The Golden Perch Inn

[Rose]

‘You’ve the right of that, Master Widlast,’ Granny returned. ‘Named after the Bellflower by my mother. I was her only girl, you see, and she called me after her favorite flower.’ Granny closed her eyes for a moment recalling her mother’s meandering flower garden and the riot of colorful penstemons planted there.

The elder Hobbit took a swig of the sweetspice tea Rowan had brought round for them. And once done, helped herself to a thick slice of toast and a generous helping of blackberry jam. ‘You sure you won’t have a mug along with me and something a little more substantial than an apple slice?’ She pushed a mug toward him, followed by the basket of toast. ‘Have two, why don’t you,’ she went on. ‘The blackberry jam’s some of the best around. And the honey, I do believe, is some from my own hives. Very tasty, if I do say so myself.’ She munched thoughtfully on her piece of toast.

‘You know,’ Granny said, turning her attention back on Widlast. ‘That’s an interesting coat you’ve got on there. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one like it before. Where’d you get it, if you don’t mind my asking?’

[Ilya]

Full of questions, Widlast mused, looking from the elder to the lass. They were interested, sure, but it seemed innocent enough to be curious of a stranger. Fingering a hole in the lining of his coat, he allowed himself a wry smile. He had not done so well in going unnoticed as he thought, and not for the reasons he thought, either. Yet they were not mistrustful of him. A puzzling people, these holbytlan.

"You ask a great many questions, Mother Pestemon," he said slowly. Off her look, he added, "Cry your pardon, but there's not many folk of the road who do. But I shall answer all as best I can. The apple is not from this region, but was picked outside of the mannish town to the north. Bree, I think." She nodded, and he flicked his eyes down to the mug and the warm liquid quivering at the surface. "I thank you for the offer, but I've no coin for the jam or the tay or the toast. And my coat?" He patted the old leather resting against his thigh and a little dust rose off it. "I found in the lands to the south, beyond the mountains and near to the sea."

Stripped it off a dead pirate is the tale's mark, he thought, hooking his thumb back into the hole, but that tale would not keep in the company of such woman. "There are some fine hive-masters there, too, if I remember aright, though I never much cared for the fare that they honeyed. And your name, mistress?" Widlast turned to the girl. He'd done his part, let them now talk together for a while.

[Undómë]

‘It’s Rowan, Master Widlast,’ the serving lass replied. ‘Sometimes I forget that not every one knows me,’ she laughed. ‘It seems like everyone has passed through the Perch at one time or another.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyways, sorry, I was bad-mannered! I wouldn’t want you to think me rude.’ She grimaced at the thought. Good grief, what would my old Gammer think of me!

‘Ah, well, now that we’ve got that straightened away....’ Rowan topped off Granny’s tea. ‘There’s no coin to be worrying about for the tea and toast and such this morning. You see, our cook’s gone missing, and we’re putting out this little make-do nibble until we can figure out what we can throw....errr, that is put together, for lunch.’ She nodded toward the food and drink. ‘So, help yourself, else whatever bread is leftover goes out to feed the hens....and goodness knows they’re plenty well fed as it is!’

‘I hope you don’t mind me stealing Miz Penstemon away for a while,’ she went on. ‘Prim and I could sure use your help putting some sandwiches together for lunch, Granny.’ She smiled at Widlast as she helped the older Hobbit up and handed her cane to her. ‘I’ll bring your mug and plate, Gran. After you....’

As they neared the door to the kitchen, Rowan bent close to Granny and whispered. ‘Did you hear what he said about his coat, Gran? He said it found it somewhere near to the sea. That’s where the big ships would be, wouldn’t they?’ She gave a quick glance back at the dusty man. ‘Maybe he would know about the little carved ship we found.’

[Strongbow]

Tarden nodded his head once cordially, and rapped on his thigh twice. Meglis got of his haunches, panting slightly, and he sidled up to his master. He nuzzled his master's thigh where he had tapped, and sat down again, waiting on the Man's word. Tarden bent down, and patted the dog affectionately. Meglis had been his companion for a good four or so years (Tarden didn't really know), having been sired in Rivendell from his last dog, Frodda. Frodda was interesting; he never learned to speak Westron, so Tarden was forced to speak the language of Rohan around him. But Meglis was ever more valiant than Frodda, and more loving towards Tarden.

He looked up at the hobbit. Not young anymore, but not old. Certainly middle-aged. He stood nearly three feet above him, and even Meglis was taller than he, but from what Tarden had seen of hobbits, he was about average, and by the cut of his coat, he looked a bit more well off than another hobbit. He set his bulky pack down, stood up, and spoke.

"Well," Tarden stated. "I suppose I should like a Man-sized room. Would you be Mister Boffin?"