The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

About the next few days of posting:

The party proper won’t start until mid-afternoon of this game-day in the Shire. Until then, here are some of the tasks that need to be worked on to get the Inn’s front yard ready for the party:

Tables hauled out of the Common Room and arranged about the grassy lawn – leaving a big enough space in front of the Inn verandah where people can dance.

Along with the tables should go the benches and chairs.

A small raised platform should be made to set just off the verandah where the band can stand to play.

The linens for the table need to be ironed (no scorching, or Cook will have your hide!) and then got out onto the cleaned tables.

There are flower arrangements in a large flatbed wagon that have been brought in from Hobbiton. They’ll need to be placed on the tables after they’ve been cleaned and clothed.

Strong backs are needed for hauling the kegs of ale out to an area by the table where the drinks will be. And of course the ale will need to be tasted in case it’s gone sour in the move from Inn to yard . . . Or so a Hobbit would think . . .

Volunteers will be needed to bring food and drink to those doing other tasks – make sandwiches in the kitchens and carry out trays with mugs and pitchers of ale or cider

During this all, there may, of course, be music as the conglomerate band learns to play together.

And once the work is done (I’m thinking that will be a couple of days Real Time), guests will of course want to freshen up and dress for the festivities. Then either I or Child of the 7th Age will do a post to open the party.

~*~

Please note:

You needn’t get an entire task accomplished in your post. Just get it started and let others join in.

[piosenniel]

Cook laughed, causing another wince from Derufin. ‘Aye, he’ll live alright. Willow bark’ll dull the headache he’s got. Fool’s got himself drunk, he has. Just like a man to go and do that on the eve of his handfasting.’ She motioned for Sakal to bring over the plate of eggs and toast she’d had him fetch. ‘Get that into him along with another mug of tea. Put him to rest in my bedroom. We’ll get him cleaned up after he’s had some sleep.’

Once the plate was empty of eggs, the last bit wiped up with a bit of toast, Derufin smiled up wanly at Cook, putting on his most contrite face. ‘Don’t go making moon-eyes at me , mister,’ she told him, pointing toward her room. ‘You’ll not be disappointing Mistress Zimzi today . . . and people will be eating the cake I’ve made when the ceremony’s done . . . that’s our plan and I mean to see it through.’ She watched the two brothers steady Derufin as he made his way to her room. ‘And don’t you be getting my quilt dirty . . . you feel the need to heave, use the wastebasket by the side of the bed.’

Ginger's eyes were wide as Cook upbraided Derufin. 'Flaming fool!' Cook muttered, turning back to the large kettle of soup she'd started for lunch. 'Ginger!' The Hobbit lass looked at her in apprehension. 'Everything will be fine. Mister bunce used to get himself quite pickled at times. No need to go upsetting Mistress Zimzsi with what's happened. She'll be having her own problems to deal with without taking on this. Her Mister will be fine . . . we'll see to that. Let's finish up the platters of ham and cheeses. And make sure the rolls I baked are put out in those baskets over there.'

At the small table in the corner of the kitchen, sat Snaveling quietly sipping a last mug of tea. Cook motioned to him with her wooden stirring spoon. 'And what about you, Master Snaveling? We're having a party today . . . you're a bit ragged looking yourself.' And I'll not ask why, though I have my own thoughts on that matter! 'How about you get yourself cleaned up a bit,' she said, noting the straw stuck here and there to his clothes. 'There's a trunk of Big Folk clothes in the upper attic room. Left here by some what decided they needed to get away quick . . . before the final bill was tallied and paid for. If you want, Ruby can show you the way, bring you some water and towels for washing, too.'

Ruby looked over at the man, awaiting his decision.

Cook had already turned back to the soup, adding a small handfull of salt and a few pinches of ground pepper. 'Look better when you finally talk to Miz Aman, too,' she muttered to herself. 'Flaming fools . . . the lot of them!'

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver was watering the plants in the border and checking them once again. She knew she was fussing but she also knew she had to make sure her work was perfect, that everything looked as she had wanted it to, and doing this made her happy. She whistled as she worked, and daydreamed about the garden she might create for herself some day. She had slept for an hour or two just before dawn and had dreamed of a long low cottage with lavender hedges, and a strange, walking tree.

She thought of the walking tree now and looked up. It puzzled her. She was sure she had seen something moving in the dead of the night when she was walking out. A tree, but not a tree. She peered up at the branches hanging overhead, a small frown on her brow. She felt sure there was something different about them, as though they had moved; it was unsettling but did not frighten her. When she was a child one of her father’s favourite tales had been of how the trees in the Old Forest were said to be alive, and he had told her of the man who lived there and was said to be able to tame the woodlands. Ever since, she had looked at trees as though they were somehow more than just plants, and now she wondered again.

Something did move, up there in the branches. It could almost have been an eye, or a mouth. She squinted to try and make it out but could not quite be sure of what she had seen. Shaking her head, she realised she had been staring at what must have been nothing more than a knot in the trunk. “You’re looking too hard. Now you’re seeing things” she told herself, and turned back to her watering can.

Finishing her work, Jinniver looked towards the inn where already many people were outside, hauling tables into place and setting down benches and chairs. There were more people than ever and for a moment she almost went red at the thought of having to talk to strangers. But then she remembered that she wasn’t a stranger any more, that she had been welcomed here, and felt happier and more comfortable. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she had even seen some familiar faces from Bree.

As she went back towards the inn, her eye was caught by a cart laden with cut flowers, and she couldn’t resist going to look at them. There were tea roses, carnations, sweet-smelling pinks, huge dropping lilies and trailing stems of fragile sweet peas. Jinniver spent more than a few minutes just breathing in the scent of the flowers, lost in her senses, before she realised these must be meant for the table dressings, and she soon set to work again, her nimble fingers dressing and arranging the blooms.

[Ealasaide]

Seamus was so focused on the response Gil and his friends had to his and Owen's offer of a song that at first he failed to notice the two young hobbits who had come into the common room only a minute or so earlier. It wasn't until he and Owen had returned to their own table with the older of the two hobbits at their heels that he realized someone was there at all. Sitting down in his chair, Seamus turned toward him and, bending forward, placed his hands on his knees. Suddenly, he felt very large indeed.

"Hello, my lad," he said kindly as Shimshin scooted from Seamus’ shoulder to a perch at the back of his neck, directly between the young man’s shoulders. "What can I do for you?" Seamus glanced past the first hobbit to his little companion, who hung back shyly, tracing a line in the floor with his toe.

The older hobbit boy squared his shoulders bravely. "I was wondering, ehm... what's that?" He pointed at Shimshin.

Seamus' wide, sunshiny grin spread over his face once again. "Why that's a monkey!" he exclaimed. "His name is Shimshin and he’s quite a clever little fellow. If you tell me your name, I’ll have him introduce himself. My name, by the way, is Seamus."

“My name’s Willy,” said the boy. He pointed back in the direction of his companion. “And that there’s my brother Nick.” He leaned slightly forward and lowered his voice, although his tone sounded distinctly superior. ”He’s scared.”

“Ohhh!” said Seamus. He leaned farther forward as well and lowered his voice. “You can tell him there’s nothing to be scared of. Neither I, my friend, nor Mr. Shimshin will bite.” He gave the boy a friendly wink.

Willy grinned. He waved his brother to come over, which the little boy did, but very, very slowly with a face full of misgivings.

In the meantime, Seamus knelt down and patted the floor, calling the little monkey by name. Still keeping a firm grip on his last piece of apple, Shimshin climbed down to the floor, where he stood in front of the boy, eying him with a pair of very bright black eyes.

“Shimshin,” said Seamus. “Say hello to Willy and Nick.”

Without letting go of the apple, Shimshin gave a very courtly bow and made a friendly kind of chirping sound in his throat.

Willy let out a peal of delighted laughter. Even Nick seemed to forget his fear for a moment and crept closer. “Did you teach him to do that?” asked Willy.

Seamus shook his head. “No, actually I didn’t. He had a master before us that was not terribly good to him, although he taught him any number of wonderful things. He can even dance, you know.”

“Can he!” exclaimed Willy. “Can you get him to dance for us now?”

Seamus started to reach for his rebec, which was an instrument very close to a violin in design, with the intent of playing a tune. Then, he noticed that not only had Gil and the other hobbits gone outside to begin setting up for the handfasting, but Owen had gone as well. His face fell. He had promised to help the hobbits with setting up the tables for the party and couldn’t - in good conscience - sit about fiddling for monkeys and children while everyone else worked. Regretfully, he shook his head.

“No, we can’t right now. There’s too much to be done to get ready for the party.” He gave them a friendly smile. “I’m sure you can help out if you like! Maybe when we’ve done all we can do there will be time for a quick tune. Okay?”

Seeing that the boys looked deeply disappointed, Seamus decided to give them one more thing to think about. “Perhaps while I’m working, you can keep an eye on Shimshin for me. If he leaves my shoulder, he’ll need some good eyes watching him to see that he doesn’t get into any mischief.” Seamus let his voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. “He used to belong to a pirate, you know.”

With that, Seamus picked Shimshin up and put him back on his shoulder before going outside to help Owen and the hobbits with the party set up. Soon, he was caught up in the work, surrounded Gil and his bunch, who worked as industriously as dwarves while keeping up a steady stream of laughter and jokes. A young hobbit lady soon joined them, as well. After making the unexpected acquaintance of Shimshin, she inquired with Gil about playing her pennywhistle with the band. Seamus wondered if perhaps she was the one who had removed the notice on the gate.... not that it mattered. Nonetheless, he resolved to ask her about it later, to satisfy his curiosity, if nothing else.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had been grateful that they had found room for both her horse and herself at the inn despite the late hour of her arrival. Neither she or her horse were accommodated in normal guest quarters - Aeglos was tied in a barn and she had a tiny chamber in the attics - more a cupboard than a room but both of them were soon warm and dry. However the inn seemed disproportionately busy for the smallness of the settlement in which it stood. she had been told that there was a "handfasting" which after a little clarification she learnt was a marriage rather than a solemn betrothal. She had never witnessed such a ceremony among mortals and her curiosity was stirred - but perhaps a stranger would not be welcome at the ceremony. However weariness such as seldom affects an elf had cast out thoughts of any kind and she had fallen into sleep as soon as she had cast her self on the low bed. When she woke sunlight was, not filling the chamber for the window was tiny but illuminated a square of the floor. The weather had clearly improved. She rose carefully to avoid striking her head on the low ceiling and once she had done so there was scarce room to manoeuvre since she had rigged a clothes line with pack thread to dry her sodden garments, and her saddlebags were heaped in a corner near to the ewer and basin. there too was her sword. She did not expect to need it on her travels but it was a treasured possession - her father had wrought it for her before he had left for the war in Mordor more than an age of the world ago and he had been a fine smith. It was light and strong and had been crafted exactly to suit her stature. She had been a little disappointed that his gift had not been a necklace or some such adornment for she had no instinct to be a shield maiden ( and her father had made fair things in times of peace) but her father had said "We cannot remain to protect you, so I must leave you the means to protect yourself". Mithalwen remembered his words and his lessons in swordcraft and as she did so tears rose to her eyes for shortly after he had departed with her brothers and had never returned. Only her elder brother returned after long years of war and he had changed utterly.

Mithalwen forced herself to activity to cast out the memory. She slipped into a simple grey dress with narrow sleeves more suitable for someone who worked with their hands than the usual elvish fashion and went directly to the stable to check on Aeglos. While he semed to think being tethered was beneath his dignity he was well cared for and Mithalwen soon found out where to find the blacksmith. The ostler had told her that it was still too early, that the only fire at the forge would be the one cooking the smith's breakfast and so she had gone back to the inn in search of her own. The place really did seem extraordinarily busy with a mix of all peoples... even some of her own kind it seemed though she had not had a chance to speak with them as yet. She had seen nothing like it since the old days at Rivendell ... but there were a few here she deemed that even Elrond, that might most welcoming of hosts might have thoiled to admit.

One group in particular seemed threatening, a contrast with the many welcoming faces she had encountered from the inn staff. These had melted some of her natural reserve and had made her decide to stay for the handfasting. Once she had attended to her own task of getting her horse shod - the smith had been astonished to find an elf as his first customer of the day - she fell in to helping with the preparations.

Other than baking bread, food preparation is usually the task of elf men and in this respect, Mithalwen had followed tradition and so she offered her services to those who were moving furniture and so forth. They had looked at her a little doubtfully until they realised the strength in her lithe frame. They worked hard but in the pauses that the mortals found more necessary than she she was able to take in details of the people around her. Hobbit children, a man with a monkey, women arranging flowers which were fair even to her eyes - the Shire was fairer than she remembered from her previous journeys passing through and then she recalled hearing that the Lady of the Goldenwood had given a special gift and smiled.

As she worked she had heard various strains of music but one now caught her ear. She could not quite place the instrument which riled her sense of professional pride " not a bass viol" she thought "but what ?... it sounds like nothing I have crafted...". S he felt sure from the sound that the player was an elf and when others paused for refreshment she sought out the maker of the elusive music. It was an elf clad in blue and silver, seated on the stage amongst players of more conventional intruments. Despite the curious hat that the elf wore it was the instrument that held Mithalwen's attention. She listened rapt at the foot of the stage.

[Arry]

A break from work and a little music is made . . .

Tomlin had edged near to where Gil was speaking with a newcomer Hobbit lass. Ferrin and Fallon, pretending to inspect one of the tables they had just moved out from the Inn, were also all ears . . . and comments . . . ‘Who is that?’ whispered Tomlin, coming to stand about with them.

‘Don’t know,’ said Ferrin, daring a quick glance toward Gil. ‘But she’s quite lovely, don’t you think? What with those sandy curls just touching at her cheeks.’ Fallon jabbed him in the arm, causing the stricken Hobbit to utter a rather loud ‘Oof!’. ‘She’s not your sort, Ferrin . . . looks far too smart to be interested in the likes of you,’ whispered Fallon. Ferrin rubbed his arm, muttering at his brother. ‘Now me, on the other hand,’ began Fallon, ‘I’m just the sort to be handling such a fine flower of a lass.’ Tomlin laughed aloud, saying it was he who was best suited to the newcomer. ‘After all,’ he reminded Fallon, ‘didn’t you promise Buttercup you’d be dancing with her today?’

‘What’s this?’ came a familiar voice from behind the trio. ‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’ Buttercup stepped up with a pitcher of foaming ale and a stack of mugs; she was giving drinks to the thirst workers.

Tomlin seized the opportunity, and taking her by the elbow, turned her to face where Gil and the Hobbit girl were talking. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked. Buttercup gave him a knowing smile and a shake of her head. ‘She’s come to play with your band . . . talked to Cook last night about your notice on the door. Name of . . . Caity.’ Tomlin took the tray of drink and mugs from Buttercup’s hand much to her surprise and went walking over to where Gil stood.

‘Caity,’ he said, giving her his best smile and a nod. ‘I’m just bringing round drinks and all to the volunteers. May I offer you one?’ he asked, setting the tray on a nearby table. ‘Lovely instruments you have there,’ Tomlin went on, looking at the flutes and whistles and the little clay ocarina she’d laid out on the table to show Gil. ‘You’ll make a fine addition to our little group for the party. Won’t she Gil?’

Gil looked on with barely suppressed laughter at his companion. ‘Well, yes, Tomlin she will. I was just just asking if she’d like to play a little something for us to hear. “Sailor’s Hornpipe”, perhaps?’ he asked, nodding at Caity.

‘Well, surely not by herself,’ said Tomlin. ‘I’ll just fetch my fiddle and accompany her.’

‘And I’ll get the hand drum,’ called Ferrin, who’d come up to Caity’s other side.

Buttercup winked at Fallon, saying, ‘Go on now! You know you’re itching to get your fingers on your fiddle , too.’ He grinned at her and ran to fetch his little case.

‘Well, I hope you’re ready for this rather impromptu practice,’ chuckled Gil to Caity. ‘I’ll just get my little concertina and we’ll see what sort of music we can make.’

Gill called out to Seamus and Owen, just setting down a table on the grass. ‘Grab your instruments. We need a bit of a break.’ He pointed over to the little raised stage. ‘Meet us there. There’ll be ale to moisten your parched throats and loosen your lips.’

An Elf was already seated on the stage, playing what looked to be a quite large fiddle. ‘Rasputina, she said introducing herself. And ‘Cello’, in answer to his question about the interesting instrument.

‘Welcome,’ he said, introducing himself and Caity, along with Tomlin, Ferrin, and Fallon. ‘We’re just going to practice a bit and wet our whistles so to speak.’ He winked at Caity as he finished. ‘Join us, if you will, then, Rasputina. Seamus and Owen, our other new players should be along soon.’

Noting another Elf who'd been sitting by the stage listening to Rasputina, Gil asked her name. 'Mithalwen, he said, fixing the name in his memory. 'You look pretty interested in the music. Do you play an instrument? And more important have you brought it with you? You can practice with us. Or if not -- perhaps you'd like to sing a bit?' Gil took his concertina from its box and undid the latches. He filled the bellows with air, and played a few bars from a lively dance tune . . .

[Firefoot]

Willy was sorely disappointed by the departure of the nice man with the monkey. The creature itself was fascinating; at first he had thought it to be some strange type of cat, but he quickly found that it was not so. Shimshins - even his name was exotic! - was far more interesting than any cat could ever hope to be with his nimble little hands and expressive face. The man had to work, though, and Shimshins went with him. Willy turned to Nick, who appeared as down-trodden as himself, and said, “Well, I guess we’re on our own.” Nick looked up at him with big brown eyes that were again filled with shyness and worry over breaking the rules. It was one of Willy’s only frustrations in Nick’s companionship - the younger hobbit was not yet old enough to understand that some rules were meant to be broken.

“Come on, Nick!” said Willy jauntily, trying to imitate his oldest brother’s carefree attitude. “There’s nothing going on in here. Let’s go outside.” Nick reached over and grabbed Willy’s hand. He nodded, “Okay.” Willy led Nick outside where everyone was working busily. The man - Seamus? - had said they might be able to help, or watch his monkey. Willy was saddened to find the monkey still perched on the man's shoulder. Tables were being moved, which were too heavy for either of them to lift, among various other things, but nothing looked interesting to a young hobbit lad with a penchant for excitement.

The next best thing to excitement was mischief, and Willy wondered what he might find to do. The stables caught his eye. Stables meant cats and cats were fun to rile up. He would never actually hurt the animals, just scare them a bit. He tugged Nick along beside him and carefully avoided the attention of busy workers, especially the one Willy had picked out as the stablemaster. Inside, the smell of ponies and freshly turned hay greeted the brothers, and Willy’s sharp eyes quickly found what he was looking for: a fluffy white cat. He motioned for Nick to wait and be quiet as he snuck up behind the cat. He nearly had it when the first strains of a chord became audible. The band was practicing now!

“Later,” he promised the cat, and snagged Nick. “Maybe we can see Shimshins dance now,” he said, hurrying outside. Nick struggled to keep pace. “Wait!” he called. “I want to see monkey dance, too.” Impatiently, Willy waited for his slower brother to catch up. He did not want to miss Shimshins. He had no need for worry however; the band was only just warming up, and Shimshins had not yet left the man’s shoulder, as if waiting for a cue. Willy went right up to the platform; Nick followed behind more reservedly but eager for another look at the funny creature. Willy was not disappointed; the monkey soon began to strike up a merry dance...

[Noinkling]

The thick curtains pulled shut across the little window kept the sunlight from reaching in to wake him. Tolly’s snug, Hobbit-sized room was at the far end of the Inn, the last one in fact on the ground floor. And yesterday had been long and tiring. and the night a late one. Tolly’s eyes had grown heavy and closed just moments after his head hit the pillow. His sleep had been dreamless, his bed comfortable and warm.

It was only when the sound of someone rapping on his door poked through the haze of sleep that he had roused up. And looking round the still dark room wondered for a moment where he was.

‘Mr. Greenhand, sir,’ came the pleasant voice. ‘Mr. Greenhand!’ it called again. ‘It’s going on mid-day and I’m needing to clean up the room and straighten the linens.’

‘Mid-day!’ squeaked Tolly, jumping from bed. He picked his breeches up from the rug where he’d dropped them and jammed his feet through the legs. Tucking his shirt into the waistband of his breeches, he called out for whoever was on the other side of the door to come in.

‘It’s me,’ said Ruby, just coming to see to your room for the day. ‘Didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘Well, thank my lucky stars you did,’ Tolly replied, running his fingers hurriedly through his short crop of curly hair. ‘I promised I’d help with the tables and benches this morning.’

‘No need to hurry, then,’ Ruby laughed. ‘You’ve planned it just right. The early risers have got the tables all arranged like Cook wants them, and the chairs and benches have been brought out, too. Some of the ladies have started to put out the tablecloths on the food and mathoms’ tables and others are putting the flowers about.’ She handed him his vest that he’d hung on the door knob. ‘You just go down and get a plate of food and enjoy the nice weather that’s come up this morning.’

She opened the curtains wide and cracked open the window for a little fresh air. The sound of music came drifting into his room . . . a merry tune . . . just the sort he and Blossom like to dance to.

‘The band is practicing, as you can hear,’ said Ruby, as she hurried over to straighten the bedclothes. She plumped the pillow, then took down yesterday’s used towel by the washstand, and left him a fresh one. The sound several lads doing heavy lifting obscured the dance tune. Ruby looked out again, and smiled back at Tolly as she drew in her head.

‘Now there’s something you can help with,’ she said, pointing out the window. Tolly squeezed in beside her, following the line of her finger. A number of strapping Hobbits had hoisted the first of the ale kegs onto the crossed-bar holders and were preparing to tap it. ‘They’ll be needing volunteers to see if the ale’s up to par for the party.’ She watched as several other teams of hoisters, maneuvered their kegs to their own crossed-bars. ‘Go on now,’ she laughed. ‘Get some food in your belly first then help the men test the ale . . . tis a Dragon tradition.’

Tolly started out the door and down the hall to the kitchen. He heard Ruby call out to him a last time. ‘Best pace yourself, Master Tolly,’ she said, grinning widely at him. ‘There’s the rest of today and much of the night to get through . . .’

[piosenniel]

~*~ ***Notice of New Game Opening*** ~*~

Firefoot invites you to take a look at her game: Sailing Away

The Discussion Thread is now open to take on characters/players.

Hope to see you there. Should be a fun game.

~*~ Piosenniel, Game Moderator

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen retrieved his bladder pipe from the common room, and letting the door slam behind him, returned to find Seamus and the hobbits already milling about on a platform hard by the Inn’s verandah. Seamus had his rebec out and stood to one side holding it up to his ear, trying to tune it over the noise. Shimshin capered happily about his feet with excitement. It was a bit of a crowd, Owen thought, happy to note that a few elves had joined up as well. But as he stepped up onto the platform he looked dubiously at it. It was one thing to build a stage quickly so that hobbit musicians might not be lost among the dancers, it was quite another to furnish one sturdy enough for a growing group of hobbits, men and elves. And this one had appeared so suddenly Owen feared it might have all the strength of a mushroom sprung up from the lawn overnight.

But walking gingerly about on the creaking boards, Owen looked curiously at all the instruments. Holding his the pipe to his lips, it’s fragile bladder crackled softly as it filled, and he idly fingered the chanter as he nodded to the those he walked past. When at last he rejoined Seamus and Shimshin, he nudged the former, pointing to an elf who held so great a fiddle she had let it rest between her feet. “There Seamus, see what your rebec could have become had you left it on the vine a bit longer!”

Seamus shook his head. “Looks like we have a fine group here. It should be a good day I think.”

“Yes, but the proof is in the playing, eh?” Owen replied. And as if on cue the hobbits started playing ‘Sailor’s Hornpipe’ while gathered around a pretty young girl all dressed in green and cream, and who held a rather interesting penny whistle. Owen and Seamus quickly joined in, to Shimshin’s delight. And the monkey ambled about the platform before breaking into an appropriate dance.

But the next song was an even faster one, and the bladder pipe player was pleased to see that the kegs had begun to be brought out. It was thirsty work, and he did so relax with a bit in him.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik had lost count of how many breaths he had taken, waiting at the counter, waiting and waiting for someone whose face he recognized. Not a one. At least the music made it bearable. He glanced at Uien, who had been smiling and swaying to the rhythm of the music.

"Maybe all our friends are gone," he said to her.

She looked at him, her smile unwavering. "You have lost patience."

"It has been.... over half an hour, as the hobbits would say. My stomach is beyond growling."

"Your tone makes up for it, Laurëatan," she laughed. "I will go into the kitchen and see what I can find."

She walked through the door to the kitchen, leaving Falowik to drum his fingers on the counter or on his belly, wondering if he really wanted to be here.

[Nurumaiel]

"Look how hard they're working," said the golden-haired girl, skipping back and forth. "Look how beautiful they're making everything. I think it would be fun to help them, don't you? Except... maybe... it's very nice to watch. Perhaps I would ruin something, and if I were helping, you know, I couldn't watch as easily."

"If you want to help," said Falco Headstrong, "go ask. You'll have plenty of work piled atop your young shoulders, no doubt. No doubt!"

The girl gazed dubiously, and then she tripped off to find someone to ask. She didn't know who would help her, but she supposed somebody would... and then she would help them.

Falco Headstrong put his back to the wall and folded his arms as he watched the activity about him. They wouldn't ask her to help, she was so little. She'd have to ask herself. But no doubt someone would ask him. No doubt! Grudgingly he admitted to himself that he wouldn't mind very much, but in all the hustle and bustle he hadn't been able to find the Innkeeper and get himself a room. He was still in his wet clothes, which were now drying stiff and dirty, to his disgust. Perhaps the work wouldn't matter too much, as he was already dirty, but he still didn't want to.

He wondered who was to be married. He'd been to a few weddings before. He liked to see the happy people, the crying parents, the joyous and nervous groom, and the sweet, rosy-cheeked hobbit bride. He'd been invited to quite a few weddings, he reflected with some smug pride. He was popular in his little home amongst the young people, for he would always upon up his full purse to help the couples just starting out, and floundering, and finding poverty stealing upon them. Yes, he would help them, and others, if they weren't too proud to accept his generosity. Can't a hobbit have the pleasure of helping a friend without being told coolly: "No, please don't trouble yourself, I couldn't possibly, and I'll manage," when it was as plain as daylight that they couldn't manage? Hobbits nowadays! And hobbits from the past. When had any of his neighbours been willing to accept help?

But when they did it would get around fast that he, Falco Headstrong, had helped, and it would make him well-liked, so he was invited to funerals and weddings... especially the weddings of friends of a young married couple he had helped. He looked forward to this wedding. He wondered if the young lad would be one of those easy, self-confident hobbits, or one of the blushing, shy hobbits, or one of the hobbits not at all shy but nervous that something would go wrong. In any case, the hobbit bride would be happy and blushing, sweet-faced and full of love for her own dear one. And maybe if they were poor they wouldn't be so object to taking from him in the bright rays of their happiness that blinded them to all else. After all, hobbits had to stick close together and help each other out.

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth spent an hour or so helping move tables, chairs, and benches into place. After doing all that he could, he straightened and looked around. He was pleased to see the garlands he had helped cut hanging about the place.

Not knowing what else to do he wandered over to the group of men lifting kegs of ale onto the holders. "Let me help!" he called and went to lift the kegs. Some of the hobbits were now "testing" the ale. He smiled. Of all jobs he could have ended up doing, he was glad he got this one.

[piosenniel]

Cook and Uien

Cook had brought the big cake out of the pantry with the help of Buttercup and placed it carefully on the table in the center of the kitchen. They were both fussing with a number of the sugared violets that had come dislodged along the edge of one of the layers when the door to the kitchen opened. Their backs were to the entrance and there had been so much coming and going that neither looked up from their task. ‘There’s the last of the bread to be sliced and put in baskets . . . over there on the counter near the pantry. The baskets are up above on the shelf. Oh, and you’ll find napkins for liners in the last drawer under that counter.’ Cook supposed it was one of the volunteers come to finish up the last of the baskets of food for the party.

When they heard only a tentative shuffle behind them and a small silvery laugh, Cook and Buttercup looked at one another. Then Buttercup turned toward the door and seeing who had come in, laughed aloud. ‘Look, Cook! That skinny Elf’s come for the party,’ she said, poking Cook in the side.

Cook turned, wiping the frosting from her fingers on her apron, to see who Buttercup meant. Her eyes flew wide at the sight of the figure standing there. ‘Uien!’ she cried, her face beaming. The elderly Hobbit trotted over to the Elf and gave her a tight squeeze about the waist. She stepped back, smiling. ‘Well, looks like he’s been keeping you fed right,’ she said looking Uien up and down. ‘Did Master Falowik come with you?’ she asked, peering around the Elf. ‘He must have . . . Are you hungry? We’ve got plenty of food for the party.’ She offered Uien a chair at the smaller table in the kitchen. ‘Buttercup, you just go fetch him in here. Tell him we’ve food and drink and his fair Elf to boot.’ Cook sat down with a tired oomph! at the table. ‘Tell me lass, what adventures have you two got up to now?’

[Nurumaiel]

The golden-haired girl (whose name was, in passing, Marigold Baker) found many people whom she could ask, but she did not know if she should. None of them seemed personages of authority who would be able to instruct her correctly. She supposed she could simply jump into the midst of the work, but moving tables seemed too heavy a task. The sound of music drifted to her, and for a moment she swayed and thought she would go listen, but then she determined herself to help, if only she found the right one to ask.

Marigold knew a kitchen door when she saw one. It was the only door she had used at her home, because it was the only door where she would find her mother directly on the other side. She recognized this door as a kitchen door, and it occurred to her that perhaps someone inside would know how she might help. Cautiously she opened the door and peeked in, and then she withdrew quickly, her cheeks flushing and her eyes bright, yet shy. Why, there was a tall beautiful lady in there! Marigold had never seen one of the woman Big Folk before, and there was one just through the kitchen door, fairer than anyone Marigold had ever seen, and with the sweetest smile and laugh.

"I should be much too shy to go in there," Marigold murmured to herself. "It's such an odd thing; I've never been too shy before. Oh, but isn't she beautiful! She has the most beautiful face I have ever seen, except for my mother's face." She cast a look over her shoulder. "I'm glad Mr. Headstrong isn't here to see. He'd say something horribly... dampening. He doesn't seem a bad hobbit but he's so very... very... depressing. He'd moan that there were Big Folk here and never notice how beautiful she is. Why, she reminds me of moonlight and starlight and sunlight, and all the beautiful things I know of." Marigold opened the door a crack again and peered in again. "How beautiful she is!" she sighed, and, closing the door, she sat down beside it. She didn't dare go in, a bold and haughty lass who thought she had every right to speak with Big Folk, but wouldn't it be nice if the beautiful lady came out and smiled at her as she went by? "No doubt it would," said Marigold, laughing and recalling Mr. Headstrong, standing at the other door. "No doubt!"

[piosenniel]

Buttercup and Marigold in the kitchen with Uien

‘And just what are you doing here, sitting on the floor, little missy?’

Buttercup had just delivered the message to Falowik and was on her way back to the kitchen when she saw the little girl with her mop of yellow curls settle down by the door. She crouched down, so as to be on the same level as the girl and looked her over. Very pretty, she thought. She asked the lass her name.

‘Marigold . . . Baker . . .,’ came the soft and hesitant reply.

‘Well, Miss Marigold, my name is Buttercup.’ She gave the child her hand and brought her to her feet. ‘Today’s no day for Hobbits to be sitting about. There’s work to be done . . . a party to get ready for.’ She walked slowly through the door to the kitchen, chattering all the while to Marigold. ‘We’ll just get you some lunch, I think. Unless you’ve already eaten, of course. And then I was wondering if you might help me pile bread in the little baskets for the food table.’

Buttercup drew the child over to one of the empty chairs and urged her to take a seat. ‘This is Cook,’ she said in introduction. ‘Marigold’s come to help with the bread baskets.’ Cook nodded and poured the girl a small mug of cold cider. ‘And this is Uien,’ she said nodding toward the Elf. Marigold’s eyes she noted went wide as Uien smiled at her. ‘One of the Fair Folk she is. Used to work here at the Inn . . . that is til she went off adventuring with her Mister.’

Buttercup brought out a little tray of thick ham and cheese sandwiches and plunked them down in the middle of the three women, big and little. ‘Pass the cider round, won’t you Uien. And Marigold go ahead and take a sandwich. Workers eat for free today . . .’

[Encaitare]

The band by now had grown considerably, featuring all different sorts of people; however, Caity thought that they sounded pretty good, considering that they had never played together before. But then, hobbit tunes were simple and well-known, and it was easy for even those who had never heard the song to catch on shortly.

As she played on her pennywhistle, her stomach growled, reminding her that she had never eaten breakfast. She hoped she could grab some food soon. Yet the thought was interrupted as the little monkey caught her eye -- already he was dancing to the music! Caity held in her laughter as best she could as the monkey continued his antics. Eventually she had to look away so as to avoid throwing the whole group off.

Instead, her eyes settled on the elf in the large hat. Her outfit was strange, but in a good way, and she really wanted to ask her about the large instrument she was playing so deftly.

Happily taking in the beauty of the scene, with the motley band playing along, the jolly hobbits "testing" the ale, and the festive decorations, Caity did not find it surprising that Shimshin was dancing. She rather felt like dancing herself, but satisfied herself by making sure that her playing was perfect.

[littlemanpoet]

"There you are, Falowik!" a female voice as good as shouted. Falowik turned. One of the serving girls. He had never quite gotten their names. "Your skinny Elf Lady Uien is waiting for you in the kitchen!"

"Thank you!" he smiled as she motioned for him to follow her.

Uien was sitting at table across from a little hobbit lass all in blonde curls, pleased as punch to be the center of attention.

"Ah, there you are," Uien said. "Sit and be fed. I was just getting ready to tell Cook and Buttercup here what you and I have been doing these past few months, and they think I'm no longer the waif I looked last I was here, thanks to you."

Falowik grinned. So it was Buttercup. He mentally thanked Uien for the name, and she winked back at him as he took his place at table. There was a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches set before them, and his mouth watered quickly.

"You first, Uien," he said.

"Or I'll get none, is that it?"

"Hobbits do make good fare, better than we've had since we left the Shire."

"If you like man-food," Uien returned.

"Hobbit food's better!" Cook corrected. "I've 'eard of what they eat, and it don't compare to what's served at the Green Dragon."

"Of course not!" Falowik assured her.

"Are you an Elf too?" The little hobbit lass's eyes were wide, looking at him.

He swallowed his first mouthful. "Oh, no," he answered with a smile. "I'm a Man."

"Are you handfasted?" little Marigold asked him.

Falowik almost choked and coughed, and Uien snickered in her hand. He cleared his throat. "No. Men and Elves do not - um - handfast." Falowik was not used to the term.

"Some have," Uien murmured, half smiling.

"Why not?" little Marigold asked.

Falowik had all the answers to these questions firmly in mind, but not in a hobbit lass's speech. He looked at her blankly.

"It looks like you're finished with your cider and sandwich, Marigold, eh?" Buttercup asked, winking at Falowik. The girl nodded. "What do you say to helping me with those breadfbaskets now?"

"Yay!" the girl cried, and climbed down from her chair, eager to help Buttercup. Falowik made to wipe his brow in relief. Uien was half smiling.

Cook was at the stoves, chuckling, and said, "Now tell me what you two've been up to while you've been away."

Falowik and Uien related how they'd gone to Eryn Lasgalen with the Elven women, Lumiel and Eswen, who had accompanied them into the hills of Evendim, to bring home Lira, who had given her life in the quest. Then they had gone to Lothlorien, Uien's former home, and she had shown Falowik all the fair sights to be seen there, now almost emptied of Elves. They had come back across the mountains and stopped in Rivendell, then returned to Bree, where Falowik had been born. They had just been starting to have their first debate about where they would settle down when Uien had, on a whim, sent her thought to the Shire.

"An Elf from this Inn felt my thought, and it was thus that I learned of Derufin and Zimzi's handfasting."

"Ach, the ways of Elves are beyond me!" Cook said.

"I stand with you on that," Falowik said.

"Where is Derufin, Miss Bunce?" Uien asked.

[Oddwen]

Berulo had helped as much as he could with the moving of furniture when he was done eating, and was now helping to "test" the ale. It was a fine proper year, but it wouldn't do to make any mistakes and ruin the party, would it?

After the ale had been tested every which way to Sunday, Berulo walked back into the Inn to see if there was anything left to be carried out. Vaguely, he remembered a bunch of women's work needing to be done, and then there was food...lovely, glorious food.

He let his nose carry him to what he thought might be the kitchen. And he hadn't had any second breakfast, and he had been hauling tables all morning...

And imagine his suprise when he saw an Elf in the kitchen, making sandwiches!

"Er," he began. "Er, ahem, um..."

"Well?" said the hobbit Cook. "What do you want, young man?"

"Pardon me ma'am, sir, lady," he said. "Is there anything to carry out yet?"

[THE Ka]

Rasputina's shyness seemed to melt like an icefloat in a south sea when she was around these people. When she played at home, everyone was silent and gave the notion of an almost depressed atmosphere. Though, she did not doubt that her kin loved to hear and see her cello, something they took into great admeration due to their Noldor background. So too was with the company she now kept, who surprisingly knew and played songs that were easy for her to accompany. They were foreign to her less 'merry' sonata's, but they were very interesting. Some seemed almost pure nonsense, one was about a dog and a kettle! Very foreign indeed but, she was intrigued none the less.

In the small audience that gathered, Rasputina suddenly spotted a familiar sight - another of her people it seemed was there. Blinking again, she saw that the guest wasn't but, did look like her people of Eryn Vorn. It seemed that they were listening to her, something she found very strange since she doubted any other elve knew or had heard her cello, unless they had the chance or will to visit the dark wood. Still the same, it was nice to see another. One of the musicians named 'Gil' asked their name, and to Rasputina, sounded of far origin to her own people but, was beautiful. Mithalwen, as she was called was asked If she wanted to contribute. Rasputina listened anyway she could for an answer, but lost her concentration when someone began to play again. She was curious If this vistor carried one of the 'fabled' Lyres of Lothlorien. Her people had only one among them, and was cherished like a holy relic among pilgrims. Whatever the answer, it would come later.

Some of the more local musicians, one of which would take glances at her hat, which she didn't mind. The friend who had given her the invitation mentioned some ways of 'blending in' with this enimatic folk. If Rasputina had come without this information, she would have seemed bizzare even to an elve. This is due to, over time, when her people decided that their temporary 'hide away' was going to be permanent, many new customs were adpoted. Mostly due to the enviroment itself. Her people either wore nothing but white to help in the darkness, or they wore dark colours if they were especially fair. Either way, it was easier to find each other. Their clothing was influenced mainly by the sea views available of that region and the type of trees that made up the forest. But, most strange of all, they didn't ware any shoes or see the need to. This was mainly influenced by the conditions that they arrived in. There were some shoes and boots that were crafted but, mainly out of boredom. When she left home, the products of people's boredom became something of a new experience. In first few days, her feet began to complain about these new coverings. They still did now and then but, were not as bad.

After a song, Rasputina felt that she should take a minute to get to know some of these people alittle more. The first was a hobbit named Caity. She was very interesting to converse with and soon became more than an aqqaintance. As they were talking, Rasputina felt that something was after her hat. It was strange at first. Why would someone want to take her hat? If it pleased them to see it or wear it, all they had to do was ask...

She soon put the thought away, and continued to talk. As soon as another song was being performed, the feeling came again and Rasputina was suspicious. Looking around she didn't see anything that would provoke the thought to bother her. Then, as she was about to take wand to string, something leaped up and grabbed the hat, landing on the stage. Rasputina looked down to find a monkey who had been dancing before, with her hat on, completely covering its' head. She first smiled then burst into sheer laughter. It looked like nothing she had seen before, and the creature was oddly adoreable. it slowley raised the hat off its' head, and stared up at her with concern. It seemed the monkey thought she was going to kill it or some other rash punishment but, she just smiled and asked nicely for it back. She petted its head and said that it needed only to ask next time.

She then began to play again...

[Tevildo]

Tevildo kept a wary eye on all the bustle and preparations that were going on that morning. He had successfully avoided the hound Huan and the other funny creature who went by the name of Shimshins. The latter seemed to be attracting a lot of attention from the two-leggeds, who apparently didn't know any better than to spend their time fawning over a silly-looking animal who couldn't even walk properly on all four legs.

Instead the cat had found a spot where no one would bother him, a high perch on the mantle that stood near the hearth where he could curl up in a ball and spy on everyone. For the next two hours, he had stared down at the various volunteers who were finishing up their preparations for the handfasting and the party, occasionally letting out a howl which was meant to encourage them to work faster. Once when a small mouse tried to poke his nose out of a hole in the wooden panelling under the bar, Tevildo had jumped down and chased him back inside with a stern admonition not to come out until the festivities were over.

Still, he was beginning to get bored. He was not overly fond of manual labor. That sort of thing was best left to Mistress Ellie and the other two-leggeds who were visiting the Inn. It was then that he spied the silly lad who had earlier tried to surprize him by sneaking up without a warning. He was the one who went by the name of Willy---a short lad, even shorter than Mistress Hawthorne who had been working at Ellie's side for much of the morning.

Tevildo was seized by a sudden desire to teach the nasty lad a lesson about his rude behavior. The young Hobbit was sitting and listening to the music. He had slipped off his jacket and tossed it casually over on the ground and was not paying any attention to it. And what a nice jacket it was! Just the sort of lovely thick cloth that Tevildo would enjoy ripping to shreds. Tiptoeing over on velvet paws, the cat quietly approached the jacket and unsheathed his claws. He jumped up on top of it and merrily began to claw at the sleeve.....

[piosenniel]

Cook, Buttercup, and Uien . . .

‘Where is Derufin, Miss Bunce?’ Uien asked. Buttercup and Cook looked at each other and then away. Cook snorted and pointed her thumb toward the door to her rooms just off the kitchen. ‘He’s in there, Master Derufin is, and probably sawing logs on my clean quilt!’

Uien looked at her, a perplexed expression on her face. ‘Sawing logs? What a mess that would make.’ She tilted her head as if listening for the sound of saw against wood.

Cook laughed at her expression. ‘Figure of speech, my dear! I’d call him a “poor man” save for the fact he did this to himself.’

Buttercup butted in, wanting to get in on the conversation. ‘She means to tell you he’s sleeping off the drink he managed to down last night with Mistress Zimzi’s brothers. Last night of freedom and all that nonsense. He looks like death warmed over, at least he did an hour or so ago when the brothers brought him into the kitchen and left us to deal with him.’

‘I’ve given him some willowbark tea, fed him, and made him lie down for a while,’ said Cook. ‘The handfasting’s not til later this afternoon; we hope to have him back on is feet by then.’

‘Either that,’ said Buttercup with a knowing nod, ‘or Cook will string him up by the thumbs for ruining the day.’ Buttercup looked at Uien and chewed her lip a bit, trying to remember something. ‘Say . . . Uien . . . wasn’t it you that had a sort of healing gift?’ she nodded toward the closed door behind which the snoring and bedraggled Derufin lay. ‘You think you could do a little Elven magic and set him right again?’

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cook sends Berulo out with a plateful of food and a mug of hot tea . . .

Before Uien could answer, a young Hobbit lad poked his head in through the doors. ‘Anything else needs to go out to the yard,’ he asked, his eyes fixed on Cook.

Cook motioned for him to come in. It was a Hobbit just out of his tweens from Bree. Very polite, Cook thought approvingly. Ma must have taught him some good manners, indeed! Berulo Rushlight was his name, he said, going on to say that the tables and chairs were all moved and arranged. And how he was a bit hungry now, but if there were anything else needed he would be happy to do that first.

‘I think the ladies will finish the rest of the getting ready for the party,’ Cook told him. ‘You’ve done enough, I think. And it’s much appreciated.’ she got up from her chair and got a clean plate from the cupboard. A few moments later, and she had it piled high with thick ham and cheese sandwiches, a juice apple, and had given him a hot mug of tea laced with honey to wash it down. ‘You go on out to the yard with the other lads and relax a bit and enjoy yourself. Eat up, drink your tea, and listen to the music. I’m sure they’ve tapped the kegs by now . . .’ Berulo nodded at her, a grin on his face. ‘We can think about cleaning up and hauling the tables back in once the party’s all done. For now, just enjoy yourself, Master Rushlight!’

[Mithalwen]

"My name is Mithalwen - and while I can play most instruments a little by need, my greater skill is in their making rather than in performance - I have none with me for I play the harp for preference and that is hard to transport on horseback. " Mithalwen was a reluctant performer at home - among the teleri who dwellt still at the Havens were finer executants than her, she deemed but maybe among those she did not know she would find confidence easier to come by. "I could sing if you judge me up to the task but I do not know what would be fitting for such an occasion."

Mithalwen wound a tress of her silver hair around her hand as she spoke anxiously she was thinking still of the other elf .. but she had missed her chance to speak to her .. at least out loud. An thought slipped into her mind and it was not her own .. a Lyre of Lothlorien? In her thought she answered: I know of what you speak but I do not possess such a thing. I am not from that place. An image formed of the woods of Lorien rooved and carpeted with gold. She sighed for Lorien the fair knowing that even if her path took her thither again it would not be quite the same. She looked at the elf and smiled as she caught her glance.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

A wedding? Snaveling groaned. Things were going from bad to worse. Yes, he was now properly breakfasted, and he had managed to fill out his wardrobe with the addition of a new cloak and tunic from the attic trunk Ruby had shown him, but the thought of confronting Aman on a wedding day drove his heart clear into his boots. He had not been to many handfastings, but those he had been forced to attend had all been weepy, sentimental affairs at which everyone, it seemed, became extraordinarily silly – particularly the women. He had seen many a female whom he thought more or less level-headed get wobbly in the presence of the nuptial couple, and while he had a good deal of faith in the stable and sensible Innkeeper of the Dragon, he feared that she might not be above the effect of this day.

Seeking some privacy, he wandered through the garden, his mind whirling with plans. For a time he thought seriously about slipping away into the wild once more, but that would not do. Cook and Ruby had seen him and were sure to mention it. He decided to hide in the stable for the rest of the day. Hurrying to carry out his plan, he almost ran by the large cart laden with flowers without noticing it, when a vaguely familiar shape appeared from the other side of it as though by magic. “Oh,” the woman said in partial recognition of him. “You’re back are you?”

Snaveling struggled to place the woman’s face and voice, but failed at first. “I have returned, madam, it is true,” he said, remaining non-committal. “But I am not sure how long I am staying…”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and she placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t remember me, do you?” Snaveling shook his head apologetically. “Perhaps this will remind you, then,” the woman said, and reaching into a pocket she pulled out a small pouch of pipeweed. Opening it and holding it out for him to smell, a gorgeous fragrance came to Snaveling that he had not smelled since…

“Jinniver!” he called out, delighted to have remembered his brief acquaintance from his last visit, and at the prospect of once again being able to enjoy her marvellous weed.

“Yes, Snaveling,” she said, adding hurriedly, “and if you want a bit of this weed, then by all means help yourself to it, and I won’t hear of any payment for it! I don’t quite know what came over me the last time I let you pass over your money, but I won’t hear of it again.”

Snaveling bowed with practised courtesy. “As you wish, mistress. But I am afraid that I am not in a position to insult you with any offer of payment this time, for I am – at present – rather short of money.”

“Really?” She could not quite suppress her surprise, for she had seen the size of his purse the last time Snaveling was here. “There must be a story behind that.”

Snaveling made a sour face. “There is, I’m afraid, and not one I want to remember.” He could see Jinniver preparing another question. To forestall it he said, “I see that there is a wedding today. Is there anything I could do to help?”

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold's eyes sparkled as she helped Buttercup with the work, made twice as lovely because her little stomach was now full. She had some small bit of childish clumsiness, but she worked deftly and efficiently. After all, she had helped her dear mamma in the kitchen many, many times, and she was accustomed to working in this manner. Every so often she would steal shy, awe-filled glances at the tall beautiful woman. She was one of the Fair Folk, they said? Well, she was fair. Marigold had thought this was one of the Big Folk. What did her papa say the Fair Folk were? They were Elves, he said. What was an Elf doing in the kitchen of a Hobbit Inn?

There was that tall fellow. He said he was one of the Big Folk. She wasn't in the least shy of him. She had seen tall Big Folk men before. But it was so very odd... why was this Big Folk man the husband of one of the Fair Folk? No, but he said he wasn't handfasted with her. Marigold shook her head. At nearly eleven years old she thought she was very old and worldly-wise, but some things were still beyond her.

She gave a special smile to the hobbit boy. He was very old in her eyes, but he was a hobbit nevertheless and it was comforting to have one more hobbit about. That way there were more hobbits than Big Folk and Fair Folk. Not that she didn't like the Big Folk, but hobbits were always best to a hobbit.

She tripped to the door, opened it, and peeked out. "They're making things so beautiful out there," she said. "I heard there was going to be a hand-fasting. I hope there really will be. I've never been to a hand-fasting before, but it must be beautiful. I saw my cousin getting ready for her hand-fasting. She was so pretty in her dress, and she looked so happy. She wasn't as pretty as my mamma, though. I wish I could have seen my mamma get married." She smiled a wistful little smile, and then returned to Buttercup's side. "My mamma used to tell me stories about her hand-fasting. She said she was the happiest girl in the Shire that day. It was a beautiful fair day and they were hand-fasted under a bower of lilacs. That was my father's idea, because my mamma was called Lilac. I think it would be beautiful to be hand-fasted under a bower of your very own name flower, don't you? I'd like to be hand-fasted under a bower of marigolds. That would be lovely, don't you think?"

She was silent for the slightest bit of a moment, and then she smiled and tossed a little curl away from her face. "I met the funniest old hobbit today," she said. "He's all finely dressed but his clothes are so muddy. He seemed very upset about something. Well, no, not upset, but he seems like the type of hobbit who is always worrying about something. I think it would be terrible to always be worrying, don't you? I like to be cheerful as much as I can. Life is so wonderful and cheerful and happy, and I can't help but be happy with it. Life is only ever unhappy if I make it unhappy by being unhappy myself. So I stay happy as much as I can, and so does life."

Marigold ceased in both her work and her chattering for a moment to brush another curl out of her eyes. She gave an impatient little stamp of her foot, and then put her hands into her dress pocket and brought out a little ribbon. She tied the curls back effectively with this and then returned to both work and chattering. "My mamma always used to tie my hair back every day. Not so it was stiff and ugly, you know, but so it was nice and pretty with little curls around my ears. It can be very difficult to work and play when you have hair in the way. My mamma didn't have golden hair, you know. She said there were only a very few hobbits with golden hair before a few years ago. I like my golden hair, because it's mine, but my mamma had such pretty, silky black curls. I wish I looked more like her. She was so beautiful."

Marigold took some of the bread in her hands and, cocking her head to one side, arranged it carefully in the basket. She seemed well-satisfied with her work, for she smiled and nodded, and then she turned to another basket. "I do so enjoy this work. It's very nice to arrange these breads so they'll look just right. I love to make things pretty. My dear mamma used to have a little garden, and she would spend almost the whole day in it, watering and pruning and weeding. She loved her garden so much. And she would always pay special attention to the marigolds, so she could put them in my hair when we went on picnics. She loved to see marigolds in my hair. But her hair looked even more beautiful than mine when she put lilacs in. Lilacs look so lovely in black hair, don't you think? When I have my own home I hope I have children with black hair so I can put lilacs in them. Of course," she added, with a funny little laugh, "it wouldn't work if they were boys."

[Firefoot]

Willy was delighted by Shimshin's dancing, and so it shocked him when the monkey randomly jumped off the stage and scampered off. He only hesitated a moment before springing to his feet with the full intent of chasing after Shimshins to keep an eye on him; after all, Seamus had trusted him to do so.

At that moment, however, he became distracted by the distinct sound of ripping fabric. A wash of dread washed over him as he whirled around to the noise. Only a short while earlier he had decided the day was too warm to wear a coat and slipped his off, laying it on the ground behind him. Sure enough, the damage was being done to his coat - it was being scratched up by that white cat! Now the coat was not new, but it was still in very serviceable condition and Willy's family was not so wealthy that they could afford to buy new coats simply because of carelessness. With a yelp, Willy pounced on the cat, who slipped away leaving Willy with a handful of white hair. He scooped up the coat to check it for obvious damage. There was a long rip in the sleeve and a gash in the front left. Willy frowned worriedly; he wasn't sure whether the gash could be mended. Not knowing what else to do with it, he tied it around his waist and then looked around for the cat.

It sat just out of easy reach, watching him. Glaring, thought Willy. It hissed malevolently at him, and Willy scowled. No cat would ever oust him! He muttered, "I'm going to get you, cat, and then you'll be sorry!" He sprang after the cat, who dashed away, dodging this way and that, around things and between people's legs. Willy was hot on the trail, and so intent on the chase was he that he barely registered Nick's cry of "Willy, wait!" Nick, who had watched the whole event wordlessly, had now been left behind and did not know what to do alone among strangers. Remembering the renegade monkey, Nick decided that since his older brother was no where to be seen, he would look for his new friend by himself and set off for a nearby stand of trees in the direction Shimshins had headed.

Willy, on the other hand, had finally chased his quarry into the stable but saw no sign of the cat. Just as he looked up to the rafters, the cat jumped down onto his head. Its claws were sharp on his scalp and while Willy's first instinct was to cover his head and face, a split second decision had him reach up and snatch the cat. It hissed, bit, and scratched furiously, sometimes drawing blood, but finally Willy grasped it so that its front legs were in one hand and the back legs in the other, rendering the cat nearly helpless though it still fought valiantly. Willy had no doubt that were he to let go the cat would murder him. He looked around for some way to extract revenge on the cat that desired to destroy his coat and him. A devilish gleam lit his eyes at what he saw: a horse's water trough filled with water - not clean water either, but with bits of straw and dirt floating in it. Willy took the cat over and with a smirk dunked the cat all the way in. How it yowled!

Then, in desperation, Willy flung the cat into a pile of hay and sprinted for the stable door as if his life depended on it. He was certain it did. The furious cat was after him, but Willy was just barely able to shut the door in its face. Willy leaned against the wall gasping for breath, and the corners of his mouth slowly curved upward. That would teach it to mess with him! Then he realized Nick was nowhere to be seen. He was supposed to be responsible for Nick! Without a further thought, Willy dashed off to find his brother, not noticing that someone who had seen the chase and heard the cat's fierce yowls was coming to see what all the commotion was about...

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Probably." Aman had arrived behind Snaveling just as she heard him say the last sentence. The man froze then, very slowly, pivotted around to see the Innkeeper, arms crossed, standing behind him, her face blank. He looked rougher than when she had last seen him, she noted: a thin layer of stubble covered his chin, and his previously neat hair was scruffy and unkempt. His clothes, though clean, did not seem quite right either, as if they did not belong to him: and they were certainly not the fine vestments she had last seen him wearing. The fact they were covered in straw was a little suspicious as well...

"Aman...." Snaveling began, his voice unusually hesitant, his dark eyes skittering around her face - another new development, she thought with more surprise. Uneasy. Last time he was all confidence. Why, I do believe the old Snaveling has paid us a visit: rough and unshaven, uneasy and attempting to avoid me... And he was - trying to avoid her, that is. The Innkeeper had no doubt of that. Cook had mentioned his arrival, asking whether she had spoken to him yet. It hurt that she had heard from someone else. It hurt that he sent mixed signals.

"Good morning, sir, you wanted to help? The trestle tables are almost laid out, but I believe there are a few still inside: if you ask Merrimac, the stablemaster, I'm sure he can help you." Aman's voice was impassive, impersonal, stiff, as if he was a normal customer, and her eyes stayed locked on Snaveling's. He looked puzzled, his brow creasing for a moment, then he just continued to regard her, waiting for an explanation. Aman couldn't help thinking he looked ready to run. She paused, then rolled her eyes, uncrossing her arms, relaxing. "Snaveling, you do make things difficult, you know that?" she said exasperatedly, raising her eyebrows. "Why didn't you come to find me?"

Snaveling still didn't answer; but a movement caught Aman's eye and she looked to the side, seeing Sakal leaning against the wall of the Inn, a piece of grass in his mouth, nonchalantly watching her. As she caught his eye, the man grinned at her, white teeth flashing in the sun, then looked away casually. Although intrigued, Aman tore her eyes away, looking back at Snaveling. Casting her eyes down at his clothes. "Snaveling..." she stopped, then smiled, her eyebrows raised again. "Go, there are some clothes in the attic that will probably fit you." He nodded and turned to go, but Aman stopped him, her hand touching his elbow. As he turned to look back at her, she squeezed his arm lightly and smiled, this time more openly, putting aside her annoyance, before she spoke hesitantly. "The horse...Felarof...he is the finest horse I have ever ridden."

The Numenorean paused, looking at her as if across a great chasm, then bowed his head slightly. "As promised," he said quietly, before moving away, through the crowds and into the Inn. Aman watched the door where he had vanished for a moment, then closed her eyes, sighing irritatedly. The cheek of the man!

"Hey." The soft voice caught her attention and she turned around quickly to see Sakal behind her, the straw still in his mouth. "Are you alright?"

Aman realised her irritation must have shown, and smoothed her face out quickly, smiling hurriedly up at the man as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh...yes, thank you. Just a...minor irritation," she added, her eyes straying once more to the door. Looking back at Sakal, she asked, "Have you seen Derufin, by the way? The groom is yet to emerge, it seems."

Sakal grinned impishly, his dark eyes glittering. "Your stablemaster, it seems, cannot hold his spirits as well as he may think. Azar and I, we...we displayed a few of the spirits of Lindon to him."

"Oh really?" Aman laughed. Sakal flickered his eyebrows up and down, still grinning, then offered the Rohirrim woman his arm. "I'll take you to the unfortunate individual, if you'd like."

"Very much so, thank you." Smiling, she took his arm and they began to walk inside. After a moment, Aman's face grew serious and she said gravely,"Sakal, I must ask: what exactly have you done to my stablemaster?!"

[Nurumaiel]

Falco Headstrong had been listening to the music. At first he tried to pretend it did not interest him, but slowly his feet drew closer and closer, and it was not long before he was tapping his foot and smiling, nodding in appreciation. He had heard the Sailor's Hornpipe, and recalled the days as a young lad when he had danced to that tune. He had danced to many a tune that day, but he had one favourite. Perhaps he could get the musicians to play it.

And that monkey! Tsk, tsk! How absurd, to think a monkey could dance well!

An idea sprang into Falco's mind, and for a moment he forgot he was a dignified and well-to-do old hobbit man. No, no, he didn't forget! But he remembered that just because he had been out in the rain the night before didn't mean he had to retain his sour mood. He remembered the last hand-fasting he had gone to. He'd hadn't considered it beneath his dignity then.

"Here now, boys... and, er, girls," he said to the musicians, stepping to them with a twinkle in his eye. "Your monkey knows how to stamp his feet, but why don't you watch a real hobbit dancing? Do you know The Maid Behind the Bar? If so, strike it up, and I'll dance for you better than any hobbit in the Shire can."

[Ealasaide]

Ealasaide's Post

As the songs they played grew faster and more complex with each start, Seamus' long, thin fingers fairly flew over the fingerboard of his instrument, his bow dancing merrily over the strings. Shimshin turned a merry dance as well at the front of the stage until suddenly mid-step he leaped off the platform and disappeared amid the small group of spectators who had gathered at the base of the platform to watch. Startled, Seamus nudged Owen who looked back at him with wide, equally startled eyes. He had seen Shimshin’s departure as well. It still being mid-song, neither of them wanted to throw down his instrument and pelt after the monkey, but there was no telling what sort of mischief the little guy could get into if left unsupervised. Seamus let his eyes search the crowd as he continued to play. When the song ended, he and Owen both dropped their instruments and climbed off the stage.

“Shimshin!” Seamus called softly. He looked under the stage. “Pssst...pssst...pssst.. Shimshin!”

Behind him, Owen peeked around the edges of the ladies’ skirts, making the same soft pssst sound. Finally, empty-handed, he rejoined Seamus at the foot of the stage as, above them, the band set into a lively rendition of The Maid Behind the Bar. A middle-aged hobbit took up the dancing where Shimshin had left off.

“Say, have you got any cashews?” asked Owen at his elbow. Both of them knew that cashews were, above all else, Shimshin’s cherished food of choice.

Seamus turned his pockets out and shook his head. “Not a one.”

“Maybe the Cook’s got some for the party,” said Owen. “I’ll go ask.”

“Good idea!” rejoined Seamus. “I’ll keep looking for him. If he’s up a tree or something, the cashews will be sure to bring him down again.”

As Owen disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, Seamus dropped to his hands and knees, looking up at the scaffolding under the stage. Seeing no sign of Shimshin there, he rose once more to his feet, this time turning his blue eyes toward the large oak that shaded the gate. “Shimshin!”

*******************************

Hilde Bracegirdle's Post

It had turned out that the inn hadn’t had the cashews necessary for luring a small spider monkey from his hiding place. And cook had informed him quite firmly she’d be needing all the hazelnuts she had. So Owen had turned to pleading a bit until, the hobbit matron had reluctantly given him a small handful of stale walnuts. “Don’t be wasting them now, she warned. I don’t have many left and it’ll be another few months before they are to be found again at market!”

So Owen and Seamus had both combed the yard holding out the less than tempting morsels and looking for Shimshin to no avail. It was just then, as Owen contemplated eating a walnut himself, that he remembered the toast that had graced the table at breakfast. And quickly he jogged back into the Inn to find Ruby, rather then braving the inquiries of the cook, and finding her he ask quiet sweetly for spoonful of amber honey in a clean saucer - as if it were quite natural request this time. He did not mention that his charge had gone truant, nor that he had deep misgivings about having brought the creature into such a fine establishment, though it was ever forefront in his mind. But instead he made some pretense of having a sore throat, simply smiling and saying ‘no thank you’, when the perplexed assistant and truly thoughtful hobbit insisted on offering him tea.

And so Owen returned with a cup of fresh tea and a saucer of honey, both of which he set on the edge of the stage. It seemed that Seamus had gotten caught up in what was happening on the stage. Shimshin was nowhere to be seen.

[Lalwendë]

As soon as Jinniver saw Snaveling she knew she had to speak to him. The incident with the money had left her feeling deeply embarrassed and she was determined to clear it up. She quite surprised herself at her boldness but the thought of having behaved incorrectly was too strong to succumb to her natural reserve.

She was shocked to hear that he now had no money, and her cheeks went red thinking of how she had thought him a likely source of easy income and taken those coins for the pipeweed. What had happened to him? Had he been robbed? Or had he come off badly in some sort of wager? Her curiosity got the better of her but he skilfully avoided her questions. She was about to try and wheedle some information out of him when she saw Aman approach. Snaveling’s face went white and his mouth fell open.

Jinniver busied herself with twining ivy around the bases of some of the tea roses, but her ears were trained on the conversation between Snaveling and Aman. Several times she twisted the ivy stems too tightly and snapped them as she was so engrossed in what was being said nearby. She stole a few glances and ended up getting a tiny thorn stuck in the end of her thumb. There was the same awkwardness between these two that there had been a few nights before in the inn, but somehow their behaviour had turned frostier, and Snaveling did not have the same proud demeanour he had possessed before.

She was glad when they broke apart as the cut in her thumb was now bleeding quite badly, but she worked for a few minutes more, for the sake of appearances, before she made for the well, where she carefully bathed the small wound in the cool pure water. Her head was spinning with what might have been passing between the innkeeper and the man she had thought of as a nobleman, and she knew she ought instead to have been concentrating on the flowers. Realising she needed a smoke, she stopped and filled her pipe, leaning against the edge of the well. As she savoured the pipeweed she blew out a few smoke rings and relaxed a little. She was determined to find out what was going on, but she also wanted to enjoy this day, and she was not without a little pride as she thought of Zimzi’s face when she would see the new garden.

For a moment, Jinniver thought of how her own handfasting might have been like this all those years ago, but she didn’t dwell on it for long; she knew now that it would have been nothing of the sort. It would have been no merry day in Bree, she would have been carried off to some horrible place and then forced to hand over her father’s farm. Her brother, for all his faults, had been right to stop it from happening, and she reflected on how lucky she had been that dark night in Bree, managing to save not only herself but her father and their home. The sounds of the band practising came to her ears then, and she felt a sudden urge to sing along. She finished smoking her pipe, and set off back to the inn, humming along with the music and thinking about how she would go and put on her best dress soon and join in with the fun.

[Sapphire_Flame]

Baradil walked up to the inn, which was in the middle of a most extraordinary amount of activity. He hadn't expected it to be so busy! He caught the attention of a passing woman and asked her what was going on.

"Preparations," she replied, "for the handfasting of Master Derufin and Mistress Zimzi."

"Indeed?" Baradil couldn't help feeling a bit pleased. He rather enjoyed festivities and parties. "Is there any way I could be of assistance?"

"There are some tables still to be set up, and the kegs to be brought out."

"Ah, I could certainly help with that." He grinned, and headed into the inn to find the tables to be brought outside.

[Envinyatar]

Sakal grinned at the Innkeeper. ‘Oh, he is quite safe, I assure you. Cook has him in hand.’ He winked at Aman as they turned up the small worn track to the kitchen’s back door. ‘He is sleeping off the . . . small . . . . party we had last night. And Cook has dosed him with willowbark tea, I think . . . hoping to settle his stomach, steady his legs, and return the size of his aching head to normal. And all before my sister catches wind of what’s gone on.’

As they neared the door, they were stopped short by the sight of Merry and another Hobbit trying to maneuver a large metal trough through the entryway. They had it turned on its side, but the size of it made it unwieldy and it kept banging against the door frame. Sakal excused himself from Aman and went to help. He took one end while the Hobbits took the other and with a few groans and grunts and scraped fingers they got it through the door and into the kitchen. Aman stepped through after them, watching as the three sat it down near the stove under the direction of Cook.

‘Planning on making a little home brew for the party, Miz Bunce,’ asked Sakal, his brows raised questioningly.

Cook glared at him and told him she wanted no more talk about drinking and such at the moment. Instead she directed him and the two Hobbits to start fetching buckets of water for the rather large pot she had already started over the cook-hearth fire. She called for Buttercup to fetch a stack of towels and a sturdy scrub brush . . . and, oh, yes, one of the large bars of soap from the closet. ‘And the rest of you,’ said Cook, nodding at the others in the kitchen, ‘if you don’t mind can you please take your food and drink to the Common Room, or better yet outdoors where the party will be. I have some work to be done.’

Aman watched as the others exited the room, and Cook locked the door behind them. Curious, she dared a question. ‘Just what are you planning on doing with the tub and the water, Miz Bunce?’

Cook motioned for Sakal, and his brother who’d been summoned to the kitchen by Ruby, to follow her into her room. ‘Well, Miz Aman, I plan on getting that featherbrained fellow lying in there on my bed cleaned up and brought round. He stinks to high heavens and his stubble looks as if it could nick a Dwarf axe. Best you leave us to it. But there is one thing you could do if you would. Go back to his room in the stable and ferret out the nice clothes, suitable clothes, he was planning on wearing this afternoon.’ She disappeared into her room, followed by the two brothers. Aman heard her call out as she did so. ‘Oh, and lock the door, dear, on your way out . . .’

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth went back inside the Inn to see if help was needed in moving the tables outside. Once inside he saw a man he hadn`t met before. He made his way over to the man to speak with him.

"I`ll help you," he said and moved to lift one end of the table. Together they moved the table outside and into place. After setting it down Keleth smiled and extended his hand. "My name is Keleth of Gondor, by the way."

[Sapphire_Flame]

Baradil shook Keleth's outstretched hand. "I am pleased to meet you, Keleth. I am Baradil, also of Gondor."

Keleth smiled. "Indeed? What region?"

"Emyn Arnen. I am a member of the White Company." He nodded back to the inn. "Perhaps we should continue with our duties while we talk, lest we be reprimanded for being neglectful." They started back toward the inn.

"What region are you from?" Baradil asked as he and Keleth retrieved another table.

[littlemanpoet]

‘You think you could do a little Elven magic and set him right again?’

Uien waited for the hobbit lad to get his orders and go before she answered. "Maybe I can do a little something, but only after the groom has wakened and had his bath."

"Fair is fair," Buttercup grinned.

Falowik gave Uien a questioning look, and Uien returned him a wink. He had no idea what that might mean, although he was glad to see her in such a playful mood. She had been sad for most of their trip to Eryn Lasgalen and Lorien, though she had said she was happy with him. She called him her anchor, but to his mind she was his lodestone. Maybe we provide ballast one for the other.

He listened in peace as the women talked and fussed and did what women do, not least of which was to browbeat him for lazing about. Falowik just grinned and slouched.

[Oddwen]

‘We can think about cleaning up and hauling the tables back in once the party’s all done. For now, just enjoy yourself, Master Rushlight!’ said the Cook.

"Thank you ma'am!" Berulo said thankfully taking the plate. It wouldn't hurt to test the kegs again. It had been what, ten minutes? Something might have happened.

"I like the Shire," he thought. "People are so friendly, and don't even get me started on the ale..."

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and one of the other helpers spent the morning ironing the long white cloths that were to grace the tables where the food and drink were to be put out. Another of the tables, the one with the mathoms on both ends and the lovely, luscious cake in the center had also a long white table cloth to cover it, but over the white was a light blue lacy tablecloth that complimented the color of many of the sugared violets on the cake. It had been Ginger’s job to get that all done nicely, with no scorching, if you please, Cook had admonished her.

A number of the lasses from Bywater and Hobbiton helped Ginger get the cloths placed just so, then some piled the mathoms on the center table while the others put out the plates and cups and tableware that would be needed for the party.

Several of the older Hobbits, gammers by the looks of them, had persuaded a couple of the young bucks to haul over a water tight oaken vat into which they were now pouring several buckets of fresh, sweet water from the Inn’s well. They had picked a spot under the shade of the trees and had gotten several of the younger female helpers to bring them chairs. Ginger wandered over, sidling as close as she dared to the women to see what they were doing. One of the gammer’s grandson’s had unloaded a number of crates of maywine from his cart and was now uncorking it. At their urging, he poured it all into the vat; its golden shimmer adding a glimmer of inner light to the water.

One of the old Hobbits stuck her finger into the solution and plopped it in her mouth. ‘More!’ she cried, pouring another bottle of wine or two or four or more into the concoction. When they’d gotten it just right, the oldest of the ladies, hoisted up a large crockery jug that stood next to her feet. Granny Oldbuck, Ginger thought to herself, seeing the wrinkled little face beneath the silvered curls. The heady scent of dark cherries crept out of the jug and enticed the noses of those who stood near. Cherried brandy, the Oldbuck women’s secret recipe. It poured heavily into the vat, sinking down at first, and then as they stirred it with their wooden paddles, the color dispersed throughout, giving the liquid a deep rosy hue.

‘Just about done,’ Granny Chubb declared, dipping the silvered tasting cup she bore on a ribbon at her waist into the brew and savoring a hearty swallow. Out of her apron pocket came a light green bottle filled with a thin sweet liquid . . . rosewater. And that from the wild roses that grew along the hedgerows lining her little burrow.

Ginger’s mouth watered at the delicate scents issuing from the vat. Her nose leading as she sniffed appreciatively at the smell of the brew, she crowded up between Granny Chubb and Granny Oldbuck, straining to see into the vat. ‘Oh, well now, look here,’ said Granny Chubb to Granny Heathertoes. ‘We’ve got our first customer.’ Granny Oldbuck chuckled, a dry, light sound, and pushed Ginger closer to the vat.

‘Here, give her a cup,’ said Granny Chubb, dipping one of the squat little mugs into the liquid. Ginger reached for it thirstily, but before she took it from the older Hobbit’s hands, one of the others had floated a rose petal on it. Very pretty . . . she thought then. Very tasty, too she learned as she finished off the cup of punch . . . and held out her cup for another.

‘Careful,’ cautioned Ruby, who’d come up for a cup herself. ‘Best pace yourself on the Grannies’ brew.’ She downed her cup and nodded to each of the women, saying she believed this was the best one so far. ‘It’s called Maiden’s Blush Punch,’ she whispered to Ginger as other lasses and older women gathered round the vat giving their opinions. ‘Brings a glow to your cheeks and puts a tingle in your toes for dancing . . .’

[piosenniel]

From her parents’ room at the top of the Inn, Zimzi could see the party being set up in the front yard. She longed to go down and help out in some way . . . or at least to talk to the interesting newcomers she’d picked out from the window view. But her mother would have none of that. The dress that Aman had given her was beautiful, but there a few places it needed to be altered to fit Zimzi well.

And after that there was the hair to think about . . . and what color shawl . . . and shoes . . . and earrings and necklaces and on and on . . .

You’re my only daughter, Zimziran!’ her mother had admonished her. ‘Let me fuss over you while I might.’

Zimzi had acquiesced, spending the morning in idle chatter and the small projects her mother deemed important to the day. She’d sat herself in a chair by the open window and often looked down to check on the progress of the party preparations. At one point, early in the day, she’d seen her two brothers in close conversation, laughing as they spoke together. She’d wondered what that had been about, but then they started walking and were lost to view as they rounded the corner of the Inn. Making for the stable, she thought, smiling a little to herself . . . Derufin would be there. She wished he would come out to the yard so that she might see him. But fortune did not smile her way . . . and soon enough she was called into the other room where her mother and the ever-present dress were waiting . . .

[Mithalwen]

As she listened to the musicians, Mithalwen became aware that not only did the preparations seem to be nearing completion but the celebrations seemed to be starting -food was being brought out but there seemed to be more interest in the many barrels and vats of drink. The new arrivals were all seemed to be in their finest clothes and Mithalwen felt very dowdy in comparison - especially as she looked at Rasputina.

She excused herself and returned to her chamber to find something more appropriate. Her travel clothes had dried but they were more practical than the grey dress she wore. She had a small stock of clothes with her and even at home she seldom had need of great finery. Yet she had brought a couple of dresses suitable to wear in the evening at Rivendell and taking the prettier from her bags she hoped that it would do. She shook it to remove the worst of the creases. It was of a light blue, aquamarine some would call it, and while of very simple design it had at least elegant flowing sleeves lined with pale gauze. She wore it with soft leather slippers. she had very little in the way of adornment -just a single tear-drop pearl hanging from a fine chain from her neck (for the brooch that fastened her cloak was too heavy for this dress).

"Nothing for my hair" she thought sadly as she brushed out her silver locks and part braided it then she had an idea and by the time she returned to the company she had twined a few bright blooms in her hair. In her less sombre garb, she felt in more festive mood and she smiled at all she met as she made her way back towards the stage.

[starkat]

Gwenneth had slipped away from the party and was watching from a grove of trees. Leaning back against one, she left out a heartfelt sigh.

"Such a deep sigh from one so young."

"Nestor!" The young elf whirled and looked into the face of her oldest brother. She hugged him fiercely. "I have missed you."

"And I you little one." His face grew solomn and he began speaking in Sindarin. "Father sent me for you. He has called a family meeting."

Gwenneth only nodded. "I have been expecting this for some time. I will gather my things. Elenath is in the stable. I will meet you there."

Since everyone was busy, the young elf managed to pack her bag and reach Aman's office without drawing any attention. She placed a thank you note under the innkeeper's door that explained what was happening. Taking a moment, she sought out Cook and Ginger and bid them a quick farewell.

She reached the stable only to find that Nestor had readied Elenath and had already mounted. "Did you say your goodbyes."

"Yes, I could not leave without telling a few people I was leaving. I hope to return and see them again someday."

Nestor said nothing as his sister mounted her mare. The two elves rode off aways and pulled their mounts to a stop. Gwenneth took one look back and then they heeled their mounts and disappeared down the rode.