The Golden Perch Inn

[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.

[Folwren]

Dick stared with huge eyes at the dog. It was more terrifying than even the legends of Farmer Maggots dogs, which were by all accounts as fierce and large as any dragon! But this! This dog was as big as two dragons. Dick continued to stare.

He didn’t look very harmful, sitting upon his haunches (which were as big as a pony’s), with the tip of his tongue protruding just slightly. He met Dick’s eye squarely and then shut his mouth all the way and tilted his head slightly to the left, looking questioningly at the hobbit.

Dick suddenly came to his senses and jerked his eyes away. ‘Never look a dog in the eye!’ his mum had told him, whenever the topic came up. ‘It makes them mad and they’ll eat you!’ To a hobbit next to a dog this size, that was a very real threat.

“So long as he doesn’t disturb the other customer’s, I guess he will be alright,” he said.

[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?"