The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

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

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

Meri - Stablemaster

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

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

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Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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EVERYONE

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

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

It's now later in the afternoon in the Shire.

The day is pleasant and sunny.

~*~

Volunteers would be appreciated to set up tables and chairs, gotten from the Common Room, for the party to take place later this evening out in the Inn's front yard, Shire time.

~*~

[Arry]

New is brought to the kitchen . . .

Gil and his friends had spent most of the morning practicing for the party tonight, they’d put together a nice list of songs, most of them good to dance to. They were just turning into the little lane that led from the main road to the Inn when Fallon spied smoke billowing up into the sky. The others were hurrying along, intent on cajoling Cook into giving them a little something to tide them over ‘til the evening’s festivities. They were luahing and joking with one another and were paying no attention to the view.

‘Look there!’ said Fallon, pointing to the column of smoke. ‘Something’s burning.’ Gil shaded his eyes with his hand and peered at the smoke. ‘Seems to be near the smokehouse,’ he said. ‘Thank the stars it’s not the barn!’ He took off at a dead run, motioning for the others to follow.

Gil stopped just short of the smokehouse structure; Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin, halted just behind him. ‘Well, it’s not on fire,’ Tomlin said, stating the obvious. The others crowded closer to the partially opened door which seemed to be the route for the escaping smoke.

Ferrin inspected the latch, his eyes catching the fact that it seemed to be broken. ‘No accident, this,’ he said, drawing their attention to it. They closed the door tightly and rolled one of the garden’s wheel-barrows up against it to keep it closed. Gil and Tomlin stayed to make sure no one would be getting into it again. And Fallon anf Ferrin ran as quick as they could to the back door of the kitchen.

‘Someone’s broken the latch to the smokehouse and left the door open,’ one of them cried as they tumbled willy-nilly into kitchen proper . . .

[Koobdooga]

‘Oh, I don’t know about a wager.’ Ibun’s eyes twinkled as he looked the lass up and down. ‘Now I could be wrong, but you’ve not the build, or so it seems to me, to drink us Dwarves under the table.’ He thumped Fror on the back, showing how solidly his friend was built. ‘But ye can try it if you’ve set your mind to it.’

Ibun motioned a server to bring over a half dozen more mugs, and another pitcher of ale. ‘Now you realize we’ve been drinking since mid morning . . . I think. Isn’t that right Fror? When that Hobbit brewmaster turned up and was giving out free samples.’ Ibun poured the six mugs full of foaming ale. ‘Now you just finish those off, and maybe a half round more, and you’ll be caught up to us.’

He sat down and grinned at her, egging her on. ‘And I suppose I should introduce myself. You’ve already met Fror, it seems. My name is Ibun Lodestone. And you’re Penn, aren’t you? Penn of the ferrets.’ He smiled again and raised his own mug to Fror and then to her.

[Valier]

Penn raised her mug,and slowly drained,she noticed the blurry image of the two dwarves and couldn't help from giggling and giving a little hiccup.Placing the mug down on the table with a slight jolt,Penn examined the beings in front of her more closely.

Penn had never personally met a Dwarf,she had espied some on trips to Edoras with her father,but sitting infront of two now she was quite impressed,what with their stout stature and their long beards.She thought them a hardy people and was glad to be conversing with them over good ale.

Penn's thoughts were conveyed on her face with a smile,she quickly blushed and took another long draught of ale.Penn pushed her blond hair from out her eyes,her cheeks slightly flushed, she cleared her throat..That's two for me"...She said with a grin."Are you gentle-men headed for the Ered Luin?"

[Undómë]

‘. . . perhaps after getting to know each other a little better you will not be so upset that your sister and I,' Farael looked at the flower on his tunic, 'were having a little conversation!’

I highly doubt that! thought Tindomion to himself. He kept his expression neutral as the man finished speaking. ‘Yes, no doubt, we will be safer with weapons at hand,’ he said, nodding his head at Farael. ‘The High King’s Peace aside, I have no trust of Sauron’s minions, especially his Orcs. I’ve seen too often the death they bring. Cruel death. And for the most part, solely for the sport of it.’

Telu spoke up, saying that perhaps they should go back to the Inn, to fetch their bows and quivers. ‘I’ll bring mine, too,’ she said, taking her brother’s arm as they started back toward the Dragon. Tindo raised his brow at her suggestion, then laughed.

‘You think to beat me this time, little sister?’ he chuckled. ‘Don’t deny it! I can see it written in your eyes.’ He peered around Telu to where Farael walked along beside her. ‘She never forgave our father or Thranduil for forbidding her to join our ranks. She really is quite good, you know.’

[Captain Grishnahk]

Grishnahk watched as the people before him walked away. The orc beside him jumped to his feet once they were a good deal away.
"Aye now!" he sneered, "a nice lil' place 'ere, eh? Safe and sound from the world about ye."
"What do you want," Grishnahk said, towering about the greasy goblin.
"You knows good and wells why we's 'ere." the orc said stooping close to the ground and backing up a few feet. One could tell that this orc was terrified of the Captain, but the orc kept his head as well as he could.
"We," Grishnahk said in thought, "I see now, it's not just Them looking for me, is it? He's got the whole lot of ya searchin'."
"Aye!" shouted the orc, he seamed pleased, and smiled revealing his teethless mouth, "He are!"
Grishnahk drew his dagger, he had left his better weapons inside, but this foul maggot would be easy to dispose of.

A shreik was heard from afar off.

[Koobdooga]

Ibun looked at Fror and then back to Penn. The young woman was giggling! And here she was only on her second mug of ale, her cheeks a little flushed. He thought perhaps she might be only a mug away from regretting she had made a wager with them.

He chuckled as she asked about Ered Luin. ‘ “Gentlemen” . . . now there is a compliment I don’t often hear! About the Blue Mountains - yes, we two just met here at the Inn and found out we are both headed in that direction. I’m hoping to find some of my kin and give them an invitation from my King to return to Khazad-dum.’

‘You haven’t by any chance come from that way, have you, Penn? This is the farthest west I’ve traveled. It would be nice to know what lies ahead.’

He leaned forward and took her empty mug from in front of her, wondering if she would indeed drink another. From a pocket in his vest he fished out a short pipe and filled the bowl with pipeweed from a much handled leather pouch. He offered it to Penn and Fror.

[piosenniel]

Cook was just coming up the stairs to the cellar beneath the kitchen when the two lads burst through the door. ‘What’s this about the smokehouse?’ she demanded, putting the small bag of dried beans down on the counter.

Fallan and Ferrin began talking at once, their words tumbling all over one another. Cook cleared her throat at a brief pause in their dialog and fixed them with a look of impatience. Ferrin hissed at his brother to shut up for a moment, then proceeded to tell Cook, in a clearer manner what they had discovered. ‘And Gil and Tomlin shut the door back up and are keeping guard in case the culprit comes back!’ he said at last, looking pleased that they had made such a good plan.

‘Get right back out there and tell those two brave fools to get themselves in here! The culprit come back, indeed!’ she snorted. ‘And what if he does come back and it’s some big old bear or some thoroughly nasty critter of the two legged variety. What are they planning on doing, then?’ Fallon and Ferrin shrugged their shoulders at her question and hurried back out the door to fetch their friends.

‘Ruby!’ said Cook, arming herself with the heavy, iron fireplace poker. ‘You run and fetch the Shiriff. And tell Halfred to bring along his deputies. I’m going out to see what’s been taken. I’ll be back directly.’

[Farael]

The group made it back into the Inn and the elves and man went into their rooms. Farael told the brothers he might take an extra few minutes, yet fifteen minutes turned into half an hour and the man had not yet come back from his room. Tindomion was already thinking Farael had changed his mind and gone for a nap when he walked into the room. He was wearing a light mail and a black surcoat over it, with the image of the white tree on his chest. On his belt hung a short sword in its scabbard and slung over his shoulder were his bow and quiver. All this equipment was for showmanship rather than protection, but he had earned the privilege of wearing those clothes and he did so on every occasion that called for it. He also wore them on occasions that did not call for it, such as this one.

“I hope you forgive me if I am late, Master Elf, but I had not had time to wash these garments since I walked in after about a week in the jungle. They were not presentable enough for Telu…yaviel” he finished, after a glare from her brother. “Still, m’lady I have not been able to get this beautiful flower back in my clothes. Perhaps you’d care to help me?” he offered her the flower and she secured it again, this time on his mail, over his shoulder.

The trio went back out on the Inn’s grounds and Farael excused himself for a minute, running into the nearby trees. He came back shortly after carrying a piece of bark –which he found on the ground- he explained before the elves could complain. There was enough dirt on it to argue in favour of Farael and so the siblings did not complain when he carved a target on the wood. He laid it against a tree and counted twenty long steps from it. Then he explained what the contest would be like. Each would have five arrows, one point would be given for a shot on the centre of the target, half a point would be given for a shot right outside the centre and no points would be given for a miss. He offered going first to illustrate his own game. The arrows would have to be retrieved after each shot so that the target would not be too clogged and so Tindomion stood half-way to the target, hoping the man would be accurate enough not to hit him.

Farael nocked an arrow, pulled the string and released it in one soft motion. His aim was true and he hit the target almost dead centre. Tindomion retrieved the arrow, placed the makeshift target back on its spot and Farael tried again. This time he was not as accurate, gaining only half a point. Same thing happened on his following attempt. With two arrows left, he hoped he would not embarrass himself by missing yet he managed to hit centre on both tries. Having a score of four out of a possible five was quite a feat for any human archer, but the smug look in Tindomion’s face told him it might not be so for an elf.

The next to try was Teluyaviel. Her first try was slightly to the left of centre, but she corrected her aim and her following four attempts were right on the mark. With four and a half points she was on the lead, but judging by her brother’s smile, it would not be for too long.

Tindomion’s first attempt was right on the centre of the target. The following three were all but a carbon-copy of the first. Farael could see Teluyaviel’s disappointment as she was about to be bested by her older brother yet again, but that was not on Farael’s plans. As Tindomion was winding up to release his last arrow, Farael coughed rather noisily and grabbed his throat as if he were choking. Tindomion’s arrow went wild and far off the mark, while the man seemed to recover quite quickly. “My grand mother always said, keep your mouth shut else a fly finds its way in.” he explained, “ I guess she was right for I felt something go down my throat rather unexpectedly. I am fine now, let’s see how you did with that last arrow.” Farael walked over to the target rather dramatically and retrieved an arrow from the tree behind it. “Well, who could have known!! It seems the winner has been Teluyaviel!!” he bowed to her and to Tindomion’s dismay he even offered her his arm for the walk back into the Inn. “I will buy the best archer among us an ale, and her brother as well so that maybe after a little talk we will actually know each other better.” Tindomion’s frown was enough to tell that Farael’s little archery contest had not been enough to appease the elf.

[Valier]

Penn looked longingly at the weed,but Pip had long since stolen and hidden her pipe."Why thank you fine sir,but I seem to have misplaced mine,thanks to Pip.If you have one to spare,that would be greatly appreciated."Penn smiled and reached for another ale and downed half the mug before she answered."No I have not come from that way.I hail from the outskirts of Rohan,this is the farthest West I have been as well."

What Fror and Ibun had no inkling of, was Penn grew up around men and men who liked to drink at that.She was giggly and flush,yes but far from inebriation.The flush was more from the thought of the Dwarves then the ale.She placed her mug roughly on the table and reached for another.Taking a long puff of the pipe they lent her,she proceeded to blow smoke rings at the ceiling."Khazadum,now that would be a sight to see!Are you both going there?" Penn asked as she looked from Fror to Ibun."I would love to see the great works of the Dwarves!" Her eyes lit up At the thought of the great halls."I have never seen such things in my short life."

Penn could count,but twenty years and what had she achieved? nothing,no glory,no valor,no love even,nothing.Penn frowned slightly at the thought,but quickly recovered and drank the last of the mug she held in her hand."That's three for me,I believe."At the moment she placed her mug on the table and taking a puff,reaching for another ale,Pip decided to make himself seen.

He climbed out the bag,up her arm and proceeded to try and pry the still smoking pipe from her fingers."Well my dear friends,I do say this is Pip."Penn lightly picked Pip up by his white scruff,much to his dismay."Be nice!" Penn said to the ball of fur."Would you care to touch him? I would show you Merr as well,if you would like. he is for lack of better words fat and quite lazy,but I will retreive him." Penn reached down and produced a VERY large ball of fur which seemed to be still asleep.

Placing him in her lap,she held out Pip to the two Dwarves."Go ahead he won't bite,he might like your beards though."Penn took another long draught of her ale.

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Frór looked at the two hairballs that Penn had presentet for him and Ibun. Apperantly they where animals, but they reminded Frór mostley of some strange dish he once had eaten on a vissit to Lake-Town.

"My beard is for me alone and no animal shall come close to it as long as I can yield an ax, nomatter how friendly or small it is". Frór said with a twingle in his eye. He then litt his pipe and startet smoking, after some puffs he adressed Penn again.

"I have yet to see the marvels of what you call Dwarrowdelf or Phurunargian allthough I don't think the latter is used that often anymore. But If they are just half as magnificent as they say, It would still be the greates Dwarven Kingdom of them all and that is saying alot. My own home in the Iron Hills is a quite spectacular place, but nothing compared with Erebor and Aglarond should be even more amasing. Atleast so I have heard. For now I am Heading for the Blue Mountains seeking a relative of mine."

Frór finished his ale and porred him self another mug, no dwarf had ever been beaten in a drinking contest. Atleast not to his knowledge.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

A faint chill hit the corridor as the door swung open. A couple of people hurrying hither and thither shot quick glances at the newcomer and promptly scurried away out of sight. A black cat bolted from its hiding place and disappeared into one of the far rooms. For a fleeting moment, the atmosphere was taut.

As Ciro entered the inn proper his thoughts needed collecting, and quickly. The Green Dragon was as charming as the taverns he had frequented when he was a young man, and one look at the array of fine ales on the tables and at the bar assured him that this was as adequate a location as might be. However, the looks directed at him by the clientele were interrogative enough to make him bow his head. He hoped the glares were only a consequence of his less than stellar appearance: he was pale and rather gaunt after the roads he had taken recently. Whatever the reason, his wish to remain inconspicuous had been denied.

Despite this trouble, Ciro was eagerly checking every corner of the room with his piercing blue eyes. A diverse parade of characters occupied the room; and it was light and warm inside the Green Dragon. Something was missing, though. The inn was devoid of the one thing Ciro had wanted to find within its walls. For an instant his hope flickered, and Ciro felt a growing sense of vulnerability.

So he was relieved to hear the sound of breaking glass as someone on the other side of the room knocked over a pint. All eyes were off Ciro for the moment, and he gratefully escaped from the entrance to an empty booth. He had finally made it to the Green Dragon, and here he would now have to wait.

[Valier]

At the moment Penn went to hand Pip over to the Dwarves,the door opened and closed and a figure walked in.Pip who did not like to be held struggled and knocked over Penn's ale on his way back to his bag.Merr was content for the time being to sleep sprawled on her lap,until the ale from the table began to drip on his head.He yawned, opened his eyes and waddled back to the bag as well.

Penn jumped up."Oh I am so sorry." she said as she raced to the bar to fetch a cloth.The man that had entered caught her eye for a moment.Penn smiled and hurried back to the table to clean up the spill.Her attention had slipped as it often did away for a moment and she had forgotten what they were talking about...

"Uuummm..Did you ask me a question? the ale had distracted me for a moment,"But her distraction was not the ale it was the man that sat alone at a booth that had distracted her.There was something about him,he looked a little.... lost maybe? She did not know.Penn covered her face again with a mug of ale,downing all it's contents, letting out a slight burp.She blushed again.Maybe this ale was getting to her.She tossed her hair in an excuse to get another look at the man.then again lifted ,yet another ale to her lips.

Maybe it was the behavior of Pip's mad dash to the bag that made her look twice at the man or maybe it was something in his eyes that told her he didn't want to be noticed.Penn turned her attetion to the Dwarves once again."I guess Pip does not wish to be held".she said with a shrug."Come on master Dwarves I think I am up on you."Penn laughed as she looked down at the empty ale glasses.a bit too loud,for more guests were starting to stare.

[Undómë]

Seeing the look on her brother’s face, Telu thought the better of taking Farael’s arm. She knew Tindo’s limits, and knew also that he had been pushed very near them. She clasped her hands behind her back and walked between the two of them.

The man cheats! he spoke to her mind. And for no reason than to gain your favor. Tindomion looked coldly at Farael. And who is he to put on the High King’s garb? I shouldn’t wonder if he’d stolen it off some unfortunate guard in Gondor.

‘Tindo!’ Telu gasped aloud. ‘Your words are cruel. You have no right to judge . . .'

I have every right, Teluyaviel. His reasons cut off her further speech to him. It was our parents who charged me to take care of you on this trip. To see that you came to no harm. Mother, especially, who said I was to keep you close until we both could return to the Havens and sail West. And you also promised that you would defer to me to make the best decisions for you . . . on this, this hare-brained trip of yours. Here we are less than a fortnight’s ride from the pier our parents sailed from and you begin to tread down a dangerous road.

All color fled her face at his words.

I have nothing more to say to you. Save that it is too late to set out now from the Inn, else we would pack up and do so. He stopped and shook his head at her. Make your good-byes this evening. I trust you can do so without compromising yourself completely. Tomorrow early we leave.

Tindo turned on his heel and headed back to the barn, intent on giving the stablemaster instructions to have their horses ready at day break.

Telu watched his retreating back. A curious look was on her face. A mingling of both regret and decision. She turned back toward Farael and took his arm. ‘I think I’ll pass on the ale,’ she said, her steps quickening toward the Inn. ‘But a glass of wine would be most welcome. A large glass. Red. And from Dorwinion if the Dragon has some.’ She glanced back once to where her brother had gone, but he was lost to sight. Telu put a smile on and looked at Farael. ‘Your intentions were admirable,’ she said, ‘but perhaps next time you can let me win or lose on my own.’ She sighed, speaking low, as if to herself. ‘I don’t think I could stand one more well-intentioned male trying to run my life for me . . .’

[Farael]

"I heard that Teluyaviel. Your last comment I mean. Before that I would swear that you were listening to your brother although I could not hear anything. I shall not ask what goes on between siblings, I will not ask what his cruel words were." Farael smiled at Telu politely " But I will answer for what concerns me. I do not intend to run your life for you m'lady, but my kind cannot wait for ever to get what they want. Sometimes we must refrain our impulses yet I saw no harm in my little... trick. What I wanted m'lady is far from what your brother seems to think, for I know our kinds are different and only the great of my kind can aspire to a fair lady such as yourself..." He let his words drift off, as he was lost in thought

"But I was looking for something much more..." Farael struggled to find the right word "possible, perhaps? I have admired your beautiful face, I have heard your soft, melodious voice and I have had the privilege of having a little, quiet conversation with you for some time. I am honoured indeed that you have chosen me to keep you company yet, greedy as only men can be, I was also hoping to see you smile." He took yet another pause as he needed to get his thoughts in order

"I might have overstepped my boundaries, but I thought it would do no harm. Still, I shall buy you a glass of wine and maybe then you and your brother shall forgive me." Said Farael, while holding the door open for Teluyaviel.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Ciro started cleaning his fingernails, and not only because they were rather dirty. He needed to focus his mind on something and, more importantly, keep his head down. Ciro was of a nervous disposition, and too much eye contact with anyone else could be a bad idea at this time. He was all too aware of a young girl at a far table eagerly trying to catch his eye.

Ciro braced himself. He knew, of course, that he would have to interact with other people but he could not convince himself that he was ready for such activity. He did not trust himself. Not only that, he did not trust the orchestrator of this scenario. Who had placed him here? Who was on his side? How could he accomplish his goal when all was unsure?

He sighed deeply and swept his hair back from his face. He glanced at the girl who was now offering him a funny smile. Ciro guessed she had had a few too many ales, so he smiled back at her. She seemed safe enough, and, if nothing else, he could probably amuse her sufficiently to win a much-needed drink.

[Koobdooga]

Ciro is sent an invitation to join the Dwarves and Penn

Ibun chuckled at the young woman’s declaration. ‘Come on Master Dwarves I think I am up on you!’ He topped off her mug and shook his head. ‘Nay, Miss! Fror and I have been at it steadily since breakfast this day. You’ve many more you’ll need to down before you’re even caught up to us!’ He took long pull at his own cup to emphasize his point.

‘Do you know that fellow that’s just come in?’ he asked, noting her gaze toward the man with the blue eyes. ‘Looks a little road worn, I think. Perhaps we should invite him over. Be interesting to hear what brings him to Bywater. What do you say?’

One of the Hobbit servers was hailed with instructions to ask the ‘man over there’ if he’d like to join them at their table. ‘And bring us back a basket of bread and cheese if you will,’ he asked. ‘And maybe a plate of sliced ham with that fine Dragon mustard. We'll be needing something to sop us all this good ale in our bellies!’

Ibun fetched out his pouch of pipe weed and fished about in one of his vests inner pockets. ‘Here, Penn,’ he said, drawing out a smoke stained clay pipe. ‘Here’s an extra one I have, if you don’t mind it being well used. Not the prettiest one to look at, but it draws well.’ He offered the pouch and pipe to her.

[Valier]

Penn refilled her pipe with weed and took a long pull,again blowing smoke rings at the ceiling.She enjoyed smoking and was fast to make a game of it,trying to reach all the rings all the way to the ceiling.This seemed to relax and distract her for a few moments.

Penn had asked the Dwarves to a wager in hopes of making a few freinds,she really did not expect to win and now she was feeling a little giddy.Not wanting the Dwarves to think her a silly ,drunk girl,she again took a sip of her ale,but with a more stoic posture.Ibun had seen her glances towards the strange man.He invited him over and ordered some food.

Penn was a little disappointed for Men often thought her silly,and paid her no heed.Indeed this stranger with the piercing blue eyes, would no doubt probably think the same of her.

Frowning Penn again preoccupied herself with smoking,dreading the man's approach, after the broken mug and the loud laughing what else would he think?

[Undómë]

‘My brother, I think, will not forgive you, Farael. And, in truth, I will be lucky if I am forgiven.’ Telu started up the steps to the Inn’s door, shrugging her shoulders slightly as if to shake off unpleasant thoughts.

‘Pardon us, lady!’ The door banged open and two Hobbit men came through bearing a large table between them. When she looked at them, surprised, the one at the back grinned and nodded toward the front lawn. ‘Going to be a party tonight, Miss. Food and drink and music and dancing! Just setting up for it.’ They hurried past her and down to the grass where a short argument ensued. ‘She told us to put it over there, Minto!’ the one in the back said. ‘Oh, that she did,’ the one in front returned, pulling his companion along. ‘But I’m thinking it’ll do better over there by those bushes.’

‘A party, Farael!’ Telu leaned on the railing of the porch and watched the Hobbits maneuver the table into position. ‘Perhaps our stars are lucky today . . . perhaps this is one of your “possibilities”.’ She turned and regarded him thoughtfully. This might be one of her last pleasant memories of Middle-earth, she thought. That is, if Tindo had not had a change of heart and allowed her to stay a little longer. A light flush tinged the fine bones of her cheeks. And she managed a smile at the boldness of her request. ‘You’ll be free, won’t you? I should like to go with you to this . . . party.’

Her courage seemed to flee her. She could just hear her brother saying she was ‘reckless’, once again. And what would Farael think of her request? She had only known him for a little while. She had no rights to make demands upon him and his time. The fingers of one hand rested lightly on his forearm. ‘That is, if you are going . . . would you mind my tagging along, too? I promise, I won’t be in your way.’

[Farael]

Farael smiled "not on my way, you say? well, I would be more than glad if you would accept going to the party with me rather than just 'tagging along'. And rather than not being in my way would you mind, eh..." It was his turn to blush now "well, I have learned many things in my short life but I eh... I never learned to dance"

He did not dare to ask the question as such, but he left it to Telu to decide if she would like to teach him how to dance or not. "In the mean time, do you think it is fair for them halflings to do all the work? I think it would only be fair that we helped them if we want to join the party as well!" He said as he walked inside to look for the Innkeeper and ask her where he could help.

[piosenniel]

~*~ Announcement ~*~

You are all invited to post in The Yule Log in Rohan. Just read Bêthberry’s introductory post and join in at The Green Man Free House for the next few weeks.

Come share a story of ghosties, and ghoulies, and sharp toothed goblins for the days of the Winter’s Yule while the fire burns bright and warm and the drink flows freely.


~*~ Pio

[Arry]

Gil and Tomlin were hiding in the thick bushes to the south of the Inn’s smokehouse. They were crouched down, the only thing visible their eyes, perhaps, when the light caught them. Their ears were open wide for sounds of any approach and their eyes scanned the area to sea if the culprit might come back.

Tomlin nudged Gil, his head nodding in a vaguely northerly direction. The sounds of some four legged beast, it seemed, could be heard in the distance, growing louder as it crashed across the Inn yard toward them. They were about to bolt and run, when they heard familiar voices call their names.

‘Over here!’ cried Gil, standing up from his hiding place. He listened to Cook’s instructions and shook his ‘No’ as Ferrin came to the end of them. ‘We can’t leave Cook to be out here by herself!’ he declared, his sense of male pride offended at the thought. ‘We’ll just wait for her . . . and the Shiriff. Make sure she’s alright.’

‘And what if it’s a bear . . . a big bear . . . with long sharp teeth and claws like she said,’ whispered Fallon, as the four of them hunkered down in the bushes.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Ciro sighed heavily, again. He had just been been notified by a chirpy little serving-hobbit that the group of Dwarves sitting across the room had requested that he join them. He looked over to where the Hobbit pointed and saw that they were sitting with the girl who had been watching him since he arrived. It would be rude not to join them; moreover it would immediately appear suspicious, as no ordinary tourist would turn down the chance of fellowship and cheer.

Ciro thanked the hobbit and stood up. Leaving his booth, he walked slowly towards his first test. Concentrate, he told himself, you cannot slip now.

He arrived at the table, and smiled at his would-be friends. Their overall demeanour was jovial, and Ciro could certainly envisage an easier time at the Green Dragon than he had previously feared.

"Good day, my Dwarves! I am most gracious and glad of your invite. Some company and some luncheon will suit me well. And greetings to you, my lady. I hope I have not scared you with my ragged appearance."

"My name is Ciro," he said with a grin.

[Naria]

Riding her horse Flicker, a speckled Perchon breed, Naria came to a halt in front of the inn. Being from Rohan she was well suited for such a big animal. She dismounted and securely tied him to a post outside and told him to stay calm and get some rest. She had learned from an elder in Rohan how to speak with her horse and other smaller creatures.

Naria approached the inn and walked through the door. Fixing her tossled auburn hair,she walked up too the bar and ordered a tall ale. Waiting for her beverage she took notice of all the goings on. She clasped the ale with much gratitude and took a long needed drink, then look around for an appropriate seat and took it.

Naria heared a ruckus next to her table and noticed three drunkards; two dwarves and with back too her, what appears to be a female. She thinks to herself "maybe that person will be my apprentice and learn the gift of speaking to the animals."

Her attention is quickly averted when she realizes that she hasn't eaten in a day or so. Leaving her seat and approaching the barkeep Naria asks for some food.

[piosenniel]

Cook hurried along, the heavy iron poker grasped firmly in her hand. It was not long before she neared the smokehouse, its door hanging a little ajar. She stopped, casting her gaze about the area. She could see nothing or no one lurking nearby, nor hear any movement in the smokehouse itself.

With as quiet a step as she could muster, Cook crept up to the door, the poker held bravely before her. She got just close enough to swing open the door with the tip of her erstwhile weapon, then stepped closer, peering into the smoky interior.

A loud voice from behind startled her. And she rounded on what she thought might be the thief-returned, the poker held high.

[Arry]

‘It’s just us, Cook!’ cried Gil, as he and the others stood up from their hiding place in the bushes. Farron’s hands pushed him out of the way as Cook swung on them with the heavy iron poker.

They were just scrambling to get out of her way, when Halfred and his two deputies came pounding toward them on their ponies, stout clubs in hand. ‘After them, men!’ the Shiriff commanded, finger pointing at the scattering lads.

Minto and Mungo soon had them subdued and rounded up, ignoring their protests of innocence. ‘Oh to be sure,’ said Minto poking Tomlin in the back as he nudged him toward the Shiriff. ‘And isn’t that what they all say when they’re caught in the act!’

‘Well, now, Miz Bunce,’ Halfred began, a smile of satisfaction on his face for a job well and quickly done. ‘What got taken by these miscreants?’ Halfred smiled again, this time at the chance to try out a new word he’d recently learned.

[Koobdooga]

Ciro is invited to sit down

‘Welcome, Master Ciro!’ Ibun rose to his feet and indicated that the man be welcome to sit down with them. ‘Were passing time until the party this evening,’ he went on, waving his hand over the pitchers of ale and the plates of bread cheese and ham that had been brought to the table.

‘Please join us, if you will.’ He introduced those at the table starting with himself and working round to Fror, then Penn and her now sleeping ferrets.

He held up the pipe he was smoking. ‘And after, if you’ve a mind to, there’s good Shire leaf aplenty to settle down the last of the ale.’ Ibun poured a mug of ale for their new tablemate and offered him the basket of bread and plate of cheese and ham. Then, taking some for himself, he took a few bites and munched on them appreciatively.

‘So – if you don’t mind my asking. Where have you come from and where are you bound?’ Ibun took a swig of ale and sat back as the man considered the question.

[piosenniel]

‘Now hold on, Halfred,’ cried Cook, coming to her senses. ‘These fool lads were trying to catch whoever or whatever it was that broke into the smokehouse.’ She gave Gil and his companions a shake of her head. ‘And here I almost brained them! My golly, they scared me half to death!’

Minto and Mungo released the four suspects once Halfred had assessed the situation all round and come to the conclusion that none of them were the thief. Cook ordered the lads back to the Inn. ‘Let Halfred manage here,’ she said, giving Tomlin the poker to take back to the kitchen. ‘And we’ve a party to think of this evening. Best you lads lend your strong backs to getting it set up.’

Halfred, in the meantime had been inspecting the smokehouse while his deputies looked at the surrounding area. ‘Took some raw meat, whoever it was,’ said the Shiriff, noting the dried blood trailing out of the door and into the more forested area. ‘And two-legged, too,’ chimed in Minto, pointing to the scuffed tracks about the smokehouse.

Mungo, his father a locksmith from Hobbiton, stood looking at the broken latch. ‘Let me just ride to my father’s workshop. I’ll get that fixed up right as rain in no time.’ Halfred nodded and off Mungo went.

‘I’ll leave it in your good hands, Halfred, to find the culprit,’ Cook said as she started back toward the Inn. ‘Oh,’ she went on, turning back toward the Shiriff and his deputy. ‘Bring your wives to the Inn this evening. There’s a fellow in with some casks of ale he wants us to try out. There’ll be plenty of food and the drink to wash it down with. And dancing.’ Then she was on her way again and soon back in the kitchen.

[Undómë]

‘Well, then, we shall both have to learn to dance!’ She grinned at him and shook her head as they entered the Inn. ‘I doubt the Shire folk dance any of the steps I learned.’ She looked about at the Hobbits in the front yard. ‘They seem a merry folk. I’m thinking their tunes will be quite lively, their dances, too.’ She looked him up and down, then back at the more casual dress of the Halflings.

‘I think you might want to wear something a bit less formal for the party,’ she said, her gaze assessing his present clothes. ‘Something you’ll feel free to work up a bit of – sweat.’

The innkeeper set the two of them to different tasks. Farael was asked to help set up the tables and chairs outside. And haul the barrels of ale out and the racks of wine. Telu was asked to gather flowers for table decorations and to help string the little lanterns along the verandah and in the trees that bordered the yard.

The two went their separate ways, promising to meet that evening when the merriment began.

[Valier]

Penn looked up into the man Ciro's blue eyes."No apology needed good sir,for we are or were all travel worn at one time or another,your look does not startle me."
"Please have a seat."

Penn's attention was again wavering,for she saw a woman,possible from Rohan with the most gorgeous of auburn hair approaching the bar.I must greet her and ask her where she hails fromTurning to the dwarves and Ciro,Penn proclaimed shyly "Do you gentlemen plan on participating in the festivities?"

Penn's shyness was due to the fact she knew there would be dancing,and she could not dance well at all ,having never really been taught."I would excuse myself for a little while,I would like to see if I could help with the preparations."She smiled sweetly at Ciro and bowed to the Dwaves."you have both bested me ...for now on the ale,I dare say I will rejoin you in a bit?"

Penn stopped at the bar to see if she could offer her help for the party,and smiled at the woman with the auburn hair."Greetings! Are you coming to the festivities this night?I could not help but notice are you from Rohan?For I also hail from there,and it would always be nice to chat with another from our great realm."

Penn twisted her hair absentmindedly waiting for the woman's response.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Ciro sat down as Penn left. He thought her a nice girl; but he had no time to dwell on that. It was imperative that he concentrated on the Dwarf's question and that he mask his troubles.

"Here's to you fine Dwarves!" Ciro said politely, and drank long from the pint Ibun had offered him. The ale of the Green Dragon was fit for a King, and Ciro was eased within seconds of tasting it. He steadied himself.

"As to your question" Ciro said, "where should I begin? For I have arrived here from a broken road, always careering this way and that; and where I am bound I do not know." Ciro watched the Dwarves silently assessing his performance and, once again, considered exactly what he should tell them. Ciro now spoke in a quite low voice.

"I seek a man. He is scheduled to meet me at this here Inn. He is from the South, and East somewhat. He has information which I would hear because it concerns matters that are close to me. You may have marked my nervous entrance; well, this meeting has been rather a long time coming.

"But I have not long since been in the North and the East. It was around two years ago now when I was rather busy over in that direction." And now raising his voice, Ciro exclaimed "For this reason I have been lucky enough to mingle with a number of Dwarves. Tell me! where do you hail from?"

Ciro leaned back in his chair, feeling more comfortable despite the look of interest in the eyes of the Dwarves. He took some much-needed bread.

[Koobdooga]

Ibun looked at the man with interest, a certain curiosity growing in his mind. Ciro, or so he said his name was, spoke as if he walked upon the face of one of those compasses he’d seen the Rangers using at times to find their way. North and East! South and East! The fellow dissembled as if he meant to blur his trail as much as possible.

Now there was an interesting consideration. Someone was on his trail, perhaps. That man from the south and east? Or maybe it was Ciro who was the pursuer. Who could tell? The man was a nervous sort, glib talker, but his expression revealed nothing further to consider.

The Dwarf was feeling foolhardy enough, with plenty of mugs beneath his belt, that he pushed away the question Ciro had thrown at him and Fror. Plenty of time to get to where he was from, he had nothing to hide.

‘So,’ Ibun said, drawing out the word. He took a small sip from his ale, peering all the while over the top of it toward Ciro. ‘Let me just get this clear in my drink-fuddled brain. You haven’t been in the North and East for a while. You’re expecting a visit from someone from the South and East. Does that put you in the only two quadrants left as your starting point? Either some point northwest of here or south west?’ A sudden thought struck him. ‘Or way west, or north, or south, or east. It’s all so vague, it makes my poor head swim.’ He took another drink, this one longer.

‘I must say, I do like puzzles. Does the place you started from have a name or is near somewhere with a name? Something like . . . Khazad-dum, perhaps. Where I’ve come from?’

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Ciro smiled. He was feeling far more comfortable now. This old Dwarf, Ibun, was clearly an amiable companion; and Ciro was glad to talk and laugh with someone else. It had been so long since he had been in such a position. Still, he couldn't let his guard down. His new friend could, despite being slowed by ale and smoke, clearly see some things behind Ciro's eyes which had not been covered carefully enough. He had to fix his story.

"Khazad-dum!" he marvelled. "I have never been, though I have heard the glorious tales like any other Man of the West. It has been the Iron Hills where I have talked at length with Dwarves." He paused for a moment, and looked out the window. All he could see were green roads.

"I am from Arnor." Ciro continued. "But I travel extensively. I have contacts from numerous places in Middle-earth, and I am meeting this Southern Man here beside the Shire because our roads finally merge. We have business to discuss." Ciro took another drink and watched the hobbits hurry to and fro around the table. He thought to himself that he had handled this encounter well. Any mention of 'business' to a stranger was a sure-fire way of covering your bets. Ciro was in no way obliged to answer any questions about his 'business'.

"I come to you now from Rohan" he said. "More dangerous than I had thought it would be, down there. I was waylaid twice!" Ciro caught the glint in the Dwarves' eyes and knew that, with this promised tale of excitement, he had evaded the more piercing questions. He smiled at the memory of his adventures in Rohan.

[Farael]

...I could not help but notice are you from Rohan?For I also hail from there,and it would always be nice to chat with another from our great realm...

"From Rohan, eh?" Interrupted Farael as he walked by carrying a fairly big table by himself "well ladies, I hate to interrupt but I seem to have overestimated my own strenght... would you mind if I asked for a little help with this table?" He set the table he had been 'carrying' (more like dragging) down and smiled at the ladies from Rohan "I believe Penn alerady knows me. My name is Farael, from Gondor. I was stationed in your beautiful country once, while in the army" his mind now wondered to his mail now carefully stowed in his room after Telu's suggestion "and I must say, it is indeed a beautiful country, full of beautiful women. I also had the pleasure of seeing Lady Eowyn once, and of course hearing all she did for our people... no, for all the free people of Middle Earth. But I was wondering, would you mind showing me some of the strenght you Rohrrim women say to have and help me carry the tables outside?"

Farael grinned, finding his own joke quite amusign but the glare he received told him it might have not been the case. "In any case I would very much appreciate your help. If you want to, of course" Without really waiting for an answer, or expecting much help, he started struggling with the table again, towards the door.

[Koobdooga]

‘The Iron Hills, you say? Now that’s where Fror here is from.’ Ibun sensed a chance to make a trading contact, hearing the man had already had dealings with those of his kind. Though, he thought to himself, best he size up the man a bit more before making the invitation.

He ran the name Arnor about in his mind. The High King in Gondor, he recalled, had laid claim to being the ruler of the reunited kingdom. Arnor was the northern part of it, he thought. Ibun eyed Ciro through the smoke he’d just exhaled. Arnor . . . hmmm . . . and wasn’t that where that witch-king had been from? Him and his foul cronies.

Ibun chewed on the stem of his pipe, thinking. No – not Arnor that was Angmar, the Iron Land, further north, where the winged shadows had lived. Dunedain, like the High King, those were who had lived in Arnor.

‘Never been to the Horse-master’s land,’ he spoke aloud. He shook his head at the thought of the great beasts said to have come from there. ‘Give me a good, sturdy pony, or a nice little donkey. To pull my wagon that is, or pack my goods. Silly to ride astride those big brutes they have there. Don’t look too trustworthy to me.’ He leaned back in his chair and considered the thought of horses and who would ride them. ‘Course, you men have your own odd ways of doing things.’ He patted the side of his leg with his free hand. ‘Legs’re good enough for us Dwarves. Keeps us closer to the ground.’

‘Tell us about that waylaying you mentioned if you will,’ Ibun went on. ‘We met a man here, come from Gondor on a business trip. His party was set on, too. By ruffians he thought, though he was n’t sure it wasn’t Orc.’

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

"It has been the Iron Hills where I have talked at length with Dwarves" When Ciro spoke these words, it was as a fire startet burning inside Frór. Here he was in a land many miles frome something even remotley close to his home and now out of nowhere he was sitting drinking with a man who had actually vissitet his Home.

Frór took a sip of his ale and cleared his throat, then he spoke to Ciro: "Tell me when did you vissit the halls that I have the pleasure of calling home? Seldom do travelers frome this side of the Misty Mountains come to our halls. Sureley It would have been easier to vissit the Blue Mountains or Khazad-dum if you needed the skills of the Dwarves?"

When Frór thought about he could not recall any men frome Arnor vissiting his home in the resent years. He found it hard to belive that such news should not have reached his ear, after all he was not a dwarf without importance. Eiher this man was older than he looked or he would had arrived at the Iron Hills after Frór's departuer. The latter was not unlikely to be the case as Frór's jurney had taken atleast a month more than it should have done.

[Naria]

Before she would reply to Penn, Naria took a big chomp out of her mutton. With mouth full she turned around to see who had spoken to her. She had recognized her right away, it was the same woman who had caught her eye earlier. While Penn was still twisting her hair; Naria responded with a nod and swallowed her food.

"Why yes she replied, I am from Rohan." She looked at Penn inquisitively and wondered what the woman of Rohan had too offer. Giggling to herself at the wobbling Penn, Naria also wondered if she would really be the right person for an apprenticeship.

Naria asked the wide eyed Penn if she would like to come and meet a friend. Since they are both from Rohan Naria thought that Penn would enjoy Flicker's company. As Naria turned around too lead Penn outside they were suddenly stopped by a man looking as though he had a question too ask.

-----

Finding this man's humour a little intriguing, Naria glances over at Penn and readily helps Farael. While grunting and pulling the cumbersome table Naria is quick to advise the man that "Rohan women are strong and maybe even a might stronger than our men."

But she digresses. Putting the table in its place, Naria takes a long stare at the man and feels something that she hasn't yet felt before. Confused she asks him if there is anything else he would like help with. She cleared her head and the action of putting the table away brought her mind around to asking the same question, about what is going to be taking place here. It sure looks like something big and exciting , she thought to herself.

Naria glanced over at Penn and then at the man and wondered what was in store for herself and her new aquantices.

[Eomer of the Rohirrim]

Ciro fancied that he saw Frór frown slightly as he asked him about his travels. Relax. I haven't made any mistake Ciro assured himself. Perhaps Frór's Dwarves had had difficulty with some travellers recently. Perhaps Frór did not want to believe everything Ciro said.

"Two years ago, or thereabouts" answered Ciro. "And, unfortunately, I did not seek the Dwarves; rather I was forced down that road. All the same, I could not have wished to find better folks. Your people took care of me in a difficult situation and I will remain forever grateful to them." Ciro smiled warmly at Frór. He had, at least, told the truth here. It was unnecessary to tell the Dwarf exactly why he had sought refuge in the East.

Ciro exchanged some words with Ibun regarding the merits of walking and of horses and ponies, raising some laughs with an old fable about a man who outraced a rider by slyly supplying his horse with dainties. The message no doubt appealed to the Dwarves and their fondness for a hard road underneath their feet. But then he turned to the promised tale of his trouble in Rohan. Ciro told how a band of three ruffians assailed him in a deep forest on the east-side of The Wold. He explained that they robbed him of a couple of possessions (nothing too valuable, as he travelled light) but that he managed to slay two of them ere he himself was slain; and that the third man ran off with the goods. The Dwarves seemed glad of Ciro's escape, but at the same time unsurprised that the lone traveller had run into such peril.

"My friends" Ciro said as he stood up, "I must leave you for a few moments. I must see if I can get myself clean, for I had forgotten momentarily just how ragged I appear to you. Excuse me for now."

He bowed to the Dwarves and went to fetch some assistance. As he walked he looked out the window and saw no movement. His talk with the Dwarves had eased his heart, but now his worry came back to him. He was, for now, still alone; the Southern Man was nowhere to be seen.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

I do not wish to be here...

The human woman closed her eyes for a moment, a laugh in her thoughts for a wry moment as she considered the situation. This was a hobbit's town, a hobbit's realm, and hardly meant for people of her stature, at least, in a physical sense of being.

They generally call me short, she thought. The ironic amusement hardly took a moment to sink in before she laughed a moment, a short and abrupt cutting expression. It wasn't as if being tall compared to the locals wasn't a welcomed thought for Ariane Calthye. In fact, it amused her greatly, for once in her life able to see over the tops of people's heads, to see people as the taller ones seen her. To be five one amidst people who ranged up to six seven (the latter encompassing her husband's existance) was never an easy thing.

Here, the locals were, what, three and a half feet? They were children, she thought. Children compared to her.

She opened her eyes. Only a moment had passed over the quick thoughts, the second vanishing as she let her dark eyes snap open and scan the crowd. Of course it would be an inn. Drinking, let's all be merry and get drunk! I can hardly take a glass without falling over...

Fortunately places that offer room and board also offer non-alcoholic beverages. I hardly wish to pass out already. Short is one thing, but I'd likely as not be dragged off on some quest by a deranged wizard, or something of the like. As much as she liked the Shire for the height ease, she was uneasy. Born in Eriador, it wasn't as if Hobbits were a foreign idea to the woman. She had seen them in Bree on occasion.

You've spent far too long in Gondor, her mind murmured before she shushed it with an inner glare towards the voice with the will to speak up on its own.

It doesn't matter where I was before. I'm here now. Here is all fine, even if I don't have a great desire to be here.

Here? Oh, certainly. Here. Here with the wooden walls and wooden tables, the short and tall folk mixed together in a friendly inn's atmosphere. Here where she could close her eyes for a moment and smell not only alcohol as most inns seemed to offer, but food, mirth, and vague body sweat and grime. Here.

At least here no one was going to try cut her down. Here, the worse she thought she might get was a bit tipsy from too much ale in the air or stepped on by one of the taller being inhabiting the inn at the same time as the halflings. Ariane didn't feel like sitting just yet, so she remained off to the side, standing with a loose expression as she examined the scene with a more intensive look, her left hand's fingers twisted tightly in the brown fabric of her robe.