The Golden Perch Inn

[Arry]

‘Biscuits are done,’ Primrose said brightly. ‘Is there anything else you need?’

It was a question that most likely required no answer, Will knew. It was expected that each of them, save the Innkeeper, would fetch any extra things needed. Still, he raised an innocent enough face to Primrose and heaved a long sigh.

‘A wife, if you please, dear Primrose . . . yes, that would be most helpful . . . a wife . . . or at least a promising lass . . .’

He looked round at the faces of those with him in the kitchen. Then another sigh as he dipped into one of the big pockets in his vest. With a flourish he waved a piece of folded parchment in the air.

‘Yes, there’s been a letter from Crickhollow.’ He unfolded the paper and passed it round the table. ‘My dear mum,’ he went on. ‘Reinforced by Buttercup and Opal, my oldest brothers’ wives.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Worse yet, they’re coming in a month’s time for a “visit”. And worser . . . worsest, eh? . . . they’ll want to meet the lasses belonging to the names I’ve mentioned in my letters back to them.’

He laughed . . . a rather condemned man’s laugh. ‘Now where do you think I’m going to dig up Allyssum, Ginger, Iris, and lovely Sage?’

[Undómë]

Rowan nearly choked on her mouthful of tea at the pleading tone in Will’s voice. She managed a subdued sort of snort as the liquid threatened to go up her nose; followed by a small bout of coughing. Red cheeked she gathered her wits about her as best she could and laughed out loud at the pitiful picture Will presented.

‘Good gracious!’ she chuckled, wiping her mouth with her napkin. ‘So that’s why you always sit under the ash tree when you write your letters and gaze so thoughtfully toward the gardens and flower beds.’ Her mouth curved into an impish grin as she shook her head. ‘Alyssum, Ginger, Ivy, and Sage, indeed!’ She arched her brows at the stabler. ‘And is there a Rose, a Marjoram, and even perhaps a Lavendar among your eligible lasses?’

[Celuien]

"Now where do you think I’m going to dig up Allyssum, Ginger, Iris, and lovely Sage?"

Primrose laughed merrily, both amused at Will's predicament and relieved that his request for a wife segued into his explanation of the letter. It would have been most awkward had Will intended a flirtation with her.

Rowan teased Will, and Primrose decided to join the game. He had briefly embarrassed her by his plea, though her blush couldn't be seen over her fire-reddened cheeks. A little teasing would be enough revenge. "Yes, Rowan. I'll wager there's more than meets the eye about our Will here. I'll warrant he'll not have a bit of trouble to find a lass or two - or seven - to fit all the names." She grinned at the maid, watching Will's face out of the corner of her eye. Was he blushing?

[Firefoot]

Time to rescue Will, decided Cela. “Well, now, m’dear boy, I daresay you have gotten yourself into a bit of a predicament,” she commented over the laughter of Primrose and Rowan. “But nothing that can’t be fixed…” She smiled to herself. Will’s situation had put her in mind of her own courting days – such merry days they had been! And Cela had a few tricks up her sleeve. Nevertheless, she continued flipping bacon until Will probed her with a, “How so?”

“Not that you’d be obliged to follow my plan,” said Cela, stretching out the suspense as long as possible. “You’ll have to see how you like it. But the first of your lasses is quite easily gotten rid of. Pick one and say that she’s getting courted by another lad, and they’re likely to be married within the year. Or already married. A second is not terribly hard, either. Say she’s off visiting kin in, oh, Hobbiton. Or Tuckborough. That one probably ought to be your ‘lovely Sage.’” She pretended to be thinking, enjoying the hopefulness of Will’s look and the curiosity of the lasses.

“And what about the other two lasses?” asked Rowan finally.

“Well, haven’t you figured it out yet?” asked Cela, her eyes twinkling as her gaze passed from Rowan to Primrose and back. “I see two young lasses quite right to play the parts of young master Will’s Alyssum and Iris…”

[Durelin]

Griffo had just rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and said good morning to his sheep when he decided to make his way to the Golden Perch Inn for some kind of breakfast. And he figured he'd stay for second breakfast, and perhaps elevenses, and maybe... Who am I kiddin'? I've got nowhere better to go. And he hadn't for six years now. Melilot had kept him busy at home and elsewhere, and now that she was gone, he tried to make himself busy as best he could. And that didn't work very well. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he didn't really try.

Swinging open the door to the Golden Perch, Griffo adjusted his vest, suddenly realizing he was not sure when the last time he had washed it was. He always came up with and excuse for not doing so, reminding himself that he normally only wore his shirt. His two vests were the only nice clothes he owned anymore. Melilot had always made nice things for him. And he had always managed to ruin them. She always laughed when he brought her a vest that had split down the back, though, or anything of the like. She always joked about how it seemed as if she had eight children to take care of, not just seven. Just... Griffo's lips twisted into a soft smile. There were some very fond memories of the two trying to take care of seven children.

The hobbit stepped into the common room, the smile on his face, to see that there were two men already inside, one seated in a corner, the other up at the bar. It was a little strange. Normally Griffo was the first patron to arrive that was not in a room there when he went for a bit of breakfast. He could hear noise coming from the kitchen, and knew that the food he desired was soon to be prepared, if Cela and Primrose hadn't already started on it.

The inn workers were eating, using their brief time in the morning to gather up their strength for a long days work ahead. Griffo always let them be, and waited to be given a mug and a bit of toast whenever anyone had a moment to give it to him. He had all day. And so he simply took a seat at a small table close to the bar after he grabbed the chess board from by the fireplace. Eyeing the two men with interest, he set up the board for a game.

[Tevildo]

Tollman had been sitting by himself in the corner, trying to come up with an excuse so that he could leave behind his duties at the Inn and slip down to the river to throw in a hook and line or perhaps even take out his little boat. So far he had not had any luck. The Innkeeper was a good hobbit, but no fool when it came to malingering. On more than one occasion, Master Boffin had spoken to him about the need to be more attentive to his work.

With a sigh, the young hobbit pushed his mug to the side and trudged up to the front to retrieve another plate of biscuits. The one thing about working in the Inn is that you were definitely well fed. At least there was that consolation, even when he couldn't think of a good excuse to go down and fish. Moreover, today was expected to be especially busy. There were a number of markets in nearby towns, and they'd been warned that the Inn traffic would likely be heavy with many coming into the area with plans to show their wares.

Striding up to the counter, Tolman noticed a newcomer to the Inn, one of the Big Folk who wore a travel stained tunic and breeches. Tollers was ever an affable young lad and, once he heard that the poor fellow would be going without a proper breakfast for lack of money, he could not help but feel some sympathy. The fact that the man's clothing was dirty and askew did not bother Tollman in the slightest. His own father had often berated his young hobbit son that his shirt and breeches were full of stains Plus, this poor stranger was so large that the young hobbit guessed it must be particularly painful for him if his stomach was empty. In Toller's eyes, a large empty stomach could only equate to a very large belly ache.

Leaning over to the stranger, the hobbit tugged insistently at the top of his breeches. "Once you finish your dealings with Master Boffin, you are welcome to come join me at the table. I've a large plate of biscuits and, if you can give me some news of the outside world, you're welcome to share my food."

With that, the young hobbit slid behind the counter and went into the kitchen, purloining a heaping plate of biscuits along with a pot of honey and another of jam. Seeing that no one seemed to have his eye on him, Tollman slid his hand deep into one of the pans and came up with two handsome slabs of ham, which he placed on top of his pile of biscuits. If he couldn't go fishing, at least he could take an extended first breakfast!

[Arry]

Well now this was getting a bit too close for comfort! Cook had certainly offered some good suggestions for several of his problems . . . but Primrose and Rowan? He could feel his neck getting rather warm beneath the collar of his tunic and he knew if he didn’t leave soon the tips of his ears would be glowing like coals.

Will broke open several biscuits and shoveled the rest of his eggs onto them along with some crispy bacon he’d broke into bits. He wrapped the little sandwiches up in his napkin, tying it off with a knot. And all the while saying how he needed to be getting back to the stable . . . one of the horses had a stone bruise needed seeing to and another he’d wrapped with a cool compress to take down the swelling in one of the leg joints. And the roof . . . he’d discovered a few rotten shingles and he need to be repairing that section . . . take all day he thought . . .

He said his thanks to Cook, nodding to her, as he hurried out the kitchen door, mug of tea in one hand, the packet of biscuits in the other. Primrose and Rowan he studiously avoided, his attention being taken up in the study of the wood grain on kitchen floor as he made his way to the exit.

As the door swung shut behind him he was certain he heard some laughter and giggling escaping after him. Now his ears were indeed burning!

Land’s sake! Rowan and Primrose to play the part of his “possibles” for mum? Primrose! Rowan! Good gravy! They were Perch workers, just like him . . . he didn’t even think of them as, well . . . girls!

He fled to the safety of the barn and the ponies . . .