The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

It is mid-morning now in the Shire. The sky is a glorious shade of blue; the sun is shining bright and warm on the Inn. The folk in the Shire are up and about their business, and there are many visitors to the Inn.

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Just a reminder:

The storyline at the Inn must stay within the Inn or on the Inn grounds. Characters can tell others in the Inn about their adventures, but they cannot go outside the boundaries of the Inn and participate in adventures.

--- The Red Book of Westmarch/Rules for posting in the Shire

[piosenniel]

Cook stood on the little porch that led into the kitchen, one hand shading her eyes against the sun. Derufin and Anyopâ were just bringing the big wagon round, backing it up as near as they could to the Inn’s woodshed. She waved her hand at the two men as they climbed down from the seat and bustled over to speak with them.

‘Mind you put the greener wood in back and the dry to the front,’ she said, casting a critical eye at the load. Derufin smiled and nodded his head at her instruction. ‘And I hope you’re not working our guests to death,’ she went on craning her head round to where Anyopâ had begun unloading the split wood. Her admonition was met with an ‘Of course not’ from Derufin and a firm denial from his companion.

‘Well, then, just get on with it and then come on in. I’ve made some sugar cookies.’ She grinned at Derufin. ‘I’ve put a plateful away just for you.’

Cook turned round to go back into the kitchen. ‘Oh, and once you’re done there, do you think you could fix the door knob here?’ Derufin frowned as she showed him how loose it had gotten. ‘Hasty Elf,’ was all she said in explanation as she tromped back into the kitchen.

[Huan]

Anyopâ watched the Hobbit make her way back into the kitchen. He gathered up an armful of wood and made for the woodshed.

‘She belies the name Halfling, don’t you think?’ he asked Derufin. ‘In stature she’s quite diminutive, but in spirit she stands quite tall.’ He smiled, recalling her ticking off of orders for the day to Derufin. ‘I can’t imagine anyone crossing her with success.’

A whiff of cooling cookies wended its way out through the kitchen’s window, making the man’s mouth water. ‘You are going to share your plate of sugar cookies with your fellow worker, aren’t you?’ he asked Derufin as he stacked the wood.

[Fairleaf]

Reggie stood up and reluctantly put his marbles back into his pouch and from there into his pocket. Neviel held out his hand with the marbles Reggie had loaned him for the game. ‘Not all of them, Neviel,’ Reggie said, picking out only the ones he’d first loaned his new friend. ‘You get to keep the marbles you won fair and square.’ He pushed Neviel’s hand shut round the small number of marbles left there. ‘Maybe your Da can make a little pouch for you to keep them in.’

Daisy waved at Reggie, trying to get his attention. ‘You want to sit with me? And the other fellows?’ he asked Neviel, making his way to where his sister held out a slate for him. He patted a seat on the bench near him, and laid his slate carefully on the table. ‘I hope she tells us a story first,’ he whispered, pointing toward where Miz Bella stood. ‘She knows ones about dragons.’

A ‘Sssst!’ from his sister made him forego any other comments on what Miz Bella might or might not do. He turned his head toward the teacher, watching her as she spoke with the man and the older girl near the bookshelves.

[Witch_Queen]

She rode up to the inn on a cold black horse. She didn't know why she had chosen to come this way but Zingilpâhloth, her horse, choose the way they went. She lent down to the horses large ear and began to whisper to the creature. "Zingilpâhloth why did you choose this way. We could've gone anywhere." The horse whinned telling Cariâthwen that coming to the Green Dragon was good for her. "Ok.. ok.. Just let me find some where to put you." At about that time the horse took Cariâthwen what appeared to be the stables. "Well I guess this will do for now." Cariâthwen dismounted from her horse being careful not to tear her green cloak. Leading the beast into an empty stable Cariâthwen was surprised that Zingilpâhloth didn't try to fight her.
Typical...... Cariâthwen looked at the horse. "You'll be ok. Give me a minute to see what I can find out and I'll be right back." The look in the horse's eye told Cariâthwen that it was ok if she decided to talk to someone and actually make some friends.

Pulling the hood on her cloak over her head Cariâthwen began walking towards the inn door. I don't know what I'll see that will make me stay. But if the stories I've heard is right then perhaps I'll find this place as charming as the travelers have told me. Her grey eyes let everyone around her know that she was an elf. For once it didn't take her pointy ears or her voice to announce her race. She opened the door of the inn and looked around the place to see if she saw anyone familar. Just glancing at the people she couldn't tell if there was a single elf that came from her home of Lorien.

Alone again. It had been so long since Cariâthwen was around her own kind. Always she found herself surrounded by hobbits, men and sometimes dwarves. Cariâthwen longed for company of an elf that had actually lived in Lorien before it was abandoned. Cariâthwen found an empty table and sat down in the very empty chair. She looked around for some unknown reason. She didn't know why she was even inside the inn. Cariâthwen heard a door open and looked towards the noise. She noticed an elf entering the common room.

The face looked familar to her but she didn't know from where. Thalion! Cariâthwen had only heard about his works of healing but she hadn't seen him in a long time. Cariâthwen stood up and decided to talk to the elf. "Thalion?????"

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline had been weeping for some time now. He finally looked up and saw that Avalon was gone. He drank the last of his ale and got up. He made his way over to an unoccupied table. He saw John across the room and beckoned him to approach. He did so. Dwaline was obviously troubled, and before John could inquire, Dwaline handed him a piece of parchment. It was tattered, bunt and crumpled, but still readable. The wax seal of Rivendel was on it.

This is what he read on it;

Dwaline, faithful friend,

It is I, Fáinu. I fear my news is fell. My company came to Rivendel in high spirits some days ago. Our horses had been galloping double pace through the nights. Cree has a rather swift horse, and is the envy of many Elves in the valley. At Rivendel, Ellodan and Elrohir met with me to discuss our means.

It had been decided that we would ride out the next night and make for the high pass to come to Wilderland. After that, we would use the Wood elves favour to guide us to the grey mountains. We were joined by you're son, Dwarrow. He was a valiant fellow, the image of his father, in body and mind. He had mastered the horses of Rivendel and could ride as fast as we.

At Dawn after setting out, we were already high in the Mountains. We had avoided the Stone giants narrowly and came upon a small band of Goblins. We disposed of them swiftly. However, an ill fate was on us that day, for a fell creature flew from the skies and attacked us. Like onto an Eagle, but evil and black. Almost Dragon like.

I used my whole Quiver on that beast and still it did not fall. It swooped one last time upon out company, taking with him three. Including, you're son. Foolishly, Theldar, an Elf of Rivendel, threw a spear at the fell beast and it was pierced in the heart. I cried him to stay his hand, but it was too late. The Beast plummeted down though the clouds and took our companions with him.

Upon investigation, we found the beast gone, but the bodies of our companions still there, but badly burned. Dwarrow was the least burned and we were able to carry his body to Rivendel. His grave is deep under stone and you would be proud to see him hack at the beast's foot in his dieing moments.

We have delayed the continuing of our journey for now. And hope to see you soon. Cree sends her regrets to you and asks that you do not fall into disperse.

Yours in sorrow,

ifáinufalokin.

John sat and looked at the dishevelled Dwarf who stared out of the window solemnly. He seemed to sing a little song to himself, but John could not hear it.

[Saelind]

Thalion had wandered down to the Common Room to finish his breakfast, his mind still riveted on his son and how Miz Bella had assured him the boy would be welcome at the school. One day, surely one day won't hurt. Perhaps Neviel will find that the class doesn't suit him, and we can be on our way. Yet Thalion still had no idea where he should go next. Memories of his dream from the night before hung heavily over his head. He could not simply run off to the Havens and pretend the dream had never happened. Yet he had no idea where to go or what to do if he decided to stay in Middle-earth.

His reflections were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a half-familiar voice calling him from across the room. Thalion looked up in surprise as he heard his name spoken by an Elven woman with serious gray eyes who had just come in from off the road. Leaping to his feet, Thalion rushed forward to the table where the Elf was sitting, "Cariâthwen, is that you?" Thalion did not know the woman well, but he did recognize her as someone he knew from Lorien. It had been long years since their paths had crossed. "Someone from home.....I can scarcely believe it. I thought all the rest had sailed West. Would you mind if I joined you?"

Cariâthwen eagerly nodded her head, and Thalion pulled up a chair next to hers and began to talk. He was hungry for conversation with someone he knew from his past, even so slightly. Thalion explained that he was in the Shire with his son. The two of them had been living in Rivendell. He had worked as a healer, but there were too many books and buildings, and the place was crowded with many visitors. "Not that I don't appreciate such things," Thalion hastily assured her, "but I prefer to live someplace where I can spend my days outside in the sunshine and fresh air, and feel the earth underneath my feet. I guess I've never really settled down since my wife's death," he added with a sigh. "We were cutting through the Shire on our road to the Havens intending to sail West, but now I do not know. Last night, I had a strange dream---more like a vision than a dream. My mother reminded me that, before my wife died, she had requested Neviel should remain some time in Middle-earth and learn the ways of Men and Dwarves before he sailed to Aman. And now my son has some fool notion to stay in Hobbiton and go to school with some young hobbit lads who have befriended him."

"I do not know what to think. Elves and hobbits in one classroom! It seems very odd. And yet.....I can not shake off that dream and wonder if it is a true message from Aman. Would that there were powerful seeing stones left I could speak with my family. But, alas, those have sailed away."

"What think you of this, Cariâthwen? Should I stay or leave, and should my son sit and learn with hobbits? And, while you are at it, tell me what you have been up to all these years."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling fought down the sudden rush of glee that threatened to mar his features with a look of triumphant malice. Valthalion! The young Ranger who, alone among those whom he had met on his first stay at the Inn, had remained steadfastly against him. While the others had shown him grace and mercy, Val had withheld from Snaveling all but the harshest tones. And now he was back from the wilderness, clearly unaware of Snaveling’s new status, and the Black Numenorean took pleasure in how news of this would discomfit the young man. He wore a mask of indulgent friendliness as he took the younger man by the hand, noting its dirtiness and the weariness that hung about the Ranger like the rags that had been his clothes. “To tell all that has happened to me these months would be a long story, my young friend, long indeed, and I shall not bore you with an overlong recitation. Let us sit and obtain you some refreshment and I shall fill you in on what I can before the day is too far advanced!”

They found a small table and Snaveling beckoned to Ruby, who brought Valthalion a small tankard of ale and some simple food leftover from breakfast. Thanks to the generosity of Hearpwine, Snaveling had finally acquired credit at the Inn and was able to exclaim quite grandly that he would pay for the Ranger’s meal. As Val tucked into his food, Snaveling explained to him how Galadel Vinorel and Roa had uncovered Snaveling’s true heritage. He told how they had recognised his amulet as the work of vanished Numenor and the device that it bore as the sign of the King. As he proceeded in his tale Val’s eyes grew wider and wider with surprise until the young man interrupted him with a cry. “You? The heir of the last King? Impossible? The Lord Elessar is the true King!” His eyes flashed with a familiar passion. Snaveling put out his hand to quell the boy’s ire.

“I did not say that I am heir to the throne of Gondor. That belongs to the line of Elendil from which high descent I do not come. My ancestor was the nephew of the last King of Numenor, and it is from him that I claim royalty. My land is now a vanished realm, buried beneath the sea, and my throne has become the plaything of fishes of the deep. I am, however, kinsman to the Lord Elessar, and he has done me the honour of embracing me and calling me cousin. He has acknowledged my ancestry and in token of that granted me lordship of a rich vale upon the southern flanks of the White Mountains.”

“But then,” Valthalion gasped, as though he had not been listening to what Snaveling had just said, “You are a Black Numenorean! You are the King of the Black Numenoreans! You are the mortal enemy of my Lord…and you say that he has met with you and called you his kinsman? How is this possible?”

“Roa stood by me when I met with Elessar the first time, and she avouched for my claim. None of the good that has been done for me would have been possible were it not for her.” Snaveling could see the young man’s face as he spoke of Roa, and he knew that the young man remembered her well.

“Roa,” Val replied slowly, “what has happened to her? I would like to see her again, if for no other reason than to hear her account of this…transformation of a man I took for a rogue into a vanished King!”

Snaveling let Val’s less-than-flattering description of him pass without comment, saying only, “I do not know where Roa is. I had hoped that perhaps you might have news of her, for I have come North once more with the particular desire to see her again. But come, if you cannot tell me of her, perhaps you can tell me of yourself. I well remember that you and I were never on the best of terms, but perhaps we can change that now that we are both the sworn friend of the King.” Snaveling could not resist one last boast to the lad about his kinship with the King: “He and I spoke of you once or twice when I was in Minas Tirith, and he asked that if I heard word of you or your companions that I would tell you from him that your efforts are noted by him with appreciation and love.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hearpwine bowed as low as he could to the Halfling who presented herself to him as the teacher. She nodded her head in return. “Greetings my lady Hobbit,” he began in his politest terms. Uncertain yet of how to behave in the Shire he had decided to adopt the manners he had developed for the court of Edoras, confident that such courtesy would not be unwelcome, if a bit out of place. The advice of his master, Eorcyn, flashed through his mind ’Tis always better, lad, to be more courteous than less when speaking with new folk in a new place. It’s always easier to become more comfortable and easy with them as acquaintance grows than to try and make up lost ground once you’ve affronted them.

“I am Hearpwine, son of Aethelstan and bard to King Eomer of the Golden Hall and I would like to offer you my services in the education of these children. I know ballads and tales from all the lands between the mountains and the Sea and I would gladly teach them to the little ones in return for hearing from them, or yourself, or their parents, whatever songs might be known in this land but nowhere else! But before we discuss the details of my proposal, might I ask your name Lady Teacher, for I am but newly arrived at the Inn and woefully ignorant of its denizens!”

[littlemanpoet]

Uien had been busy at her cutting, sitting near the garden, when the green door opened. She looked up absently, but her glance stayed. Out walked an Elf. He looked familiar. Was he also from Lorien? He seemed occupied with his thoughts, and they were closed; Uien forced herself not to probe his mind, not until and unless they made acquaintance. He walked around the Inn and out of sight.

Uien looked to her carving; nothing as yet could be seen clearly from the shape slowly forming beneath her knife. It was small and without sharp edges, whatever it was.

She heard footsteps come from the fields behind the Inn, and stop to her side, casting a short shadow toward the undying lands, where she had chosen never to go. She looked up. It was Falowik, of course.

"How was your walk?" she asked in a calmed voice.

Falowik smiled, showing his relief at the peace he saw in her face. "Good. I needed it. How is Kírsul?"

"He is well, and would be off and away. He needs to run in the open. Not just in this fenced pasture of the Inn."

"I know," Falowik said, and crouched on the balls of his feet by her. "What are you carving?"

Uien looked down at her work. "I do not know .... yet. She pointed at the green door with her knife. "I saw an Elven man come out of that green door. He may be from Lorien. He looked familiar."

Falowik's face was unreadable. Uien chose not to probe his thought. He said, "So many Elves in the Shire. I wonder what the Hobbits think."

Uien smiled. "I do not know. Most likely they think it too out of the ordinary, and wish us gone."

Falowik smirked, then looked carefully into her grey eyes. "Do you know what was ailing you?"

"No, but I think that maybe this carving may reveal that which lies within my heart."

"I am eager to see what it is."

"While I carve, maybe you could ride Kírsul in the pasture."

"I shall do that." He smiled for her once more, rose, and walked toward the stables.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Chuckling softly, Miz Bella turned to face the Bard, extending her hand in welcome and trying to speak in the same formal manner as he had done, "Master Hearpwine, your words are fair and your offer fairer still. Perhaps you will be interested to learn that I am as much a stranger in these parts as you are. I too am new to the Shire, for I have lived most of my life in a distant place over the sea, far west of here, that some have called the New Lands."

"As to my own name," she continued, "I am Miz Bella Tûk, daughter of Hildifons, whose name appears in the genealogies of the Red Book. And I warmly welcome you to our class. I would be most grateful to have you give some instruction to the children. Only I fear I could pay you little in return. We are only now getting started and I must use the rest of the morning to teach the children a few letters and numbers. Later this afternoon, or tomorrow if you would like, we hope you will agree to return and share some of your fine songs with us, and perhaps a tale or two about life in Rohan."

"Does that sound to your liking? Perhaps you might teach the children to sing a song or two? We might even work on preparing a public performance at the Inn, unless you think that would be too difficult for such little ones."

[Arry]

‘Hey, Woody,’ asked Hanson in a low voice. ‘Just what are we supposed to do with these things?’ Hanson tapped his brother on the arm with his slate, turning it back and forth with a puzzled look on his face.

‘You use your chalk on it,’ Woody whispered back, watching one of the girls making marks on her slate. ‘Or . . . .,’ he went on, grinning at his little brother. ‘You can use it as a head-smacker!’ He cuffed Hanson lightly on the back of his head and stuck out his tongue.

‘Cut it out, Woody!’ growled Hanson loudly, taking a swipe at his brother. ‘I’m gonna tell Uncle Gil if you don’t quit.’ Hanson glared at Woody and scooted to the far edge of the bench. He picked up his piece of chalk and marked a line on the wood between himself and his brother. ‘There! You stay on your own side!’

[Envinyatar]

Derufin chuckled as Cook made her way back to the kitchen. ‘You’ve the right of that, Anyopâ,’ he said, his eyes glinting with agreement as he turned back to the other man. ‘I can’t envision anyone getting the best of her!’ He cast a stealthy glance toward the now closed door. ‘Soft heart, though . . . when it comes down to it.’ He looked quickly back again to the door, half expecting a denial from within.

He piled a load of wood in his arms and made his way to the woodshed. As he passed Anyopâ he nodded his head back at the wagon. ‘What say we get half unloaded; then, see about those cookies Cook’s put away for me.’ He let the wood fall on the dirt floor of the shed and went back for another load. ‘And a big mug of strong, hot tea to go with them . . .’

Another load found its way into his arms and was soon among its fellows in the woodshed.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine’s eyes grew wide with wonder at the Halfling’s words. Could it be true that this small person had travelled so far and seen so much? Forgetting his courtly manners in his surprise Hearpwine said, “I have never even heard of these ‘New Lands’! The only realms west of the Sea recorded in the songs I know are vanished Numenor and the Blessed Realm, both of which are unreachable to those of mortal kind. If you were to but teach me how to sing of these new worlds I would accept that in payment for all that I can do here and still feel myself your debtor! How did you reach these lands, and what was the manner of your return?”

Miz Bella merely smiled quietly and put the man’s questions gently to one side, hinting that the answers to his questions would be too long in the telling. “But what,” she continued, “do you make of my proposal Master Hearpwine? Do you think it possible to teach the children a song that they can perform this evening at the Inn?”

Hearpwine forced himself to quell his insatiable curiosity (not without promising to pursue Miz Bella for the answers to his questions later) and looked about the room at the children, not a single one of who reached above his knees. “Well,” he said through a broad smile, “they will certainly be the smallest choir I have ever led! But I have been in the Shire long enough to note with joy that your kind are all possessed of exceptionally clear voices. I suspect that with the right song these children could bring tears to the eyes of the most crabbed gammer and gaffer, or lift the hearts of the most dour and sullen youths! I will gladly accept your offer!”

[Witch_Queen]

Cariâthwen

Cariâthwen looked up at Thalion. Her thoughts on the matter coming to an end. "You know there is more in this world than what we have seen. It would not be wise to take your son away from this place yet. We elves still play a role in the making of the new Middle Earth. Even though we may loose those close to us. It is not yet time for us to depart from this world. So as far as listening to your dream... To me this was more than a dream but instead a message from your beloved wife. Hobbits are joyful creatures and perhaps they can help your son grow to be a joyous elf instead of a cold hearted elf." Cariâthwen remembered on her journey how she had met some elves except they showed no joy. She didn't doubt that they had suffered since the war of the ring.

Don't be too eager to throw away the world. Her mother had always told her this while she was still in Lorien. Now she was finally realizing what her mother had meant by this statement. "All these years I've been in between Rivendell and Lorien. Mother and Father sailed away many years ago only after the death of my brother. Sometimes I think of what might have happened if he would've stayed in Lorien instead of going to Helm's Deep. Deep down inside I know I'm just running from the mere truth.... There is very little beauty left in the world of men." A smile came across Cariâthwen's face.

"But for the past three or four years I've been in Eryn Lasgalen. I don't know why I still choose to stay in these lands. Perhaps for the chance of finding someone to spend the rest of my days with or not. But no one should go through life alone and only a horse to remind them of the life they use to live." Cariâthwen's thougts went back to her life in Lorien and how she loved walking in the woods. But now the times had changed and she feared going even outside her own home.

Home???? Where is home? Cariâthwen's long golden hair fell out from beneath her hood. "Always gets in the way..." She couldn't help but smile at the fact that she had finally found someone that was from her place of birth. "Thalion how is your son? I had never seen him. I actually think I was away in Rivendell when you was gifted with...Neviel? Thalion any child is a gift no matter how many curves life has thrown your way. Take this time you have with Neviel and cherish it."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~

Jon

Jon didn't know what to say. He knew that deep down inside Dwaline was suffering. No one should ever have to bury their own children. He wasn't even there to be with his son in the time that he was needed the most. "Dwaline I know not how much you are suffering cause I have never had children so I've never lost that part of my life yet. I want to tell you that everything will be okay. But I can't. This part of your pain I can not even begin to try to sympathize. But I can only give you this piece of advice. Go to where your friends are. This will give both you and Avalon, if she decides to accompany you, a chance to see those that are so dear to you."

Jon took a look out the window to where he saw Avalon. "Dwaline you know you should go, even if you weren't there with your son in his death you can atleast show some respect to him and visit the place where he will lay for all eternity." Jon didn't mean to sound mean, he just knew that Dwaline needed time to heal. After all this wound was one deeper than loosing the life one use to have. "I can't tell you want you wish to hear. So I am of no use right now." Jon stood up and was about to leave the table when he felt something grab his arm.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline grabbed Johns arm and looked him deep in the eyes. John saw something odd in his face, no longer the solemn distressed but full of fear.

"John there is something you do not realise," he said, "I do not have a son."

At this John sat, rather too quickly. He tilted his head as Dwaline told him this. He asked him what to make of this note. Dwaline took the parchment and read over it again.

"I can only assume," he said, "That this is an impostor. And I think I know who it was. Although, I cannot know for certain until I enquire with Fáinu. I believe it was the Dwarf who murdered my wife."

John was getting interested and now realised why Dwaline had been emotional, it had brought back all the memories of his wife. Dwaline took out his pipe and lit it. He coughed, more to clear his thought than anything else. Still with a stern look on his face, Dwaline decided he'd better explain the whole story.

"You were right, John. My nosing in other business cost me more than my life was worth." he began, "Many years ago, I discovered that a young Dwarf named Killil was plotting against Dwalin, who reclaimed the lonely mountain on the journey with Bilbo, and was a high power at the lonely mountain. When I reported this, I received much praise, but Killil was executed. I objected to this, but the Dwarf lords are stubborn. Killil's son, Fillil, swore revenge on those who had put his father to death. First, the hangman himself was found in the river, a rope about his neck.

"A few days later, the judge at the trial was found hung in his own room. All of his Gold and treasure had been stolen. After this pattern continued, I took action, seeking Fillil, for I suspected him. I came up with nothing, but upon returning to my home, found Fillil stooping over the body of my wife. He was laughing, and held in his hand my own Axe.

"'Ye fool!' he said to me, 'I now have the chance to avenge my father. You, Dwaline are the last name on my list. If you're wife had not found me here, she might be alive, but, plans must change.' enraged I wrestled with the young dwarf until I threw him down and pointed my sword hilt at him;

"'See here,' I said onto him, 'I will spare you're life, though you deserve it not. I prey that you rot in the deepest caverns.' I then took him to the jails and locked him away, after I had taken his right hand, with which he made the blow to my wife."

John was slightly confused by this. How could he have been in Rivendel if locked away in the jails of the lonely mountain? Dwaline got up and took his mug.

"I shall get us both a refill of ale," he said, "Then I will tell you the rest of this tale. And perhaps, you can tell me yours." With that, he went to the bar.

[Primrose Bolger]

Cook had gone into the Common Room to see to something, leaving Buttercup and Ginger to finish the mushroom soup. One of the local lads had brought in a large basket of fine, fat mushrooms from the wooded area near his home early this morning and bucket of wriggling eels in river water he’d caught, too. Cook had been delighted at his arrival, and breakfast and a few pennies had been given over for his effort.

The mushrooms had been cleaned and cut into pig pieces and now floated in a savory broth. A touch of thyme, a little salt and pepper, some onion, and a cup of barley to thicken it up put on the finishing touches. Buttercup diced a bunch of carrots and threw them into the pot, too. ‘I always like a little color,’ she explained as Ginger looked on.

The eels were left for later. Ginger had gotten out ten pie pans and lined them up on the counter. She would make the pastry for the eel pie as Buttercup had agreed to prepare the eels themselves. They both began to slice up the fresh, crusty bread for the bread baskets, leaving them lined up on another counter, clean napkins covering them.

‘So . . .,’ began Buttercup, smiling at Ginger. ‘You and Freddy going walking this evening? After supper, of course . . .’ She nudged the other girl. ‘I’ll even do the dishes for you.’

Ginger flushed, neck to cheek, then laughed aloud. ‘Well, I might just take you up on that. Don’t know that he’ll be here this evening though,’ she said, her face a bit wistful.

‘Oh, no doubt he’ll be here,’ assured Buttercup. ‘Gil and the others are coming in to play for a bit. At least, that’s what Tomlin said last night.’

‘Tomlin, is it?’ teased Ginger, arching her brow at her friend. Now it was Buttercup’s turn to color a little. She took up one of the kitchen towels and snapped it at the other’s bare legs. Ginger took up her own defense with another towel.

[Saelind]

Neviel's eyes grew large as saucers as he heard his teacher and the visitor referring to the lands that lay to the west, the place where Miz Bella had once lived. Neviel's jaw fell open in astonishment. His father had always taught him that only Elves were permitted to sail to the Blessed Lands. With one or two rare exceptions, men and hobbits and even dwarves were not allowed to set foot in Aman and then sail back across the waters. Yet here was Miz Bella claiming that she had done precisely that and saying she had lived a long time in a land across the sea.

"Hey, Woody," Neviel leaned closer to his friend, gripping him forcibly by the shoulder. "Did you hear that? Miz Bella is an Elf."

Woody turned and looked at him. He said nothing but there was a look of surprise on his face.

"You don't believe me, do you? I know she doesn't look like an Elf. But that's the only possible explanation. No one can sail to the West and live on an island over the Seas unless they are an Elf. Just ask my dad. He knows everything." Neviel stared intently at Miz Bella. She was the shortest Elf that he had ever seen.

[Firefoot]

Willy stared at his slate and chalk sullenly. The children's various parents and guardians had not kept the teacher busy nearly long enough. Loath he had been to put away his marbles and pick up a slate instead. And it seemed they would be starting soon; the teacher seemed about finished talking with the tall man. Letters and numbers for this morning, he had heard the teacher say. Boring. Well, perhaps he might make it interesting. Perhaps. He eyed the teacher carefully. She didn't look very tough... how much might he get away with? He would have to see.

For the moment he sat down near the other boys with whom he had been playing marbles. They were friendly enough, he supposed, but they all seemed to know each other. Willy felt very much the outsider. He listened to what the other boys were saying, hoping he might join the conversation. "...Miz Bella is an Elf. You don't believe me, do you? I know she doesn't look like an Elf. But that's the only possible explanation. No one can sail to the West and live on an island over the Seas unless they are an Elf. Just ask my dad. He knows everything."

Willy tried to keep an incredulous look off his face. This elf, Neviel, sure didn't seem very smart. He hadn't even played marbles before! You're right cracked, Neviel, he thought. She's no more an elf than you are a hobbit. He could not of course say that, so he gave up on this conversation.

With a sigh, he turned back to his slate. Hm... maybe it had more use than one. Sometimes, if he got bored, he drew pictures in the dirt. Maybe the chalk could be used the same way? He tested out the chalk in his hand. It was uncomfortable to hold, but it drew easily on the slate. Gripping it tightly (his lower arm muscles hurt a little), he began to doodle aimlessly. There was a hobbit... it looked kind of like his brother Nick, if he squinted. And there was a dragon... a great big one, with fire coming out its nostrils. And there was the tall man across the room... Willy didn't know anything about him, so he gave him a sword and a horse. Then he didn't have any more space. Was there supposed to be some kind of eraser? He had tried smudging it with his hand, but it turned his fingers white. Dirt was much easier... and more fun. He looked out the window mournfully. It was a beautiful day, but here he was, stuck inside of a school. Boring.

[Arry]

Elves and dragons are . . . discussed

‘Don’t be daft, Neviel,’ whispered Woody. He bent down to look under the table and bade his friend do so, too. ‘See those feet, there?’ he asked motioning toward Miz Bella’s. ‘Those are Hobbit feet to be sure.’

Hanson, seeing the other two boys peering at something, bent his head down too for a look. ‘She could be an Elf,’ he joined in as they straightened back up on the bench. 'Hobbit feet, or no.' Face quite serious, he nodded his head at Neviel.

‘Now you’ve gone all queer in the head!’ snorted Woody, rolling his eyes at his little brother. ‘She’s just an old gammer that doesn’t have a family to belong to. Making up stories and such.’

‘Nuh-uh! Remember the tales Gammer Boffin tells about the Fallohides and how a lot of people were sure there was an Elf somewhere way back in their family?’ He nodded toward Miz Bella. ‘She could be one of them . . . whatta you think.’ He chewed his lip in consideration. ‘I’ll bet she is . . . how could she know about dragons and the West and all that? She’s been there all right. And I bet she even sneaked up on a dragon and stole some of its treasure . . . or even better . . . what if she killed one somehow . . .’

The three boys fixed their attention on Miz Bella, looks of wonder in their eyes.

[piosenniel]

Cook joins the battle

‘Ladies!’ Cook’s voice cut through the shrieks and laughter. Ginger and Buttercup hastily turned to face her, their towels quickly hidden behind their backs.

‘Yes, m’am?’ asked Buttercup, one hand coming up to push some errant curls behind her ear. ‘The barley-mushroom soup is simmering and we were just getting the bread cut up for the baskets. Is there anything else you’d like us to be doing?’ Ginger coughed, ducking her chin down to hide the giggles she was trying hard to stifle.

Cook set down the two bottles of brandied wine on the table (there was to be a peach cobbler from last summer’s canned peaches topped with a brandied custard sauce). She picked up a dishtowel from the pile near the sink and began talking about how in her day young ladies knew the proper conduct of things. The two young women watched her as she wet the towel and began to wring it out. There was a fair amount of crumbs from the bread they had sliced and they were thinking she meant to wipe them all up. The two were a bit chagrined also at being caught in their horseplay.

‘Now, this is how we did it in my day,’ she instructed them wringing out the thoroughly wet towel. In a trice she had wound the damp towel in a twirling motion and snapped it expertly at the back of a chair. With a wicked smile she advanced toward Ginger and Buttercup, who for a moment only stood staring at her with open mouths . . .

[Fairleaf]

Miz Bella, the dragon-slayer . . .

Reggie nudged his sister with his elbow trying desperately to get her attention. He leaned toward her and hurriedly mumbled something in a low voice.

‘What are you going on about?’ hissed Daisy as quietly as she could. ‘You know ma said we were to be good and do what Miz Bella told us.’ She gave a little snort of disgust and tried to move out of range of her brother’s insistent elbow. ‘Sit still and be quiet,’ she instructed him. She folded her hands on the table in front of her, trying to set a proper example for him.

‘But Daisy,’ he whispered again, scooting right up next to her. ‘I just heard the fellas talking. It’s about Miz Bella.’ He gave her a pleading look, squirming on the bench in anticipation of sharing the news he’d just learned.

‘Hush!’ she said to him, speaking a little louder than before.

‘But Daisy,’ he returned again, speaking now in a loud voice to her, his hand on her forearm. ‘Did you know she fought a dragon once? Killed it, too . . .’

Daisy’s mouth dropped open at her brother’s words and she turned beet red as the heads of others in the room swiveled round to look at them.

[Primrose Bolger]

The fray continues . . .

The battle of the kitchen was engaged! Both she and Buttercup had managed to wet their towels. It was two to one, but Cook, for all the years she had on them, seemed quite adept at keeping out of reach of their snapping towels. Ginger’s legs were stinging where Miz Bunce’s towel had connected, and she was sure there would be welts should she have the chance to look.

All three of them were laughing and shrieking as the skirmish progressed. Butterup had just fallen into a chair she hadn’t seen as she backed up, while Ginger tried to drive off the advancing Miz Bunce.

Then, the back door opened, casting a tunnel of light into the kitchen. And into the light stepped a backlit figure throwing a long shadow across the kitchen’s floor . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

"That will be enough! There's too much chatterwalling going on here. We have a lot to do today." Miz Bella spoke calmly but sternly as her eyes swept over the faces in the classroom.

"Put the chalk down, Willie," she commanded. "You're not to start your work until I say so. And, as to the other," she added. "You have incorrect information. 'Twas not a dragon. I have never seen a dragon in my life, other than those in the pages of a book. But 'twas a very large and ferocious black bear back in the New Lands."

"A bear? Miz Bella, you saw a bear?" one of the voices piped up from the back of the classroom.

"'Saw' a bear? I did more than see it. I stood some twenty feet away and killed him with my bow. Or," she added modestly, "at least I brought him down with an arrow, and the others rushed in for the final attack. He was up on his hind legs about to maul my friend. So, of course, I had to do something. You see, this bear had been bothering the families in camp for some time so they sent out a party to track him down. I was a sturdy tweener at the time. Of couse, I wasn't supposed to go along but I followed them in secret. They discovered me after a day's march, when they were too far out to send me home."

"Funny, isn't it," Miz Bella mused. "The worst part of that day wasn't killing the bear. It was slogging on to find him. There were hugh expanses of open bog with no cover surrounded by large tracks of impenetrable tuck. That meant we had to push through endless miles of bog hoping to find the animal in the open. At one point the bog was six feet deep, way over my head. But we kept going and finally chanced on him where he had stopped to pull fish out of a muddy pond."

An anonymous voice was heard from the back of the room, "You're too little. You couldn't have killed a bear."

"Believe it or not, but that is a true story." Miz Bella opened the drawer of her desk and took out a wooden box. She removed the box lid and unwrapped the object, which was tucked inside a cloth, and then held it up for the class to see. It was a carving of a ferocious black bear, fashioned out of sandstone. "My friend gave me this to thank me. And he taught me to make carvings like these because I love to work with my hands. But enough of that. It's time for letters."

Miz Bella walked over to a large slate and wrote the following letters in chalk:

b e a r

And then she wrote this:

bear

She drew a picture of a large bear on the wall slate and sounded out each of the letters separately. She even showed how certain letters could be put in different comninations to make another word like "bare" or "bar".

"Alright now. Copy these letters onto your slate. I want everyone to do this ten times. When you have finished, you may come to my desk and bring your slate for checking. Camille and Marigold, I still need you to explain about those books. The rest of you get busy."

[Firefoot]

Willy frowned at Miz Bella's back. He definitely didn't like her. At all. He had been a little intrigued despite himself at the bear story, but not enough to overcome his irritation for being here at all in the first place, having to put away the marbles, and finally having been reprimanded for drawing on his slate. She had never said that he couldn't, after all.

And now he had no room to write the letters. He started to erase the slate with his fingers, then stopped. Why should he have to erase the drawings? He even had a perfect excuse: he would get chalk dust on his hands. A surreptitious glance around showed that there had actually been little cloths with which to erase the board, but he could say he hadn't noticed them before. Which he hadn't. Smiling to himself, he started to write the letters in the little space which he had erased.

b. b. b b b. Now wasn't this easy? Just a little line with a bubble at the bottom. Granted, his letters were hardly as neat as the ones Miz Bella had printed on the board... but they were legible, anyway. And it was boring, writing the same letter so many times over again. How many different ways could he write the letter b? In one stroke. Starting with the little circle. Drawing the line from the bottom up instead of vice versa. This made the letter sloppier, but it was more fun that way.

e. Now this was a little harder. Sometimes the little loop was far to big, sometimes the tail too long. Plus, after about six e's he ran out of space in the previously empty corner. So he started placing the e's creatively all over the slate. One on the dragon's belly. Another on the man's shirt. So there were six e's in a neat little line and four e's all over the slate. Yes, maybe this could be fun.

a. None of his a's were in a straight little line. All of them were scattered, but at least they were easier and neater than the e's (but still not very neat). He looked at them curiously. They sort of looked like b's, except the bubble was on the other side and the stem was shorter. Or not so much shorter, in some cases.

Then the r's. By this time there wasn't a whole lot of space left on the slate, so it was a good thing that r's were such a skinny little letter. They were much harder than they looked, though, especially since his hand was starting to hurt from gripping the chalk. The little curvy line just did not look right. Sometimes it was too short, other times too long. Finally, he produced a reasonable looking r on his last try though. Done, he leaned back for scrutiny of his work. He decided he rather liked it: it was chaotic, almost. Much more interesting than the neat letters Miz Bella had printed on the board. And certainly, his letters were not nearly so neat as those. Willy decided to ignore that particular fact, though; it wasn't like he really cared anyway.

Satisfied, he got up from his seat and walked over to Miz Bella's desk. He noted the boringly plain slates of the other students working around him. Just rows of letters. His was much more interesting. Proudly, he displayed his work to Miz Bella. "I'm done."

[Envinyatar]

Ambushed & wounded by Halflings

‘Ouch!’ A cry of pain issued from the shadowy figure as it stepped through the back door and into the kitchen. The tips of both Buttercup’s and Ginger’s towels snapped soundly against the man’s lower breeches causing him to yelp in pain.

Derufin hobbled across the floor to a chair and sat down rubbing his knees, both of which he could feel stinging and welting up through his breeches. ‘By the One!’ he growled at the trio of armed women. ‘What are you trying to do? Bring me down like some hunted beast!’

The two younger Hobbits were mortified, their faces white as they looked on at the injured man. But leaning against the counter, holding herself up by its edge was Cook. And she was laughing! At him!

He heard the door creak open behind him and he turned about to warn Anyopâ to be wary of attack. Derufin began to chuckle then as he saw the man’s hand extend round the edge of the door, waving a white handkerchief.

[Arry]

‘Well, a bear is pretty close to a dragon,’ whispered Woody, keeping a straight face on. 'And did you hear? they were living rough . . . in a camp!'

He paused to look at his lines of ‘b’s and ‘e’s. Not too bad, he decided. Though glancing up at Miz Bella’s letters on the board he could tell his ‘e’s were far too tall – they were the same height in fact as the ‘b’s. Now how to fix that . . . he extended the leg of each ‘b’ upward until he was satisfied. He cocked his head and looked at the next letter. Hmmm . . . about the same size as the ‘e’, but round with a short stem.

Hanson looked over as his brother began the row of ‘a’s. He sighed at the ease with which Woody’s chalk flew along the slate. He knew Woody would have an easy time of it . . . he was forever drawing clever little pictures on the hearth with a stick charred in the fireplace, or scrawling little scenes in the dirt with his fingers. Hanson gave a critical look at his own slate. The ‘b’s looked tired, he thought, they were leaning every which way. The ‘e’s were odd, seeming like big-headed snakes that sometimes danced on their tails and sometimes ate them altogether. Now the ‘a’s were not too bad, though he found it difficult to make all the little circles round – some of them were rather eggy looking and some of them he hadn’t quite gotten the little leg close enough to the circle. He decided he had better stick to ‘r’s. They looked like his Gammer’s little cane she used for hobbling about in her garden – a straight line with a little bent piece on top.

Woody was still working on his neat row of ‘r’s when Hanson hopped off the bench, slate in hand. Hanson figured he had practiced enough and was now trundling up to the desk to show his efforts to Miz Bella. The little boy grinned widely as he laid the slate in front of the teacher. ‘Well, I did each one ten times; same’s my fingers like Woody told me.’ He leaned in against her desk as she picked up his slate and began to look at it. His curious fingers found their way to the carving of the black bear, and he traced the lines of it. Hanson looked closely at the grey curled lady who sat perusing his letters. ‘Say, Miz Bella . . . ‘zactly how tall was this old bear that you shot?’

[Fairleaf]

Reggie scooted off his seat as soon as he saw Hanson making for the teacher’s desk. He ducked his shoulder quickly away from his sister as he caught the movement of her hand snaking out to grab his tunic. He heard her hiss at him to get back on his seat. But he ignored her, knowing she would not want to make a big fuss of it and draw attention to herself. He’d remembered to grab his slate, copying Hanson’s example, and walked quickly up to stand beside his new friend.

Hanson’s letters looked good to him from what he could see; nearly as good as his. He proudly slid his slate onto the desktop and crowded against Hanson to get a good look at the bear carving. He was just as curious as his friend about the incident with the bear and eager for more details.

[Huan]

Anyopâ peeked his head round the edge of the door, his gaze falling finally on Derufin as he sat at the kitchen table. The three women were standing near, no weapons in sight save the dishtowels that hung innocently from their hands.

‘If you don’t mind,’ he said sidling over to another of the chairs, his eyes keeping the three Hobbits in view. ‘I’ve just come in for a cookie or two.’ He nodded toward Derufin. ‘As Derufin said he would share from his plate. And perhaps a cup of tea,’ he said hopefully.

[piosenniel]

Cook unwound her towel and put it into the dirty linens basket, motioning for Ginger and Buttercup to do the same. ‘See to a pot of tea, girls,’ she directed the two servers. From the sideboard she took a blue plate covered with a yellow napkin.

‘Here’s the cookies, as I promised,’ she said, putting them down on the table and removing the covering.

‘Sorry about hitting you,’ said Buttercup, setting a mug in front of Derufin and pouring him some steaming tea. She gave him a little smile and nodded toward Ginger. ‘It was fun, though! And you should have seen Cook! She’s a right terror with a tea towel in her hands.’

Cook grinned, herself, acknowledging that she had learned from her older brothers how to defend herself in a towel fight. ‘Took me back a fair number of years! The old gal can still handle herself even against a pair of nimble youngsters!’

Chairs were pulled up round the table, enough for the two men and the three ladies. Cook directed Ginger to bring an additional plate of cookies for them all. Anyopâ and Derufin were treated to the full tale of the fight and who had struck the most blows and who the most accurate.

The kettle was kept on the hob and the teapot refilled as needed. For the most part Ginger and Buttercup were quiet, taking it all in. Cook, with the gentle prodding of Derufin and the downing of a number of cups of tea laced with brandy, told several stories from her earlier years that left them quite agog.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon

Jon sat there amazed at the tale Dwaline had just told him. He knew not what to think of the entire twist that now entered Dwaline's life. If indeed this is an imposter then what about Cree and the rest, would they be ok? How would this dwarf know about Dwaline's friends? Something just doesn't seem right. Jon didn't even notice when the dwarf returned with two full mugs of ale.

They would probably be alright. No I won't think of that now. Death wouldn't claim this elf and Cree. They will be ok, just wait, everything will be fine. Realizing that Dwaline was staring at him Jon quickly snapped back to reality. "I'm sorry about that. Sometimes I tend to drift off without even realizing it. 'Tis a bad habit that I have yet to break." Jon forced himself to smile knowing that soon Dwaline's tale would have been told and it would be his turn.

I must tell him the truth cause I have lied to everyone.... Even myself. This must stop here, if ever I wish to end the sad tale I'm living then I must get everything off my chest.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline sat opposite John and took a sip of his ale. It was good ale, and Dwaline loved it, but he little noticed it with everything that was on his mind.

"I'm sorry about that." said John seemingly awakening from a dream, "Sometimes I tend to drift off without even realizing it. 'Tis a bad habit that I have yet to break."

"Think nothing of it," replied Dwaline, "now, there is much I must tell you, so that you fully understand." John nodded, and then noticed that Dwaline had once again taken out his pipe. "You see," Dwaline began after taking a puff of pipe weed, "after a previous miss-adventure, I came to the wood king's halls and there found Fillil in a dungeon. How he got there, he would not say, but the Elves told me that they found him thieving treasures from the King's hall. This did not surprise me.

"Long I questioned him, but got very little but blubbers and spluttering. From what I managed to piece together, I believe that he was let out into the gardens of the Lonely Mountain for good behaviour. There he escaped, killing three Dwarves and evading many arrows, save one, which hit him in the right arm. He was bandaged there and often wept over it. That I thought was that, he could stay there for all I cared. He'd done murder and had never changed. However as I left him I thought I heard him saying,
'Thou fool, Dwaline, son of Balan, these walls shall not keep me. Verily I know one who will bring me to you and I shall find you! Yes, I shall find thee.' he laughed insanely as I plodded along. But his words lingered in my mind. I asked the Wood king to beware with him, for he was cunning and murderous." Dwaline took another gulp of Ale, before continuing.

"I knew of his escape from there some months ago," he said on, "Apparently he had dug a tunnel through his cell, coming into a river. He flooded the cellars, foolish creature, he fled though the forest. Going into Mirkwood, even now after the Necromancer has left and it is called Greenwood once again, still dangers lurk. He was considered dead the moment he left the path." Dwaline paused and took a deep breath, "Evidently not. I found that he had been a listener of Tales from a few elves, to see if he could find any way of escape. He must have heard of Cree from her friends who lived there. I knew them; they loved to tell tales, which is how he will have known the tale of Fáinu.

"Oh little they meant in there tales, but ill has come of it. He has many of his kindred in the Blue Mountains; he will have perverted them to his cause by now. If it was not he tat was with Fáinu and Cree, then it was one of them."

Dwaline looked out of the window and saw that Avalon was fluttering around, probably looking for mice. Dwaline turned back to John and sighed with a shake of his head.

"There," he said, "Now you know the tale, will you not tell me a little of yours?"

[Witch_Queen]

Jon... The truth behind the lie

My tale...... But it will not be my tale but instead it will be my destruction. Jon took a sip of his ale making sure his throat was not dry. "Dwaline, what I tell you leaves not this area. For few here know the truth I hide. I name is Jonathan Annatar and my journey to the Shire is like I said. I seek council with the innkeeper, Aman. You see she was a childhood friend. Anyways that does not affect my tale."

Jon took another sip of ale because for some reason his throat was suddenly dry and he dared not talk unless he wet the desert in his neck. "I'm running from a past and a future that I wish not to have. Some say I'm crazy for I see the white crow," Jon turned his head to where he could see Avalon, "I see Avalon every time I wake. I have rode along side Eomer, but only during the war. After the war was over I decided it was time for me to go back to the simple life. I didn't want anymore fighting. I even threatened to throw away my sword. As you can see I didn't. I was fixing to settle down with my childhood sweetheart when something happened changing the life I knew."

The dryness in his throat increased but Jon knew he was going to have to fight it. The truth must get out some how and now was the time to do that. "She went missing and no one has seen her since. Her parents blame me and I don't blame them. Her disappearance is my fault. Had I not of betrayed them then she would still be here." Jon's thoughts went back to his dream. The woman he had seen was the one who left him. Everytime he was around Avalon he felt her close to him. "I search for her. I don't know why but everytime I see Avalon I feel as if she's close to me. You see while in Gondor for a few months I accidently got in with the wrong group. They didn't like the fact that I changed. I didn't wish to hurt people any more. No matter how hard you try to get rid of your past, some home it always comes back to bite you on the butt."

Jon's tale wasn't sad anymore. He wished to forget the life he never had, and for once get rid of the ones who bound him to this world. "I dare not ask what Avalon's tale is. After all the last time I saw my Sarah was three years ago, now I have no one and nothing."

[Huan]

It was pleasant here in the Inn’s kitchen. And a welcome relief to rest for a bit before the task of the firewood was begun again. Mugs of sweet tea, strong tea. The crunch of cookies against the teeth, their sweetness pleasing the tongue. Derufin’s deep laugh and the merry glint in his eye as he listened to Cook.

Cook, for her part, seemed a wellspring of stories. The brandy had loosed her tongue. And once they had gotten passed their shocked amazement, both Ginger and Buttercup egged her on with questions and declarations of disbelief.

A chain of plain, flat gold links he thought would enclose this scene. Each stamped with the delicate flowers of the countryside, the tall grasses weaving from one to another. A simple necklace dipping down to grace the collar bone, winking out from beneath the collar of a tunic as the light catches it.

More cookies were brought out, along with a plate of fresh cut bread and cheese. Derufin poured Cook a cup of hot tea, laced with honey this time, as he had deftly put the brandy away on the sideboard.

Yes, it is pleasant here in the kitchen, thought Anyopâ. A bit of home . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Ruby poked her head in through the door to the common room, catching Ginger’s attention with a small wave. ‘There are more customers come in,’ she whispered to Ginger once she’d got close enough to hear her. ‘Miz Aman is off somewhere and I’ve sent a number of the other servers up to freshen up the rooms. Can you come give me a hand?’

Ginger smoothed out the wrinkles on her apron and caught her curls back beneath her ribbon as she followed Ruby from the kitchen. Ruby returned to her place behind the bar and began to fill the empty mugs of thirsty customers with ale or cider as requested. Ginger put on her brightest smile and went from table to table, taking orders as she went along.

‘What were you all talking about?’ Ruby asked on one of Ginger’s trips to the bar for a tray of ale filled mugs. Ginger giggled and drawing her close so as not to be heard by others, filled her in on Cook and the stories and tea with brandy. Ruby laughed and nodded her head as she listened.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Ruby said. Ginger shook her head. ‘Cook will have a flaming headache by late afternoon and we will be the ones getting the supper meal readied and served.’ She tsk’d and laughed again. ‘The brandy spirits always do this to her!’

‘Miss! Oh, Miss!!’ The shout rang out, cutting off their further conversation. ‘Coming, Sir!’ Ginger called out, her feet already in motion.

[Arry]

Woody watched as Daisy tried to catch hold of her brother. If the kid were anything like his brother she might as well give up. Hanson and Reggie looked to be about the same age, he thought. Might as well try to catch a flea with your hands than keep a five year old from doing what he wants to do. So was the judgment of his eleven year old self.

This wasn’t too bad, he thought to himself, surveying his slate. He peeked over at Neviel’s efforts, nudging him to take a look at the small sketch of the bear carving he’d done at the bottom of his lines of letters.

[Fairleaf]

Daisy, for her part, was tired of scratching her chalk on the slate. The first lines she’d done were fairly neat, but as she grew distracted, the letters wobbled. She wriggled on the bench, then looked about furtively hoping no one had noticed – she wanted Miz Bella and her classmates to think well of her.

But . . . oh, she was growing tired and fidgety. When was Miz Bella going to tell them a good long story? And would it be polite to ask for something to drink, she wondered. And a bite of something would be welcome, too. And who was that tall man who’d come into the classroom. He looked familiar. It was the fellow who’d sung last night, she thought. What was he doing here now? Would he be telling them stories?

[Envinyatar]

Derufin drew the conversation round to the subject of the Spring Faire. It was only a few weeks away. He’d been to one of them in the Shire, and truth be told, it was much like the small ones held yearly in his own small village. First lambs were shown off; pies from the last of the past year’s dried fruits; quilts and weavings done over the long winter months were brought out – all to be oohed and aahed over by friends and neighbors.

And the contests, of course. Out of doors, knife throwing, and archery, and slings. The great logs needed to be cut down to size and who could do it the most quickly. Inside, darts and the ever present ‘Shove Ha’penny’ game.

Last, and most fun, was the great tug-of-war game played over a fair-sized mudpuddle made especially for it on the Inn’s grounds. Derufin had been on the loosing side last year, and it was his desire to see his ‘foes’ streaked with mud this year.

‘You’ll stay, won’t you?’ he asked Anyopâ. ‘By the time we’re through with the wood that needs chopped and hauled and stacked, your muscles will be in grand shape. In fact, I’ll claim you for my team right now . . .’

[piosenniel]

‘Hmmph!’ declared Cook, looking at the two men. There sat Derufin all smug with his early choosing. ‘If you’re to have him, then our side is claiming Master Benat!’ She gave them an arch look, as if she had already won the victory.

Buttercup chimed in with a claim on Cullen, too. But Derufin protested, reminding her it was against the rules to bring in animals of any sort. ‘Falowik, then!’ she said firmly.

‘And what about the Elves?’ asked Cook. ‘I can’t recall any of them on our teams before.’

The others looked at her, considering her question. ‘Course we’d need to make sure they held to their brute strength . . .’ Cook offered. ‘No tricksy magics of any sort . . .’

[Undómë]

The trading had gone faster than he expected. His wares were gone, and his little wagon was filled with supplies needed back home. Hob’s purse, too was a little heavier with coin he had gotten for the finer objects. It had been a satisfying morning, and he planned to top it off with a mug of dark ale and a relaxing smoke by the Inn fire.

Strawberry plodded up the path to the Inn, turning right as she neared the front entryway to head for the stable. She, too, was ready to relax. Plodding along from shop to shop, stall to stall, was tiring in its own way, and she longed for the bridle and traces to be taken off and some sweet hay to plunge her nose into.

Hob left his pony to the stableboy, and secured his wagon beneath the stables eaves, lashing down the canvas covering over his goods. A few steps brought him back to the front door. And only a few more got him to a table near the fireplace. He settled in and caught the eye of a passing server. ‘Ale, please, he said. The dark.’ He watched her scurry away as he fetched his pouch of pipeweed from his vest pocket and began to fill his pipe.

[Lasbelinion]

Against the brightness of the sun Lithmîrë drew his travel stained cloak about him, and pulling the dark, ragged hood forward, let his face fall into shadow. The path from the main road to the Inn lay straight beneath the unimpeded light. No overarching trees to cast their welcome shadows on his approach.

His thoughts he cloaked as well, knowing those of his kind were near. He needed not their pity nor their questions nor their offers of aid. They had not come for him and the others in the long years of service and hardship beneath the cruel hand of the Deceiver. Now many he had known were dead at the hands of Gorthaur’s fouler servants and those few like himself who remained were left to find their own way.

He would not have stopped here, had he not run low on provisions. He was unfamiliar with this region; unfamiliar with the folk who lived here. The Inn he knew of by word of mouth from other travelers. His would be a brief stay. Rest, food, drink, and if he were able, the replenishing of the herbs that kept his pain at bay. Then, to the Havens, and the healing that lay beyond the poor remedies of this world.

Haven. Place of refuge. Of safety. Port against the storm.

A bitter laugh welled up inside as he fought back the long held fear that he would find no refuge. And how could he? The storm of despair which threatened at times to destroy what was left of him lay deep inside. He’d pushed it down, fettered it beneath the outward shell of his indifference. Kept the world at bay with his caustic tongue. And if he allowed himself any hope it was with a studied dispassion.

Lithmîrë stood for a moment at the Dragon’s entryway. Readjusting the worn leather pack slung over his right shoulder, he pushed against the heavy door and entered the dimmer interior within. Only a few heads turned to mark his passage, and those he ignored until he reached a table set in a darker corner of the room. From his vantage point he could survey the comings and goings to the common room.

He called a passing server to his table, asking for a mug of hot water. When it had come, he sent the server away, saying he would see to some food a little later. From his pack, he fetched a thin leather pouch, and took a small pinch of the dried herbs in it. Not wasting any, he scattered them on the hot water, licking from his fingers what few particles there were left on them. The heat from the mug warmed his thin, cold hands, driving the unrelenting chill away for a little while. And as he sipped on the pleasant smelling brew, its small powers drove back the pains that wracked his left arm from shoulder to hand and the left side of his face.

Lithmîrë drew back his hood as the warmth of the brew brought the welcome relief. His left hand, covered with the thick scars of a burn reached up to cradle those same red, ropy scars that twisted his face. Anger flared for a moment as he noted the stares of those sitting near him. Who were they to pity or judge him, he growled to himself. He turned an icy stare on them, forcing them to look away.

‘More water, girl!’ he called, holding his mug out to the server once again. From the pouch at his belt he drew forth a silver penny and pushed it to the edge of the table.