The Golden Perch Inn

[mormegil]

The doors to The Golden Perch Inn slammed open suddenly and noisily, causing a temporary silence among the patrons and for many of them to turn their heads in the way of the disturbance. Kuric Spearhead is who met their gaze, though they couldn’t be sure if he was looking at them as his eyes were shadowed and hidden due to uncommonly deep eye sockets.

Kuric appeared in bad shape, rather drawn and weary though there was an uncertain air of dignity about him. On his fiery red beard there was a noticeable layer of oil and dirt and his hygiene seemed generally overlooked. His boots and pack were also rather soiled and weather worn from the long road that had been traveled; these were in stark contrast to his radiant full coat of mail. It was made by one of the finest dwarven craftsmen of old and appeared as bright and as polished today as on the day it was forged. Those who had a reasonable familiarity with metallurgy instantly could recognize the metal for what it was: pure mithril. It was of the most exquisite handiwork that could be found in Middle-earth, the links were so perfectly woven and fitted that no trace of a rivet or weld mark could be seen. Not merely for its monetary worth did Kuric love his mail; for it had, on more than one occasion, turned aside the blade or an orc or other foul creature, and had given him a sense of near invulnerability. There was another reason for his deep adoration of that mail that was only shared with the most trusted of friends and that he held dear to his heart.

With so many stares made at such an entry, most patrons would be uncomfortable, but not Kuric, he had grown accustomed to such stares on his many travels. With a low guttural grunt he dismissed the onlookers and began his way to a table at the far end of the room. As he made his way among the patrons, conversation in the inn began to steadily increase and not few were the whispers of this strange new dwarf. Over the low hum of the ensuing conversation those near to Kuric could still hear the steady thud made by his determined and strong stride. While he stood rather tall for a dwarf, the physical aspect that was most impressive was his breadth; his chest was nearly as wide as he was tall. His muscles were honed and taught and at a glance it could be determined that he had seen many battles. Scars marked his face and any other part were skin could be seen. He was fully armed with mace and a spiked buckler and they appeared to have been used frequently.

He found a vacant table near the corner and took a seat. Tired as Kuric was, he was determined to taste the famed ale of The Golden Perch Inn prior to retiring, plus a couple of pints always makes one sleep a bit easier after such travails as Kuric had passed lately. Without even looking for who the inn keeper might be he loudly bellowed,

“Three pints of yer finest!”

and began to impatiently tap his left fist on the table.

[Folwren]

“Good day, sir!” said the traveler with a smile. “Allow me to commend you on your most athletic approach!” Dick blinked and then grinned, and continued to listen in silence. “I would not ask your ‘help’ rather your dire assistance in obtaining a tankard of the finest ale in the East farthing for a foot weary traveler.”

“Aye, sir, I can manage that,” he said, his smile becoming even broader at this young gentleman’s speech. He reached beneath the counter and took one of the pint mugs. “You’ll have it right quick!” He turned The ale poured down in a great foaming cascade and rose swiftly. With the tip of his tongue touching his upper lip in concentration, Dick finished it off with the foam just above the rim without spilling a drop.

“There you are!” he said, setting it carefully down on the counter. The young man reached out with a coin in his hand and placed it on the counter before wrapping it about the mug. “Thank you kindly, sir.” He paused and looked up. The man seemed to hesitate slightly. “Have…” Dick paused. The ranger looked at him. “Have you been in the Shire before?”

The young man opened his mouth to reply, but his answer was cut off as the door swung open with a great clatter. Dick’s head jerked up in surprise to see the opening blocked by a particularly tall and broadly set dwarf.

“What!” he said, only half allowed. “Here’s a character…” His eyes narrowed slightly as the dwarf made his slow, very set, very determined progression across the room to the farthest end and there sat down. “I wonder…” What he wondered remained unsaid. He shrugged the idea off and his cleared again. “As I asked-”

“Three pints of your finest!”

Dick’s eyes turned at once to the dwarf who had just entered. He frowned slightly. He was with another customer. But there was Tollers just near him, coming around the counter with his hands occupied with a full tray.

“Ah! Tollers!” Dick said, stepping back away from the counter to meet the young hobbit. “I say, can you get three pints to that new dwarf over there?” He nodded towards the dwarf.

“Oh, him? Yes, I can do that,” Tollers said, nodding. Dick stepped back and returned to the man waiting at the counter.

“Have you been in the Shire before?” he asked, apparently happy to finally get the question out again at last.

[Tevildo]

Tollers threw a sideways grin at Dick and, clutching two mugs in one hand and one in the other, approached the visitor who was sitting by himself at one of the corner tables. The hobbit couldn't help but think what a strange fellow this dwarf seemed to be. Requesting three pints to drink without a stitch of food was a very odd way to begin a morning. Maybe one, or even two, but who would be foolish enough to bolt down three full pints of ale without a good helping of Cook's bacon and eggs? But then, it wasn't only the fellow's odd breakfast request that had gotten Toller's full attention. To come blasting into the Inn dressed in full battle armor was hardly a thing that your average hobbit would do.


Hopefully, the fellow had dropped off his sword or axe in the special spot near the entry door that Dick had designated for everyone to deposit their weapons. Tollers certainly did not want any trouble. Plus, this fellow, with his thumping of fists on the table and raised voice, seemed a bit out of sorts. Still, t wouldn't do to be suspicious of one of the Inn guests without even giving him a chance. Tollers sidled up to the table and set the three pints down in front of the guest. He couldn't resist saying something.

"Ah, good sir, this is Tollers here. I'll be glad to help you with anything you want. Seems like a waste to swallow all that good ale and never have a plate of something from the kitchen. We have good rashers of bacon and ale, or a stout piece of bread with cheese. You wouldn't happen to fancy one of those?"

For a moment, the Dwarf said nothing but looked Tollers up and down as if deciding how to reply. It was then that Tollers remembered the coin in his pocket that he had found the day before. The one dwarf had told him it might be a dwarf coin. He fingered the precious gold and reflected. Armor or not, he had better start a conversation with this fellow if he wanted to try and find out more about the coin. He couldn't just pop it in the fellow's face and demand an answer out of nowhere.

Taking one step back, Tollers nodded at the Dwarf and continued talking, "That's alright. Take your time deciding if you want something from the kitchen. It's rather slow at the moment and I'm in no rush. You look to be from outside these parts. Seems from the look of you that you've been on the road for a while. Perhaps you'd like to stay a day or so in these parts and rest. We have rooms for the big folk with plenty of hot water and soap in case you'd prefer something larger than the usual hobbit chamber. Or perhaps you're coming to our fair town for longer than that? Dick gives good rates for those who decide to stay a week or more. I'll be happy to point out some of the sights you might want to take in. And, oh yes...." Tollers grinned broadly. "Don't know if you like to fish but these parts have the best fishing in all of the Shire. Take it from someone who knows."

Tollers glanced over at the dwarf hoping that he would manage to get him talking.

[mormegil]

Having just requested his ale, Kuric lowered his head to await the service. After a few moments Kuric began looking around at other patrons. He noticed many hobbits and some men, and then he spied an elf and spat in disgust. “Elves” he grunted and looked away. He glanced back to that bar and was pleasantly surprised to see how quickly that his ale had been served. He saw a young hobbit ambling his way with three pints. The sight of a tiny figure balancing three pints was rather comical and a slight but inaudible chuckle escaped Kuric’s mouth.

The sight of hobbits always caused mixed thoughts in Kuric’s head. Being from the Lonely Mountain, he had met Bilbo once and knew many of his stories and thought very highly of him. He also knew Bilbo to be an anomaly among hobbits and he found hobbits in general as rather dull and uninteresting due to their lack of daring. Other than Bilbo, he found most conversations he had with hobbits as rather mundane, they preferring to speak about rather banal topics such as the weather. Give me a dwarf or adventurous man any day, mused Kuric. Despite them being rather dull conversationalist he found it difficult not to like hobbits, in part because of their diminutive size and their seemingly perpetual cheeriness. Besides, if Bilbo went on adventures maybe others might. Kuric decided to keep his mind open to that prospect, despite his doubts.

The hobbit that approached him was noticeably portly, even for hobbit standards, and looked softer than most. As soon as the hobbit had arrived he immediately began chattering away about breakfast and what Kuric might want to eat. Kuric chuckled inside because he could sense and see the unease of this hobbit at seeing a mighty dwarf fully clad in battle armor. He was rather accustomed to such responses. He managed to catch the name of the hobbit to be Tollers. Odd name Kuric thought as he sized him up, looking him up and down.

About to respond, Kuric was interrupted by a nervous Tollers rambling on about staying at the inn and fishing. Just like I thought, boring topics from a boring race, I wonder if he’ll ever let me answer or he’ll continue to chat all day without ever listening for a response, Kuric let his thoughts wonder. I doubt adventure will be found here, still the ale promises to be good and that’s not all bad .

“Tollers, that’s a rather strange name don’t you think,” Kuric stated rather matter-of-factly.” “Well Tollers, the pints might go down a bit better with a bit of food, why don’t you go get me a bit of everything ye’ve got”, instructed Kuric. “As for fishing, unless I need the food on the road I don’t fish, far too boring!” Before even waiting for any response Kuric loudly asked, “What’s the best room ye’ve got? It’s been far too long since I’ve slept in a proper bed so I’m looking for the best,” Kuric asked and began immediately to gulp down the ale.

[Tevildo]

The hobbit glanced over quickly at Kuric and was about to snap back a curt reply but immediately clamped down on his tongue. On the outside, Toller's face was wreathed in a welcoming smile; inside, he was seething.

Just who did this fellow think he was? There was absolutely nothing wrong with the name Tolman Burrows around these parts. Tollers had worked in Inns long enough to have heard a hundred different names belonging to Elves and Dwarves that sounded rather outlandish to his own ear, but he had always possessed the decent manners and good sense not to push his private observations back onto the guests. Was this fellow so dim witted that he couldn't see five feet beyond his own front door and understand that folks came in all different sizes and shapes and that the names they bore were correspondingly diverse.

Moreover, anyone who thought that fishing was "boring" had a thing or two to learn. Tollers highly doubted whether this dwarf had ever waded out into a fast moving stream at the break of dawn and tried to outwit a thirty-pound salmon as the creature fought his way upstream.

Although a naturally affable fellow, Tollers could be clever and quick with his tongue. In normal circumstances, the hobbit would have cheerfully tried to convince the dwarf of the error of his ways. However, there was something in the visitor's face that went far beyond the words he'd used. Tollers had a sinking feeling that any kind of reply would be lost on the guest since he hadn't even responded to his polite offer to point out the best sights in the area. As much as Tollers wanted to find out about the coin he and Jack had dug out of the river, he was not about to lower himself to that level. If the dwarf thought he was a dim-witted, doltish farmboy, then that's exactly how Tollers would act.

"Ah, yes, sir, I'll get that plate right away, and a key to the very best room in the Inn. Whatever you say." Tollers scurried away and wandered over to where Dick was standing. He whispered a few words in his ear and then walked back over to the bar, grabbed a plate of food, and a large key that sat on the upper shelf. Then he hurried back to the dwarf's table. "I hope this will do. And here's a key to that room. The very largest room in the Inn and also the most luxurious. That will be one shilling."

Tollers held out his hand and stared meekly downward, occupying his time by counting the floorboards. What the hobbit did not tell his guest was that the large and luxurious room in question was situated next to the chamber that was currenlty occupied by Goodwife Thedgethistle who was staying with her eight children aged three months to twelve years. They were a very loud and mischievous bunch, up at all hours of the day and night, and given to all kinds of practical jokes. And despite the impressive array of battle armor worn by the Dwarf, Tollers would have put his money on the children as to who would survive a night in the Inn and emerge unscathed in the morning.....

[mormegil]

Kuric took a long draught of the drink and slammed the empty pint down one the table. With foam stubbornly clinging to his beard Kuric declared rather loudly, “This is mighty fine ale, I must say. I’m likely to send others this way if they are near to taste such fine beer as this.”

Kuric quickly began rummaging through his coin purse and acquired the necessary coins to pay for the room, food and ale. He had considered giving a bit more for the prompt service but then thought better of it, and bluntly stated “Ye haven’t even asked me name yet.” Without waiting for Tollers to query about his name, Kuric started excitedly, “It’s Kuric Spearhead from The Lonely Mountain, and I know of a hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins from around these parts. Ye’ve likely heard of him, of course? Because I’d like to send word that I’m here. I haven’t been to Erebor in a number of years. I’m sure the good hobbit wouldn’t mind discussing old times with me. If ye would send word, or at least find somebody to send word to him that I’m in the area and may drop by for a visit, I’d pay ye and your messenger well for the favor. So what do ye say, Tollers, can ye help me out or not?”

[Mänwe]

Limaris inwardly breathed a sigh of relief at the broadening smile that broke the features of the Inn Keeper, it appeared that his response had not seemed flustered and rushed, and the tone he had set was correct. Although the smile was slightly worrying in that it may actually have been a smile of inward amusement at the oddness of his speech. He would be hard pressed to maintain the rather jovial character he had unwittingly created.

However on further reflection it may have given him an advantage, his jocular response he hoped would present him as a fellow who was easy to confide in; consequently more likely to glean the information that he needed to complete his mission successfully.

His mind continued to muse over the character that he would play, when he felt a slight numbing feeling in his right arm which he was using to support himself against the bar. Wincing slightly as he stepped back and straightened it he noticed that he had been bent almost double to accommodate his height at the bar, and the Hobbit seemed to shrink even further as he bent down behind the counter presumably to pick a tankard.

It occurred to him that he had probably presented himself a rather comical figure bent right over on the bar, perhaps another reason for the broad smile on the features of the Hobbit before he had dipped below the counter. The beginning of his day was not entirely going to plan; it was a miracle that the Inn Keeper had not stared at him blankly and in bemusement at his strange dialogue.

Pausing he breathed deeply, he was worrying unduly. Calming himself he flexed his arm returning the circulation to his finger tips, and studied the supreme efforts of the Hobbit as he attended to the drawing of his pint. Face screwed in concentration, tongue working his upper lip as he watched the golden rich ale fall into the maw of the tankard.

It was now Limaris’s turn to be amused, and he managed to hide his smile by turning it into a grimace as he flexed his arm causing a warm and stinging sensation. Had the Hobbit not poured many pints? Or was this face on of pure pride and professionalism? Well it was a perfect avenue for continual conversation with the Inn Keeper, who was in his mind the best person to talk to over matters concerning the village of Stock.

For the Golden Perch was a busy place and many a traveller would pass through, and he would have either seen, heard or dealt with all of them. The Hobbit carefully lifted the tankard onto the counter, the foam head of the ale shifting slightly on its liquid bed.

“There you are!” he exclaimed.

Clearly proud at not having spilt a drop, and thus answering his question, pure pride and professionalism.

His hand dipped quickly into his money pouch and deposited the single coin on the counter returning his pouch quickly to the inner folds of his clothing, and gripping the tankard firmly with his free hand. The look on the Keeper’s face told Limaris that he was about to ask a question, so having bent over again at the counter, arranging himself in a less comical and awkward fashion he paused.

His heart raced a little as the Hobbit inquired whether he had been in the Shire before and again his young mind raced with the possibilities of asking such a question. Perhaps his tone had sounded too “shire-like” revealing an extended period of time staying in and around Shire-folk.

Perhaps a patron arriving earlier to the Inn had spotted him on his way in and mentioned it as idle gossip. Dispelling the answers with decisions, he was a traveller of forty years, his ‘occupation’ fitted with his earlier dialogue with the Inn keeper, and he just hoped that he looked older than he actually was, the words he had used were more likely to be used by an older person than the youth of today.

However before he was about to give his reply a large clatter resounded through the room and cut some of the conversation in the Inn immediately as if they had been suddenly made mute, only the darkest and furthest recesses of the Inn Common Room remained in conversation, either having not noticed or not caring. Limaris made a quick observation that it was mainly inhabited by men, less likely to be startled so obviously than the Hobbits who seemed to have flocculate in the middle of the Inn.

It was a Dwarf whom looked extremely worn apart from a shining mail coat. The site of the mail made him raise an eyebrow, it was mithril, obvious for its gleaming appearance no torn rents which were filled with new rings and were consequently not as dark and worn looking as the others around it. And because the Dwarf did not seem restricted at all as he strode across the room, predictably making his way to the rear of the Inn.

Shouting his order to the entire Inn he settled at a table in a loud thud. The frown on the Hobbits face opposite him revealed that he was slightly annoyed at such an entrance, perhaps more to do with the fact that he was entirely clad in armour and hefting a sizeable weapon. Then again Limaris did not blame him, and Inn was a place of peace. It would probably help his standing and the makeup of his character if he too appeared to be disconcerted by the new comer.

Limaris could tell that the interaction with the Shire folk with the character he had landed himself with would test him still he silently thought it would certainly be interesting and no less exciting. However he readied himself to reply as the Inn Keeper having delegated the serving of the Dwarves order to a rather unfortunate Hobbit by the name of Tollers finished his intended question.

Considering he was playing a traveller, it was probably wise to say that he had heard of the Shire, but had travelled more extensively in the eastern regions of the world and had not ventured far into the west, and so was his reason for being here today; he was on a trip of enlightenment.

“No good sir, I have not had the fortune of visiting the Shire before, it seems all these years I have been missing out on a wonderful part of the world. However it is not the first time I have met your fine folk. Indeed I met a small group of Hobbits in Bree.”

Not wanting to reveal too much of his story immediately he stopped to take a draught of his ale, slamming the tankard down he continued before the Hobbit could respond but not too fast as to suggest that he was preventing him from speaking.

“Ah, now that was worth the long route I took! And even more worth it seeing customers of all sorts you get here! A rather ‘queer’ entrance from that dwarf.” He added lowering his voice.

He had leaned in toward the Hobbit and grinned; still aware that his appearance may not suggest a weary traveller at all, although in his favour was the rather ragged appearance of his beard, a consequence of being in the field for an extended period. Taking another swig from his ale, he looked intently at the Hobbit and continued, his response coming fluidly and in succession, a perfect and plausible show of an interested and overtly talkative traveller, at least Limaris though travellers were very talkative.

“But heights above, I’ve not introduced myself, please attribute my temporary lack of manners to the dust road! I am Tehol. I would be most gratified to know your name sir and the history of this fine establishment if you would take the time to tell all, I have been to a fair few Inn’s but none as homely as The Golden Perch.

A fine name for sure!”

He exclaimed finally.