The Golden Perch Inn

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin strode down the streets with a merry expression lighting up his face. It wasn't often he came to these here parts. He was just returning from visiting his good friend Grioger, who lived west near the roots of the Blue Mountains.

He had walked all day, he was not tired, but he was in need of refreshment. As soon as he came into town he made a point of visiting the nearest inn to bed down for the night and have a nice ale, or two.

The Hobbit's spoke of an inn called 'The Golden Perch'; so he thought that he'd stay there tonight.He could see the smoke rising from the chimney, probably had breakfast on the stove, he could use a good meal. A few Hobbits sat outside smoking on their pips and exchanging some friendly gossip. Groin loved the “little folks” company, almost like Dwarves, in a way.

The Hobbits stopped their talking just long enough to pass glance at this new comer. Groin walked right pass them, he had too much focus on his that was waiting for him inside.

He had his hand on the door knob, when he looked back to ask the two Hobbits what the inn was serving for dinner, when he noticed to figures coming down the road. They were not men, for their garbs were not like that of man’s: they were richer more bright. Elves! He snarled as they drew closer; yes, they were coming towards him. He opened the door and entered the inn.
“I guess tonight isn’t going to be as jolly as I’d hoped.” He said, muttering under his breath.

[Dunwen]

Ruby clutched her doll and pouted. It was a lovely morning to be riding in their cart, but Lily was so mean to drag her out of bed first thing. Scowling, she thought about what had happened the night before:


Ruby's heart raced when she heard the footsteps down the hall. She stopped and tried to hide, but it was no use. Periwinkle walked into her room and Ruby had cheeks as red as her name. Ruby wanted to cry.

“You’re Lily’s little sister, aren’t you?” Peri’s voice betrayed her irritation. “Very well, where is your room?” When Ruby refused to answer, even after she repeated the question, the older girl became downright angry.

“Right, you’re coming with me. I’m sure Mr. Boffin can tell me which room you and your sister are in.” Taking her small hand while Ruby was still frozen in place, Peri marched her back into the common room. Ruby didn’t try to escape.

The young lady easily found the innkeeper. Dick kindly told her which room Ruby and her sister were in. Still holding her firmly by the hand, Peri found it and knocked loudly.

Lily opened to door, much to her displeasure Peri was standing at the door with her little sister Ruby. She proptly asked what she had done this time. Since she had nothing to lose now, Ruby confessed and gave back the items she had taken. Lily just about blew up, but controlled her temper. Lily and Ruby would be leaving to their Brandybuck relations, and they would send a letter back to Bywater asking their parents to come and take Ruby back home, no stops on the way... and so the next day at the crack of dawn, they left.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin opened the door and stepped quietly into the in, the place was ablaze with commotion. Breakfast was being served to all the Inn’s occupants. Hobbit’s dashed in and out of the kitchen door, carrying platters staked with drinks and food.

Groin looked around the room searching for an empty table. There it was, he started making his way around the various tables when a when he was stopped.

“Um... excuse me, sir.” Groin looked around. A female Hobbit was tapping him on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your axe at the door.” She pointed to a stack of weapons all neatly assorted against the wall. Groin nodded his head and made his way back towards the door. He withdrew the huge axe from his back and gently placed it by the door, but instead of making his way an open table he folded his arms and leaned against the wall. The door opened again and the Elves, that he saw coming down the road entered the room. He stared at them for a few seconds until one of them, a girl, met his gaze. Groin bobbed his head in a short sort of a bow, and managed a smile.

He never did like Elves, but he wouldn’t his disgust show it out in public like most of his kind did. ‘Be courteous to all, but intimate with few’: that was his motto.
He watched as the Hobbit’s moved in and out of the kitchen, finally someone noticed him.
“Hello there, my name is Toller. What can I get you?”
“How’ bout a glass of your finest brew?” Groin said, glancing bar.
“I’ll get it right away.” The Hobbit sped off towards the kitchen.
Groin took his helmet off, still holding it in his left hand, and brushed his thick red hair with his hand. A fine establishment, yes this would suit me just fine for the next couple of days. Just then the boy appeared again holding a foaming glass in one hand.
“Ahh, thank you boy.” Groin outstretched his arms, ready to grab the glass.
“Cheers!” he said, placing a coin in the boys hand and holding the beer in the other.

“Boy, we sure are getting a lot of your folk around here.” Toller said, while he pulled up a chair and sat down. Groin sighed satisfied with the incredible taste of the ale.
“And what might you be meaning by that?” Groin said, in a matter that was by no ways threatening.
“Well we had a Dwarf in here a couple days ago by the name of Kuric. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
“Can’t say that I have, I know very few people.” He took another sip of his ale.
“Well anyways, this Dwarf called Kuric came into the Inn one evening, and he says: ‘Bring three of your finest ales!’ and so Mr. Dicks orders me to get them for him. I bring them over to him and he starts asking me about Mr. Bilbo Baggins……”
In no time at all Groin was lost in deep conversation with the Hobbit: Troller, who was recounting the story of Kuric.

[Gwathagor]

The tall elf with the dark hair and the blood-stained cloak stepped into the Golden Perch, quietly closing the door behind him. He paused, lost in thought for a moment, then strode to a corner table and sat down with his back against the wall. There he leaned, staring at the middle of the ceiling and turning the matter over in his mind. Things were swiftly becoming more and more complicated...though clearer? Perhaps. He was afraid to draw conclusions yet.

Why should the wolves go out of their way to oppress a lone pony with no rider? Unless the secret lay in the silver locket...that locket that could not be opened.

It struck a note, somewhere, deep in the past, deep in his memory. Something sad...

The thought began to pass, but he pursued it. Deeper and deeper into his mind he delved, turning over layers of memories laid down over many ages of the earth, catching glimpses, as he sank down through the past, of the sensation that had sparked his curiosity.

What was it? What does this have to do with me?

Snatches of old tunes and songs and ancient poems drifted up to him through the mist and the sea-waves. Memories and images flew to him across the fields of his mind: images of majestic forests and graven halls, of torch-lit banquets and glittering harps, skillfully played, all calling to him, reminding him of something that he had long since forgotten...or buried.

Then the mists cleared and he was no longer at the Inn, or in the village of Stock. He was not even in the Shire.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Rorimac turned when he heard the sound of door opening. What he saw indeed stunned him. A big bearded dwarf stood in the door. Rory opened his mouth wide but immediately reminded himself to close it. A dwarf! When the innkeeper told him about strange customers visiting the Inn, he could not imagine fully how actually seeing such a... thing... would affect him.

Speechless, he observed the bearded stranger as he put away his large axe and then walked to the bar. Now, there is something worth examining deeper, flashed through the carter's head. But before he could react, soft footsteps were heard outside the door and in the next moment, an elf stepped into the room. The thoughts of lilac painted smials in Tuckborough and newly paved roads to Waymoot vanished from Rory's mind at once. Something unspeakable was happening here and he was at it! Amazed, he could not think of anything but the moment. He was so tall! He was dark-haired and he did not look very pleasant, yet in something he was fascinating to the curious hobbit. Rory did not know what was happening around him, not even he noticed how the red-bearded mountain marched around, speaking with the server. He just gazed at the elf.

Suddenly, the newcomer moved and something broke. Rory's mind was back at his normal self. He looked over his shoulder to see the dwarf and the server speaking about something. He was torn: surely the two were not speaking about anything usual. He could easily slip in and listen to their dialogue. But this far, it seemed to him that the server was speaking more and the dwarf was only listening. The carter hesitated. He turned his attention to the elf, who moved to the corner and sat down. Rory noticed that his cloak is bloodstained, and he noticed also the sword the elf was carrying. Chills ran down his spine. Now the elf did not seem as fascinating to him as he seemed a moment ago: the hobbit's only wish was to stay away from him, and as far as possible. He looked over his shoulder once more, and then he decided.

"Excuse me," he said, taking his newly refilled mug, and leaving the innkeeper alone he sprung to the discussing couple. Being all ears, he listened to talk of the dwarf and the hobbit, storing everything he heard in his memory so that later, he could bring that up in some other inn.

However interesting what he heard could have been, Rory was aware of the fact that time is moving and that he cannot spend whole day at the Golden Perch. And yet, he would rather hear something more from the dwarf himself. When there was a pause in the dialogue, Rory immediately became aware that it is his opportunity to intervene.

"Pardon me, mister Dwarf," he said, looking upwards to the red-bearded stranger, "I see you have come from afar." Actually, there was nothing to tell Rory that this assumption of his was true, but that much was clear to the hobbit that no dwarves lived in the Shire. "I am Brandybuck, Rorimac Brandybuck, from Pincup, you surely heard of that place, haven't you? It is really impressive to meet someone that... erm... I mean, someone from outside... and you have to know, is anything interesting happening out there?" As most of the hobbits, Rory divided the world into two parts: the Shire and "outside". It was clear, of course, that the world "outside" is unbelievably dull and alien as much as it was dangerous, but there was still a good chance that something interesting - like strange news from Bree or another, to hobbits unknown part of the world - could make a good topic to speak about with artless and sedate hobbits. Breathless, the carter watched the dwarf, awaiting eagerly whether his question is going to meet with success.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin still stood against the wall listening to Toller. He was just taking the last sip of ale when another hobbit entered the conversation.
"Pardon me, mister dwarf, I see you have come from afar." Groin looked at him a bit startled.
"I am Brandybuck, Rorimac Brandybuck, from Pincup, you surely heard of that place, haven't you? It is really impressive to meet someone that... erm... I mean, someone from outside... and you have to know, is anything interesting happening out there?" Groin laughed as he put his empty ale glass down.
“Well,” he said still laughing, “good morning to you too. My name’s Groin." He grabbed the hobbit's hand and shook it.
“Excuse me sir,” Toller said chiming in, “I’ve been neglecting my duties; if you’re still here tonight I can finish the story.”
“I’ll be here Toller, I’ll see tonight.” Toller quickly backed away to another table and started cleaning the mess of dirty plates.

“I’m sorry mister hobbit, what did you say your name was?”
“Rorimac Brandybuck.”
“Well mister Brandybuck, in answer to your question, there seems to be quite an uproar down south in a place called Gondor. Have you heard of the place?” the hobbit paused and scratched his head trying to remember.
“Nope can’t say that I have.”
“Well anyway, I heard it from a Ranger that some kind of dark lord, or something, has got the elves ‘round that parts pretty jumpy.” The Hobbit’s eyes gleamed as Groin continued talking.
“Now I can’t say that I agree with that kind of talk. elves are always trying to make a big deal out of nothing.” Groin stroked his chin trying to think of something that a Hobbit would like to hear.
"As a matter of fact something did happen to me a couple of days ago right on the edge of the Old Forest."
the hobbit's ears perked up, and began to pull up a seat.

“Now I’m not one to stay around in a place for to long a time,” said Groin, while pulling up a chair and sitting next to the hobbit, “I’ve spend most of my time wondering the wilderness of Arnor.”
“One day I was cooking my evening dinner. Nothing much just a couple rabbits that I was able to catch with my snare. Anyways, I was starting the fire when I heard a wolf’s howl in the distance. Well I didn’t pay any heed to it at the time; wolves may be uncommon in these here parts, but nothing unusual. The sun has gone down a long time ago, so I build the fire up real good to keep all of them nocturnal creatures away. I got out my bedroll and was unfolding it when I heard rustling in the bushes to my right; I grab my axe that was lying next to me. No sooner then when I got to my feet, a wolf sprang from the bushes letting loose with a snarl. I charged the beast, my axe raised over my head; the wolf dodged my first strike, and would have been on me in another second, but it stopped. It sat there as if waiting for something; immediately I knew I was being played with, to my back another wolf leapt from the shadows, but I dealt him a blow that knocked him dead at my feet. I turned to meet the other and drove my axe through his skull.” The hobbit eyes were wide with excitement.

“I saw more shadows in the distance: more of the pack was coming. I knew I couldn’t hold them off were I was positioned, and so I ran to the biggest tree I could find, and started climbing as quickly as I could. Before I could even get up the first branch, wolf…” Groin paused remembering the sight of the creature, “No, it was a warg. Yes, I’m sure it was a warg; out of nowhere it leapt upon me, its giant paw scarring my right shoulder!” Groin was almost on the verge of shouting, acting out every move. Groin looked about at the hobbits; some of who were giving him annoyed glares. Groin cleared his throat proceeded with his story, in a quieter tone.

“Now luckily, when the warg had jumped on me, he landed on my axe. I rolled the warg off myself, leaving my axe imbedded in his chest. I leapt for the nearest branch, and caught it with my left arm, and pulled myself up.
I stayed on that branch for the duration of the night, until the rest of the wolves left.”

Groin reached into his pouch and pulled out a short hand carved pipe.
“Absolutely fascination!” Rorimac said with a wide grin on his face, “What do you think this means having wolves this far south.”
“I don’t rightly know,” Groin said, stuffing his pipe with some sort of weed and lighting it, “But something’s driving them from the north. Probably not enough game for them to hunt, of course that’s just my personal opinion.” He puffed on his pipe, a trail of smoke protruding from his mouth.
“But you can be assured of this mister Brandybuck: everything I’ve told you is the truth.” Groin reached with his left arm and lifted the leather armor, covering his right shoulder, revealing a freshly dealt scar.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

During the dwarf's speech, Rory observed him with interest. The bearded customer kept making funny movements, sometimes the hobbit was even afraid that he is going to break something. Not that the tale about the wolves would make the carter excited: if anything, it sounded dangerous. But still it was something new, something interesting enough to mention to casual travelmates. At least it was better than the nonsenses the dwarf was saying about the elves. At first, Rory was afraid that he starts to recount some dull events that happened in some far-away land. Fortunately, he chose not to. The wolves on the edge of the Old Forest were surely a far more exciting topic.

Quite unsettling, too, however. The carter scratched his back. He was not that stupid: his father recounted him about the Fell Winter when the wolves entered the Shire, three years before Rory was born. Rory's father and his uncle Sigismond were among the young hobbits who helped Mr. Puddifoot and Mr. Maggot to drive the wolves off the frozen fields of the Marish. And it was around that time when uncle Sigismond died... Rory shuddered. The journey towards the eastern borders of the Shire did not seem as pleasant as before. Who knows what can happen? The dwarves surely have a tendency to exaggerate, but still, if there are wolves... Rory never saw a wolf, except for a moth-destroyed tail that belonged to his mother; a trophy from his father's one and only adventure. But could it be possible that a wolf would slip into the Shire, right in front of the watchful hobbit guards of the Hay Gate? No, that was not probable. Maybe the outside lands were getting a little bit more dangerous now, but the Shire was perfectly safe. As always.

Rorimac placed the empty mug away on the table. With disgust, he looked at the dwarf's revealed scar. Nevertheless, he thought, I would not like to stay outside at night. If possible, he would rather spend the night under cover of his cousins' house in Bucklebury. And the sooner he returns home to Poppy, the better.

"You should put some way-bread on that," he advised matter-of-factly to the dwarf, pointing at the scar. "Old widow Brownlock does that and it helps. My Buttercup once cut his leg on some sharp stone, and she helped us; she poured some water with the way-bread on it and it ceased to bleed. And later, my Buttercup could walk without any problems and it disappeared after a few days, really."

He picked up the empty mug. "It was pleasant to talk to you, Mister Dwarf, but I really have to go now. Hopefully Buttercup did not make a mess in front of the inn. He's capable to do that, you know. Once, during our stay at Mr. Madoc Hornblower, he ate whole patch of cabbage and broke a hoe that was lying there. Don't ask me how he did that. Well, of course he did not eat all the cabbage... he only started every head and then threw it away. But he had calmed down since then, you see. After that he did it only... once. But since I peppered his tongue after he did that, I believe he's not going to try that again. Still, who knows what might be going on in his head, eh? Well, have a nice day, sir, and... goodbye."

[Groin Redbeard]

"Farwell master Brandybuck." Said Groin continuing to puff on his pipe after the carter had left the table. He stared at the elf who was sitting alone at the other end of the Inn. Groin noticed the blood that stained the elf's cloak. Probably got into trouble with them wolves last night.

Groin began to feel restless, he tapped his pipe on the table extinguishing it, and placed it pack into his pouch. He reached over for his axe and began to strap it on his back. A long walk in the woods would subdue the restlessness that he was feeling. Groin reached for the door handle and stepped outside, breathing deeply. He set off down the road at a leisurely pace and noticed a group of hobbits making their way to the Inn.
"Ahh!" he said aloud in frustration. Too many people around here for his liking, and set off down the path at an even faster rate, but he planned on coming back to lodge at the Inn for the night. After all, Toller hadn't finished his story.

[Groin Redbeard]

After Groin had walked for awhile he decided to take a rest beside an old tree stump. He breathed a sigh of content; it was a lovely country he was walking through. Perhaps one day he would settle down here in his old age, but for know he had too many places to go and adventures to be had. He leaned back and closed his eyes, making himself comfortable for a midday nap.

His moment of peace was soon interrupted by group of children running up from behind him. Surprised Groin tried to jump to his feet, but his jump was more of a roll. He tumbled down landing on his back; the children stopped running and laughing and stared down at the dwarf in amazement.

Groin slowly rose to his feet, and walked over to the small children. The youngest was clutching a rag doll and looked as if she was going to burst into tears any second.
"Now, now there. I'm not going to harm’ya." Groin said, kneeling down to the hobbit's level.
"You just startled me that's all." Groin smiled trying to look friendlier. One of the five hobbit children stepped forward timidly.
"We're sorry to have bothered you mister dwarf." he said rather nervously.

Groin stood and moved over to the stump to sit down.
"No bother at all. What be your names?"
"My name is Seredic, sir, and these are my brother's and sister's: Fred, Maple, Dorlind, and Daisy Boffin." Groin whistled in amazement.
"Five siblings, and my mom and dad thought one child was a handful." Groin chuckled to himself.

"Hello." Groin looked down at the small hobbit girl, who was tugging at his pants.

"Well hello there," Groin reached down and picked up the girl, placing her on his knee.

"And what is your name little one?"

"Maple Boffin." she said, blushing a little.

"Well hello Maple. My name's Groin Redbeard, and what might you be doing on a fine day such as this?"

"Picking daisies for momma’s windowsill."

"Now is that so," Groin said, making it sound as if she said something magnificent.

"I'm glad you youngsters came along," Groin stood up placed the girl down, while beginning to dig into his pouch. "You see I've been traveling around these here parts for a long time, and my pack is getting too heavy for me to carry. And I was wondering if you kids could take some of the weight of my back." Groin extracted his hand from his pouch revealing a handful of sweets.
"I'd be mighty obliged if you'd take these off my hands." Groin said stepping closer, offering it to them.

The kids shyly reached out and grabbed three, or so, each.
"Thank you mister!" said Seredic who was smiling from ear to ear.
"Not at all youngster, now don't let me keep you from your daisy hunting, go on now." and with that Groin shooed them off smiling and laughing to himself all the while.

After the hobbits had left, Groin settled down again. He leaned back against the stump and closed his eyes once again, and drifted to sleep.

[Sephiroth]

Ethelgar strolled, hoping to leave his past behind his feet. Living with the woodsmen was nice, safe and peaceful; but once again his heart wanted the freedom only the road could give. Deeply, he feared leaving with dreams of triumph and returning with nightmares of defeat; nevertheless, he left, his sword sheathed, his soul crushed by the need for glory.

Countless days he walked, the sun blinding his eyes, the rain freezing his body. And Ethelgar thought about his friends and family he didn’t see in a decade, about the thieves he fought, and felt lonely. Day after day he expected Death behind the bushes, as a wild beast, a bandit, a hole in the ground. He didn’t fear it, though: the thought of being killed in the middle of nowhere was, in a way, soothing. After all, Death would be a relief from the goals he set for himself – but obviously he wouldn’t give up without a good fight. However, a long distance he roamed, and Falconbeak, the sword he got from his grandparent, did not drink any hostile blood.

And now he was near the village the little people he encountered called The Shire. Ethelgar was not too interested in that kind of place: evidently it was not somewhere good to look for an adventure. Despite that, he paced through the region admiring its beauty, looking for a good place to rest his bones. As he walked, memories came to his mind, thoughts of insignificance and of greatness. If I were a hobbit… and if I were as tall as I am now… I would definitely be a king among them. I have to discover something great in myself… maybe… so I can show everyone how I can be significant. I need to be significant. Everything was distant, blurred, and the man became lost in his thoughts, wandering mindlessly.

But reality came back to him, as he finally perceived an Inn’s door just across the road. He crossed the street and entered without a second thought; his mind once again detached from his body.

“Sir, the sword, please”, said a hobbit, probably the innkeeper. A standard procedure, thought the man. Maybe every city should ask for the weapons before anyone could enter. Maybe anyone shouldn’t carry any weapons at all. But… where could we find glory, fame and…

“Sir… the sword”, recurred the innkeeper, and his voice was a ticket back to the inn.

“Falconbeak you have, sir. I’m sure you’ll keep an eye on it”, Ethelgar nodded, gently giving him the sword.

The man then sat down, his thoughts deep into his memories. It was undeniably a hideous scene: the brown coat was covered in mud; the boots torn; a small scar stained the left side of his face. Despite that, one who could look deep would glance something singular, maybe great about him.

Ethelgar lastly ordered ale and waited, perceiving no one but himself.

[Gwathagor]

In the recesses of his mind, the warrior-elf wandered again under beneath the leafy boughs of ancient Doriath. Motes of dust swam in the shafts of waning sunlight that shot down through the forest canopy, and silent song-birds flitted to and fro among the trees. Elven songs floated through the air, reaching him as if from a great distance, and he knew that they were sad songs, though he could not catch the words. And then he saw the singers, riding slowly and purposefully through the silent trees, and, as he wondered that he had not seen them earlier, he realized that the whole forest was full of a great host of mounted elves, armed with spears and with bows. A few sang softly, and some looked back, but none wavered.

Then he stood beneath a mighty, spreading oak, and he saw that he was clad in armor and a rich cloak of a forgotten hue of deep azure. At his side he wore a royal sword, and on his back was slung a great battle-axe. With him, beneath the oak, stood a fair elf-maiden, whose blue garments matched the shade of his cloak, the corner of which she held in her hand, turning it over and over, examining its hem.

Then she spoke, and, though he knew he dreamed, he heard the voice as clear and as musical as the day he had first heard it by the Mouths of Sirion.

"I know that you must leave." She looked up at him. Her shining eyes took his breath away. He had forgotten how clear they were.

"I must, though it kills me. We have been summoned; the Day of Wrath has come, and we must do our part."

"I know, and I will learn to bear your absence. I must, though it kills me." She smiled softly, and looked away west at something unseen, tears forming in her eyes and voice. She let the corner of his cloak fall.

The warrior-elf, who stood a head taller than her, gazed down at her tenderly. She braced herself and turned to him again, looking him up and down. "You look splendid; the finest of Doriath's warriors. You will return to me?"

"As soon as I may. As soon as we have driven out the Darkness, then I will return; and no sooner." His look was stern and sad, but his eyes were gentle. "I swear. I will not forget you."

"No, you won't. I have seen to that." Here she produced an intricately carved silver locket, which hung upon a fine silver chain. "This locket has my name and my emblem carved inside it. My blessing and spirit will be with you until you return. Until then, we will still have our memories...and you will have this."

He took the locket from her outstretched hand. She stepped beside him and leaned against his shoulder. He put his left arm around her, as she continued. "It will not open to any key, but only to the speaking of my name. Try it."

Then (and he knew that still he dreamed) he held up the locket in his right hand and then spoke aloud the name, her name, the name of the one he had lost so long ago.

"Elloth."

The locket opened, and the vision vanished.

A new vision took its place, and it was as barren as the former had been idyllic. The singing of the elves gave way to the sounds of clashing arms and the smell of blood. The mists of memory cleared, and he found himself on a wide plain. All around him was a great elven-host, with spears and swords in their bloody hands, their hair ragged and their eyes blazing. Looking down, he found that great mounds of slain orcs lay about his feet, and that in his left hand he held a longsword, and in his right a battle-axe. Both were stained black. Suddenly, a great cry went up from the elven host. It was answered by harsh yells and jeers, and another wave of orcs drove into their ranks. As the elves surged forward to meet the enemy, he found himself caught up in the center of the battle. He began instinctively to slash and hack, left and right, now whirling, now ducking, now leaping forward, following the rhythm of battle. Blood spattered his face and hands, but he gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes, and continued to face each new threat as it came at him. Ever he cut his way forward, leaving in his wake a broad swath of fallen enemies. Even the other elves began to give way before his fury. Soon, he had left them all behind; he stood alone in a sea of orcs, with a growing circle of dead and dying spreading out about him. He fought on, careless and alone, possessed by the wrath of battle.

Great drums rolled, the earth trembled, and, in increasing numbers, the orcs began to flee from the field of battle. Only when he discovered that there were no more orcs, did he look up and realize that the elven-host had taken up his name, cheering him on. "Gilthalion! Gilthalion!", they cried. Then the earth quivered again, and they found themselves in the presence of gods. Silence swept over the host, and Gilthalion Gwathagor awoke in a wooden chair in the Shire, 6000 years later.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin awoke from his slumber sometime around noon. He got up, rubbed the slumber from his eyes, and began to shake the dead leaves that were clinging to his beard.

The Hobbit children had long past left him, and were probably back at there house showing their new found daisies to their parents. He sighed and began to pick up his pack and battle axe. He still had much to see of the countryside before night fell, and he wanted to see as much as possible. So off he went, down a path leading into an open plain.

In the distance he could see a cart drawn by a small pony. Groin saw a hobbit walking besides it and wondered if it was Rory Brandybuck, the Hobbit he had talked to in the Inn. Well, even if it was Groin had decided not to bother him, besides he was probably going home to Misses Brandybuck and wouldn't like to be stopped or slowed down.

Groin walked several yards behind the cart for a few minutes until he became tired of traveling on road. 'Time to go trailblazing' he thought to himself, and did a short sprint off the road and into the bushes. Groin stopped and looked back up the road at the cart. 'What a enviously simple life that man must leed.' he thought, but it wasn't the life for him. Groin waved a silent farwell to the unknowing Hobbit, and sprinted onward into the brush.

[Dunwen]

Peri sat near a window in the Perch's Common Room enjoying the last of her meal. While it was late to having second breakfast, she'd slept later than usual, thanks to Ruby's intrusion and the confusion the little hobbit seemed to cause wherever she went. She'd heard the two sisters had left before dawn, and admitted to a shameful sense of relief at a Ruby-less inn. It was a pity in a way, because she'd rather liked the older sister, Lily.

She watched the activity of the other diners and the hobbits who waited on them as she finished her tea and a lovely seed-cake. That morning she'd dressed in a white blouse, a black bodice and a vivid amethyst-colored skirt. A purple ribbon matching the skirt completed her outfit. Having made sure Brightheart was comfortable in his stall, she'd finished unpacking and walked around the grounds of the inn. Now she was planning her afternoon.

Part of the reason she'd chosen to visit Stock was that a dear friend of hers had married a young farmer from the area. Although a sporadic correspondent, the former Chalcedony Delver had once written directions to her new husband's farm just outside Stock. Peri nodded to herself. She could visit Cece this very day.

Decision made, Peri got up from the table and turned to slip from behind it. With the noon sun shining into her eyes through the window, she failed to notice an unmoving form sitting in the shadows nearby. The hobbit girl tripped heavily over the long legs of an Elf that appeared to be sleeping in a chair and fell plump onto the floor. She thought she'd heard him referred to as "Gwathgor" or some such name.

Horrified at her clumsiness, she scrambled to her feet. "I'm so sorry sir! Please forgive me for not looking where I was going." The elf still looked asleep, but she did not want to be rude and hurry off without waiting for a reply.

[Arien]

Alenia pulled the small knife from her bag and brushed it across the leaves of what seemed to be a stubborn weed entwined amongst the flowers. She crouched closer, examined it for a few seconds, breaking off a leaf and sniffing it, and then stood up.

“Just a weed…” she muttered.

She wiped her hands on her trousers and placing the knife carefully back into her bag she continued on her way towards Stock, her horse Fawn trotting dutifully beside her. She would be glad to spend some time here as it had been over a month now since she had stayed for more than one night anywhere. As much as she loved to travel on her own and experience what the earth could give she couldn’t help but feel disconnected and isolated from others. She had no real friends now, they were all left behind, all of them came second to her pursuit of knowledge. She knew she was truly alone now. And on top of that, she reminded herself again, she could not protect herself at all. Fair enough if she perhaps had time to poison or put her attackers to sleep but in reality this would never happen. So far she counted herself lucky.

Alenia now drew up outside The Golden Perch, she thought she had heard it mentioned a couple of day ago but she couldn’t remember. Either way it had stables and looked friendly enough plus she was tired so here was good enough. She lead Fawn to the stables and removed her pack from the horses back and with a quick kiss and smile she headed towards the front door.

Alenia brushed her hair out of her face as she pushed open the door to the inn. Ducking slightly as she entered she let the door shut slowly behind her stopping momentarily to take a deep breath. She continued to move towards a free table near a window a female hobbit had just left empty. A she sat down she saw the hobbit stumble over an inconspicuous elf in the shadows. Alenia raised an eyebrow as the hobbit apologised quickly and scamper off. She watched the elf curiously for a moment and then finally dropped into her seat.

[Iras Sabir]

Ira walked along beside her horse. Both rider and animal looked tired, the horse a little moreso than its rider.

"Easy, Issa..." She murmmured gently. The horse nuzzled her arm affectionately. Ira smiled and kept walking. She was wearing a long traveling cloak, its hem torn and covered in dust and mudd. On her feet she wore a pair of thick leather boots, they looked like a good quality of boot. Her legs were covered in a pair of dark brown trousers underneath a long dark green tunic. Her hair was back in a braid, out of her eyes. Her eyes were quiet remarkable. Grey-blue ringed a light green with golden-brown towards the pupil.

Ira was walking beside her horse because they had ridden many miles that day. She was now in a place called the Shire. She had never heard of such a place, but it seemed to be inhabitated by children. The whole place made her nervous. She wasn't used to being much taller than anyone, in fact her friends teased her about being short. Not here. She saw a group of what really was children and her eyes widened. Twice as small as their parents. They all stopped their play to wave at her. She waved hesitantly back, not quite sure what was expected of her. They all giggled and ran off.

Ira continued on, her head up more now. The little people were at work everywhere...And all the children! She shook her head in amazement. There seemed to be hundreds of their children everywhere! She finally caught sight of the inn sign. Finally! She thought, quickening her pace. She looked forward to being able to wash the dust and grime of the road from her skin. She walked Issa around the back to the stables and pulled her gear off. After she had spent some time tending to her mount, she left Issa alone to eat and rest.

Ira walked inside the inn, pushing her cloak back a bit.
"Scuse me! You'll need to leave your sword at the door!" one of the little people from the back hollered. Ira froze and stared at the little man.
"Why?" She asked, her voice betraying her upset at the request. The man smiled at her
"Just Inn policy miss..." He said. Ira reluctantly pulled her sword from its sheath. Its blade shone dully in the firelight.
"Take good care of this..." She whispered, not really at him, just at anyone in general. She set her sword down gently against the wall then walked up to the bar to order some wine. After she had the bottle and glass she went and sat down at a table to relax for a while.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin walked through the thickets and over the hills for quite some time now. He enjoyed the beautiful countryside that he was walking in, and was, by now, whistling a happy tune.

After walking for a while he came to a small stream that winded its way through the forest. Groin knelt down, scooping up a small amount of water in the palm of his hand. He repeated that same technique over and over, until he had drunk his fill.

He was just about to move on, when noticed something moving in the bushes. It sounded like a deer, so Groin paid no attention to it, until refused to leave him alone. He walked for a little ways, and the rustling noise followed him. Groin was becoming a little anxious, he sprinted ahead trying to lose the creature, but it still kept up with him. Finally Groin halted he raised his battle axe above his head and sprang at the creature.

“Baruk Khazad!”

The creature fled from him before Groin could reach it. Groin continued to yell and scream until he was sure that the creature was gone. He inspected the ground searching for some kind of clue as to what it was. Wolf tracks! Groin’s brow reddened as he remembered the night that he was attacked by an entire pack of Wolves; needless to say he didn’t like the thought of roaming around in their woods.

Groin ran as fast as he could to get out of the woods. He ran until he came to another road that cut its way through the forest. He sat down breathing hard trying to catch his breath. He looked up and down the road; he saw a dismounted rider coming his way. He watched as the girl passed by him; she seemed to be fiddling around with something inside her sack that he had slung around her shoulders.

Soon after the girl had passed him by, another dismounted rider walked passed him, this one also a girl. Groin made an effort this time to be civil; he smiled and gave a short bow as the lady passed by. Groin had almost mistaken her for a Ranger, except he knew Rangers didn’t ride horses. She waved and moved on past him. Groin watched her for a moment transfixed by her beauty. Suddenly becoming conscience of his staring, he snapped himself out of it, and protruded down the road in the opposite direction.

[Iras Sabir]

Ira finished her wine at her seat and streached. She had been her long enough.
"Sir? Is it safe for me to stable my horse here for a while?" She asked, braved with the wine in her. The inn keep nodded and she left a heavy coin on the table and walked out. She still had her cloak on and now had her sword back. She started back down the road out of town, wandering and staring at everything. She had never been in a town this small before.

Ira wandered the town, staring at the people. All of them small. Only one bigger...Was that a dwarf? Her eyes widened. Her brothers had told her tales when she was younger about the dwarves that they had stayed with. She smiled and then almost tripped over a small man. He glared at her and she jumped back, her hand dropping her her sword. She was too highstrung. Ira stammered out an apology and the man continued on. She hated when she got highstrung like that.

Ira sighed and turned back to the inn. It wasn't good for her to be about in that kind of mood. She wandered back down the road, head low this time, trying not to make eye contact.

As she walked the began to think. About her past. About her future. About everything. She wondered about Kale, her only brother left, and what he was doing at the moment. How are the Elves? She wondered.

She found herself no longer walking, but rather sitting at the base of a tree. Her oldest brother had often told her it was far better to stop and smell the roses than to get anywhere exactly on time. You'd see more and learn more that way. Her brother wasn't the best philosipher, but he had a good basic idea. She smiled slightly and stared off at the hills.

[Iras Sabir]

Ira allowed herself to rest, for once, and smiled. It really had been too long since she had just sat down and relaxed. She thought about her recent travels. She had been down in the Mordor area, exploring and trying to find out about the land there. It seemed posioned and the people near there were not the kindest. She had avoided them each time they were near.

Ira streached and stood up. She wanted to see more of this tiny city. She walked off down the path to continue her exploration.

[Gwathagor]

Gwathagor rose from his corner chair and moved towards the innkeeper's counter, stepping carefully between the tables of the merry folk who were lunching at the inn. At the counter, he hailed Seredic, who he had met earlier that day.

"Master Innkeeper, I beg your pardon for my rather graceless exit during our earlier conversation. The one I heard crying for help it seems was an elf-maid; one Gable. I found her seeking refuge in a tree, surrounded by hungry wolves. I slew her attackers, and Gable is safe. Has she returned to the inn yet?"

Dick responded in the negative.

"Hm. I had meant to ask her to elaborate further concerning a certain silver locket that was found with a certain pony. I...may know something about it. Do you have it near at hand, or do you know where I might find it?"

The elf's face was solemn and dispassionate as usual, but his hands trembled slightly. It was the lingering effect of the vision which he had just experienced, which had not yet faded from his mind. The images still blazed before his eyes, burning his mind with sorrow and cutting his soul like icicles of regret and longing. Part of him wished that the memories had remained where he had carefully buried them during his years of wandering. But now they were free; he knew he could not go back. And this locket: what could it mean? What did it signify? Particularly if it was the same that his fair lady had given him...could it be? If it HAD been found, what other dearly beloved things might also come to light? It had been thousands of years since he had lost that locket, during the fateful war. It had all begun then: the sorrow, the regret, the wandering. The hardening of his soul.

Even as Seredic was responding, Gwathagor drifted off again, slipping back into the past. Leaning on the counter, his head bowed, he tried to steel himself against the mist that swept over him, pulling him down, but he knew he was powerless. He must endure the full gauntlet of these visions, this reawakening, hurt him though it might. The past was dangerous, but wise; who knew where it might lead? And this was only the beginning...

[Groin Redbeard]

He had been walking for quite awhile. The forest that he was walking through was long gone, and gave way to a beautiful hilly meadow. There was not a hobbit in sight.

Groin noticed that storm clouds were rolling in from the south. Even as he stood watching them the winds began to increase and the Sun’s bright rays faded. Groin didn’t like it one bit. He had walked a good distance away from the comforts of the Inn.

He was contemplating on whether to head back or just wait for the storm to pass. A jolt of lightning in the distance made the dissension for him. As fast as his short stubby legs could carry him, he began to run back to the village of Stock and the Golden Perch Inn.

[Folwren]

“Oh, yes, sir,” Dick said to the tall elf. “I’ve got it right...in the kitchen...” his voice trailed off and he tilted his head to look at his customer more straight in the face. “I swear he doesn’t even see me anymore,” Dick muttered to himself. But all the same, he turned and pattered at an admirable pace to the kitchen where he retrieved the locket and brought it back out for Gwathagor’s inspection.

“Now, it’s a very fine piece,” Dick said as he returned. The elf seemed to have come back to the present and his eyes focused on Dick. “I don’t think you’d ruin or anything, but just mind that it’s not. I’d like to be able to give it back to whoever found it, that is all. Our Gable found it, you know.”

Before he could find something more to say, a deafening crack of thunder split through the air. “Good gracious me!” Dick cried, when the rumbling ceased. He ran to the window, leaving the locket in Gwathagor’s hands, and peered out, leaning on the deep window sill. “It looks like we’re going to have some rain,” he observed, taking in the dark, rolling clouds. “Tollers! Tollers!” He turned and trotted to the kitchen, making arrangements the entire way. “We’ll have to light the lamps and candles early, no doubt, what with those storm clouds comin’ in. Tollers! Make up the fire, will you? There’s the door, better go see if it’s a new customer.” And accordingly, Dick turned right around and went back to the common room.

But it was just Groin the dwarf again, come back from wandering about, apparently. As he shut the door behind himself, the rain began to fall in torrents.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin came panting up to the Golden Perch Inn, just as the rain really began to come down. He pounded on the door in a furry. Looking behind him he saw all the locals scrambling for shelter as the rain began to pour.

He pounded on the door once more, but the door opened before he could finish. It was Toller; Groin entered and nodded thanks. The room was lit by a dozen candles; all the guests were talking amongst themselves, he even saw a couple new faces that weren’t here when he left. He noticed the elf he had seen in the corner booth leaning against the counter grasping something in his hand. The elf looked up and caught the dwarf’s stare, Groin quickly looked away.

“Excuse me, Toller.” The dwarf said, grabbing the hobbit by the shoulder.
“I wonder if you would be kind enough to get me a good ol’ mug of hot Cider.” He placed a coin in the surprised hobbit’s hand, and then grabbed a chair at the nearest table.

He chuckled to himself as he watched the stunned Toller head into the back room. Not too many dwarves would turn down ale for any other drink. But this dwarf had weakness for Cider, and on a cold rainy day there’s nothing better than a hot mug of Cider. Toller came back with the mug and placed it in front of Groin. Groin then picked up the mug and decided to move to a corner booth.

As he made his way between the tables, clumsily bumping the other patrons, he noticed the beautiful lady that he saw out on the road. He stared at her as he scooted into a booth next to one of the inn’s windows. He then diverted his gaze to the window and watched as the rain come down in torrents.

“I surely wouldn’t want to be caught in the middle of this.” He muttered to himself as he slowly sipped his drink

[Eönwë]

It was still raining when Songo came into the Inn. He had come all this way from the outskirts of Bree to visit his uncle Carnale in Hobbiton to celebrate Carnale's 70th birthday. He was hurrying back to Bree, but needed a place to stay for the night. Besides, he couldn't stay outside in that infernal rain! The storm had just come out of nowhere, and Songo's hat had been blown away. He had been particularly attached to his hat, as it had been passed down to him form his Great-Uncle, who had been quite the traveller.

As he opened the door, the warm air came out to greet him and he decided that he would probably stay a week here. People were talking festively, and drinking Ale and Cider, and Songo could have sworn that he saw a dwarf tripping on a table, but re-balancing before anyone could see. He felt at home. It reminded him of the Prancing Pony, except that most of the residents here were Hobbits. But then he was a Hobbit, so he couldn't really complain. He looked around again and could see that strange dwarf gazing out of the window, with a forlorn expression on his face, Songo thought, sipping what he hoped was warm cider

Just then Songo realized how cold he was and warmed himself up by the large fire. Then he went over to the Barman and asked him for a pint of his finest ale.

[Folwren]

Dick pattered in and out of the kitchen and behind the bar, filling new orders and often returning half the time simply because he had forgotten something before. Finally, he found a moment to stand still, briefly. Nothing seemed out of place. The guests were standing and sitting, some singling, others in small groups, all looking just a tad bit gloomy. But who wouldn’t, with the outside dark as evening and thunder rolling and thundering.

“Excuse me, sir,” a hobbit said, approaching the bar. “I’d like a pint of your finest ale.”

Dick smiled immediately. “Of course! Right away!” He bent and whipped out a mug as quick as a blink of an eye and began to fill it from the ale-butt just behind him. He was setting it on the bar top when the door blew open violently and in staggered a tiny creature, barely recognizable for a hobbit with a hat pulled low over his eyes and his little coat soaked and streaming with rain water.

“Shut the door, Fred!” Dick shouted to be heard over the great noise and thunder of the rain outside. “Shut the door and quit letting the wet in!”

“Sorry, Pops!” the hobbit child said. He lifted the brim of the hat to grin at his father before turning and using both hands to shut the door.

[shaggydog]

As the first drops of rain spattered in the dust of the road leading from the river, Jims dug his heels into the small horse’s sides to urge it to greater speed. A useless waste of energy on his part, Jims knew, as the horse had only one discernible gait, and that being something between a slow shuffle and a fast amble. The journey from Bree had taken quite a bit longer than Jims had hoped, although they had all been aware of why this particular beast had been abandoned in his father’s stable several months ago. In lieu of a cash payment for its previous owner’s room and board at their inn, the beast made a poor bargain of the affair. But Jakes, Jims’ older brother, had been convinced that with a few days worth of oats and rest, the superior quality of this animal would shine forth. Of course he had to believe that, as it was Jakes that had “struck the bargain with” the seedy looking tinker who had half pulled, half pushed the poor thing into the tiny stable yard of their inn. Repressing a sigh, Jims peered through the growing darkness of the rain, which had turned mid-day into evening, and was happy to at least see his intended destination coming into view. The Golden Perch!

A clap of thunder boomed in Jims’ ear just as he reached the inn. The rain began to fall in earnest as he dismounted, looking about for a stable lad. Seeing none, and no wonder as the rain was coming in sheets now, Jims tugged at the reins and the horse, for once as eager to move as its master, stepped quickly enough across the yard and into the relative shelter of the shedrow. Without hesitation, Jims turned the horse into the nearest empty stall, hurriedly removing the saddle and bridle. Having grown up as an innkeeper’s son and having spent every day of his life seeing to customers, Jims knew his best course was to look inside the inn for the lad or the owner and settle with them then as to where best to house the beast. There was already an ample supply of hay in the rick and a wooden bucket of water hanging from a peg in the wall. Satisfied, Jims bolted the stall door shut behind him, making a dash across the yard to the round door of the inn, which at that very moment was just on the point of closing.

He was surprised to feel no small resistance to his push as he attempted to make his way inside. Who or what was on the other side of the door he didn’t know but with the rain now pouring down his collar he was determined to gain access. With one last good shove, the door gave way and Jims half stumbled into the common room, almost tripping over the body of a very small hobbit child who lay sprawled across the threshold. Stepping over the wee one at the last moment, Jims barely managed to keep himself up right, hanging on to the door for balance. A great gust of wind and several buckets of water followed Jims in as well, and his first thought was to close the door or risk the possible drowning of the small child at his feet. This being accomplished, the man then turned his attention back to the room and its inhabitants. Kneeling, he offered a hand to the child, saying, “My apologies young master. I’m afraid I mistook you for a door stop.”

Jims wondered how his weak attempt at humor would sit with the trespassed against hobbit child.
.

[Eönwë]

Songo was happy. He had just finished that nice mug of beer, and was about to get a warm cider, to finallly relinquish the cold clinging to him.

But then, in the middle of nowhere, he saw his hat floating around. Having never consumed alcohol, he thought that maybe this was what hapeed when you "got drunk", or the more polite phrase "made merry". He thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But as he focused on it ("Wow, this beer must really be getting to my head" he thought) through the blur of his alcphol-induced-stupor he realised that it was on the head of a small child. It vaguely reminded him of his younger brother when he had been younger. But then, everyone looked the same now.

He was going to go over to the child and get his hat back, but being quite shy, he would have normally held back. But tonight was different. Just as he plucked up, the courage to go over there and talk the boy into giving him back his property, a tall, strong looking man barged open the door and knocked over the poor child. He might have been slightly angry at the boy before, but hobbit-children are hobbit-children, and you can't blame them, not really. But anything he did have against the boy melted away instantly, as he saw him fall, and the expresssion on the child's face almost wanted to make him burst into tears.

He thought that perhaps he would go over there later, and ask him when he had recovered.

But just as he was pondering this, the hat dropped, and he darted forward to take it. But just as he grasped it, he saw the boy reach for it too, but it was too late, he already had it. And then he saw the little one's face, and his large eyes, brimmming with tears, staring sorrowfully at him. He decided that he would give him the hat as a gift, and that it didn't really matter, not if you really thought about it. And the child's face broke into a smile as he handed him the item of clothing.

The boy wore it truimphantly, even though it fell over his eyes, and he had to lift it up every so often, Even so, it made Songo smile to see someone so happy with his gift.

He decided that now it was high time for that cider he had been wanting for the last half hour.

The rain was deafening. Haves walked hurriedly, hunched and arms wrapped about him, clinging to his soaked traveller's cloak as teeth-clenched, he shot glances around the soppy neighbourhood for any sign of an inn or pub where he could take shelter. He grumbled miscontently as his boots sunk deeper into the increasing mass of mud. Just as a discouragingly large amount of water cascaded off his hood and down his back causing him to shiver distastefully, he was finally able to lock on to a sign indicating a "Golden Perch Inn" through the mucky weather. Relieved that the battle with the biting cold and the reluctant mud was soon to be over, he trenched over to the door and pushed it open hastily.

A rush of warm air greeted him. The sight of merry customers, glowing candles and dry surfaces increased his mood exponentially. He had not realized how parched he was. His eyes met with a jolly looking hobbit holding an amber liquid that could only be cider. The hobbit was at that moment in the midst of trying to impress a slender hat-stand with an increasingly slurred adventure he had supposedly been on. As Haves' eyes continued to allow the contents of the inn to absorb, he noticed the same drink in a dwarf's strong hand. After realizing he was still shivering and in dire need of warming up, he approached the bar and asked if he could have some of whatever those two inn personalities were having.

[Folwren]

Rain – torrents of rain – Dick was convinced it was his good luck. Just look – two new customers in as many minutes, if not less, and not only that, but it brought his son for a visit as well. It wasn’t Fred’s lucky day, though, poor lad. The man barging through the door and tumbling Fred over like a bowling pin had nearly given Dick a heart attack, but everything was soon set right, including Fred, as the door shut again and the warmth from the fire spread over the common room.

“My apologies, young master,” the man said to the bewildered hobbit child. “I’m afraid I mistook you for a door stop.”

Fred cast him a doubtful glance and wiped his dripping sleeve over his nose. He concentrated hard on the man’s words before a slow grin passed over his face. “Did you, really?” he asked. “Door stops must be awful large and soft in your town.”

“Haha,” the man chuckled. He reached out to rumple the lad’s head and the hat was knocked to the floor. Fred smiled a little broader and ducked to retrieve it, but his hand bounced off of another hobbit’s hand and when he looked up, he saw it was an older one, reaching for the same hat. A look of dismay flooded the boys face.

“That’s your hat?” Fred asked, trying not to be disappointed. He didn’t know why, but the large, floppy brim had made him fall in love with it, he thought. The hobbit guest didn’t have to answer, Fred knew by instinct, and tears were already gathering in his eyes.

“Here, don’t cry,” Songo said, “you can have it – as a gift. Go on, take it.”

Fred looked up, a bright light leaped back into his naturally merry face, and he received the hat gladly. Songo went off to fetch a mug of cider, but in a moment, he was back, and he captured little Fred and led him off a couple paces and launched into an outlandish adventure of his youth.

Dick’s attention and eyes were drawn away from the hobbit and his child as a new character entered the inn. Another man, by all the glories, and one just as wet and muddy and bedraggled as something that cat would drag in. Dick smiled, a little half heartedly this time (someone was going to have to clean all this water and mud up) and leaned his elbows on the bar, waiting and just knowing that the newcomer would want something to warm him.

“A bit of hot cider, if you’ve got it.”

“By all means, sir,” Dick replied. He filled it and returned it to the bar. “You’ve come far today?”

[shaggydog]

Relieved to see that hobbit children seemed as bouncy and resilient as human children, and that the one he had almost squashed was no worse for the wear, Jims proceeded in to the warmth of the common room, swinging his sopping cloak from his shoulders. Spying a row of wooden pegs in the wall next the fireplace on the far wall, the young man strode over and hung the dripping garment up, pitying whichever of the staff would be responsible for mopping up all the mess. He had noticed another traveler, well wet and smattered with mud, entering the inn right on his heels. The Golden Perch was beginning to look more like a Muddy Toad by this point.

Turning his back to the heat of the crackling fire, Jims turned an appraising eye on the large, comfortable room. A long bar ran along the wall to his left, behind which were stacked - to the ceiling - casks! This looked very promising for a start to Jims' commission from his father. Hopefully whoever tended this inn would be able to put Jims onto the hows and wherefores of how he could best arrange the purchase and shipment of some of Stock's fine ale to their somewhat down-at-heel inn in Bree. A middle age hobbit was at that moment behind the bar serving up a mug of drink to another human, the one who had entered the inn just behind Jims, in fact.

Walking over to the clean and well polished bar, Jims' naturally taciturn nature prompted him to take a seat a few spaces down from the other newcomer. The barkeep was just asking the stranger a polite question about his travels, and Jims smiled to himself. How many times had he asked just the same type of question, engaged in the same small talk to make a customer feel at home and welcomed? And in return, how many tales, tall or small, had he been regaled with? The blessing and bane of an innkeeper's life, that - often being the first to hear the latest news of far off places, or even the breaking village gossip, but also having to feign interest in and smile at some of the most boring ramblings, recollections and out and out lies of those travelers who thought they knew how to spin a yarn. Well, with the steady loss of business his father's inn had seen over the past year or more, they could ill afford not to count even such as those a blessing, bringing as they did their few small coins in exchange for the sparse lodgings and simple fare their inn offered.

This particular barman was quick and observant, Jims noted with approval, and as Jims took his seat, the hobbit nodded to him, a questioning look on his face.

"A cup of ale, if you please, master hobbit. When you have a moment" Jims thought he had best sample what was on offer first before deciding on the next step in his quest.

[Eönwë]

Songo was in the process of telling one of his fantastic (he thought) tales, which involved a dragon and lots of fighting, to anyone who was listening (which turned out not to be very many). He had been told it by the same great-uncle who had given him the hat.

But then he saw the barman, who he now knew was the lanord who was called Dick looking at him, and misinterpreting his glance, went up to him and said, pointing to his mug, "Thish ish exshellent shider, good mashter hobbit," his most polite voice, not realising how preposterous this seemed. But out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar face. It was the Man.

He turned to look at the dark-clothed, slightly shabby man sitting next to him, who was relating his tales of how he had chanced upon the Inn to Dick. He leaned over and said "Hey, I know you. I saw you before the way here when you were-" he stopped suddenly, blushing, and turned away for a moment.

The generous serving of apple cider reached his nose as the barkeeper graciously slid it across the counter. It smelt absolutely delectable, and it wasn't unappealing to watch it refract the already dancing lights from the numerous candles that Dick had lit for the duration of the storm.

Haves maintained a conservative level of politeness to the barkeepers inquisitions.

"Been travelling whenever the daylight would let me then, 'aven't I?" He said pleasantly. "Been almost a week now since I've left the homestead, and surely I can only benefit from getting away from all tha' seclusion that's for true."

Without notice, he was unconventionally addressed by the intoxicated hobbit he had noticed flattering the coatstand earlier. It may have been the angle from the bar, or perhaps the way the light was hitting his face, but the cheerful hobbit looked redder and more unbalanced than ever. Hardly able to understand the slurred words of the halfling, Haves responded in the only logical way any man would when faced with a drunken inquisitor.

"Oh yer, indeed. You got that right, don't ye'."

With the faintest hint of an eyeroll, his eyes caught the other man sitting at the bar a few seats away from him. He cocked his head towards the hobbit and gave a soft chuckle.

[Groin Redbeard]

Groin had been staring out the window of the Inn for quite some time now. His head began to sag, a side affect from long hours of travel and the empty mug of cider. However, he awoke with a start as a roar of thunder filled the sky.

He looked around the room and noticed a few new faces that he hadn't seen before, an elderly man who was talking to a slightly drunk hobbit at the end of the bar, and a younger man a few bar stools down.

Groin began to feel a bit groggy; the rain always had this effect on him. He shook his head vigorously, waking himself again. He noticed the elf at the end of the bar grasping something in his hand, and wearing a kind of dazed look.

Groin got up and walked towards the bar to return his mug, and to reward the innkeeper for his wonderful services. However as he placed his mug on the counter, along with one of his gold coins, he noticed that the elf was staring at him. The elf's eyes were wide open and his body didn't make one move, it was like he was in some sort of daze. This annoyed Groin.

"Hey! You got a problem elf?" Groin roared pointing his finger menacingly, but the elf didn't move.

Groin stormed over to the other end of the bar, but just as he was about to let loose with his tirade, he noticed that the elf didn't seem to be noticing him at all; the elf just stared right past him. Groin grabbed the elf by the arms and began to shake him vigorously.

"Hey, wake up elf! Wake up!"

[Folwren]

Dick nodded and bobbed his head in agreement with the customer. As he expected, the man had been traveling a long way. Before he could ask where he had come from, or how far the week of walking had actually brought him, he was asked for another drink.

‘Just as well,’ Dick realized, seeing, as he turned, that Haves had been addressed by Songo. ‘What was it he wanted? Ale, right...ale...’ He filled it from the tap and turned to deliver it.

“There you are, sir. Finest light brew in the house.”

“Hey! You got a problem, elf?” The voice was loud and jarring in the generally quiet, laid back, and tired atmosphere spread through the rest of the common room. Dick jerked upright, his eyes and face suddenly more alert and attentive than ever.

“What is it about dwarves?” he mumbled to himself. “Master Dwarf!” he said more loudly, trying to move about the counter and catching the dwarf’s eye.

Groin apparently did not hear him. “Hey, wake up, elf, wake up!”

“Sir!” Dick cried again, hoping that he could get the dwarf away from the elf before the later had woken. But the hope was false, for the elf stirred and turned his head to look at Groin before Dick had arrived.

[shaggydog]

The barkeep, listening to the other’s reply, acknowledged Jims’ request with a nod. The man’s brief narrative was interrupted, however, when a middle aged hobbit, staggering slightly, walked up to the bar and complimented the barkeep on the good quality of his cider. Thus interrupted, the barkeep turned to fill Jims’ order. “There you are sir. Finest light brew in the house”

The tipsy hobbit had turned his eye on the other customer. "Hey, I know you. I saw you before the way here when you were-"

The hobbit stammered to a halt, having apparently realized just in time what he had been about to say.

“Oh yer indeed. You got that right don’t ye’.” The man at the end of the bar replied nonchalantly, unoffended by the hobbit’s potential indiscretion.

Jims dropped one eyelid in the slightest of winks in response to the other young man’s nod and quiet chuckle at the funny little fellow. The hobbit was by no means the first inebriated patron of a bar that Jims had seen. But his experienced eye led him to believe this one, as with most of the Halflings, was a merry drunk and not a mean or volatile one. In fact, it was actually rare for hobbits to frequent their inn in Bree, but Jims had seen enough of them there and in the other inns in town to know that most hobbits held their ale very well indeed. This one then must either be really celebrating, or perhaps wasn’t used to drink.

Jims’ cursory examination of the hobbit broke off suddenly as a loud voice sounded at the other end of the bar. There seemed to be some altercation brewing between an irate looking dwarf and a strangely quiescent elf. The barkeep hurried over and took the matter in hand with a smooth professionalism Jims could rightly appreciate. For once, it’s not my problem, Jims thought with some satisfaction. He turned his attention back to the two on the other side of him, regarding the somewhat bedraggled state of the man’s clothes and recalling his words to the barkeep.

“You’ve been on the road a week? Where do you hale from then?” Jims asked conversationally, wondering if the ale here was good enough to bring travelers that far just for a taste. With a wry grin, he thought also that wherever the other lad was from, it couldn’t be much closer than Bree. His own travels had proceeded at about the same pace as if he had been walking. And he had not seen this other lad in or about the stable, so he assumed he was afoot himself. Jims made a mental note to talk to the barkeep first thing the situation with the dwarf was sorted in order to make sure the stabling of his own horse was acceptable. Finally, with great satisfaction, Jims took a long sip of the pale ale, savoring its flavor and congratulating himself in this early success for his errand.

[Eönwë]

Songo felt quite embarassed. He had just been laughed at by that man. And all he had done was try to refer to the Incident on the road, before realising that maybe now wasn't the right time.

He looked around the bar, absent-mindedly sipping at his cider, before suddenly realising that he was sipping at nothing! It was his first taste of alcohol, and he already finished two mugs! He looked around for the barman, but he was nowhere in sight, so thought he would help himself to some ale. But just at that moment, he noticed a cask of somethig else, something that looked especially inviting, as he had never held with these sorts of intoxicating drinks until today. It had, marked on it, in big black letters, the word "mead". Now, Songo had heard of this delightful beverage, but it was hard to come by where he lived, and all hat spoke of it named it as some sort of distant luxury. As far as he knew, it was made out of honey, and Songo was particularly fond of honey. In fact, Songo had planned that when he got back, he would make a bee-farm so that he could enjoy sugary liquid every day. He had heard of honey's healing properties, and hoped that mead shared them. Anyway, it was worth a try. So he poured a small amount of Mead into his mug.

Immediately, it looked to Songo as if Dick's head snapped arond the moment he started, but he could not tell through te haze. He sat down again where he had before and savoured the taste of his drink.

But as he stretched his arm to the right, he hit something soft, and when he looked to his left, he realised that he had not gone back to his original seat, and had instead sat next to the other man, the quiet firstcomer. He gazed inntently at him, trying to pick out his features, and then realised that he recognised that face, he knew not from where.
"Sorry, er... Jams, is it?" said Songo hopefully, proud with himself for remembering himself.
The man said something undiscernable, but it sounded to Songo like he was saying "Jim's actually."
"Sorry," said Songo, "My minds not working right today."

[shaggydog]

Sipping his ale and waiting amicably to see how much of the other lad’s ventures that individual cared to share, Jims watched the drunken hobbit with a mixture of amusement and appraisal as the little fellow helped himself to a cup of the barman’s mead. In Jims’ assessment, the hobbit was very close to being about as drunk as one can be and still be standing. Jims already felt sorry for the Halfling, knowing how ill he would be feeling come the morning. Cup in hand, the hobbit staggered a few steps and sat down heavily in the seat next to Jims.

Gazing at Jims as through a fog, the hobbit slurred out “Sorry, er . . . Jams is it?”

Jims eyebrows rose in surprise. Was it possible that he knew this little drunkard? One hobbit looked much like all the others to Jims, especially from his height from where he rarely saw much more of them than the tops of their curly heads. Bending forward and down a little to look more closely at the fellow’s face, Jims replied bemusedly, “It’s Jims actually, and do I know you?”

The hobbit eyes glanced off to the side in a glassy way, as he said somewhat indistinctly, “Sozzle m . . .mymy snotworlin today”, which Jims thought might have been meant as, “Sorry . . . my minds not working right today.” Not working indeed! And no wonder.

With an inward sigh, Jims realized that the barman in him would not rest peacefully even when it was not his place to interfere. But he had witnessed the little hobbit’s generous act of gifting his hat to the small hobbit child Jims had almost run over, and he felt more than a little sympathy and concern for the hobbit as he sat swaying gently in his seat beside Jims. He placed a steadying hand on his neighbor’s arm, saying in a friendly way, “Perhaps we are acquainted. Hobbits don’t frequent my father’s inn so often as they do Barleyman’s, but we’ve had more than a few pass through our doors. It’s the Rose & Thistle. Have you ever been to Bree?” As he spoke, Jims other hand moved slowly towards the hobbit’s cup, wondering if he could simply make it ‘disappear’ without causing a ruckus. Depending on their state of intoxication, it was a maneuver that sometimes worked with the more passive drunks. He kept his gaze on the hobbits face, hoping to keep his attention, and, of a sudden, it dawned on him that he did know this particular small one.

“Hairfoot? Hairfoot Doggins?” Jims’ eyebrows went even higher in surprise at this recognition.

Jims was acquainted ever so slightly with the Doggins clan and Songo, more commonly known as ‘Hairfoot’, was generally known as an exceptionally quiet, almost shy member thereof. There had been rumors of his “almost” doing in an orc, but no-one who knew Songo believed a word of it. Songo was not one who had a reputation for being a frequent patron of the various inns of Bree, and Jims’ knowledge of this particular hobbit was limited to no more than two or three times when the hobbit, along with other family members, had been to the Rose to deliver hay for the stable. Why was he then in Stock and how had he come to be so intoxicated?

Ceaselessly inhaling the warm apple cider that had become such a popular beverage during what seemed like an age of stormy weather, Haves allowed himself to make short conversation with those around him. The conversation with the friendly barkeeper was short and generally consisted of well-rehearsed questions from Dick with short, quick responses by himself. Moments away from verbally interrelating with some of the other stranded travellers who had escaped from the storm, he was suddenly addressed by the man who he had signalled to earlier about the comical behaviour of the curly haired hobbit.

“You’ve been on the road a week? Where do you hale from then?” Was what he had said. Obviously such a bland question must have been frequented very often when starting up discussions in a tavern such as the Golden Perch, an establishment that by the looks of its current occupants had more foreigners than locals. Haves decided to grace the other, also young man with a response.

"Aye, a week. Just been travellin' north mostly. I live on a farm y'see, near the quaint hamlet of Norton. It's not common others 'ave 'eard of it, but yer asked where I came from and that's my reply."

Haves exchanged a few brief words with Dick once more, his tongue loosening more and more with each word that escaped from his mouth. After asking the barkeeper if a warm cup of soup was available, he reflected more in depth on the current residents of the dimly lit room. Immediately he observed a stout being, who could not look more well-travelled. Haves had never seen a dwarf, but he had certainly heard of them, and to avoid looking too interested, he refrained from staring and mentally set a reminder to converse with him afterwards, for he looked most likely to be able to broaden Haves' mind with news from outside the borders. His eyes crossed briefly on an elf, and what appeared to be a huddled mass on the floor. It was a wonder he had not trodden over him when he had stormed into the tavern seeking much-needed warmth.

Realizing the conversation had become scarce and that he had been lost in his thoughts and observations, Haves furthered the conversation with the young man a few stools away from him.

"The names Haves, by the by. Pleased to meet yeh. Do ya frequent this tavern often? I'm rather surpised I 'aven't heard of it, it's truly the epitomy of comfort. 'Owever it could just be the contrast between inside 'ere and that hellish storm out there."

He flicked his eyes quickly towards the bar to see how the barkeeper had taken this comment on his workplace.

[shaggydog]

Jims’ questions for the Songo hung in the air between them, the young man wondering if the hobbit had either heard or understood him. The lad on the other side of the hobbit had continued to drink his own cider happily enough and replied to Jims’ earlier conversational gambit with:

"Aye, a week. Just been travellin' north mostly. I live on a farm y'see, near the quaint hamlet of Norton. It's not common others 'ave 'eard of it, but yer asked where I came from and that's my reply."

Jims pondered the possible whereabouts of the previously unheard of Norton, while the other ordered soup. Presently, the lad spoke up again, apparently not averse to exchanging the usual pleasantries of strangers finding themselves billeting at the same inn as they passed in their travels.

"The names Haves, by the by. Pleased to meet yeh. Do ya frequent this tavern often? I'm rather surpised I 'aven't heard of it, it's truly the epitomy of comfort. 'Owever it could just be the contrast between inside 'ere and that hellish storm out there."

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Jims Barleycorn.” Jims felt it safe enough to let go of Songo’s arm and extended his hand in front of the hobbit’s chest towards Haves. “I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting the Golden Perch before. This is my first time. First time in Stock actually.” Beyond that, Jims was a tad reluctant to discuss his errand in public, as a clearly stated desire for whatever ale might be available here might easily drive up the requested price. “I’ve come from Bree myself. My family owns an inn there.”

Although Jims was very much inclined to agree with his fellow traveler that the Perch was indeed a comfortable haven, far more so than the run down Rose, he felt at least enough loyalty to the family honor that he would not admit it openly. So he contented himself with, “I see you got caught in the downpour too. Upon my oath, I believe I could have outrun the rain on foot better than with that sorry excuse for a horse I brought. I wonder if the residents of Stock have a taste for horsemeat.” He grinned broadly and took a last swallow of Dick’s admirable ale.

Haves gave a nervous chuckle upon hearing Jims' remark on his horse. Coming from a poor farming family, he knew only too well the frustration of an inefficient beast of burden and their knack of hindering the simplest of tasks.

"Aye, I fully understand your unease of travelling with stubborn or old animals. Even a short as trip from Bree can feel like you're naviga'in the Misty Mountains."

An obscure thought struck his mind at that moment, and his eagerness to start conversation with the nearby dwarf had laid to rest omnipresently in the back of his mind. His obliviousness to the dwarf's keenness to pick a fight with a nearby elf remained persistent as he turned his attention to the stout being.

"I can't see dwarves even bein' all too fond of horses at their peak health eh?" Haves said as pleasantly as he could, directing the conversation to the well-travelled dwarf. "Do yer use em' at all for manual labour maybe, or 'praps poneys?"

He shrugged hopelessly at Jims, hoping that his curiosity wouldn't be too offensive.

[Eönwë]

Songo just sat there, staring at nothing, realised that he had been talked to.
"sss. s'my name, it is, Erfoot D'genss" he replied. Ah, it was Jims', was it? That pesky son of a pub-owner who was losing business. Why was he here?
Just as he was about to ask him he realised that something was going on between a dwarf and and elf some way along the bar. He tried to look but his eyes were too blurry at such a distance. So he went up to them, to see, but before he knew what had happened, he was lying flat on his back, head facing the ceiling, and unable to move. Everything went black.

He woke up what seemed like few hours later (he didn't know precisely how long) with a splitting headache. He vowed never to drink alcohol again. As he stood up, looking around, he realised that the elf and dwarf had moved, but the two men were still conversing. He went over to them, and heard the murmur of their conversation. He waited for a suitable moment, and, as soon as there was a pause, he asked Jims "What brings you here?"