The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

It is now mid-morning in the Shire.

The sun is shining brightly. It looks to be a fair day.

[Maeggaladiel]

Eleniel smiled broadly as the cloaked figure sat down beside her.

"My name is Eleniel," she began, "And this large furry fellow inspecting your shoes is named Arrow." The dog took a moment from sniffing his boots to look up and wag his long silvery tail.

"We're from Laketown," she continued. "I own a shop there, called The Raven's Nest, and every year I take this little trip to find more merchandise. But now I'm just rambling on about myself." She gave a little laugh. Arrow, sensing her mood, wagged his tail a bit harder.

"What about you, friend?" she asked. "Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking? Are you here for business or pleasure?" She smiled good-naturedly at her grey-eyed companion and took a sip of her ale.

[Gorothlammothiel]

"What about you, friend?" she asked. "Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking? Are you here for business or pleasure?" She smiled good-naturedly at her grey-eyed companion and took a sip of her ale.

"Pleasure" Soronume replied, "always a pleasure to visit the Shire and particularly this good Inn here". He smiled. "My name is Soronume by the way, and i'm not from around here either, as I would imagine you can tell".

"Indeed" Eleniel replied quickly, "it is your accent that gives you away".

"And there I was thinking it was my appearance" The two of them laughed. "But no, I travel the lands and always seem to return here to the Shire. It should really now be a second home to me." Soronume took up his drink and realised that he was still wearing his muddy coat.

"Oh, my lady Eleniel, you must forgive my rudeness." He took the cloak from his shoulders and laid it across his lap, taking care not to brush Arrow with it, who now seemed quite content. "I am sorry that my atire is not the finest example, my last travels were long although not eventful. More an exploration than an adventure, which makes a change". Soronume stopped himself there.

"So" he began again after a minute or so of silence bringing his attention back to the table, "what is this merchandise you seek out in the Shire? Something more than you alone should be aware of?" he said with a curious, almost mischievious smile...

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Swiftly riding back over the hill, Fáinu saw the inn up ahead. he had not been far before he decided to turn back. He stopped at the stables and dismounted. He lead his horse into the stables and made sure he had enough food. He sighed and shook his head.

"What can I expect?" he mused, "All that will come of this is bitterness and sorrow."

Moving out of the stables he saw a few Hobbits dashing into the inn. They must be thirsty, he thought. He slowly entered the inn, Cree was still there. However, there was still no sign of Adu or Hama. He thought this most peculiar. Silently, he moved into the parlour and sat alone. he took out a long wooden pipe, placed some Old Toby in it and lit it. He coughed violently; he had not smoked in a long while.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree heard what sounded like a familar cough. Turning around she noticed that he had come back. Cree couldn't make up her mind if she would join him or not. Cree could remember the first time he had smoked Old Toby. To her it was hilarious. "Fáinu, deserves not my anger or my disgust. He has been my friend since the beginning of time." Cree looked at the bird setting beside her. Avalon had been there when she needed someone. Yet Cree wasn't sure how long Avalon would remain in the Shire or remain by her side. "Avalon our path has been tough. It seems like only yesterday that I met you. Now I don't know what our future has in plans for us."

Cree turned and walked over to Fáinu. "Why, hello."

[Maeggaladiel]

Eleniel waved a hand dismissively as Soronume sheepishly removed his cloak.

“Oh, that’s all right,” she said. “Road dust doesn’t bother us, eh, Arrow?” The dog’s tail went THUDTHUDTHUD as it banged against the wooden floor.

“As to your other question,” she continued, “the Shire really isn’t one of my major buying areas; it’s just a pleasant stop on my journey. Occasionally I purchase some textiles from a hobbit lass who lives south of here or some musical instruments from a friend of mine near Bree, but basically I come here just to enjoy the peace of the Shire and the good company of fellow travelers.” She raised her mug to him in an adventurer’s salute.

“And now I’m the one being rude,” she laughed. “Join us in our second breakfast! Can I buy you a drink or something to eat?”

At the mention of food, Arrow sprang up and sat at attention at Eleniel’s feet. She chuckled and tossed him a piece of bread. He devoured it noisily before returning to his post under the table.

“You said you’ve been exploring,” Eleniel said to Soronume, watching Arrow spin around several times before curling into a silver ball on the floor. “I should be interested to hear of your adventures, if you wouldn’t mind my asking.”

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Hello?" Coughed Fáinu, "Oh, it's you. Hello again... I don't know why I decided to smoke. I gave up recently." he shook his head and beckoned her to sit. Putting out his pipe he replaced it in his pack and then looked back up at her.

"Sorry I had to go off like that," he said, "I needed to find a friend of mine. He's a Dwarf, and has strange ways, I found him drunk in the Ivy bush Tavern." He offered her a drink but she already had one. He then took out some seeds and offered them to Avalon. The crow hopped down and ate them gladly.

"Now, to business," he said, "First I must apologise, my words earlier were rash and unjust. I am truly sorry for any hurt I caused you with them." He peered about the room and saw that several Hobbits were dancing and singing, some old Gaffers told them to be quiet, but they sang all the same, with half remembered lyrics to several different (and unrelated) melodies.

"I will not lie to you, Cree," said Fáinu leaning forward; "There has been a great foreboding on my heart for a long while. Ever since I came to the shire, I fear something is not right. But I know not what it may be."

Avalon squawked loudly and the singing Hobbits stopped. Avalon obviously thought they could do with singing lessons. The Hobbits soon went back to their tables and sat in bewilderment.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree noticed that something was wrong with Avalon. "Fáinu, hold on a moment. I've been meaning to talk to Aman. It seems like Avalon could be more useful to the inn than to me. She seems to be out of control when it comes to her caring for me." Cree reached up and pat Avalon on the head. Avalon you are more useful when it comes to delivering messages. I have no use for you. It is time for our journey to end. You will come back to me when I need you. Always be on a look out to hear your name. "Fáinu you are welcome to join me." With that said, Cree began looking around the inn until she found Aman.

"Miss Aman, its been a long time. I was wondering would you have any use for Avalon." The crow on her shoulder let out a squawk. "She would really be useful to someone else. I thought that you would like to keep her here for any time you need a message delivered." Cree didn't know what else to tell Aman. It seemed like the days were getting shorter and her time was almost over. Cree thought it best to depart from Avalon for a short time. After all Cree had Fáinu now. She wasn't going to let anything ruin that.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu was rather surprised, he was seeing Cree giving up one of her most faithful friends for one who had abandoned her. He placed his hand on Cree's shoulder and looked concerned.

"Are you sure that you wish to give up Avalon?" he said, "She has obviously been a good friend to you, and more faithful than I. Why give her up now? More than any living thing on Middle earth, she will stay by you till the end."

Cree swung around quickly to look at him. Avalon began to squawk, she perhaps senses what was going on. Fáinu looked deep into Cree's eyes and saw how truly hard it was fr her to give up her friend. Even if that friend was but a bird, she had a bond with Avalon that was special. Fáinu knew that Cree would have to let Avalon go, there was nothing he could say to stop her. He shook his head and stepped back.

[Primrose Bolger]

Once Ginger had seen Gwenneth settled in happily among the flowers, she excused herself and made for the herb patch. This little piece of the Inn’s gardens was Cook’s pride and joy. And indeed if Ginger had the right of it, it had been started long ago by one of the cooks and had grown into the prize piece it was today. It was lovely to look at, with little paths that meandered through the different beds. And fragrant – the thymes and sages and rosemarys throwing their dusky scents into the air, mixing with the lemony verbenas and mints used for teas.

Ginger leaned on her hoe and surveyed the leafy maze of plants before her. It would take the rest of the morning and into the afternoon before she had it done to her satisfaction. The hum of the fat bumblebees wandering drunk through the flowering borage was loud as she walk down the first little path and began rooting out the weeds. The sound was pleasant and the rhythm of her movements fell in time with it. At one point, though, she looked up, a look of puzzlement on her face. Something was missing.

She looked toward the Inn. It was the sounds of the hammering and sawing that had stopped. Her heart lurched a little as she considered what that might mean. Was Ferdy already done with his building and fixing for Cook. And more important, had she been able to talk with him?

‘Mustn’t think about that,’ she told herself. ‘Nothing I can do about it now. Miz Bunce will see to what she can. The rest will have to sort itself out as it may.’ Kneeling down to dispense with a particularly entwined bit of bindweed, Ginger shook off her doubts for the while and concentrated on the task at hand.

[Gorothlammothiel]

Soronume was slightly taken aback by Eleniel's offer of a drink or something to eat. It was not a curteousy he was used to, but was pleased at the offer none the less and graciously accepted, "Just something small then, thank you, my'lady"

“I should be interested to hear of your adventures, if you wouldn’t mind my asking.” Eleniel inquired after seeing to getting the three of them their second breakfast. Arrow seemed excited at this prospect of food despite the fact Elenial had fed him just moments ago.

"Of course I do not mind your asking, not at all. I have a rather curious mind myself" Soronume began. "Indeed, I explore the lands at my leisure, I find comfort in being alone and wandering the paths trodden by few and climbing hills only seen by some. There is something more than comforting about wandering alone at times with nothing as a guide save your heart". He smiled as Eleniel seemed to be intently listening to him.

He continued, "My adventures however take me further afield than I would venture alone, and company is much preferable on an adventure than it is during exploration. It was some time ago now but I had an adventure with many others into Cirith Ungol, which is something I will never forget. Some of the memories I have of that are too close to my heart." Soronume stopped momentarily, "But I carry on none-the-less, I have other things I wish to see, and hope to have another adventure soon as well".

Eleniel smiled. "You travel so far afield yet you bring yourself back to the Shire? You have the same love as me of this place, a peaceful stop along route, or just from it but you cannot pass it by?"

"Indeed" Soronume replied to her question as he accpeted another drink, one which Eleniel had kindly bought him. He wet his mouth with the drink before placing the cup lightly back down on the wooden table top. "I have friends here too, though you would not guess as much from the way I seem to be sat alone frequently. It seems that we miss eachother each time we return".

"Perhaps" Eleniel added, "but you have company now Soronume"...

[Witch_Queen]

"Fáinu this is something you can't understand. Avalon has already changed my life, now it is time for her to go on her own path until our future meets up with us. Avalon deserves nothing more than what I have given her. I feel like I'm not letting her be the crow she is. It is a rare occasion that she is able to fly around and act like a wild animal. For this I am offering her to you Aman." Cree turned and looked at Aman. Cree wanted not to loose her dear friend but instead set her free.

Avalon looked at the woman across from her. Avalon could remember the times inwhich Cree's episodes were worser than before. Yet even now Cree's curse was catching up with her. "What else is there for me to do?" Cree thought to herself and her words echoed in her mind. I wish not to push you away Avalon. I only wish to set you free even though I know there is more you can do in my life. I have had such good time with you. But I have many scars from you.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu knew that he could not dissuade Cree from what she was doing. He thought it unwise, but wished not to say so. He bowed and went back into the parlour. He took out a map of Wilderland and the lands north of it. He placed it on a table and began to write some things down on some parchment. He dipped his quill (Which he had taken from his pack earlier) in some ink and drew a small symbol on the map.

Cree came back some minuets later. Avalon was not with her. Fáinu looked up and sighed. Sitting back he peered into her eyes.

"Are you sure you have done the right thing?" he asked, Cree nodded, "Then, this is your choice, I will not dissuade you."

He picked up the map and placed it in his pack with some other things that were there. His right hand had stopped hurting for now; he could sit in peace for a while.

[Witch_Queen]

"I had to, Avalon is her own bird and I am merely her friend. There is nothing else for me to do for her now. She has served her purpose in my path so far. Now it is time for her to make something of herself. Fáinu, I can't help her any more." Cree didn't know what else to tell him. Everything she had tried and failed on was just another bad memory, she wasn't going to put up with. She could feel her heart breaking as she realized that she was indeed alone. She had pushed Avalon away from her and now it was too late to turn back. "Fáinu, what do I do now? Do I just sat here and waste away to nothing or do I go out and make something of myself before my own curse becomes my end?"

Cree knew she was asking questions to which Fáinu had no answer, but she needed to ask them anyways. Nothing else matter to her. Avalon was gone and sooner or later, Fáinu would leave her as well. She had no choice but to set back and watch her life fall apart in front of her. Everything that had meaning to her was now nothing at all. She had nothing she could do now. She had brought about the beginning of her self-constructed ending. There was no turning back for her and now she was forced to set back and watch as everything collapsed at her touch. Deep down inside Cree feared that if she touched Fáinu that he too would dissapear like everything else. "What else is left for me in this land anymore?"

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman had been vigorously working (and hiding) in the kitchen since she had fled the stables, and had ventured out only a few moments ago to clear the tables. The Innkeeper wasn't entirely sure what she would have done if she had seen Snaveling...her gaze furtively flickered once around the room, then settled back on Cree as what the latter had just said sunk in.

"You would leave your crow-" Aman paused, looking hard at Cree in confusion, fairly sure she hadn't heard right. "Cree, why would you leave Avalon in the Inn? She is...your friend."

The woman swallowed hard, blinking a few times and Aman saw that she had accidentally hit a soft spot. The woman's fingers came up absentmindedly to the crow on her shoulder and the bird nestled against the finger with superior fondness, then transfered it's gaze to the Innkeeper's face. Aman was taken aback: she had not really looked at the white crow before, or not in great detail, only to note that it was an exceptionally well-behaved bird and it's unusual colour. And of course there was the episode some time ago when it had shown such an uncanny bond with Cree when the woman had had a spate of collapses some time ago. But now, in those eyes, there was such an intelligence that bot shocked Aman, and intrigued her.

"Of course Avalon is my friend. And a...a wonderful friend." Cree's voice was soft and she paused her, her eyes soft as she smiled gently at the crow. She took a deep breath and her gaze returned firmly to Aman. "But I must leave her. There are factors here that...well..."

Aman laid a hand on the woman's shoulder as she trailed away miserably and nodded, touched. "Aye. Aye, I reckon Avalon could make himself useful around about, once in a while - although most of the time I don't suppose he would object to some leisurely rest." She grinned at Cree. Looking up at Avalong on the woman's shoulders, her eyes slipped to the tall, dark figure who had just come in the Inn door behind them and her smile took on a very slight determined edge. And whether you like it or not, I think that you and I shall have to talk as well, Master Snaveling...

[Nurumaiel]

Posco's heart ached with love for the young lass before him, and the cheek she had kissed burned like fire. Her hands were still in his, and his love was great enough to make him bold, and he did kiss her hands, after all his thinking he would not. Fervently he kissed them, and then he released them and climbed off the tree. He could see her following, and with a wave and a smile he called, "Come, now, Lily! Let's first go to the stable to see if our ponies are well, for mine is there also, and then we will go to the Inn. I have not eaten yet today."

Together they went to the stable, and each to their own ponies. They said nothing to one another, but they smiled, almost shyly, across the stable floor. Posco's pony nickered and nudged at him. Posco called across the stable to Lily, "Would you like to go for a ride after luncheon? My pony is anxious to go out. And... and I would be more than honoured if you would ride with me again."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling snuck through the door, hoping to avoid the piercing gaze of the Innkeeper, but it was no use. The moment she laid eyes upon him her face gained an edge that he knew meant he would soon have to confront her. He glanced away and headed to a table near some that were crowded with folk, hoping that the proximity to others would deter Aman from what would surely be an intimate and private conversation.

He had roamed the woods about the Inn for the last two hours going over and over what had happened in the stables. The gift of the horse had gone as he had hoped it would, but when Aman had begun her song – his song – something had come over him. He had heard much beautiful music in his time at the court of Elassar, but the rough rendering of the simple girl had possessed a charm for him. It reminded him of the past that he had left so thoroughly behind in his homeland, and for a second the long years that lay between those days and these had melted, and it was as though he were sitting upon the bank of the river with his sister, singing a song of their childhood innocence. It had been a mistake to give way to the visions, but given way he had.

At first, that had been the most distressing thing. His whole life, Snaveling had felt more at home in his visions of the world than in the felt reality of existence. For a time, with the King Elessar, he had moved out of his dreams and into the light of day, but since leaving for the north the dreams had come again. It was as though, having found who and what he really was, the world had suddenly become too small for him, and he found himself dreamily wandering through the streets of a mighty city of stone where he had never been, and yet which seemed oddly familiar. During the day, these visions were pleasant, if sometimes so overpowering that he lost sight of the fields and forests through which he had travelled to get here. But at night the dream would come in a more terrifying form, for the city would be one of the dead, filled with tombs mightier than the houses of the living, and all about him would be the wailing of women, and the sky would grow dark with a sudden wind, and a wave would come from the West, drowning all…

He shook himself away from the memory and looked about the quaint interior of the Inn, seeking reassurance from its smallness. Once more his eyes fell upon the Innkeeper and he was struck by how simple and how plain she suddenly seemed. Although his visions of the city had not yet included any people, he could not imagine a girl from Rohan upon its streets. How old was she anyway? The thought suddenly entered his mind – she appeared no more than a youth, as a child to him. He had spent decades roaming the world, and he smiled slowly at the thought of her extreme innocence of what he had seen.
A great wave of pity came over him, for he recalled the stories he had heard of the Lady Éowyn and of her unrequited love for the King Elessar. At the time of the telling he had paid the stories little heed, for he did not care much for matters of the heart. But now it came back to him with especial force for it so closely mirrored his own situation. The girl of Rohan had once again become enamoured of a Man out of her reach.

He regretted the gift of the horse now, for it would only serve to drive on her wild dreams of him, and to encourage her to continue in her hopeless desires. Snaveling felt more comfortable in his chair as he thought this through. It would be hard, but hard truths must be heard. When they next spoke, he would explain the impossibility of her situation to Aman. He hoped that she would be able to see the truth as he did, and that she would not be too hurt by it…

[Kransha]

Someone else was sneaking about in the Dragon as well.

Tobias Hornblower.

Toby, after eavesdropping on the conversation between Amanduial and Snaveling in the stables, an event which he regretted having heard, had managed to assume his long lost vermin’s tendencies and scurry into the inn unnoticed by most, and most importantly, unnoticed by the innkeeper and her wiles. He still had to avoid her, as much as he didn’t want to, but was now also occupied by the matter of Snaveling and Aman. They went together, as the saying went in Longbottom, like weed to a pipe. Toby didn’t bother denying it. In fact, he’d been subconsciously denying the fact, or at least ignoring it. He was wistfully unaware, though he had good reason to be so. He was darkly preoccupied with his own matters. If such a thing had happened in the old days, before the ill sequence of events that had befallen Toby, he might’ve played matchmaker if he could. He done such things back in Longbottom, and was accredited among Hornblower’s for bringing about the weddings of several of his close relatives…though mostly for personal gain.

The elderly hobbit wondered now, miserably, what he would do. His inner, hobbitish instinct kept driving him to and fro like a meek little fishing boat in a storm. He continually considered making his concerns known, publicly, to someone at least. The burden was making his entire existence a continual cycle of repetition and wariness. Being circumspect might be routine for some, but Toby wasn’t used to this heightened level of cautiousness. He disliked it…he really disliked it, and had had enough. But still, he could not make up his mind about what to do. He was lost in a sea of choices, which should’ve been a good thing, but was instead more hindering and cumbersome. It made him feel obtuse, in truth, and that irked him most. He was compulsory, and though he often schemed and conspired, his skill at being decisive was always sharp and ready. For once, it had been dulled, leaving Toby at wit’s end and in the dark.

He sat in the dark as well, for the sunny light, fair and golden, streaming through the inn’s windows did not reach him. He had taken up temporary residence at a corner table, at the dark side of the Common Room, surrounded by bustling folk who obscured any view of him. He looked across the room every so often at Snaveling, or Aman, simply to see if they were looking back. He did not want them to be, if they were, but part of him wished they knew. He held his weary head in his hand and breathed deeply, hoping to calm himself. The hobbit kept glancing, almost involuntarily, at Snaveling, who looked to have become almost as much a hermit as he. But Toby knew that Snaveling had nothing to hide, and that was the difference between them…though he did, perhaps, have some things.

Suddenly, it hit him (again). He could tell Snaveling. He didn’t know why he hadn’t done it before. The eyes of Aman had not been on him all night. He’d thought of this before, but not mustered the courage to do anything. Now he could. Toby could simply approach his compatriot, take him aside, and carefully explain the situation. It was simple; painfully simple, in fact. Toby could not believe he had not done it before. His face warmed up, his ears quivered nobly, and his chest inflated. Then, like a King ascending, he stood…

And sat back down again a moment later. He couldn’t do it, no matter what circumstances. The hobbit could not bring himself to force his woes on a friend, or even break to him the news. Even a close and dear friend would probably misinterpret it, or not understand. He buried his head in his hands again, kneading his sore temples, and pulled himself back into the refreshing shade, hoping to conceal himself fully from any onlookers. There was nothing for him to do, except await the painful inevitability that was to come.

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

Not far away, an obnoxious voice woke up those animals on either side of Bywater Road who were still sleeping.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!”

Scratching the swollen wart on his bulbous nose, Spurge Proudfoot dug his proud feet harshly into the grizzled haunches of an ancient pony, causing it to bray uncomfortably and, instead of quicken its pace, buck and slow to a standstill. Growling, his murderous rage at the horse full to bursting, the hobbit struck the beast mightily, creating a resounding clap that reverberated in his ears. He clasped one hand to his ear, and the other’s chubby digits tightened on reins slippery with sweat. The horse brayed more madly, and printed his weakened hooves in the dusty earth, sending up a torrent of sandy mist that manufactured a shroud around the pony and his rider. Atop the animal, the hobbit swayed and lurched, his ear-gripping hand now coming to his stomach and grasping a monstrous belly that sagged in his hand. Spurge Proudfoot was definitely not a very apt rider. Twisting his face into a foul grimace he leaned and looked forward at the mounted figure on the well-trodden road in front of him. “Why don’t you slow down, hotfoot.” He yelled towards the figure heatedly, “You know I’m not good with these blasted pennies!”

The figure not far off, barely noticeable by Spurge through the newly sprung curtain of dust, turned his pale-faced head, shaking it in an admonishing fashion. “They’re called ponies, Spurge, not pennies.” He cried back, emphasizing the word ‘pennies’ as if he were stabbing something, his voice pointed and precise. Spurge’s lip curled disdainfully, and he spurred his mount out of the dust cloud until, after much unwieldy gallivanting, he had maneuvered it up to a point on the road just behind the other horse and rider. “You think I care what they’re called?” he growled crudely, half muttering and half speaking to the other Halfling, “Doesn’t change the fact that they’re smelly, and slow, and stupid.” The other hobbit turned, flicking his long and tangled mop of hair to and fro on his head. “Well, maybe you should shut your trap.” He retorted glumly (this being the reason why he was most often called “Glumwell” Boffin, rather than his real and true name, Gromwell). His words were dry and witless, but he seemed to be more in charge of his verbal faculties. Spurge, who was known as “Splurge” to Gromwell only, often slurred words together and, despite a long and grueling education, had not mastered his own tongue.

“Maybe you should learn to ride better, so’s you don’t hafta complain all the time.”

“Maybe you should think a little before you open your big mouth, less’n you wanna fist in your face someday.”

A third voice interjected before both pony-riding hobbits came to blows. It was a delicate, grandiose voice, that of a theatrical being, with annunciation and a voice for the stage, or, perhaps, for the birds, depending on how long one was forced to hear it. The voice said: “Maybe both of you should show a little tact and settle down before some ill-mannered tussock burgeons between you. We’re on a mission, remember.” Not missing a beat, Gromwell echoed the last line, smirking moronically. “Yeah, we’re on a mission.”

The source of the voice was Fescue Bracegirdle, a flowery, overblown Hobbit, stuffed into his clothes as if he were being worn by them, rather than them by him. He had a black-haired head, and a face that was heroic and debonair at first, and later became stifled, conservative, and ridiculous to look at. One had to admit, though, his face, and his overly regal attitude was much more tolerable that Spurge’s oafish thug persona, and Gromwell’s intolerably wormy nature. Fescue was the self-styled leader of the trio, even though he was also higher up on the scale of intelligence, and of many other things. Neither Gromwell nor Spurge cared about this, though. They were content to be in the business they were in, which was a busy business, certainly. The trio was all in the government business, or so they claimed. Really, they merely worked for the barely official government of the Shire, which, in Tookland and least, consisted of the Thain and his men. Thain’s men did not have the same power that local Shirriffs and Postmasters had, and had comparatively less, but they still had some minor duties. Most of those duties were the same, delivering the Thain’s messages on whims to the Shirriffs, who then delivered messages to the local populace. Fescue thought that his position was greater than this, but such a rank was above his own. He was merely in charge of a personal delivery, though he considered it to be much more.

“See, Master Proudfoot?” Fescue continued, in his aloof, dated tone of voice, “Gromwell has the right idea. Perhaps you should take etiquette lessons from Master Boffin, if you ever wish to gain a position of authority…like me.” He puffed out his miniscule chest, and his mount gave a whinnying neigh that resembled a sigh of annoyance, and could easily be misconstrued as such. Spurge grumbled, muttering inaudibly to himself, though the words, “Position of authority my foot!” were clearly heard by Gromwell. He might’ve have raised the proverbial alarm on Spurge, but he was cut short by another proclamation by Fescue Boffin as the trio crested a small, grassy ridge, flanking hilly fields, and a lump of a building came into site nearby. Fescue jabbed his finger forward, striking a dashing pose and nearly falling off his ‘noble steed.’ “Ah, yes.” He said daringly, “There she is, lads; the Green Dragon Inn: our charge.”

Spurge scratched his head. “Why are we charging? Is the criminal in there?”

“No.” Fescue snapped, almost losing his well-maintained composure, “We’ve been charged with the defense of the Green Dragon, and defend it we shall, upon the mighty bulwarks of Eriadorian law. I do not doubt that the place is filled with poor, defenseless souls in need of rescue. I assure you, boys, some will panic when we tell them the horrid news, but we will yet prevail. For we, my comrades in arms, are in the service of the Thain, and shall not shirk our duties, may they be physical, clerical, or lackadaisical.” With a powerful gesture, he goaded his steed on, and Gromwell followed up the oratory with a loud and triumphant, “Indeed!” He looked down on the Green Dragon Inn, aiming his beady eyes at the small stable that adorned it.

The three had soon clip-clopped their merry way to the stable, which was, to their mild surprise (and Spurge’s dismay) without a stable master. Fescue, Gromwell, and Spurge managed to wade through some high layers of hay and deposit their ponies in some unoccupied stalls, some of the few that were unfilled. One horse, though, was giving them a very hard time, braying and neighing and making an assortment if loud noises that grated on Spurge’s easily grated nerves. Of course, when he turned to see the animal that had made him so irate, he forgot his annoyance in light of the awesome nature of the creature. It was a noble and mighty animal, not like anything found in the Shire. It seemed almost undomesticated, wild and free, though it was compliant with the terms of its stall.

“Tha’s a mighty fine penny!” remarked Spurge,

“It’s 'pony',” commented Gromwell, as he gave his own pony a firm pat on the haunch that caused the beast to make a glancing kick at him with its front leg, though it missed utterly, “and that’s not a pony. That’s a horse.” Managing to ignore the equestrian experience, Gromwell turned and picked hay disgustedly off of his uniform. Spurge glowered at him as Fescue busied himself looking at the horses, scrutinizing them for some unknown, but no doubt very important, reason. “Well, how’m I supposed to know the difference?” Spurge Proudfoot shot back menacingly, shooting a sharp look at his rival. “You’re not,” Gromwell nimbly replies, “‘cuz you’ve got a head as thick as unchurned butter!” At last Fescue turned and placed his outstretched hands between the two as they stared each other down. “Now, now, lads,” he said coolly, though still overblown in his speech, “we ought not to be quarrelling over such petty matters, yes? Remember, we’ve been-”

“Yeah, charged.” Spurge interrupted him, sulking, “I got it.”

“I’ll bet.” Gromwell snapped.

Fescue ignored them both, musing and scratching his carved chin. “Mayhaps,” he philosophized to himself, “the chief ostler is not in at the moment.” Gromwell nodded dutifully, like any canine ought to (and the situation would’ve been vastly improved if he was a canine). “Mayhaps.” He said, acting in his customary fashion, as the precise and accurate echo of Fescue Bracegirdle. Fescue gave him a friendly look, the kind of look that master gives a dog, saying ‘for that, you get a bone later,’ and then said, in his heroic manner, that had already become annoying to the very air around him, and the horses, “Then let us proceed within.” And as they al left, he did not bother to note that many of the steeds let out neighs of relief.

So they entered, and found no one to accommodate them. The place was bustling with mid-morning activity, that of hobbits and men alike, who all cluttered the floors and tables. There was no person who seemed to stand out – to them – as innkeeper, or proprietor, or a person of some powerful position. With Fescue in the lead, the trio sauntered through the Common Room, very much expecting everyone to move out of their way, but no one did. Annoyed, they worked their way forward, searching for someone with authority. They found no one who had any, that they knew of, but they did manage to locate a fellow who looked as if he did. They did not know, at the time, that his name was Snaveling, so they did not call him that – or, Fescue did not, the other two did not like the Big Folk, and felt likewise about speaking to them. So, Fescue Bracegirdle addressed the well-clothed, nobly groomed, and kingly fellow called Snaveling.

“Fine sir.” He said, tapping the man on the shoulder as he sat, reclusively, despite his crowded surroundings, in a small chair, “You seem to be very…gargantuan…in stature and in gait. Perhaps you, a man of such noble girth and eminence, might be able to direct us to the proprietor of the most indomitable establishment?"

[Gird]

A large man clumped up the steps of the Green Dragon with loud thumps of his fine leather boots. He walked with a sense of almost king-like dignity as he entered the establishment. His clothes were well kept and of a fine quality. A scarlet-purple cape was draped down his back. The fair face of the man was underneath a styled head of hair. The man's deep blue eyes had a sense of noble purpose- but also deep down (though none could see it) a sense of mischief. And it was a mischievous and devilish deed that this man had come to act forth. It was to be his folly that he had entered the inn just moments after three agents of the Shire's Thain had also entered the inn.

With a swift and powerful leap, the man had jumped up onto the counter of the bar(knocking over several hobbits' drinks). He called aloud, above the noise of the crowd. "Dwellers of th' Green Dragon Inn! Do not be alarmed. I am hereby taking over the position of leadership in this place, as of now." With a sense of triumph the man looked around the room. The common room was silent and all he could see were faces covered in shock, disgust and anger. He continued, starting to pace along the counter, "This will mark the beginning of my mighty empire that will stretch all across Middle Earth and I shall reign supreme for a thousand yeeaa.."

The man was now falling. Evidently he had slipped on some of the spilled liquor as he paced the counter. Now, from such a self-righteous position he was falling to the dirty, hobbit and traveller trodden, floorboards.

After a couple seconds of blackness, the man awoke to sounds of excited chatter, some laughter and the faces of 'The Thain's Three', peering down at him.

[Maeggaladiel]

"Perhaps," added Eleniel, "but you have company now, Soronume." She smiled and took a drink of her ale, absently tossing Arrow another piece of bread. It was gone with a single snap of his silver and ivory jaws. He licked his lips and stared hungrily up at her, as though he hadn't eaten in years.

"Did you say you've traveled to Cirith Ungol?" Eleniel continued. "You must be very adventurous indeed! What caused you to go to that dismal place?"

Arrow started to whine. He stared up at Eleniel with large brown eyes, giving her the patented "Sad Puppy Look."

"ALL RIGHT." she said forcefully. "Here. Happy now?" She ordered a plate of bacon and set it on the floor. Arrow wagged his tail. Yes, he was quite happy now.

She nibbled on a piece of her own breakfast and took another drink. It seemed as though the dust from the road had been building up in her throat. Soon she'd have accumulated a fine sized desert where her tongue should be. The ale helped a great deal.

"I've never been to Cirith Ungol," she said, turning back to Soronume. "although my adventures have taken me close to the land of Mordor. What was it like?"


She turned briefly at the sound of the well-dressed incomer. He doesn't look like much of a traveller, she thought. He looks more like a bored nobleman.

"Dwellers of the Green Dragon Inn," she heard him bellow. "Do not be alarmed. I am taking over the position of leadership as of now."

Eleniel was far from alarmed. She rolled her eyes wearily and cast Soronume a wry smile.

"Somehow I doubt Lady Aman will surrender her position." she said. She watched as the man slipped on a puddle of spilled ale and landed on the floor. She gave a snort.

"Whatever is the world coming to?"

Arrow seemed to find this newcomer most amusing. Wagging his tail, he abandoned his licked-clean plate and sniffed at the man's face, licking his nose.

"Arrow," Eleniel called sharply. "Leave the amature inn hijacker alone."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling was shaken out of his reverie by the oddest trio of hobbits he had ever beheld. For a moment, he could have sworn that he was looking at the younger cousin, or perhaps even the brother of Tobias, for the Halfling who addressed him had the same overblown sense of grandiosity that was so charming in his friend. One moment’s inspection, however, dispelled this notion, for nowhere in this countenance as there evident the good hearted roguery of Tobias Hornblower. Instead, Snaveling detected the officious sanctimony of a minor official with an inflated sense of his own purpose. Snaveling could not help but smile at the trio, who gave in return only stern looks. “I am not,” Snaveling began, in his best court manner, “in the habit of giving out information about my friends to total strangers. Might I ask who you are, and why it is that you seek the Innkeeper?”

For a second, the lead Halfling looked like a kettle that had been left to boil dry, so furiously did his chest puff out. A thick thumb planted itself in the middle of his out-thrust shirt and the little fellow chuffed out, “Mister Fescue Bracegirdle.” His thumb then moved to point over his shoulder and he said again, as though he were listing off produce in a shopping bag, “Masters Spurge Proudfoot,” his thumb moved to his other shoulder “and Grumwell Boffin.” He returned his thumb to his pocket and, planting his feet apart, began in what Snaveling felt must be his best official manner. “We are here on Thain’s business, sir, and not to be rude, but if you aren’t in the business of discussing your friends with strangers, I’m not about to speak of my mission to an outsider, begging your pardon and no offense intended.”

“None taken.” Now Snaveling had a very difficult moment repressing his smile. To cover the effort he straightened in his chair and spoke in the manner that he had learned from watching his King with foreign emissaries. “My name, though you have not asked it, is Tar-Corondil, although I am known to the people of these parts as Snaveling. To answer your question, the Innkeeper is…”

At that moment a loud voice from the far side of the room announced that it belonged to the new ruler of the Inn. Even as Snaveling was attempting to digest this odd notion, the owner of the voice fell to the floor. Snaveling rose to his feet, not to help but the better to watch this comic moment unfold. His eye caught sight of Tobias sitting alone in a dark corner, and in a flash he knew that the arrival of Fescue and company had something to do with his friend. Eager to distract their attention, Snaveling pointed to the man on the floor and said to Fescue, “Why the Innkeeper has saved me the trouble of pointing him out! There he is upon the floor. You must forgive his outburst, it happens when he’s partaken of too much ale.”

[Firefoot]

Lily grinned, both in memory of yesterday's ride and in anticipation of another one. "Yes, yes, I should like that very much," she said. "After luncheon it is." Clover stamped his foot as if he too were eager to get out. Posco had finished checking on his pony, and he walked over to her, asking, "Have you finished?" Lily gave her pony a gentle tug on his forelock in farewell and turned to Posco.

"Yes, I am ready to go back to the inn now." Lily took Posco's offered hand and they returned to the inn together. Upon entering, Lily took note of the man lying on the floor by the bar. She murmured, "Someone has apparently had too much beer. At this hour!" Posco nodded in agreement. He led her to a table towards the back, pulling out a chair for her to sit in and then sitting down himself.

"Another ride," Lily mused. There was a joking tone in her voice and a sparkle in her eye. "Now what kind of adventures do you think we might have this time around? Runaway ponies, maybe? I think we will have fun."

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver had done her best to get clean after the unforeseen tumble in the dirt, but there was only so much a bucket of cold water could do to wash off so much muck. Her fingernails were still blackened where she had made a vain attempt to claw at the ground when she was brought down, and she now had a few nasty splinters in her hands. In between bites of her scone, which she held using a clean napkin, she picked at the tiny shards of wood.

She did not sit still for long; soon she was up and whirling around, beating the skirts of her tunic furiously in an attempt to remove more of the soil. Her face grew quite red, as she got more frustrated with her futile attempts to remove the mess. Her other tunic was not fit to wear, as it was badly stained and creased, so she could not change. The only clean garment she had with her was her best dress which was packed in the travelling bag in her bedchamber. She realised with a sigh that she would have to change into it later while she had her tunics laundered. It was too expensive a dress to wear for gardening, so she would have to put on a brave face about the state of her clothes until her work was done for the day.

As she was agonising with herself, she had stood lost in thought as the hobbit lads had burst out in another scene of commotion. Hearing about the youthful romantic feelings of young Ferdy, she smiled. But a sense of sadness was behind her smile. It was a long time since she had felt that rush of pride and embarrassment at being found out for liking someone. She looked across to where the young hobbit lass, Ginger, was tending to the flowers at the inn, and almost felt a tear rise in her eye.

[Kransha]

Taking several auspicious glances in rapid succession, over his statuary shoulders, Fescue Bracegirdle eventually got around to speaking again, after double-taking a number of times at the strange man who this aristocratic fellow had nominated as the innkeeper. “Well, thank you very much, Master Snaveling Tar-Corondil.” He said, bowing with a highly embellished flourish, “The Thain thanks you for your services.” The man nodded pleasantly and turned away, a little too promptly for Fescue’s liking, but the hobbit was far too enthralled by his own deeds to realize that something might be amiss. He turned sharply on his unclothed heel, and looked down at the peculiar “innkeeper” of the Green Dragon, one primly formed eyebrow raised just above the other. Spurge nudged Fescue with his grimy elbow, speaking out of the corner of his mouth.

“He doesn’t look like an innkeeper, Fes. Looks like more of a toss-pot to me.” remarked Gromwell astutely. “Fescue, Gromwell,” Fescue Bracegirdle swiftly corrected, in a timely manner, “and I do think he has that air that a mannish business-owner should.” He turned his head and looked down, with mild indignation, at the pompous fellow, taking due note of his appearance, slight dishevelment, bombastic gait and girth, and his looks on the whole. He then nodded curtly and turned back, looking back at Gromwell as if his point had been magically proven simply by looking at the man. Spurge, though, did not seem convinced, though Gromwell began vigorously nodding to satiate Fescue.

“But the Thain’s message stated that the innkeeper was a girl.” Spurge said, jabbing a fat finger at Fescue, his lip curled in disdain. He paused, looking contemplative for a moment(or, about as contemplative as half-witted Spurge Proudfoot could), his finger pausing in mid-motion, and then suddenly flew to his side, to the leathery belt that hung over his shoulder as a military sash might. In the folds of the broad baldric, several scrolls were held by further cords and draperies, and the brawny hobbit produced from the multitude of messages a single scroll of fine-smelling, rosy parchment, and pulled out a small slip of paper that was enclosed in the proclamation’s binding ribbon. He energetically flicked open the note with his spatulate thumb, and held it out to Fescue, filling the other Halfling’s face with the terse message, tapping his longest digit against the salutation at the top. “See?” he said, almost voraciously, as he was not used to being right and always savored the opportunity to be so, “It says ‘Miss Amanduial,’ not Mister.”

Wrinkling his nose and pulling back from the slip of paper and shoving it aside dismissively. “Probably a clerical error.” He said to both of his bewildered cohorts, calm and collected as usual as he pilfered the message from Spurge’s upraised hand and tucked it neatly beneath the length of ribbon that held the scroll. “Even the Thain makes mistakes…sometimes.” He hastily corrected himself, and Gromwell heartily grinned, though spurge simply snorted. “Anyway,” Fescue Bracegirdle continued, almost drawling fine, classical rhetoric in that operatic voice of his, preaching to the sky, “why would any man lie of such things? No one has reason to hinder our noble course. It is not as if he is the criminal.” Gromwell let loose a good-natured, but obviously forced chuckle at this.

Spurge, on the other hand, looked as if his slow mind had just been rejuvenated by thought. “Maybe ‘e is!” He cried, practically leaping from his grounded position. The hobbit seemed poised, strangely, and impelled to speak voraciously; stabbing a finger like a sword at the man, who had his back turned, and he spoke in a fierce, rasping whisper. But, Fescue waved him aside again, incredulous in the extreme. “Spurge,” he said, like a frustrated educator, “the criminal is a hobbit.” His eyes turned to Snaveling, who seemed to be nervously milling about, and said, with some confidence: “That is not a hobbit.” But, Spurge had not gotten over his sudden burst of luster, and spouted out the only possible explanation he could think of, one that seemed perfectly plausible - to him.

“Maybe he’s wearin’ stilts?”

Fescue did not even hesitate to terminate that theory. “What a ridiculous concept.” He admonished his accomplice, “Surely, this is the innkeeper. Let us find out.” His prognosis was curt, and not to be argued, siding physically with his supervisor, Gromwell gave a stern nod, which followed Fescue’s own, and Spurge shrunk back in defeat, his venture deemed preposterous by Fescue’s sterling logic. Grumbling in an underhanded manner, Spurge followed suit as Fescue turned and leaned over the gaudy fellow and gripping his hand, attempted to extricate him from the floor. The poor hobbit, witty as he was, had nowhere near enough strength in his small arms to arouse the man, so surly Spurge had to grab the man’s other arm. They tugged uselessly for a few moments before the man got up of his own accord, rocking slightly from side to side like one intoxicated, which elicited indignant looks from Spurge and Gromwell. Fescue, though, was polite and socially refined, as usual, presenting himself as a rare find to the man, who looked at him with a most peculiar look plastered on his fair face, which caused Spurge to cough uncomfortably, a bit disconcerted.

“Excuse me,” he began eloquently, “most noble innkeeper of the Green Dragon. Are you well?” This was said with a minimal air of concern, though not doleful concern, or credible concern, but obligatory concern. The hobbit did not let the simple phrase be answered before he plowed on with his prudish yammering. “Your associate here,” he said, indicating Snaveling (who was actually not where he had been, thus rendering Fescue’s auxiliary gesture meaningless), “tells me you’ve had excess liquor, but I am sure that such a respectable fellow is always sober, to some degree; else you would not be able to manage such a reputed, eminent, renowned, and wholly fine establishment.”

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"What else is left for me in this land anymore?" said Cree sadly. Fáinu looked at Cree and felt her sadness emulate from her. He knew that he had been one of the causes of her sadness. There was not much he could now do, save perhaps to offer aid, and that he expected her to decline.

"What would you ask of me?" said Fáinu, "Many sorrows fill your heart, and I know that I contributed to them. Surly I can aid you in healing some of your hurts? Ask of me, and if it is in my power, I shall see it done."

Cree did not move, it was as if she had not been listening and was off in her own little world. Fáinu lent closer to her and with a look of concern he said;

"Cree, Will you hearken to me?" She looked up at him and yet said naught, she seemed now to have been drained of all contentment. Avalon had been a friend and it was hard for her to give up a dear comrade such as her. Fáinu sat back and thought to himself. Cree was filled with sorrow and doubt, distrust and rage. All he could do was be silent.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"So three meals then, one full, two without gravy and one with no veg or gravy and with the steak very rare?"

Aman eyed her four 'customers' warily over her notebook. All four seemed rather shorter than even the average hobbit customer, and one, for whom a rare steak with no vegetables, had been ordered, was so wrapped up in heavy winter clothes, despite the fair weather, that she could barely see it's figure. Not to mention the fact that one of the other customers had an arm across the back of the former's neck: not that this was strange in itself - it was something about the white knuckle grip that was being exerted on the tightly tied scarf around it's neck.

"Actu'lly, can I skip the vegibles as well please, miss?" piped up one of them in a somewhat muffled but still suspiciously squeaky voice.

"Brando! You will ea- I mean..." the high pitched, juvenile female voice deepened itself with difficulty. "I mean, you will eat your veggibles as your mother- erm, as you wife told you to!"

"But I- ow!" There was a thud beneath the table and one of the heavily wrapped figures doubled over, looking up to fiercely reprimand the previous speaker. "Oahh...oh, Tilly Longbottom, I'm gonna tell your mam you did that, that was my ankle..."

Aman cleared her throat subtly, trying not to laugh at the tableau. She knew exactly what was coming next, and could have timed the awkward pause that came before the next, hopelessly predictable line.

"Erm...and can we also order a few beers? Miss Innkeeper? Please?"

Aman regarded the hopeful faces beneath their fake beards and jauntily stuck on moustaches and gave a sigh of mock-sorrow. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," she replied regretfully. "But we just ran out." She eyed the quartet of disguised hobbit youths challengingly to see whether they would press on the matter but instead they sort of deflated and there was a murmur of unsatisfied discussion between them until Aman threw in her ace. "Of course," she said carefully. "For such fine and upstanding gentlemen of the Inn, a most sophisticated and worthy beverage has always been...strawberry fizz?"

The four heads nearly collided as another flurry of muttered discussion ensued before one of the youths, the appointed spokeshobbit, nodded up at Aman. "Right y'are then: three strawberry fizzes it is then."

"Please!" Another hissed.

"Oh, right, yes, three strawberry fizzes please," the spokeshobbit ammended guiltily. "And, eh...and one bowl of water," he added shiftily.

Aman winked, finishing off the order on her pad. "Good choice, young sirs," she said with a flourish and a barely covered pat on the head of the heavily wrapped customer, greeted with a panted thanks which was hastily coughed over by the other three. She made her way across the room, whistling lightly under her breath, until a spoken line arrested her in her tracks.

"...as the owner of this fine establishment..."

Aman froze in mid-stride and spun around slowly to the source of the strange line to see a most peculiar trio of hobbits a few feet away, the most flamboyantly dressed of these half-crouched over a prone figure on the floor and talking to him with some difficulty with as much grace as possible. The Innkeeper squinted at the writing on the envelope in the speaker's hand to read - yes, there it was! - her own name. With a puzzled half-smile half-frown, Aman approached them quickly, slipping her notepad back into her pocket.

"Sorry, gentlemen, there seems to be some-"

A hand on her wrist stopped Aman and she turned, already knowing whose hand it was, to identify Snaveling. He half-rose as she turned, shaking his head shiftily. "Nay, Aman, let it be for-"

Aman didn't catch on and forced her fluttering heart to calm down - he was being absurd. "Don't be ridiculous, Snaveling," she smiled, pulling her hand away as she addressed the hobbits again. "Pardon men, gents, I believe there has been some mistake: I am the Amanaduial, Innkeeper of the Green Dragon. May I ask who it is that seeks me in such a way?"

[Kransha]

Toby’s brooding was at last interrupted by a small commotion in the Common Room. He was far too circumspect and concerned to venture near it. He saw, after an instant of looking, that Snaveling was involved, as was Aman, and both were looking down at a trio of figures whose faces were mostly obscured by other activity. Tobias Hornblower tried unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse of the figures, but he was suddenly distracted by Snaveling, who was shooting him a knowing glance. He looked, reservedly, at his old friend, and was alarmed to see a look of great urgency. In an instant, the whole situation became clear, too clear for poor Toby. The authorities had come, as he knew they would. Thankfully, Snaveling was still with him, and had enough presence of mine to give a very noticeable signal. Panicking, Toby jumped to his feet and began a mad dash, as discreetly as he could, for the door, and an adequate hiding place.

He flitted out, with sprightly, but not jovial quickness in his feet. He dashed through the crowd, sticking to the shady walls and avoiding the vague pools of morning light that gathered together on the floor. He felt underhanded, illicit, even criminal, practicing such conspiratorial activity, but remaining unknown was of grave importance. The hobbit dearly wished that he had gotten the chance to explain his plight to at least Snaveling. But, he could not do so now, and was condemned to hope that he and Aman would understand. He would explain it to them as soon as he could, but he could no longer go to them. They would have to seek him out, and, maybe, they would remain his friends, and not expose him. He had quite a bit of explaining to do, a thought which tore at the front of his mind, but that was unimportant now. The hobbit had to find a hiding place that could house him, at least temporarily.

Toby thought of fleeing, but the Thain’s men probably had horses or ponies to ride, and he had nowhere to go. He resolved to stay on the inn’s grounds, but he could not go back into the inn itself, for his pursuers were there. Then, he saw his salvation: the stable. Without thinking, or considering what he might do, he high-tailed it to the stable and barged in, causing a number of nervous noises from the horses, many of which disconcerted Toby greatly. He headed back to the stall he’d slept in, but found it filled, by a disagreeable pony who neighed at him loudly, and snapped its horse jaws together at him. Hurriedly he back away from the stall that had been his, and spun, searching frantically for a stall that was empty. There were none. Every stall bore a horse, all of them braying and stamping and kicking. Only one stall held an animal that was not reacting aversely – the stall that held Snaveling’s (now Aman’s) mighty horse.

Tobias Hornblower had never liked horses. He remembered, distinctly, his last encounter with the creatures. It had been at the very place he stood now, in the stable of the Green Dragon. It was when the fire, which had begun, and later solved, all of his problems. He and his cousin, Fredigar, had been assigned the task of extricating the Dragon’s clients’ mounts from the burning stable. Toby had nearly gotten his head kicked off that day, more than once. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he hated horses. But, he could do nothing else, so he carefully opened the stable door, tiptoed in, with the horse staring at him, and shut the door quietly behind him. He began to move towards the back of the stall so he could conceal himself there, but the steed was blocking the way. The hobbit knew he could not get past the strong animal, so, he did the only thing he could think of doing…He began to talk to it.

“Alright, lad,” he said, “I don’t like you, and I’m willing to bet you don’t like me, but we’ve got to get through this together, got it? You let me stay here, and I won’t put every last drop of money I have to my name into making a fine lot of glue and horse meat out of you, alright?” Of course, this was a genuine absurdity, since Toby did not, presently, have any money, and he knew that if he did, he wouldn’t spend it on a grudge against a horse, but he was attempting to be as intimidating as a hobbit could be, and the only way to be intimidating, for him, was to act rich. Screwing up his face into a mighty scowl, Toby firmly planted himself and thrust his arm forward, pointing at the spot where he desired the steed to relocate to. “Now,” he said with an air of command and of power, “move.”

The horse did not look amused…or compliant. In fact, if it had had a readable face, one might’ve detected a look of incredulousness. Toby’s nature told him to be mad, to be furious with the animal, but his situation was simply to dire. He began to stutter uncontrollably, considering options. The thought of trying to dive past the horse and hide, occurred to him, but he realized that the horse would simply kick him, or do to him whatever horses did to those that they didn’t like. Stammering like a fool, he opted for sympathy, hoping that the beast would at least be able to understand simple emotion. “Move,” he said again, but less firmly, and he added, like a question after a long pause, “please?” The horse still did not move, and there was no hint of equestrian compassion in its noble eyes and drawn muzzle. Toby’s eyebrows furrowed darkly again and he tried a second time to assume the high ground, and force the horse from his way by verbal force. “C’mon, you filthy beast,” he demanded angrily, “move your great hide, or else!”

The horse whinnied sinisterly, printing his hooves several times in the soft earth, and Toby retreated miserably, backing up against the swinging stall door which he had closed behind him. With a sudden anarchic bray, the horse reared up, stabbing sharp hooves at the air too close to Toby, and the hobbit sunk back, quivering, into the stable corner. At last, the horse came down, and his braying ceased. It looked bemused, and its angry eyes lightened up, the fierce fire in them fading, to Toby’s relief. The elder Halfling managed to stagger to his feet, balancing on a trembling form that barely allowed hum to stand, and took a few half-steps forward, towards the serene steed. It was now completely calm, and Toby saw only one course of action. Very hesitantly, he laid his hand on the horse’s neck and mane, flinching constantly, but the horse did not react. Slowly, he let his rough palm glide along the steed’s sleek coat, caressing it, and then neatly patted its back. He tried, as hard as he could, to be unafraid – and tactful. “You know,” he said, semi-confidently, “there’s really nothing I can give, in exchange for sanctuary, but, if I ever come back into my fortune, I swear on my grandfather’s golden pipe, I’ll buy you so much provender that it’ll take more than two lifetimes to finish it all, and I’ll see that it’s good provender to. So, is it a deal?”

To his surprise, and overwhelming happiness, the steed of Snaveling took a few slight steps to the side, and threw its proud head back, indicating the stall corner. Testing the ground as he walked, as if it were water of unknown temperature, Tobias Hornblower moved into the corner and sat, allowing himself to sink into the piles of hay nestled there. The horse moved back into its place, positioning its head over the stall door, but shot one last look back at Toby. The weary hobbit managed to crack a meek smile. He had no idea why he had even bothered speaking to the horse. He probably could’ve convinced the horse to move simply by petting it, but somehow he thought that the animal knew of his promise…and, if ever the circumstances arose, he would be sure to keep it.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and the horse neighed back.

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

“You are the innkeeper, then?” said Fescue, completely forgetting that he had just been tricked. His mind was caught up in introductions. He considered himself quite the ladies’ man and, even though he wasn’t to keen on romancing any of the Big Folk, his familiar elegance took over. The innkeeper looked back at the strange little fellow with a polite smile on her face and said, “Yes, I am.” simply. Fescue pondered momentarily, scratching his clean, nearly polished chin like a philosopher of old. “I see…” he murmured, and then paused for a winding moment, looking off into the distance as a true thinker might. “Well, dear madam,” he then said, as he bowed pompously, “I am Fescue Bracegirdle. My two colleagues are Masters Spurge Proudfoot and Gromwell Boffin.” He indicated each of his Halfling cohorts, who gave curt little nods that the innkeeper acknowledged. “We are here on the business of the Thain, with dire news, of which you must be informed.”

Here he paused again, mulling over his words, and hushed his tone to a whisper. He realized that the man, Snaveling Tar-Carondil, who had deceived him a moment ago, was still beside Aman, looking a bit worried. This was very suspicious behavior, but Fescue Bracegirdle was, in fact, horrible at analyzing lies, and was also very bad with faces, which were very limiting factors for an officer of the law, but no one truly cared. It was family connections that had gotten him his position, even though he didn’t really know it. Speaking quietly, like a ready predator, he leaned toward Aman and said, “There is, dare I say it, a criminall on the loose, a scoundrel, a rogue, and a villain, and it is feared by the Thain that he may seek this very place as a hideout from the forces of justice.”

He was very surprised that the innkeeper did not gasp, or shriek, or do some other lady-like thing under the circumstance. He had fully expected the young maiden to swoon where she stood, but she did not. She simply said, a little more warily, “A criminal?” Questioning the words as if she thought Fescue might be fabricating them. This made Fescue very self-conscious, and slighted, but he didn’t let it show. Perhaps this wily female was merely concealing her normal instincts so that she could impress him, or some such thing. Though he would never admit it, the fairer sex was a complete mystery to him, so he plowed on.

“Yes, indeed;” he said, “a criminal most vile. I and my associates shall be remaining here, in the Green Dragon, to monitor any activity that may pertain to the rogue.”

Spurge suddenly piped up merrily, adding a tidbit to the conversation. “And,” he said, a devilish tone in his thuggish baritone, “since we’re on Thain’s business, we get free service.” But Fescue scowled at this, not realizing that it was actually a clever plan that Spurge had conjured uncharacteristically, and dismissed the thought as ignorance. “That is not necessary.” he said, “We’ve been endowed with more than enough necessary funds to pay for service.” Spurge grumbled and moved back, greatly annoyed that Fescue had again shot down his idea, which had, in truth, shown promise, but Fescue Bracegirdle was far too righteous to accept any improper activity from his two counterparts. Now, the innkeeper spoke.

“So, if you’ll excuse my asking, who exactly is this ‘rogue’?” She said, patient and unalarmed.

“I’m glad you asked.” said Fescue, “You will have to read this.”

The hobbit turned and yanked the scroll he had observed before out of Spurge’s baldric. He then neatly undid the thin ribbon that held it together, and unfurled the piece of parchment. It smelled of perfume, and of ink, and bore much intricate cursive on it. The whole content of the veritable proclamation was written in detailed, ornamented script, all in sable ink that looked still wet, and a bright red seal lay stamped at the bottom. Gripping each edge, he pushed it forward and held it open, allowing Amanaduial to read, as well as Snaveling, who was looking over her shoulder, worriedly.

Both quietly read the contents of the message:

One Tobias Hornblower, Hobbit man of Longbottom in the Southfarthing, formerly a respectable figure, is now to be regarded as a criminal, possibly dangerous, who is, at present, a fugitive in the Shire. It is advised that if any person sees or comes into contact with Hornblower, said person should swiftly report to a Shirriff or authority figure nearby. Hornblower may have links to several renegade organizations in and outside of the Shire, and is probably being funded by these syndicates, thus he may be in disguise as well. His presence alone may be considered espionage and criminal in itself. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to deal with Tobias Hornblower, as he has numerable dangerous and hostile colleagues. If he is apprehended, I condone extreme care and suggest that contact with the local authorities be made immediately.

Hornblower is short, around two and a half feet in height, has green eyes, brown hair, and has been described as ‘rat-like’ by several relatives and associates. He was last seen wearing a dark green waistcoat, brown breeches, a black cloak, and a brightly colored vest, though it is most probably that he has found new garb. Any persons fitting his description should be searched without delay.

In addition, one Opal Boffin is offering a modest reward for the capture of the fugitive, which has been augmented with a sizable bounty from me. Bringing Hornblower to justice is of the utmost importance, as his information may lead to exposure of other illicit activities in the Four Farthings. Those who receive this dispatch should consider it their duty to make all of these facts known to their surrounding communities. This dispatch has been sent to inns, taverns, estates, and county seats throughout the Shire. Locations that Hornblower has frequented in the past include the Hornblower Estate, the Drooping Willow Inn, and Hardbottle Hollow in the Southfarthing, Crickhollow and Bogmorton Tavern in the Eastfarthing, the Boffin Estate and Long Cleeve in the Northfarthing, and the Green Dragon Inn in Bywater.

There followed, after this paragraph, a rather large, relatively accurate ink sketch of the accused, with his name in large, thick print below the rendering, and more listed information.

Tobias Hornblower III – Charged With:
-Funding of Orcish activities, marauders, and ruffians
-Indirect participation in the subjugation of the Shire
-Indirect counts of assault and battery
-Numerous counts of petty larceny
-Grand larceny
-Murder

Paladin Took, Thain of the Shire,
Year 1433 by the Shire Reckoning,
The Great Smials, Tuckborough

[starkat]

Gwenneth had not been amidst sucha flower garden since leaving home. The young elf was taking her time going through the flowers before choosing ones for her boquets. She smiled to herself as she worked. I know Ginger only suggested one, but I think that the Cook might enjoy a small surprise. I hope it is ok.

The young elf maid felt a momentary flash of nervousness. When she saw the next group of flowers, her butterflies disappeared. "Ginger!" she called. The flowers before her were unfamilier to her. They were beautiful though.

[Gird]

The now disheveled man watched as the actual inn keeper showed up. The hobbit that had been talking to him had now forgotten his presence completely. This might be good for now. As his first attempt at outright taking over the inn had well... not gone so well, he thought it best to lay low for a while. The hobbit leader, or the one that talked proper, had gathered the innkepper Aman in close and they started conversing in hushed voices. Interesting. The man thought to himself, and he leaned in close to the huddle to try and figure out what was going on.

What he got from the bit of the conversation was that the proper one was an official of some position in the Shire, and that he had been sent here to catch a felon of some sort. He glanced over theirshoulders and caught a glimpse of a letter, just enough to get what he wanted; a name. Tobias Hornblower.

The man stood up as quickly and inconspicuously as he could. <i>This 'criminal' could be of use for me in my schemes of domination. He must be quite cunning to have subversed capture thus far. And his acts must have been quite notorious to have the Thain's men out to arrest him.</i>

"Well, I'll be minding my own business passively now." he said to no one in particular, but as to cover up what he was scheming.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree didn't know what to say. Fáinu had caused so much of her troubles and yet she still went back to him. She didn't know what else to do. "Fáinu, I will not hearken you to do anything. I have to do things myself and I have to realize that even with you here I am alone. I can't stop what is happening to me. There is no way possible that I know of. My curse shall not become yours. If you choose to leave and not turn back that is fine. I will only move on with what ever life I have left." Cree had no-idea what she was saying. Nothing actually matter anymore.

Avalon is gone and I only now have to worry about everything else. Fáinu can't help me anymore. He never could help me. Cree sat there remembering the past. "Fáinu, do you remember the day you saved my life. It seems so long ago." Her voice seemed warmer than usual. A smile finally appeared on her face. "Fáinu, I'm sorry for what I have done to you. I should have let you leave when you wanted to. I'm not going to "force" you to stay here with me."

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger paused in her weeding. The warm sun and the heavy scents from the herbs had begun to tickle at her nose. She rubbed it on the back of her hand willing the sensation to go away. In her rush to get up and dressed and off to her work, she’d forgotten to pack a hanky in her apron pocket. For a moment, she considered using the underside of he apron, as her brothers sometimes did with the tails of their shirts. But she could just see her mother’s horrified face and hear her admonishment. ‘Ginger! Young ladies do not do such things! What would your Gammer say?!’

Well to be quite honest, Ginger thought, Gammer would probably be more practical. ‘Be discrete, my dear. And just remember next time to bring a hanky.’ Turning her back so that no one could see her, Ginger made a quick swipe at her nose with her upturned apron. She was about to pick up her little hand trowel when she heard Gwenneth calling from the front flower patches.

Ginger stood, brushing the dirt from her knees and shook the loose soil from the edges of her skirt. with a quick step she hurried to where her friend was working among the bright zinnias that poked up in clumps here and there.

‘Did you need something?’ she asked, kneeling down where Gwenneth was.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman took the scroll from the oily, pompous hobbit and unfolded the perfumed parchment carefully, her eyes narrowing as she did so. As soon as she read the first line, her heart skipped a beat.

One Tobias Hornblower, Hobbit man of Longbottom in the Southfarthing, formerly a respectable figure, is now to be regarded as a criminal...
Tobias Hornbloer...a criminal...

Aman's eyes flitted down the page as another word caught her eyes, scanning briefly the text, until she came to the acts commited - acts so vile that they would merit death in any part of the United Kingdom under Elessar's rule. The Innkeeper looked over the parchment at Fescue, finding it suddenly a little hard to breathe. The hobbit seemed unsure of what to do and tentatively laid a hand on her arm. She could feel Snaveling's complete stillness behind her, his head still near hers as he read the parchment. She did not need the elvish bond of mind-sharing to know what he was thinking.

"Amanaduial, are you quite well?"

Aman forced herself to calm down as her mind spun quickly. She regained her composure and sat down carefully in a chair pulled out by one of the other two hobbits. "Yes...yes, thank you, Mr. Bracegirdle. I...well, to know that an individual of such a criminal calibre was loose around the Shire..." she fanned herself with a hand, and gave into temptation as she shot a look of panic at Snaveling.

Surprisingly, Spurge, slow-witted as he may have been, picked up on this. He cleared his throat officiously and leant forward towards Aman, his face now at her level. "Do you...know of this individual, Miss Amanaduial?"

The rememberance of ten gold coins burned in Aman's mind, and her heart nearly stopped but she didn't show it, shaking her head slowly, thoughtfully, opening her eyes wide. "Well, with so many folk flowing through our establishment every day, folks of all sorts, I can't say I recognise the name...Hornblower, you say? Well, to be sure, it is a fine and respectable family name, there are several Hornblowers who have graced the Green Dragon..."

Fescue chest swelled out as he drew himself up to his full, if rather diminiutive height, and shook his head regretfully, his little stick of office clutched pompously by his side. "A fine name indeed, a fine name indeed - to have one so vile drag it through the mud in such a way."

"Are you quite sure this fellow is indeed the perpetrator?"

Snaveling's voice was soft and impassive as he asked the question, but there was something unnerving in it that two of the hobbits picked up. Fescue, though, was determined not to be at all intimidated, and indeed Snaveling's dark face was utterly emotionless, displaying only mild interest - even if his eyes flashed a different message. The hobbit officer-in-law turned to the man and indignantly indicated the scroll in Aman's limp hand. "The Thain himself sent a decree, sir - that which stands for all the authority in the Shire!"

Aman nodded slowly again. "I see...I just...well, I don't understand how such a criminal can have got so out of hand! I do think I recognise the name...short, fellow, dark hair, shifty mannerisms?" Fescue didn't appear to notice that Aman had simply used the description entailed in the scroll and nodded eagerly. All three hobbits leant forward in anticipation.

"Aye, I remember - but he hasn't been here for a good six months at least!"

The trio fell back, disappointed. Aman sighed regretfully. "Sorry not to be able to help, there, but I don't suppose he would be coming back here any time soon - I refused repeatedly to buy some pipe-weed from him and he stormed out in a most...stormy mood," she concluded, uninspirationally. She gave a dramatic, mock-shudder. "Oh, to think he was here, under my very roof-!"

Fescue made to lay his hand on her shoulder but a thankful but sharp glance from the Innkeeper made him withdraw his paw carefully. He cleared his throat, but Aman spoke first, determination set on her features. "Such individuals cannot be allowed to run amock around the Shire - murderers, traitors and the like will never enter this most respectable establishment, of that you have my word! Not while such fine gentlefolk as you are around, I'm sure..." Fescue blushed at the compliments and he and his assosiated shuffled their feet nervously. Aman rose briskly and turned to Snaveling openly.

"Master Snaveling, would you be so kind as to fetch the stablemaster, Mister Longfellow? You know, the old hobbit chap standing in for Meriadoc..." Snaveling nodded in recognition, his face straight as he understood her meaning. "I need to speak to him about this matter, in my study as soon as possible - imagine if he was to get into our stables, and cause chaos among the horses! Let Cook know as well."

Find Toby quickly. Bring him to my study. Cook is to know of the gentlehobbit's plight and is not on any circumstances to give him away.

Snaveling nodded once and slipped away like a shadow. Fescue watched his back nervously, then turned back to Aman, giving her a small bow that he no-doubt thought suave and elegant. "You are a fine keeper of this Inn, no doubt about that!"

Aman nodded and straightened her skirt, her fluster not entirely acted. Straightening her hair out of habit, she motioned towards one of the corner tables: it was set near the fire but in a slight enclave of it's own, a cosy, isolated corner included by Regin Hardhammer, the dwarf in charge of restoration when the Inn was half burnt down. She was now doubly glad for Regin's thoughtfullness, even if the dwarf himself could not have foreseen the circumstances: although the corner, which seemed rather grander with it's warmth, isolation and large side window, afforded the best view of all newcomers to the Inn through the front door, it was also set slightly into the wall so that the kitchen could not be seen without leaning around and deliberately looking for it, and the entrance to Aman's study was pretty much completely out of the sightline. If Tobias was to come in through the kitchen door and slip into Aman's office quickly along that side wall behind the bar, the chances of him being seen, although existant, were very slim.

Aman set a smile on her face and led the hobbit's to their table calmly. "Will you take some food, gentlemen? You must be tired after all that riding..."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"I do not wish to leave," said Fáinu tilting his head, "I went to find out some news before. With little luck I might add." He smiled; he had never been the best at getting news. Cree was not amused; she had too much on her mind.

Rising up, Fáinu collected their empty mugs. "Care for another?" he asked, Cree shook her head. Fáinu shrugged and went to the bar. He came back with a filled mug of ale. Sitting down he saw how deep in thought Cree was. There was defiantly something she was hiding, perhaps she had found something on her travels that disturbed her.

"Dragons?" came a cry form an old Hobbit at a near by table, "as some one once said, theres only one dragon in bywater and that’s green... or something like that." Fáinu jumped at the word "Dragons", Cree smirked.

"No, the memory will never go," he mumbled to himself, "How can it if it is burned deep in my heart?" Cree was looking at him again. He knew she'd either decided something, or had something important to say. He looked at her expectantly.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

What has the old fool gone and got himself into this time? Snaveling’s mind hurried through this and any number of other pressing questions like it as he rushed across the yard to the stables. Stupid old hobbit! he thought angrily, how could you have let it get to this point? Why didn’t you tell me your troubles last night when we could have done something about it?

He burst into the stables causing a general uproar amongst the horses and cast about hissing Toby’s name between his teeth. He was muttering now as well. “Ridiculous, foolish, gad-headed, numbskull” and on with more epithets than he had even thought he knew. So furious was he that he did not stop to think of the effects of his litany on his friend. The first few stalls he looked in were bare of the hobbit, and Snaveling began to fear that with no empty spaces Toby might have done something truly ridiculous and attempted to hide somewhere just outside the Inn or, worse, that he had made off entirely. Startled by the idea, he swung about and made to run to the gate to call up the road when Aman’s new horse snickered at him and bit the sleeve of his tunic. “Not now,” he began but the look the horse gave him was so clear that without another word he vaulted over the low gate of the stall and pushed past the creature to see a pair of dirty breeches protruding from between the rails into the next stall. Grabbing at the patched socks about an elderly pair of ankles, he hauled the fugitive Tobias Hornblower back into the hay demanding as he did so, now really furious, “Just where in the name of the King do you think you are going Tobias?”

The poor hobbit slumped to the ground and stared at the tall Man with quivering eyes. His nose twitched like a rat’s scenting danger on the wind, and for a terrible moment it looked as though he really might cry for the shame of his circumstances. Snaveling was immediately overcome with regret and smoothing out his countenance he kneeled down before his friend and placed his hand upon his shoulder. “I am sorry to have yelled at you Toby, but I am very concerned. I am sure you know what Aman and I have just learned from the officers, but you must know too that we don’t believe a word of it. Aman is in there right now keeping them busy with food and drink, and I am to bring you to her study where we can all talk and decide what to do next.” Toby’s mouth opened and closed, twice, as he tried to take this in. Snaveling smiled in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “Come,” he said standing and holding out his hand to help up the elderly hobbit.

But Toby just shook his head violently from side to side. “No no no,” he said quickly, “I cannot; I cannot face Aman, not now, not after what I’ve done. And you, when you know the truth you won’t be so happy to know me. You think you can trust me, that I’ve innocent of all the charges, but you don’t know, you can’t. Why don’t you just go on back and let me be. I’ll be fine. I can lay low until dark and then just slip away.”

“Absolutely not!” Snaveling said firmly. “And that’s settled. I am going to help you, my old friend, as you once helped me. Do you not remember my crimes? Nothing you have done could surpass them, and yet I was shown forgiveness and justice. You shall have the same – I swear it, by all the power that is mine to wield. Though it is not much, I have yet some potency. And as for money, if it is a matter that can be settled with gold or silver, I am well enough supplied with both.” He took Toby by the hand and hauled him upright. “Now you old rogue, let us get to Aman’s study, and let us hope that your countrymen will be too distracted by the delights of the Dragon to notice us!”

[Witch_Queen]

Cree's thoughts suddenly dissapeared. " Fáinu, I'm actually glad your back. It does me good to have you here with me. I don't think I could make it without Avalon if I didn't have you to rely on. I can rely on you right?" She could remember all the fun she had with Avalon. Yet now she knew she had to do what she did. Avalon was there for her all the time, even through her terrible spells. Now they seemed to be deminishing, just like her heart. She couldn't control Avalon and she couldn't control her feelings anymore.

"Fáinu, in our past we have been through so much. I have a feeling that the times ahead will be worse than what we have face."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Fáinu, in our past we have been through so much. I have a feeling that the times ahead will be worse than what we have faced."

Cree's words echoed in Fáinu's mind. Ever since the day his old life ended, he knew he would never be able to be at peace. Always his mind was fixated on some how, getting revenge. All thought him dead, and so, he considered them dead. Cree's appearance had prompted new thinking.

"I know this," said Fáinu, "Always my future seems black and filled with shadow. Nothing but a black veil over an already dark horizon." He looked up and saw that Cree seemed to be disturbed by what he had said.

Fáinu looked Cree in the eyes. He saw that she had suffered much, but her will was far from broken. She had held her will against foes beyond her physical strength, and lived still to tell the tale.

"Forgive me," said Fáinu, "I know that this is not what you wish to hear. This is on my heart. But if I keep what is dear to me, then it shall not seem so dark."

Cree smiled and leant forward. Fáinu glanced over at some Hobbits who were having a drinking competition. There were no winners in this game; the one who drank the most was awarded with a hang over to end all hangovers.

[Angel_Queen]

Cree glanced over at the hobbits. She always thought hobbits were the creators way of making the world seem better than it actually was. Life was better in the Shire. After all the world had been through so much and to finally end up in such a happy place. "Fáinu, its amazing that no matter how much trouble Middle Earth is going through, we can find happiness and merriment in the Shire."

Her words remained on her mind. She didn't want to leave the world and go to where her kind was. The world still needed her and she wasn't going to abandon hope now.

[Gorothlammothiel]

Soronume smiled at the maiden's comments of the 'newcomer', and they both seemed to be occupied by other going's on.

Soronume took a sip of his drink, and began to answer Eleniel's earlier questions, "adventurous I am indeed, although that was not my adventure. I was asked along on that journey, with many others. I can't say the Cirith Ungol was a place that I would visit without good reason, however, my company did have reason enough, and I was happy to offer my help to their cause". Soronume hesitated slightly and took up his drink in the hope it would not be apparent to Eleniel.

His dark hair fell about his face as Soronume put down the now empty cup, and he continued. "It was a dark place, very dark. The journey there was quite enjoyable, we made the best of the situation once we crossed into land which had not seen light in so long. It was all so quiet, almost peaceful but you cannot let that though reside long in your mind for you know what goes on behind high walls and closed doors in that land, so to speak". He let in a quick smile here, his dark travels hadn't darkened Soronume's spirit. He was the same as he had been before. However, the darkness had taken part of him, and it became more apparent as Soronume continued into his story, but Eleniel seemed engrossed entirely in his tales. Even Arrow seemed to be listening rather than begging for more food.

"It was a very dark place indeed, and it cost us all dearly. Though we achieved what we had set out to do, we were not the same, we couldn't be. Some of us more than others felt the pain of the losses that were made, unintentionally but unavoidable I now realise. It couldn't be helped..."

Soronume trailed off at this point. His voice was much softer and his mood grew into a state of melancholy that he had not wanted the maiden to see. One such as Eleniel shouldn't be told of such tales of sadness and sorrow, and these tales should certainly not be the usual ones which echo through the Shire from the Green Dragon Inn. It wasn't known for that, many more tales would be told with far happier endings than his own, and Soronume knew it wouldn't be long before a story came about to lift his own mood back to where it was before...

[Kransha]

PLEASE DO NOT DELETE THIS SPACE

LEAVE IT AS A PLACE HOLDER

~*~Pio, Shire Moderator

[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.

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

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, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn (played by Envinyatar)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

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.

_____________________________________________

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.