The Golden Perch Inn

[Rose]

Granny was only cat-napping. Her sharp old ears listened to the hum of conversation in the room, much as she did to the the hums of her dear bees as they went about their daily business. Her eyes, too, though giving all appearances of being closed in sleep, peeped out from beneath those grey tipped lashes.

'Where's Miz Rowan?' she spoke softly as Prim reached out to tidy Granny's table and pour a little hot tea in her mug. Prim's vague and hazy references to 'washing up' and such, accompanied by a quickening crimson tinge to the young woman's cheeks made Granny wary of her answer.

'That so?!' the elder Hobbit said, leveraging herself up from the chair, her walking stick planted firmly on the floorboards for support. 'B'lieve I'll just go give her a hand, then.' Ignoring a few splutters of protest from Prim, Granny made her way into the kitchen.

Not finding Rowan anywhere about and the dishes piled in the sink still dirty, she proceeded toward the sounds of scuffling and ruffling about she heard from just beyond an opened door at one end of the room.

'Miz Rowan?' she called out, her yew wood stick tap-tapping her progress across the floor. 'That you, dear?'

It was indeed the Hobbit lass, who turned with a look of surprise on her face and a pair of objects held firmly in her hands. 'Why what's that?' the old woman ask drawing closer. 'A little shell covered keepsake box, yes? And that....some little carved trinket isn't it. How clever it is!' She took the wooden ship, meticulously carved, sails and oars, and smelling of some fragrant wood. Turning it this way and that she smiled admiring the workmanship.

'Oh look!' she chuckled, holding the vessel a little closer to her eyes. 'Now isn't that something!' She held it out for Rose to see. There on the deck was a small figure, unshod.....with a definite patch of hair gracing each foot.

[Tiffany Aching]

Miribelle felt as if she were eating more than her share of toast and jam that the Elf had brought to the table. Just because you’re a bit hungry is no reason to be like a pig at the trough! she chastened herself. She pushed the little plate of toasted bread toward Tavaro, encouraging him with a small wave of her hand to take a piece. ‘Oh and just let me top up your tea, Master Elf. It’s nice and hot, what with Mistress Prim having brought round the kettle.’

She looked round the room, wondering where Mungo had gone off to. Most likely slinking like a weasel toward the door! she sniffed.

‘Do you see that Mungo anywhere?’ she asked turning back toward Tavaro. ‘Off to finish whatever mischief brought him here in the first place. Mark my words on that.’

[Arry]

Away from the Inn - but slowly on the way back

It was slow going despite the urgings to pick up the pace from Will. Hugh’s mount, Jolly, wanted to stop often and crop the grass along the roadside. And to be honest Hugh seemed quite willing to stop for a bit here and there, too - to dip into the bundle of seedcake slices and sip at the flask of sweet tea from Miz Gardenia.

At one of the halts along the way, Will got down from Thistle and walked about a bit to stretch his legs. He paused in his steps and hands on hips looked up at the postman expectantly. ‘You had any thoughts, yet, on that letter, Hugh?’

[Ilya]

As Widlast approached the door, snatches of conversation whipped by him.
"Dear me! Oh! Excuse me"
"Mr. Boffin, I presume?...welch on an arrangement with you...for the inconvenience the twins... "

Civil. Far too civil for men, anyway, which meant he'd reached holbytlan country. Pivoting to take a look around, he squinted hard at the branches suspended in the still air. He scratched at his ear, picking at the thought, silly though it seemed, that he'd expected the trees somehow to be smaller. The elf was still in the doorway, traces of toast and blurred chatter pushing past her. Widlast tucked his thumb inside his belt and leaned against a post near the door. In the tales, what elves purposed or misliked they did in ways beyond mens' understanding, moving in their own time. Most like, it already knew he was behind it, toying with a stone under his boot. Best he give it room to be. The way would be neither the longer or the dustier for him having to stand and wait for the elf to move on. He caught a pair of brown eyes at the elf's elbow, belonging he supposed to the innman, who carried himself well for looking all of ten. Pushing his weight into the worn wooden post, he settled himself on waiting until the innkeeper approached him.

[Folwren]

Dick assured Mithalwen in the most animated language that there had been no inconvenience, that no apology was necessary, and she really did not need to offer him any of her handy work. “Really, ma’am, it’s perfectly alright,” he said, for the tenth time in the space of thirty seconds, “they were not of any real trouble, and keeping the rooms did not cause a bit of inconvenience, really. It is alright.

“And we have room in the stables for your pony. Indeed, all the ponies have just now been taken out! Good gracious me, what a morning this had been!” He pressed his hand against his forehead briefly with the thought and a distracted look entered and left his face quickly. “Yes, yes, the rooms are still unoccupied and Rowan can open them for you. Prim!” he said, seeing the serving-hobbit heading towards the kitchen again. “Have Rowan open the rooms for the elves here.” Prim nodded and disappeared.

“So, that is taken care of,” said Dick. “Please, enter - and welcome!” He stepped aside and gave Mithalwen a clearer entrance to the common room. The elf nodded her head gracefully and swept past him. Dick, having been aware of another customer standing on the doorstep all this while, turned to meet him.

“Good day to you, sir. Enter and welcome!”

[Ilya]

Widlast nodded, then realized he was acknowledging at the carvings in the woodwork instead of the innkeeper, and so nodded again, stooping slightly to get through the door. Inside, there was the usual yawning fireplace and scrubbed bar, these two markedly airier than the most he'd seen. A very easy place. But as he fixed on those who filled the room, it gave him such pause that he ran a hand through his hair again, which only mussed it further.

One elf in strange country was all well enough, but seated in the common room were at least two others of the fair folk, eating with a chil- no, he could see that one was another holbytla. "The doings here," he murmured."The doings here. Strange. Anyroad, your health and good horses," he spoke what he hoped would be a suitable greeting down to the innman, his eyes lingering on the embroidery of the holbytla's surcoat. He said no more, for then he spotted a table next to the fire, on which waited a steaming cup seemingly conjured out his thoughts. As he moved to the table, though, he realized it was a little table. Very likely he would crush the chair. Yet on the other side of the fireplace was a man-sized stool, so unslinging his haversack and resting his head on the warm stone, he nearly fell down upon it.

[Undómë]

‘Here, Gran!’ Rowan placed the little carved ship back into the shell-covered box and placed it in the older Hobbit’s hands. ‘You keep this safe and we’ll look it over more when I’m done.’ She watched as Granny Greenhill placed the box into one of the large pockets on her apron.

‘Coming!’ she called out to Prim who’d already started back toward the Common Room. ‘Now who did you say we’re freshening up the rooms for?’ Rose asked, catching up to her friend. ‘Ah, three of the Fair Folk is it?’ She stopped at the linen closet and opened the doors wide. ‘Give us a hand, then, Prim,’ she went on, piling three sets of sheets on her friend’s outstretched arms.

‘Yes, I know,’ she said answering Prim’s arched eyebrows. ‘I made sure I pulled out the long sheets. ‘Can’t have those Elvish toes poking out from the bottom of the covers, now can we?’

The two made their way quickly to the rooms reserved for the Big Folk and began to make up the beds, hang fresh towels, set out small bunches of flowers in earthenware vases and leave each a pitcher for water and a mug for drinking.

They were just smoothing out the green-hued quilt in the last room, their work almost done when Rowan leaned toward Prim and whispered across the bed. ‘You’ll never believe what I found in Cook’s room. Way back of the top shelf of that old wardrobe.’

‘Well?’ Prim whispered back, her brow furrowing. ‘What? What?!’ Spill it, Ro!’

Rowan put her finger to her lips, lifting her chin toward the door in a quick movement. ‘Someone’s coming, Prim. I’ll tell you later.....’

[Folwren]

“I am that - Seredic Boffin, at your service,” he bowed slightly - as far as the counter permitted without looking ridiculous. “We do have a room you can take. Prim...that is Rowan...” he looked around, but no one was in sight. “I mean, I’ll show you there myself, sir!”

He bobbed around the counter and came nose to nose with the dog who had walked just beside his master, as he had been commanded. Dick stepped back with surprise before regaining his composure and leading the way.

At the end of the hall, he opened the door and showed the man into one of the man sized rooms. It had three beds in it and a large window at the far end of the room.

“No one else is yet here for the night, so you may have the place to yourself! I hope you find it comfortable. As soon as you’re settled in, you are welcome to come out and find a seat and something to eat. Is there anything further I can do for you?”

[Undómë]

Rowan made her way back to the Common Room once she’d given a last look about to the Elves’ rooms. ‘Good enough for my Great-aunt Tansy,’ she said to herself in a satisfied manner. ‘And my stars! She’s as picky as picky can be!!’

The Innkeeper looked busy, so she waited for a break in the hubbub about him and then approached. ‘Master Boffin,’ she said, catching his attention. ‘The rooms you wanted are done and ready for their occupants.’ She gave him a quick smile and hurried away to help Prim with the customers.

‘Here, let me help clear up those tables, Prim. Perhaps you can go into the kitchen and take a look-see in the pantry. I’ll come in soon.’ Rowan chewed thoughtfully at the corner of her lip. ‘We’ll have to be thinking something up for lunch, now, won’t we?’

As she piled up an armful of plates and mugs, Rowan caught sight of an interesting pair near the fireplace. Granny! And some rough looking Big Folk fellow! Now isn’t that interesting....

[Rose]

‘No worries, old mother,’ he said, ‘no worries at all.’

My, my! Polite enough for one of the Big Folk, isn’t he? Granny nodded as the fellow turned aside her apology with a soft counter. She watched then as he deftly retrieved his escaping knife.

Bit nervous, though... Penstemon thought to herself as he pulled out a well-travelled apple from his sack and carefully cut it. And careful as well to avoid looking at her; though for what reason she could not fathom. Taking the piece offered she waited as he cut one for himself.

Looks a bit rough around the edges. Granny glanced from the man back to the apple wedge, thinking the same could be said of either. She took a bite, savoring the surprising sweetness of the weathered fruit. ‘My stars! That’s tasty!’ She beamed up at the fellow. ‘Not from the trees round these parts, is it?’

Granny nodded her approval and finished off the slice.

‘Now where’s my manners!? Name’s Penstemon Greenhill....from roundabout here. And who might you be, young man?’