The Golden Perch Inn

[Eönwë]

It was still raining when Songo came into the Inn. He had come all this way from the outskirts of Bree to visit his uncle Carnale in Hobbiton to celebrate Carnale's 70th birthday. He was hurrying back to Bree, but needed a place to stay for the night. Besides, he couldn't stay outside in that infernal rain! The storm had just come out of nowhere, and Songo's hat had been blown away. He had been particularly attached to his hat, as it had been passed down to him form his Great-Uncle, who had been quite the traveller.

As he opened the door, the warm air came out to greet him and he decided that he would probably stay a week here. People were talking festively, and drinking Ale and Cider, and Songo could have sworn that he saw a dwarf tripping on a table, but re-balancing before anyone could see. He felt at home. It reminded him of the Prancing Pony, except that most of the residents here were Hobbits. But then he was a Hobbit, so he couldn't really complain. He looked around again and could see that strange dwarf gazing out of the window, with a forlorn expression on his face, Songo thought, sipping what he hoped was warm cider

Just then Songo realized how cold he was and warmed himself up by the large fire. Then he went over to the Barman and asked him for a pint of his finest ale.

[Folwren]

Dick pattered in and out of the kitchen and behind the bar, filling new orders and often returning half the time simply because he had forgotten something before. Finally, he found a moment to stand still, briefly. Nothing seemed out of place. The guests were standing and sitting, some singling, others in small groups, all looking just a tad bit gloomy. But who wouldn’t, with the outside dark as evening and thunder rolling and thundering.

“Excuse me, sir,” a hobbit said, approaching the bar. “I’d like a pint of your finest ale.”

Dick smiled immediately. “Of course! Right away!” He bent and whipped out a mug as quick as a blink of an eye and began to fill it from the ale-butt just behind him. He was setting it on the bar top when the door blew open violently and in staggered a tiny creature, barely recognizable for a hobbit with a hat pulled low over his eyes and his little coat soaked and streaming with rain water.

“Shut the door, Fred!” Dick shouted to be heard over the great noise and thunder of the rain outside. “Shut the door and quit letting the wet in!”

“Sorry, Pops!” the hobbit child said. He lifted the brim of the hat to grin at his father before turning and using both hands to shut the door.

[shaggydog]

As the first drops of rain spattered in the dust of the road leading from the river, Jims dug his heels into the small horse’s sides to urge it to greater speed. A useless waste of energy on his part, Jims knew, as the horse had only one discernible gait, and that being something between a slow shuffle and a fast amble. The journey from Bree had taken quite a bit longer than Jims had hoped, although they had all been aware of why this particular beast had been abandoned in his father’s stable several months ago. In lieu of a cash payment for its previous owner’s room and board at their inn, the beast made a poor bargain of the affair. But Jakes, Jims’ older brother, had been convinced that with a few days worth of oats and rest, the superior quality of this animal would shine forth. Of course he had to believe that, as it was Jakes that had “struck the bargain with” the seedy looking tinker who had half pulled, half pushed the poor thing into the tiny stable yard of their inn. Repressing a sigh, Jims peered through the growing darkness of the rain, which had turned mid-day into evening, and was happy to at least see his intended destination coming into view. The Golden Perch!

A clap of thunder boomed in Jims’ ear just as he reached the inn. The rain began to fall in earnest as he dismounted, looking about for a stable lad. Seeing none, and no wonder as the rain was coming in sheets now, Jims tugged at the reins and the horse, for once as eager to move as its master, stepped quickly enough across the yard and into the relative shelter of the shedrow. Without hesitation, Jims turned the horse into the nearest empty stall, hurriedly removing the saddle and bridle. Having grown up as an innkeeper’s son and having spent every day of his life seeing to customers, Jims knew his best course was to look inside the inn for the lad or the owner and settle with them then as to where best to house the beast. There was already an ample supply of hay in the rick and a wooden bucket of water hanging from a peg in the wall. Satisfied, Jims bolted the stall door shut behind him, making a dash across the yard to the round door of the inn, which at that very moment was just on the point of closing.

He was surprised to feel no small resistance to his push as he attempted to make his way inside. Who or what was on the other side of the door he didn’t know but with the rain now pouring down his collar he was determined to gain access. With one last good shove, the door gave way and Jims half stumbled into the common room, almost tripping over the body of a very small hobbit child who lay sprawled across the threshold. Stepping over the wee one at the last moment, Jims barely managed to keep himself up right, hanging on to the door for balance. A great gust of wind and several buckets of water followed Jims in as well, and his first thought was to close the door or risk the possible drowning of the small child at his feet. This being accomplished, the man then turned his attention back to the room and its inhabitants. Kneeling, he offered a hand to the child, saying, “My apologies young master. I’m afraid I mistook you for a door stop.”

Jims wondered how his weak attempt at humor would sit with the trespassed against hobbit child.
.

[Eönwë]

Songo was happy. He had just finished that nice mug of beer, and was about to get a warm cider, to finallly relinquish the cold clinging to him.

But then, in the middle of nowhere, he saw his hat floating around. Having never consumed alcohol, he thought that maybe this was what hapeed when you "got drunk", or the more polite phrase "made merry". He thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But as he focused on it ("Wow, this beer must really be getting to my head" he thought) through the blur of his alcphol-induced-stupor he realised that it was on the head of a small child. It vaguely reminded him of his younger brother when he had been younger. But then, everyone looked the same now.

He was going to go over to the child and get his hat back, but being quite shy, he would have normally held back. But tonight was different. Just as he plucked up, the courage to go over there and talk the boy into giving him back his property, a tall, strong looking man barged open the door and knocked over the poor child. He might have been slightly angry at the boy before, but hobbit-children are hobbit-children, and you can't blame them, not really. But anything he did have against the boy melted away instantly, as he saw him fall, and the expresssion on the child's face almost wanted to make him burst into tears.

He thought that perhaps he would go over there later, and ask him when he had recovered.

But just as he was pondering this, the hat dropped, and he darted forward to take it. But just as he grasped it, he saw the boy reach for it too, but it was too late, he already had it. And then he saw the little one's face, and his large eyes, brimmming with tears, staring sorrowfully at him. He decided that he would give him the hat as a gift, and that it didn't really matter, not if you really thought about it. And the child's face broke into a smile as he handed him the item of clothing.

The boy wore it truimphantly, even though it fell over his eyes, and he had to lift it up every so often, Even so, it made Songo smile to see someone so happy with his gift.

He decided that now it was high time for that cider he had been wanting for the last half hour.

The rain was deafening. Haves walked hurriedly, hunched and arms wrapped about him, clinging to his soaked traveller's cloak as teeth-clenched, he shot glances around the soppy neighbourhood for any sign of an inn or pub where he could take shelter. He grumbled miscontently as his boots sunk deeper into the increasing mass of mud. Just as a discouragingly large amount of water cascaded off his hood and down his back causing him to shiver distastefully, he was finally able to lock on to a sign indicating a "Golden Perch Inn" through the mucky weather. Relieved that the battle with the biting cold and the reluctant mud was soon to be over, he trenched over to the door and pushed it open hastily.

A rush of warm air greeted him. The sight of merry customers, glowing candles and dry surfaces increased his mood exponentially. He had not realized how parched he was. His eyes met with a jolly looking hobbit holding an amber liquid that could only be cider. The hobbit was at that moment in the midst of trying to impress a slender hat-stand with an increasingly slurred adventure he had supposedly been on. As Haves' eyes continued to allow the contents of the inn to absorb, he noticed the same drink in a dwarf's strong hand. After realizing he was still shivering and in dire need of warming up, he approached the bar and asked if he could have some of whatever those two inn personalities were having.