The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

The scene in the Green Dragon Inn’s front yard at present . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – going on mid-afternoon.

Preparations for the party are done. The tables are beginning to groan with the plenitude of food brought out to stave off hunger . . . the local Hobbit families continue to arrive, and all of them have brought a special dish or two to share at the party. The staff from the Inn has already brought out great platters of meats and cheeses and baskets of bread for sandwiches along with mustards of all sorts and pickles. Mushroom pasties, jam tarts, and cookies of all sorts.

A number of the kegs have been tapped and tried, much to the satisfaction the thirsty crowds. For those who don't care for ale at the moment, there are pitchers of cold cider, tea, wine of all sorts, and of course, sweet, cold well water.

The three local grannies - Granny Chubb, Granny Oldbuck, and Granny Heathertoes have made their special punch – only for the women at the party. They are fending off, with their stout wooden stirring paddles, those bold lads who try to slip in and steal a taste.

Mayor Samwise and his wife, Rose, and a number of their brood (up to baby Daisy) have arrived for the party and are mingling with the guests.

[Envinyatar]

There were whispers as he passed by many of the merry little groups of people who stood about chatting and eating and listening to the music. ‘That’s him, the one what’s getting handfasted; the big fella there in the black breeches and black leather vest,’ one whispered to an acquaintance who’d come in from Waymeet. ‘Was in the war, so I heard,’ another said. ‘. . . traveled a lot after, what with his family getting kilt and all.’

And further along, near the keg of stout came, ‘Yes, I knew him when he first come here,’ an old timer at the Inn said with authority. ‘All raggle taggle with bright eyes and a crazy sort of smile that made you wonder if he were all right in the head.’ A crony of the old fellow passed round his pouch of pipeweed, nodding at what his mate had said. ‘It was that Elf who was the Innkeeper,’ he turned to his companion, ‘you remember her? Mistress Piosenniel. She settled him in, sanded off his rough edges, so’s he couldn’t roll away so easily.’ He tamped his bowl and lit it, drawing in the sweet smoke, a satisfied look on his face. Grasping the bowl in his big fist, he pointed the bit at his friend, emphasizing his next point. ‘Thought he might just up and marry her, the way he mooned over her. But she set his head straight, the Elf did.’ He laughed, wiping the tears of merriment from his eyes. ‘And don’t it beat all, but she found him someone to set his hopes on . . .’

Derufin, lingering near enough to hear the Hobbits talking, grinned and shook his head at this telling of the story. It was true enough, save for the fact he would not characterize his friendship with Piosenniel as “mooning”. Then, thinking on it further, he laughed out loud. ‘But no doubt she would!’ he said to himself.

A soft touch on his arm and a familiar voice made him turn from his eavesdropping. It was Zimzi. She had come up behind him and now stood wondering who and what he was talking to himself about and what was so funny about it all. He drew her close for a moment, kissing her lightly on the brow. ‘I’ve just been reminded,’ he said smiling, ‘how we came to meet each other. How we were so “fortunately” thrown into each others’ company.’

Zimzi leaned back from him, her hands clasped in his. She chuckled and shook her head, remembering her old friend’s insistence that ‘it would be good to travel a bit, now wouldn’t it. And really, you should come to the Shire for a visit. Very interesting place. Nice folk.’ She gave Derufin’s hand a squeeze. ‘Conniving little minx, she was. Just like her to contrive some plan then finagle all the players til the outcome was to her satisfaction!’

‘And bless her for doing so!’ he whispered, kissing her again.

They walked about the yard together, arm in arm, greeting those they knew already and meeting those others new to them. They were easy in each other’s company, a gracious pair. And today a certain sense of merry delight in each other extended out to take all those they spoke with into its circle.

And in turn they were twined into the fabric of the little community. Approving whispers wove them into the Shire's gentle pattern, defining whispers followed in their wake.

‘. . . That’s them; the ones what’s getting tied together today . . . and don’t they just make a pretty pair . . . heard they were settling down in the old groundskeeper’s cottage . . . my boy helped Mister Derufin with the fixin’ up of it . . . you know they added a extra room, don’t ya? . . . plenty o’ space for the little lads and lasses that’ll be coming along . . . And did you see the gardens that’s been put in . . . sure we’ll be seeing flowers to rival those in Miz Rose’s back yard . . . I heard she makes pots and bowls and mugs and all other sorts of fancy stuff from clay right out from the banks of The Water . . . Well, yes, she does, and my own Daisy's got clever hands, Miz Zimzi says, and’s been learning the craft, she has . . .’

[Firefoot]

The corners of Nick's mouth turned upwards in a watery smile. Shimshin had not abandoned him after all! He had simply gotten trapped in a locked room. Tentatively, Nick reached up to pet the monkey's shiny black fur. It wasn't soft, exactly, but it was comforting at any rate.

"You wouldn't leave me, would you, Shimshin?" he asked. Shimshin cocked his head at Nick, and Nick knew he was listening. Suddenly, he began to giggle; Shimshin's long tail was trailing down his back, and it tickled. Shimshin made a chirping noise - Nick thought it sounded like laughter. Comforted and emboldened, Nick thought that he would try the steps now. He stood up slowly, careful not to disturb the monkey on his head. Shimshin sat securely as Nick began to make his way back down the hallway, but hopped off once he reached the stairs. Nick was disappointed but also glad since he was not very steady going down anyway. He took it one step at a time, holding tightly to the rail that was just above his eye level, and soon he had reached the bottom.

When he found that Shimshin had not followed, he called out to him: "Come on, Shimshin!" After a moment's hesitation the monkey sprang nimbly onto the railing and came down that way, tail weaving in and out for balance. From the end of the railing Shimshin jumped onto Nick's shoulders, knocking Nick slightly off balance. Shimshin did not weigh very much, but Nick was after all a very small, young hobbit.

"Where should we go now?" Nick asked Shimshin amiably. "Maybe we should find Willy, huh? He went chasing after the cat. I don't know what happened then. He left me, and you found me. I wonder what Willy did to the cat? ..." So Nick began chatting with the monkey, who was clearly listening, even adding soft chirps and clicks. Nick was more confident going through the Common Room this time around, though he still stuck to the edges and tried to remain unnoticed. Had he been paying attention he would have seen that people had noticed him, smiling at the little hobbit lad with the monkey on his shoulders.

Outside, Nick found immediately who he had been looking for. "Willy!" he cried. Shimshin started a little at the loud noise and Nick could feel him tense.

"Oh, good, I found you," said Willy, clearly relieved. Nick frowned - he had found Willy, not the other way around. "And you found Shimshin too. Mr. Seamus has been looking for him. You wait here and hold Shimshin, okay? I'll go find him," continued Willy, and not waiting for Nick's reply hurried off in search of Seamus. Now Nick had no intention of "holding Shimshin." Shimshin was his friend, not his prisoner, and if the monkey wanted to leave, he could. Nick might even go with him, and he told Shimshin as much - Shimshin understood, Nick knew. He was finding that, though he adored Willy, he rather preferred Shimshin's company.

Willy, in the meantime, was extremely thankful not only for finding Nick but also for finding something to do. After all, he reasoned, he was helping... just not in the sense that old Gammer Oldbuck had intended. He snuck a glance her way; she wasn't watching him any more. Willy was having some trouble finding Seamus - both of them were moving, and several more people had arrived since the beginning of the party (including, he thought, that pair of hobbits from Bree. Interesting folk, them - were all "Outsiders" like them?)

Finally, he spotted Seamus, who was at the moment looking up a tree for the now-unlost Shimshin.

"Mr. Seamus, Mr. Seamus!" called Willy. The man turned and smiled in recognition. "Me and Nick found Shimshin! Nick has him around by the front of the Inn."

[Arry]

Gil nudged Tomlin as they saw Ferdy and his Da come walking toward them, mugs in hand. ‘A song,’ he cried to his mates. ‘Ferdy’s here!’ With a glint in his eye, Gil nodded at Ferdy, then raised his chin to where Ginger was keeping the children entertained. The sun shone down on her reddish curls and her cheeks were red from the games they’d been playing. She had them gathered about her now, and they were weaving a crown of flowers.

As I walk'd thro' the meadows
To take the fresh air,
The flowers were blooming and gay;
I heard a fair damsel so sweetly asinging
Her cheeks like the blossom in May.

Said I, Pretty maiden, how came you here
In the meadows this morning so soon?
The maid she replied: For to gather some may,
For the trees they are all in full bloom.

Said I: Pretty maiden, shall I go with you,
To the meadows to gather some may?
O no, sir, she said, I would rather refuse,
For I fear you would lead me astray.

Then I took this fair maid by the lilywhite hand;
On the green mossy bank we sat down;
And I placed a kiss on her sweet rosy lips,
While the small birds were singing around.

And when we arose from the green mossy bank,
To the meadows we wander'd away;
I placed my love on a primrose bank
While I pick'd her a handful of may.

Then early next morning I made her my bride,
That the world might have nothing to say;
The bells they did ring and the birds they did sing,
And I crown'd her the sweet Queen of May.

As the song finished, Ferdy raised his mug again to his friends and shook his head at their cheeky behavior. ‘Alright, I surrender . . . now let’s hear another one, you lot . . .’

[Tevildo]

Tevildo threaded his way across the Common Room with Mushroom following close behind him. The two cats navigated in and out of the clusters of visitors. Some of these guests were standing and talking, while others sat listening to the music or sampling the contents of several wooden casks. The pair managed to avoid getting entangled in all the feet and long legs and finally came to the very end of the room where there was more space to walk.

"You go first!" Tevildo urged. "Slink along the wall and cut over to the window on the opposite side. You'll find a fine table sitting there: a magnificent specimen of a table with lovely legs to scratch." To the others in the room, their conversation sounded nothing more than a series of "meows" puntuated with a sharp howl or two.

Mushroom twitched her tail and scornfully replied, "Why should I go that far? There are plenty of tables right here to scratch." She whisked around and eyed a nearby piece of furniture that was no more than two feet in front of her nose.

"But this table is different," Tevildo assured her.

"Different?"

"Definitely!"

"How so?"

Tevildo snorted, "It's just the sort of table your master would never want you to touch or scratch. Very fine and old, with intricate designs carved in the legs. The sort of table you'd put in the front drawing room of a very fine home."

"But then," he observed, wrinkling his nose in distaste, "you may not be used to such a fine piece of furniture coming from a poor hole in the ground as you do. It's probably best if you leave such things to me." Tevildo arched his back standing his soft, fluffy fur on end, and acted as if he was about to prance off on his own.

Mushroom turned and snarled, "Hold your tongue, outsider. I live in the grandest house in the Shire, a place of considerable comfort and luxury. My two leggeds rule this place, and I am quite familiar with fine tables. You are just lucky I don't decide to throw you out of here on your tail." With those final threatening words, she scurried over to the table and abruptly sat upright on her haunches, reaching out with velvet paws as she unsheathed a set of sharp pointed claws.

"All right, Tevildo. Let's see if you can scratch as good as you can meow!" She glared back at him over her shoulder. With that the grey tabby began vigorously scratching at the left front leg of the table. Tevildo came up and positioned himself in front of the other front leg, and systematically began sharpening his claws against the fine wood grain of the table.

[piosenniel]

Cook and the Mayor

Cook had finally given the baby back, saying she needed to change into her own party dress. Rose had been found a seat in the shade amidst a group of other ladies and none too far from the Grannies’ punch bowl. Ginger and her other children were in her field of view, and Rose could hear them laughing as they played a game of tag. ‘I’ll be just fine here, dear,’ she said smiling up at Sam, as he ruffled the wispy curls on Daisy’s little head. ‘Just fetch me a small cup of the punch,’ she continued, ‘then you go about your business.’

Sam nodded and went to the large wooden ‘punchbowl’. After much pleading and pointing toward where Rose sat waving to him, Granny Chubb accorded him the honor of a small mug of brew for the missus. ‘Now, I’m counting on your honor, Master Samwise, to deliver this without stealing a taste.’ ‘Mayor and hero, or not,’ the others chorused, ‘we’ve got our eye on you!’ Sam held the cup high in the air as he walked back to his wife, not wanting the least impropriety to mar the day. And then, just as he brought it down to hand to Rose, he mimed him bringing it to his own lips for a taste. Rose laughed and rescued the undrunk cup from his grip, holding it up triumphantly to the Grannies. Sam gave them an impish look as he nodded his head toward the three. ‘Does smell good, Rose,’ he said, watching her sip at the golden liquid with its reddish tints. ‘And tastes even better,’ laughed Rose again, draining the last drop. She settled Daisy against her as the baby drowsed. Winking at Sam, she began to tap her foot to the music that was playing. ‘Save a dance for me later, my dear,’ she said, then shooed him away.

By the time he had found his was to the keg of nut brown ale and grabbed up a thick ham sandwich, Cook had come back out to join the party. She hailed him, motioning him to come join her at one of the tables set up in the yard. News of the Shire was exchanged between the two and an accounting of the comings and goings at the Inn was given by Cook and tucked away securely by Sam. He liked to know what sorts of people were traipsing through the Shire and what they were up to and any other sort of tidbit of information Cook had managed to ferret out about them.

Another half pint later, and one for Cook, and they got round to the business of the day. ‘Now we thought they’d stand over there just at the edge of the grass,’ Cook said, ‘neath that little bower of elms. It’s not too far from the dancing area, and once you’ve tied their wrists it’ll be but a step or two out for them to start their first dance together as mister and missus.’ She looked over the rim of her mug at Sam. ‘You’ve brought the twine, haven’t you?’ He patted the upper pocket in his coat and nodded as his fingers felt the little bulge there. ‘Now from what I could get out of Miz Zimzi, their words to each other will be short. And, oh . . . they’ve got rings for each other, so don’t go tying them up until they’ve put them on, mind you.’ Sam raised his brow as she Cook gave her ‘instructions’ then the features on his face gentled. She just wanted things done right, and what’s wrong with that, he thought to himself. ‘I’ll mark that well, Miz Bunce,’ he told her. ‘Rings before twine.’

‘Let’s give the eaters and drinkers a little while longer before we do the little ceremony,’ Cook said, looking about the yard with a grin at the party-goers. She liked to see people enjoying her cooking. ‘I’ll just go talk to Derufin and Zimzi about it.’

‘And how will I know we’re all ready,’ Sam said, his voice a bit mumbly as he tucked into a substantial, flaky, tater and mushroom pasty. He took a swallow of ale to wash it down as he waited for Cook’s answer.

She thought for a moment, then spied the dessert table. ‘That’s it! You’ll know it’s time to start when I bring out the cake . . .’

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver was now wearing her best dress and again she had a shawl clutched firmly about her shoulders. The shawl was her best one, woven into a checked pattern from soft wools in red tones. She wore it to cover herself up and save her from blushing, just as she had worn a shawl on the night her brother had turned up. She had noticed a few faces from Bree, and she suddenly felt self conscious about being near them while dressed in her finery. Yet the shawl helped with more than her confidence, it had also caught the excessive amount of crumbs from all the mushroom pasties she had tucked into.

She had already taken a full tankard of ale, jostling with the Hobbit lads to get to the barrels, but when she saw the punch bowl she had to try some. It was a delicious brew, and she could see why it was being kept for the female guests; the boisterous Hobbit lads preferred to sink their drinks quickly and seemed to barely taste them. Still, there was so much laughter now that it rang in her ears.

The punch made Jinniver feel light headed and she leaned against an Elm, fanning her red face with a corner of her shawl. How was she going to last through this if she felt so hot already? She resolved to keep away from the punch bowl, thinking how Hobbits must have been made of stronger stuff than she thought. As she lit her pipe, someone caught her eye.

Looking straight across towards where she was standing, was a stout, well-dressed Hobbit with a familiar face. It didn't take her long to realise it was the famous Samwise, Gardener and Adventurer and she couldn't take her eyes off him. "So there he is, the best gardener The Shire ever produced". She was rooted to the spot in the presence of the famous green-fingered Hobbit; the stories of his adventures were not what fascinated her, it was his reputation with plants which held her in awe. Wondering if he had seen the garden she had made, her face started to go red again, and she decided to go and check if it was looking perfect, just one more time.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Passing by the door of the Inn, the Innkeeper paused on the step and took a quick look around the garden and had just spied Mayor Samwise when another sight caught her gaze from inside the busy Inn Common Room. Her eyes widened in horror and she glanced around quickly to make sure Cook hadn't set her sights upon the abominous deeds occuring in the corner.

The finely carved table, procurred from those swalliwag travellers for not paying...
...was shortly about to be rendered worthless by two walking balls of hair.

Aman gave a quiet, frustrated groan and made her way across the room, and sharpish too, not to put too fine a point on it. Arriving at table, she glared distastefully down at the two cats, who replied with disdainful yellow gazes. She noted that one was indeed the male cat, the one that the Innkeeper had previously come to a wary sort of standoff with due to the fact that Cook had become determined that the cat was going to stay, despite Aman's best efforts. It wasn't even a flaming mouser, for crying out loud. All it did was laze about and stroll around with that arrogant gaze...yes, that one, the one it was fixing on Aman now as it raised itself onto it's hind legs, it's front paws delicately resting on the table as it gave an innocent miaow.

"Don't you dare," Aman grinded quietly between her teeth. Tevildo seemed to smile, then started to rake his claws down the table leg. That was it: Aman hissed at the cat and flapped a hand near to him as if she was going to smack him. "Scat!" she hissed softly. Tevildo, wisely, scat.

She turned to the female cat, expecting it to follow - and hereby encountered a problem. This wasn't just the usual stray: this was the mayor's cat. Aman glared at it evilly, wondering if by pure willpower she could make it move. "Scat!" she hissed...without the same results as with Tevildo. The cat looked at her patronisingly, then sat down, watching the Innkeeper as if fascinated. Aman glared venemously at the cat again, and tried again, with even less success this time: there wasn't even a reaction. Looking around guiltily, the Rohirrim woman prodded at the cat uncertainly with one foot. "Go on, it's my table, not yours, move, you stupid ball of-" The cat swiped at her leg with a set of razor sharp claws. Aman's foot recoiled sharply, and her fists clenched as she fought the urge to clutch at her shin. She narrowed her eyes and, without a second's hesitation, bent down and scooped up the cat.

"Good morning, Miss Aman, I was hoping to find you! Ah, I see you've met our Mushroom..."

Aman spun around guiltily, caught red-handed - literally: the cat's claws were digging into the back of her left hand. She smiled widely - she was genuinely pleased, but wished the timing was slightly better... "Mayor Samwise, welcome to the Green Dragon!"

And your cat is slowly trying to seperate my fingers from my palm...

"Yes, I have...met your cat," she continued, trying not to wince. "Right little minx!" She grinned at the mayor ruefully and rubbed the cat hard on the head, maybe with a little added revenge. Thankfully, Sam didn't seem to notice, and smiled with her. Aman put the cat down on the floor and, resisting the unpolitically sound urge to kick it in return for the scratches on her leg and the piercings on her hand, she covered the marks with her other hand and turned back to Sam - but not before she noticed the baleful look that the cat sent her before it scat, it's tail haughty and high, no doubt to find that no-good moggy Tevildo. Aman turned back to Sam and suggested they go out into the sun. "Have you seen Derufin and Zimzaran yet today, Mr Gamgee?"

"I haven't yet, no - haven't spied head nor tail of the lucky chap yet today!" Samwise smiled as they walked outside into the sunshine together. Aman tried to hold back her wicked grin. "The groom is...probably just getting himself prepared," she answered evenly.

Sam laughed, his eyes sparkling with the good humour and earnestness that he was so well known for. "Indeed, Aman, indeed."

Aman smiled with him, then changed the subject, chatting idly, her right hand held all the while over the oozing, painful scratches on the back of her left. "How is your family, Samwise? I haven't seen them for quite some time - is it five now? Or six?"

Sam's eyes twinkled and he smiled at her with a hint of mischief. "A few more than that, Aman..." he replied, taking her arm and leading her towards where Rose, and motioning his hand towards where Ginger sat with a regular tribe of little Gardners...

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger with Sam and Rose's children

From where she sat Ginger could see the goings on where the food and drink tables were set and where the band was playing. Sam and Rose’s children sat near her; Hamfast and Goldilocks on her knees leaning up against her, touching the little ivy leaves and red hawthorn berries she was weaving into a chain. The others were busy with small chains of their own, the older children helping the younger. Once long enough she would tie their chains for them and they could wear their pretty and handsome crowns. Her own she was making for Miz Zimzi to wear, a fitting circlet for such a pretty lady.

She looked up just as the band had finished their song. Why there was Ferdy! She waved at him when he looked her way, and he in turned raised his mug to her and smiled. Elanor, a quite precocious young lass, looked from one to the other, missing nothing. ‘Ooh,’ she said, poking her brother Frodo in the ribs. ‘I think they like each other!’ Frodo lad, for his part, rolled his eyes at his sister’s comment. ‘Can I have some of those berries?’ he asked, changing the subject.

[Tevildo]

"Good job, Mushroom." Tevildo purred in admiration and began kneading his front paws against the thick sheepskin mat that stood in front of the hearth. He had to admit that Mushroom had done an excellent job getting back at the annoying Innkeeper who had earlier chased him away from the table. The woman obviously had poor taste and no appreciation of cats!

He continued his kneading motion for several minutes and then stopped abruptly, cautiously surveying the perimeter of the room. Aman was still deep in conversation with various two-leggeds who apparently belonged to Mushroom's family. Since there were a great many of these hobbits in varying sizes, it appeared that the Innkeeper would be kept busy for some time.

Mushroom slunk up to Tevildo's shoulder and whispered in his ear, "That was a really lovely table!"

Tevildo stood his tail upright and puffed out with pride. "I think the path is clear again," he added, gesturing with his head in the direction of the table.

"This time, let's try the back legs. We can scratch there, and no one will notice."

Tevildo nodded in agreement, and the two cats slunk off in tandem. Within a few moments they were again scratching, this time at the rear legs of the table.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling had spent most of the day moving tables and avoiding Aman. The former task had left him with little more than sore arms and a sweaty back, while the latter had left him jumpy. He knew that he had to confront the girl soon, and to tell her that there was simply no hope of their ever being together, but now was not the time. He caught sight of her from time to time, seeing to the preparations and dealing with the many thousand details that attended all such gatherings. At the moment she was fending off a cat and speaking with Master Samwise. Snaveling recognised the Mayor easily from the many likenesses of him that adorned the newer buildings of Minas Tirith, as well as from the careful description of him given by the Lord Elessar. It had been at his last meeting with the King before he rode north that Elessar had told Snaveling that if his travels should bring him to the Shire he should bear to the Great Ones (as he had called them) the King’s personal greeting and love. Snaveling had wondered at the charge, and – seeing this – the King had suggested that speaking with those who had done such deeds despite their relative unimportance would be of benefit to him. Snaveling had not understood then what the King meant, and he did not know, but he suspected that it had something to do with the humility that the King felt lacking in his distant kinsman.

Snaveling decided that any greeting to the Mayor could wait – in particular until he was no longer speaking with Aman. Instead, he turned to find the Elven woman he had seen about the place. He had immediately noticed her, prodded on in part by his memories of his old friend Galadel, who had been of such importance in his transformation at his first visit. But the primary reason he had for seeking the Elven woman out was the hope of news – news of Roa. She had undoubtedly travelled on paths and by ways that were closed or hidden to such as him, or so secretly contrived that very few could find them, and had perhaps founds news of Roa that had escaped him. All the same, he doubted that the Ranger would have used any such paths, if indeed such existed, for there would be no need to do so. Unless he admitted to himself Roa were hiding from something – or from someone. From me. Shaking the thought from his mind he sought about for the Elf.

She was not hard to find, for her voice rose high and clear above those of the lesser folk who had gathered about her. Snaveling was conscious of his appearance as he approached her. He had taken some care in his clothes and now looked much better than he had this morning. His hair was now brushed and lustrous in the sun, and the rubbish had been removed from his clothes. He had removed his ragged cloak and replaced it with a relatively new on of Kendal green that matched the rest of his black raiment. His face still bore the scraggly beard of his travels, but he had done his best to smooth out the tangles. As he got closer to where the Elven woman sat talking with a hobbit lass he was happy to see another Elf nearby. He wondered that he had not noticed her earlier, but then quickly recognised her from the earlier performance. The taller of the two looked at him as he approached and smiled questioningly. Snaveling bowed to the three, saying. “I am sorry if I interrupt your conversation, ladies.”

“Not at all,” the tall Elf reassured him. Then she added, penetratingly, “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Perceptive are the eyes of the Fair folk,” Snaveling replied. “I might reply quite honestly that the company of such folk would be enough for me to intrude, but I must admit I have a particular matter that I wish to pursue with you. But time enough for that in a moment. First, allow me to introduce myself. I am a Man of the South, and kinsman to the King Elessar. I am Tar-Corondir in the realm of Gondor, but in these parts I am known as Snaveling.” And then he added, in the manner taught to him by the King, “Elen
sila lumenn' omentielvo” and hoped that he got the pronunciation correct.

The Elf woman smiled at him and her eyes twinkled like the stars that Snaveling had hoped for. Rising she greeted him in return, saying “You do us honour with the tongue of the Eldar, Tar-Corondir. I am called Mithalwen, and these my friends are Caity and Rasputina. We were taking a brief rest and I, for my part, am learning the ways of handfasting in this land.”

Snaveling bowed to each of the ladies in turn then said, “I do not wish to intrude. If you wish I can return later and ask you my questions then.”

[Encaitare]

Caity eyed the Man who had just joined them. She had seen him about previously, but now he seemed to have cleaned up a bit; his hair was neat and he wore a rich green cloak.

"Nonsense, Mister Snaveling," she said, smiling and deciding that he met her approval. "Please, join us -- if you don't mind sitting on the grass, that is!" She looked from him to her two elven companions, and then continued, "Unless, of course, this is business which does not include simple Hobbits; if such is the case, I will certainly take my leave. I can always use a little more time to practice with the band."

[piosenniel]

The scene in the Green Dragon Inn’s front yard at present . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – mid-afternoon.

Preparations for the party are done. The tables are groaning with the plenitude of food brought out to stave off hunger . . . the local Hobbit families continue to arrive, and all of them have brought a special dish or two to share at the party. The staff from the Inn has already brought out great platters of meats and cheeses and baskets of bread for sandwiches along with mustards of all sorts and pickles. Mushroom pasties, jam tarts, and cookies of all sorts.

A number of the kegs have been tapped and tried, much to the satisfaction the thirsty crowds. For those who don't care for ale at the moment, there are pitchers of cold cider, tea, wine of all sorts, and of course, sweet, cold well water.

The three local grannies - Granny Chubb, Granny Oldbuck, and Granny Heathertoes have made their special punch – only for the women at the party. They are fending off, with their stout wooden stirring paddles, those bold lads who try to slip in and steal a taste.

Mayor Samwise and his wife, Rose, and a number of their brood (up to baby Daisy) have arrived for the party. Ginger has volunteered to watch over the main part of the Gardner brood, while Rose and baby Daisy are seated with some other local ladies, enjoying the Grannie’s punch, watching the crowds, and listening to the music. Sam is mingling with the crowd before the ceremony begins.

Gil and his friends, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin are playing and singing on the raised stage near the front of the Inn. They are intermittently joined by Falco Headstrong, Rasputina, Caity, Seamus, and Owen.

[Arry]

Derufin and Zimzi are serenaded . . .

‘Well, now, look who’s coming over!’ Ferrin stood up from the Inn’s steps where he and his companions were talking and joking with Ferdy. The others stood up, too, and opened up their little circle to invite the man and woman in. ‘And aren’t you the lucky one to have this lovely lady on your arm,’ Gil said shaking Derufin’s hand. Zimzi smiled at the compliment and bent down quickly to give the Hobbit a kiss on his crown. ‘For the fair words and the sweet song earlier, Master Gil.’

Tomlin nudged Ferdy as Ferrin and Fallon shook their heads in a knowing manner. ‘Thank goodness you’ve already asked her to marry you,’ said Tomlin, in a loud whisper to Derufin. ‘Look how he’s gone all moony!’ Derufin laughed and pulled Zimzi a bit closer. ‘What’s this I hear,’ he said fixing Gil with his eyes. ‘You’ve been singing to my lady?’

Gil flushed and for once was at a loss for words, but Zimzi jabbed Derufin lightly in the side, turning to face him. ‘He sings quite well . . . and well, you don’t . . .’ Derufin’s brows raised. ‘I’ve heard you singing to the horses, you’ll remember.’

‘How about we sing them that song we worked up for the occasion?’ Ferrin had run quickly to where they’d left their instruments. Gil’s concertina was under one arm, the two fiddles in each hand, and his own hand drum balanced on his head. He motioned to Falco to bring his whistle. ‘I think you’ll know the tune – it’s The Star of County Down. We’ve changed the words a bit . . . for the couple, you know,’ he said nodding toward where Derufin and Zimzi stood talking with the others.

They stood on the steps, with Gil in front. Tomlin and Fallon opened with a playthrough on their fiddles of the chorus, then Gil came in on his concertina, repeating the chorus once again with Falco’s piping weaving in and out. Ferrin kept up the beat with his little drum and the counter tapping of his foot.

With a nod to the couple who stood listening, Gil sang out in his fair voice . . .

Near Bywater town, in the County Down
One morning in July
Down a pathway green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by.
She looked so sweet from her two white feet
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair
Such a coaxing elf, I shook myself
To make sure I was standing there.

* From Belfalas Bay up to Mithlond Quay
And from Greenholm to Rushy town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.

As she onward sped I shook my head
And I gazed with a feeling rare
And I said, says I, to a passerby
"who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"
He smiled at me, and with pride says he,
"That's the gem of Lindon’s crown.
She's Zimziran from the banks of the Lune
She's the star of the County Down."

* From Belfalas Bay up to Mithlond Quay
And from Greenholm to Rushy town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.

I've traveled a bit, but never was hit
Since my roving career began
But fair and square I surrendered there
To the charms of Zimziran.
I'd a heart to let and no tenant yet
Did I meet with in shawl or gown
But in she went and I asked no rent
From the star of the County Down.

* From Belfalas Bay up to Mithlond Quay
And from Greenholm to Rushy town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.

At the crossroads fair I'll be surely there
And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes
And I'll try sheep's eyes, and deluding lies
On the heart of the nut-brown rose.
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke
Though with rust my plow turns brown
Till a smiling bride by my own fireside
Sits the star of the County Down.

* From Belfalas Bay up to Mithlond Quay
And from Greenholm to Rushy town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling put out a hand as though to stay the hobbit lass. “No, do not go. It is true that my queries have to do with matters beyond the borders of the Shire, but I would not have you leave on that account. I have been to this land before and I am well acquainted with the folk of it. One of them,” he decided it best not to name Toby, “I account my greatest friend. And if these are not reasons enough to prevent my discourtesy to you, I have been urged by my King to seek out the company of Halflings whenever possible, for he feels that I have much to learn from you.”

Caity looked surprised at this. “The King said that, did he?” she asked. “Well I can’t imagine what the likes of us could have to teach a Man like you. Are you really kinsman to the King?”

“We are of the same lineage, I am told, but the connection is one so distant in time that it hardly bears the title of kinship. The King could easily forswear me, but for his nobility and the honour of his line. I have myself only recently become aware of the relation. Do not let the richness of my clothes – travel-stained as they may be – fool you into thinking that I am a grand Man of the Court. I am from somewhat more…humble circumstance. My own land is not all that different from the Shire, really, although it has been long since I lived there. But do not let me interrupt your conversation, my own questions can wait. You were, I believe speaking of the handfasting that is to take place today?”

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen was intrigued by the man of Gondor who had introduced himself and so wished to know what he asked. " I have learnt a little of their customs - which indeed are somewhat different to those of my own people - although weddings happen seldom now among us ".

She smiled gently at Snaveling for she deemed that the mortal had suffered strange reverses of fortune. "Tar-Corondir, tell me what you would ask and I will aid you if I may - though I know not what service I might offer a kinsman of the King of the Atani - for I possess no such rank or status among my own people. I am merely an artisan." She dropped her head a little embarrassed. If this man was at the Court of Elessar the elves he would have met would have been elf-lords from Rivendell and so forth.

[Ealasaide]

Seamus stood under a large tree at the back of the inn’s yard, gazing hopefully up into the branches for some glimpse of Shimshin. He held up over his head the small bowl of honey that Owen had fetched from the kitchen in the hopes of drawing Shimshin down, but so far the only thing Seamus had drawn was a pair of green-tailed flies. He waved them away. Just then, a small voice broke through his thoughts.

"Mr. Seamus, Mr. Seamus!"

Turning, Seamus smiled in recognition as the older of the two hobbit boys he had asked to keep an eye on Shimshin rushed over to him.

"Me and Nick found Shimshin!” the boy panted. “Nick has him around by the front of the Inn."

Seamus’ grin broadened instantly. “Oh, say, Willy, that’s jolly good,” he answered with enthusiasm. “I knew you fellows were right for the job of watching him! Now... where did you say he is?”

“Nick has him by the front of the inn,” Willy repeated, already breaking back in that direction.

Seamus balanced the dish of honey between a small fork of branches and left it there for the flies and their relations to enjoy. Following Nick, he wiped his fingers on his pocket handkerchief as he walked. “That’s the thing about honey,” he said to no one in particular. “No matter how careful you are, you always end up sticky with it!”

“Yes, sir,” said Willy agreeably. As they rounded the corner of the building, he stopped and pointed toward the front door. “There’s Shimshin now!”

The two of them trotted over to where Nick waited with Shimshin seated comfortably on his shoulder. When he caught sight of Seamus, Shimshin jumped off the little hobbit boy’s shoulder and ran to the tall man, climbing up his long leg, over his jacket, and on to his shoulder. Reaching his accustomed perch on Seamus’ shoulder, Shimshin curled his long tail loosely around the man’s neck. One little hand took a firm hold of Seamus’ ear.

Seamus laughed happily at the greeting. “Well, hello, Shimshin!” he exclaimed, stroking the tip of the monkey’s furry tail with his finger. “I’m glad to see you, too.” Seamus then knelt down so that he might better talk to the two boys.

“You’ve done a jolly good job of keeping an eye on him,” he said. “He hasn’t gotten into any mischief has he?”

Both Nick and Willy shook their heads, but Willy grinned. “Not except for making that big lady faint.”

Seamus looked worried. “I must have missed that. Is she all right, I hope?”

Willy nodded. “Yeah...” he leaned forward, lowering his voice. ”I think she was faking anyway.”

“Oh, well, that’s good.” Seamus let out a breath he had not even realized he was holding. “He’s such a harmless little fellow, but people don’t always know how to react to him.”

“I like him,” said little Nick shyly.

“Well, you, Master Nick, are obviously a brave fellow and a fine judge of character,” Seamus announced kindly, letting his blue eyes twinkle at the little boy. Shimshin made an agreeable chuckling sound from Seamus’ shoulder and leaned forward, taking something out of his mouth as he did so. Whatever it was, he dropped it into Seamus’ shirt pocket. Then, the monkey jumped off of Seamus’ shoulder on to the ground beside Nick, where he sat down, wrapping his tail around his haunches. Just then, the music started again on the podium where Gil and his band had struck up a new version of Star of the County Down. Seamus looked anxiously over at the podium, then back at Shimshin and the two boys. Almost in response, Shimshin climbed back on to little Nick’s shoulder. Seamus hesitated. If he intended to play with the band during the handfasting and the party afterward, he knew he had better get back over there to the podium. On the other hand, he also needed to make sure that Shimshin stayed out of trouble.

“Say...” said Seamus, a new idea occurring to him. “How would you two like a job for the day? I haven’t got much money, but I’ll give you a ha'-penny apiece if you’ll keep an eye on Shimshin for Owen and me. Since you are such fast friends with him already, I shouldn’t think he would be much trouble. It wouldn’t have to be all the time... just while Owen and I are playing out instruments. Would you be interested in doing that?”

[Sapphire_Flame]

"I have been working all morning, and have not had anything to eat or drink since breakfast," Keleth said. "The food will be put out soon, I expect, but would you care to join me in, ah, "testing" the ale?"

Baradil grinned "A fine idea," he replied, and they made their way over to the group of hobbits gathered around the kegs.

"Could you spare a taste for two thirsty men?" Keleth asked the hobbits with a smile. Two mugs were promptly filled and handed to Keleth and Baradil, and they sat down at a nearby table.

"Ah, and here comes the happy couple," Keleth remarked, glancing at the door of the inn. Baradil looked and saw a man and woman, very clearly the betrothed, speaking with a group of hobbits.

"Happy indeed. Were they anything but happy today, I should think there was something wrong with them."

Keleth laughed and took a drink.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“Do not believe, my lady, that I am anything more than I appear: a lone wanderer. What rank I have is due only to the kindness of the King. I am, in truth, a king as well, but my kingdom and people were lost long ago. As to your being an artisan, I lived in Minas Tirith long enough to see many works of Elvish art, brought there by the Fair Folk in homage to the Queen, and allow me to say that the honour due to Elvish artisans is greater than the status enjoyed by many a rich lord of Gondor!”

Mithalwen smiled at the compliment. “You seem strange to me, Man of Gondor. A king without a kingdom? One who has dwelt at Minas Tirith with the King and Queen, and yet claims to be a humble wanderer? I deem that there is a tale about you…”

“As there is about everyone, my lady. Mine is, perhaps, a strange one but it is not singular. The world is full of people who have enjoyed or suffered from changes of fortune and the coming of fate. Or doom. But the story is a long one, which I will tell you should you wish, when there is time for it. For now, I would be grateful if you – or your companions – could give me news of someone.”

His auditors perked up at this, for they could tell that Snaveling had finally come round to his point. He masked his fierce eagerness, but not well. To the Elves, at least, there was a fire in his eyes and voice that betrayed his manner. Even the Halfling could see that there was more to his query than he wanted to reveal. “I am looking for a woman,” he began. “Her name is Roa, of the Dunedain. She came north from Minas Tirith some weeks ago, and the last news I had of her places her upon the Greenway not far south of here. She is just below my own height with long red hair and sea-green eyes. She is fair and slender, and of a mirthful humour. She was fond of the Shire folk and would probably have come through here on her way.”

“Well, I haven’t seen anyone like the woman you describe,” Caity replied. “Are you sure she came through the Shire?”

“I am not sure of anything about her journeys past the Greenway,” Snaveling replied. “I have already sought for her here, and throughout the country hereabouts, but no sign nor tale can I find of her. I had hoped that perhaps you, my ladies,” he said to Mithalwen and Rasputina, “being of Elven kind, might have heard of her from other of your folk. Or, perhaps, you have met her or seen her pass upon some hidden way in the Wild, unknown to most Men? She was a Ranger in these lands for many years with the Lord Elessar and knows its paths much better than I. It is possible that she has traveled along roads that are hidden to me.”

It occurred to Mithalwen that perhaps the Ranger had a good reason for seeking paths unknown to this Man, but she said only, “I am afraid that I have seen no such woman, Tar-Corondir.” Then, after a brief pause she added innocently, “Why do you seek her?”

None of the women could fail to see the slight flush that ran along Snaveling’s brow at the question, nor mistake his faintly awkward manner as he replied to it. “She and I were traveling companions for a time, and I would like to see her again,” was all that he said.

[Envinyatar]

It was a sweet, slow song the lads were playing. Zimzi stood for a while, leaning against Derufin’s arm, as she listened. On impulse, she turned and curtsied to him a sly smile on her face. ‘A last dance, freely chosen, sir?’ she asked, extending her hand.

Derufin arched his brow at her. ‘So bold!’ He looked about, as if searching for someone. ‘Now where has my sweet Zimzi got to?’ he asked, winking at her. ‘We’re to be handfasted today, you know. I would not want her to see me dancing with a saucy lass such as yourself.’

They moved well together, enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company. Then Derufin stopped, feeling a little tug on his breeches.

‘Sir,’ a piping little voice called up to him as he looked down. ‘Mister Derufin,’ chirped another.

He and Zimzi broke apart, looking down at the two Hobbit children, a boy and girl, who stood peering up at them. ‘We’ve got something for the lady, the little boy said. He pointed over to where Ginger stood with his other brothers and sisters. All of them wore small ivy leaf crowns festooned with red berries, and Ginger held another one in her hand. ‘We made it for you. To wear today,’ the girl explained, her hand on Zimzi’s skirt.

Zimzi crouched down, smiling at the children. ‘Go and get it, then,’ she said, nodding toward where Ginger stood. The children crowded in about her, all wanting to help place their handiwork on her head. She bowed it low, steadying the leafy garland for them as they positioned it on her. They stepped back and looked at it, turning their heads this way and that. ‘You look pretty!’ little Pip cried, clapping his hands.

She was just in the midst of thanking them all when a deeper voice broke in.

‘Mistress Zimzi, Mister Derufin,’ said Sam, offering his hand to Derufin. ‘I see you’ve now met my children.’ He beamed at his brood and sent them all back to Ginger’s care, saying he supposed they should all have a jam tart or two for their good work. Sam stood watching them go, then turned back to the couple.

‘Well, I’m here to do the handfasting when you’re ready. Just thought I’d let you know. Brought my ledger, too. Get you put into it all proper like.’ He waved over to where Cook was standing, talking to one of the Bywater ladies. ‘Cook says if you’ll just let her know when you want it started, she’ll bring out the cake as a signal to me. I’ll get the crowd quieted down and then we can begin.’

‘A good plan,’ grinned Derufin. ‘A cake and a missus, what more could a man ask for?’ Zimzi laughed, calling him an oaf.

‘Right, then. How about we get a little ale and cider,’ said Sam, smiling. ‘And I’ll introduce you to my Rose.’

[piosenniel]

THE SCENE IN THE INN'S FRONT YARD AT PRESENT . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – mid-afternoon.

Preparations for the party are done. All have put on their party clothes.

The tables are groaning with the plenitude of food brought out to stave off hunger . . . the local Hobbit families continue to arrive, and all of them have brought a special dish or two to share at the party. The staff from the Inn has already brought out great platters of meats and cheeses and baskets of bread for sandwiches along with mustards of all sorts and pickles. Mushroom pasties, jam tarts, and cookies of all sorts.

A number of the kegs have been tapped and tried, much to the satisfaction the thirsty crowds. For those who don't care for ale at the moment, there are pitchers of cold cider, tea, wine of all sorts, and of course, sweet, cold well water.

The three local grannies - Granny Chubb, Granny Oldbuck, and Granny Heathertoes have made their special punch – only for the women at the party. They are fending off, with their stout wooden stirring paddles, those bold lads who try to slip in and steal a taste.

Mayor Samwise and his wife, Rose, and a number of their brood (up to baby Daisy) have arrived for the party. Ginger has volunteered to watch over the main part of the Gardner brood, while Rose and baby Daisy are seated with some other local ladies, enjoying the Grannie’s punch, watching the crowds, and listening to the music. Sam is mingling with the crowd before the ceremony begins.

Gil and his friends, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin are playing and singing on the raised stage near the front of the Inn. They are intermittently joined by Falco Headstrong, Rasputina, Caity, Seamus, and Owen.

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

The short handfasting ceremony will take place tomorrow (real time) and the party will continue on after that.

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Witch_Queen]

Setting perched in a near-by tree, Avalon watched as the celebration continued. Taking a closer look at one of the tables, Avalon noticed too cats sharpening their claws on the table legs. Knowing that something was bound to go wrong, Avalon began flapping her wings and took flight, slowly gliding over to the table inside the inn.

Avalon figured she didn't need to scare the felines out of one of their lives. She didn't even know how many they both might have left. "Hello? Are you having fun?" Avalon watched as the cats went on digging their claws into the table. Forget it, I don't care if I scare them to "death." What they are doing is wrong. Figuring that her squawk would get their attention, Avalon took in a deep breath making her chest grow in size. Letting out a screech Avalon's voice remained soft but had power behind it. "Sorry about that. The names Avalon, and you two might be...."

[Fairleaf]

The sounds of the crowd grew louder as more people arrived at the Inn. Fairleaf attended to the various snatches of conversations as little groups passed by her. There were those who spoke quite simply and those who spoke quite grand. She listened in delight to the differences in cadence and tone and timbre. Sifting through her memory she remembered the sounds of different stands of trees as the wind caught them. Sparse leafed and thickly leafed, soft green-new leavess, and the thin scratchy voices of brown, winter leaves not yet fallen.

Another image, one closer to her wandering heart was that of roses. The smaller folk of this land with their bright, easy smiles, their open faces called to mind the hedgerows along the dirt lanes with their thick riot of wild, shrub roses. Crimsons and yellows and whites and lavenders. Just the hint of them as she rounded a bend made her smile in anticipation. The other roses, she thought, were more stately. The high bred flowers with their thick, smooth stems and their creamy petaled flowers, all furled until the warm sun’s light coaxed them to open. She glanced about the yard, noting several of these sort. They, too, were handsome, in their own way.

The band had begun another song, and some of the crowd, now replete with food and drink, took up partners, or entered singly, into a dance. She found her own rooty toes twitching to the lively rhythm. Even the Grannies had gathered in front of their vat to get a better view of the players and the dancers. Seizing the opportunity, Fairleaf moved slowly up from the back drop of trees ‘til she stood with an old oak that overarched the punch. Glancing about carefully for anyone looking her way, she lowered a slender branch tip toward the liquid . . .

. . . ah! . . . as I thought . . . delicious . . .

[Kuruharan]

Some distance away, a cart pulled into view. It was moving at a slow pace as if the driver was in no hurry (or perhaps it was the mule drawing the cart who was in no hurry). The cart was loaded with packages. The individual driving the cart could accurately be described as “stout.” Indeed, it would not be inaccurate to use the term “fat.” As a matter of fact, he was almost as wide as the bench he sat upon. This individual had a large brown beard spread over his knees. This was not unusual because this individual was a dwarf. He wore a simple blue tunic and at the moment looked like he was on the verge of falling asleep.

He roused himself and pulled the mule to a halt and then surveyed the scene before the inn for some moments. He looked so common and placid that nobody paid him much attention. The dwarf pulled out a small paper and read it. An expression of satisfaction appeared on his face. He opened a small chest beside him and pulled out a large package. Attached to the package was a large tag reading:

Entrusted to the Care of Fazi the Dwarf. To be Delivered to Hawthorne Brandybuck.

The dwarf flicked the reins to proceed to the inn. The mule did not move. Fazi flicked the reins again. The mule twitched its ear. Fazi let out a great sigh and climbed out of the cart. He walked to the head of the mule, seized the reins and tried to drag the mule forward. Several of those about the inn had noticed the commotion by this point and had taken it upon themselves to giggle quietly at the scene. Even after being dragged a few feet, he mule still refused to walk. The giggling grew louder.

The dwarf rolled his eyes and gave up. He turned and walked over toward his growing crowd of onlookers. “I beg your pardon,” he said politely, “I have a delivery to…er…deliver to one Hawthorne Brandybuck. I was instructed to bring it to her here. Does anyone know where she may be found?”

[Nurumaiel]

Falco played Star of the County Down with great delight, for it was a tune very familiar to him and one that he never tired of playing. It was a tune that could be sung fast or slow with equal beauty, and one that had no sound of the sorrow that pervaded many love songs. Rather the strain that Falco always detected was one of cockiness... and wasn't the lad in the song certain of winning the lass' heart? Well, he mused, that was all right, but it was best not to be too sure. Sometimes...

Gil's strong, clear voice gave a story to the tune, an emotion to the heart. The fiddles strained gently, sometimes following the melody, or sometimes veering off into sweet harmonies, one sounding high and the other sounding low. The concertina swelled up in the chorus and then dropped to a quieter pitch. When the last notes of the song faded away, Falco's eyes were soft and shining.

How sweet it was to see a fair lass come over a hill... he remembered the first time he saw her... she had come down a hill towards him, smiling at him -only her hair was black, not nut-brown- and his heart had been flung into a mixture of emotions... joy... shyness... love... and then she had gone on, and he gazed after her... and, oh! sweet moment! She cast a glance over her shoulder then and smiled at him again... he had learned her name... he met her at a hand-fasting, and they danced together... and one wildly blissful night when he escorted her home she kissed his cheek before she went in.

And then...

He stopped his thoughts there, but did not yet seem to be in the present. He was barely aware of the crowds of people, barely aware of the talented young lads who had allowed him to play. He was playing the whistle again, slowly, sadly. He was thinking of her soft eyes and curling hair. And he was thinking of the day when he thought his life was over, when he thought he would die. He was thinking of the false smile fixed upon his face when he watched her lift her eyes adoringly to another and pledge life-long love. But he did not think with bitterness. The bitterness had left long ago, and his memories were fond... and, on some days, when the black clouds hid the sun and the hard rain crushed his little flowers to the earth, he would remember with some sadness.

He began to sing then, his voice straining with the tone of one who sympathised... who understood... who knew.

I once loved a lass, and I loved her so well
that I hated all others that spoke of her ill.
But now she's rewarded me well for my love;
she is gone to be wed to another.

When I saw my love tie her hand to his,
with groom and friends they made a fine show.
And I follow the men with my heart full of woe
for now she is wed to another.

The mayor who wed them, aloud he did cry:
"All that forbid it I'd have you draw nigh."
Thought I to myself I'd have a good reason why,
though I had not the heart to forbid it.

When I saw my love a-sit down to dine
I sat down beside her and poured out the wine,
and I drank to the lass that should have been mine;
but now she is wed to another.

The men of yon forest, they ask it of me:
"How many strawberries grow in the salt sea?"
And I ask of them back with a tear in my eye:
"How many ships sail in the forest?"

So dig me a grave and dig it so deep,
and cover it over with flowers so sweet,
and I'll turn in for to take a long sleep,
and maybe in time I'll forget her.

So they dug him a grave, and they dug it so deep,
and they covered it over with flowers so sweet,
and he's turned in for to take a long sleep,
and maybe by now he's forgotten.

He finished his song and took a long, deep, shuddering breath. He had let himself be caught up in his memories. Too much, too much. He should have remembered that those days were past. He had sung with too much heart, with too much feeling. Yes, those days were past. Besides, he wasn't in any grave, covered with flowers so sweet or no.

"Well, lads," he said, putting a cheerful smile on his face and shaking aside those memories that sprang upon him, "that long song has quite dried my throat. What about another drink?"

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen wondered what had happened to separate the companions but that was clearly a question she could not ask and this mortal's mind was not open to her... she might find more by more conventional means.

"It is a great joy to meet again with old friends, and it is also a joy to meet new ones" she raised her cup and inclined her head in acknowledgement of her new aquaintances, but it is not likely that our paths would have crossed given the route you describe. I have come more or less directly from my home at Mithlond, and I rode the open road for the most - though I rested at Woody End yesterday, the Woodhall is the meeting palce of old of my people and the Dunedain use it also - but there I was alone and there was no sign of recent passers-by. " She smiled gently, remembering Snaveling's ill concealed emotion - I am on my way to Imladris where some of my kindred remain - the rangers go there still - I could send word to you of she is there" and if she is willing for me to do so

[Firefoot]

To Willy's surprise, it was Nick who piped up first. "I'll watch Shimshin for you," he answered, a hint of a dimpled grin showing on his face. Nick was finally coming to the conclusion that even though Seamus was a stranger, and one of the Big Folk besides, he was a nice man that could be trusted. This opinion was helped along quite a bit by Shimshin's association with the man.

"Don't worry, we'll make sure he doesn't get into trouble," chipped in Willy, who was nearly as interested in earning some money as spending time with the monkey, unlike Nick who was just young enough yet that the offer of payment had little effect.

"I'm sure you will," said Seamus, smiling. "Now, I really need to go play with the other musicians, okay?"

“Sure,” said Willy.

“Thanks, boys. I really appreciate this,” said Seamus, who, looking much relieved by having someone to watch Shimshin, hurried over to where the musicians were finishing up a rather sad-sounding song.

“Now what?” mused Willy, more to himself than Nick, who was waiting patiently for Willy. He had subconsciously begun to run his hand over Shimshin’s soft fur. He eventually ended up with his hand grasped loosely around the end of his tail, which Shimshin endured without fuss in the way animals have with young children. Willy realized that he was absolutely starving, having eaten nothing since breakfast. There was plenty of food.

“Come on, Nick,” said Willy. “Let’s go get something to eat.” Nick nodded and followed Willy over to the long tables laden with food. They moved along the line, sampling as they went, which was probably not the most polite or proper way to go about doing things. Needless to say, much of what they took was finger-foods. Upon reaching a large plate arranged with a variety of berries and fruits, Shimshin reached out a small hand. Nick grinned, asking, “You like berries, Shimshin?” He grabbed a handful for the monkey, who ate them happily. Willy finished up his ‘lunch’ with a ham and cheese sandwich and decided that he was full enough to last at least until the cake was brought out.

Willy began to wander off, Nick and Shimshin in tow, when he heard something that caught his attention: "The handfasting ceremony will be starting soon..." Willy did not have enough patience to sit through such an ordeal as handfasting (nor was he dressed for it - his coat had been ripped), but he did know that for the most part the ceremony would occupy everyone's attention. He would probably send Nick on, so that Shimshin would not be missed, but for himself he thought that it might be the perfect time to get a sneak peek at the cake, and maybe even a lick of frosting. . .

[piosenniel]

The mothers discuss the bride . . .

Zimzi had spied her mother talking with a number of ladies clustered about her. Or rather, her mother seemed more like the center of a large flower, the petals of which were the Hobbit wives and mothers all dressed in their colorful party finery. Zimzi blushed as she drew near them, hearing the things that mothers say to the one whose daughter is to be wedded.

‘Isn’t she just the prettiest,’ one said as the others nodded. ‘Very nice, too, for one of the Big Folk,’ put in another. ‘And I can just see why,’ came the rejoinder. ‘Why look at her mother so pretty herself and so gracious!’ Handkerchiefs had come out as the ladies recalled a number of their own daughters’ handfastings, followed by sniffs and then decisive nods as they recalled how good a catch they’d got. ‘And that Mister Derufin,’ commented one of the ladies who came to do laundry at the Inn once a week, ‘he’s a right good ‘un, that one. An easy laugh he’s got and a willing hand to help when needed.’ ‘Yes,’ said another, who’d worked as a server in the Inn for a bit. ‘And he eats like a Hobbit . . . quite fond of Cook’s stew, he is. Ate three bowls once.’ Approving nods followed this recommendation. One of the old Gammers spoke up in her quavery voice as she leaned on her yew-wood walking stick. ‘Good hips, your daughter.’ Zimzi’s mother looked at the old Hobbit, unsure how to respond. ‘Didn’t mean to offend, Missus. Raise me a few sheep, I do. She’s got those generous sort of hips what’re good for grandbabies . . .’

‘Ahem . . .’ Zimzi cleared her throat, making her presence known, before her mother or any others could respond. ‘I think we’ll start in just a few moments, Mother.’ She blushed deeper as the little group looked at her appraisingly. ‘Well, I’ll just go . . . make sure Cook . . . knows, ‘ she babbled, turning away to flee from their knowing looks.

Had she looked back, she would have seen her mother smiling like a cat got into cream. ‘Grandbabies,’ she murmured in a delighted tone, nodding back at the ladies. ‘I must tell you I’ve had thoughts on that very subject . . .’

[Child of the 7th Age]

For the tenth time that afternoon, Hawthorne had excused herself from the other partygoers and gone out onto the steps of the Dragon. She'd peered off down the road to the east, looking for any sign of a pony and cart. For one moment, her hopes had risen as she caught whiff of a cloud of dust and heard the distant rumble of wheels, but that had turned out to be a Hobbiton farmer who was bringing his wife and children to the handfasting. In any case, the cart was far too small. She was looking for a mid-sized wagon that had come an extraordinary distance to be here today.

Hawthorne had retreated back inside the Inn, and threw herself into other chores, trying to keep her mind off the expected delivery. For, as all hobbit lasses know well, a watched pot never boils, and he who looks for a delivery too impatiently is apt to get no delivery at all. She assured herself that the cart would soon be here. Uncle Merry had promised to send some extraordinary gifts for the happy young couple: things that were rarely seen in this portion of the world. And if he had made such a promise, he surely meant to keep it.

She busied herself with cleaning and polishing the glasses that had been returned to the kitchen for refills, when she suddenly saw a group of children scamper inside, giggling wildly. The youngest of the group, Lilac Goodbody, ran up to Hawthorne and began pushing her toward the door: "Come with us. It's the funniest thing. There's someone else here for the party. Only he's pretending to be a mule dragging a cart! He's ever so stout and funny looking. Not only that, but he's "in-between"---taller than a kuduk and shorter than the Big Folk, and his beard is almost as long as he is."

Hawthorne stared quizically down at Lilac as the meaning of the girl's words registered inside her head. This could only be one person: the dwarf Fazi, a resident of Dale who'd known Uncle Merry for some time. To the outside world, Fazi looked to be a very harmless individual. Indeed, he gave the impression of being a little inept and liable to fall asleep in odd moments. But, in reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Fazi was a dwarven trader who could beguile anyone with his cheerful ways and still come away with a better part of a bargain. He had excellent relations with all the dwarven craftsmen in Dale, those who worked in metals and springs and such, and could find the most amazing things. On top of that, he was a virtual repertory of dwarven lore and stories and someone who truly appreciated a party. She sprinted out the door to the courtyard, where Fazi had finally managed to drag both the cart and the donkey up to the stables, and was now asking to see Hawthorne.

She ran forward and gave the dwarf a curtsey, greeting him warmly. Then she immediately sprang to the business at hand. "You've brought it? The presents for the handfasted couple that Master Merry wanted sent?"

"Oh, yes," assured Fazi, wiping his brow with a handkerchief that was enormously large. "Here is the packet from Buckland: presents for the young couple and letters as well. One for you, and one for the Mayor."

Hawthorne reached out and took the packet. "And the other thing as well?"

The dwarf nodded at Hawthorne, "Come take a look yourself." He retreated to the back of the wagon and pulled back the edge of a canvas that had been tied down to hide what was underneath. Hawthorne's eyes widened as she got a look at the present. How extraordinary and how generous of Merry! She doubted there was anyone in the Shire with something quite like this. Even Mr. Bilbo had not seen the likes of it. Hawthorne's fingers impulsively strayed down to the large brass key, but Fazi reached out and pulled back her hand.

"No, you don't. That's all we need! To have this thing blaring out in the middle of the ceremony! Uncle Merry says we're not to unload or wind it, until after the handfasting is finished. It has to be done properly. I'll show you how. But for now, leave it alone. No one will bother it if we simply leave the cart under the eaves of the stable."

Hawthorne nodded contritely, but still tarried at the back of the cart, standing on tiptoe, and looking more closely at what was contained in the the bottom of the wagon bed. "What's this?" she queried. This time Fazi did not stop when she bent over and picked up two objects."

"Oh, that's a surprize. It's all explained in Master Merry's letter to the mayor. Toys for the children, all the way from Dale. And quite amazing toys, if I may add. Master Sam is to pass them out this evening. He'll know best which children would enjoy which toy."

"And these will remain in the cart, too?"

"Yes, till later."

"That may not be so easy." Hawthorne nodded at the row of children, all wide eyed, who had crept closer to the cart and were determindly trying to get a peak inside.

"That's easily dealt with.....," mused the dwarf. "Anyone who touches the toys ahead of time, won't be given a single one." He looked sternly round cluster of small faces. At the mention of this dismal consequence, several lads and lasses dropped back, and Hawthorne was free to resume her conversation again.

"You will join us for the handfasting and party then? There's good kegs of ale and tables loaded with food. You must stay a day or two." With that invitation, she led Fazi inside. There were a number of eyes fastened on them as they stepped inside the door. Dwarves had been relatively rare in the Shire in recent years at least when compared with the number of Elven and Mannish visitors, and the children were especially curious.

[Encaitare]

"She and I were traveling companions for a time, and I would like to see her again," said Snaveling, perhaps a little too quickly.

Caity resisted what would have been a most inopportune smirk. From the way he spoke and the faint flush in the man's face -- not unsimilar to that in the faces of the women who had drank the gammers' punch but certainly brought on by different reason -- it was clear that Roa was something more to Snaveling than a mere traveling companion.

"I'm terribly sorry I can't help," she said innocently. "If anyone were to know of one of the Dunadan passing through, it would be Miss Aman, the inkeeper. Are you acquainted with her?"

Snaveling paused for a second before answering.

[Envinyatar]

‘Let me get you a glass of cold cider.’ Derufin looked with alarm at Zimzi, with her face all flushed, her long hair all gone astray, and the little coronet of ivy leaves and berries from the children all askew. ‘Here sit down, my dear,’ said Cook, pushing a nearby chair behind the young woman.

Zimzi welcomed the mug of cold liquid. She took a few sips, then held its cool sides to her cheeks. ‘No,’ I’m not ill,’ she said in response to a chorused question from both of them. ‘I’ve just escaped being quite thoroughly appraised by that group of ladies over there,’ she said pointing toward where her mother and the Hobbits had once again resumed their conversation. ‘All of them, including my mother.’ She reached up to pat Derufin’s hand that lay assuringly on her shoulder. ‘I do have to tell you that you came off quite well. A friendly, helpful, overgrown Hobbit!’

Cook grinned as Zimzi spoke. ‘Well, one day you’ll be doing the same for your daughter,’ she said laughing at the look on Zimzi’s face. ‘For now, let’s get you pulled back to together. Then I’ll go get the cake and bring it out. Sam’ll know what to do after that.’ Derufin brought her another cool drink as Cook brushed back Zimzi’s hair with her quick, nimble fingers. ‘There you go,’ Cook said approvingly, placing the leafy wreath back on Zimzi’s head. ‘Now you two get over there, by those elms just the other side of the dancing area. The mayor will be over shortly.’

Derufin gave Zimzi his hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Just what do mothers discuss?’ he asked. ‘Or is it some secret that’s kept from the men . . . like that punch the Grannies guard so well?’

Zimzi leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear. Derufin’s eyes went wide for a moment then he laughed. ‘Oh my! I should have remembered the talks my own mother and her friends would have when they gathered at one of the houses to card wool. They would have skinned me alive had they known I was listening in!’ He looked over to the group of ladies; the old Gammer was nodding at something Zimzi’s mother had said.

‘Let them talk of sheep and hips and grandbabies. It makes them happy.’ He twirled her about and kissed her lightly on her still pinked cheek. ‘Today’s our day, my dear Zimziran, Beloved Jewel.’ He pulled her along quickly, her slender hand grasped tight by his. ‘There’s the elm bower . . . and look! Cook is bringing out the cake.’

[Arry]

‘Up lads,’ cried Gil, seeing the couple walk arm in arm past them. ‘Put down your mugs, and take up your pipes and fiddles and what have you. It’s about to begin.’ He picked up his concertina and scrambled up onto the band’s raised platform. Tomlin put his fiddle to his chin and raised his brows at Gil. ‘ “Love Will Find Out the Way”, lads,’ he directed, his foot tapping out the rhythm. Ferrin, you sing it – you sounded lovely on the last practice. We’ll come in on the refrain after you’ve done the first verse.’

Over the mountains
And over the waves,
Under the fountains
And under the graves,
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Ulmo obey
Over rocks which are the steepest,
Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place
For the glow-worm to lie,
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly,
Where the gnat dares not venture,
Lest herself fast she lay,
But if Love comes, he will enter,
And will find out the way.

You may esteem him
A child for his might,
Or you may deem him
A coward from his flight.
But if she, whom Love doth honor,
Be concealed from the day
Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him
By having him confined
Some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,
Do the best that you may,
Blind Love, if so ye call him,
Will find out his way.

You may train the eagle
To stoop to your fist.
You may try to inveigle
The Phoenix of the east.
The lioness, you may move her
To give o'er her prey;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover;
He will find out his way . . .

The song came to a close with a last fading instrumental strain. Then the piper played a sweet aire until everyone had taken their places.

[Kuruharan]

Fazi slipped back to his place next to Hawthorne. “Is everything arranged about the presents?” she asked. The dwarf nodded. “Yes, everything should be well in hand, I hope…” he trailed off as he viewed the plate piled with food set before his chair. He licked his lips as he pulled the chair back and prepared to sit down. “My compliments to the cook. If it tastes half as good…” He was interrupted by a loud squeak of protest from the chair as he sat down. “Err,” Fazi stammered, “as I was saying, if this tastes half as good as it looks it will have been well worth coming.”

The dwarf proceeded to dive in. Between bites he managed to say, “Mmmm, yes, most excellent…*chew* *chew*…(pass more potatoes, please)…*gulp*…this puts me in mind of a time I was visiting a cousin of mine…” Hawthorne suddenly made a move to stop his tale. Rumor had it that Fazi’s stories could plunge even the most energetic of hobbit children into the depths of slumber. “I think everyone is starting to gather for the ceremony. Let’s watch and see what happens.”

[THE Ka]

Rasputina had heard the man from Gondor's story and was pondering. She by nature, was very shy but, the name of the one he was looking for caught her attension. Had she ever met this woman in her travels? Most likely not, unless she traveled the old forgotten roads that wove along the shores, and split at the Blue mountains. Those were the roads she used, and they were very joyful to her. He was a wanderer, as he explained but, she could tell it by how he wore his face. She had never been to Gondor, or the city of Minas Tirith, but some of her people had and they spoke kindly of it.

For, they said, the father's of men today had built it and were friends. For a time. Of the Dunidan, her people spoke in hushes. Not because they dispised them, they spoke because some of this race had once came to their forest. They were ravaged by some fear and were very greatful for her kin's kindness. Her people took them in for a time, which they kept to themselves. They rarely approached her kind, when they did it was a time of giving for thankfulness, or to pass a kind word or two. Rasputina had the chance of meeting one of them on her way home from the cliff, and was shocked. Though she was scared, the poor human tried to flee at the very sight of her, but caught it's foot on an ancient tree. It was a child, who was sent to gather fallen branches and had gotten lost in the darkness of the trees. Rasputina helped the child back to their camp, and was greeted by many kind eyes. They thanked her, and she left as soon as she arrived. Somehow, they were confusing to be around. Her head would swim, as if they posed a threat. Maybe it was just shock, for it soon passed. As soon as they came, they left and said that they would try to repay them later. Her people smiled and said there was no need for it, and that they wished them a safe journey. That was the last time she ever saw another race.

Now, it seemed as if a summit of every people had been called to meet, greet, and be merry. Rasputina was always interested in the outer world and others, and this was for now a paradise of sorts. She hoped the man would find this Roa, for he looked very said, as if it was a stake plundged into his very life frame.

Rasputina just sat there quietly, for she didn't like to talk alot. Mostly because she didn't have much to say. She felt a song coming on, and picking up her cello and after a few plucks of the strings, she began:

People stared at the makeup on his face
Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace
The boy in the bright blue jeans
Jumped up on the stage
And lady stardust sang his songs
Of darkness and disgrace

And he was alright, the band was all together
Yes he was alright, the song went on forever
And he was awful nice
Really quite out of sight, really quite paradise
And he sang all night long

Femme fatales emerged from shadows
To watch this creature fair
Boys stood upon their chairs
To make their point of view
I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey
Lady stardust sang his songs
Of darkness and dismay

And he was alright, the band was all together
Yes he was alright, the song went on forever
And he was awful nice
Really quite paradise
And he sang all night long

Oh how I sighed when they asked if I knew his name

Though they was alright, the band was all together
Yes he was alright, and the song went on forever
He was awful nice
Really quite paradise
He sang all night long...*

She didn't know were in her long memory it came from but, she liked it. Puting her cello in its case, she walked out to a nearby grove and sat down beside a tree. For awhile, it seemed she was off stareing at the sky, as if to ask it a question. She soon rose, and walked back to the party and found some water to drink. She had still to know were the gifts were going to be presented to the couple. When that thought ran through her head, it imediately triggered another. This one felt like an curse'd finger pointing at her with fault. She was still short one gift. The one that was stolen, and haunted her. Why did someone have to have it?! It wasn't their's! Soon, she began to feel angered at such a deed. Rasputina sat down at a vacant chair and began to contemplate the matter. Who had she seen last by her door, or who had been in the hallway? Did anyone else see another person enter? She scanned the party hill, and found only happy faces and merry voices and one woeful heart. Not one reeked of guilt. She drew her hand into a fist with frustration. Who was it?, ran around her mind like a taunting opponent.

To onlooker's she would have seemed to be just a 'serious thinker', who was not to be disturbed. But, inside, she was calculative and desparate for just one little answer. Something to give her a foothold in this mystery.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*(All songs within this post written by David Bowie. No alterations have taken place. Song title: Lady Stardust.)

[littlemanpoet]

Uien managed to somehow remove the stable smell from their clothes as they hurried to the party, finally finished with their gifts for the bride and groom. The food was good and the music better. Falowik thought the dancing was best of all. He took Uien's hand in his and they did a Bree two step that Uien had not known before this day. It was the kind of thing she picked up as if born to it. Which, Falowik reflected, she was, being an Elf. Somehow she even managed not to take away from the glory of Zimzi the bride; it was her day, after all.

"I am going to have to have a talk with some of these other Elves," Uien said to Falowik as they danced side by side in an intricate pattern involving crossing one foot behind the other, a kick, a step out; then Uien spun beneath Falowik's hand. Others knew the dance and soon a little group of a half dozen couples had formed here and there, matching them step for step.

[piosenniel]

The hand-fasting begins . . .

Ruby and Buttercup had earlier brought out a small table that now stood to the side of the little alcove of elms. A plain little table of common oak they’d found down in the cellar. They’d brought it up and cleaned it and found a pretty white cloth to put over the top. They’d borrowed the inkwell and quill from the Inn and placed it carefully on the white cloth, along with the blotter. Sam had been the one to place the large, thick, green leather-bound journal on the table, opening the pages of it to the first one that wasn’t all filled. He ran his finger over the last entry, smiling at the remembrance of the couple, Hob Proudfoot and Gillyflower Chubb, who’d last put their names here. Sam wrote the month, day, and year on the next line, leaving room for Derufin and Zimzi to sign.

The band was still playing and many of the guests were still engaged in eating and drinking and talking with old friends and new. Sam motioned for the couple to come over to the table. ‘This is the part of the whole thing that really makes it official, so to speak.’ He pointed to the line where they were to put their names. ‘You each sign here. Your name and where you’re from will be fine. I’ve put the date here, you see. Then I’ll sign after you . . . and well, that’s it, really. You’re Mister and Missus.’ Zimzi signed first, writing out her full name, Zimziran, of Lindon. She handed the quill to Derufin, smiling as she did so. Derufin, of Ringlo Vale, he penned in a scrawl, the nib of the pen leaving a small splotch at the end. ‘It’s alright, Mister Derufin,’ Sam assured him. ‘It makes it easy to find if anyone needs to look it up, don’t you think?’ Sam blotted their names, then signed his with a firm hand beneath the two.

Zimzi’s family had come up quietly and crowded in to watch the signing. And now that the couple and Sam had finished and the book was shut, many of the partygoers had drawn near to watch the public part of the ritual. Sam had taken the small coil of twine from his breast pocket and was just beginning to ask the two to hold out their right arms to him, and would Mistress Zimzi put her wrist atop Derufin’s. A quiet, but insistent cough to his left from Cook stopped him.

‘Right,’ he said nodding as he palmed the little coil of twine. ‘The rings . . .’

[Envinyatar]

The handfasting completed . . .

Derufin fished her ring from his pocket, taking Zimzi’s left hand in his. He slipped the narrow gold band on her slender finger, speaking softly to her, as he did so.

‘I have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
I have come, treading my path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now I stand at last
Where the white gleam of your bright star is cast.’

In turn, Zimzi took the ring she’d had made for him from the ribbon she’d tied round her neck. She, too, spoke quietly, cradling his ringed hand against her cheek.

‘Blessed by a fair wind at our backs,
The warm sun at our face,
The sweet earth beneath our feet,
And the bright stars to guide us,
We journey on, together.’

Now they gladly placed their right arms as asked, their eyes keeping watch on one another’s face, as Sam bound their wrists lightly with the twine. At a nod from Sam, the band struck up a slow tune. And Derufin eased her toward him, his left hand at her waist as he cradled her right hand against his heart. The crowd opened up as the couple danced slowly out onto the cleared area and took a turn about it. They stopped then, when they’d gotten back to where Sam and the others stood. ‘Come join us, dear friends,’ Zimzi called out, laughing. ‘Come dance!’

‘And those of you who won’t come out,’ cried Derufin, grinning at a group of old Gaffers who’d secured themselves a table near the food and the kegs. ‘Then drink a mug or two to me and my missus!’ They silvered heads of the old fellows nodded at this request, and they raised their mugs high, calling out their approval, as Derufin planted a proper kiss on his lady.


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

Derufin's speech from a slight revision of the words to the song 'Lift Every Voice and Sing.'

[piosenniel]

THE SCENE IN THE INN'S FRONT YARD AT PRESENT . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – mid turning to late-afternoon.

Preparations for the party are done. All have put on their party clothes.

The tables are groaning with the plenitude of food brought out to stave off hunger . . . the local Hobbit families continue to arrive, and all of them have brought a special dish or two to share at the party. The staff from the Inn has already brought out great platters of meats and cheeses and baskets of bread for sandwiches along with mustards of all sorts and pickles. Mushroom pasties, jam tarts, and cookies of all sorts.

The big cake that Cook has made for Derufin and Zimzi is now on the dessert table. It's four layers high, frosted in white, light frosting, with candied violets of all colors all over it.

A number of the kegs have been tapped and tried, much to the satisfaction the thirsty crowds. For those who don't care for ale at the moment, there are pitchers of cold cider, tea, wine of all sorts, and of course, sweet, cold well water.

The three local grannies - Granny Chubb, Granny Oldbuck, and Granny Heathertoes have made their special punch – only for the women at the party. They are fending off, with their stout wooden stirring paddles, those bold lads who try to slip in and steal a taste.

Mayor Samwise and his wife, Rose, and a number of their brood (up to baby Daisy) are at the party. Ginger has most of the young ones in tow while Same conducts the handfasting ceremony. Rose is seated with a group of ladies and is delighted to have only the baby to look after.

Gil and his friends, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin are playing and singing on the raised stage near the front of the Inn. They are intermittently joined by Falco Headstrong, Rasputina, Caity, Seamus, and Owen.

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

The handfasting ceremony is now done.

Derufin and Zimzi are a proper couple.

They are dancing at the moment as are many others who have joined them. There are still presents to be looked at on the mathom table, and later, when it's dark, the little lights in the branches of the trees will be lit and there will be fireworks.

And food and drink, of course, flowing in abundance from the good folk of the Shire . . .

[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.