The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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

Meri - Stablemaster

Tim Woodlock - Stableboy; Wren - his younger sister: humans, originally from Breeland (characters played by Folwren)

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

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Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

Time of Day

It's nearing noon in the Shire.

Second breakfast is being served. Lunch is being cooked - savory mutton stew with vegetables, taters, and barley; warm rolls straight from the oven with sweet cream butter, jams, honey, cheeses; and baskets of big, nut & spice cookies to fill in any of the hollow spaces. Drinks of all sorts are of course available.

The weather is pleasant - sunny with a clear sky.

[Koobdooga]

-- Ibun and Frór enjoy a smoke --

‘Oh, I’d thought to take the East-West Road to the Tower Hills,’ said Ibun tamping down the pipeweed in his long clay pipe. He passed the pouch to Frór, nodding at him to fill his own pipe. Ibun plucked a length of straw from the sheaf kept near the fireplace and lit the dried stalk, transferring it quickly to the bowl of his pipe. A few good sucks, and the pipeweed lit with a merry little crackle, the smoke from it sending a fragrant streamer up toward the rafters.

‘Not sure after that,’ he said, leaning back comfortably in his chair. He extended his legs, crossing one booted foot over the other. ‘I think I’ll go on to Mithlond, to the harbor and ask about. Depending on what I find out I’ll go either to the northern or southern arm of the Blue Mountains. Hope there’ll be some sign of my kin there I can pick up easily.’

‘Ibun waved over one of the passing servers and asked for a refill of ale. ‘What about you, Frór. Have you heard any news of where the Dwarves dwell in the western mountains?’ He took a sip from his mug. ‘Perhaps we might travel together if you’re bound the same way as I.’

[Noinkling]

'Notch' in his hidey-hole


‘Notch’ the others in the stable called him now, after an unfortunate encounter with the kitchen cat. Ghastly old tabby had managed to heave her bulk at him, pinning his tail with one clawed paw and nipping unmercifully at his poor ear. Bled all over, now, didn’t it just! Cat got what was coming to her, he remembered with glee. He’d flipped around, tearing his ear from her teeth in the process, and bit the foul feline hard on the nose.

He was a mouse . . . a brown, rather ordinary mouse who lived in a snug little burrow at the base of the common room’s raised hearth. He too had started out as a mouse among many in the stable-loft straw. Helping himself to the leavings from the horses’ feed – a bit of oats here, some stray kernels of corn, the odd old apple fallen from the covered bins. At night, though, he’d huddle under a skiff of straw and gaze out the bale-door toward the Inn.

He’d heard stories about the wonders and delights of that brightly lit place. It was warm, and cozy, and there was plenty of food for the taking from the floors where the two-foots dropped enough crumbs and, best of all, he'd come to learn, there was ale.

Notch had developed a fondness for the foamy brew and it was after an evening of indulging himself in spills and half-filled mugs left on the tables that he had had his first and last encounter with the kitchen cat. He’d learned after that to pace himself -- keep a sharp eye, ear, and nose out for nosy tabbies. He chuckled quietly to himself. Since he’d bit the Inn cat on the nose, though, the old, flea-bitten thing hadn’t ventured out of the kitchen much at nights any more.

He crossed his little front legs in front of him and laid his head down on his paws. It was a busy day in the Inn. A great number of visitors stomped in and out, ordering food and drink. All about the floor were scattered bits of bacon and toast and biscuits and eggs soon to be followed he knew by whatever delicious repast the Cook and her helpers would offer for lunch. And then of course there were the afternoon snacks and the hearty dinners that were the hallmark of The Dragon – at least in his opinion.

For now he was content to lie in the shadows of his burrow and gaze out at the big feet of those who passed by, thinking fondly of the feast the night would bring.

[Huan]

‘Elves!’ said Rowan, shrugging her shoulders as Emlin sauntered toward the door. She sat down in the chair Gil had offered, giving him a small smile and a raised brow as if to ask, ‘Aren’t you going to sit, too?’

‘I didn’t think I had slept in so late,’ she said looking about as people in the Common Room were ordering just a little something to tide them over ‘til lunch was done. A server came to the table and she placed her order – a hot mug of tea, some of those sweet rolls she spied at a nearby table, and a plate of sharp Shire cheese. Oh and butter, of course.

As the server left the table, Rowan glanced toward the nearby fireplace. A quick movement at the base of the hearth surprised her and it seemed as if some small brown, whiskery face disappeared completely within the hole she’d spied. ‘The Dragon serves more than Hobbits, Elves, Dwarves, and Men, I see,’ she murmured to herself, chuckling at the little face she’d seen.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Gerdy Chubb

"How long will we be staying.... Well, herm. That's a hard one to answer Master Tim, and that's for sure. We won't be leaving before we've made ourselves a few customers, but we can't stay so long that we neglect our regulars back home. So it's a balance we need to strike."

"Well," Tim ventured again, "can you guess?"

"Guess?" Gerdy's eyes grew wide at the thought of such a daring move. "I daresay I could guess, but how right would it be, that's the question! But if it's a guess you want, then it's a guess I should give you. Let me see," he fell to pondering for a while. "Well," he said at last, "we can't leave and go back home today so the earliest we'll be going is tomorrow, as we can't travel at night neither. As to the longest time we could stay, well, we could -- I suppose -- stay here and run the business by letter with the occasaional visit back home, but then our families would miss us by and by... I guess the longest we could stay would be a month or two. So that's my guess: we'll be leaving sometime between tomorrow morning and the end of two months from now!" And he beamed at Tim with the conclusiveness of his statement.

Fordogrim Chubb

"Ahh, the Innkeeper!" Fordogrim said, bowing low (which brought his head dangerously close to Aman's foot). "I was wanting to make your acquaintance. And let me say that I understand your position entirely, I do that indeed! I'm a businesshobbit myself and wouldn't like if someone else starting giving away their wares on my front stoop, not a bit of it! So have no fear, Mistress Aman, have no fear. If my ales do well here then you shall have the profit by it too!" He stuck his hands into his pockets and lowered his voice, obliging the tall woman to stoop to the ground to hear him. He assumed a conspiratorial air. "If folk hereabout like my ales and as want to drink them, I am a-willing to give you the sole right to serve them up, and" he added hurriedly, seeing that this did not move Aman to immediate glee, "for the first six months" he looked at her face once more and then spoke again "for the first year, I shall be happy to offer you the ale at my special family rate! Now how can you say anything other than fair to that, eh?" And he stuck out his hand by way of making a bargain.

[Esgallhugwen]

"My name is Esgallhugwen", she replied with a faint smile noticing the young Elf lass blush. "And I am most happy to help, the Shire can be quite intimidating for us Fair Folk who are unused to the more humble Hobbit ways".

She herself never willingly going into public until recently could relate, but while she stayed tucked in a corner on that fateful rainy day, they desired a more direct approach. Who could blame them?

Eswen's eyes glimmered, "So tell me what brings two young Elves to the Shire?"

[Undómë]

Two voices spoke in tandem. Like two refrains that played against each other - the one as light and merry as the other was darker and less genial.

‘Why I don’t find the Shire intimidating in the least!’ said Telu, just as her brother sighed, and muttered more to himself than in answer to the observation by Esgallhugwen. ‘Would not have chosen to come, to be truthful, save I promised my mother I would look after her.’

The two looked at each other - Tindo, frowning, his face set in a disapproving manner. Telu, on the other hand, simply bit her lip, hoping to quash the smile that threatened to grow there. It was the smile, however, that won the day; it blossomed into a wide grin and erupted further into a tinkling silvered laughter that rang in the air. Telu grabbed her brother’s hands and darted forward quickly to plant a kiss on his cheek.

‘Don’t be cross, Tindo!’ she said, taking his hand as the three Elves walked back to the table.

‘We’re on our way to Ithilien,’ Telu said, pulling her chair out and sitting down. ‘That is, I want to go there. I’ve heard from some of the Elves who’ve come to Lindon that a number of our kin from the Woodland Realm have been welcomed there by the new Prince of Ithilien – one Faramir, or so I’ve heard him called. They say it is a lovely land and that often the new King among men and his Lady visit.’ Her face had a faraway look on it, one of longing. ‘It would be grand to know that there is a place yet where our people prosper. And the Lady, Arwen Undómiel, I should very much like to meet her. Well, perhaps, even just see her.’

Telu had waited until Esgallhugwen was seated before he took his chair. Now he sat back in it, a look of resigned fondness on his face. ‘She is such a dreamer,’ he murmured. ‘A starry-eyed deamer. And far too trusting. Now you see how full my hands are with the keeping safe of her!’

The server had come with their food and drink as they spoke. A large pot of tea and three cups, a pot of appleblossom honey. Fresh bread in a napkin lined basket, sweet cream butter, and peach jam. ‘Please, help yourself, Lady Esgallhugwen,’ Tindo said, remembering his manners. ‘Telu, you pour the tea please.’ As his sister did so, he took the first mug and offered it to Esgallhugwen. ‘We’ve talked so much about ourselves, we’ve hardly given you the chance to say anything.’ He passed her the bread and the jam. ‘Where are you from” that is, if you don’t mind saying,’ he added. He took a small sip of the hot tea with honey, enjoying to his surprise the taste of it. ‘And where are you bound, that you find yourself in the Shire?’

[Noinkling]

Notch takes a peek at Rowan

‘Well she looks kind enough,’ Notch said, twitching his long pink tail nervously. ‘At least she didn’t scream when she saw me!’ The little mouse’s opinion of two-legged females was not a high one, having encountered a number who upon sighting him would commence an earsplitting scream, nearly deafening him. The only saving grace of those situations was that often the females would also jump up on a chair or a table top and do a jig all higgledy-piggledy. ‘As if I would even consider going after one of the odd creatures! Probably catch something as would be the death of me.’

He wriggled his whiskers as he considered the one smiling at him. ‘Perhaps she’ll be kind enough to leave a bit of bread and cheese,’ he thought. His pink nose twitched in anticipation. He poked out his head just a little and turned it to look up, regarding her with one bright black eye. He gave her a wink as she stared back, then quickly withdrew again into his little burrow.

Illidan Longleaf had come from the Eryn Lasgalen , Tall and Fair with dark shoulder length hair . He had at last set out to explore Middle-Earth now that the Dark Lord od East was overthrown he had no need to protect his province anymore.

It was nearing afternoon and he had arrived in an unknown place called “The Shire” by its inhabitants who were called “Hobbits”.Illidan was very tired and he wished to have food and a cool drink , so he went inside a roadside Inn called “The Green Dragon”.

He was surprised to see such various people gathered in one place, there were Hobbits,Men,Dwarves and even a few Elves . Being very tired he went to the bar and ordered some wine and a loaf of bread to go with it . After finishing his meal he saw that there were three elves on an table chatting merrily , he decided to introduce himself.

Moving to the table he said “ Excuse me , I am Illidan Longleaf from the Eryn Lasgalen , I am new to this place and do not know anybody could I join you ?"

[Undómë]

Telu invites Illidan to sit down with them

Teluyaviel had poured them each a cup of the fragrant, steaming tea. She sipped hers, listening as her brother spoke to Esgallhugwen. The basket of fresh bread looked and smelled inviting. She took a piece for herself, spreading it with the butter and covering that with the thick peach jam. Tindomion had just fetched a piece for himself and offered the basket to Esgallhugwen when the sound of another voice intruded upon the conversation.

Telu looked up in surprise at the fair-haired Elf who now stood near her. So intent had she been on her bread and jam, that she had not noticed his approach. With a quick smile, she put down her bread and wiped the sweet, peachy stickiness from her fingers with her napkin. ‘Hello!’ she said, her eyes glinting with a merry greeting. ‘Yes, please. Come join us! Illidan, is it?’ She pointed to the empty chair to her left. ‘I’m Teluyaviel; Telu, for short. And this is my older brother, Tindomion. And our new friend, Esgallhugwen is there.’ Telu smiled at the older lady Elf.

‘And did you say you were from Eryn Lasgalen? So was my family! Where did you live, Illidan? And what brings you here to the Shire. Are you bound for the Havens?’

Telu blushed suddenly and pressed her lips shut. She caught her brother giving her an exasperated look. She could just tell he thought she had babbled on a bit too much.

[Pivli]

There seemed to have been a great many people come into the Common Room since she and Lara had sat down for a bite to eat. Lara had since excused herself, saying that she should be getting on home. Miz Greengage had bid her say hello to her mother for her and sent the child on her way. Now she sat peering around the fast filling room, wondering if Miz Bunce was in the kitchen.

It certainly smelled as if she were. Delicious, mouthwatering odors were making their way into the Common Room, promising a pleased mouth and a full belly if followed up on. ‘My goodness, Violet!’ she chuckled to herself. ‘It’s a wonder you aren’t seven times bigger than you are. What with your bottomless appetite!’ Mister Greengage had always said that to her, his eyes filled with laughter as she helped herself to a third helping of her own cooking. Then he’d squeeze her tight, lifting her off her feet as he swung her about. ‘Just look at you! Your tiny as a dandelion fluff! Big wind and you’d blow away for sure!’

Planting her can firmly on the oaken floor before her, Violet levered herself up to her feet. She stood there for a few moments, making sure of her balance, then got her old knees to agree to start walking. Towards the kitchen’s doors. She leaned up against one and pushed it open a bit.

‘Miz Bunce? Vinca?’ she called, peering around the door’s edge. ‘It’s Violet Greengage. You in there, dearie?’

Illidan had just introduced himself to the three elves and then suddenly one of the females spoke " Yes, please. Come join us! Illidan, is it?’ She pointed to the empty chair to her left. ‘I’m Teluyaviel; Telu, for short. And this is my older brother, Tindomion. And our new friend, Esgallhugwen is there.’ Telu smiled at the older lady Elf.

‘And did you say you were from Eryn Lasgalen? So was my family! Where did you live, Illidan? And what brings you here to the Shire. Are you bound for the Havens?’

Illidan was throughly surprised but did not show it and gladly accepted the offer and sat at the chair next to Teluyaviel , and said " I lived in the outer realm of Eryn Lasgalen near the peak of DolGuldur , I was a archer in the service of Captain Kael Thas , After the destruction of the Tower I ahve roamed the free lands of Middle-Earth and that is how I have come to this exotic land called 'The Shire',and What of you my friends , How have you come to this distant land far away from our homes ?? " .......

[Folwren]

For the second time that day in less than ten minutes, Tim found himself once again staring in surprise. He quickly recovered himself, and thankfully before Gerdy had noticed, shut his mouth and turned to the pony.

‘We’ll stable them. If yours is finished drinking we can take them now. There are two stalls right next to each other that they can take.’ The ponies lifted their heads almost together and Tim led his off. Gerdy followed close behind. ‘Here, put yours in there,’ Tim said over his shoulder as he passed the first empty stall. The next one he opened and led the second pony into it. There he took the rest of the harnessing off of the animal and rubbed him down. He went to the neighboring stall once he was finished to check on the other pony and found Gerdy still working on him. He smiled as he turned to get corn and hay for both of them.

He took the lid off of the grain bin and reached down to fill his buckets. His hand was arrested in mid air as he caught sight of a slight, quick movement on the edge. A smile broke out on his face as he went on to fill his bucket. So, there are mice in barn, are there? He had to get enough grain for both ponies. A mouse might come in handy. He chuckled this time and closed the lid.

“Here is some corn for the pony,” he said, swinging open the door to the stall. Gerdy looked up and nodded as Tim set it down. “I’ll be back with some hay in a moment.” He withdrew again to feed the pony he’d taken charge of and get the promised hay.

[piosenniel]

scrape . . . scrape . . . scrape . . .

The oven door was full open and Cook was kneeling on the floor, her head poked into the oven itself. The pies she’d made a day ago had bubbled over and their drippings now stood like a carbonized range of smoking black peaks on the oven’s floor. Which would not have ordinarily been a problem, save for the fact that they had taken to reeking of smoke when she’d begun heating up the oven for the day’s baking. The breads that morning had had a slightly smoked taste, which she’d passed off as a new recipe she was trying. But now she wanted to bake up her faery-cake recipe and the charred scent simply wouldn’t do.

The sound of some voice at a distance intruded upon her cleaning frenzy, and she pulled her head a little ways from the oven just in time to hear the word, ‘dearie’. Cook stood up, wiping her hands on the old towel she’d tucked into the waist of her apron and turned about.

‘Violet Greengage! Come in, come in! What brings you from your burrow to the Dragon?’ She motioned for Violet to take a seat at the kitchen table. ‘Here, just let me was up a bit and we’ll have a nice cup of tea and a chat.’

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Frór listent with outmost care to every word that Ibun said. When He had been so distracted that he forgot to put pipe-weed in his pipe and was siting with an empty pipe in his mouth. It was first when Ibun had stopped talking that Frór noticed this "unbelivabel" mistake!

Where is this Tower Hills of what you speak? I have never heard of this place. Fór asked,while preparing his pipe. Mithlond you say! Frór continued. If my memory is correct it is the place allso known as Grey Havens. I my self are heading in that direction, I have been told that the lord of this place should be most wise! Althoug an elf!

Frór now looked around the room, where after he leaned towards Ibun and spok in a low voice. I know of dwellings in the Blue Mountains, but it is said that ill things has happend there and thoug i know that these are north of the Gulf of Lhûn. I will not seek them until I have spoken to the lord of the Grey Havens. This would proberbly make the jurney easier too, since i do not know the road to these dwelings. He leand back in his chair, smoking his pipe.

Frór felt a warm feeling flow throug him, the food, drink and smoke had done it's job. He now startet to think of less ergent things. He noticed that his colthes was torn to threads, something he had completly ignored while eating!

Again he looked at Ibun and spoke: Master Ibun I think it would be a great advatage for boyh of us to jurney together, but I cannot leave before I have got some new clothes and restet! If you can wait, we shall jurney together. Now lets drink!

[Arry]

Gil and Rowan are joined by the rest of the crew

‘There you are!’ cried Tomlin, approaching the table where Gil and Rowan sat. ‘I thought your Da said we were to meet him at the Widow Thistlefoot’s burrow. Something about a shed to be put up . . . for gardening?’ Without invitation, he sat down at the table as he waited for Gil to answer. Hungry, or perhaps just wanting to have something to do with his hands, he began picking at gil’s plate. A strip of bacon here, a piece of toast there.

Fallon and Ferrin soon came tumbling in the door; rolling up to the table with laughs at some odd joke one or the other had thought up. ‘Ooh! Second breakfast, is it? Lovely!’ cried Ferrin crowding in next to Tomlin with a chair he’d borrowed from another table. Fallon sat on the other side of Tomlin and waved over Ruby. ‘Gil’s famished!’ he shouted as she drew near. ‘He’ll need another plate of eggs and ham and bacon and maybe one of mushrooms. Oh! And a bigger basket of bread and more cheese.’ He winked at Rowan. ‘This lass here is hungry, too. Make that two of everything.’

‘And more jam,’ said Tomlin spying Buttercup who’d come over to see what all the commotion was about. He waved the empty jam pot at her, grinning widely.

‘Sweets for the sweet,’ she laughed, grabbing it from his hand before it slipped and dropped to the floor. Hands on her hips she surveyed the rowdy fellows. ‘And who will be footing the bill for this grand breakfast?’ she asked, her gaze sweeping from one to the other and back again . . .

[Koobdooga]

‘Well, it would be good to have your company on the road, my friend!’ Ibun poured another mug of ale for himself and for Frór. The sunlight, he noticed, as he glanced toward the window was bright and inviting. ‘What do you say we take our ale and pipes out to the front porch, Frór? I noticed some chairs on the far end. We can sit back, put our feet up, and enjoy the sunshine.’

The two Dwarves had soon removed themselves to the Inn’s fron porch. The weather was mild, breezeless, and the sun’s light gave a feeling of warmth and contentment.

Ibun admitted he had never actually been to the Tower Hills before. But he understood the stood at the far western edge of the Shire. The Elves, he told Frór, had built three towers there long ago. And in the tallest, it was said, they had placed one of their long seeing stones that was said to be able to see all the way West to that place where the Elves go. ‘Of course, it’s no longer there. It went West on one of the Elven ships, or so I’ve heard.’

He took a few puffs at his pipe. ‘And just beyond those hills is the gulf where the Elves go to board their ships. That’s where I thought I would ask for news about Dwarves dwelling in the Blue Mountains. I’m sure they would have come down to the city about the docks there and sold some of their goods.’ He took a sip of his ale and sighed. ‘I’m sure they must have done so.’

[Dunwen]

“Ooof ” Ebba Rosebank had turned away from her locked door only barreled into by a hobbit lass carrying a large armful of towels. “Good gracious, be careful,” she exclaimed sharply, for even a hobbit laden with soft towels is painfully solid. Startled by the woman’s words, Ginger blushed pink and tried to apologize and pick up the scattered towels at the same time.

Ebba, having recovered from her own startlement, calmed down. The hobbit who had run into her was plainly distressed, and looked quite young. The widow was suddenly reminded of her younger daughter. “There, I don’t suppose either of us are hurt,” she said in a milder tone of voice. “Let’s get these towels picked up.” Ginger caught her breath, relived that the woman now spoke in an almost kindly manner. She curtsied and asked the guest if she would like some clean towels and facecloths, and flowers.

“I just finished washing up and could use one of each,” replied Ebba, as she picked up and folded some towels. “And some flowers would be pretty.” Ginger stopped her own picking up and folding to unlock the door of Widow Rosebank’s room and told Wren to put towels and some of the flowers in there. Shyly, Wren slipped inside to do as she was bid.

For her part, Ebba was surprised to see a small human girl in what was obviously a hobbit’s dress helping out at the Green Dragon. She looked at her closely as she disappeared into her room. In Bree, it wouldn’t have been unusual (except for the dress, of course) for Big Folk to work for hobbits and vice versa, but she had always thought the hobbits of the Shire tended to avoid humans. Of course, the common room downstairs had been filled with any number of different folk – elves, hobbits, at least one dwarf and herself. It had reminded her pleasantly of the Prancing Pony, and with less ruckus.

“It looks like you get all sorts of people coming through here,” she said cheerfully to Ginger as she helped the young hobbit load her arms once again. “The little girl helping you – does her family live in the Shire?” The widow had the oddest feeling she should know the child from somewhere, but couldn’t think why.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger answers Miz Rosebank

Ginger peeked into the room, watching Wren as she put fresh flowers in the lady’s vase. The girl seemed intent on what she was doing, her deft fingers arranging the colors in a pleasing pattern. Stepping away from the door a bit, Ginger spoke low to the question the lady had asked.

‘Her name is Wren, m’am,’ Ginger began. ‘Wren Woodlock. She works here at the Inn with me. I’m Ginger, by the way,’ she added quickly. ‘Her brother, Tim, helps out in the stable.’ She craned her neck to see where Wren was now. Pitching her voice even lower she leaned near the lady, whispering. ‘And no, her family doesn’t live in the Shire. They used to live in Bree.’ Ginger blanched, not quite sure how to continue. ‘Her Ma and Da . . . well, they’ve passed on,’ she stammered.

Wren, by this time, had finished her flowers, and stepped out into the hall. Ginger blushed and motioned her over. ‘Here’s Wren, m’am,’ she said by way of introduction. ‘And Wren this is Miz . . .’ Ginger’s brow furrowed, recalling she hadn’t actually heard the lady’s name. ‘Excuse me, m’am . . . I’d like to introduce you, but I guess I forgot to ask your name.’

[Pivli]

‘No more tea for me, Vinca! I’m all tea’d out this morning. Why if I had any more tea, I think I’d float all the way down to the Brandywine!’ Violet walked slowly over to the table, her cane thump-thumping along on the hardwood floor. She eased herself into the chair Cook had pulled out for her, straightening herself about until she faced the table proper. ‘Could use a wee tot of your dandelion wine,’ she said, smiling brightly at Cook. ‘that always’s goes down well, don’t it just? Makes me think of summers gone by.’

It was nice here in the Inn’s kitchen. Clean and bright and smelling of good solid Shire foods. Violet took off her bonnet and hung it on the side post of the chair’s back; her can she hooked over the top cross piece. Her bright black eyes gazed about the homey room lighting finally on Cook who stood leaning against the back of the chair opposite her, waiting it seemed for Violet to make known her wishes.

‘Awfully good to see you, Violet,’ Cook said, taking her apron off. She folded it carefully lengthwise and hung it over the back of her chair.

‘Don’t get out much lately,’ Violet offered in return. ‘These old legs give me fits sometimes, especially on the colder days – what with all their aching and paining. Not all that fun getting old!’ Violet laughed at her little joke, following it up with the oft heard rejoinder. ‘But then it’s much better than the alternative!’

She leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table. ‘I’ve come to ask about the Faire that’s coming up soon. I’m supposing there’ll be a booth for quilts, eh? I’ve a mind to show some of mine off this year. You think there’ll be room for them?’

[SunniGadi]

Sunni stalks in silently, and looks around the live and bustling place. She is somewhat overwhelmed by it all, and hastily looks for an empty table to seat herself at. At last her eyes fell upon one, and she walked over gracefully and pulled off her worn green travelling cloak, placing it on the back of the chair and immediately sitting down. She brushed her red hair from her face and chanced another glance around.

This was a very merry place, she decided. The building just had that feel to it, empty or crowded, to herself, anyway. She looked down at the table and looked at the worn marks upon it. What a history this place must have.

[ElentariGreenleaf]

How can such a place exist?. The rolling green meadows, the peaceful trickle of streams heading towards the great ocean... It was unbelievably beautiful compared to the wasteland of Haradwaith. Even the great land of Gondor was no beauty in contrast with this place. This place… The Shire. It seemed untouched by the Great War, yet it had indeed come to feel the pain the rest of the land had in that dark time.

A great peace filled Katara’s heart. The Shire was indeed the place her heart longed for. For the five years after her escape from the City of the Corsairs she had been moving from place to place in Middle Earth, looking for the home her heart desired. For two years she had stayed in Rohan, having discovered it to be her place of origin. But the pain of knowing they had allowed her parents to sell her as a slave was too much to bear. They claimed they had not known, but Katara saw a different tale in their eyes.

Her horse whinnied, causing Katara to start, snapping her from her thoughts. She smiled as one of the Little Folk walked by. Hobbits. They intrigued her no end. She had been in the Shire for a few days, so she no longer stared at them with wide eyes wondering how on earth a full grown Hobbit was only the size of a child. She had in fact thought them all children until she spoke to one. They were such kindly people, and Katara believed she would get on well here. Yes, this is where she would build her home.

A sign caught her eye as she road past. She stopped and looked back at it, reading aloud the fine script - “The Green Dragon Inn”. Now there was a fine name for an inn. She dismounted her mare, the only true friend she’d ever had, and set her out to graze, trusting her not to wander too far. Until she had built her home, Katara would need to somewhere to stay. She had earned much money since she had broken free of captivity, but she did not like to think about how. It made her sad she knew how to use a sword, yet she knew she could not have survived without the skill. But that part of her life was behind her now. She could live peacefully here, with her own animals and a vegetable garden for her to live off. Yes, that was how her life would be from now on. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the quaint inn.

[Folwren]

Tim, having tended to the two ponies, stepped back out of the barn into the sunlight again. He glanced about him and seeing nothing new that needed to be attended to immediately, he went towards the kitchen door to see if he could be of any assistance there. He'd half crossed the yard when a new figure rode up on the road. The horse stopped before the inn and Tim turned to go to them and see if the rider was stopping and wanted the horse put up.

It was a woman who dismounted, Tim noted as he drew nearer, and as she looked at the inn, she had a small smile on her face, reflecting the thoughts in her head.

'She's happy,' Tim thought.

The horse stepped to the side as the woman walked away from it, and her head lowered towards the ground and began nibbling at whatever grass it could find.

"Wait, ma'am! Do you want-?" But the woman hadn't heard him and had just stepped into the door. Tim stopped. What did he do now? The horse might wander off in search of grass. Some hobbit lad might spook it - or it might step on the reins, if they dangled too close to the ground, and he'd seen the reaction of enough horses to know that wasn't a good thing to happen.

The best thing to do would be to go in and ask the woman if she wanted her horse put up. He shrugged his shoulders, put down whatever doubts he had of addressing a total stranger, and hurried after her. Entering the inn, he spotted her almost immediately, still glancing around for someplace to sit, probably. Tim walked quickly towards the woman.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, stepping up beside her. "Your horse...you left her outside. Do you want me to feed and water her?"

[ElentariGreenleaf]

Katara spun round to face the owner of the voice that addressed her. Expecting a Hobbit, she was surprised to see another of the race of Man standing before her. A worried look plastered his face. She smiled at his concern for her mare.

"You need not worry about Swift," she grinned. "She is wise, and will not wander far from here." This did not ease the worry on the lad’s face. "Pray, what is your name?"

"I’m Tim," he answered, smiling back. "I’m the stableboy for the inn here. My concern is not that she will wander off, kind lady, but that the young Hobbit lads will tease her. She’s a fine mare, if I may say so myself."

Katara looked at Tim. He seemed to have a kind heart, and Swift could do with a proper rest. Yes, she would trust this lad with her companion. Indeed, why should she not trust anyone here? It was so peaceful and calm. The perfect place to live.

"Ma’am…?" Tim looked at Katara’s far off stare. "Ma’am, would you like me to take Swift to the stable for you?"

Pulling herself from her thoughts, Katara looked over at Swift through the window, who was looking back as if she knew of what they spoke. The mare whinnied, but quickly went back to eating. Looking at Tim again, Katara smiled.

"Yes. I think Swift would like that very much. And please, call me Katara." She offered her hand to Tim, who looked at her blankly for a moment until she reached for his hand and shook it. They walked outside to Swift, and Tim showed Katara where to lead her.

[Folwren]

“Have you been traveling very long?” Tim asked as Katara closed the stall door. The woman nodded slightly. “Your horse looked like she’d been out for a long time. If you like, I can brush her up after I get her some food and water. You don’t need to worry about her at all any more.”

“Thank you, Tim,” the woman said with a smile. “Swift enjoys being groomed.” Tim nodded and picked up a bucket. He and Katara parted ways as she headed back for the inn and he went to make Swift feel at home.

Swift whinnied softly as Tim re-entered the stall with the corn and hay. He smiled at her while preparing the food and then set it before her. She immediately went to eating and he fetched brush and comb and began his work.

However long they had been traveling, Katara certainly hadn’t neglected her horse to mud and dirt, and it was only a matter of minutes before Tim had her looking clean again. He combed her main and then left the stall. He would find master Meriadoc to double check if he had neglected anything and then, if not, wait for the next horse to arrive.

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Frór and Ibun sad a long time with out speaking, letting the sun warm them, smoking there pipes and just relaksing!

Frór was allmost sleeping, but a cold wind made him all awake! He looked at Ibun who was sitting deep in thoughts, Frór could still not belive his fortune in meeting this dwarf.

Say Ibun, when are you planing on leaving this place? I like it much here and was it not for my errand I would stay here for a very long time! You seem to know alot of the surrounding lands, are they as plesant at here? Fror asked.

[piosenniel]

‘Oh, aye, there’s a booth for quilts, Violet. And I’ve no doubt there’ll be room for your quilts. Lovely patterns you use, as I recall.’ Cook smiled and nodded her head. ‘I remember trading for one of your little ones one year. All blue like the sky in summer . . . that was the borders. And daisies in all sorts of colors quilted in the blocks.’ Vinca chuckled, her eyes glinting as if the quilt hung in the space before them. ‘An all over you’d quilted little ladybugs in your fine stitching, trailing from one block over another. And scatterings of leaves as I recall.’ Her gaze moistened a bit, then blinked back to normal. ‘Gave that one to my little granddaughter.’

She poured them each a small swallow of dandelion wine, taking out two of her small thin crystal flutes to do so. The ladies held the glasses up to the light from the kitchen’s window. It swam through the sweet, golden liquid in a lazy way, just as summer sun light does through a summer’s day thick with promise.

‘To last summer!’ said Cook, clinking the rim of her glass lightly against Violet’s. ‘And to the next!’ laughed Violet, lifting the glass to her lips.

Cook sat down for a few moments – her cookie dough could wait for the while. The ladies fell to talking about previous fairs, gossip mostly, and not all of the favorable sort.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fatty and Gerdy Chubb

The ale was disappearing quickly into the greedy mouths of those who crowded about the display and Fatty was hard pressed to keep the mugs moving quickly enough to satisfy them. He cast an anxious eye about for his brother and cousin. Fordogrim was still locked in conversation with the Innkeeper – if conversation it could be called for the mistress of the Inn had been standing there looking at the diminutive hobbit for a long time without speaking, presumably meditating upon her reply – and Gerdy was nowhere to be seen. “Hoy, there, Mister Chubb! Another mug of the Gold if you please!” Fatty poured out another frothing cup and passed it to the hand which belonged to the voice. From across the yard he saw the boy Tim who had gone to stable the ponies with Gerdy. He was walking across the yard as though in search of someone but Fatty, who was beginning to feel as though he were being buried by empty mugs, cajoling fists, and jostling elbows, was well past the point at which politeness was his primary concern.

“Master Tim!” he cried, and then again, even louder when the stableboy failed to hear his voice above the commotion about the wagon, “MASTER TIM!” This time he saw the lad perk up his ears and look his way. “WHERE HAS MY BROTHER GERDY GOT TO?” Tim looked about and shrugged, then pointed to the stables as though to indicate that the hobbit might still there. Fatty turned back to his customers, now openly grumbling.

As if on cue his brother emerged from the stable and began walking slowly toward where Fatty was now almost being utterly overwhelmed. Some of the customers, impatient with waiting for their free sample, were stepping over the bar and helping themselves. “Gerdy!” Fatty cried, “Get over here, lad and lend a hand!”

Gerdy looked at his right hand before replying, “I can lend you two brother, if I can have them back when you’re done needing them. I’ve only just come from tending to the ponies and have yet to inquire about rooms for ourselves. That nice Master Tim spoke highly of this here Inn and said that we were sure to be made welcome. He also asked how long we’d be staying so I gave that some thought, but I’m not sure I got it precisely the right way around. The way I see it…” By this point he had come close enough to Fatty for his brother to thrust a couple of empty mugs into his hands and roughly turn him about to face the customers, so the conversation was soon cut short. The two brothers fought on, but the crowd was clearly getting the better of them. Neither of them knew how much longer they could hold on without reinforcements. They cast many a glance at their cousin, wondering when he would be done gabbing with the tall woman and get back to something useful.

[Folwren]

Tim stood leaning against a tree by the front of the inn. He watched the two Chubb brothers, handing out the ale as quickly as they could fill the mugs. The two hobbits seemed hard pressed and desperate for help. Tim chuckled slightly and straightened himself up. He was just the size of a hobbit, maybe a little taller, and figured he'd be able to do the work they did just as easily.

He walked around the crowd of free takers to where Fatty and Gerdy stood behind the casks of ale, working as quickly as they could. Tim stepped up beside Fatty.

"Here," he said, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, "I can serve from this cask."

Fatty gave him a glance that looked as thought he doubted that Tim could manage a tap, but Tim had already taken one of the mugs and filled it and handed it off to someone reaching for ale. He flashed the hobbit a grin and took another mug.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman stared at the hobbit, amazed at his audacity, then simply laughed - she couldn't help it. Something about the hobbit's showmanlike manner was comical, despite himself, yet in his chirpiness he also seemed so totally sincere. Throwing up her hands, she held a hand out - and down - to Fordogrim and shook his firmly. "An excellent businessman that you are, Master Chubb," she conceded with a grin. "I don't suppose I really have much of a choice..."

"But a wise choice the remaining option makes anyway, Mistress Innkeeper," replied the hobbit, flashing her a grin.

"It's Aman, thanks - 'Mistress Innkeeper' makes me sound rather like a grim-faced, middle aged spinster - and if you say a word to that end, Merry, I shall have your guts for garters!"

The Innkeeper directed the last threat at the hobbit stablemaster who had approached the pair while they were talking. Merry simply gave the Innkeeper an innocent smile, then a wicked wink, and was rewarded for his pains by a quick swipe at his head. Ducking under her arm, Merry put on a face of mock hurt, but couldn't help laughing. "Oi, I didn't say a word, did I? See that, Master Chubb, an abusive employer, that's what she is! An abusive-"

"Ah, shush shush!" Aman grinned fondly at the stablemaster. Drawing herself up grandly, she adopted a superior expression. "Has the common stablemaster something to merit our attention and valuable time?"

"Only to ask if Aman would like to grace me with her prescence in getting these horses in - but then, Aman seems to have gone missing, who is this haughty trollop left in her place, hmm?"

"Ooh, I'll clap your ears such a swipe that you won't know the ringing from your own doorbell for a week!" Aman swiped once more at Merry, still laughing. Shaking her head, she replied, "Is Tim not with you?"

"Aye, 'course, and a grand lad he is too - I merely wondered. Unless, of course, you'd rather get back to that pile o' paperwork up in your rooms there..."

Aman winced, adopting a pained expression. "I shall pretend I didn't hear that, for my sake rather than yours. No, I should go and catch up with Cook - can't leave her with those hobbit goodwives all evening, their tongues would go black from all that gossip! It was a pleasure doing business with you, Master Chubb," she added, turning back to Fordogrim. "And may I bid you a good day, and may it be a prosperous one for us both!"

"I'll toast to that, aye!" Chubb agreed, holding up a hand as if toasting her with an ale mug. Aman grinned back and turned to wander across to the verandah on which Cook and the other hobbit women perched, twittering their busy, busy words excitedly, and wondered what she had got herself into with this diminuitive showman of a business-hobbit.

[Dunwen]

"Excuse me, m’am . . . I’d like to introduce you, but I guess I forgot to ask your name."

Ginger had to repeat her request. Ebba shook herself out of her shock and finally answered the hobbit. "I'm Widow Rosebank. From Bree," she said faintly, looking at Wren all the while. Ginger wondered what was wrong with the lady. She looked like she'd seen a wraith.

Ignoring Ginger, Ebba spoke to Wren, who was herself very uncomfortable under the widow's scrutiny. In a gentle voice at odds with her normal brisk manner, she asked the girl, "Your name is Wren Woodlock ? And you have a brother?" At the child's frightened nod, Ebba said, "Bless me, dearie, but we thought you two were dead or carried off by wolves or some such thing. I didn't know your Ma and Da well at all, but I've done business with your landlord nearly fifteen years. Right worried he was when he couldn't find you after your folks died."

Tears filled the girl's eyes as she realized this rather alarming woman was from Bree and knew who she and Tim were. "Please don't take us away from here, ma'am," she begged. "We like it here."

"Why, who said any such thing," exclaimed the Widow, regaining some of her usual spirit. "It will be a load off your landlord's mind to know you're both safe and well, but you look like you're doing just fine right here." She looked at the tearful little girl, and added quietly, "You and your brother are welcome to come to me for a chat any time." Looking at the hobbit, she said, "And so are you, Miss Ginger."

Still shaking her head in amazement, she left the two of them alone in the hall and made her way downstairs. She still wanted to speak to Miz Bunce, but she'd give a great deal to know how those two youngsters had ended up at the Green Dragon.

[Folwren]

Wren blinked back remaining tears from her eyes and swiped at her face with her sleeve as she watched the Widow Rosebank from Bree disappear around a corner. It was annoying to find herself in tears for the second time in one morning. She glanced briefly at Ginger, only to find the hobbit gaping in surprise - at her, now that Mrs. Rosebank had gone. Wren sniffed rather apologetically as she stopped to pick up a towel that had been over looked.

“We’d better go on and finish the other rooms,” she said, quietly.

“Oh, yes - yes we should, rather,” Ginger said, starting out of her revere. She hurried forward to the next room and unlocked it, keeping whatever questions she had to herself, for the time being. What Ginger thought of the whole matter didn’t even enter Wren’s little head. Her thoughts were occupied on the very fact that Widow Rosebank had known of her and Tim. . .that she had worked for their parent’s landlord, and then she had come all the way from Bree to here. Unlike Tim, who might have been able to put things together far more sensibly than she could, Wren couldn’t understand the situation, and made it out for worse than it was. She was scared that she and Tim might have to go back.

“I’ve got to go find Tim!” she cried, coming out of the third room with Ginger. “Can I please? I’ve got to!”

“Alright, alright, child, I won’t stop you,” Ginger said. “Hand me the flowers. . .” Wren handed them to her in a rush, and promising to return shortly, she darted away and ran as though something were after her. She burst into the kitchen, interrupting Cook and another lady-hobbit in the midst of some sort of tea. Hurrying an apology, she slowed half way as she passed through towards the door.

“I’m sorry. . .Didn’t mean to be rude. . .where’s Tim, do you know? I’ve got to find him. He must be outside.” Without giving any time whatsoever for any answers, she ran out into the sunlight. The large group by the Chub brothers’ and cousin’s ale giving caught her eye and slowed her pace. She looked towards it and almost at once caught sight of her brother at work behind one of the casks. Her feet quickened again and she rushed about to where Tim stood. He didn’t see her and was working in the same hurried fashion as the two hobbits by his side were. Wren didn’t notice - or didn’t care - and caught at his arm.

“Tim, I’ve got to tell you something,” she said. Tim looked about and a smile flashed briefly over his features.

“Hey, Wren. Not just now. I’m busy.” He tried to disentangle his arm from her hands, but she held on stubbornly. He didn’t have time to figure out the look on her face. Nothing was amiss, as far as he knew, and he didn’t want to hear about anything that might have gone on in the inn just now. “Wren, go away! I’ve got to help.” But Wren didn’t let go. Her grip remained, and then the trouble struck faster than either of them could understand. He tried to push her off and she pushed back harder. He stepped back to save himself from a fall, but didn’t have anyplace to step back to and they both crashed into the makeshift table with the casks of ale.

Down it went, casks, mugs, and all. Being so low to the ground, the casks did not break, but rolled over several times and stopped. Tim and Wren picked themselves up quickly, startled and rather frightened. Tim gazed about him in mortification and then turned on his sister, badly shaken and considerably angry.

“Now look what you’ve done! Of all the-” but he cut himself short and snapped his mouth shut, well aware of the onlookers and strangers standing about. Wren looked up at him, and then down at the wreck of things, and then she burst into violent tears and fled the scene towards the kitchen door.

[Witch_Queen]

Cariâthwen had spent most of the morning tending to her horse. Thorn had never liked being away from Cariâthwen but he was now finally getting use to her being gone. Cariâthwen was on her way back inside the inn when a piece of parchment fell out of the sky, landing right in front of her. Cariâthwen bent down to pick the parchment up. On the outside she saw elvish writing that she knew all to well. A message for her. Cariâthwen was all to happy cause this meant a message from her mother.

Cariâthwen proceeded on her original thought, going inside to have a seat and wait for Seleven. Finding an empty table was going to be hard. Looking around the inn she finally saw a table that was unoccupied. Always in the far corner where I tend to stay.... Funny how things work out. Her morning was already looking good and she thought the day could only get better.

Trying not to bump into the hungry hobbits Cariâthwen made her way to the corner where she could set and read her message all while she waited for Seleven. Cariâthwen was all to reluctant to read the message. Unrolling the off-white parchment Cariâthwen thought her heart was going to jump out of her chest. She gazed at the elvish writing, knowing this message was from her mother.

"Cariâthwen,
My dearest daughter. You have spent most of your life looking for purpose as to why you are who you are. I know you all to well and I believe now it is time to tell you the truth as to who we actually are." Cariâthwen paused, where was her mother going with this message. You have lived your whole life and the only woman you knew as your grandmother was Galadriel but that has been a lie. When I was just a "child" Galadriel took it upon herself to raise me as her child. I know this news may seem unreal but I am afraid it is the only truth I know. You are still my child and no one elses. I know not what else to tell you that might help you with your search. All your life you seemed so different from the other elves. You are different cause you see everyone as the same. Even if that means that you never leave your life in Middle Earth, its your life.

Do not let the news trouble you,
Melvilyawen"

Cariâthwen sat in her chair stunned and didn't want to believe what she had just read. This cannot be true..... Does this mean my life is a lie? No I...... Cariâthwen ignored the sound of footsteps. She almost didn't even notice that Seleven was standing behind the empty chair.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim flew toward the wreck of his make-shift bar and threw himself to work at cleaning it up, even as his cousins were coming out of their surprise. His shrewd mind quickly grasped what had happened and to save the situation as best he could be began speaking at once. “Come come come, everybody, don’t worry – no worries! We’ll soon have this cleared away and then more drinks for all, more for all!” Now that he had secured the good graces of the Innkeeper he was eager to resume distributing his goods. He had seen the response to his product and knew that the more folk he could get drinking it, the more folk would be speaking of it. An idea flew into his mind… He had been a Hobbit all his life (which is to say that Fordogrim Chubb was fifty-three) and he knew one thing about his kind: their love of beer was equalled only by their love of gossip. His whole purpose in coming to the Green Dragon in such a dramatic way had been to generate a story worth the telling. Truth be told, he had hoped for something more of a confrontation with Aman – some shouting and high words (he had even prepared a few speeches for the occasion), he had even hoped that perhaps he might move the Innkeeper to a passion…now that was a story sure to have spread to the four farthings as quick as thinking! But she had been disappointingly accommodating. But the crash of the bar, gave him a new opportunity.

Standing tall he cried out, “ATTENTION ALL! In order to facilitate a QUICK RETURN to business, I will give a cask of my BEST ALE to the person as can pick up the most mugs and stack them here upon the bar in the quickest fashion. And free beer for ALL HELPERS!” As you can see, so unused was Fordogrim to giving away his wares without charge that in the heat of the moment it had slipped his mind that he was already giving away his product for free.

There was a rush as the onlookers began to scramble about for the loose mugs for a free mug of beer was one thing, but an entire cask to take home for the family was an altogether different and more magnificent matter! To help them along, Fordogrim began singing one of his favourite songs, and like all his songs it was about the art of brewing. Soon people caught the tune and the words and were singing along lustily as they worked.

I work hard
To make them happy
Every weekend
Makes them party
To the rhythm
Makes them happy
It's magic beer!

Everybody!
Come and drink
Fordogrim’s beer!
Everybody!
Come and drink my
Magic beer!

I make sure
There's a party
When they drink
This special beer
Fordogrim’s Gold
It's magic beer
Fordogrim’s Gold
It's The Shire’s beer!

Everybody!
Come and drink
Fordogrim’s beer!
Everybody!
Come and drink my
Magic beer!

As the work and the singing progressed, Fordogrim spoke a quick word in Tim’s ear. “Now my lad, I don’t want you to go and feel too bad about having upset the cart, so to speak, for you’re a good worker and a good lad and you seemingly have a way with my cousin Gerdy and that’s no rare trait! But you’ve done me a bit of a bad turn and there’s no two ways about it. Still and all, I don’t hold a grudge, I surely don’t and there won’t be another word from me on the subject again. All I ask is that you try not to have your wrestling matches where I’m trying to do my business.” Here he reached up to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Young scamp! I have two of my own about your age and they’re right handfuls the both of them. Come along Master Tim, lend a hand with the mess and then we can see about speaking with that girl as you were tussling with about making things up between you.”

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The cool morning breeze had been rather refreshing, and the sound of the birds singing in the trees was always a joy to any ears that had a heart to listen. Seleven, a man of Gondor, stood outside the Green Dragon Inn with his hood cast over his head and his arms folded beneath his cloak. Many walked passed not heeding him, or not noticing him. A Dwarf strode past and Seleven got some news from him.

"I don't think the gap of Rohan will be a safe road," said he, "those trees are dangerous."

"To dwarves with an axe, maybe," said Seleven, "it is said that they do not love those who hew trees. But all the same, what news from Gondor can you give to me?"

"Gondor?" the Dwarf thought for a while, "not a lot. The King rules well and what remains of the Orcs are driven away. I have not been there for many a long years, but I hear that Minas Tirith is magnificent this time of year."

"Thank'ee my good dwarf." quickly, he handed him some gold pennies and went back to standing as the Dwarf wandered off down the road on business of his own. Seleven searched inside his pack and took out a tobacco bag, but he found it was empty. He sighed and went into the Inn with some feeling of happiness, the day had seemed bright and there was no trouble to be known.

Cariâthwen was sat reading something at a table that was near to a large picture of By-water, probably painted by an old Land Lord. Seleven quietly stepped up to her as she leant back, seeming to have finished reading. "What news?" asked Seleven, but as he tried to sound cheerful, a shadow came across his heart and he perceived that it was ill news.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger finished up the few rooms there were left to do and hurried back down to the kitchen. She was near to bursting with her news about Wren and Tim and Miz Rosebank. She rushed from the stairs to the kitchen’s door, waving at a few customers who had tried to give her their meal orders. ‘Buttercup’ll be round!’ she’d said hastily to them as she hurried by.

The doors flew open with a loud bang as she flew threw them. A moment of guilt assailed her, knowing Cook did not like her walls scuffed by the doors in such a manner. ‘Cook!’ she called out, throwing caution aside. This news was much too urgent to care about the condition of the wall paint.

‘Cook?’ she said again, but this time in a questioning voice. The kitchen was empty. Pans of rolls had been set by the stove to finish rising, clean lined towels carefully covering them. The big cauldron of thick mutton, vegetable, and barley soup was bubbling lazily on the hob.

‘Oh!’ Ginger huffed in an exasperated manner. ‘Here I am with a bit of good news and no one to tell it to!’ Her glance fell on the slightly opened back door . . .

[Pivli]

Violet and Vinca had taken their glasses of dandelion wine with them as they’d gone to inspect Cook’s herb garden. Vinca, it seemed had gotten a few unusual plants from a young woman passing through from Breeland. And Violet, whose own little herb-knot gardens were her bride and joy had inquired if she might see them. Her curiosity was piqued at the thought of new plants and she was already planning how she might cajole Vinca out of a cutting or two.

They were bent over a rather common looking little plant which looked much like a spiky leaved sort of hen-and-chickens; Violet leaning on her cane to steady herself. She frowned, wondering at the name it had been given. “Hullo Verra”, Vinca had said, adding it was good for healing wounds, especially burns. Vinca snapped off the end of a tall, succulent leaf, showing her the thick, clear gel that oozed out.

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of loud male voices coming from round the Inn. As fast as feet and cane could take them they hurried round to the side of the Inn and peered into the front yard – where a curious sight surprised them.

Casks of beer, mugs in disarray, and any number of local lads scurrying about as if in a competition.

[Koobdooga]

Ibun and Frór join in

Ibun was about to answer Frór’s question when the curious spectacle began to unfold before them. He stood up from his chair an incredulous smile working its way up his cheeks. Ibun’s eyes glinted as he looked at Frór and pointed to the casks and mugs that had appeared on the lawn.

‘Mahal is surely smiling down on us today, my friend!’ he exclaimed. He knocked the ashes from his pipe and ground out the live embers that fell to the floor of the Inn porch. ‘Come on!’ he said, nodding his head toward the general melee. ‘Why should the Hobbits have the reward today? We Dwarves can drink as deep as any. Let’s lend a hand!’ In a few quick steps, he was down into the yard.

[Lilly]

Lilly Greengage shifted the basket of plum preserves on her hip. Oh, not that the basket itself was filled with the preserves, that would have proven quite messy, indeed. No, the basket was stacked with ten fair-sized crocks of the purple-red delight; the top of each of sealed with a thick layer of wax. Lilly, herself, had done the ladling in and the sealing of the preserves; her Gran had done the making of them. And this year she’d let Lilly in on her secret ingredients – the ones the ladies in the Westfarthing would give their eyeteeth to know.

These were to be a present for Miz Bunce, and old friend of her Gran’s. She could use them in her plumcake or sweet rolls or just serve them up on the lovely scones she made sometimes when her Gran would visit for tea.

Pausing at the turn off to the Inn, Lilly set down the basket for a moment, rubbing her hip where the weight of it had dug in. She could see the Inn. And there in the yard, some commotion. Her blue eyes sparkled as she took in the odd sight. Well, not so odd, she thought, a smile dimpling her cheeks. She’d always thought of the Inn as a rather magical place where anything might happen.

Lilly took a moment to smooth down her green skirt and tuck her blouse in neatly. She adjusted her black wool vest, making sure the three bone buttons were all done up. Her yellow curls she pushed back from her face, putting the little carved wooden combs in to either side of her part. With a shrug she let the folds of her brown wool cape swirl into place, its little hood hanging neatly down her back. She wanted to look nice when she presented her and her Gran’s gift to Miz Bunce.

The basket once more secured against her hip, she set off toward the Inn proper, stepping off the main path, so as to avoid the goings-on in the front yard. ‘I’ll just go around to the back,’ she said, keeping eyeing the scurrying lads. It was then she looked to the side of the house and saw Miz Bunce and another lady she knew.