The Green Dragon Inn - Part 5

[Dynaviir]

Dynaviir woke up slowly. It had been a beautiful dream. In it he saw a meadow, a place he had never seen before. And yet it was familiar, as if he had known it all his life. He awoke to find himself clutching his pendant. Slowly he removed his hand from it and lifted himself from the bed. Then he lifted the pendant again, and kissed it. Then he set it down again, letting it hang over the cloak he had worn to sleep in.

He looked around the room and went to the wash basin. Roughly half an hour later he was dressed and drying his hair. He had taken a towel from his bag and now he set it back inside. He turned and went to the bed, where lying next to it, leaning on a dresser, was his sheathed sword. He took it and tied it to his belt. He knew he would not need it though, but it was a part of him. He would not leave it behind.

Slowly turning, then eyeing his sack for the last time that morning, he closed the door and closed the lock with his key. He found himself back inside the low hallway for the fourth time. He was beginning to get used to it now, but he still had a few problems with the banisters and the wooden beams in the gaps where doorways would have been set.

He entered the common room and looked around. The fire wasn't burning as it was too early in the morning. He was glad of it, and glad for the cold. He had found he did not need a fire the night before, as somehow talking with Niniel seemed to have made him forget the chill wind. He looked around at the doorway and tried to spot her. Suddenly a hobbit hit his leg from behind, and he turned with a snap, startling the poor fellow and almost made him drop his plates. The hobbit apologised and hurried off, and Dynaviir wondered why he had looked so scared. Then he remembered the trays and he felt hungry, and he turned to the bar to find something to eat.

Today was the first of many days he would finally have to relax. But now, he did not feel like relaxing. He felt refreshed, as if the peace with at least one of the guests had somehow awoken lost energy within him. He wanted now to rush outside and ride with Doienwei, and to have a picnic by the river as he heard many Shire-folk did often. But then he realised one lone ranger from the South wouldn't have been a merry picnic, and so instead he decided he would look for any spare jobs to do. Growing up in a blacksmith's shop until he was 6, and having practiced crafts before, he knew he might be able to lend a hand to someone nearby.

[Esgallhugwen]

A ray of sun broke through the sky, the stars fled at the sight of it. 'How the night seems to fly so quickly' Esgallhugwen thought sadly realizing they must have been in her room longer than it had seemed.

Lira had brought out her mare Merkaliel, a lovely name for a lovely horse. Esgallhugwen looked at her thoughfully as she walked out her own horse.

'This is my stallion Morsereg, he may look threatening but he will do you no harm' The rays sweeped across his coat which had once looked silver under the moonlight but now was revealed to be almost a dark golden under the sun. The large steed snickered gladly at the blonde elf and mare. His black coat glimmering in the new light.

[ July 28, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[piosenniel]

"Ah, I was....Derufin just said I may as well help out a bit," spoke Beren.

Cook had popped her head out the kitchen door just as the young man spoke these words. Filing them away in her well-ordered mind, she motioned for Derufin to attend her in the kitchen. When he followed her in, she took him down to the root and vegetable cellar a few steps below the kitchen, and began complaining that her helper, Minto Boffin had been called away on family business and could no longer see to the garden.

The vegetables needed gathering in, the rows weeded and hoed, the thirsty plants watered. And she and the girls, as she called Ruby and Buttercup, had no time to see to it themselves – this being the busy time of the year for travelers to the Inn.

Derufin raised his brows at her wondering why he was being informed of this need. He shook his head as he read her intent. ‘I can’t pick up these duties, Cook. Much as I like the outdoor work, I’ll have enough of my own for a while. Vanwe’s been called away, something of importance to her needed doing, and that leaves me as general handyman and stableman. In fact, I was thinking of asking for some help myself.

‘That ranger fellow, Awyrgan . . . he did a job for me and did it well – I was thinking of setting him to work on the Inn roof, and the repairs to the porch.’ Derufin noted the gleam in her eye. ‘No, I need him. There must be someone else you can ask.’

Cook rubbed her chin, her plans thwarted twice now. She and Derufin walked back up the stairs, and her eyes caught sight of Aman. The scene between her and that new guest replayed in her mind. ‘There’s the answer,’ she chortled to herself. ‘Didn’t he just say he was looking to help out?!’

Derufin had a blackberry muffin halfway to his mouth when Cook assailed him once again. ‘That raggedy looking bloke who came in a while ago – what’s his name?’

[ July 28, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Beren. His name is Beren," Aman answered for Derufin. The stablemaster looked up, smirked, earned himself a rather venemous glare, and returned to his muffin. Aman looked back at Cook. "Why, what is-"

"You haven't had breakfast, have you?" Cook cut in accusingly, as any mother would. Aman was about to deny all charges instinctively, but, realising breakfast would mean the muffins, shook he head quickly and selected a muffin of her own, eyeing the small blackberry which had burst on top and was oozing temptingly out, before continuing.

"What do you need him for?"

Derufin barely stifled a snigger, allowing half a snigger to work it's way around the muffin. Cook looked disapprovingly at him. "Derufin, don't try to speak with your mouth full," she reprimanded him sharply, but she too was barely concealing a grin, and Aman could work out what was going through her mind. Aman's ears began to redden, and she hastily diverted her attention to the muffin.

Cook explained the situation to Aman quickly, before finishing off with a twinkle in her eye. "...and we thought that Beren chap would be perfect. I'm sure you wouldn't mind having him around the Inn, would you now, Aman?"

Aman glared at Derufin before he even had a chance to snigger, and spoke over his grin, which was saying volumes on its own. "I'll go and fetch him," she said quickly, before hastening out towards the stand-in barkeeper.

[Envinyatar]

‘Yes, ‘ thought Derufin to himself, stifling a laugh with a snort, ‘you just go and fetch him.’ His line of thought drifted off to a dog fetching a favorite toy and he snorted again, choking this time on his muffin.

Cook pounded him on the back as his face turned red. He waved her away after a moment, squeaking out that he was all right and would she get him a cup of water please.

His eyes were tearing by the time he got his voice back, as much from the image that played in his mind of the somewhat lordly Beren, water can in hand, attending on his devoted subjects – carrots, and peas, and corn, and celery . . . and potatoes and turnips and parsnips as well - as from the fact the muffin had stuck in his throat and nearly done him in. He sat down for a moment and got his breath back, his fingers tapping on the table in a calculating manner.

‘Beren,’ he said, winking at Ruby who had drawn near, ‘that’s the one you want, Cook.’

Both Ruby and Buttercup giggled at the mention of his name, and were silenced by a stern look from Cook. Ruby, regaining her courage, spoke up. ‘Yes, and as long as he’s out in the garden – perhaps he could see to the henhouse, too . . .’

[Novnarwen]

Brottle stumbled up the stairs reaching for the oak door. As he opened it, he entered a whole new world. The Inn was quite full, considering this time a day, he thought while stepping forward to the desk. "I'll need a room," he said while looking with great eyes around. "How many nights?" the woman asked, while finding one of the golden keys. Brottle turned around and stirred into the eyes of the young lady.

"That's a hard one," he muttered without her hearing it. "I'll need a room for this night," he said. "And, the night after that, and the next, and the next, and the next, and probably the next there again," he continued watching Aman's face, full of surprise. "You know what? Just keep the key and when you are out of here, I'll count how many days you have stayed," she said determined. Brottle nodded, took the key and asked for an ale. "A pint, if you have," he added.

Few moments later he settled himself on a stool. Clumsy as he is, he spilled some of his precious ale on the table while seating. Brottle stuck his tounge out and licked the reddish liquid from the table, to great disgust from his fellow drinkers. The hobbit, decided to ignore them, and gave them a what-are-you-looking-at? look.

He thought of the wonderful morning, how his day had started; his wife on the market, him drinking their finest ale in the house, smoking their finest pipeweed, and then all had just fallen apart.

He remembered himself lloking out of the window, wacthing the white clouds move and creating new non-stop. The blue sky was filled with singing birds and it all was so great. Brottle had felt great. Then, the harmony, which Brottle had wanted to last forever, was ruined. The door had opened with a big slam, and therein, came his wife. Catching him when he at least had wanted it; sitting in his chair, being lazy, when he was supposed to do somthing else. The skies had suddenly turned black. And the heavy clouds were about to explode. The rain fell as hard as the hoofs of a horse, galloping in great speed. "Brottle!!" she had shrieked eyeing him being lazy, once again.

The poor hobbit hadn't had any escape, it was only to wait for his doom. It had been much worse this time than the the time before. He was actually kicked out now, was he ever to live with her again?

Brottle drank the last remaning gulps of his ale, sighing when his drink had come to its' end. It ran down, reached his beard and then to his stomach, which stood like a big ball on him. I better check out the room, he thought, setting the now empty mug hard down on the table. He stood up, paced to the staircases leading to the rooms, grabbed a hold of his pocket to lift up the keys.

The pocket was empty....

[Elentarimir]

Megilien watched this young man with interest. He fit the description she had been given, and was obviously very suspicious of her and everyone from Ithilien. She was pondering this in her head when he asked what her business was.

She shrugged when he asked. "It's really none of your business, to ask me what I'm doing here. But, for your own sake, I shall tell you. I'm an Elf, and I am on my way across these lands to the Havens." It wasn't the truth, but the young man seemed to buy it well enough, and Megilien couldn't have him knowing that she was really here hunting for that renegade. She gave him a smile, not unlike her friend Eowyn's. "What's your business, Randir?"

[Imladris]

Lira twisted the rough strands of Merkaliel's mane around her fingers as she decided to tell Esgallhugwen her simple story. "After years of wandering between Lothlorien and Imladris, I was living with my mother and father in Mirkwood when Sauron's evil legions attacked the forest. I was a healer there and I saw so many fair elves die, elves that should have lived to see the beauty of the Valinor." She stopped as she remembered the death and destruction the orcs had caused. "Shortly after the Ring was destroyed, my mother and father left for the Havens so they could depart to the Valinor. They begged me to go with them, but I could not. I loved Middle-Earth and I could not leave it yet even though the fair realms of the elves would fade. Thrice I have journeyed to the Shire and made my way to the Grey Havens, and thrice I have returned to Ithilien."

Lira sighed and turned her face towards the stable doors. The piercing rays of the sun shone down upon the green grass which sparkled with the dew. Flocks of birds sang in the trees, glorying in the sunlit morning. A passionate love for this land stirred in Lira's heart and she realized that this would be her fourth journey to the Havens, and that it would not be completed. Soon she would return to Ithilien, or what remained of Lothlorien, but not now. It had been long indeed since she had tarried in the land of the Little Folk and she was not yet ready to leave.

[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.

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:

Derufin, a Man from Ethring in the Ringló Vale, is the stablemaster and general handyman/jack of all trades for the Inn.

Vinca Bunce, Hobbit – ‘Cook’ – widowed runs the kitchen

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff and Postmaster; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

Amaranthas Bolger – very old, crotchety Hobbit from Hobbiton, nicknamed ‘The Dragon’

Piosenniel – Elven, Innkeeper prior to Aman; married to Mithadan; has two children: a twin boy and girl; as yet unnamed infants.

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

It is now morning at the Inn, on a pleasant mid-summer's day.

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

[Dynaviir]

Dynaviir had sat watching the cook and what appeared to be a strong hobbit eating a muffin and crying tears of compressed joy. But he had overheard their conversation, and he was intrigued. He walked over to them, forgetting about this breakfast for a moment.

"Excuse me," he said, "if you are short for staff, I believe could help out. I'm well experienced at many crafts, and I would enjoy a way to pay you kind folk back for the hospitality of this inn. And I much enjoyed your meal last night, ma'am" he added, noticing the cook was looking up at him, as if she had never seen a ranger of Gondor before.

He looked over at Ruby, and remembered her from the night before. He wondered if her suspicion had passed, as he still carried his sword. But the hilt was somehow hidden behind his leg, and he was trying his hard to please the hobbits.

[GaladrieloftheOlden]

Herlion woke with a slight start, finding himself still in the corner where he had drifted off. His pipe had fallen onto the floor, though not before leaving a scorchmark on his boot, which now seemed to be smoking slightly. He had obviously been sleeping for quite a while, since the inn was a lot fuller now, and he had develop a crick in the neck. He stood up, somewhat stiffly, picking up his pipe, to wake himself up a bit, and walked around the perimeter of the floor a few times, sidestepping assorted... he decided on beings as being a nicely neutral word for them. All of them were awake, almost, and he wondered how he had slept through the racket of conversation himself.

Finally, getting tired of walking in circles, and increasingly aware of his growling stomach, Herlion sat down at an empty table and put his head in his hands, still tired. He wasn't sure of whether to stay at this inn much longer, didn't seem too exciting...

[Arestevana]

The Havens. Of course. That's where all the elves were headed these days. Randir watched Megilien's expression closely. Her voice had sounded funny when she had spoken, almost as if... He shook his head. It was surely just her sadness at departing Middle Earth, or maybe her apprehension of reaching the undying lands. There was no reason for her to be lying. His flight had made him too suspicious of everyone, Randir decided firmly. This young lady was telling him that she was about to leave her home forever, and he had the nerve to believe that she was lying. He immediately felt guilty, and turned his attention back to the conversation.

"I am sorry to hear that." He told Megilien, for once being honest. Then he remembered the question she had asked. "My business?" He could have smiled. She had given him the perfect explanation. "My mother's cousin, an elf maiden much like yourself, wished also to cross the sea. It was my mother's wish that I take her to the Havens and protect her on the trip. She has left now, and I am returning to my home in Gondor." He paused, realizing too late that if she was from Gondor she would know he was lying. Hoping this was not the case, he attempted a relaxed tone and added, "Where did you say you were from?"

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Arestevana ]

[Beren87]

"Gardening?" exclaimed Beren, being dragged along by the Innkeeper into the kitchen.

"Yes, yes, Gardening. The Inn is in need of a gardener, and you're in need of money. And start mumbling, you may have enough now, but it's sure to run out eventually." Said she, pushing open the door and stepping into the kitchen. The cook, her two servers, and Derufin all turned their heads as the pair entered.

"I..erm, Hello, all." Beren said, with a slight wave.

Stifling a small laugh, the cook moved to him, sizing him up with her eyes. "So, how would you like a job?"

He, in more of a stunned silence than anything else, asked, "What..will be my duties?"

[Novnarwen]

Brottle stood motionless, feeling akward. The sweat ran down his forhead, pale as he was, he started thinking about where the key would be. As a stiff stature he moved away from the staircases seeking the golden thing, given to him by the Innkeeper.

What would she say, when he couldn't return a key? he asked himelf. As he came to the common room, the scent of ale streamed into his nostrils, and he couldn't do anything but to place two silver coins at the desk, asking for a pint. Immediatly after his 'crime' he figured it too. The key, he thought. But the ale had the power over him, and Brottle couldn't obey his own thirst; finding the golden door opener.

The little hobbit settled himself down at the same place he had been sitting before. Marks of a tounge on the table, were still there, but Brottle cleaned it up with the arm of his shirt, gazing around in the room, watching if someone were looking. He drank in large gulps, only stopping to breathe. The liquid tasted better than the one home, he assured himself, whence taking the last drop. As he rised from the table, he noticed a man standing, talking to the gentle Innkeeper. Aman looked towards him, gazing at him from top to toe.

Brottle tried to hide himself, he walked in great speed towards the staircases, out of the common room, pretending he was going up to his room. It was his wife who had sent the man, Brottle thought. She wants to know how I can manage to live on my own. Brottle grew purple with anger, and his temper rising with two levels.

"You there!"

It was Aman, she had paced towards him with the stranger in her heels. Brottle tried to put on an innocent look, but not puppy eyes. If this was a man his wife had sent to watch over him, it would be stupid if she was to know about his eyes. She would just have a good laugh then, and Brottle would not have anything of that sort.

"This man," Aman started. "he found something that might be of interest." she added.

Brottle looked up, meeting the kind eyes of the woman, but he didn't dare look at the stranger. Aman opened her hand, and to Brottle's surprise, was the golden key, the one, he had been looking for.

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Envinyatar]

‘Well, let’s go out and see about those duties. Better to have a picture of what you’re going to be doing, don’t you think?’ Cook was giving the young man no chance to wiggle out of the spot she had planned for him. She took him by the elbow, an incongruous pair – tall and young, short and older. Behind them trailed Ruby, Buttercup, and Derufin.

The back door of the Inn, the one that led into the kitchen, faced south – the front door leading into the Common Room was on the north, oriented toward the Great Road that ran not too far from it. The Inn’s stables were to the left across the back yard, south east as you left the kitchen. While the garden was to the right in the southwest corner of the Inn property. It extended further west than the Inn, and afforded a good view of the roadway to anyone working in it. Between the stables and the Garden was the hand pump that served the water needs for the Inn.

‘Now here’s your tool shed,’ she said, pointing out the wooden structure at the east end of the garden.’ She fished for the key on her ring and opened the lock that secured it. Everything you’ll need is in here. Minto’s kept it nice and tidy, and the tools are all cleaned proper and sharpened where needed. A few hours in the morning should see you through on most days. A little weeding, and watering . . . a little replanting when the time comes . . . I’ll send one of the girls out with a basket to gather what we need for the day.

Beren’s eyes were wide as he listened to her go on and looked at the neatly spaced rows of green leaves depending upon him for their well-being. Before he knew it, she was handing the key to the tool shed to him.

‘We’ve got to get elevenses out for the folk in the Inn, and I need to start lunch and supper.’ Cook motioned for Ruby and Buttercup to follow her back to the kitchen.

‘Derufin!’ She called out the stableman’s name as he wandered toward the horse corral. He stopped, and turned shading his eyes from the late morning sun. ‘You can show him the hen yard,’ she directed him.

_____________________________________________


The henyard stood along the western wall of the stables, a large fenced area with a hencoop that held fifteen chickens – one rooster and 14 layers. Derufin showed Beren the key to unlatching the wire mesh gate.

‘If you don’t mind,’ he said, ‘I’ll see to the chickens, if you’ll gather the eggs for the Inn in the morning. I rather like the little creatures. The rooster’s a bit feisty, but he and I have come to an understanding and he doesn’t attack me now when I change out the straw for their bedding.’ He eyed Beren, wondering if the man had ever gathered eggs before.

‘Best you get up before dawn to get the eggs; they’ll all be sleeping still and won’t make a fuss.’ He showed him the tiny scars on his right hand from one of his first attempts to gather eggs when the rooster was awake. ‘Just get the basket from the counter in the kitchen, and fill it with a little straw for cushioning. Then, quickly go from hen to hen, slipping your hand beneath her and pulling out one or two eggs – just make sure you leave one for her to raise up. Take them in and set them back on the counter and one of the girls will take care of them.

‘Tea’s usually brewed by then, and Cook’s fresh morning pastries are out – help yourself to some. She’ll be expecting it. You’ll have a few hours then before you need to tend to the garden, so you can pop back under your quilts for a while if you wish.’

Derufin said he’d feed the chickens when he fed the horses, and told Beren that sometimes in the late afternoon he liked to let the hens and chicks out to forage for bugs in the garden. ‘Well just need to remember to pen them back up at night – weasels, and foxes, and the occasional egg stealing raccoon, you know.’

He motioned for Beren to sit with him a while on the bench beneath the oak tree in the stable yard, offering him his pouch of Southern Star. ‘I’m doubting you’ll be expected to start today. Might as well relax a bit.’ Derufin smilled and looked off toward the Inn. ‘Perhaps we’re putting the cart before the horse with all this talk of gardening and hens – I haven’t actually heard you accept the offer.’

He lit his pipe, offering the flint to Beren, and took in a mouthful of the flavorsome smoke . . .

[Beren87]

Beren sat on the bench, his head whirling with the information just thrown at him in spades. "Gardener?" he thought to himself. "What on earth just happened?"

Turning his head left, he noticed the flint Derufin was offering him. He politely waved it away with a flick of his hand, and a small turn of his head. A pipe, for odd reasons, never seemed to calm him the way it did others. He only used it when he had a clear mind. Now, was certainly not a clear minded time.

"I..well." he began, not truly sure of what he was to say next. To accept would mean staying here, at the Inn, which he didn't know if he could. And, to commit himself to being a gardener? Could he really stay here, without moving on? Suddenly the image of Aman flashed through his mind, answering all of his spiraling questions at once.

"I would be quite happy to stay on here, as gardener." He said, with a reassuring smile. "I've really got nothing else going for me anywhere else, and this is something I do know how to do..."

Derufin was taken back slightly, at his last comment. "You've had experience, doing this sort of work?"

"Er..well, actually, yes. In my youth, I used to work with the gardener on our estate, I always loved watching things grow and flourish." His eyes twinkeled, remembering the innocent times.

"Well then, you'll be quite alright in ths job." He snickered slightly at his own comment. He leaned back against the bench, drawing on his pipe. "It's not the most exciting job, but, there's no better place to work than an Inn, in my opinion."

"I'm rather beginning to like it here, myself." answered Beren. "Just, one thing. What's in town? I've never actually gone into it."

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Beren87 ]

[Horse-Maiden of the Shire]

Tallin stepped into the Green Dragon and smiled at the merry place, his face creasing at the corners of his green eyes. Striding over to the bar, he ordered an ale and sipped it. Surveying the people in the inn, Tallin noticed that most of them were hobbits. Well, of course! he said to himself. This inn is in the Shire, after all.

As Tallin sat, enjoying his ale, he watched the people over the rim of his mug. He noticed one man sitting at a table, his head buried in his hands. He seemed tired. Tallin took it upon himself to go over and introduce himself.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, tapping the man on the shoulder. Herlion looked up with a start and stared at him. "May I sit with you and talk a while?" inquired Tallin. "I've just arrived in the Green Dragon Inn, and this is a new place for me."

[Elentarimir]

Megilien listened with interest, as the man described taking an elf-maiden to the Havens. She had the distinct impression he was lying, or not telling the whole truth to her. But then, he hastily changed the subject, asking her where she was from.

"I am from Rivendell," she told him quietly. "As you have no doubt already gathered from my dark hair." She sipped her wine, and watched him with interest. There was only one way she could find out if he was lying. "I don't suppose you'd care to tell me what the name of the Elf was?" she asked casually.

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Elentarimir ]

[Dragon Elf odin Ragnorock]

This morning he orders breakfast from Ruby and tells her that he would like to have it outside. So Ragnorock takes a chair and plants the four legs of the chair on the ground outside of the door. Then he pulls out the ring and looks at it again trying to remember what Galadriel said about it. He sits and stairs at the ring for a good 20 minutes. Then Ruby, with a plate of eggs and bacon with a side of toast, comes out of the inn and gives the plate to Ragnorock.

“Thanks” said Ragnorock
“Any thing more?” asks Ruby
“ A cup of ale please” said Ragnorock

After Ruby leaves Ragnorock looks at the ring longing to know what it dose because Thinks that it is not just a signet ring. But he thinks to himself why did my friend give me this ring and why did he wnat me out of all of his family to have his air loom that was passed down to hi grandfather and his father and os on and so forth.

[ August 03, 2003: Message edited by: Dragon Elf odin Ragnorock ]

[GaladrieloftheOlden]

"Excuse me, sir," somebody said, startling Herlion out of his half-slumber. "May I sit with you and talk a while?" the man asked. "I've just arrived in the Green Dragon Inn, and this is a new place for me."

"Why... of course," said Herlion, beginning to feel that he was staring. Remembering any manners he may have had, he stood up, unaware that he was turning beet red, and, clearing his throat said: "My name is Herlion. And what may I call you?"

[Arestevana]

Randir gave a slight mental sigh, not allowing his expression to change a bit. He had been expecting the question. Well, this time he would give the truth, in hopes that it would get him out. "Her name was Eglawen," He told her. "She was a wanderer, but stayed in Rivendell this past year. Perhaps you've met her?"

He knew he was probably caught, but had to give it a try. Eglawen had indeed been to Rivendell the year before, until she left for the Havens with her two sons. Presumably they had made the voyage safely, but no word had been heard of them since. Randir looked up at Megilien, wondering how she would respond.

[Elentarimir]

Megilien scrutinized the man in front of her. "Eglawen," she murmured softly. The name was definitely familiar, especially if he was referring to the Elf she thought he was. But there was a bit of a problem with his story.

"Eglawen was a good friend of mine. I knew her well, until she made ready to depart for the Havens." Here she leaned forward a bit. "There is a slight glitch in your story, however. I traveled with her and her sons to Rivendell. There was no young man with her then, and I highly doubt she would have taken up with one." Megilien sighed gently, recalling fond memories of her old friend. "She was distrustful of Men."

Megilien looked sternly at Randir. "Do you mind telling me what your real business is? Or is it too secret?"

[Kryssal]

Domen Berrypatch looked at the Green Dragon Inn with a gladdened eye. All the old Hobbit wanted was a nice set down to rest his tired bottom. Why, even his bones seemed to creek as much as his old wooden wagon did when he slowly eased down off of it. Apple seemed to be glad for the respite as well, the poor little pony had been plodding through the Shire since sun-up.

Dusting off his worn brown travelling coat, Domen walked up to pat Apple's neck, then gave her a nice carrot for a treat. Then he limped over to the stable doors to find a stable boy. One popped up shortly and eagerly unhitched Apple from her harness after having her steer the wagon to a safe resting spot.

Smiling he gave the boy a coin. "And there will be a lil' more 'o that when I pick her up, if she's treated well an' all," Domen winked and ruffled the boys hair before striding off toward the Inn's door.

Upon entering the common room he noticed several odd characters to be dining in the Shire. He even took a few back glances at some that looked like they might be Elves. Giving a large shrug, the old Hobbit ambled over to a small table and fell into one of the chairs. Dragging another chair over he leaned back and put his left leg up on it; the leg was ever so stiff from riding all day.

Soon a nice serving lady came over and asked what he'd like.

"Oh," Domen said, rubbing his chin with one hand and patting his belly with the other. "I think I'll just do with a bit o' ale, and some bread, cheese... mayhap a piece of friut. Have ya got any stew prehaps?" Before the Inn worker could answer he continued on. "Naw, no stew fer me. Got to get back going on the road. Cousin Dawn Brandybuck wouldn't like if I was late with her personal shipment, see? Right then, I'll have good cup o' ale, half loaf of bread and nice chunk o' cheese. That'll do it right."

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen smiled faintly at Lira. Taking out the pink cream from her belt pouch, she began to treat Morsereg's leg wound. 'This should be the last time... we came across a camp of orcs a few weeks back and ended up with a few wounds' most of the orcs fled into the mountains and other dark shadowed areas at the end of the War of the Ring, but some still lingered in open lands.

She felt now that she owed Lira at least a tale of some of her past, though it would be a short tale indeed for now. 'Off the border of Rhûn to the southeast but not to close to the land of Mordor was where my father's land was, he and my Mother once resided closer to what was once known as Greenwood' Esgallhugwen patted Morsereg on the muzzle as the sun inched it's way higher up into the sky.

A slight breeze blew the leaves sending them shimmering like emeralds as flowers opened up before Esgallhugwen's feet. 'My Father wanted independence so he went forth with a small host of ones that would follow him and they neared the border of the East, than I was born, the land was already shadowed but it only became worse as the time drew on'.

She now wished to go inside to get a small bite to eat than perhaps she would continue her story.

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[Horse-Maiden of the Shire]

"You may call me Tallin, or Tal if you are too lazy to say the whole word." Tallin laughed heartily at his own joke, but ceased when he saw Herlion looking at him strangely. "Very well then. Let's sit and chat a bit, shall we?" asked Tallin, plopping himself down on the bench at the table. "First, a little bit about myself. My name is Tallin, son of Pallon, and I come from Rohan. My story is the usual travelers'; the road was long, hard, and sometimes quite treacherous. But I enjoy traveling anyways."

Here Tallin paused for breath; and for a sip of his ale. What he hadn't told Herlion was his "darker" side, if Tallin had a darker side. Here and there he liked to do some petty thieving, for thrills and sometimes to get by, when he couldn't find any animals to use for food. Herlion might be a good target; thought Tallin. But only time will tell.

After drinking some ale and finishing his thoughts, Tallin now turned to Herlion, asking "What of you, friend? How did you come about to be in the Shire, at the Green Dragon?"

[Imladris]

Lira glanced at Esgallhugwen quickly, and pretty smile spread across her unattractive face as she realized that Esgallhugwen was beginning to trust her. "Come, let us get something to eat," she said happily a she skipped out the stable doors towards the inn, Esgallhugwen close behind her.

They ate pieces of bread, steamed vegetables, and they each had a small glass of wine. "You told me that your stallion was injured in an orc attack," Lira said, sipping slowly at her wine. It was a deep red in color, and Lira relished each sip as the clear liquid flowed smoothy across her tongue. "Were you also wounded?"

[Esgallhugwen]

'Aye, I was... of which most have healed by now, all but two, one across my back and another on my thigh when an orc jumped out onto my side while I was mounted' she took a few more scoops of the vegetables and a sip of wine. 'But do not worry for me, the cream you saw earlier is of my own making... you may have seen such creams of a yellow or green tone in your travels or used by your own hands, those are the popular blends to be made'.

Esgallhugwen looked around realizing she no longer was hidden beneath her dark green hood, a slight panic took hold of her but she pushed it aside quickly. She did not want people to look upon her in wonder, but most importantly fear.

She noticed a few Hobbits sitting about while others were serving breakfasts. She looked over to see some men sitting in a corner chatting, while others still sat all around her talking about many things that did not concern her... for now anyway.

She looked sadly out the window for a brief moment.Her grey eyes glittered as if with tiny stars. Esgallhugwen did not want people to fear her, nor to clamour around in wonder like a bee attracted to a flower.

Her dark audurn hair shimmered with fire in the dawns light. A strong bond may grow between us yet Esgallhugwen thought.

[Envinyatar]

"Just, one thing. What's in town? I've never actually gone into it."

Derufin, a perplexed look on his face, pulled his pipe from his mouth and looked at the man beside him. Beren seemed sincere in his question and there was no hint he could read on his features that said the man was pulling his leg. ‘Must be from a larger town . . . or perhaps a city,’ he thought to himself.

He tapped the ashes from the bowl of his pipe and rubbed them out in the dirt with his boot. ‘Well, Beren, I’m not quite sure how to answer you. This is the center of the town, so to speak. On Fridays we have the town market here in the front yard – when the weather is good. And there is a Town Hall down the road where the Mayor and his associates meet once a week or twice if there is pressing business. Then down the road to the east are the locks and the small Shiriff’s station. Halfred is the Shiriff and when he’s not busy investigating who tromped through who’s garden – he’s also the mailman.’ Derufin put his now cold pipe into his tobacco pouch and stored it in his vest pocket.

‘Anyone needing their ponies shod or iron work done goes over to the Boffin place if they need something big done – they have a large forge. Or they come here, we have a small one we can use for shoeing or a little tinkering, as need be.’ He got up and stretched, thinking he should get busy mucking out the stalls, since Vanwe was not here. He looked down at the still seated Beren. ‘Oh, and every so often, we push back the tables in the Inn and have some local musicians in. Dance and drink and sometimes a few fireworks.’

He winked broadly at Beren and then turned to walk toward the stable entrance. ‘Should be one coming up in a few weeks when Mistress Piosenniel and her family come through on their way to Gondor,’ he said pausing, and turning back to Beren. ‘Might want to line up someone to squire to the party, eh?!’

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Beren87]

The sun beated down upon Beren, as he sat on the bench outside the Inn. For some odd reason, the thought hadn't occured to him to actually get out of the burning light, so he sat there still, thinking to himself, watching the birds on the garden fence.

Of coure this wasn't a large city, he had known that, but if he was to stay here, he would be in need of quite a few items.

"Well," he mumbled gruffly, "That market seems as best as any, this Friday."

He turned to admire the garden, his soon-to-be workspace. The rows were ordered, and the plants growing quite well, but weeds were slowly overtaking. There were tufts of grass popping up here and there, interrupting the ordered lines made by the growing greens.

The shed, a recently dilapidated structure, was to his left. The soft ground barely crunched under his feet as he moved over to it, rubbing his hand along the rough walls.

"This shouldn't take too much work to fix up. Seems to me no other Gardener has really worried about it. It's a keen mind that catches odd trait, as the old gardener used to say." he laughed silently, ending in a smile as he thought of these words to himself.

Sweat beads rolled down his forehead, each a small push telling him to get inside. He began to head towards the Inn, wondering what to do now. He thought for a bit of trying to speak with Aman, but she had something about running she had to do, so he doubted he'd be seeing her anytime today.

It was a few degrees cooler in the shade of the Inn, no matter how many people were inside it. He moved up to the bar and with a chuckle called back,

"You're gardener is going to be needing an Ale, if he's ever to stand this heat long enough to stay here!"

[Arestevana]

Randir's mind whirled. This elf claimed to have known Eglawen, to have traveled with her! Distrustful of men, she had said! "She was my mother's counsin," He repeated. "If you have met her, you must have met her young sons. Would not any mother wish for protection on so perilous a journey?"

He saw Megilien's expression and laughed. "Perilous, yes. Do not play the fool. This land is peaceful, you say, yet we both sit at an inn in the Shire with swords at our sides!" He told her, by saying this, that he had noticed she was not unarmed, and that he knew she knew he wore a sword, hidden though it was. Suddenly a thought struck him.

"To Rivendell you traveled?" He asked. "Do you not dwell in Imladris itself? How is it that you managed to stray so far from your home? Eglawen held her last home to be in Ithilen, where she dwelt before her westward journeys. Surely you did not fight in the wars! How was it, then, that you came to meet her, lady of Rivendell?"

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: Arestevana ]

[Imladris]

"I a sorry you were wounded," said Lira softly. She had never before come face to face with orcs, and she was glad about that. She knew how they looked, and she stifled a shudder as she thought of their malignant eyes, their long arms, and the dreadful uruk-hai of Saruman. It was as if their putrid memory stained her pure elven soul, but yet she did pity them a little.

She glanced out the window again, and her spirits lifted as she heard the birds sing in the sky, the white clouds scurry across their blue carpet, the butterflies seek the golden nectar of the flowers. A laugh, sweet, silvery, bewitching, haunting, bubbled forth from Lira at the pure joy of living in Illuvitar's song. Turning once more to Esgallhugwen, she smiled and asked, "So what brings you to the Shire, Mellon?"

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[piosenniel]

Falco had breakfasted well, and now he sat at the small table by the window, a mug of tea in one hand and his pipe in the other. The lovely, deep smell of well-cured Old Toby drifted up from the bowl, as he looked out at the Inn yard at the newcomers just stabling their horses. There, in the distance, riding from the east was a small figure with a green hat on his head.

The rider came closer and the image sharpened – a green hat with a white feather. Falco stood and went out to the porch of the Inn. It was Halfred, in his shiriff’s hat, and riding at a rather fast speed for the usually indolent Dumpling, his faithful steed. Derufin, noting the approach of the sheriff, had come out from the stable to take the reins as Halfred dismounted, heaving his rather large bulk from the pony’s saddle and plunking down ungracefully in the dirt.

Halfred paused for a few moments, and spoke to the stablemaster. Falco could see the man’s face take on a grim look, and he nodded to the Shiriff. When Halfred was finished speaking, Falco hurried down the steps to intercept him. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked. ‘How can I help?’

They went into the Inn and sat at a table apart from the cluster of patrons enjoying their ales at that time of day. ‘We’ve had news of the ruffians again,’ said Halfred in a low voice. We thought we had run them out for good, but the Rangers at the borders of the Northfarthing and Eastfarthing said they’d picked up signs they’ve entered again. Come west they think from Deadman’s Dike. And we’ve had word that the stable of the small Inn at Girdley Island was hit. They’ve gone off with a number of the horses and ponies stabled there.’ He motioned for Buttercup to bring them two ales. Falco winked at her, and she scurried off, her cheeks aflame.

Halfred took a swig of his ale when she brought it, then continued on. ‘The Golden Perch has been warned to be on the lookout for them, and news was relayed to me from one of the deputies riding west from the Floating Log at Frogmorton. There are Rangers covering the area, but they’re few. It would be good if you could go west from here and let the folk know what is going on. Best we Shire folk look after our own.’

Falco nodded his head at Halfred’s words. He drained his mug then went to his room and hastily packed up his few belongings. A few brief words to the stableman, and he mounted his pony, heading back toward Michel Delving to alert the deputies there.

Buttercup pouted as she watched Falco leave, and she gave a disapproving glance at Halfred, who had been the obvious cause of his departure. Slow steps brought her to Halfred’s table when he held up his mug to her. ‘Who’s that man,’ he asked, eyeing the tall member of the Big Folk standing at the bar.’

Buttercup turned, noting the only one of that description was Beren. ‘That’s the new gardener. Just started this morning, he did.’ Halfred looked him up and down. ‘Where’d he come from?’ Buttercup shrugged her shoulders and took his mug, leaving him to consider the origins of the ‘gardener’ on his own.

Halfred sighed and heaved his bulk from the chair. ‘Might as well suss out the fellow,’ he thought to himself as he approached the bar. ‘Who knows, he could be one of the ruffians spying out likely places to hit next.’

‘Beren, is it,’ said Halfred, with a welcoming smile on his face. ‘I understand you’re new here in Bywater. Let me buy you another ale. Thirsty work gardening.’ The two men took a pull at their drinks. Halfred wiped the foam from his upper lip with the red kerchief he kept in his back pocket. ‘I heard from Buttercup you’re the new gardener here at the Inn. I have a garden of my own. Lovely bit of soil – like to grow them cauliflowers, cabbages, too. Been having a heck of a time with the cut worm, though.’ Halfred took another drink and invited Beren to sit with him.

‘So,’ he continued casually, once they had settled into their chairs, ‘What brings you to the Westfarthing?’

[Novnarwen]

The red flames from the fire cast a dim light into his pale face. His hood covered his eyes in the dark. Only he, sat in that corner, waiting for his friend to appear. He smoked while sitting there, letting out the white smoke now and then. A small cough from is throat could be heard, and then he fell was silent. Money there, he thought while watching a man's pocket filled with silver coins. In the dark you could see his smile; his yellow teeth sticking out. Folw let his hood slide from his head. The sweaty long hair appeared. The thin man ordered a pint ale at the same time, letting the remaining coins (three to be precise) in his pocket.

Where is he? Folw thought while drinking his ale. It tasted bitter, but he wasn't to complain. The man hadn't had food for a very long time, and he drank it therefore with no further thought of its' taste. As he finished his ale, he leaned back, getting a glimpse of the door. And therein came the man who Folw was waiting for, his companion.

With great pace he came towards the man hid in the dark, in other words; he knew exactly where to find him. ''Greetings,'’ he said. Fowl gave a sign showing him to settle down. The most important thing was not to get attention. ''Now, what have you found out?'' Fowl asked eagerly while filling his pipe with pipe weed. ''No saying 'hi' to an old friend,'' the man said disappointed. Fowl gave a nod, letting the man continue: ''Bad news,'' he started. ''They'll not leave today, but tomorrow,'' his companion told him. Fowl sighed. ''Then we strike tomorrow'' he said determined.

The other man, called Stirru looked at him and gave a grimace. ''I can wait that long,'' he answered, and they talked no further of their business.

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Beren87]

"What brings you to the Westfarthing?" inquired the Shiriff, politely. An alterior motive than politeness was obvious, but politeness it was none the less, and therfor called for it in return.

"Ah, well, good Shiriff! I was hoping to meet you soon, seeing as you're such a prominent member of the Inn." He said the last with a sly grin, his mischeviousness evident to himself. "I've been traveling for years now, a sort of..researcher, you might say, out to any and all parts I feel the wish to visit. I've been to most places now, the elven cities, the dwarven realms."

"Well then, we've a well-explored man in our mist. We folks don't get about, all that much, really; more fond of sticking to The Shire. You, hmm.., met anyone around here recently? Any of your own big folk, that is?" The small shirrif rested his head on his hand, his elbow leaning on the bar.

"Well, besides the dear Innkeeper and the stableman, not really. I only arived two days ago, you see. Had a nasty bit with a few Goblin-types on the road from Bree, if you get my drift. Barely escaped with all my extremeties in tact. Got two of them, before they stopped following though, they'll have to work a little harder next time." He winked at his own recounting of the escapades, still fresh in his mind.

"Well well, I think those are the ruffians we've been looking for, good sir. Seems you've done us a favor, I deem. If you ever come across any of 'em again, you just come down to the Shirrifs' station, by the locks." Stool-legs scraped against the wooden floor as he got up, patting Beren on the arm.

"Will do, Shirrif. I suggest you start keeping more of a watch on any of these folk going down to Bree though, these roads aren't as safe as they used to be, that's for sure." Beren then turned back to his ale, sipping back the foam.

"Not as safe as when I started out, anyway." he said this silently to himself, eyeing the Shirrif as he walked away. "Though, I doubt that Shirrif is going to help matters."

[Amanaduial the archer]

"What'd Halfred want?" Aman had seen the Shirrif talking to Beren when she came in from talking to a messenger, but was polite enough not to have interrupted. Beren nearly jumped at her words, turning quickly, startled.

"Oh...oh, sorry Aman." He looked back after the retreating Halfred, and shrugged. "He was just asking where I come from, you know." He said nothing of the alterior motives he had suspected, but Aman knew there must have been some. Besides, the Shirrif cum mailman wasn't exactly subtle.

"He knows more than me then. Where is it you're from? It's been a while since I have actually asked after what happens outside the Inn- worked myself into a niche, so to speak." She grinned. "And what'd you think of the Shirrif?"

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Envinyatar]

The stablemaster brought out Dumpling for the Shiriff, and spoke with him a few moments. He shook his head at Halfred’s assurance that the goblin-men were responsible and had been run off in their encounter with the Inn’s gardener. ‘We can only hope that’s true,’ he said, holding the pony’s reins as the sheriff mounted up. ‘Still I’ll take extra care with seeing to the security of the stable.’

Before Halfred could turn Dumpling about and head toward the road, Derufin drew out a sealed letter and handed it to him. 'I know it's not mail day, but will you see that this goes west as soon as you can?' Halfred took the missive and inspected the address. 'Doesn't stay in one place too long does she?' Derufin declined to answer, and Halfred stuck the letter in his inner vest pocket, promising he would see it delivered.

Derufin walked back to the stables slowly. He wished mightily Vanwe was not away. Her Elven senses would be more alert than his, especially at night, as he had always been a sound sleeper. ‘Ah, well,’ nothing to do but just re-learn to catnap,’ he thought to himself, hoping that a better answer would come to him if he just thought on it longer.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Later, just before lunch, Derufin found himself in the kitchen, wheedling an early feed from Cook. 'I'll take it with me if you don't mind,' he said watching her put thin slices of ham on thick slices of bread smeared with mustard. She wrapped the sandwich in a clean linen napkin, and handed him a few nutbutter cookies. He gave her a winning grin and grabbed two apples for himself, too.

Taking a bite from one of them as he walked out the door, he called back in a muffled voice. 'Don't forget - if you can think of someone to bunk in my quarters for a while, I'd appreciate it, I've got that extra room, and I could use the extra eyes and ears , at least til the crisis, if there is to be one, has passed.'

Cook nodded and waved him off and went back to putting the crust on the blackberry pies she was baking for dinner.

[ July 31, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Just as she looked up and was about to answer, a very fat Hobbit came into the Inn, he seemed to notice a man sitting at the bar and waddled his way over to him. Esgallhugwen heard bits and pieces of the conversation; they spoke of ruffians and how the man had come across them, Goblins they had been and were dismissed as the actual trouble makers but all wasn't right with their thought there was something more to it than just goblins or orcs near the border of Bree.

The other night she had passed through Bree like a storm, only stopping at the Prancing Pony to ask for further directions. She had startled many of the drunks that sat at the bar, her presence was fierce and haunting.

The Inn was dimly lit making her green cloak look black, many who sat about thought she was a wraith at first glance; like the town's tale told of many years before. The Innkeeper was a sweaty mumbling startled mess when he finally blurted out the directions to the Green Dragon.

With a flick of her cloak she was back on her dark horse speeding off down the trail.

Singing of birds outside brought her back to her senses 'what brings me to the Shire?' she said thoughtfully to herself. 'To see the little folk I suppose... I no longer have a home in the East, though I lingered there after the fact for many years, and only now grew dreary of the loss and waste of that place'. A bird fluttered by the window as the pudgy Hobbit left the door going down the trail on his fat pony.

[piosenniel]

It is midmorning, now in the Shire. Very near lunch time.

[Imladris]

Lira frowned as she heard the words of the fat hobbit and the man at the bar. It hurt to think that this fair land could be bothered by goblin-like men. She had heard rumors of the lingering bits of evil, but she had rather hoped the Shire hadn't been bothered by it...but that had been a foolish hope.

Turning to Esgallhugwen she noticed that the elf maiden wasn't really thinking about why she had come to the Shire at all, and Lira wondered if she too had heard what the hobbit and man had been speaking of. Rising, she declared, "I am going to ask the Innkeeper if she needs any help or assistance with anything, especially since the news of the goblin-men. Would you like to join me?"

[Chathol-linn]

“The henyard stood along the western wall of the stables, a large fenced area with a hencoop that held fifteen chickens – one rooster and 14 layers. Derufin showed Beren the key to unlatching the wire mesh gate … and wondered if the man had ever gathered eggs before.”

The great bell of the Green Dragon tolled the signal for luncheon, and all folk within hearing obeyed the welcome call. The farmhand Hobbits stowed their tools and went home; the visitors to the Shire found their boarding houses and hosts; and the guests of the Green Dragon attended the hall as if pulled there on strings – its table was renowned, thanks to Cook, and in the Shire, that was saying something.

Amidst all the coming and going of inn-folk and servants and Hobbits on luncheon break, no one noticed a figure who sidled up the western wall of the stable, well away from the law-abiding folk on the North-south road. She – well, we suppose it was a she, although it was hard to tell from the thin body and bowl-shaped hair cut – had one thought on her mind and that thought was food. And there it was. Someone had forgotten to mind the chickens so well, and a biddy was wandering about the henyard, mindless as a – chicken.

Willofain crouched low, thankful that there seemed to be no one about. She would grab that bird by the neck, throttle it in one swift motion if her strength held, pluck it, clean it, cook it and eat it. Or just eat it.

Silent as a shadow and nearly as thin, the young Mortal reached for the young hen, and as she did so, a shadow fell across her path.

Character: Willofain the orphan, a Mortal girl of sixteen.