The Golden Perch Inn

[Forest Elf]

Gable watched, dumbfounded. She could still hardly believe that the person she had seen running was an elf. At first she didn't think much about it, but now that he was here, fighting them off, the thought finally went through her head. She put her feet back onto the branch and watched as he fought them off. Then falling to his knee. She blinked and jumped down from in the tree, landing lightly on her feet.

"Thank you sir. If you hadn't of come... then that would've been it for me," Gable said. "Are you alright?" She walked closer until she was a few inches away from him to his right. She knelt down next to him, hoping that he was alright. She could hear his heavy breathing and wondered how much trouble it was for him to of helped her.

[Gwathagor]

He pulled himself to his feet, and then bowed low.

"Lady, I beg your pardon."

The ground about them was strewn with wolf corpses, and the edge of his cloak was stained with their blood, as with the blood of countless other fallen enemies from other days and battles. The elf was still tired, but he stood tall and straight, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. If anything, he appeared somewhat stiff, slightly ill at ease in the presence of another person, particularly a young elf maiden. He was not used to society; he was used to defending it. His glance shifted away north momentarily, past the elf girl and towards the forest. He put out a cautionary hand.

"You should not tarry here. I fear that there may be more wolves close by and that these were only the advance guard of a much larger pack. These are not ordinary wolves and their leader is...very dangerous. It is not yet safe"

He paused for a moment, trying to recall all he could of the conventions and pleasantries of society. It had been a very long time.

"You are not hurt, are you? May I assist you in any way?"

[Forest Elf]

Gable blinked with surprise. She noticed that even though he didn't show it, he was tired. She stood and said, "I'm fine, thanks for asking." She looked around, wondering what had happened to the wolf pup she had saved several years ago.

After a little while she asked, "May I ask who, or what the wolves leader is?" She looked at him, waiting for an answer. She was clueless as to what could control wolves.

[Gwathagor]

A shadow passed over the warrior elf's face. He hesitated.

"First," he said, "Let us return to yon house of food and drink, and as we go, you must recount to me your own tale, and how you came to be thus sore beset by wolves. Tell me all," and here he became, were it possible, even more grave and solemn, "And spare no words in the telling, for I have patience enough, and in the thoroughness of your account may lie the unraveling of this riddle. When I have been satisfied regarding my own worries, whether they are true or false, then I shall gladly unfold my own story to you and any others who find pleasure in it...if the length of it does not turn them to stone with boredom."

He laughed, or rather chuckled to himself, and his fair, grave face briefly took on a new aspect as he did so. Less proud and careworn he seemed, but more fierce, as if the smoldering coal within him had leapt up into flame for an instant, dancing and laughing, but hotter than ever; and more volatile. (He laughed as often in battle as he did in feasting.) Then the mask of care and studied gravity fell across his countenance once again; the fire fell back to a coal, burning safe and slow, but inextinguishable.

They were walking back towards the inn, and the elf-maid had just begun to tell what she knew of the curious wolf invasion as the tall elf listened attentively. Suddenly he smote his brow with his right hand, as the left was resting ready upon his scabbard.

"Again, your pardon! My manners are not what they were," he exclaimed, turning to the other. "Once, I did know how to behave in good company; but that was long ago and far away. I am called Gwathagor by most who know me. I have gone by that name long enough, and it will continue to serve. What is your name? And pray carry on your tale."

Perhaps these were only ordinary packs of hungry wolves, forced to move south in search of better hunting. That in itself would be bad enough. But, in truth, he had little hope that when all was told this would prove to be any other than the forays of the Draugring, the Cold-Wolves. He could track them easy enough; more difficult would be the actual battle. He would fight them alone, without hesitation, because he knew that the Shire-folk were not warriors. They were cooks and farmers and brewers. They did not deserve this plague. Nonetheless, the aid of another warrior such as himself would be warmly welcomed. This, in part, was his purpose: to return to the inn and gather one or two others who had enough experienced with weapons to not be a liability. They could then return to the tree and from there follow the wolf-tracks back into the hills, whence they had come, and then...he was not sure. But that would come soon enough. He gave the other elf his full attention.

[Forest Elf]

Gable looked up at him. For some reason she liked his new face better than his first one. His laugh sounded rather nice too, it had been quite some time since she heard another elf's laugh.

She laughed slightly and said, "It is fine. Actually, to be honest, most people around here find me strange. Who wouldn't, most girls don't wear boys' clothes from time to time like I do. And my name is Gable. It's nice to meet you."

She looked up at the sky, remembering previous times. She couldn't help but to remember the rounds of laughter she had with everyone here. She found herself sad when the thought of this all ending soon came to mind. With all the wolves about, she wondered how much longer the Inn would last. Then she shook her head to clear her mind of thought.

She had already told him about the pony. "Where was I?" she asked herself, absent-mindedly. "Ah, yes. I remember I’d just got done telling you about the pony…well; the owner of the pony is still unknown. We’re not even sure if the owner’s alive…” a shadow came over her eyes as the questions filled her mind again. She blinked, interrupting herself.

She sighed softly, inwardly, remembering the past events, “The wolves attacked the barn the next morning. For some odd reason, it seems that they were after the pony…it puzzles me though. Most wolves don’t go around chasing after one certain prey, their options vary…” Her mind trailed off into thought for a few seconds before she shook the questions out of her mind. “Then there was the attack last night with the same wolves you just slain, I still find it hard to believe that I actually slept in that tree… the hobbit!” she said, suddenly hitting her hand with her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot him there! He’s in the tree next to the one I was in. I should head back and wait for him to wake. It would be awful if he woke suddenly and there was no one there…”

She turned and stopped, suddenly remembering something. She looked over her shoulder at the elven warrior, “You can head over to the Inn, I’m sure that you must be tired. But, now that I think of it, there was also a silver locket; I don’t know if the owner has claimed it yet or not. I found it in the pony’s stable. I don’t know if that’s of any importance to you or not, and those of us at the Inn are unable to open it. It has a small lock on the side of it, which a small key is needed to open.”

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin strode down the streets with a merry expression lighting up his face. It wasn't often he came to these here parts. He was just returning from visiting his good friend Grioger, who lived west near the roots of the Blue Mountains.

He had walked all day, he was not tired, but he was in need of refreshment. As soon as he came into town he made a point of visiting the nearest inn to bed down for the night and have a nice ale, or two.

The Hobbit's spoke of an inn called 'The Golden Perch'; so he thought that he'd stay there tonight.He could see the smoke rising from the chimney, probably had breakfast on the stove, he could use a good meal. A few Hobbits sat outside smoking on their pips and exchanging some friendly gossip. Groin loved the “little folks” company, almost like Dwarves, in a way.

The Hobbits stopped their talking just long enough to pass glance at this new comer. Groin walked right pass them, he had too much focus on his that was waiting for him inside.

He had his hand on the door knob, when he looked back to ask the two Hobbits what the inn was serving for dinner, when he noticed to figures coming down the road. They were not men, for their garbs were not like that of man’s: they were richer more bright. Elves! He snarled as they drew closer; yes, they were coming towards him. He opened the door and entered the inn.
“I guess tonight isn’t going to be as jolly as I’d hoped.” He said, muttering under his breath.

[Folwren]

Rain – torrents of rain – Dick was convinced it was his good luck. Just look – two new customers in as many minutes, if not less, and not only that, but it brought his son for a visit as well. It wasn’t Fred’s lucky day, though, poor lad. The man barging through the door and tumbling Fred over like a bowling pin had nearly given Dick a heart attack, but everything was soon set right, including Fred, as the door shut again and the warmth from the fire spread over the common room.

“My apologies, young master,” the man said to the bewildered hobbit child. “I’m afraid I mistook you for a door stop.”

Fred cast him a doubtful glance and wiped his dripping sleeve over his nose. He concentrated hard on the man’s words before a slow grin passed over his face. “Did you, really?” he asked. “Door stops must be awful large and soft in your town.”

“Haha,” the man chuckled. He reached out to rumple the lad’s head and the hat was knocked to the floor. Fred smiled a little broader and ducked to retrieve it, but his hand bounced off of another hobbit’s hand and when he looked up, he saw it was an older one, reaching for the same hat. A look of dismay flooded the boys face.

“That’s your hat?” Fred asked, trying not to be disappointed. He didn’t know why, but the large, floppy brim had made him fall in love with it, he thought. The hobbit guest didn’t have to answer, Fred knew by instinct, and tears were already gathering in his eyes.

“Here, don’t cry,” Songo said, “you can have it – as a gift. Go on, take it.”

Fred looked up, a bright light leaped back into his naturally merry face, and he received the hat gladly. Songo went off to fetch a mug of cider, but in a moment, he was back, and he captured little Fred and led him off a couple paces and launched into an outlandish adventure of his youth.

Dick’s attention and eyes were drawn away from the hobbit and his child as a new character entered the inn. Another man, by all the glories, and one just as wet and muddy and bedraggled as something that cat would drag in. Dick smiled, a little half heartedly this time (someone was going to have to clean all this water and mud up) and leaned his elbows on the bar, waiting and just knowing that the newcomer would want something to warm him.

“A bit of hot cider, if you’ve got it.”

“By all means, sir,” Dick replied. He filled it and returned it to the bar. “You’ve come far today?”

[shaggydog]

Sipping his ale and waiting amicably to see how much of the other lad’s ventures that individual cared to share, Jims watched the drunken hobbit with a mixture of amusement and appraisal as the little fellow helped himself to a cup of the barman’s mead. In Jims’ assessment, the hobbit was very close to being about as drunk as one can be and still be standing. Jims already felt sorry for the Halfling, knowing how ill he would be feeling come the morning. Cup in hand, the hobbit staggered a few steps and sat down heavily in the seat next to Jims.

Gazing at Jims as through a fog, the hobbit slurred out “Sorry, er . . . Jams is it?”

Jims eyebrows rose in surprise. Was it possible that he knew this little drunkard? One hobbit looked much like all the others to Jims, especially from his height from where he rarely saw much more of them than the tops of their curly heads. Bending forward and down a little to look more closely at the fellow’s face, Jims replied bemusedly, “It’s Jims actually, and do I know you?”

The hobbit eyes glanced off to the side in a glassy way, as he said somewhat indistinctly, “Sozzle m . . .mymy snotworlin today”, which Jims thought might have been meant as, “Sorry . . . my minds not working right today.” Not working indeed! And no wonder.

With an inward sigh, Jims realized that the barman in him would not rest peacefully even when it was not his place to interfere. But he had witnessed the little hobbit’s generous act of gifting his hat to the small hobbit child Jims had almost run over, and he felt more than a little sympathy and concern for the hobbit as he sat swaying gently in his seat beside Jims. He placed a steadying hand on his neighbor’s arm, saying in a friendly way, “Perhaps we are acquainted. Hobbits don’t frequent my father’s inn so often as they do Barleyman’s, but we’ve had more than a few pass through our doors. It’s the Rose & Thistle. Have you ever been to Bree?” As he spoke, Jims other hand moved slowly towards the hobbit’s cup, wondering if he could simply make it ‘disappear’ without causing a ruckus. Depending on their state of intoxication, it was a maneuver that sometimes worked with the more passive drunks. He kept his gaze on the hobbits face, hoping to keep his attention, and, of a sudden, it dawned on him that he did know this particular small one.

“Hairfoot? Hairfoot Doggins?” Jims’ eyebrows went even higher in surprise at this recognition.

Jims was acquainted ever so slightly with the Doggins clan and Songo, more commonly known as ‘Hairfoot’, was generally known as an exceptionally quiet, almost shy member thereof. There had been rumors of his “almost” doing in an orc, but no-one who knew Songo believed a word of it. Songo was not one who had a reputation for being a frequent patron of the various inns of Bree, and Jims’ knowledge of this particular hobbit was limited to no more than two or three times when the hobbit, along with other family members, had been to the Rose to deliver hay for the stable. Why was he then in Stock and how had he come to be so intoxicated?

Ceaselessly inhaling the warm apple cider that had become such a popular beverage during what seemed like an age of stormy weather, Haves allowed himself to make short conversation with those around him. The conversation with the friendly barkeeper was short and generally consisted of well-rehearsed questions from Dick with short, quick responses by himself. Moments away from verbally interrelating with some of the other stranded travellers who had escaped from the storm, he was suddenly addressed by the man who he had signalled to earlier about the comical behaviour of the curly haired hobbit.

“You’ve been on the road a week? Where do you hale from then?” Was what he had said. Obviously such a bland question must have been frequented very often when starting up discussions in a tavern such as the Golden Perch, an establishment that by the looks of its current occupants had more foreigners than locals. Haves decided to grace the other, also young man with a response.

"Aye, a week. Just been travellin' north mostly. I live on a farm y'see, near the quaint hamlet of Norton. It's not common others 'ave 'eard of it, but yer asked where I came from and that's my reply."

Haves exchanged a few brief words with Dick once more, his tongue loosening more and more with each word that escaped from his mouth. After asking the barkeeper if a warm cup of soup was available, he reflected more in depth on the current residents of the dimly lit room. Immediately he observed a stout being, who could not look more well-travelled. Haves had never seen a dwarf, but he had certainly heard of them, and to avoid looking too interested, he refrained from staring and mentally set a reminder to converse with him afterwards, for he looked most likely to be able to broaden Haves' mind with news from outside the borders. His eyes crossed briefly on an elf, and what appeared to be a huddled mass on the floor. It was a wonder he had not trodden over him when he had stormed into the tavern seeking much-needed warmth.

Realizing the conversation had become scarce and that he had been lost in his thoughts and observations, Haves furthered the conversation with the young man a few stools away from him.

"The names Haves, by the by. Pleased to meet yeh. Do ya frequent this tavern often? I'm rather surpised I 'aven't heard of it, it's truly the epitomy of comfort. 'Owever it could just be the contrast between inside 'ere and that hellish storm out there."

He flicked his eyes quickly towards the bar to see how the barkeeper had taken this comment on his workplace.

[Dunwen]

Ruby clutched her doll and pouted. It was a lovely morning to be riding in their cart, but Lily was so mean to drag her out of bed first thing. Scowling, she thought about what had happened the night before:


Ruby's heart raced when she heard the footsteps down the hall. She stopped and tried to hide, but it was no use. Periwinkle walked into her room and Ruby had cheeks as red as her name. Ruby wanted to cry.

“You’re Lily’s little sister, aren’t you?” Peri’s voice betrayed her irritation. “Very well, where is your room?” When Ruby refused to answer, even after she repeated the question, the older girl became downright angry.

“Right, you’re coming with me. I’m sure Mr. Boffin can tell me which room you and your sister are in.” Taking her small hand while Ruby was still frozen in place, Peri marched her back into the common room. Ruby didn’t try to escape.

The young lady easily found the innkeeper. Dick kindly told her which room Ruby and her sister were in. Still holding her firmly by the hand, Peri found it and knocked loudly.

Lily opened to door, much to her displeasure Peri was standing at the door with her little sister Ruby. She proptly asked what she had done this time. Since she had nothing to lose now, Ruby confessed and gave back the items she had taken. Lily just about blew up, but controlled her temper. Lily and Ruby would be leaving to their Brandybuck relations, and they would send a letter back to Bywater asking their parents to come and take Ruby back home, no stops on the way... and so the next day at the crack of dawn, they left.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin opened the door and stepped quietly into the in, the place was ablaze with commotion. Breakfast was being served to all the Inn’s occupants. Hobbit’s dashed in and out of the kitchen door, carrying platters staked with drinks and food.

Groin looked around the room searching for an empty table. There it was, he started making his way around the various tables when a when he was stopped.

“Um... excuse me, sir.” Groin looked around. A female Hobbit was tapping him on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your axe at the door.” She pointed to a stack of weapons all neatly assorted against the wall. Groin nodded his head and made his way back towards the door. He withdrew the huge axe from his back and gently placed it by the door, but instead of making his way an open table he folded his arms and leaned against the wall. The door opened again and the Elves, that he saw coming down the road entered the room. He stared at them for a few seconds until one of them, a girl, met his gaze. Groin bobbed his head in a short sort of a bow, and managed a smile.

He never did like Elves, but he wouldn’t his disgust show it out in public like most of his kind did. ‘Be courteous to all, but intimate with few’: that was his motto.
He watched as the Hobbit’s moved in and out of the kitchen, finally someone noticed him.
“Hello there, my name is Toller. What can I get you?”
“How’ bout a glass of your finest brew?” Groin said, glancing bar.
“I’ll get it right away.” The Hobbit sped off towards the kitchen.
Groin took his helmet off, still holding it in his left hand, and brushed his thick red hair with his hand. A fine establishment, yes this would suit me just fine for the next couple of days. Just then the boy appeared again holding a foaming glass in one hand.
“Ahh, thank you boy.” Groin outstretched his arms, ready to grab the glass.
“Cheers!” he said, placing a coin in the boys hand and holding the beer in the other.

“Boy, we sure are getting a lot of your folk around here.” Toller said, while he pulled up a chair and sat down. Groin sighed satisfied with the incredible taste of the ale.
“And what might you be meaning by that?” Groin said, in a matter that was by no ways threatening.
“Well we had a Dwarf in here a couple days ago by the name of Kuric. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
“Can’t say that I have, I know very few people.” He took another sip of his ale.
“Well anyways, this Dwarf called Kuric came into the Inn one evening, and he says: ‘Bring three of your finest ales!’ and so Mr. Dicks orders me to get them for him. I bring them over to him and he starts asking me about Mr. Bilbo Baggins……”
In no time at all Groin was lost in deep conversation with the Hobbit: Troller, who was recounting the story of Kuric.