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.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

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)

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

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.

_____________________________________________

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.

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

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.

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

EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

It's now noon or a little after in the Shire. Lunch is being served:

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 day is pleasant and sunny.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

With the gifting away of three casks to the winners of the contest, Fordogrim was soon out of beer to give away for free. Luckily for him, the gathered crowd had drunk deep and were well satisfied -- even for hobbits. Several of those gathered about had taken perhaps a bit too much of the beer and these soon fell asleep on the grass. For his part Fordogrim took out his pipe and filled it with the best Old Toby. As soon as he had it in full blow he turned to his cousins and directed them to pack up the bar and utensils. "Now Master Tim," he said turning to the lad. "You've been a right good help today and no mistake. A fine fellow for all that you're a bit clumsy now and again, but let bygones be bygones I always say, and as I said I shan't mention it again. Now, if you could just help us tidy us away this last bit of mess I shall be glad to a-give you a silver coin for your trouble." The boy's eyes went wide at the offer and soon he was helping the three hobbits stack mugs and empty casks into the cart.

When they had finished, Fordogrim sent Gerdy and Fatty to stow the three casks that had been set aside for the party. Turning to Tim, he then suggested that they go in for some lunch, as the smells coming to them from within were setting their bellies to sound. As they crossed the yard Fordogrim turned to Tim once more. "Tell me now about that lass as you were tussling with. Is it some trouble as is none of my business or perhaps it's something that I can be useful with?"

[Lilly]

The Common Room was filling up with hungry customers eager for lunch. Lilly was glad she and her Aunt Violet had been able to get a table to themselves. But now she felt just a little guilty, seeing yet another Hobbit enter the Dragon’s door and look about hopefully.

A young woman, about her own age Lilly thought, stood blinking in the entry way, her eyes not yet accustomed to the dimmer light of the room. ‘Would you mind Auntie,’ Lilly said to Violet, pointing out the girl in the russet cape, ‘if we invite her to our table. It doesn’t look as if she knows anyone here.’

Violet gave her the go ahead, saying she would just stay seated and look after the table. Lilly got up quickly from her chair and went over to where the lass stood. ‘Begging your pardon,’ she said, touching the girl lightly on the table to draw her attention. ‘My Aunt and I are sitting over there by the fireplace.’ She waved at Violet who smiled and gave a wave back. ‘My name is Lilly. Would you like to join us for lunch? We’ve an extra chair.’

[Folwren]

“Tell me now about that lass you were tussling with,” Fordogrim requested as he and Tim approached the inn. “Is it some trouble as is none of my business or perhaps it’s something that I can be useful with?”

“Well,” Tim replied slowly, scratching his head, “it’s hard to say. I don’t rightly know what Wren wanted. She’s my sister, you know. And she wanted to say something, but I was busy with the ale, and I’m sure it could’ve waited. But she didn’t think so. You see, sir, we’ve just come here yesterday evening. . .” he told Fordogrim a brief version of their story while they entered the inn and found two empty places at a table - about leaving Bree after their parent’s deaths, traveling all the way here without finding any place to stop for good, and then arriving at the Green Dragon and then the stablemaster’s accident this morning and how he somehow got asked to help with the stables until the hobbit had recovered.

“Everything is well and fine now, and I have no idea what was so urgent that she had to come barge in and interrupt me. I doubt anything was. She’s excitable, you see? And probably just had something exciting to tell me.”

It was possible that’s all Wren had to tell, he told himself. But maybe not. She did have a look of fright on her face, and she had run off in tears. . .something must have been wrong. But Tim pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He had to justify himself, because, really, it wasn’t his fault. It’s couldn’t have been. . .

[Rose]

‘Very pleased to meet you, Lilly!’ Rose smiled at the invitation and gave a small wave back to where the older Hobbit sat. ‘My name is Rose Woolcomb,’ she went on. ‘I’d be glad of a place to sit down for a bit.’ Rose followed along after Lilly as she led the way back to the table.

There were lovely aromas issuing from the kitchen, whose door was propped open now as a stream of servers issued forth bearing trays piled with baskets of bread and bowls of mutton stew. Rose’s belly was grumbling loudly by the time the two girls neared the older lady.

[Pivli]

Violet tapped the chair to her left with her walking stick and bade Rose sit down. ‘Rose Woolcomb, you say,’ she said looking at the dark-haired lass. ‘I knew some Woolcombs. Lived up north a ways. Raised sheep.’

She cocked her head and looked closely at the girl’s features. ‘Would you be related to them by any chance?’

A server came by and left the ladies a generous basket of big, warm rolls along with butter and jams and honey. Three heaping bowls of stew soon found their place before each of the Hobbits, as well as a small pitcher of cider and three mugs. Violet could see that Rose was hungry, and Lilly, too, was looking with anticipation at her steaming bowl.

‘Go ahead, girls. Let’s dig in. Cook’s mutton stew smells wonderful and knowing her, I’m sure it tastes even better.’ She dipped her spoon into her bowl and popped the savory contents into her mouth. ‘Lovely! Just lovely!’ She chewed for a few moments, letting the flavors of the meat, vegetables, and spices play on her tongue. ‘Why that old fox!’ she said smiling, once she’d swallowed the tasty mouthful. I believe she’s put a wee bit of fennel in! Just enough to give a nice little aftertaste.’

[Dunwen]

In the common room, Widow Rosebank noticed a lull in the lunchtime orders. Taking her chance, she slipped carefully through the door leading to the kitchen. That room was typically busy, even during a slow time. Three hobbit-women were busily engaged in several tasks all at once: boiling water for the inevitable washing up after lunch, taking new orders out, ladling the savoury-smelling mutton stew into bowls, slicing cheese, putting warm golden rolls onto small plates, bringing serving trays of dirty dishes in from the common room and piling them into a large dishpan. The center of all this activity was an older, sharp-eyed hobbit woman who clearly was in charge. Even if one of the servers had not addressed her as ‘Miz Bunce’, the Widow would have known who she was.

The Bree-woman had a few seconds to observe that Vinca Bunce was a capable, no-nonsense hobbit who ran her kitchen with firm hand. The older hobbit was taking some spice-scented cookies off a sheet while directing her young assistants with the aplomb of a general. Widow Rosebank paused for a moment, but told herself to get on with it.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke clearly enough to be heard over the clatter of crockery and the conversations between the hobbits. “Good day, everyone.” A startled silence fell as the hobbits looked at this newcomer. Widow Rosebank nodded towards Vinca and continued, "Forgive me for intruding during lunch, but I've traveled a ways and have a question for Miz Bunce about this Faire you've got coming up. It might take a bit of time to explain, but I'd be happy to help out while I talk, if you'll hear me out." She gestured to a pile of dirty dishes waiting by a wash tub. "Perhaps I could wash those for you."

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger’s head snapped about at the sound of Miz Rosebank’s voice. With all the commotion about the party and the search for a suitable dress for Wren, the previous news about the widow from Bree knowing Wren and her brother had been stuffed away in some far nook of Ginger’s mind. With dawning horror, she remembered Wren talking about her fears – now that someone from Bree had found them out, would her brother and she have to go back?

‘You puddin’-head!’ she admonished herself. ‘What if she just wants to spy on Wren and Tim? The Big Folk do have some strange ways. What if she’s going to try and make them go back to Bree? What if . . .’ Being a youngish Hobbit, Ginger’s thoughts at times bordered on the wildly melodramatic. ‘Best you tell Cook what you know about this Miz Rosebank.’

Before Cook could respond to the woman, Ginger grabbed up a fresh dishwashing cloth and stepped up quickly to Miz Rosebank. ‘Oh, my gracious,’ she bubbled with all the enthusiasm she could muster. ‘That would be a great help to us!' Ginger looked at Ruby and Buttercup both of whom had raised their brows slightly at her, but quickly nodded their heads ‘yes’. ‘If you really don’t mind, that is. You see . . . there’s a party this evening, and the sooner we get all the chores done about here, the sooner we can get ready for it.’ She gave her most ingratiating smile to both the woman and then to Cook. ‘Many hands make light work. And quick work, too, or so my Gran says. And you and Miz Bunce will have more time to talk about the Faire, too. You did say it would take some explaining.’

Ruby and Buttercup had come up by then with a clean apron and a towel to tuck in the ties. They offered them to Miz Rosebank, both of them casting glances at Ginger and then at Cook.

Ginger left the other two Hobbits to get the woman started and turned a pleading face to Cook. ‘I just remembered Miz Bunce. There was a very important bit of information I was supposed to tell you. Some private business I was to let you know. Could we just step away for a moment?’

[piosenniel]

‘Begging your pardon, Miz Rosebank,’ said Cook, her gaze fixed on Ginger. Vinca’s brow was furrowed, and she had half a mind to remind Ginger whose kitchen it was and who decided who did which jobs. But the lass seemed frantic to tell her something. Though what could be so important that one would treat a guest of the Inn as one of the staff was something she could not fathom at the moment.

Her glance drifted to Buttercup, whose eyes went wide and shoulders shrugged at the implied question. ‘So it’s not something Ginger has told the other two.’ She could see Ruby offering to help the woman put on the apron.

‘I’ll just settle up this matter with Ginger and be back to speak with you.’ She looked at the woman’s hands. They seemed to have known their share of work. ‘If you don’t mind helping with the washing up, we’d be glad to accept your offer. And then perhaps when the serving up is done and the leftovers stored in the pantry, we can sit down and have a talk about the Faire.’ She was curious to know what the woman from Bree would bring to the event.

‘Come along, then, Ginger. We’ll just go down to the root cellar and get us out a basket of taters for supper. She suppressed a smile as Buttercup groaned quietly behind her. Peeling taters was not one of her favorite tasks.

~*~

As they scooped up taters in the dim light cast down the stairs from the cellar door, Cook questioned Ginger about ‘the message’. The words poured out of Ginger all higgledy-piggledy and Cook had to stop her several times to sort out the main concern. In the end, she had put it together about Miz Rosebank and Bree and Tim and Wren. And Wren’s fears, too.

‘Well, of course we won’t let anyone snatch them away from us,’ Cook said, in an attempt to allay Ginger’s worries. ‘But I’ll need to sort this out with Miz Rosebank. If they’ve got any family, it might be a different story.’

The two of them managed the heavy basket up the stairs, and set it down by the back yard pump. Ginger was instructed to wash the taters and scrub them thoroughly with the stiff brush left hanging on the pump post.

Cook sluiced the dirt from her hands in the cold water and wiped them dry on her apron. Leaving Ginger to her task, she returned to the kitchen, thinking how best she might ferret out the information she needed.

[Dunwen]

While she was thankful not to have been shooed out of the kitchen immediately, Widow Rosebank was surprised when Ginger made such a to-do about welcoming her help, instead of waiting for the Cook to give permission. Such doings in a hobbit kitchen were rare as hen's teeth! She herself didn't make a move until the Cook accepted her offer to help with the washing up.

"I'd be happy to help," she replied with a smile. As the Cook left with Ginger -- the girl obviously wanted to talk about her with Miz Bunce, probably worried that she might complain about their small collision upstairs -- she took the apron offered by one of the hobbits. The widow tied on the bright yellow apron, pleased to see that it was human sized. Then she moved to the dish-laden wash tub. Adding more hot water from the kettle, she picked up a dishcloth and slung a towel over her shoulder. Luckily, she was short for a human, scarcely over five feet tall, so felt fairly comfortable moving about a hobbit-sized kitchen. After carefully clearing a space near the washtub for clean dishes, Widow Rosebank got to work.

As she washed and dried, she introduced herself properly to the other two hobbits, and found out their names were Buttercup and Ruby. Both hobbit-lasses chattered excitedly about the party to be held that evening as they went in and out of the kitchen, but did manage to ask a couple of polite questions about the widow's presence in the Shire. They both pricked up their ears upon learning that she was a drygoods merchant. In turn the widow learned a bit more about the Green Dragon and Bywater. She worked steadily and soon had a neat pile of spotlessly clean dry dishes ready to be used again. As she added more hot water to the dish tub and began washing another batch of dishes, Widow Rosebank waited for the Cook to return and rehearsed what she wanted to say.

[Tevildo]

Tevildo balanced precariously on the window ledge and arched his back so that his muddy white fur fluffed upright, making him look like a dirty snowball. Extended first one paw and then the other, he leapt gracefully down to the floor. He was still quite sleepy. He had spent most of the night caterwauling and prowling with other cats in the vicinity of Bag-end, searching for mice in the tool shed. The band of cats had made such a loud racket that Master Gamgee had finally emerged with hoe in hand threatending the noisey trespassers with extinction. Deep inside the burrow, Tevildo had heard the sound of a little one crying.

Not wishing to take on the authority of the mayor, the cat had taken off across the fields on a tear, returning to the safety of the Dragon, where he had slept most of the morning. Now he slunk along the wall that led towards the kitchen. As the door opened and one of the serving maids rushed through with a tray full of goodies, Tevildo slipped under the lass's skirts and skittled inside. For the moment, everyone's back was turned. Tevildo spied two fat smoked chickens that had been hung on a hook not far from the wash basin, just opposite a shelf full of dishes.

Seeing an opportunity he did not want to forego, the cat sprang up to the shelf and carefully threaded his way between the plates and the cups. Reaching the very end of the shelf, he could smell the sweet odor of chicken beckoning him forward. His mouth began to water and he licked his whiskers, anticipating the feast that was sure to follow. Gathering his body, he hurled himself expertly into the air, expecting to land on the shelf where the enticing carcass was hanging. But something unexpected happened at that point. One of the inhabitants of the kitchen raced up, and seeing what the cat was about to do, extended a broom in his direction. Tevildo let out a screech of indignation as his front paws slipped off the far shelf and he went plunging into the dishpan, miserable and wet. The water splashed up as one of the teapots flew out of the pan and crashed against the counter, shattering in several pieces.

[Farael]

Farael walks into the Red Dragon Inn looking tired and fairly dirty, as if he had just been back from the wilderness as he is still carrying his bow and carcaj over his shoulder. Being aware that his appearance is not in the least appealing, he looks for the Innkeeper, asks for a room and disapears towards the back.

A few minutes later, Farael walks back into the common room after taking a bath and putting on some fresh clothes. He looks around for familiar faces, but even though the room is far from empty, he does not recognize any of the many faces. With a tired sigh, Farael leans against the wall and waits to see what kind of activities are happening today.

[Koobdooga]

Farael is invited to sit with a Dwarf

The savory scents of mutton stew and fresh baked bread that drifted from a nearby window lured Ibun from the porch. ‘I’m going in for some food,’ he said to his companion, Frór, as he got up from his chair. ‘Good food, by the smell of it, too!’ He cast an eye at Frór who was just refilling his pipe. ‘I’ll just go in and get us a table, if you wish.’

The common room had filled up with hungry diners. The Dwarf managed to secure a table near the wall and was just giving his order to a passing server when he noted a man standing against the wall. ‘Wonder if he’s looking for a place to sit down and eat,’ Ibun murmured to himself. He caught the serving girl’s attention just as she had turned from the table and called her back.

‘See that fellow over there?’ he asked, pointing toward the man. ‘The one leaning against the wall down there aways?’ She nodded her head ‘yes’. ‘Well, why don’t you invite him to sit down here? There’s an empty chair. Tell him Ibun Lodestone of Khazad-dum would be happy to stand him a mug of ale.’

Ibun watched as the girl went off toward the man. ‘He looks to be an interesting fellow,’ thought Ibun. ‘I’ll just bet he has some interesting stories to tell.’

[Farael]

Farael smiled at the serving girl politely and followed her to where Ibun Lodestone was sitting. With another smile he bowed slightly for the Dwarf and introduced himself as Farael son of Hadar, from Gondor. He was delighted to accept Ibun's offer of a mug of ale and even happier to have someone to talk to, as he had spent quite a few weeks out on the forests. Farael was fairly curious about what a Dwarf from Khazad-dum would be doing in these lands; yet he had not dealt with Ibun's people very often, and he did not know if asking outright would be considered rude. So instead, after the usual small talk, he decided to tell his newfound friend a little about himself.

Farael had spent his last few weeks travelling at his father's request. After the war, his father had started a small busines, dealing with pipe weed for the most part. He had been sent to The Shire to get some of what his father had heard, was the best pipe weed in the Middle Earth. Yet Farael was not a merchant and the stories of the great war and the bravery of many of his people inspired him. On the way to The Shire, he had found what, he beleived, were the tracks of an Orkish party so he set off with his bow, some arrows and his faithful long knife. He followed the tracks until almost sunset but then - Farael looked into Ibun's eyes- the tracks stopped. "I swear to you," he said "The way the ground had been stomped on it could only have been Orcs, yet all of a sudden the tracks disapeared, without signs of a struggle or a camp being set up. I still cannot believe my eyes, but all I could do was go back and try to catch up with the rest of the convoy."

By the time Farael joined his convoy, it was too late. The convoy was attacked that same night but luckily no one had been seriously harmed. A group of bandits (human, that is) had attacked them and stole most of their money and goods.

Farael took a sip of his ale and nooded at Ibun "They went back to Gondor, but I decided to stay. I have now been walking around on the forests hoping I will find them. That way, I will come back to Gondor victorious rather than defeated." He felt silent now, waiting to see if the Dwarf would reply telling him his story.

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Frór opend his eyes, he was sitting alone outside the Green Dragon with an empty mug in his lab. He looked around and found his pipe lying on the ground, it was full, but had not been litt. "How strange, the tobaco is still warm. I must have dosed of for a second or two Frór mumbeld. You should indeed have been standing close to hear what the dwarf said to him self in this moment.

As he stood up a breath of air hit him, it was in this moment he realised that he indeed had fallen a sleep very suddenley. He had never finnished his ale and now his pants were soacked in it. Just pretent nothing happend and noboddy will notice, yes thats the key. Just ingore it, no problem Frór said to him self. The truth was that he infact was quite embarresed that he had fallen asleep with out finishing his ale. The thing with the pipe he could handle as he had not slept for a while, but to fall a sleep when you are holding a mug of some of the finest ale in middle-earth. He would be laughing stock in every dwarf dwelling from Erebor to the Blue Mountains.

What would Ibun not think of him, falling a sleep in his precens. A greater insult Frór could not think of as he stood there.

Frór picked up his pipe, mug and emptied both completley, as he stood there the smell of food from the kitchen meat him and what a delight full smell it was. As he stood there and dreamed of what fantastic dishes they might serve inside, he rememberd Ibun saying: ‘I’m going in for some food. . . Good food, by the smell of it, too!. . .I’ll just go in and get us a table, if you wish.

Frór was relived by this sudden return of memory, he did not insult his new travel companion and there might even be some food waiting for him inside.

No need to let the fine master Ibun and the food wait Frór spoke somewhat loud as he headed for the door. . .

[Koobdooga]

‘What new wickedness is this?’ Ibun wondered aloud. ‘Mahal take the one who brought those misbegotten spawns of darkness into being.’ He tapped his fingers against the mug of ale he held. ‘Surely they haven’t sprouted wings now, have they?’

Taking the pitcher of ale the server had left for them, Ibun topped off both their mugs. ‘Was this near the Shire you saw these tracks?’ he asked. ‘I, myself, traveled up The Greenway to Bree and then west on The Great Road into the Shire. It was just a month ago that I started out from the mountains and only a few days ago I came here. I saw no sign of Orc, nor was there any talk about the foul creatures.’ He shook his head. ‘This is bad news, indeed!’

The Inn door swung open before he could go on, and in walked Frór, his eyes blinking in the darker light of the interior. ‘Over here!’ Ibun cried across the busy room. He waved Frór over to the empty chair.

‘That’s my friend, Frór. From The Iron Hills. We’ve only just met this morning, but we found we’re traveling in the same direction, toward The Blue Mountains to the west. Now that the High King sits in Gondor and brings peace to his lands, we Dwarves are seeking those of our kin who left long ago when the Dark Lord (Mahal strike his hammer hard against him!) . . . when he sent his wicked creations against us. A number of them, or so we’ve heard, dwell in The Blue Mountains.’

Ibun broke off his conversation as Frór neared the table. ‘Sit down, sit down, my friend,’ he said to Frór, pushing out the chair for his with his foot. He nodded toward Farael. ‘This is Farael, son of Hadar of Gondor. He’s just come to the Green Dragon, like ourselves.’

The server who’d taken Ibun’s meal order was returning with her tray laden with three bowls of steaming mutton stew, baskets of thick sliced bread, a crock of butter, and cheese. She laid it all out on the table, along with a three spoons and knives. ‘I thought as how you were three now,’ she said in explanation to Ibun, ‘that I’d just go ahead and bring enough stew and bread and such for all of you.’

[piosenniel]

Cook goes after Tevildo in the dishpan

‘Good gravy!!! What is that infernal cat doing in my kitchen?’ Cook had just entered the back door to the kitchen, having left Ginger washing taters at the pump in the back yard. The old kitchen tabby, she noted, had inched her way far beneath the legs of the stove, trying to avoid the notice of the devilish feline.

Buttercup had snatched up a broom and tried to deflect the cat as he jumped to one of the shelves. And now the beast had lost its footing on the shelf it was aiming for and gone crashing into the dishpan. Water splashed up onto Miz Rosebank and out onto the floor . . . along with one of the teapots that arced up in an ungainly spiral and crashed against the counter.

‘My teapot! You horrid creature!’ A sudden fire flamed up in Cook’s eyes and she grabbed one of the big soup pots, intending to scoop up the sodden cat and make it captive with the pot lid. But the soap-sudsy water that pooled on the floor got the better of her as she hurried toward the sink. Down she went with a loud THUMP! . . .

[Farael]

After having some of the stew, Farael shakes his head "no, I don't think those orcs spouted wings. I don't even think they were orcs at all, but rather bandits. I believe they noticed me before I noticed them and somehow managed to go back to the trail without me noticing them." Farael sighed "And I know what happened is unusual, as my Lord The King has cleaned most of this lands from the evils of that one who was defeated and who's name I shall not repeat. Yes, highly unusual indeed." Farael went on to tell the dwarves, while absently nibbling at a bread slice, how he had spent the last few days on the forests, searching for any clues with regard to what had happened. Nothing was there to be found by him and soon he lost hopes, but came to the Green Dragon Inn for a well deserved rest before returning to Gondor.

Now his stew was starting to get cold and Farael noticed how hungry he really was, so he asked the Dwarves who had been giving the proper attention to their meals. "So tell me, my friends, how far away are these Blue Mountains you mention? this is my first trip to this side of the lands and I would like to see some more of it before going back home." At the same time, a loud crashing noise was heard from the kitchen and Farael turned around to see what had happened.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim led Tim to a table and ordered them some food. For some time there was silence as the Hobbit plied himself to the board and for such a little fellow he demonstrated that he lacked none of the legendary appetite of the Little Folk. As he finished his first small loaf the cousins came up from the cellar, puffing and blowing with their labour. With few words – even from Gerdy – they too sat down and put themselves to work. After they had each eaten three platefuls of food they sat back and sighed contentedly. Soon, their pipes were out and the fragrant smoke of Old Toby was drifting toward the rafters. Gerdy turned to Tim and offered him some of the pipeweed. The lad shook his head and politely declined, explaining that he was only a child and that it was not the usual custom for the children of Men to smoke. Gerdy’s eyes went wide with astonishment. “You don’t say? Well, that is to say, you don’t say that you’re a child…not that you don’t say that Men children don’t smoke, as neither do Hobbit lads and lasses either, if you get my meaning.” Tim assured Gerdy that he did, although it took some work. Gerdy smiled and pressed on. “It’s true that a good smoke is as pleasant a thing to have after a morning’s work as is anything – except maybe a bit of luncheon with a pint of ale, that’s good too – but there’s also true that a smoke is not a thing for a child to have. Hobbit or Man. Now why should that be?” His face fell into a philosophical air. “It seems as though to be young is something of a burden, it does. There’s the playing and the easy times, and the free meals and the care and the smaller clothes as you can keep dirtier, but then there’s the things as you can’t be doing: like going out at night by yourself – leastways, not without sneaking – and staying up at dances and parties, and beer, and deciding what to do with your day, and escaping punishment if you break something by accident, and….and….”

“And smoking?” Tim helped him out.

“Ay! And smoking! That’s the very thing!” cried Gerdy, having forgotten utterly his own point.

For his part, Fordogrim was oblivious to the conversation, his own eyes taking their fill of the comely lasses seated across the Common Room from himself. They were sitting with an older woman and through careful observation and delicate listening he was soon able to make out who they were. Violet, the eldest, was aunt to Lilly, the fairer of the two younger lasses…but perhaps not…for Rose was fair as well…he could not make up his mind. “Well,” he said aloud, “when you can’t decide, it’s best as to find out for yourself. Tim me lad!” he said to the boy, “you know that I’m not one to go reminding you of debts as are owed, so I won’t be mentioning the ruckus you caused with my wares and my bar. I only talks about it here so you’ll know as I’m going to ask you a favour and I want you to grant it or not without thinking for a moment about that other matter. You know I’m new to these parts and I’d be interested in making the acquaintance of some of the folk from hereabouts. Perhaps you could go on over to that table with those three ladies and ask if they’d be willing to join us here?”

[Rose]

The steam from her bowl of stew set Rose’s stomach to grumbling again. Trying to be polite as she could, she managed to get several bites down to quell the noise – quick, barely chewed bites which had hardly grazed her tongue as she swallowed them. In fact, she had hardly taken a breath in the space of these bites. But now, with the edge taken off her hunger, she took a smaller bite of stew and let her mouth enjoy the flavors.

‘I think you’re right, Miz Greengage, she does use a bit of fennel. My mum does that, too. Though mum’s recipe calls for a bit of fresh dill, and I can’t taste any of that in this stew.’ Rose reached for her mug and took a swallow of cool cider. ‘You had asked if I was one of the Woolcombs from up north. Well if by north, you mean Bindbalewood, then the answer is yes. And yes again to the sheep. In fact, that’s the reason I’ve come down to Bywater . . .’ She paused midsentence as a Hobbit at a table a ways away from her seemed to be glancing in an interested manner toward her and her companions.

She leaned forward, and whispered softly to Lilly. ‘That fellow over there,’ she nodded slightly in the direction of Fordogrim. ‘The one talking to the Big Folk child. He seems to be looking at us. Do you know him?’

[Lilly]

Lilly’s head bobbed up, despite the cautionary expression she read on Rose’s face. And there he was. She looked the fellow over carefully, noting he was neatly dressed and that about him seemed to hover a definite air of self-assuredness.

‘Can’t place him. That is, as far as name or where he’s from. But he does look like the fellow who was in the front yard a while ago. With barrels of ale, I think. And a very low table as I recall.’

She decided to one up the brewer. Looking directly at him, her blue eyes glinting with mischief, she gave him a quick smile. ‘Go on,’ she said, nudging Rose on the arm. ‘Call his bluff. Give him a look over.’

[Folwren]

Tim was still smiling at Gerdy’s way of carrying on when Fordogrim addressed him. He turned his attention to him. When Fordogrim expressed his wish of being introduced to the three hobbit ladies sitting a little way away, Tim found himself a little surprised.

“Well, I’ve not been here longer than last night, and I’ve never clapped eyes on them either,” he said. “But, if you want me to go ask them over, I can.” He glanced towards the girls. The two younger ones were speaking together and then one looked across. He couldn’t tell if she looked at Fordogrim or himself, but he guessed that she had her eye directed towards the hobbit. “It looks like I won’t have to do much convincing,” he said, getting up. “I’ll go out and see that everything is taken care of in the stables afterwards.” He nodded to Fordogrim and walked forward.

It never occurred to him in any light or form what a ridiculous proposition he was about to make. He found no reason to be embarrassed by the question he was sent to deliver, though had he been much older he might have. He did wonder why Fordogrim hadn’t asked them himself, but didn’t trouble with trying to figure out an answer.

The two young ladies at the table were aware of his approach as soon as it had come, and their older companion had noticed him before he stopped by the table.

“Excuse me,” he said, more for forms sake than to get their attention. He already had it. “Mr. Fordogrim over there,” he nodded his head in that general direction, “was wondering if you wouldn’t mind joining him for the remainder of lunch.”

[Pivli]

Violet glanced up at the boy as he approached. Her niece and their new dinner companion, Rose, were looking past the young messenger and at the original source of the message. Violet leaned forward a little, the better to hear what the boy was saying. At the same time she tapped her cane twice on the floor, drawing the attention of Lilly and Rose.

‘Mr. Fordogrim, you say,’ Violet said, looking over to where the Hobbit sat. Nicely enough dressed, she thought. There were two other fellows sitting with him, clouds of pipeweed smoke floating above their heads.

‘Well, now,’ she began. ‘It looks as if Mr. Fordogrim has finished his lunch.’ She looked at the three bowls on her table. She and the two girls were about halfway through their stew. ‘Perhaps we should just finish our lunch here, and then join him. Seems awkward, don’t you think, girls, to drag our half eaten food to another table.’

[Lilly]

‘Oh, Auntie!’ replied Lilly, her hand reaching out to pat Violet on the arm. ‘It won’t be awkward at all.’ Looking about she saw a server with an empty tray heading back toward the kitchen. Motioning her over, Lilly spoke low gesturing to emphasize her points, and soon the server had handed over the tray.

‘What do you say, Rose? Shall we pile our bowls and mugs and such on this tray, and join Mister Fordogrim for the rest of lunch? Auntie?’

[Tevildo]

As Cook lay indignant, sprawled on her back in an ungainly pose, Tevildo hunched down in the water, then twisted to the left, and gave a determined leap. He cleared the side of the dishpan with plenty of room to spare and landed deftly on the upper shelf, positioning his body right beneath the hook where the smoked bird still hung.

If truth be told, Tevildo preferred to kill his own prey, since birds dressed by the butcher were not quite as moist or succulent as those slaughtered on the wing. But, hungry is hungry! He'd had nothing to eat all morning. The mice had stayed curled up in their holes, frustrating all his efforts to come away with a tasty prize. Tevildo's stomach was growling ever louder, and he thought it best simply to accept what had fallen into his path

Seeing the resolute look in Cook's eyes, the cat decided to act first and think later so that he could manage to get away with his fur intact. With one last desperate leap, he reached up for the hanging poultry. Tevildo couldn't bring the whole bird down but he did succeed in getting hold of the left wing and, with a mighty heave, tore the appendage loose from the rest of the body and jumped down to the floor. For a moment he stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen. The smoked wing hung out one side of his mouth, as he stared quizzically about the room, searching for a means of escape. He suddenly spied a window that faced out onto the garden. Someone had propped it open an inch or two with the help of a flour bag. Squeezing through the narrow opening. he managed to wriggle his body outside along with his prized chicken wing. The only thing still inside the kitchen was the very tip of his puffy white tail. One more heave and he would be through to the freedom of the garden!

[Rose]

Rose looked from Miz Violet and back to Lilly. ‘My goodness,’ she thought to herself ‘the lasses down here in town were bold! “Forward” her Gran would say.’ She wanted to excuse herself from the whole venture, saying she had business to see to. But Lilly had been so kind to invite her to their table. And even Miz Violet thought it alright to go sit at the stranger’s table.

Stealing a quick glance at Fordogrim’s table, she caught him looking her way. She blushed and ducked her head as she turned quickly back to her lunch companions. ‘I suppose it will be alright,’ she said. ‘But I can’t stay long to chat. I really must see Miz Vinca Bunce about the Faire that’s coming up. Some business my mother’s sent me on.’

The tray was quickly loaded with bowls, baskets of bread, butter, honey, and jams, and cheese of course. Lilly led the way with Miz Violet following, her cane tapping along on the wooden floor. Rose brought up the rear, her eyes darting from side to side, in case any opportunities for escape might suddenly appear.

[piosenniel]

‘Get that misbegotten cat!’ yelled Cook. She lay on the floor gasping and flapping as she tried to raise herself up on the slippery boards. With an ungraceful heave, she turned to her belly and leveraged herself up to her knees.

Her hair had straggled out from her headband and she pushed it back with an authoritative motion – daring the curls to stray out of place again, almost. A figure whizzed by her, on the run, heading for where the cat and his prize were struggling to get out the window.

‘Grab the thief!’ she hollered again. And was rewarded as a hand clamped firmly about the puffy white tail.

[Folwren]

Wren had been left in an upstairs room, rummages through an old wardrobe in search of proper stockings and shoes for that evening’s party. It had taken her quite some time, for she tried on what pairs of shoes she could find and also sought for stockings that might match the dress Ginger had carried off with her.

After some time of such work, she finally found shoes that would fit at least decently, and stockings that would match. She put everything back where it belonged and closed all the drawers and doors and tops of everything and left the room as undisturbed as she and Ginger had entered it earlier.

She reached the bottom of the stair way and dodged across the common room as inconspicuously as she could possibly managed and pushed the kitchen door open carefully. The sight that met her eyes caused her to stop in the doorway where she stood. The door closed softly behind her and she remained rooted in her place.

The cook, who was no longer on the floor, looked absolutely furious, and she was wet, no less. Ruby was in the act of pulling a cat back into the kitchen through the window by its tail.

It had been Cook’s appearance that had first shocked Wren, but when her eyes clapped to the cat being dragged back against it’s will, her little heart went out to it and she started forward with a cry of indignation, dropping her burden as she went, her young eyes flashing.

“Don’t hurt the poor cat! Don’t pull it’s tail! Leave it alone! What did he ever do to you to deserve that treatment! Give him to me.”

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim stood up grandly from his table as the lasses approached with their grand dam, motioning to Gerdy and Fatty to rise as well. His cousins’ eyes were as saucers as they got to their feet, for they were bachelors both, and shy around lasses. Like most hobbits, they looked forward to settling down someday, but as yet their minds had not wandered too far from their work. For his part, Fordogrim enjoyed the company of a pretty maid but had little inclination toward marriage, enjoying, as he said to his friends repeatedly, “the leisure to eat my second breakfast and elevenses whenever and wherever I please, and the freedom of popping out to the local for an ale at any hour.” So it was with a purely aesthetic and somewhat disinterested enjoyment that he gazed upon Lilly and Rose as they approached.

Stepping forward from the table he dropped them a bow that would have been grand in someone of more normal height, but being as he was but barely 24 inches tall, it merely emphasized his extreme smallness. Standing erect once more he addressed the women in as polite a tone as he could muster. “Thank you very much for accepting of our invitation, ladies, for we are three strangers to these here parts. What is more, for all that we are unfamiliar with this part of the Shire, we’re all too familiar of each other, having spent so much time together that there’s little new to say. It will be a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” And with that he bowed once more. Before anyone could recover from this display, tiny Fordogrim leapt toward the extra chairs that Tim had smartly provided and held them out in turn for each of the ladies. As he seated them he introduced himself and his cousins (“This here is Fatty, whose name, you’ll note, doesn’t fit him – not yet at least, but we’re hoping to get him fed up on this trip a bit more! And this is his brother Gerdy – a right good worker, and as steady a fellow as you’d like to meet!”). When he had pushed in all three chairs (and spent, if the truth be told, a little longer doing so with Rose and Lilly than with Violet), Fordogrim sat himself at the table and called out to Ruby for more food, “so as we three can keep you three better company.”

When all were settled he turned to Lilly and Rose (whom he had quite cannily seated directly across from himself, the better to see their faces; Violet he had sat as his right hand, facing the cousins) and asked if they had heard of the party that was to be held at the Inn this night? “For,” he said, “it’s to be a grand affair in celebration of my very own ales and lagers. And there’s sure to be ever so much to do at it. Singing and people as meeting with one another…and dancing, to be sure!” And here he looked at the younger lasses with a decided twinkle in his eye.

‘Now just how did he manage that?’ Barnaby Stonecrop looked up from his lunch and watched the trio of women make their way toward the diminutive Hobbit and his two companions. ‘Some fellows just have all the luck!’

The older woman, he thought he knew, at least by sight if not by introduction. Mistress Greengage . . . Violet Greengage. Lives somewhere up near The Pool, as he recalled. And the light haired lass, he thought might be her niece. She was easy to remember, with her blue eyes, fair hair, and friendly ways. It was her, he thought he’d watched dance near every dance at the last Summer Faire.

The other young woman he could not recall seeing before. Her short dark curls framed a pretty face set with dark eyes that seemed to take in her surroundings in a reserved manner. He watched the two of them for a while, with sly glances toward their table.

Taking a hot bun from the basket before him, Barnaby slathered it generously with butter, followed by a thick layer of honey. He took a large bite and chewed on it thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if the two lasses will be at the party this evening,’ he thought to himself, stealing another look.

[Dunwen]

Widow Rosebank had been washing dishes when a broom had suddenly appeared over her right shoulder and a muddy mass of dingy white fur had dropped like a stone into the dish pan. Like a stone, it had sent a fair amount of dirty dishwater over the edge of the pan and onto her bodice and apron. The mass of fur started yowling and, resolving itself into a very unhappy-looking cat, leapt out of the pan (scattering yet more dishwater onto Widow Rosebank, this time getting her in the face).

At about the same moment, Miz Bunce had appeared, shrieking for someone to grab the cat, only to slip and fall in the puddle at the Widow's feet. For the second time that day, she was nearly knocked off her feet by a hobbit. Blindly catching herself on the counter, she did keep her feet, but nearly fell again when Ruby charged past, determined to follow Cook's order. More shrieks filled the air as little Wren Woodlock entered the kitchen and in the way of small girls, took the cat's part.

The widow, firmly on the side of orderly kitchens, was quick to come to Ruby's assistance. Stepping over Miz Bunce and Ruby, she firmly grasped the angry cat by the scruff of its neck and relieved him of his ill-gotten chicken. Handing the carcass to Ruby, who had let go of the tail once she saw that the culprit was firmly in the Widow's hands, she wrapped the furious animal up in her apron.

"Bad kitty!," she scolded. "Bad, bad, BAD kitty!" The unrepentant feline put its ears back and hissed ferocisously while trying to free a forefoot to claw her. "Pish, tush," the widow replied, wrapping her apron more tightly around the small wriggling body. "If you're going to be such a nuisance, you're going to get the trouble that comes with it."

The cat expressed his disdain for the widow's statement with a series of yowls and hisses and continued his attempts to escape. Disregarding this show of force, the widow tucked him firmly under her arm and looked about the kitchen. Ruby was protectively cuddling a smoked chicken. Miz Bunce was sopping wet and nearly shooting sparks out of her eyes as she glared about. She herself wasn't any drier, and was holding a loudly caterwauling cat in her apron. Wren was demanding the instant release of the creature. All in all, they looked like a collection of lunatics.

The Widow tried. She really did. This was just not the moment, she told herself firmly. But alas, she couldn't help herself. "Well, at least the dishes are clean," she said.

But she couldn't stop the giggle that escaped her. Or the one after that.

[Folwren]

Wren looked in disbelief at the Widow, laughing as if the whole thing was actually funny. The bundle of cat and apron under arm was still struggling like mad. Wren’s hands went to her hips and she stamped furiously, her foot splashing in the water still on the ground.

“Why don’t you let him go?” she demanded. “You’ll hurt him if you keep him like that - or suffocate him, or something. How dare you call him a bad kitty? He only took a bit of the chicken. And then for that, you haul him back in by tail and then pick him up and wrap him as though he were no better than one of the mice that he catches! And then you say that he’s going to get the trouble that comes with it! You can’t do anything to him. Let him go and leave him be!”

Whether it was her place or not to demand the cat’s freedom, Wren didn’t bother to think. Nothing could get her ire up faster and longer than the mistreatment of an animal and she particularly loved cats, of any shape or size. She was oblivious of the Cook’s evident dislike of this particular feline, nor had she been around long enough to know better than to get on her bad side. As for the Widow Rosebank, Wren was more inclined to speak sharply to the woman who’d given her something to worry about than not. So she stood staring up at the widow, a defiant and fierce light in her eyes - a look that did not often occupy Wren’s face.

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Frór tried to ignore what happend around him and continued the conversation with Ibun and Farael.

How far away the Blue Mountains is, you ask. It is a good question, I for one is not sure. If I recall correctly, I saw a map where it seemed that there is the same distance to the ancient city of Tharabad and the mountains from this part of the Shire. It should however be a plesant jurney as it will mostley go through the Shire

It will be nice with a safe and plesant jurney. Frór thought to him self, remembering what dangers he had endured on his jurney from the Iron Hills to The Green Dragon.

Is it your first time traveling in this part of the world Frór asked Farael before taking a drink of his ale.

[Farael]

Farael thought to himself that Dwarves were loosing their sense of adventure, as he heard Fror talking. His trip to The Shire had been as nice and safe as ever, up until the time he happened to leave the group. Surely there would be someone with a sense of adventure in The Shire. He still remembered the tales he had been told about the brave Hobbits during The War and secretly, he was looking forward to meet one of those adventurous creatures. Still, he smiled at his companions "Well, I must admit that this is the first time I have traveled so far from home. I served in The King's Army for some time yet the farthest I went as a soldier was Rohan. My father's reputation kept me from going anywhere fun..." his voice trailed off as he became lost in his thoughts. "But here I am, far from home in this lovely country. I'm sure soon I'll meet a good hobbit and run off to have the best adventures of this time."

Farael caught a sideways glance from Ibun to Fror after his last comment. "I know you must be asked this a lot, but do you happen to know the Great Gimli? My father talked to him once, he always tells how marvelled he was as he never thought dwarves could be so smart!" He sudenly notices that his audience is composed of... dwarves. "But of course, now we all know better."

Blushing and biting his lower lip, Farael makes some silence and stares at his bowl.

[piosenniel]

Miz Rosebank’s laughter was infectious. Cook could feel her wet skirt clinging against her legs and her hair, when she’d fallen, had come all unloosed from its band and was standing out all about her head, she was sure. Miz Rosebank had the wriggling little demon rolled tight in her apron and tucked firmly beneath one arm. She was splashed from head to foot and looked a sight herself.

And there was Wren, in the midst of all, protesting with great vehemence the capture of the cat.

Cook tried to put on an authoritative look, which was all but gainsaid by the muffled giggles that began to explode in little bursts from her. Rose and Buttercup looked at one another, recalling the only other time they’d seen her in this state was at one of the big weddings held at the Inn . . . after which at the party, Miz Bunce had enjoyed a wee bit too much of the exquisite pear liqueur one of the old gran’s had made.

After a few moments of hysterical laughter followed by a number of deep breaths, Cook pushed back the hair from her face and asked for Buttercup to bring her an empty flour sack. The hissing little beast, still wrapped in the apron was soon deposited in the sack and the open end tied shut with a generous looping of twine. Cook motioned for Wren to step near, and handed the bagged kitty over to her.

‘Here . . . take him out of the Inn and set him free. At the end of the grounds would be preferable. Just so long as he’s out of my kitchen. She motioned for Ruby to hand over the chicken. ‘Can’t really be serving guests food that a cat’s had his mouth on, now, can I?’ She handed the slightly mauled chicken to Wren, too. ‘Go on now, you and the little culprit. Feed him somewheres far away and send the little blighter on his way.’

As Wren now had her little hands quite full, Ruby opened wide the back door of the kitchen for her . . .

[Koobdooga]

‘The Great Gimli! Is that how he’s known among Men?!’ Ibun chuckled at the thought. ‘We know him as Gimli, son of Gloin, son of Groin. Of the line of Durin. A well-traveled Dwarf and a gracious host to those who visitors to The Glittering Caves, so I am told.’ Ibun pushed his empty bowl from him and sat back in his chair, mug in hand. ‘He was originally from the Blue Mountains, you know. Where we’re bound.’ He lifted his mug toward Frór. ‘I wonder if the Dwarves there recall his family? I’m sure they must. And will they know a son of theirs is now deemed –The Great?’

Ibun could see Farael blushing. ‘Oh, I’m only poking fun at one of my own . . . not you, you must know. What Men and Dwarves might think of as ‘great’ is most likely different, I think; though, the contact with Men I’ve had is less than the fingers of my two hands. We do hold him in esteem for opening up another place for his folk – the Glittering Caves. And even greater is our respect for the commerce he has grown between his realm and that of Gondor.’ Ibun’s eyes held a merry glint in them. ‘We Dwarves are smart enough in our own way – especially when it comes to lining our pockets and chests with the fruits of others’ labors.’ He chuckled at his less than affirming assessment of both Dwarves and “others”.

‘To answer your question in a more straight-forward manner – no, I’ve not met Master Gimli. But I’ve heard that King Durin, the seventh in his line (May it never fail!), has invited the Lord of the Glittering Caves to see Khazad-dum as we have restored it so far. So, perhaps if he has not come already while I am gone, then I will set my eyes on him at a later time.’ He looked in a questioning manner at Farael.

‘Now, you said you soldiered in Rohan, yes? Did you visit Helm’s Deep there? Or venture into the Glittering Caves?’ Ibun nodded his head slightly at the thought of what wonders those caverns might have and how the Dwarves there now might have made them even more fair with their skills. ‘That is a place I should like to see before my bones rest beneath the mountains.’ He sighed and recalled himself to the present surroundings. ‘But first the task King Durin set me must be done, of course.’

Ibun’s mug was dry by the time he’d finished speaking. He poured himself another from the pitcher and topped off his companion’s cups. ‘And you, Master Farael, have you set yourself the task of finding those bandits you spoke of. Or does your adventuring spirit have some other quest in mind?’

[Pivli]

Violet sat sipping the small mug of cider Ruby had left for her. Her sharp, dark eyes darted over the rim at the three men with whom she and the two girls now sat.

The two cousins across the table from her seemed rather nice, though awkward a bit as young men just coming of age (or so she supposed) were likely to be. They were, in her mind, ‘promising prospects’ and Chubbs, to boot, a solid family. ‘Need a bit more growing on the vine,’ she thought to herself, ‘before they’re worth the plucking.’

Her eyes flicked left to the table’s host – Fordogrim Chubb. He had just finished talking about the evening’s festivities and his ales and lagers, and had managed to get in a leading comment concerning the dancing there was sure to be. Her thoughts applauded the fact he had a certain pride in his handiwork. ‘Sign of a man’ll go far in his business,’ she thought. But her tongue quietly tsk-tsk’d the way he looked at the lasses. He was sizing them up as he might baskets of barley and hops offered for his brewing.

Violet’s gaze darted to Lilly and Rose. ‘Now, what’s in their minds?’ she wondered, trying to read their faces.

Barnaby nearly bit his own fingers, so engaged was he in looking at the lasses at the nearby table. He’d come to the end of the bun he was eating and only at the last moment as he teeth began to press lightly on his thumb and index finger did he realize it was so. He colored slightly, hoping neither of the two younger ladies had seen his mistake, and fussed about with his napkin, wiping the smears of honey and butter from his fingers.

Despite the near miss with the bun he had been eating, his looky-loo’ing had brought him some resolution to his thoughts on the two lasses. He could hear his Gran chiding him even now at the value of his judgment. ‘You got to look beneath the surface, Baranaby Stonecrop, before you bite into the apple,’ was one of her generally useful catch-phrases. ‘Might be rotten at the core, and you’d never know it less you examine it a bit closer.’

He couldn’t, for the life of him, see as how either of the two would be in the least rotten or even wormy a bit, if you took the image a little further. Now the gold haired one was fair enough, and she walked with a certain sort of solid confidence in her step. And those eyes – well they were blue as a fair Shire sky in summer. He knew a few friends of his who’d be swooning at her feet if she glanced even once their way.

But Barnaby’s eye was caught with the darker haired of the two. She seemed more quiet than her companion. And were he to wax poetic, her eyes held some banked fire within their dark glimmering.

He picked up another bun and layered it with butter and honey, all the better to let his thoughts meander down paths of possibility.

[Lilly]

Lilly was well aware of her Aunt’s scrutiny. Having just turned twenty-eight this last winter, she knew how the older women folk in her family were now looking about for likely prospects, that is suitors, for her, even though she wouldn’t come of age for five more years. Five more years – the proper start to the span in her life, or so her family tradition went, when a lass got married and settled down.

She shrugged her shoulders slightly at the thought, twitching off the idea of ‘settledness’. And as for suitors . . . she thanked her lucky stars she’d managed to keep the ones her own aunts and cousins and mother had thrown at her at bay. Surely there was more to life than a husband, a house, and babies to look after!

Lilly left the gawking Chubb cousins to the company of Rose and turned her eye on Fordogrim. ‘A party this evening should prove fun. And you mentioned dancing – do you like the Springle-ring?’ She smiled at him. ‘A vigorous looking fellow such as yourself should surely be able to keep up the pace of it. Yes?’