The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Witch_Queen]

"I sleep well. Thank you." Cree looked at Fainu and gave him a faint smile. It had been awhile since she had peaceful sleep. It use to be that she would end up walking around the woods because she couldn't put her nightmares away. "I am rather astonished at the fact that for once I wasn't plagued with the normal nightmares." Cree looked at her mug. For some reason she felt like it was telling her what she already knew. Deep down inside she was alone and couldn't do anything about it.

Avalon was outside the inn for her morning breakfast. It seemed like the crow could never have too much mice for breakfast. Cree couldn't understand Avalon, yet then again, Avalon was a crow. That above all else separated them. "Fainu, its nice to know you decided to stay."

[starkat]

Becoming restless, Gwenneth decided to go visit her mare. The young elf maid exited the common room and headed for the stables. Out of one corner of her eye she could see someone in the garden and she smiled.

Gwenneth reached the stables and went to Elenath's stall. She greeted her mare and began to brush her. Elenath had apparently been lying down the night before because her coat was flecked with straw.

She quickly finished her grooming and made a decision. The elf opened the stall door and led her horse out. Mounting Elenath, Gwenenth took off down a nearby trail.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu smiled and looked out of the window, he saw Avalon chasing some other birds away as she ate her morning breakfast. He looked back at Cree and said;

"I stay because you bid me to," he smiled and sipped his ale, "although I cannot stay in the Green Dragon for ever."

Cree nodded her head in agreement but said nothing. Fáinu looked around, remembering all that had happened, and what he had said the last time they had spoken. He moved these thoughts to the back of his mind and decided to change the subject.

"Your bird is very hungry by the looks of things," he said with a laugh, "She does not seem to wish the others to have any."

Cree smiled and looked out of the window, there was Avalon munching on mice and seeming content. Fáinu took some Dale Cram from his pack and took a bite. He offered a slice to Cree, she took it with a smile.

[Witch_Queen]

"Yes it does seem so." Cree was off in her own little world. Though she was looking at Avalon she couldn't focus on her. To her, Avalon was her own crow. She didn't have to worry about Avalon. "Fainu, what would have happened if I never would have left Eryn Lasgalen? Would we have had a future together or would we both still be alone?" Cree knew the questions had to of struct a cord.

She turned to look at Fainu. Her face was blank and emotionless. Cree couldn't think of a time that she was ever happier.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu played the events prier to the attack by Smaug over and over in his head. he thought of what would have happened had Cree been there that morning. He drew a few conclusions though the best he could come up with was rather depressing.

"If I had found you that morn," he said after a long wait, "I perhaps would not have gone to Dale with my father. I would have stayed with you, and therefore, would not have gone into combat. Perhaps still I would have heard of my Parent’s death, and my rash heart would have convinced me to seek revenge there and then. I probably would have gone into the Mountain unaided and so death would have come upon me. So be not troubled. Think rather, that your absence saved my life. Despite the fact that it tour us apart for a long while." He looked at his scorched hand and sighed, "Perhaps, there is some thing I must do before the end, why else would Mandos keep me away?"

Cree said naught, his words were cold, and it seemed to her as if he was distant and encased in his own regret. She knew that feeling well, as she carried it herself. it was not pleasant.

"What are you plans, Cree?" asked Fáinu suddenly looking up, Cree jumped as if woken from a dream, "Sorry," he apologised, "I did not mean to startle you. Will you come with me to Imladris when I decide to go?"

[Amanaduial the archer]

It's amazing how much can be seen from not very far up: you do not have to pass through the clouds with the eyes of an eagle to see an entire world. Another night had passed without rain in the run of good weather, and the neat hills and lazily sprawling fields were visible for impossible miles, vivid emerald with occasional splashes of azure lakes or ponds. Above the sleepy, slouched figure of the Green Dragon Inn, birds sang, and one, an amiably scrawny little sparrow, had perched on the edge of the roof some ten minutes ago, preening itself busily. It took little notice of it's spectator, sprawled motionless on her back some two feet away, her bright green eyes shaded lazily against the sun with one raised arm.

Aman was happier than any windlord as she lay there in the warmth of the morning, dress and light brown hair spread out around her figure as if she was suspended underwater, eyes halfclosed as she watched the little sparrow with the backdrop of the Shire. Her domain. She smiled secretively. A land where the Big Folk had been banned for years, and yet it had become her home.

The sparrow paused suddenly and turned it's head at an almost 180 degree angle, it's whole being seeming to perk up. Cocking it's head on one side, bright eyes like ebony hatpins, it regarded the Innkeeper for a second, then flew away, the scrawny herald to the nobly clad figure whose head appeared on the roof a second later. Aman sat up, but didn't turn her head, a smile creeping across her elfin features.

"Good morning, Snaveling," she said, her voice one with the soft, warm morning breeze. "I see you remembered the way up."

Snaveling gave an ungentlemanly snort as he hefted himself up onto the roof's ledge. "Nearly broke my neck, more like..." he muttered, edging his way with care across to Aman. The Innkeeper allowed her smile to turn into a lazy grin which she flashed at him as he sat down beside her before turning back to the view.

"You found me."

"Of course," he replied instantly, smiling back. Then it wavered and he frowned in mock seriousness and cast a hand around. "Can't you find a less…” the man’s words failed. Aman looked across at him through half closed eyes then drew his eyes outwards again. “Less what? Snaveling, from here…from here, I can see my entire world.”

“Your world? Surely you cannot see as far as Rohan from this roof!” Snaveling jested, peering outwards as if he would be able to see to Eriador all the way to the rooftop of the White Horse and beyond. Aman shook her head. “Nay, Master Snaveling: the ‘Dragon is my home now, my home and my world.”

Even a lonely one.

The Innkeeper could feel the man watching her and hung her head slightly. She knew what had to be said. Looking up then across at Snaveling, her lazily sun-warmed expression became slightly more serious. “Snaveling, I must…I must apologise for my behaviour yesterday. I was…I suppose I just…” She stopped, unsure of how to end the sentence. “Well. I apologise, anyway, if you will accept it.”

Giving him a small smile, the Innkeeper brushed her hand across Snaveling’s as it rose to her face to brush away a strand of hair, and waited.

[piosenniel]

Cook

‘Oh, aye, Miz Bunce,’ said Ferdy, nodding his head at Cook’s instructions. ‘I can do that, but best I fix that first thing you mentioned, as it will take the longest. Once it’s done, the others will finish lickety-split.’

‘Well, that’s up to you Master Ferdy,’ Cook said, nodding at his reasoning. ‘I want the kitchen in tip-top shape. Lot’s of cooking to be done for the handfasting.’ She eyed him as he picked up his tool box and headed for the cellar stairs. She’d given it some thought, she told him, and wanted some small joined bins, tightly jointed, and with close-fitting lids that the sacks of flour, the dried corn, the bags of oats for porridge and scones, the littler sacks of dried fruits, where they could all be stored without the mice finding their way in for a free meal. And after that he could fix the cabinet door in the kitchen, and could he see to the table, too – it was wobbling more than usual.

‘I’ll have a plate of cinnamon, sugar buns waiting for you when you’ve finished the bins.’ She motioned toward the counter where racks of snailed buns stuck full of fat raisins and iced with a shiny glaze stood waiting to be plundered by the hungry patrons of the Inn. ‘Ginger had hand in these,’ she went on in an artless seeming manner. ‘Wonderful help she is! Lightest hand I’ve seen with batters and eggs and such.’ She sighed, and said, almost to herself, ‘Why some lad has not snatched her up is quite beyond me.’ ‘Ah well,’ she went on, a little louder. ‘She’s certain to be taken up at the dance, isn’t she now?’

She glanced over at Ferdy who’d come to a halt at the head of the stairs, and was looking a little scared as if she expected some answer from him. Cook smiled at him and motioned him off, breaking the small tension that hung in the air. ‘Here now I’m going on and you’re wanting to get on with your task. My stars! We can keep the conversation for the cinnamon buns and tea, can’t we. You go on, Master Ferdy, see to the bins.’ He started down the stairs, getting about halfway down before he heard her once again.

‘And mind the old cat – she’s a bit on the blind side and her hearing’s not as keen as it was . . .’

[Arry]

The cat was waiting at the bottom of the stairs as Ferdy walked down them. Curled up on an old rag braid rug, she lifted her head in the direction of his footfalls. Her milky eyes blinked seemingly at him and she let out a questioning miao as he sat on the last step for a moment to scratch her ears. Her pink and black piebald nose sniffed at his fingers, seeking an expected treat. Finding none, she turned round and round several times on the rug, settling herself in a little ball at last, her interaction with the stranger at an end in her opinion. Ferdy laughed and got up from the stair. ‘Well, it’s no wonder that Cook needs bins to keep out the marauding mice, Mistress Puss!’ The cat raised her head at the laughter and sneezed once as if to give her opinion, then rested her head on her paws, tail twitching once and coming up to cover her nose.

Ferdy lit the lantern that hung at the bottom of the steps on one of the support posts and made his way toward the wall at the right of the stairwell. Cook had had someone clear away what was stored there. And someone had cleared also a way to the fair-sized stack of lumber the Inn had kept from other such building projects. An old pair of sawhorses was resurrected from beneath the stairwell, the cobwebs brushed from them and a few new nails put in the cross pieces to keep them from being so wobbly. He glanced up to the small windows at the upper part of the cellar walls. They were grimy, the light from them made dimmer by the dirt on them. Dragging a small bench over to each one, he opened them up, letting fresh air and the brighter light from the outside pour in. In a short bit he had set up his work area and was busy measuring and sawing and hammering, punctuated, of course, by muttered curses when something went awry.

Through one of the open windows he could hear someone singing to herself a little ways away. It was a pleasant voice, he thought, and one that made the work lighter. He found himself singing along as he plied his tools. The cat, however, disapproved of all this commotion and the breeze ruffling her fur was the last straw. She stumped up the stairs in a feline huff, tail erect and twitching. Making her way carefully cross the kitchen, she darted in between the legs of the cook stove and settled in the warm darkness there. Cook’s feet slap-slapping along the floor as she went about her business lulled the old girl to sleep.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger worked quite happily in the Inn garden. The potatoes had been mounded all nicely in their little hills of straw, and now she knelt down, taking care to keep her skirt out of the dirt and weeded the neat rows of herbs. Sages of several sorts with their grey, powdery leaves came first. She pinched off a small bud and sniffed it appreciatively. It brought memories to her of a fat goose roasting in a large pan, winter snows at the dark of the year, and the smell of her mother’s bread dressing, redolent of onion and sage. Then came subtle thyme, recalling her father’s grilled trout basted with the little plant’s crushed leaves in butter. And salmon with dill and soured cream. Porkchops with apples and rosemary. Lamb with mint. Ginger’s nimble fingers plucked the weeds from the wanted plants as her mind wandered through each herb's myriad of uses.

The vegetables, proper, came next. Ginger took a small break before she began. She walked to the pump nearby and filled a small wooden bucket half full of cool water. Dipping her mug in it, she drank deep, then dipped in a handkerchief, and wringing it out, cooled her neck and face with it. Two sparrows darted down as she poured the rest along a row of summer squash. They drank their fill where the water puddled, then poked about in the softened dirt for the worms that rose to escape the wet. She watched their antics for a while, smiling at them as they hopped about, their heads cocked this way and that.

Unbidden an old song came to her lips as she knelt back down to weed among the onions, peas, and beans.

Hi! says the blackbird, sitting on a chair,
Once I courted a lady fair;
She proved fickle and turned her back,
And ever since then I'm dressed in black.

Hi! says the blue-jay as she flew,
If I was a young man I'd have two;
If one proved fickle and chanced for to go,
I'd have a new string to my bow.

The sparrows looked up at her once or twice, fixing their bright black eyes on her. She took this as approval and went on.

Hi! says the little leather winged bat,
I will tell you the reason that,
The reason that I fly in the night
Is because I lost my heart's delight.

Hi! says the little mourning dove,
I'll tell you how to gain her love;
Court her night and court her day,
Never give her time to say "0 nay."

Hi! said the woodpecker sitting on a fence,
Once I courted a handsome wench;
She proved fickle and from me fled,
And ever since then my head's been red.

Hi! says the owl with my eyes so big,
If I had a hen I'd feed like a pig;
But here I sit on a frozen stake,
Which causes my poor heart to ache.

The sparrows, glutted with fat worms had flown away. but now, she noted, a trio of robins harried the beetles along the hills of potatoes and one dusty and decrepit looking crow, perched on a bean pole, cast his yellow eye down at the strawberry patch. He flapped his wings in irritation noting that netting had been placed over the plants. The red jewels were out of my reach! he squawked irritably. Ginger shooed him away with a loud shout and a flap of her damp handkerchief. He flew off, but not without first giving her a loud caw! caw! of sharp disapproval.

Hi! says the swallow, sitting in a barn,
Courting, I think, is no harm.
I pick my wings and sit up straight
And hope every young man will choose him a mate.

Hi! says the hawk unto the crow,
If you ain't black then I don't know.
Ever since old Adam was born,
You've been accused of stealing corn.

Hi! says the crow unto the hawk,
I understand your great, big talk;
You'd like to pounce and catch a hen,
But I hope the farmer will shoot you then.

Hi! says the robin, with a little squirm,
I wish I had a great, big worm;
I would fly away into my nest;
I have a wife I think is the best.

A little ways away, Ginger could hear the sound of hammer and saw coming from the Inn. And someone singing along at times with her in a fair voice, though oft times the verses were punctuated by mumbled curses it seemed when something had gone quit wrong . . .

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The gentle gesture of Aman’s hand on his own almost shook his resolve, for the very feel of her skin reawakened his concerns. But he had come here with a purpose, and he meant to see it through…he owed that much at least to Aman.

Snaveling moved his hand away, hoping that it would seem natural and not a hurried response. He tried to make light of the moment. “Apologise? Now, what an irony it would be if I were to accept an apology from you, who should rather be awaiting my own expressions of regret. After all that you did for me, and when there was no reason to do any of it… There can be no apologies between us, my friend. Let us rather say that the past has given us both clean slates, and the understanding to say or do as we would wish with one another without fear!” He smiled to see her face light up at his words. He sprang to his feet. “Come!” he cried, “I did not seek you out so that we could grow sombre upon such a beautiful day. I have something to show you.” He held out his hand to the Innkeeper and she accepted it, although Snaveling was sure that she had no need of his help. Quite the reverse.

He stepped to the edge of the roof and grasped the eaves with both hands. His knuckles were white as he swung his legs out into space, and there was a familiar moment of blank terror as his feet sought the window. There was more scrambling, and one tricky moment in which Aman had to steady him, but then he was in the cool darkness of the attic. With much less effort, and more grace, Aman was beside him and laughing. “You still have not mastered that last step, Snaveling!” As she spoke she laid her hand on his forearm, but he did not pull away. Nor did he return the gesture.

“I am too long out of practice,” he replied. “I did not have much cause or reason to clamber about the rooftops of Minas Tirith.”

“What did you think of the White City?” Aman asked as he led her down the stairs. “Was it very different from what you are used to?” Snaveling noted her concern, and was touched by it.

He smiled. “Yes, you could say that. I could not have even imagined such a place. Before I arrived there the largest building I had ever been in – or on – was the Dragon! We arrived at dawn after a long night’s travelling. Roa had been eager to return and insisted we press on through the night. I was surly and ill mannered with her about that, but at the sight of the city in the morning, shining in the light of the early sun, with her banners aloft and the clear ringing of trumpets filling the air… Well, I forgave her the night’s rest I had missed. I would forsake many a comfort to have that sight again…” his voice trailed off into the memory, and he did not see the look that crossed the Innkeeper’s face as he spoke of Roa.

Soon they were passing through the kitchen and into the yard. “Where are you taking me?” Aman asked, smiling still, but with a slight frown of curiosity creasing her brow. Snaveling merely smiled at her and remained silent. He led her across the yard and into the stables, where he directed her to the stall that contained his horse. He stopped and pointed at him.

“What do you think of him?” he asked.

Aman gazed at the creature, and marvelled at its beauty and strength. It was clearly a noble beast of mighty lineage. “He is wonderful,” she said breathlessly, and for the first time since he had known her, Snaveling detected in the woman’s voice an undisguised longing. An oddly displaced woman of Rohan though she was, one of the Rohirrim she remained. “He was foaled upon the western march, if I’m not very much mistaken.” She said.

Snaveling did not try to hide his surprise. “Yes, indeed he was! You have an excellent eye for horses! He was a gift to the King from the lords of that land. He aided them in their struggles against the Dunlendings, and as a token of gratitude they sent him their finest mount. They say that he is bred of the same line from which sprang the legendary Shadowfax, and there are those in Minas Tirith who saw the companion of Mithrandir with their own eyes, and have attested to the likeness. He is, of course, no equal to his mighty cousin, but he is swift and tireless, and as gentle a ride as any in the West.” Snaveling gazed into the horse’s eyes and stroked his mane with a touch that was both gentle and loving. “He was one of the first tokens of friendship and alliance given to me by the King Elessar. I told him that I had never ridden so much as a mule, but the King merely laughed and said that the horse was well given for he would be sure to bear me easily – and he was right! A great friendship has grown between us, and I love him.”

Aman’s eyes grew wide at the strange transformation in Snaveling. He appeared in that moment both more tender and more distant than she had ever seen him. His hands as he ran them over the mane of his friend were those of an ordinary man with his beloved mount, but his eyes and voice were filled with a majesty and timbre like that of the kings of old. Aman shivered, but she did not know why. To break the spell of the moment she asked, “What is his name?”

“I do not know,” Snaveling replied, still gazing into the horse’s eyes. “When the men of the westfold presented him to the King he was but a foal, and as yet unnamed. The King said that only the man who rode him should name him, and as the King is devoted to his own companion who bore him through the dark days of his battles, it was not for him tog give him a name.”

“Then why haven’t you named him?” Aman asked.

“Because he is not mine to name. The instant I laid eyes upon him, I knew that it would be our destiny to become great friends, but that our ways would lie sundered, for there was only one person in the world to whom I could give him. He is yours to name, Aman. I have brought him here as a gift to you, in gratitude for what you did for me in the past, and as a token of the friendship that we will share in the future.”

[Kransha]

Foul, equestrian smells and vaguely familiar stable sounds bombarded Toby Hornblower’s senses. His eyes, despite their violent protests, were pried open by a flood of broken light, seeping through a wooden, thatched roof above him. Blinking without end, Toby looked up into a mask of hay and debris which clung to his hair, clothes, and face. Instinctively, he pulled his sleeved arm to his face and used the still-numb limb as a cloth. Clawing with stubbly fingernails at the particles of sand in his eyes, Toby slid down the length of the hay mound he had slept upon, and into a conveniently placed globular pile of horse fodder. A surge of his characteristic pride swelling in him, Toby reared up indignantly, snorting under his breath, and shot to his feet. In a brief, arrogant moment, he forgot where he was, why he was, and when he was. All that remained with him was who he was, and that gave him solace. He was Tobias Hornblower the Third, the wealthiest Halfling in all of Eriador…and then reality struck him, in the form of an equally convenient support beam behind him. As he jumped up, the back of his head collided with the edge of the rectangular beam. The real world coruscating all around him suddenly, Toby fell forward, collapsing onto his knees in the hay. He remembered everything he’d wished to forget, all his troubles, and the unhappy circumstance that had brought him to the Green Dragon Inn so late last night.

He again wished to blame something, or someone else for his woes, but the delusions were useless. He thought back, painfully, to his reasons and his activities. He willed himself not to think of the bad and rather emphasize the positive facts, but that attempt also failed. The blow to Toby, dealt less than a week ago, had changed him. It had fallen, like a hammer on a blade of grass, back in his estate in Longbottom. Truly, it was the Hornblower estate, but it had been legally inherited by Toby. That was where the hobbit had fled from, leaving behind his riches, his family, and his life. He’d lost all his earthly goods, save the clothes on his back, and the respect of his peers. Most people had respected Toby, regardless of his reputation, bad or good. The only person who really did not was, in fact, his own sister, Opal Hornblower Boffin. But, despite her, everyone else at least revered his prosperity. That was why the blow was so thunderous when it fell. The worst thing was that he could not anticipate the blow. He had to be told of his own discovery. If he had really been a villain, he would’ve been long gone before this occurred, but alas, he was no real villain, nor was he a real doer of good. He was villainous when he did good and righteous when he did ill. He was a half-rate fellow and a half-rate fiend, of all the humiliations.

Of all the people who had to tell him, it had to be her. She despised Toby, though not openly enough for others to notice. The hatred had oft been equated to simple sibling rivalry, but Toby and Opal knew that it was genuine, unmitigated rivalry. Genetics had nothing to do with the matter. Toby had sidled his way into becoming the richest, most prosperous of all the Hornblower brood, and Opal had never let him live it down, possibly because she had an inkling of his dishonest ways. She certainly had known nothing of his kleptomania, but she always tried to find the most gossipy, overwrought falsehoods about him. The two of them were ever at odds, though Toby was always more jocund about their arguments. On that day, though, that she had approached him with the news, he’d been far from jocund. The smirk on her face actually hurt. Toby knew that he and his sister were never close, but seeing her take pleasure in an event that might result in Toby’s expulsion, ostracism, or worse, made him realize that she really, truly, hated him, and that was another burden that he didn’t need. She’d made the blow all the more painful by parading in with the news just when Toby was with his nephews and nieces. They were the folk he most treasured, as they cared not of his faults, and only yearned to hear his tales. Their innocence was something that granted him peace, and Opal stole both away. Toby hadn’t fled that instant, such action would have been most impolitic, but he did depart less than an hour after he was confronted.

Opal had informed him, with the greatest of subtlety, that his crimes had been discovered, and that he was to be punished duly and swiftly. At first, Toby had thought she meant his various thieveries and attempts at petty larceny. Such things were not looked highly upon, but not considered wholly evil. When she told him what crimes had been discovered, he realized what serious trouble he was in. He had known, then and there, that there was naught left to do, and left. Now, he was here. Last night, he’d narrowly avoided falling into conversation with anyone, even Snaveling. He evaded all questions and queries from the man, though Aman had lacked her curiosity, conspicuously. She seemed to almost understand that he was not suited, at the moment, to answering her questions. Soon after Aman had approached the table he’d been recruited to, the whole inn suddenly emptied, leaving only those die-hards who did not sleep. Politely excusing himself, Snaveling had escorted Toby Hornblower to his nightly home, and, bidding Aman and Jinniver a fond farewell (at least Snaveling had), all had retired, succumbing to simple, needed slumber, a fact for which Toby was immensely grateful. It had been a rough day, and a rougher night, but that was over now.

His long sojourn from reality was disrupted by playful clip-clopping in the stall next to his, and the sound of footfalls. He heard Snaveling’s voice, gentler and milder than ever it had been before. It was soon accompanied by a second source of steady breathing, soon transformed into a voice – that of Amanduial. Toby instantly became filled with consternation and sat bolt upright, his back straightening against the wall of his makeshift bedroom, the horse’s stall. His eyes widened, but then relaxed as he heard the two instead walk into the stall beside his, where that clip-clopping sound proliferated. His ear quivering intently, Toby turned his head toward the source of the conversation and sat back, listening as Snaveling’s next story unfolded.

He listened intently as they spoke. Despite the miscellaneous sounds of the stable, mornings in Bywater were relatively quiet, and Toby picked up every aspect of the conversation. They were talking about the horse, no doubt, the fine animal that Snaveling had brought to the Inn. Snaveling had had a fleeting opportunity to show the steed to Toby the night before, and now he was exhibiting it to Aman, but his air was far different with her. The two of them were so friendly, not as Snaveling and Toby were. Their companionship distinctly reminded Toby of Snaveling and Roa, when they’d first been united. After the events leading up to the Green Dragon’s re-opening festivities, Aman and Snaveling had become close friends as well, sharing that sort of glance that makes one who does not understand the nature of said glance understand. The relationship became closer each time the two were in contact…But, perhaps Toby’s mind was elaborating. After all, he’d been drunk on ale at the time of his last observance. Remembrances of that merry night brought a smile to Toby’s face, but it quickly faded, replaced by a distinguished frown. Shaking off the memory, Toby staggered to his feet as noiselessly as he could and, still keeping his head beneath the top of the stall, moved sideways, edging toward a small peephole in the wood. His curiosity, despite his predicament, remained insatiable. He continued to listen, as the conversation took a most intriguing turn…

[piosenniel]

Rochfalmar siezes the day . . .

‘Falmar took note of the fawning over her second new stablemate and snorted her disapproval. First the black that Mistress Aman had brought in and now this great sod of a horse that her mistress seemed all goo-eyed over. She stuck her neck out as far as she could over the stable door to see what was happening. A noise from the stall next to hers diverted the grey’s curiosity, and she snaked her head near as she could to peer in what had been an empty stall.

One of the small ones was there looking much like the strawmen put up in the Inn garden to scare off the crows, and smelling much like yesterday’s meal of hay, alfalfa, and oats. His attention she noted was fixed on the goings on in the new horse’s stall.

‘Falmar twitched her ears and chuffed at the interesting tableau. They were all focused on the new horse, or so it seemed. Taking the opportunity, she reached over the stall door and drawing her lips back, grasped the handle of the iron bar that locked her in. She’d seen the stablemaster and his help do it with their hands many times as they opened the door to put her in the stall. And now she put the knowledge to good use. Drawing the bolt up gently, she felt the door give way from the weight of her shoulder against it. She paused, ears twitching again to catch the sound of someone coming toward her. Nothing heard, nothing seen. She dropped the bolt back into its guides and trotted briskly toward the open stable door, her pace picking up until she was at a full gallop as her tail cleared the entryway.

Across the yard she flew, picking up speed. Near the edge of the Inn grounds she slowed to a canter, her ears picking up the sounds of a familiar voice. There, talking to some of the small ones was her friend, Derufin. Perhaps he had time again for her today. Another ride would be nice, she thought. 'Falmar clip-clopped quietly behind him, noting with amusement the wide eyes of the little ones at her approach. ‘What’s the matter?’ she heard him say, as the little ones, taking a cautionary measure, backed away from him.

‘Falmar nodded her head up and down, and with a soft whicker of greeting, nudged the stablemaster hard on the small of his back . . .

---------

. . . Dum loquimur, fugerit invida aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero. -- Horace

[Envinyatar]

‘Oh, that is looking grand, lads!’ Derufin had just come over to where the four Hobbits were putting the siding on the cottage addition. They showed him where the shutters would be hung to each side of the window, and the flowerbox they’d already made up and painted that would hang beneath it. The four Hobbits and Derufin had just begun to discuss where might be best for the other window they’d planned to put in, when the lads had gone silent, their faces expressing alarm.

Derufin’s brow creased as Tomlin and Fallon backed quickly away from him, their eyes wide with wonder and some fear. Gil had looked from where he’d been planing the edges of a shutter, his mouth set in an ‘O!’ of surprise. It was Ferrin who’d called out the beginning of a warning . . . ‘Watch out! There’s . . .’ the lad had managed to squeak out.

A soft, familiar whicker sounded near his left shoulder. He was about to turn, seeking the source when something gave him a hard push from behind. In an instant he lay sprawled on his belly, face down in the dirt. An inquiring snort near his cheek, and the almost chortling nicker near his ear brought him up to his knees . . . face to face with the great grey horse now nuzzling his hair with affection.

‘Falmar!’ he rasped out, spitting the dust from his mouth. Derufin wrapped his fingers in the horse’s mane and pulled himself up to a standing position. ‘What are you doing here, girl?’ He wiped the grime from off his face with the tail of his shirt and ran his hands quickly over the horse. She seemed fine . . . no cuts, scrapes, bumps, or sore spots. Unlike me, he thought with a grimace.

The Hobbits, reassured by friendly interchange of man and beast, drew up near ‘Falmar, their hands reaching up to touch the silvered grey of her coat. She lowered her head, inviting them to scratch between her ears. With an unexpected expression of appreciation, she sent Gil flying on his backside as she nuzzled him on his chest. The other three laughed at his discomfiture, while Derufin offered the lad a hand up, saying it was obvious the horse liked him. Gil hmmph’d at the display of affection, wondering all the while what would happen to one whom the horse took a disliking.

‘We’ve work yet to do, my friend,’ Derufin said as he led the horse to a small pen near the cottage. Stay here for now until I can see to you.’ ‘Falmar acquiesced with a nod of her head, and began working on the tender shoots of grass and clover she found carpeting the enclosure. Tomlin and Fallon brought over a bucket for her, filled to the brim with clear, cold water from the well. And Gil, Derufin noted with a grin from his vantage point on the roof, sneaked over when he thought no one was looking and offered the grey beast an apple from his vest pocket.

The man and Hobbits returned to their work . . . and ‘Falmar was content to nicker loudly at them on occasion when she thought they needed the benefit of her opinion.

[Witch_Queen]

"Fainu, if that is where my heart leads me I will gladly go with you." Cree smiled and tried to put back her own thoughts. She would follow Fainu any wheres. She remembered the friendship they had and hopefully will have. In the long run, I am the only reason he is still alive. I still wish I was with him the day his parents died. Perhaps then he wouldn't have lost so much. Cree blamed herself for so much of the trouble of her friends. Between solem lips she said, "Fainu, I am to blame for you not being with your parents and for you being the way you are. To think, if I was there that day perhaps my heart would have died with you."

She looked up and coudn't keep from shedding a single tear. The others seemed to be shy and didn't want to be seen. Cree blinked back the other tears and wipped away the lonely one. She had so much to be thankful for, yet she had so much that tore her apart on the inside. "Fainu, I'm sorry for not being there when you needed me the most. I'm sorry for everything. Most of all, I'm sorry for letting you have my heart." Cree turned to see the door open and Avalon fly in. The bird always seemed majestic to her. There is only three people I could ever trust, Avalon, myself, and Fainu. He always had my heart and he will forever keep it. I can not deny him what I have long since denied myself.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Thou needs not to apologise," replied Fáinu, "there is nothing thou couldst have done to stop the evil things of that day. No one knew the dragon would come, no one knew what horror would be wrought. You are blameless." He meant the words, never had he blamed Cree for anything that happened that day, only himself... and the dragon.

Fáinu looked at Avalon the crow and smiled. The crow seemed content with itself and crowed happily. Some Hobits began to sing songs and dance, it was their custom and they all seemed happy. This was a complete contrast to the feeling that surrounded Cree and Fáinu. They had once again dug up their old memories and it had brought grief.

"Cree, you should be glad," said Fáinu, "That we both have our lives. To me, that says that we yet have something to do in this world, before the end of ends... before we must leave these shores. I am more delighted to see thee than perhaps it seems. For too long now have I wandered alone, seeking fore something that calls me."

He looked down at his mug and thought for a while. Cree was silent and seemed to be contemplating all he had said.

What will happen? Will you lead her to death? For thou knows what will happen if she follows you... fire, torment and death of a most unpleasant sort.

I cannot leave here to die a lone. She may have her crow, but I perceive that if I leave her alone, then she will fade in loneliness. And that may be worse.

Then you would gladly lead her to such an end? Thou art a fool!

Maybe, it is her will, and if she says she will follow me to death... then that perhaps is our fate.

"All choices seem ill," he mumbled under his breath, he knew she heard him, "Art thou sure? Cree, will you willingly follow me into peril? For that is all I see in my future, Elrond told me of it. That I am only to bring those I love to anguish... Do you wish for that fate? Am I, a mere elf of Rivendell, worth such hurt? Do you surly wish for such a fate? For I know that I do not and I know I cannot avoid it. But if you wish to come with me, I will not stop you... I merely warn you of what maybe to come."

[Witch_Queen]

Cree placed her hand on top of Fainu's left hand. "Fainu, I will follow you to whatever end I may meet. I am not afraid as long as I have you by my side." Cree could feel her cheeks begin to burn. She knew she was blushing. For one moment she was trying to be serious, yet she couldn't. Deep down inside the child was wanting to come out. "Fainu, I have faced many perils without you and believe me I would rather face one hundred years of death than a day without you ." She knew she had faced a long time without him. Cree could feel him in her heart.

So that was it, Cree would go with Fainu. She didn't care if it meant she might die. The only thing she ever wanted was to be with Fainu. Cree could only wait now for the day she would depart from the Shire. She would miss what friends she had made. The one thing she wouldn't miss was all the bad memories.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

They sat there in silence for a time. Fáinu stared in almost astonishment into Cree's eyes, he did not know what to say to her. She showed so much courage and faithfulness. the time he had spent alone had made him forget how much he longed for a companion, even his horse had run away on many occasions.

"For many years," he said, "my future has been dark to me, all I know is what Elrond told me. Ever since that black day, I have been alone. You have found a companion in your crow. Ask yourself this; would you have survived on your own without her? Would you have kept you mind?" he sighed and looked down at the table, "My only problem is that I do not know what I would do if I led you to death, I would ever blame myself. For Elrond said that one would be lead by me to death, and then I would again wander alone."

He looked up at Cree and saw that a tear was rolling down her cheek, Fáinu could do nothing. Nothing could he find to say to cheer her. All that came to mind were cold words that would perhaps harm their friendship.

"But If this is our fate," he said profoundly, "Then let us go to it unafraid. Even if all evil ever spawned comes for us, even if the fire of Hell scorched me, never shall I let thee be alone. Lest it is beyond my power."

[Arry]

Andwise chuckled as Derufin returned to the ladder and started his climb back up to the roof. ‘New lady in your life?’ he asked, nodding toward the horse. ‘She the one who gave you the rosemary?’ Derufin laughed, shaking his head “no”. If anything, he’d told the Hobbit that one would have eaten the rosemary had she found it. The two exchanged a few remarks on what they hoped to get done that day; then, Derufin climbed quickly up the ladder and disappeared onto the roof.

As he finished up the cabinetry in the kitchen, Andwise could hear the man thumping about above him as he moved over each new section he has shingling. The swish and scrape of the tarring brush and long-handled trowel on the roof’s surface were periodically interrupted as the man knelt down to tap the wooden shingles securely into place.

The Hobbit was just finishing up putting the hardware on the cabinet doors in preparation for hanging them when he heard Derufin’s voice call down. ‘Would someone send up a sheaf of shingles?’ he asked. ‘I’ll send down a rope to tie them to.’ Andwise stepped out of the kitchen’s door and found a good-sized stack of the cedar shingles. He bound them securely with thick twine, then hauled them over to where the rope had been dropped. A quick tie-up, and Derufin was hauling the stack up to the roof. ‘My thanks!’ he heard the man call out.

Once the holes were drilled in the cabinet frames, Andwise began attaching the doors with flat-head screws. It was not work that required a great deal of thought, or attention. He fell to thinking about Ferdy and what Cook was going to speak with the lad about.

Well, Lily . . . perhaps I should have paid a bit more attention to this. he thought, conjuring up the sweet face of his dear departed wife. But I always relied on you to handle the more ‘sensitive’ parts of raising the boy. How’s a thick-headed old carpenter like me to know what needs saying? Why, I swear, if it hadn’t been for you letting me know quite plain you were interested, I’d probably still be a bachelor today.

Andwise finished hanging the last of the doors and went outside to enjoy a pipeful. The main door to the cottage would be next, and he wanted to settle his mind before he started drawing the design on it he intended to carve. He filled and lit his little clay pipe and sat contentedly on the small wooden bench beneath the Rowan tree. ‘Needs a bit of sanding,’ he thought to himself, running his hand over the surface of the seat. ‘And a bit of paint, too I think.’ He leaned back against the trunk of the tree and surveyed the progress on the cottage. ‘Be done, I think, in two days. The lads have done good work. And Mister Derufin’s a right good worker.’

He fell to wondering about the man . . . where he’d come from, what had brought him here. He was older than Zimzi, though they seemed well suited to each other from what he’d gleaned in conversation and in overheard gossip in the Inn. There was at times a certain sadness he saw briefly in the man’s face and there had been some talk he had fought in a far away place in the War. ‘Best leave those wonderings to yourself, Andwise,’ he could just hear Lily saying. ‘The day is new and brings fresh hope with it. Just wish him the best for what lies ahead.’ The Hobbit chuckled to himself and nodded his head at her counsel.

Pipe finished, he tapped out the ashes into the garden soil, making sure they were covered and well out. Rested, he took up his chalk from his tool box and began to sketch out the simple design he had planned for door.

[Firefoot]

Lily looked up around the room and sighed. She was lonely and bored, for everyone around her was either deep in conversation or busy working on some task or another. She wanted something to do or someone to talk to, but nothing came to mind. She briefly considered going out to the stables to visit Clover, but a glance out the window showed that the people outside were just as busy as those inside; there were bound to be other people in the stable. Again the thought of home crossed her mind, and the idea that presented itself seemed so obvious she could not believe she had not thought of it before: she did not want to go home, but why not write a letter?

Her mind made up, she hurried upstairs to find some parchment and a pen. She found the items without any real difficulties and returned downstairs. She supposed it would be easier just to write it in her room but part of her still hoped that Posco might be coming back. A foolish hope, the sensible part of her mind said. He’s gone, and he won’t come back. Let him go. It didn’t feel any less painful though. Rather than dwell on it, she turned to the blank parchment staring up at her. She paused before starting, but once she began she wrote steadily until she neared the end. The parts about meeting Willow, Mira, and Daisy had been easy to write about, and she had written freely of meeting Bingo, Posco, Marcho, and Blanco. But how much to say about herself and Posco? After some careful thought, she continued:

I must tell you now about the relationship between Posco and myself. Though I have only met him recently, I know that I have fallen in love with him. We went on a splendid pony ride yesterday together, and I was given every indication that he shared my feelings. He is very shy, as I have mentioned, and since they were planning to leave for Buckland soon I knew I did not have much time with him. This is the part that puzzles me, for last night I told him I loved him, and he did not say much. I cannot tell if this is because he is shy, or because he does not actually love me. I do not know if they were returning to Buckland today or not; if they did and Posco does not come by the inn today, I will be leaving for home. I have entertained this thought a great deal already. If he does, however, return, I will likely be in the Shire for a few more weeks. You can take this as a sign for how things are going for me.

Your loving (confused) niece,

Lily

She folded the letter and placed it in her pocket; she would have to seal it later. She felt better after writing her thoughts down on paper. Now, she looked around for something to do or someone’s conversation to join. There would have to be something... if all else failed she would try outside.

[Nurumaiel]

Posco sat by the stable door, plucking up bits of grass and twisting them in his hands, and he looked thoughtfully at the door of the Inn. By now Marcho and Bingo would be riding home and, yes, even Blanco, his own brother. Aunt Malva had insisted on Peony staying for a week or perhaps longer to help with the work, and Posco had seized this opportunity to stay closer to Lily. Yet he knew she would be going home soon, as well.

He did not know why he sat so close to the Inn, and so obviously in sight. He did not know what he would say if he met with Lily, and he did not know what he should do. Perhaps she would still be angry at him, for she had seemed rather angry the previous evening. He could not see why, or at least he had not been able to, until Blanco's fist had met his face. It seemed likely that Lily had been puzzled but his silence, but he could not have said yes, no matter how much his heart yearned for it. If she came out now and saw him, he would be as polite as he could be, and if she insisted upon his answer he would explain to her why it could not come.

He looked at the door for a few moments more, and then he got up and went around to the other side of the stable, where he could not be seen from the Inn.

[Witch_Queen]

"Fainu, I am not afraid of what death my come upon me. I don't care what fate has planned for me. Just as long as I am with you when that day comes. The cursed must stay together." Cree laughed at the thought of curses. She didn't know why. For some reason it seemed almost impossible that her curse could become her blessing.

She could hear the hobbits of the inn already stirring about. It amazed her how much she had actually missed being around her own kind. Most of all she missed being around Fainu. She missed talking to him and most of all she just missed everything about him.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

They sat there in silence. Both contemplating all that had been said. Fáinu's thought wandered to and fro. He ran over the events of the last day. It had brought on s many changes. First he had met Adu, and now Cree had come forth, it all seemed very convenient. At that moment he had a thought.

"Cree, have you seen aught of Adu and Hama?" he asked, "Did they leave and head off to Rohan? I had considered following her thither, but Dwaline told me that it may be dangerous for me there." he laughed a little, "As if to say the other direction he suggested was not more so."

[Firefoot]

Lily decided that there was nothing going on of interest to her inside the Inn right now, so the logical place to look for something to do would be outside. She headed for the door, and once outside she could see why everyone was busy out there: it was the perfect sort of day to be outdoors. The sun was shining down from a blue sky on the lush land of the Shire. Everyone she could see was busy at work. She decided to walk around and see what was going on.

One hobbit that she saw was working in the garden; Lily thought that if she found nought else to do she might offer to help. As she began to walk down to the stables, it occured to her that she might be able to find the flower wreath she had dropped the previous night. If she was correct in her reasoning, it had fallen out when she had been climbing the tree. As she neared the stable, she saw that the people inside were busy (most of them Big Folk) so she passed up the opportunity to check on her pony. He was probably all right anyway.

She turned the corner of the barn and her gaze immediately swept to the ground near the tree. Sure enough, there it was. She took a few steps toward it before she realized she was not alone. It was just a feeling she had, and she looked up - there was Posco. The flowers were forgotten.

"You... you came back," she whispered. He was far enough away that she knew he could not have heard her. The corners of her mouth turned upwards in a hopeful smile and her heart sped faster. Could it be that he had come back for her?

"Good morning to you, Posco!" she called out. To herself, her voice sounded too loud.

"Good morning, Lily," he replied, walking toward her.

"It is," she agreed, "but why are you spending it back here?" As soon as the question left her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. Oh why did her tongue and heart have to go aflutter at the sight of him? "I mean... you could have gone up to the Inn - I would have seen you there..." And her voice trailed off because she felt that she was just making it worse. What if he hadn't come back because of her after all? This wasn't going well at all, and unable to think of something to say to correct her thoughts, she fell silent.

[Nurumaiel]

'Why am I spending it back here?' he repeated, and he smiled shyly. 'Well, my aunt lives close by and this is the only place I know where I can get away from her. I was sorry to leave Peony behind, of course, but Aunt Malva has always been rather partial to Hal and had nothing against him staying about, so my dear sister has protection.' He smiled at her again, and her cheeks turned rosy, and then he continued on at a rapid pace. He did not want to bring up memories of the previous evening in any way. He could hardly believe that Lily seemed so delighted to see him when he had felt quite confident that she would be very angry with him.

'As for staying out here rather than going into the Inn, I was not much in want of loud noise and much company. My aunt threw every insult she could at me, subtly hidden of course, but because of her comments I am very aware that my hair is tangled, my face is dirty, and that my britches are ripped at the knee. With such ongoing comments upon my appearance, and also my apparent unwillingness to assist her in the housework, I am not starving for company.' He smiled at her yet again, and her eyes began to dance. He was encouraged. 'Besides, Miss Lily, I was afraid you would be indoors, and I did not want to see you.'

Instantly the colour left her cheeks, and her light faded out of her eyes. She gazed up at him in shocked disappointment, and said nothing. He looked at her desperately, and then fixed his eyes at the tree behind her. A few moments past, and then he walked by her. She turned to follow his movements, struggling against tears. He strode to the tree, bent down and picked up the flowers, and, returning to her, presented them to her for the second time. 'I am afraid I always say the wrong thing,' he said. 'I must explain the reasoning for my rudeness, and also explain many other things. Is breakfast being served indoors?'

'Yes,' she said in a gasp, and she could manage no more.

'I suspect you were going to make sure your pony was all right. Please finish what you set out to do, and then come join me in the Common Room, where we will break our fast together. Is that very well with you?' She nodded, and releasing his hold on the flowers, spun on his heel and made his way towards the Inn. How foolish of him to speak his mind so! What he had said was true, but he had said it in a manner that gave her every reason to believe that he was avoiding her. He was, of course, but it was only because he had been afraid she was angry with him. Even when he was hiding from her, he was longing for her company. He must explain away his error, and he must have some little time alone while she was in the stables to think of how to explain his manner towards her the previous evening. It would not be an easy task.

[Firefoot]

Lily gaped after Posco in hurt astonishment, her mouth working silently. She did not know whether she wanted to yell, cry, or kiss him. He had seemed pleased to see her, and yet he spoke up with an "I did not want to see you." If she had been confused before, then she was even more befuddled now. He walked off toward the Inn without a backward glance.

Lily looked down at the flowers she held in her hands and jerked them down upon her head in frustration. She stormed off in the opposite direction with a muttered, "Men!" It was something she had heard her aunt say, but she had never really understood it until now. So he expected she was going to check on her pony? Oh, she would, and then he would hear what she had to say! Luckily, Clover was stabled near the end of the shedrow so she did not have to interrupt those further down the aisle. As she had expected, he was bedded down with clean straw and had fresh hay to eat. At least this part of my life is running normally, she thought wryly.

With an absent pat on his nose she left Clover to his breakfast. Lily took her time getting up to the inn. (Let him wait.) She collected her thoughts as well as she could, most of which were a jumbled mix of "how could he", "what in Middle-earth does he mean by that", and "how did I fall in love with him...". She reached the inn door and shoved it open. She saw Posco sitting alone at a table, and went over to join him. He smiled slightly at her, but she was not about to be put off.

"Now you had better explain yourself to me, Posco Brandybuck, or I will be angry," she said, her eyes glittering dangerously. "Speak plainly!"

[Witch_Queen]

Cree looked at Fáinu, she hadn't heard a word about Hama or Adu. As far as she knew they were still in the Shire. "Fáinu, I haven't heard from Adu or Hama since yesterday. I have no clue where they maybe." Her mind began to wander again. She knew that she needed a short leash on her mind but welcomed the chance of curiousity. Everything was still not making any sense to her. Why would Fáinu want to go to Rohan, unless for some reason he has "feelings" for Adu. She knew what the race of men were like. After all her old love Grimm was the only man she actually cared for besides Hama. She noticed that the look in Fáinu's eyes were not normal.

"Fáinu, you don't trust Hama, why?" She figured she caught him off guard. Nothing he could say now would suprise her. Cree had seen many things in her short life. She sat back in her seat and looked at Fáinu waiting for an answer she knew he would have to clarify.

Hama is a good man. Perhaps a better man than the King of man. Hama will not allow anything to harm Adu and won't hurt her himself. The only thing that Adu can't be protected from is herself. For we ourselves become our worse enemies. Looking ahead, after so many years, I have seen so many people become their own exicutioners.

[Nurumaiel]

Posco's mouth fell open and he pushed himself away from Lily as far as he could, which was not far, for his chair confined him. Every ounce of shyness that she had dispelled over the past few days swelled up in him again, and he could not speak for it. No words came to his lips, only the fear that she was speaking too loudly and would be overheard, only the thought that she was frightening and imposing and so much of a stranger. Where was his gentle Lily, the one he had loved, the one who had born with him patiently through all his difficulties in speech when other girls would just walk away laughing? Unless they became angry with him, as Lily was now. This could not be Lily, this lass. Lily had always smiled encouragingly at him when his shyness and sometimes his honesty confused and entangled him, and now she was angry. He could not think of what to say to her, anymore than he could think of what to say to the Elf that was dining at the other table.

He reached up and pulled the brim of his cap down so his eyes were hid, and he studied the floor intently. 'Please, Miss Lily,' he said, and then he was lost. Please what? What was he to say to her? What did he want her to do? Calm herself? That would be foolish to ask. And he'd have to admit that she had made him frightened and shy, and she would be even angrier. He glanced up at her again, and her eyes were smouldering. There, all hopes were gone! He had returned to the Inn in hopes that she was not angry with him, and she had smiled at him kindly and spoken to him warmly. All deceiving him! She was angry at him. This could be nothing but anger.

He stood, abruptly, and his cap fell from his head. He grasped it as it tumbled to the ground, and he fumbled with it confusedly, looking everywhere but at her. His eyes fell on the table; he saw their breakfast had been served. 'Please, Miss Lily,' he said again, and this time he had a request to make of her, 'sit here and eat your breakfast. I must go outdoors and get some fresh air.' Now her eyes would be even angrier, certainly. She would hate him, surely. He did not look at her as he fled from the Common Room.

Outside the door he stood taking deep, shaking breaths. In the space of a few moments his own dear Lily, smiling and kind, had changed into a girl filled with anger, demanding for an explanation. Had he not promised to give her one? He could hardly speak now. And come to think of it, he could hardly breathe now. He put his hand on his chest and then immediately to his eyes, for to his annoyance he found them hot and stinging. Why was he so compelled to cry? She had not frightened him so very badly. No, she had not frightened him very badly, but she had scared all hope away. She was angry with him. She did not love him. He had feared as much. The moonlight had been playing tricks with her, and by it she had been compelled to confess love for him.

The tree that she had climbed the previous evening was not far; he staggered towards it as if he was drunk, rubbing frantically at his eyes with one hand and clutching his heaving chest with the other. It was so difficult to breathe! He felt as though someone had planted their fist in his stomach and knocked the air out of him. He must calm himself, or he would have no hope of either breathing or resisting his urge to weep. He climbed to a high branch in the tree, pressing himself against the trunk so he would have support, and also so he would be better shrouded by the green leaves.

So this was it! He had sacrificed his sanity by staying with Aunt Malva, and sacrificed his peace of mind by letting Blanco go off without him, and all to find that Lily was angry with him. Not only angry with him, but so angry as to speak in hot tones and act as though she cared nothing for him. Truly she did not. She could not. If she cared for him she would not shout at him so when she knew he was a timid sort of fellow.

A timid sort of fellow! Bitterness sprang into his heart. Well, it was no surprise she did not care for him, when he was so meek and shy. Didn't the lassies like to have strong hobbits who they could depend on a bit more? 'No doubt,' said Posco to himself, 'Lily would have preferred it if, when she had been shouting at me, I had stood imposingly over her with a stern, angry look in my eye, and then fallen upon her with passionate kisses, exclaiming on how beautiful she was when she was angry. Well, I don't do that, and the hobbits I've seen that have are fools who break the lass's heart the next day.' He swiped furiously at his eyes. The tears were leaving, and he could breathe steadier now.

'What would she want in a husband?' he demanded to himself. 'If she wants a hobbit who would love her in a quiet manner, one who will work to provide for her and her children, one who will defend the home with courage and strength if it is in danger, then she has me. If she wants a hobbit who would loudly proclaim his love for her through song and poem and passionate embraces, one who would care more for society and parties than the prospect of raising children, and one who would be rich enough to hire hobbit guards to defend the home rather than himself, well then! she can go home and search for such a hobbit, but she won't have him in me. If she wanted such a hobbit I would not marry her no matter how much she pleaded, for I would make her uncommonly unhappy.'

He paused, and reflected upon her angry manner and flashing eyes of only a few moments ago. 'She can't abide my trouble with talking,' he said, but this time directing his speech not to himself but to a little bird who had perched on the branch and was gazing at him with an inquisitive, rather nervous eye. 'I say things honestly, but I never can express them right for I'm not one for talking, and it always makes folk upset. If it upsets her, too, she might as well forget her little idea about marrying me, for I would be constantly offending and hurting her, without the least intention of doing so.'

His head fell wearily against the tree and his hands dropped, startling the little bird. He watched it flying away, and he sighed. 'My one hope of ever being happily married was that I would meet a girl who was gentle and quiet, but fun-loving too; a girl who would not speak very loudly because it startles me; a girl who would be patient enough to bear with my shyness and awkwardness; a girl who would encourage me with smiles and kindly looks. Lily seemed to be all of this, and I loved her. Now she is loud and angry, and impatient with me. But, confound it all!' he burst out passionately. 'I love her still!' And he looked miserably up at the sky.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman couldn't breathe as her head whipped around to stare at Snaveling, her hand coming up short in front of the horse's muzzle and her breath catching in her throat. "You...you would..." she struggled for breath and looked back at the horse, the most beautiful of it's sort that she had ever seen and gaped at Snaveling in a most unladylike manner. "Snaveling, I couldn't possibly take such a gift."

"Why not?" he replied, simply. Aman gave a short laugh. "Snaveling, he is..."

"Please do."

Aman looked across at him, uncomprehending, puzzlement in her eyes, and also a little hurt. Snaveling, this isn't fair: why mislead me with such a gift when I know it is not me who you love...

"Amanaduial, you showed me kindness when no one was prepared to, not even Roa, even when you did not need to. You could have thrown me out or handed me over to the Shirriff of the Shire, or to the Bree council - but you did the opposite. You actually tried to understand me. No one has ever done that before!" Snaveling's emphatic words almost laughed and he smiled widely across at her.

"It was the king's gift to you..." she replied softly.

"Aye, and not the first or last, Aman. This...this horse, this magnificent creature, is the finest steed I have ridden, the finest steed almost anyone could ever claim to have ridden. Think, Aman," Snaveling's voice was honeyed and smooth, wonderfully persuasive. "the finest horse in the West, descended from the line of the Meeras. Given to you, by me."

Aman had forgotten how to breathe as her eyes lingered on the horse, then, trembling, reached towards it's face. The beast watched her sombrely, great dark eyes conveying more than human intelligence, before it reached forward and deigned to touch her hand. His fur was soft as silk on leather and when he snorted Aman felt the breath of the Lords of the West sigh across her fingers.

"Who could name such an animal..."

"You." Given to you, by me...By me...." Aman turned to look back at the Man as he leaned nonchalantly against the side of the stall, his arms folded across the fine material of his black shirt as he watched her, a tender half smile on his darksome features, cast as they were half in shadow. His eyes glittered mischieviously although the stables were not dark, and Aman saw every complex facet of Snaveling both simplified and amplified in that instant into one perfect being as she watched him. He smiled again, blinking and breaking the spell back to reality - but only slightly. "What do you say, Mistress Rohan," he drawled softly, using the name he had once called her. "Will you accept my gift?"

Aman didn't reply, watching him with a delighted secret smile on her impish features. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back slightly, trying to remember the song that nagged at the corner of her mind: the song Snaveling had once sung, in a happy moment months ago in the Inn. The words crept around her mind and she grasped a few, her voice strengthening from a hesitant hum to a pleasant murmur as she sang the familiar, old tune:

"A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever...."

Snaveling had straightened up as she sang, his face dawning with a thousand suns in recognition and he moved forward slightly, his lips moving in time with hers. As he came towards her, Aman's hand moved up to his face, and his inadvertantly did the same. Eyes closing slightly, Aman's head tipped on one side as Snaveling leant his face down towards hers...

The great whinny from behind made Aman leap and spin around to see 'Falmar speed out of the stable. A thousand ferocious mental curses flew after the horse - and after only a split-second's hesitation, so did Aman, her skirts held up about her as she pursued the mare. "'Falmar! Rochfalmar!" Her cries did little to mute the whirling of her thoughts, a mad flurry of hope and regret and panic at what had almost happened there, and always the song in the background.

And here by thee will I sing and sigh,
For ever and for ever...

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"I know not," replied Fáinu, "Something about his seems queer to me. It is unsettling. But now, I am jumping to conclusions, many have their own business to attend to."

He sipped his ale and looked Cree in the eyes and smiled. Until now he had made not definite plans for the future. There was a lot of trouble in the north according to Dwaline, there would be much for Cree and himself to do there, rather than sit in an Inn all day.

"So, you are truly unafraid of whatever fate?" he said after a long silence, "Do you not feel that your strength would be better spent elsewhere? Do not think that I don't value our friendship, for I do very dearly. But I must know, what do you think is your fate?" he knew he could not answer to the question himself, but wished to know if Cree had any ideas,

"Do you thin your days shall be spent following me into peril? Me, a lonely wanderer and betrayer of kin and companions." Smaugs words were coming right out of his mouth, as if he now believed them more than ever.

[Firefoot]

Lily was shocked that Posco had walked out on her again. Maybe he really didn't want to see her! But why, then, had he told her to meet him at the inn? Her first inclination was to go out and follow him to get everything straightened out right away. She even made a move to follow him, and then she realized that it would be exactly the wrong thing to do. He was shaken up, clearly, and would need time to regroup.

She tried to step back from the situation, see it from his point of view, and figure out what she had done wrong. He had been sitting up here, waiting for her, presumably. Then she had stormed into the common room and demanded... Lily stopped there, for she knew that was precisely her error. What had happened to encouraging him, being understanding? He was so shy, that of course he would freeze up and try to flee if she came at him angry. It was her own fault, and she knew it. It was that temper of hers... it could get mighty fierce, as she had shown Marcho their first night here. She wondered what Posco would have thought if he had seen her then. Most of the possible outcomes made her wince. An apology was in order, she knew. As soon as he was ready.

But wait. If she waited until he was ready, she might well wait until her dying day. No, she would have to go to him, but where had he gone? Surely he had not left? Lily feared it might well be so. She was no hungrier than she had been earlier, and abandoning all thoughts of waiting for Posco there she hurried outside. She did not intend to find him just yet, but she would not let him leave under her very nose. They would understand each other, Lily determined. She was relieved that the road was empty for a good stretch in either direction; he was still here somewhere. She sat down on the steps leading up to the Inn door to think and wait.

First of all, mused Lily, he must understand that I am not angry at him, and all I want is to talk things out. I will need to bring him back out of his shell, most likely. Trust is a precious thing to gain, and not easily regained once lost. If she had severed that, Lily knew that she would have a lot of ground to cover again. She wouldn't give up, though, because if he did love her, it would be all worth while. She could only hope that he did, for she had given her heart over to him, whether he knew it or not, and the thought of him leaving for ever wrenched inside of her. All seemed hopeless to her, but as surely as Lily had a temper, she had ambition to match, and she had set her goal for nothing less than marrying Posco. Did he not realize that she loved him, even after admitting it straight out? Patience, she told herself. She did not like being patient. Alas that perhaps the most important virtue she needed was the one she lacked!

Finally she could stand the waiting no longer. Lily got up and dusted herself off. She did not see Posco anywhere nearby, so she decided to head back to the stables. A glance inside showed her he was not there. On a hunch, she looked back around where she had found him earlier. She was sorely disappointed to find the space empty save for the tree she had climbed yesterday and a robin poking around in the ground for worms.

"Posco, where are you?" she said outloud, a tone of dispair in her voice. Maybe he had left, and she had missed him. With a sigh, she turned around to go back to the inn. He had said he would come back, or at least it had been implied. She would have to trust him.

[Nurumaiel]

Posco heard Lily calling his name, and words sprang to his lips. He forced them away, closing his eyes, trying to pretend she was not there. Things were bad enough as they were; he would not make them even worse by seeing her again. It would be too risky. He might say something to make her even angrier. Yet, as he reflected upon it, he had not heard anger in her voice but worry and despair. Very well! He had known that girls were curious creatures, or at least his father always said so, but this was quite shocking. Was she repentant? Was she worried that he was angry? What was she? Maybe she was trying to fool him, trying to bring him out so she could speak angrily with him again.

This was too much!

Posco burst into laughter, and moved himself carefully along the branch until he was closer to the edge. Rustling the leaves loudly, he called softly down, 'Lily! I'm up here; come along up yourself!'

[Firefoot]

Surprised, Lily turned around. She had spoken out of hopelessness, never actually expecting to be answered, and yet he had! She felt a sense of simple delight. He was at least willing to listen to her still; he must not have totally turned from her. She could only hope.

Lily took a bit more care hoisting herself up into the tree now that she was not alone. She gratefully took Posco's proffered hand for help in getting up to the higher branches, releasing it as soon as she was secure. She took a deep breath before speaking, trying to remember everything she had thought out so carefully only a few minutes before. It came to her in bits and pieces, but she plunged on, not caring overmuch that her speech was rather disjointed.

"Posco, I'm not angry with you, as I imagine you must think that I am. I was just a bit, er, flustered. Something I suppose you will find about me is that I do have a pretty bad temper, though I do try not to let it show," she added hastily seeing the apalled look on his face. "Please bear with me on that. So what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry if I ever made you think I was mad at you. I was confused, is all. And I still am." This last part was said very carefully but pointedly. She did not give him time to answer just yet, though. She still had more to say. "Another thing I should tell you is that I do not lie often, Posco. If I say something, I likely mean it. And I meant it when I told you that I loved you last night."

[Witch_Queen]

"Fáinu, my fate is to die by your side. I do not fear what fate has instore for me. I fear nothing now that I have the only thing I sought out for. I left Eryn Lasgalen because there was nothing there for me, I left to find you. What makes you think that I won't lay my life down for you? You are not my kin and it has been long since I have been your companion. If you care anything about me then you will have nothing against me going with you." Fáinu's words had struck a nerve. Cree wouldn't spend the rest of her life running from her curse. She wasn't going to let Fáinu get rid of her so fast. She had finally found him and didn't want to loose him again.

How can he say he cares when all he wants to do is get rid of me. His words are poison to my heart. Why do I stay here and listen to him. He talks about a fate he's not sure of. Well may his curse bring him end. I will not abandon him when he needs someone. Cree's eyes told her every thought. "Fáinu, why won't you be content with me going with you. There is nothing you can do that may change my mind. I will not let you abandon me again and I won't abadon you again." She felt Avalon's eyes on her. The bird was staring at Cree and wasn't even blinking.

Avalon not you too. I will not be subject to such thoughts. I am going, if you choose to stay here then go right ahead, but I'm going. Not you or him can stop me. Cree returned the crow's looks before she broke out in a laugh. No matter how serious she was trying to be, Cree couldn't help but laugh at the bird and herself.

[Nurumaiel]

'You do?' Posco gasped, and then he took Lily's hands in his and kissed them, his face flushed with wonder and delight. 'I am so very glad!' He hesitated for a moment then, and then he released her hands and sat more at ease. 'Lily, you have explained that you must explain, or at least all I would want of you, though I wanted nothing more than to know that you still loved me. Now it is my turn.' He sighed, and struggled with the thoughts in his mind. How was he to put this? How could he say it without offending her? Her eyes were shining; surely she would not be so easily offended!

'Lily, I must apologize for my seemingly cold behavior last evening,' he said, blushing as he spoke. 'I was raised by a father that had the highest standards of honour when it comes to a girl. I don't blame these high standards, but coupled with my awkwardness and shyness, it produces an awful effect. When you told me last night that you loved me, I replied that I thought it was nice. I did think it was nice, but I also thought it was glorious beyond belief. To learn that my dream had been shared by you... Perhaps it would have been the appropriate thing to tell you that I loved you and then kissed you right there, but it would only cause trouble for both of us. My parents would not look favourably upon it, for I would not have known you long. I do not know what your family would think about it, but it seems likely to me that they would wish to know me a little while before consenting to my marrying you. It doesn't seem right to marry you so soon after I had known you. We must seek consent from our guardians, we must go about things in a manner that will not draw attention -that is to say, we should wait until we've known one another a bit longer- and ridicule, and we must be absolutely sure it's the right thing to do. We wouldn't want to be married and regret it afterwards.

'It is a very difficult concept to explain, Lily. My father and mother met each other when they were still in their tweens, and it was love at first sight. However, being so young and so unacquainted, it wasn't consider proper for them to appear on very friendly terms. My mother hid her feelings amply, even from my father, and he made no move towards her until he was sure she loved him, and sure that he was really willing to spend all his life with her. Even then, he did not say a word to her on the matter until they were out of their tweens. By then they had known each other for some time and were quite confident that they were willing to spend their lifetimes with one another. Only then did he tell her his true feelings and ask her to marry him. Of course she said yes.

'He raised Blanco and I in the same manner. It is honourable and gallant, or that is what he said. You don't want to put a girl in a spot where she either has to refuse you or marry you and face all gossip because she is young, or because she has not known you for long, or some other such thing. And if she accepts, you'll have her in a situation where if she realizes she was simply immature and foolish she will be stuck as your wife for all time. Two or three days is not really enough time to be absolutely certain. I know girls that fall in and out of love, and only a fair amount of time could say if it's a love that will fall out or not.'

He stopped to take a breath and steady himself, for he was making one of the longest speeches he had ever made. At last he looked earnestly into her eyes and spoke the same way, saying, 'So, you see, Lily... or at least you see the point I am trying to make, even if I don't describe it right... You see, no matter what I feel for you, I can't say. Not yet, anyway.'

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu looked up at her; he showed not fear or worry. He did not want to get rid of her, merely warn her against rash deeds.

"I know that you are faithful," he said, "Many a time hath you proved so, I simply sense a foreboding. I accept that you will go with me, but you must realise, that this is an unexpected turn of events."

He tried to get rid of the thoughts Smaug had planted in his mind and re gain his own sanity. He knew his cold words had struck a nerve, and he knew he should not have said such things. It was one more thing to regret.

"You never abandoned me, Cree," he said after a pause, "I never blamed you for aught that happened to me. Nay, ever my curses fall upon Smaug and all his kin." then his hand began to burn more then ever, but he flinched not. He clenched his hand and looked Cree in the eyes.

"You have known hurt, Cree," he said gravely, "Thou hast know deep wounds, you know what it is to wander in a nightmare world, haunted and cursed. More than any other in this world, I would have you accompany me to whatever end!"

For now, it seemed he had come back to his common thinking. Why those cold words had come before he knew not. Perhaps, the memory was burned into his mind, like the wound was burned into his hand.

[starkat]

Gwenneth had not ridden far, before Elenath stumbled. After the stumble, the mare began limping so the elf maid returned to the inn. She entered the stables and began tending to her horse. Repeating a list of things that she needed, she went looking for the stable master.

She found him at a small cottage where several hobbits were working. The stable master noticed her and came over. Gwenneth asked him where to find the needed items and returned to her horse. She soaked Elenath's foot and then returned to the inn.

She walked up to the bar and ordered a glass of tea. Then looking around the room, she took a seat at an empty table.

[Primrose Bolger]

The sun was climbing high into the sky as Ginger leaned on the handle of her hoe and surveyed her handiwork in the garden. The hills of potatoes were nicely padded now with straw and all the weeds between the rows had been pulled out and a nice little system of furrows made between to the plants to channel the water. As she’d gone along, she picked a basket of vegetables for the evening meal. Cook had been simmering some pieces of old hen in the large soup kettle, with a bouquet of herbs and a fat yellow onion. She’d asked Ginger to bring in a basket filled with taters, carrots, peas, snap beans, and parsnips. Ginger sighed, knowing that all these vegetables would need to be cleaned and diced for the soup.

As she glanced around the vegetable garden, she decided her work with it was done for the day. The herb garden was smaller and would take less time – weeds did not seem to spring up in it so readily for some reason. And then of course there were the flower plantings to be seen to, but that would be a task to her delight. Ginger loved working with flowers; they were so pretty, she thought, and delicate. And so delightful to smell. These last two bits of gardening would have to wait, she decided. She was a bit hungry, and thirsty for something other than well water. Ginger walked to the tool shed and put the hoe away, thinking now of a cool glass of tea and a nice sticky bun.

In through the kitchen door she went, careful to wipe her feet on the rug before she entered. The kitchen was empty for the moment, though down the cellar stairs she could hear the sound of hammering and the slightly off key whistling of various tunes. Lunch was laid out along the cupboard, waiting to be prepared a little later in the morning – hams and cheeses to be sliced for sandwiches, crisp lettuce from the garden early that morning draining in the colander in the sink, mustards, pickles, and there on racks, cookies cooling. Ginger sat her basket of vegetables by the sink, then nosed about for a stray sticky bun. A plate of them stood on the kitchen table covered with a clean cloth and she took two big fat ones on a bright blue plate she’d gotten from the cupboard.

Now all she needed was a cool glass of tea. Buttercup came in looking for a glass of teas for a customer. ‘Here,’ she said, handing two glasses of tea to Ginger. ‘Take this out to that table near the bar. The one where one of the Fair Folk is sitting by herself. Her name is Gwenneth.’ She saw the hesitant look on the Hobbit’s face. ‘Go on now! She won’t bite. And I have things to get done in here.’

Ginger rarely visited the Inn. Her knowledge of the Fair Folk was limited to stories from her Da how he’d seen them at times at night passing through the woods going west. They seemed rather magical to her from the stories, beautiful and tall and fair of face and graceful. She peeked through the kitchen door to see where the Elf was and a nervous giggle almost escaped her. Somehow the idea of bringing tea to one of the Fair Folk seemed strange. In her images of them built off the stories, she thought that they might be above eating and drinking, so to speak. Quite unlike Hobbits. But there one sat, waiting for tea . . . ordinary tea . . . just as she was having. Squaring her shoulders, she put on her best smile and went up to the lady Elf’s table.

‘Begging your pardon, Mistress . . . Gwenneth, is it. But here’s your tea, fresh made!’ Ginger held out her plate with the two sticky buns on it. ‘And I’d be happy as ever if you’d like to share these with me.’

Oh my, now you’ve gone and done it Ginger girl! Perhaps she wanted some time to herself! she thought, turning several shades of crimson at her boldness.

[starkat]

Gwenneth had been feeling a little lonely ever since last night so when a hobbit came up to her with the tea she had ordered, the young elf maid smiled. A smell waifted up from the plate in the other's hands. Gwenneth gave her a friendly smile. "I would be glad if you would join me."

The youg elf woman fidled with the jewel hung around her neck as her new companion sat down. Gwenneth spoke first. "May I ask what your name is? Please tell me something about yourself."

[Firefoot]

"Thank you. What you have said is everything I would have hoped for," said Lily. "And I think you are right about waiting a while. We have plenty of time." Lily was absolutely blissful. To think that he would love her too...! She gazed over at Posco. She wanted to kiss him, though she knew it would be better in the end if they went slow, and more pertinent at the moment was the fact that they were sitting on separate branches. Patience, again. She reckoned she would be the most patient hobbit in Middle-earth before all this was done with. Well, maybe not quite, she admitted.

"There is at least one big difference between us and your parents, though," said Lily seriously. It was not a pleasant prospect she was bringing up, but it had to be discussed. "We live many leagues apart. I will have to return to Bree eventually, until we were to get married, if that is the way things are to come. What will we do then?"

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Ginger, ma’am. Ginger Gamwich. From Bywater. My Ma’s sent me down to help Miz Bunce for the week. Lots of things to be done for the big party. And like my Ma always says – Many hands make light work.’

The Hobbit took a gulp of her tea to wet her now dry throat. My goodness! Here I am talking to one of the Fair Folk! she thought sneaking a look at the Elf’s face. I wonder if I should call her ma’am? Truth be told she looks hardly older than me. But didn’t Da say they lived a long, long time and didn’t age like us other folk do? Ginger pushed back the stray red curls from her face and twitched her little freckled nose as she thought.

Curiosity overcame her. The Elf looked a little lonely, she thought, as she watched her sip her tea. ‘Pardon my asking, ma’am . . . and you can tell me to mind my own business if you want to . . . but what’s a young one like you doing so far from home? Are you heading to the Havens, like my Da told me about? Or are you meeting someone here?’ Ginger’s romantic inclinations had grabbed hold of her imagination – perhaps some handsome Elf lord was looking for her and would carry her away on some great horse . . . She sighed dreamily, and reined in her fantasy as she looked over at the Elf again.

‘Or maybe you’re here for the handfasting. Is that it? Do you know Mister Derufin and his lady. Have you come to help?’

She looked down at her hands and sighed. They were grubby, despite her washing of them, from her work in the garden. Embarrassed, she folded them in her lap. The Elf’s hands she noted were lovely, the fingers long and tapered. No garden dirt clung to the fingernails.

‘I’m nattering on too much, aren’t I?’ she said in a low voice, her cheeks a little red from the realization. ‘One of my many faults, or so my Ma says.’ She took another sip of her tea as she collected her wits about her, then smiled at Gwenneth. ‘I’ll be quiet for a bit, I promise. Go on now – you talk, and tell me about yourself.’