The Green Dragon Inn - Part 5

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Welcome Back to the Green Dragon Inn!~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

We had run out of pages on the 4th page of the topic. The Barrow Wight requests that we limit the number of pages within a thread now to 10. But, here we are again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Carry on, Shirelings! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[ July 22, 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.

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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

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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.

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[piosenniel]

Please Note:

At present it is evening in the Shire. Supper has been served, and patrons at the Inn are sitting about enjoying each other's company.

It is mid-summer, the days are pleasant.

[piosenniel]

Here are the last two posts from the old thread:

____________________________________________
Dynaviir's post

Dynaviir sat back down at the table in the corner again. So many faces went by; not one familiar. He felt strangely alone, and knew he would do for some time. Until he had seen his pony, Doienwei, anyway. He wondered if she had enough food, and if she was at peace. He oft wondered of her, when he had no other people to turn. But she was loyal and faithful, and the two of them had each other, and together they did not feel lonely. Dynaviir doubted he would be able to sleep in her stable, and that by the same token Doienwie would not be permitted to sleep in his own room. Probably just as well, he supposed, he didn't want to put her through the torment of watching her master grieving by the fire.

The minutes went by, and Dynaviir felt tired. He couldn't bring himself to finish his meal; as delicious as it was, and as hungry as he felt. Something bothered him at the back of his mind, but he did not know what yet. Slowly he stood up, and so not to be inpolite, took his meal to the bar and apologised for wasting such a delightful meal.

He took a seat at the bar, and sat. He didn't know what it was he wanted. In fact, he didn't even know why he was here himself. To get away from battle, he knew, but still, inevitably he would soon return to the lands beyond, back to the South East - to the lands near Gondor, where his home lay. But even still, he had no purpose to return to the Gondor plains, other than loyalty and a sense of devotion. Even though he had come as far as he knew he could find, Hobbiton offered little more homelyness for him, and in fact felt less so, as much was new and unfamiliar to him.

He sat at the bar, and looked at the ground. He supposed he should go and find Doinwei, and talk to her as he oft did when there was no one near. She understood him as clearly as any man well-learned of the common-speech, but of course could not answer. Dynaviir wondered what she would say if she could. He drew his gaze upwards, and looked around.

Still, he felt oddly alone. And he knew he should at least talk to someone other than the bar-maids, knowing he needed a tale he had not heard, and wondered who would give it to him.

____________________________________________

Tinuviel of Denton's post:

Niniel slowly finished her meal. Yebasian and Scylla, once they had finished yelling at each other, had settled down to reminiscing over each other's past adventures. She felt very left out and decided to look for someone else with whom to speak.

There was an elven lady seated at a table in a corner, but Niniel still felt greatly in awe of these fairest of folk, excluding Soronume. Everyone else seemed to be in their own groups--well, all except for a man seated alone at the bar. Like Soronume had been when she met him. Well, maybe meeting him would prove to be as enjoyable as meeting Soronume had.

She got up and approached, somewhat amazed at her own daring. The man was staring at the floor and didn't see or hear her approach. He had a sword sling at his back, and Niniel had no doubt that he would not hesitate to use it if necessary. Though not in the Inn, as it was against the rules.

"Ex-excuse me," she said softly. "M-m-may I-I join you?"

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~* [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] Notice of New Game Opening [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] ~*~*~*~~*

The X Phial, Belin, and Susan Delgado invite you to play:

~*~*~*~*~*RECLAIMING THE LOST KINGDOM ~*~*~*~*~*

The Discussion Thread is now open to take on characters.

Please read the game proposal carefully, develop an interesting character, and craft a descriptive, solidly written First Post to submit with it.

Should be a fun game - come check it out! [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Orofaniel]

It was a light evening at the Green Dragon Inn, supper had just been served when Halaith enterd. A long jurney was behind him and this Inn seemed to be a perfect place for some pints of ale.

He seated down at a table, with some other travelers. They seemed tired too. Ruby Brown, a small lady hobbit came over to them and wanted to know if they wanted something to drink.

"I just want ale," said the strong looking man sitting next to Halaith. The others gave a nod and other signs that thye wanted ale to. Halaith as well.

The cherefull Inn was crowded with people and soon the table where Halaith were sitting was in a deep conversation. Halaith joined them soon when he got his ale.

"So where are you going then?" A man asked Halaith.

"I'm going to....well....I don't know actually, just up for a bit of traveling that's all." Halaith answerd joyfully. The others burst into a great laugh.

"That's interesting," they all said after some moments with silence. The only hobbit sitting at the table, named Giplo, explained that he wasn't going anywhere. But the others didn't seem interested in what a little hobbit was up to so they didn't listen that carefully to what he said.

The evening went on, with chatty voices and joyful laughters. Soon Halaih felt so tired that he had to leave the table. They said there good nights as he left.

[Beren87]

Beren decided he really had to get his mind on the present, his constant staring at things was rather distracting. That man, Durufin, noticed the staring at his apron. All he was really doing was attempting to figure out how he had attained the position. A little work might be in order for himself if he stayed here for too many weeks.

"Well, I've got clothes at any rate, that's something," he said to himself, his food nearly finished now. The room was quite confortable, and the food certainly well worth the hundreds of steps it had taken him to get here. He moved over to the bar, bringing his plate and such with him.

"Well, Beren, how did you enjoy the Cook's good supper?" inquired Ruby. "Being a newcomer here, we're anxious to know, where did you say you hailed from again?"

"Ah, I'm of quite a lot of places really. I was moved around quite a lot as a child, my father and mother were very affluent, see. I generally say I'm from the great white city of Minas Tirith, however, as it was where I was born and our family estate still sits."

The server had a slight in-take of breath, "A nobleman, you are?"

"Well, I supposedly still am, but my title is purely that of heritage. My duties are more or less non-existant."

"Well, either way, the humble establishment is glad to have you." Said the server with a twinkle in her eye.

"I'm very glad to be here. It's been quite the long road, and a Inn such as this is the perfect end to it. I..erm..would like to ask you something. Your innkeeper, could you tell me about her?" The last bit came out quite a lot more nevously than he had intended, but the intrest of the server was peaked now.

"Well, there's not much to say about our dear Aman. She's a great woman, that's for sure. From Rohan, came here quite a bit ago actually. She's got the respect of all the hobbits around here now, being the woman she is. She's actually the second keeper of the Inn now. Anything else you would like to know about her? Ruby seemed to have a reoccuring wink in her eye as she said this.

"Well..actually, I was.., well, is she married?

"Ha, good sir, our Aman is married only to the Green Dragon as of now." She smiled at his question, knowing full-well his obvious intrest.

"Thank you! Well, I've got to meet that man..erm..Durufin in a bit, down by the stables. So I'll be off now to get ready." He went to tip his hat to her, but remembering it wasn't there stopped mid-tip, he shook his head and instead slightly bowed as he turned to walk back up to his quarters.

[Dynaviir]

Dynaviir looked up startled. He had heard Niniel approach; although being a ranger, he was off-guard and deep in thought in the inn, and was taken quite aback when he heard her voice. He looked up. He was surprised to see a woman looking down at him, and noticed her eyes were for a moment on the sword. He suddenly realised how intimidating it must be for her to try and converse with a man who carried a blade wherever he went, her stuttering made him feel slightly ashamed.

He smiled and looked up to her. "I apologise, but I mean no harm. I could not draw my sword from it's sheath in this merry inn for a long time yet. Forgive me, I oft forget that I carry it."

He pushed aside his left leg and the hilt of the blade vanished from view. He even felt a tad embarrassed, for this was a merry folk's inn, and he did not wish to darken it. But then he thought of the elf who now sat alone, armed with her bow at hand, much like himself. He hoped he wasn't too out of place.

It had been many leagues since he had talked to someone in a true conversation. He gazed up at her feeling self-conscious, knowing he could talk for months about himself, but he knew he wished to hear what she had to say. He spoke at length, but he did not wish to do so.

"Please, if you wish to sit down, I would be grateful. I would be much glad of the company. Indeed it has been many weeks now since I have heard any voices in deep speaking with my own, save the neighing of my fair pony. But I would be glad to hear anything you may say, if you have anything to offer. I myself too have many a tale, but unfortunately, I find I can talk for a bit too long."

He cut his speech there, realising how long he had spoken for. He went a tad red in the face, a bit surprised at himself after he could have merely answered with a polite 'Yes, please'.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

The day had worn away quickly and the light was waning before the hobbit admitted defeat. She had only picked up the short trail of a heavy foot under Benia’s window before losing it amidst the hard ground of the inn’s yard that lay before a copse of trees. All through out the heat of the day in vain she had wandered around the inn’s vicinity as quietly as she could, trying to discover a direction to pursue. And dogged by a persistent feeling of inexplicable dread that seemed outside the present circumstances, she tried to remain hidden from view, further delaying her purpose.

Now, back bowed from the long hours carrying Jack Nightshade’s burden, Gilly removed the sword and settled herself in the bushes against the wall of the Green Dragon. Cursing the skill and caution of her friend’s assailant, she listened to the sounds of merriment within. She had not eaten all day, nor did she care too, weak though she felt.

She rubbed her eyes to somehow clear her mind’s acuity before once more reviewing her conclusions. All she had was one clear impression of a boot half hidden in the ivy under Benia’s window. From its size and shape and also the method of abduction she could safely rule out hobbits, dwarves and quite possibly elves. From all indications it was a man that had crept in at the window last night and taking into consideration the stealth of removal, either a ranger or professional burglar – a distinction that was rather dim in Gilly’s mind. But she could have guessed that without the footprint or long day in the sun. She was no nearer to finding her friend than she had been in the morning.

If she hadn’t seen Kaldir at the inn earlier in the day she would have been convinced that he was responsible. For he certainly had proved himself a threatening presence the evening before, even he would not deny that. And what of Silvanis? Last Gilly had seen him was when she had gone to shut Benia’s window and had spied him outside by the well with Vanwe. Could there be some importance there? Vanwe after all was another southerner… someone who might have heard of the price for bringing in a member of the painted sand clan. Silvanis could not be ruled out, pleasant though he was.

Held also in the hobbit's suspicion were the stream of guests coming and going. A few looked capable of mischief, but didn’t seem in a great hurry to leave. In particular, the one that had been repairing the roof of the stable looked wary in a rather of habitual sort of way.

Painfully aware of the circles her mind was describing Gilly sighed as she again pondered raising an alarm, but something held her from it.

Just as the weary hobbit let fall the back of her head gently against the wall, eyes closed, she heard the sound of a door opening. Daring not to breathe, she slowly looked over her shoulder to see Kaldir step out of the doorway carrying a large bundle. He took a few strides then hesitated in the dusk looking toward the stables before quickly pressing on toward the far end of the yard.

Gilly got to her feet, grabbing the sword with one smooth motion. She sprinted into the shadow of the trees that lined the yard, and followed the ranger, noiselessly, into the night.

[Elora]

Vanwe studied her handiwork to be sure it was properly mended. She nodded in satisfaction and dropped her dress over her head again. She had not eaten all day. In fact, Vanwe had not eaten since the enforced lunch the day before, just prior to the mathom sale. She smoothed the blue cotton skirt and wondered if a dress to fit her had been found in the attic. She didn't recall anything like that.

Things would soon be desperate if she didn't find something soon. Vanwe climbed back out of the loft wondering what three coppers would buy by way of cloth in the Shire. She walked to the stable doors, checked the courtyard to be sure, and stepped out when she saw it was clear. Her pouch at her belt was heavier than 3 coppers warranted, holding as it did the small piece of wood that she had started to carve the day before.

Vanwe entered the inn with the hopes of avoiding any trouble and finding a meal and a quiet place to work on her carving. The hubbub of voices rose and fell like the sea around her inside. The scent of supper beckoned her deeper into the crowd. She really was ravenous, not that she had any right to be. She had barely done half a day's work!

As she followed her nose, Vanwe's mind set out in order the things she had to do. She needed to eat, and that came first, even if it did bring her nose to nose with the formidible Mrs Bunce. A sure mark of her hunger if nothing else. By now, Cook will have heard of how she had charged into the kitchens to boil weeds, as the hobbits had said. Still, Vanwe was prepared to enter the lion's den if it meant food.

After that, she needed to see how Benia and Lespheria were. Maybe she'd feel stronger after a meal and able to face more uncomfortable questions from Amandur then. Then, assuming she found no trouble by then, she'd find a quiet place where she would not be in anyone's way and work on her carving.

"Miss Vanwe! What a rare treat to see you, my girl!" Vanwe started in alarm, recognising the voice. Buttercup had her arms crossed and foot tapping a nice tempo on the floorboards.

"Good evening, Buttercup," Vanwe replied warily but politely as ever.
"No time for fancy footwork now," Buttercup announced, siezing Vanwe's wrist as she went to curtsy meekly. "We're short staffed and Derufin is wearing an apron!" Buttercup shot Vanwe a look of reproof over her shoulder as she pulled the Elf maiden along by the wrist. Vanwe felt doom echo in the distance ominously. Would her absence be the reason why Derufin was wearing an apron? It seemed likely. "You've just in time. Supper has been served," Buttercup said as they reached the kitchens.

"It has," Vanwe said forlornly. "Is there any left?" She really was very hungry. Buttercup released vanwe's wrist and peered closer at her face.

"You really do look pale, girl, Elf or no," she declared.
"I'm very hungry," Vanwe confessed.
"When did you last eat," Buttercup asked. It was the dreaded question. Vanwe glanced about the kitchen, lest Cook overhear. Buttercup noticed her stalling and the tattoo of her foot tapping on the floor started again. Vanwe watched her furry foot rise and fall.

"Yesterday," she replied in a very low voice.
"Speak up lass, I can't hear you properly. I thought you said yesterday." Buttercup's expression ranged from irritation at Vanwe's mumbling, to shocked surprise and then to outrage as she realised she'd heard perfectly well. Deep blue eyes floated up from the floor to meet Buttercup's and then fled again as Vanwe saw the outrage.

"YESTERDAY! Why that's terrible! Just shameful," Buttercup exclaimed. The very idea of missing but one meal was terrible enough. A whole day of missed meals was unthinkable. "I didn't see you at supper," Buttercup said.

"I wasn't at supper," Vanwe said softly, bracing for the reaction inwardly. Buttercup lapsed into shocked silence, robbed of words. Simply unthinkable. She siezed Vanwe's wrist and maneouvred her into a corner and out of the door.

"Just stand there, Vanwe, and no fainting mind you. If Cook finds you fainted away on the floor there'll be no answering to her, and you're just too tall for me to move before she finds you." Buttercup examined Vanwe again, as if she expected the Elf to fade away to the shadow she should be after missing that many meals.... unthinkable, and set to work.

"It's beyond me what could be so important that you can't eat," Buttercup muttered as she filled a large plate with everything she could find. "That Derufin is not so hard a task master that you are not allowed to eat." Buttercup placed the heavy plate in Vanwe's hands.

"I've been a little busy," Vanwe said vaguely. Afterall, she'd been busy not doing any work for Derufin and it was best not to go into that. Besides, she did not want word of what she had been doing to get around. She needed to see that Benia and Lespheria knew to keep the healing to themselves. "Derufin is not a hard task master," Vanwe added. Buttercup opened the door again and waved her back through.

"I'll have a word with him, nonetheless. It's bad enough he misses meals. There's not enough of you to follow in his bad habits," Buttercup announced as if she had solved it all. Vanwe opened her mouth to object as strenuously as she could. "No arguments, Miss! Go find a table and eat, before Cook finds out what's been going on. Between you, Aman and Derufin, it's a good thing this Inn has reliable, well fed Hobbits to keep it in order!"

Buttercup let the kitchen door close upon that statement, leaving Vanwe to her heavy plate. Vanwe moved through the tables, crowded with people, anxious to avoid detection by Cook. Mrs Bounce was even more fearsome than Buttercup on the perils of missing meals. She kept her head down, and made for the nearest empty table.

Vanwe sank into her chair with a sigh of relief. The plate was piled with bread, vegetables and meat. It was enough to feed three people, and perhaps one hobbit who had already had his or her fill. It certainly more than Vanwe had ever faced in one sitting. She studied it, finding the best place to start, and sallied forth. To bring back a plate that was not empty would surely set Buttercup right off again.

As she ate, Vanwe kept one eye on the passing crowd. She needed to find Derufin before Buttercup did, and apologise. He should be easy to find, afterall. He was wearing an apron.

[Envinyatar]

Ruby and Buttercup had plucked every last grain of salt from the kitchen floor. Derufin, a grin on his face, saluted them, and hung up his apron on the peg by the pantry door. ‘Your turn, ladies! I’ve done my stint as kitchen help – there are chores to be seen to in my stable.’ He shook his finger at the two Hobbits. ‘Don’t go getting all addle-pated over that Falco fellow. Cook is a little on edge tonight, what Miz Aman gone off her so-called errand, and the story that one of our guests is definitely missing and may be dead.’

Buttercup looked at Ruby, a sly look on her face. ‘Go on,’ she whispered, ‘tell him.’ Derufin cocked an eye at the two smirking Hobbits. ‘I’m not deaf, ladies. I heard you. Now spill it! Tell me what?’

Ruby ground her foot into the floor, then spoke softly. ‘It seems so trivial when you think that poor Mister Eodwine might be lying murdered somewhere . . .’ Buttercup looked shamefaced herself and nodded her head. But then her face brightened and she nudged Ruby in the side. ‘Go on! A bit of interesting news will do us all good.’

Derufin sat down at the table, drumming his fingers on it as he waited for one or the other to speak. Finally, Ruby sat down followed closely by Buttercup. ‘Well,’ she began . . . then she proceeded to tell him of her interesting ‘talk’ with the new guest, Beren. ‘More of an inquisition, really,’ she went on. ‘He asked a lot of questions about Miz Aman and . . .’ her voice trailed off, and Buttercup nudged her again. Derufin leaned forward. ‘And what?’

‘And he asked if she was married!’ piped in Buttercup. Ruby glared at her, but Buttercup just shrugged her shoulders and looked at Derufin for his reaction. It was not what she expected. He sat back in his chair, grinning, then laughed out loud. ‘Oh that is a brave, brave man! And especially if he thinks our Innkeeper is some blushing young maiden to be bowled over by a little charm and a ready smile.’ He chuckled and slapped the table with his hand, startling the two Hobbits. ‘Mistress Piosenniel told me a tale or two about her good friend. It will take a man of some mettle to win the heart of our fair Aman.’

Now it was the Hobbits’ turn to raise their brows at him. ‘Well we think he’s a nice young man. And it’s a shame Miz Aman hasn’t any suitors. It can’t be all that different with the Big Folk. Surely she would want one.’ They nodded their heads to each other, and Derufin detected a certain romantic gleam in their eyes.

‘Ladies,’ he said, getting up from his chair and heading for the door, ‘were I you, I would rein in any thoughts about playing the matchmaker. Especially since no one has asked you to do so.’

As soon as he’d left, Buttercup hmmmphed! at his admonition. ‘he’s just jealous – he doesn’t have a lady to swoon over or to fuss over him.’ Her eyes brightened, and Ruby nodded her head, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

‘After we fix up Miz Aman – he’s next!’

'Who's next? and for what?' came the booming voice from the entry way to the Common Room. 'Have you two nothing to do but sit and gossip? The next round of guests need to be seen to, and look at the dishes - they're piling up ladies! Better hop to it.'

Cook's voice marshalled them into action. Ruby sprang up and headed for the Common Room to see who needed what. Buttercup sighed and tied her apron about her. The dishes - she always got stuck with the dishes . . .

[Imladris]

A tall woman heavily cloaked in a black robe, mounted upon a pure white horse, dejectedly trotted up the winding lane leading to the Hobbit building. Lira, the lady upon the horse, glanced at the sign of the inn: The Green Dragon. "An odd name for such a gentle community," she whispered to Merkaliel, her steed. As she dismounted, she saw a pool of waer upon the ground, the surface gently rippling as the wind caressed it. Throwing back her hood, she saw fair hair splashing down upon her shoulders in wild disarray, her pale elven face looked gaunt in the slightly distorted reflection. Slight hollows made her clear blue eyes look bigger than they really were. Lira sighed and strode into the inn and sat at a table near the door so that she could smell the beautiful green grass, the faint perfume of the wild flowers, and feel the slight breeze upon her face. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat; the air was so close here and her nose could readily pick out the heavy reek of beer.


As she waited, she thought of fair Ithilien and the son of Thranduil, Legolas, the elf hero who had brought an elf colony to that fair land. But at the thought of Legolas, she remembered Gimli. Gimli the Dwarf, friend of Legolas. A sneer of contempt curled about her lips. Yes, he was different from other dwarves, yet he was still a dwarf and thought like a dwarf, and dwarvish greed still stirred within his heart, of that Lira was sure. She turned her thoughts away from the distasteful subject of the dwarf and thought again of Ithilien and Gondor. She sighed as she wondered how often she had come to the Shire and then returned, not yet ready to leave that lovely land of Gondor, not yet ready to leave Middle-earth. Sad memories haunted this land, memories of beauty now faded...

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

A small white horse was slowly trotting up the road from the east, and on its back was a battered and bruised elf. There was a large gash on his face, and dried blood stains all over his mud-encrusted clothing.

Still, despite the wounds, his face was as calm as anything, and he was riding up the road toward the Green Dragon Inn. There were many hobbits and men on the sides of the road, giving him funny looks, staring at his wounds.

He reached the Green Dragon, and he went over to the stable and left his horse. Then he proceeded into the main door of the Green Dragon. A few of the men and hobbits in the bar were staring at his wounds, but the elf, known as Mindez, tryed to cover up the wounds on his face with his hood, and proceeded to the bar.

Mindez asked for a room, to spend the night, and the innkeeper, Aman, gave him a small key. Then, after Mindez had dumped a few more small coins on the bar, poured out a mug of ale, which Mindez took and then went and sat down at an unused table.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

"Please, if you wish to sit down, I would be grateful. I would be much glad of the company. Indeed it has been many weeks now since I have heard any voices in deep speaking with my own, save the neighing of my fair pony. But I would be glad to hear anything you may say, if you have anything to offer. I myself too have many a tale, but unfortunately, I find I can talk for a bit too long."

"Th-that's all right," Niniel smiled. "I--I find i-i-it hard t-to talk too much." She added under her breath, "Besides, I--I don't h-have much t-to talk about."

She looked away and tugged on her braid, a little embarrassed that she had said that last part almost aloud. It made her wonder just what there was about this Inn, and this Shire, and the people here, that made her want to tell them everything. Well, everything that she could remember, which wasn't much.

She glanced over in the corner, to where Soronume sat with the elven lady. The two of them seemed to share a rapport, a rapport that Niniel could never hope to have with someone who was so different from her as was an elf, who could remember whole centuries, to whom her missing sixteen years would be like forgetting what you'd done yesterday. She bit her lip. It was hard to remember sometimes that there couldn't be anything between them.

She shook her head to rid it of those foolish thoughts and turned to the man beside her. "I--I'm sorry, I d-d-didn't in-introduce myself. You can c-c-call me Niniel. What sh-shall I--I call you?"

[piosenniel]

It was Cook who gave the key to the disheveled Elf. Mindez, it was, or so she puzzled out from the fine script he had used to sign his name in the log book. The gash on his face took her back a bit. She had always thought the Fair Folk to be more skilful in battle. She let him drink his ale in peace then called one of the serving maids to her and had her bring the guest upstairs to his room. ‘And make sure,’ she said in a whisper to the girl, ‘you tell him he can use the wash-up room – we’ll heat up some water for him for a bath.’

She watched him as he sat drinking his ale. ‘Too thin! As usual! No wonder these Fair Folk are fading away.’

And there was another one, standing at the entrance to the Inn. All tall, and gaunt, wrapped in a black cloak, her pale face framed by fair hair. She looked like some starved wild deer, ready to bolt if someone so much as looked her way. ‘Ruby,’ said Cook, pointing the Elf out to her assistant, ‘go over there and tell the Lady Elf to come in if she will. Miz Aman keeps a flask of miruvor for just such creatures. And by the looks of her she could use a drink of it!’

‘And speaking of Elves. Where’s that Vanwe? I haven’t seen much of her today. She’s not slacking, is she?’ Ruby shrugged her shoulders, evading the question before Cook could proceed on to ask if the Elf had eaten. ‘If it were up to Cook,’ thought Ruby to herself, as she walked toward the Lady on the threshold, ‘all the Elves would be as hale and hearty as the Shire folk. With plenty of good meals under their belts!’

‘Ma’am,’ she said to the black cloaked Elf lady who stood at the door, ‘may I help you?’

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Esgallhugwen]

The number of guests increased as the noise and bustle became to great for her ears. Morsereg was probably wondering what was keeping his master.

She stood up about to leave when a wounded elf entered the inn. He walked up to the bar and a young woman gave him a key for a room. Then he proceeded to sit at a vacant table.

He had a blood crusted slash on his face and was caked with mud, but seemed surprisingly calm though he tried to hide his wounds as much as he could.

She had also noticed that a women had walked over to the sword clad man. It was remarkable she had such courage to talk to him and welcome him here.

Now that she thought of it she should have no reason to fear, She remained standing looking around the busy room and decided to offer her help to the wounded elf.

She walked over taking her bow, she would see to her horse later, Morsereg would not mind as long as she explained her whereabouts. Now standing in front of the sitting elf she asked politely 'Excuse me sir, you are hurt I would gladly take it upon myself to tend to your wounds I am skilled in the art of healing' she stood waiting for his reply as he looke up at her shrouded figure.

As soon as she had asked a hobbit walked up to ask the elf if he was ready to go to his room yet.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[Dynaviir]

"Niniel, is it? I am called Dynaviir, and I am pleased to meet you. Please, have a seat."

He had noticed the stuttering in her speech before, but now he wondered if it was more than the blade she seemed afraid of. Was he scaring her? Or was she merely feeling cold?

"Are you cold? You seem to be shivering." he said at last. It had been a cold journey for him, but Niniel did not look as if she had been travelling. "If you feel the cold, then please," he said, "let us sit by nearer to the fire. I wouldn't wamy you to catch a chill."

He was scared of the flames himself, but he didn't mind now, as his concern was overtaking his fears. He didn't know if she was cold or worried, or nervous. He hoped he wasn't intimidating her, he didn't want to upset her. He had come here to relax, but he did not want to intimidate others with his presence.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Dynaviir ]

[Envinyatar]

Derufin stepped out onto the back steps of the Inn, closing the door to the kitchen behind him. But not before he heard the last of the plotting duo’s comments. He shook his head and smiled indulgently at their matchmaking plans. ‘Not to be,’ he thought to himself. There was already a Lady who leaguered his heart . . .

He drew out the letter he had tucked in his breeches pocket, smoothing out the wrinkles on it as he looked again at the thick strokes of the pen she had used to write his name on it. The seal on it, unbroken, drew his fingers, and he slipped them under the sharp edge of the folder letter in anticipation of opening it.

Sounds of horses moving about restlessly in the pen near the stable broke in on his thoughts. The beasts stamped their feet and shook their manes calling him nearer. ‘What’s this?!’ he said, his brow furrowing, as he tucked the letter back in his pocket. ‘Has no one seen to you?’ He opened the gate to the pen and led them back, one by one, to the stable. The stalls, at least, had been mucked out earlier in the day, and now he filled their racks with sweet hay and alfalfa, and each horse he gave a nosebag of oats. Several trips to the pump brought fresh water for their buckets.

Falmar, the last to be seen to, dipped her head as if saying thank-you. He whispered a few words to her and she twitched her ears with the news, her bright eyes looking him up and down.

He walked back to his quarters, and lit the small lamp at the entry way to his rooms. Those who needed him would find it a sign that he was in. Stopping for a moment at the room where Eodwine had quartered briefly, he glanced in. The window was open, and the warm evening breeze blew in, riffling the curtains. One had caught on the oil lamp that stood on the makeshift nightstand by the cot. He untangled it before it could knock the lamp over and tied it back. As he leaned over the small table that served for a nightstand, he glanced down for a moment, and a small, white square of paper caught his eye.

Derufin poked his arm behind the table and drew out a much folded piece of thick vellum. Curiosity got the better of him and he opened it, smoothing it flat on the bed. The script was of Gondorian style – familiar enough, since it was what he had learned in his own little town. He gasped at the seal the missive bore at the lower right corner, near the signature of the scribe who had written it. The six-pointed star of Elendil. This came from King Elessar!

The urge to continue reading warred with his sense of right and wrong. And he argued with himself, finally acquiescing to that part of him that said here was a possibility of finding some clue to Eodwine’s disappearance.

It was a letter from Elessar to the King of Rohan, Eomer. Thanking him for the loan of his messenger for the trip to Eriador. ‘Ah,’ thought Derufin, reading further, ‘so this is why he came.’ Reports had come to Elessar that there was trouble in the old settlement of Men near Evendim. Elesar had sent scouts to that area, thinking at sometime, to rebuild the city of Annúminas. They were to bring back word of what the area was like at present, and what needed to be done. Three of them had been dispatched, two earlier in the year who had sent back two brief reports, and then one later to find them when there had been no further reports come back. Now it seemed, all three had gone missing. It was Elessar’s hope that Eomer’s messenger would simply nose about the areas near Evendim, and pick up any news of occurrences out of the ordinary. And now it seemed, in Derufin’s reckoning, that Eodwine had joined the ranks of those unfortunates who ventured to see the area for themselves.

He folded the letter, and sat on the cot thinking out what he should do. He did not know the area around Evendim; it would be of no use for him to wander up there, looking blindly for clues. But there was one who did, or at least knew someone who would.

Derufun stuck the letter into his pocket, and strode back, leaning heavily on his walking stick, to the Inn, looking about in the Common Room til he spied out the one he looked for. He shooed off the crowd of admiring females from the table with a scowl and a curt word, then sat down and handed his tablemate the letter he’d found.

‘There’s trouble, Falco, just north of the Shire,’ he said, leaning close to the Hobbit, and talking low. ‘What have you heard, and what can you find out?’

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

Mindez looked up at the healer. "Maybe later," he said, in a beautiful elvish voice, "Although it is my plan to leave very early tomorrow..."

Mindez quickly downed his ale and stood up, covering his face with his hood again. The key jingled in his pocket as he followed the serving maid upstairs slowly.

The serving maid took him upstairs to his room, and Mindez unlocked the door and slipped inside quickly. He cast a nervous glance at the window, down the road he was coming from, before settling into the room.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Mindez ]

[Imladris]

Lira smiled longingly as she remembered Arwnen Undomiel and her marriage to Elessar. She had been present at the wedding and had watched it afar off. The beauty of Arwen was beyond words or description: the mystery of the night, the fair light of the stars in her eyes. Lira was accutely aware of her own lack of beauty and, according to both elves and men, she was simply unattractive. She was tall and slim like a willow, but she had always been a little too thin and her face always seemed a little gaunt. Her hair was not a lusterful golden hue but pale with streaks of white in it, making her blue eyes look even more intense. Yet, what truly endeared her to the elves was her beautiful voice, it was celestial almost. Lira had been told from other elves that her voice was hauntingly beautiful when she sang, bewitching when she spoke. Such compliments had always made Lira uncomfortable and it annoyed her when men looked at her with fearful awe. She was an elf-maiden, and nothing more.

Lira was snapped out of her reverie by a Hobbit voice asking, "Ma'am, may I help you?"

"Yes," Lira replied, a slight elvish accent in her voice as she answered in the Common Tongue, "a stable for my mare and something to drink that is not beer or ale."

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Esgallhugwen]

The Lady bowed, moving out of his way as he stood up. She must visit Morsereg, it was already darkening outside, and since the Elf man politly declined her offer she now had to tend to her horse's leg wound.

She had to allow it to dry and air out before she could proceed further with the treatment. He was a quick healer but needed medicine to help from scarring and infection.

She turned aside and was about to head out the door, but remembered she needed a room key before it became to late. At the counter a woman perhaps the Cook handed her a key, she thanked her and went out the door.

[piosenniel]

Ruby invited the Elven lady to step in and showed her to a table. ‘I’ll have our stableman take care of your horse, ma’am. Which is yours, by the way?’

With a deft hand, Ruby sat a small carved crystal glass in front of the Lady, and poured out a generous helping of the Elvish spirit. ‘Now, if you’ld like something else beyond that, we’ve all manner of teas and juices. And if you’re hungry, we can bring you a plate of chicken and dumplings and fresh vegetables from the garden.’ She curtsied to the Lady and turned to leave, then turned back once more.

‘My name is Ruby, by the way, ma’am. And what might we call you?’

[littlemanpoet]

‘There’s trouble, Falco, just north of the Shire. What have you heard, and what can you find out?’ The big man from Gondor leaned over the table, glowering at him, watching for his reaction after reading the note. This was big news by anyone's standards. Three Gondorians gone missing, and now this Eodwine of the Rohirrim, all in the area of the Lake up north.

"Well now," said Falco, to gain time. He wasn't ready to admit that the whole thing was beyond him, though he thought it most like to be. Maybe this was business for the War Heroes. It didn't rightly seem to be Shire business, as it were. This was a concern of the big people. He supposed he was going to have to admit that he had nothing to offer within the limited scope of his travels about the Shire.

One of the working lasses came by to pick up after the finished meals, looking so fine and big eyed. Buttercup, it was. Falco smiled and winked at her, and she blushed something fierce, smiling herself to rival the sun before she moved on.

"Well now, friend Derufin, this surely makes it seriouser. And me being a shirrif, if there was anything I could tell you from my dealings within the Shire borders, you can be sure I'd gladly tell you. But this traveler who come to us with the satchel and its broken harp, now, he might know a thing or two. He's being brought over by a patrol from Michel Delving. I was with 'em but once we got word from you they sent me on ahead by pony. And don't you be takin' it hardlike that I stabled 'im up at the shirrif house instead o' here. We still got some rules amongst us, an' not of Sharkey's making neither."

Derufin frowned and rubbed his chin, and eyed Falco. "Are you sure you haven't heard the least bit of word about anything up north?"

"Not even the wee tiniest, leastways other than what I overheard from the Mayor hisself the other day, as sayin' now that the Rangers is all gone the shirriffs'll have to do their part to watch the borders a might better than before, which we all knowed anyways, and that meant keepin' word flowin' from Bree to the Towers an' back an' up an' down the north an' south o' the Shire for word of Ruffians an' goblins an' pockets o' the shadow that still need stampin' out since the King's sway still needs growin' an' ain't altogether here yet."

The Gondorian's eyes widened at something Falco had said, only he wasn't sure what in all that rattle it had been, but not being one to clap his trap he kept on talking away about what the Mayor had been saying until Derufin held up a hand, and he stopped.

"So what you're telling me," the tall big person said with his eyes needle sharp, "is that the Mayor knows that there's something up north that used to be an ally of the Shadow. And King Elessar's plans to rebuild Annúminas depend on finding out who or what is up there and clearing it out."

"You might say that's the gist of it," Falco allowed, "though it's strictly hearsay."

Ruby came by and wiped up the very same spot Buttercup had cleaned spotless moments before. Falco smiled and winked at her and she blushed and smiled back as pretty as you please, not without giving her cohort a meaningful look before she moved on.

"Is there any word what kind of something it is? Goblins? Ruffians? Something else?"

"I can't rightly say, but I heard the Mayor use a foreign sounding word, begging your pardon, black and somethin' like numerous, or nominal, or some such. I couldnt' make head or tail, but it stuck in my memory. What do you make of it?"

[Esgallhugwen]

She looked out into the darkness as stars began to run across the sky. Breating in the cool night air she walked over to Morsereg. He whinnied in greeting then snorted in question.

'Just thinking, I see you have been tended to with food and water now lets have a see at your leg' she replied. He lifted his leg slightly unable to lift it further without an aching pain, kneeling down she began to massage it slowly allowing blood to flow and loosening up the muscle.

Leaning over she untied her pack from the saddle she had resting on the frontpost. Opening a small pocket she pulled out a clear jar with a light pink cream in it, twisting it open she dabbed her finger in and began rubbing the cream into the long cut, the pink slowly began to dissappear.

All other wounds were healed on him with no scarring except this one which still needed healing, there didn't seem to be any sign of infection so perhaps it was only deep. She too had wounds but they had healed all but two.

Sighing she leaned against the wooden wall. Images and memories slashed through her head like a flaming sword, and she couldn't stop them from intruding.
Her heart raced, breaking out in sweat; flames roared in front of her, trees burning, houses falling, her kin screaming caught up in the blaze, some fighting others fleeing. Her eyes widened with rage and horror clenching her blood stained sword, bow and quiver strapped to her back.

She screamed out in rage a most unearthly and horrible sound it was for an elf to make. Voices whispered in her head " Lady, Lady Esgallhugwen, you know it is best for your people you're father wishes it so... you must obey him; you know what will happen if you don't" the voice rang "I shall not obey him, he has no power over me or his own people that is why he wishes this to be done, and if I shall perish by his hand to rid my kin of his insanity so be it!" She had cleared out some of the people already, but she had not acted quick enough.

'Betrayers!' she yelled out loud startling her horse. She awoke to find him nudging her gently. He too was shaken he knew what she felt, he was there.

Esgallhugwen rose to her feet giving Morsereg a final pat and rub on the head.
Hopefully she would be able to rest tonight.

[Sirithheruwen]

A very large tree was striding up the road that leads to the Green Dragon. In fact, it wasn't a tree at all, but looked very much like one: it was very tall, around fourteen or fifteen feet, it didn't have a visible neck, and it seemed to be covered in a green/grey bark. The arms, on the other hand, were smooth, and the toes (there were nine)were ong and root like. But the eyes were the most remarkable, and even the litle hobbits accross the street from him could see that they were very large, and were brown shot with green light. They seemed to hold great wisdom. This creature was called an ent, and his name was Greenlimb.

As he strode along, he hummed a song to himself. It went something like this:

Hoom boom tum trum hrum hroom

As he walked up to the inn, he gave a great booming laugh, and bent his head to walk through the door.

Inside there were many elves and hobbits milling around and drinking ale. There was a very thin elf maiden who turned to stare at him, and he acknowledged her with a wink of one of his beautiful eyes.

He cought the eye of a passing hobbit, and said in a deep rich voice, "Have you seen any entwives?" He walked up to many and asked many times, but the answer was always no. Finally, after being rejected many times, he walked over to the cook and said, "Hroom hum, I was wondering, kind woman, if you have an entdraught or two?" She looked puzzled and replyed, "No, 'fraid not. Anything else I can get you?"
"No? no wonder you are the little people! Hum, hroom, do you have nice clean well water? That would do just fine at the moment."
She led him back behind the inn and drew a bucket full of water. He drank deeply and sighed when he was done.
"Would you like a room mister...?" The cook asked.
"Greenlimb. And no, but thank you kindly. I'll stay out here.

With that, he closed his eyes. His toes semmed to grow longer, and dig into the soil, and he reached his arms up above his head. The cook was left standing with a lone beech tree.

[Osse]

Ferdibrand sat hunched over the reins of his cart and cast impatient looks in the direction of the door to the inn. Where is that dratted boy??
The pleasant air of the evening had done nothing to improve his mood and if anything the time he had had to brood had caused the usually amiable hobbit to become even more ill-tempered.

He even snapped viciously at young Tom Gardner, who he usually got on so well with, as he greeted him jovially. Tom slinked off with a hurt look over his shoulder and went up the road towards Hobbiton. Ferdibrand contemplated going after Tolman to make ammends, but just as he was clambering down from his cart, the door of the Dragon opened . Light and smoke poured out of the doorway mingled with the sounds of merrymaking from within.

To his horror Ferdibrand caught the sound of his nephew's voice, singing no less, and with dwarves from the sound of it. Merimac had been instructed to pay the inn-keeper and meet Ferdibrand outside; it seemed he got somewhat distracted.

Ferdibrand strided up to the still-open door and wriggled his way throught the throng of people. Every head in the place had turned to watch Merimac and his dwarven comrades sing. The fiddler who had played the jig before was now pumping out a fast, well known tune, to which Merimac was singing. Ferdibrand stayed out of Merimac's sight until the last minute when he descended upon him in full chorus. Ferdibrand's yells mingled with the voices of the dwarves. Still screaming, he grabbed Merimac by the ear and hoisted him towards the door.

The fiddle abruptly stopped, not a sound was to be heard except the ravings of Ferdibrand as he dragged Merimac over the threshold. All eyes were turned to see the door slam shut behind them.

Ferdibrand's shouts echoed in through the open window.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Osse ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Niniel smiled at Dynaviir. He seemed to be truly concerned for her welfare, a trait all-too-often missing from the people with whom she found herself. "N-no. I--I am n-n-not cold. I-i-if you want t-to stay here, th-that is p-p-perfectly all right with me."

He'd been glancing at his sword, and now covered it a little more with the edge of his cloak. She supposed he'd noticed her glances at it and didn't want to make her nervous. She smiled again. "Y-y-your sword i-i-is very well-made. W-w-where did you g-g-get it?"

It was a lovely weapon, as unlike the ones she was used to seeing as could be imagined. Only, she could almost remember a fine sword, or was it a longknife?, that someone had given her when she was still learning her trade.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Taking up her pack Esgallhugwen walked back through the door, stumbling slightly her leg had begun to ache. She grimaced at what just happened, anger washed over her slightly clenching her pale fists underneath her green cloak.

She passes by the merry folk, afraid unwilling to stop to talk or to look. Walking by as fast as she could without making it look like she was frantic and upset.

Her cloak raising up after her revealing her raiment of dark and light greens with a blue silver shirt underneath, her dark brown belt embossed with elvish knotwork. Similar embossed gauntlets she had bound tightly around her lower arms. A silver chain was hung about her neck, twisted frail knots and in the midst of it was a moon-stone.

Taking no heed of the scurrying people about her she flew up the stairs, and quickly finding her room she entered into it. Closing the door, she unpacked some of her belongings and undid her cloak; pulled up a chair and sat by the window looking at the night sky.

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[Envinyatar]

Derufin ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, bringing them to rest on the back of his neck, as he rolled the misheard words about in his mind, and mouthed them silently. His eyes were fixed on the grain of the table top as if the whorls there would lead him to an answer.

Falco, relatively unconcerned about the effect his garbled phrase had on the Man, had raised his empty mug and was waving it for a refill. He had nearly caught the eye of a server across the room, when he heard the Man exclaim. ‘It cannot be!’ Derufin reached out and grabbed Falco’s arm, bringing the empty mug down on the table with a thud. ‘Pockets of shadow, the Mayor said,’ asked Derufin, ‘and that other word, the one you said sounded foreign – where did the Mayor hear about this, do you know?’

Falco shrugged, a puzzled look on his face, saying that perhaps Derufin should wait to ask this question from the wanderer they’d picked up – the one who’d brought in the broken harp. And that was all the information Derufin was able to get from him. He excused himself, leaving Falco to wave his mug once more, and made his way to the kitchen, hoping to find Cook there.

It had been a long day, and his ankle was beginning to pain him. He leaned heavily on his walking stick, and thought he might get her to rewrap the bandage and perhaps give him another dose of willow-bark tea. Cook was busy, dishing up apple crisp for dessert and had no time to deal with his ankle. Worse yet, she said she had run out of willow-bark powder, and would get none in until Gammer Nutmeg came on the morrow with her baskets of herbs and healing powders.

Out of sorts, and irritable, Derufin returned to the Common Room intending to go back to his room . . .

_____________________________________________

Elora's post

Vanwe picked at what remained on her plate, impossibly filled and unable to take another bite. It seemed wrong to send the plate back in, even though she had eaten most of it. Large meals were difficult for her to attempt, used as she was to much more modest portions. She sighed in defeat and set down her fork as she looked up in time to catch Derufin emerge from the kitchen. Vanwe's stomach, filled as it was, sank a little lower. He'd be very cross with her, and rightly so.

Reluctantly, she pushed up from her chair, collected her plate and crossed to intercept the man.

"Sir," she said as she neared. He looked at her in query, questions in his eyes.
"Vanwe, I see you're feeling brave," he said. Vanwe lowered her head, missing his wave at her not quite empty plate.
"I'd not venture back into the kitchen until you've finished your supper."

Vanwe glanced at her plate in surprise. "I can't eat any more," she said earnestly, looking back up at him again. It was then that she noticed something. "Are you hurt, Derufin," she asked. He blinked, her question having many possible layers.

Derufin shook his head brusquely. "No, naught to be concerned about," he replied.
"You are," Vanwe persisted. "I could help, if you wish." An ankle pained him... at least she thought that it did. Maybe it didn't. Derufin was examining her closely. She blinked, as if clearing her mind, and nodded. "Yes, I can help," she repeated.

It may be the third healing in two days, and she utterly unschooled in how to control and manage her skills, but she felt a little stronger after supper. "Wait here! I won't be long," Vanwe said firmly and scampered away to wash her plate. Derfuin watched her leave, decided and without so much as a please or by your leave. It was uncharacteristic of the skittish Elf he knew.

Vanwe reappeared, cheeks a little flushed after the dressing down from Cook on missed meals. Thankfully, she mananged to dart in and wash off her plate, and return reasonably quickly.

"Where would you like to sit, Derufin? Here or somewhere quieter?" Vanwe hoped he wanted to sit somewhere quieter, where not so many people were about to witness. The idea of open healing before an audience deeply unsettled her. All it took was for one person to rise, point their finger and shout "WITCH" and they would come for her as they had for others.

Derufin continued to study her, as if doing his level best to understand what his new assistant was about. Her absence in recent days was unexplained, noone had seen hide nor hair of her. Now she suggested she could help his ankle, which was healing well enough, even if damned slowly. She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and returned his gaze with clear eyes that searched his own.

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

[Envinyatar]

‘Come to the stable, Vanwe. To my quarters. You can see to my ankle there if you wish. I’ve no desire to have it be a topic of general conversation in the Inn tonight.’

Derufin sighed, if nothing else she could wrap his ankle tightly as Cook had done, perhaps put a poultice on it. He could feel his boot getting tighter by the minute as the offending joint swelled up and pushed against its confinement.

‘Do me a favor, if you will. Cook is just parceling out her apple crisp. Bring me a dish, with some clotted cream to spoon on it, and I’ll let you heal both my ankles if you wish.’ He winked at her with a half smile. ‘You can tell Cook it’s for you – that should garner a few points with her.’

He smiled widely at his joke, his small attempt at humour meeting only the reserved assessment of her clear grey eyes. ‘Just playing, little bird,’ he said gently, his grey eyes playing over the solemn features of her face. He shifted his weight, easing the pressure on his left leg. ‘Seriously, though, I have a certain desire for some sweets.’ He reached forward unconsciously and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, letting his hand fall when he realized the liberty he’d taken.

Derufin stepped back, his brow furrowed, collecting himself. ‘The stable, then, if you will, Vanwe . . . when you have time . . .’ He turned and made for the door, slowly, the thump . . . thump of his walking stick sounding loud in his ears.

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Elora]

"I will not be long," Vanwe said after Derufin. Already he was heading off. When he had lifted his hand, she had expected the rebuke for her negligence in her duties she deserved. Braced as she was for the punishment, it did not fall across her cheek. It surprised her a little, to say the least. Feeling somewhat off balance, Vanwe ventured back into the kitchen.

Cook noted her entrance with a surprised look of her own. Vanwe had all but ran from the kitchen like a scalded cat after her last encounter. Why the girl did not see that she was only trying to help her, she did not know.

"What is it, Vanwe," Cook inquired as gently as she could. The Elf seemed somewhat sensative to a word of stern advice. Buttercup was grumbling about washing up at the sink.

"Please, Mistress Cook, Derufin has asked me to fetch him some dessert," Vanwe said warily. Cook smiled in a fond manner at the mention of his name.

"Of course he did. He's partial to sweet things, is Derufin. It'll be my apple crisp he's after. He was eyeing that closely indeed." Vanwe nodded in confirmation. "He'll want some of the clotted cream too, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes, he did say that," Vanwe replied as Cook moved to locate some plates.

"What about you," Cook said as she brought out two plates. Vanwe hesitated there, sensing possible trouble ahead if she was not careful. "Speak up Vanwe," Cook said as she brought the deep dish that was kept in the warmer out. She fixed Vanwe with a firm stare, daring her to say no. Vanwe was positively filled to the brim as it was.

"Yes, please Cook," she said. Mrs Bunce nodded in satisfaction at the correct answer.

"That's better," Cook said as she filled each plate with the crisp. It steamed and Vanwe smelt cinnamon that reminded her of the village. The apple crisp was placed back in the warmer near the stove and soon Cook had the clotted cream out from the coolroom, scolding Ruby who longingly gazed at it before passing it up to Cook.

"There now. Be careful with my plates, mind you," Cook instructed as she placed a linen over each, spoon within the plate and passed them to Vanwe.

"I shall be, Mistress Cook," Vanwe dutifully replied and with a firm grip on each lest it spring from her fingers, she weaved through the crowd and out the door of the inn.

In her careful custody, the apple crisp found Derufin sitting in his chair in the stables, a lamp nearby on a table to which she added the plates. He smiled at their arrival. As she had crossed the courtyard, full as she was and despite the reminder of the south, their scent had warmed her too.

Derufin had raised his injured ankle to rest on a low stool, his cane propped nearby within reach. Hands free of their precious cargo. Vanwe dropped by the raised ankle.

"You don't want yours to go cold," Derufin said as he realised she intended to get straight to business. Vanwe studied his ankle.

"I'm in no hurry for mine just yet. If it pleases you, I'll remove this boot before the swelling gets worse," Vanwe said to his ankle. Remembering his enthusiasm for the crisp, she smiled faintly and looked up at him. "You can start on yours if you like, Derufin."

He switched the cloth over one plate aside and claimed it. "You sure," he asked, spoon midair. Vanwe started working at his boot with gentle but firm fingers. Derudin sucked in a breath and held it tightly. "I guess you are," he said. She soon had the boot off and his ankle set back down. Derufin slowly let out his breath.

The strapping had been done well, she saw. It was tight, but the swelling would be placing considerable pressure on him. Now that she was focused, pain waved through her. It was astonishing that he'd been walking about, serving supper, even with a cane. Gathering her thoughts, Vanwe set her fingers every so lightly over the strappings and sank into what she sensed.

It was getting easier to do, with all the recent practise. The wrongness of muscle and sinew was palpable beneath the skin. Tendon and flesh was bruised. When she heard Derufin's seemingly distant voice say "Well, yes it does hurt... What are you doing," she realised she had been murmuring.

Opening eyes she didn't recall closing, she blinked in the lamp light and looked back up at Derufin. "It's hard to explain. I find what seems right and true and return the to how it should be." Much like how she sensed what was within timber, to be honest. "I think I can help relieve the swelling, and perhaps ease the injury within your ankle."

Derufin was happily engaged with his apple crisp, clotted cream and the sensation of relief that faintly came from his ankle. Vanwe withdrew back into her senses, and set about delivering on her promise. It was about listening to what she was able to detect. Where did the divergence lie between what should be and what was? Once she found that, it was a matter of bridging that chasm, and bringing it back into line.

She bent her head, leaning over the bandaged ankle, focusing all her abilities. This was easier than Benia's broken bone. There was not quite so much damage to knit. When she found the dischord impossible to detect, Vanwe sighed deeply and sank back. She opened her eyes and realised that she had been able to loosen bandages that had been taut so as to better sense through the skin with her fingers. She really should have asked before setting her hands directly upon his skin, and her cheeks flushed with the audacity.

She worked at re-strapping the ankle, the stable weaving a little around her as she did so. This was worse than how she had felt after Lespheria. She was tired. Deft fingers fastened the strapping and Derufin experimentally flexed his ankle with considerable caution.

"You should still keep weight off it, to allow the ankle to knit properly," Vanwe said. The swelling had abated and the joint seemed much more reliable than it had. Derufin had finished his apple crisp and Vanwe had no idea how long it had taken.

"So that is Elven healing," he said.
"I do not know. Proper healers are likely to be far more skilled than I am," Vanwe confessed. And less likely to feel as though the rug had been tugged out from underneath their feet. At least she was already on the floor, she conceeded to herself, and less likely to foolishly keel over. "It is what I have been doing lately. There have been some guests in need of healing," she confessed.

"Ah ha," Derufin replied. "Now, what about your apple crisp?" He motioned for her to stand, and she did so carefully. "There's a chair over there," he said. Vanwe gratefully dragged it closer and sank into it.

"I don't think I could eat it. I've eaten in one supper what I usually ate in a week, in plentiful times that is," she replied. Tired, she neglected to censor what she was saying. Her past was one thing she had not discussed with Derufin and one thing he had never quizzed her on.

"Well we can't send it back to Cook," he said pensively.
"I have an idea. Why don't you eat it? Limping is hungry work." Vanwe smiled and opened her eyes. She heard the hopeful note in his statement and her eyes shone with amusement. "I'll take the plates back to the kitchen tonight."

"That's a good idea," Derufin said. Vanwe sat back, relaxing into the chair for a moment. She rested her head on one hand, propped on the arm of her chair, watching the lamp flicker and the light play over his quarters. Likely she should leave him to his privacy, but she was simply too tired to get up at that moment. Perhaps, she thought, if she carved the next one right it would catch the light and flicker as the lamp did, she thought.

"You really must have had your fill to forego Cook's apple crisp," Derufin said. Her gaze swung back to his, languourously almost. "Perhaps tomorrow," she replied.

"There'll be none left by then," Derufin predicted. Vanwe smiled again, slowed by the lethargy that pulsed through her. Belatedly, she recalled what he had said to her in the Inn. Her eyes widened and she managed to get back out of the chair and crouched by Derufin's other ankle.

"What, you've not had enough of my ankles," Derufin said with some merriment.
"You mentioned your other ankle," Vanwe murmured languidly. One more ankle to heal...

She felt something brush her shoulder and glanced up into his face. He smiled gently at her.

"I was joking, little bird." Vanwe undid her fingers from around where they'd laced on his other ankle.

"Oh," she said simply. He winked again, and her smile returned. Perhaps it was her fatigue that had her abandon her usual reserve and caution. More likely it was Derufin's warm smile. Whatever the reason, Vanwe reached for the spoon in the second plate and helped herself to some of the apple crisp and clotted cream.

"That is good," she said after she had swallowed and returned the stolen spoon to the plate. The light flickered as she lightly laughed at her own boldness, merriment in her face, and returned to Derufin an impish wink from where she sat by his ankle.

[Imladris]

Lira eagerly took the elvish spirit and drained the glass. Fresh strenght instantly coursed through her blood and warmed her chilled feet and hands. "You may call me Lira, mellon," the elvish lady said with a gentle smile as she set the glass on the table. "My horse is the sleek white one with one pale blue eye and one dark eye; her name is Merkaliel. I am not as hungry as I look," she went on. "I have eaten but a few hours hence, but some vegetables would be pleasant." Lira knew it would be rather useless to say "nay" to food to a hobbit lass.

After some time, the plate of vegetables was brought to Lira and she ate them thankfully. They were good: hot and steaming with some flavorful herbs were sprinkled over them. After she was finished, she rose from the table, thinking to look into the stables and have a few words with her mare. A silver shadow flitted into the room and, turning, Lira saw another elf Lady glide swiftly through the inn, and mount the stairs. Lira just barely saw her face, but a look of the utmost tragedy, heart-break, and anger blazed in her eyes. Silently following the Elf Lady, Lira stood before her door and knocked softly.

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Arestevana]

The black horse shook its large head nervously as its rider dismounted.
"Steady, Hara; steady, girl." chided the mare's rider as he dismounted. "Come on, now, let's get you settled." The man led his steed into the dark stables. She shook her head again and backed away from the other animals housed there.
"Hara, come now, you're a big strong horse of Rohan, you're not afraid of the dark. Here" He spoke quietly, gently leading the animal into an empty stall. He unharnessed her and checked to see that she had plenty of food and fresh water. Then he latched the gate and went outside. The stranger stood for a moment, enjoying the warm evening air. Then he ducked into the inn.

He crossed to the bar and asked the innkeeper if she had a vacant room. He took the key gratefully and handed over the money he had counted out, including the coin for his mare's housing. He took a seat in one corner of the crowded room, observing the occupants carefully and finding, to his relief, that he recognized none of them. The stranger then rose and mounted the stairs to find his room, thinking as he went.

It would be a man, he thought, who came. Likely another of the swordsmen from the Prince's household in Ithilen. He did not wish to be caught just yet, though. Not until he knew why he was being followed.

[Dynaviir]

Dynaviir looked down at the sword, he could see it but he was doing his best to keep it hidden. He suddenly felt uncomfortable, but he tried to bring a smile to his face.

"I...my father made this for me, when I was only seventeen years of age" he said. He wondered if she had noticed the hesitation in his voice, and his eyes which were on the hilt.

Quickly he let go of his gaze to it and brought his attention back to Niniel. He was glad she wasn't cold; he couldn't hide that he was still scared to go towards the fire. He smiled at her more geniunely than he had done, and tried to remove all the doubt from his face.

He was still worried about her. She seemed nervous, but he began to feel it wasn't because of himself. He looked towards her eyes, as if trying to see if she was facing something with the corner, but she didn't seem to be focused on anything. He now noticed that she wasn't shivering, and he relaxed a bit more, as he had done when he had first entered his room. Maybe, after all, she was afraid of conversing with anyone, although the reason he didn't know. He smiled again, and knew he should talk slowly with her.

"I would show you the blade, if you were interested, but I doubt I can show it in here. But, please, where is it that you come from?"

He didn't want to be persistant, and he never noticed how much he was being until after he had finished speaking. But he was worried for her. He was still confused, if more relaxed, and he wanted to see if he could help.

"I am interested", he added, as if trying to be polite. But he wasn't sure how it would come across to her.

Marmadoc Bundin son of Drogo from Tookbank road up on his brave pony Dewdrop. Dewdrop is a pleasant soul to know; her jolly face and grey coat with dapples are only some of her great traits.

Marmadoc rode up a small incline in the road, he could now see the bright outline of the Green Dragon Inn, with little lamps lighting up the windows. As he drew closer to the inn he directed his attention towards the stable where he would keep dewdrop for the night.

He was just walking out from the stall when his blue cloak became entrapped by a protruding nail. Marmadoc wrestled with his cloak, twisting and turning he managed to get loose with little damage to his garment, but with the force he used he lost his balance ending up almost completly covered with straw. Dewdrop snickered at him, Marmadoc gave her a hard look with his big green eyes, he sat up dusting himself off as if nothing happened 'right then I ment to do that all in a days work' he picked out the straw from the gold buttons on his petticoat.

Marmadoc slowly opened the inn door, peering through at the bustling inn Dwarves and other Hobbits dancing round and singing.

He walked over casually to the counter asking for a pint of ale, but before he could finish his request the women on the other side made a comment 'dear sir were you sleeping in a barn?' Marmadoc looked at her puzzled 'why no of course not why do you ask?' he questioned 'you have straw in your hair' she giggled.

He shook his head straw falling here and there, he went over to a table by the fireplace to warm himself.

[Esgallhugwen]

The Lady Esgallhugwen did not wish to open the door at first but did not want the person on the other side to feel there was something wrong... to late the other presence she presumed to be an Elf had caught on to her grief, she should have known to conceal it better than she had. No matter far too late, she opened the door slowly.

For the first time her appearance was revealed to another at the inn. For ever since her first entrance into this place she had remained in shadows by way of her cloaks hood.

Not even to the Ranger or to the Elf man had she chosen to reveal herself. She cared not now who saw her for the past grieved her so.

Her green eyes blazed like un-natural flame against her pale skin. Framing her face slightly was dark auburn hair falling down in thick waves. Esgallhugwen's eyes first raged in anger than in sorrow.

She bade welcome to the pale blonde elf into her qaurters.

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Somehow, Niniel had known that that question would come. After all, it was only natural to be interested in the history of the person with whom you held conversation, but...it was not an easy question to answer. Sometimes, when she answered truthfully, she was called liar; other times, she was called cursed. Both types of people shunned her for it. Dynaviir seemed to be pleasant, she didn't want to alienate him, but she owed him a truthful answer.

"I--I don't re-remember," she said. "I--I honestly d-d-don't. I--I'm so gl-gla-glad that you c-c-can re-remem-remember your father. I can't re-remember if I even had a f-f-father. I c-c-can't re-remember anything. I--I don't kn-n-now where I--I come from, I don't even know my right name. I-i-it's not Niniel, that much I--I do know."

She mentally cursed the stutter that made her sound so foolish. She hated sounding like some sort of halfwit, but what could she do? She'd had it for nine years, since she was sixteen. And as long as she could remember. She hated the way that it made her sound afraid all the time.

[Dynaviir]

Dynaviir looked at her. His eyes were wider, and he stared at her, but gently. He could tell she wasn't lying, but it wasn't what he had expected her to say. A great sense of pity and sorrow filled him, and he eased up, as if now beginning to understand her.

He looked at her, feeling a strange sense of responsibility. "Oh... I'm...I'm sorry, Niniel... Please, forgive me, I... I had no idea..."

He looked away, leaning over the bar, trying to hide himself. It all made sense to him now, but he felt strangely awkward and ashamed. Had she not told him this, he would have thought her lucky to be without a memory of her father... But this was different...

"I'm sorry, Niniel..." he repeated, "I did not wish for you feel uncomfortable..."

He wish he knew what else to say. He looked down at the bar. He didn't want to end their conversation over his own selfish persistance.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

"I'm sorry, Niniel...I did not wish for you feel uncomfortable..."

She shook her head. "You did not. I--I...i-i-it is something I--I must come t-t-to terms with. I--I have no past but wh-wh-what I make for myself. I--I'm almost used t-t-to it n-n-now. It's been n-n-nine years," she added softly. Nine years of trying to find her name, of running from the nightmares. Nine very empty years.

She shook herself out of the memory with an effort. Dwelling on her lack of a past was a sure way to have a dream that night. She'd learned that the hard way. It was almost as if another sat there, telling this stranger what she did know of herself. Yes, she knew his name, but little else. She never used to be so trusting, but the Shire and the folk she'd met there had changed that. First the little hobbit, then the others. Especially Soronume.

She was glad of it, though, for in the old days, she would have found herself fleeing in from the Inn and all of its patrons--well, after she picked their pockets.

[Dynaviir]

'Nine years,' Dynaviir repeated in his thoughts. That was a heavy burden to bear for so long a time. And she had no idea who she was or where she came from.

"I'm sorry," he repeated for a third time, and then he turned and looked back to her. He smiled at her, and tried to calm her. He knew it would have been hard for her, and he felt sorry for her. His past may have been troubled, but he wondered what it must have been like to not even have a past...

"I could not have done what you are doing" he said, trying to be kind. "I feel deeply sorry for you, and I did not wish to make you think of this. But to me, you are as good as another person as I know no one here."

He wondered, and then spoke again. "I hope we can be friends, as I am alone too, and I would much enjoy the company of another person while I am here. Though I hope, I do not make you feel like this again... I wish no harm to those who have been good to me, and you have been; you are the only one who has approached me since I have arrived."

He smiled as he said the words, but he still felt sad. Here he was, all the way from as far as Gondor, to the peaceful Shire inn he came to, worrying about his own problems that were past. But he was still lingering on the past, when others didn't even have one. He knew for her there could only be a future, but whether it would be sad he could not say. 'No one deserves that,' he thought, 'and I had been wishing for just that...'.

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Dynaviir ]