The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

It is mid-noon now in the Shire. The sky is a glorious shade of blue; the sun is shining bright and warm on the Inn.

Lunch is done. Most of those in the Common Room are relaxing with a mug of their favorite brew and a good smoke.

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Just a reminder:

The storyline at the Inn must stay within the Inn or on the Inn grounds. Characters can tell others in the Inn about their adventures, but they cannot go outside the boundaries of the Inn and participate in adventures.

--- The Red Book of Westmarch/Rules for posting in the Shire

[piosenniel]

Cook and Lithmîrë


‘Well, there you are! My stars! I had forgotten how quiet you folk can be.’ Cook trundled into the shady little bower and put her basket on one of the chairs set by the little table in the center of the grass. The bright mid-afternoon sun filtered through the leaves if the trees, dappling the area.

She swept the few leaves that had fallen on the table top off and directed Lithmîrë to get out the little tablecloth and put it on the table. Once done, the cups and little plates were put on along with some fireweed honey and the tray of tarts she had packed in the basket. Indicating that he should go ahead and be seated, she poured them both a cup of lemon thyme with ginger tea and passed him the honey.

Nice lady, Mistress Zimzi is,’ she said in a light, conversational tone as she passed the tarts to him. ‘Wedded our stablemaster, Derufin, just a bit ago. And now they’ve settled down in the groundskeeper’s cottage there. She’s from Lindon, that one. An artist . . . with clay. Master Derufin’s our all around handy man. Fine man. Happy now and I’m glad of it.’ She shook her head gently as a sad thought crept in. ‘Fought in the war there in the east. Had a wife and two little babies back then. Found they were killed by Orcs when he was away.’ She shivered a little and took a deep breath. ‘Goodness, I didn’t mean to be so gloomy. We’ve all got our problems don’t we. And luckily most can find a way to the other side of them.’ She took a generous dollop of honey and stirred it into her steaming tea.

‘Enough of that, anyway.’ She settled back comfortably in her chair and munched on a tart. ‘Tell me about the places you gardened. What sorts of plants did you grow there? And how did you find the soil?’

[Envinyatar]

The bargain was sealed with a last mug of ale before the four men went out to the back yard outside the Inn’s kitchen door. Derufin grinned at Anyopa as Benat and Hob began to split and stack wood. ‘They’ll have it done in a trice,’ he whispered as he passed by with an armload of wood for the woodshed. ‘A round of Dwarven spirits is small price to pay for a little rest for ourselves this afternoon.’

He called out a word of challenge to the Hobbit and the Beorning, saying what laggards they were, and how two mere men were going to beat them at this contest . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Ferdy had only a moment to stay before he had to go back to work. He’d given her the bouquet of lupine and witch-hazel and they’d had a cup of cider together . . . all under the watchful eye of Granny Oldbuck. Ginger could tell he was wanting to ask her something but he hemmed and hawed until the very last moment as he got up to leave.

‘Well, of course, I’ll go to the Spring Fair with you,’ she said laughing as he mumbled the request quickly toward her. Before he was even out the door she was planning the new skirt and blouse she would make to wear.

Tucking one of the small sprigs of witch-hazel in her coppery hair, she poured a last cup of hot tea for Granny Oldbuck and went out to the common room to see if there were anything she might do. Preparations for supper were all done, and she had some time on her hands.

There were several new faces as she made her way between the tables. A Dwarf and a young Hobbit lass were engaged in conversation and the sharing of a generous platter of mushrooms.

And there in the corner sat another lass. ‘Not from around here,’ Ginger noted to herself, taking in the unfamiliar face. Bright sun from one of the Inn windows poured in, lighting up a section of the room. The Hobbit, though, she noted had settled herself in a gloomy corner of the Inn. She was smoking a pipe, her eyes darting about at the rest of those in the room, and all the while, she seemed to be nervously fingering the hem of her dark blue cloak.

‘What’s got the wind up her?’ Ginger wondered. She picked up a pitcher of cider and a mug and made her way back to the corner table, stopping every now and then along the way to top off other customers’ drinks.

‘Hello, there, Miss,’ Ginger said, placing the empty mug in front of the Hobbit. ‘Welcome to the Green Dragon. May I offer you some cider?’

[Larien Telemnar]

The Hobbit jumped at a voice next to her. She looked at the other Hobbitlass and smiled faintly.

"I'm so sorry, I did not see you. Yes please, and thank you." She looked down at her hands for a moment. Say something anything. She's being friendly. You can't be shy forever. You're not at home anymore. She thought, swinging her feet back and forth uncomfortably. She finally resolved to say something.

"I am Larien, who might you be?" She asked, thinking how boring a conversation starter that must be.

[Lasbelinion]

One’s own thoughts seemed to flee in the presence of Cook. It’s as if she wove magics with her words. Though not the sort as his kindred could, but of a simpler, more mundane variety. It was an earthy sort of discernment that took one out of consideration as a central point, a solitary point and instead placed one firmly within the fabric of the Shire. And here he was. In the Shire.

We’ve all got our problems don’t we? And luckily most can find a way to the other side of them.

Where would that leave me, he wondered to himself.

He watched her as she smoothed out the tablecloth and brought out the sweets and the tea. With a few light words she directed his help. He rolled her requests about in his mind. He did not find that they rankled. Not orders from master to slave. An underlying assumption of being on the same footing, of camaraderie smoothed the edges.

Does she chide me with her talk of the woman and the man? Should I have been more forthcoming, less given to judgment without all the facts?

Lithmîrë covered his quandaries with sips of the refreshing tea. The warmth of it and the closeness of the bower as the trees blocked the breezes made him raise his hand, unthinking to push back his hood.

‘Tell me about the places you gardened. What sorts of plants did you grow there? And how did you find the soil?’ he heard her say. Before answering he looked closely at her, gauging her reaction to his scars.

[Primrose Bolger]

Talking to Larien

‘Larien. That’s a lovely name. I’ve not heard it before.’ Ginger poured a small mug of cider for herself and sat down. ‘My name’s Ginger Gamwich. From Hobbiton, not too far across the road. Mostly I work in the kitchen, helping Cook. But right now everything’s ready for supper, so I’ve got a break for a while. You don’t mind if I sit with you, do you?’

One of the other servers, Buttercup, came by and left a plate of little plum tarts for the two lasses. Ginger took one and passed the plate to Larien. ‘You planning on staying for a little while,’ Ginger asked as she munched on the sweet. ‘There’s going to be the Spring Faire in less than a week. Right here at the Inn. Or are you just passing through?’

Gosh, Ginger Gamwich you needn’t be so nosy right off! She sighed and took a sip of her cider, hoping she hadn’t sounded too nosy.

[Larien Telemnar]

‘Larien. That’s a lovely name. I’ve not heard it before.’

"Thank you." Larien murmered as Ginger poured a mug of cider. "Yours is very nice, too." Another Hobbitlass placed a plate on their table. Ginger passed it to Larien after taking one for herself. Larien smiled shyly and took one as well.

She listened quietly as Ginger asked her a few questions.

"I- I do no know if I will be staying. I though to visit The Shire before returning to...." Her voice trailed off and she smiled ruely. "Yes, I believe I will be staying. The Shire is a pleasant place, I belive I shall enjoy living among my own people for a while. What is this "Spring Faire" You talk about? Is it some kind of contest, perhaps for archery?"

Larien smiled and felt the tension she was feeling begin to fade as she relaxed and decided that Ginger was a fine young Hobbitlass. Perhaps I have made my first friend here. She thought.

[piosenniel]

Lithmîrë and the pot of salve

Cook dipped down for a moment and fished about in the basket she’d set at her feet. Somewhere, near the bottom she supposed, was something she had been waiting for the opportune moment to bring out. ‘Oh, I know it’s in here somewhere,’ came the muffled and slightly exasperated voice beneath the edge of the table.

Her hand made purchase on the rim of the pot (it had slipped under the two towels she’d wrapped the flask of tea in). ‘There we go,’ she said shoving her bonnet back into place as she straightened up. With a small nod and an encouraging smile, she scooted the pot across the narrow distance that separated them.

‘Now, please don’t think me too forward, Master Lithmîrë,’ she said, gesturing that he should open the pot. ‘I couldn’t help but notice earlier that your hand looked like it had been burnt. And a while ago, from the scarring. My late husband was a soapmaker. When we were first married there was an accident. He was boiling down the mixture and he slipped from the stool he was standing on at the kettle’s edge. My stars! What a burn he got on his arm; the one that slipped in. Anyways, to make a long story shorter, I had to cobble up a number of salves and lotions to help him out along the way. Couldn’t heal it up, of course. The lye water and hot grease had burnt too deeply. But it did ease up the pain of it and kept the scars from making the limb so stiff.’

Cook gave resigned sigh as she surveyed the scars on the Elf’s face and arm. ‘Wish you’d come through Bywater sooner; that it hadn’t gotten so bad as it must be by now.’ She cocked her head at him and hesitated, wondering how he would take her next question. ‘Are you using tincture of poppy in your tea?’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger noticed the Hobbit hesitated about where she’d come from. She’d learned, though, even in her short time working at the Inn, that it was better to let those hesitations lie. Perhaps Larien might offer more of an explanation at a later date, but for now, Ginger decided it would be best if she were left to her secrets. Best stick to safer subjects.

Taking a sip of cider, Ginger launched enthusiastically into an explanation of the Spring Faire. The Inn and its yard would be all decorated up with ribbons and streamers. And little lanterns would be hung in all the trees. There’d be lots of booths set up with all sorts of interesting things to see and buy or trade for. Lots of tables, too, with all sorts of cakes and cookies and pies to eat. And vote on . . . ribbons were given out and many of the ladies in Bywater and Hobbiton would be competing for them.

‘There are other contests, too,’ she went on. ‘Archery is one of them. Do you know how to use a bow? I never learned.’ Without waiting for Larien to answer, Ginger continued. ‘There’s axe throwing, too, and other woodsmen skills. And there’s a big tug-of-war. Foot races . . . Gosh, it all goes on for a couple of days. Oh, and at night, there’s music and dancing.’ Ginger grinned thinking about how Ferdy would be escorting her this year and she’d have someone to dance to all the music with.

‘So what do you say? You can walk around with me and my Ferdy. It’ll be fun!’

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien listened as Ginger explained the Spring Faire, thinking how exciting it all must be. Perhaps I shhould go. I need to get to know my kinspeople. She thought, smiling at Ginger's last question.

"I would love to accompany you, Ginger. I do know how to use a bow, but not as well as some people I know. Who is Ferdy?"

[littlemanpoet]

Uien had been wandering over the hummocks and turves of the pastures behind the Green Dragon for hours. Her Elvish step was light, but her heart was not. Her mind was dark with images she did not know from her own memory, nor that of her family, nor from any long lost friends from Lorien. Nor from Falowik. The trees and stream might as well not have been there, for she did not see them though her body knew to pass them by without injury.

The images flowed in and out, melding with horrors from her own past, then breaking away again. Beside a red bonfire a fair woman sneering, spitting at her would turn into a slant eyed, sallow faced orc padding at her with their filthy hands. She had survived imprisonment in the darkness of Caradhras, but these new memories overwhelmed her. Now she was walking over a dark, blasted land, dead and cold, fleeing from a dread that assailed her heart. She could not leave it behind. A man came at her with a firebrand as others held her down. The firebrand scalded her face and she screamed, fighting to back away. Only to find that she was standing in front of a tree, a limb waving in the breeze; someone was whimpering. She stopped to listen, and realized it was her own voice.

She closed her hands into fists and furrowed her brow. It was that burned elf. He had shouted her away from his mind, and in doing so, had cast his own violent memories into her mind. Had he done it on purpose? How could an Elf be so evil? Maybe he had not intended it. Still, why had he been so violent?

She was walking again, not seeing the land and trees.

After all, she had done no more than had always been the way of the osanwë in Lorien. One touched the edge of the mind of another Elf to discern whether the other was open or closed. It was like saying "would you like to talk?" If the other's mind remained closed, you pulled away, no harm done to either. But this burned elf had behaved as if the way of Lorien was, what? Akin to torture! Ridiculous. He had something to answer for, that was certain. No more probing the edge of his mind. She was going to confront him face to face and be answered.

She strode back toward the Inn with a purpose.

[Lasbelinion]

He bristled as Mistress Bunce pushed the pot of salve toward him. The urge to push her away rose like bile in his throat, immediate and burning and bitter. Her words touched him before the cool side of the pot brushed lightly against his finger tips. He forced down the words that were already forming on his lips. Dipping his head down as if to inspect the salve, he swallowed them one by one.

She bears a certain light, he thought. Should I speak without thinking, the tenuous line between us will snap.

Lithmîrë drew his thoughts inward, considering that connection. It was not a familiar one. And being unfamiliar it did not call up the bristling defenses he had so long cultivated. Still, it was troubling in its unexpectedness. He turned his attention fully to that little link, probing and pushing at it as one might a sore tooth with the tongue . . . looking for any darker motives he might discern.

Her words seemed to be winding down now. They held a tone of regret. She had asked a question, and looked to him to see if she had been too forward with it. With an effort he recalled what she had said. Poppy, she had asked about poppy.

‘Yes, I have used that at times,’ he heard himself answering her, His voice level. ‘But not often. It dulls the pain, but clouds my mind, too. It leaves me too . . .’ defenseless he was going to say . . . ‘too tired and feeling weak.’

He dipped his fingers into the salve and brought a small smear to his nose. It had a light, clean smell. and as he rubbed it on a small portion of the scarring on his arm, he could feel a certain cool comfort spread out in the ropy, tight tissue.

'This will be good, I think,' he said, the curve of a quick smile fleeting on the right side of his face. 'It will go well with the tea I've put together.' He put the cover on the pot, saying he would use it more fully later. 'And I was wondering, my store of herbs for that tea is nearly depleted. Would it be possible for me to replenish them from your garden?'

[piosenniel]

Heading back to the kitchen

Cook was more than happy to let the Elf see to the herbs he mentioned. ‘I’ve many of them,’ she told him. ‘I use them myself for treating the ailments that happen at the Inn. ‘But some of those I think you’ll have to look for in the wooded areas south of here. I could speak to Granny Oldbuck about them. The woods border on her little parcel of land. We often trade herbs. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Might even pry the recipe out of you for your tea.’

The flask was unstoppered and more of the tea Cook had brought with her was poured into their cups. And the talk turned in earnest to gardening. Though, Cook noted it was her that did most of the talking with Lithmîrë making a few responses when prompted. From what she could gather, he’d spent most of his life cultivating fields and growing plants and in places that seemed none too hospitable for such pursuits. Or so she gleaned from the few brief descriptions he let fall. Still, he was a good listener and he didn’t seem to mind as she bragged a bit about her own accomplishments.

She wondered how he had gotten his injuries, but he seemed the sort that was best left to come round to the telling of that sort of tale by himself. ‘Bit like a hedgehog, he is. Curl up in a tight little ball to protect his soft underbelly; spiky bristles coming to his defense if he’s poked at too much.’

The sun had moved a few finger lengths west as their conversation wound down to a close. Cook excused herself, saying she needed to get back to the kitchen. the last touches on the supper meal would need to be done. He helped her load her basket back up and saw her to the entrance to the bower.

‘Come by the kitchen later for your evening meal, if you will. Be glad to have you. I should know from Granny Oldbuck by then if those herbs you need are near her.’

Cook trotted off, stopping once to wave at him as he stood watching her go.

[littlemanpoet]

As Uien came toward the Inn she saw out of the corner of her eye Eswen and Falowik sitting with their backs to the Inn, deep in discussion. They would have to wait. She passed them without a glance, and ignored Falowik's belated call.

There was Cook hurrying back to the kitchen from a little enclosure of trees and well tended brush. Cook turned one last time and waved briefly to someone who was within. Then it could not be the burned elf, for he could not possibly be on friendly terms with anyone, though Cook was not an ordinary hobbit. Out of curiosity Uien turned toward the enclosure and glanced inside....

...and almost walked headlong into the burned elf. She stopped, recoiling at the suddenness of meeting her new bane. What was not burned of the elf's expression, changed from thoughtfulness to sudden ire. They stared at each other wordlessly for a long moment. The burned elf opened his mouth as if to speak harsh words, but he closed his mouth into a bitter line.

Uien's hands met in tight fists over her abdomen, her arms straight and tense. She found her voice.

"You-" Her voice trembled. "You have-" She faltered, suddenly unable to finish her accusation. This burned elf looked as if her words could rend him to ashes. She drew breath. "What new darkness is this, in my mind, elf?"

[Lasbelinion]

Uien is ill received

What tenuous feelings of safety and shelter he had felt just short moments ago now fled at the entrance of the other. Anger rode her voice and features. Her fists were clenched as if to punctuate what her words would name. It mattered not the offense, he had learned. Better to stand still and get it over.

In long learned reflex his muscles tightened as he awaited the sure to come blow; his mind shut hard against the expected pain, severing his receipt of it from consciousness. For a space of time there were two beings which stood in his place . . . waiting . . .

The air thickened with her unmouthed accusations. And still the blow did not fall. Taking a quick short breath, Lithmîrë stepped back from her trembling form. A fragment of a question she threw at him settled precariously in his consciousness.

‘What new darkness is this?’ he heard.

Harsh voices rose at the edges of his memory. ‘Thinks his kin will come looking for him.’ The voices of dark men and Orc grated against his ears; their rude laughter assailing him as sharply as the stick with which they beat him. ‘Dark and ugly as we are now to them . . . that’s how you are to your foul kin in their precious forests.’ They’d laughed again as they sent him running back to his fellows in the fields; the lashes of the overseer biting at his back . . .

He struggled up against the ghosts, to see that she was still standing there, unmoving. A small glance to his right showed a break in the bushes between the trees. He registered she had no weapon on her . . . save her mind. It was she that had tried to force her way into his thoughts. Like the others with their sullied ways . . . she was small . . .

From some hidden corner of his awareness rose a stench of revulsion at his thought that he could choose to kill her. And with it some understanding that such an act would indeed be dark and ugly. What faint hope he held for himself would be quenched in such overwhelming shadow.

Lithmîrë shut his mind hard against her. ‘Stay back,’ he warned her in even tones. ‘Look to yourself,’ he rasped, taking another step back, lengthening the distance between them. With a sudden gathering of his cloak about him, he turned quickly to his right and ran; the brutish jeers and laughter of summoned ghosts biting at his back.

[Primrose Bolger]

An invitation to Larien

Ginger colored at the question. ‘Ferdy. Well, he’s my fellow. Lives with his family in Hobbiton.’ The thought of him caused her to blush even more deeply. Wanted as it was, this new tie between her and Ferdy was new. And she found it hard to name it. Giving herself a breather from further consideration, she took a gulp of cider. ‘Anyways, we’d be happy to have you walk about with us.’

From the corner of her eye she caught the door to the kitchen opening. Buttercup’s voice called to her, saying they needed to set the conies and vegetables stewing for supper. ‘Oh! I’ll need to get the flour and such measured out for the biscuits,’ Ginger said, half to herself. She looked up at Larien as an unexpected thought came to her.

‘Say, if you’re not busy, would you like to help us out in the kitchen. I’m sure there are more carrots and taters to be chopped for the stew. And you can help roll and cut the biscuits with me later when it’s nearer to supper. And there’s the rest of the tarts, too, to drizzle with icing. Buttercup and Ruby will be there. they’re older than me, but real nice. You’ll like them, I think.’ She got up from her chair as she waited for her new friend’s answer.

[piosenniel]

The butcher is brought to mind

‘Now what is all that about?’ Cook wondered as she turned back toward the bower. There had been the sound of little branches snapping and the squawk of a hen dislodged from her perch among the branches. And there was Lithmîrë, his cloak pulled round him, running away from the bower. ‘What now?’ she thought, her brows raising. ‘Must be a snake or something as scared him from going out like regular folk would do. Course he is an Elf, and they have their ways about them. Though I can’t recall Mistress Piosenniel leaping out of the side of a room when the door would work just as easily . . . snake or no . . .’

Cook was a good distance away from the commotion, her thoughts centering on how many pans of biscuits she should have the girls get ready for baking. ‘And I think I’ll just have them pick some of the early green beans to steam up with a little butter and some cracked pepper from the trader that came through from Buckland. And maybe a few crispy bacon bits, too, might be tasty.’

She was just thinking how Master Lithmîrë could use a few helpings of stew and biscuits and beans and butter to round his stringy frame out a bit more as she pushed open the back door to the kitchen and stepped in. With an economy of motion, she hung her bonnet and cloak on the peg by the door and tied on her apron.

Pushing back a stray curl behind her ear, she surveyed her little domain. ‘Well, ladies, let’s set the conies to stewing. There’s a bigger crowd expected tonight, some traveling players up from Pincup. We’ll need an extra pan of stew and two more of biscuits, I think. And a couple of you need to go out to the garden and pick us some beans. I’ve a taste for them tonight.’

She went down the stairs, to the part of the basement where the hams and bacon were stored in a cool room. The kitchen helpers could just hear her muttering as she inventoried the supply. ‘Two more breakfasts and we’ll be out of bacon.’ Cook stomped up the stairs thinking how a nice lamb roast would be tasty . . . be a nice change from chicken and rabbit and mutton stews. The Spring Faire was coming up, too. Best to be thinking ahead to that.

‘Buttercup,’ she called out as she got to the top landing. ‘Remind me to have you go to the butcher. We’ll be needing a few things from him. See if he can come round and see me, soon.’

Cook stepped to the pans of stew ready to be set over the cook fire. Snapping off some herbs from where they were hung to dry from the rafters, she rubbed the leaves between her fingers and sprinkled them generously into the soon to be savory broth. She hummed to herself as she stirred them in, followed by pinches of salt and several grinds of pepper.

Valin watched the young hobbit for some time, and was surprised that such a small person could show him that there was a place in the world where happiness could still thrive. He himeself had always led a hard life, and yet here was achild living a quite joyous one. Soon he found himself laughing out loud, and the young hobbit staring at him.

"Oh, the ale must be getting to my head, excuse me."

Valin quickly left the table feeling a little embarressed and ordered more ale.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien smiled and stood, rubbing her right arm, which had fallen asleep. "I would be happy to help in the kitchen, although I do not know much about how you prepare food here in the Shire."

She looked over at the girl Buttercup and smiled shyly, then turned back to Ginger. "Would you like me to bring my mug? That way the table will be cleared off for someone else."

[littlemanpoet]

‘Stay back,’ warned the burned elf. ‘Look to yourself!’ He took a step back, and gathering of his cloak about him quickly, he ran away.

Look to myself? Uien stood confounded. She had purposely closed her mind, and so had no notion of what the other had thought or felt, save by his actions. And they made no sense. Then his earlier, unspoken words, came to mind: 'get out'. This burned elf acted as if he feared her, little Uien. A little smile came to her face as she laughed inwardly at the ridiculous thought. Whom had she ever caused to fear? The smile quickly disappeared as she discovered pleasure within at being feared. She was horrified.

But he had not answered her question. Or had he? Reluctantly, she thought back to her own dark time in the deeps of Caradhras. Orcs leered at her, taunting her with what they intended for her. She shuddered. It had taken Falowik's love to dispel that darkness, and that had taken time. This burned elf had been grievously used.

She felt the gem of her necklace, warming. Falowik was thinking of her. Should she go back to him, and leave the burned elf be? No. There was a new hardness within that held her to this new path. Maybe Falowik would understand, maybe give chase. She chose to let that be as it would. She followed the faint elvish shimmer of his fleeing footprints. She did not hurry. Look to yourself? What was that supposed to mean?

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

Peony watched, horrified, as Valin made a hasty exit from their table. Had she done something wrong? Maybe she had been too greedy with the mushrooms. after all...Though she really had tried to be polite!

Miserably, she picked at her mushrooms without any of her usual enthusiasm, watching after him as he went and ordered more ale. Her first encounter with someone from the wide world outside the Shire and he'd gotten up and left.

"Whatever it is, I'm sorry!" she called quietly after him, but it was probably too soft to be heard in the noisy hubbub of the tavern. She sat back down and went back to her food, gradually becoming cheerful again: Peony was not someone who could stay sad for very long. She began looking around with interest at the other occupants of the Green Dragon.

[Firefoot]

Willy fidgeted in his seat. His thoughts had drifted during the composition of the song, mostly towards the outdoors. Through the schoolroom window he could see a beautiful blue sky, and warm sunlight streamed through the windows. The lunch break had been nice, but he really was not used to sitting in one place for such long periods of time, and his attention span had been long outlived.

It wasn't that he particularly wanted to go home (after all, what waited him there but chores?), but simply to be out of the confining schoolroom. Whether that meant playing marbles with his new friends or finding some mischief with his brother or something else, he wasn't sure.

So he echoed Reggie's thus far unanswered question. "We are done, right? We can go?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella glanced over at the Innkeeper and nodded, "Your point is well taken. I'd wecome any help I could get at teaching these young ones. I'm afraid I'm not as young as I used to be! In any case, I can only be in one place at a time. If I'm working with the new readers, it's hard to give the proper attention to some of the older ones. Nor would I object if you or one of the others wanted to take a smaller group of children and perhaps help them with something special away from this classroom: having Cook teach them how to whip up a mushroom pie, or perhaps, Innkeeper, you might even want to work with a few of the more adventurous in the courtyard showing them how to ride and care for a pony. I know the lads would welcome that! Let's try and talk more on that tonight or tomorrow. Meanwhile, I want to check out the preparations for the faire. Perhaps we can all figure out ways for the children to participate and help make the event a success."

With that, the two women shook hands and agreed to speak more about these matters later. Miz Bella made her way back into the classroom and stopped to thak the Bard for all his help. "It looks as if we've made a good start on that song. Hopefully, we'll have it finished and ready to practice in time for the faire. I hope to see you again soon."

Miz Bella waved as the school door closed and the Bard disappeared down the hallway. Turning her eyes back to the class, and seeing how the little ones (especially Willy!) fidgeted in their seats, Ms. Bella hastily announced, "That's plenty for our first day! You're free to go home now. Those of you who need to wait for parents can play in the garden until your Ma or Da come to pick you up. Oh, yes, and please take your slates home to practice your letters."

With that there was a scuffling of feet and general jubilation as the children gathered up their belongings and, like a mighty herd of cattle, went tramping towards the outer door. Miz Bella instantly plopped down in her chair and silently wondered what she had gotten herself into. Her feet hurt so much she thought that they were in danger of dropping off.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and Larien begin the biscuits

Ginger couldn’t help but ask. ‘What’s so different about food where you come from?’ She frowned, trying to imagine Hobbits eating anything other than, well, regular Hobbit food. ‘Shire food’s just ordinary stuff,’ she went on. ‘Chicken and taters and carrots and conies. Ham and bacon in the morning with eggs and toast. Thick soups. And lots of mushrooms. Then of course there’s the sweets . . . just enough to tuck in around the empty spaces left after a meal.’

The kitchen was soon reached, and Ginger pushed open the door, ushering Larien and her mug in the door. Cook was there, as was Ruby. Buttercup trailed in behind them, taking a tray of dirty plates and mugs to the sink.

‘This is Larien,’ Ginger said, introducing her friend all around. ‘We’ll get the biscuits going.’

Cook nodded and pointed to the pegs by the kitchen door where extra aprons hung, indicating Larien should put one on. Ginger showed her the way to the pantry and the two picked up the flour and salt and shortening and baking powder to make the dough.

They returned to one of the tables in the center of the kitchen and began measuring ingredients. ‘See those baking sheets over there, hanging on the wall,’ said Ginger. ‘Can you bring them over here and grease ‘em up and dust ‘em a little with flour so’s the biscuits won’t stick . . .’

[Arry]

Woody and Hanson head home

Gil was waiting at one of the tables in the common room, just as he’d promised. Willy and Hanson came tearing out of the schoolroom, their slates in hand. Hanson climbed up onto a chair near Gill and surveyed what his Uncle had been snacking on. Fresh, crusty bread and slices of good Shire cheddar. Along with a mug of ale.

‘The cheese and bread, you can help yourself to,’ Gil said, ruffling his nephews curls. ‘But your Ma would skin me if you come home smelling of ale.’ He motioned for a server and asked for two mugs of cider.

Woody sat opposite Hanson and took a slice of bread and some cheese for himself. He laid his slate in front of Gil, showing him the picture of the party tree he’d drawn. Both the boys chattered on about what they had learned that day, ending with the recitation of what they could remember of the new song the class was writing for the Spring Faire.

‘Master Hearpwine is helping us with it,’ Hanson said in a muffled voice, his words coming round a large mouthful of cheese. ‘What are you doing for the Faire?’ he asked, swallowing it down with a gulp of cider.

‘The lads and I are putting on a puppet show for one thing. Complete with music and all. We haven’t quite figured out a story yet, though.’ Gil brushed away a smear of bread and butter crumbs from Hanson’s cheek.

‘Hey, what about the story of Mister Bilbo and the Dragon?’ offered Woody. ‘That would be exciting, don’t you think?’ Hanson clapped his hands, eyes shining, and agreed with his older brother.

‘Not a bad idea,’ said Gil, smiling at the enthusiastic two. ‘Maybe your class could help make some of the props for it. Bright shiny stones for jewels, and a few little boxes painted up to look like treasure chests . . .’

Hanson’s eyes went wide at the thought of helping. ‘And what about skellytons?’ he asked. Woody nodded his head and grinned at the idea. ‘There must have been some in the cave from people the dragon killed. I’ll bet I could draw up some good ones.’

Gil and the boys finished their snack, all the while making plans for the play. He promised to let them know tomorrow what Tomlin and Fallon and Ferrin thought of the idea. Once done, the boys gathered up their cloaks and slates and followed Gil to the cart tied in the shade of the Inn’s oak tree. They were quiet for the most part on the short trip home. It had been a long day and what with the food and cider, they were soon drowsing on the seat of the cart, their little heads resting heavily on Gil’s thighs.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine sought the Common Room and the comfort of a large tankard of ale to recover from his first experience of teaching. He had never thought of how exhausting it would be. Somehow, he had imagined that it would be so much easier to be the master than the student, but he was beginning to realise that the reverse was the truth. The constant questions and points being raised, the need to maintain some semblance of order, and – most of all – the youthful energy of his charges had drained him mightily. To restore himself he quickly downed the ale, and then bid the barmaid bring him another. He cast his eye about wonderingly for the pretty Innkeeper, for he had always been attracted to lovely maidens, but she was nowhere in sight. He longed to speak with her of home.

To pass the time he pulled forth his harp and played the melody upon it that went with the song the children had prepared. This quickly refreshed his spirit and before he even made the conscious decision to do so, he was singing the words they had composed:

Ruffian, spare our Party Tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas Samwise Gamgee’s able hand
That placed it near his cot:
There, ruffian, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!

That graceful mallorn tree
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o’er land and sea,
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Ruffian, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh spare it for us Hobbit folk
Heed our warning cries!

Join me then dear friend,
Underneath its silvery bark.
Golden hours we shall spend
Till morn gives way to dark,
Sampling platters sure to delight
The hungriest in the Shire.
As hobbits marvel at the sight
Of a fat pig o'er an open fire.

And when we’ve said good-bye
And when the party’s done
Then to our little beds we’ll go
To dream of all the fun
The friends we saw, the games we played
The food and dance and song
Oh, Party Tree, we love you so,
We’ll see you soon ‘for long!

It was a good song, if a bit uneven in style. And there was the matter of the sudden break in the middle as the song shifted from cries against the ruffians to a party. Perhaps he could compose a new stanza commemorating the defeat of the ruffians and the beginning of the Shire’s renewal…?

He took another pull at his ale and thought about it.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien listened as Ginger explained food from the Shire, which didn't sound all that hard to make.

‘Chicken and taters and carrots and conies. Ham and bacon in the morning with eggs and toast. Thick soups. And lots of mushrooms. Then of course there’s the sweets . . . just enough to tuck in around the empty spaces left after a meal.’ Ginger went on. It doesn't sound too hard to prepare, I suppose. I'll just have to wait and see. Larien thought.

Ginger introduced Larien to the people in the kitchen, Cook and Ruby. She nodded and quickly set her mug down out of the way and tied an apron around her wait, then headed over with Ginger to make the biscuits. They fetched the ingredients and began to work. Ginger asked Larien if she could grease a pan, so Larien set to work at that.

Larien thought about Ginger's earlier question about food where she came from and bit her lip, contemplating if she should tell her. She is my friend now, I suppose I should give her the benefit of knowing a little about me. She thought.

'You asked me about the food where I come from, it's a little different there. I've lived in a few different places, but mostly in Rivendell. It's much different there. I like it here, though....." Her voice trailed off and she set to greasing the pan with a vengance.

[Firefoot]

Willy hurried out of the schoolroom and across the Common Room probably a little faster than would be considered polite. Frankly, though, he didn't care, being more concerned about getting away. He was not watching where he was going, however, and as he raced through the door he nearly ran straight into an elderly hobbit lady coming through the door. He did trip on her cane, landing on the path with an "Oof," his chalk and slate landing a little ways away. His marbles, too, had somehow come free of his pocket and were lying scattered about the grass.

Unharmed, he stood up and noticed the hobbit glaring at him. "S-sorry, ma'am," he said, and knelt to pick up his things. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that she did not go in immediately but stood watching him in irritation. Willy tried to pay her no mind as he went about trying to find his marbles. He had found most of them when he realized that he had knocked the cane from its owner's hand. He picked that up, too, and handed it to her. "Here you go, ma'am." With that, he fled, not bothering with the few remaining marbles. He wondered why all old gammers couldn't be like his - this lady sure wasn't. He hadn't intended on going home just yet, but head home he did. Maybe he could find Nick and be off again before his ma noticed.

~*~*~*~

"Hmph," muttered Thistle as she continued into the inn. "Lads these days have no manners whatsoever. No doubt he just came fresh from that... school here. I'd like to know what they're teaching 'em these days - obviously not manners."

With her current irritation at the inconsiderateness of hobbit lads, her eye was drawn to a fairly young hobbit lass sitting alone at a table. Thistle thumped her way across the room to Peony.

"You look lonely. Hmph. A lass as pretty as you shouldn't have any troubles finding company, excepting the thoughtlessness of the lads around here. I tell you, when I was a girl the lads were so much nicer. Would you like some company, lass? Or I could find you some. Some of them folk around here could use a talking to."

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"You look lonely. Hmph. A lass as pretty as you shouldn't have any troubles finding company, excepting the thoughtlessness of the lads around here. I tell you, when I was a girl the lads were so much nicer. Would you like some company, lass? Or I could find you some. Some of them folk around here could use a talking to," said Thistle.

Peony was happy that someone had come over to her. Most of the worry that she had felt at Valin leaving dried up. "Oh, thank you for coming over!" she exclaimed. "It wasn't really a lad that upset me...It was an Outsider. I went over here to talk to him because I love meeting new people, and he seemed nice enough, though quiet...But then he left so fast. I think I made him sad or something."

After a pause, she added, "I would like some company, though." She smiled, then her smile slipped. "Oh dear, I'm sorry! I should have introduced myself! I'm Peony Underhill..."

[Firefoot]

Thistle was slightly surprised by Peony's friendly response. Perhaps the lasses these days were better brought up than the lads. Thistle sat down at the table, leaning her cane against the chair.

"My name is Thistle Bracegirdle," she answered, immediately intrigued by her own introduction. It had been years since anyone had called her Thistle; anymore it was always Miz Bracegirdle. Perhaps it was the Peony's introduction; she had seemed ever so thrilled for company, even her own. Perhaps Thistle could associate with the lass more than she ever would have thought.

"Don't worry yourself over an Outsider," Thistle advised. "More trouble than they're worth, usually; don't recognize decent folk when they see them. Don't understand us Shirefolk. And those who them folk do understand tend to be a bit queer in the head. At any rate, I'm sure 'twas nothing you did, lass."

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger looked at Larien in surprise. ‘Rivendell? I heard of that place. Master Samwise, the mayor was there for a while with Mister Frodo. One of the Fair Folk places, isn’t it?’ She took the dough she’d mixed up and began to knead it lightly. ‘Lot of the Fair Folk have passed through the Shire, heading off to the sea. Some of them even stay here at the Inn for a while.’ She flattened the dough out onto the floured top of the table and flattened it out with her hand, preparing to use the big rolling pin on it. ‘Seems like there wouldn’t be too many left where you came from.’ She rubbed the tip of her nose with the back of her arm as it had begun to itch. Her efforts left a fine dusting of flour on her nose and left cheek. ‘What were you doing there, living in Rivendell, and all?’ she said looking up from her work. ‘That is if you don’t mind telling me.’

She noticed that Larien was attacking the pans with some vigor; plying them with grease and a heavy hand. Laughing, Ginger urged her to be more gentle. ‘Rub a hole in that poor old pan, if you keep at it like that!’

Valin stood next to the bar so he could continue his drinking and forget the strange thoughts he had previously had racing through his mind. What was it about this merry place that made him feel uneasy? Could it be that through hardship he had closed himself off from everyone? Had he become what he did not want to be? Had he become lost in his own sorrow?

These thoughts seemed to him to be more disturbing than the thoughts before so he ordered another round and began to look about the room to try and clear his head. He was soon lost in a thousand voices and soon his own thoughts began to seem like another distant murmur drifting in a sea of tongues.

[Strider]

It was a glorious day in the Shire - the heavens were a resplendent cerulean shot through with the needle-like rays of the magnificent sun, who seemed to be in a particularly blithe mood this afternoon for she embraced the hills with her fair golden arms. The clouds overhead were bright as starlight, thus affirming that the near future would remain warm and dry.

The great beast approached the inn like a fierce wind--a mottled grey blur penetrating the sweet country air like a dogged apparition--with all the speed, grace, and uncanny subtlety commonly associated with Elven-bred steeds. The horse was saddleless, bridleless, without any restraint; this was apparent not only in the naked gleam of his muzzle and flank, but in the way he flew freely along the cobbled path.

Despite the stallion’s lack of confinement he was not altogether without “burden”, for atop his bear back rested a tall and proud ellon, though the way horse and rider moved in tandem alluded to the fact that they were but one figure. When the Green Dragon’s stables were within clear eyesight, the elf placed a long-fingered hand on his companion’s muscled shoulder before exclaiming, “Tampa, Su’Tal. En!” Stop, Su’Tal. Look!

The creature tossed his magnificent head, silver mane flickering as if shot with jewels in the yellow afternoon lighting, and whinnied in acknowledgement of his master’s command. Slowing to a speedy halt before the humble grouping of wooden stalls, Su’Tal snorted satisfyingly and awaited the ellon’s next order. Dismounting in one swift and passively powerful motion, the firstborn raised a finely etched brow amusedly at the quaint hostelry and patted his companion on the neck, pointing towards the stables, “Yallume. Eh, Su’Tal? Esta sinome.” At last. Eh, Su’Tal? Rest here.

Nodding his proud head twice, the stallion made his way, with dignity, towards the wooden arch to which he was directed, where he at once glimpsed master Meriadoc. The elf watched his sporting steed disappear with a slight bend to his lips before following the small path before him and mounting the short and broad stairs of the Green Dragon’s front porch.

Reaching for the latch with supple fingers, he pulled back the heavy wooden door to receive a torrent of a melting pot of scents--spiced ale, a thick stew, and a vague trace of lavender. Raising his brows in that same expression of amusement, he entered with a catlike liquidity that masked his movements from all but the quickest of eyes. His presence, however, was one of luminescent authority, incandescent certainty, if such a thing is possible.

He claimed an empty seat and shrewdly surveyed his surroundings with keen grey eyes.

[piosenniel]

Ruby takes the Firstborn's order

Ruby was clearing up the empty mugs and plates from the late afternoon crowd. Her eyes flicked up for a moment as the door to the Inn opened. ‘Now who is that?’ she wondered, as one of the Fair Folk slid into the Common Room and took a seat. ‘Bright and quick as a firefly on a dark summer night.’

She stowed her tray of dirty mugs and plates in the kitchen and wiped her hands on the towel by the sink. ‘Another Elf is passing through,’ she said to the others hard at work on the evening meal. ‘I’ll just go see what he needs.’ She turned back for a moment asking, ‘Do we have a room for him?’ Cook nodded ‘yes’, and waved Ruby out the door.

The Hobbit paused at numerous tables as customers called out orders to her or simply waved their empty mugs in the air. At long last she approached the man at the table and waited to catch his eye before asking if he’d like to order something.

'Welcome to The Green Dragon,' she said smiling, as he looked her way. 'I'm Ruby Brown, one of the servers here. May I help you?'

[Fairleaf]

Daisy and Reggie

Daisy walked sedately from the classroom. She was very impressed by the older girls and wanted to act like them. They didn’t go running all helter-skelter out the door like her little brother and the other boys. Although, she noticed how Woody looked good as he ran after his little brother. She was quite impressed by his drawings. And his shy ways were endearing, too. Not all pushy and loud like many of the boys she knew.

Reggie, on the other hand, whooped as he ran past his sister. His little bottom was tired of sitting on the school bench and he wanted to run all the stored up energy out of them.

‘There’s Ma, over there,’ called Daisy after him as he streaked past her. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders as he paid no attention to what she’d said. Daisy waved at her Ma and went over to her. Soon they had their heads together looking over what Daisy had done on her slate.

Hanson stopped by the fireplace, his cheeks pinked after the hard run. Climbing up on the hearth, he surveyed the people in the Inn. There was and interesting fellow that Ruby was talking to. An Elf, like Neviel and his Da. Oh, and over there was the Gammer he and Daisy had seen at the Inn last night. He grinned and waved at Miz Thistle, but she was talking to some lass Reggie didn’t know and probably wouldn’t see him.

[Fairleaf]

Fairleaf

Fairleaf encounters Uien

Fairleaf was near the bower when Lithmire was speaking with the Hobbit. The Inn’s Cook. She had seen her at the hand-fasting party. She gave a sigh of relief, hearing that Cook would help the Elf with getting the herbs he needed to ease his pain. It would save her the problem of trying to show him where they were without letting him know who she was.

The sun was pleasantly warm this afternoon. Fairleaf stretched her branches out and turned her leaves toward the welcomed rays. The wildflowers about the edges of the bower were still thick with bees, taking their fill of nectar before hiding away for the night. The conversation between the Elf and Hobbit had wound down. She watched as Cook left the bower, hurrying toward the Inn and her duties there. Lithmire lingered within.

Another of the Fair Folk approached the entrance to the bower with a determined step. A female. There were angry words from her and words of caution from Lithmire. He ran from the bower, crashing through the low lying bushes near Fairleaf. The other Elf pursued him, with a resolute look on her face, despite his request to leave him be. The female Elf’s pace was slower. She, too, passed by Fairleaf.

As she did so, Fairleaf inched out one of her thick roots and tripped her, sending her sprawling . . .

[piosenniel]

NOTICE OF TIME MOVING FORWARD IN THE INN

Please try to wrap up any of your late after scenarios by 24 hours from now. I'd like to move the time in the Inn to suppertime at that time.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

[Envinyatar]

The bet is won

Derufin grinned at Anyopa behind Hob and Benat’s backs. The Beorning and the Hobbit had worked at a furious pace and most of the firewood had been split and stacked in the Inn’s woodshed. A far greater amount than he and Anyopa had done since making their bet.

Once the last of the wood was done, the four went to the well for a drink of cool water and to wash the sweat from their brows. ‘Excellent job,’ said Derufin, barely able to conceal his smile as he clapped Hob on the back. ‘Just let me run home and get a few coins and we’ll stand you to the drinks you have so justly won.

Behind him he could hear Anyopa choking down a laugh . . .