The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

Cook goes to see Miz Bella

Three large pans of apple cobbler, their pastry toppings dusted with sugar, stood side by side on the kitchen table. Cook plied her sharp little paring knife over each of them, making small cuts in the topping to vent the steam and soon to be bubbling liquid. In no time at all, she had them done and popped into the big oven. She turned the smaller of her hourglasses over, the one that would measure out a half hour’s time, then began to tidy up her workplace. Tabletop scrubbed, utensils and bowls cleaned, hands washed and dried, and towels hung neatly . . . Cook stood ready for her next task.

‘Miz Bella, m’am,’ Ginger reminded her, lining up the little baskets of bread she’d cut neatly along the counter, a clean white napkin covering each one.

‘Yes, of course,’ Cook said in a decisive manner, not wanting Ginger to know her mind had been on the location of her Gran’s mushroom pie recipe and that she had completely forgotten the girl’s earlier prompt.

It had been a while since breakfast, and she was feeling a bit puckish. ‘Brew a nice pot of that eastern tea the trader brought in just last week, won’t you Ginger. You know . . .the one that has those dried flowers in it that are so fragrant. Jaz . . . mine. that’s what he called it. I’ll just set a few slices of bread to toasting while you’re doing that.’

Cook propped the toasting forks near the hearth fire, turning them once as each side turned a golden brown. She loaded a tray with a pot of sweet cream butter, a pot of thick gooseberry jam, and a little jar of honey for the tea. Two small plates, knives and spoons, the teapot with a cozy she’d knitted herself and two good sized mugs were fit onto the tray and off she went to pay a call on Miz Bella.

She’d balanced the tray carefully on one hand as she knocked at the door. It seemed a silly thing to do, the knocking that is, as this was her own parlour. Perhaps that was one of the things they could discuss . . . just where Miz Bella could stay while she visited. Plenty of rooms in the Inn for the Hobbit folk, Cook thought, wondering how long the woman was planning on staying.

The door opened, and a pleasant voice said, ‘Do come in!’

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen smiled at the eager face of the child. For if talking with an elf were a novelty for the hobbit child then talking with a child was almost as unusual for the elf woman; for the elves had few children in the fading years and when those of other races came to the havens it was generally men on business matters.

"Well Marigold, though Mr Snaveling, as you call him is of the same kindred as the Rangers he is not actually a ranger himself, I believe. Though he has led an interesting life none the less" she added with a smile. "Infact he knows the King" .. she added with emphasis. She did not want Snaveling to lose face in the child's eyes.

Marigold's eyes widened even further. "And do you know the Queen? ", she asked eagerly, for she reasoned that elves must know each other. Mithalwen smiled ... not very well for we lived seldom in the same place and she is a great lady but she was ever gracious when it chanced that we met. I know her brothers a little better because of their friendship with my own brother. And my father fought with hers in the war".

"The War of the Ring?" asked Marigold ..... she had heard tales of that - at least that the hobbits had been very important in it.

"No, another war long ago, but I am sure you don't want to hear of wars...." instead she told Marigold tales she had heard herself as a child, of the great lords of the Noldor and their works. And though the time was slipping away into lunchtime the child's desire to hear more did not seem to lessen and so Mithalwen ordered food again.

"And after lunch if you wish, you could come and meet my horse - for he must have a little exercise if we are not to leave today"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The morning passed in conversation between Mithalwen and Marigold, and while the lass would occasionally turn her attention to him, Snaveling was content for the most part to sit and listen. Though he had lived for a time at the court of the King he had yet much to learn about the history of the lands and peoples beyond the borders of his own homeland and there was much to the Elf’s tales that was new to him. He marvelled that he could have spent so many years wandering the lands and not know anything about them. But then, he reflected, there were many people in the world who knew little about the deeds and trials of the Elder race. Indeed, if the Lord Elessar were to be believed, there were few now who even knew the full tale of the houses of Men.

Perhaps sensing his thoughts the Elf turned toward him and asked, “Is there anything that I can tell you of the past, Man of Numenor?” Snaveling started at the question, and Mithalwen smiled. “Hobbit lasses, I see, are not the only ones who are interested in my stories, Tar-Corondir.”

Snaveling’s embarrassment at having been caught listening to the stories told the child was relieved when Marigold interrupted by asking, “Why does she call you Tar… Tar-Colander?”

“Tar-Corondir,” Snaveling corrected her gently. “The Lady Mithalwen does me an honour by calling me by my right name, for ‘Snaveling’ is but a mangled form of my proper name.”

“But then why don’t you call yourself Tar-Coriander? Why did you introduce yourself as Snaveling?”

“Because I did not know until I was very old that the proper form of my name is Tar-Corondir. I had been raised to call myself Snaveling, and so Snaveling I was when I first came to the Green Dragon Inn.”

“Well,” Marigold said slowly, “it seems a bit confusing to me: to have one name but to use another.”

Mithalwen said, “Ah, but your own history is full of such things, young Miss Marigold. Is not the proper name of your Thain’s son, Peregrin? And is not his companion through many dangers not properly known as Meriadoc? And yet in the tales told of them by many, they are immortalised as Pippin and Merry.” The lass seemed to accept this for the good hobbit sense that it was, but the conversation was momentarily interrupted by the surprising arrival of lunch. Snaveling could not believe that half the day had gone already, and still he had not spoken with Aman. This was becoming awkward – for how much longer could he see her from across the room but avoid her eye?

He was called back to the conversation by Marigold. “Mister Snaveling, Mithalwen has invited me to have a look at her horse after lunch? Do you want to come with us?” Snaveling, having no other response, agreed. “Good!” the hobbit beamed triumphantly. “And I can show you the Innkeeper’s new horse. They say that he was a gift from a secret admirer of Aman’s. A Man who appears and disappears from the Shire bearing her gifts and forever yearning for her hand in marriage. I’m not sure I believe those stories, but you should see the horse he brought her!”

Snaveling’s heart fell at the hobbit’s enthusiastic descriptions of Aman’s imaginary lover, and decided that it might be best if he did not reveal who was the real giver of that particular gift…

[Mithalwen]

Over lunch Mithalwen further explained that all elves had at least two names and most had more "for our parents choose a name each. Then sometimes we choose names for ourselves or are given an ....epesse ... Oh I forget how that is said in your tongue"

"Nickname, "supplied Snaveling helpfully.

"Yes that is it. In some ways Elves and Hobbits are alike for we both often have names that come from nature - your name is a flower and my means grey tree. In the ancient speech of my people Marigold might be rendered "Laure-Lote" and such was the name of one of the noblest houses in Gondolin. .....But it is Tar-Corondir who honours me by calling me Lady Mithalwen, for in truth I am a simple artisan, entitled to no such title. He is of much higher status than I"... Mithalwen noticed Snaveling squirm but he arrival of the apple pudding broke the thread of conversation and they spoke of other things - Marigold explained a little about the people who managed the inn.

" So perhaps there will be another handfasting soon if Miss Aman has a swain " speculated the elf.... come let us see this horse as well as my own Aeglos. "


She led the way to the stable and since there was a brief lull in the rain, she led out Aeglos and lifted the hobbit child on to his back. "do not be afraid, he will not let you fall but hold on to his mane if you wish. Shall we take him around the village" The hobbit's eyes shone in agreement and so the elf, and the man, and the hobbit child on the grey horse all took a turn about Bywater. When Marigold had had "a bareback gallop" (in fact a short canter up the lane riding infront of Mithalwen who had held her safe). They returned more sedately to the Inn and inspected Aman's horse. While Marigold was occupied petting the fine beast, Mithalwen asked Snaveling what he knew about it - for you know Miss Aman of old do you not?"

[Arry]

Andwise made his way over to where the man sat, a mug of hot tea in his hands. He stood for a moment until Derufin raised his eyes from the generous plate of eggs and ham and toast he was attacking and motioned with his fork to the empty chair across the table. The Hobbit sat down with a smile, shaking his head in wonder at the man’s appetite. ‘However did you manage to get that plate of food?’ he asked. ‘I just asked for a little something to go with the tea and was told lunch was in progress and the food would come soon.’

Derufin grinned, picking up his own mug of tea to wash down his mouthful. Miz Bunce, it appeared, had developed a soft spot in her heart for the fellow and had fixed him the eggs herself.

‘She’s a good woman . . . Miz Bunce is,’ nodded Andwise. ‘though don’t tell her I said so. She’s the sort that likes to put a bit of the fear into those around her. Keeps ‘em on their toes.’

Talk drifted to those general things between men on a rainy day . . . the brief asking after each other’s family; the weather, of course; the work needing to be done, but now must be put off; the Spring Faire, just weeks around the corner, and who might win the archery contest this year; who might win the pie eating contest.

At the mention of pie eating, Derufin’s eyes lit up. But Andwise shook his head at him. ‘Big as you are, you’ll never beat Big Tolly. Oldest Proudfoot lad of Hamm and Daphne.’ Derufin raised his brows. ‘Still,’ said Andwise, looking him up and down. ‘With a little coaching you might do a credible job of it.’ He leaned forward toward the man. ‘I, myself, won it the year I married my dear wife.’ He sat back in his chair, and eyed the man again. ‘I could give you a few tips . . .’

[piosenniel]

‘Tips on what?’

Zimzi had come up quietly to where the two were talking. Both stood, and Derufin came round to pull out a chair for her. He chuckled as he sat down again saying Andwise had kindly offered to coach him on how to win the pie-eating contest at the Spring Faire.

‘Surely, it would be unfair of you to enter the contest,’ she protested. ‘You’re so much bigger than the Hobbit entrants.’

Andwise could not hold back his laughter at her assumption. ‘Never underestimate the capacity for food of one of my fellow Shirelings, Mistress Zimzi!’ He wiped his eyes of their mirthful tears and put on a more serious face. ‘Tis the rare Hobbit that cannot out-eat a man twice his size to my way of thinking,’ he intoned. ‘A grave responsibility is laid on us to enjoy the bounty of our land . . .’ He chuckled, seeing her take his pronouncements quite seriously.

She laughed, then, coloring a little as she realized he was jesting with her. ‘Well, then,’ she said, looking from one to the other. ‘I’ll bake the practice pies!’

‘Did someone say “pie”?’ A chorus of voices rang out as Gil and the other lads drew near . . .

[Arry]

Ferdy had come up to the table with his companions. The rain had put a temporary hold on his plans to finish the little fence he’d planned for the front yard of the groundskeeper’s cottage. A simple post and rail he thought, just enough to encourage those wild, rambler roses that grew along the fence row of his Gran’s old place. They were pretty, he thought, and always reminded him of his Ma; she had loved them so.

Gil and the others had shown him their find. He’d been drawn into the idea of doing some exciting story and had offered his help as a back stage sort of assistant. He was already imagining some scenery he might paint on flat background boards for the stage Mister Derufin had offered to build, and his Da was clever with furniture and such. He promised the others he would ask Andwise if he could build some chairs and tables and whatever else might be needed.

His stomach was grumbling loudly as they came up to the table where his Da sat with Derufin and Zimzi. The mention of pie made it growl all the more loudly. At the invitation of Derufin, they sat down at the long table and ordered ale for themselves.

Ginger came out from the kitchen bearing a tray with baskets of bread. She put one on each table and was soon followed by Buttercup and Ruby with their platters of sliced cheeses and pots of mustards and pickles. Ferdy’s eyes lit up at the sight of Ginger and the food. He waved her over once she was done, making room on his bench for her to sit with him . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Some of us have to work,’ she said, giving him an impish grin. ‘The rain has idled the likes of you, but for us it means more thirsty and hungry mouths to feed as the time is passed.’

Ginger watched as Ferdy’s face fell. Daring a look at the kitchen door for any signs of Cook, she sat down for a moment next to him. His aspect brightened as she gave a little squeeze to his hand. ‘I’ll fly about with the soup . . . and once it’s all brought out, I’ll come have lunch with you and the others.’ She gave him a little wink. ‘Save a place for me, won’t you?’

Before he could answer, Buttercup called her away, saying the soup bowls were filled and would she lend a hand.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Of all the questions Mithalwen could have asked him, Snaveling could think of none that would have been less to his liking. He was caught between two very difficult facts. First, he well knew the impossibility of lying outright to an Elf of her many years. He could keep things from her, but his secrecy would cast a shadow upon her mind that she would easily descry, as storm clouds upon a sunny day. The other fact was that he had as yet to speak with Aman, and he knew in his heart that it would be wrong to discuss such a matter in full with someone else before he had a chance to be alone with the Innkeeper. Mithalwen saw his hesitation and spoke again to relieve him of his discomfort. “I would not have you speak of matters that give you pain, nor would I want you to betray a trust that you feel honour bound to keep.”

Snaveling smiled with gratitude. “There is no bond or oath that seals my lips, if that is what you mean, but there are…considerations that I must take into account if we are to speak of Aman.”

“Perhaps it would be best then if we did not?” But even as she spoke Mithalwen’s eyes glittered with ill-concealed curiosity. Again the Man smiled.

“Nay, I know too well the manner of your kind. Already you have sensed much of the truth about me and Aman, and I would not have you pretend otherwise.” And as he spoke he lifted somewhat the shadows that he had cast upon the storehouse of his mind and he could see her react with surprise at his skill. Aloud he continued. “Indeed I know Aman of old, for it was she who played a part in my redemption. She was not alone in that mighty and bewildering act of kindness, but of all the others she is the only one who remains. Roa, the woman I seek, was another, and there was the Elf Galadel Vinorel of whom I have already spoken. There was a fourth, but of him I shall not speak, for I fear that he may be in danger and I would not deepen that by loose words.” Toby, you old fool, where are you and how much trouble have you got yourself into this time? “What I will say is this: your suspicions about this horse, which you would hide from me, are true: it is I who brought it to Aman and presented it to her as a gift of thanks for her many kindnesses to me.”

He saw the light come on in Marigold’s eye as she heard this, and for the first time the Man and Elf noticed that the lass had somehow managed to clamber up to the back of the mighty beast by scaling the stall’s gate. She looked like nothing more than a human babe atop Felarof, last of the mearas, but at the same time strangely at her ease as she rubbed her face into the great mane. Snaveling moved to take the bridle at the same moment as the girl spoke. She was excited, and her words came at a high-pitched rush. “I knew it!” she cried in triumph, “I knew it! You are a Ranger and you have had adventures! Just like the King Elessar you’ve fallen in love with a Rohan woman, except this time you really have fallen in love with her and given her a horse!”

Snaveling shook his head and reached for the bridle as she spoke, but before he could explain to the lass that she had the situation all wrong – he was not the lover of the Shire’s imaginations – Marigold clapped her hands and kicked her heels with delight. The great horse, though well trained, was still a free spirited beast, bred for combat and action and the sudden movement and sound at his back drove him forward. With a single blow of his hooves the stall flung open and Snaveling was thrown back into the straw. There was a mighty whinny and a rush of hooves as the horse flew from the stables and cantered about the yard with Marigold clinging to his back for dear life. Suddenly freed, Felarof turned and galloped around to the back of the Inn, where his nostrils had found out the delicious scents of the kitchen garden…

[littlemanpoet]

"So, tell us, Falowik," Denegal smiled, "how have you been so lucky as to find that elusive sentiment - love?"

Falowik had taken an immediate liking to this rather young man in his odd footwear. He smiled back. "May I sit down?"

"Of course!" said Denegal. Thenergal and Sherman grunted their willingness as well, and Falowik sat down among them.

"Lucky? Nay, I was blessed. I did not look for love, had no thought for it. An accident brought me to this very place months ago. I was a wanderer north of here, an exile from Bree, which is a tale for another time. I lived in the wild, for there was no one there to mistrust. One day I stumbled upon a foul deed, and witnessed a man taken against his will by ruffians. He saw me as he was being taken away, and with his eyes begged me to do what I could. Almost, I did nothing. But I came to the Shire and reported the crime, and was brought here by one of their shirrifs. That night I met Uien the Elf lady, and straightway she became as a loadstone to me; she drew my mind, my eye, even good words came from me ... a rare thing in those days. But I did not seek her out. I was rough-spoken and thought all folk were untrustworthy and troublesome. I left the inn and stayed outside. I do not know to this day what sent her out of the inn to me where I sat under the night sky. But come she did, and touched me who shrank from another's touch. Somehow she was drawn to me as much as I was drawn to her, and to this day it is a wonder to me."

As Falowik had sat and talked at greater length than he ever rememberd having done, the Tinumir hanging from the necklace he wore could be seen glinting with its own light in the afternoon shadows. Falowik noticed their eyes drawn to it.

"She gave me this, and wears its twin. I braided the five strips of leather that form the neckpiece; she made this by her Art, capturing starlight within the stone. Even now she knows through hers that I think of her, and she of me. So yes, Denegal, I am lucky. I deserve none of it."

[peral]

Sharya sighed, feeling guilty for what she had done earlier. It was a wanton show of violence and was uncalled for. She tugged at the knife embedded in the wood and pulled it out. She sheathed it and got the attention of Ruby.

"Excuse me, could I possibly get some lunch?" Ruby seemed more than happy to oblige Sharya, but before she managed to leave to fetch the aforementioned lunch, Sharya caught ahold of her sleeve. "I'm sorry, for my behaviour earlier, slamming the knife into the table like that. I just don't know what came over me. I also seem to have damaged the table somewhat, but I can pay for the repairs. Just please," she looked pleadingly at the hobbit, "please don't throw me out."

Ruby smiled. "I don't think you need to worry about that, miss. I'll just speak to the cook about that. Meanwhile, I'll go get you your lunch, with...would that be cider, ale, tea or water, miss?"

Sharya looked relieved. "Cider please."

Ruby nodded and smiled and went to get Sharya's lunch for her. Almost instantly, it appeared in front of her and Sharya thanked the girl. Glancing out the window, she noticed as if for the first time, the rain steadily beating down.

"What a day," she sighed.

She dug into the warm soup and bread, and soon lost herself, in the delicious meal.

[samsmyhero]

"Yes, that seems to be true to form for love and all the romantic sentiments." Denegal grimaced and shook his head. "Whether one deserves its blessing or its curse, love seems most capricious in handing out its favors. Those who seem most undeserving somehow manage to come out the winners." The young soldier's tone had a bitter ring to it.

A slight frown passed over Falowik's face, and Denegal, noting his companion's look, hastened to add, "Not all who win it are undeserving. I didn't mean to imply that. I have known many couples, good men and women, who were well suited for each other and who were both good people, deserving of happiness. My parents were such. Until . . . until my father died. Perhaps it's just my own misfortune that makes me see the world thus." He fell silent and brooding, his face a dark study in self-pity. The heavy rain that was now falling in sheets outside the snug inn reflected the heaviness of his mood.

Thenergal and Sherman shifted about uncomfortably in their seats. This love lorn Gondorian was certainly not improving the grey weather outside with his sighing and moaning. Sherman, bored with all this talk of love, leaned over to look once more at Denegal's feet and asked "But I still don't see how it is that your losing a girl would make you want to wear those fancy slippers?"

"I don't want to wear them!" Denegal replied, with some exasperation. "I lost my left boot some days back, and had to leave the place where it was . . . lost in some haste. I had no other choice but to journey on, and the road has been a hard and rocky one. My left foot, as you can see", here he removed his foot from the slipper and held it aloft for all to see, "has suffered greatly. That kind little woman over there" he pointed out Ruby who was bustling about bringing out lunches from the kitchen, "Allowed me to make a search of a wardrobe upstairs and I found these discarded amongst other unwanted items. I assure you, they were the only shoes that fit. If I had the means, I would seek out a cobbler and have a new pair of boots made. But, alas, my purse will not allow for such luxuries."

Sherman looked somewhat reassured by this explanation, at least that Denegal was not wearing the slippers voluntarily, exactly. "Uh, you can put your foot down." He pointed at the foot still dangling in the air by his face.

[Mithalwen]

It was unfortunate that Mithalwen was on the far side of Snaveling or her swifter elvish reactions might have been enough to prevent the situation escalating. As it was she had to make the split second decision of whether to follow the horse and his most vulnerable rider on foot or on horseback. The latter would cause a delay but if the great steed had not chosen to bolt rather than explore the Inn's grounds, even she would not be swift enough on foot. She blamed herself already. she should have made clear to Marigold that all horses were not as Aeglos, trained to respond to the mind of the owner as well as the movements of the rider. This horse of Aman's was not elf trained and had responded to the kick as most of his kind would.

To the elf each moment seemed and eternity, but to Snaveling the elf movements were a blur as she sprang on to her own horses back. With no harness other than the head stall and lead rope, she was in pursuit of Marigold and Felarof and dreading what she might see when she found them. She trusted Aeglos absolutely, though the yard stones were treacherous in the the rain, that was falling steadily once more. she attempted to reach the other horse also with her mind.

Now it was Snaveling's turn for each moment to pass as an eternity. It seemed forever but it was a matter of minutes before he heard returning hooves. Felarof, riderless was following Aeglos, docile as anything, but Mithalwen bore Marigold in her arms and to Snaveling, the child was ominously still.

[Nurumaiel]

It was at this moment, when Marigold lay limp in Mithalwen's arms, that Falco Headstrong came hurrying up the path to the Inn, his head bent to keep the rain from his face, and his arms encircling one or two packages to keep them from being soaked. His eyes were firmly fixed on the ground, and he did not look up until he reached the door to the Inn, and so he saw nothing of what had occured. He entered the Common Room, triumphantly brandishing the packages, and he saw at once that both Marigold and the Big Folk fellow were no longer at the table. He looked about thoughtfully, and concluded that the one was with Miss Buttercup or one of the other serving maids, and that the other had gone about his own business, have wearied of entertaining a small hobbit lass.

Falco took himself to Marigold's room, where he proceeded to unwrap the packages and spread their contents out upon the bed, picturing to himself all the while what Marigold's face would look like when she saw this surprise he had prepared for her. Upon the bed he had laid a fairly simple yet very pretty blue frock, with a large diamond-shaped ruffle at the neckline; a white blouse, with buttons up the front and a ribbon to tie up the very top, and trimmed with lace; an eight-paneled green skirt with a pattern of darker green flowers woven in; a red dress gathered at the waist; and a simple white gown with a very slight waistline, accompanied with a blue sash. He knew very little about dresses and skirts and such things, for he had never paid much attention to his sisters' and mother's shopping, and had never had any little girls of his own to care for (and even then he had little doubt that the mother would be in charge of choosing the clothes), but the young hobbit girl at the counter had assisted him very cheerily, and he could tell even with his limited knowledge that the clothes would be very good for Marigold.

He returned to the Common Room, and wondered anew what could have become of Marigold. He questioned one of the maids who was passing by, and she said she had not seen the girl since she had been talking with Snaveling. Falco regretted that he had not yet made the acquaintance of the girl he had just questioned, for that would have advanced this a little farther. Have a slight acquaintance with Buttercup, it would have been much easier to question her about the matter, as she would already know what Marigold looked like, and where she would be apt to go.

"She is probably with Miss Buttercup," Falco murmured. "I don't know where else she would go, and that Big Folk fellow wouldn't kidnap her in broad daylight with all these people about. She'll probably returned for her lunch in good time." And so he sat down at the table to await little Marigold's return.

[Atarah]

Tulip was drenched from head to toe in water. After Sharya left she had gone outside, being careful to go the opposite way to her friend lest the temptation to follow her became too strong. Tulip had walked quite a long way by the time it started to rain and she tutted at herself for not remembering the clouds above. She turned back toward the Inn, but didn't change her pace as she was already soaked through anyway. Something in the corner of her eye made her stop and turn. Could it be? Yes! It was an enormous puddle, one of the biggest she had ever seen. Forgetting her constant want to act grown up, she ran full speed at the puddle and jumped at the last moment. There was a large splash as she landed in the puddle and muddy water covered her white dress from the waist down, turning it a dull brown colour. Tulip laughed as she played in the puddle some more, then skipped back to the Green Dragon Inn, jumping in every puddle she set her eyes on.

When Tulip got back to the Inn her dress was caked in mud and she was incredibly cold, but happy none the less. She stood in the doorway for awhile, taking in who was there and what was happening. By the looks of things it was lunchtime, and her good friend Sharya was back. She walked to her friend's table and took a seat, noticing an odd mark on the table surface.

"Hello again friend," Tulip said with a smile. She looked at Sharya's food and decided she'd order some food after she caught up with Sharya. "So, did you get everything done you needed to?"

[Mithalwen]

Snaveling look anxiously at her and Mithalwen, shook her head. Seeing that she had increased rather than alleviated his anxiety, Mithalwen spoke. "She isn't dead Tar-Corondir, and she has no broken bones or I would not have moved her thus. She fell only when Felarof stopped, tempted by the plants in the kitchen garden. But it is a long fall for such a small child and she fell on rough and stony ground - she hit her head I fear" the child's sweet face was marred by scratches and already there were signs of bumbs and bruises forming. "Take her from me - we need to get her inside ".

Mithalwen passed Marigold into Snaveling's arms, and slipped from Aeglos's back. she found that her legs were unsteady beneath her, so frightened had she been for the child's safety and was glad that the stableman, Meriadoc, emerged from taking his lunch opportunely and she entrusted both horses to him.

She was glad to hear a murmur from Marigold as Snaveling carried her into the inn. the child was coming around. Snaveling set her down on a long padded bench under the window and Mithalwen gently examined Marigold's wounds. "Wake up miss Marigold, you are safe and sound" ..she was rewarded by a faint and slightly groggy smile.

Mithalwen reckoned that the child would need a hot bath, a good meal, and yarrow to treat her wounds. Then an early night would probably put her right. She sent Snaveling to ask the kitchen about hot water and if they had the herb though its use was more medicinal than culinary and when she sensed a presence behind her she thought it was him returned.

[Sett]

A horse trod along the east - west road with a man of gondorian origins jumped off as he pulled the horse to the front yard of an inn called the green dragon. He then noticed a stable and walked up to it.

“Hello there”

“why hello there strange one I am Meriadoc the stable keeper.”

The gondorian gave the horse up and threw the stable master some gold coins. He walked up the inn via the path. Upon entering the inn he was instantly greeted by Sherman and Therengol who shot up from their seats like lightening at the sight of this man.

“my fellow kinsman I bring word from Gondor” replied the man

Sherman and Therengol speeded up as they approached him and dragged him to the bar. They both were eager to speak with him but the others could tell that they were below him in terms of rank.

“This is an urgent visit. I must warn you that the ship is a trap set up by the corsair. They thought we were going send more than you four but alas we have not and you are going to your death.”

“tell me where is Galither for I wish to speak with him.”

The two men shared blank expressions which quickly turned to guilt. In which time Falmir came down the stairs as well.

“Earlingthor!” exclaimed Falmir

The engaged a conversation between the four of them about their mission and the dangers they were facing. The two men revealed that Galither had left earlier on and had said about scouting the area. Earlingthor grabbed the three of them and brought them out of the inn. He was not impressed by what had been going on and forced them all onto the horse and to find Galither.

“I am going back to gondor now and have no more to say on the matter. You are not to go near the extraction site nor are you required to stay in this area once you have found Galither which you will do if you value life then you shall bring him back alive.” Earlingthor revealed

“But but” cried the three men

“go now! More orders will be waiting for you at bree. Goodbye and count yourselves lucky I have come to stop you or you may be riddled with arrows but a few days from now

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella was looking decidedly better than when she'd first been carried inside the evening before. Her unruly curls were firmly pushed behind her ears and held in place by a bright green ribbon. She was wearing a maroon dress with a grey sash tied around her waist, a garment that Cook had kindly deposited on one of the armchairs for her to try on earlier that morning. Although a bit pale, Miz Bella was beginning to regain her strength and good nature. Still, she was extraordinarily slender for a hobbit. It looked as if a good wind could blow her away.

Bella had been seated at the table leafing through a number of books when she head foorsteps approaching in the hallway. She called out a welcome and scurried forward to open the door.

Seeing the large tray of goodies in Cook's hand, she quickly made space for the teapot and toast on the table and pushed a chair over for her guest to sit down. Then she poured two cups of honeyed tea and offered one to Cook. "You are too kind. You really needn't have done all this. I'm quite sure you have plenty of guests and duties to keep you busy. I just don't know what to say. But I at least wanted you to know that I do have money to pay for my room and meals, and that I certainly don't want to push you out of your own parlor."

Before Cook could open her mouth or ask another question, Bella had whisked over to the corner where some of her clothes from the previous night had been haphazardly tossed onto the floor (an occurence that was quite unusual for Cook's parlour). She picked up the ragged skirt out of the pile and began to work at the threads with her nimble fingers. She undid one seam and a number of coins that had been hidden came bouncing out. "There's more where this comes from," assured Bella, pointing to the other clothes on the floor, "but I hope this will hold me for a while."

"Hold you?" piped up Cook. "This will do more than hold you. It should keep you comfortable for quite a while."

"I'm no good with money. It's all looks the same to me," Bella shrugged her shoulders and laughed. "You see most of my life I lived with folk who traded goods in an honest manner but had no coins at all. But before my parents sailed west, when they were still trekking over the wide earth, Mother had several Dwarf friends who taught her how to dig in caves or quarries or abandoned mines and come up with gemstones. She was so good at it they would tease and say she must be a dwarf in disguise. Father had no feel for the thing. He would spend the day hunting and digging and wind up with nothing. But he did learn how to cut and polish the stones that Mother found. She kept one or two for herself but they sold the rest as they passed through the towns. Over the years, they traded for a number of gold pieces that eventually passed to me. I try not to use them except in very tight times."

"But I've talked too much. And I haven't explained the reason I wanted to speak with you. I am thinking of settling here for a bit. I've never lived in the Shire so perhaps it's time for me to come home. I need some honest work so I can make my own way. I have no kinfolk at all, or at least if I do, I don't know them and they have never met me, and probably they would prefer to keep it that way. Ginger said something to me this morning that started me thinking. Father told me about the dame schools: how hobbit ladies would teach the little ones in their homes their basic numbers and letters, and keep them occupied while the parents were off doing other things. I'm wondering if you have a school like that in these parts, or if you think there would be a need for such a place. I would not expect to make a great deal, just enough to keep a roof over my head and a meal or two. The parents could pay me with pennies or some produce from their gardens."

"The only problem is," added Miz Bella with a sigh, "is that I have no burrow of my own. And I have no idea where I could find suitable lodgings for such an undertaking...."

[peral]

Sharya smiled weakly at Tulip's question. Oh, if only you knew, if only you knew.

"Yes, actually, I did manage to get quite a few things done, except..." she looked down at her dress, "get new clothes, which really, I shouldn't have expected to be able to do in a village of halflings." Here she gave Tulip a strange look. "What happened to you?" here she indicated Tulip's dress.

Tulip laughed. "I was playing in the rain and it was fun, if only you were there too."

Sharya laughed. "Oh, I wish I could have joined you, but this is my only dress and I have to preserve it until I get another one, which might not be for awhile. That is," she added, "until I find the time, or rather, can be bothered to make myself a new one." Then she looked up. "Oh, your food is here. I'll let you eat first," she smiled, "and give myself time to finish my own.

Tulip laughed, but dug into her food as heartily as Sharya looked to have dug into hers.

[Noinkling]

Benat and Cullen

The door to the Inn swung open, and for a brief moment the grey light of a rainy afternoon penetrated the lowlit interior of the common room. There were mutterings as the cold wind swept in and admonitions of ‘Someone shut the door, please!’ One of the servers put down her tray on an empty table, intending to shut the door. Her steps faltered as she neared the open door and heads turned again as darkness filled the entryway.

A giant of a man stood there, his long brown cape blocking the light from the outside. He turned sideways and ducked his head down a bit to enter. He stood blinking for a moment in the entry way, his dark eyes adjusting to the lower level of light.

‘Come in . . . sir,’ the server said in as firm a voice as she could muster. ‘The wind and rain bring a chill to the room. Close the door if you would.’

The man nodded, and turning back to the door began to shut it. ‘Come, Cullen,’ he called out, as he did so, leaving just enough room for a large, grey coated dog to pad in. The two made their way to one of the bigger tables near the front window, the one with a wide, sturdy oak bench.

The patrons along the path to their table eyed the man and dog as they passed. The dog was nearly as tall as a Shire pony, with a short, wiry, dark grey coat. His tail was long and had he wagged it at all would have swept the Hobbits on the nearby benches from their seats. His eyes were as dark as the man’s, and took in the surroundings in an intelligent manner. His nose twitched with the inviting smells of the Inn and its inhabitants, cataloguing them.

His master was taller than any man or Elf for that matter. A homespun tunic was tucked neatly into his long black breeches which in turn were held up by a fine woven, broad rope belt. On his feet he wore not leather boots, but rather some made of thick boiled wool, impervious to the wet; dark blue they were and came to the middle of his calves. In his hand was a stout oaken stick, for walking, many supposed, or perhaps a weapon, too. None other was seen about him. The hood to his cape was thrown back revealing a head of thick dark hair. Removing his wet cloak, a single, long dark braid could be seen, snaking down his back to his waist. And in front was an equally long dark beard, the mustache of it framing his generous mouth, which was now curved in a smile at the server.

‘I’ll just take your cloak . . . sir, and hang it by the door to dry, if you don’t mind,’ said the server, emboldened by the fellow’s seeming good-nature, and the fact that the dog had come up to sniff his her hand and had given it a friendly lick.

‘Lay down, Cullen! And mind your manners,’ the man said, directing the dog to the spot near the table. ‘My name is Benat, little Mistress,’ he said, then, turning back to the server. He handed his cloak to her, chuckling a bit as she handed it on to two of the taller male Hobbits she motioned over. They struggled with the heavy, wet thing, and managed to secure it on one of the pegs by the door. It trailed out a bit and they tucked the extra length of it to the side so no one would trip on it.

‘Now what can I get for you, Master Benat,’ the server asked. ‘And for your companion?’

‘Some ale, if you please, little Mistress,’ he said, his eyes twinkling at the thought of a good drink. ‘And bread, and cheese.’ He declined the offer of a bowl of bean with ham soup, saying that it was not his pleasure to eat meats of any sort. She looked at him a bit oddly, then shrugged her shoulders. A good sized bowl of apple cobbler, though, was agreed to and the server turned toward the kitchen to fetch the fellow’s order.

‘One last thing,’ he said, once she’d delivered his food, and asked if there would be anything else he required. ‘Might you know where Master Bilbo Baggins lives? I’m the grandson of an old acquaintance of his. I’ve brought him a pot of honey from my Granda’s bees. He was quite fond of it, or so the old story goes.’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling rushed into the kitchen, desperate to help Mithalwen in taking care of the lass Marigold for he felt responsible for what had happened. Feralof, though no longer his horse, had been his mount for many a week and thus he should have been able to better judge what might happen with him. He also accused himself bitterly for not properly watching the girl more closely, but quick at the heels of this accusation he felt an angry justification rise up. I did not even ask to be made her caretaker! I was just landed with the lass; how could it be my fault if she goes and gets herself hurt by doing something so foolish as mounting a strange horse? There is…no-one who could blame me. Oddly enough, he realised that there was only one person he was particularly afraid of condemning him: the Innkeeper.

He reached the Kitchen and all other thoughts left his mind. There was no sign of Cook but Buttercup was there, busying herself with the cleaning up from lunch. “There’s been an accident,” he began, carefully, deciding that for his own sake it might be best if he were to leave the precise details a bit vague for the time being. “The lass Marigold has had a fall and is quite overcome. The Elven lady Mithalwen has sent me to fetch hot water and something called yarrow, that she believes will help the girl. Do you have any?”

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and Benat

‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said Ginger, stepping up close to Benat once he’d asked his question of her. ‘Did you say “Mister Bilbo Baggins”?’ Benat nodded his head ‘yes’ as he chewed on his bread and cheese. ‘Well, sir, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but he’s no longer with us.’

Benat lowered his half gnawed bread to the plate and looked questioningly at Ginger. His shoulders slumped and he looked quite dejected.

‘Oh, no, sir,’ Ginger protested stumbling over her words. ‘It’s not that he’s . . . well, you know . . . though he might be, he was awfully old. But really we don’t know, you see . . .’

Benat shook his head, a perplexed look on his face, giving every indication he did not see.

‘My stars, let me just try to untangle my twisty tongue and get it out right for you.’ Ginger pushed back the hair from her reddened face and began again. ‘It’s not that he’s gone and died before you got here. He disappeared, when I was just a wee one. Went off with his nephew, Mister Frodo Baggins. Off west, it was. Took a fancy to go sailing, the two of them did. And packed it in here in the Shire and took off with some of the Fair Folk. Haven’t seen hide nor hairy toes of either one of them since.’ She was going to add that Mayor Sam saw them off, but she held her tongue, thinking that perhaps Benat did not need to know everything at the moment.

Ginger filled the man’s tankard with ale from the pitcher she was carrying. He was quiet, and she wished, upon seeing his saddened face, that she had more comforting news to tell him. A sudden idea brightened her face. ‘You just sit here and relax,’ she said, patting the man on his arm. ‘I’ll go fetch Cook. She’s sure to know something as can help you.’

[piosenniel]

Cook and Miz Bella

All that talk about dwarves and mining and jewels had set Cook’s head spinning. It was more than she could wrap her thoughts around that this tiny, elderly Hobbit had led such an interesting . . . no, exotic life . . . She wished Mistress Piosenniel were here. ‘Like to see those two match story for story,’ she chuckled to herself. ‘Now that would be a treat!’ So wrapped up was she in thinking about the woman’s interesting life, that she nearly missed the next of the conversation . . . the real reason, as it were, why Miz Bella had asked to speak with her. Something about a ‘dame school’ . . . and thinking about settling down here . . .

‘ . . . I'm wondering if you have a school like that in these parts, or if you think there would be a need for such a place . . .’

Just looking at Miz Bella as she asked her question and laid out her proposition in that lovely, refined, and kindly voice took Cook back many, many years to the older woman who’d taught her and her siblings in the small parlour of her little burrow. Cook’s mother had made sure there was a small basket of fresh eggs once a week and during the month the family would send sometimes a generous wedge of waxed rind cheese or a plump rabbit from the family’s own hutches. Cook had labored over her slate learning sums and such and had learned also to write a well thought out letter in a fine, clear hand. Once a week there had been music and drawing. But best of all were the stories Miz Violet had read them . . . some true, some fanciful, and some a mixture of both.

‘To be quite honest,’ said Cook, warming to the subject of a teacher for Bywater, and Hobbiton, for that matter. ‘Miz Callie Proudfoot was our last teacher here in Bywater, and she’s been gone now these, oh . . . fifteen years or more. Moved off to be with her widowed sister in Budge Ford. Folk around here do what they can at home. But it’s a hit and miss project for most of the families, what with both parents working hard all day to put bread on the table.’ She paused for a moment, thinking on some of the young people she knew. ‘And it’s not just the little ones need the learning of letters and numbers, but a number of the tweeners and those a bit older, too, who’ve fallen through the crack, so to speak.’ Cook poured another cup of tea for herself and for Miz Bella, and offered the plate of buttered toast to her. ‘We’d be glad to take you up on your offer of schooling, you can be sure of that!’

‘The only problem is,’ she heard Miz Bella continue, ‘is that I have no burrow of my own. And I have no idea where I could find suitable lodgings for such an undertaking.’

‘Land sakes! That’s no problem at all, Miz Bella.’ Cook swept her hand about her parlour. ‘I know we put you in here last night, but that was only because it was convenient, and warm, and I could keep an eye one you. You looked so poorly! But we’ve got a nice set of rooms on the first floor, Hobbit sized, too. You could use a couple adjoining ones for your own living quarters and the sort of largish sized one that lets out onto the back yard of the Inn as a classroom.’ She looked the frail woman up and down. ‘Course, they’re a bit cobwebby at the moment and I’m sure the odd mathom or two has been stored away in them. But with a little elbow grease and a broom and feather duster, I think they can be set to right. There’re plenty of pieces of odd and assorted furniture in the attic that can be used. And I’m sure Mister Derufin, our handyman, can fix you up a small stove for cooking and heating.’

A loud knock at the door, and Ginger’s familiar voice on the other side stopped her from asking Miz Bella what she thought of the idea. Ginger rushed in all out of breath and began a story about a giant in the common room with a dog as big as a pony, and how he was asking for old Mister Bilbo Baggins . . .

[piosenniel]

Buttercup gives Snaveling a poultice to use . . .

Buttercup gave Snaveling a suspicious look. Here he was coming in all fluttery and such and saying there’s been an accident! and in practically the same breath mentioning Margold and a brief reference to a fall. “Mentioning”, mind you . . . no details supplied . . .

‘Well, now, just what might you mean by she’s “quite overcome”?’ pressed Buttercup. She was fond of the little girl and was wondering just what Snaveling had been up to that had caused her to fall. Buttercup pried as many facts about how the girl looked and was feeling. The tightness in her stomach lessened as she learned she was groggy, but awake and there seemed to be no bleeding.

‘Yarrow . . . we don’t use it for that sort of thing around here. Might be some Fair Folk remedy for their kind,’ said Buttercup, going to the cupboard that held the medicine box. She got out a pottery jar and pulled out the stopper, directing Snaveling to get a small handful of oats from the second bin on the right in the pantry. In a small bowl she mixed up a thick paste of dried comfrey root, oats, a little honey, and some cold water. ‘This’ll do for a Hobbit head,’ she said, picking up the bowl and handing it to Snaveling. ‘Take the spoon and put a bit of the paste where the bump or bruise is.’ she handed a clean dish towel to the man, also. ‘And wrap this about her head to keep it in place. Takes the swelling right down and eases the pain.’ She handed him a small bottle of oil of lavender also. ‘Rub a little of this on her temples – gently,’ she went on as he juggled the bowl and the bottle. It will help her feel calmer. And for heaven sakes don’t let the child go to sleep for a several hours. Sometimes with bad falls like this the sleep’ll overtake them if you let it get to them, and they never wake up.’ ‘Or at least not for a long time,’ she added, seeing the look on his face.

She saw Snaveling back to the door of the kitchen, saying she would come see Marigold a little later. ‘Oh, and one last thing. You have told Mister Falco that she’s been hurt . . . haven’t you?’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“Mister Falco…?” Snaveling echoed stupidly, so dazed was he by the flood of instructions from Buttercup over the care of Marigold’s hurt.

“Falco Headstrong!” she said, somewhat exasperated by the Man. “I saw you and him talking to one another with Marigold just this morning. He’ll be worried for sure about the lass.”

Snaveling just nodded at this, torn in his thoughts between irritation with himself for his manner and an odd misgiving about having to confront the fellow about this matter. He had seen what the Halfling’s opinion was of himself, and he knew the colour that would be cast over his involvement with the accident to Marigold. Indeed, in Buttercup’s manner he already saw the way the story would be told. That ne’er do well rogue and tramp of a Man, still up to his ways. There’s no trusting or changing him. Again, he wondered why the opinions of the Shirefolk mattered to him at all. The Lord Elessar had spoken highly of these people, but so far he had seen little to merit such praise. Their views were as narrow as their horizons, they were quick to mistrust and slow to forgive (and he ignored the nagging voice at the back of his mind that pointed out how accurate a description that was of himself…). To Buttercup he merely nodded and said gruffly, to hide his discomfiture, “I’ll be sure to tell him the next time I see him.”

The Halfling gave Snaveling the most withering look yet, and for a split second the Man feared that she might just be about to clamber up a stool the better to grab him by the ear as though he were a miscreant youth. “Well then get telling him now!” she said, and pointing across the Common Room with her little finger she picked out Falco Headstrong where he sat at a small table. It was in one of the Inn’s deep bay windows, and thus out of sight of the bench where Mithalwen was tending to Marigold. Snaveling turned to Buttercup but was spared any further embarrassment with her by the sight of her indignant back as it strode into the kitchen, clearly saying what a fool she felt him to be. Snaveling, Tar-Corondir, the last King and heir to Numenor, kinsman and bondsman to the Lord Elessar…slunk away from the Kitchen like a chastened Halfling boy.

He hurried to Mithalwen and gave her the poultice and oil. He began to relay Buttercup’s instructions but the Elf merely smiled at him and began applying the medicines with the expert hand of her folk. Snaveling turned then to where Falco was sitting. He approached the Halfling cautiously and because of where he was sitting, the little fellow did not see Snaveling until the Man was practically looming over him. Just as Snaveling was about to clear his throat to announce his presence, Falco looked about and was confronted only with the dark screen of Snaveling’s clothes. With an involuntary yelp of surprise, Falco sprang back and looked up into the countenance of the Man. One look at his expression, and Falco knew that something was up, and before he could take better thought he blurted out, “Where’s Marigold, then? What have you done with her?”

Snaveling, surprised himself by the abrupt manner of the Halfling, simply took a step back and pointed toward the couch where Marigold lay, saying limply, “She’s had a fall. But Mithalwen says that she will be all right, now. I’ve fetched her some medicine.”

[Milady Revenwyn]

The door of the Green Dragon is opened, and a gust of wind comes into the room, seemingly accompanied by a tall character wrapped up in a green cloak. The person's face is hidden, and with the cloak it is impossible to tell whether the character is male or female.

The person sits down at a table that was obviously made halfling size, and takes off their hood, revealing themself to be female. Not only that, but her reddish-blonde hair suggests that she is of the Rohirrim. Her knees bump the top of the table, and she looks ridiculous on the small chair. She waits patiently for someone to come around to take her order.

[piosenniel]

Ruby and the green cloaked newcomer . . .

‘My goodness,’ thought Ruby to herself as she eyed the newcomer to the Inn. ‘She must be awfully tired to have mistaken that table for one she can fit under.’ Ruby walked quickly to where the green cloaked woman had sat down. She’d brought a steaming mug of tea with her, for the poor creature did look cold.

‘Pardon me, miss,’ she said, a welcoming smile on her face. ‘But I think you’d be more comfortable at one of the tables over here.’ She waited as the women got up from the cramped seat, then bade her follow her. There was a nice table by the fire, with a chair just the size for one of the Big Folk.’ Ruby sat the mug in front of the woman, then offered to hang up her cloak if she wished. ‘Over there, by the door, Miss, is where I’ll put it. That way it can dry out a bit.’

‘My name’s Ruby, by the way. One of the servers at the Inn. We’ve got some lovely bean and ham soup, with bread and cheese, and apple crisp for after. A nice hot lunch for a wet, cold afternoon, don’t you think? And I’ve brought you some tea – just to warm up with. But there’s ale and cider and cold, clear water from the well, too.’ Ruby stood with an expectant look on her face, waiting for the guest’s order . . .

[Nurumaiel]

Falco saw Marigold lying on the couch with her pale face and wide, frightened eyes, and for a moment he was brought back to a time when another lassie had lain, pale and frightened, and begging him to go with all speed to tell Fosco that she had fallen and hurt herself, but she was all right, so he needn't believe the wild alarms that had been sounded to him earlier. It took all of Falco's will-power to keep from running to Marigold and assuring himself that she was indeed all right.

He flashed his eyes up to Snaveling. "I should have known better than to trust a Big Folk fellow like you," he said. "How did she fall? What did she fall from?"

"She fell from a horse," said Snaveling simply.

"Oh, so you put her on a horse, did you, now?" cried Falco, shaking his head wildly. "You should have known better than to put a little hobbit girl on a horse."

"Don't be too angry, Mr. Headstrong!" Marigold called from the couch. "It was my fault, I suppose. I wanted to ride on the horse, and I frightened him, and he ran away with me. Mr. Snaveling and Miss Mithalwen were being very careful, really they were."

Falco went to her and sat down beside her, gazing defiantly at the Big Folk fellow and the tall woman (perhaps she was pretty, but beauty was no excuse for carelessness, indeed not!). His look clearly showed that he believed Marigold's words were spoken out of kindness and forgiveness, and that there was not a particle of truth in them. After scowling first at one, and then the other, he turned to Marigold and studied her frightened face. "I think," he said, "it would be better if you were in your bed."

"Oh, but I like it here, Mr. Headstrong," she said. "It's much more interesting."

"Well," he said in a reluctant growl, "you may stay if you would rather stay. But..." He paused to consider. He wanted to show her the clothes he had bought for her, but he didn't dare leave to fetch them. As long as this Big Folk fellow was about, he would not leave Marigold. Maybe she would fall off the couch. No, he could not leave...

"Mr. Snaveling," he said, imperatively, "go to Marigold's room, and fetch what you find on the bed there, and bring it here. I want her to see what I bought her." He did not mention that he did not dare leave her with Snaveling again, but perhaps his look and tone implied it.

[Milady Revenwyn]

Revenwyn hadn't eaten anything hot since she left her home in Rohan. "I'll take the bean and ham soup please. I haven't had a decent meal since I left Rohan." she said after following the server to the larger chair. It fit her 5'10" height pretty decently. She sat there, legs outstretched, her large sword in its scabbard resting on the ground. She didn't anticipate needing it on her person here.

In the light of the fire she rolled up the left sleeve of her tunic to reveal a bloodied bandage. Revenwyn knew she'd have to change it at some point in the night, but she wouldn't do so until she'd at least eaten and gotten her room.

[Mithalwen]

" Don't blame Mr Snaveling Mr Headstrong" said Mithalwen, using her fair voice to full effect. "if anyone is to blame, I am - I let Marigold have a ride on my own horse who is trained to respond to my will, above that of anyone who happens to ride him - a babe would be safe on Aeglos' back. Then I am afraid she climbed onto another horse who did not prove so docile. I should have watched her more carefullt and I am very sorry. Yet, she has come to little harm, for which I am much relieved. If she spends the rest of the day quietly and has an early night, she should be right as rain in the morning - apart from the scratches and bruises which will take a few days. She has a lot of spirit, this child...."

Mithalwen's charm offensive was beginning to have some effect on the hobbit man. "So please do not be harsh on Lord Corondir ...... Mr Snaveling as you call him ... he really just happened to be there". Mithalwen had an instinct that Mr Headstrong might be the type to be impressed by titles. She smiled down from nigh on twice his height. Mr Headstrong started to bluster and she felt she was nearly home. As she spoke she had cleaned and dressed Marigold's wounds, propped her up on cushions and wrapped her in her own soft scarf which served well as a stole for the hobbit child.

"Tell me if your head hurts more or if you feel drowsy .. you should rest but you should not sleep yet". Mithalwen knelt and touched the child's forehead gently but Marigold did not know if the tingling she felt came from the poultice or simply from the elf's fingers, however her head was feeling clearer and she returned Mithalwen's smile.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

"Uh," said Sherman, "you can put your foot down." He pointed at the foot still dangling in the air by his face.

"Oh! Of course!" said Denegal, and dropped his colorfully garbed foot.

The two discomfited Gondorians recognized a man of noble bearing enter the inn with a purpose, and left Denegal and Falowik, to speak with the newcomer.

"Denegal, friend, perhaps Uien and I could help you with your footwear. We had planned to leave Bywater this afternoon, but there is no hurry. What say you?"

"You would go to such trouble for a stranger?" Denegal asked.

"I assure you," Falowik said, "it would be no great trouble. I think that Uien would like as much to make a friend of you as would I."

Denegal's eyes widened in surprise. After the somewhat caustic exchange with the Gondorians, this Falowik Stonewort's friendliness was almost a shock.

"So be it then! I tell you I would be glad to get my feet out of these circus boots!"

Falowik grinned. "Very well. Let us go fetch Uien in the stables. What say you?"

[Milady Revenwyn]

As Revenwyn waited by the fireplace she started to get warmer. It had been quite wet outside, and the rainwater had seeped through her cloak as well as her tunic and leggings. She hoped that they would dry out overnight before she left to continue her journey the next morning.

It had been a very long trip from Rohan. She and her husband were travelling as they always did. Revenwyn now stared at the simple ring that adorned her left ring finger. Her eyes closed, trying to hide the tears that were building up inside of her.
"Excuse me." she said, "I'll be back inside in a minute." She walked out the door, and around the corner to the back of the inn. There, her tears broke free and convulsive sobs wracked her body.
"Dorian.... why?"

[Milord Aldagrim]

It had been along day for Aldagrim Proudfoot. First, his dog got out again and he had to chase it down all through the town with everyone laughing at him. Then he was late to the brewery and was yelled at by Milo Bolger. He always wanted to get Milo, and now would be a perfect time. He just didn't know what he would do. Then one of the caskets of ale burst all over him and there they were again, laughing at him.

He had gone home for supper, but since he still wasn't married, he had to cook for himself, and even he admitted he was a bad cook. So, he came to the inn every night. He walked up to the inn. The hobbit was rather short for hobbits, and somewhat chunky.

He saw the woman sitting by the door of the inn crying and walked up to her. "Excuse me miss, are you alright?"


---

Please check your PM's ~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[samsmyhero]

Denegal stood, ready to go with Falowik in search of Uien in the stables. Just at that moment though, Ruby brushed past heading for another table with a tray of soup bowls. With a guilty start, Denegal remembered the generous bargain Cook had offered, and that he had been shirking his part of it. True, they probably didn't expect him to chop wood in this downpour. But there might be some other work which he could lend a hand in. He had better check or they might think him lazy or a welcher, sipping ale at his leisure and then waltzing off to the stables.

"I don't know where my head has been, Falowik. But I must attend to something before I can take you up on your generous offer. You see, I'm practically penniless. The cook here made me a kind offer of food and a bed in the stable loft in exchange for some work which needed doing around the inn. I was distracted by my fellow countrymen and now that it's raining, I'm unsure what I should be doing. If you'll wait but a moment, I'll ask and see if they've a need for my services right this instant."

"Aye, that only seems right." was Falowik's affable reply. "I'll bide here a bit while you go see."

"Much thanks." Denegal said, as he hurried off after Ruby.

She was just in the process of hanging up a long, green travelling cloak on a peg by the door. Denegal took the cloak from her and hung it up, fanning it out slightly so that it might dry faster. "Why, thank you, Denegal! I'dalmost forgotten you were still about." Ruby gave him her friendly smile.

"Yes, I've been remiss in helping you out. The rain started before I could get to that tree that needs cutting up. (Well, that wasn't quite the truth, but it would suffice) Can I lend you a hand with anything else? You see, I've met someone, Falowik by name, you may know him." Here Denegal gestured back to the table where Falowik sat. "He's offered to help me find some more . . . " Denegal searched for a word that wouldn't offend the little hobbit's earlier magnanimous gesture. "Some more sturdy footwear, and . . . " His voice trailed off. Ruby looked with compassion and some amusement on the young man.

"That's alright! Me and the other girls can handle this crowd just fine. Off with you now, and see if you can't find some nice boots or such!" Ruby winked at him and hurried back towards the kitchen.

Denegal grinned. Well, that was taken care of. He promised himself that when the rain let up he would attack the fallen tree with a fury.

He quickly returned to Falowik, conjuring up a mental image of flinging the abhorent red slippers into the nearest river and slipping his feet instead into a new pair of boots. He was sure the slippers would never be missed.

"I'm ready - they've no need of me at the moment!"Denegal smiled and rubbed his hands together with glee, whether in anticipation of meeting an elf, or the thought of getting rid of the slippers, Falowik could not guess.

[piosenniel]

Cook and Benat

Cook padded after Ginger, wondering what could have gotten into the girl. A giant? A dog the size of a pony? And asking after Mister Bilbo, himself? But she had only to walk into the common room, and there he was. She couldn’t help but stare. He was the largest man she’d ever seen. Taller than any of the Fair Folk, too. And big . . . his chest was nearly the size of one of the huge barrels used for brewing. And those legs of his . . . the breeches could not hide the fact that they were as thick as a small oak’s trunk. Her eyes made their way to his face, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he smiled her way and nodded in greeting.

‘What was his name?’ Cook whispered to Ginger. ‘Benat,’ came the reply from the girl who passed by her and drew near the man’s table.

Cook could hear a loud THUMP . . . THUMP . . . that came in a steady and quickening rhythm. Ginger held out a hand and made some beckoning noises. And there, indeed, was the largest dog that Cook had ever seen. The creature came walking up to Ginger, his tail wagging so hard, it fair shook the tables it brushed against as it passed by them. ‘This is Cullen,’ laughed Ginger as the dog gave her a welcoming slurp on her cheek.

‘Oh my!’ said Cook, her right hand held against her wildly beating heart. She took a deep breath to recover herself, then stepped up near to Benat. She kept a wary eye on the dog; she was never one to take a shine to creatures of the canine persuaion, especially since they always seemed bent on bedeviling her beloved cats.

‘Master Benat,’ she said, giving the man a small bow. ‘I’m Vinca Bunce, the long-time cook here at the Inn. Ginger, here, tells me you’re asking after Mister Bilbo. Can I answer any questions for you?’

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Hobbling into the inn, Dwaline the Dwarf leant heavily on his staff. He had spent a long time at his home some way up the road from the inn, sending letters off to his friends in distant parts, that he had decided to stay in the shire for his "Retirement". Which he saw as long overdue. His long, green cloak had been soaked in the rain and he hung it up on a peg.

He had invited some young Dwarves to help in the cleaning up of his small cottage like house, they had done a remarkable job and Dwaline had paid them, much to their delight, in pearls as well as gold. Dwaline had just watched them ride away in a now unlade cart, all chatting about what they were going to do with what Dwaline had given them.

Shuffling to the bar, Dwaline looked the bar maid in the eye with a wide and satisfied grin on his face. He placed a small bag of gold coins on the bar and said in a content and moderately quiet voice,

"A pint of your finest ale, if you would be so kind." The bar maid smiled back at him and soon placed the mug before him. He drank deep and studied his surroundings. Many Hobbits were drinking and singing and being generally merry. Although he noticed a little commotion in the common room, peeking with a curious eye, he thought better of intervening. Besides, his axe may have been Sharpe, but his arm was not as strong as it had once been.

[Encaitare]

What an interesting lot of people! Caity thought as she entered the Common Room.

On her way in from her gardening, she had passed a party of several Men, and had cast an amused glance at one of them because of his flamboyant footwear. She had then gone up to her room and washed her grimy fingernails and toenails to the best of her ability. When she was satisfied, she had gone down to the Common Room once more with her whistle in her hand and an ocarina carefully stashed in her pocket, and it seemed that the room had become packed to the brim with unusual characters.

She warily eyed a huge man and his equally huge dog. Its master did not seem dangerous, but the hound was disconcerting in its great size, so she did her best to avoid it. Finding herself a table and sitting down, she idly played a few notes on her whistle as she people-watched. She then began to play a few simple songs, including one tune that she had made up herself. When she looked up again, it seemed that there was some kind of commotion going on across the room. It looked as though Mr. Snaveling and Mr. Headstrong were arguing; then Mithalwen spoke and calmed the eldery hobbit down. The Elf bent over something, or someone; Snaveling exited at a word from her.

Curious, Caity rose and went to see what was happening. She was alarmed to see a young hobbit girl -- Marigold, she believed her name was -- lying on a couch, all scraped up.

"Excuse me, Mithalwen," she said, "I don't mean to be nosy, but what's happened to her? Is she alright?"

Falco grumbled a little but stopped at a glance from the Elf. "She took a spill is all," she responded. "She will be fine in a little while." Mithalwen turned to the lass. "Look, Marigold, you've a visitor already." The girl looked up tiredly.

"Hello," Caity greeted her. "My name's Caity Brandybuck. I hear you're not feeling so well?"

Marigold shook her head a little, but then stopped, wincing as it hurt her.

Caity had an idea; she knelt down beside the couch and drew the ocarina from her pocket. "Have you ever seen one of these before?"

"No," Marigold said with interest. "What is it?"

"It's called an ocarina. It's a musical instrument -- I'll play something for you if you like. What's your favorite song?"

[Nurumaiel]

"I... don't know," said Marigold, after a little pause for reflection. "I like every song my papa used to sing to me. But you could play me Mairi's Wedding. They played that song at the hand-fasting yesterday, and I liked it very much. My papa used to sing it to me, you know."

"Did your father know many songs?" Falco inquired, his tone less gruff than before. Marigold, of course, had some small ability to make him cheerier, and Caity also possessed that talent. He had been much delighted with her playing of the tin whistle on the previous evening, and couldn't help but feel a bit better when she was about.

"Oh, yes, he knew every so many songs," said Marigold earnestly. "He knew more songs than any other hobbit in Bywater, I'm sure of it. He had a wonderful voice, but not just in one way. He could make you cry or laugh or scowl when he sang, depending on what he was singing. He could make a song have feeling instead of just words."

"Ah, I know how that is," said Falco, with a little smile. "I had a friend who could sing much like that. But, here now, we should let Miss Caity play her song." The both of them fell silent and Caity, with a little bit of a blush, began to play. Like Marigold, Falco had never hear of this 'orcina' before, and at the name he had wondered if it had anything to do with those 'orcs' some of the travellers in the Shire would mention. He was not prepared for the sweet, melodious sound that came forth, and by that surprise his pleasure of her playing was greatly increased.

When she finished, Marigold clapped her hands together with all enthusiasm, and smiled brightly. "That was very lovely, Miss Brandybuck," she said. "I saw you playing with Mr. Headstrong yesterday, with your tin whistle, you know. You're very good at music."

As Caity blushed and thanked the little girl, Snaveling re-entered the Common Room, an assortment of dresses slung over his arm. Falco was in front of him in an instant, taking the clothes and inspecting them carefully to make sure they had not been soiled (weren't Big Folk fellows always dirty?). But, his mood somewhat improved by Caity's music, he gave a nod and a few words of thanks, and then went to Marigold.

She squealed with delight when she saw the dresses, and piled them all on her lap, going through them again and again, and marvelling over their pretty patterns and fabrics. Falco watched her with a contented smile.

"Have you never had such fine dresses before?" he asked.

"Oh, I've had such lovely dresses," said Marigold. "My papa used to buy the prettiest fabrics, and my mamma would sew them together wonderfully. But Mrs. Hilldweller dressed me in plain, dark colours, like her own children, so it's been awhile since I've had such lovely clothes." She turned her shining eyes up to Falco's face. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Heastrong!" she cried.

Falco coughed and the colour mounted slightly on his cheeks, but he merely said indifferently. "My pleasure, Marigold."

[Sett]

Galither spent many the hour slumped on his horse as he trot around the shire in agony. He was holding onto the horse hard clutching it in his arms width as it slowly carried him up and down the hills. Aching from the bitter weather hitting him like sheaves of glass. Each raindrop falling from the unforgiving sky in a violent fashion as it whisks down fast. Constricting his lungs were becoming unbearable for Galither as he tried to escape his jaded state of mind among the muddy paths that dragged the horse down causing Galither to feel unwary and confused as to what had happened.

Moments later he saw the green dragon inn over the hillside and used his last grain of strength to pull the horse into galloping towards the inn but it too was fatigued and not available to such commands. The horse fell to its knees as it skids down the now muddy path leading towards the safe haven from the malevolent weather.

He made it to the courtyard when both him and horse fell to the ground.
Galither was now dreaming of his love Esmerelda. He could see her radiant beauty gushing in the flower filled meadows with the light of the heavens shining down on his soul. He felt her touch on his heart as she knelt by him under the ever-growing purity of the sun. She was so elegant as she lied next to him with a gentle smile of great happiness. He closed his eyes and sighed in joy.

He opened his eyes again but did not find any white horses or golden angels but the stable master at his side as Galither lied in the thick puddle drowning. He was too stressed out at this point to realise what was going on around him. He felt his body being dragged along the hard floor but it felt relaxing for some strange reason perhaps this was because he was out of the weather. He was now full unaware of anything going on around him until he woken up in the pre-booked room the men rented out a while ago. There was a women standing in the corner with hot soup for him but he was too blind of sight to make out any features. He fell back down in frustration that there was nothing he could do. He tried to feel his chest, which had a bandage over it, but he did not know how it got there so for now discarded it so that he could again be with his love Esmerelda.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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 (played by Envinyatar)

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

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

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.

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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