The Golden Perch Inn

[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.....’

[Rose]

Granny's walking stick meets Widlast's foot....

Penstemon walked slowly back toward the common room, her gnarled yew stick tap-tapping along the well worn floor boards. Curious sort of a day she mused to herself, the knobbly fingers of her left hand patting the little case in her apron pocket. And curiouser still she thought on, peering about the room as she stepped through the entryway. ‘My, my,’ Granny reaching her hand up to pat against her heart. It was as if the disappearance of Miz Celandine had never occurred.....and just this morn, too. Business at the Inn seemingly flowed on as usual.

Someone had tidied away her mug along with her plate of toast and jam, Granny noted. ‘All to the better, really,’ she thought, looking about for a place to sit down. There, on the far side of the fireplace, was a nice little table. Woolgathering as she ambled toward the inviting chair, she didn’t notice the boot sticking out in her pathway, the rather large boot. Her stick thumped down squarely on the top of it.

‘Begging your pardon, good sir!” she said, looking up in surprise at the man attached to the boot. ‘Didn’t mean to mash your foot so!!’

[Lilly]

Away from the Inn....but getting nearer

‘You had any thoughts, yet, on that letter, Hugh?’ Hands on hips, Will looked expectantly up at the postman.
Hugh lowered his flask of tea mid-swig and swiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘What’s that you said, Will?’ he asked, pushing the cork securely into the neck of the flask. His mind had been on how his hindside was beginning to ache a bit, to chafe in the saddle, what with all this hurrying along back to the Inn.

He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a considering sigh. ‘Well, let’s see. Hmmmm....it was a big thick letter. Much handled. You know....a number of dirty fingerprints and some water stains, too. Crumpled, probably from being stuffed into sacks, and pouches, and such.’ Hugh pursed his lips and nodded his head as something jogged his memory.’You know, I think the hunter fellow who passed it on to me said he’d come up from the south and....and the west. And he’d got it from another man.....Oh good gravy, I know something was said about that fellow, too, but I just can’t seem to remember.

[Ilya]

The warmth snug in the fireplace's stones rubbed against his temple and lulled Widlast into feeling lead-limbed and content, a sensation he knew would vanish in a moment as the aches of the road remembered themselves to his mind. He stuck out his boot and cracked his toes and sighed. Probing a bruise on his wrist, Widlast was sifting for what would've occasioned it when he felt something push on his boot. That one I'll be able to account for, he thought, and looking down in a saw a sturdy walking stick withdrawing quickly from the toe.

He followed the stick up to...quite a sight. Like the innkeeper, she looked no more than a child, but was snowy-haired, withered and weathered, and in a boisterous, venerable tone was making him an apology. "Didn’t mean to mash your foot so!!" she said. A blink was all the surprise he betrayed, though studying bright brown eyes age had not robbed of their quickness, Widlast wouldn't have been surprised if she'd caught it. He laughed a cracked, unseasoned laugh that scratched his throat coming up. "No worries, old mother," he said, "no worries at all."

Bending down to rub his toe, he felt the soreness more in his neck and shoulders than in his foot. "All's where it ought to be," Widlast said but too soon, for just as he spoke the bodkin tucked in his bracer came loose. He caught it ere it hit the ground, but these holbytlan seemed unalarmable folk until they were alarmed. The last thing he wanted was to be chased out of Stock for supposed thuggery on account of a hidden dagger. As though backing away from a spooked horse, he lowered his eyes and rummaged through his haversack and, graces be, found a bruised apple within. He made sure to cut it in a slow, measured way, and offered the first piece to the holbytla woman, hoping the creases made by his smile would cloak those of his nerves.

[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?”

[Strongbow]

"Ah," Tarden replied. "Only two things more: first, forgive me for my lack of manners! I am Tarden, son of Taros of Gondor, at your service and your family's!" he said with a bit of pomp, placing his left hand on his breast and bowing low to the hobbit. "And with me is Meglis, son of Frodda, of the Mark. Meglis, speak!" His command was obeyed in earnest, with the dog letting out a bark that boomed through the room and the halls.

"And second, Mister Boffin, I ask that you let me settle in. I shall return to the common room shortly," he said, motioning to Meglis and closing the door behind him. He strode through the room, admiring the craftsmanship and choosing his bed. He set his pack down, and also set to unstringing his bow. The unstrung bow he leaned in the corner, with his sword in its sheath.

Next, he redressed himself, making himself more presentable. His mail coat came off, the rings jingling slightly as he folded it and set it in the bottom of his pack. Without thinking, Tarden's fingers went to his back, and he rubbed one of the purple whip marks that he still bore from his days with the Corsairs. His muscles tensed, and he drew his hand away, replacing a shirt on his person. It was at this moment that Tarden realized that he hadn't truly rested, that is in a bed, in a room, in a house, for at least a fortnight. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking of his boots and rubbing his feet a bit. Meglis sidled up beside the bed and Tarden stroked his massive head.

He laid back on the comfortable pillows, and sleep came over him in the afternoon.

His dreams, the ones he could remember, were queer. He could see a golden light in the distance, and he could remember that the light was calling to him. "Tarden...Tarden..." it called quietly, but clearly. The voice was that of a female. He did not recognize it. The world around him was a dim grey, not very defined by shapes, but it looked as if he were looking above a fire, with the waves of heat and the smoke distorting all he saw. But it wasn't on the environment that his attention was on. It was the light. It was getting closer. And closer. And closer. So much so that he could nearly grab it. It was so bright, so lovely. He reached out a hand and...

Falling.

Tarden woke up with a start, blinking with wild, animal-like suspicion around the room.

[Lilly]

Away from the Inn....but getting nearer

Hugh hummed to himself at times as Jolly plodded along behind Will’s pony, and often, too, quite loudly. He found that it helped him to think if he engaged in some mindless activity. And at the moment, he was humming one the tunes his dear old mum used to sing as she did the family clothes washing.

‘Why that’s it!’ he cried out all of a sudden yanking back sharply on his pony’s reins. ‘You, there, lad!’ he called out to Will, motioning for him to draw near.

‘That letter,’ he said wagging his finger at Will. ‘Now this is going to sound quite mad to you, I’m sure. But it’s the honest truth. That place where it was from....I remember the fellow who gave it to me said the fellow as gave it to him had come up from somewhere as sounded like.....let’s see now – "wash", "washing". No, now that’s not it.’ Hugh scrunched up his face and thought hard. ‘ "Launder"....that’s what he said, or at least something real close to it. “Launder”....’

‘That and he said the fellow told him he’d come up from the end of the river.....’

[Nessa Telrunya]

Nessa's hand fell upon something wooden. She felt around, checking the shape. Apparently it was a fence. There came the sounds of people and horses, but of all the voices, the elf could not make out the one of her travel companion, Rithri. What on Arda could have happened to seperate them? She closed her blind eyes, not wanting to alarm the owners of the surrounding voices, walking down the fence yet not letting go.

Now her hands fell on the wood of walls, and she continued, hoping to find a door. Perhaps the people inside would kindly help her to find Rithri. And if the older elf were not here, hopefully her brother Amras would come looking for her.

Nessa found a door and, taking a deep breath, knocked upon it thrice. She did not know that, instead of a private residence, she had found the Golden Perch Inn.

[Loslote]

Idhreniel walked softly into the Inn. She slipped past an elf making her way in and sat down at the back. She hoped not to stay long, for she still needed to deliver her message to Cirdan. It had grown too dark to travel, however, and she needed a place to stay. This inn would do nicely. She only wished it weren't so crowded.

Idhreniel gathered her courage and walked up to the counter. "Please, sir," she whispered, but she couldn't hear herself over the noise of the inn. She spoke louder. "Sir," she tried again, "could you tell me whether any elves from Rivendell are here?" Idhreniel wondered what was happening at home, and hoped to gather news.

[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?’

[Undómë]

‘Hmmmm....perhaps if I work my way nearer to those two I can find out what they’re talking about.’ Rowan fetched a pot of hot, sweetspice tea, mugs, a basket of toast, and small jar of honey and one of blackberry jam. Fixing a cheerful smile on her face, she made her way toward where Granny and the Man were sharing an apple.

‘Thought you two might like something to fill in around your slices,’ she said brightly, putting the tray she carried down on the table.

[Ilya]

Widlast had paused with his tongue pressed against his teeth when the serving lass came over. "Nothing for me, mistress, thank you kindly," he said, shaking his head more from bewilderment than anything else. What he'd heard of these parts was an insular folk, creatures who could vanish into the ground. And there was trouble here too, he sensed that, for all the easy stillness of the inn. Yet these two were civil, chatty, even. He fingered the serving tray, and then looked back up, at the old woman still relishing her apple-slice, and the younger girl, a easy smile trying to hold back the sheer weight of her curiosity. No, he could not conjure these holbytlan in a hole in the ground.

"Penstemon...Campanulatus, the bell-flower," he mused and then answered her. "I am Widlast," shrugging and running a hand through his hair, he leaned back against the wall. Hopefully, a foreign-sounding word or two would do for the pair. The elder seemed sharp, and as he picked at the dirt under his thumb, he knew the more she asked the more likely it would be that he'd have to lie.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen found herself a free table by a window and having stowed her case under the bench installed herself on its padded seat - even old Elvish bones appreciate some comfort - the stools would be fine for the twins when they came in. Besides it meant she could see what was going on outside as well as in the common room - and there was definitely something going on though she had not the chance to ask Mr Boffin about it .

Perhaps the children would have found out she thought, they were certainly taking their time with the pony she mused as she folded her grey cloak and placed it neatly next to her. But here they were,slipping in to the room as subtly as cats, seemingly on better terms that when they had left her. That was something.

She spoke to them softly, in their own tongue "Here you are - what kept you? I have spoken to Mr Boffin myself so it can't be that? - the rooms are arranged but if one of you could arrange some tea that would be lovely. I think we may be too late for breakfast and too early for lunch - but I get the impression that today isn't quite a normal day"

Her niece slid off in the direction of the kitchen while her nephew replied:

"There was no one about in the yard so we sorted Bracken out ourselves - found him an empty stall and hay and water and left his harness on a rack in the tack-room. If it is wrong it'll have to be put right later. The trap we have just left for now - I think it will be alright but I don't know about the things in it. Should we bring them in?"

Mithalwen thought of the hobbit she had seen when she first arrived - he had looked decidedly shify, and while it was unfair to judge on first sight, they had seemed to have been interrogating him. However it seemed she couldn't even give her craft away now so maybe a thief would be doing her a favour.

"Don't worry - I have the most important things here with me - and I am sure Mr Boffin will arrange things with his stableman. You have made your peace with your sister have you not? "

Cir nodded. Clearly it was going to be hard to keep much from their aunt.

"And you aren't going to tell me about it?"

The boy looked uncomfortable and lowerered his gaze -"It doesn't matter anymore..." his voice trailed, reluctant to speak in his sister's absence but aware that his aunt seemed to know regardless of whether he spoke or not.

"hmm, well maybe I can guess, but we'll leave it for now at least. Now when Enpauriel returns with that tea, I think you may have your presents - not that I am quite sure you deserve them". Mithalwen added with a grin.

[Strongbow]

He had passed many miles, from Imladris to the Shire. He had chosen, on a whim, to avoid The Prancing Pony, and instead he had wound around the Weather Hills, taking his time. The Dúnedain had told him that the Men of Bree would look down on him, and told him that the rumors of haunting of Fornost, which Men called "Deadman's Dike", where just that: rumors. So, Tarden son of Taros has traveled over the lonely country with only his trusted companion, Meglis.

Just west of Fornost Erain, Tarden turned sharply south to meet the Road as it entered the Shire. The Baranduin was too wide and deep to ford, and even though he would keep south more than was necessary, he was forced to take the Bucklebury Ferry into the Eastfarthing. The Ferry itself had given him no trouble, although the ferry-hobbits were a bit afraid of his dog. His dog was bigger than he was. The people of the Eastfarthing were very open towards him, particularly in Buckland, and many a time was he directed to his destination: the Golden Perch, where there was, reputedly, the best beer in the Eastfarthing. As a matter of fact, he had heard that particular phrase several times that day.

Very odd, he thought it, that there were that many riders on the Road, just inside the borders of the Shire. His eyes could descry, in the far distance, the Perch, set in the side of a hill, and many posts for horses outside. Uneventfully, he came to the place, the golden sun hammering home the Golden name of the Inn. He had already heard that a many of his size would have to stoop to enter into the place, and the round door was not wide enough for him and Meglis to go through at the same time.

His eyes squinted in the difference of the lighted as he bent himself near double, and stood up finally, his eyes darting about, spying the fireplace, and the counter. He smiled at the Common Room, and turned to the counter, to the hobbit behind the counter.

"Sir," he inquired politely. "Would it be alright for my dog to follow? I assure you, he's quite well-behaved, and will follow any word I tell him." As if to demonstrate his good behavior, the black, bear-like beast sat, trying to look as sweet as he can.