The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

We had reached the limit of pages for the last incarnation of the Inn - Part 10.

Welcome to the Green Dragon Inn Part 11! Carry on, Shirelings!

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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

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

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.

Fredgar Hornblower – local Shiriff from Hobbiton – played by Fool of a Took
_____________________________________________

Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn.

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.

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


IT IS NOW VERY LATE EVENING. THE WEATHER IS PLEASANT.

THE PARTY CELEBRATING THE REBUILDING OF THE INN IS IN FULL SWING - PLENTY OF FOOD, DRINK, MUSIC, DANCING!

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis looked around, trying to spot Ravon. He had just left for a moment, and when he looked back, she wasn't where they had been sitting. He scanned the room. Oh! There she is! Lewis saw Ravon. She was on the dance floor, motioning for him to come out.

"Care for a dance?" Ravon asked. Lewis smiled. "I'm not too sure how great of a dancer I am. Being the son of a blacksmith and all." Ravon smiled big. "Well come on, lets' find out!"

Before Lewis could do anything, he was pulled into the dance and had gotten right into it. It didn't matter to him what he danced like anymore. He was too busy getting lost in Ravon's beautiful eyes and entrancing smile.

[Firefoot]

When Daisy and Lily returned from the stable Lily was amazed at how much the party had picked up. When she had left there had been several people listening to their music, though few had been dancing. Now there were quite a few people out on the dance floor, and many that weren't dancing were clapping their hands or tapping their feet in time to the music.

Lily quickly picked up the song that Willow had started. She hadn't heard it before, but it was catchy and had a good beat. She immersed herself into playing, no longer worried about how Arrow was doing out in the barn. Her fingers flew over the strings, easily keeping time with the fast rhythm of the song. They played the song all the way through without a hitch, and at the end she heard some applause and even a few whistles.

Lily yawned. She couldn't believe how late it must be getting and everything that had happened that night. Just keep playing and you won't feel so tired, she told herself. Now what to play next? A song came to her mind, one that she hadn't played in quite a while but was so familiar that it was as if she had only just played it. It was a tune that was "as old as the hills", as her uncle would say, and was so well-known that she had heard countless versions of verses that went with it.

"How's this?" she asked, picking up her fiddle once more and striking up the song. Dimly she was aware of Willow and Mira joining in with their instruments, and Daisy's voice soaring over the music. This is great! I hope we get the chance to do this again some time was Lily's last thought before she was once again completely lost in the music.

[Gird]

Gird stumbled out of the bushes. He looked at his hand and realized that he was still holding the small blade that he had been using the past month, far more often than he would've liked. I wouldn't want anyone to see me with that. They might think I'm a savage. he thought, quite oblivious to his own physical appearance at the time.

Gird looked down the dirt road he had stumbled upon, and noticed a familiar, yet somehow different sight. The Green Dragon! he smiled, then frowned, But something seems different from the last time I was here. Gird looked closely at the inn. Ahh, I see! They've re-painted the sign! Contented with this answer, Gird walked on to the inn.

Gird walked in the inn. It sure is busy tonight, I wonder what's up? Gird puzzled. Ahh, there must be a special deal on the meal and drink tonight! Gird thought that the brew must be really good tonight, to have so many people singing and dancing, and the... Gird spotted something else that was amiss. They've scrubbed and polished the floors too! Must be someone's birthday. He shrugged it off.

And, to keep with the lively atmosphere, Gird started 'dancing' while he walked, by bobbing up and down occasionally in time to the music.

[Witch_Queen]

Aduthondiel
"Isaac, you just look like the warrior from Rohan that went missing so many years ago. Yet his name wasn't Isaac. Oh never mind. I sometimes let my memories get ahead of me." Adu didn't know now if Isaac could be one of her long lost friends or not. It was now a game of chance. Even now as she looked at him she could see her old friend. Nothing had even changed.

Could he actually be Jack? No, its not him. I never should have mentioned it to him. "Isaac just forget that I ever mentioned it." She knew now that if he was Jack he would have so many questions that she wouldn't be able to give an answer for. That was unless her friend had changed alot over the years.

[nynnd1]

Bredan walked back into the inn, he had had a quick rest and washed, he felt a lot better. He looked around and could not see anyone he recognised. A man was at the bar bobbing to the rhythm of the music. He was smiling, though from the look of him he did not have much to smile about, he looked like a savage.

‘Now you can’t go saying that Bredan, you didn’t look much better when you entered the inn’ he thought to himself.

He decided to walk up to the man, thinking he may be in the same dilemma Bredan himself was in, and what a dilemma that was. Though he had recognised the beauty of Lady Aman that still did not compare to Iolet, the love he had left in Gondor. He knew it was wrong to fall in love with a married woman, but acting upon that love was worse, but he had learnt. For the whole of the journey from Gondor to The Shire he had thought about it. Could he ever go back to Minas Tirith, that was something he had still to think about, but he was happy being away for the while, maybe Gusin, Iolet’s husband would forget, but Bredan doubted he would, what man could forget, or forgive such an act.

“I am Bredan, would you mind if I join you in a drink, I am new to this place.”

He realised that he sounded quite odd, but drinking with company is always better than drinking alone.

‘Anyway, he may be able to give some information on this place’ Bredan thought. Just then Bredan’s eyes caught sight of Snaveling.

“And some people” Bredan muttered under his breath so nobody else could hear, his eyes still fixed on Snaveling, before he realised and looked back to the smiling savage.

[piosenniel]

IT IS LATE AFTERNOON IN THE SHIRE.

THE WEATHER IS FAIR - BUT THE RAINSTORM MAY BE GATHERING ONCE AGAIN ON THE HORIZON.

[piosenniel]

~*~ New RPG Discussion Thread Open ~*~

Durelin invites you to look at the discussion thread for the new game:

~*~ Bloodstained Elanor ~*~

Click HERE to view it.

Come play!

Players already in the game are: Amanaduial the archer, Arvedui III, Aylwen Dreamsong, Fordim Hedgethistle, and, of course, Durelin.

[Faragorn]

The old run-down wooden door of the Green Dragon Inn swung open. Candle flames slowly dimmed as wind rushed passed them, then slowly brightened once more. A stranger to the Inn stood in the doorway with his long silver cloak which had an enormous hood that devoured his face. People stared as he entered the room. The mystery to what was under that cloak made people impatient, not knowing what to expect.

He slowly walked down to a very small cherrywood table in the corner. His hands raised to lower the hood of his cloak revealing a mans face – silver long hair reached to his shoulders and eyes blue like no others. No one had ever seen him before, yet some had the utmost strange feeling. Something about him was familiar.

The waitress came over. “Ey, May I offer yeh a drink…uhhh…excuse me, but what is your name again?”. The room became silent as he spoke with his low, booming voice. “It’s Faragorn.” She nodded and once again offered him a drink. He accepted with gratitude.

[littlemanpoet]

The three hobbits Falco, Gorby, and Anson, as well as the humans Eodwine and Finëwen, having finished their meal and summed up their doings in the Hills of Evendim, retired to the fireplace with their mugs of ale, and pipes.

"Friends," said Eodwine, puffing on his pipe, "good old southfarthing can't be beat, and thank you for introducing me to such a wonderful pastime." The three hobbits nodded 'your welcomes', puffing on their own pipes, sending voluminous rings up to the ceiling. "But right now I do miss my harp. I shall have to find me a new one. Somewhere. I'm afraid it will have to wait until Edoras where there is a good craftsman in stringed instruments. Ah well."

"Maybe," said Gorby, "there's a harp to be found in this inn. And a pipe too!"

"You're puffing on one, silly," Anson grinned.

"No no no! I mean what you can blow tunes out of!" Gorby cuffed Anson one.
*****
Falowik took his leave of Master Jean Peddlar and Peony, and walked up to the bar where Uien still helped Aman with the constant rush of customers. He asked her for that walk they had talked about, and she excused herself. Falowik and Uien walked out the front door, into the closing day.

[Bombadil]

Iadarion was very happy to receive tea from the nice hobbit, and it mended the pain form his hang over a bit.

He was caught off guard though all of a sudden when the shy hobbit Posco spoke and asked of his race.

"Oh, ho! come now!" Iadarion seemed to act as himself again, as if the question intrigued him to the point of forgetting his pains. "Many a time has the question been asked of my father, and many a time has he laughed and turned away. He was, or is, or never was and never is! A riddle my father will remain, but myself I know from where I came! I am the son of the trees and the river, the daughter! They named me Iadarion- the son of the father!"

It was most definitely apparent at that point, if not so before, that Iar was a queer thing indeed.

[Arry]

Alwin sat down in the chair opposite Sarin, thanking him for the ale. He pulled out his own clay pipe and tamped in a goodly pinch of pipe weed. Jack had hopped down from the chair he’d perched on and ran to get a lit straw for his grandfather to light his pipe.

‘We’re bound for Bree, to stay at the Prancing Pony for a bit. I made some good friends there when last I passed through. Then it’s on east to Rivendell, we are hoping. The Elves for the most part have gone from The Last Homely House, there, but there are one or two or so left, I think. And the great library still stands, or so I have heard, and there are still some scrolls and books to poke through.

‘Grandfather is looking for music,’ piped up Jack, wanting to join in the conversation. ‘He plays the harp . . . and sings, too.’

They were in the midst of a pleasant conversation, when the door to the Inn opened twice, and two strangers entered, one following on the heels of the other. The first a rugged looking man. Dark haired, his face in shadows. Green tunic over darker breeches, well worn boots, a ragged cloak. A blade hung at his belt, and he bore a bow and quiver. He seemed at ease in the Inn, despite his worn appearance. Cloak keeping the prying eyes of the others from cataloguing his features too closely, the man took a seat at the bar.

The second man, too, brought with him a certain air of mystery. His cloak was silver, and it shimmered in the lights of the lamps as he walked toward one of the Inn tables and sat down. His hair, too, was of a silvery nature, and his eyes were a captivating blue. They saw him speak for a brief moment with one of the servers, but could not catch his name clearly.

Buttercup came by with a pitcher of fresh ale and filled Sarin’s and Alwin’s mugs. For Jack, she had brought a cup of chilled cider. ‘Lot of Big Folk in the Inn tonight,’ she observed looking also at the latest arrivals. She smiled prettily at Alwin, then, and told him it would be only a little while until she had time to get their room in order.

‘No hurry,’ he assured her, pointing his pipe toward the Sarin and then tapping the bowl of it lightly against his foaming mug. I’ve an interesting companion to talk to, a pipeful of weed, and the finest ale in the Westfarthing.’ Not to mention,’ he said winking at her, ‘the pretty lasses who work at the Inn and the most interesting people who enter it.’

[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

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

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.

Fredgar Hornblower – local Shiriff from Hobbiton – played by Fool of a Took
_____________________________________________

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.

[Sirithheruwen]

Twylight thought Iadarion seemed all right, but she wasn't sure. She might have excused herself then and there if Iadarion had not started to call for another ale. She grabbed his arm firmly with long slender fingers and pushed him gently back into his seat. He shrugged his shoulders, unperturbed, and accepted the tea Bingo had brought back from the counter with him.

Twylight glanced over at Lily and saw that she shared the look of disgust that all the other hobbits in the Inn looked upon Iadarion with. Did Lily know Iadarion? "What are you?" Twylight looked over at Posco, somewhat surprised at this abrupt outburst. She didn't think that he had ever strung more than three words together while in her prescence. "I do mean, you are one of the Big Folk, that much is obvious, but are you a Man or are you... are you an Elf?" He turned a magnificent shade of red, and swiveled to face Iadarion. "And what race are you?" He turned to Lily. "And what race are you?" He turned to Marcho. "And what race are you?" He gazed wide-eyed in horror at his blunder. Sliding farther down in his seat, nothing more of him could be seen above his nose, all of which was now a magnificent shade of magenta.

Marcho stood. "Interesting and very good questions," he said. "If we are all to become friends perhaps we might as well know. As you can see Bingo, Posco, and I are Hobbits. What are you? Now excuse me." Twylight followed him surreptitiously with her eyes. When he reached the counter, he burst into gales of laughter. Twylight was shaking with fury now as she saw tears of mirth stream down his cheeks. She had turned a shade of red much akin to Posco's, and she fought to keep her hand steady as she wrote; in the backround Iadarion was informing them all about his father and how he was the son of the river. It was, as she would have known if she was listening at the time, the same speech he had treated her to when they first met.

I am indeed of the race of men. But your question is justified, as my clothes are of Elvish make. You see, I lived in Rivendell for some time before I took to traveling.

She indicated the shimmery material of her leggings and tunic, and the midnight-blue cloak hanging over the back of her chair. Marcho had not come back yet, but she could no longer see him, for he had disappeared behind a dark and rugged stranger that was sitting at the bar. She had not seen him before, so she supposed he had just come in. But she gave no more thought to the man, for she turned to listen to Lily's response to Posco's flustered question.

[Faragorn]

Faragorn sat at his cherry wood table still after a many hours waiting. Soon, he knew, some man or woman would find him sitting in the far southwest corner of the Inn. As he watched others pass through the doors he noticed that it had already become late afternoon. The howling wind picked up and a branch from a maple tree began abrading against one of the thick glass panes.

As he observed the Inn he noticed a man that was apparently finding him to his interest, but looked away, not to let the stranger find that he too was examining him. Soon later he found himself once more staring at the man as he watched a woman approach him. She had a large sized cup that she handed to him with great ease. Apparently they had already been acquainted. They spoke little, but over the shouting and gathering in the old inn he found himself not being able to hear a word.

Faragorn had thought for a moment that their eyes met. Realizing this he turned his head and looked no more. His head went back into the direction towards the door. He once more waited…

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Notice of New RPG Opening ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Regin Hardhammer invites you to play in his game:

Hunt for the Palantíri

The Discussion thread for the RPG is now open to take on players.

See you there!

[Envinyatar]

The repairs to the old caretaker’s cottage at the edge of the Inn property were moving along at a rapid pace. It was the roof for the most part that was in need of patching and mending. The interior itself was in good shape – just wanting a coat of fresh paint and the shooing out of several swallows and an owl that had take up residence in the rafters.

Derufin had gone up to the roof to patch the southern section. The sub roofing was still in good shape, but many shingles and been blown off, and the planks that held them needed a good coating of pitch and tar to seal the cracks where there edges abutted. He set to with a will and took off a number of shingles around the damaged area then began mopping on the sealant.

The four Hobbit lads had plans of their own along the southern wall of the cottage. And soon he could hear them banging with sledges on the interior wall, in the room beneath his feet. Derufin crept to the edge of the roof and lying down on his stomach saw a plaster-dusted hobbit issue out through a hole in the wall. ‘Oy!’ he shouted down to the lad, who was ripping out large sections of wall planking with his crowbar. ‘That was a perfectly good wall! Why have you knocked a hole in it?’

The Hobbit, Tomlin, squinted up at the man, and pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. ‘Right here on the plans,’ he said pointing to the drawings on the paper. ‘Got to come out if we’re to build another room.’ Tomlin motioned for one of his mates to come out and look at the size of the opening.

‘What plans? And what room?’ yelled down Derufin, as the other Hobbit, Fallon, shook his head ‘no’ indicating with his hands that the hole needed to be wider. Tomlin held up his hand, signaling to Derufin to wait a moment while he and Fallon conferred. When Fallon had disappeared inside, Tomlin cocked his head up at Derufin and grinned.

‘Cook’s plan’s, Derufin,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders as if the man should have known. ‘The old cottage has only one bedroom, you see.’

‘No, I don’t quite see,’ growled Derufin, frowning as another section of the wall came tumbling. ‘Mind you don’t knock down the structure supports,’ he called down in alarm towards the enlarging hole.’

‘Oh, they’ll be careful. They’ve done this afore for the as prefers to live in wooden dwellings.’ Tomlin stepped back as Fallon came out for another look. Hands on hips the two of them looked smugly toward their handiwork and called out the other two workers, Gil and Ferrin. ‘Right, then, lads! We’ll just start the clearing away and begin the framing.’

The sound of a sweet voice came round the edge of the cottage, accompanied by the tempting smells of fresh baked scones and a flagon of fresh brewed sweet-tea. ‘Cook’s sent a snack to hold you til breakfast,’ said Buttercup, eyeing the lads who had gathered round her like bees to a flower. ‘Now wash up a bit and help me unload the baskets. The Hobbits fell all over themselves in their rush to be the first back to assist her.

Derufin shook his head, and couldn’t help laughing at the calf-eyed fellows. He climbed over the roof to the ladder on the other side and clambered down. He was thirsty, himself, and could do with a mug of tea. Zimzi was there, smiling, as he reached the ground. ‘I’ve escaped “The List” for a few moments,’ she laughed, telling him how Cook had drawn up a great list of things to be done and was slowly working the staff and herself through it. ‘Come,’ she said, taking his hand, ‘Let’s get you a mug of tea and a scone before the Hobbits eat them all.’

Once the mugs were filled and the scones handed round, Buttercup smiled prettily at the workers and said she must be off. There were groans of disappointment and calls of ‘Can’t you stay a bit?’ But she was firm, saying there were things to be done back at the Inn – Ruby would brings them out lunch – then she would expect them washed and ready for dinner back in the Common Room in the early evening. ‘Serve you myself,’ she promised, taking Zimzi in hand and urging her back to the Inn.

The men, all five of them, looked wistfully after the women as they disappeared across the grounds. ‘Well, then – back to it, lads!’ shouted Tomlin. The sooner started, the sooner done.’ Fallon, Gil, and Ferrin began unloading the lumber from the wagon along with sawhorses and saws.

Derufin started back toward the ladder, then paused. ‘About my last question – the one about the room – you didn’t answer what it was for. Gil and Ferrin, came near, bearing the ends of a long piece of planking on their broad shoulders. They raised their brows at Tomlin on hearing the man’s question, then started chuckling. Tomlin scratched his head, and peered up at Derufin as if the man had gone quite dense. ‘It’s for the wee ones, of course,’ he said, speaking slowly in case the heat of mid-morning had dulled Derufin’s brain. ‘You’re to be wed, or so we’ve been told . . . and to that lovely creature who came with our own Buttercup just now.’ Tomlin picked up a piece of chalk and a string for measuring the lengths to be cut. ‘There’ll be plenty of little ones for Cook to fuss over . . . she’s told us so. And so we’re making the room for them – all nice and sunny, here on the south . . .’

[Eiz]

As he broke a piece of bread, Thanatos stole a glance at the elf maiden. He smiled inwardly as he looked at his friend fondly. Mulawin had grown from that young lad who trailed behind him never tiring of stories of the wilds. He considered the young man more of a younger brother than a friend.

Mulawin was saying "Thanatos has been with the rangers longer than I. He's been to places I have not reached yet. Even far down to the borders of the Harad."

"The Haradrim are a fierce people. They've often invaded Gondor's territories. The Haradrim were one of the fiercest allies of the Enemy. Its a blessing that King Elessar now rules- its been a while since Gondor had a king."

Thanatos sat back, a far away look on his face.

"Thana, you've been to Rohan. Were you able to see the Mearas?"asked Mulawin.

"Aye indeed. And magnificent is an understatement to describe them!"

He smiled at Gwenneth. "Do you ride, my Lady?"

[starkat]

Gwenneth watched as Mulawin greeted his friend. She smiled at him when he bowed. When Rose came by to take Thanatos’ order, the elf maid asked for a refill of her tea. She returned to eating and did not notice Thanatos glance at her. Gwenneth was brought to attention when she heard Mulawin say that Thanatos had traveled far in Middle Earth. She listened to his description of Harad.

When the two rangers began speaking about Rohan, she hid a smile. Thanatos spoke of seeing the Mearas. He asked her about riding and Gwenneth returned his smile.

“I enjoy riding tremendously. My mare, Elenath is from Rohan. My father gave her to me a couple of years ago. I got interested in horse training when I was younger and my parents always had a difficult time getting me out of the barn.”

Gwenneth began speaking about some of the horses that she had trained. Her brothers had both gotten horses and asked her to train them. Getting involved in her topic, the elf maid spoke of the days she spent training horses. Finally she began speaking about her mare.

“My father brought her back from Rohan along with two other horses. I went out to the pasture where they were and walked into the midst of them. The other two paid little attention to me. Elenath followed my every movement and after a few moments she came to me. I guess you could say that we chose each other.”

Realizing that she had been talking for several minutes, Gwenneth flushed with embarrassment. “Goheno nin. Forgive me for monopolizing the conversation.” She turned to Thanatos, “The Mearas. Did you ever see Shadowfax? Please tell me something of Rohan. I hope to travel there one day.”

[piosenniel]

‘Who are all these ladies?’ Zimzi whispered her question to Buttercup as they entered the kitchen through the back door. Gathered about Cook were fourteen or perhaps it was fifteen young ladies, all looking like freshly picked flowers in their bright yellows and greens and reds and blues. And every one of them had a freshly pressed apron pinned on along with a bright scarf to tie back their curls.

‘Miz Bunce has called upon their mama’s for help in getting the Inn in order for the arrival of your family and the hand-fasting. Most of them will be helping with the cleaning of rooms and the polishing of the best silver. The fancy linen tablecloths and napkins will all be washed and ironed. And at the end of the week they’ll be the ones to weave the festoons of evergreens and gather the flowers for the arrangements from the garden.’ She nudged Zimzi’s attention toward the group of four older ladies who stood apart from the group, looking on. ‘And those over there will assist cook with the making of the meal . . . Miz Bunce, of course will put the cake together herself . . .’

‘So much work! It’s wonderful! Their generosity leaves me speechless.’ Zimzi beamed at the group and at Cook.

‘Well,’ said Buttercup, ‘Cook is quite fond of Mister Derufin . . . and of you, too. And the lasses are more than willing to help, if truth be told. Tomorrow, many of the single lads will come in to help with the hauling in of the supplies that Cook has ordered and to get the yard in order for the grand party afterwards. There’ll be much eyeing of one another as the week progresses and comments traded in a flirty manner. And by the time the party and the dance is here, there’ll be pairs of dancers ready for it, if you catch my meaning.’ Buttercup nodded her head sagely. ‘Yes . . . I would bet, despite the lasses’ ages, their mothers all saw to their dresses and aprons and scarves for the head before they left the burrows. And all are hoping that in a year or perhaps less, they will be calling on other goodwives of the town to assist in their daughter’s wedding . . .’ Buttercup grinned up at Zimzi. ‘There’s far more to the whole thing than just you and Mister Derufin, you see . . .’

Zimzi laughed delightedly, thinking how much the Hobbits were like the good people of her own little town. ‘Yes,’ she said, grinning back at Buttercup. ‘I do indeed see.’

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Then you begin to see the ways of the Shire, dear Zimzi." The group in the kitchen turned to see Aman leaning in her usual position against the doorway, wearing riding gear and holding a large, serious looking wooden box tucked under. Buttercup smiled and beckoned her in before turning back to the beautiful vase of lillies in front of her, plumping them up and arranging delicately the wide, snowy bells of their blooms.

Zimzi cocked her head onto one side as Aman approached, her smile questioning. "Where was it you left to so early this morning, hmm, Aman?" she asked curiously. The Innkeeper merely smiled mysteriously at her and winked, then laid the large box flat on the table, turning to Buttercup. "Where is Cook?"

"Cook? Why, I'm not entirely sure...she went back out a while ago to talk to some more of the goodwives about..." she trailed off, waving a hand vaguely, her eyes staring into midair, then looked back at Aman. "Would you like me to call her?"

"No!" Aman started suddenly, hands up in front of her, eyes wide, before she gathered herself. "I mean...well, I don't want to bother her, you know, not when all is so busy and..." now it was the Innkeeper's turn to trail off. Buttercup raised an eyebrow and let her eyes flicker down to Aman's garb. The Rohirrim woman grinned ruefully, brushing her windswept hair back with a gloved hand and nodded. "Exactly. Cook has never really...approved of my riding clothes," she said carefully.

Ruby chuckled, shaking her head. "'Never trust a woman wearing leather', that's what she's always said," she laughed, reaching for the wooden box and opening it to reveal about a score and a half of fine, rusty red apples nestled neatly and tightly in straw nests. Smiling approvingly, she murmured something about alerting Miss Bunce and bustled off.

Zimzi stood back, arms crossed, looking skeptical. "Much as I like apples, Aman...do you mean to tell me that you have been riding since the crack of dawn merely to get some?"

Aman wagged a finger at her in mock sternness. "Ah, do not underestimate the value of a good harvest of apples, Zimzi!" She grinned teasingly then shook her head. "Alright, so maybe that wasn't exactly what I was riding for... Come, help me escape Cook before she sees me wearing my riding clothes!" She leant forward and took Zimzi's hand firmly, leading her furtively out of the kitchen. Looking back, she rolled her eyes at the other woman. "Never trust a woman in leather indeed! Come, Zimzi, I need to show you something."

As Aman led the other through the Common Room briskly, Zimzi paused, pulling back slightly although she seemed quite happy to go along with it - after all, she had been simply going along with other people's plans all morning. "Aman, you are being rather mysterious this morning, and that's saying something as you've only been here for five minutes. What is this about now?"

Aman flashed a smile back at her as they reached the bottom of the stairs, letting go of the other's hand. "A gift," she replied softly.

Zimzi hesitated at the word, her brow crinkling slightly. "A gi-...Aman, I'm not sure...I mean, before the handfasting..."

Aman shook her head impatiently. "No, no, this is...well, it is a gift more to you than to Derufin. It is not my single gift for the handfasting, of course, but is something...special..." she stopped, looking at Zimzi with troubled eyes before she clapped her hands worriedly. "Oh, come on, Zimzi, please - Miss Bunce will skin me alive!"

~*~

Zimzi having gone along with the Innkeeper's plan, Aman led her up the stairs to her own room, but when they reached their destination, she stopped the other before she went in. Biting her lip like a child about to give another her Christmas present, she beamed and bid Zimzi close her eyes. The woman looked at her incredulously, but she begged her to do so. Eventually, the other did so and Aman darted into her room.

Crossing the sparsely furnished room briskly, she stopped at the foot of her bed, where a large, deep chest sat: Aman's treasure chest. Beaming to herself, Aman knelt in front of the chest and opened it carefully. Reaching in, past the various pieces of paraphenalia which were scattered over the dark wood, the drew out a slightly battered cardboard box, about a foot long and several inches deep. She paused over it, her fingers lingering above it, before she leapt up and walked back to the door, opening it and leading in her victim. In the quiet of the room, she took of the lid of the box and guided Zimzi's fingers onto the object that laid within.

Zimzi's brow furrowed as she ran her fingers over the surface, attempting to work out what it was, before her eyes suddenly opened wide in surprise as she worked it out. Carefully and slowly, she pulled it out, standing to behold Aman's gift in it's full glory: a beautiful ivory white dress, the material soft and smooth, as finely made as any material anywhere in Middle Earth. The curved v-neck was adorned with a simple, delicate pattern of mallorn leaves, matching the pattern at the end of the wide, sloping sleeves which ended at the elbow, with the long undersleeves a slightly darker shade of dove grey. The fitted bodice gave way to a flowing, unconstricting skirt, which seemed about the right length for Zimzi.

Zimzi looked up at Aman in shock, holding the dress out from her by the shoulders, speechless. The Innkeeper smiled bashfully, and shrugged a little, looking away. "I found it among the clothes in the attic, and it seemed somewhat finer than the others. I couldn't have worn it myself - it's a little too long, see, about your length, and once I consulted a few of the hobbit goodwives, gave it a spruce up, you know, embelished the leaf patterns a little..." she trailed off, her green eyes meeting Zimzi's deep brown ones again, anxiously.

"Aman, I-" Zimzi stopped, her eyes fixed on the dress, before she turned it to hold it up to herself, measuring the length.

"It cleaned up well, and what with the light colour, and the season, and the joyfullness of the event - well, it seemed suitable, you see," Aman gushed on awkwardly, admiring the dress with her head on one side as she stepped forward nervously, taking one of the sleeves in her hands, the dark leather of her gloves a stark contrast against the soft, light material as she swung it slightly, fidgeting. "It is a fine dress, no mistake - but you don't have to wear it if you don't want to, of course, it was merely an idea, you know, a thought that-"

"Aman..."

Zimzi's voice halted Aman's onslaught and she looked back at Zimzi, biting her lip nervously. "Do you like it?" she said nervously.

Zimzi didn't reply immediately, simply laughed and came forward to embrace Aman tightly, the dress held between them. Aman returned the embrace gladly, giving a great, contented sigh of relief as they parted. Zimzi studied the dress again, running an eye over the detail and finery embedded in the elegant, simple design. Her brow crumpled slightly suddenly and Aman felt her pulse almost stop at the sight. She nodded towards the neckline of the dress and Aman scurried around to see what it was that she was looking at.

"What is that?"

Aman peered closely with her keen eyes to see what Zimzi meant, then saw the tiny, perfectly embroidered runes she referred to: two words, one on either side, each no bigger than the width of a little fingernail. She took a moment to work it out, then realisation dawned and she smiled shyly. "It's elvish..." she murmured.

"What does it say?" Zimzi was bursting with impatience and Aman stole a quick glance back at her teasingly, then grinned. "It simply says 'melde' - love, or beloved."

Zimzi looked back at Aman, then laughed delightedly, swirling around with the dress pressed against her. Aman watched, a small smile on her face as the other woman came to face her. She nodded, satisfied. "I wasn't sure what it would be like," she said, softly. "Wasn't sure whether the light colour would look well against your dark skin..." she trailed off, looking back at Zimzi and nodding slowly. "But I see that you match it just as you match Derufin: each complimenting each other, matching, counterparts...in short, perfect." She smiled widely, putting her hands on Zimzi's shoulders as her hands were full. "You and he deserve so much happiness - I am glad you have found it together."

She sighed, seeming to come out of her reverie. Opening the door, she jerked her head towards it. "Come - I need to change my clothes, and downstairs Buttercup will be wondering where you have got to."

Zimzi nodded, carefully folding over the dress as she came to the doorway. Pausing, the looked down at Aman and smiled again. "Thank you," she murmured, then left.

[piosenniel]

It is a fair evening in the Shire.

The lamps are lit in The Green Dragon.

Supper is now being served - roast lamb, taters, garden fresh green peas with butter. Apple-Brown-Betty for dessert.

Plenty of ale, wine, tea, and cold, clear water from the Inn well for parched throats.

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Oh Sir!’ returned Ginger, seeing the gentleman was certainly eager for news of his friend. ‘I’m sorry to be of no help to you. But I’ve only just come to the Inn for this week.’ Rebalancing the tray of Apple-Brown-Betty on her hand, she hurried on with her explanation. ‘There’s to be a handfasting here at the Inn, come the end of the week. Many of us lasses have been sent in by our mums to help Cook out.’

She saw his expression fall at this bit of news. ‘There’s Ruby . . . there by the bar – pulling half-pints for the thirsty fellows. Ask her. If anyone should know about who’s come and gone through the Inn it might be Ruby Brown.’

Fallon and Gil, a few half-pints themselves under their loosened belts, had both taken their napkins from their collars and were waving wildly at her as their tablemates cheered them on. ‘Sorry, Sir,’ she said again, giving him the briefest of bobs as she stepped away from his table. ‘I’ve some lads with sweet-tooths wanting their dessert.’

[Firefoot]

"Miss Lily," said Blanco. "Would you tell me exactly how you feel about my brother?" Lily felt herself go cold. The question was not completely unexpected, but it hit her hard just the same.

"I... I love him." The words, though not loud, were easily audible in the silent barn. Lily did not wait for his response. She had been almost to the door when he had called her back in, and a few steps she was outside. Letting the door swing shut behind her, she fled. She did not return to the inn, but rather around the other side of the barn. There was a large tree, with branches low enough for her to swing herself up among the leaves. She sat there in a fork in the branches, gasping for breath. She was not sure why she had reacted so strongly, but somehow the question had seemed so bold, so personal. Had she really been so afraid of his reaction that she had needed to get away that quickly? Deep inside, she knew the answer was yes. Then, being so flustered she could hardly think clearly, she had offered the bluntest answer she could now imagine. The words were true, of course, but admitting them out loud in such a way had awaken something deep inside her.

Lily wasn't sure how long she sat in the tree, but she knew if that Blanco and Posco would come looking for her if she was away any longer, if they hadn't already. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she pushed off from the low branch and landed lightly on her feet. Lily knew her only real choice was to return to the inn, and she steeled herself to walk around the far side of the barn. Neither of the twins were in sight, so she went alone up to the Inn and prepared to walk inside.

[Nurumaiel]

As the evening shadows fell, Lily left the stable and left Blanco alone. He stared blankly at the door, and he then he promptly sat down on the ground. Oh, he had known it, surely he had known it, and he had known it for some time. But he had always dared hope that perhaps she did not love him yet, for maybe then there would be a chance. There was no chance now, for she loved him. And when a lass loved a lad, she did not change her heart. Love did not change. Was it not so? Yet... at one time, had he not loved the brown-eyed lassie, the sweet little Marigold Hilldweller, who loved him well? No, but he just had a fickle heart, and as the realization came to him that very heart sunk. He was fickle. Maybe he would love another girl tomorrow, and forget Lily. He could never be happy in marriage. He would love a girl and marry her, and then he would one day stop...

Oh, oh, oh! but hadn't Lily been the sweetest, kindest, gentlest little thing he had ever seen? But Marigold was sweet, and kind, and gentle as well, and he had brought her flowers, and she had lifted her large brown eyes up to him, with the golden-brown curls falling on her rosy cheeks, and his heart had beat fiercely, fiercely! Flittings of a song came to his mind then, a song he had sung of Marigold as he sat in the moonlight by the Brandywine dreaming of her, and they pained him....

Dear are her charms to me,
dearer her laughter free,
dearest her constancy...

Her constancy! Marigold was the very soul of constancy! She had loved him for so long, and had more than likely always trusted that he loved her, and small blame to her for that. He had gone off before, and she had always been there to see him off and wish him well, and the first to run out to greet him at his return. Would the most charming hobbit lad in the land come to sweep her off her feet, she would continue to gaze unwaveringly at him, at Blanco Brandybuck, loving him as much as ever.

When, like the dawning day....
Love sends his early ray....

What makes his dawning glow
changeless through joy and woe?
Only the constant know...

Only the constant know. Oh, he would never know, for he was not constant. At this time he should be thinking of Marigold, and Marigold alone, even though Lily was beautiful and kind. Marigold was probably thinking of him this very moment, with all trust, and he was weeping that Lily loved his brother!

Truth is a fixed star...

Yes, but what was the truth? Did he love Lily? Oh, yes, yes, he did! Did he love Marigold? He had loved her, yes, but he did not any longer. Then why, why did she keep coming to his mind? Constant Marigold! Oh, would not everyone be happy if he could find it to be true that he loved Marigold? Lily could marry Posco, and he could marry Marigold, and all would be well. But he did not love her, not any longer. And as he thought of this another song came to his head, and it said:

In constancy to her I love -
the girl I've left behind me.

'Would that I did,' he moaned, 'would that I did love her!' And he bowed his head and sat in silent misery.

[Envinyatar]

Pushing back his chair from the table, Derufin smiled as he looked at his Hobbit companions. ‘You would think,’ he murmured to himself, watching them hail the new serving girl, Ginger, ‘that as big as I am in comparison to them, that I could out eat them.’ He chuckled as the lads hands went out for the bowls of dessert, and at their clamor for the thick sweet cream to pour atop it. ‘By the One, I’m no match even to keep up with them!’

Andwise, too, had moved his chair back from his place and waved off the offer of something sweet. Interesting, though, thought Derufin, how his voice gentled as he spoke his refusal and gave his thanks for the offer. Something was going on, he mused. Since Cook had had her private little conversation with Andwise, he seemed more thoughtful. And the man could not help but notice how his gaze often went from the girl to his son and back again, as if her were considering something in a new light.

The Hobbit pulled out his pouch of tobacco and offered the Stablemaster a pipeful. Filled, tamped, and lit, the smoke from the pipes curled upward together in lazy spirals. Derufin’s eye fell on the fellow who had spoken to Ginger, wondering what he was about – what did he want of her. His gaze lingered long on him, watching as the man’s eye swept round the room, then was cast downward as if brooding.

Derufin pulled his attention away from the man and watched the others in the Inn. There was Buttercup, flirting outrageously with some of the regulars; there was Ruby, smiling as she filled the mugs for thirsty Hobbits and Men. And there, a bit pale behind the fading red stains on her high cheekbones was Aman. She moved through the crowd as always, that certain air of self-possession evident in her actions. Or so one who hadn’t known her long would see . . . but the laughter at some Hobbit’s witticism seemed a little forced tonight; her eyes too bright . . . and he wondered if it was that she held back tears . . .

[Arry]

Ferdy hurried across the yard from the cottage to the Inn’s stable. He’d gone back to the worksite to make sure the tools were out of the rain. Most of them had been secured just inside the front door, but a few of the larger ones had been left out. Those he’d piled on the cottage’s porch, snug against the wall, and covered them with a small tarp. Dashing through the sprinkles of rain, he regretted leaving his cloak in the common room. The already cold wind seemed chillier as it blew against his damp shirt.

He paused at the back door into the kitchen. On its little porch was a stiff, bristly mat, placed their by Cook for the wiping of feet. Ferdy dutifully scraped the mud from each of his then opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the kitchen.

Cook eyed him as he stood near the entrance, the door still ajar, blinking in the light. ‘Close the door, lad!’ came the firm words of Cook. ‘And come over by the fire before you catch your death of cold.’ He took the towel she handed him and dried his hair with it. Then held out his arms, turning this way and that to dry his shirt. Cook clucked at him, and fetched a spare tunic she’d just finished darning earlier in the day for the stableboy. ‘Here, now,’ she chided him, motioning for him to take off the wet shirt and put on the new. ‘Hang that on one of the pegs near the fire to dry. You can pick it up when you leave,’ she instructed him.

Ferdy looked around the kitchen, hoping for a glimpse of Ginger. ‘Not here,’ Cook chuckled at his disappointment. ‘Back in a minute, though. Sent her out to help with the serving.’ She looked him up and down, her lips pursing to one side in a thoughtful manner. ‘Come to speak with her, I take it,’ she went on. He mumbled a ‘yes’, his cheeks turning red. ‘Naught to be shy of, lad,’ she said. ‘Mind you might want to get the shirt tucked in. And your hair . . .’ She mimicked a smoothing motion at him. The brass bottomed skillet that hung near on the wall gave a fair view of himself. He tucked the tunic in neatly, then ran his fingers through his mop of curls, pushing them into some semblance of order.

He looked round to find Buttercup grinning at him. She had a pitcher of cold cider in hand which she now passed to him. ‘She’ll be done much quicker with her supper duties if you lend a hand, Master Ferdy!’ She winked at him and gave him a push out through the door to the common room.

[Fairleaf]

Daisy, for her part, was tired of scratching her chalk on the slate. The first lines she’d done were fairly neat, but as she grew distracted, the letters wobbled. She wriggled on the bench, then looked about furtively hoping no one had noticed – she wanted Miz Bella and her classmates to think well of her.

But . . . oh, she was growing tired and fidgety. When was Miz Bella going to tell them a good long story? And would it be polite to ask for something to drink, she wondered. And a bite of something would be welcome, too. And who was that tall man who’d come into the classroom. He looked familiar. It was the fellow who’d sung last night, she thought. What was he doing here now? Would he be telling them stories?

[Envinyatar]

Derufin drew the conversation round to the subject of the Spring Faire. It was only a few weeks away. He’d been to one of them in the Shire, and truth be told, it was much like the small ones held yearly in his own small village. First lambs were shown off; pies from the last of the past year’s dried fruits; quilts and weavings done over the long winter months were brought out – all to be oohed and aahed over by friends and neighbors.

And the contests, of course. Out of doors, knife throwing, and archery, and slings. The great logs needed to be cut down to size and who could do it the most quickly. Inside, darts and the ever present ‘Shove Ha’penny’ game.

Last, and most fun, was the great tug-of-war game played over a fair-sized mudpuddle made especially for it on the Inn’s grounds. Derufin had been on the loosing side last year, and it was his desire to see his ‘foes’ streaked with mud this year.

‘You’ll stay, won’t you?’ he asked Anyopâ. ‘By the time we’re through with the wood that needs chopped and hauled and stacked, your muscles will be in grand shape. In fact, I’ll claim you for my team right now . . .’

[piosenniel]

‘Hmmph!’ declared Cook, looking at the two men. There sat Derufin all smug with his early choosing. ‘If you’re to have him, then our side is claiming Master Benat!’ She gave them an arch look, as if she had already won the victory.

Buttercup chimed in with a claim on Cullen, too. But Derufin protested, reminding her it was against the rules to bring in animals of any sort. ‘Falowik, then!’ she said firmly.

‘And what about the Elves?’ asked Cook. ‘I can’t recall any of them on our teams before.’

The others looked at her, considering her question. ‘Course we’d need to make sure they held to their brute strength . . .’ Cook offered. ‘No tricksy magics of any sort . . .’

[Undómë]

The trading had gone faster than he expected. His wares were gone, and his little wagon was filled with supplies needed back home. Hob’s purse, too was a little heavier with coin he had gotten for the finer objects. It had been a satisfying morning, and he planned to top it off with a mug of dark ale and a relaxing smoke by the Inn fire.

Strawberry plodded up the path to the Inn, turning right as she neared the front entryway to head for the stable. She, too, was ready to relax. Plodding along from shop to shop, stall to stall, was tiring in its own way, and she longed for the bridle and traces to be taken off and some sweet hay to plunge her nose into.

Hob left his pony to the stableboy, and secured his wagon beneath the stables eaves, lashing down the canvas covering over his goods. A few steps brought him back to the front door. And only a few more got him to a table near the fireplace. He settled in and caught the eye of a passing server. ‘Ale, please, he said. The dark.’ He watched her scurry away as he fetched his pouch of pipeweed from his vest pocket and began to fill his pipe.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

With nothing to do with himself while the little ones were at their lessons Hearpwine wandered out of the classroom humming a tune beneath his breath. It was an old tune that he had been toying with of late, for he had never been entirely happy with it. When played slowly it was a melancholy and even dour, but when played quickly it became a odd jig-like piece that lumbered about without really giving life to the song. It was odd, for he enjoyed the tune but had yet found a way to use it in performance, so difficult was it to match with an appropriate song. He had decided, after much thought, to alter it as best he could so that he could sing it for others – but he was proceeding cautiously with the alterations, for one did not simply change a piece of music without great care!

As he paced about the yard his stomach growled slightly. He had breakfasted well, but he had been so long on the road that one good meal was not sufficient to satisfy him, apparently. He passed by a window to the Common Room and glanced inside and while there were a number of people about talking and drinking it did not appear as though luncheon was being served yet. His stomach gave another growl and he decided to raid the kitchen.

He stalked through the doorway and found several Halflings busily at work with a number of other folk milling about. Hearpwine addressed a stout Halfling woman who seemed to be in charge. “It is early yet for luncheon, I fear, but is there any crust of bread of rind of cheese for a hungry patron? I would be happy to lend a hand to any task you might like in return for a bite – or if you like, I could give you all some music to work by!” His hand moved to his harp, his fingers already twitching at the prospect of music.

[Lasbelinion]

Against the brightness of the sun Lithmîrë drew his travel stained cloak about him, and pulling the dark, ragged hood forward, let his face fall into shadow. The path from the main road to the Inn lay straight beneath the unimpeded light. No overarching trees to cast their welcome shadows on his approach.

His thoughts he cloaked as well, knowing those of his kind were near. He needed not their pity nor their questions nor their offers of aid. They had not come for him and the others in the long years of service and hardship beneath the cruel hand of the Deceiver. Now many he had known were dead at the hands of Gorthaur’s fouler servants and those few like himself who remained were left to find their own way.

He would not have stopped here, had he not run low on provisions. He was unfamiliar with this region; unfamiliar with the folk who lived here. The Inn he knew of by word of mouth from other travelers. His would be a brief stay. Rest, food, drink, and if he were able, the replenishing of the herbs that kept his pain at bay. Then, to the Havens, and the healing that lay beyond the poor remedies of this world.

Haven. Place of refuge. Of safety. Port against the storm.

A bitter laugh welled up inside as he fought back the long held fear that he would find no refuge. And how could he? The storm of despair which threatened at times to destroy what was left of him lay deep inside. He’d pushed it down, fettered it beneath the outward shell of his indifference. Kept the world at bay with his caustic tongue. And if he allowed himself any hope it was with a studied dispassion.

Lithmîrë stood for a moment at the Dragon’s entryway. Readjusting the worn leather pack slung over his right shoulder, he pushed against the heavy door and entered the dimmer interior within. Only a few heads turned to mark his passage, and those he ignored until he reached a table set in a darker corner of the room. From his vantage point he could survey the comings and goings to the common room.

He called a passing server to his table, asking for a mug of hot water. When it had come, he sent the server away, saying he would see to some food a little later. From his pack, he fetched a thin leather pouch, and took a small pinch of the dried herbs in it. Not wasting any, he scattered them on the hot water, licking from his fingers what few particles there were left on them. The heat from the mug warmed his thin, cold hands, driving the unrelenting chill away for a little while. And as he sipped on the pleasant smelling brew, its small powers drove back the pains that wracked his left arm from shoulder to hand and the left side of his face.

Lithmîrë drew back his hood as the warmth of the brew brought the welcome relief. His left hand, covered with the thick scars of a burn reached up to cradle those same red, ropy scars that twisted his face. Anger flared for a moment as he noted the stares of those sitting near him. Who were they to pity or judge him, he growled to himself. He turned an icy stare on them, forcing them to look away.

‘More water, girl!’ he called, holding his mug out to the server once again. From the pouch at his belt he drew forth a silver penny and pushed it to the edge of the table.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik walked Kirsúl back into the stable, brushed him down, and made sure he had water and grain before he wandered back of the Inn to where Uien sat. She had not moved, still bent over her piece of wood that was slowly, slowly turning into a shape under her knife; a somewhat rounded shape, with three lumps coming out one side.

"What are those?" Falowik asked, pointing at the lumps.

"I do not know yet," Uien replied, looking up. Her grey eyes were large, her pupils shrinking under the sun's bright light. She was smiling at him. She seemed still at peace, at least in the peace that came with a making.

"Settles the mind, does it?"

"Aye." She nodded. "Come, sit by me." She patted the ground beside her.

"Thanks, but the sun is almost at noon and my stomach is growling. Join me for noon meal?"

She shook her head, her smile not fading. "I am not hungry. My work is my food; at least today."

"What will I say if Cook asks after you?"

She smirked, for both knew that Cook's ire would not go unspoken if Uien missed yet another meal. Light as a feather and she'll blow away if not for me!, Cook had been known to say. "Tell her I am still full from breaking my fast this morn."

"Well enough. Maybe I will bring out a morsel."

She smiled once and her head dropped, busy with her work; as if Falowik was not even there. He shrugged and made his way to the Common room.

It seemed dark within after the brightness of the noon sun, not a cloud in the sky. Falowik cast about for a place to sit.

"More water, girl!" cried a man in a grating, unfriendly voice. From the pouch at his belt he drew forth a silver penny and pushed it to the edge of the table. The hand that pushed the coin was scarred and mottled. The man seemed to want no company. Like me a year ago, Falowik thought. Leave him be. But much had happened to him in a year. Much good. Maybe it would not hurt to just sit at the same table. Why not?

Falowk made his way past many strangers, for he and Uien had spent more time outside the Common room than in, these last few days. He sat at right angles to the man.

"Good day!" he said, glancing at the man, unable to keep his eyes from widening at the scars that mottled the man's face as wells as hands. Like meat on a skewer! Falowik moderated his expression as quickly as he could, putting a smile on his lips. He looked right and left and said, "It gets busy fast here. I hope I may sit at this table to eat?"

"Suit yourself," the man said coolly.

"I am Falowik Stonewort of Bree. What are you called?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

For the next half hour, Miz Bella checked the work that was brought to her desk, offering words of encouragement to each of the children. Willy had been first in line. His work had been wildly creative with pictures splashed all over and lines of wobbly letters interspersed in the few bare spots left on the slate. Despite the craziness of his impromptu melange, Miz Bella could see that the lad actually had a good deal of talent when it came to seeing things and representing them with his chalk.

Closely inspecting the slate, she exclaimed, "Willy, I must tell you I like your drawings. In fact, I like them very much. You have a real knack for sketching. Usually, children who have such talent learn their letters very quickly because they can see how shapes and lines fit together. Next time, try putting the sketches on one side and the pictures on the other. That way, you'll have more room, and I can see both the pictures and letters more clearly."

Then Miz Bella checked over the slates from Reggie, Hanson, and Woody. She talked a bit about keeping letters like "B" taller than the rest, but for the most part praised the lads' efforts. "It'll get easier as you use the letters more. They are all very good for first tries!"

"As to how tall that bear was," Miz Bella directed her words at Woody, "you're going to have to figure that out on your own after lunch. You and everyone here. I'll give you some hints and some sticks for counting, and you can all have a guess at how tall the bear was. But for now I think it's time for lunch. I need one or two volunteers to go down and collect the soup and cheese in the kitchen from Cook and bring it back to class. Just come forward and volunteer and be on your way to the kitchen. The rest of you can go play in the garden while we're waiting for lunch to arrive. There's a nice enclosed area out there. Just try not to trample on the flower beds and stay inside the fence. And someone can fill our pitcher up with nice cold water from the well."

Miz Bella watched as several of the young hobbits scampered towards the door with a happy holler of relief. A few milled around the desk presumably waiting to volunteer. Miz Bella caught a glimpse of Camille and quickly interjected, "Oh, Camille, you were going back to the pond to bring your brother to school in the wheelbarrow. I've already spoken with Neviel and he says he'll be happy to help you..... And , by the way, I wanted to thank you and the other lasses for arranging those books. I've had a close look at them, and they are certainly unusual! There are many ways to arrange things and size and color are definitely one. Perhaps, sometime in the future, we'll talk about some other ways."

[Tevildo]

Miz Bella.... Camille walked over to where her teacher was seated and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Please, Miz Bella, I can get my brother on my own. I don't need Neviel to help."

"But Camille. It will go easier with the two of you."

"No, I would rather do it on my own." Camillle stared stubbornly at her teacher as she planted her hands firmly on her hips. "I would just feel more comfortable," she stammered and headed for the door before Miz Bella could object or Neviel could trail along after her.

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

Camille headed out the door and cut across the courtyard, moving as quickly as she could. She did not like Neviel and felt relieved to be outside, walking towards the garden path that led to The Water. Hrumpf! What was an Elf doing in her school? Miz Bella should have told him he wasn't wanted. He was just too different.

Miz Bella had mentioned earlier that morning she planned to have the children run some races sometime today or tomorrow. Camille was an excellent runner and thought she might do very well. But how could she win against a gigantic eight year-old who was nearly twice her height? She had never felt comfortable around Elves, and, on the very rare occasions they had come across her path, she had tried to avoid them. Her brother's attitude was very different. Rory loved Elves with all his heart and would probably be enchanted by the prospect of having Neviel as a classmate and friend. Camille scowled to herself and pushed open the gate that led out of the courtyard and cut across the field to the spot where her mother's burrow lay.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Jon's tale wasn't sad anymore. He wished to forget the life he never had, and for once get rid of the ones who bound him to this world. "I dare not ask what Avalon's tale is. After all the last time I saw my Sarah was three years ago, now I have no one and nothing."

Dwaline puffed on his pipe as he pondered this tale. Avalon was now at the window and peered at John inquisitively. Dwaline nodded to her and she fluttered over and landed on his shoulder. The Dwarf gave a little Cram to her before turning back to John.

"Now that is a bundle of news and no mistake," he sighed, "the love you bare for this Sarah is obviously important to you. You shouldn’t let it die, even if you do. I was never a romantic; my wife and I had always been friends from childhood. But the bond cannot be severed even in bodily death.

If you're heart tells you that she lives, do not doubt it. Rejoice that she is alive. If Avalon holds some secret, I know not. But she is a bird full of more mysteries than even she knows."

[piosenniel]

Making plans for the Spring Faire . . .

‘Vinca Bunce! Where are you, you old trout?!’

There were two young women stuffing their mouths with artichoke as Granny Oldbuck entered the Inn kitchen. Buttercup Brownlock and Ginger Gamwich – both their chins shiny with butter. They dropped the leaves in their fingers and hurriedly wiped their faces.

‘Down there, Granny,’ said Buttercup coming round the table to point downstairs. ‘I’ll just go down and get her for you. Could I tell her what it is you want her for?’

Granny nodded and began to explain about the booth for herbs and medicinals. She and Granny Chubb and Granny Heathertoes were looking to manage it again this year. “But this year we want a better spot to put up our booth . . . and a bigger one . . .’

Ginger cleared away the last of the artichoke and wiped up the table top as she motioned for Granny Oldbuck to take a seat. She was just about to ask if Granny wanted a cup of tea, when the old woman’s yew wood cane pointed toward the door to the common room. Granny chuckled and waved for the Hobbit who’d been peeking in at the door to come in.

‘Ferdibrand Banks,’ she said as he entered, his eyes glued on Ginger. ‘And with a fistful of lupines.’ Granny Oldbuck motioned for Ginger to see to the visitor. ‘And mind you, get those flowers into some water afore they droop.’

[Saelind]

Before the Bard could respond to Reggie or answer Woody and Hanson's concerns, a slender Elf lad had leapt to his feet, nervously eyed his companions who sat near by, and blurted out a plea, "Please, Master Hearpwine, let the rest of us sing the song. I was born in Lórien and spent my earliest years there until it got so lonely and we had to leave. I have forgotten too many things, but what I remember best is the trees. Father has explained to me that other folk have other ways, but I could never put an axe to living wood. And your song says that so well. My father would weep with joy, for your voice is as sweet as any Elvish loremaster that I have heard."

"Perhaps," he added, "the lads who don't want to sing that tune could help get things ready for the puppets, the ones Miz Bella mentioned, and then join the rest of us for a second round of song. Indeed, could we make up our own song, one that's about something everyone likes? Perhaps about games or food or running across a field on a bright day, maybe even an anthem of praise to Cook who gave us such a fine lunch?"

"And I have a little harp of my own, not so great and grand as a true Bard, but still it plays sweet and true."

[Firefoot]

Willy had watched in silence thus far, scoffing of all the fuss over a tree. It was just a tree! He liked trees all right; they were fun to climb (if they weren't too tall), and their shade was nice on a hot summer day, but if one needed to be cut down, well, he really didn't care, so long as there weren't more than necessary cut down. There were always other trees.

Then Neviel stood up and said his piece about the song. I wonder if all Elves are this queer, thought Willy. He wondered if they would really have to learn many songs so high and fine as this. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with the good old Shire songs, easy to remember yet with wonderful beats for singing and dancing. They seemed much more appropriate to Willy for the Spring Faire. If they sang some fine songs, that would be okay, because new things could be fun, but he really would just prefer the types of songs he knew. He wasn't very musical, and disliked complicated songs.

As Neviel finished, Willy stood up since that seemed to be the thing to do. "I'm Willy, sir, Willy Burrows. I don't play any instruments or anything. I just thought I'd say, though, that your song was right nice, but I guess I don't see what the big deal about a tree is. And the song seems kinda hard. Not all of our songs will be so hard, will they? We'll get to sing some Shire songs, too, right?"