The Golden Perch Inn

[Elfchick7]

When Luriniel finally awoke, she could not believe how late it had become. Never had she allowed herself to waste so much time in sleep. She looked over to Nienna and found that she still slept soundly. Was it just exhaustion that held her sister in such a deep sleep her was it something more? Luriniel stood and found that it took a great deal of effort. Her body ached all over. Nienna slept peacefully. It had been many days since Nienna had looked so rested. What was it that Vehil had given her to make her sleep so long? Luriniel wondered, Why did I sleep this day away? She felt Nienna's head for fever, but there was none. Seeing that her sister was breathing normally and that the wound was healing nicely, Luriniel sighed with relief.

What next Luriniel? Can you afford to risk staying here a few days longer? Is Nienna well enough to travel? Is Melinor still searching for you? Does he care, or no longer? Too many questions. She paced the room anxiously as she weighed her options. Still feeling weak, she took her chair once more. She let her mind wander back to the days before her father betrayed them. Her mother was still living and Melinor, her betrothed from childhood, was still with her. When doubt was cast upon their family and they were treated with undue suspicion, Melinor stayed faithful. He did all in his power to console her when her mother passed and her Father fled. Why mother? You abandoned your will to live. Could you not see how much we needed you? It wasn't long after that the sisters fled from their home. Luriniel knew that Melinor would try to follow, so she drugged him in order to give herself a better lead. For several months, she was a aware of his attempts to track them. Somehow she could sense him. Then his presence grew more and more faint. It became very rare for her to sense him at all. Finally, it became to Luriniel as if his presence was no more. She felt as if her last hope died that day, the day when she lost Melinor. Yet, how could she grieve when things had been so much worse for Nienna.

Nienna had been so close to their father, then suddenly found him becoming distant from her. Loving him too much, she pushed aside warnings that he had allied himself with evil. When he was finally exposed as a traitor, suspicion fell heavily on Nienna. She too was intended for marriage, but her betrothed met her in the Hall of Thranduil and publicly denounced her. Luriniel hated him for that. She saw the shame slowly crush Nienna under its weight and knew that they had to leave. In all there travels, Nienna never blamed those who sought to betray her. Luriniel marveled at her sister's goodness. She knew that if she lost her sister, she could not go on. Eru, if you have not wholly rejected these poor sisters of Mirkwood, you daughters, please save my sister. Do not let this wound take her. Looking worriedly over at her sleeping sister, Luriniel wept bitterly. Nienna stirred and Luriniel rushed to her side only to find that her sister continued to sleep soundly. Luriniel rose from the bedside and left to room to seek food before the Inn closed up for the night.

[Envinyatar]

In the distance the lights from the inn glinted softly in the falling dusk. It was a welcoming sight against the growing dusk. Hithadan stopped for a moment beneath the cottonwoods which grew along this little stretch of the brook. With a oomph of tiredness he leaned against the slender beech branch he’d fashioned into a walking stick, balancing on it and his right leg to take a bit of pressure from his left. He chided himself both for the injury to his leg and the careless actions that had promoted it.

‘That’s what comes of too much drink, you knot-head!’ he said aloud to a small bird peeping down at him from the branches of a tree. The bird, startled by his voice and the large presence of the man beneath him, twittered and flew off. The Ranger’s laughter followed after the bird’s seeming protest. And he called a bit louder, as if to apologize. ‘Not you little one! It’s this clumsy two-foot here who is the knot-head!’ There had been a number of rounds of drinks several days ago at the Pony in Bree; some bought by him, some by others. Tongues had loosened amidst the ale-driven camaraderie and some very interesting pieces of news had been boasted about. Doings especially from the south and east were valuable bits, no matter how small. To be passed on and sifted through with other news from other places by those whose task it was to keep the larger picture in mind.

At any rate, he’d drunk a drink, or two even, beyond his normal and had not been as nimble footed as he’d needed when he left the inn. A scattering of loose rock and pebbles had caught him off guard; and to be short, he'd fallen. Rather ungracefully so; twisting his left ankle and putting a rather nasty gash in his lower leg. He’d managed it this far, but now his leg and ankle were swollen fat as a Bree summer-sausage, and just as darkish red as one, too.

Hithadan hobbled the last distance to the inn and a little further round to the side door to the kitchen. He had a delivery for Cook. One of the merchants traveling in Bree had asked him to deliver a small sack of some beans, coffee beans he’d said. And he’d be mightily thankful should Hithadan be able to take them along with him to The Perch.

Stopping briefly at the pump in the kitchen yard, Hithadan washed off the grime from his travels as best he might. He shook off what leaves and dirt he could from his cloak and brushed off his pants; at last straightening his tunic into some semblance of order.

‘Delivery for Mistress Brandybuck!’ he called out, holding out the rough cotton sack as he entered.

The kitchen seemed in a frantically busy state. Without so much as a welcome, one of the Hobbits quickly took the offered bag from him and shoved a large potato masher into his just emptied grasp. A steaming pot of just drained potatoes was pointed out to him.

‘Bit of a tizzy here, Master H. Use those Big Folk muscles of yours and whip these taters into shape, won’t you?’ he heard the Hobbit’s voice say. Not waiting for an answer, the Hobbit headed to the common room with a basket of biscuits and a pot of jam. Hithadan leaned against the counter where the pot stood and fell to with the masher.

[Tiffany Aching]

Miribelle was a bit distracted. There were wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, especially as the servers went in and out the kitchen’s door. Her mouth watered at the thought of the main meal to come. And it was with a struggle of will that she refrained from getting up to have another helping of biscuits and jam.

The question in Tavaro’s voice drew her attention back to what he had been saying. ‘I have to admit the only tunnels I’m familiar with are those we Hobbits have made for our homes.’ She echoed a part of the Dwarvish refrain he’d just hummed. ‘It’s a very big song those Dwarves have made,’ she went on. ‘Lovely, really, but I should think their voices would rumble through our little tunnels like a winter’s storm through the willows along the river. Too big for our walls.’ She hummed a little more, a spark coming into her eyes at the deep beauty of the song. ‘But you’re right . . . wouldn’t it just be grand to hear this echoing in the great cavern beneath the mountains!’ Spots of color bloomed on the Hobbit’s cheeks at the daring idea she’d briefly entertained of such an adventure as that might be.

‘I really do like those little pictures that you’ve drawn, Master Tavaro,’ she continued, reining back her imaginings. ‘Tell me, what has struck your fancy here in the Shire? Have you ever been to one of the mid-summer parties here in Stock? Plenty of songs and storytelling at those.’ She eyed his tall, lean figure. ‘Why you might even like to join in a springle-ring!’ Miribelle tapped her toes in a lively rhythm as she smiled at him. ‘Keeps you young, you know!’

[Undómë]

‘Well I can see your mother raised you up right, Master Hithadan!’

Rowan had just sailed back in through the door from the common room after having made the announcement that dinner was imminent. Though, she didn’t exactly use that word. ‘Loosen your belts, Good Folk! Supper is on its way!’ she’d called out as she arranged several baskets of hot biscuits on one end of a long line of tables she’d had put together. A number of the lads she’d drafted into helping her in this table moving task grinned at her and one or two winked and some rubbed their hands together in anticipation of the long awaited meal.

Hithadan had whipped the taters into a mountain of light and smooth delight. She dipped a clean finger into the inviting mound and savored the taste. ‘Ooh! And didn’t she use a lot of butter, and cream, too,’ she went on, holding up the empty jug that stood near the pot. ‘Why, I’ll bet she’s a Hobbit at heart if not by birth!’

She fetched down three huge serving bowls and divided the mashed potatoes among them. These went on to a large serving tray along with three carefully mounded platters of chicken. On another tray went several big bowls of buttery glistened peas and four large gravy boats.

‘Will, you get the one with the chicken and taters. Prim you take in the cutlery and more tea and mugs. I’ll grab up the peas and gravy.’

She cast a glance at the Ranger as he began to limp toward the door to the common room. ‘Best you stay here, Master Masher. I can see you’re hobbling now that you’re moving about. Go on, sit down at the table and put that leg up on a chair. I’ll dish you up a plate of food and bring you a pint of ale.’

Rowan hefted the tray of peas and gravy boats to her shoulder and made for the door. ‘Right then, my hungry friends. Get yourselves a plate and some cutlery and start the line – one on each side of the tables, if you please. Serve yourself. No pushing, please. There's plenty! Eat up; eat up. A little something sweet will follow.’

Though what that will be is anyone’s guess! she thought to herself as she dished up a generous helping of chicken, taters, gravy and peas for the ranger. Grabbing a large mug of ale from the bar, she made her way quickly back to the kitchen.

‘Cook!’ she called as she sat the plate in front of Hithadan along with the mug. ‘What have we got for dessert?’

[Tam Lin]

He’d just begun to inquire about the “springle-ring” Mistress Rushybanks had spoken of when the servers came through the door, food and drink balanced carefully on their hands. He could see his Hobbit companion’s face light up at the sight of the repast now being spread on the tables, and indeed his own stomach seemed to be rumbling a decidedly non-Elvenlike response to the savory scents.

‘After you,’ he said getting up from his seat and offering his arm to Miribelle. They made an odd couple as they wound their way toward the tables.

Plate mounded with the inviting offerings from the tables, Tavaro walked carefully back to his table. He put his plate and mug down on the table’s top and pulled out the chair for his tablemate. ‘Let’s dig in,’ he said, sitting down himself. ‘We’ll talk about springle-rings over dessert, eh?’

[Elfchick7]

After eating her fill, Luriniel returned to her sister's room and found, in the closet, several heavy blankets, which she used to make a place to sleep on the floor next to Nienna's bed. Then, she went over to her pack and pulled out a leather bound book, a quill, and a bottle of ink. After marking the date, she wrote:

Second day at the Golden Perch Inn. Nienna still sleeps, but her wounds seem to be healing. We are both receiving long needed rest. It has been many years since we could go a full day without constantly glancing about to guard against trouble. Still, no sign of Melinor. Wherever he is, I wish him well. I will rest again, while I may.

She closed the book and returned it to her belongings. Having checked Nienna once again for fever and finding her temperature to be a bit low, Luriniel took a couple of the blankets and tucked them warmly around her sister. She worried that Nienna was sleeping so deeply, but she could not think on it for much longer as her eyes were growing heavy with sleepiness. She laid down on her makeshift bed and gave in to the weariness that was overwhelming her travel worn body. As she drifted out of consciousness she whispered in her heart a soft prayer that the dream might not come to her on this night.

[Arry]

Will followed in Rowan’s wake. Behind him he could hear the happy chatter of those now digging into their meals; before him, he caught Rowan’s question about dessert. He saw Cook wave vaguely in the direction of the pantry. ‘I’ll see to it,’ he called out to Rowan who was seeing to a cup of tea for the Ranger, in addition to the mug of ale she’d already brought him.

‘Let’s see,’ he said, pulling back the pantry door. He walked quickly past the bins of flour and sugar, past the tins of tea, and boxes of peppercorns and paprika. Though it was dim in the pantry and he hadn’t brought a candle in with him, he knew just where to look, not because he helped out with the cooking, but because he had a sweet tooth. And since he’d been taken on at the Inn he’d manage to ferret out the various hiding places Cook had for her pastries and other baked goods.

As he recollected, there had been spice cookies left over from day before yesterday’s lunch. And they would only have improved with a few days’ aging. Now where had the old gal put them?

He checked all the usual places and found nothing save for a half a treacle tart left from yesterday. ‘Ah hah!’ he said aloud, reaching his hand behind the crockery jar filled with raisins. There was the large wooden chest Cook often stored away her extra cookies. He hauled it off the deep pantry shelf and brought it out to the kitchen.

‘Well, that’s taken care of, then,’ he said as he sat the chest down near the kitchen table. He fetched himself a plate piled high with chicken and all the trimmings and sat down opposite Hithadan. If you’re not going to drink that ale, man, maybe I could take care of it for you, eh?’ He glanced at the Ranger’s leg as it rested on the kitchen chair. ‘What ever happened to you?’