The Green Dragon Inn - Part 5

[Elora]

Vanwe had started up straighter in her chair when Derufin produced the water. The wine had such a sweet and powerful taste, unwatered. Unusual boldness of spirit filled her eyes as she watched the water flow into her cup and then the rest of the wine was gone. She looked back at her cup as Derufin spoke of ladies.

Before she could think better of it, a delicate brow arched smoothly in question. Vanwe knew all too well what ladies were. She did not fall in those elite ranks. She met Derufin's direct stare with a flash of spirited challenge that lightened her blue eyes. She saw, then, that he was not mocking her. Laughter shifted through her, silvery and free. The challenge turned into something else, and she nodded her thanks and lifted her glass in salute.

Derufin would get no challenge from her now. The wine she sipped was altered. She set the glass down, revelling in a lightness of spirit that threatened to send her dancing out through the tables. It was a liberating sensation for one who had never been free of care. Maybe she'd try unwatered wine again, without gentlemen present, she thought. At that, an impish smile glowed at her mischeviousness.

Meanwhile, Derufin spoke of the uneasiness with which foreigners were viewed by Hobbits. Then he mentioned something else - his homeland. She rolled the name around in her head. She did not know it, but she could learn. Of course, if he knew she was learning, he'd ask about her own homeland.

Lespheria may know somewhat of her sorry account. Silvanis knew of her mother as did Amandur. What would Derufin make of such things? He may think twice of his assistant then. Vanwe's thoughts wandered down these paths, wondering what could be told and what needed to be hidden for all concerned if she found herself in a position where a decision had to be made. Her face grew pensive, thoughtful. She twirled her cup by the stem.

It would be nice to be just Vanwe. No past, nothing to hide. Perhaps it was a futile wish, but she made it nonetheless. Lost in thought as she momentarily was, her free hand drifted to the pouch at her belt. Fingers stole inside to wrap around the length of braided leather there. She often did that when thinking of past and future.

The press of conversation grew stronger and Vanwe realised she had drifted too far away. She gathered her thoughts and paid renewed attention to her table and talk there. She sipped the watered wine, felt that lightness stirring again within her. Vanwe laid her other hand out on the tabletop, the length of leather caught between the wood and her palm, as she endeavoured to pick up the tail of the conversation again.

[Arien_Tinuviel]

Please answer my questions here and on page 6 before you continue with this character and this interaction.

Eceste glanced over at the elf now before her.

"Listen Aranti, I'm sorry. I got lo-"

'That's enough kid. Master told you to meet me here half a day ago.'

Eceste shrunk into her seat. She could tell some of the other guests here had heard them for she could feel the some of the stares and glances they were being given. Aranti was really mad. Sure, she was her friend, but this partivular elf didn't let relationships intefere with her missions. Sometimes Eceste wished that she would.

'Thank you.'

Eceste looked up and saw that Aranti had been thanking the lady who had given her an ale. She could still feel the eyes of others and she leaned foward and whispered to the other elf.

"That was really embarrassing you know."

She saw Aranti take a sip of her ale and grin casually at her.

'Well, you had it coming.

Who is this Master you are talking about?

Sauron is destroyed, Saruman is also - this is the 4th Age in Middle-earth

Piosenniel, Shire Mod

Sorry - I am unable to access your PM's due to a Forum software Error.

[ August 13, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[littlemanpoet]

Falco Boffin:
The man called Beren gave out that he wanted to judge the man by his story stead of his looks. Leastways, that's the best Falco could make of his high talk.

"I'm a Hobbit, my good sir, not a Man, and I'd take it kindly if you didn't forget it. But you're right as rain as to his story, though I ain't so sure I'm just going to start believing just 'cause he talks nice."

Falco could make head nor tail of what the Elf Lady said, which was no surprise to him. Still, he chuckled to himself to hear her delicate Elvish tongue trip over that last word she used, 'rememdy' or something. These two surely were not Hobbits and Falco felt out of his element, and then some.

After the stablemaster from Gondor served up the last of the wine, he excused himself and asked the wanderer to sit with him at another table, which suited Falco fine. If Derufin wanted to keep an eye on the man for him, so much the better. It's high time, my good Hobbit, for you to make the rounds here abouts and catch up with the lasses. He excused himself as politely as he knew how from Big Folk and Elven Lady type company, picked up his cup, and wandered off to visit with some of the locals.

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

The Wanderer:

‘Name’s Derufin,’ he offered, ‘from Ringló originally.’

This Derufin was civil at least. And those other two, the man Beren and the Elf woman, they'd put the Hobbit in his place. Maybe things were looking up. Too early to tell. Ringlo meant nothing. Somewhere foreign, no doubt.

"Falowik. Falowik Stonewort. Used to live out by Bree." He was not ready to say more than what little courtesy demanded. People. Nothing but trouble, people. They always made things difficult. Just his luck to find that satchel and the blood. It had to be reported, and it had fallen to him to do so. Like it or not. Even if it forced him to be around people for a few days and maybe longer. At least the food and drink promised to be good. If he could afford it. Which he doubted.

Falowik received his glass of ale and left it untouched. "How much is this? I don't have a lot. Live off my wits mostly."

[spirit_detective]

SAVE for reworked post

~~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

check your PM's

[ August 13, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Green Dragon Inn Facts:

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

King Elessar is on the throne.

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

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

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is:

Aman – a young woman from Rohan. Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

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

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

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

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

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

_____________________________________________

It is evening time, supper time of a pleasant mid-summer day in the Shire.

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] NOTICE OF NEW GAME OPENING [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Resistance – Lyra Greenleaf, Owner

The Discussion Thread for this Game is now open to take on characters.

Check it out HERE

Please read the proposal carefully, see what characters are needed, and craft a well thought out Character Description and a First Post for the Game.

Should be a fun game!

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

spirit_detective - # 8150

Arien_Tinuviel - # 8190

Do not continue your characters’ interactions with each other before you read and respond to my comments (some in PM – some on the Inn thread because I was unable to PM you)

Thank you – Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Amanaduial the archer]

"An ale is 3 coppers, sir, but as you are here for a purpose, I think we can let that go unnoticed."

The scruffy looking man turned as he heard the clear, kind voice from the door, and the others turned as well. Derufin grinned. "Welcome back, Aman."

Aman inclined her head to him, hanging her cloak on the coat rack. She caught Beren's eye and made a show of stepping around the coat rack in gentle mockery of when he first came into the Inn and banged his head on said coatrack. He blushed slightly and grinned at her, but seemed slightly distracted. Beside him, Vanwe said something quietly, and he replied something else Aman couldn't hear. She gave a silvery laugh, and he winked at her, still smiling warmly.

Aman froze, and her smile faded slightly as she watched. She could almost feel herself turning green with envy....quickly she shook the feeling away. Don't be so ridiculous...

Walking past behind Vanwe towards the kitchen, Aman suddenly noticed something very odd about the elf's usually so shy behaviour - the way she was laughing so much, smiling widely, looking around merrily. All a bit too much....her gaze caught the wine in Vanwe's glass. She hadn't seen quiet Vanwe drinking before, or not much. She remembered when the quiet elf had first come into the Inn, and in a flash remembered what she had asked for; watered wine.

Looking at the wine bottle, as Derufin served out the last of it, it seemed Vanwe had probably been having her fair share of it. Falco excused himself, and made Vanwe once more chuckled softly, this time, leaning back as she did so...and almost falling of her chair in the process. Aman caught her discreetly, supporting her and pushing her upright, hopefully without anyone noticing.

She stood upright, her hand still on Vanwe's back, and addressed all seated there. "I'm just going to inform cook that I'm back, and tell her of the deals I've made. Excuse me." She bowed her head to those seated, then turned towards the kitchen, whispered to Derufin as she did so.

"Don't let Vanwe have any more wine..."

[Imladris]

Lira leaned toward Esgallhugwen expectantly, when she heard the door open and a light footstep enter. Raising her golden head, Lira saw the woman whom she thought was the Innkeeper enter. Following the woman with her eyes, Lira watched her as she conversed with the Stableman and then made her way towards the kitchen. "Excuse me, Esgallhugwen, but I need to speak with the Innkeeper," she said softly as she silently and quickly followed the Innkeeper and intercepted her some feet from the kitchen. "Mistress Innkeeper," Lira said softly, "do you have a room and key? I forgot to get one when I first arrived and I am not weary. I do not know how long I will be staying, but I will pay for the room daily."

Lira followed the Innkeeper as she handed her the key and told her which room was hers. Lira stopped at the stairs and watched the Innkeeper continue to maker her way to the kitchen with a smile: she was a nice and beautiful woman and, though human, reminded Lira of her own mother. Floating up the stairs, she found her room and opened the door, which creaked softly, revealing a small airy dwelling. Cotton curtains hung over the windows and wood was stacked neatly for a fire. The bed was comfortable and Lira slowly stretched herself upon it and thought of Greenwood before the evil had come...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman turned with a smile to the young woman who hailed her, putting off her visit to Cook at her request. She looked to be from Mirkwood, judging by her green clothes, rather fine by the look of the material and the way they were edged with silver, and her light ash-blonde hair, although her blue eyes looked more fitting to Imladris or Lorien. With embarrassment, Aman remembered the woman’s offer to help around the Inn - an offer made when Aman had been feeling a little distracted by a certain someone’s company – and Aman had not got back to her before she left for Bree. To give her a good room without delay would be the least Aman could do. Beckoning the woman, she stepped behind the bar, pulling out the log, and handed it to Lira, who smiled both courteously and warmly, and Aman felt her liking of this woman grow. But behind that smile, in her bright eyes, the Innkeeper noticed a deep sorrow which she had not previously seen. She couldn’t help wondering what it was that would linger so painfully in the woman’s eyes, why such pain should be in one so young – she stopped the thought, feeling foolish. She was elven – who know how long she had lived? Although she retained the looks of one the same age as Aman, give or take a few years, she could have lived Aman’s life a thousand times. The Innkeeper promised herself as she handed the key to Lira and showed her to where he room was, that she would talk to the elf tonight, or, if she did not come down for a drink, then tomorrow. And she would see what she could do about her offer as well, she added with a smile – its ridiculous, they spent weeks with very few staff, then suddenly Vanwe, Beren, and now Lira come along at once!

Making her way back down the stairs, Aman went into the kitchen, where Cook was just getting the stew ready to serve.

“Evening, Cook.” Aman smiled warmly at the hobbit as she spoke, making her jump around. The hobbit looked ready to scold, but smiled when she saw it was indeed Aman.

“Ah, Aman – did you resolve the matter of the wine with that old fool Butterbur?” Although Cook called him such, she didn’t speak scornfully – Vinca had known Barliman Butterbur for years, and they had a sort of fondness for each other that only those who have known each other for most of their lives can have. Although she herself called him an old fool and such, she would tsk and rebuke anyone else who tried to insult him.

The Innkeeper nodded, grinning as she leaned against the stove. “Aye, he was so sheepish about forgetting the meeting that he offered me several of his most select wines, hand picked by myself, for a cheaper price.”

Cook chuckled, shaking her head. “A gentleman, Butterbur, even if he is a daft fool who would forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on straight.”

Aman smiled, before continuing. “I got twenty bottles of red, and fifteen of white, ranging from last year, to some of the fine old vintage from…” she tried to remembered exactly, “twenty five years back, I think it was?”

“A good year,” Cook interjected.

“Indeed. We also have quite a few down there, but it could take some time to sort out - ” Aman stopped, suddenly realising where she could take up Lira on her offer. She paused, then spoke more slowly. “Actually, I may need some help in that quarter – it would take me weeks to do it myself, but with the help of someone else…”

“Ask Beren – I’m sure he would be glad to oblige you.” Aman ignored Cook’s snort of laughter that came after this.

“He will be busy with the garden. Didn’t you mention there were several new varieties you wanted putting in?”

“Derufin, or Vanwe?”

“I believe they’ll need to be preparing the stables for the party,” Aman replied firmly. “There will be far more horses coming in than usual. When is that, by the way?”

“Derufin received word from Miz Pio – two weeks from yesterday.”

“Then I will definitely be needing some help,” Aman’s voice was even firmer than before. “And no doubt you will need some help waitressing – didn’t Buttercup mention that she was going to see her mother in a few days, and that she would be gone for the same?”

Cook started to nod, then turned, eyes narrowed. “What are you planning, Miz Aman?”

Aman grinned, twiddling with a spoon by the side of the stove, and explained about Lira, then waited to see what Cook would think.

[Mithadan]

All conversation ceased as a tall, black cloaked figure entered the Inn. He paused, then proceeded to the end of the bar, mail clinking beneath his cloak as he walked. Aman looked up as he passed and waved. "Hi Grrralph," she said without concern as she resumed her task of polishing the bar.

He pulled a scroll from beneath his cloak and tacked it to the wall, before turning and walking out without a word. All gathered waited for the door to close before rushing up to see the notice which had been posted. It read as follows:

"Greetings! The Moderators and staff of the Realms of Gondor, Rohan and The Shire have undertaken a review of the Rules governing the RPG Forums here at the Barrow-Downs. If you would like to offer a comment or observation or register a complaint (or even...gasp...make a compliment) please do so HERE. Thank you!"

Ainahithion, his grey hooded cloak wrapped about him to conceal the sword at his side, slowly opened the door of the Green Dragon Inn. As he stepped in, he removed his hood and shook his head from side to side a few times, revealing himself to be and Elf with long black hair and icy blue eyes. He glanced quickly from side to side, then walked smoothly and silently up to the bar and sat down.

"What'll it be, stranger?"said the bartender.

"Just an ale,"Ainahithion replied.

The bartender got a pint of ale and set it on the bar in front of Ainahithion. "If you don't mind my asking, where are you from and what brings you to the Shire?" the bartender asked.

Ainahithion didn't want to go into detail about his past, but replied, "I have no place which I call home. I'm sort of a wanderer, actually, and this is just the place I've wandered into today." This was somewhat true, though really he was running. He'd been accused of a crime he didn't commit, but had no way to prove his innnocence.

There was a silence and then the bartender left to serve another customer. Ainahithion sat quietly sipping his ale.

[Novnarwen]

Folw made his way up the staircases. The sound of the voices coming from the common room died away, after climbing the last stair. He breathed out, looking down getting all dizzy. "Many of them too," he muttered to himself letting his hands slid into his pockets, finding his key.

He walked slowly towards the direction of the room, feeling the doors get bigger and bigger. Was he imagining things? he thought, feeling a tiny tendency of pain in his head. Folw gazed at the door numbers, expecting every minute to find his door. The man stopped, took the key out of his pocket, and let it slid into the lock. He wroth the key swiftly around, and opened the door.

[ August 13, 2003: Message edited by: Novnarwen ]

[Beren87]

Beren sat nearly motionless as the Innkeeper arrived, her subtle mockery of him causing a blush there wouldn't have been normally there, under mocking circumstances. He smiled softly at her, the action getting a warm response from the lovely woman, causing her to smile in return.

"Now surely, sir Beren, you wouldn't be smiling at our good Innkeeper like that." Vanwe's speech had a tone of evident sarcasm, as it said the incriminating sentence. Beren looked over, suddenly realising the private exchange wasn't so private. Somehow when the innkeeper was near, others just seem to dissapear into the dim darkness of the room's corners...

Well, his evident facination wasn't something he could easily hide, not with the rosy tint of his cheeks, anyway. "Ah..well, I would say she's...caught my eye, as it were." He winked the elf, causing her to laugh quite a lot louder than he would have expected. Evidently, the wine was causing even the elf to have a change of composure.

As he looked up again, still smiling he noticed the innkeepers smile fade softly, a look of disheartment in her eyes for the briefest second before she turned on, heading for Derufin. He looked oddly at her retreating form, wondering to himself why her demeanor had changed ever so slightly for the moment.

He continued chatting on with the overly happy elf until the door opened, reaveling another guest into the Inn, his dark form disturbing the soft light of the fire. The talk and hubbub died quickly as he shut the door.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman came out of the kitchen grinning, searching the room for Lira, the smile which Beren had made temporarily fade back with a vengeance. But the room seemed to have suddenly gone dark, the light seeming to have been absorbed into the complete darkness of the silhouette at the door.

The silhouette, after pausing for a dramatic moment, strode slowly in. Little hobbits around the room followed him, their eyes saucer-wide as he menacingly walked towards the bar. As he came towards her, Aman raised hand...and waves.

"Hi Grralph," she said unconcernedly. The dark individual inclined a head stiffly in her direction and proceeded to tack something to the common board. She glanced at it for a second, and nodded - she had already checked out the board. It might do others well to have an idea of what was going on though, and to have their say, whatever it might be.

With another stiff nodd, Grralph left the Inn - Aman didn't offer him a drink, knowing he wouldn't take one - and the light seemed to return, and with it the light atmosphere. The only one who didn't seem to have noticed it was Vanwe, who was still laughing delightedly. Aman sent an alarmed look at Derufin, then proceeded up the stairs to tell Lira the news that she could stay for as long as she liked, well, two weeks at least anyway, and that there were indeed a few jobs that needed doing.

As she came to Lira's room, Aman knocked softly on the door a few times, but didn't recieve a reply. Trying the door handle gently, she saw it was locked, and still there was no movement from within - Lira must be asleep. So, with a shrug, and the knowledge that she could tell her tomorrow, Aman went back down the stairs. If Derufin hadn't, Aman intended to remove the wine, or water it down. By force it necessary...

[littlemanpoet]

"An ale is 3 coppers, sir, but as you are here for a purpose, I think we can let that go unnoticed."

Now why did the Innkeeper do that? Falowik asked himself. What did she want in return? Everybody always wants things in return. As if being here for a purpose was enough reason. The Innkeeper was already walking away as his thoughts circled.

"Will the fare for food go unnoticed too? I doubt it." Falowik shifted his glance at the man called Derufin, the glass of ale still untouched. He liked a good ale but needed to keep his wits about him. Just sit and wait, old man, he said to himself, who was not old by any man's count of years, but when you're alone for as long as Falowik was, you take names to yourself, and start talking to all the selves you find lurking. Old man was one of them, a trusted fellow. Wise in the ways of the world, and of the dangers and difficulties of people. He'd been talking to the Old Man a good bit over the last few days. Sit and wait, old man, and see what this Derufin wants with you.

[Elora]

Everything was moving so quickly, it was difficult for Vanwe to discern it all. Confusion muddied her senses, and before she could sort out what one person had said, something else was happening.

When silence fell over the inn at the arrival of an idividual Vanwe did not quite catch, she breathed an inward sigh of relief. Maybe unwatered wine was not a good idea for one so unused to such things. Especially after a day's work in the sun. Vanwe pressed a hand to her brow and attempted to still the spinning. The conversation soon picked up and Vanwe was happy to let it continue on without her, before she said anything trully foolhardy.

The rate at which she was doing, she'd soon clamber onto the table and announce to the commonroom that if anyone saw fit to journey into the Haradwaithe and deliver her up to a small, forsaken village there, they would receive a handsome recompense. It was already bad enough she'd somehow flustered Beren, whom she had barely met. Aman had a certain stiffness to her too. Vanwe knew somehow she'd done something to cause that prickling feeling, but was not sure what.

She pushed her glass of watered wine away from her a little. It was best to settle down. She was not one to whirl about like she had been. Still, it had been nice to laugh. She liked the conspiratorial winks too, and the merry smiles. Something Beren had said about Aman bubbled up to the surface of her memory.

So Aman had caught Beren's eye. Vanwe could well understand why that was. What she wondered was if Aman knew of it. Oblivious to tidings of satchels and blood, Vanwe sat quietly with a serene smile on her face. She could not look like her mother than she did at that moment. Vanwe was not to know that, having never seen her mother. Others, who had, just may however.

Her eyes followed whomever spoke at the table, alert and interested though she remained judiciously silent. She lifted her glass absently to take another sip, thought better of it and put it down again. Her eyes strayed to the window, to what could be seen outside. It would be a beautiful sunset, she thought.

"Indeed it will," came a reply. Vanwe blinked, not realising she had spoken. Falco's companion nodded amicably at her in assent. Her smile was more measured, yet open and free. The buzz was fading, but the sensation of relxation was not.

[Imladris]

A bird of brilliant plumage pecked softly at a tree in the Old Forest, sending sprays of bark upon Lira's upturned, pale face. The knocking continued and continued... Lira stirred and struggled to become awake. She was not in the grim and dim Old Forest, but in the delightful room the Innkeeper had provided. Shaking the sleep from her eyes, Lira smoothed her green dress and peeked in the mirror. She usually tried to avoid mirrors, because it showed how unattractive she was, but it wouldn't do to look messy. Sighing softly, and remembering her mother, Lira suddenly realized that someone had been knocking on her door...that was what the "bird" was in her dream. She laughed softly to herself, unlocked the door, and drifted to the base of the stairs.

Lira roved the room, looking for Mistress Innkeeper, and saw that an elf was rather...tipsy. Lira smiled to herself at the sight -- she had never seen anything like it. Easing herself onto the banister of the stair, Lira slid effortlessly to the floor. The thrilling feeling of balancing precariously upon something thin and wooden reminded Lira of the days she had spent in the tops of the trees, being swayed back and forth by the wind, feeling as free as the birds of the sky.

Lira considered again asking the Innkeeper whether there was any work to be done...she had seemed a little distracted when she had first asked. Lira smiled to herself as she remembered the beautiful girl and the handsome man. Glancing around the room again, she saw Mistress Innkeeper beside the stablemaster's table and the drunken elf. Striding towards them, Lira asked musically, "Is there anything in need of being done, Mistress Innkeeper?"

[Envinyatar]

Derufin leaned back in his chair and took a sip of ale. Best not to drink too much of it, he reminded himself. There’s need to keep a clear head. Soon, Ruby brought round a platter with bowls of chicken stew thick with carrots and potatoes, and a small basket filled with fresh whole grain bread and a crock of butter and another of honey.

Falowik asked her how much he owed for this meal, counting the pennies in his head, but she waved him off saying Miz Aman would have her hide for collecting money from him. She leaned in closer to him to whisper something, then thinking better of it – He really does need a bath!, she stood near Derufin and pitched her voice low.

‘She’s from Rohan, you know,’ she said, nodding her head at the Innkeeper. ‘She thought it an honor to have poor Mister Eodwine at the Inn. What with him being from the Kings and all . . .’ She noted Miz Aman had glanced her way, and raised her voice as if finishing with their orders. ‘And will there be anything else?’ she said, curtsying to both of them. Derufin smiled, and glanced to the table where Vanwe sat.

‘Give me that that last bowl of stew, Ruby,’ he said, plucking a napkin from her and carefully draping it over his arm. A spoon followed, and he placed it securely in his upper vest pocket. Grabbing two pieces of bread, he spread them thinly with butter and thickly with honey and laid them on one of the small plates Ruby had brought out for the meal. The bowl held securely in one hand, the plate of bread in the other, he crossed the short distance to the Elf, winking at her as she watched him approach.

‘Your meal, m’lady,’ said with a slight bow, as he placed the stew in front of her accompanied by the plate of honeyed bread. With a flourish, he presented her the spoon, then deftly placed the napkin on her lap. ‘Eat a little,’ he whispered to her as he leaned in near to pour her a cool cup of water. ‘It will lessen the effects of the wine you’ve drunk.’ He pushed the cup toward her on the table, his fingers touching hers lightly as she reached for it.

‘Come and get me when you’ve finished, if you will. It’s a fair evening, promising to be a fairer night. We’ll walk a little in the Inn yard. Should clear our heads of wine and pipeweed smoke.’ He saluted her and returned to his table.

‘Well, Master Stonewort,’ said Derufin, settling back in to his chair. ‘Eodwine – the man whose satchel and harp you found, was my roommate for the short time he was here. A pleasant man, and not one it seemed to go looking for trouble.’ He paused for a moment, absent mindedly stirring his stew with his spoon. ‘But trouble it seemed went looking for him and found the poor sod.’ He looked up into the blue eyes of his dinner companion. ‘Where exactly did you find the satchel, Falowik? And what did it look like had happened - that it should be left there in that state.’ He poured his companion another cup of ale from the pitcher Buttercup had brought by, then topped off his own scantly drunk cup as he awaited the man’s story.

His mind drifted to the note he had found in Eodwine’s room when he cleaned it up for Beren. A scrap of paper, really, not a full fledged note. Bearing two hastily scrawled words. A reminder, of sorts, tucked away in the drawer of the small night table next to his bed. Scrawled on the torn off corner of a crudely drawn map of the northwestern section of Eriador. The sort of map one might draw for oneself of an interesting place one intended to visit . . .

[Elora]

Vanwe visibly brightened as she noted Derufin approach, her gaze alighting on the honeyed bread he carried with him. Honey, how she adored it. It was of the first pleasant discoveries she had made in this place, and certainly was not the last.

With a wink, he grandly set a bowl of stew down with the honey. The napking fluttered into her lap and she wrapped her hands gratefully around the water. After his insistance on references to ladies, Vanwe gave up on correcting the matter. Instead she smiled up at him.

"Thank you m'Lord. I think I will indeed. The stars will be bright this night," she added, noting the quirk at her reference to lords. Derufin nodded and she watched him head back across the room. She turned back to the meal in front of her. Then she recalled something.

"I'm really not a lady," she confided in Beren. It was, perhaps, an unnecessary clarification. Realising that he was without food, and she was amply provided for, Vanwe came to another conclusion. It was not difficult. Where she hailed from, she did not eat until all others had. She pushed forward the bread.

"Would you like some bread? The honey is simply exquisite," she offered with a smile. "Or perhaps some stew. I can fetch another spoon if you wish." Just as she had resembled her mother in appearance, she now was vastly changed. Such a simple act of generosity would be unthought of. Beren glanced at the food.

"Really, I do not eat so very much," she reassured," But you will need to be careful the Cook doesn't see. She'll have my hide if she thinks I'm shirking my meals." Vanwe's voice had lowered to a mock conspiratorial level and she dared an impish wink. Realising that it would be just her luck for the formidible and redoubtable Mrs Bunce to be standing over her shoulder, arms crossed and foot tapping, Vanwe instinctively looked up to see if righteous disapproval was descending upon her head.

It was not. When she looked back, a piece of bread was missing and Beren wore a curious smile. Vanwe blinked and then shook her head as she laughed.

"One piece of bread can't be enough. It will not take me long to fetch another spoon." She pushed up from the table, ignoring the subtle lurch of the room with her sudden change in position. Before a word could be said, Vanwe was on the move. Derufin watched her move past the bar. SHe mouthed Beren's name at him and continued on to the kitchens.

Ruby looked up at her as she entered.

"What is it Vanwe, missed lunch again?" Ruby's smile faded Vanwe's protest of innocence. Mrs Bunce, though, looked sharply around. The mention of Vanwe and missed meals always earnt her attention.

"What can I help you with," Cook asked in a voice that said it had better not be with missed meals.

"I came for a spoon for Beren," Vanwe replied, relieved that she had another reason.

"He's the Man at your table," Ruby stated.
"Yes," Vanwe confirmed.
"What's he going to use the spoon for," Ruby asked. "He had no bowl. Will he bend it? I've seen magicians who can bend spoons just by thinking about it." Ruby's eyes were alight.

"There will be no damaging of my cutlery," Mrs Bunce interjected.
"He won't be bending it. He'll be eating with it," Vanwe amended quickly.
"Thin air?"

Vanwe paused, recognising possibly risky territory ahead. "Stew," she cautiously replied.

"Then you had best bring him some of that too," Cook sternly said
"Of course."

Vanwe received the additional bowl of stew and spoon and made a bid to leave the kitchen before she could lumber into any other difficult situations. Ruby got to the door before her.

"I think Beren is taken with Aman," Ruby whispered secretively. Vanwe smiled back at her as she followed Ruby through the kitchen door.

"I think so too, Ruby," Vanwe said. Both exchanged a grin and then hurried on their ways. Vanwe made it back to the table with the bowl of stew steaming in her hands.

"Here you go, with Cook's best wishes," Vanwe said as she passed it to him. Beren looked relieved that unwatered wine had not caused his meal to go flying out of Vanwe's hands as she negotiated the crowded commonroom.

"And Ruby's too," Vanwe added on a whim, "Aman's friend," she further elaborated. Beren's face acquired that glow again and he studied the bowl in front of him. Vanwe, pleased with herself in general, set about eating. The promise of a walk in the cooler evening was more than appealing. A fair night it would indeed be.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen had been caught deep in thought not noticing Lira's leave then return but to go ask the innkeeper Aman if any assistance was needed in the safekeeping of the inn. For Lira and Esgallhugwen would be more then willing to help if there was any need. Morlathion sat beside her trying to clean his garment of spilled ale as Reynion slightly snickered.

More people moved in and out of the Inn but she heeded them not although one man caught her attention. He was dirty and quite dishevaled looking with a slight reek that wafted through the stuffy inn air.

All the sounds around her seemed distant, the orc inflicked wound across her back began to ache. No poison, the wound is clean but it wasn't the actual wound that was causing the burning sensation. Esgallhugwen's hand reached up behind her to feel that her back was burning and that the heat only seemed to inflick more pain.

she found it difficult to breath but tried to retain her composure and not gasp out for air. She tried to breath normally, but her heart only slowed and pounded profusely in her chest.

Esgallhugwen's vision blurred, the heat and pain spread throughout all her limbs. She reached out for the counters edge to steady herself but she didn't react fast enough. A spark of wrathful flame ignited in her eyes, her pupils constricted before the spark went out her eyes becoming dull before they closed as her head rolled back.

A small gasp escaped her lips Sky is covered in a ghostly haze... Sun blushes pink on the horizon, ashes fall from the heavens.
The fires have swept through devouring.

She fell to the ground unconscious, her head barely missing the pointed corner of the table behind her. Esgallhugwen landed rather hard on her back, her body was struck with sudden coldness. The warmth and slight pink hue of her lips faded. A knotted pendant rolled out of her shirt, glowing faintly on it's silver chain.

Lira sensed immediatly that something was wrong and rushed over beside her. Morsereg, Esgallhugwen's black steed neighed feircly startling the other horses. He stomped his hoofs wildly kicking in the air, clouds of thick dust rose around him like a whirlwind.

All this commoton caused quite a stir and many of the tenants were stricken with fear at the fall of the Elf and the horrible noises outside coming from the stables.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Reynion watched Morlathion with ill-concealed amusement. It seemed that the youngster couldn't even drink without hurting himself or his clothing. It felt good to laugh, even though he felt a bit guilty that another was the source of his amusement.

Beside him, Esgallahugwen was shifting in her chair, reaching around to her back and grimacing. Then she started to breathe a little faster, as if trying to keep in sounds of pain. She gasped--and fell over. The quiet of the Inn was broken as Lira rushed to her friend and Aman began giving orders for herbs and hot water.

Reynion sat in shock, memories upon memories of wounded elves intruding into his mind.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman was about to answer Lira when a small, pained, murmering gasp came from somewhere to her left, following, as Aman turned quickly, but the sickening sound of bone hitting the floor. The Innkeeper found the origin in a split second - an elven woman lying on the floor, apparently unconcious. After a second her eyes widened quickly, becoming as big as saucers, and once more she gasped, a terrible, desperate gasp for life-giving air.

By this time both Aman and Lira were at her side, Lira calling the name 'Esgalhugwen' at the prostrate woman, holding her hand. Aman lifted the woman's head from the ground onto her lap, lowering her head and listening to the woman's breath. She seemed to have momentarily stopped breathing. Aman swore silently, then turned to Vanwe. "Vanwe, we need herbs and water."

The elf nodded quickly, shaken and now sobered up, and stumbled off to the kitchen. Lira continued to call the elf's name, tears now rolling from her eyes as she held her hand desperately, but the one of the men who was with Esgalhugwen, as she was called, seemed frozen in a daze, simply staring at the elven girl, horror in his eyes. Aman was about to try to wake him from his reverie, to ask what happened, before a terrible noise broke out from the stables - the sound of a horse trying to break out from it's stable. Aman cursed again inwardly - perfect timing, just perfect. She would have liked to go herself, as her skills with horses were extensive, but she knew she had to stay. She shot a look at Derufin, and the man nodded - he was already on his feet, knocking over the chair behind him as he raced out towards the stables.

Beren stood behind Aman, anxiety on his face. "What happened?"

Aman shook her head, signalling that she didn't know, her eyes still on the girl.

"Anything I can do to help?"

Aman turned to look up at him. "Have you any experience with horses?"

"Er...a little?"

"Then go, Derufin will need your help by the sound of it." She looked back at the girl again. Beren wavered for a moment, seemingly about to say more, and when Aman looked at him, exasperated despite herself, he made up his mind. He bent towards her, his lips almost touching her ear, her hair tickling his cheek.

"Watch out for that stranger," He whispered, before racing out the door after Derufin. Aman paused, but, knowing it would be too obvious, did not look at the scruffy man. What was Beren talking about?

Vanwe came out of the kitchen with the herbs and water, as quickly as she could without spilling them. On her lap, the white-faced girl seemed to be saying something, her eyes still scarily wide, her blue lips moving quickly. Aman brushed her hair behind her ear and bent low over Esgalhuhwen's face again, and listened.

"The wound is clean...but fires devour...everything...." The last word came as a sigh, and the whole sentence had been too quiet for any but the Innkeeper to hear. Aman stared at the elf again, then noticed how her necklace was glowing. These cryptic words, a horse suddenly causing a racket, this glowing, eerie necklace....something here wasn't quite natural.

Aman did not have time to muse as Vanwe knelt beside her, laying out the herbs, and Aman was back in business form again, pushing aside the fears of something less ordinary...

[theWhiteLady]

Post for Dyrnwyn, Sword of Flame:

Noises from the inn filtered through the door, but the tall captain did not heed them. His eyes were reflective and his thoughts wandered to and fro. Perhaps they rested upon his travels or his beautiful home, Minas Tirith. The thoughts were soon broken, however, by some unseen disturbance, and his eyes snapped back to the present, quickly regaining clarity. He was tired, many days of travel had taken their toll, and he once again felt the need to seek his room.

Caligon set off to the stables where he was greeted by a silver-grey stallion. He stroked the horse’s neck affectionately, observing with approval that the horse had been brushed down and water was available in abundance. Several packs had been leaned against the stable wall; the captain hoisted them over his shoulder and prepared to leave through the door. A loud scream checked his progress, making him whirl around with surprise. One of the horses, a black one stabled on the other side of the barn, had started kicking and neighing frantically. Caligon stopped, uncertain, but before he could make up his mind to help, another man rushed through a near door and tried to calm the frightened horse. Turning, Caligon reasoned that the man seemed an experienced horseman and had not seemed to notice his presence. He walked quickly through the doorway and back towards the inn.

Inside, however, there was even more disturbance but too many people had pressed around one of the tables for him to see the cause. “What a strange place,” he thought once more and was again aware of his fatigue. There were enough observers to help, he would only be in the way, and so once more Caligon left the situation to others in order to seek his room.

[Elora]

Aman sorted through the herbs Vanwe had gathered at speed from the kitchen, not staying to answer the questions of Mrs Bunce or Buttercup or Ruby. As Aman efficently searched, Vanwe bent over the fallen Elf and silently cursed her fogged senses. It would be easier had she a clear head. Herbs could not be administered until they were was certain what ailed the Elf, and that was the subject of much conjecture.

A crowd gathered, Vanwe dreading each and every face that clustered to watch. The would be no privacy this time. She closed her eyes, bending over and the sight of the crowd and Aman faded as she struggled with her unschooled abilities. The latent heat of the pendant seared her, and Vanwe gasped at it.

An old wound twisted, a remembered pain, a dislocated pain. It made no sense, Vanwe inwardly cried. Damn that wine! Distantly Aman's voice floated to her. "What are you doing?"

Vanwe made no reply as she struggled on. A pain that was here and was not. It was familiar, somehow. It had a character and edge that reminded her of something. It had a scent she could detect that she had found before. It also reminded her of Lespheria, whose pain came from what she sensed from afar.

Aman, who saw only that Vanwe was suspended over the unconscious Elf, silent and unresponsive, pulled at her shoulder and repeated herself more forcefully. "Vanwe, what are you doing?"

"Power," Vanwe mumbled through distant lips. "Healing."

The searing heat of the pendant was branded upon her senses. It burned, surely it did. She was tumbling suddenly, falling into an inky abyss, the pendant glowing like a coal below her. Her senses fell apart, shattering like glass on a tiled floor, scattered and broken shards of realisation.

"Vanwe!"

Aman's sharp voice was like a rope to cling to. Vanwe clambered back, clawing her way from it. She realised dimly that Aman was pulling her away. Sagging back, now oblivious to the gathered crowd, Aman pulled closer with the herbs she had selected.

"Use sage," Vanwe said faintly. It had worked with Lespheria.
"I am," replied Aman brusquely.
"And Calendula," Vanwe said as she tried to gather her wits.

"I don't have any," muttered Aman as she steeped the herbs in the warm water, infusing their qualities of healing.

Vanwe fumbled at the pouch at her waist. Apart from the braided leather, which now lay forgotten on the table, it held two now somewhat wilted sprigs. She pulled them out, scenting them to be sure they were still useable, and passed them to Aman.

"Here. There is also what you call Kingsfoil."

Aman took the offered herbs, peering into Vanwe's pale face a moment. Then, she turned away and added them to her infusion. With gentle surety, she lifted the Elf's head and trickled some of the infusion through her lips. Aman waited, then gave her more. The murmuring of the crowd at the unusual display buzzed around Vanwe, threatening to swallow her whole.

"The herbs should dull the pain without clouding her senses," Vanwe said as Aman fed the Elf the infusion. "I've used it before."

"What ails her," Aman asked. Vanwe shook her head and then regretted it. The floor tilted crazily.

"An old wound, and that pendant.... she is pained by something she senses from afar... I cannot properly tell. I am not schooled enough."

Aman fell silent, mulling Vanwe's words and slowly trickling the warm infusion. Vanwe frowned before adding, "I am sorry I cannot do more."

A querrulous voice chimed in from the crowd. "All I saw was chicanery! It's a show!" Debate ensued from there. Vanwe leant against the panelling of the counter to steady herself in the rising noise. Driven by the mayhem that threatened to envelope her utterly, she said in a loud voice made firm by her desperation, "Silence!"

The crowd was shocked. So was Vanwe. She moderated her tone somewhat, the ring of order and authority foreign to her.

"It is no show. Please, return to your seats and give the Elf some peace."

Mrs Bunce clapped her hands. "You heard her!" Authority was something she was accustomed to. She shooed the audience away, breaking them up and leaving them no recourse but to return to their tables. Ruby and Buttercup milled around, ensuring it was so.

"She needs a bed, not an inn floor," Cook observed as she peered at the Elf Aman knelt beside. Two gentlemen offered their services to see it done. Ruby peered at Vanwe.

"What's wrong with you? Is it contagious?" Vanwe again shook her head somewhat violently.

"Well something's gotten into you!" Ruby was not to be put off. Vanwe sighed and made an experimental attempt to stand. If nothing else, it would put paid to Ruby's innate curiosity. Aman had followed the Elf, as had some of her companions in an anxious knot. Surprised that her experiment was a success, Vanwe waved Ruby away. SHe only tottered marginally with that action.

"I'm fine... just some fresh air is all," she murmured.
"You don't look fine," Ruby persisted stubbornly.
"She doesn't, does she Mrs Bunce?"

Vanwe groaned quietly and turned for the door in a bid for freedome. Cook crossed her arms and studied the Elf's tenuous movements/

No," she pronounced, "she does not. Where do you think you're going, Miss," she called after Vanwe as she tried for the door.

"Outside!"

Vanwe's relief at making the porch of the inn was in her sigh. The scent she had detected came with her. It was familiar. She struggled down the steps, the bedlam of the stables carrying to her. The white hitching post proved a convenient crutch. She leant against it as she struggled to make sense of it all. Where had she smelt it before?

Vanwe felt clammy. Her head was filled with light. The pendant glowed every time she blinked, branded onto her eyelids it seemed. Her knees seemed treacherous and her arms heavy. Leaning heavily, cheek pressed against a winking green dragon, Vanwe closed her eyes.

She held her breath, the trembling stilling, as she made the connection. The man! It was his scent, somehow mixed in with it all. She did not know what this meant, but it was important. She should tell someone. Where was the man that Falco had so mistrusted anyway?

Vanwe unpeeled her fingers from where they clutched the post and focused all her might on placing one foot in front of the other. She focused on the stable. She would tell Derufin. Aman was busy. She trusted Derufin. As she neared, she heard the shout of instructions swapped between Derufin and Beren.

Vanwe appeared in the doorway and beheld the disorder that the two men were struggling to overcome. In the stalls closest to her, horses rolled their eyes, the whites wildly showing. They shifted, snorting as their ears swivelled. Panic was in the air. Vanwe could taste it.

She made for the closest stall, partly to hold herself up. The horse shied away. On a sudden idea, Vanwe started to sing the gentle melody she sang every morning in the stables. Her voice was faint and weak, and barely heard by Derufin and Beren who grimly held onto rearing horses deeper in the stables.

But for those horses near to Vanwe, who strained to hear everything in the fear, her voice carried to them. It was familiar, soothing and recognisable. The panic fell slowly from them. Vanwe continued to sing, hoping the tiny seed of calm would grow and find it's way further into the stable.

She held onto the stall, feeling a little stronger and firmer as the moments wheeled past. Her mind was filled with two things. The man, whom she did not know his whereabouts in the chaos, and the glowing pendant that was there, everytime she blinked.

[Beren87]

The thought of his words to Aman in his mind, Beren raced towards the stables, as fast as his feet could carry him. He heard the neighing of the animals inside, their sounds an earsplitting, horrendous call of horror. The shrill of a horse in fear is worse than any a man could ever muster.

He slid on the slick grass as his body stopped itself, arriving at the door. His eyes darted back and forth, gathering the situation quickly. Derufin stood at the edge of one stall, his grip on one horse will calmy speaking to another. His touch seemed to have calmed the now silent equine, but his voice was doing nothing to combat the fear of the other.

Beren quickly ran up, his feet pounding the stable ground, until he was at the next stall. He reached his hand out onto the horse, just as it reared it's head to kick. He looked into it's eyes fiercly as it's leaned back. He bent all thought towards the creature, willing it to calm, his gentle touch seemingly radiated peacefulness into the animal, it's tense muscles slowly relaxing under his hand.

"What on earth has done this to them?" He called out to Derufin who, having calmed his original target, had moved on to a stall farther down the row.

Silent for the moment, he struggled with the new animal, willing it to calm as the first one had. He then looked over at Beren, ready to answer.

[ August 14, 2003: Message edited by: Beren87 ]

[piosenniel]

No magical or magical implements or jewelry are allowed in the Shire games or the Inn.

For all who mentioned the pendant in their posts, please do not continue to do so.

~~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[ August 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Morsereg snorted sharply as the men came toward him, but in hearing the sweet yet soft sound of an Elf singing he calmed down slightly. He whinnied still shaken looking around for his master Esgallhugwen.

She lay on the floor; steaming liquid pouring down her throat, Esgallhugwen felt a presence searching her, searching inside of her but as soon as it had come it was quickly pushed out by another outside.

Esgallhugwen could make out muffled noises but could barely open her eyes, she thought she heard her name but it faded away into shadows much like everything else in her life. She gave a small cry between the infusions of the liquid as if calling out for someone.

Smooth warmth flowed through her allowing her senses to become more awake though her body remained motionless. Esgallhugwen's body was lifted up off the floor but she could not feel it her body was numb and still cold to the touch.

She saw a distant light ahead of her she longed to follow it but felt pinned by an unseen force, all around her it was dark, pitch dark it swallowed light. Clanking of chains was heard then sharp steel slashing through skin. Esgallhugwen longed to be free she screamed out horrendously in the dark.

The pale light drew nearer powerful Elvish voices were heard echoeing, and the torture was ceased by the flight of an arrow shaft by her ear ending with the squeal of the now dead orc behind her. The shackles were wrested from her wrists and ankles.

She had been tortured long in pitch blackness, with no sound but the whips or steel to give her company. Her father had betrayed her for the last time, he had found out what Esgallhugwen and her mother had tried to do, they had tried to save their people by aiding them in their escape.

Earlier her Mother was found, but the punishment was too prolonged, her body failed and fell silently to the ceasless cracking of cruel whips. They carried her and her mothers body out singing in victorious woe. She now lays there on a mound upon the hill.

[littlemanpoet]

The Elf woman called Vanwe distracted Falowik. She had drunk too much and her face was flushed with wine. Falowik was no student of people, but something in her moved him. Which he would never show if he knew what was good for him. He did not have the awe of Elves that plagued many Hobbits and other Men, so he watched her when he could steal a look. Her eyes told him that she remained deep within herself and let little of herself come to the fore. Except that the wine had loosened her, dangerously. He would protect her from herself if he had the right, of the foolhardiness, but it was no affair of his.

"It will be a beautiful sunset," she declared.

"Indeed it will," said Falowik. The words were out before he could stop them. She blinked. Falowik nodded with all the courtesy he could muster, trying to tell her with his eyes to take care for people are dangerous. Her returning smile seemed to say that she understood.

The Hobbit lass came and said it was a matter of honor with the Innkeeper from Rohan that Falowik eat for free. It made no sense. Honor? Honor was a mask hiding vengeance or worse. Still, he was hungry and thirsty. Maybe a few sips of the ale with the bowl of stew. It gave off a smell fit for a king's feast. As he ate, Derufin came to his point.

‘Where exactly did you find the satchel, Falowik? And what did it look like had happened - that it should be left there in that state.’ Derufin poured Falowik some more ale, even though the first cup was still almost full. Now to it. There's the payment this man's after. This Eodwine was his friend and he wants a story. It had better be good. Well, it'll be what was there whether he likes it or not. Falowik chose his words with care and described what he had seen. It was a place of hill and scrub and large rocks, and no path for horse or man except what one makes for oneself. The ground was covered in hoof prints and foot prints. Blood stained one rock and a broken knife lay near it. Off a few feet away had been the satchel.

"That is all that I know, Master Derufin."
The sound of a body falling to the floor distracted the two men. Derufin got up to help. In moments, the common room was ablur with people busy at caring for the collapsed woman, or asking questions they had no right to have answered. It was a dangerous moment. Suddenly horses screamed in the stables. Worse and worse. Falowik was safely at table and could not be suspected for any of the trouble, but he did not like the noise and chaos. He finished the last of the stew, took another gulp of ale, leaving most of it behind, and went out into the road. He needed to be away from people and trouble. The sun was lowering in the sky. He made for the west edge of town and found a lonely tree to sit beneath. He would wait until things died down. Maybe wait until someone, Derufin or that distrustful Hobbit, came looking.

[ August 14, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]

[Envinyatar]

There were eight horses and four ponies to be seen to that night. All fractious, their ears plastered back against their heads, eyes wide and rolling. Beren saw to two of the guests’ horses, his slow approach and gentle words bringing down the heightened level of anxiety that whipped their nerves. They bobbed their great heads at him on their arched necks and attended to every word, the rhythm of his voice drawing their attention away from the source of the panic.

It was the Elf’s horse, Morsereg, which Derufin decided had been the focus of the chaos. Attuned to her thoughts, as Elven horses are, he had picked up the frenzy of the Elven woman’s dark flow of images and remembrances. The scent of his fear and the agitation in his whinnies was the spark that set the others on edge. Vanwe, seated near Mosereg’s stall had calmed him with her soft song and probably, thought the stable-master, her own gentle stream of thoughts. As Morsereg calmed, the others did also. Nettle the Inn’s own little Shire pony nickered contentedly as Vanwe sang, and his three stall mates crowded near him, borrowing his peaceful mood.

Once Derufin had seen to the two horses he had talked down from their wild state, he handed the leads to Beren and strode quickly to the end stall, the one nearest his quarters - Falmar’s stall. The steed of another Elven woman, she too would be affected by the prostrate Elf’s unchecked thoughts. And indeed she had been so. Her stall’s half door had been kicked open in Falmar’s hurry to escape the frightening thoughts, and she had bolted from the stable, seeking to put distance between herself and danger . . . seeking her own mistress.

Vanwe and Beren were beginning to settle the horses back into their stalls. The usual air of calm was returning to the stable. Just as Beren was returning the chestnut charger to his stall, Derufin stepped up and took the lead from him, saying that he would need him to go after Falmar. The blanket and saddle were quickly put on Eodwine’s steed, and Derufin mounted up and was out the door of the stable, heading west as he left the Inn yard, down the Great East Road.

Under a tree at the western edge of Bywater, the light of the moon just picking him out in the shadows, sat Falowik, unseen by Derufin as he raced past . . .

[ August 15, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman came back down the stairs, sighing. It had been around fifteen minutes since the girl went up the stairs, and the Esgalhugwen seemed to have calmed down, her breathing levelling out and her muttering stopping eventually, whether due to the herbs Vanwe and Aman had used or not. In the Inn, all around people seemed to be talking in low voices about the whole event, but things had calmed down....inside, at least.

Aman winced as the sound of a splintering door made everyone in the room look up - a familiar sound the one who had all too often had to deal with the highly-strung steeds of flighty messengers. But it was followed by another slamming, splintering sound as the horse's hooves hit it again - audible even in the Inn. Aman closed her eyes for a second, her hand half way through running through her hair, which she had let down, before she ran outside towards the stables. As she was almost there, she heard a final almighty neighing, then the sound of the door giving up and its hinges breaking, and swift hooves running first over wood, then stone, then cobbles. As Aman turned the corner, she saw a second horse race from the stables, a rider crouched low over it's back - Eodwine's horse, by the looks of it, and Derufin the rider.

Not slowing, Aman turned into the stables, glad now that she was wearing a tunic still, and wasn't hampered by her usual skirts, and almost ran straight into Beren. Stepping back hastily, Aman gestured out after Derufin. "What's happened?"

"One of the horses has escaped - an elven steed, and therefore-"

"-attuned to it's mistress or master." Aman finished. "I understand - I used to be a horse trainer in Rohan," she explained at his questioning gaze. "More and more elven horses came through as time passed - I've never really got used to it."

"Mmm," Beren agreed, then seemed about to say more, when two more of the horses at the back began to kick up a fuss again, their now-stretched nerves probably sent twanging by a new prescence in the stables. Walking quickly, but careful not to run, Aman made her way down to them, picking the most agitated of the pair - a bay mare, one of the most beautiful horses she had ever seen, dancing around her stable, tossing her head and snorting, rearing up a few times, her hooves flailing. Aware of the obvious danger, Aman did not come into the stable straight away, but did lift the bolt with one hand, while still approaching slowly, holding up her other hand (her right hand), palm towards the horse, but not tense. She made a small shh-ing noise between her teeth as she came nearer and the horse, her attention caught, stopped prancing around so much.

Easing up the latch and slipping through the door, careful not to make any sudden movements, Aman kept her eyes on the horse all the time, still making the small noise, like wind through the trees, and then beginning to murmer - not the complete nothings of most horse-owners, but normal talk, beginning to tell the horse what had happened as if she was a human or elf, but quietly, so quietly, her voice smooth and calm. As she came closer, the horse kept snorting and moved back a few steps, so Aman stopped, but her voice didn't. Consistency, as she had found at Rohan whilst training and stabling horses, is something that an animal can lean on, can trust, and trust is the key. Hand still up in front of her, still murmering, Aman simply watched the horse, her head slightly to one side, and, after a few dubious seconds, the mare lowered her head slightly. Still moving slowly, Aman lowered her hand onto the horse's nose as it was presented to her, stroking the soft, silky fur, then moved her other hand up to the horses neck, rubbing softly and rhythmically on the long, arched neck. And, as she stood close to this magnificent animal, Aman remembered all the satisfaction she had always had doing this and, suddenly, dangerously, the practical, steadfast Innkeeper remembered her old home, her first home, in the land of the Rohirrim.

[Imladris]

Lira followed the men who bore Esgallhugwen up the stairs in a daze. Never before has she seen such a terrible illness come over anyone. Folding the woman's hand within her own, Lira began to murmur in soft Elvish to Esgallhugwen. Lira knew the calming effect of her voice...many times she had sang to the dying to ease their pain and fear. She remembered her dying love, how even he had asked to hear her voice as he passed out of this world under the mighty trees of Mirkwood.

Little by litte the trembling that vibrated Esgallhugwen's diminished, until it had finally ceased. Smoothing her auburn hair from her damp forehead, Lira was relieved to feel that the fever had somewhat diminished. She breathed slowly, deeply, as if she was in a deep sleep, and Lira rose to leave when she heard turmoil erupt in the stables. Swinging herself onto the wooden banishter, she slid down and flew out the inn to help with the horses when she saw the Mirstress Innkeeper, slowly, assuredly, calming the wild steed. Lira's deep blue eyes widened in surprise and awe. The wind blue her strands of white streaked pale yellow hair into Lira's eyes, and she pushed it away in slight irritation. The love the Innkeeper had for horses showed in every gesture, every murmured word. The horse's taut muscles relaxed, his dark eyes ceased their wild roving, his muzzled dipped and nuzzled the woman's hand affectionately.

Lira smiled as she gazed upon the happy scene, but then she felt a sense a longing, a wistful remebrance of a home far away in the Innkeeper. A shrill whinny came to her ears, and Lira recognized it as the cry of her own mare, and Lira whinnied back. Softly, she made her way to the Innkeeper and asked, "That was beautiful. Never before have I seen a mortal man who was not a Ranger calm such a distraught beast."

[Nurumaiel]

From outside the door of the Green Dragon a loud, high-pitched voice could be heard screeching angrily. The door burst open and a young hobbit lad marched into the inn, followed by a red-faced lass, obviously the one who was screaming. Though many eyes were on them, the lass did not cease her screaming until, in humiliated desperation, the lad clamped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened and she glared furiously at him, but he didn't release her.

"Melilot, please be quiet," he said. "Or, even better, please go away. I came here to be alone for once."

The captive tried to say something, but still he wouldn't let her go until she had promised to stop her screeching. Then she said a low voice, yet not without all her previous anger, "Hamson Cotton, I will not leave until you answer my question."

"Then the answer is no," the lad replied firmly. "Or will you continue to pester me until I say yes?" He took her arm and led her over to an empty table. "Maybe you'd care to sit down and discuss this calmly," he said, gesturing towards the bench. With great reluctance, she obeyed. He took a seat opposite her, and for a moment they just stared at each other.

His Sackville-Baggins cousins had always been out to ruin his life, or at least that's how it appeared. The way they ordered him around sometimes you would think he was their slave. And Melilot was the worst. She was rather an attractive lass, with black hair and blue eyes, and though she found her freckles a serious flaw to her beauty, everyone else liked them. Her prettiness made her think she could convince any hobbit lad to do anything she wanted him to. And now she was after Hamson Cotton's hole.

Of course he wouldn't go live in it until he was 33, and he was only in his mid-tweens yet, but his parents were rather wealthy and had two holes. One in Bywater and one in Buckland. The one if Bywater was the simpler of the two, and the Cotton parents preferred it. Before they had gained their wealth they had been middle-class hobbits, and they felt more at home in the Bywater hole. The Buckland hole, however, was a different story. It was extremely elaborate, fit for the wealthiest of hobbits. Hamson never heard the story of how his parents had gained the expensive hole, but they had, and he was to own it when he came of age.

So, of course, Melilot had to have it. It was expensive, very elegant... in fact it had all the qualities that she appreciated. She was quite determined to get the hole from Hamson, whether he liked it or not. He didn't like it. He would have been quite content to sell it and buy some other simpler hole, but because his parents and probably done a lot to get the hole for him, and because Melilot was so dead-set on owning it herself, he was also determined. Nobody besides his family would ever own the hole, not even if they killed him for it.

A few minutes ago Hamson had had a few concerns that Melilot was going to do just that. She had waylaid him while he was on the way to the inn, demanding angrily once again for ownership of the hole (as if she had any right to it at all!). At first he had ignored her, but then as she followed him, insisting for an answer, he had told her no. That made her fly into a rage, though she had pretended she hadn't heard him. She had shouted angrily at him all the way to the inn. He thought he could escape there. He had thought she would consider herself to elegant to enter an inn. But she was in such a rage that all of those thoughts left her, and still she pursued him.

And so now she sat before him, her cheeks still flushed in anger, her eyes shooting sparks at him, her hands clenched tight on the table where they rested. How could he possibly make her understand that he would not sell the hole? He could ignore her, but not for long. She would keep following him wherever he went, screeching at him, and he was convinced he couldn't take that for very long without going insane. Then he'd be locked up and Melilot could take over the hole easily. The whole matter was so childish, but Melilot didn't care, so therefore Hamson didn't care. He'd act childishly to defend his hole as long as she acted childishly to get it.

"Well, did you want to say something?" the lass demanded. "Or is your silence a way of telling me you give in to my demands?" She smiled and him in a superior way, then added casually, "Really, Hamson, you should give up. I am going to win in the end."

He didn't answer. He was used to her saying things like that. At first it had annoyed, but now he didn't care at all. Let her talk. She knew very well he would win and no other.

"Hamson, listen," she said, the anger leaving her voice and a honey-sweet tone replacing it. "If you let me have the hole, I'll buy one just as nice for you. What's the difference between one hole and another?"

"It won't be as nice, otherwise you could buy the other hole for yourself," Hamson said with a little shake of his head. "And the difference is that one hole means nothing to me and the other is mine. Melilot Sackville-Baggins, you just listen to me for one moment. I'm not going to tell you again. I am not selling that hole, ever. Maybe you'll get it someday if you outlive me (which I highly doubt), but while I'm alive, I own the hole and no one else."

Melilot rolled her eyes and then turned a desperate look towards a hobbit sitting on the table behind her, who blushed and got up, walking to the bar. Hamson didn't care a bit if anyone listened in. Let all of the Shire know that Melilot was a little brat who was trying to take what wasn't hers. He didn't care. Maybe they'd all rise in rebellion and drive her out of the Shire. He grinned suddenly. It was an amusing thought.

Melilot stood up. "I'm going to get a drink," she said. "Don't try to run away while I'm going, because I'll be watching you the whole time. Maybe you should have a drink too... something that will wake up your brain." She pressed her hands down on the table and leaned forward, looking him straight in the eye. "Give up, Hamson," she said. "It's only sensible." Then she walked away.

Hamson watched her as she made her way to the bar, smiling innocently at everyone. If she weren't a lady he would like to give her a sound punch in the nose. Maybe that would wake up her brain. Yes, she was watching him. He couldn't possibly escape. And even if he did, she'd find him again eventually. How would he ever show her that he was just as serious as she was, that it was only sensible for her to give up? Propping his chin onto his hands, he began to ponder this.

Soon Melilot returned, a drink in hand. She took her former seat and watched Hamson thinking. Not a very handsome hobbit. He had freckles all over his face. He was rather smart, but naturally not as smart as her. Or maybe he was stupid. It was stupid to think he could get away without giving the hole to her. So was he stupid or smart? Well, he was ugly, anyway. Look at all those freckles! And his brown hair was the ugliest shade of brown in the Shire. And what color were his eyes? Were they brown or blue or grey or green or all of them mixed together? Oh, what did it matter what the exact color of his eyes was? They were ugly, that was all that mattered. He was ugly and stupid and very rude.

Hamson was oblivious to all Melilot's thoughts. He was picturing himself at the head of a rebel crowd, leading them to where their battle against the Sackville-Bagginses would take place. They had rebelled against those cruel tyrants because of their pure evilness, and now they had only one thought in mind... to drive Melilot out of the Shire. Fortunately Melilot was also oblivious to Hamson's thoughts, or there would have been another fuss.

Hamson didn't consider himself very fortunate. If any other hobbit in the Shire was persecuting him like Melilot could, he could bring the matter to the parents of that hobbit. He didn't consider that to be a cowardly act. After all, hadn't he done everything he could? Melilot was almost a matter for the Shirriffs, of that he was convinced. She should be locked up in jail. He chuckled to himself when he recalled his previous thoughts of how he might go insane. Then the two of them would make a great pair! Melilot was already insane. Of that Hamson was completely convinced. Only an insane hobbit would act like she acted.

Melilot had stopped pondering over Hamson's ugliness and stupidity and was now thinking about how annoying he was. Why couldn't he stop persecuting her and just give her the hole? He was entirely insane. She should report him to his parents. At least he could be civil about the whole thing! Maybe one day the Shirriffs would hear him yelling at her and he'd get thrown into jail. That would be just what he deserved.

Plain to see, the two of them were thinking almost exactly alike. But Hamson was also hatching up various schemes to get rid of Melilot, while she sat there, completely unknowing (innocent wouldn't work). The first one would be simple... he'd use his extra money to get himself a room at the inn. Melilot didn't have any money with her now that she had bought that drink. While she went to get some, he would climb out the window of his room and escape to Buckland. And until she found him again, he'd be perfectly safe.

Hopefully it would work.

[Elora]

Vanwe watched Derufin race out of the stable, sure upon the horse he rode. He had the line of an able horseman. Beren stood at the door as he spoke with Aman, and for the moment Vanwe remained where she was deeper in the stables. She rested a light head on the stall she leant against and felt the inquiring nose of the stall's guest brush her hair. It was a gentle touch from the horse, sensative nose tickling over her head and finding her ear. She smiled faintly and reached to stroke the velvety skin.

"All is well," she murmured quietly though she did not quite feel it herself. She was unsettled. Vanwe lifted her head and pushed herself up from the stall. Aman had moved to a horse's stall and was speaking soothing words. Beren stood watching the interaction between horse and woman. Vanwe could not remain. Things were undone. She sensed them floating in the very air. She left the stable, walking away from where the two stood on elven quite feet.

It would be best to clear her head. The cool air bore the herald of evening to her cheeks. As she walked, slowly as her strength gathered, it touched her cheek and ran fingers through her hair. Her mind turned back the puzzle of Falowik. Heedful that Derufin may want assistance when he returned with the bolted horse, Vanwe did not wander far in the gathering dusk.

The night was, Vanwe noticed, indeed as she had thought it would be. It was fair, untroubled by events at the inn. An unruffled summer night had begun, it wrapped about her shoulders. Vanwe tipped her face upwards to the sky and watched as one by one stars sprung to life. Slowly her mind started to settle as she stood in the open watching the sky abover her.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen heard faint murmurs in the Elvish tongue, she couldn't quite make out who it was, but the horrible memories faded. For a very long time she was ailed by these dreams, the soft Elvish voice washed them all away so that for once in a very long time she could sleep in peace.

The painful heat of orc torture dissipated from her leaving cool comfort as a small breeze blew through the curtains. She could make out the gentle closing of the room door, she was now alone left to rest and recover.

A faint smell of flowers drifted into the room, Esgallhugwen breathed in the scent welcoming it into her body. A few moments of rest and she would see if she was able to get up.

[littlemanpoet]

A riderless horse galloped by Falowik. Moments later, a second horse cantered by, this one bearing a rider. Derufin the stablemaster. He would need no assistance. Falowik was glad to own no horse. He had never ridden, and did not wish to. Beautiful creatures they were, and less troublesome than people, but he had never learned their ways. Better to keep the days simple as may be, old man.

Two hobbits made their way to the inn, one of them screaming for all she was worth. These Hobbits were nothing if not trouble! It would be the last time he paid a visit to the Shire, set compass by it. Why not find a place away from the road? Now that it was night, it would be better not to be a shadow seen skulking from here to there, raising suspicions. Best stay put.

Someone else had come from the stables, not on a horse. A woman walking alone at night. The folly. Unless it's the Elf woman. She's as safe at night as in the day. She stopped not far from the stable and looked up at the stars. She was no business of his. He pulled his eyes away and closed them. Maybe he would get some sleep, at least catch a few winks before Derufin came cantering by with two horses.

[Elora]

As Vanwe studied the sky, her thoughts wandered to the carving she had only just started. It had been at least a day since she worked further on it. Her eyes dropped from the stars and she looked around her, taking in her surrounds. Something snagged her vision, and she gazed intently at a shape leaning against the bole of a nearby tree. It was, she realised with a start, a Man.

Thinking him perhaps injured, sitting as he was outside under a tree, Vanwe started forward cautiously. A Man startled could be dangerous and well she knew it. A few paces away and Vanwe realised it was the Man from the inn and she came to a standstill. She had not spoken a word.

"Is there something I can help you with," he asked, slowly opening his eyes.

"I thought you were injured," Vanwe replied with wide eyes. The link she had sensed earlier whispered in her mind as she spoke. He remained unmoving beneath the tree, watching still.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb you," Vanwe added softly, unsure as to his danger. He did not move still. Feeling faintly foolish, Vanwe realised she had been staring at him. She dropped her eyes to the ground and turned on a heel to leave when something occurred to her. It was not so long ago when a tree had been her only shelter.

"Perhaps, if you wish, I could find you somewhere more comfortable to spend the night... Sir." Vanwe added the appelate just in case she was offending him. It was hard to tell. His lips lifted in a humourless smile, at what she did not know.

"This tree is comfortable for one of my means," he said quietly.
"I do not mean to quarrel, but perhaps Derufin could find something as reasonably priced. I can ask him for you when he returns, if you wish."

Feeling as though she had intruded enough, Vanwe started to withdraw. Falowik liked his privacy, she guessed. A chattering Elf with no apparent appreciation for such things would be irritation enough for his politeness to fade.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik had spent long years schooling himself to allow little to be seen of that which lay in his heart. The Elf woman's curiosity did not amuse him, nor anger. Rather, his eyes closed, he had felt her approach as if she were a lodestone. None had been so to him in long years. Otherwise he would not have foresworn the troubles of friend and enemy so easily the day he'd left Breeland for the wilds. He did not understand why it was so with this Elf woman, except, perhaps, for that moment of clarity in the Inn when he had known that she held much deep inside; and that made for a kinship of sorts. Dangerous. Troublesome. Take care, he told himself.

"I do not mean to quarrel, but perhaps Derufin could find something as reasonably priced. I can ask him for you when he returns, if you wish."

She had left the choice with him. It was well that he had so warned himself, for her kindness unasked for threatened to undo his long schooling all in a moment. So he was silent, letting her words hang in the air, unanswered for a space. He could think of no cause for her to go out of her way other than mere succor. It was enough to melt any hardness.

"If this be quarrel, then war is laughter." He allowed a wry smile. "I do not lightly take free what others pay for, though I have done so twice this night. I will make the ground my bed. My thanks."

So many words, old man! Falowik was not given to wit, but it had been the only way to answer her fairly and at the same time dam up that which threatened to spill. He needed to get away from these civilized parts before the dam broke. It seemed he had much rebuilding to do.

[Elora]

"I do not like to take freely what others pay for," Falowik said. In the darkness, Vanwe's cheeks flushed with shame.Neither do I, a small and desultory voice replied within her with mocking laughter. War could be laughter. Terrible things could be done whilst those perpetrating the acts laughed. Guilty, Vanwe pondered those things that she had taken freely, need overcoming other considerations.

The very dress she stood in, worn now and thin, was not hers. Yet she could not have fled so far north still in the garb of the Haradwaithe. They would have hunted her down before she crossed from Gondor to Rohan. Her mind darted also to the stub of a pencil that sat now heavily in the small pouch at her belt. At least the belt was hers, she recalled with some reliefm and the shoes. She'd managed to scrounge enough work on the docks of Dol Amroth to furnish those items. She recalled racing on bare feet between manors, carrying secretive documents and boxes. She still idly wondered what was written and was lay in her delivered caskets.

If it had not been for a case of mistaken identity, Vanwe mistaken for her mother by an itenerant cobbler looking for his new fortune in the reward bounty, she could still be darting through the narrow and often dark and dangerous streets of Dol Amroth. Instead, she was standing outside an inn.

Falowik had chosen the tree, and she understood that sometimes honesty was more comfortable than anything else. It was hard to sleep otherwise, no matter how luxuriant ones lodgings. Recalling her earlier suspicions, Vanwe felt an easing within her. An honest man would have no involvement in what had ailed the Elf. She had misjudged him, and poorly so even if he did not know she had done him a disservice.

It was unlike Vanwe to be contrary merely for the sake. Nonetheless, she found herself saying "Very well, Sir. I will return shortly." Before Falowik could demur, Vanwe was off to the stables again with her mind set on somehow repairing a few injustices of the night. She climbed up the ladder to the loft Derufin had given her when he'd found her sleeping in a horse stall.

In a lower draw of the chest of drawers were kept spare blankets for the coming winter. Vanwe retrieved two and laid a few other things upon her small pile of bedding. She added some soap and a clean towel. All she could spare and it was the least she could do. Derufin would not mind, she reasoned, as she climbed down with her new bundle.

Aman noticed Vanwe walk past, preoccupied.

"What's happening, Vanwe," she asked. Vanwe smiled at where she stood with Beren, face perplexed as she peered at the bundle Vanwe had under one arm. Concerned that Falowik may vanish before she could do this small kindness, Vanwe was loathe to loiter.

"Just sorting something out," she replied briefly.

"Are you feeling better?" Aman was not so quickly put off. Vanwe nodded in response.

"Yes, much better now that I have some fresh air. I am not used to healing in front of crowds." With a fleeting smile for Aman and Beren both, which Vanwe hoped would reassure them, she was off again.

Relieved to find Falowik still under his tree, Vanwe stepped closer this time and knelt. He watched her and her bundle warily, gaze shifting around her and then coming back to her face.

"You have chosen your tree, and I have chosen to give you these to use," Vanwe smiled gently at him. When he did not shoo her away, something the men of her village did so roughly, Vanwe continued on.

"There's two blankets. I thought one could be rolled and the other to cushion your lovely tree's roots," she said.

"There's soap too, and a towel. The road can be unforgiving. I always find that the Wilds are a little easier to bear with some water and soap. I've yet to find a plant which grows soap though. It's rarer than unencumbered gifts."

Vanwe held the bundle out. The scent of the soap drifted up, delicate and fresh between them. She hoped she had not offended Falowik's sense of pride.

"There's a well beside the stables, and a stream in the yonder woods," Vanwe added. "I made it my business to find that stream shortly after I arrived here myself."

Falowik made no move to claim the bundle from her.

"Please, accept this. How can one scamp sleep well in her bed which she hardly earns when she knows another enjoys a tree for the night?" Vanwe's attempt at levity was unsure, for she was busy noticing other things. Falowik reminded her in many ways of herself. She recalled how frightened she had been of strangers when she first arrived. It had been kindness that had eased that. A friendly face, a kind word, a bed for free. Between Aman's hospitality and Derufin's umitigated generosity, Vanwe had found herself inculcated into the closest thing to a community ever in her life.

But that was not the only thing Vanwe instinctively sensed within Falowik. She knew what it was like to be meted out suspicion and mistrust based purely on appearance. She knew what it was like to be lost, a speck in a wide world where your name was forgotten and your kin vanished. She knew what it was like to be hungry, thirsty and shelterless. All this and more Vanwe saw in Falowik, perhaps his eyes which she seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time studying.

Falowik did not seem to question the southern inflection of her words. She trusted him for reasons she could not name. So, knelt before Falowik in the darkness of the evening, Vanwe offered her small bundle to the Man and found herself watching him again as kinship hovered. She found she was smiling openly and without guise.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman smiled at Lira as she paid her the compliment, snapping out of the comfortable calm state she had worked herself into as she soothed the horse, and she found herself back in the stables, not in Rohan, but in the Shire. Beren stood behind her, a look of admiration on his face similar to the one Lira wore. The elf was smiling admiringly at the Innkeeper, and Aman returned it with a acknowledging smile of her own, incliding her head. Slowly, she stepped slowly back from the horse, her fingers sliding off her dark, smooth, bay nose, and the mare lifted her head slightly as she did so.

With a satisfied sigh, Aman stepped out of the pen, bolting the door behind her, and with it bolting the thoughts of yearning which she had felt. This was her home, would be for more than a short while. And a good home it was too, she told herself firmly. She turned to face Beren and Lira, and saw Vanwe enter through the front door. With good people as well, she thought with a smile.

Then it fully registered it was Vanwe who had come in, and she looked back to hail the elf. "What's happening, Vanwe?" She called amiably, walking forward to be level with Beren, peering at the bundle under Vanwe's arm. Her own arm was at her side now, so close to another, so close she could almost, she fancied, feel his warmth...

"Just sorting something out." Vanwe's reply was brief, to say the least, and not, to the Innkeeper, at all convincing; the Innkeeper would not be put off that easily.

"Are you feeling better?" She inquired, persevering.

Yes, much better now that I have some fresh air. I am not used to healing in front of crowds." Vanwe smiled briefly at both herself, Beren, and Lira in turn. Did she linger for longer on Beren? Aman rather fancied she had done. No, she was being silly, and besides, why shouldn't she, it wasn't as if Beren was Aman's own....

As Aman mused over this, Vanwe was gone, and the Innkeeper started after her, then stopped - she was growing used to the elf's mysterious ways. Beren raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

Aman sent a glance skywards. "Eru knows, Beren. To call Vanwe simply mysterious would be an understatement. Little is known about her -" She realised she was sounding worryingly like Ruby. "-and that's how it will stay, I think, if she so wishes. I have no intention of pressing her." She ended with a shrug, then cast a glance around the stables, shivering slightly.

"Come, it is getting colder - it will do us all no good to simply wait up for Derufin, now the horses are calmed."