The Seventh Star Inn

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry crouched down at the window at the contatenation of sound and curses and disturbance that followed--or proceeded--the errent peddlar. Once he was safely down the road, she rose and turned to the door, catching sight of the wee mousie.

"Was it you we have to thank, for ridding us of the unneighourly peddlar, Wee Mousie?" She hadn't talked to a mouse in quite some time, but didn't think that would ruin the conversation. Any language could always use practice.

The mouse looked up at her, swishing its tail, as if to say, "Well who else do you think?" Then swiftly it ran off, back into the Star, and Bethberry followed.

I thought I had heard some Ents asking for rain, she mused to herself. And wondered if she had any of Mum's old talents in her to comply.

[mark12_30]

"Big rain, " whispered Beech.

"Long rain, " hoomed Oak.

"Much rain, for laughing streams and running rivers, " pleaded Willow, trailing long wispy branches through the dust.

The mouse wiggled his nose at Willow, careful to avoid his spreading roots. Wilow saw it, and frowning, swept a trailer towards him.

"No fear, " squeaked the mouse. "I've no desire to be caught inside a snicking crack!" and the mouse scampered up the Oak.

"Tickles, " said Oak.

"I'll get him, " offered Willow ominously.

"Bethberry!" called Beech. "Big rain, before Oak is caught between Willow and a Mouse!"

Bethberry sighed. "Nothing like pressure, " she muttered. Outside the Inn, a light pattering began on the streets.

[mark12_30]

Each breathing a sigh of relief, the ents shuffled out the door into the rain. It came faster and thicker, up from the sea with a sweet south wind. Anon the streets shone, and then rivulets began to run down towards the gates.

The mouse was soon bedraggled, crept down Oak's back, and took refuge in the inn again. But the ents each found a place by the streetside where they could stand in the rain, arms outstretched. The rain washed and comforted them, cooling tempers caused by ticklish mice and too much dust. They breathed easily and peacefully. One by one they closed their eyes and settled into naps filled with lovely dreams.

A couple strode past, hastening to reach their home and get out of the sudden rain. One looked up in surprise at the three gnarled old trees that had suddenly appeared by the inn door.

"I know the King's elf-friend hath said we grow too many stones and not enough trees, " she said to her husband, "but haven't they planted saplings in the lower rings? Whence came these hoary wizened trunks?"

Her husband shrugged. "They could have brought us fruit trees. These be good for naught but the forge."

They hastened on, but the old wife cast many a backward glance towards the old inn doorway til the curve of the street hid the trees from view.

Bethberry poked her head out the door, and whispered. "No fear of the forge for you. Sleep now; sleep, and dream of wind on the hillside."

A sigh from Beech was the only answer.

[Durelin]

Corman muttered about the skies giving no warning before they decided to leak. The world had suddenly turned a hazy grey: with no blue in sight, the sky was a blanket of cloud. The rain was already seeping into his clothes; it had caught him without a coat. He hurried through the streets of Gondor, looking for a relief. Any overhangs from buildings were already crowded in, and he wasn't about to duck into a shop without any intention of buying anything. He preferred keeping on good terms with the keepers, especially along this row -- he wore out boots like no other man.

Leafy branches caught his eye, and Corman hurried toward them, huddling under their cover between two of three trees. His back was pressed up against the bark of their trunks before he bothered to consider where these trees had come from. There weren't trees in this level of the city. There wasn't room for them! He looked up into their large and gnarled branches, his brow furrowed, but did not move from his spot. He already felt a little warmer.

The man twisted around and looked behind him at what the trees were blocking, as they interrupted the roadway lined with various establishments. There were pleasant windows and a large oak door, but he couldn't make out the sign above through the tree branches. Was it an inn? He turned himself back around. Like the one across the street, he realized -- "The Lamb and Flag." Maybe he could duck in there, instead.

[Bêthberry]

It had been a long, long time since Bethberry had danced, any kind of dance, let alone the kind her mother had taught her. She was out of practice.

But she persisted, weaving slowly around the darkened Star and leaving in her wake coiled footprints in the dust. The wee mousie watched her, wrinkling his nose. This was something he had never seen before.

Slowly, ever so slowly, and then calmly picking up tempo, Bethberry wound her way around the old Inn, feeling the energy of the world flow through her and out again into the sky above. The rain softly pattered at first, then picked up speed. The ents lumbered outside and positioned themselves under the open sky where the rain poured down on their parched limbs and leaves.

It wasn't welcomed by the denizens of the city, not by any means, for they were long distanced from the earth, in their towering city built layer by layer up as if to defy the very ground it was built upon. Bethberry was surprised, even shocked, by a couple whose unhappy voices drifted into the Inn. She looked out and caught their dissatisfaction. Then she looked at Oak, Beech and Willow and smiled. They were well pleased with the draught of fresh water. She whispered to them on the air and then retreated into the Inn, dancing more slowly now. She was exhausted. It had been such a long time since she had touched the earth this way.

She hadn't even seen the man who huddled under the Ents for protection. But finally she moved into stillness, a stillness that made a perfect moment. Here, now, the Inn was alive with possibility.

[mark12_30]

The man looked around, up through the branches, at the gnarly trunks, into the Inn window, and at the door across the street. His boots were worn; perhaps he was a wanderer.

But deep roots are better than wandering, even for a man. Beech hoped that the refugee would stay.

[Durelin]

Corman watched the rain fill the cracks between stones in the road. As it began to collect, the water ran near his feet in a small ribbon down the sides of the street. Perhaps he could make a run for it, to the lit windows of the inn across the street. But as he stood with his arms crossed under the cover of the strange trees, breathing in the air the rain had made suddenly fresh, he found himself...rather comfortable.

His boots felt as if they had been mortared to the stone, his feet felt heavy, and he found his mind drifting far away from the warm and welcoming Lamb and Flag. Corman shook his head. His feet were probably starting to numb from the cold and wet, his boots rain-soaked. He twisted around to look at the building front behind him again.

With three trees growing out in front of it -- though he did not recall them growing but only appearing -- this establishment could not be active. Curious, he slipped between two of the trees, stepping carefully over roots with wonder. He put his face and a hand up to one of the windows, peering inside.