The Green Dragon Inn - Part 4

[Eladain Moruviel]

As soon as Eladain saw Enkriswen fall he was up on his feet. 'oh no,not again' he thought to himself. "Durvagor,got get me some water!" he cried as he procided to try to revive the unconcious elf.

When Durvagor returned with the water Eladain used it to awaken Enkriswen. "This should bring her around" he said as he poured it onto her face,and then laughed as she came too spluttering and whiping water off of her clothes. "I'm sorry I had to do that" he said "But i had little other choice unless you wanted me to leave you unconcious.Are you hurt?"he asked,his voice growing concerned.

Eladain smiled for the first time in a long time and helped Enkriswen to her feet."Here,come join me at my table,my friend was just leaving and i'd be happy if you dined with me,that is,if you wouldn't mind" he said

[ June 23, 2003: Message edited by: Eladain Moruviel ]

[piosenniel]

To refresh everyone's memory:

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.

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

At present it is a pleasant late afternoon in the Shire. The season is mid-Summer.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Now that the two friends were once again alone after the rush of the events of the morning, Gilly felt free to question Benia more closely.

“I see you were trying to sneak off without saying good-bye,” she said nodding toward Benia’s luggage with a grin. She lifted the leather bag and began to full the empty portion with the dry goods and sundries Benia had bought in the morning.

“You know I wouldn’t do that unless there was no other option available to me. But it seems you are pushing me out now, my friend, packing me up like this.”

“A place for everything and everything in its place.” Gilly held up an apple battered by the fall the desert woman had suffered. “No, I think we had better sort out your bruises first before you try dodging them rangers. You can’t be hopping over no hedgerows with that ankle!” She set the apple down again.

“But I must if there is no help for it,” Benia explained. “I have business to attend to beyond the Shire, and am expected there, else I should send a messenger.

“Do not dismiss the idea of a messenger yet. I feel you'd be a good deal safer in the inn than traveling alone, despite the rangers’ attention here. The one is most troubling though Silvanis seems decent enough.”

“Apparently Silvanis is trusted by the King,” Benia smiled, “so I expect he should meet a hobbit’s standards!”

Gilly picked up the tray of empty soup dishes, “I don’t know about that Miss Benia. He seems to have passed up Miss Vinca’s mushroom soup, but I should give him a second chance, eh? I’ll just take our empty dishes back now and see if I can deliver his. If he can stomach the cold soup I will know his manners are not just polish on a bad apple.... No am not that cruel,” she said laughing and backing out the door. “Even I can’t stomach cold mushroom soup!”

The hobbit turned around to see Silvanis seated at a table with the scarred ranger. Feeling suddenly very weak she wanted to retreat again to Benia’s rooms. This was too much. But remembering Léspheria’s counsel she made her way down the stairs, inwardly trying to steel herself against a feeling of hopelessness. Act normal even when you don’t feel so, she thought.

The stairs ended, and within a few paces she was the dread table. Summoning up the best good-natured voice she could manage she placed the soup before Silvanis quickly lest they she her trembling hand. “Here Mr. Silvanis. You forgot your soup, I’m afraid it has gone cold.” Gilly couldn’t bring herself to look at him but stared rather at the scarred yet handsome features of his companion at the table. I’m headed for the kitchen is there anything I can get for you?”

The unruffed stranger leveled his gaze at her and grinned with one side of his face.
"No, not at the moment, thank you."

Gilly sensing she was unwelcome picked up the empty tankard and hurried to the kitchen. Ach! Where is Myrtle when you need her! she thought. It need to know what those rascals are discussing.

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

As Durvagor watched Eladain revive Enkriswen, he noticed a spark when they’re eyes met but saw them quickly shake their heads, looking around to see if anyone saw. “I saw that,” Dûrvagor whispered to Eladain.

“It was nothing,” Eladain quickly replied. “Besides, even if I did, which I don’t…*stalling*…just trust me, it was nothing.”

“Sure,” Dûrvagor responded, knowing he had just witnessed a taste of Eladain’s emotional side. “Well, I’m going to get another pint,” he said. The ranger headed back up the bar to leave Eladain and Enkriswen to themselves.

[ June 23, 2003: Message edited by: Dûrvagor Cormyr ]

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] ATTENTION ALL GAMERS! [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There are two new RPG’s which will be opening their Discussion Threads at the end of this week to take on players:

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

1.) GONDORIAN HOUSECALL – owner, Helkahothion.

2.) THE FALL OF GREENWOOD THE GREAT – owners, Maikafanawen and Arien.

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

These will both be fun games to play in.

Go look at the Discussion Threads. Decide which one you would like to be in; then, craft a well written character for the Game, and write a solid First Post to submit with it to the Game Discussion Thread.

~*~ Pio

[Elora]

Lost in her musings, Vanwe did not at first hear Aman's question. Her words penetrated through her thoughts, and Vanwe swung her head up in time to see Aman's concerned face turned towards her. A startling thought darted through Vanwe's mind. Sometimes, when she had been younger, she would ask questions of the reflection and in her mind pretend she heard the answers. Had Aman heard her speaking to her water?

Vanwe combed Aman's face for some clue, and was relieved to see no hint of something deeper. In her eyes moved a powerful sadness that could not fade instantly, and Vanwe blinked to be sure tears did not threaten.

"Yes, Aman," she replied in a heavily laden voice. She was, afterall, no worse than she had been the day before, and considerably better than she had been a week or a month ago, or a year for that matter. Yet, it lacked the weight to convince the innkeeper.

"I am sorry to have troubled you, Aman."

Vanwe drained her earthern cup and set it back on the bar counter. She slowly stood, smoothing her skirts over her hips as she did so.

"I should see to the horses before nightfall, lest Derufin think me negligent."

With a quick curtsy that she bobbed at Aman with her ingrained elven grace, Vanwe eased away before Aman could question her more closely. In her present state, Vanwe just may answer and she knew from past experience what her answers brought. The common room held the glow of late afternoon, warm and welcoming. She glanced out over it, gaze settling on Silvanis who sat with Kaldir, and there rested for a moment.

Both men nursed foaming tankards of ale, but she was not close enough to hear what they spoke of. The possibilities were frightening enough to push any wistful imaginings far from her mind.

"Aman," Vanwe said as the innkeeper had turned away, "If Silvanis seeks me, could you tell him that I'm in the stables."

Aman looked at the Elven maiden quizzically. Her instincts were such that she well knew when something was afoot, a necessary skill for a horse trainer of Rohan.

"I have some business that I have not been able to settle with him," Vanwe went on to explain.

"Business," Aman echoed as she assessed Vanwe, "If he asks, I'll let him know. Are you in trouble, Vanwe?"

Aman asked plainly and pointedly. Vanwe's facade for an instant melted, revealing a glimpse of her turmoil in her Elven feature so reminiscent of the High Elven house of Finafin. But it was just an instant that passed as Vanwe pushed silken blonde hair back over her shoulders.

"No more than most of us, Aman," she said, "and it is nothing that will bring unrest to you or the inn."

Vanwe smiled, a flash of steely determination laying beneath that. Regardless of what may lay ahead, Vanwe would see to it that no harm came to those who had been so kind to her. Vanwe bobbed another curtsy and left the commonroom in as nondescript manner as she could. It was hard to hide from a Ranger in a commonroom that was uncrowded in a way that did not further draw attention to herself.

Vanwe met the gaze of those newcomers, the inn's vast usual array of people, and seeing no Rangers or soldiers at least, moved on to the stables. As she crossed the yard, her head spun with the day's doings. Evening was speeding towards her, and she had to smooth things over with Lespheria and check on Benia too, to be sure the healing had taken as it should. As she entered the stable, her expression was preoccupied and pensive.

Vanwe moved through the empty stalls to fetch the necessary equipment to stable the horses from the pen and clean out the pen. The rhythmic sound of a knife moving through wood whispered to her hearing, and Vanwe paused. It was familiar as was the scent of freshly cut wood. Her hands moved to the crane that had patiently waited behind her worn and cracked belt.

Her keen eyesight picked out Derufin, who sat carving in solitude. She approached quietly, and watched the blade hover and grip adjust to one not used for carving wood as he glanced up. Derufin relaxed when he saw it was Vanwe.

"Good evening," he said, blowing some shavings away from what he was working on.

"Good evening, Derufin," Vanwe replied. "How are you feeling," she inquired."

Derufin wryly smiled. "Much better," he said as he set his blade to the carving once again.

"I thought I'd bring the horses in for the night, Derufin, if that is agreeable to you."

He nodded his assent, and Vanwe moved closer to the halters needed to lead the horses back in to the stables. With them dangling over her arms, Vanwe made to leave the stable only to pause by Derufin once again. In her free hand rested the crane, wings proudly stretched outwards in glorious flight like the cranes she had seen winging over the wetlands of Gondor.

Hoping that she had not misjudged his homeland from his appearance, Vanwe stretched out her hand. Derufin glanced up to see the crane flying towards him from her palm.

"I thought," Vanwe said shyly in a quiet voice, "that I may be able to give you something by way of thanks."

"But for what, Vanwe," Derufin asked as he studied the rosewood crane.
"For your kindness and generosity," she replied.

Derufin lightly shook his head as he reached to pick up the crane from her open palm, eyes moving to study her face. Vanwe smiled shyly at him.

"I know it is a small thing, and by no means the work of a master, but it is a begininning," she said.
"I will find other ways to thank you Derufin, and prove you right in your trust."

For Vanwe, that anyone had seen fit to entrust her with what Derufin had was a new experience. It was something that she had never been accorded before. She was not sure she merited it, but she was determined to do what she could to ensure he did not regret it. Small carvings did not amount to much, but it was a start.

Falmar snorted by way of impressing his contribution to the exchange as Derufin's fingers traced over the lines of the crane. Feathers had been etched, ruffled by the cool sky at sunset.

"I hope it is to your liking."

Vanwe's cheeks flushed faintly, a delicate rose colouring her skin, and the bridles jingled softly as she adjusted their weight on her other arm. She was utterly out of her depth, unsure of what to do. She had never given a gift before, and a worrying thought nagged at her mind that perhaps she had overstepped her place in doing so now.

As Derufin turned the crane about in his hands to study it, Vanwe supressed the urge to find a quiet place quickly and stood where she was. If she had done wrong, she was not going to run. She had already decided earlier that day that she was tired of running. Her blue eyes were lit with a genuine desire that the crane please Derufin, for it was rare that she did anything to anyone's liking in her experience.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Alatariel walked away and back into the Inn. She went back to her corner table and sat in the same seat. She watched the other guests again, waiting... waiting for something to happen.

Alatariel sat there for hours, but nothing happened. She had a dry, rough sensation in her throat. Deciding to get a glass of wine, she walked up to the bar. 'One glass of wine, please'

The person at the bar walked away, to arrive shortly after, with a glass of red wine. Alatariel paid and thanked the person, then went back to her table, in the dark corner. She sat and waited some more, without a care in the world.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Niniel wandered outside. There were so many strangers around, and she felt quite overwhelmed. There was a lovely breeze blowing, and she breathed deeply of the scents it carried; flowers, herbs, and the smell of freshly cut pine.

She pulled out a small silver-gilt knife, and began walking it over and around her fingers. To keep the hands nimble, she remembered someone telling her. Though she could not recall who, which wasn't really so strange, as she couldn't recall much of anything.

She sat down on a piece of log that was propped up near one of the doors. It made for a less than comfortable seat, but it would do for her. Comfort had rarely, if ever, been part of her daily life.

[Nerindel]

Léspheria wiped the sweat from her delicate pale brow, it had been a busy afternoon. Many new guests entered the inn. Keeping her busy, she was relieved when she saw Silvanis joining the other Ranger and block his view of Benia's room.

She smiled when she saw Theoric enter the inn "Ah master dwarf, good to see you again" she said refilling his mug, but before he could speak she was called away by a group of rowdy hobbits. "More ale here, Miz Elf", "Léspheria, Master Periannath" she smiled mischievously as she poured the hobbits their ale, the others laughed as the hobbit who had called her now sat with his mouth open wide fumbling for an answer, instead he just paid for the ales and staring awkwardly into his mug he whispered "thankee Miz Léspheria" to which the other hobbits started laughing again. Giggling despite herself she turn to see who else might need serving.

As she looked around she saw two elves sat at a table not to far away, one of which she was sure she recognised from her home in Rivendell. "Miss Enkriswen! Is that you?" The young elf looked up surprised that someone in the inn was calling her name. "Vedui Léspheria" she cried instantly recognising the Emissary of Rivendell. Enkriswen never much cared for the council and they found her rather clumsy and tiresome but Léspheria and her twin Brother Lóthaniel had always been nice to her(And they were only one age in this world so were not classed among the high elves). The two women hugged, "Nae saian luamme'(It has been too long) she whispered. Léspheria then turned and smiling warmly she looked to Enkriswen's companion, he immediately stood up and greeted her in the fashion of the elves of Mirkwood "My name is Eladain, Saesa omentimlle (Pleasure meeting you)" the male elf smiled pleasantly. "Mae govannen (Well Met)" she replied making the same elvish gesture of greeting. Léspheria was filled with warmth to hear the language of her own people, it must be nearly a month since she left Rivendell. "Let me get you a fresh drink, then we shall speak from a while." she then went off to the bar to get their drinks.

As she reached the bar she saw another ranger waiting for a drink, "What can I get you she asked "Three ale's please" a wry smile creasing his lips, she could not be certain but she was fairly sure he had the look of the Dunedain about him. She and her Bother spent much time with the Dunedain in the north, both before and after the war. She poured the mans ale's and slid them easily across the bar.

Just then she noticed Aman standing at the door to the cellar staring blankly at the back of the quickly exiting Vanwe. "She avoided your concerns as well I see, Many questions distract that one, but I think once she sorts them out herself she will come to us and there is no better place than The warm and inviting lights of the green dragon to stop one from running, she smiled trying to reassure the worried innkeeper.

Without further disturbing the innkeepers thoughts she poured two wines and an ale and went back over to join Enkriswen and Eladian.

[ June 24, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

As Dûrvagor walked back into the inn, along with Eladain, he sat down at the closest open table towards the fire. While he looked at the catechism of flame and wood, he thought to himself. He thought of nothing of importance, just something to pass time in this fine inn. While straying away from his thoughts, he saw a moth. It wasn’t a moth of majesty or a moth of beauty, just a plain, old moth. It was heading into the fire; not knowing the flames would engulf him. But, it still was on its journey towards death, slowly fluttering. Snap! The moth was no more, just another addition to the collecting ashes.

While looking at the flames, the fireplace, the mantle, he remembered his fireplace that he would sit in front of when he was a child.

It was in the late Third Age, living in his small house outside of Osgiliath, with his parents sitting in their designated chairs. His father was a retired ranger, mother was tailor, and he was just a young boy, pretending to be fighting orcs, slaying giant oliphaunts, and reenacting the defeat against Sauron himself! Of course these all being trees and twigs he had stuck into the ground in order for them to stand-up. Then Dûrvagor would slash at them with his wooden sword—

“Dûrvagor,” yelled Eladain, thinking he was in a trance and trying to get him out of it.

“Yes,” Dûrvagor responded in a normal fashion.

“Okay, I was just making sure you were okay,” Eladain explained.

“Don’t worry, I’m alright,” he concluded, smiling at his fond memories of his childhood. But little did he know then, that those 'games', would soon become real.

[ June 24, 2003: Message edited by: Dûrvagor Cormyr ]

[piosenniel]

NOTE TO ALL POSTERS IN THE GREEN DRAGON INN

1.) There are to be no further short, nondescriptive, talk-oriented posts posted here.

2.) There is to be no series posting done in the Inn. (No rapid fire exchange of short little chatty, non descriptive, hastily written posts.)

This is a place for practicing good, solid descriptive writing. Go to the Barrow Downs Chat room if you wish to chat with friends.

All posts of the sort mentioned in #'s 1 and 2 above will be deleted. You will run the risk of being asked not to post in the Shire again.

~~ Piosenniel Shire Moderator

[ June 24, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Everdawn]

"An ale?, not that will never do! Ladies-" she began to remember the rules that her governess and father had enforced in her house in Dol Amroth. "Ale will be fine!" she laughed.

"I am breaking a rule, and i intend on still breaking many more!" Madea laughed while Ruby came to their table. "I only feel like bread... and honey? would that be a problem?" she asked the hobbit who smiled "right back" she said.

"Aleia, thankyou so much for recomending. We must do many things ive never done before you know!" Made laughed again, feeling better than she had in months, years even.

[Eladain Moruviel]

While Durvagor was daydreaming by the fireside,Eladain had some thoughts of his own.He and Durgavor had decided outside that they would go on there Quest for the lost dwarven rings of power,in the fall.Each would go his own separate way and meet back up at the Inn before setting out together.it wouldn't be an easy task,it would be full of hardship and danger,but they both had agreed to do it,and so it would be done,or they would die trying.

After a little while Eladain's thoughts began to wander,he thought of his childhood in Mirkwood,how he used to play in the woods with his brothers and sisters.They had made something of them selves,all become blacksmiths, or seamstresses,or tavern-keepers.But him,he was different,he was a wanderer,never able to stay in one place for too long.How many had it been since he had seen his family?he had lost count a long time ago.

His thoughts then strayed to all the things he had seen in his many years of wandering,the Mines of Moria,the Argonath,The Lonely Mountain,and even the great city of Minas Tirith.'Yes,he may not have made much of himself,but he had lived a better life than the rest of his family' he told himself.

he then remembered the day he had met Durvagor,it had been out in the wilds,and he had come upon Durvagor's camp by accident.They had become fast friends after that,and one day they decided they should do something important with there lives.That's when the idea to look for the lost dwarven rings occurred to them.That day they made an oath that no mater what happened,they would never stop looking for the rings.it had been ten years since that day,and now they were close,very close,so they decided to meet up at the Inn so they search together.


After making Durvagor was ok (he had been looking kind of odd) Eladain headed for his room upstairs "it's been a long day,and i could use some sleep" he said to Durvagor as he went "I'll see you in the fall old friend" as he headed upstairs he wondered what many adventures would befall of them before they next saw eachother.

One man, sat in the corner and watched as Eladain slowly walked up the stairs.As soon as he was out of sight the strange man got up hand headed out the door into the night.Durvagor saw him leave but was too tired to think anything of it,soon after he too went upstairs to his room for the night.

Enkriswen tiredly excused herself from the table, thankful that the hobbit lass had gone. Slowly, she wound her way around the tables and opened the door to go outside. The door, momentarily, wouldn't open.

It wasn't this warm when last I came, she said to herself, pulling her cloak closer around her out of instict. She shuddered as an unexpected big gust of wind billowed forth, and passed her by. She smiled, and loosened her tight grip on her coat.

She re-opened the door and headed back inside, now that the air outside had stimulated her brain. She sat back down in her booth, looking for the serving lady. She was aiding someone else, so Enkriswen went back up to the counter, ordered a small plate of food (for she had suddenly become ravenous again, being outside does that) and went, yet once again, back to her booth, and waited.

Arayulmaiel entered the Green Dragon. Long had it been since last she was here. Not that she hadn't missed it, it was like a second home to her, an extremely warm, comfortable home to her.

As she entered, she noticed the door was having trouble opening. Just one sharp pull and... she slipped backwards, tripped on the edge of her cloak, and fell to the ground. Quickly, she picked herself back up, hoping mightily that she hadn't been seen. Good, she thought, looking around, she hadn't.

She stepped into the bar part of the Inn, and quickly went over to the Innkeeper. "Any kind of food you have ready will do just fine," she ordered. Then she sat herself down in a vacant booth.

[Snowdog]

'Yes, the ale is of fair quality here.'

Silvanis answered Kaldir as he looked into his tankard for a moment. He had had some rather wicked ales in his travels, and the light sweet draught of the Green Dragon was refreshing on these warm midsummer days. He looked again at Kaldir, saying,

'I am Silvanis of most recently Annúminas, and it is good to make your aquaintance.'

Not that Silvanis was much for socializing, but it seemed necessary to do in this case. Kaldir noted the door opening and the Hobbit woman emerged with some bowls. Silvanis could read it in his eyes as he looked past him, and said quietly,

'The southern women curry your interest, no?'

Kaldir stiffened slightly, then said,

"What is the woman who was hurting to you?"

Silvanis's mind moved quickly, for he could say she was only one whom he assisted after her fall, but it seemed there was a danger to her in doing so, so he said,

'She was to embark upon travel as was I, and we were going to journey together for a time'

Not really true Silvanis thought, but he was planning on going east and south, and it was obvious Benia was about to move on as well, though he knew not where.

It was then that Gilly walked up and said,

"Your soup, mr Silvanis, I'm afraid it has gotten cold."

Standing, Silvanis nodded to Gilly,

'My apologies ma'am. I assumed the second bowl was for you while you shared a meal with B... your friend.'

Silvanis sat back down and wondered how it would settle wit the ale. He was hungry as he was hoping to be on his way hours ago, so he said thanks to Gilly for bringing it to him. He downed it quickly and not always remembering his cultural manners, having been in the wild so long and all.

As he finished, Silvanis turned his head as a dark-haired young woman laughed amidst her sipping a tankard of ale. He looked back at Kaldir and said quietly with a grin,

'This will be interesting to watch.'

with a motion of his head toward Madea at the nearby table. Seeing that Kaldir was ever trying to watch the door where Benia rested, Silvanis took a long draw upon his tankard and said in a low voice only Kaldir could hear,

'Raven Falls'

A faint recognition seemed to come over Kaldir's face and Silvanis seemed to remember that dark time. Leaning forward Silvanis said,

'The Mitheithel headwaters was a dark day...'

The names seemed to bring some memory to Kaldir, for it was indeed a dark day years ago, when their party was waylaid by orcs....

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman frowned after Vanwe. The elf was hiding something, of that she was almost certain, but she could think of no way of getting out of her what it was. She had tried to be frank, and that had certainly worked in its way- that slip, that small moment when Vanwe had let her mask fall, startled, had proved Aman's fears that Vanwe was indeed involved in something.

"Business, hmm?" She muttered under her breath, narrowing her eyes and watching Silvanis suspiciously. Her attention was jolted however, by a small, polite sound of someone clearing their throat. Aman snapped back from her musings, and smiled at the young woman, straightening up from where she had been leaning on the bar.

"I beg your pardon, I was miles away," Aman smiled. "Can I get you anything?"

"Any type of food you have." The young woman replied, smiling nervously.

"Well, Cook will be serving up dinner in a short while- she generally serves it in about an hour and a half, or two hours, from now. I can get you something small though- sandwiches?"

"Yes, please." The woman replied

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman frowned after Vanwe. The elf was hiding something, of that she was almost certain, but she could think of no way of getting out of her what it was. She had tried to be frank, and that had certainly worked in its way- that slip, that small moment when Vanwe had let her mask fall, startled, had proved Aman's fears that Vanwe was indeed involved in something.

"Business, hmm?" She muttered under her breath, narrowing her eyes and watching Silvanis suspiciously. Her attention was jolted however, by a small, polite sound of someone clearing their throat. Aman snapped back from her musings, and smiled at the young woman, straightening up from where she had been leaning on the bar.

"I beg your pardon, I was miles away," Aman smiled. "Can I get you anything?"

"Any type of food you have." The young woman replied, smiling nervously.

"Well, Cook will be serving up dinner in a short while- she generally serves it in about an hour and a half, or two hours, from now. I can get you something small though- sandwiches?"

"Yes, please." The woman replied. She held out a hand, still polite, but also still nervous. "My name is Arayulmaiel."

"Pleased to meet you. Buttercup will see to your order immediately," Aman smiled sweetly at the hobbit waitress, who had been trying to sneak past without being noticed. At the sound of her name, she froze, and as Aman finished, she shot her a rather exasperated look, switching quickly to a smile as Arayulmaiel turned, then went to sit in a booth. As Buttercup went to the kitchen, she glanced darkly at Aman again. The Innkeeper stuck her tongue out, still grinning, and Buttercup rolled her eyes, but returned the grin. Aman watched the hobbit as she went- she had become good friends with Buttercup recently, and the hobbit had returned the feeling- wasn't it her who had faithfully saved Aman from 'The Mob' of Mathom hunters?

"Could we get another two ales please, Aman?"

Aman didn't let her smile fade as Silvanis asked, but her suspicion returned as she remembered him. Smiling, she nodded, and pulled two pints, which he came to retrieve. With a charming smile, he returned to his table, and Aman saw him lean forward and begin his story. Her eyes narrowed again, but she said nothing. Rememberin the wines she had meant to check up on, she hastily fumbled with her keys until she found the right one, and slipped it into the lock of the cellar door.

Sighing happily, the Innkeeper made her way down the stone stairs and into the cellar, quiet and cool away from the busy, hot bustle of the Inn. She took a moment to just stand at the bottom of the stairs, eyes closed, revelling the cool air, slightly fragrant with the perfume of the wines that had long rested in it. Hearing a slight rustle, she opened her eyes sharply to see...

no one!

But she had sworn she had heard the rustle of clothing and a few steps. Maybe it had been the dripping of a wine tap...yes, that must be it...

But Aman knew it hadn't been. The cellar suddenly seemed eerie rather than simply quiet, and the Innkeeper forced herself into her business mode, and walked swiftly down the rows of barrels, reading the labels, some wooden, some metal (for the older or more regular beverages), some simply quickly scrawled notes on slips of paper, some more neatly written, in a hand she recognised as Pio's, but all covered in dust, even the wine that Lespheria had brought not so long ago. Aman inspected the fine wines. It did not take long. She had thought she might need a pen and paper, but the amount and variety of wine was rather devastatingly low. Well, she would be able to send someone off to Butterbur tonight, hadn't she heard some of them talking? That way she would get the reply tomo-

Aman whirled around, hands gripping the heavy bunch of keys as a weapon so that some of the jagged pieces of metal dug into her slim fingers and her palm. She could have sworn she had heard a snigger! She must be going mad...the cellar seemed too big and empty suddenly, and she knew it was virtually sound proof...no one would hear...

Aman started walking briskly towards the stairs. Once again, she thought she heard footsteps, and the brisk walk became faster. She took the stairs two at a time in the end, rushing up. When she reached the top, Aman had been about to close the door behind her quickly, but stopped. She peered into the relative gloom of the cellar. Nothing stirred. Aman could not believe she had been so daft- she had actually imagined things! There was nothing there, it had been silly of her.

Smiling to herself and shaking her head, Aman took out a pen from one of the voluminous pockets in her dress and a piece of parchment from the small pile she kept under her personal noticeboard, and began to write Butterbur a note about the wines, bearing in mind the funds from the sale. She had seen some sort of juice extractor down in the cellar, even in her panic, a big one, attached to a barrel. And it had had all sorts of interesting instruments around it...The children would need drinks as well, at the party, and just milk would simply not suffice. Hobbit lasses and lads would be delighted with some ginger beer- she had seen some earlier- and....strawberry fizz? She had seen some made by one of the stable boys when he visited Rohan, and had no doubt Cook would think something of the idea, as well as probably being able to draft in some help from Ruby's mother- that woman was a devil for recipes. And Aman could experiment, along with all that...

As the Innkeeper occupied herself with these thoughts, the door of the cellar swung slowly wider open. And there were indeed some little ones in the Inn- and even some rather bigger ones- who were eyeing it mischievously. While the cat's away/ busy writing notes, the mice can slip into the cellar...

Down in the quiet of the cellar, someone did indeed move...

[Theoric Windcaller]

It seemed as though something troubled the Dwarf about the Elf man that had just entered the inn. He felt at home here, but this moment, he felt a chill of fear run down his back.

He weighed the thought of going back to Rohan, or maybe even Laketown. It was mid-summer, he could reach his destination by the end of summer. He thought of leaving the Shire for good.

Fertile and green this land was, but that's all, nothing more. The Dwarf wanted adventure, and this is not the place where he could find anything of that sort.

Theoric sighed and dropped his head upon the bar. A tear rolled down his cheek as flashes of that dreadful night in the Misty Mountains five years ago. His brother, Tallon and their life-long friend, Bayin and a group of adventurers travelled through the High Pass when a storm broke and split the group up. Theoric hadn't seen his brother and his friend, Bayin for five years until they came to the inn where he was, and greeted him.

How he wished to see them again. He felt a deep yearning in his heart to go adventuring with his brother. Yes, to Rohan, he thought, Rohan is where I must go.

Should I leave now or in the morning? If I stroll out in the morning then everything shall be in the norm. These Shire folk notice things very keenly. I musn't be too hasty...

Yepa Namid stepped quietly through the door, trying not to draw too much attention to herself. This land was new and strange to her. Also hot.


She slipped off her fur-lined cloak, which had become increasingly too warm as she had journeyed south. Indeed, even the clothes she wore underneath the cloak were still too warm. Her trousers, tunic, and even her boots were of sealskin, though the boots were from an older seal, and were tougher; darker grey that the softer, younger skins that made up her clothes. In contrast the heavy cloak which she now draped over her arm was the creamy white hide of the bears that populated the region from which she came.


She cut a strange figure as she crossed the inn to the bar. Her odd attire drew a few looks, but although she was small, her appearance was pleasant. Thick dark hair fell to mid-thigh length, and big dark eyes sparkled in a round, nut brown face. A grey and white dog, bearing much resemblance to a wolf, followed at her heels.

Getting a drink of water from the bar, Yepa sat down as far from the fire as possible, and sipped at her drink, gazing around all the time at the people in the common room, studying them with a curious mind. A few of them caught her eye, and she smiled, but made no move for the present. The dog curled up at her feet, closed his eyes, anddozed in the warmth of the afternoon.

[Annalaliath]

Rising out of her depression a bit, Annalaliath stood up from her table. She walked over to the bar and stood there for a moment.

When she had tracked down Aman, she smiled. " Aman, is there and work I can do," she asked, " around here?"

[Ealasaid]

"What is the woman who was hurting to you?" Kaldir asked.

There was scarcely a second of hesitation as Silvanis came to a rapid decision and answered, "She was to embark upon travel as was I, and we were going to journey together for a time."

Kaldir sensed the beat of hesitation. A lie, perhaps? He let it pass. "She is a lovely creature," he said pleasantly. "Very exotic for these parts. I was worried that I might be treading on your toes a bit in admiring her. I am glad to know that you and she are merely friends."

Kaldir was curious to see what Silvanis' reaction would be to his broad assumption that the desert woman and Silvanis were merely friends. It would tell Kaldir if the lie was intended to protect Benia or was merely a lie of discretion to safeguard a new liasson that was developing between the two of them. Unfortunately, he never received a response from Silvanis as the Ranger's attention was distracted first by the arrival of the desert woman's hobbit friend bringing a bowl of soup, and then by the laughter of a young woman at the next table. Kaldir felt a flash of frustration and annoyance, which he got out of his system by way of a rather menacing smile at the desert lady's hobbit friend, who looked distinctly disturbed by it. She fled to the safety of the kitchen rather quickly, which amused Kaldir no end.

His amusement evaporated abruptly as Silvanis finished taking a long draw at his tankard and said in a very low voice, "Raven Falls."

Kaldir's pale eyes narrowed and his face darkened. Leaning forward, Silvanis continued, "The Mitheithel headwaters was a dark day..."

"What do you know of the Mitheithel headwaters?" Kaldir asked, his own voice dropping to a barely audible level. He studied Silvanis' face, trying hard to place it. Had this man been among his party that day fifteen years ago when they had been ambushed by orcs in the very shadow of the Falls? They had been so desperately outnumbered that day. They had all fought valiantly, and Kaldir had nearly lost his life, but his memories were so vague. During the melee, he had been struck a crushing blow from behind to the side of his head. When he awoke, it was to the burning sensation of orc medicine on his throat, strengthening his battered body only enough to survive the forced march south to Mordor. The scarred side of his face twitched in remembered pain. Raven Falls was not a place he thought of lightly. Raven Falls marked the place where he had been changed from a Ranger to a nameless spoil of war and a slave.

[Envinyatar]

The soft light of an early evening filtered in through the open windows of the stable. Elf as she was, still her footsteps had stirred up the dust and chaff as she drew near, and now the fey bits danced in the light and the faint wind of her coming.

‘She looks so very young,’ he thought, as she stepped close, extending her trembling hand toward him. And in a trick of light and shadow the finely carved feathers of the crane seemed to ruffle in the air, as if to fly free of the flesh it rested on. Grace was in its form and a certain capturing of spirit; and he wondered, as he looked into her face, if she understood that these qualities had come to it through her hands, her own spirit giving voice to the wood.

A few words passed between them as he studied the carving. And then a sudden memory assailed him. They had come back to the Vale. The ragtag few who had survived the war. Memories of lost companions followed in their wake. The forever silenced footsteps of the sons of Ringló ringing hollowly across the marshy grasslands.

It was late summer and a pair of mated cranes had built their great nest near the marshy edges of the river. The small band of men came near, passing by slowly on their way to their own homes. Protective of their young, the pair had risen up and called out a warning in unison. ‘Stay clear!’ came their cry. And they stood tall among the grasses and the reeds, beating their great wings in the air as emphasis. The westering sun had shone through their feathers in a fiery blaze. The men had stood in awe of this spectacle, and bowing slightly to the pair had given wide berth to their little family.

‘We should have stayed near our families, too,’ he murmured. Then, catching himself, caught also the last of her words.

‘I know it is a small thing, and by no means the work of a master, but it is a beginning,’ she said. ‘I will find other ways to thank you Derufin, and prove you right in your trust.’ His fingertips moved softly over the fine work of the feathered wings. ‘I hope it is to your liking.’

He smiled up at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight. ‘Yes,’ he said, his hand coming up to adjust a stray bridle that threatened to fall from her arm. For a brief moment his fingers grazed the inner surface of her wrist. He dropped his eyes, withdrawing his hand to turn the carving once more upon the palm of his other hand.

‘Yes, Vanwe. I like it very much.’

She had gone then, to see to the horses, the jingling of the bridles trailing her footsteps.

Derufin placed the small crane on the barrel head, among his own creations. They seemed crude and ungainly as they stood next to hers. He smiled ruefully at them. And yet hers did not overshadow them, he thought, but lent them a certain grace and light, calling them out of their lumpish existence and into the promise of a gentler world.

An old scrap of poetry, wrought by some passing bard came back to him:

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

The shadows in the stable lengthened as he sat there, his hands resting on his thighs. Standing, then, he gathered up his carvings, placing them carefully in the box he had made for them. ‘Tomorrow,’ he thought, making his way back to his room, ‘tomorrow, when the light is good, I will work on these again.’ He slid the box beneath his bed, along with the knife he was using.

His little crane he placed carefully on the stand beside his bed, where the soft light from the candle lantern there would catch it, should he wake, as he often did, in the night . . .

_____________________________________________

with thanks to Wendell Berry for the poem

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Alatariel had fallen into a dream. She sat there, at the corner table, with a scared expression on her face. She was suddenly jerked out of it, by a shake of her head. A small ball of sweat ran down her forehead; however, she felt cold, and pulled her cloak in tighter. A shiver ran down her spine. It was the stallion! He was in trouble! She felt it.

Running outside, she started singing. It was an expressionless song, no mood, not happy, not sad, just a song. In the distance, there was a sound, it was the stallion. Alatariel continued her song. The wind was blowing around her, whipping at her cloak. The black stallion suddenly appeared around the corner. He was covered with scratches. 'Your worse than I expected, come we must get you cleaned up,' she said leading him inside the stables.

Putting him in the stall in the far corner, she left to fetch some warm water and a clean cloth. She bursted out of the stable, the wind continued to blow, and ran as fast as she could inside.

[Elora]

Vanwe walked towards the pen of horses in a pleasant daze, Derufin's smile bright before her and the gentle brush of his fingers on her inner wrist warm still. His smile, she decided, was wonderful. Not calculating, nor savage as they sometimes can be, like she saw all too often, but genuine and welcome. He was not harsh and ungentle, not a scowl or a hard word. Not even when she had been discovered hiding in his stables. Derufin was a puzzle to her, defying what knowledge she had built up on the nature of Men. Vanwe had her share of puzzles, but this one was one she was pleased to have.

Gentle touch, she thought, graceful soul. Though she had little by way of experience of the truth of that in her own experiences, she thought it true with a clarity that overrode her own past. She took to humming, the same lilting southern melody that had accompanied her broom that morning, as she neared the gate.

Curious by the softly singing newcomer, the horses crowded forward and Vanwe set about guiding the halters into place with a firm, confident hand that had always been hers when working with animals. She had the first shift of horses almost back to the stables, two leads in each hand and four horses trailing amicably behind her, when a woman burst at a run from the stables. Vanwe felt the reins jolt in her hands as the horses behind her lifted their heads back in surprise.

The running woman was gone before Vanwe could say anything, and the jerking leads needed her attention. It took some moments to quiet the startled horses and led them into the stables proper. Ignoring the faint ache in her shoulders that resulted from the reins being yanked backwards by four suprised horses, she lead each one into their respective stables and unhitched them. Her charges soon forgot their alarm, burying themselves in the fodder that had been set there that morning in readiness for the evening.

Vanwe saw a new horse had been placed in the far stall, Derufin standing nearby with a puzzled expression.

"Do you know who she is," he asked. Vanwe shook her head.
"No, and I had no chance to remedy that," she added.

"I wonder if she's in trouble," he murmured and then considering that she'd tarried to stall her horse started to reassess that.

"Well, not even a Haradian slaver could catch that sprint," Vanwe surmised. She'd seen them run more than one reluctant piece of property and doubted that even they would be able to do so for the woman who had burst from the stables.

"Perhaps she heard of Cook's instance on regular meals and did not wish to be late for dinner," Vanwe offered with a trace of a smile that was distinctly mischevious. She turned to see to the remaining horses so that she too would be able to avoid Cook's disapproval for the upcoming meal. The dusk had deepened to a pale shimmer by the time all the horses had been stabled, and their blankets placed in preparation for the night.

Vanwe surveyed each row of stalls on both sides of the stables, to be sure door catches were in place, dusting her hands on her skirt. She glanced down at the gritty material and wrinkled her nose. Noone would credit that she'd washed it only the day before. She climbed the ladder leading to the loft and went to the one draw that held all her possessions.

Vanwe divided her efforts between shaking the attic dust and the day's work from her dress and combing her hair free of any snarls. She braved a quick glance in the small mirror, fortified for what she would see. Thin, pale, tall, unlike the sun burnished people who had surrounded her from birth. Vanwe set the mirror down, and closed off the comments she could still hear in her mind. Conscious that Cook already had cause to be unhappy with her for the incident surrounding the very late lunch, she hurried back down the ladder on nimble feet.

Derufin looked up from where he sat at her speedy return, pulled from reverie.

"I don't want to be late either. Cook is already displeased with me," she explained. The distant expression on his face faded, and Vanwe recognised it quickly from the day before. As he nodded his understanding, well familiar with Vinca Bouce's formidible wrath himself, Vanwe wondered if she should venture a question of the family that Derufin spoke of earlier. The family that she guessed brought a still sadness upon him.

Her question remained unspoken in her eyes, as she weighed the pleasure of his smile against her curiosity. She knew which was more valuable, and cast her question aside. Instead, Vanwe siezed upon instinct.

"Your family would be proud of you, Derufin," she said quietly and turned to withdraw before she trespassed further. Any family would proud of him, she added silently.

[Snowdog]

'I know the Mitheithel headwaters well, and of the falls there I can tell you that the rock overhang near the top has fallen into the deep pool at the bottom. But you know of what I really speak.'

Silvanis spoke slow and quietly, well covered by the din of voices at the crowded Inn. Sipping his ale again and gauging Kaldir's face, whose eyes for a moment turned again past him to Benia's door. Silvanis then said,

'I was there ere some years ago, with Halbarad and Elendur, and some others of our bretheren. I remember the ambush... that is until all went black. I awoke nearly drowned in the pool with nary a soul about.'

Silvanis indeed remembered that day, and had found out much later after he walked out toward the west.

'I learned after I was found that there were four lost that day, but only two were found dead, and two were missing...'

Yes, two... himself and one other. Surely this was the other!

'You may or may not remember me as Hanasían'

Silvanis was hoping the names would jar his memory some, but he had also noted that his interest in Benia was more than his admiration of her beauty.

Silvanis took note of the entry to the Inn of a woman who dressed in the manner of the peoples of the far north, and thought it ironic that one from the southlands and the north lands of ice would be in the same Inn at the same time. Taking note that Kaldir seemed to be pondering his words of that fateful day long ago, he could see that his watch was only to Benia's door. Seeing he paid no mind to the laughing Gondorian woman at the table nearby, or any who entered recently, Silvanis guessed his interest was only with her. He was maybe a bounty hunter, though not sent to retrieve the wayward Gondorian. He took a chance and though he would really burdun Kaldir's mind...

'So why do you seek the southern woman? Is the price good? Maybe I seek the same...'

Silvanis hushed as Gilly walked by, surely intimidated but also curious and sensing her friend was in danger. Of course Silvanis would do what he could to help Benia, but sometimes one had to appear otherwise to get information.

[Ealasaid]

"You may or may not remember me as Hanasian," said Silvanis, still speaking in hushed tones.

Kaldir nodded, remembering the name. "I am glad indeed to see you are alive, Hanasian," he answered. "So much of that day is shrouded in darkness for me, that I must rely on the memory of others to reconstruct the tale. I, too, heard many years later that I was not the only one to go missing that day." He smiled ruefully. "But I see you are none the worse for wear for it. I, on the other hand..." He made a mute gesture toward the disfigured side of his face. "I was not quite so fortunate."

Kaldir took a sip of his ale. "But I am alive," he concluded amiably. "Some days, that is enough."

"To life!" Silvanis said agreeably and raised his mug. Kaldir raised his as well, and the two of them drank to life. Kaldir's eyes flicked toward the closed door of the injured southern woman. He regretted the action instantly, as when his attention returned to Silvanis, he found the other Ranger watching him shrewdly.

"So why do you seek the southern woman?" Silvanis asked. "Is the price good? Maybe I seek the same..."

"Price?" echoed Kaldir, raising his eyebrows in feigned confusion. "Surely the lady doesn't sell herself to the highest bidder." He looked at her door with what would seem to be renewed interest. "Surely, Hanasian, you jest."

"I am called Silvanis now," Silvanis reminded him. He leaned across the table toward Kaldir, and added in a lower voice, "Don't play the fool with me, friend. We may have been brethren once, but that doesn't mean I trust you. I see your rope and your weapons. You have about you the air of a hunting warg. So, tell me... why do you seek the southern woman? You see, I may be a hunter, too."

Kaldir laughed. "Who am I to this Silvanis, or he to me, that I should tell him my business?" he asked. His pale blue eyes regarded Silvanis coldly. "The last person a hunter should trust would be another hunter."

[Snowdog]

'Bretheren in arms once we were, yet now all is well in the lands under the King.

A somewhat sarcastic tone came over his voice, and Kaldir's reaction spoke much to him, maybe more than Kaldir realized. Silvanis had no doubt of his intentions in general, though he knew he would not gain any further information as to his employ. So Silvanis lifted his tankard and said,

'To Life, and living this day!'

Silvanis stood and sat the empty tankard upon the table, and as another burst of laughter from the young Gondorian woman carried sweetly about the common room, Silvanis stepped next to Kaldir and said in a low voice,

'True words you say that one would not tell another of their business. However, this ranger of the north has at the present time an advantage.'

And with a smile, he turned and walked away toward the stairs. A nod to Gilly as he stepped up the stairs and turned to the door where Benia rested. Tapping upon the door, he looked down toward the dark stare of Kaldir as he said softly,

'Lady Nightshade? Are you awake? It is Silvanis.'

A sleepy "yes" could be heard behind the door, and he slowly pushed it open and stepped in. Letting it close softly, Silvanis stood straight by the door, saying to Benia,

'The hooded man I believe seeks you, and I believe for a bounty price somewhere. Be wary m'lady.'

His eyes were grey in the light of the westering sun in the window As she took note of Silvanis's observations.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Alatariel ran inside, bound to get there as fast as possible. Now that she was inside, she calmed herself, not wanting to make a scene, and went to the kitchen. She kept quiet, not wanting anyone to see her. She found a bowl in one of the cabnits and walked over to a kettle of hot water. Slowley pouring it into the bowl, careful not to spill any, she grabbed a washcloth out of the drawer and went back outside.

She strolled back out of the inn and quickened her pace to jogging after she was out the door, being careful not to spill the hot water. She arrived at the black stallion's stall to find him rocking back and forth. He was tired she could tell. 'It was wolves. This has never happened to you before. I'm surprised,' she said, tending to the wounds. She stopped. Looking into his eyes she gasped, 'It is worse than I thought.'

An hour passed before she finally finished. 'I'll leave you be. You need rest before you can be going on any free running. I'll check on you a little later,' she said to him, stroking his mane. Then she walked back inside, taking the bowl, and rag with her.

[ June 26, 2003: Message edited by: Alatariel Telemnar ]

[Linteamarthwen]

Check your PM's please:

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

Outside the Inn's door a tall cloaked figure rode up upon his black steed. The horse brayed loudly as the figure tied it to the rotten wood post.

Then the cloaked shape stalked towards the door of the Inn. The door opened with a slight squeak and he strode in, cloak sweeping the dirt-laden floor of the Inn. He withdrew his hood to reveal a large, grizzled face.

Through the dirt one could make out a scar upon the brow, nigh to the right eye. His hair was untidy and dark. Dark hazelnut eyes set with an everlasting flame scanned the fire lit room. The Elven blood that flowed through his veins was barely distinguishable on the surface. For he looked more of the race of Men. Nonetheless he was Elven and was proud of his lineage. Rumors have it that he is in fact of the line of Feanor of the Elder Days. Thus Hallanàrë was not one to ensnare yourself with and to let be.

As he walked through the room the sword hung at his side barely was above the ground. That sword was Isildagnir, Moon-slayer. Wrought of the same ore as the famous Sting and Glamdring.

Hallanàrë walks towards the innkeeper and demands ale. Upon receiving his drink he sulks over to a corner far from the fire and sits, contemplating the days tidings and journeys.

[ June 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ June 26, 2003: Message edited by: -Hallanárë- ]

[Elora]

Vanwe crossed the yard in the new evening, unable to stop herself from pausing to gaze upwards at the stars that had freshly sprung in new life that night. The northern sky still held wonder for her, new to her after many years of looking at the sky at what passed for her home. Perhaps, with time should she be granted it, she would learn the names for the stars she could now see. She ran fingers through her loose hair which danced on the breeze of the summer night and resumed her path towards the inn.

On her way through the yard, she noticed a rotten post to which a new horse was tied. She lightly set hand to the mouldering wood in confirmation of it's state, and made a note to see if she could remedy it in the morning. She'd see to the horse on her way back to the stables for the night. For the moment he seemed pleased enough to simply rest and nip at the new shoots of grass the hens had not found.

With pleasantly simple thoughts turning in her mind for a change, the elven maiden walked into the commonroom and glanced about. The Ranger was still there, but Silvanis was gone. Her eyes flickered over the rope that was coiled at Kaldir's belt and darted away as a shiver danced up her spine. Not for her. Don't let that rope be for her. Vanwe continued on to the bar and pondered what to do.

She was not so hungry yet as to brave Cook, who was likely still nonplussed about the afternoon's incident. A fresh flush of delicate rose filled her cheeks at the thought. Many sat at tables with ale or wine, laughing, swapping tales, conversation eddying on the air around them. Some sat alone, watchful and wary. She knew that air, for often she smelt of the same thing as she had the first night at the inn. If someone had approached her then she would have bolted.

On that night, Aman had kindly given her food, drink and even lodgings free of charge. She'd lost her purse the following day, possibly incriminating notes with what little money she had left now with Silvanis. So that meant water, and not the wine she had first tasted that first night. It had been a long day, filled with so many things that her head spun to think of them, and the wine would have been good...

But so was the water. Fetching another earthenware mug, Vanwe filled it once more and sipped at it, watching the commonroom over the rim. She spotted a table in a quiet nook, under a window, and moved towards that with feet that could not disguise their elven grace for all of her worn dress and shy mannerisms. Vanwe settled into a seat and took up her study of the night sky once more.

Through one window of the inn, a face now unguarded and open was turned towards the sky, bright blue eyes wide and hair that held the light of the commonroom within golden strands. Daughter of a High House, kin to Galadriel and Finarfin, a descendant lost behind the shadow of evil that had fallen on her mother and likely murdered her father. She sat oblivious to all this and the rest of the commonroom in a rare moment of peace with her tapered fingers laced around a pottery mug, at once fey and all too real, and wondered what they named the beautiful northern stars in this land where perhaps she could find more peace, and answers. Perhaps... hope flickered bravely that it could be so within her heart.

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~ DISCUSSION THREAD OPEN ~*~*~*~

Helkahothion's RPG, Gondorian Housecall, is now taking on characters on its discussion thread.

Go take a look at it! See if you'ld like to play!

[Horse-Maiden of the Shire]

Aleia laughed along with Madea. She was feeling the best she had ever felt in many days, but a little thought was nibbling at the back of her mind. She loved the Green Dragon, loved the way it almost felt like home, but she was tired of the walls and doors. She wanted to ride and feel the cool rush of wind past her face. After I am done fraternizing with Madea here, I shall take my leave, she thought.

Ruby arrived with the ale, bread, and honey. Aleia's stomach had begun to rumble, and her mouth watered at the sight of the food. She caught the sleeve of Ruby's dress as she turned to leave and said, "Some clotted cream as well, Ruby dear." Ruby nodded and hurried off, returning quickly with the cream. Aleia massed honey and clotted cream on her bread and took a large bite, relishing the rich taste. Madea giggled, causing Aleia to wipe her mouth and check if she had spilled on herself.

"What is it, Madea?" she asked. "Oh, Aleia," Madea replied, "You act as if you have not eaten for months! The expression on your face was simply priceless!" Aleia chuckled at herself and then continued on with her bread, cream, and honey. When she had finished, she took a large gulp of ale and patted her mouth with her handkerchief. Now is the time, she told herself.

"Madea, I think I shall leave you now. I am already too tired of walls and doors and rooms. Your presence and conversation has been lovely. I hope dearly to see you again, Madea. Good luck on your travels, and I wish you all the best."

"Good bye, Aleia," replied Madea. She looked quite downcast now, left alone again. Aleia felt a pang of regret, but she could not stay here much longer. She had to leave. With a nod and a bow, she went quickly upstairs to retrieve her rucksack and then exited the Dragon, paying on the way out. She got to the stable and slipped inside. Derufin was nowhere to be seen. She walked rapidly to Skeet's stall and got him out. She mounted and galloped off into the late afternoon sun. Ah, the cool rush of air that she had missed so!

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

The kitchen was all a bustle with preparations for the evening meal when Gilly reached the enterance. Immediately the heat and humidity pressed upon the hobbit, making her feel as though she were a lump of fat slowly melting in a frying pan. She longed for her cool home at times like this; and a bit of quiet.

Mrs. Vinca Bunce, the cook, was hurriedly traveling to and fro between oven and stove, stove and larder talking all the while to Miss Myrtle Bunce, her sister-in-law. The older of the two hobbits was perched on top of a high stool creating vegetable mounds of varying hues. A bulging woven bag leaned up against the stool at her feet.

“Ah Miss Gilly, you’re back!” said the cook as Gilly emptied her tray at the washing basin and began cleaning the dishes. “And how is Miss Benia feeling?”

“Right enough,” replied the hobbit. “Her wit is as sharp as ever, though the pain is no doubt sharp too, but she bears it without complaint, poor thing. I think it has worn her out. Thank you for the soup, Miss Vinca. It was unsurpassingly good, as always!”

Seeing her neighbor, Myrtle got down off the stool and began rummaging through the contents of her woven bag, producing a rather fierce looking taxidermy squirrel. “Here Gilly, I found the squirrel you were mentioning. Got it at quite a bargin too as they had placed it on the burn pile out back. Look not a whisker got singed!”

Gilly had totally forgotten about the mathom sale, but was immensely pleased to find that Myrtle had remembered her in the flurry. “Thank you! And Miss Vinca if you could spare thistreasure for a moment I’d like to ask yet another favor of Miss Myrtle here. It will be nothing more than a short break I think.”

“You’ve picked a fine time my girl!” grumbled the cook going to the open back door to let in the baker’s delivery of fresh warm bread wrapped up in cloth bundles and stacks of pies. “ Shoo, the both of you! You’re taking up too much room!”

Gilly led Myrtle to the doorway. “I have a mission for you Miss Mrytle, I am worried about Miss Benia, more than just her ankle. These two men there”, she said gesturing out to the commons room, “I don’t rightly know what they’re up to, and why they ‘ve taken an interest in her.. But they know who I am or I would do the thing myself. Do you think that you could sit by them and sort of do some listening?”

“Which two Gilly?”

“The two rangers, you see? Over there near the stairs the graying one and the other with the rope at his side.”

“You’ll have to show me dear. My eyesight’s no good. And what are all these men about for? Haven’t they heard about the king’s edict?”

“Pehaps they haven’t.” said Gilly trying to stay with the matter at hand. “I’ll just go by the table. You can follow at a distance and sit near them, for a bit.”

Gilly, walked into the commons room and over toward the rangers. She glanced at them as she passed by but couldn’t hear a word, whether from her heartbeat pounding in her ears or the joy of seeing Silvanis’ empty soup bowl she hadn’t the presence of mind to tell. But seeing Myrtle settle herself down at an adjacent table she made a wide loop clearing away the odd empty cup she found abandoned on the tables, before heading back to the kitchen.

Gilly didn’t have to wait long before Myrtle came trundling up rather hurriedly.

“Oh you were rightly worried, my dear. It seems that the two know one another and were discussing Miss Nightshade’s character, and something to do about hunting!”

Not waiting to hear more Gilly rushed off to station her self at the foot of the stair leading to Benia room. She was a light deterent she knew, but she could draft reinforcements from the commons room if need be.

“To Life and living this day!” she heard Silvanis say before rising from the table and speaking again lower this time, something that apparently was not to the scarred ranger liking. He then turned to the stairs and nodded at Gilly as he past her by, the hobbit still seated, following him with her gaze.

[ June 26, 2003: Message edited by: Hilde Bracegirdle ]

[Envinyatar]

He bit back the remark which came first to his mind. ‘What is pride to those who are dead.’ He understood that she meant well, and after all she knew nothing of him, and that, by his choice.

Where was she now, he wondered, the one with whom he had felt safe enough to tell his story. She had listened, and made no judgments, only called him back from his memories to stand before her.

The stars were still hidden in the early evening sky, as he leaned against the stable door’s frame. Wilwarin would be there, he thought glancing up to the northeast. A small breeze picked up the dirt in the yard and spiraled it upward for a space of time, and moved on.

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

Derufin’s stomach sent up a cry. ‘Don’t stand about like some moon-faced calf,’ it said. ‘All poets aside, you can’t live on thoughts of love and other airy subjects!’ An ominous rumbling issued from beneath his shirt. ‘ Feed me, you ale-swilling lout! Or I’ll bring you to your knees like a fainting maid.’ He rubbed his hand over it, and listened to it growl and grumble in its emptiness.

He paused in the yard between the stable and the kitchen’s door long enough to brush the sawdust from his shirt and breeches and wash the day’s grime from his hands. A quick splash of water to his face refreshed him, and he ran his hand over the stubble on his cheeks and chin, wondering if he should take time to scrape it off.

‘Cook won’t mind if I look a bit rough,' he decided. 'She’s seen scarier things, I’m sure.’ Derufin pushed back his dark hair and made for the door, the smell of homemade pie drawing him on . . .

[Everdawn]

"bye..." Madea repeated as Aleia went off. "Alone -again-" she sighed. Her almost black eyes now dull and black again. She then rummaged through her bag looking for her leather gloves and put them on. Peering into her bag she drew out a piece of parchment and a pen and began to write. A look of hard concearntration etched on the young woman's face.

To: General Nillo Obisentauri, Of Dol Amroth.
Dear Father
By now, you must surely have noticed that I am gone. (Though I will understand if you haven't noticed.) You most certanily must know why I have run away. This is the only way that i fear I will get through to you, I do not want to marry any soldier which you have chosen for me.

Nor do I wish to marry for a long time yet, and at nearly seventeen, i see no reason. YOu may argue that many a woman is married before this age, but I will say to you that I am a different person, you have never given me a chance to live my life, or even go anywhere. To you father, i say this. I am safe, wherever I am, and I am Happy!

Do not send anyone to look for me, and I have the rangers of The North on my side, you have been warned. They have their ways of letting me know if you have sent people to take me home. I may return in due time, but that is MY decision.
-Madea Obisentauri

Madea stopped to tie her long black hair up out of the way. "well, At least that will get the message across I hope." she sighed. Madea took her time to gaze around the room, she watched intently at the people. There were two men talking, and other women, hobbits and elves. She stuffed the letter into her bag, making a mental note to find a messenger to take it to Dol Amroth. "Now for a glass of wine and company" she sighed and sat alone at her table.

[Elora]

Watching out the window, Vanwe observed in the faint light that lingered from the day still Derufin approach the inn. She watched the Man for a while, her thoughts darting like minnows in the shallows to and fro. Her last words she knew had not been well received. The flash of objection she had read in his face, his smile now only a memory at that instant. Regret welled within her at the memory and her brow furrowed. She did not understand.

For, if Derufin did not think that a family could be proud of him, what hope was there for her. All she had to guide her through the lonely years of abandoned childhood was a conjured pitcure of a father hardly anyone spoke of. She had spun layers around the concept she had conceived as a child one night as she lay aching more from her isolation than the beating she had received for some infraction.

She had added to that idea in ways she could not for a mother. Her father was kind, clever and no matter how terrible she was according to those around her, loved and was proud of her. What she saw in Derufin's face in that instant threatened to pull all of that down. If a family could not be proud of him, then how could she merit her father's regard? There was no way. The weight of unshed tears glimmered in her eyes and she lowered them to the table as she set the cup down.

Around her, the inn seemed to get louder and somehow oppressive. Painfully conscious of the doubts held by Aman and Lespheria concerning her, Vanwe shrunk in her chair. Her appetite vanished into thin air. Her head felt heavy, and she rested it against her hand as her lower lip trembled. Not here!

Before she knew it, Vanwe was on her feet in a rush to escape the press of the inn. In her panic to hide her rising humiliation she lost all regard for whose attention her speedy departure may draw. What painfully turned within her rose sharply, and on feet sped by a lifetime of grief, she ran from the commonroom. She barely noticed who she passed on her way, or even if they had to leap aside to avoid collision.

Into the stables she plunged in a headlong flight, past the horse tied to the hitching post. Vanwe flung herself up the ladder and across the loft. Her legs refused to cooperate at the mattrass that was her bed and she sank onto it. For a moment that stretched, Vanwe fought against the rising tide. Then, a small sob floated from her lips and through her hands that she had clapped across her mouth out of force of habit.

It was followed by another and she swallowed the third but not the tears. Vanwe pressed her face into the mattrass and her shoulders shook soundlessly then. Even when she was pinned by her past in a dark place, she could still be quiet. Shadow swirled around in her mind and heart, and a longing so profound that it seemed a bottomless pit sliced through her.

In the quietness of the stable loft, Vanwe struggled to piece together what shards she could to allow her fight. She reached deep and far to do so, labouring hard to overcome the tears and find some strength. She was not weak, even if they said Elves were. If her father was not proud, then she would try harder. Perhaps Derufin was wrong, and perhaps if she just tried to better make her way in the world, as he seemed to have, she would make her father, her imaginary dream father, proud.

Her shoulders stilled after a time, and she lay still on the mattrass in the quiet, eyes closed as she continued to rein it all in again to that private place to which not another soul had ever been granted.

[Annalaliath]

Her firends and even the inn keeper seemed to vanish. So, Annalaliath turned on her heal to leave the inn, but before she did, Annalaliath left her freinds a note.

I am headed to Rivendell. To make amends, or not. Then I plan to head towards Rohan. If you feel the need follow me, you may catch me if you are quick.

Yours truly

Annalaliath

Then she left the Inn to adventres unknown. As she left, her few possesions in tow, she looked back, pausing in the door. The room looked warm and comforting, the man who had spoken to her and Morwen the night before was looking a bit forlorn. The other inn patrins sat around taalking and eating, smoking and laughing.

Annalaliath turned and left. She walked through the shire, the hills, the trees, and grass, the beutifull world at large....

[ June 27, 2003: Message edited by: Annalaliath ]

[Ealasaid]

Benia listened to Silvanis' warnings with a somber face. Her dark amber eyes looked troubled. "Thank you, Silvanis," she said when he had finished. "Yet again, I find myself in your debt. Both Lady Lespheria and my friend Gilly have expressed similar warnings, but none so specific as yours." For a moment, she appeared lost in thought, as she reached for the sheathed sword that had once belonged to her father. She placed it alongside the left armrest of her chair so that it could be drawn easily should the necessity arise. When she allowed her attention to return to Silvanis, she looked as though she had come to some kind of a decision.

"I know there is a bounty on my head," she explained quietly. "Just as there is for all of my tribe... or what is left of it. It goes back to the war and before."

She gestured to the chair opposite hers. "Please sit." She waited silently as Silvanis took his seat. When he had settled in, she continued, "Of late, I have been careless and too quick to trust, but my instincts tell me you are a man of honor."

SIlvanis inclined his head in acknowledgement of her words. "I try to do what is right, m'lady," he answered. Judging by his demeanor, Benia was pleased to see that he seemed intrigued by the direction the conversation was taking. She interpretted it encouragingly.

"While I feel I have intruded on your kindness too much already, I find I have no choice but to ask one more favor of you." Her eyes studied his. When she was certain she saw nothing wicked flickering behind his gaze, no sign of deviousness or self-interest, she continued. "As you probably know, before I fell on the stairs, I was preparing to depart the Shire on a rather urgent journey. It seems that one of my uncles, someone we had thought long dead, still lives. My mother's eldest brother, Sahlman, is still being held by a renegade group of tribesmen who remain loyal to the memory of the Eye. My uncle is old now and not in his right mind, from what they say, but he is still my kinsman."

Silvanis nodded, taking her story in. "I understand, m'lady," he said after a moment. "But what is it you wish me to do?"

"Merely deliver a message." Benia leaned forward in her chair. "I was to meet a small party of my fellow tribesmen. We intended to journey south to the desert and locate this tribe of renegades. We had hoped to attempt a rescue, but now..." she gestured helplessly to her broken ankle. "Now such a journey is beyond me."

"And you wish me to find your tribesmen and let them know that you cannot accompany them," finished Silvanis. He looked both troubled and doubtful. "While I have a familiarity and, indeed, a fondness for the desertlands, the desert is quite a long way from The Shire. You ask quite a lot of an old Ranger."

"Oh, no," Benia objected, smiling. "That would be a favor indeed! Actually, my father's people are Breefolk. All I ask is that a message be delivered to them in Bree. They know how to contact my mother's people. If I do not appear as expected and send no word of my delay, they will fear me lost as well. You see my situation."

"That I do," Silvanis replied. "But what of the Ranger downstairs?"

"He wouldn't dare harm me in the middle of a crowded common room. So long as I keep myself surrounded by Shirefolk and the good people of the Inn, I should be able to keep him at bay." She paused. "At least for a time."

She cast Silvanis a hopeful look. "Will you help me?"