The Golden Perch Inn

[Volo]

When the hobbit said "Oh, no. You're very kind indeed, but I'm afraid this coin can't be easily replaced. You see, it's special. It's very old and has a picture of a dwarf axe on one side", Colren became sad. Not understanding why, but guessing that it was some hidden memory. What do I have against coins... or dwarves? Coins are just coins and dwarves... well, they are just dwarves, no reason to dislike them. Still Colren didn't like the idea of this.

An elf came and gave the hobbit, Tollers his coin. That is that. Now, without any more messing, to eat! Though, this elf woman... Colren couldn't place an elf into his life, but he didn't feel too happy about them either. Neither elves seemed mysterious Hobbits on the other side, they are really nice. Live a happy life, what else could anyone want. He did feel that he would talk much more with the strangers in the inn.

As Colren was brushing his clothes clean and watching somewhere into the corner, Tollers managed to say something about supper, music and joining him. Corlen turned and looked Tollers into his eyes. The hobbit continued "You know, I'm just a simple farm lad, but I bet you two both have some wild stories to tell." "A simple farm lad" doesn't sound so bad. But how can I know, doubt that I would be a good farmer... I'd be happy to chat with Tollers, but the elf... Oh, I'll try... "Wild stories", I can't really be telling those, I know less wild stories than any hobbit. At the moment. The elf can do the storytelling! Colren smiled again. "It would be an honor to eat with you two. If it's fine with you, let's sit in a corner." Colren turned to the elf, "I am Naren. Rarelly meet so easygoing elves..." Huh? Why did I say that? Aargh, this hidden memory makes me mad! I might not even want to know the answer to all this. Why can't I just live peacefully? Colren's smile wasn't real anymore.

[Envinyatar]

Hithadan sat back in his chair, his hand going up to rub the back of his neck. ‘Ah, well, I did have someone I thought would need keeping watch on. A shady looking fellow I had my eye on before he came to the inn. He looked a ruffian or near enough one that I wanted to make sure he didn’t bother the good folks hereabouts.’

He took a swallow of the tea Tavaro had poured for him and watched as the Elf continued to sketch. ‘What about you? What business brings you here?’

[Mithalwen]

Cir had taken the harp for himself. He could play flutes and the like well enough but stringed instruments seemed to have more individual personalities, of course it would not provide the same excuse not to sing. He touched its strings, it was small and horribly out of tune but he could soon fix that at least and it seemed sweet voiced enough. His slender hands had turned the pegs gently trying each note gently so as not to disturb the company until they started properly. His ears were able to distiguish the harp's notes at a level almost inaudible to mortals and he finished with a pianisimmo glissando.

He was ready to begin, when a voice sounded tentatively at his side ‘Pardon me are you going to sing some Elvish songs for us?’.

Carantilion looked at Taffy, mesmerised a little by the hobbit child, "Well we thought we would mainly sing things that everyone might know and tunes for dancing" but seeing the child's face drop in disappointment he added " but we will sing some Elvish songs if you want us to but you know our songs can sound very sad ...won't you mind that?".

[Valesse]

Valesseka frowned to herself. There was a pair of elves not far from her, accompanied with an even smaller version of the short beings which filled this place, and though she could clearly hear Taffy and Carantilion speaking to one another, she could not hear a single note the other elf had played on his harp.

Trying not to be obvious about it, the Arnorian leaned in toward the trio. It had been a while since she had heard any decent music. There was very little to sing about on the road she had just travelled, and for most of the journey she lacked the spirit to consider it.

Suddenly noticing her thirst she abandoned her post and slid toward the counter and waited semi-patiently for a working to catch sight of her. Hopefully it wouldn't be a long wait. The elves looked about ready to preform and Valesseka did not want to miss a moment of it.

[Lilly]

. . . but you know our songs can sound very sad ...won't you mind that?

Taffy found the Elf’s voice quite bewitching, and he could not feature at first how such a lovely voice could deliver unhappy sounds. He craned his head to the right and looked up at the fair face. As lovely as the fellow’s voice was, the Elf’s features were even more delightful.

Except his eyes…

They were grey; the sort of grey as hovered over the river and the lakes near Taffy’s home. A sad sort of grey that for a moment made the young Hobbit feel as if he were in the presence of something very, very old.

The boy looked away. Sad or not, though, the words and tunes might be, Taffy thought, he had a longing to hear them.

‘Well, my Granpa sings sad songs, too, sometimes. Especially when the little forest near us turns from fall towards winter and the river gets a little crust of ice along its banks. We have a nice little fire in the fireplace and tell stories and Granpa gets down his little fiddle and sings . . . songs about things he remembers from way back.’

Taffy stepped back from Cir a ways, so that he could see the Elf without craning his neck. ‘Here’s one my Granpa sings and we all get real quiet when he does. He makes it sound so sad with his voice and his fiddle.’

He stood tall, as his Granpa said he should when he sang, and clasped his hand behind his back. The first few notes were hesitant as he tried to recall the tune, then his little boy’s voice rang out soft and pure.

Oh! Calm was the lake of Coolfin on that day,
When o'er its wide waters we glided along,
No cloud in the heavens o'er shadow'd our way,
And light hearted laughter was join'd in our song.

The wild winds of Winter now sweep o'er the lake,
The snowdrift lies deep on its desolate shore,
The roll of the thunder its echoes awake,
And summer time smiles on its bosom no more.

As bright is the sunshine of youth's early day,
As gay are the pleasures our life may begin;
In this world below they must soon pass away,
And be overcast as the lake of Coolfin....

The last note faded away and he looked expectantly toward the Elf.

‘Well, there you go. One of my Granpa’s sad songs. Your turn…’

[piosenniel]

Tanni leaned her cheek against the palm of her hand, her arm resting on the smooth top of the table. So wrapt in the song and the lad’s voice, she was unaware that her elbow rested in a small puddle of water earlier spilled from her mug.

‘Well done!’ she cried out, clapping her hands in delight as he finished his song. ‘Lovely, wasn’t it?’ she asked turning to Rhys.

He was silently fingering the tune on his fiddle, fixing the melody in such manner in his mind for later play. ‘We should ask him to go over the words with us later,’ Rhys replied. ‘Tis a lovely tune.’ He picked up his bow and put it to the strings. ‘Let’s do this one, eh?’ he he said nodding at Tanni.

She stood at his side and spoke loud enough to be heard above the clatter of mug and cutlery and the conversation. ‘Since it’s a sad song this lad has sung, my brother and I would like to add another. That is, if you don't mind. One we heard in our travels . . . one from along a lonely, rock strewn strand on the Great Sea . . .

~*~

By the storm-torn shoreline, a woman is standing,
The spray strung like jewels in her hair;
And the sea tore the rocks near that desolate landing,
As though it had known she stood there.

For she has come down to condemn that wild ocean,
For the murderous loss of her man;
His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning,
And it's feared she's gone down with all hands.

Oh, and white were the wave caps and wild was their parting,
So fierce is the warring of love;
But she prayed to the gods, both of men and of sailors,
Not to cast their cruel nets o'er her love.

Now she has come down to condemn that wild ocean,
For the murderous loss of her man;
His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning,
And it's feared she's gone down with all hands.

There's a school on the hill where the sons of dead fathers,
Are led toward tempests and gales;
Where their God-given wings are clipped close to their bodies,
And their eyes are bound 'round with ship's sails.

And she has come down to condemn that wild ocean,
For the murderous loss of her man;
His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning,
And it's feared she's gone down with all hands.

What force leads a man to a life filled with danger,
High on seas or a mile underground?
It's when need is his master and poverty's no stranger,
And there's no other work to be found.

But she has come down to condemn that wild ocean,
For the murderous loss of her man;
His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning,
And it's feared she's gone down with all hands.

[Tam Lin]

‘What about you?’ Hithadan asked. ‘What business brings you here?’ The man looked at him expectantly.

‘Shhhh!’ Tavaro put his finger to his lips and raised and eyebrow at his friend. ‘She has a lovely voice, don’t you think so?’ He steepled his fingers and rested his chin lightly on them. ‘It is an altogether different sort of sadness that the Secondborn bear, or so I think,’ he murmured, listening to melody as it underwove the singer’s words. ‘We Firstborn cannot know it, long as we might for the World as it once was.’ He gave his companion the briefest of half smiles. ‘There is no taste of death for us. We do not pass away from this world. The world passes away from us; fades . . .’

His gaze slid from the woman to the small boy. ‘Elven songs are lovely, I’ll give you that. But those of Men are bittersweet. And of late I find them much to my liking.’

Tavaro nodded to the woman and man as they finished their song. ‘I hope they will sing another. Do you think they might?’