The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

It is nearing noon-time at the Green Dragon Inn. Second-breakfast is still being served. But the fragrant scent of lamb stew is hinting that lunch is nearly ready.

The day is proving to be a fair one so far . . . no clouds on the horizon as yet.

[piosenniel]

~*~ NOTICE OF NEW RPG OPENING ~*~

Crystal Heart invites you to play in her new game:

Seekers of Truth

The Discussion Thread for this game will open to take on characters on 8/15.

Until then, read the proposal carefully and craft an interesting character with a First Post to submit for the game owner’s approval when the thread opens.

See you then!

~*~ Piosenniel

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman eyed the elven man, Ascasir, sidelong as she pulled out a pint for one of the bar customers. Flicking her eyes across to Ruby, who was giving the bar a cursory wipe down, she murmured, "Do you think he flirts with everyone, or is there some selective, generous process here?"

Ruby looked across surreptitiously to the elf where he appeared to be making advances on a slender, dark elven woman sitting with her back to the bar. The hobbit giggled and whispered back, "Jealous."

Aman's eyebrows shot up and she gave a short laugh, finishing off the pint. "Pardon me, Ruby Brown! What would I be jealous of? And not that it is a bad thing either - he flirts quite charmingly, if a little awkwardly." Turning to the customer, a young Breelander, she smiled warmly as she pushed the pint across to him. "Here you are, sir."

"Fli-irt..." Ruby replied in a singsong voice. The Innkeeper picked up the now stationary rag and flapped it at her, frowning exaggeratedly. "Don't you start!"

"Well, it's true!"
"It isn't, as you well know."
"No, it is as I very well know."
"Is."
"It isn't"
"It i-is..."

"Ruby, I refuse to get into this with you," the Innkeeper replied abruptly, rolling her eyes. Ruby regarded her for a second, then contented herself with raising her eyebrows and settling back with an infuriatingly smug expression on her round features. Aman stuck her tongue into her cheek and refused to be riled, grinning slightly. The Common Room door opened and a few cheers made Aman look up out of curiosity. Seeing who it was, she smiled widely and pulled another pint of ale with sudden speed, darting around the bar with her precarious load to the newcomer - Halfred Whitfoot, Shirrif and postman.

"Halfred! Or is it 'Shirrif Whitfoot' for today?"

"Ah, no, just plain ole' Halfred Whitfoot today, Aman," the round faced hobbit replied, panting slightly. Producing a worn pocket hankerchief he dabbed at his red forehead and gave a heavy sigh. "Well, the day is a beautiful one indeed...really builds up a man's thirst..."

Subtlety had never been a strong point of the rotund Shirrif and Aman laughed, handing him the pint of ale - always on the house, for it didn't do to offend to postie, or the Shirrif - and seating him at a nearby table. "There you go, Halfred. Dumpling is in the stables?"

"Of course - you have a new boy, I noticed...?"

"Aye, Merrimac - but hardly new! You should visit us more, Mr Whitfoot - you'll be left behind," she teased. The hobbit chuckled good naturedly and took a long draft of the pint, swallowing half of it at once. Aman hovered beside him, careful not to let her impatience show: Halfred had a habit of dancing around his actual reason for coming, and if you showed any impatience, he usually only dragged the task out more. But today, it seemed, he was in a less teasing mood, for as he put down the pint again he fumbled around and produced two letters from his bag. Squinting at them unsteadily, he looked around and replaced one, then took another long pull at his ale. Aman resisted the urge to fold her arms and raise her eyebrows, and was rewarded with the other letter. Smiling gratefully, she thanked Halfred and returned to the bar, pondering the letter's contents. Taking a small kitchen knife from the odd bits of cutlery under the bar, she slit the letter open tidily and scanned it's contents quickly.

Dearest Aman,

It has been long since we have spoken, hasn't it old friend? I would take time to catch up, but then, what is the point? The subject matter in letters are, after all, quite different from those to be broached face to face.

Aman smiled, recognising the tone of the letter rather than the quick handwriting, written with a light hand so it was quite hard to read on the dark, speckled parchment. Holding it up to the light a little more, she read on:

But no matter, for I think we may be able to meet up rather soon. Although I returned to Gondor those months back (and it has taken me a while to find you - how on earth did you end up in the Shire, my dear?!), my attention was drawn to something that may rather interest you. On the Great East Road (South of that pretty, secretive little backwater you currently reside in), there is to be another of the great markets.

But it is to be larger than usual, I am led to believe, and the goods even more worthy: the farriers are turning out well for it. Some groups of Southerners and Easterlings have moved further into the mainlands, and they have come up, along with groups of Gondorian and Rohirric horsebreeders. I know you have always had an interest in the strange, angular steeds of the Haradrim...

The market will last for a week, and by the time this reaches you, you may have missed some already. Come, Aman - it will be a pleasure to see you once more, although I do not doubt it will be the promises of so diverse a range of horses that will persuade you rather than simply me!

Truly,

Taydoch.

Taydoch... Aman had guessed at the very beginning. The Gondorian author of the letter had been a good friend of hers for several years back in Rohan, taking odd jobs here and there in Inns and shops, before eventually blowing up in the stables with Aman - having bluffed his way in, not actually knowing how to ride. The man was an oddity, a year or two younger than Aman herself - but he had been one of her dearest friends. After he had returned to Gondor, to some family crisis, a few months before Aman left for The Green Dragon, the pair had lost touch. It would be good to see him again.

But bearing in mind the speed of post...Aman grinned determindly and tightened her grip on the letter. Surely Cook wouldn't begrudge her a few days...

Briskly entering the kitchen, Aman found Cook standing by the great fire, stirring a large cauldron of fine smelling stew. Resolving to stay for lunch, the Innkeeper tapped Vinca on the shoulder and handed her the letter, giving a gabbled, eager explanation as the elderly hobbit read the letter over. Vinca took a moment's pause having finished the letter, then folded it very slowly and carefully. Taking off her glasses, she looked up at the Innkeeper - and nodded, smiling. Aman beamed back. "Oh, thankyou, Miss Bunce - I know I may be leaving you in the-"

"Oh, pish posh, I did the same when Zimzi and Derufin went with Pio. And after all, you said this will only be for a few days..."

Aman nodded firmly. "Aye, two, maybe three."

"And you will leave..."

"From the smell of that stew? Well, I shall be hanging around for lunch, that is certain!" The pair laughed and Vinca rolled her eyes as Aman darted back out and upstairs to pack what little she would be taking.

~*~*~

OCC: I will be leaving tomorrow morning on holiday, and will be without internet access for a week I am afraid (I will return late on the evening of Sunday 22nd). Apologies - have fun, and happy writing this week without me!

[Envinyatar]

From his vantage point on the roof, Derufin could see the Hobbits working at a steady pace below. Andwise, of course, knew the other four, younger lads and had stepped into the room they were just starting to frame, admiring their work and asking where, if any, doors they intended to put on and would their be any built in cabinets.

‘Aye, there’ll be a door here,’ said Tomlin, ‘and two windows, here and here. So’s they can get a cross-breeze of sorts on those hot shire nights.’ He shook his head at the question of cabinets – be best if we just put in a wardrobe, I think – one they can move if they need to.’

He could not here what Andwise said, as they had now passed into the interior of the house. But soon he saw Andwise bringing out cupboard doors to lean against some sawhorses he’d set up. And on another pair, he and one of the younger Hobbits, Fallon, had brought ought the old door and laid it flat across them.

‘Think you can salvage that one?’ Derufin called down to Andwise as the Hobbit surveyed wood closely, running his practiced fingers along the surface as his eyes scanned up and down.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger watched as the Innkeeper and Cook spoke. She had gathered the violets . . . blues and yellows and whites. And, to her delight, in a little patch beneath the Ash tree that overlooked an older part of the flower patch, were the Heart’s Ease, a much loved pansy-violet of old with its lavender-blue, white and yellow petals. The little basket she had been given to put the flowers in put forth a light and lovely scent.

Away from the heat of the cooking hearth, Cook had sat her down, with a small bowl in which she’d gently beaten together some egg whites and a little water. Dipping her small brush into the egg mixture, ginger lightly painted the petals of the violets, a flower at a time, then holding the now sticky violet over another bowl filled with fine milled sugar, she sprinkled a small stream onto each flower, coating them with the shiny crystals. Flower after flower was patiently done in such a manner, then laid gently on a baking rack to dry.

‘How long will these last,’ she asked Cook, about halfway through the task. ‘A year,’ came the quick reply from Miz Bunce, as she added a few grinds of pepper and a little chopped parsley to the stew. ‘’We only need them to last a week, though.’ Cook came over to give a critical glance over at the lass’ effort. ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘You’ve a deft hand at that.’

Ginger blushed at the compliment, the crimsoned stain spreading up her fair neck to her cheeks, which soon burned bright as beacons. ‘Never have done such before,’ she confided to Cook. She picked up one of the violets and twirled it about in her fingers. ‘It’s going to be a beautiful cake, isn’t it? My stars, it will look just like a big bouquet of flowers!’

Buttercup bustled in from the common room, her eyes widening at the racks of bejeweled flowers. She picked up one of the more dried ones and admired it from all sides. Without thinking, she popped it into her mouth, the sweet surprise of it making her smile. With a cluck of disapproval, Cook shooed her out of the kitchen before she could taste another, ushering her to the door with directions to tell Derufin and the others to come in, in a bit, for lunch. Ginger, while Cook’s back was turned, winked at Buttercup, then boldly popped one of her creations into her own mouth.

[Arry]

Ferdy could hear his Da whistling as he came round the side of Inn’s old caretaker’s cottage. Andwise was happiest when he was “workin’ the wood” he’d always told his son. And sure enough, there he was planning and scraping down some small doors to some cupboards he supposed. Ferdy waved as his Da looked up. ‘Shall I start on one of these little doors you’re doing, or start on the big door over there?’

‘Big one, I think, son,’ said Andwise, pointing at the wooden toolchest set near him. ‘There’s a second planer in there. And I think in the back of the cart there’s a basket of shavegrass we can use for the fine rubbing.’

The two set to work, a comfortable silence settling in between them, punctuated by the frequent bursts of melody as the spirit struck Andwise. It was an hour or so later, when Buttercup came bustling from the Inn with news they were to put aside their work and wash up at the pump. There was stew to be served for lunch with thick slices of crusty bread. She’d set a table for them all beneath the spreading oak tree near the back door of the kitchen and would be serving them herself.

Andwise harrumphed as he watched the Hobbit lads gawp at the retreating figure of Buttercup. He was about to make a remark to Ferdy, when he noticed the same expression on his son’s face. Almost as one, the five young Hobbits ran toward the yard pump. Derufin had by this time come down from the roof and stood staring after the retreating herd. ‘Now don’t that just beat all,’ said Andwise, shaking his head at the lads. He grinned up at Derufin. ‘Nothing like the anticipation of a hand-fasting party to turn the young’uns heads . . .’

[piosenniel]

~*~ NOTICE OF NEW RPG OPENING ~*~

Crystal Heart invites you to play in her new game:

Seekers of Truth

The Discussion Thread for this game is now open.

~*~ Pio

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver Cornthrift had been busy since breakfast. She had brought her horse, Nutkin, out to take some fresh air, and then had been seeing to the goods she carried in her cart. Under the tarpaulin were boxes and packets of seeds, all labelled in Jinniver’s own hesitant but neat handwriting, there were empty plant pots, hand painted in bright colours, and wooden containers with little jars, packed in straw to keep them safe. These jars contained the sauces Jinniver made, following her mother’s old recipes. These too were labelled, “Cornthrift Farm Condiments, The Greenway, Bree”. Jinniver checked to see that all this produce was safe, and then began to attend to the trays of seedlings and cuttings which took up most of the space in the cart.

After she had finished watering all her plants, Jinniver felt in need of a rest, and sat down on the grass at the side of the road, in the shade of her cart, and lit up her pipe. Her hair was coming loose again and she began to wish she had gone back up to her room to tidy it up, but now she felt too tired to do so and simply knotted it back onto the nape of her neck once more. She was wondering whether to go into Hobbiton with her wares when she saw an extremely round hobbit coming up the road, and she stopped to watch him.

He was as wide as he was tall, and his round stomach reminded Jinniver of a large ball, stuffed inside a fancy waistcoat; his head was also rather round, and his face was red. She smiled to see him, and even though she pretended to be looking at the view, she couldn’t help but steal a glance at the hobbit. Despite his rotund frame, he was walking quickly and soon drew level with Jinniver, where he halted, leaning on his walking stick.

“I say, young miss, could I trouble you for a light?” he asked, his head on one side.

“Why, of course, “ said Jinniver, standing up. The hobbit lit up his pipe, took a deep draught and exhaled with a sigh. “Egbert Proudfoot,” he extended his hand and Jinniver shook it tentatively. “Retired Gentlehobbit of Hobbiton. Most pleased to meet you miss.”

“And I am Jinniver Cornthrift of Bree, here on business, although it is turning out to be quite a pleasurable trip” Jinniver smiled, and Egbert asked her about her line of business, something which Jinniver felt quite comfortable discussing with this strange hobbit. Before long, they were looking at the packets of seeds and happily talking about blooms and slug remedies and soil improvements. She had soon learned the names of the many keen gardeners in the village, who Egbert assured her would welcome the chance to buy some of her seeds and cuttings.

“You might have heard of the Gamgees, they have become real collectors of rare plant species. Have you seen the Mallorn tree yet?”, said Egbert. Jinniver had heard of this wonderful tree, and was excited to hear about it. She asked the hobbit to tell her more, about how Hobbiton had come by it, but he said he regretfully had to be moving on, as he was due to visit his son for lunch, but before he went on his way, he bought as many packets of seed as he could carry, and he asked her to deliver some seedlings to his hobbit hole down the road.

Jinniver watched the hobbit go and felt happy. She looked at the coins in her hand, lost in thought for a moment. She had come to The Shire hoping to earn money and make some contacts, but it was also turning out to be something of a holiday, an experience she had never before had. Many years ago she had felt great happiness, but this had all too soon turned to regret and fear, and since then her life had mostly been hard work. She was almost afraid of happiness, in case it was taken away from her. The memory of herself as a very young woman floated into her mind, and quickly she shook it away. She didn’t want the past to spoil the simple happiness she felt now, and she did what she always did to help her forget, work. Purposefully, she took out her accounts book and logged the sale she had just made, then made her way back inside the inn to have something to drink before delivering Mr Proudfoot’s order.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin stood alongside Andwise as the younger Hobbits ran to get themselves ready for lunch. He took the blue rag hanging from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow and neck. ‘I expect we should amble over, too,’ he commented, watching as Andwise put his tools away carefully before leaving. The Hobbit was a true craftsman, he thought to himself. He remembered the old man from his home who had been the same way. ‘Take care of your tools and they’ll take care of you,’ he’d cautioned the young men who’d worked alongside him. And Derufin had found the old fellow’s words to hold true . . . not just for his paying handiwork, but in other areas of his life as well - the meaning broadening as he grew older. Take care of those things that help you move through your life. It had been one of the small bright sparks that had helped him to move through the horror that had threatened to overwhelm him after the war.

A discreet ahem from Andwise brought him back to the present. The Hobbit pointed toward where Buttercup was setting up the outdoor table for the workers. ‘Look there,’ said Andwise. ‘I believe that’s Egbert Proudfoot. Wonderful gardener – his flowers and vegetables are the pride of Hobbiton.’ Derufin shaded his eyes with his hand, in the direction the Hobbit pointed. ‘Well, let’s go down and meet him,’ suggested Derufin. ‘My Zimzi’s a gardener herself. She’s from the northern coasts, though . . . I’m sure there are different secrets to the soil here.’

The two ambled at a leisurely pace toward the oak tree near the Inn’s kitchen door. ‘I wonder who that woman is, there with him . . . the one he’s speaking with . . .’

[piosenniel]

‘You’ve a bit of sugar at the corner of your lips, dear!’

Cook bustled past Ginger as she spoke, and made her way back to the stew pot. The lamb was bubbling away in a savory sauce spiced with onions and celery tops, a pinch of sage and little sprinkling of thyme. Into the pot she now scraped the bowls of cut up taters and carrots, and stalks of celery, chopped in chunks. Ruby had come in from helping Buttercup set up the outdoors table for the workmen, and began setting up the trays for the lunch tables. Crocks of sweet cream butter; baskets of thick cut, crusty bread; napkins and eating utensils; small pottery saltcellars, and peppergrinders. Pitchers, too, were got out which would hold the sweet, cold cider, and mugs to drink it from.

Blackberry cobbler was to be the dessert to round out the midday meal, and Cook had commandeered Ginger to wash the berries and put them in several large bowls. ‘Just sweeten them up with sugar from the pantry, and make sure you dust in some flour to thicken the berry juice when it bakes,’ she directed her.

While the young Hobbit set about following her instructions, Cook got out a quantity of flour and a generous helping of butter. Measuring the flour by eye into a large crockery bowl, she began to cut in a goodsized portion of butter until the mixture was rich and crumbly.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger loved the sight and smell of blackberries. They were dark and shiny and caught the light as she turned the sugar into them; they seemed to wink at her playfully. Miz Bunce had told her to use just sugar and flour, but her mam had always used a pinch of salt to bring out the flavor, a little lemon juice to add a tart edge to the sweetness, and a sprinkle of finely ground cinnamon root that made the mixture a little spicy – earthy, almost.

Five large, rectangular pans, each generously greased with butter, had been laid out on the table by one of the other Hobbit lasses sent by their mothers to help for the day. Ginger ladled out equal portions of the berry mixture into each pan, and dotted them all with small pieces of butter. Cook had by then finished the pastry topping, and dividing it out into five equal pieces had rolled each one out to a size large enough to cover the berries entirely in each pan. Ginger then brushed on some melted butter and sprinkled sugar on top of the crust. Cook opened the oven and placed each of the pans carefully in on the racks to bake. Then she and Ginger finished the last of the violets and put them all in an out of the way place to dry.

Cook looked about the kitchen in a satisfied manner. Ginger nodded at her. All was in order, food and drink ready for lunch when it rolled around, the decorations for the cake done and drying. By mutual agreement they sat down at the table, having cleared away the debris from making the cobbler, and pulling up chairs, they both propped their feet on one and sat back to enjoy a fragrant cup of sweet-spice tea.

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~ NOTICE OF NEW RPG OPENING ~*~*~*~*~*~

Nuranar and Envinyatar invite you take a look at their new game:

Wilderness, Weathertop, and Wildthings (also known as – W,W, & WT)

The Discussion Thread will open to take on players on 08/20.

Until then, read the proposal carefully and craft a needed Character and First Post for submission.

See you there!

~*~ Pio, Game Moderator

[Lalwendë]

As Jinniver went back towards the inn she heard another hobbit loudly hailing Mr Proudfoot, and she stopped briefly to see if he had heard. Sure enough, Egbert Proudfoot came quickly back up the road huffing and puffing, his face even more red; he was shouting about how he was in a rush but seemed more than willing to be sidetracked by an old acquaintance all the same.

The stable master was with the hobbit who had hailed Mr Proudfoot, and he looked back over his shoulder at Jinniver, saying something to the other hobbit. Jinniver’s face flushed a little, but instead of hurrying away, wondering why anyone she didn’t know would possibly want to acknowledge her, as she might normally have done, she raised her hand in greeting. “Nice day, isn’t it?” she said. It was something she might have said to one of the Breelanders she knew well, but she would certainly not have been so familiar with a stranger just a couple of days ago.

Since she had arrived at the Green Dragon on the previous evening, she had met several strangers, and she was beginning to feel less nervous and clumsy, and more like her old self. Back before the dark days of the trouble, when all those men came up the Greenway and she had to learn to grow up fast. Her father had told her she had to stop pottering around her mother's farmhouse singing and dreaming, and instead had to learn about keeping quiet and locking the doors at night. Then there had been the time when they had had to flee into Bree itself, but that was the part of the story she didn't want to think about. When they came back to the ruins of the farm she was grown up and she had immersed herself in her work. And it had been that way ever since until now.

[Envinyatar]

Egbert was on his way to his son’s, and could not stop to talk with Andwise for long. He nodded his head at Derufin as he was introduced and said it would be his pleasure to consult with his missus on the finer points of gardening here in the Westfarthing. The stable master grinned, saying that she was not his missus yet, but they would be glad to have Master Proudfoot over some time after the hand-fasting to have a look at Zimzi’s plans for plantings.

‘You know,’ said Derufin, a sudden thought coming to him as the Ebert spoke with Andwise. ‘Once the old cottage is done, it would be nice to surprise Zimzi with a nicely started flower bed. In fact, just in front of the small verandah, is what looks to have been two small areas ringed with stones, one on either side of the dirt walk to the front door. I’m certain there must have been flowers in there at one time, but now it has gone all weedy and what few plants are there seem scraggly at best.’

Andwise nodded his head in agreement. ‘I believe I do remember those beds . . . lovely flowers in all the seasons used to grow there. A welcoming sight as you approached the cottage. ‘And, you know, there was also a lovely ring of plantings beneath the old flowering plum in the front yard. They have quite gone to seed now, too.’ ‘It would be nice if Master Derufin, here, could get this done for his soon-to-be Missus, Egbert. You know anyone free over the next several days?’

Egbert scratched his head and sighed as he shook his head. ‘I don’t, and that’s for sure. Sorry about that . . .’ he began to apologize, then trailed off, his gaze coming to rest on the young woman from whom he had just bought the seed packets. ‘I wonder,’ he mumbled . . .

‘I say there, Mistress Cornthrift,’ Egbert went on in a louder voice. ‘I was just thinking . . . you’ve seeds and cuttings, and I would be happy to give the rest of whatever might be needed . . . will you be here at the Inn long enough to help these good folk out?’

Derufin smiled at the Hobbit’s assumption that the young woman might be in the slightest bit interested in this little project. But Egbert had got the bit in his mouth and pushed on. ‘Be glad to lend the services of my two grandsons . . . good at digging and hauling, the lads are. Be happy to work for a chance to pester Miz Bunce for cakes and cookes. She’s their aunt, on their mother’s side, you see.’ Well, what do you say?’

[Lalwendë]

“Well, what do you say?”

Jinniver was taken aback and couldn’t think of what to say as quickly as she’d have liked. She bit her lip and looked down for a moment.

“Why, oh, you mean me?” She blustered. “I…why, I should be most happy to help you out. Of course I would. How wonderful of you to think of me!”

Jinniver smiled, looking at each of them in turn, and then shook their hands. “When will we start?” she said brightly. “Is the garden that one by the little cottage you are working on?” She was already thinking of the red geranium plants and the tray of blue trailing lobelia which were in the back of her cart. And the two young fuchsia bushes which were already showing signs of the drooping pink and purple flowers they would bear.

Turning to Derufin, she asked him to think about what sort of plants and flowers he would like her to provide. “I can send word to my father and niece, as they are at home tending the farm, and they can send along just about anything you could want for your garden. So please, do tell me what you and your good lady would like to see in your garden.” Then she realised something. “Is this to be a surprise for the hand fasting I have heard so much talk about?”

Egbert Proudfoot puffed his chest out a little with pride at having arranged something so splendid for all. He had always been a great one for organising and setting business in order for other people, and he felt very pleased with himself. Jinniver could tell he was thinking about what a good job he had done, and she thanked Mr Proudfoot warmly once again, and decided to leave him a gift of a free jar of especially tasty horseradish sauce when she delivered his order, by way of thanks. It would go nicely with some mashed taters, and she felt sure the hobbit would enjoy it.

[Kates Frodo Temp]

Sylvie! Sylvie!

Sylvenya stopped with her left hand trembling against the door. Go away! You cannot follow me here!

Sylvie, stop! Please go back; you are not safe all alone!

Let me be! I could not stay there forever, not any more than you could! Why should I be left behind? Are you so selfish, Mother? Do you hate me so much?

Wait! Sylvie, I...

She flung herself inside, letting the door fall shut with a great clatter. The smells of smoke and of dinner cooking instantly wrapped Sylvie like a blanket, keeping out unwanted thoughts. She brushed a dark curl from her eyes, and blinked, trying to adjust to the soft, indoor light.

"Are you all right, missy?"

Sylvie peered over at a lady who was smiling at her from behind the counter. I must have missed that. "Were you saying something to me?"

"I just wanted to make sure you're all right. You look a bit upset."

Sylvie blinked again, and took a few steps forward. "Forgive me, but I cannot understand you." She spoke slowly, with a odd, soft slur. "Would you please say that again?"

[Envinyatar]

“Is this to be a surprise for the hand fasting I have heard so much talk about?”

Derufin brushed his arm across his forehead. It was hot in the noontime sun. Shading his eyes with his hand, he smiled widely at the young woman. ‘It is a surprise . . . Mistress Cornthrift, is it?’ With his free hand he made an open gesture toward the great oak tree. ‘Let’s finish our talk in the shade, what do you say?’

Egbert Proudfoot left them as the three headed toward the table set in tree’s shade. ‘You’ll join us for lunch won’t you,’ he said to Jinniver, making it more of a statement than a question. ‘Buttercup!’ he called out to serving lass as she buzzed about the table setting out baskets of bread and pots of butter. The five lads who had been helping at the cottage followed close behind her – she’d commandeered their assistance in setting out the bowls and table ware and mugs. She looked up and smiled to see him approaching.

‘We’ve another for lunch, Buttercup,’ he grinned, nodding at Jinniver. ‘Can you and Cook accommodate her?’

‘Her and half the Shire, if need be,’ laughed Buttercup. ‘Don’t you know Cook’s gone and made enough stew and blackberry tart to feed a multitude?’ Buttercup motioned for Ferdy to come near. ‘Be a love, now won’t you! Just go and fetch an extra stool for the lady?’ she instructed him, turning him about and pushing him toward the kitchen’s door. There were baleful looks from the other lads as Ferdy stumbled past them, his cheeks crimson.

‘Listen, Buttercup,’ said Derufin pulling the Hobbit aside. ‘Can you keep Zimzi from the cottage until after the wedding? I’ve a little surprise for her that I don’t want her to know about.’ Buttercup looked round Derufin to where Ferdy was just seating Jinniver. ‘And I suppose that one there has something to do with the “surprise”?’ ‘As a matter of fact she does.’ Derufin hurriedly explained his ideas as Buttercup nodded her head. ‘I’ll let Cook know. She’ll find plenty to keep Zimzi occupied.’

Derufin seated himself next to Jinniver just as the servers were going about the table pouring cold cider or ale. ‘I have to say that I know nothing, really, of flowers . . . only that my lady is fond of them and I would have her happy. Horses I know about and the fixing and building of things. But the mystery of growing things escapes me. If you are agreeable, Mistress Cornthrift, I would be happy to leave the planning and plantings in your hands. Something bright and colorful and welcoming would be enough for me.’ ‘There is one other thing you should consider . . .,’ he said, passing her the basket of bread that Andwise had passed to him. ‘The hand-fasting will be in a week’s time. Will that be enough for you to work your magic?’

[piosenniel]

It is noon-time at the Green Dragon Inn. Lunch is now being served. The fragrant scent of lamb stew and blackberry tart is hinting that lunch is indeed ready.

The day is proving to be a fair one so far . . . no clouds on the horizon as yet.

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver had found herself urged to join Derufin and Andwise for lunch under the shade of the ancient Oak. Her head was spinning a little, whether this was the sun or the hospitality, she could not tell, but she gratefully took a large draft of a mug of cool cider before helping herself to a warm bread roll from the basket.

“A week? Oh yes, I am sure I could plant you a fine little garden in a week.” she said, answering Derufin’s questions. “But….” she took another draft of the cider. “I wouldn’t call it magic.”

Derufin raised his eyebrows and Jinniver laughed a little nervously. “Well, what I mean to say is, I wasn’t being rude, but spending all these years with plants, you get to know what they like. And this Shire soil is supposed to be most rich, what with how all those trees grew back so fast after the trouble. This is a happy place for plant to be, and a happy plant grows true and strong.” None of the hobbits looked at her oddly for this statement. Such odd things were often said in The Shire by the many gardeners. Some hobbits, it was said, even spoke to their plants. Jinniver would not have found this strange, she had spent many lonely hours in the fields and often found herself chattering away though there was nobody to listen.

There was quiet for a moment as the company all started to tuck into the bread. The only sounds were the odd mumbled “Umm” and “Mmm”, and the scraping of butter knives. The sharp but sweet smell of blackberry tart filled the air, mingling with the aroma of lamb stew. Jinniver thought of fragrant herbs and night-scented stock and the smell of lavender. These would be lovely in the garden. She would have to send a message back to the farm this very afternoon.

The silence was broken by one of the hobbits cheering as Buttercup brought the stew. Plates and spoons rattled as the meal was served up and there was a lot of excited chattering. “I’ll make a start today,” said Jinniver, reaching for more bread. “After I’ve delivered Mr Proudfoot’s order, I’ll send word to my father and what plants I don’t already have with me, will be here by the day after tomorrow at the very latest.”

Yes, colourful and fragrant, that was the garden a young bride might like. It was the same kind of garden she had helped to make for her brother’s wife, when they had set up in Bree just before the southerners came. One day, she might have made herself a garden like that, but now she had the whole farm and no need for her own garden, and certainly no time to be getting married. Not that she wanted to, she had thought of getting married once, but he had turned out to betray her and her family.

“I’ll make sure you get as fine a garden as any in The Shire. After all, you did provide my horse with the finest hay in The Shire,” she laughed, thinking about how sentimental she could be about her old horse. “Is all of The Shire as fine as here?”

[Rose Cotton]

The door of the little inn swung open for a moment alowing a ray of sunshine to penetrate the room. In through the door stepped a small hooded hobbit lass. Pulling back her hood revealed her ruddy, weather- worn face. Her furry feet and the edges of her cloak were caked in drying mud. Her attire, which was thread-bare and torn hinted at the hobbit's long and distant travels.

After shaking back her curly brown hair the young hobbit ordered a drink at the bar and then settled herself in a secluded corner to rest and observe the crowd of people.

Rose is back home. She thought to herself.

[Morsul the Dark]

Morsul gloomily looked up towards the Inn he was tired so was his horse, as he tied his horse to a post out side the old man scratched his stubbled chin. He walked into the bar. Inside he admired the great host of people present. Some patrons looked up but most ignored him as was to his liking he did not like others prying his business it was afterall his.

Ordering a large cup of Beer, he looked around the pub he seemed to believe all the eyes were upon him yet none looked at him he pulled back his long grey hair and then twisted his mustache as the beer took and his mind began to wonder. He was waiting. For what, he did not know.

[rutslegolas]

Harry Brandybuck was stout and strong hobbit,he worked as a carpenter and had recently returned from his long journey to the strange but beautiful land of Rohan.He wished very much for a drink of good ale on his return,so he dropped into the Green Dragon Inn.'Such a long time since I have been here,but it just feels like yesterday',he thought.

When he entered the inn the smell of fresh lamb stew and buckleberry tart reached his nose and he nearly jumped in excitment.He then sat down at a table near a old Gaffer and ordered two ales for both of them.

[piosenniel]

Zimzi had just entered the door to the kitchen from the common room, when Cook called her over. ‘Sit down, sit down, and have some lunch with me.’ The younger woman demurred, saying she would like to take her meal with Derufin, but Cook was insistent, saying that there were matters that needed to be spoken about and taken care of before her family arrived. ‘And besides, said Cook, the workmen are all eating together at a table we’ve set up in the yard. They’ll be done soon, I’m sure, then be back to their business. Mustn’t delay the, you know,’ she said nodding her head at Zimzi. ‘Time is short to get everything done.’

With an indulgent smile, Zimzi acquiesced to Cook’s request. And Buttercup served them both before taking second helpings out to the crew. From behind Zimzi’s back, out of the young woman’s view, Buttercup winked conspiratorially at Cook.

They were well past the buttering of bread and the spooning up of the fragrant stew before Cook got round to her agenda. She knew that Zimzi was quite fond of flowers, she began, and so she had arranged for her to spend a few days with a good friend of hers who lived up in Overhill. ‘And a friend of Mistress Piosenniel’s, too, when she lived here. Name of Amaranthas.’

‘Why, I remember her!’ cried Zimzi, her eyes glinting mischievously. ‘The Old Dragon – or so Pio called her sometimes, though always in a fond way.’

‘Dragon or no,’ continued Cook, ‘she’s a right treasure for flower lore. Has a lovely flower garden and can tell you what each one of them means.’ Zimzi looked at Cook perplexedly. What is she getting at? she wondered. ‘Yes, well,’ she said aloud, ‘I’m just a bit confused about this talk of flowers and their meanings. I think we do not have such a custom where I grew up.’

Cook took a deep breath before she began her explanation. ‘In the Shire, it’s customary to celebrate occasions with food and drink, dancing and song and speeches of all sorts . . . and flowers. Every sort of flower has its own meaning that goes with it. It’s rather like sending someone a message, but without using words. Sunflowers, for example, say “I adore you”. And flowering almond speaks of “Hope”. Those are but two of many.’ She got up from the table to dish them up a generous helping of blackberry tart. ‘Now this will be a large party – your handfasting. All of Bywater and Hobbiton have heard the news and will come in to make a day and night of it. The Inn yard will be set up within and without with many trestle tables to hold the food, and cakes, and drinks and of course, the mathoms.’

Zimzi’s face had gone quite pale at the scope that Cook had envisioned, and protested that surely this would be too much for Cook and the Inn staff to see to. No worry about that, Cook had assured her, the goodwives of the two towns would see that things got done up right for the special day. ‘And they’ll be expecting the same from you, once you and your Mister have settled in, with their sons’ and daughters’ weddings.’ ‘We like to do for each other in these parts,’ she went on. ‘Many hands make light work.’

So what had all this to do with flowers, Zimzi asked after taking in the enormity of the enterprise. Cook explained that it was customary to make small bouquets for each of the tables for the party, expressing the sentiments of the day. ‘And since you are quite fond of flowers, as I have noted, you and Miz Amaranthas can set yourselves to work getting them ready. She’s an old hand at that sort of thing and can give you all the pointers you’ll need.’

‘And here’s your bag, just now . . .’ smiled Cook, as Ruby came bustling through the door with a tapestry traveling bag packed with a few changes of clothes and other essentials.

‘My bag?’ croaked the young woman, as Cook and Ruby ushered her to the front door of the Inn and into a waiting cart, driven by the stableboy. ‘He’ll come fetch you in a few days . . . you and Miz Amaranthas . . . and the bouquets. We’ll see to the rest of the cleaning here at the Inn and get everything set up for the arrival of your parents and brothers.’

‘Enjoy yourself . . .’ cried Buttercup, waving wildly at the retreating cart. ‘We’ll see to Derufin while you’re away. Don’t you worry about him.’

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~ NOTICE OF NEW RPG OPENING ~*~*~*~*~*~

Nuranar and Envinyatar invite you take a look at their new game:

Wilderness, Weathertop, and Wildthings (also known as – W,W, & WT)

The Discussion Thread is now open to take on players.

Rangers, Elves, and Baddies needed!

See you there!

~*~ Pio, Game Moderator

[Nurumaiel]

Donnamira had sat silently so far, much to Marcho's relief. At that table they had sat since the morning, waiting for the arrival of Blanco, his sister Peony, and Bingo. Luncheon was beginning now, and Don was beginning to hint that she was hungry again. Marcho fetched her a meal, and obtained a plate for himself as well when he realized with some surprise that he hadn't eaten breakfast, for he had been anxious to see his friends come.

'Hey dol!' a merry voice cried from the door, and Marcho breathed a sigh of relief that Posco was not there to be humiliated by his twin's boldness. 'Good day, good day, and goodbye,' Blanco said, his voice cheery as he tripped across the room to Marcho. 'I smell something marvellous; I wonder if I'd be allowed to have a bit? Hello, little Donnamira,' he added, patting the girl's curls. Then he turned his head and called across the room, 'Peony, dearie, honour us by sitting at our table, would you?'

'Of course I will, Blanco, but I do wish you would be a bit quieter,' said the young hobbit lass. Her features were very similiar to Blanco's, and she had his manner of staying clean and tidy, but the blush that spread over her face was much like Posco. 'Hello, Marcho,' she said, smiling at that one. 'It is good to see you again, though it hasn't been very long.'

'In fact,' he said in a gruff tone, 'it has been so short a time you needn't bother with even a simple hello.' She smiled again, for she was used to his manners.

Bingo crossed the room next with shining eyes, sitting next to Peony with the delight of a little boy. 'She arrived very soon after you left,' he said to Marcho, 'and I cannot express our delight in seeing her.' He turned his eyes and smiled at Don, and she smiled back with satisfaction before directing her attentions once again to her meal. Peony gazed at her in a bewildered manner and Blanco hastily made introductions. All doubts about the hobbit girl, if there had been any in the first place, were quickly dissolved in Peony's mind with the little thing stretched up and kissed her cheek in greeting.

Blanco looked approvingly at this, for he thought it only fitting that everyone should love his sister, and then he spoke to Marcho in a voice that struggled to be casual. 'Have you any idea as to when Posco and Lily will be back?' he questioned.

Marcho glanced up sharply and said, 'Who gave you permission to call her by her first name?'

'I think she did,' Blanco replied coolly, 'but even if she did not it would not matter for I cannot remember her surname.'

'Well, I don't know when they'll be back,' said Marcho, and the subject was temporarily closed.

[Morsul the Dark]

Morsul finished his beer and ordered another pint, he had been travelling for uncounted days, seeking fame, riches, and most of all adventure. To his dismay all his efforts had got him nowhere except this small Hobbit-Pub. The Green Dragon, he thought to himself, was a rather noisy place the hobbits certainly liked drinking and talking loudly. he fished out his pipe and his pipweed bag. It was empty. He cursed to himself, then searching the room he saw a table with a hobbit man smoking.

Morsul walked to the table, "Good day master hobbit I was wondering if you mind giving me a bit of pipeweed I've finished mine alas." Being kindhearted, or merely scared of the man the hobbit passed over a bit, Morsul kindly thanked him and gave him a piece of gold to ay for it. Smelling the weed he noticed it was one he had yet to taste. He asked what it was, the hobbit gladly boasted it was Old Toby. Morsul thanked him again then began to smoke it was a wonderous weed full of energy. Morsul began to twist his mustache again. He walked outside and sat beneath a tree, "Far too beatiful of a day to spend inside." With that his tired eyes closed and he fell asleep

Isilmë blushed even more as the maiden spoke to him. Her words sounded like music to his ears, and he was like enchanted by her grace and beauty. He was dumb with astonishment cause of Ascasirs good charisma and manner. She joined them by their table and she was he first to say anything.

'Thank you Isilmë for your invitation. My name is Gwenneth. I hail from the Grey Havens.' she said and smiled towards Isilmë.

Isilmë half-bowed in reply to Gwenneth and now spoke more self-assured and pulled himself together and said; 'As you've heard, my Lady, my name is Isilmë. I am from the Golden Wood in Lorien, but in the past time I've been staying in Ery Lasgalen, just as Ascasir.' He didn't blush anymore, and he glanced over to Ascasir that didn't seem unsure about himself at all.

Gwenneth's voice ringed like bells in their ears and Isilmë felt that he could sit there and just listen to her forever. The spell ended as it started to clatter from plates and they turned their heads and now saw that lunch was being served.

The nice smell of the lunch started to tempt Isilmë's mind and he glanced over to a counter where they now served lunch. Cause of his late breakfast he had, he didn't feel much hungry, but a small piece of lamb stew would be nice.

Many of the Inn guests started to eat lunch and Isilmë saw how Ascasirs gaze was like drawn towards the counter where the lunch was being served. Isilmë cleared his throat and said 'I believe that I am not the only one who is hungry.' He glanced over to Ascasir with a smile. 'I suggest we'd get something to eat, or what do you say?'

[Kates Frodo Temp]

As she stepped forward, trying to catch the smiling lady's words, Sylvie saw the afternoon sunshine spilling in from the open door behind her. She spun around to see a hobbit lass just coming through. When am I going to be used to seeing such tiny people? She backed out of the way as the hobbit stepped across to the counter, and nearly collided with a grey-haired gentleman who was also coming in. "Pardon me, sir!" He seemed not to notice Sylvie.

By the time that Sylvie regained her composure, the lady was busy with her guests. Oh, well. She sank the floor with her back against the wall to the right of the door. Pulling her knees up to her chin, she closed her eyes and tried to think what to do next. Things will work out. I have not gone hungry yet.

There's not enough money for you to go on like this, Sylvie. You ought to go where you are safe.

Stop it! Even if it was safe--it's not, mother--I'm not going back now. Please, you are wasting your time!

Time does not matter to me anymore.

I know that. I know, but it matters to me, mother.

[Arry]

“Is all of the Shire as fine as here?”

Derufin, Andwise noted, was distracted at the sight of a small cart heading west down the road toward Hobbiton. Merrimac, the stableboy, could be seen driving the trap, but in the seat next to him sat a lady who could but barely be seen. “Zimzi?” said Derufin, rising from his place at the table. The man excused himself hastily and went into the kitchen, Andwise supposed, to inquire where she had gone.

The Hobbit, pushing away his empty bowl of stew and waving off the serving girl’s offer of blackberry tart, gave a satisfied sigh and decided to answer Jinniver’s question himself. He took out his pouch of Southern Star and offered it to the woman then filled his own pipe.

“Well, Mistress Cornthrift,’ he began, tamping down the pipeweed as he did so. “There’s some as say this is the heart of the Shire, and none can be found as is finer than here. But I expect they're the good folk that have always lived around these parts. I’ve taken jobs in other parts of the Farthings and found the country side and its folk much as they are here. Some shine out like new silver pennies, all fair in temper and hands out to help a neighbor. Others are the bad pennies, so to speak. Looking to turn the advantage to themselves if they can. Lucky us though, there’s a sight more of the shiny pennies than the tarnished!” He took a draw on his now lit pipe. “Much like the rest of the world, I expect. Though I don’t plan to find out for myself.”

“What about you? From Bree I heard. What brings you so far afield from home?”

Andwise stopped Buttercup as she passed with the cider. “A wee bit before we’re back to work, if you don’t mind, Miss.”

[Saurreg]

Ascasir was delighted by the company provided by the Galadhrim Isilmë and Gwenneth, Sindar of the Grey Havens. He could see and was glad of heart that the former had regained his composure and was getting more animated and confident as the seconds trickled pass, and he was easily becoming the center of attention with his sharp wits, lively words and that special charisma. The beautiful Gwenneth must have noticed this impressive improvement also, for her sharp sparkling grey eyes were increasingly drawn upon the noble face of the elf from Lorien. As both Isilmë and the fair elven maiden continued to conversate, their pure and melodic voices filled the air like sounds of exotic woodwind instruments and Ascasir was contented to just sitting back letting his newly acqainted friends lead on.

The moments passed swiftly under elven company and soon it was midday. The rays of the sun now shone brightly through the open widows of the room and fell upon anything in its path, painting all in an inviting warm golden hue. Ascasir permitted himself a wane smile of approval as he felt the deliciously warm caress of the sun against his back.

From the back of the serving hall, the strong aroma of stewed meats, earthly herbs and fragrant spices tickled his nostrils.

Isilmë cleared his throat and said 'I believe that I am not the only one who is hungry.' He glanced over to Ascasir with a smile. 'I suggest we'd get something to eat, or what do you say?'

"Aye, friend Isilmë! The smell of good food does kindle one's appetite, no? I will join you and I insist that our fair companion from the Grey Havens join us also as we partake in merry drink and feast," replied Ascasir as he looked upon both his companions smilingly.

The unexpected but delighfully companionship of kindreds, the warm light of an apex sun on a cloudless lazy day and a hearty meal. What more can a simple Silvan elf ask for?

[Morsul the Dark]

Morsul woke as a horse carriage rumbled past, yawning, he reluctantly gather his belongings and returned to the inn sadly the hobbits that had given him the Old Toby were gone He had planned on buying them a round of beer. Instead he looked around. There was a table filled with young hobbits listening with great interest to the stories of an older hobbit.

It seemed he was telling the tale of a local legend, one Bilbo Baggins, uncle of Frodo BAggins, Morsul knew of Frodo though he knew nothing of his uncle. Asking leave he joined the hobbits and to their delight he ordered a round of Ale on him. Hobbits were certainly excitable creature when it came to food and Ale. After the ale came the Old hobbit(he was called Gaffer) began to tell his tale.

[starkat]

The smell of lamb stew, fresh bread, and cider trickled into the room. Gwenneth had been enjoying her conversation with Isilmë and Ascasir immensely. She had been surprised at how much she had missed the companionship of other elves.

The time had passed so quickly, that Gwenneth realized that she was hungry again. When Isilmë suggested that they get lunch, the young elf maid smiled. After Ascasir gave his agreement, Gwenneth gave hers. “The idea of eating again sounds wonderful.”

Ascasir and Isilmë both motioned for her to stay seated. The two elves offered to bring her lunch back to their table. Having a little bit of a mischievous streak, Gwenneth nodded her agreement. When the two elves returned, they were surprised to find that their chairs had been replaced with hobbit-sized ones. They placed their bowls and mugs on the table and looked around for the culprit.

Gwenneth did her best to keep a straight face, but one look from Isilmë and she began giggling. “I apologize. I could not resist.” She looked up at the Silvan and Galadhrim and hoped that they were not upset.

Isilmë smiled towards Gwenneth and said 'Just stay here lady Gwenneth, and we will get you something.' He glanced over to Ascasir that bowed and motioned that she should stay. Gwenneth nodded towads them and Isilmë and Ascasir went over to the counter to get something to eat. Isilmë thought that the lamb stew smelled delicious and was very eager to try it.

Together with Ascasir he returned to their table with a bowl of lamb stew to Gwenneth. As they got closer they saw that both their seats were taken by two hobbits. When Gwenneth looked up at Isilmë that stood there and didn't say anything. He was perplexed and it was like his tounge had frozen and couldn't move.

She giggled and said 'I apologize. I could not resist.' She smiled to them and then looked back at the hobbits. Ascasir smiled and then turned to Isilmë.

'Well,' he started and scratched his head, 'don't worry, we'll get two other chairs.'

Isilmë left the bowls with the stew and went getting two new chairs for his friend and himself. Ascasir and Isilmë seated together by the table that was quiet crowded by now and they had keep their elbows in.

'Well met, little masters,' Isilmë said with a warm smile to the hobbits, 'I am Isilmë from the Golden Wood of Lorien.' He bowed and turned to Ascasir, that sat just looking at them.

Isilmë still felt surprised and overwhelmed by the hobbits, but still he was satisfied by their prescence, as he thought that half-lings was an interesting race. Gwenneth seemed like she also enjoyed their company. She gave Isilmë a warm smile and giggled.

[Lalwendë]

The stable master had suddenly excused himself and Jinniver turned to Andwise the hobbit, with a smile on her face. He offered her some pipeweed and she filled her pipe as she listened to him. “What about you? From Bree I heard. What brings you so far afield from home?”

“Yes, I am a Breelander” Jinniver took a draw on her pipe and blew a smoke ring. “Our farm is on the Greenway, just outside the walls, though far away enough to be called a quiet place. I live with my old Dad, and my niece has lately joined us there. My brother is a brewer in Bree itself. You could call our farm a nursery, as we grow only flowers and shrubs, not taters and wheat, though we do grow herbs. I’ve come to The Shire to see if some of the good folk hereabouts would like to buy from us.”

Andwise looked as though he was a little puzzled. “Well, it is not so far, and now we have regular carts going to and fro on the road, it would be easy to send deliveries. I even thought of making a little seed catalogue of sorts, so that over the winter evenings the gardeners of the Shire can pass the time in ordering those things they want to grow when spring comes around”.

Jinniver was keen to know if this would be something Shire folk would like. It was an idea she had thought of before leaving home, but had decided to keep it in the back of her mind until she saw how things went. She had not known what to expect of the Shire, though some of the Hobbits of Bree, regular customers and good friends, had urged her to try for some trade here. Her father had been keen on the idea, though he was nervous about letting her go alone. “Still, I suppose you’ve seen through enough troubles. I daresay you could handle yourself” he had said, more to reassure himself. As Jinniver looked around her, she wondered at her father’s worries. She had never thought such a friendly and charming place could exist. She blew another smoke ring contentedly and then her face became more serious.

“I have heard tell about the troubles that the Shire itself suffered, worse than we had in Bree. Though they were bad enough,“ she said sadly. “And yet it is so welcoming here. In the inn last night, there were many people, elves and men, who I’d only call peculiar, and look at that strange man under the tree there now.” They watched as the grey haired man woke up and got to his feet. “These are all as old friends in the Shire, and yet I wouldn’t go down The Greenway without such as this” Jinniver pulled out the old dagger she carried. “The King may have come back, but there could still be untrustworthy creatures abroad.”

Andwise looked a little startled as she put the knife onto the table, and she withdrew it with a smile. "Or am I too wary, master Andwise?"

[starkat]

Her joke had come off wonderfully. The two hobbits who had assisted her greeted the elves just as they sat down and then returned to their own table. Gwenneth could not quit giggling. The look on her new friends’ faces had been worth it.

Gwenneth smiled at her companions. “It is not often that I get the opportunity to show my more mischievous side. Thank you for being such good sports.”

Isilmë and Ascasir looked at each other and laughed. All three elves returned to the meal at hand. After a few minutes, Gwenneth spoke first. “Have you seen much of the Shire since your arrival?”

[Envinyatar]

‘Don’t get your breeches in a twist, Stablemaster!’ Cook looked up from her lists as she sat at the table, the tall figure of Derufin looming over her. ‘No “Hello, Cook!” or a “By your leave, Cook”?! Just a demand to know where Mistress Zimzi has gone off to!’

Derufin backed away a few steps. Cook had stood up from her chair with the last sentence, and hands on hips, one foot tapping, was glaring at the man. He grinned shamefacedly at her. She reminded him of his own ma when he was a much younger lad . . . expecting his best manners no matter the situation. He gave a small bow and rephrased his question.

‘Mistress Bunce, I saw Zimzi going off in a cart with Merrimac. Could you tell me where she’s going?’ Derufin cocked one eye at Cook to see if she had softened.

Buttercup had by this time come into the kitchen and both of them he found, as he straightened up, were laughing at him. ‘She’s not been kidnapped, you great ninny! If that’s what you’re thinking,’ said Buttercup. ‘You asked to us to keep her from the cottage for a while,’ continued Cook. ‘I’ve sent her to a friend of mine’s burrow in Hobbiton. She’ll be quite busy there . . . doing a variety of things to get ready for the festivities.’

It was Derufin’s turn to laugh now. ‘And here I thought you would keep her occupied in the Inn.’ He sat down at the table and told the two Hobbits the garden he had contracted the young woman of Bree to do. Leaning across the table as he finished his explanation, he asked, in a hopeful tone, would Zimzi be coming back to the Inn at night.

Cook shook her head and smiled sympathetically at him. ‘Think of it this way, my dear . . . absence makes the heart grow fonder . . .’

With a long face, Derufin took his leave of the two Hobbits and went out to finish his meal . . .

[Arry]

“Oh, aye, the Greenway. Right after the war I wouldna have gone down it myself. But it’s been twelve years now, and I’d wager that anywhere in the Shire is a safe place to go. I have to say that since Master Meriadoc and Master Peregrin came home to stay, and our own Master Gamgee, of course, the Shiriff’s have done a good job driving the undesirables from the Shire bounds.”

“Now outside the four farthings I wouldn’t think of traveling without my stout walking stick by my side. And to be honest I only go as far Bree, and that but once a year to visit my wife’s sister in Archet.”

Andwise signaled to one of the servers and asked for a mug of stout, sweet tea. “And bring the lady here what she’d like, if you please,” he added. His pipe had gone out and he spent a few moments fiddling with it, then relit it. The smoke from the bowl puffed upward in small rings, soon stretched out in the afternoon’s air and disappeared. “You know, though,” he said, a sudden memory coming back to him. “Just a short while ago one of our own Shiriff’s and an Elf from the Inn and a man from Rohan, or some such eastern place were here at the Inn. They’d come back from the lake north of the Shire. Nenuial, up there by the Evendim Hills – where that old city of men is . . . let me just think now . . .”

“Annuminas,” came the reply as Derufin sat himself down on the other side of Jinniver.

“That’s it! The High King’s city. Well, anyways, they went up there to rescue another fellow from Rohan. Terrible time they had of it, too. Some spawn of the Shadow in the East was there . . .” He shuddered as he recollected the telling of the tale. “They drove it off and all ended well, I heard. But it still scares the bejeebers off me that it was so near us.”

Taking out his pouch of pipeweed, Andwise offered some to the pensive Derufin who sat pushing his dessert about on his plate. “What about you, Stablemaster?” he asked. “You were in the war, I’ve heard tell. What’s your feelings about the Shire . . . safe or no . . .?”

[Envinyatar]

Derufin waved the offer of pipeweed away. ‘I think I’ll just drown my sorrows in another dish of blackberry tart,’ he explained, pulling the pan of dessert toward him. Andwise tucked his pouch away into one of the pockets of his vest. Sitting back in his chair, he regarded the man with a bemused look as Derufin scooped a large portion of tart into his bowl and poured a generous splash of clotted cream over the top.

‘Alright, I’ll bite,’ asked Andwise. ‘What sorrows are you drowning?’

‘I’ve outfoxed myself, my friend,’ replied Derufin around a mouthful of crust and sweet berries. He waved his spoon in the air as he made his points. ‘I asked Buttercup to see if she could occupy Zimzi for the few days left until the handfasting . . . keep her away from the cottage while the flower beds were got in. Well, Buttercup came through for me. She engaged the help of Cook, and now my sweet Zimzi will not be seen, I’ve been told, until the ceremony. Away, she is . . . getting things done as needs be, or so Cook told me.’ He tapped his spoon irritably on the wooden tabletop. ‘My thinking is that they were just waiting for the opportunity to whisk her away. I’m betting it’s some sort of Halfling custom that they’ve sprung on me!’

A barely muffled giggled from behind him made Derufin spin about in his chair. Both Buttercup and Ruby stood there, shaking their heads at him. ‘Poor man!’ cried Buttercup. ‘He’ll live, though, don’t you think,’ commented Ruby in a decidedly unsympathetic tone. Derufin gave them both his most pitiful appearing face, but they only patted him on the cheek and laughed. ‘Best Cook not find you moping about, you know,’ whispered Buttercup as she whisked his empty dish away from him. ‘Elsewise, she’ll be finding “things” to fill in your time.’ Ruby nodded vigorously in agreement. ‘She’s got a long list to tick off . . .’

Derufin through up his hands in mock surrender. One of the Hobbit lads across the table, Tomlin, who had been taking in the exchange, passed a white handkerchief to Derufin, telling him to wave it. ‘You’re up against insurmountable odds, my friend. When the women want things a certain way, you might as well step back out of the path.’ Derufin grinned, shrugging his shoulders, and nodded in acquiescence as he waved the white handkerchief at the retreating serving maids.

Others of the serving staff had come out and began to clear away the dishes, pitchers of ale and cider and pots of hot tea were left on the table for the diners to enjoy. Pouring himself a mug of cold cider, Derufin leaned forward on his elbows toward Andwise. ‘What was it you asked? Something about do I think the Shire is safe or not.’ He took a sip of his drink, then set the mug carefully I front of him. ‘Safe enough, I think. Though, as with anything as ever has been touched with shadow, it’s best to err on the side of caution.’

He saw, as he finished speaking, Jinniver nodding her head in agreement.

[Witch_Queen]

Adu's return

Adu road over the hill as her eyes caught sight of the beautiful Green Dragon Inn. It had been a while since she had layed eyes on it. To her failure she wasn't able to locate Hama. She had stayed on night in Rivendell before she left to return to the Shire. Nothing had changed at all. She wondered how everything was going with Crystal. She figured she would have to locate her. Adu reached down and began rubbing Count's mane. "You've done good my friend. Lets just hope Hama hasn't returned without us seeing him."

Adu jumped down off the saddle of her horse and began leading him to the stables. The walk seemed like only seconds had past but Adu wasn't going to let time fool her. "You deserve a long rest my dear friend." She walked back into the inn and noticed there was new faces. Adu walked to the front of the room. Even though the room seemed to be bursting with hobbits Adu wasn't going to let it affect her. "Now where would Aman be?" Adu didn't know what else to do so she decided to grab a glass of ale and sit by the fireside. It felt good to finally be back. There was only one question still in her mind. Where is Hama?

[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 of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

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:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, the Stablemaster (played by Envinyatar)

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.