mudflats as the two approached the port, seeking easily preyed upon fish and any promising pieces of flotsam and jetsam. ‘The Scuppered Gull, wasn’t it?’ asked Rôg, shading his eyes against the sun to catch the names painted on the ships. ‘There she is,’ he said pointing his finger. ‘There in the last berth but one.’

They picked their way down the docks to the slip where the ship was tied. Rôg ventured a question that had been on his mind since they left the Inn. ‘Tell me something, if you will, Aiwendil. That woman that you asked about the ship . . . Piosenniel. How is it that you know her? And if I might also ask – why would a Skinchanger from the north seek her out?’