The Green Dragon Inn - Part 3

[Faye Took]

The sun was high in the sky lighting up all of Middle-Earth. Elrie walked quickly down the road. Her cloak pulled tightly around her slim body, and hood over her head. "Just a little further." she spoke in a soft voice to herself. Her breath soon began to quicken and her heart pounded for every step she took. Elrie quickend her pace as she heard the squeeking of the Inn sign in the soft breeze. "Ah, here we are." Elrie said grasping the handle to the Inn.

Voice filled her ears. The Green Dragon Inn had surely been a popular place this morning! Laughing and talk filled the room. Elrie walked in and quickly shut the door. She threw back her hood and pulled her long blonde hair from underneath her cloak. Elrie made her way to the bar. "Ma'am? Could I get an ale, please?" she asked taking a seat. "Coming right up, miss." The Inn keeper replyed. Soon after, she set a pint of ale infront of her. "Here you go, miss. The finest ale in Middle-Earth!" the Inn keeper giggled. Elrie quickly gulped down her ale. "Good to be back."

OOC: Fixed [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] ! Sorry about that!

[ May 27, 2003: Message edited by: Faye Took ]

[Envinyatar]

He sat up, and smiled at the newcomer to the table. The Inn was overrun with Fair Folk, or so it seemed these days.

‘Ah,’ he said, his attention drawn to the young woman who sat at the table eating bread and jam, ‘you must be Léspheria. I think I heard something from Aman concerning your offer of help to her.’

The pot of strawberry jam was almost gone. Derufin excused himself and rose from the table, making his way to the cupboard where Cook kept her extra jars of jam. ‘Try this,’ he offered, breaking the waxen seal on the clay jar. ‘It’s a special jam from Miz Amaranthas’ kitchen, sweet berries from her own patch mixed with tart chunks of rhubarb.’ He placed the jam, a spoon stuck handily in it, on the table near her.

As he was up already, he brought the kettle of hot water to the table, and throwing a few more leaves in the teapot, he poured the hot water in and set the tea to brewing. ‘Have one more cup, the two of you, before you begin your work day.’ He nodded at Vanwe, who stood to follow him.

‘Let me fetch the wood from the shed behind the stable,’ he told her. ‘And let me get the tools and supplies rounded up that we’ll need.’ He poured both the women a fresh mug of tea, and pushed the honey within their reach for sweetening. ‘Come out and find me when you are done, Vanwe. I’ll be in the yard, at the east side of the stable.’ He pushed his chair up against the table and cleared away his dishes to the stone sink. Cook smiled at him and he winked broadly at her, saying she would soon have the finest shelving in all of Bywater.

She laughed and waved him off, watching as he strode out the door, whistling some old air he had picked up in his travels . . .
_____________________________________________

Faye Took: - Some of us are playing out a set of scenes that take place during the daylight hours at the Inn. It is still early morning, we have just had breakfast, and there is a whole day of work and discovery ahead of us, before night falls.

Can you modify your post to reflect that?

-- Envinyatar

[Nerindel]

Léspheria smiled warmly at the elven woman offering her the honey jar.She put the jar down saying "I've never tried it on Bread before, only in the strong tea of men and hobbits." She then took another slice of bread,spreading it thickly with the honey. Then without hesitating she took a large bite, then turning back to the elven woman she nodded saying "Hmmmmmm, your right this is delicious."


Just then she heard Derufin addressing her, she turned to him, her mouth still crammed with warm bread and honey, so she just nodded. He then excused himself and rose from the table and got something from the cupboard, it was another pot of jam.Try this,’ he offered, breaking the waxen seal on the clay jar. ‘It’s a special jam from Miz Amaranthas’ kitchen, sweet berries from her own patch mixed with tart chunks of rhubarb.’ He placed the jam, a spoon stuck handily in it, on the table near her. Léspheria thanked him politely smiling.

He then poured them both a cup of tea and told the elf sitting next to her to meet him in the yard at the east side of the stables when she was done.

Once Derufin had left, Léspheria turned to the elven woman, smiling broadly and wiping her sticky hands on a napkin that was next to her, "I do not believe we have been properly introduced, my name is Léspheria and I hail from Rivendell, it is a pleasure to meet you," she said extending her hand out to the woman in friendship.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Note to all posters: Aman is FEMALE and HUMAN.

Thankyou.

[Snowdog]

(OOC: Pardon my days long absence. Real life and long weekend and no computer access, etc. I'll re-cap from where I left off to get current with it being morning.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silvanis checked mentally his satchels on Blackveil, and they all were in order. If this woman was a thief, she would have troubles with Blackveil and her spirit. The stabehand entered and confronted the woman, and Silvanis remained quiet thoiugh he did wish to thank him again for the tending of Blackveil. Leading her from the stables and letting her run free with a whisper, he knew she would return in the morn. He looked back at the woman, and listened to her converse with Derufin and said nothing, eyeing her and again thoughts ran south for again it seemed in the dim lamplight of the stables a familiar face. Silvanis stepped out of the stables and sucked on his unlit pipe and stood by the wall looking about the night and listening.

The skies were clearing and the uncommon northern blast of foul weather seemed to be running back north, leaving a breath of midsummer warmth that chased it off. It wil be a good day in the morn, and a day to ride to the Brandywine and across the barrowlands as he works his way south.

He stood unmoving as he watched the woman and Derufin returned to the Inn, and Silvanis thought also to return to rest for the night, though his thoughts kept remembering the eyed of the veiled woman, and now the face of this woman from the stable, and he wondered about why they seemed familiar. Was it because he missed being in the southlands? Maybe, but it was hard to tell.

As Silvanis returned to the bustling common room of the Inn and he stood aside by the doorpost, his dark leathers blending him with the wood beams. He looked about the place, and saw again the woman of the southlands, who was talking with a hobbit-lass at a nearby table. It seemed a sadness came over her, and Silvanis saw also his chair at the table across the room by the fire was yet unoccupied. His finger toyed with the roomkey he was given and also a small stone. It was only the size of a dewdrop and its deep red color seemed almost blavck in the cdim light of the common room, but in the bright sun it glowed deep red, and would leave a dot of red upon the surface behund it if held at the proper distance. How he came about it was a mystery that remains to be told, but it was at the Oasis Inn in the deep desert of Harad when he found it on him. He eyed again the woman talking with the Hobbit and it seemed for a moment a far off connection, but he wasn't sure. Silvanis hesitated for a moment before he took a step.

He thought instead he would sit and watch the common room before retiring to his room, and he started toward his old table where Derufin sat with the woman from the stable. Silvanis passed by the table where the veiled woman and hobbit talked, and with a simple twitch of his finger, the redstone landed gently unnoticed upon her lap.

Coming to the table where Derufin and Vanya sat, Silvanis said to him,

'Have you any of the Southern Star for sale? I could use a poke by the morn if you can find me some.'

His eye caught the eye of Vanwe who sat there, and Silvanis nodded to her silently while he awaited Derufin's reply, and as he sat he watched the woman with the Hobbitin case she noticed the stone upon her lap.

[Katt b]

Waen smiled at the man and decided to let him finish his meal.She turned in her chair to see what was going on in the Inn this morning.She glanced over at a table with elven folk eating. she looked around to see if Estella had returned,she had not.

Waen decided to stretch her legs and go outside.She gracefully got off her chair and made her way out the door.As soon as she had exited Kitathas flew off her shoulder with a screech.

Waen watched her go, then made her way down the steps.She sat down under a tree nearby and let her mind wonder.I wonder if my mother is worried about me? probbable not I was just a burrden to her.But must I be doomed to wander for the rest of my days?Will I ever find real true love?Will anyone really love me for who I am?She shook her head, she was being silly such thoughts were only for the young and beautiful.

Waen sighed and looked to the sky.I wonder where Kit has gone? Oh well she might be gone for awhile.I might as well go back inside,she knows where to find me.

Waen got up off the ground and began to make her way back into the Inn.Waen thought maybe Estella would show up eventually,so she decided to sit down and inspect her Bow.Maybe some of the Elven folk would approach her and she would have a chance to show off a little with her skill.

Inside Waen craved for friendship,something she had never known and even deeper she craved for someone to love her like she had heared in the stories her Mother used to tell her.She looked up from her Bow and sighed looking troubled she just stared at her hands.

[Maegaladiel]

Nahai grinned at Annalalaith.

"I see you have returned to us!" she said. "Did you hear the lady Morwyn play? She's a natural!" She jabbed a thumb at the Rohan woman with her flute. "They were meant for each other, I tell you!" Morwyn laughed.

"I shall have to dedicate that song to memory now, since it's the only thing I can play. Does it have words? Perhaps it would sound better if I had someone's voice drowning out my playing." Morwyn said, mocking her own performance. The Beorning laughed and nodded.

"Aye, it does. But I shan't ruin the song by having MY horrid voice tie its melody into knots. I believe I could write the words down for you. If you'll both excuse me, I have some parchment in my room." Nodding to the elf and woman, Nahai slipped upstairs to her room, searching for something to write on.
*********

The lone elf staggered to the Green Dragon's door. Hmm. Pain DID bother him more than he was willing to admit. Leaning on the porch, he touched his bound leg gingerly. The wound screamed in protest, bringing a pained gasp to the traveller's lips. He'd best stop in the Inn for a rest.

Slowly he pushed open the door and limped to the bar. The inkeeper looked up from her work as he eased himself into a chair, an agonized expression on his face as his battered muscles whined in further protest of their treatment.

"Are you alright?" she asked the stranger. Alright? he thought to himself. No, he was not alright. He was a mere shell of the elf he once was, before he lost his beautiful love.

"Aye," he lied. "I am well." The inkeeper raised an eyebrow, looking at his wound.

"'Well' isn't what I would call that." she said curtly. "I could have someone properly heal that, if you like." But her words fell like silent raindrops apon ears of stone. For the elf had seen what a human maid across the bar from him held in her hands. A wooden flute.

[Elora]

Vanwe took up Léspheria's hand, unsure of the proper manner of greeting and added her own name to the score.

"Vanwe am I, and I hail from... Harad," she said with the slightest of hesitation towards the end. " I am very pleased to meet you." Léspheria's brows only rose a little as she named Harad.

Derufin rose to get the day's work underway, bestowing more tea for them to enjoy. It seemed that his earlier pensiveness and sadness had never been. Vanwe struggled to keep up with her newly found and unpredictable companions. Yet before he could leave, Silvanis arrived and spoke of Southern Star.

Vanwe shot up in her chair as he arrived, sapphire eyes widening in her face. He seemed relaxed and confident, but he held a wariness in him that Vanwe knew well. Such wariness was in hunters, warriors, the men she grew up with and now many men she had been forced to elude on her long road into the north.

In the brighter light of the inn, she had a better chance to observe his face as he spoke with Derufin. A distant memory came to her of a night in her village. The fire leapt high into a clear, bejewled desert sky. Women sang and a voluptous music drifted in the air. Vanwe was not at that gathering of the village, that feast, but she watched because of the music. Closer she had crept, between the small houses and huts and through the yard that the livestock were kept in at night. A stranger had sat at that feast, admist the laughter. Some trading was occuring.

Vanwe remembered a joke about trading the village's Elf, made by a man she had always had a strong dislike for. She had crouched behind the fence of the yard and peered at him through the firelight. His companion added that they would pay the visitor, both for taking their weak northern Elf and for being so gullible as to accept an Elf left to rot in the desert by her own kin. They had laughed but Vanwe well remembered a hot anger and shame rising within her.

It had taken her from the yard to the hut where the food was being prepared. She took an earthenware dish, made her alterations and whisked it from the kitchens before those within could protest her very presence. Straight to the laughing pair she took it, head bowed and covered by her rough veil. They barely paid her any attention, helped themselves and pushed her on around the circle. Vanwe obliging had served the others, but a hint of her actual identity had been let slip by the time she reached the stranger at the feast that night.

A strand of hair had slipped free then as it still did now, and delicate gold shone in the firelight. She caught sight of it as she bowed before the stranged before which she had been humiliated, and startled had looked up. His face, the man who sat at the table now, had studied her own. She knew he understood who stood before him. One word would have had her strung up and beaten for showing her face. She was not to attend such gatherings. Her hair marked her stranger, just as her eyes and all else hidden behind her veil had then. And he had remained silent, allowing her to scurry back to the kitchen and then flee back to where she should have stayed.

The result was that the stranger had avoided her tampered food, the jokers had spent an uncomfortable night, and she had indeed been strung up and beaten when those in the kitchen reported her presence at the feast so as to avoid the beating themselves. Still, despite the consequences, Vanwe retained two things. The sense of satisfaction as she heard the men retch and groan, and the memory of the stranger's face.

She glanced back at Léspheria who was intently watching what unfolded at the table with a smooth expression most unlike Vanwe's own demonstrative one. Again her hair had slipped free and she tucked it back. She'd need to tie it back for the day. Yet as her fingers moved, Silvanis seemed to study it. Did he recognise her, she wondered... the look he had given her on that distant night was one of appraisal with his cool blue eyes. Yet, rather than flee the room in blind panic, she remained where she was, watching intently.

She would not run, not now, and she would have her notes back again even if she did have to steal them back. She glanced around the room as Silvanis and Derufin spoke.

Her heart skudded as all relaxation faded from her body. Vanwe's mind frantically scrabbled over her long flight. She had been as careful as she could as she trudged through the arduous desert and found a trade route leading north. Prior attempts to leave had been met with sound beatings and she was determined not to be brought back this time.

Silvanis, who had her notes, also shared memory and with that her identity. Was it all about to be taken away again and the hot sands swallow her once more? She realised her hands were slightly trembling and she clasped them tightly in her lap to still them. She drew a breath deep into her lungs. If it was about to end, this brief bright moment, then it would end in a manner she chose.

Iron purpose held her spine straight, and more like her kindred she could not be though she knew it not at that moment. Finarfin himself would have identified her as she sat in that inn, straight and proud, with her chin raised and eyes like bright, hard sapphires, deep with colour and strong with will.

She glanced back at Silvanis. It was unlikely her poor village had sent such a man after her. They'd have to sell their own sons to afford him, Vanwe noted, and no matter the deal they had struck with her mother they would not do that to get her back. Compared to Léspheria she was far from the "Fair Folk" as she could be, yet in her veins ran the true blood of House Finarfin that had been lost in shadow, grief and years uncountered and sundered far from her kin.

Yet her mind wheeled with all their agility. Silvanis was not sent to haul her back, but he could send rumour of her presence to those who would. If she was to emerge from this, she would need all her wits about her. Fleeing in blind panic would achieve nothing. Instead, Vanwe remained where she was, patiently waiting for her opportunity to speak to Silvanis without drawing too much attention to herself with suspicious oddities in behaviour, such as leaping through a window in escape.

She watched with Léspheria, as Derufin spoke with Silvanis and then departed whistling cheerfully to gather wood and tools.

"I should go ready myself," she said to Léspheria, as she indicated her loose hair. "I do not wish to delay Derufin as we have a full day of work ahead of us. It was a pleasure to meet you, Léspheria."

Vanwe smiled through her tension at the elven woman, wishing fervently she had some of the composure and elegance of her kindred. She stood, looking at Silvanis as she commented, "I will be in the laundry, washing my hands."

There was an unspoken plea in her eyes, much like the night of the feast. Her statement, though, was not artiface. She needed to clean her hands and comb her hair back and so, with a long glance at Silvanis, Vanwe walked as calmly as she could to the laundry to begin to prepare. Yet as she wove the delicate golden strands into a long gleaming braid, and plucked straw and blanket hairs from the fabric of her dress, her mind circled around whether Silvanis would treat with her, what he would ask in return and whether she'd simply find herself tied to a horse, again, on her way south before the day was out.

Through this all wound the music of that night she had poisoned the food in an impotent display of helpless anger and isolation. It faintly filled the laundry as she hummed the sweet, swaying, undulating melody in that unmistakeable southern minor key.

~~~~~~~

My apologies to Benia's writer, whom I both misplaced and misdescribed.
[ May 27, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[ May 28, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[piosenniel]

Green Dragon Inn Facts:

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

King Elessar is on the throne.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

[Envinyatar]

He stopped his cheerful demeanor once he left the Inn, his face becoming somber. The song he was whistling ended on an off key note, as the memories crowded back behind his dark grey eyes.

No need to put up a casual front now, there was no one about to see him, save the horses and the occasional hen who wandered into the stable looking for spilled grain. He was safe with these companions. His bad dreams were not cause for comment among them nor did they care if oft times silence captured him.

It was an effort sometimes to play the easy going man that most in the Inn expected of him. But it was a convenient fiction that slid him through the social interactions his fellow creatures found so necessary for contact. Most wanted no more than this, and he was glad of it.

‘Well, now . . . to work,’ he called to a passing family of ducks waddling down to the nearby pond. The ducklings eyed him as he spoke, and were rewarded with a scolding from their mother, as she hurried them along with a disgruntled quack and a nip at their tail feathers, away from the man.

He carried the wooden trestles from the storage shed at the end of the stable and set them up in the yard. The oak planks he had leaned against the side of the structure already. He hefted one away from its resting place and placed it across the trestle. Retrieving his measuring cord and hard chalk from his vest pocket, he set about marking off the length needed for the shelves . . .

[Elora]

The laundry remained undisturbed other than by Vanwe's songs and her movements as she scrubbed her face and hands clean. The water was cool upon her skin, and swiftly she had bound her hair in a manner she had learnt in her childhood. The one larger braid was formed by the smaller braids she had separated her hair into, tying the thick mass off with her own hair in a quick knot at the end of the tail. She let it rest over her shoulder, a comforting and familiar weight.

Silvanis was still in the common room as she re-emerged, making the most of the pipe-weed he had obtained. Through a haze of smoke their eyes met and Vanwe actually managed a small smile as he nodded at her. Perhaps her fear of being carried off to Harad like a motley piece of luggage was unfounded, but until she could know rather than surmise she would keep her wits about her yet.

Her desire to prove Derufin right to trust her with work pushed her past Silvanis and Bernia and out into the daylight outside the inn. The storm was all but passed, and the sunlight was warm on her head and shoulders as she went in search of Derufin. She followed her keen hearing to where he had said he would await her, passing ducks and hens as she went. Their chatter was a familiar sound to her, at least the hens were. Ducks were altogether a mysterious creature that she had not seen until she reached the better watered coast and temperate climes in the north. They reminded her of geese, in a way.

Rather than further explore that, she continued on her path and found Derufin on the easterly side of the stable surrounded by lumber with chalk in hand. He was bent over the trestle and rather than interrupt him, Vanwe instead placed her hand against a piece of oak leaning against the stable wall.

It was still rough and warmed by the sun. Her eyes drifted shut as she felt for the shapes that raw length held within it. A shadow moved before her face as Derufin straightened and turned to find Vanwe standing with her eyes closed and hand held against the lumber in a manner most would describe as peculiar. Yet the dreamy smile on her face suggested something else was afoot.

Her eyes flew open as Derufin cleared his throat.

"I trust you'll be able to offer at least a little assistance before you retire for the evening," came his question. Vanwe nodded her assent.

"Yes... I was just getting a feel for the wood," she explained in a less than satisfactory manner. She sidestepped quickly away from the oak and dropped her hand back to her side.

"Are these the tools," she inquired, guesturing to a small gathering of equipment near the trestle. She crouched by them, taking up the hammer and testing its grip in her hand. It would be good to work again, she thought as she glanced up to Derufin. The shadows were there, faintly, she thought. Only faintly, but they were there. She blinked to break her study and stood again.

"I can help you mark out the width, or cut and smooth them... I would make the fences and repair the buildings of the village," she added. "I can make other things too, but I don't think you'll be wanting those," she finished humbly.

She picked up the saw in demonstration of her readiness and looked back at the wood Derufin had been marking out.

[Envinyatar]

He watched the way she hefted the saw in preparation for beginning the cuts and smiled to himself. So, she was honest in that – she had some knowledge of working with wood. He nodded at the plank he had laid out on the trestle.

‘Go ahead,’ he said, ‘make the cuts. I’ll take the ones you’ve done then and drill them on the ends for pegs.’ He pointed with a tilt of his chin to the boards now neatly balanced against the wall of the stable. ‘I finished marking those, so go ahead and work your way through them. Once we’re done with this, then we’ll sand and wax them, and put them up for Cook.’

They fell into an easy rhythm and the morning passed quickly amidst the sounds of sawing and the tangy smell of oak shavings, mixed with the lemony smell of wax. Time flew by in companionable silence, broken only by the low murmur of a short query here and there followed by the needed answer.

Derufin pulled the red handkerchief from his breeches pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. The sun was full on them now, and he rolled up the sleeves to his shirt above his elbows. Sweat beaded on the hairs of his arms, glistening in the light. ‘Break time, I think,’ he said smiling at her.

Cook had come out of the kitchen, bearing a pitcher of chilled water just drawn from the well. Sweat condensed, too, on the metal sides of it, and ran in small rivulets down its sides.

He poured two mugs of the cold liquid and offered her an apple from the basket he had brought out to the stable as treats for the ponies and horses. ‘Let’s sit in the shade for a moment, under the tree there.’ She followed as he walked toward the bushy maple and sat down, his back against the trunk. He looked up at her, a hesitant look on her face, and bade her sit for a while.

‘There are no benches, m’lady,’ he said, half grinning at her, as he bit into the apple in his hand. He chewed on it thoughtfully for a moment, savoring the sweet, tart flavor of it. ‘You have some skill with wood, I see,’ he said off handedly, his eyes following the duck family as they searched beneath the plant leaves in the Inn yard for bugs and grubs. ‘Though this is just rough work we’re doing today.’ He flipped the apple core to one of the guest’s ponies who shared the shade of the tree with them.

‘Tell me, those other things you mentioned, that you can make from wood -- what are they?’

[Elora]

Whilst the skirts of a gown were not the habitual garb of choice for woodworkers, Vanwe was glad of them nonetheless as she lacked a hankerchief. Instead she wiped down her hands on the folds of fabric at her hip and followed Derufin to the shade of the maple. Ponies snorted as they arrived and she folded down to sit next to him.

She accepted the apple with a bemused smile that only someone who had been raised as she had would perhaps appreciate. His question was the second surprise and she blinked at the apple in her hand.

"It very much depends on the wood," she started. Derufin chewed another mouthful of apple and hungry she started on her own apple. The fruit in her hand was prevalent in the north, and a rareity in her land of childhood. It was amazing how quickly she had begun to feel hungry, even after the large feast that had comprised breakfast.

"The wood knows what it holds. I simply set it free," she added after a moment's more thought. "Sometimes it is small things, containers, goblets, platters, small figures. Sometimes it is larger things, like tables, chairs, houses even. But I have never been able to make those larger things - it wasn't allowed..."

Vanwe took another bite as a thought occured to her. "And sometimes a whole tree has very large ambitions," she added. "Not even the largest tree could make a whole ship." As she chewed on her apple, she grinned a little until another thought dawned upon her. Had she said too much? She took a sip of the cool drink by her and ventured her own question.

"What of you? What sorts of things do you make other than shelves... m'lord? You are very good with the timber, and I can see that you know more than pantry shelves."

She threw the title in playfully, for she had not missed the m'lady he had tossed in her direction. She had, around her words, managed to devour the apple. The ponies only got from her a meagre apple core that she had flicked in their direction. A few slim strands that had escaped her braid drifted around her face in the shade as she wondered how he would respond to her own curiosity.

[ May 28, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]

[Nerindel]

As Vanwe left, Léspheria rose from her seat, and lifting their breakfast dishes she wandered over to the large stone sink. As she washed them she contempleted her conversation with the elven woman. 'why would an elf live that far south?'she puzzled to herself, 'and why had Silvanis and the exotic woman in the common room troubled her so.' She was still thinking on this when she heard a loud thud and a high pitched yell coming from the pantry, she rushed over to see what had happened.

As she peered into the pantry she saw cook hopping about on one foot, cursing at a large jar that had obviously fallen on the foot that she was now holding in her hands as she hopped about."Are you ok " Léspheria asked, trying hard not to laugh at the comical scene before her. "Do I look ok" cook scolded, but seeing Lespheria's surprised look she apologised almost at once.

"Do you need any help" Lespheria ask, The hobbit woman looked back up at her shaking her head, "No, I am almost finnished here, but I am sure that Ruby would appreciate some help in the common room wiping the tables," she said pointing to a small basin of hot soapy water. Léspheria nodded and went to fetch the basin, as she made her way to the door leading to the common room she remembered that she had no idea who this Ruby was. "How will I recognise Ruby" she called back to the pantry, without looking up cook waved her hand saying "She'll be the hobbit with the mop in her hands." "Ok thank you she called back" she then took a deep breath, smiling as she pushed open the door of the common to start another day of work at the notorious Green dragon inn.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin laughed at her use of the term, and standing, brushed the covering of sawdust from his shirtfront. ‘M’lord! Now there is a term not often applied to me.’ He squinted up at the sky, checking the position of the sun, and laughed again, ‘Or ever . . . now that I think on it.’

He stretched his tanned and muscled hands out in front of him, regarding them with some amusement, as he turned them back to front, noting the thickened skin on the palms and fingertips, the small scars where he had been cut. ‘These are no lord’s hands. Just the working hands of a farmer, a fisherman, and one who was once pressed into service as a warrior.’ His gaze dropped for a moment to the ground. And the hands of a man who has buried his comrades and his family. . .

‘But you m’lady,’ he said, the smile back on his face, ‘you have a love for the wood. It speaks to you, does it not? My skill is limited to making sturdy, useful things. Though of late I have tried my hand at the finer tools I found in the stable’s workshop. A small attempt at crafting a gift for a friend.’

He held out his hand to her and pulled her to her feet. ‘Cook will be wondering why her shelves aren’t up yet, since I’ve found me such a fine assistant. Come! We’ll carry them in to the kitchen and get them pegged in place. She’ll want to restock them herself. She has a system all her own.’ He laughed and shook his head at memories of his first days at the Inn when he had put things back willy-nilly and Cook, barely half his height, had scolded him soundly, shaking her cooking spoon for emphasis - impressing upon him the need to ‘pay attention’ next time, or there would be no more foraging in her domain.

‘Once we’re done, we’ll just clean up here. Then you can have the rest of the afternoon to yourself. I’ll put the horses and ponies in the fenced pen beneath the shade trees. And there’ll be naught to do after that until we take them to their stalls in the late evening.’

Derufin picked up the stacked shelving, indicating she should bring in the sack of pegs and the hammers whose heads were wrapped in thick leather . . .

[Katt b]

Just then as Waen was staring off into her hands a lone Elf come through the doors,he looked like he was in pain. He sat down slowly at the bar.Aman approached him and said something to him,but he just shook his head.

I wonder where Kitathas is? I'm starting to get worried,maybe I should go and look for her.Waen stood up quickly,placed her bow in her pack on her back,and made her way to the door.She could not take her eyes off the elf that had just sat down,she was drawn to him for some reason.

Suddenly Waen heard in the distance a soft cry, moments later Kit glided into the Inn,she eyed the Elf at the bar,turned abruptly and landed gracefully off to the left side where the elf sat. She made a sound that was close to a coo and wobbled closer to the elf.

Waen was flabbergasted!Did Kit feel drawn to him as well? Waen was not sure how the elf would take a Hawk landing beside him.It might startle him.Waen let out a sharp whistle,Kit's head snapped back to look at Waen she hesitated,then hopped off the bar and flew to Waen's shoulder.

The elf turned and looked at Waen,slightly startled by the Hawk.Waen blushed at his stare and averted her eyes towards Kit.She was afraid this Elf would be like the others and dislike her for her 5" frame and the face of a young teenager.

Waen whispered to Kit and with one more glance at the elf she made her way hesitantly to the door and stepped out.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Alatariel sat next to the elf at the bar. The connection she felt suddenly vanished. 'Twas odd... She took a last sip of her wine and walked away from the bar and out of the Inn. She went into the stables to check on Aranel.

Aranel was standing up in the back of her stall, with her head sticking out of the window. "Aranel, what are you doing?" Alatariel asked. Aranel jerked her head around to Alatariel, her head was dripping wet from the rain. "Do you want to go outside?" Alatariel said, laughing after she knew what Aranel was doing. Aranel neighed and walked over to the front of the stall. Alatariel took her out of the stall and walked out into the rain. She put her hood on. "Aranel, I think it's time to leave now. Something tells me we won't be gone long, but I have to go find something out," Alatariel said looking back to the Inn, "Namárië, for the present."

Alatariel rode away from the Inn, the rain whipping against her face. Aranel speeding as fast as she could, glad to get the feelings back in her legs, and glad to be able to ride fast.

[piosenniel]

Point of Information:

It is approximately mid-afternoon on a fine sunny day in the Shire.

The person who takes us to evening and night please post at the head of your post what time of day it is.

Also do this if your character is bringing us to a new day (and please don't hurry this process just because you need your character to come in darkness).

[Elora]

As he had stood in the sunlight, she seen something not so sunny in his eyes again. But Vanwe bit her questions. She had no right to question Derufin, when he had been so careful with her own doubtful past. She studied him. He was tall and she well knew the farmers and warriors of her village. He was stronger in more ways than his powerful build, she sensed. They did not seem as he did, although she had never rightly met a fisherman before. Scant work for such a profession in the Haradian Waste.

Vanwe let her natural questions bubble silently within her and merely nodded as he pulled her to her feet.

"A whole afternoon," she murmured. That meant she would be able to give her badly used dress a much needed wash, provided she found a stream. Up here in the north, she suspected she would not have to look far. She could patch some of the holes with the lining of her cloak too. And there was Silvanis too.

Vanwe collected the pegs and hammers and followed Derufin. "I can help with the horses and ponies too," she called after him. She did not wish to leave Derufin the lion's share of the work. Vanwe smiled at Léspheria as she passed her in the common-room. The Elven woman favoured her with a smile in return that was shortened when she noticed another table in need of wiping down and Vanwe noticed Derufin had already made it to the kitchen. She juggled the pegs and hammer back into position and hurried after him.

The kitchen was a hive of activity, and Cook seemed none to pleased in general. However, the lesser evil of having her pantry back in proper working condition seemed to outweigh the imposition of two more people underfoot. She waved them on impatiently, and they proceeded to install the shelving.

The pantry was filled with the murmurings of them both as they maneouvred the shelving into place one by one and then tapped home the pegs to afix them. Vanwe heard Cook mutter something about infernal noise as she checked on their progress. Derufin only smiled in response to her review of their work and the noise. Vanwe found herself wondering how the sound the leather encased hammers on pegs could possibly compete with the sounds of the larger kitchen. Judging from the look on Cook's face and Derufin's diplomatic smile, Vanwe decided not to venture that question either and carried on.

It was short work, made easier by the fact that two sets of hands were working together in the same companionable bond that had started in the morning. When they did step back after checking each shelf was level and properly supported, Cook swooped in and evicted them so as to get her pantry back into propper working order.

"I can help with the horses, if you wish Derufin," Vanwe repeated as they returned to where they had been working through the morning. Soon enough, Vanwe had managed to gather the offcuts and put them back undercover with the rest of the lumber. The trestles were also packed away and the tools and pegs stored. She dusted the thin pattina of wood dust from her hands as she watched Derufin move to the stalls in readiness to lead their occupants out into the afternoon warmth and breeze.

He worked as easily with them as he did with the timber, and her, she reflected. She studied how he went about leading the horses and ponies out, and replicated that herself. She had limited experience with such creatures, but they responded well enough. Silvanis' horse, though, she left to Derufin. Blackveil eyed her almost as closely as Silvanis had and she had the uncanny feeling she knew as much as much about Vanwe's background as her owner.

Well all was completed, and feed and water provided within the dappled shade of the pen, Vanwe leant against the fence and watched the horses and ponies move about, scenting the air and each other. Derufin latched the gate after Blackveil had been seen to.

"Thankyou, Derufin," she said as he set the latch in place. "You've been very kind. Although I do not know why, I am very grateful."

She smiled shyly at him and dropped a curtsy that although possessed the fluid grace of her race, was made incongruous by the beggared state of her gown. She spread her skirts nonetheless. When she had straightened, she added something else.

"I'll not keep you longer from the peace of your afternoon and I'll be on time tonight, I swear it... "

With that, her smile widened a little to light her face and she returned to where she had left her small pack in the stable to collect it. That in hand, with a wave to Derufin, she headed off to where she thought it likely a stream was. She had a lot to do in one afternoon and as she had thanked Derufin again she had added something else to her tally.

Soon enough, she was sitting in the afternoon light on a stream bank, wrapped in her cloak whilst her one dress, freshly cleaned and mended now dried. Vanwe bent over a small block of wood. Her belt knife moved with purpose and she hummed as what was within the wood started to emerge. She paused, blowing on the wood to clear some shavings away and smiled at what she saw, before she continued on again. Her song picked up as the sun moved overhead, lost in her work and her musings of all the conundrums she seemed to have found for herself.

[steve]

Cygnus sits silently at the bar feeding the reminants of his meal to his companion, Tran'oul, a cat. The young hobbit that had been petting the cat left to find something better to do.

Cygnus raises himself up slowly from the chair takes his room key from the counter and heads for the stairs. He starts to climb the stairs and stips and falls to the stairs with a bang, attracting glances from all in the inn. He staggers to his feet and limps up the stairs, looking very much like a skeleton.

He crosses the hall to his room and opens the door and collapses on the bed then slowly raises himself and opens his pack. Taking out a wilted dead rose he puts it in a vase on the night table and smells it, seeming to get a boost of energy he stands up and stretches and starts to unload books from his bag

[ May 28, 2003: Message edited by: steve ]

[Silmarien]

Amarantha headed back towards the inn after a long day of exploring this part of the Shire. She was staying with her cousins as it was one of their birthdays. But she was also here to meet people and generally have fun.

As she was nearing it she met a small lady with a hawk on her shoulder. “Hi” she said with a smile, “where do you hail from, Bree?” she asked not quite sure of her race. This woman (she could tell she was female) was only a little bit taller than herself, but didn’t seem quite hobbitish but seemed too small for an elf or man. But Aramantha didn’t mind, she looked like an interesting person to talk to.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Morwyn felt a chill in the room as Nahai hurried up stairs after a parchment and quill. The hairs on the back of the woman's neck lifted as if someone were staring at her. Annalaliath was chattering excitedly about all the trouble she'd gotten in as a child, and all the trouble the three of them would be able to make together.

Not wishing to alarm the girl, Morwyn listened with half her attention, while nonchalantly trying to survey the room. Her eyes wandered over elf and hobbit and man, but nothing seemed amiss. The chill persisted however, and she gently lowered the flute to the table. It rolled a few inches from her fingertips and she sighed.

Annalaliath looked up startled, as the story she was telling should have been extremely funny. Morwyn, realizing that her sudden fear was quite silly attempted to laugh. The giggle escaped her lips, high pitched and nervous. Annalaliath's expression became even more confused. Morwyn turned in her seat, half hoping to see hostile eyes behind her. She knew full well that she was being ridiculous but she couldn't help herself.

Just as she was about to settle back down, she met the eyes of a bedraggled creature sitting at a table near the door. His leg was bound as though it were injured and his face was heavily shadowed by the hood of his cloak. Morwyn gazed at him raptly, not able to tell if he were man or elf.

In an attempt to hide her nervousness Morwyn groped for the flute. Her fingers found it and she held it in front of her, as though she were going to play. The stranger's eyes locked on it. Annalaliath's puzzled gaze became frightened. "Morwyn? Who is that?" she asked. "Do you know this man?"

Morwyn shook her head in surprise. "No. I've no idea." The stranger stood and began to walk toward them. Morwyn clutched the flute like a weapon and hoped Nahai would hurry back.

[Katt b]

Waen stepped out of the Inn she felt a little silly for her reaction to the Elf, but she could sense a pain in him deeper then the wound on his leg.She wanted to help him, she did not know why.

Waen suddenly realized that Kit had also been sensitive to the elf,she wondered why.Then out of the distance she saw a Hobbit approaching, Waen thought it might be Estella,but it was another woman.

As she drew near she called "Hi,Are you from Bree?" Waen was a little taken back by the Hobbit's bluntness, but then she remembered Estella was like that as well,and it made her smile.

The thought of the elf left her mind for a moment, she brushed her hair away from her face,reveiling her long pointed elven ears."No,I come from fair Lothlorien.May I ask your name?" Waen said with a lovely smile.

[Tinuviel of Denton]

"My'lady?" called Soronume. When that elicited no response, he tried again. "Niniel? Where are you?"

When Niniel heard Soronume coming, she hid behind the shed. She did not feel up to facing any questions at the moment. She waited until he had gone around the other side of the building before slipping out of her hiding place. She did not go back into the Inn, however, and simply watched the people who passed her on their way in and out.

She envied the small elf with the hawk her ability to make friends so easily. Already she was chatting with the hobbit like old friends. And the golden-haired elf who wrote things was so lucky. At least she didn't stutter.

Whenever anyone came too near her, she moved, and found another spot to sit and watch the passersby, eventually ending up beside the stables. And it was there that Soronume found her.

She tried to bolt, but he stepped in front of her. "My'lady--Niniel, please."

[steve]

It was cold in Cygnus' room, the end-tables now cluttered with books, scrolls and tatered transcripts. All of these from diffent times and scripted in diffrent languages. Many of them written in a Sindarian by a skilled hand seemingly, and a few written in Dwarvish runes. One page stood out of the bunch tho, a tattered parchment written in the black language of mordor.

Cygnus, sitting on a old stool behind a long wooden table, has been suffling through the stacks of papers. Seeming to have found what he was looking for he gets up to his feet, folds the tattered parchment and places it in his bag.

A loud cry comes from inside his room as he starts to walk out, Cygnus turns around and engages in feeding Tran'oul, for which he frogot. Turning from the cat he walks back out into the hallway with a quick stride and procedes to go back down the stairs into the common room, slowing down greatly and falsley limping as he enters.

Crossing the common room and out the door, Cygnus reestablish his quick pace and walks speedly toward the stables and his horse.

[ May 29, 2003: Message edited by: steve ]

[Maegaladiel]

Nahai put her hands on her hips, somewhat frusterated. She KNEW that there was some paper in this room somewhere... She looked on the little table by her bed, disrupting a bar of soap and a quill pen in the process. Grunting in annoyance, she bent over to retrieve them from the floor. Her eye caught something cream colored under her bed. AHA!

Grinning triumphantly, the Beorning pulled the sheet of paper out. However had it gotten down there?

Humming the song she had taught to Morwyn, she struggled to recall the words as she wrote them down in her thin, scraggly handwriting.
*****

The stranger's eyes were glued on the flute Morwyn held in her hands. Nervously she brought it to her lips, as though to play. Annalalaith once again returned to drumming her fingers on the worn wooden bar in nervousness.

"Forgive me," the stranger said, realizing that his stare was making her uncomfortable. His voice was fluid and musical, bearing a deep, distinct elven accent. "But where did you get that flute? You see, I am searching for someone who once had an instrument such as that." Exactly like that, now that he got a better look at it. His heart skipped a beat as he realized the possibilities of the situation. Don't get your hopes up, he reminded himself. This could just be another wild orc chase.

He pulled the hood back off of his face. He was indeed elven, Morwyn noted. His face, although smudged with dirt and battered by the force of exaustion, had the characteristic beauty of his people. What suprised Morwyn was how old he looked.

At least, 'old' was the best word to describe it. He looked as most elves, young and fair, but something in his eyes made him seem like an ancient mortal was trapped inside this ever-youthful form.

He watched her now with an expression mixed with sadness and hope as he waited for her to reply.

[piosenniel]

ALL PLEASE NOTE:

The postal delivery man, Halfred Whitfoot, who is also the Shiriff for this section of the Shire, has just arrived at the Inn with letters for the staff and customers. He comes once a week or so, as the volume of mail demands, and the Inn is always his last stop. Loves the ale and Cook’s good food, as you can see from his substantial Hobbit figure.

I have mentioned a few names, but please, everyone who wishes to, feel free to come up and get a letter from Wilfrid, and share what someone might have written to you.
__________________________________________________ ________________________________________

It was slow this time of year. That is, as far as the postman was concerned. And to be honest, he was glad of it. The good Hobbits of the Shire were busy in their gardens and farming, too busy to be writing letters. It would pick up in the fall, when the harvest had been gotten in. The heavy season would be in the winter months, when writing a letter by the cozy fire, a warm drink at hand and a full pipe was a comfortable and pleasant way to pass a cold day.

In this season, the days were hot, and it mattered not how early he got up to ride his route, by late afternoon he was uncomfortable, drenched in sweat, his clothes chafing against his ample figure, and in a decidedly irritable state. Even his pony was dragging along this warm midsummer’s day, head down, hooves plodding slowly along the dusty road.

Halfred Whitfoot pulled the red handkerchief from his vest pocket and wiped the sweat from his florid face again. He pushed up the rim of his green cap and glanced at the sun.

‘Should be at the Inn in an hour or so, Dumpling,’ he said aloud to his pony. ‘There’ll be a trough of cool water for your thirst and a pint of summer’s ale for me.’

Dumpling, seeming to understand his rider’s words, picked up the pace a little. Halfred reached down into the worn leather mail pouch that hung from the saddle, pulling out his last fat fistful of letters. Lots of traffic through the Inn these days he thought to himself, seeing the exotic and fine papers the sealed letters were written on. He peered closely at the scripts on each, cyphering out the names of the people he was to deliver them to:

Morwyn, written in a bold hand

Waen, in a fine Elven script, a small drawing of a hawk perched vigilant on the shoulder of the ‘W’

Cygnus, on some dusty, rolled up parchment, tied with fine black cording.

Miss Gilly, a decidedly Hobbit hand had penned this name

Aman, a woman’s hand had written this one

There were many more, but his sweaty fingers were beginning to leave marks on them, and not wanting to smudge the inks, he put them carefully back in his satchel.

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

Dumpling picked up the pace to almost a trot as the scents of the Inn came in range. His ears twitched excitedly at thoughts of those apples the stableman kept in the basket by the door.

Halfred gave the reins to Derufin as he dismounted. He puffed up the stairs to the Inn door and went in to the cool interior of the Common Room, pausing for a few moments as his eyes adjusted to the darker interior.

Ah! There was Aman standing behind the bar, filling tankards from the great barrel.

‘I’ll take one of those, if you don’t mind Mistress Aman!’

She handed him a foaming pint, watching him with a smile as he gulped half of it at the first drink. ‘Top it off, if you please!’ he said in a satisfied voice. Taking a swipe at his upper lip, where the ale had left its mark, he turned round to face the customers in the room.

‘Mail call!’ he announced in a loud voice that carried over the conversations in progress, all the way to the farthest corner. ‘Now gather round, I’ve got a score of letters here.’

He pulled the first one from the stack and read off the name . . .

[ May 29, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

"I'll take one of those, if you don't mind, Mistress Aman."

Aman turned to see the red faced Shirriff cum postman standing behind her. She handed him a pint and smiled as he gulped away half of it immediately. "All is well, Halfred?"

The Shirriff put down his tankard for a moment to take a breath of air, smacking his lips contentedly. "Ah! I should say so, Aman, and it just got better with the intervention of this ale! Top it off, if you please!"

Aman smiled and inclined her head. It was an unwritten rule that the postman was given as much ale as he wished for when he came, so long as he was still able to stand upright and deliver whatever messages were needed. As she turned back to the barrels, Halfred cleared his throat importantly and addressed the denizens of the Inn, who looked up expectantly.

"Mail call! Now gather round, I've got a score of letters here, see..."

Holding out the first, a dusty parchment, elegantly tied with black string or cord, he announced the name. "Cygnus!"

A young man who Aman had noticed but had not been able to spend much time turned to look in the direction of the mailman from where he stood on the stairs, coming down from his room apparently, a small cat perched on his shoulders. He looked surprised, but crossed the room and, smiling, albeit a little puzzledly, he took the scroll, but didnt immediately unwravel it.

Aman's nosy nature got the better of her and she couldn't help peering into Halfred's bag as he took out the next letter as she put down the ale on the table beside him. He shut the satchel top, but not before Aman got a glimpse of her own name, written in a familiar hand. Halfred placed a finger to his nose, grinning boyishly. "Not yet, mistress, 'tis only polite to give your guests a chance first."

Aman rolled her eyes, feigning impatiency although she was smiling as well, and, deprived of her letter for the meantime, she began to busy herself with collecting cups from around the common room as Halfred 'announced' the name on the next letter...

From years of wandering, learning and exploring, of hunting, fleeing and merrymaking, this trio of
friends were drawn back to their starting point.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” an elven traveller, blond haired and eyes of striking blue, burst through the inn
entrance. “Elves and Dwarfs, Men and Hobbits, Salutations.” Behind him, stepped him two travelling
companions. One, looking very similar, his brother, and the other, an Elven maid of surpassing beauty
and grace, his brother’s wife. “I am Myguel,” he spoke on, “my brother, Enguel,” his brother stepped
forward, “and to his right, his blindingly beautiful better half, Ywen.” She bowed slightly.

The three were clothed alike, fir tunics of silver sheen, and warm cloaks of silver brown, they shimmered
in the soft sunlight that crept into the Inn common room.
“Begging your pardon master?” A small waitress tugged on his cloak.
“Myguel bend down to her level. “To the centre of the earth and back we have travelled. From the
Havens grey to Lothlorian the fair, from Harad to Rhun, and most recently to the beloved King of Gondor,
Estel, who is a dear friend of old. Of all the places, peoples and treasures I have seen, none is more dear
then our Hobbits.” He spoke grandly using his arms expressively. There was clapping from the other
guests, and a small “thank you” from the hobbits.

“Two rooms my dear, and a meal. But do not disturb us yet with such things, songs and stories from afar
wait to be song and told. Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta.” The elves in the room pricked their ears.
“Who are you master?” She asked.
“As I told you, I am Myguel the traveller, or if you like lady, High elf of Rivendell.” He moved to the bar.
“Enguel, Ywen, join me for a drink?” He called to the bartender. “Three of your finest, my good man.”
The three sat at a centre table with their drinks. Curious young hobbits circled around them.
“Tell us of your story, master, and news of Gondor.” Asked a hobbit, and an elf from the corner cried out,
“Kwentra lye i'narn!”
“My young friends, what do you wish to know?”
“How you came about here, sir, with your grand friends?”
“Why wouldn’t we lad? A special place in the hearts of all high elves resides in the Shire.” Elves nodded
at this. “And your beer is always good.” He winked at the waitress.

“Brother!” Enguel stood up laughing. “Stop this nonsense. Our audience is in need of answers.”
“Well them why don’t you tell them, most beloved of kin.”
“If you wish to know, my brother revealed we were high elves from Rivendell. We were prisoners of our
own wills there; fear was in our hearts to leave its valleys. Master Elrond, many years passed, made the
grand announcement of our triumph over the dark lord, and also of his near departure to the Havens.
With that knowledge, another fear struck our hearts.”

“For thousands of years, Myguel, Ywen and I have lived in Arda, only protected in the hidden Valley. We
have hidden from evil and we wished to seethe land of which we have lived. Weary of this land and of its
mortals, Master Elrond had said. We have not touched all the lands, nor met all of their mortals. How
could we be weary?”

“We left to do just that. We have been welcomed by Dwarfs, Men and Hobbits; Ents, orcs and evil
creatures. My brother has said, we will not depart for the sea until we know everything and tire of our
home here. Now, once again we visit the Shire. Estel sends his greetings!” Myguel stood up.
“Enough Brother, well told, but I would like to speak of the King. Mighty is his majesty. He protects the
lands and flowers their fields. The white tree blooms proudly the gardens of Minas Tirith.”
Myguel told of their visit. The Lady Arwen has now a son and two daughters, who grace the land. Elves
multiply once again in Ithilien, under the protection of the Kind and of Prince Faramir, and Éowen has
bared her love two sons. “It is a prosperous time for Men!” Clapping and cheering are heard from the
Inn’s Men.

The Inn’s guests are quite intrigued by these gay, happy elves. They are queer indeed, but welcomed for
their stories and songs. Late into the afternoon, they sing and talked. For Myguel, Enguel and Ywen are very
interested in all doings of everyone in The Green Dragon, and wish to hear their stories.

[ May 29, 2003: Message edited by: Mood ]

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Mood ]

[Nerindel]

The three hobbit women that worked in the inn had kept Léspheria decidedly busy all morning, she had started the day aiding Ruby Brown clean the common room and serving the guests their breakfast's, then Buttercup Brownlock had dragged her upstairs to help make beds and freshen up the empty rooms and before she had had a chance to rest Cook had her in the kitchen washing the lunch dishes. She hadn't realised that there was so much work to be done to keep the inn running smoothly.

Vinca (cook) finding out she hadn't stopped all morning had given her a large slice of warm wildberry pie as way of an apology, but Lesperia really hadn't minded all the work it had kept her mind off worrying about Lóthaniel and Fawain.

It was now late afternoon and Léspheria had grabbed a cup of nettle tea and took it and her pie into the common room. the inn was now busy again so she pulled out a stool at the bar and sat down, she was just taking her first mouthful of pie when she heard,

‘I’ll take one of those, if you don’t mind Mistress Aman!’

She looked round to see who had spoken and there beside her sat a rather round, red faced hobbit, just as she was wondering who he was, the hobbit turn to address the whole room.

‘Mail call!’ he announced in a loud voice that carried over the conversations in progress, all the way to the farthest corner. ‘Now gather round, I’ve got a score of letters here.’

Léspheria nearly jumped out of her seat, she hadn't expected the hobbit to be quiet so loud, so he is the postman, then she thought to herself as she turned back to her pie.

She Did not expect that there would be anything for herself as a messenger from her home in Rivendell had only been yesterday, so she just sat eating the delicious pie and sipping on her tea listening to the silence of Man, hobbit and elf a like,waiting patiently to see if their name would be called.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Morwyn's eyes widened as the stranger spoke to her. A memory of Nahai's tale nudged at the back of her mind. A fair elven love, long lost. She shoved the thought to the back of her mind. What a ridiculous thing to hope. Nahai's lover had been dead for years. Why get your hopes up on her behalf? Still she stumbled over her words.

"It was given to me, a gift." she said quietly, staring at the flute she turned in her hands. The strange elf's eyes watched her fingers as she held the instrument.

"But from who, lady?" he asked her gently, then quickly added, "If you don't mind me knowing, of course." Morwyn smiled.

"Of course I don't mind. A very dear friend of mine gave this to me." A loud slightly pompous voice cut through the air. Morwyn tried to ignore it, realizing it was just the hobbit postman delivering the inn's letters.

"Morwyn!" his voice boomed out. She looked up startled. Who had sent her a letter? And how had they found her here? The hobbit, Halfrid, was brandishing a large envelope with her name written clearly across the front.

"Eh, do excuse me..." she said apologetically to the two elves, and hurried over to the small courier. "I'm Morwyn."

"Ah, then this'll be for you then." He said, handing over the envelope with a grin and a small bow.

"Thank you, sir." Morwyn couldn't help but laugh at the hobbit's good spirits. Taking the letter she walked slowly back to the table, slitting the envelope with one finger. Two folded sheets of parchment were pulled from it, and studied intently. The first was written front and back in a large masculine hand, the second also covered on both sides with a smaller, more flowing hand. Morwyn's heart raced as she recognized the second writer. A letter from home! How had they found her here? She wondered frantically.

She sat back down in the seat she had left, eyse fixed on the letter. The newcomer seemed to sense that his questions could wait as she rapidly scanned the letters with her eyes. Annalaliath was not so patient. "Morwyn, mellon," she said, touching the woman's shoulder with a gentle hand. "Your face has gone white. Are you alright?"

Morwyn looked up at her. "Oh, I'm fine, Annalaliath, I've a letter from home." she said rather hoarsely. "Let me read you a bit..."

Morwyn-
I hope this letter finds you well, Little Sister. We are quite well here, though we miss you. Aelfrid misses you more than she will say, but she speaks of you often.

This summer has been a good one for us. Our horses are swift and strong, and we carry on where Alric left off. His name continues to be praised and our horses are ever in demand. Would we had your stallion to sire for us again, but it is good that we do not. The line of Felarof must not be put to shame.

Morwyn snorted with laughter at this last line. How like Osric to exaggerate. Her audience was looking mystified as she read aloud. Some small explanation was needed, she supposed. "They're from my husband's brother, Osric, and his wife, Aelfrid." She smiled again, and continued reading silently.

Osric's letter was filled with news about Rohan. The doings of the new king, Eomer Eadig, and his foreign bride filled much of the letter. Osric was convinced that if Morwyn came home, she and the Queen Lothiriel would be close friends, due to their common Gondorian heritage. In Osric's eyes, that would be a godsend for the farm. Friendship with the Kinsmen of Eorl ensured a good business reputation as well. Morwyn's eyes shone with laughter as she read over the rest of the letter and turned to Aelfrid's.

Her sister-in-law wrote of the baby Eadric, now three years old, of his cleverness and skill with words. She spoke of the countryside and the small everyday doings on the farm. Her letter was full of lonliness and longing for her sister-in-law's company. Morwyn brushed a heavy tear from her eyelashes as she read to the end of the letter. Aelfrid had ended with a plea for Morwyn's return. She choked as she read it over:

I think even the hills miss you, Little Sister. I know you are hurt and angry, but we love you. Morwyn, please come home.
-Aelfrid

She looked up at her companions. "I'll be back in a moment." she said, with some effort, before fleeing the room. A moment later she was upstairs weeping into her pillow, filled with sorrow and shame. She never should have left Rohan. How could she have done this to her family? They were hurt by Alric's death as much as she was. She'd been so selfish.

Morwyn cried 'til she was exhausted, then rolled over, staring at the ceiling, trying to compose herself enough to return to the common room. She'd never answered that elf's question.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Annalaliath]

At the comment by the strange elf man Annalaliath almost fell backward in her chair that she had been leaning in.(An Elf falling back in a chair..) She looked at the man, "You are from the forest, I can tell by your speech," she looked at him, "What is your tale sir?" Then looking towards the stairs almost excitedly, "Where is that girl, if she needed paper and pen she could have asked." Annalaliath finished by gesturing at the sketchbook and supplies.

She looked at Morwen, "What do you gather of this situation?" she whispered. Then she looked back at the strange Elf man and smiled, " Ai! I am being rude, im annalaliath, i le?" She held out her hand fo a handshake....

But at that moment Morwen looking rather distraught fled the room. Annalaliath looked on in worry. " Will you excuse me?" she asked of the stranger. With a nod from his direction Annalaliath followed Morwen. She walked down the halls to Morwens room and knocked on the door. "Morwen, Neno Melon," she called, " are you okay?"

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Annalaliath ]

[Elora]

Vanwe brushed small shavings of wood away so that they could no longer obscure what lay beneath. The afternoon light was crisp and constant, excellent conditions in which to do this sort of finer work. Her belt knife became a precise implement in her slender hands as she worked on. She was absorbed in the carving, in what the wood spoke to her off through her hands.

Her dress and hair had long since dried in the warmth of the afternoon, but aside from pinning down the dress with a smooth stone from the stream bank, Vanwe had paid it no further heed. Her mind was filled with vision of a flight of crane, elegantly stretched across the southern sky, wings spread and effortlessly soaring. She well recalled her first sight of the bird upon her arrival in Gondor.

She remembered the grey eyed men and women too. She gazed analytically at the wood in her hand. The work on the feathers was not as fine as she would have hoped, and she still needed to refine the graceful sweep of the crane's neck and long legs. Yet what she saw cradled in her hand brought a smile to her face. She hoped grey-eyed Derufin would also find it pleasing.

Vanwe pulled her cloak back into position from where it had slipped. Properly wrapped once more, she set her knife back to work to remove the final impediments to the beauty of the creature she remembered soaring on wing into the dusk one evening. She was not far from finished, which was well, as so too was the afternoon coming to a close. She had promised to return on time, and she would not disappoint. Her knife moved in a serious of finely controlled passes, tracing along the grain of the rosewood as if in caress such was the light touch of Vanwe's carving.

An angle to adjust here, another layer to remove there so that the beauty of the wood's grain could be revealed, and she would be done. All in time to return to the inn, clean up the figure she was working on and hopefully settle things with Silvanis, as best a dispossessed daughter of a wanted criminal adrift in the world could.

If only people remembered her father better than they did her mother, for he was not so perilous. A slight sigh drifted from her lips and then once more an expression of pure concentration centred on her carving took up residence upon Vanwe's face once more.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami had slipped in unnoticed through the back kitchens, and sprinted towards the common room, tripping over a snoring dog that lay contentedly curled up in the middle of the hallway. She hastily rose, dusted off her skirts, and grabbed hold of Halfred's sleeve, just as he was about to duck out of the Inn and head for his home.

Halfred's face broke into a broad, ragged grin, "Miz Cami! Well, I'll be. The last time I saw you, you had a mailbag flung over your shoulder and wore the emblem of the Shire post. It's been a goodly number of years. Where have you been?"

"Never mind now," Cami objected, with a quick wave of her hand. "That's a long tale, and there's no time to explain. You have to check your mailbags again. There should be something for me."

She deftly scooped up the pouch and turned it upside down, giving it a vigorous shake and hoping that something new would come tumbling out. Much to her disappointment, the bag seemed quite empty, other than a few lonely crumbs of mushroom pie left over from Halfred's lunch.

Cami frowned and confronted the postman, "That can't be. I'm expecting a letter from Bird. Are you sure there's nothing else?"

Halfred scratched his head, then scrounged through his pockets and finally held up his hand triumphantly, waving a small, dirty envelope. "Is this it? This one's got postage due. Some crazy black and white bird dive bombed it on my head. I had half a mind to toss it out, but decided not to."

Halfred peered intently at the address on the envelope, then squinted back at Cami, "But this can't be for you. It's addressed to Camelia Brandybuck."

Cami nodded impatiently, "That's my married surname. I'm a Goodchild by birth, but a Brandybuck through my husband's kin." She hastily snatched the envelope away, dropping a few copper coins into Halfred's outstretched hand, and thanking him for his efforts. Then she walked over to one of the empty tables to sit down and slit open the envelope. She read the message once, then twice, to make sure she understood everything.

Cami,

In my journeys across Middle-earth to search for clues to the shapechanger past, I recently ran across a fellow who says he once knew you. I believe it has something to do with your husband's friendship with Meriadoc and the parcel of your descendents now living in Buckland.

His name is Eodwine, and he is in the employ of the King of Rohan. He expects to be visiting the Shire and spending considerable time at the Inn.

He was a real gentleman, most helpful to me in an unfortunate matter concerning a crooked game of cards, and I hope that you will keep an eye out for him, and help him rent some rooms in the Inn.

My own journey seems to have no end. I find tiny hints and clues here and there, but haven't deciphered enough to make real sense of anything. Perhaps things will fall in place and I'll be able to pay a visit to the Shire.

Your friend,

Bird

Eodwine? Cami's thoughts drifted back slowly through time. Then she smiled as a familiar face came to mind from an earlier journey she had made to Rohan. She quickly ran off to tell Aman about the letter, wishing that Piosenniel was still here to share in the news.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Envinyatar]

Dumpling was one of Derufin’s favorites. As plump as one of the doughy concoctions he was named for, he was the perfect mount for Halfred. He was a slow, sturdy little pony whose main interests settled around the topic of food. When could he have it, and how much, and would there be second helpings or at least an apple or carrot to fill in the empty places? He was happiest with a nosebag of oats on, or following Derufin about the yard, nudging him gently or not so, to remind him it was time for a sugar lump or a stray piece of bread. He was in fact, even now, sniffing about the lower pocket of the man’s leather vest. There was a suspicious lump in it, and the delicious smell of a Shire apple.

‘Incorrigible!’ laughed Derufin, pushing the pony’s nose away. ‘No need to tie you up is there, Dumpling? You wouldn’t run far from the sweet treats would you?’

As if in answer, the pony looked up at him and snorted decisively, shaking his mane and stamping his from hoof solidly on the ground. He nudged the man in the side, and nickered softly at him.

Derufin drew the apple from his pocket and winked at Dumpling as he bit it neatly in two. I’ll give you half,’ he said grinning, holding the offering out on the flat of his palm. ‘The rest is for me!’

The pony was done in the blink of an eye with the apple, and Derufin left him to graze on the greensward as he mounted the steps to the Inn. Halfred should be almost done giving out his letters, perhaps he could entice a few tidbits of news from him over another pint and a pipeful of Longbottom Leaf.

He waved to Halfred with his pipe and mimed a drink, then nodded his head at a table near the window. The Hobbit, done with his deliveries, took him up on his offer and plunked himself down in the chair across the table. They fell to talking, and two pints later, spaced out by a plate of thick, Shire ham sandwiches on Cook’s fresh bread and a dish of sweet and sour pickles, Halfred suddenly snapped his fingers in a clumsy manner, the light dawning in his eyes.

‘I almost forgot! This came for you from the Far Downs, and to there from just beyond the Tower Hills.’ He pulled out a rumpled letter, the wax on its seal cracking slightly, but still holding. A deep sea-blue, the wax bore the imprint of a six-pointed star, and his name, dashed off in a bold script, graced the front of the folded message.’

‘Well, aren’t you going to see who’s written you?’ asked the curious Hobbit, thinking back that he had never delivered a letter for the man before.

‘I know who it’s from, and I’ll read it later,’ Derufin replied, turning the Hobbit’s curiosity aside. ‘It’s getting late, let me stand you to one more pint, then I’ll fetch Dumpling for you.’ He signaled to a passing server and held up two fingers. ‘The missus will be expecting you for dinner. You wouldn’t want to be late.’

A dreamy look past over Halfred’s face as he thought of his dear wife’s stewed coney’s and her flakey herbed biscuits. He drank up quickly and was soon out the door.

[Ealasaid]

Benia was awakened by the early afternoon sunlight shining in through the window beside the fireplace. She had overslept!Still sleepy and a little stiff from sleeping in the armchair all night, she rose and stretched. Absently, she tightened the overhand knot of her amber hipscarf. As she did, something fell out of its folds and on to the rug. She bent down to take a closer look.

It was a small stone, red, darker than red, almost black. It reminded her of fire and dried blood, and of evil things whose names were best left unspoken. She drew back from it in horror, a sharp trill of fear playing down her spine. Where could it have come from? She knew she had not had it on her when she arrived at the inn the day before because she had taken her scarf off for a moment in her room before going down to the common room for the evening. Someone must have slipped it to her there, but who? It had been a busy night in the common room with lots of comings and goings. She had been so immersed in her conversation with Gilly that she had not paid close attention to her surroundings. She regretted it now. To her knowledge, stones like that came from only one place... Mordor. She had only seen one once before, years ago, during the time she had spent in the desert after the death of her mother. She had found it in amongst a pile of the bleached white bones of her kinsmen.

Going to the corner where she had stashed her belongings, Benia took a long, narrow dagger out of her pack. For an instant, she turned the tooled scabbard between her fingers. Then, deciding, she tucked it into the back of her hipscarf. It was no longer safe to run about unarmed, not even in the Shire. Going to the door to the bedroom, she opened it a crack and peeped in on Gilly, who had overslept as well. She was awake and sitting up on the edge of the bed. Benia decided not to mention the stone.

Once they had exchanged good mornings and good afternoons, Gilly announced her intention to return home to freshen up and check in on her family. She and Benia made plans to meet again later in the day. Once Gilly had gone, Benia went to the washbasin and pitcher of cold water on the table in the bedroom. She washed her face and reapplied the kohl to her eyes. Then, she brushed out her hip length black hair and replaited it into a single ropey braid down her back. The stone troubled her deeply.

She needed to know who had given it to her and why.

[ May 30, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaid ]

[littlemanpoet]

A horse and rider trotted into Bywater from the east, and stopped in front of the Green Dragon Inn. The rider looked around. Hobbits were busy with the day’s labors, and after quick glances, identifying the man as from foreign parts by his garb, gave no more notice of him; this was Bywater, home of the Green Dragon Inn, where all sorts of folk stopped in of late. Old Cotton was known to have joked that they should change the village’s name to New Bree “what with all the foreign types about”.

“So this is where it happened, Flithaf.” The rider’s mild tenor voice carried to the horse’s ears only. “The wagon was over there,” he pointed to the middle of the square, “the Ruffians came in from over there,” he nodded toward the road, leaving town westward. “And the memorial should be right – over – here. Just as the Master of Buckland said.” The thatch haired rider nudged his horse over to the monument: ‘Battle of Bywater’.

“Worth a song, is it not, Flithaf?” The chestnut charger nodded vigorously, stamping his rear feet. “Easy, boy. We’ve gone far enough for one day. Buckland to Bywater might not be enough for your vigor, but it’ll have to do. I wonder if Camelia will turn up? Goodchild then, Brandybuck now, according to the Master. Good names.” He chuckled at the simplicity of hobbit names. He was interrupted by a snort from Flithaf. “Whoa, then, boy, we’ll make sure you’re well stabled.”

With that, the rider eased his mount toward the Inn and brought him to stable.

“A handsome stallion, sir,” said the stableman. “What is he called?” The rider supplied the horse’s name. “And who does he call master, sir?”

“Eodwine of Rohan, messenger of King Eomer of the Mark.” He tipped the stableman well, removed a tall and somewhat flat leather sachel from Flithaf’s side, and went inside the Green Dragon Inn.

[Maegaladiel]

Nahai left her room at the exact moment Morwyn ran up to her own quarters. Annalalaith followed after her, standing tentatively outside her door.

"What happened?" asked Nahai, concern marking her brow. Annalalaith scratched behind one pointed ear nervously.

"Morwyn recieved a letter from her homelands." she said.

"Bad news?" Nahai grimaced. The elf shook her head.

"On the contrary. Things seemed to be going well, from what I gathered." She grinned half-heartedly. "I suspect a case of homesickness has infected our dear Morwyn." Nahai nodded knowingly.

"By the way, Nahai, an elven gentleman downstairs seemed very interested in that flute of Morwyn's. He said he was searching for someone who had one like it. Is that a common design for flutes?" she questioned. Nahai shook her head, suddenly nervous.

"No," she said. "It is almost unique. It was made for me by... by Celecu." What elf could possibly be searching for her here? And why?

"Be careful, mellon." Annalalaith said to her. The Beorning nodded, a smile on her face.

"If you insist." She gave a mock bow. "I have no choice but to obey to the best of my ability." She grinned boyishly, but her jest was only up front. Who could this strange person be?

[Annalaliath]

Despite her concern for Morwen, Annalaliath smiled, "What ever you do don't go becoming a home wrecker....." She searched the Beroing's face for any sign of amusement... Then she said exactly what she was thinking, " Do you think it is who I think it might be?" With out waiting for an answer from the girl Annalaliath let herself into Morwen's room.

" Morwen," she said gently, " Neno Melon are you alright, would you like to talk about it."

She looked at her friend's tear stained cheeks and had an over whelming urge to hug her. Annalaliath held back, knowing quite well what reactions miht insue. " What are you thinking?" She asked quietly.

Walking over to the wash basin in the room she poured water in it from the picture, " I hope this not out of place but this reminds me of Galadriel." she said the memory hurting her more than not, "Galadriel and her Mirror, that is all fading away since the Ring was destroyed, and the lady gone into the West." Looking up from her thoughts she noticed Morwen looking at her; her pain and regret poring forth from her eyes.

" Just say the word and I will either stay, or I will not listen and stay anyway." Said Annalaliath determinedly, " I will not allow my friend to be in pain alone, it is not healthy."

She found a chair and sat on it looking at Morwen. Then she remembered Nahi, she looked up at the Beoring. She was looking at them pondering something, or at least Annalalaith thaught she was pondering something. Nahi seemed rooted to the spot.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

The young hobbit lad had just finished feeding the horses. He noticed that Marya's white mare was gone. I wonder where she has gone off to, the hobbit lad thought to himself. He walked back into the Inn and noticed there was still a couple of letters left. He walked up and found one. It was unlabeled. He picked up the letter and walked over to the same table they had talked to the other night.

He opened it. There were beautiful letters written in blue ink. He began to read:

Vedui' my young hobbit lad, I see you have found my letter. I'm sorry I left you without notice, but I had to leave. There was something I had to find out. I have written you this letter for the purpose of telling you, I do not know when I shall return, but do expect me to come. I will slip in unnoticed as I did before. For the very short time I have known you, I have become close to you. I felt something strange. I know you felt it also. I'm sorry I could not say goodbye the other day, so now I say it.

Namárië, your friend Marya