The Green Dragon Inn - Part 3

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Morwyn's eyes widened as the stranger spoke to her. A memory of Nahai's tale nudged at the back of her mind. A fair elven love, long lost. She shoved the thought to the back of her mind. What a ridiculous thing to hope. Nahai's lover had been dead for years. Why get your hopes up on her behalf? Still she stumbled over her words.

"It was given to me, a gift." she said quietly, staring at the flute she turned in her hands. The strange elf's eyes watched her fingers as she held the instrument.

"But from who, lady?" he asked her gently, then quickly added, "If you don't mind me knowing, of course." Morwyn smiled.

"Of course I don't mind. A very dear friend of mine gave this to me." A loud slightly pompous voice cut through the air. Morwyn tried to ignore it, realizing it was just the hobbit postman delivering the inn's letters.

"Morwyn!" his voice boomed out. She looked up startled. Who had sent her a letter? And how had they found her here? The hobbit, Halfrid, was brandishing a large envelope with her name written clearly across the front.

"Eh, do excuse me..." she said apologetically to the two elves, and hurried over to the small courier. "I'm Morwyn."

"Ah, then this'll be for you then." He said, handing over the envelope with a grin and a small bow.

"Thank you, sir." Morwyn couldn't help but laugh at the hobbit's good spirits. Taking the letter she walked slowly back to the table, slitting the envelope with one finger. Two folded sheets of parchment were pulled from it, and studied intently. The first was written front and back in a large masculine hand, the second also covered on both sides with a smaller, more flowing hand. Morwyn's heart raced as she recognized the second writer. A letter from home! How had they found her here? She wondered frantically.

She sat back down in the seat she had left, eyse fixed on the letter. The newcomer seemed to sense that his questions could wait as she rapidly scanned the letters with her eyes. Annalaliath was not so patient. "Morwyn, mellon," she said, touching the woman's shoulder with a gentle hand. "Your face has gone white. Are you alright?"

Morwyn looked up at her. "Oh, I'm fine, Annalaliath, I've a letter from home." she said rather hoarsely. "Let me read you a bit..."

Morwyn-
I hope this letter finds you well, Little Sister. We are quite well here, though we miss you. Aelfrid misses you more than she will say, but she speaks of you often.

This summer has been a good one for us. Our horses are swift and strong, and we carry on where Alric left off. His name continues to be praised and our horses are ever in demand. Would we had your stallion to sire for us again, but it is good that we do not. The line of Felarof must not be put to shame.

Morwyn snorted with laughter at this last line. How like Osric to exaggerate. Her audience was looking mystified as she read aloud. Some small explanation was needed, she supposed. "They're from my husband's brother, Osric, and his wife, Aelfrid." She smiled again, and continued reading silently.

Osric's letter was filled with news about Rohan. The doings of the new king, Eomer Eadig, and his foreign bride filled much of the letter. Osric was convinced that if Morwyn came home, she and the Queen Lothiriel would be close friends, due to their common Gondorian heritage. In Osric's eyes, that would be a godsend for the farm. Friendship with the Kinsmen of Eorl ensured a good business reputation as well. Morwyn's eyes shone with laughter as she read over the rest of the letter and turned to Aelfrid's.

Her sister-in-law wrote of the baby Eadric, now three years old, of his cleverness and skill with words. She spoke of the countryside and the small everyday doings on the farm. Her letter was full of lonliness and longing for her sister-in-law's company. Morwyn brushed a heavy tear from her eyelashes as she read to the end of the letter. Aelfrid had ended with a plea for Morwyn's return. She choked as she read it over:

I think even the hills miss you, Little Sister. I know you are hurt and angry, but we love you. Morwyn, please come home.
-Aelfrid

She looked up at her companions. "I'll be back in a moment." she said, with some effort, before fleeing the room. A moment later she was upstairs weeping into her pillow, filled with sorrow and shame. She never should have left Rohan. How could she have done this to her family? They were hurt by Alric's death as much as she was. She'd been so selfish.

Morwyn cried 'til she was exhausted, then rolled over, staring at the ceiling, trying to compose herself enough to return to the common room. She'd never answered that elf's question.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Annalaliath]

At the comment by the strange elf man Annalaliath almost fell backward in her chair that she had been leaning in.(An Elf falling back in a chair..) She looked at the man, "You are from the forest, I can tell by your speech," she looked at him, "What is your tale sir?" Then looking towards the stairs almost excitedly, "Where is that girl, if she needed paper and pen she could have asked." Annalaliath finished by gesturing at the sketchbook and supplies.

She looked at Morwen, "What do you gather of this situation?" she whispered. Then she looked back at the strange Elf man and smiled, " Ai! I am being rude, im annalaliath, i le?" She held out her hand fo a handshake....

But at that moment Morwen looking rather distraught fled the room. Annalaliath looked on in worry. " Will you excuse me?" she asked of the stranger. With a nod from his direction Annalaliath followed Morwen. She walked down the halls to Morwens room and knocked on the door. "Morwen, Neno Melon," she called, " are you okay?"

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Annalaliath ]

[Elora]

Vanwe brushed small shavings of wood away so that they could no longer obscure what lay beneath. The afternoon light was crisp and constant, excellent conditions in which to do this sort of finer work. Her belt knife became a precise implement in her slender hands as she worked on. She was absorbed in the carving, in what the wood spoke to her off through her hands.

Her dress and hair had long since dried in the warmth of the afternoon, but aside from pinning down the dress with a smooth stone from the stream bank, Vanwe had paid it no further heed. Her mind was filled with vision of a flight of crane, elegantly stretched across the southern sky, wings spread and effortlessly soaring. She well recalled her first sight of the bird upon her arrival in Gondor.

She remembered the grey eyed men and women too. She gazed analytically at the wood in her hand. The work on the feathers was not as fine as she would have hoped, and she still needed to refine the graceful sweep of the crane's neck and long legs. Yet what she saw cradled in her hand brought a smile to her face. She hoped grey-eyed Derufin would also find it pleasing.

Vanwe pulled her cloak back into position from where it had slipped. Properly wrapped once more, she set her knife back to work to remove the final impediments to the beauty of the creature she remembered soaring on wing into the dusk one evening. She was not far from finished, which was well, as so too was the afternoon coming to a close. She had promised to return on time, and she would not disappoint. Her knife moved in a serious of finely controlled passes, tracing along the grain of the rosewood as if in caress such was the light touch of Vanwe's carving.

An angle to adjust here, another layer to remove there so that the beauty of the wood's grain could be revealed, and she would be done. All in time to return to the inn, clean up the figure she was working on and hopefully settle things with Silvanis, as best a dispossessed daughter of a wanted criminal adrift in the world could.

If only people remembered her father better than they did her mother, for he was not so perilous. A slight sigh drifted from her lips and then once more an expression of pure concentration centred on her carving took up residence upon Vanwe's face once more.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami had slipped in unnoticed through the back kitchens, and sprinted towards the common room, tripping over a snoring dog that lay contentedly curled up in the middle of the hallway. She hastily rose, dusted off her skirts, and grabbed hold of Halfred's sleeve, just as he was about to duck out of the Inn and head for his home.

Halfred's face broke into a broad, ragged grin, "Miz Cami! Well, I'll be. The last time I saw you, you had a mailbag flung over your shoulder and wore the emblem of the Shire post. It's been a goodly number of years. Where have you been?"

"Never mind now," Cami objected, with a quick wave of her hand. "That's a long tale, and there's no time to explain. You have to check your mailbags again. There should be something for me."

She deftly scooped up the pouch and turned it upside down, giving it a vigorous shake and hoping that something new would come tumbling out. Much to her disappointment, the bag seemed quite empty, other than a few lonely crumbs of mushroom pie left over from Halfred's lunch.

Cami frowned and confronted the postman, "That can't be. I'm expecting a letter from Bird. Are you sure there's nothing else?"

Halfred scratched his head, then scrounged through his pockets and finally held up his hand triumphantly, waving a small, dirty envelope. "Is this it? This one's got postage due. Some crazy black and white bird dive bombed it on my head. I had half a mind to toss it out, but decided not to."

Halfred peered intently at the address on the envelope, then squinted back at Cami, "But this can't be for you. It's addressed to Camelia Brandybuck."

Cami nodded impatiently, "That's my married surname. I'm a Goodchild by birth, but a Brandybuck through my husband's kin." She hastily snatched the envelope away, dropping a few copper coins into Halfred's outstretched hand, and thanking him for his efforts. Then she walked over to one of the empty tables to sit down and slit open the envelope. She read the message once, then twice, to make sure she understood everything.

Cami,

In my journeys across Middle-earth to search for clues to the shapechanger past, I recently ran across a fellow who says he once knew you. I believe it has something to do with your husband's friendship with Meriadoc and the parcel of your descendents now living in Buckland.

His name is Eodwine, and he is in the employ of the King of Rohan. He expects to be visiting the Shire and spending considerable time at the Inn.

He was a real gentleman, most helpful to me in an unfortunate matter concerning a crooked game of cards, and I hope that you will keep an eye out for him, and help him rent some rooms in the Inn.

My own journey seems to have no end. I find tiny hints and clues here and there, but haven't deciphered enough to make real sense of anything. Perhaps things will fall in place and I'll be able to pay a visit to the Shire.

Your friend,

Bird

Eodwine? Cami's thoughts drifted back slowly through time. Then she smiled as a familiar face came to mind from an earlier journey she had made to Rohan. She quickly ran off to tell Aman about the letter, wishing that Piosenniel was still here to share in the news.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Envinyatar]

Dumpling was one of Derufin’s favorites. As plump as one of the doughy concoctions he was named for, he was the perfect mount for Halfred. He was a slow, sturdy little pony whose main interests settled around the topic of food. When could he have it, and how much, and would there be second helpings or at least an apple or carrot to fill in the empty places? He was happiest with a nosebag of oats on, or following Derufin about the yard, nudging him gently or not so, to remind him it was time for a sugar lump or a stray piece of bread. He was in fact, even now, sniffing about the lower pocket of the man’s leather vest. There was a suspicious lump in it, and the delicious smell of a Shire apple.

‘Incorrigible!’ laughed Derufin, pushing the pony’s nose away. ‘No need to tie you up is there, Dumpling? You wouldn’t run far from the sweet treats would you?’

As if in answer, the pony looked up at him and snorted decisively, shaking his mane and stamping his from hoof solidly on the ground. He nudged the man in the side, and nickered softly at him.

Derufin drew the apple from his pocket and winked at Dumpling as he bit it neatly in two. I’ll give you half,’ he said grinning, holding the offering out on the flat of his palm. ‘The rest is for me!’

The pony was done in the blink of an eye with the apple, and Derufin left him to graze on the greensward as he mounted the steps to the Inn. Halfred should be almost done giving out his letters, perhaps he could entice a few tidbits of news from him over another pint and a pipeful of Longbottom Leaf.

He waved to Halfred with his pipe and mimed a drink, then nodded his head at a table near the window. The Hobbit, done with his deliveries, took him up on his offer and plunked himself down in the chair across the table. They fell to talking, and two pints later, spaced out by a plate of thick, Shire ham sandwiches on Cook’s fresh bread and a dish of sweet and sour pickles, Halfred suddenly snapped his fingers in a clumsy manner, the light dawning in his eyes.

‘I almost forgot! This came for you from the Far Downs, and to there from just beyond the Tower Hills.’ He pulled out a rumpled letter, the wax on its seal cracking slightly, but still holding. A deep sea-blue, the wax bore the imprint of a six-pointed star, and his name, dashed off in a bold script, graced the front of the folded message.’

‘Well, aren’t you going to see who’s written you?’ asked the curious Hobbit, thinking back that he had never delivered a letter for the man before.

‘I know who it’s from, and I’ll read it later,’ Derufin replied, turning the Hobbit’s curiosity aside. ‘It’s getting late, let me stand you to one more pint, then I’ll fetch Dumpling for you.’ He signaled to a passing server and held up two fingers. ‘The missus will be expecting you for dinner. You wouldn’t want to be late.’

A dreamy look past over Halfred’s face as he thought of his dear wife’s stewed coney’s and her flakey herbed biscuits. He drank up quickly and was soon out the door.

[Ealasaid]

Benia was awakened by the early afternoon sunlight shining in through the window beside the fireplace. She had overslept!Still sleepy and a little stiff from sleeping in the armchair all night, she rose and stretched. Absently, she tightened the overhand knot of her amber hipscarf. As she did, something fell out of its folds and on to the rug. She bent down to take a closer look.

It was a small stone, red, darker than red, almost black. It reminded her of fire and dried blood, and of evil things whose names were best left unspoken. She drew back from it in horror, a sharp trill of fear playing down her spine. Where could it have come from? She knew she had not had it on her when she arrived at the inn the day before because she had taken her scarf off for a moment in her room before going down to the common room for the evening. Someone must have slipped it to her there, but who? It had been a busy night in the common room with lots of comings and goings. She had been so immersed in her conversation with Gilly that she had not paid close attention to her surroundings. She regretted it now. To her knowledge, stones like that came from only one place... Mordor. She had only seen one once before, years ago, during the time she had spent in the desert after the death of her mother. She had found it in amongst a pile of the bleached white bones of her kinsmen.

Going to the corner where she had stashed her belongings, Benia took a long, narrow dagger out of her pack. For an instant, she turned the tooled scabbard between her fingers. Then, deciding, she tucked it into the back of her hipscarf. It was no longer safe to run about unarmed, not even in the Shire. Going to the door to the bedroom, she opened it a crack and peeped in on Gilly, who had overslept as well. She was awake and sitting up on the edge of the bed. Benia decided not to mention the stone.

Once they had exchanged good mornings and good afternoons, Gilly announced her intention to return home to freshen up and check in on her family. She and Benia made plans to meet again later in the day. Once Gilly had gone, Benia went to the washbasin and pitcher of cold water on the table in the bedroom. She washed her face and reapplied the kohl to her eyes. Then, she brushed out her hip length black hair and replaited it into a single ropey braid down her back. The stone troubled her deeply.

She needed to know who had given it to her and why.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[littlemanpoet]

A horse and rider trotted into Bywater from the east, and stopped in front of the Green Dragon Inn. The rider looked around. Hobbits were busy with the day’s labors, and after quick glances, identifying the man as from foreign parts by his garb, gave no more notice of him; this was Bywater, home of the Green Dragon Inn, where all sorts of folk stopped in of late. Old Cotton was known to have joked that they should change the village’s name to New Bree “what with all the foreign types about”.

“So this is where it happened, Flithaf.” The rider’s mild tenor voice carried to the horse’s ears only. “The wagon was over there,” he pointed to the middle of the square, “the Ruffians came in from over there,” he nodded toward the road, leaving town westward. “And the memorial should be right – over – here. Just as the Master of Buckland said.” The thatch haired rider nudged his horse over to the monument: ‘Battle of Bywater’.

“Worth a song, is it not, Flithaf?” The chestnut charger nodded vigorously, stamping his rear feet. “Easy, boy. We’ve gone far enough for one day. Buckland to Bywater might not be enough for your vigor, but it’ll have to do. I wonder if Camelia will turn up? Goodchild then, Brandybuck now, according to the Master. Good names.” He chuckled at the simplicity of hobbit names. He was interrupted by a snort from Flithaf. “Whoa, then, boy, we’ll make sure you’re well stabled.”

With that, the rider eased his mount toward the Inn and brought him to stable.

“A handsome stallion, sir,” said the stableman. “What is he called?” The rider supplied the horse’s name. “And who does he call master, sir?”

“Eodwine of Rohan, messenger of King Eomer of the Mark.” He tipped the stableman well, removed a tall and somewhat flat leather sachel from Flithaf’s side, and went inside the Green Dragon Inn.

[Maegaladiel]

Nahai left her room at the exact moment Morwyn ran up to her own quarters. Annalalaith followed after her, standing tentatively outside her door.

"What happened?" asked Nahai, concern marking her brow. Annalalaith scratched behind one pointed ear nervously.

"Morwyn recieved a letter from her homelands." she said.

"Bad news?" Nahai grimaced. The elf shook her head.

"On the contrary. Things seemed to be going well, from what I gathered." She grinned half-heartedly. "I suspect a case of homesickness has infected our dear Morwyn." Nahai nodded knowingly.

"By the way, Nahai, an elven gentleman downstairs seemed very interested in that flute of Morwyn's. He said he was searching for someone who had one like it. Is that a common design for flutes?" she questioned. Nahai shook her head, suddenly nervous.

"No," she said. "It is almost unique. It was made for me by... by Celecu." What elf could possibly be searching for her here? And why?

"Be careful, mellon." Annalalaith said to her. The Beorning nodded, a smile on her face.

"If you insist." She gave a mock bow. "I have no choice but to obey to the best of my ability." She grinned boyishly, but her jest was only up front. Who could this strange person be?

[Annalaliath]

Despite her concern for Morwen, Annalaliath smiled, "What ever you do don't go becoming a home wrecker....." She searched the Beroing's face for any sign of amusement... Then she said exactly what she was thinking, " Do you think it is who I think it might be?" With out waiting for an answer from the girl Annalaliath let herself into Morwen's room.

" Morwen," she said gently, " Neno Melon are you alright, would you like to talk about it."

She looked at her friend's tear stained cheeks and had an over whelming urge to hug her. Annalaliath held back, knowing quite well what reactions miht insue. " What are you thinking?" She asked quietly.

Walking over to the wash basin in the room she poured water in it from the picture, " I hope this not out of place but this reminds me of Galadriel." she said the memory hurting her more than not, "Galadriel and her Mirror, that is all fading away since the Ring was destroyed, and the lady gone into the West." Looking up from her thoughts she noticed Morwen looking at her; her pain and regret poring forth from her eyes.

" Just say the word and I will either stay, or I will not listen and stay anyway." Said Annalaliath determinedly, " I will not allow my friend to be in pain alone, it is not healthy."

She found a chair and sat on it looking at Morwen. Then she remembered Nahi, she looked up at the Beoring. She was looking at them pondering something, or at least Annalalaith thaught she was pondering something. Nahi seemed rooted to the spot.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

The young hobbit lad had just finished feeding the horses. He noticed that Marya's white mare was gone. I wonder where she has gone off to, the hobbit lad thought to himself. He walked back into the Inn and noticed there was still a couple of letters left. He walked up and found one. It was unlabeled. He picked up the letter and walked over to the same table they had talked to the other night.

He opened it. There were beautiful letters written in blue ink. He began to read:

Vedui' my young hobbit lad, I see you have found my letter. I'm sorry I left you without notice, but I had to leave. There was something I had to find out. I have written you this letter for the purpose of telling you, I do not know when I shall return, but do expect me to come. I will slip in unnoticed as I did before. For the very short time I have known you, I have become close to you. I felt something strange. I know you felt it also. I'm sorry I could not say goodbye the other day, so now I say it.

Namárië, your friend Marya

[Amanaduial the archer]

Halfred gave out the last of the letters, then drew Aman's slowly out of the sack. He peered at it as if short sighted, bringing it closer, then farther, from his eyes.

"Hmm, I can't really see the name, and it doesn't look familiar now..." He murmered. Aman grinned, then gasped loudly, pointing out of the window.

"Look!" As the postman looked, the woman took advantage of his distraction, slipping the letter from his hand. Halfred looked back and stared for a moment at his empty hand, a puzzled frown on his face, before grinning at Aman.

"Well, you are a sly one, Mistress Aman," He chuckled, then rose from where he sat, draining the last of his ale. "Well, I must be off."

"You won't stay for another pint?"

Halfred lingered for a moment, then shook his head. "No, no, really I must be off. Thankyou Mistress Aman, and 'twas a pleasure making your aquaintance once more." He tugged his cap and proceded out of the Inn.

Aman inspected the letter, and was about to open it, when Cami rushed up to her.

"Aman, look!" She flourished a letter, and indicated a passage, still beaming. "I have a friend coming to the Inn, Eodwine, a messenger of the King of Rohan-"

"The king of Rohan? Very prestigious!" She frowned; the name had seemed familiar, and she just wanted to check. There was a newcomer in the Inn as well, and Aman noticed that when Cami had said his name, he had looked up, as if he was being addressed. "What did you say his name was?"

"He is one of Bird's friends- Eodwine. He-"

Aman saw the newcomer, a man dressed in what she recognised as Rohan dress, look up again. She nodded to him, making Cami turn. "I think you may have your Eodwine." She murmered. Approaching him, she smiled. "Good day sir, can I get you a drink?"

[ May 31, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[piosenniel]

Green Dragon Inn Facts:

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

King Elessar is on the throne.

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

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

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is:

Aman – a young woman from Rohan. Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

Derufin, a Man from Ethring in the Ringlo Vale, is the stablemaster and general handyman/jack of all trades for the Inn.

Vinca Bunce, Hobbit – ‘Cook’ – widowed runs the kitchen

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

Halfred Whitfoot - Shiriff in the Bywater/Hobbiton area & Postmaster

[piosenniel]

Present timeline:

It is still midsummer.

And immediately present - it is late afternoon of a bright, summery day, and the mail has just been delivered to the Inn.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin was just coming down the steps to the Inn when he saw the chestnut stallion turn up the path to the Inn. ‘A beautiful horse,’ he thought to himself, as he watched the spirited gait of the charger, held somewhat in check by the thatch haired man who rode him. The sun glinted off the charger’s coat and caught the lustrous hairs of his tail and mane. ‘Well taken care of, I see,’ he said approvingly.

He took the reins and held the rider’s mount steady as he got down. Flithaf, it was, whose head he held still, and Eodwine, the rider. It startled Derufin when the man gave him coins for his slight service, and he almost returned them, saying that it was not necessary. That it would be his pleasure to take care of so fine a creature. But take them he did, smiling graciously, and put them away in his pocket thinking he could find some use for them.

He led Flithaf to the stable, speaking gently to him as they walked along. The horse’s ears flicked with interest, and he nodded his great head at times, almost as if he wished to join in the conversation. ‘Come,’ said Derufin, leading him to an empty stall, ‘let me free you up a bit.’

His saddle and bridle removed, the tangles and burrs combed from his tail and mane, Flithaf was then given a small nosebag of oats to tide him over until the evening hay would be put in hayracks of each stall. Once done, Derufin led him out to the large pen on the greensward at the side of the stable.

‘Run about, Flithaf. Meet your stablemates!’ Derufin shooed the horse in through the gate and latched it behind him.

He went to the wooden bench that circled the great oak in the Inn yard, and sitting down, he stretched out his long legs before him. His pipe was soon in his hand, filled with Southern Star and tamped down to his satisfaction. ‘I should go into the Inn and get a light for it,’ he thought lazily to himself, without stirring from his seat.

Instead he placed the filled pipe back in his pouch and was in the process of placing them back into his vest pocket when his fingers brushed the letter he had put there earlier. He pulled it out, his pipe and pouch now quite forgotten on the bench beside him. His fingers ran over the dried ink on the front of the folded letter, then turned it round, slipping gently under the waxen seal to lift it from the paper.

‘How like her,’ he said to himself, a half smile creasing the corners of his eyes, ‘to use the face of her cloak pin to impress it.’

There were two pages to the letter, a lengthy, and somewhat droll accounting of how her life had gone since her departure, the people she had met, the little details of a life she wished to share with a distant friend. She asked how he was doing, hoping this found him still at the Inn and settled somewhat, his grief a little lighter. He grinned, knowing she was a practical person, and liked the pieces of her life in order and proceeding as she thought they should.

Her broad, bold signature was at the end, and he almost missed the hurried note she had scribbled beneath it. There was a sharp intake of breath as he realized what she had so casually written. He laughed out loud, scaring a small wren from one of the oak’s lower branches, and caused the resident squirrel to scold him shrilly.

Derufin read the words once again, then carefully folding the letter up, he stowed it in his inside vest pocket, and whistling some fragment of a Fair Folk’s song, he got up and went in to the kitchen to speak with Cook.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Snowdog]

(OOC: wow! Time moves fast for this old Ranger!)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silvanis watched for a time from his chair, but as soon as he aquired the smoke, and after watching the woman he dropped the stone relax after her converse with the Hobbit, and he quickly retired.

Rest came easy for a couple hours before he awoke in the pre-dawn. Arising he went out through the common room, and out the door to wander the field and enjoy the sunrise. The day was to be a bright and warm one for the Shire, and Silvanis thought of what it would bring. He thought of his procurement of the stone he left with the woman, and thought of the trouble he will be in if he returns to the south. But it had to be done....

The sun breaking the morning over the horizon brought Blackvbeil to him, and she was well rested and looked better than she had in a long time. Hoping to go she nudged him, but Silvanis paused, telling her,

'Be patient my dear, for we have been through much of late. Enjoy the grass of this field, but don't wander into the farmers crops. I have to return to the Inn for some food, for we are in no hurry to ride into danger again are we?'

Blackveil danced at the thought of spending a sunny day grazing the lush green grass and cheerily started to do so. Silvanis walked back to the common room to partake in the morning meal and sip some tea. It was really what the Shirefolk call 'second breakfast' but he enjoyed it just the same. He stood at the bar and watched and ate as the meals ran together, wondering where the woman went off to. He listened as the postman came with mail for some and he wondered what it was like to have someone send you mail. 'They would have to find you first.' Silvanis thought to himself, quite enjoying not cooking his own food and smoking and eating.

It was getting into the afternoon when he decided he would go and ride out, but as he went for the door something told him to turn and look the place over one last time. He saw the exotic woman, her hair in a rope and her silken scarves about her looking at him from across the room. 'She found it!' he thought to himself, and with a friendly nod and a slight smile, he turned and went out the door.

Standing in the westering sun, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness, Silvanis went to the field a short bit away from the door and called to Blackveil. She trotted up and he looked again back to the door of the Inn.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Snowdog ]

[ElenCala Isil]

For a while Eruanna sat, contemplating her connection with the young girl. She had barely seemed to notice the few persons go up to receive their letters. Although, she was once more enlightened, there was a force pulling her down once more. It seemed as if she could feel a coming presence. Yet, there she sat, moving around in her chair uncomfortably.

Suddenly, she shivered, feeling cold to the very bone. She drew her cloak around her, and headed out. It should have seemed warm, but she felt something, drawing nearer, and nearer. Quickly, Eruanna fled out to the stables. “Istel!” she screeched in a coarse whisper. “Do you feel it, can you sense it? Oh, Istel!” she said, as if half-expecting a reply. “It’s time, we cannot wait any longer,” she said, more calmly.

Eruanna prepared to leave, when she noticed that her letter was left on her table. She couldn’t leave it behind; it was far too dear to her. Thus, she ran forth, back inside the inn, and maneuvered around the others inside to her table. “Come quickly!” she heard a voice call out. ‘Twas the hobbit-lass, who was holding her letter. “My letter,” Eruanna called out. “Yes, I saved it for you, but you must come, you cannot stay here,” she said in reply. The hobbit-lass lead Eruanna out to the stables once more. And there she proceeded to tell Eruanna that she could no longer stay at the inn.

“You have traveled far,” Eruanna told the hobbit. The hobbit returned to Eruanna her letter, nodding slowly. “You warn me, you say I cannot stay,” Eruanna continued, “I felt the same myself, but I also feel that we share a similar fate, you cannot stay either.” The hobbit looked frightened, and shook her head, weeping all the while. “No, I can’t, please, take me with you,” she pleaded.

Eruanna looked upon the hobbit, her heart filled with sympathy. “I will take you with me, but we must leave now,” she replied. Together, they gathered their most important possessions, and lead Istel out of the stables. Then, they mounted Istel, and rode off, away from the inn, and out of The Shire.

[Gorothlammothiel]

Soronume stepped infront of Niniel, blocking her way. "My'lady Niniel, please."

He took her arm but she just turned away, "My'lady" he pleaded, "why do you run away? Mardath doesn't know of that he speaks. As much as I have a disliking to him and his abrupt nature I am sure he meant no offence by his recent..." he hesitated, "...outward thoughts."

Niniel didn't seem to pay heed to the elf's words. He let her from his grip and she turned and walked back towards the stables.

"Niniel, wait" he followed the maiden at some speed though she didn't stop until she reached a familiar mare. Soronume continued to try and persuade the maiden, "Niniel, you left the inn so quickly, without a word of explaination to the others at our table. Mardath clearly makes you uncomftable and I shan't pain you by asking the reason for that discomfort, but the fair star-maiden, Elwen, she has done no wrong by you. Will you not come back to the table?"

Niniel shook her head, adament she would leave. Soronume sighed, "please, stay?"

[Nerindel]

As Léspheria took the last bite of her pie and swallowed the last sip of her tea, she heard the distictively Elven words,

"Aa'menealle nauva calen ar'malta"

She was surprised to hear the uncommonly used parting phrase turned into a greeting, but as she looked around the room her eyes fell on a table in the centre, it was surrounded by hobbits young and old listening intently to the Three High elves that she immediately recognised from Rivendell.

They had left Rivendell shortly after Elrond and she had thought they had followed him over the sea, her heart sang to see that the rummours that they travelled all the lands of Middle-Earth looked to be true.

She rose from her seat excitedly, her heart racing, would they even remember who she was As she gracefully walked towards them, her long dark hair flowed behind her, although the sides were tied back into a loose braid that ran down her back two smaller braids hung down the side of her cheeks in front of her Elven ears and they swang a little as she walked.

"Vedui' Myguel High Elf of Rivendell", she greeted him smiling, "Vedui' Enguel, Ywen" she continued bowing slightly to them in turn.

The trio looked at the fair elven features and the glistening grey eyes of the younger elf trying to recall her name, then Myguel speaking for the three of them replied, "Mae govannen Léspheria Denfëa, Ambassador and friend to Rangers."

Her smile broadened and her heart race a little more as he spoke her name so he does remember me. Seeing that the formal introductions were over they embraced.

"Cormamin lindua ele lle, nae saian laumme'"
(My heart sings to see thee, it has been to long) she said as they broke from the embrace.

Remembering her manners and not wishing to seem rude to the hobbits gathered around the trio she continued in westron,

"It has been Twelve long years now since you left Rivendell, I feared that you had left these fair lands with the others on the last crossing, please let me buy you a drink and you can tell me of your adventures since last we met."

She then went to the bar to get their drinks, Aman was not there as she looked round she saw the Rohirrim woman and the hobbit woman Cami greeting a newcomer, so she popped behind the bar and drew two mugs of the Shires finest ale and two cups of the best white wine that she could find. Setting them down on the bar as she counted out the correct coinage and popped it in the wooden money drawer, beneath the counter. she then lifted the drinks and returned to the table, setting them down infront of her kin and settled herself down to listen to her old friends tales.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

It was getting to be late afternoon as Gilly made her way back to the inn. She had left earlier to see to her family’s needs, and now that the pressing ones were taken care of she felt freer to go back. The boys will just have to make do with leftovers, she thought to herself. Surprisingly, Carl had not balked at her returning to the Green Dragon as she had imagined he would. “Just so as you don’t starve your children or bring home any bad influences,” he had put it. This was in jest of course. Carl was an excellent cook and frequently referred to his wife as “virtuous”. It a quite effective way of keeping her in line that he had discovered early on in their marriage.

She however, had always considered her interaction in the larger course of events outside Bywater as somewhat of an important feature in her life. It had made her see the Shire in a different light and she had valued it all the more for that. But now as the diminutive Mrs. Banks made her way back to the inn, she was vaguely wondering if her husband’s remark was a reflection on her parents or perhaps her own upbringing. She put the thought out of her mind. Why spoil the day brooding. And it was a beautiful day, although hot. The night’s rain had washed the air and freed the hedges and grasses along the road of their dusty coats. The world was looking clean and new.

Yes, why spoil the day, Gilly reminded herself as thoughts of Benia parents began crowding her mind. It seemed strange how one could assume someone to be living only to find they had died so many years ago. Such unfortunate deaths as well. She hoped that Benia being half-caste might escape the drama of her parent’s lives. The thought that she might discover her friend to have died a terrible death years after the fact produced a painful tinge in the hobbit’s heart together with a visible shutter. All that she has left of her mother is a ring, Gilly mused. Poor Benia, with a seemingly rootless existence and so little mathom to lend her an anchor in the storm! How sad.

As Gilly walked up the road approaching the Green Dragon she met Halfred Whitfoot carrying his empty satchel and mopping his forehead.

“Hello Mr. Whitfoot! You’ve a fine day for mail deliveries, haven’t you?”

“Sbit too hot for me!” he replied, slurring every so slightly. “Miss Gilly” he began again
“There, there’s a letter…at the inn. Carl says in the morning, leave it here.”

“Are you quite alright Mr. Whitfoot? You look as though you’re not well. Would you like me to find you something to drink? This heat can take it out of you, you know.”

“No, no, jus' fine Mrs. Banks… really fine! Good day Mrs. Banks.”

Gilly stared after him for a few minutes, trying to decide if he needed assistance. Convincing herself that he probably knew best, she walked on.

The sun being at it’s hottest, activity in the yard had slowed for the time being. As she approached the inn Gilly noticed a man checking on a horse. She thought this to be the same man she had seen watching Benia yesterday and felt troubled by it. He’s too quiet to be up to any good but he hasn’t shown any signs of being bad, she puzzled.

She hurried inside to find Benia.

[ May 31, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine berated himself as he passed through the doors. I should have asked the stableman for his name. I'll have to remedy that. He had a good face. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the interior light. It smelled homey and comfortable, like great food and drink, and good talk. He breathed it in with a smile. Hobbitish, he said to himself. Looking around, he saw a fair share of hobbits - a weathered man with a mail bag and a few hobbit lasses who obviously worked the place. A human woman stood behind the bar, her face reminding him of women in Edoras, though her hair was brown.

There were Elves, too, much to Eodwine's surprise. He was in awe of Elves. Call it New Rivendell instead, he murmured. He hugged his satchel and sat at a table, feeling small and very young in the presence of fair folk. Even though most of them appeared to be far younger than himself. He had seen Legolas of the Fellowship at a distance, and had known him to be hundreds of years old, looking no older than he himself had looked back during the War.

The woman came over to him and smiled. "Good day sir, can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, please! The darkest ale you have, please." He smiled. She did not move away but studied his face. He seized the moment and rose, bowing his head and setting his satchel carefully on his seat. "I am called Eodwine, of Rohan. You are from Rohan, maybe?"

[ June 01, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Envinyatar]

Buttercup stood at the granite counter, a colander of just washed carrots and peas fresh from the vine in the stone sink next to her. She reached for the large oak chopping board and a big knife for chopping carrots in anticipation of cutting them into nice fat rounds for the stewed chicken Cook had in mind for supper.

Several old hens and a decrepit rooster had come to the end of their feathered tenure in the Inn’s coop, and were already cooking slowly in a savory broth redolent of rosemary, sage, and the tops of celery root. The rest of the celery stalks and the fat carrots would grace the stew, and the small, sweet peas cooked with mint and a sprinkling of sugar would be served up on the side. Buttercup inhaled deeply, her mouth watering at the enticing smell of the chicken and herbs.

Chunk! Chunk! Her knife bit through the carrots in an efficient manner, soon rendering the entire three bunches into bite sized rounds. Buttercup scooped them into a large bowl and took them over to place in the stew. She dumped them in and swirled them about in the lovely liquid, then brought a spoonful of the broth to her lips.

Cook hissed at her, saying ‘The chicken will be dry as a bone if you keep guzzling that broth, Buttercup! Chop up the celery now, and then get to the peas. We’ve got a roomful of hungry customers out there to feed tonight.’

Buttercup sighed and placed the lid back on the large stew pan. Cook returned to her mound of flour and shortening and water, plunging her fingers expertly back into it, in preparation for making a pan or two of her light and fluffy biscuits.

Her back was to the door as Derufin came striding in, grinning from ear to ear, and bending down, grabbed her about the waist and swung her about once, plunking her feet back firmly on the floor when he was done. She rounded on him her cheeks red and her eyes blazing, shaking a floury finger at him.

‘Now what is all this tomfoolery, Derufin! Scaring a poor old Hobbit with your antics!’ She wiped her hands on her apron and fixed him with a steely glare.

But he stood before her grinning, like a cat-got-into-cream, and waved the letter at her.

‘She’s bound for the Shire, Cook! For the Inn! And the wee ones with her!’

[ June 01, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Alatariel Telemnar]

The hobbit finished reading the letter. He stuck it into his pocket and sat back in his chair. He watched the numerous people reading their letters. Some had joyful looks, others sad ones.

The hobbit walked up to the bar, and ordered an ale. He sat there drinking it. Letting time slip away.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

"Please, stay?"

Niniel looked at Soronume, and, almost, she wanted to tell him everything. About her night s, about her fears of never remembering who she really was. About how things would seem so familiar, but always the memory would be just out of her reach. She wanted to tell him all this, but her halting speech stopped her.

Instead, she fell onto his shoulder, and cried. Not simply tears, as she'd done earlier, but all-out sobbing. Within moments, the shoulder of his tunic was soaked.

Soronume let her cry for a few minutes, then led her gently to the well to wash her face and compose herself. And dry himself. When she was mostly calm, he led her back inside to the others.

"Did ye straighten 'tall out, then?" Mardath asked tactlessly.

Soronume Looked at him. "Sir. You will curb your errant tongue, or you will leave this table."

Mardath blinked once or twice, then nodded, looking almost abashed, for once. Elwen and Dorelnar had just finished telling him a very similar thing.

Elwen asked Niniel concernedly, "Are you all right, my dear?"

"I--I think s-so. Now."

[Wren]

The young rider dismounted her horse in front of the Green Dragon Inn. She stretched the kinks out of her legs, and then led the buckskinned stallion into the inn's stables. She shook her head at the stablehand's offer of assistance. Then she led her horse into an empty stall.

Taking a curry comb out of a saddle bag, she began to comb the lather off of his velvety coat. She talked soothingly all the while, making sure he is all but dried. Then she lays a light blanket over his back. He snorts at her fussiness, but she just scratches him affectionatly on his neck. She gives him his full ration of feed and a little hay besides. Then she takes a bucket and goes outside to fill at at the pump.

Looking around as the bucket is filling, she can see that the inn is busy place, hobbits as well as men and elves are coming and going. She can hear voices laughing, talking and even singing. With her bucket filled, she hurries in to give her friend a well-deserved drink.

Giving the satisfied stallion a soft goodbye, she leaves him to enter the inn proper. It is quite crowded and smoke-filled making her a little unfortable.

She is simply dressed in her bucksin breeches and long grey cloak. Sturdy boots carry her over to the bar, where she inquires about a room for the night. With her lodgings arranged she orders a meal and her favorite drink: mead.

Looking for an empty table, but finding none, she stands near the fire, instead, absorbing its friendly warmth. She sips from her mug, and waits for her dinner to arrive.

When the innkeeper hands her meal, she gives him enough coins to pay for the meal and the room for the night as well. She begins to eat the savory meat pie, thinking this would not be an easy mail to prepare out on the trail.

She smiles as little as the food, and fire begin to warm her. Taking another sip from her mug, she takes a moment to see the many guests enjoing themselves at the end of the day.

[ June 01, 2003: Message edited by: Wren ]

Wren - Please check yur PM's (Private Messages)

[ June 01, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

“I am called Eodwine, of Rohan. You also are from Rohan?” The man enquired, bobbing his head courteously to Aman. She returned his smile and opened her mouth to reply before another nabbed her attention, a young woman, dressed mainly in buckskin and wearing over her clothes a grey riding cloak, who Aman had not seen when she entered, and asked for a meal. Aman searched the room quickly before catching the eye of Buttercup, one of the two hobbit waitresses, who had just emerged from the kitchen, and beckoned her over.

“Would you serve this customer please?” The pretty little hobbit nodded politely, if a little reluctantly, and found the woman a table, seating her and asking her what she would like to eat and drink. Once they had departed, Aman turned back to Eodwine, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Well met, sir well met. I am indeed from Rohan,” she replied. Eodwine nodded, then looked around, with an air of slight confusion, although he was too polite to ask. Aman grinned. “New Rivendell might start to sum it up, with a human Innkeeper!” She laughed, and Eodwine smiled back slightly bashfully, nodding. “Well, ‘twas my first impression, aye! And what is’t that you are doing here? Not to be impolite of course, madam.”

“Aman, not madam.” The lilt in Eodwine’s voice reminded her comfortingly of her home, and she knew hers would be coming out more strongly- from the time spent here already, she had almost felt she was beginning to speak like the hobbits! “I am Innkeeper here- it seems to run that the Innkeeper is not entirely fitting to the background we have here. I am looking after the Dragon in the absence of Piosenniel, an old friend. You have met an acquaintance of hers, I believe- Birdland?”

Eodwine’s smile widened. “Birdland, you say? Aye, we have met, and I believe that without me she would be in more than a little trouble with the Rohirrim.” He lowered his voice, still grinning wickedly at Aman’s puzzled expression, his eyes creasing. “You know of Bird’s, how shall we say, card playing skills?”

Aman laughed. “Oh, aye? Well, ‘twas well you did so too- she has another friend staying here, a certain hobbit, Cami Brandybuck,” Her thoughts returned to the Inn and she snapped her fingers, remembering what Eodwine had asked for. “Oh, silly of me! Ale, am I right?”

“The darkest you have.” He confirmed, and Aman bustled over to the bar, with Eodwine following, still looking around the Inn in almost wonder. Pushing Eodwine’s ale across the bar, she smiled at his expression. “Not your regular Shire Inn, is it? Anyway, what is’t that you are doing here? Not meaning to be rude, of course. You are a messenger, are you not?”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine followed Aman to the counter, bringing his satchel with him, setting it down carefully beside him as he listened to the barkeep's pleasant banter. "...You are a messenger, are you not?"

"Indeed I am." He took a long draw off the top of his brown ale, sighing deeply and smiling broadly. "I am one of King Eomer's messengers. He has granted my request to come to the Shire on an errand of good will, to mingle with the Holbytla and learn what I may for a year and a day."

He looked around the room again, his eyes wide, and looked Aman in the eye. She was easy enough to talk to, as any barkeep should be. "Just between you and me, what draws so many fair folk here?"

[Amanaduial the archer]

"...what draws so many of the fair folk here?"

Aman raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "It surprised me as well, seeing so many of them here, although they aren't that much different from anyone else, really. I suppose it could have something to do with the fact that Piosenniel - sorry, the Innkeeper before me, that is - was half-elven. Otherwise...well, I would guess that they are simply looking for a place to get away from everything else. Many stay for a long time, and become regulars- why, I am still thought of as 'the new Innkeeper' to some. But at some point it seems people from every different background drop in here.You would be surprised at some of the sorts we get in the Inn- after to all, half-elves, dwarves, aye, and messengers from King Eomer." She winked at him, grinning.

There were no newcomers in the Inn now, and Ruby was still dealing with 'the buckskin woman' as Aman had begun to think of her, so Aman settled down to talk some more to Eodwine, taking in more details about him as they talked. His hair was blonde, common among the Rohirrim, and he wore fine clothes, which sat on him as they would on a soldier. Indeed, Aman wondered whether he had been in the War-he was about forty-ish, with crows feet at the sides of his eyes when he laughed and smiled, which he did readily enough.

As she talked to him, she saw Derufin burst suddenly into the kitchen, and caught a glimpse of the wide smile he wore on his sharp features. What's gotten into him? she thought, her eyes following after him. She turned back suddenly at the sound of Cami's voice, as the hobbit also joined them, talking excitedly in her usual cheerful way, and inquiring about Bird...

[Wren]

After finishing the hearty meal, the "buckskin woman" goes in search of the hobbit waitress to thank her for the wonderful meal. She asks the hobbit waitress if she would be so kind as to extend her thanks and compliments to the cook as well.

She walks over to the innkeeper and introduces herself, "Please allow me to introduce myself, my lady. "I am called Wren", she says simply. She tilts her head slightly, studying the innkeeper, wondering if she is intruding, and should simply leave the woman to her business.

She stiffles a yawn, thinking about the bed waiting for her in one of the rooms of the inn. She waits for the innkeeper to reply and looks around at the other guests.

[ June 01, 2003: Message edited by: Wren ]

[piosenniel]

Point of information for the Inn:

It is still late afternoon tending to evening in the Shire - not dark as yet.

Cook is just getting ready to bake the biscuits for the Chicken Stew to be served at supper.

[Ealasaid]

When Benia Nightshade arrived in the common room, she became instantly aware of two things: one, the postman had just made a delivery; and, two, the man she had noticed staring at her from the doorway the night before was again standing in the doorway of the inn. This time, he smiled and nodded to her in a friendly manner before exiting. She nodded in return, but a smile failed to materialize. There were far too many serious matters on her mind to allow for much gaiety. She looked around the other occupants of the room, finding some were familiar from the night before, some were not. The most noticeable newcomer to her eyes was a large man dressed after the fashion of the Men of Rohan. She thought she recognized the clothing as that of a royal courier.

Her own father, Jack Nightshade, had once been in the service of Rohan, but it had been in the old days, under the old king, long before Eomer had assumed the throne. This man was probably too young to have known Old Jack Nightshade, Rider of the Mark. By the time this man had sworn his alliegiance to the king, Old Jack had no doubt long been written off as a deserter, a traitor. Of course, it wasn't the way it looked. Things seldom were as they appeared. Jack had never intended to desert. Evil things had happened and he had just never managed to come back from leave, not for seven long years. When he finally did return to Edoras, he had been imprisoned as a deserter. Eventually, with the help of some friends who had remained loyal, he had managed to escape and flee the country. Half-caste Benia had been only eight years old at the time. Since then, she had always regarded the Rohirrim with suspicion. Raising her veil to conceal her face all but the eyes, she went to sit at a table on the far side of the room.

She had intended to ask Aman, the innkeeper, if she had noticed anyone around the inn lately talking about or showing off any of the red stones like the one that had so recently come into her possession. Now, seeing Aman in friendly conversation with the Man of Rohan, she changed her mind. She would have to come up with another way of finding out what she needed to know. Mentally, she began to catalog who had been present in the common room the night before and who might have had the opportunity to slip her the stone. Her mind kept stubbornly returning to the Man in the Doorway. He was the only one who seemed to have paid her any mind whatsoever. She wondered what a man who looked so much like a Ranger would be doing with one of the red stones and why, of all the odd folk at the inn, he would pass it to her. If, of course, he was the one who had done it. She was still turning this over in her mind when she looked up to see a familiar face smiling across the table at her. It was Gilly. She had returned, and she was holding a letter.

Behind her veil, Benia smiled, letting the smile travel to her eyes. "Greetings!" she said cheerfully, but in the folds of her dress, her fingers still turned the red stone.

[piosenniel]

‘Give me that letter, you insufferable Man!’ Cook chased the grinning Derufin as he danced circles round the kitchen table, waving the letter over his head. He collapsed into a chair, his eyes twinkling at the sight of her compact form charging toward him.

She grabbed the letter from his fingers and sat down at the table with him, squinting at the writing as she held the paper an arm’s length from her face. Shaking her head, she laid the letter on the table, smoothing it out carefully, and fished in her skirt pocket for her magnifying glass. She had scoffed at her son-in-law when he had brought it back from Bree for her, but it had proved a very handy tool for deciphering the crabbed notes at the edges of some of her old recipes and for reading the itemized receipts from some of the merchants.

Buttercup and Ruby had come back into the kitchen, wondering what had excited Derufin so. They took the other chairs at the table, listening attentively as Cook read the letter.

A Pleasant Midsummer’s Day
Harlond, Harlindon

Greetings Derufin!

I am sending this letter to the Inn in hopes that you are still there. And that you have made peace in some manner with the ghosts of the past.

Cook glanced up at the Man, a questioning look on her face. ‘Do you want me to read all this, or would you rather edit out what was for you alone?’ He nodded at her to go on. The sound of the letter read out loud to him made the words more real, steeling his resolve to follow through on his promises to her.

Cook continued on.

Mithadan brought us here to be close to the sea, while we got used to being a family. It has been a good time for us. There is a certain rhythm to the days, directed mostly by the babies. You remember the drill, do you not – the fussing, the feeding, the changings, the sleeping, and that all too brief a period when they are awake and content!

Here there followed a light account of people she had met in Harlond. Men, for the most part, though some Elves still lived quietly further north near Mithlond and south, along the shores of the Sea. She drew quite pointed pictures with her words of those she had gotten to know, picking out their little foibles in such a way as to make her readers laugh, and feel that they had met them.

‘She has a sharp eye for people, doesn’t she?’ commented Ruby, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes. Buttercup, blushing as she answered, said, ‘Oh, aye! That she does. And a sharp tongue, too.’ Cook looked at her with a smile on her face and nodded ‘yes’. Taking a breath, she read on.

The wee bairns, as you called them, have grown apace, and their bright grey eyes take in all of the world about them as they can. We walk often with them along the shores of the gulf, and once we persuaded a fisherman to take us out in his boat to the where the sea begins. It was a pleasant excursion, though his small boat did not ride as smoothly as the Star. But we enjoyed his company, and I, especially, relished the chance to have the feel of the waves beneath my feet.

So much so, in fact, that we are ready to leave soon for Gondor and the Star. Mithadan was all for hiring a ship and sailing south to Harlond in Gondor, but I wanted to see my friends from the Inn one last time, and am in the process of persuading him that we should come back to the Shire for a short while. I will keep you informed of our plans.

Affectionately,

Piosenniel

And there, below her sprawling name, these hastily written words:

A brief day later, and he has relented, as I knew he would! I am sending this to the Shire by the fastest courier I can hire. We should be there in four weeks if all goes well.

‘Four weeks! And this letter took a good two already to get here by my reckoning.’ Cook’s brow furrowed as she thought about what needed to be done. ‘We’ll have to organize a party for them of course, to properly celebrate the twins’ Naming Day for their friends here in the Shire.’ She turned her gaze on Ruby and Buttercup.

‘You two, go find Miz Cami and Miz Aman. Tell them they’re needed directly in the kitchen. Tell them Cook needs to speak with them on a matter of some importance.’

[Katt b]

Waen was a little distracted still from the elf in the Inn,but she was getting a little hungy.She decided to excuse herself from the hobbit Lass. "Excuse me,I would love to talk but maybe another time." Waen smiled her toothy grin and turned to enter the Inn again.

When she entered,she looked towards the bar,Aman was talking to a striking Man with blond hair.Waen approached behind the man quietly,so as not to disturb their conversation.When she reached the bar not much of Waen could be seen except for the hawk on her shoulder,who had dosed off.

"Excuse me,Aman my good lady what and when would you be serving supper?" Waen said with a grin.Waen did not usually eat this much being elvish and all,but on her travels she did not eat much and she was making up for it now.

Waen gazed at the man.She was not used to so many men,so close all the time.Most men she met thought she looked like a child and never gave her a second look. But this man when he looked at her he showed interest.Waen blushed slightly and looked over the counter at Aman waiting for her reply.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Mardath tried grinning at Niniel, but she'd have none of it, and drew closer to Soronume, as if for protection. This confused Mardath, as he only meant to be friendly. Of course, Mardath's grin resembled a wolf or a bear rather than the friendly smile it was supposed to be. Indeed, one could certainly describe him as a bear, for he was, distantly, related to the Beornings. He could not transform, as Beorn himself was said to have been able to do, though he often thought that might have been convenient.

Mardath was beginning to wonder if he had better return to his forests. He was finally noticing that none of the people at the table liked him overmuch, and Soronume especially seemed to dislike him. But then, Mardath wasn't the sort of fellow that a noble elf like Soronume usually kept company with. Much less a lovely maid like Niniel.

The last maiden he'd known had married his best friend. Well, ex-best friend now. Mardath occasionally wondered what had happened to him, but usually dismissed the thought. If Jaron had wanted them to stay apart, they'd stay apart. The self-proclaimed Master Thief could certainly take care of himself, without his bumbling "friend."

While he was thus engaged in introspection, Elwen, Dorelnar, and Soronume were trying to reassure Niniel that her abrupt exit hadn't offended any. Concerned them, but not offended. That was when Mardath noticed Niniel's stutter.

"I--I--I'm truly s-sorry. I--I shouldn't have l-left like--like that."

So that was it. "Na, then, Miss, 'tis I who should be sorry. Ye'd think tha' I'd a noticed tha' ye dislike t'talk. Besides, 'twas my," here he glanced at Soronume, " 'errant tongue' tha' chased ye away. But mayhap I ken a way t'help ye. D'ye sing, any 'tall?"

Niniel nodded cautiously, unsure how to take this new approach. He could still be a danger to her.

"When ye talk, Miss, think o' it as singin', ye ken. It'll help."

[Envinyatar]

Ruby and Buttercup had gone on their appointed errands. Cook, unable to contain her excitement at the news of Mistress Piosenniel’s arrival with the babies, could not wait for their return, and had gone herself in search of Cami and Aman. The return of the Elf to the Inn had gone from two weeks away to imminent in her mind, and for one usually as down to earth as she was, she was now quite in a dither.

The rapid departure of the kitchen staff left Derufin alone with the supervising of the evening meal. Accustomed as he was to feeding himself quite adequately while on the road, he found it was altogether a different task when faced with the preparation of a meal for a large number of hungry and somewhat discriminating persons. Still, he was a member of the Inn staff now, and Cook had gotten most of the food already well under way.

‘How hard could it be?’ he thought to himself as he tied an apron round his waist and picked up the wooden stirring spoon.

He gave the chicken stew a stir with the spoon, and tasted the broth. Superb! He bit into a chunk of the carrot, noting it met his teeth with the resistance he liked in his vegetables, and set the large pot on the back burner to stay warm. The peas could wait to be cooked until he’d seen to the floury mound of would-be biscuits sitting on the counter.

Now that was a challenge he was not sure he was up to. Though he had eaten a fair number of biscuits in his life, he could not recall ever having made them. He dredged up a distant memory of his mother faced with a similar gluey mass teaching his older sister the fine art of flakey biscuits. Using her remonstrances to his sister as a guide, he worked the dough lightly and rolled it out gently. Taking the floured rim of a wine cup, he cut out the rounds from the biscuit dough and lined them up like troops in two large baking pans.

This was where his memories failed him. He had gotten restless when the instructions turned to arrangement of the biscuits in the pan – how far apart they should be from one another seemed unimportant in comparison with the sight of his younger brother playing out in the yard with the family dog. And he had missed entirely the part of biscuit-making where the heat of the oven and length of baking was discussed.

Trusting that Cook had in all probability gotten the oven to the desired temperature, he opened the heavy door, and popped the two pans onto the waiting racks. Derufin pulled a chair close to the oven door and sat down, peeking in briefly every five minutes or so, determined to catch the biscuits at just the right time.

After what seemed an interminable time, the biscuits took on a golden hue and were taken out to sit on cooling racks. The peas were done, and he gave the thick chicken stew one last stir.

No one was in sight to serve it up, so he set out bowls and plates and spoons, and dishes of butter with butter knives and several pots of sweet Shire honey on the long counter in the kitchen. The food he placed on the table in the center of the room.

Stepping to the door of the kitchen, he called out in a loud voice that reached readily to the far end of the Common Room.

‘Supper’s served! Come line up if you’re hungry and help yourselves!’

Pouring himself a black stout from the keg behind the bar, Derufin seated himself on one of the high stools and watched the hungry horde shuffle by . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami had been surprised to learn from Cook that Pio and her family intended to visit the Inn in a space of about four weeks. Until that moment, Cami's own plans had been uncertain. Every day when she woke and went about her chores, she'd kept wondering if it wasn't time for her to leave. Her pregnancy was going well, with the baby's expected birth still several months away. Yet she missed her own family, especially Maura, who remained behind in the shady groves of western Greenwood, while she paid a visit to old friends in Hobbiton and Bywater. Her husband and her eldest daughter Rose had promised to keep things running smoothly at home, so she would not have to worry and could stay as long as she desired.

Unlike many of the other wanderers who related their tales in the common room, Cami was very careful to keep her story to herself and to say nothing about where she was from or exactly how she'd arrived. Since she looked like any other plump hobbit of middling years, few were inclined to ask many questions or to guess that she had anything to hide beneth her sweet, unassuming face. The hobbit was very happy with that arrangement and had no desire to alter it. Still, with the promise of Piosenniel's return, there was no question that she would remain for a few more weeks in order to see her friends and get a chance to play "Auntie" for the twins.

With this decision behind her, Cami turned her attention to the work at hand. The number of visitors dropping by the Inn was steadily increasing, requiring the staff to work harder and harder in a vain attempt to satisfy all their demands. It was already dinnertime, but Cami was still allocating and preparing the bedchambers for the travellers who'd come in that day.

She was toting a heavy load of sheets and pillowcases taken from the downstairs laundry, and carting them off through the hallway to the chambers where the newcomers would stay. It was one thing to make up the neat, compact hobbit beds, but the linens for the Elves and humans were so generously sized that it normally took two of the staff to wrestle the bedclothes firmly into place.

Before heading off down the corridor, Cami sighed as she glanced over the list of rooms which Aman had given to her. No matter how she rearranged the names, she always came out one room short. The name at the bottom of the list, the one who'd registered last, was that of her friend Eodwine. She shook her head in bewilderment, wondering what to do. It was true that guests were sometimes asked to sleep in the stables, but surely they had something better to offer than hay for someone who'd come from as far away as Rohan and was a representative of the King, to boot.

But, even if she managed to work some magic and find a bed for Eodwine, the fact remained that the Inn was becoming more and more crowded, with the Innkeeper having to ask guests to double up on rooms, or to sleep a night or two in the back courtyard. There were enough small chambers that space could generally be found to stash an extra hobbit or two. But the situation with Men and Elves had reached crisis proportions, with the number of unexpected visitors flooding through the Dragon straining things to the hilt.

Something would definitely need to be done, or the Dragon would get a bad reputation as a place which failed to live up to its promises. Cami mulled the problem over in her head, reviewing each inch of the Inn building and grounds. Then, she sprinted purposefully over to the kitchen in order to talk with Cook.

Cook quickly solved the problem of where to put Eodwine. She promised to speak with Derufin, since he had a cozy suite in the stables, and might appreciate a companion to share his sitting room, which had enough space for a small bed to be set up in the corner opposite the window.

"Now as to your other suggestion," Cook mulled over the idea, running her fingers through her towsled curls, "I'm not sure. That would take a heap of work. The top floor of the Inn hasn't been used for at least thirty years. No telling what you might find up there. But I know for certain there are a pile of cobwebs, and broken window panes, and warped floorboards that would need to be replaced. Still you're right. There's plenty of room and privacy. There's room for at least three or four large suites where an Elf or Man might bed down, even if they bring along a family."

Cook continued with a chuckle, "Wouldn't Pio be surprised if we told her we were putting her family up on the top floor, what with all the cobwebs and such. Well, she's given me a surprise or two in my time. I wouldn't mind turning the tables in a harmless way. And, once she got here, she'd certainly be amazed to see that part of the Inn all fixed up, tidy and clean."

Cami thanked Cook for her help and immediately left to speak with Aman about the possibility of renovating the attic as well as the little trick they could play on the Elf before her arrival in the Shire. Then the hobbit grinned slyly, thinking of the words she'd use in her pleading letter to her friend, begging her not to put off her trip and apologizing for the uncertain accomodations.

[ June 02, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[littlemanpoet]

A pleasant voice at Eodwine’s shoulder asked Aman about supper. It belonged to a maiden, but not just any maiden; no mistake, she was Elvish. Eodwine’s eyes went wide as she smiled up at him, a comely blush coming to her exotic face. Everything about her was exotic, not least the hawk on her shoulder, unhooded and unstrapped, that gazed at him pointedly as if saying, Well, where are your manners? He bowed deeply.

“Fair lady, I greet you. Master Eodwine of Rohan at your service.” Her eyes went wide and he feared he had said something wrong, what, he could not imagine, but her smile did not fade. She began to speak when the stableman appeared at the door with a loud invitation for supper.

“That answers your question, does it not, lady? After you.” He asked her name and she identified herself as Waen from Lorien. Now he had all kinds of questions, for he was a student of the War, and the Fellowship had passed through that land.

They were early in line, having been at the bar, and filled their plates full. Waen fed a few pieces of chicken to her hawk, who took care not to stab her fingers with its beak. Smart as Eagles, I suppose, he said to himself.

[ June 02, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Aman, I must speak to you," Aman turned to see Cami standing behind her, looking a little flustered. "Its about a small room problem we're having."

"A small room problem? What would that be?"

Cami flicked her eyes across to Eodwine and Waen. Aman understood and excused herself from Eodwine's company, to which he nodded vaguely, preoccupied with the bird which had now deigned to perch on his hand. Stepping away, near to a wall and out of the hustle and bustle of the busy Inn, Aman repeated her question. Cami sighed. "Well, thats exactly it- the amount of rooms is too small."

"What?" Aman was shocked. She had realised they were busy, but all of the rooms were gone? "Surely not. How many are we over by?"

"Just one." Once again, Cami shot a pointed glance at Eodwine. "And it is true that guests have been asked to sleep in the stables before..."

Aman took a moment, then understood and her eyes widened in shock. "You would ask the Messenger of-" She lowered her voice once more. "-the messenger of the King of Rohan to sleep in the stables?!"

Cami looked unhappy and nodded, and Aman was about to protest again, when the hobbit held up a finger. "Wait, I have an idea, to stop this happening again in the future." She leant in conspiratorily, and Aman dd the same almost unconciously. "There is alot of room above the guest floors- the attic is really quite spacious, and if it were developed..."

~*~

Five minutes later the hobbit and the woman of the Ridermark stood confronting, and yes, that word is accurate, the attic. They had raced up the stairs on the wings of excitement at Cami's idea, but now the wings had folded themselves in and rather shuffled away in embarrassed silence. Aman had her arms crossed, rather unimpressed.

"Spacious, she said." Aman said heavily. "Lots of space, she said." She glanced at Cami, who was attempting to look unperturbed while chewing her lip worriedly.

"It seems to have got alot more crowded since I last looked..." She muttered. "Anyway, I have no doubt it will be spacious, once everything is cleared out."

"Ms Brandybuck, this isn't even an attic anymore- it's a museum!" Aman exclaimed, exasperated, and Cami couldn't help grinning. Aman pursed her lips and waded over to a rather odd-looking implement which stuck up above most of the rest of the junk. Carefully unearthing it, she examined it, attempting to straightening out a spike which had somehow got bentthen looked up once more at Cami. "Alright," she said at last. "Either this is some horrible item of hobbit-torture, or farming has severely moved on."

Cami's grin widened, but Aman kept a straight face. "No seriously, I think we could reveal alot about the hobbit underworld-"

"Its for sowing seeds."

"What?"

"For sowing seeds. That spike there is for poking the holes in the earth, while the seed rattles along that tunnel and drops in. I think. Very old fashioned, and not very effective, but still."

Aman looked around at the item in her grasp once more, then held up a dangling chain, mystified. "And this?!"

She turned and surveyed the room as a whole. "We need to do some serious work here. There must be decades of hobbity items-" She stopped as an idea struck her, one finger held up. A smile spread across her sharp features. Cami looked a little worried at Aman's expression, but Aman didn't turn as she replied. "I have just had a brilliant plan..." She said slowly.

"Well it will have to wait, begging your pardon, Miss Aman." Buttercup's flustered face appeared at the trapdoor. "Cook would like to see you. 'Sez that 'tis important."

Aman kept looking at the attic.

"Miz Aman?"

She turned at last, and nodded distractedly, then her eyes focused. "Right...I mean, right, yes. I'll be right down, Buttercup."

[ June 02, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

“Greetings’” Benia welcomed the approaching hobbit.

“Benia, Benia, I am so sorry to have taken so long” apologized Gilly . “The seems the day has flown by! Well, that is what comes of sleeping so late, isn’t it? I hope that your day has gone well…not too tedious. And that you are finding The Green Dragon a comfortable lodging.”

“Yes, is has been quite fine.” Benia replied smiling and motioning her friend to join her at the table.

The hobbit put the letter she was holding in her pocket and seated herself. Looking at Benia for a moment, she felt it strange that one could see she was smiling only by the squint and sparkle of her eyes. Her veil was on again, Gilly noted. Now why was that?And why did she feel so irritated by it, as if it were a wall?

Gilly looked around the room. There were a few new faces, just a few. Was there someone here Benia knew? Now that would be strange indeed and highly unlikely.
But still she was smiling. It must not be anything threatening, though she did seem lost in thought.

“You must feel absolutely wretched wrapped up in all that drapery in this weather! I don’t know how you can stand it.” Gilly regretted saying this the moment the words left her mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s just that it is so hot out. And…oh, never mind, I’ve put my foot in it again, haven’t I? You’d have every right if you were unhappy with me! But tell me before banishing me, why are you veiled just now? Is something amiss?”

[Envinyatar]

Derufin was working his way through a third pint of the dark liquid treasure of Suza when he felt a tug at his shirtsleeve. He turned on his stool, and there, looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face, was Cook.

‘Oh, I am for it now!’ he groaned to himself. ‘She has seen the melee of food and diners in her kitchen and I am about to be brought down to size with one of her verbal onslaughts.’

To borrow a little time for himself, give an opportunity for him to collect his ale-soaked thoughts, he sucked in the fringe of his mustache, drawing in the line of creamy, tan foam from it, followed up by a general swipe at his face with the edge of his apron. Perhaps the best defense would be to head off the assault with an explanation of how this turn of events had all come to be, and how he, Derufin, had taken it upon himself to salvage what he could of the fine meal Cook had intended to offer the guests at the Inn.

The stout ale had loosened his tongue, and the gates of his charming self opened fully to take in the Hobbit standing before him. He prattled on with witty comments interspersed amid detailed analysis of the events leading up to this ‘situation’ as he termed it, and all this punctuated with the occasional wink and roguish grin at the now flustered woman.

He had just come to a discussion of his lamentable lack of knowledge concerning the intricacies of biscuits, when she reached out a hand to grasp his wrist.

‘Derufin, darling boyo, I’ve not a clue what you are going on about!’ He looked her in the face, focusing his somewhat blood-shot eyes on Cook’s mystified face. ‘You’re not angry then about the line-up in your kitchen?’

‘Not yet!’ she said slowly and clearly to him, wondering what mayhem had occurred in her domain. Cook took a deep breath and went on. ‘What I wanted to ask you is if that gentleman over there, the one from Rohan could bunk in your sitting room. We’ve run short of accommodations, what with all the traffic moving through the Shire, and we can’t have King Eomer’s Messenger sleeping in the hayloft. It simply wouldn’t be proper.’

Derufin was about to retort that his stable’s hayloft was quite well-kept, when he remembered he already had someone sleeping there – the Elven woman, his new assistant, Vanwe. He glanced down the bar to where the man sat eating with another Elf and her hawk. He seemed a pleasant enough person when he’d first met him, and the condition of his horse certainly spoke well for him in the stable master’s mind.

‘My belongings are few, and can all be put in my bedroom. I’ll see about finding a spare bedframe and mattress for him. The room’s tidy enough, I rarely use it. Just send Ruby over to dust and sweep up a bit, and bring the linens he’ll need.’ He grinned again and bowed tipsily to her. ‘I’ll just go now and look for that bed.’

She shook her head at him and called out as he walked away from her. ‘Best you come see me later for a dose of willow bark powder. Before the pounding in your head reminds you of the rhythms of an autumn springle-ring!’

He laughed and waved his hand at her as if this would never come to pass. Taking off his apron, he threw it with a wink to a passing server and went out the door in pursuit of his quarry.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Morwyn dashed the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand and followed Annalaliath to the washbasin. "Of course I'll tell you what's wrong," she said, with a wry smile. "But we must be brief, for I was terribly rude to that man downstairs." Annalaliath nodded, unsure of whether this was a cover on Morwyn's part, or if she was truly concerned about the stranger they'd met in the common room.

"My husband, Alric, died in the spring of last year." Morwyn said in a level tone. "I've just recieved a letter from his brother Osric and his wife. They are lonely and work hard to carry on Alric's farm and good name. I've just realized how selfish I am in running away from them and all my responsibilities." The woman paused for breath in her rapid narration. She was afraid if she slowed or gave more detail that she wouldn't be able to continue. "You see, I left very soon after Alric's funeral. I left Osric with all the expenses, all the memories, and even deprived them of my company." She bit her lip. "I cannot stay here much longer, I'm afraid, I must get back to them." She let out a long sigh, and Annalaliath hugged her friend close. "Thank you." Morwyn whispered.

As Annalaliath relinquished her hold on Morwyn the woman headed on wobbly legs back toward the doorway. Nahai was standing bemusedly in the entrance, twirling a strand of her reddish hair around one finger. Morwyn slipped an arm around the Beorning's shoulders and together the three headed back down the stairs toward the common room.

When they reached the table they'd so recently abandoned they found the travel-worn elf turning Morwyn's flute absently in his fingers.

[Katt b]

While Waen was eating she noticed Amans face looked a little disgruntalled.Waen perked up her elven ears and evesdropped a little she did not want to intrude but she tought she might be able to help.She heard that they were short a room, that perhaps Eodwine might have to sleep in the stable.Waen had been contimplating sleeping outside,if you could call it sleep.She was used to sleeping in a tree on her journeys,she always felt safe in the trees.

Waen decided to tell Aman that Eodwine could use her room.She smiled at the man,whispered to Kit who contently began to finish Waens meal,and excused herself.

"Excuse me,but I could not help but over hear your little problem.I was going to tell you,but I think I would care to sleep outdoors tonight,the night promises to be delightful." She said with one of her delightful smiles.

And with that Waen cast a glance at the table where Edowine still sat with Kitathas.She gave him a quick smile and made her way to her room to tidy up her belongings.

[Annalaliath]

Annalaliath thought as she and the others walked back to the common room. She thought of the people she had left behind. Had she been selfish too? She shook her golden head at the thought. "No, " she whispered. The people in her life were the ones who had betrayed her. Gone into the west or they distrusted her. She knew this, but didn't know why. She had always been the utmost friend; to those that she considered true friends (even those she didn't). But the rest of the snobby people of her own race seemed not to trust her, and not to forgive. The only ones who had ever been forgiving had been her father, and the Lady of the wood (Galadirel). Not even her mother had forgiven her for her laughing at her father's fall. Or any of the rest of them. She was too silly to be an elf. She was a monster because she could not sit still. And so on and so on. The thoughts made anger swell in her chest; and she hated them. Annalaliath realy hated them.

She suddenly felt weary, she wanted to be accepted by her own kin for what she was not what they wanted of her. "Maybe this is why I don't trust him," she thought of the elf sitting at their table fingering the flute. She let out a sigh of relief and held back the fierce word and anger that she would have brought out. "Maybe it is time to trust and be trusted again," she whispered.

[Horse-Maiden of the Shire]

HORSE- MAIDEN OF THE SHIRE

Since your PM's are full, I will post this here:

PLEASE REWORK THIS POST. IT IS EVENING TIME AT THE INN, NOT DAY TIME. SUPPER HAS JUST BEEN SERVED.

Thank you! Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

Aleia woke from what had felt like weeks of sleep. She yawned and stretched, thinking: Best sleep I've had in a long time! Rolling out of the bed, she turned to the window and let the warm sun wash over her face. As she got ready to return to the common room for a bite to eat, Skeet appeared in her mind. She felt horrible. She hadn't checked on her pony for hours. Aleia made up her mind to check on Skeet before she did anything else.

Outside in the stable, she apologized profusely to her pony. "I'm so sorry, girl. I fell asleep in the room and forgot all about you. Here, have a treat." She offered a piece of carrot that was in her pocket to the pony, who crunched it eagerly and watched Aleia with bright eyes beneath a fringe of shaggy mane. Aleia stroked her hide and spoke a few more quiet words to her before returning to the inn.

Upon entering the common room, she promptly sat down at a bar stool and ordered a large bowl of stew and a pint of ale. She was so hungry, she felt that she could eat an entire crop of potatoes! When she received her meal, she drank in the sweet, spicy scent and began devouring the stew. When Aleia was finished, she wiped her mouth with her handkerchief and looked around for her former companions. To her disappointment, she saw none. But she espied a hobbit and her companion sitting at a table and plucked up her courage to join them. Approaching Gilly and Benia, she said, "May I join your table, kind peoples? For my companions have long since gone, and it is dull to sit by oneself."

[ June 02, 2003: Message edited by: Horse-Maiden of the Shire ]

[ June 02, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elora]

Through the gathering dusk Vanwe hurried, newly cleaned skirts trailing behind her with her cloak in her haste. Her light pack was slung over one shoulder and she had not had enough time to rebraid her hair. One hand was tightly wrapped around something, and as she returned to the inn she seemed to be talking to noone in particular.

"He will think I have left!"

Her brow furrowed in consternation, she pushed on and came after far too long a delay to the stables. Vanwe had not planned to spend so much time by the stream, but time had slipped through her fingers and she rued what trouble it may cause before it had yet to bring any. She had to stow her pack back in the stables, where she was to hopefully make her bed if Derufin had not despaired of his new assistant and decided to replace her with more reliable help.

The elf slowed her pace, drawing the cooler evening air deep into her lungs when out of the shadows emerged a horse whose line was unmistakeable. She was not alone, her owner nearby and Vanwe paused as she sighted Silvanis. She slipped what was in her left hand into her battered pack and smoothed down pale hair sent into new disarray by her speedy return as best she could and stepped forward.

Nearby, the inn was lit with the evening fires and the scent of a meal wafted through the open door and windows. Vanwe approached, doing her best to smooth her features into something calmer than she felt and halted by Blackveil. The summer sky held the fiery rememberance of the sun still, mingling with the remoter glimmer of stars that were starting to spring out into sight overhead.

It was a beautiful sight that Vanwe paid absolutely no heed to as she studied Silvanis. He had not been alarmed by her appearance. Despite her elven light feet, she had made her presence no secret, for she needed to somehow come to an arrangement that could not be done if he left. Following him down the road was a possibility, but she sensed he would little favour whatever she had to say if he discovered her trailing after him.

"Good evening, Sir," she offered in a voice that held still the distinct accent of the south despite her elven appearance. Vanwe chose a deliberate courteous address, for the man before her merited that for many reasons even though he may not remember. Or perhaps he did, she thought, as she watched him.

"I wonder if I may intrude on your evening?"

Vanwe knew the position she was in well. Silvanis had many things she needed and had little of value to offer in return. He had her notes. He had perhaps news of the south, and may even know if her trail was free. He may even know of those she sought, her father and mother. Hope lit eyes blue that were trained on his face and Blackveil tossed her head.

"She is beautiful," Vanwe commented unaware that she was doing so, offering up her palm to be scented. Realising that she had spoken, her gaze returned to Silvanis who could easily brush her aside if he wished.

[Envinyatar]

He found the bed frame in the old shed at the back of the stables. It was dusty and the wood was nicked from having been moved about so often, but it was serviceable. The latticework of rope to hold up the mattress had been chewed through by the mice, and would have to be repaired. The mattress was a more difficult task, until he remembered that there were several stored in the Inn attic. All fairly intact at the seams, but sorely in need of a new stuffing of fresh hay.

Ruby had come over to give a quick sweep and dusting to the sitting room. And it was she who ordered a pair of her admirers in the Inn to drag two mattresses down the back stairway to the stable. ‘What do you need two of them for,’ she asked, as Derufin gave her instructions. ‘Is he such a little lordling that he’ll be wanting the double comfort?’

‘One’s for my assistant, to take into the loft,’ he returned, pulling the ropes tightly through the holes in the frame and knotting them off. He glanced up in time to see Ruby raise her eyebrows at the word ‘assistant’. ‘Hmmmph!’ she snorted at his use of the term. ‘That flighty looking Elf? You’ll be lucky she doesn’t run off on you and leave you wondering where she’s got off to! Something odd about that one.’

‘Oh Ruby, you might have been saying the same things months ago about me.’ He looked up at her and grinned. ‘And come to think of it, I’ll just bet you did!’ The Hobbit blushed and exiting his rooms turned her attention to dumping the old straw filling out in the stable yard, giving the ticking a sturdy shake or two, and stuffing the mattress with fresh, sweet smelling hay.

Derufin helped her carry the plumped mattress into the room and deposit it on the latticework. Together they made up the bed, hauled an old standing closet in to put near the door, and moved the small desk and chair to the wall by the window. As a last thought, he hammered a long nail into the beam at the head of the bed, and hung a candle lantern on it.

‘That should do,’ she said casting a critical eye about the small room. She eyed the second mattress left propped against the end horse stall. ‘Come on then. I’ll give you a hand with it. Go shake the old hay out and shake the dust off the covering. I’ll stuff it with new straw and you can haul it up to the loft for her.’

It was getting dark by the time they were through with their housekeeping chores. The stars shone out brightly against the clear, black sky. The Inn yard was quiet as they crossed it, except for the occasional croak of a lone frog in the small pond nearby. Derufin’s stomach starting growling about halfway to the back kitchen door.

‘You forgot to eat, didn’t you?’ Ruby stifled a giggle and motioned him into the low lit kitchen. Cook had retired for the night, in anticipation of her early morning baking routine. ‘Quiet now!’ she whispered. ‘I’ll find you a bowl of the chicken stew and a couple of biscuits to fill in the corners. The peas are gone. You’ll just have to take my word for it that they were very tasty.’ She bustled about the kitchen fixing a tray for him. ‘Go on out to the Common Room, I’ll bring it out when it’s warmed up a bit.’

Derufin hied himself through the door as she shooed him out. Stopping behind the bar, he poured himself a pint of nut brown ale, and plopped himself down contentedly on a chair in front of the small fire, his feet propped comfortably on the hearth.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine sat down before the hearth with a jar of nut brown ale in hand, stretched his long legs out, and sighed contentedly. So Cami's here. He smiled. Bustling about as much as ever. He would have to stop her in her tracks and catch up on news. It had been years! The fire crackled bright yellow and orange, and Eodwine watched the flames dance.

"Derufin, my friend, you go to too much trouble for one humble traveler." He brought the jar to his mouth and took a long pull, smacking his lips and audibly sighing. "I've not tasted ale this good in too long a time."

"They grow good crops here, they do." Derufin yawned. "And they know what to do with it, I'll give 'em that."

"So you hail from Gondor, I'm told." Eodwine studied the stableman's face over his ale jar. "You look my age, give or take. You were in the War, no?"

Derufin frowned and recrossed his legs. "Aye, that I was. A sorry business that turned out good, thanks to these merry folk." He forced a smile.

"Indeed! 'Tis one cause of my coming, to learn of them and befriend them. The War's my study. I'd know all I can of it. What was your part in it?"

[ June 03, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Ealasaid]

"You must feel absolutely wretched wrapped up in all that drapery in this weather! I don't know how you can stand it!" Gilly blurted out at the sight of Benia's veil. "I'm sorry. It's just that it is so hot out. And... oh, never mind, I've put my foot in it again, haven't I? You'd have every right if you were unhappy with me! But tell me before banishing me, why are you veiled just now? Is something amiss?"

For a fleeting instant, Benia's amber eyes looked startled, then she began to laugh. The veil came down instantly. "I'm sorry, my cheeky friend," she said, still laughing and carefully wiping her eyes so as not smear kohl all over the place. "I was hiding from the world. It's a habit I have among strangers. The veil makes me feel safe and secure, even though it may be the farthest thing from the truth. You must find me terribly rude."

"Oh, no!" protested Gilly. "I was the rude one, calling you on the carpet like that. But, really, Benia, you do present quite an image, lurking about in the corners with your face all covered up."

"I must look quite the villainess," admitted Benia.

"Well..."

"Oh, I know. I just wasn't thinking." But suddenly, she looked pleased. "I believe you may have solved part of my mystery." Withdrawing her hand from the folds of her skirt, she handed Gilly a bunched up handkerchief. Gilly could feel the weight of something small and hard inside of it. "Have you ever seen one of these?"

As Gilly went to open the handkerchief, Benia added, "Be careful who sees it. It's an evil thing. It was slipped to me somehow in the common room last night, I think, because I look the part of a villain. I was hiding behind my veil just now and wondering why it had come to me of all people. Then you arrived and explained it for me. It's that hobbit-sense of yours, isn't it?"

Just then, another woman approached Gilly's and Benia's table from the bar. "May I join your table, kind peoples?" she asked. "For my companions have long since gone, and it is dull to sit by one's self."

Benia nodded graciously. "By all means!" She gestured to an empty chair. "We were just about to have dinner. Would you care to join us?" She knew Gilly would be discreet with the handkerchief and the stone.

[ June 03, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]
__________________________________________________ ________________________________________

AM CLOSING THIS THREAD AND AM IN THE PROCESS OF OPENING THE NEXT INCARNATION OF THE GREEN DRAGON INN FOR YOUR POSTING PLEASURE.

PLEASE BE PATIENT WHILE I MOVE A COUPLE OF POSTS!

THANKS! ~~ PIOSENNIEL, SHIRE MODERATOR

[ June 03, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]