The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

It is now late afternoon in the Shire.

The sun is still shining.

But, the wind has picked up; there are clouds blowing in from the West.

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

NOTE: A small rainstorm may be brewing up . . .

[Amanaduial the archer]

Oh that I could travel with you, Aman yearned silently. I grow tired of seeing all who come pass, and the shadow of discontent has passed once too many times across my mind. But would you take me, Master Snaveling? Such a fine beast, that beautiful black steed, surely may be taken as some hint...

Foolish girl, Aman. His heart lies in the South.

As does mine...

Not the Innkeeper's thoughts towards Snaveling were quite so easy dwelling on such things at the moment. "'Free of this ridiculous folk'?"

Aman's throat was dry when she repeated the words and she cast a sharp glance at Toby, to see him wearing a weary, wry smile. Tobias shook his head and looked as if to speak in the same weary manner that his expression bore, but Aman jumped in first, standing suddenly and taking a step towards Snaveling. "Master Snaveling, there is nothing in the world worse than being isolated from your own people, especially when it is not at your own choice: exiled from all your knew and believed and grew up with. I would expect you to understand, Snaveling, for was it not you who was reunited with your people recently? Of course, the court of Elessar was not where you grew up, but they are your people, your kin - you were welcomed and are still welcomed - because they are your people. The Halflings are different from the men of the South, a different race, a different land, a wholy different way of living: you may not agree with their customs, their ways, their leadership, but these people are Tobias's people. And I would not for one second have him forced away from them against his will, exiled and never to return. And as his friend, I would expect that you would not either."

There was a silence after the almost-challenge as Aman, though rather more diminuitive in height than Snaveling, faced him nonetheless eye to eye, almost quivering with passion. And in that moment, Aman saw something change in the man's expression, the flash of passion soften to a sort of tenderness - but it was not a look that Aman liked, far too akin as it was to the condescending tone he had earlier used. And she knew that it was nothing to do with Toby.

"Of course I am his friend." Snaveling replied coldly.

"I...I did not mean to insinuate that you were not," Aman wavered. "It...oh, gods' fire, this is ridiculous." She half turned away, a hand to her forehead, before she turned back to Snaveling, crossing her arms. "This is quite beside the point and I am so het up about this that...I made the point because quite simply that is how I feel. No one should be taken from their people against their will, and this exile would be pressured - do you honestly think Toby would never wish to return to the Shire? Toby?" She turned to the hobbit.

Toby sagged slightly, then sat forward on his seat, his hairy feet swinging slightly, a few centimetres as they were off the ground, as he stared pensively into space. After a moment, he spoke, slowly and thoughtfully. "Would I miss the Shire for itself? Who knows. But I do know that if I was never to be allowed back, I would most certainly yearn for it all the more."

Snaveling nodded slowly, and Aman did the same as she returned to her chair and her untouched glass of port which she contemplated taking a quick gulp of to calm herself, and contented herself with swilling it gloomily. Snaveling returned to his perch behind Tobias' chair, seeming to prefer it to one of the two spare armchairs which were still absent beside Aman's and Tobias'. Breaking the moody silence, Aman said, "For the meantime, we must think of some short time resolution of hiding Tobias. You cannot stay forever in the stables, Mr. Hornblower," she added, a small smile gracing her slight features. "The question is where..." she sat forward suddenly, clicking her fingers and almost spilling the port across her dress in the process. "The Thain's men - and whatever opinions we may differ on over the nature of the Thain himself, I think we can both agree that such a trio of bumbling fools with assumed authority has not been seen since the Scouring - but they said that they had a warrant to check everywhere in the Inn 'except my own personal chambers'." She paused, looking from one to the other excitedly. "They cannot check my own rooms - and besides, only I have to key to this one, although there is a spare key to my chambers."

Tobias shifted a little uncomfortably. "With all respect, Aman...locked in here?"

Aman noted the gentlehobbit's discomfort with the idea - reasonable worry, she supposed, from such a lifelong rogue. Though not a criminal, she ammended hastily. She inclined her head. "It would seem the only way - do not worry, Toby, only I would have the key and none other would get their hands on it. No one will corner you in here. And there really is only one other place good enough."

"Dare I ask...?" Tobias probed, in a tone of voice that said he highly suspected that he shouldn't.

"The roof. Well, exactly, your friend Snaveling never had much enthusiasm for it either," she agreed as Toby recoiled from the idea. "But there is only one key, and with me it shall stay. But...Toby, on a more long term scale, I would press the idea that you should meet your sister." She held up a hand as Tobias went white and Snaveling started to protest. "Abominable or not, my dear friend, she is the only one who can change this situation."

Rising, she entrusted the glass of port to Snaveling as she passed him and excused herself. "If you will excuse me gentlemen, I must go and play my part of good, and rather stupid, Innkeeper of the finest Inn around for this 'ridiculous' folk." She looked to Toby, her green eyes straight and direct as her hand hesitated on the door handle. "Toby, I would advise you to think on it."

And with that, she was gone, back into the whirl of the Green Dragon, all smiles and shouts and hidden thoughts.

[Arry]

The wind was growing chill as they walked to the Inn. Thick clouds scudded across the sky, making the afternoon seem colder as they obscured the western sun. Andwise and Derufin quickened their steps, anticipating that soon there would be rain. And, indeed, even as they closed the Inn’s kitchen door behind them, the fat drops had begun to fall.

‘Don’t you be tracking mud or dirt on my floors, Misters,’ Cook said as she stopped them at the entrance, her wooden spoon pointing to the rough woven mat spread out beneath their feet. Dutifully the two, wiped their feet and boots thoroughly before daring the clean, oak wood floor. Satisfied, Cook directed them to the large kitchen sink to wash up. Like schoolboys they waited her approval, which she gave with a quick nod of her head, before they passed through the kitchen’s swinging doors and into the common room.

Aman stood behind the bar, pulling the handle on the ale keg with a practiced ease as she held several half pint mugs with one hand and filled then brimming to the top one after the other in a quick arc. Buttercup was there, waiting with a large serving tray. The weather had driven a great many into the comfort of the Inn, and all of them, it seemed, were thirsty. Giving a wink to the Innkeeper, Derufin grabbed two of the pint mugs and handed one to Andwise. The Hobbit led the way to a table near the fireplace, close enough that they might put up their legs and warm their feet on the hearth.

Pipes were got out, and filled, tamped, and lit. The little ritual conducted in silence until the satisfied ‘ahh’ of exhalation after the first pull at the pipestem. Mugs were raised, and good wishes made to the other. They fell then, in companionable quiet, to looking about the room at the other patrons. The survey punctuated by sips of good brown ale and the fiddling with one’s pipe that is the main part of the art of smoking.

Buttercup brought them a small plate of ham with cheddar and pickle rolls to stave off any hunger pangs until supper would be served. Andwise helped himself to one, along with a refill to his mug, then pushed the plate cross the table to Derufin. He was feeling quite relaxed at the moment, his tongue loosened with the Dragon’s brew. The usual veil of reserve had been rent a bit, and he found himself inclined to talk.

He looked over the top of his mug with a recollective twinkle in his eye, and nodded his head at Derufin. ‘I remember the day my missus and I were handfasted,’ he said, chuckling at the man. ‘Lovely party. All the family there and half the Shire, or so it seemed. Nearly ate us out of house and home. Thank goodness the ladies had brought loads of meats and breads and cheeses and desserts . . . all trying to outdo the other, of course,' he confided . . . 'and the Inn had given a barrel or so of ale to quench the thirsty horde.’ He took a long pull at his mug and waved at Buttercup to bring the pitcher. ‘And music,’ he went one. ‘A small group of local lads played for us on the lawn round the Party Tree. We danced, my missus and I, until our feet were blistered.’

‘Sounds good to me!’ laughed Derufin, taking the pitcher of ale from Buttercup and setting it on the table. She raised her brows at him, saying, ‘Best you be able to walk to your room, Master Stabler. You’re too big for us poor Hobbits. We’ll just throw a blanket over you wherever you fall if you get too wobbly from the drink!’ She grinned as she spoke, then went on her way.

‘Now when the night had grown long,' Andwise went on, 'we bid the guests goodnight and went off to our own snug little bed . . . thinking to settle down. Our poor tired heads had barely touched the pillows when the awfullest racket you can imagine began just outside our window . . .’ Andwise paused to relight his pipe and wet his throat before continuing on.

Derufin’s brow puckered. He leaned across the table, wondering what sort of beast had laid siege to the house.

‘No beast,’ returned the Hobbit, chortling; the memory of throwing open the shutters to confront caterwauling making him laugh aloud. ‘It was the shivaree! We’d forgot all about it, we had!’ His laughter stopped short at the perplexed look on Derufin’s face. ‘You’ve heard of it? The shivaree? You've that custom where you’re from, right?’

[Lalwendë]

The wind was in the west and Jinniver felt sure there was a rainstorm approaching. The leaves on the trees were turning their pale undersides to face into the breeze, and it was common knowledge to farmers around Bree that the trees only did this if it were going to rain. Turning to face the west for a moment, as though she could somehow see the rain coming herself, Jinniver frowned. She hurried to fasten her freshly washed clothes to a line, hastily contrived from some of the twine from her pocket belt, and hung in the shelter of the trees behind the old cottage, where rain could not spoil them.

This was the most sheltered spot she could find, and she was anxious that the long tunics she normally wore dried quickly, for she had been forced into wearing her best dress and she felt very self conscious. It was a beautiful thing, cut trom a thick silk of a rich buttermilk colour. The neck, hem and long sleeves were trimmed with a deep line of green and gold braid, and the silk fabric was overlaid with a fine, faint pattern of leaves.

Jinniver was anxious about damaging the dress as it was such a beautiful garment and she began to wonder why she had even brought it with her. It was a fanciful notion that had made her do so; that The Shire might be a place where the hobbits were all fine folk, the kind who would not dream of buying from a rustic, plainly dressed woman. She had nursed this idea since the end of the troubles many years back, and despite what her father and brother had told her to the contrary, she had brought it along anyway. In her opinion, it was always best to be prepared. But now she knew the folk in the Green Dragon, she felt a little embarrassed about sitting down to supper with them dressed in such a manner.

Something else embarrassed her. And this was that she was all too aware that the dress was not loose fitting like her tunics and breeches. It had been given her many years ago, when she was to be married, and in those younger years she was not at all as self conscious as she was now. But she knew there was little she could do about it unless she wanted to hide in her bedchamber all evening and go hungry. And besides, how was she to hang out her washed clothes if she had nothing else to wear.

Sighing to herself, she had put the dress on, and immediately tried to cover it with an old shawl she took from the bottom of her travelling bag. It was threadbare but it was large, and she wrapped it tightly about her shoulders, covering up as much of herself as she could manage. The cook had smirked when she appeared in the kitchens, shrouded in the old shawl and hunched over, shyly asking if she might borrow some hot water and soap to do her laundry. Jinniver had scuttled away quickly, clutching the shawl tightly around her shoulders, and made for the back of the barn so she might do the washing unobserved.

She heard cheerful voices going towards the inn as she stood beneath the trees, and thoughts of supper and ale, a blazing fire and good company, made her hasten with her chore. When she was done, she took up her pocket belt which she had left on the ground. She carried it in her hand, in case any grime from it rubbed onto her skirts; she pulled the shawl tighter as the breeze, which was getting colder, caught it. As she was halfway to the inn, she was sure she felt raindrops.

[Witch_Queen]

Fáinu's words seemed heartless and without emotions. Cree couldn't even attempt a smile because his words went right through her heart like a knife through warm butter. She placed her hand over the bandages of her friend. "Fáinu, that day is now. Do not sit around and let life itself pass you by, if not for be but for yourself. You are so swallowed up in self pity that death could be knocking at your door but he only turns away because deep down in your soul NO ONE IS HOME!" Cree didn't know why she was being so mean to Fáinu. All he had done to her was leave her and deny her everything she ever wanted.

Since she had let Avalon go for some reason Cree found it more irritating to listen as others drown themselves in sorrow and self pity. She would rather spend the rest of her life in Valinor than watch the world kill itself. Her time to take a stand was now. She wasn't going to allow anything to pass her by. In a matter of only moments and hours Cree had changed from a love sick "child" to an elf full of ambition.

"Fáinu, I still care about you despite the fact that you still refuse to accept your destiny. I will always care about you even when you have pushed me away." Cree feared only one thing now and that was that Fáinu would abandon her when she needed him the most. Cree didn't want to leave his side ever, even if her life was to end tomorrow.

[elronds_daughter]

Alameth laughed. “Yes,” she said, “floods would be a disadvantage of living on a lake.”

She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Tell you about my life, eh? There really isn’t much to tell. My home is very near Edoras, and I’ve been there many times; but as I said, up till now I haven’t been more than ten miles from there. But Rohan truly is beautiful. The plains, the Entwash, even Fangorn Forest; though I wouldn’t recommend getting too close. The trees can be a bit hostile. And Meduseld! On a day when the sun shines, there is nothing in Middle-Earth can compare to that.”

[Amanaduial the archer]

"The shivaree?" Aman laughed as she picked up the Derufin's glass and re-filled it with some fine dark stout from the pitcher she was carrying. Looking at Andwise across the table as she set down the glass again, she wrinkled her nose curiously. "What's the shivaree?"

Andwise stared at her, eyebrows raised. "You don't...ah, well, fill my glass, Innkeeper, and I shall educate you both!"

[Lalwendë]

Trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible, Jinniver walked into the inn, closing the door quietly behind her, and slipped into a place at the end of Andwise and Derufin's table. After arranging herself so she was almost hidden by the table, she nodded to them both and set about the business of filling her pipe.

Aman appeared near the table, bearing a large pitcher of stout. Jinniver savoured the smell and tried to catch Aman's eye. She longed for a drink. Aman was cheerily talking with Derufin, and Jinniver could not but help hear the word 'shivaree' mentioned, as Aman's voice rose sharply as she said it. She had no idea what this might be, but a chill went down her spine, and she leaned forwards, hoping to hear a good story.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu smirked, slightly in content at the words "Self pity". A shadow seemed to have come across his face and his words seemed dark and filled with madness.

"I have no pity for myself," he said, "What use is there that way? I merely can see nothing for me. I care not. It is for thee, that I care. Fore I perceive that you’re intent on being by my side, may lead you to a peril too great for thine heart to withstand." Cree seemed wrathful, as if about to stand and cast a drinking vestal at him, but he fixed her with a stern look, and she did not move. He had more yet to say.

"You may say that you shall never leave my side. Not even if death takes you. I have seen many use such words, and later wish they had not. I wish you to take caution, not to be rash. Keep a sane mind, do not let you’re regret take hold of you, like mine has me." Cree did not know what to say. She stared at him, he did not seem to be the same elf she had been talking to earlier. He had changed, his voice was different, and he seemed to be looking at another world.

"You came hither to seek Manstarmin," said Fáinu, he defiantly did not seem himself, "Ye thought him alive when thou saw me. But I tell you now that he is dead. Nothing shall bring him back!" he stopped and breathed heavily. The shadow passed, and again, Fainu sat in the Green dragon. Cree was opposite him and did not seem best pleased. She seemed half frightened and half amazed at what he had said.

Fáinu turned his head and looked from the window. a light breeze seemed to be blowing, several hobbit children ran past the inn. Cree leant forward as if to say something, but she stopped and looked down.

"Do you not see?" said Fáinu, "The dragon's curse has held us both. Madness took me, you must forgive me. I knew not what I was saying. I must get some air." He got to his feet and stepped out of the inn. However, the sun was not shining down as he had exspected, but the cool breeze helped relax Fáinu's mind. The rain pattered against his hair and cooled him off.

[piosenniel]

Please Note:

It has clouded over in the Shire and is raining.

[starkat]

Gwenneth and Ginger entered the Inn and shook the rain out of their hair. The young elf maid lightly shook the two boquets she was holding. "I am going to go find Aman."

Seeing Ginger's surprised look, Gwenneth laughed softly. "I made a second boquet for Cook." The elf pushed a boquet into Ginger's hands. "Why don't you take it to her?" Her voice softened, "May I meet you back here? I would be glad to help with something else."

[Angel_Queen]

Ravon looked around it had been awhile since she had been back in the inn. Lewis and her bought a little house in the Shire and hadn't thought about going back to the inn until a few days ago. Ravon was happier now that she didn't have to worry about Cree or her home. After all her home was where ever Lewis was. Right now that was the Shire. With Lewis she was happy unlike she was so long ago. Ravon hadn't seen Lewis all day and was getting worried that he wasn't anywhere to be found. She saw Cree setting alone and what seemed to be trouble written in her eyes. She hadn't talked to Cree in so long and decided a few more minutes wouldn't matter.

Ravon noticed that Cree didn't have Avalon with her. Suddenly worried about what had happened to Cree's friend she walked over to find out. "Cree where is Avalon?" Cree looked up and told Ravon about how she had gotten rid of Avalon so the crow could live its life free from the worries of Cree's curse. Ravon felt sorry for Cree but wouldn't let it show. She turned as she heard the front door open. Lewis was there. Avoiding everyone's way, Ravon ran to meet Lewis before he could get away from her. "It is good to see you my love." There was a smile on her face that seemed to go from ear to ear. She was only happy with him and no one else. "You said you had a surprise for me. Where is it?" Ravon had her hand over the ring she had given Lewis when they had met so long ago. The ring only made Ravon feel that much more love from Lewis.

Deep down inside, though her feelings hid it, Ravon was afraid of one thing. She didn't want to losse Lewis to anyone or anything. But Ravon knew she would eventually loose him to death. Though she figured with his death would be her own.

[Nurumaiel]

Posco had said nothing but, "Oh," when Lily had told him about Tommy Banks, and he had smiled at her in an encouraging manner to show that it did not affect him very much, and then he had fallen silent. This silence was one that Lily did not endeavour to break. She sat there, at the table, watching him, and gazing down at the wood, and looking out the window, and some time had gone by. Eventually Posco had spoken again, and a friendly, common-place conversation began, which led to other conversations, which in turn led to other conversations, and time slipped by easily.

And now it was late afternoon, and the two stood by the window, looking ruefully out at the raining weather. "I'm afraid I rambled on too long, Lily," said Posco, "and now our ride is spoiled. We should have gone earlier."

"Oh, don't be concerning yourself about it," she said, her voice cheerful though her face did betray her disappointment at the inability to spend another afternoon riding with Posco. "Imagine if we had left before the rain began: we would not be hear, warm and dry. Granted, we're disappointed about the ride, but we should be warm and dry, rather than caught in a storm."

"Maybe," said Posco, and while his tone giving the impression that he was speaking to himself, the glances he gave her out of the corner of his eye made it clear that he was addressing the girl at his side. "In fact, absolutely correct. Maybe it will keep storming tomorrow, so you'll be unable to go home. You do mean to go home tomorrow?"

"I think so," she said, softly.

"If you do leave tomorrow, Lily, so will I, and I will return to my own home, though - " and here his eyes glinted fiercely " - if this Tommy Banks poses a real threat to your affections for me, and mine for you, I'll ride all the way to Bree and thrash him."

She could not help but laugh at this. The idea of the shy, timid Posco thrashing Tommy Banks was one very amusing. But aside from the laughable image of himself he presented, he also presented the fact that he did love her, and this fact was, in a sense, reinforced by his next words. Turning to her in the shy, blushing, determined manner he always adopted when he was about to make a request of her, he said: "Miss Lily, I hope you'll allow me to help you saddle your pony, and help you prepare to leave in any manner that would be of use, and then let me ride alongside you for a time to make sure you are safely on your way."

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis paced back and forth in front of the inn. It was raining, and he was soaked, but he didn't mind. All his mind on was the suprise he was going to tell Ravon. Well, he thought, This is it.

Lewis ascended the steps and entered the Green Dragon Inn. The warmth and cover of the building brought comfort to him. He was just hanging his coat, when he felt a familiar embrace. "It is good to see you my love." Ravon's voice was music to Lewis' ears, and it caused him to smile big. He gave no verbal reply, but wrapped his arms around Ravon in a big bear hug. Ravon spoke first. "You said you had a surprise for me. Where is it?" Lewis chuckled, "Is this why you came running for me? Because you knew I had a suprise for you?" A quick smile and mock-offense was her reply.

"Here, let's sit down," Lewis said as he led Ravon to a table. They sat down and Lewis grabbed both of Ravon's hands in his and looked into her captivating eyes. "Well first I should explain where I've been all day. Remember how I told you my Father is a blacksmith? Well I was looking for tools so that I could start a small smithy out of our house, so that I could support us while we're in the Shire." Lewis paused to let Ravon speak. "Alright, did you find anything?" she asked. "Yes, I found a retired old hobbit that is willing to sell me his old tools for a small price." "That's wonderful!" Ravon exclaimed, "Is that your surpirise?!" "Oh, no!" Lewis answered, "The suprise is much bigger." Ravon's hands tightened from anticipation inside of Lewis'. "But we can wait till after some dinner right?" He was stalling and he knew it, but he had to feel this one out for the right time to tell her...

[Angel_Queen]

Ravon was beyond surprised when Lewis told her about the blacksmith tools he was going to be able to acquire. "Lewis I guess we can wait until after we eat some dinner. Though I really would love to know what the surprise is." She could tell in his eyes that is was going to be something she wouldn't expect. Over the months that Ravon had lived with Lewis she had grown to love the way he was. She would end up having a full stomach before he would allow her to know what the sweets were. Desert after dinner. Ravon loved everything about Lewis but was still distant from him. Nothing would hurt her while Lewis was around. She knew she was safe for now.

"So Lewis what shall we have to eat then?" Ravon was trying to be patient but couldn't. It wasn't like her to be patient. She anticipated the worse but expected the best. Ravon listened as the ran gently came crashing down on the roof of the inn. She realized that she had left the windows up and was worried that for some reason the rain may get in. "Lewis did you go back by our home before you arrived at the inn. I'm afraid the windows are still up." Despite the fact that Ravon had a serious look on her face Lewis began to chuckle and laugh. "Ravon the windows are up. I stopped by the house to see if you was still there before coming back to the inn. All is well in our little hole in the ground." In all her life Ravon never imagined that she would be living in a hobbit hole like all her new neighbors.

Ravon stood up and looked down at Lewis. "I'm going to get an ale would you like one as well?" Lewis gave Ravon a nod and she knew that was her answer. She walked over to the counter and asked a waitress for two pints of ale before returning back to where Lewis was. The foam was layered on top of the warm liquid. Warm ale was always good on a rainy day. Sitting down she placed a mug in front of Lewis. "Here's to us." Ravon's mug and Lewis' mug slightly touched making the foam jiggle. She took a drink and set her mug back down only to be reminded of her old home. When it rained she would always love to dance in it. Now more than anything, Ravon just wanted to be with Lewis. To her it didn't matter what the weather was like, cause with him the sun was always shining.

[Firefoot]

Lily felt an immense relief at Posco's offer. She had been worried, before, when he had hardly said anything about her news. She had wondered if he did in fact think that she should do as her aunt and uncle would likely expect, and if she had been wrong in telling him. But she worried no more, because Posco had made himself clear. She smiled over at him.

"I would be delighted if you would ride with me," Lily replied with a pleased smile. "If it's not raining-" she darted a wistful glance out the window "-then we can leave tomorrow after breakfast sometime." It seemed to be the perfect solution. She had not really wanted to leave just yet, especially now with Tommy Banks waiting for her, and say good-bye to Posco for a time, but she had been away from home for quite a while now. If Posco would ride with her for a time, though... they could take their time, and despite the fact that she would be heading home, he would be with her. It was the best of both worlds.

Posco returned her smile with one of his own; Lily recognized it as the same one he had given when she said she would go riding with him. Lily continued, "I hope that there won't be any problems straightening everything out at home." Her features were even, but her voice conveyed a hint of worry. "If there are, well, you may come and 'thrash Tommy Banks,' and if that solves nothing I will run away with you." Her eyes glinted with amusement, though she was being serious, at least in part. She would do whatever she thought was necessary to be with Posco. She wasn't sure what that might entail, and hoped it wasn't too drastic. She was not rebellious by nature, nor did she want to be, but if rebellion was the solution her nature would not stand in the way of her love.

"I hope everything works out," she whispered. She did not know if Posco heard her or not, but either way she took comfort in his presence. She feared that she would miss him something terrible before long.

[Nurumaiel]

Posco glanced nervously down at Lily and coughed slightly. "Well, Lily," he said, as if he regretted his words but felt them his duty to say, "I don't know if we should actually run away. My parents wouldn't like it, and your aunt and uncle wouldn't like it."

"Oh, Posco, I don't really mean it."

"Of course not," he said, and his face brightened. Both were silent for a time, and Posco gazed out at the softly falling rain. He had always loved rain, for it was so soft and smooth-looking, and the sky was grey as if a painted picture, and mysterious mists would sweep over the green hills. Yet this rain seemed to be the outward manifestation of the dreariness in his heart. He did not want Lily to go home, and he did not want her to spend too much time with Tommy Banks. And he did not want to say what he felt he must say. She might misunderstand him, and begin to doubt his affections for her. Nevertheless...

"Lily," said he, and she turned her eyes up to him. He could not help but see the love in her eyes. She enjoyed hearing him speak her name, just as much as he enjoyed hearing her speak his name. He hardly had the heart to go on; but he remembered: he was not saying anything to give her doubt. He was merely speaking as he felt he should speak, as a gentlehobbit. "Lily, when you go home, for my sake, don't be cold and unkind to Tommy Banks. Don't act rebellious towards your aunt and uncle. Be obedient to them as far as you can, and if they try to impose the marriage upon you, be respectful when you answer them. And... and... don't entirely disregard Tommy Banks from your mind. Let him talk to you, and talk to him in return, and try to discern your heart... discern if you really, truly love me, or if you would not be happier with Tommy Banks."

"Of course I love you, Posco," she cried, and dismay was on her face. "Of course I shan't want to marry Tommy Banks. I could not be happy with him."

"I believe it fully, Lily," said Posco, "but I would feel much easier about marrying you if I knew you had made a responsible, well-thought-out decision. If you at least consider that Tommy Banks might be the one you should marry, but you choose me anyway, I'll know I'm making you happy by taking you as my wife, not taking you from a happiness you didn't at first realize."

"Would you do the same if there was a girl back home your parents wanted you to marry?" Lily questioned.

"Yes, I would, if I had your permission. I couldn't really doubt that I had a real, honest affection for you, but I'd think about it, and thoughtfully decide. You won't mind doing that for me, will you, Lily?"

[Arry]

‘Well, now, just let me tell you ‘bout the shivaree . . .’

Ferdy’s head snapped round at the sound of his Da’s voice . . . his loud voice . . . coming from somewhere across the room . . .

Tomlin and Gil, sitting across from Ferdy in one of the Dragon’s back booths, nudged each other and pointed toward the table where Andwise sat. ‘That can’t be your Da,’ Gil whispered across the table. Ferrin, who sat next to Ferdy, kicked Gil in the ankle.

It was Fallon, just come from lingering near the tap, who confirmed it was indeed Andwise. ‘Buttercup says he’s well into his third pint. Him and Mister Derufin. And he keeps topping off his mug from the pitcher she left on the table.’

All five of the lads now craned their necks outside the confines of the low walled booth to see what Ferdy’s Da was doing . . .

---------

Andwise took a pull at his pint, then set the mug carefully down on the table. His fingers were feeling a bit numb, as were his lips, he noted. He leaned back in his chair, attempting to cross his left leg over his right, but his legs had developed a will of their own. They seemed to have turned all noodley and slippery, too. Neither would stay crossed no matter which one he chose to swing over the other.

Derufin’s face, in focus just moments before, now seemed to have split into two, no, make that three, grinning visages. Andwise blinked his eyes several times trying to get the images to align. He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. ‘Begging your pardon,’ he said slowly, carefully enunciating each word. ‘I did intend to tell you about the shivaree. But something’s gone quite wrong. Some effect of the rainstorm I believe . . . shaking the Inn quite fiercely, don’t you think? Everything’s got all wobbly . . .’

He trailed off and was about to slip from his chair when a pair of hands shored him up and a familiar voice spoke close to his ear. ‘Da, you’ve had too much to drink.’ Andwise looked up into the wavering face that hung over him. Closing one eye, he brought it into focus. ‘Too much you say . . .’ Ferdy bent down and got his arm round his Da. Gil propped up the Hobbit’s other side, while Tomlin ran out to bring round the cart.

The crowd in the Inn opened and shut behind the three Hobbits as they made their way to the door.

Fallon and Ferrin were about to follow, when Derufin called them back. ‘Something I can do?’ he asked nodding at the door. ‘Nay,’ said Ferrin, sitting down in the now vacant chair. ‘The Banks never did hold their ale too well. Ferdy’ll get him home and into bed. He’ll be alright tomorrow. Late, that is.’ Fallon nodded his head, taking one of the other chairs to the left of Ferrin. He picked up Andwise’s mug and finished off the last of the ale. Pouring himself another from the pitcher at the table, he offered a drink to Ferrin. ‘We heard him say something about the shivaree,’ he prompted Derufin. ‘Didn’t go into the plans for it did he, now?’ he asked casually, sounding the man out.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin spread out his hands, palms up, and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve no idea what he meant to say,’ he said, looking expectantly at the two Hobbits. ‘And as for any “planning”, I am more in the dark about what that refers to, than I was before.’ Motioning for one of the servers to come near, he had two new half-pint mugs brought (he was being careful this time . . .), and a fresh pitcher of ale. ‘Now, lads,’ he began, smiling warmly at them as he poured the ale in a long amber stream into their mugs, the foam of it winking invitingly in the light at the two. ‘What is this “custom” I have to look forward to?’ Eager hands reached out for the mugs, but they were denied any access until Ferrin, at last, began to speak.

‘Well, sir, Master Derufin,’ Ferrin began after a hastily whispered conference with his companion, ‘it’s more or less like this . . .’

The two Hobbits played tag team in telling him about the shivaree. An old custom, apparently, they said. And one most likely born out of the Hobbits’ love for parties, good food, and drink. Or so one of their great granda’s had told them once when he was well into his cups and bent on giving a lesson about the importance of tradition.

‘We like the party to go on and on, you see,’ said Fallon, wiping the foam from his lips and leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘And the one after the handfasting is always too short by Shire standards. What with the couple wanting to get away and all . . .’ He grinned up at Derufin, and gave him a wink.

‘So we figured a way to continue the fun,’ chimed in Ferrin, motioning for Derufin to fill his mug. He took a long pull at it before speaking again. ‘Now customs differ depending on the families being joined. The rowdies from Girdley Island kidnap the man just before he and his missus reach their house, get him quite sauced, then leave him across the river to make his way back to his missus in the dead of night. While those from Pincup make off with the missus herself, and the man must find her . . .’

Derufin’s brows had risen nearly to his hairline at this report. He filled his own mug, shaking his head and wondering how he was to tell Zimzi of this local tradition.

Ferrin and Fallon grinned at his discomfiture. ‘Now don’t think we didn’t consider one or t’other of these approaches,’ Ferrin continued. ‘But honestly,’ Fallon went on, ‘you’re a might too big for us to handle.’ Derufin breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, now don’t think we’re giving up on it altogether,’ Ferrin put in. ‘Shall we tell him, Fallon?’ ‘Might as well,’ the other Hobbit agreed.

‘Once you and the missus have come back to the cottage, your friends from the party will find their way there,’ Fallon continued. ‘No rest for the happy couple, I’m afraid, til the wee hours of the morning! There’ll be a gathering in your from yard, a very loud gathering. Pots and pans will be beat on with stirring spoons and the like. The men and lads will vie for who can sing you the bawdiest of songs . . .’ Ferrin nudged him, ‘Oh, and aye, even the sweet-faced old gammers will have some songs and taunts to throw your way . . .’

‘It’s a loud and horrible din we’ll make,’ chuckled Ferrin. ‘And there’ll be no stopping of it . . . until, of course, you throw your robes over your night clothes and come out to join us.’ Fallon nodded, his eyes glinting impishly. ‘And of course you’ll want to be offering these fine singers and reciters of choice verse a little something to drink and eat.’

‘Don’t forget to tell him about the blanket toss . . .’ slurred Ferrin, who had helped himself once again to the pitcher.

‘The blanket toss?’ wheezed Derufin, his last swallow of ale gone down wrong. His face had gone pale, but not from the coughing. In truth, his head was spinning as he tried to take in the details of this Shire custom. Fallon clapped him hard on the back to relieve the breathless cough.

Ferrin, seeing the last of the ale had gone from the pitcher, now waved it in the air, calling for more. Derufin had just caught his breath and Fallon begun again the further details of the shivaree when Cook’s voice broke in on the trio.

[Firefoot]

Once Lily had gotten over the shock of Posco’s request, she was able to think clearly about it. Why would he ask such a thing of her? She did not doubt that he loved her, and he said that it would make him happier if she was confident that he was who she really loved. She sighed.

“Since you ask it of me, I will try,” said Lily. She had no resistence to his wishes. She would be polite to Tommy, and give him a chance; the question was whether her heart would really be in it.

“Good,” replied Posco, sounding as if he meant it. Lily only wished he didn’t seem quite so sure.

“I made a promise to you earlier, though. I said I would come back. Even if my choice were to be Tommy Banks, I should want to let you know...” Even as she said the words, she began to accept them. They didn’t sound right, even to herself, and she hated the unfortunate circumstances that forced her to consider loving one other than Posco. “Of course, if you didn’t want to see me then, I would understand,” she said, and stopped. This was coming out all wrong, and it would be easy to see how she might have caused Posco to misunderstand her. “Oh Posco, I must sound a blundering fool. But I will hope to come back, some day, and if I do it will be for you and no other.” She wished she could be more certain, but there was a niggling doubt in the back of her mind that she might not return, compounded by Posco’s request that she give Tommy a chance.

Suddenly she felt as if she were drowning in responsibilities. She could have remained in Bree; very likely Tommy Banks would now be courting her, and she would have been happy, because she would not have known Posco. She couldn’t change the past at any rate, and she wouldn’t want to, either, all told. Even with all the complications, they must be worth working them out. So far it had proved to be so. Simply running away seemed to be a great deal more desirable than when she had first presented the option only minutes before, but she knew that the solution would be much more difficult than that.

It occurred to her then how much it must have taken on Posco’s part to make the request. He wanted her to be happy, even if that meant she married Tommy. Surely that would cause untold hurt to him, but he had still asked. How selfish she had been, thinking only of herself!

“I will miss you,” she murmured, though her voice was still completely audible. “Even giving Tommy a chance won’t stop that.”

[piosenniel]

‘Masters Ferrin and Fallon!’ Two heads swung about to see Cook standing behind them, hands on ample Hobbit hips. I hope they’ve not been filling your head with horrible stories about our little custom,’ she said addressing Derufin. She cocked her head to one side, looking at the man. ‘Though by the look on your face it seems you have heard the worst of it.’ She tapped her foot quietly on the wooden floor.

Ferrin took a pull at his mug, then cleared his throat. ‘Now, Miz Bunce . . . we were just giving him the widest of views of what might happen.’ Fallon nodded his head in agreement. ‘Tis good to be a little afeared of the unknown, so my old granda says,’ he chimed in. ‘Besides, the old man here’s one of us now . . . no reason he should be spared some good Shire fun.’

Cook’s face cracked into a wide grin and she chuckled at the earnestness of the two lads. ‘I’m beginning to think that you two might have decided to have a hand in organizing the shivaree,’ she chortled, raising her brows at them. The two clamped their mouths shut tightly, but the decided glimmer of impish plans surfaced in their eyes and their lips, of themselves, curved up in knowing smiles. ‘I see,’ she pronounced, nodding her head knowingly. She looked at Derufin, his face registering bafflement. She patted him on the arm. ‘’Twill be fine, Master Derufin. ‘Tis an enjoyable custom . . . even the caterwauling.’ She beamed as an idea came into her head. ‘I’ve some old pans and lids stored down in the cellar,’ she said, winking at Fallon and Ferrin. ‘Mind you keep your hands off my working set and you can borrow those others.’ She cleared her throat and made one further offer. ‘And I might be persuaded to sing, too . . . providing there is a wee dram of those Dwarven spirits available . . .’ She gazed meaningfully at Derufin. A call from the kitchen cut further conversation short as she turned hastily to take care of the problem.

‘Now you should be afraid,’ whispered Fallon, leaning over the table toward Derufin. ‘Oh, aye,’ said Ferrin, filling their mugs once again. ‘We should all be afraid.’ Derufin took a gulp of ale, raising his brows over the rim. ‘Miz Bunce,’ continued Ferrin. ‘You’ve never heard her sing, have you?

[Arry]

Andwise leaned against Ferdy as he stumbled down the steps of the Inn. His foot caught on the edge of the last one as he stepped down to the graveled path, nearly sending him sprawling. Gil and Ferdy struggled to keep him upright as they maneuvered him to the cart Tomlin had brought round.

‘Here! Give us a hand,’ called Gil, motioning for Tomlin to reach down for the inebriated Hobbit. A bit of tugging from one with a great deal of pushing from the other two and Andwise was deposited in the seat, held up right by Tomlin until Ferdy climbed up to provide support.

His foot, in fact, was on the little step-up when Andwise, in a moment of soon passing clarity, opened one eye. Gazing at the Inn and then down at his son, he pushed Ferdy back, waving him away from the cart with a wobbly motion of his hand. ‘Nay laddie,’ Andwise managed, pulling himself upright in the seat. He pointed his tremulous finger at Gil standing next to his son. ‘Let yer friends here get the old man home.’ He cast a bloodshot eye at Tomlin and Gil, grinning as he did so. ‘Ye won’ mind, will ya laddies?’

‘Of course not!’ they both chimed, wanting to be helpful. ‘But Da,’ began Andwise.

‘Nay . . . nay . . . there’s someone waitin ta hear from ya, now. I’n’t there? The lads’ll get me home fine.’ He waved Ferdy back to the Inn. ‘G’wan now!’

Andwise’s voice trailed off. He was wedged in now between Gil and Tomlin, head resting against Gil’s shoulder, snoring faintly. Tomlin leaned across him and spoke to Ferdy. ‘We’ve got him. Don’t worry, both of us have had to put our Da’s to bed after a night or two of tipping the cup.’ He flicked the reins against the pony’s hindquarters. ‘Hurry,’ Gill called back to Ferdy as the cart rolled down the path. ‘You don’t want Cook handling your business, now do you?’

[Maeggaladiel]

Eleniel shook herself, feeling as though she had been lost in thought for a very long time.

"Hostile trees?" she echoed. "You mean the legends of Fangorn Forest are true? I had thought them to be but children's tales." She smiled to herself, shaking her head in wonder.

"See?" she said. "You can travel the land all you want, and there will still be something left to learn."

[Lalwendë]

The horse and rider came to a halt as they neared the inn. The horse was snorting and sweating heavily, and the rider was not in a much better condition. He had been riding hard all day with only the briefest of halts, and those only taken to allow both himself and the horse a few minutes to catch their breath. The rain which was now falling was welcome to him, and he had pushed back his hood to better appreciate the cool raindrops.

The evening was closing in early due to the rain, and he had seen the lights being lit up ahead. Though he had a good idea of where he needed to get to, he had stopped to ask a passing Hobbit all the same. He did not want to make a mistake and come to the wrong Inn, not after riding all day on this errand. To him, it was a matter of urgency that he get to the Inn as soon as possible, and to that end he had saddled up his best horse.

Pegram’s keen eyes were alert for a suitable place to dismount and tie the horse up. He hoped for a stable of some kind, for the stallion had been an expensive purchase and he did not want to lose him to some scoundrel horse thief. It was the kind of horse which made other men look on in envy, the horse he had yearned for most of his life and finally had been able to buy a few years ago. It was a young man’s steed, but one which few young men would be able to afford. He cared for the stallion well and the creature’s coat shone when Pegram took him out for a ride; when he crossed paths with another man on such a steed, knowing, appraising glances were exchanged.

He was relieved when he saw a stable, but the place was in near darkness and unattended. Leading the horse in, he looked for a secure corner and fastened the reigns to a beam with an intricate knot before casting around for a bucket of water and bale of hay. He gave the horse a quick wipe down with a soft cloth, as he always did, no matter the urgency of his business, and straightening his clothes, went out towards the door of the Inn itself.

Pegram was a man of middle age, prosperous, and stout with good living. He was not overly tall, but he was well built and vigorous in his movements. He had a head of thick, rich brown hair, and a full beard. His clothes were simple but betrayed a knowledge of his taste for the finer things in life. His smock shirt was of white linen, cut to fit his frame exactly, and his breeches were made of fine green moleskin. Pegram wore a matching green cloak, cut from a textured wool, and a pair of sturdy but delicately stitched gloves fashioned from brown doeskin. He carried a knife for a weapon, concealed with a pouch of money on his belt. The weapon had never been used, and it was primarily to protect his money that he kept it, but, as he often said to himself, “Let them come, let them try to get it from my hands“.

The early evening light of the inn shone through the windows and within he could see a hearty crowd, a scene he particularly liked, but then he checked himself, remembering that these were strangers. The smell of the good beer hit him and he breathed it in appreciatively, as it were a fine scent. And fine perfume this was to Pegram, for he was a distiller by trade.

He pushed the door open smoothly, and drew himself up to his full height, his chin proudly thrust forwards. He looked about the crowded room with the air of a man experienced in the ways of public houses, taking in the different groups of people, and not least of all, the bar itself. Allowing himself a few moments to look upon the pumps and barrels with genuine interest, he returned to searching the room. He noted that it was filled with all manner of folk, men and Elves alongside the Hobbits he had expected, and then saw the very person he had come here for. His light eyes darkened, and a growl almost came from his throat, and he strode purposefully over.

***

When she saw Andwise being bundled hastily away from the table, Jinniver knew that he had made a mistake in mentioning this Shivaree. But she quickly realised what this was all about, and though she had been ready to hear a good ghost story, she found herself laughing at the truth of the matter. She could well imagine the commotion that was going to happen after Derufin and Zimzi’s wedding, not least because of the high spirited hobbit lads. She hoped she would be invited to stay fro the event, once her work was done.

Thoughts of the task she still had ahead of her made her quiet for a moment. Her brow creased as a brief worry entered her mind. What if the plants did not arrive in the morning? How was she to make a garden without them? If they were late, then she would have to work quickly, but what if they did not come at all? She caught her breath in a moment of panic, and reached for the jug of stout again.

“Best not think of that”, Jinniver muttered to herself, taking a gulp of the dark, heady brew. She took up her pipe with haste and as she puffed out a smoke ring, began to feel herself relax once again. The sound of Andwise shouting outside, as the lads attempted to get him home in one piece, drifted in through the windows and she tried to stifle a giggle. She took another long drink, and decided to fill her tankard once more. This was a good ale, and she had started to get a taste for it. She didn’t stop to think how drunk it had made Andwise.

Jinniver’s eyes were a little clouded as the drink took hold on her quickly, and she found herself feeling hot, but extremely content. She laughed aloud as she heard what Cook threatened to do. And then she felt cold as a firm hand was placed on her shoulder and a gruff voice said “Jinniver!” meaningfully into her ear.

[Tevildo]

Rain, rain, rain!

How Tevildo hated rain! The water dripped dully from the branches of the trees that lined the pathway leading to the Inn. He had slunk off earlier that day and left his two-legged companion trudging along behind him on the same road. He expected the two-legged to arrive a bit later, tired and thoroughly bedraggled. Ah, well, let the dunderhead get wet if he could not figure out that rain was threatening, and he'd better hurry up to make it to Bywater before the deluge occurred.

Tevildo's opinion of the two-leggeds was generally low, and today was no exception. He barely tolerated the fellow who claimed to be his "owner". As if any cat could have an "owner"! What a ridiculous notion.

If truth be told, Tevildo felt he had not had a master worthy of the name, since that distant day when he had been in charge of securing the meat for Melko's table. That had been seven or eight lives ago. Tevildo could not remember exactly when, but it had been a golden age when he had lorded it over the other cats. Now the best he could manage was to terrorize a mouse or two in the corrdidors of a dusty Inn in the middle of the place that men called The Shire.

Tevildo did not like Hobbits, any more than he liked Elves or Men. But at least Hobbits had large barns and storage bins filled with grain and other foodstuffs. And where there was food, he was likely to find a fat rat or two.

In the distance, he could see the outline of the Green Dragon looming. He observed that another traveller had just arrived and dismounted from his horse, continuing up the steps and entering the Inn. Tevildo waited for just the right moment when the door was left slightly ajar, and then hurried inside, scrambling adroitly between the legs of the man who looked to be the clumsy type, so common among the two-leggeds.

Tevildo purred with joy to be out of the rain and rubbed his shoulder repeatedly against the wooden leg of one of the tables. Absolutely no one seemed to be paying attention to him. His feelings about that were somewhat mixed. Undetected, he could get away with considerable mischief. Yet, at the same time, he felt irked that someone with his distinguished history should go so totally unheralded in such a public place. He peered around the room looking for the Innkeeper or someone else who worked here. His belly was growling furiously. He hoped to be able to persuade the staff to give him a job. He was no tame pet interested in a bowl of milk, but he would not mind killing a rat or two and watching guard over the hen's eggs in the stables in exchange for a dinner of fish and chicken.

He was not sure how he would get this idea over to the staff at the Dragon,since his ability to communicate was limited. In the old days, he had spoken freely with men, espcially with that milksop Beren. But things had changed with the passing of years, and men's ears had seemingly become so plugged that they could no longer understand his speech. Only the Elves, with their ability to exchange thoughts, could fully understood what he said.

Padding forward on dainty velvet pads, Tevildo leapt up onto the bar and curtly announced: I am Tifil (Bridhon) Miaugion, known to you deaf mortals as Tevildo (Vaardo) Meoita. It just may be your lucky day. I am available for hunting duty. But what actually came out was a piercing Meow!

[starkat]

As Ginger headed off to find Cook. Gwenneth took a moment to push some loose strands of black hair out of her face. I needed that. An afternoon among flowers. I will have to go out and visit Elenath shortly.

The elf looked around and realized with surprise that there were several newcomers to the inn. Now where is Aman? She stood in the middle of the room looking around for the innkeeper.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Accompanied by a heavy gust of wind, the young woman entered the Inn publicly for perhaps the first time in her life. Her weather-beaten cloak, soaked to an indistinguishable color, covered her fully. A deep hood shadowed her face, revealing naught but a pair of dancing hazel eyes. Her boots, though of the best make, had seen much wear.

She shrunk, nearly imperceptibly, against the sudden light and merriment. It was long since she had braved the predictable questions of any safe and foolish locals, but the woman was on a quest. I must find her, she thought, before I lose my nerve.

A pale hand, shaking slightly, reached out of the wraps to push the hood back. Damp curls of the darkest auburn tumbled free as she looked around unhindered. People were beginning to stare. Soon the questions will come. The way they always do.

Finding her target, her sole reason for having made this long and lonesome trip, the woman stepped slowly and gracefully toward the bar. When she spoke, her voice was soft, melodic. A conversation not yet meant for all ears.

"My dear Aman," she spoke to the Innkeeper's back, "It has been quite some time." She shivered. The Innkeeper turned quickly, recognizing the voice. The woman smiled; a smile hiding many secrets, many nights alone under the stars... many stories of her past. "Perhaps some hot cider to take the chill off?"

"Fea... nay... Caelwyn? Is it really you?" The Innkeeper looked at the mysterious guest with an unidentifiable expression.

[Primrose Bolger]

An odd sound assaulted Ginger’s ears as she stood at the kitchen’s sink. The door swung open from the Common Room and in came Miz Bunce, humming to herself in a decidedly off key manner. Cook nodded at her as she bustled to the hearth and gave a stir to the stew bubbling lazily in the big kettle. ‘Only a few more days,’ Cook said looking over at Ginger. ‘And I must say you have been quite a treasure – what with all your helping with the desserts and taking a hand in the garden.’ Resting the long wooden spoon on the pot lid, she ambled over to where Ginger was just putting the last of the flowers into the small stoneware vase. ‘Oh, now, what’s this?’ she asked, her eye taking in the riot of color and form.

‘They’re for you!’ Ginger said smiling and holding the vase out to her. When Cook began to thank her she shook her head, saying how it was Gwenneth who’d fixed the bouquet for her. Cook buried her nose in the blossoms and took a whiff of their sweet scent. ‘You thank her for me, won’t you?’ Ginger went on to say what a great help Gwenneth had been with the flower garden at the front of the Inn. And how she was wondering if there might be anything else she could turn a hand to.

Cook had just begun saying how they could use another server for supper, when a raucous sound assailed their ears. Ginger ran to the door and peeked into the common room, her eyes searching for the source. ‘It’s a cat, Miz Bunce. And he appears to sitting square in the middle of the bar, meowing.’

Ginger was sent out to see to the cat. He’d stopped his loud yowl watching her closely as she approached him. His manner was not like those farmyard tabbies she was familiar with and so she avoided calling out, ‘Here kitty, kitty!’ to him. He seemed . . . well, a bit lordly-like, she thought. And eyeing her in a thoughtful manner, too; as if sizing her up. Instead, she stopped a few paces from him and bobbed a small curtsy.

‘I’m Ginger,’ she said in a courteous tone, introducing herself. She could feel the stares of those patrons nearby at her back. It was a bit odd speaking to a cat, but he seemed to follow her words as she invited him into the kitchen for a small bowl of minced meats and perhaps a saucer of milk. ‘Or would that be a saucer of ale, Master Puss?’ she amended, wondering if that were a whiskery sneer she was seeing on his face.

She held the door open for the self possessed feline, waving him into the kitchen. ‘Mind you,’ she whispered as he drew near the door. ‘Don’t track any dirt on Cook’s floor. She’ll have your hide for it!’ Ginger stifled a giggle as the cat looked up at her. ‘Begging your pardon! Didn’t mean to offend!’ the Hobbit offered. ‘Oh! And don’t bother the old tabby that sleeps on the hearth. She’s the Inn’s ‘retired’ mouser. And Cook’s little pet.’

Ginger eyed the cat as he walked past her and into the kitchen. ‘Cook!’ she called out, pointing to the furry guest. ‘Here’s the source of the noise. Come in for a bite to eat, I think.’ She grinned at Cook as the cat made his way to the center of the room. ‘Think we might make a place for him?’ she asked. ‘There’s more work than old Tabby can handle, don’t you think?’ The old cat on the hearth raised her head for a brief moment, yawned, and went back to sleep. ‘Perhaps he can keep the mice in line down in the cellar and in the pantry.’ She thought for a moment. ‘And didn’t Mister Derufin say the mice were getting into the horse’s oats in the stable?’

Cook nodded as the lass spoke; her hands were busy setting down a generous bowl of chopped chicken from the stew pot, moistened with a bit of gravy. A small saucer of milk was set near it, as well as a small bowl of water. The two Hobbits stepped back, then, waiting for the cat’s verdict on the offered meal.

[Lalwendë]

“Jinniver!”

Shaking with fear, for she knew the voice all too well, Jinniver froze, her tankard still in her hand, halfway to her mouth. A wave of coldness swept through her whole body and her stomach lurched. She did not move, only her lips sought to make words. Her eyes widened and the black centres contracted as she struggled to compose herself.

The hand remained on her shoulder, and the man drew closer. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck and suddenly she shook her shoulder roughly to be rid of him, the whiteness in her face replaced by a deepening, red as fury started to descend.

“Why are you here?” she said, coldly, not turning around. She did not wish to look him in the face. Her angry frustration brought her quickly to the verge of tears and she knew that to look at him would bring them pouring down her face.

The man snorted and Jinniver sensed his movements as he stood up straight. Anger was also in his voice and he struggled to keep calm as he spoke.

“I am here to find out what is going on.” he said in an overly measured tone, pronouncing each word harshly so she could not be mistaken in what he said.

Jinniver saw eyes in the Inn turn to watch the scene, taking it in, and then turn away as folk spoke to one another about what might be going on. She looked down at her hands for a moment and then up again, tossing her head proudly and defiantly.

“And. What business is it of yours? You are not my keeper. Who sent you here?” she said in a choked but insolent voice, her throat rasping as she struggled to make the words. Why was he here? She struggled to make sense of it. She ought to be greeting him warmly, but she found herself angry, and this was partly due to the threatening way he had approached her. He had no business doing that.

“I came of my own accord,” he said. “I was troubled and I do not trust you to behave yourself as you ought. I know how silly you can be.” He was somewhat sarcastic with her. “I can see now I was correct.”

Jinniver bristled and turned round in her seat to face him, any thought of tears or shame now passed, and replaced by a full serving of her anger. Her eyes blazed and she sneered, waving her hand dismissively at him.

“Go back to Bree, Pegram”, she said loudly, almost shouting. She did not care who might be listening in, and she was filled with a sense of her own courage. “I don’t want my brother breathing down my neck any longer”.

[Envinyatar]

‘Pegram, is it?’ said Derufin, standing up from his chair. He came round to where Jinniver sat at the end of the table and stood near her, his grey eyes fixed in a cool stare at the man who hovered near her. The air between the two siblings was thick with anger, and he did not like the underlying current of fear he had felt from Jinniver when her brother had first made himself known. ‘Don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you. I’m Derufin, a friend of your sister.’ He nodded courteously at the man, but did not extend his hand. ‘We were just about to discuss her plans for the garden she has contracted to do for my wife-to-be. Quite a green thumb your sister has, knows her plants well. And she has an eye for design that is quite pleasing.’

He pulled out a chair, offering the seat to Jinniver’s brother. ‘Sorry to cut into your reunion with her,’ he went on, motioning for Buttercup to bring another mug and a fresh pitcher of stout. ‘But there are only a few days left to finish the project,’ he said sitting down next to Jinniver. ‘Three, in fact, before my wife and I move into our cottage. A shipment of plants arrives tomorrow, and we need to coordinate how all the work will get done.’ He turned to the young woman. Her face seemed a little less flushed; the cheeks’ high color fading to dull streaks of red along the bones. ‘The lads can help you over the next few days if you’d like. The work on the cottage is mostly done, and Andwise and I can finish the touch up painting ourselves.’ ‘Think that will be enough help for your project?’ he asked her, pouring Pegram a mug of ale, and topping off hers and his. ‘If not – I do know that Cook’s helper . . . Ginger, has a deft hand at planting.’

Derufin sat back in his chair, giving Jinniver the time to consider what he’d said. He fished in one of the side pockets of his vest and pulled out his soft leather pouch of pipeweed. Unbinding the flap, he opened it, letting the rich, heavy aroma float in the air. ‘Longbottom Leaf,’ he said, filling his own pipe and then offering the pouch to his tablemates. Ferrin and Fallon, sitting at the far end of the table looked longingly at the pouch. With a grin, Derufin passed it down to them

A brief silence ensued as all who had dipped into Derufin’s pouch filled and tamped and lit their pipes. The twist of white smoke curled up lazily from Derufin’s pipe as he drew on the mouthpiece. ‘What sort of business are you in,’ he asked Pegram, casually. ‘Begging your pardon, in advance, if I seem too forward - but if you’re anything like your sister, I would easily guess you are prospering . . .’

[Nurumaiel]

"Well, that's fine to hear!" said Posco, with a laugh. A felt an urge to take Lily's face in his hands and kiss her hair, but instead he contented himself to ponder with warmth her fiercely-spoken encouragement. Part of him was certain that she would come back to him, and it made him glad, but there was an odd gnawing in his heart, and a strange little voice in his ear, saying that perhaps she would fall in love with another hobbit, and perhaps she would return: the bride of Tommy Banks. He shook himself from this thought, looked into her eyes, and convinced himself that she would remain true to him.

Oh, how the time passed, and how he wished it wouldn't! Each passing moment brought her departure closer. What would he do when she was gone? He had stayed at the Inn only for her, and she was leaving. Yes, true, why should he stay longer? An idea sprang to him, and with a light eye he turned to her, and said: "Lily, I've changed my mind." Her face looked up to his, and she opened her mouth to question what he meant, but he went on before he could speak. "Lily, with your permission, I won't escort you to the end of the Inn grounds. With your permission, I will ride with you as far as across the Brandywine, into Buckland. But only with your consent."

[Firefoot]

Lily chuckled softly. She wondered how long it would be, if ever, before he realized that he could go with her to the ends of the earth and still she would rejoice at his presence. Instead, she said, "Of course you may come with me - I would be delighted." His pleased grin was infectious, and she could not help but smile back at him. She would not have to leave him for another several days, and it seemed to her that those days would last for a short, glorious infinity. As she gazed into his eyes, she felt that she was falling in love all over again. Surely there could never be another hobbit like him!

It was she who looked away first, for once, and she could feel his eyes on her for a lingering moment. It made her feel guilty that she could even consider going back and giving Tommy a chance, even though Posco had asked her to. It seemed like betrayal, almost. No, she told herself firmly. That's already settled. Now put it out of your mind. She tried, and with some difficulty shoved all thoughts of him to the back of her mind, if not out. She would make the most of her time with Posco, and dwelling on Tommy was not doing that.

Lily's thoughts began to zip ahead to the future. It was nearly summer now, and by the time she got back to Bree it would be summer. She thought that she might be back in time for harvest. Yes, that was it. For now, she had set herself in denial that she might not come back to be Posco's bride, for there was no way for her to fathom why she might not. It was actually a very pleasant state to be in, for she could be satisfied with how things were going here and now, without worries. It was not very realistic, but it was quite pleasing.

Dreamily, she wondered if the leaves turned pretty colors around here the same way that they did in Bree, and supposed that they must because the Shire was really not all that far away. She imagined pony rides through fields and through woods painted in the reds and golds of autumn glory.

She realized how far her thoughts had wandered when Posco brought her back to the present, saying, "Thinking happy thoughts?"

"Oh! Yes, yes," she stammered. "Just remembering our ride yesterday, and looking forward to riding with you again tomorrow, that's all." It wasn't exactly honest, but it wasn't so far from the truth, either, and she wasn't sure if her dreams were precisely proper, all things considered. "I don't suppose," she continued mischieviously, "that the ponies will decide that a swim in the Brandywine is better than the bridge."

"I hope not!" replied Posco, but he laughed along with her at the thought.

"I'm glad that it's a long way to Buckland," said Lily decisively. "We will have ourselves a nice long ride. You will meet me here at the 'Dragon, then, tomorrow?"

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver’s eyes did not leave Pegram. She stared at him furiously, even reaching for the pouch of tobacco and filling her pipe without looking at what she did. How dare he come here and spoil her enjoyment? It was not as though she had gone far and for long. She realised he must have been at the farm early this morning, and seen the letter she had sent to their father, informing him that she would be staying on a while longer. Before she had left, Pegram had given her a long list of instructions on where not to go and what not to do, how to avoid any unwanted attention being drawn to her. She had borne these instructions in mind, and had come to feel restricted by them; to her delight, had found that Hobbiton was very different to Bree, somehow safer, so now, she did not care so much for his so called helpful instructions.

Pegram, meanwhile, felt all eyes upon him. It was no matter to him; his pride caused him to puff out his chest a little as the other man addressed him. Who was he to step into his business with his sister? As Derufin spoke, indignance spread across Pegram’s face and he did not hear half of what was said to him, but he took the chair offered. There he sat with his arms folded tightly across his broad chest, carefully taking the measure of the man who had spoken. Who might this man be to his little sister? And who was he to step in to talk about one he cared for so deeply?

‘What sort of business are you in,’ Derufin asked Pegram, rather too casually, he thought. It was the voice of a man ready to spring to the defence but all too careful not to reveal this. Pegram could tell from his tone that he thought he might be defusing the argument in some way. Let him try what he might, Pegram thought to himself, if he wanted to start any trouble then this was his business and nobody else‘s. ‘Begging your pardon, in advance, if I seem too forward - but if you’re anything like your sister, I would easily guess you are prospering . . .’

Jinniver noticed her brother’s face twitch with thought at the question. He did not like to be asked about his money; his possessions were one thing, but the secrets of his successful distillery in Bree were keenly protected by him. His young son, Jinniver’s nephew, would one day learn these secrets but they were not for anyone else.

“I am a distiller. Cornthrift of Bree,” he answered eventually. “My products go far and wide in these times. Though they are quality, no, luxury goods as you may say.” His held his broad face high, and his words were clipped and measured. He wished to impress upon the other man that he was no mere farmer.

Unfolding his arms, Pegram took out a beautifully finished pipe, but he did not help himself to the pouch of pipeweed which Derufin had placed on the table. Instead, he drew out a soft green leather pouch of his own, and set about the business of filling his pipe. Before lighting the pipe, he carefully smoothed the hairs of his beard down near his mouth, sticking his chin out manfully as he did so.

Jinniver watched her brother with a look of distaste. Her anger had softened a little, but she wished to show him how differently she was looked upon in The Shire, to prove to her brother that she was not the silly young girl she once had been and who he still thought she was. She was making her own money, and doing well at it, and what is more, she had gained the trust of these fine people; she was just as much a grown up as he, and her own business just as important.

“Yes, I would be glad of some assistance,” she said, speaking defiantly and proudly, making use of her brother’s silence to speak up and finally answer Derufin. “I see now that my message has been received in Bree. So I should hope my father has seen to sending off the plants today. As I said, this will be a fine garden.” She looked across unflinchingly at her brother, catching his eye as he took a draw on his pipe.

Pegram caught the look. He wanted to put his sister in her place a little, to make her see what a disrespectful nonsense she was making of herself. She was his sister, a gentle soul, who he needed to protect; he didn’t like the look of disrespect which she now gave him. It hurt him, and he wanted to make her suffer for it.

Drawing on his pipe and blowing out a great cloud of smoke which obscured his face, Pegram sniggered softly, but just loud enough so that all at the table heard it. “A fine business this is, Jinniver. Making gardens with rustics. If that is what you call business then I’m sure you are welcome to it.”

Sitting back, he savoured his statement. Pretending to attend to his pipe, he did not look up, but he could sense the anger in the faces of those around the table and was satisfied.

[Arry]

Fallon and Ferrin were from a family who prided themselves on their familiarity with ‘letters’ – reading, writing, the uses of words and their meanings. Fallon’s brows had raised toward his brother as the puffed up representative of Bree-men Big Folk spoke, no . . . spat out, the word ‘rustic’. They were also the children of a mother who valued courtesy and good nature toward neighbor and stranger. Unfortunately, the number of mugs of ale they’d taken had emphasized their sensitivity to the word the man used and all but deluged their sense of extending courtesy. It was to their merit they did discuss the word, but the Inn’s brew narrowed their willingness to accept it with a favorable view.

‘I don’t suppose he meant to call us honest and unaffected,’ whispered Fallon, one eye on Pegram as he puffed on his pipe like some lordly fellow. Ferrin snorted at his brother. ‘More likely he thinks us clodhoppers, boors, and ignorant farmers.’

Ferrin grinned at his brother and stood on the seat of his chair. Pulling up the sleeves of his tunic and then the hem as he inspected his skin, he danced about a bit in an anxious spiral. He climbed to the table top, pulling the alarmed Fallon up after him. ‘Look! Look!’ he cried, scratching himself here and there. ‘I’m rusted for sure!’ He looked wildly about the room and pointed at Pegram. ‘Himself has put his very finger on my problem! Look, look!’

Fallon bit the inside of his nearly ale-numbed lip to keep himself from laughing. ‘I see one!’ he said, nodding his head in a serious manner and pointing to his brother’s belly. Then he began to scratch and dance about on the table’s top, too. ‘Stars above! I think it’s catching!’ Wide-eyed patrons of the common room shook their heads at the two Hobbits’ antics. Those who knew them well, though, knew they were up to some mischief. They clapped and hooted and egged the brothers on, wanting to see what came next.

And what did come next was the inadvertent, or so it seemed, connecting of Ferrin’s flying foot with the refilled pitcher of ale. It tipped over neatly, the golden stream running swiftly across the short distance to where Pegram sat, his face reflecting the fact that these churlish creatures had proved his point. His lap, his fine trousers and part of his shirt were soaked with stout.

The brothers jumped from the table before the man could stand. Ferrin winked broadly at Derufin, while Fallon, remembering his manners, mouthed ‘Sorry!’ at Jinniver. They were out the door in a trice, running down the path toward home, leaving only the sound of their laughter behind to be scolded.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The rain was not showing any signs of stopping. Fáinu lifted his head from thought and peered across the path. There were a few trees now very wet and dripping water. Fáinu shook his head and pulled his hood down, he then turned and opened the door to the inn. he was met by a few drunken hobbits shouting, "It’s a bit wet out!" followed by roars of laughter and applause from his friends.

Cree was sat alone still. Fáinu had debated in his mind for long enough, he had made a dissension. He now had to trust in Crees decision, and perhaps test her loyalty. He approached her and sat on the opposite side of the table. Cree arose from thought to see him sitting there, his eyes were fixed on her, and they were stern. He laid a large knife upon the table, but kept his bandaged hand upon it.

"Cree, I believe that we have come now to the point," he began, Cree tilted her head, not quite understanding him, "for now is the time for you to prove your words and follow he whom all else abandoned." she began to understand. "Tomorrow I shall leave for rivendell, and I shall ride double pace, for I am already late."

He pushed the knife towards Cree and released it. It was a beautiful knife. The hilt was of bronze; jet so bright was it, that Cree almost mistook it fore gold. Upon the handle were set many runes of power and gems. a large emerald there was in the centre of the hilt, it glistened in the dim light and Cree marvelled to see such a thing.

"It is all I have left of my mother. This knife has seen many through combat, more so than most swords." He placed Cree's hand upon it, "I bid you take this, if you wouldst follow me. To death, anguish, and perhaps glory." he smiled at her and awaited her response on bated breath.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree didn't know what to think. The knife Fáinu was offering her was more than just a gift. The knife had belonged to Fáinu's mother. Reaching out her hand to cover the knife Cree looked up at Fáinu. "Fáinu I will follow you to Rivendell. For nothing now can change my mind. I will follow you into death." She had promised that she wouldn't abandon Fáinu. Now was her chance to show her loyalty to the man she "loved."

We leave tomorrow. Yet tomorrow is just one more step towards a fate that has haunted me my entire life. He doesn't need to know what troubles I face ahead of me. Only two people knew about this besides me, one had gone away from me and the other one is dead. Killed by her own blade. For not even the wisest of all could tell me what fate I was bound to. After all we make our own fate. An smile came across Cree's face. She liked to remember about the past.

The only thing Cree wished to push out of her memories was the death of the old wise woman. Even though Cree knew the woman's death wasn't Cree's fault, she knew deep down inside that it was Cree's hand on the hilt of the woman's sword. It was Cree who gave the woman an early death. She couldn't shake it from her memories. Avalon witnessed this "murder" and Cree figured that was why Avalon loved and despised her. "Fáinu, tomorrow is the day? I guess I need to ready my horse and get some much needed sleep. But you will need to know that Avalon will eventually find us on our journeys. Perhaps one day we may visit Rohan and see Adu and Hama. It would be wonderful if we did." Cree realized that mentioning Rohan sent a chill down Fáinu's spine. She still remembered the trouble Fáinu had told her about. Rohan will always be in danger. After all the entire world we live in is at stake.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu peered at her with a stern look. his thought came to what Dwaline the dwarf had told him. "Rohan, perhaps shall ye never set foot on." the chill ran down his spine. Rohan had given Adu much happiness, and yet sorrow, he wished, perhaps to find those responsible and find some truth in the tale she had told him. Hama, a man of Rohan, seemed to cast a long shadow. Fáinu had not considered this for a long while now. Not since Cree had appeared and complicated his thought.

Little trust did he bear for men of Rohan, and men in general he held not to be worthy of much. Save the Dúnedain and King Elessar, whom he praised for good deeds in the past.

"I fear Rohan shall never welcome me," said Fáinu sadly, "Something tells me that I shall never come thither. Perhaps my fate lies elsewhere. But come now, I speak of things that none save Elrond can know. Yet he is gone."

Cree smiled, but seemed a little unnerved, she did not know what it was, but she could see something in Fáinu's eye that was queer and uncanny. Fáinu looked about the room as if he had heard some voice that was familiar to him, but when he looked, no one was there.

"I will not lie to you, Cree." began Fáinu, "many perils lie ahead on your road. Perhaps I shall play a part in them. Perhaps not. But this I know; Danger lies upon any road, the one I have chosen, may be perilous, but with thee by my side, it shall not seem so dark." He smiled faintly, but his eyes wandered to the window and he gazed out and watched the rain fall on the trees.

[Noinkling]

Well, now, this must be it! thought Tolly Greenhand as his wagon cleared the top of the small rise to the west of the Inn. It was nearing evening, and the lamps had already been lit at the Green Dragon, shining through the thick-paned windows invitingly. His gaffer had told him about the big inn in Bywater. ‘Green Dragon, son, she’s a right fine place for a man to slake his thirst.’ ‘Best ale in the Shire, lad,’ he’d affirmed though to be honest, the old fellow had never been farther east than the Three-farthing Stone. Tolly flicked the reins on his pony’s back, urging him on. ‘Get along, Benny,’ he crooned in a low voice.

The pony’s ears twitched at the sound and he picked up his pace, pulling harder against the harness. The familiar sounds and smells of other horses in the Inn’s stable carried to him. He snorted and tossed his head, wanting to get in on the sweet hay and nosebag of oats that Tolly had promised when the Inn was reached.

‘Whoa up, now!’ the Hobbit called out as they entered the yard and drew near the front door. The fine drizzle rain had abated a bit, and pushing back the hood of his oilskin cape, he took in the Inn at close range. He was about to turn Benny toward the stable, when two lads came bursting through the door, running helter-skelter down the path to the road. Their friendly laughter trailed after them. ‘Wonder what that was all about,’ Tolly murmured to Benny, flicking the reins once more as he guided the pony to the stable. A young lad came out to greet him, taking the reins as Tolly stepped down from the wagon. The price for the pony’s keep was agreed on, and an extra copper penny for the lad to put the wagon in a dry place.

Benny having been seen to, Tolly hurried quickly to the porch of the Inn and eased open the door. The warmth of the place welcomed his entrance. He stood for a few moments taking the great room in. Just as my gaffer described it! he thought, looking delightedly toward the bar and the great fire place. He hung his dripping cloak on an empty peg to the right of the door and hurried to a small table near the fire.

[Tevildo]

Tevildo cautiously eyed the two women and the sleeping cat, pondering what he should do. He would have preferred to eat in privacy, away from the prying eyes of the two-leggeds. But his stomach was growling loudly and the hearty aroma of chicken fat was hard to resist. With his tail rhythmically twitching back and forth, he sidled up to the three bowls, ignoring the saucer of milk and going right to work on the chopped chicken from the stew pot that had been generous flavored with a dollop of gravy.

He had to admit that these little folk knew how to cook. This dish was considerably better than anything he and his mistress had found earlier that week in the Prancing Pony. It looked to be the older woman--the one called Cook--who was in charge of the kitchen and responsible for the various delicacies being taken out to the guests. Tevildo would not stoop to being called "Cook's little pet" as the older tabby evidently had. But he was not unappreciative of someone who showed such skill in the cullinary arts.

Finishing the last of the food in the bowl, Tevildo sat back on his haunches and delicately licked the final morsels from his paws. Then he lay down, curled up contentedly in a small ball, and began to purr loudly, all the while vigorously cleaning his coat with the small barbs of his pink tongue. Once he looked up and seemed to grin at Cook, showing a line of sharp teeth all perfectly matched and suitably sharp.

Once he was satisfied that he was perfectly clean, Tevildo again rose and slipped gingerly between Cook's legs. The older woman was standing in front of the fire and stirring something in a large pot. Tevildo stopped to rub against her ankles and then paraded out of the kitchen, heading purposely down the hallway towards the pantry where he thought he heard the scuffling sounds of mice.

Out in the Common Room, he could hear another familliar voice: that of his mistress and supposed 'owner' who had finally found her way to the Inn.

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn (played by Envinyatar)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

_____________________________________________

Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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