[Nurumaiel]

The hobbit looked as though perhaps he had tried to keep tidy on the road, for he certainly wasn't as dirty-looking as he might have been. And, indeed, the expectant light in his eyes seemed to signify that he had a good reason to look his best. But Posco Brandybuck was often referred to by those in his hometown as the 'muddy hobbit.' He had a wonderful genius for attracting dirt, and nobody had been able to break him of his grimy habits, not even himself, for in truth it was not that he did something to make himself dirty. It simply happened.

The lights of the Green Dragon warmed Posco's heart greatly, for he had fond memories of the place. No, memories not merely fond, but beautiful. What bright, bonny eyes she had, and her lovely chestnut hair. Dear, sweet little Lily... he had not seen her since he had escorted her back to her home, despite their engagement. And his shyness, sometimes so deep that it was absurd, forbade him to go call on her at her home, and ride off with her as his bride. And so he made his way to the Dragon, hoping that she would be there. Perhaps she would be. And even if she wasn't... perhaps he could gather enough courage to go to her.

"Good grief, we're terribly lucky. I have such bad memories if this Inn. First we arrive in the pouring rain, soaked and miserable, and nearly dead with exhaustion. And now we arrive in the midst of a party! I prefer the rain."

Posco did not even turn to the gruff voice that had uttered such cheerful words, but gazed with some consternation at what did indeed seem to be a party. He hesitated for a moment, for he was not very fond of parties either. All the people... But, then again...

"If it's a choice between Aunt Malva and a party, I choose the party, Marcho," said Posco. "I don't want to go stay with Aunt Malva. Besides, I think Lily would like a party."

"Yes, yes, Lily would like a party," said Marcho. "I can't understand how you can go traipsing all over the Shire, and risk your sanity by rushing into a crowd of people when you know very well you're afraid of them, just because of a hobbit lass called Lily."

Posco made no reply, but strode with great determination along the road. Yet as the lights grew nearer, and the sound of voices and merry laughter drifted to their ears, Posco's steps began to falter, and his face grew worried. Marcho had been watching him keenly, and took advantage of the moment.

"It isn't too late to turn back, Posco," he said. "I said from the beginning that it would be more sensible to go to her house, anyway, if you really must go see her at all."

"I couldn't do that," said Posco.

"And whyever not?"

"Well... well... well... well, you see, it's much too dangerous. Bree isn't safe place. There are too many Big Folk there."

"We learned last time we came here that there are no lack of them at the Dragon. Posco, you're simply too shy to visit her."

"Why should I be shy around Lily?"

"Very well, then, you've changed your mind and you're only making this trip to satisfy your conscience. You'll say afterwards that you tried to find her, and you couldn't."

Posco drew himself up to his full hobbit height. "That," he said, "is utterly absurd." And then he strode firmly to the Inn.