The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

It is a fair day in the Shire . . . a little cool, but no rain; though, one of the old Gaffers in the Inn says his left knee is acting up something fierce and that's a sure sign there will be rain by nightfall.

Preparations for the hand-fasting party are in full swing - with many 'volunteers' pulled into the ranks by Cook . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne Brandybuck pulled up on the reins and brought the wooden cart to a gentle halt. The small pony pulling the cart shook his head and snorted in relief, glad to have come to the end of the trip after long miles on the road. Impatient to be unhitched from harness and gear, he stamped a back hoof against the hard packed earth and waited in the courtyard that lay between the stables and the main Inn building in a spot where the delivery trucks normally stopped to unload.

The young Hobbit in the driver's seat impulsively leapt up, stretched and flexed her tired fingers, and glanced quickly around the yard. It had been a long trip back, yet she was pleased to be returning to this part of the countryside. Her home lay miles away in Buckland, where she lived with her family and a host of other noisey relatives in Brandy Hall. Hawthorne was the favorite niece of Meriadoc Brandibuck, recently appointed master of Buckland. Since Master Merry and his new wife Estella had been unable to attend the festivities in Hobbiton, they had sent Hawthorne in their place. This was not her first visit to the Inn.

The memory of that last visit made her hesitate a moment before stepping down from the cart. She wondered what kind of a reception she would receive from Cook, Aman, and the other girls working in the kitchen. The last time she had visited, there had been a slight mishap. A kitchen fire carelessly tended by Hawthorne had gotten out of control and burned the entire Inn to the ground. She had sworn to Master Merry that she would be very careful about her behavior on this trip, and there would be no more serious mistakes. She had tried to iron out most of the problems with Cook and the other staff before she had left to return to Buckland. And this time things would be very different. Hawthorne would make sure of that. After all, she reasoned, it was only a quiet handfasting. What could possibly go wrong on such a gentle and festive occasion?

Cook popped her head out the back door of the Inn and waved a greeting. Hawthorne immediately sprang down from the cart, relieved to see there was no sign of anger on Cook's face. She ran forward with arms extended spluttering out a greeting. "Cook, it is so good to see you again! Master Merry sends greetings. Merry regrets that he himself could not attend. He has sent me in his place. Uncle Merry thought I might stay at the Inn and help in the kitchen."

For one minute, Cook's face went white as a sheet as she grabbed Hawthorn by the arm and steered her inside, careful to step aside from the kitchen,"That's very kind of you to offer, but I believe we have quite enough kitchen helpers. I do have need of other hands. I'll introduce you to Miss Ellie. She'll certainly need some help. She and her cat are staying in the servant's quarters for a bit, while she helps us by serving food and decorating the Inn for the party. A pair of young knees for climbing up and down to string the garlands would be a great help to her."

"Come now. Aman will show you to your room."

As she led Hawthorne to the stairs, Cook hastily looked back, surprised to see a large dog following along behind them. "Oh, he's mine," Hawthorn hastily explained. "His name is Huan, since sometimes I swear he almost speaks."

"He'll be quite happy in the stable then?," Cook questioned.

"Oh, no. I must have him beside me. Huan is my constant companion." The young Hobbit bent down and stroked the brown head.

"Hmm.... Make sure that dog minds his manners. We've a number of cats who live inside."

"He won't be any harm, Cook, I promise. No problem at all. Huan's very well behaved."

"Have it as you will then. We've had other dogs stay inside so I suppose one more won't make a difference."

With that Cook said her goodbyes and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Hawthorn to search for Mistress Ellie.

[Envinyatar]

From the front porch, Derufin heard Andwise call out to him through the doorless entry. ‘Come help me hang this. I’ve done with it now. And bring one or two of the others. T’will make it easier to get the balance right. Gil and Fallon waved him on as he turned back to the little group finishing up the painting in the new bedroom. ‘We’ll get the last of this done,’ Gil told him. ‘You take Ferrin and Tomlin with you.’ Ferdy called out from the kitchen saying he was putting on the last of the new cupboard doors and asking could they get on without his help. ‘Right, then,’ said Tomlin, laying down his hammer. ‘Come on, Ferrin,’ we’ll get the front door up in no time and be back to the last of the moulding.’

Hopeful words, but not to prove true. Doors can be tricky things to get hung just right. And there was much cursing, and shouting of directions, and planning and leveling before the last screw that held the hinges was set in for the last time. The little group stood looking at the door, swinging it open and shut several times just to satisfy themselves. Derufin was sucking on two of his fingers, the two that Fil had accidentally hit with the mallet when they’d tried knocking the door a little more into balance.

The sound of laughter, and a familiar voice, edged in on the compliments the companions were extending to each other on a job well and finally done. ‘So, this is how many Big and Little Folk it takes to hang a door, is it?’

Derufin turned with a great grin splitting his face. ‘You’re here!’ Zimzi’s father, Abar, laughed as he jumped down from the wagon seat, extending his hand up to his wife.

‘”You’re here?” -- He seemed much smarter when Zimzi brought him to see us, didn’t he brother?’ Sakal clambered down from the back of the wagon, his brother Azar following after. ‘Perhaps we should give him the title Captain Obvious.’ Azar shook his head ‘no’. ‘No way he gets that name, Sakal. Never beat that Elf we met at the havens.’ Zimzi’s family had surrounded Derufin by this time, greeting him with claps on the back, handshakes, and a kiss or two on the cheek (this last, of course, being, Zamin, Zimzi’s mother).

[Arry]

So this was mistress Zimzi’s family. Andwise stood back with a smile of pleasure at the merry meeting. For all their joking, they seemed quite fond of Master Derufin. The two brothers, even now, had him in a great bear hug, while the mother and father looked on and laughed. For his part, Andwise looked on in amazement as the two young men lifted the Derufin off his feet. He’d always thought of Derufin as a largish specimen of the Big Folk, but these were two strapping lads with great broad shoulders and long legs, like mighty tree trunks. The Hobbit lads, he noted, looking about at his own son and his companions, seemed just as in awe. Zimzi's brothers seemed almost like giants to the Hobbits; though friendly ones with ready grins and great loud laughter.

‘Best you run and tell Miz Aman and Cook and Mistress Zimzi, of course, that the family has arrived,’ Andwise said, giving a little prod to Ferdy. ‘And you might want to tell them to hurry on over afore the poor groom is crushed to death and we be having a wake tomorrer and not a wedding . . .’ Ferdy looked at him in alarm. ‘A joke, dear boy. Now hurry on!’ he urged. Ferdy took off at a quick pace, trailed by his friends who all wanted to be in on breaking the news.

Derufin had managed to get out of the brothers’ grasp and stood tucking his shirt back properly into his breeches. ‘Now if you two louts’ll behave a bit,’ he heard the man say, ‘I’ll introduce you to my friend here.’ Soon the Hobbits small hand was engulfed in turn by Zimzi’s brothers’ hands and then by her mother and father’s.

They stood about in an easy group talking about the cottage and what last minute things there were to be done to it. Zimzi’s father remarked on the workmanship of the door, bringing a flush of pride to the Hobbit’s face. ‘Quite good work,’ he heard Abar say as he ran his fingers over the carving. ‘Very deft at what you do, Master Andwise. Hands of an artist in wood, I would say.’ ‘And heart, too,’ Zamin followed up on her husband’s comments. She had taken a few steps back and was taking in the images be had carved into the wood. ‘Captured the spirit of my dear daughter quite well, I think. And that of my soon to be son,’ she smiled, nodding her head in approval at Andwise.

Andwise was grinning like some great cat got into the bottle of cream. Very nice folk Mistress Zimzi comes from he thought to himself; then, turning a light shade of red, he managed to stammer out his thank-you’s.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree

Cree looked at Fáinu, she didnt' know what else to say. "Fáinu, its ok there is no need to apologize. You should know that." Cree noticed in the corner of her eye a sign about the party to come the next day. "It seems like there shall be a party tomorrow, to think that is the day I was born so long ago on. Tis bad we will miss it. But oh well our task is ahead of us. I guess there be no need of a delay." Cree looked down at the map in front of her. "So this is where we go? Seems like a long journey." Cree looked up at Fáinu and smiled.

Everything will be fine. There is nothing to worry about. All shall be good. "So when do we leave?" Cree had a little smirk in her voice. She had finally returned to herself, the one she had forgotten so long ago.


Avalon

The white crow looked around the inn. Nothing had changed since Avalon left the night before to sleep in the stables. She noticed a sign that wasn't there before. Avalon hopped over to the sign. Help needed:. One "job" stuck out to the white bird. She figured someone like her could help hang the garland. But Avalon had yet to meet the Cook. She was a bit scared and yet excited.

The bird took flight lightly gliding through the inn in search of the woman they called "Cook". Where could she be? I haven't been to the kitchen yet. Well I've never seen the kitchen before. I always stayed with Cree. But now I'm on my own. Avalon noticed that Miss Aman was busy and decided not to bother her. Arriving to the part of the inn she had yet to explore, Avalon landed on the floor and headed up to the door. With her white beak she pushed the door open. Looking up Avalon gazed upon the Cook. She knew the was some way to get the womans attention. Avalon let out a screech and thought the cook was going to die.

Avalon couldn't talk to the hobbit but knew she had to get her request known. Her stomach said she was hungry but Avalon's eyes said that she wanted to help in the hanging of the garland. Avalon waited for the Cooks response to the screech and the sight of the crow in her kitchen.

[Noinkling]

“. . . Should I go on searching for the man? Perhaps I should find the man who rescued me and thank him more appropriately. Should I go back to Taryn? Or should I take up a life like that of a Ranger?"

‘My stars, Keleth what a lot of questions! I don’t envy you having to find the right answer to them!’ Tolly shook his head in wonder. ‘And here my big question was just to find out how to get set up with some honest merchants for the Inn.’ He took a deep breath, considering Keleth’s problem. ‘Now, I’m not saying this’d be right for you, but if I was facing those problems, I think I might go about it this way. To be honest, I think I’d not bother with the man you were chasing . . . the one who murdered your friend. What’ll that get you but a lot of disappointment? I can’t really see how you’ll find him and if you do, what do you plan to do? Kill him? Makes you about the same as him, doesn’t it? And the other man, the one who rescued you – just staying alright is what he wanted for you. Seems like thanks enough if you keep yourself healthy and whole.’ Tolly narrowed his eyes, thinking about what he would do. ‘Family’s awfully important to me. Guess I’d go back and see my sister. Let her know I’m doing just fine. My sisters and brothers talk a lot to each other. We’re always telling each other what we think’s best for each other.’ Tolly laughed. ‘Of course, often I don’t want to hear what my sisters think I should be doing . . . but they tell me anyway!’ He nodded his head. ‘Yes, that’s what I’d do if I were you – go back to see my sister. Talk over your last idea there, the one about being a Ranger. She might think it’s a good idea or really dumb. I know my sisters often think I’m as dense as a rock.’

The Hobbit stood up by the side of his chair. ‘Something to think over, anyways,’ he said. ‘Of course, it’s all up to you in the end. For now, though, let’s go see Cook about helping out with the party.’

The man and Hobbit went into the kitchen, just in time to see a crow screeching at Cook

[piosenniel]

Cook really was not at all pleased with the screeching crow. The old tabby sitting by the stove was not happy either. She fixed the bird with her one rheumy eye and stood up arching her back. A hisssss . . . of annoyance issued from her as she began to walk stiff-legged toward the crow.

‘No, you don’t!’ said Cook firmly, picking the cat up and holding her near. ‘That bird would do you in, sure as anything.’ Cook looked up, perplexed at the noisome crow.

Gwenneth stopped her cookie making and walked over to where the bird stood. ‘I think she wants something from you, Cook.’ Gwenneth looked closely at Avalon. ‘She’s hungry . . . but it’s not food . . . no . . .’

The Elf laughed out loud and clapped her hands in delight, startling both the crow and Cook. ‘She wants to volunteer!’ Cook raised her brows, waiting for Gwenneth to go on. ‘For the party,’ the Elf said.

[Noinkling]

There was a slight clearing of the throat as Tolly tried to catch Cook’s attention. ‘Maybe we can help out,’ he offered, stepping forward. ‘My friend and I thought we might gather greens for the garlands and then help put them up. The crow could help us out . . . show us where to find the best ones.’ He looked over to where one of the servers was scraping some breakfast leavings into the scraps bucket. ‘Used to have a crow that liked to hang about my Da’s place. Maybe we could feed her some scraps,’ he said. ‘Looks hungry.’ Avalon looked from one to another of the creatures in the kitchen.

Cook agreed to the offer from Tolly and sent the three of them off with apples to tide over the man and Hobbit. And a small bowl of tasty breakfast leavings from the kitchen for the crow.

The three had gone out onto the Inn’s porch. The sun was warm and felt quite nice as Keleth and Tolly stood waiting for the crow to finish up her breakfast. ‘Well,’ said Tolly, looking about the Inn grounds, ‘where shall we begin?’

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Fáinu smiled to see Cree existed in anticipation of a new adventure. "Ah, that is the Cree I remember," he said with a smirk, "Bold and adventurous, though many troubles have burdened you since, I see your spirit is not lost." He folded the map away and placed it carefully into his pack.

Asking the bar steward for some late breakfast turned to Cree, he seemed to have been revitalised after the nights sleep. Within a short space of time they were talking again as old friends, laughing and joking about common events. So much so that the Hobbits stopped looking at them in a strange way.

"We shall leave at mid day, I think" Fáinu said at last leaning back in his chair, "It was mid day when I left Rivendell last. It seems appropriate." Cree seemed pleased, though a little anxious about Fáinu's decision to postpone leaving.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Oh aye, dogs, cats, ravens, horses - the whole merry lot of them." Aman grinned at Hawthorne as she turned, her foot in midstride on the stairs. The hobbit's face broke into a wide smile, but Aman saw the anxious undertones in it, and the way the girl hesitated rather than rushing straight forward.

"Aman! It is good to see you again!"

Aman smiled widely and stepped forward from the shadows of the corridor under the stairs where she had been standing, and embraced Hawthorne warmly. For all the trouble the hobbit had caused last time she had come - namely inadvertently destroying the Innkeeper's home, residence and livelihood - Aman did not wish her any ill, and indeed, after her first few meetings with the Brandybuck lass, she remembered only the girl's keeness to help. Stepping back she winked and motioned a finger to her lips, still wearing her riding gloves. “Shh, I think Cook thinks I’m up with Derufin helping him out. We’ll just let her keep a-thinking that until I’ve got a dress on – she doesn’t approve of my wearing trousers, even if it is somewhat easier to ride in them –”

Hawthorne laughed, but there was still a touch of uneasiness about it, and she seemed to be hesitating on the verge of saying something. Aman smiled warmly at her, tipping her head onto one side as she began to pull off one of her gloves. She hesitated herself, then leant forward. “Don’t mind about Cook or Ruby and Buttercup if they’re a little funny with you, Ms Brandybuck,” she said softly. “No hard feelings, my dear, I hold to that, and so will Derufin and everyone else who helped rebuild the Inn.”

Hawthorne went bright red at the Innkeeper’s words and began to speak. “Oh, Aman, I –”

“Aman! Aman!”

The Innkeeper’s countenance took on a hunted expression as she heard the voice calling her name from outside and she ducked her head slightly, freezing, one glove half on and half off her hand. “Hide me!” she said hoarsely. But it was too late – the Inn door opened and in came a breathless Ferdy, looking around for her. He spied her and came towards her quickly. “Aman! They’re –”

“Keep it down!” Aman flapped her hands frantically at the hobbit. “Cook will kill me!”

The hobbit looked slightly puzzled, then shrugged and continued, his voice slightly lower this time. “Aman, it’s Zimzi’s family – they’re here! They’ve arrived!”

The Innkeeper paled quickly, then she broke out into a wide grin, clapping her hands together with a muffled thump. The sound seemed to remind the Rohirrim woman of her current get-up and she glanced down at her riding clothes – doe-skin riding breeches and knee-high boots, topped by a fitted leather jerkin over a loose white shirt, it’s sleeves rolled up to her elbows revealing that she actually had both elbows and legs, things which Vinca seemed to thoroughly disapprove of. She winced, then shrugged resignedly. “’Not much I can do about it now – I’ll not keep them waiting by changing. Where are they, Ferdy?”

“They’re up with Master Derufin, at the house – but, wait, Aman,” the hobbit caught Aman by the elbow as she started forward. “You haven’t seen Miss Bunce or Zimzi herself, have you?”

Aman shook her head. “Zimzi is helping Cook in the kitchen I think – but wait, wait,” here it was Aman’s turn to stop Ferdy as he made to rush for the kitchen. “Look, tell Zimzi first then…then could you hang on for a moment before telling Cook? I need to get there before she can send me back. She disapproves of my having legs, you see,” she added, as a way of explanation, even if it was a rather opaque one. Ferdy looked hard to the Innkeeper, then nodded. “If you say so, Aman.”

“Good ma- er, hobbit!” Aman clapped Ferdy on the shoulder then, after fiddling momentarily with her haphazardly rolled-up sleeves and the two plaits which her hair was rapidly escaping from, she finally pulled out the ribbons in her hair to let it loose and looked hopelessly at Hawthorne. “How do I look?”

“Like yourself, Miss Aman,” Hawthorne replied with a smile. Aman shot her a quick smile, then almost ran outside, mounting Felarof in an instant. As she was turning him to go out of the yard, she saw Zimzi run out of the kitchen and waited until the woman came to be even with her. “Zimzi, can you ride?”

Zimzi nodded, flushed and eager at the prospect of seeing her family. Aman helped her up – it was made more difficult by Zimzi’s skirt, but she managed perfectly – and they started off at the fast trot towards the house, Zimzi seated behind Aman. The Innkeeper glanced back at the other woman’s face just behind her shoulder. “I finally get to meet your family! Sorry I held up Miss Bunce there, by the way: your parents won’t mind my being dressed like this, will they?”

Zimzi grinned and gave a merry, musical laugh. “I couldn’t care less if you were dressed like a fig pudding, Amanaduial – I am so looking forward to seeing them – to having them meet my friends, and my Derufin!”

Aman smiled. “Aye – well, no point in hanging around then, is there?” Tightening her grip on Felarof’s mane, she clicked her tongue and they sped forward into an easy canter, coming in sight of the house and the little crowd around it. Zimzi gave a whoop and waved, clinging on with her other hand to Aman’s waist – where the Rohirrim woman was surprised to be experiencing butterflies. Ah well, if I’m going to make the wrong impression, I may as well go the whole hog and come in riding a horse... I look like a flamin' ranger!

[Tevildo]

Since Keleth and Tolly had agreed to take on the job of finding and stringing the lovely green garlands, Cook had reassigned Mistress Ellie and the young Hawthorne lass to the job of serving meals and cleaning up the guest chambers. The Inn was packed to overflowing, and there was a great deal of work to be done.

"For now, clean up the tables in the Common Room where folk are finishing their breakfast," Cook had hastily explained. "Then go upstairs and help dust the chambers and dress the beds with fresh linens. Later on Mistress Amaranthas will be arriving and bringing flowers for the party, and the two of you will be able to help her set them out on the tables."

Mistress Ellie nodded quickly in agreement. She was so relieved to have a roof over her head for at least the next few nights without having to dip into her remaining pennies that she would have agreed to do most anything. She set in to scrubbing down the large table near the kitchen where a family of noisey Hobbits had been sitting. They had arrived from the Southfarthing just the day before and had thoroughly enjoyed their meal but the little ones had left a considerable mess with porridge spilled all over the table and even dripping onto the floor.

After finally managing to get the table clean, just as she was starting on the floor, Ellie glanced up from her scrubbing to to see if she could see Tevildo. There was no sign of the cat anywhere in the Common Room. He may have gone out to the barn to catch a mouse or two, she mused, and immediately put aside all thoughts of her fluffy white companion to concentrate again on the task at hand.

Her companion Hawthorne was busy clearing off several other tables and scraping the scraps from the plates into a pail hanging near the wall. Hawthorne's dog trailed closely behind the young lass. Once or twice, the young Hobbit tossed a small piece of bread down to the waiting mouth of the dog. Ellie smiled as she watched the dog's tail wag vigorously back and forth. Everything seemed to be going very nicely.

[Nimrodel_9]

Well, where shall we begin?

Tolly voice broke Keleth out of his thoughts. He had been thinking about what the hobbit had said earlier. He knew from the start that hunting down the man and killing him would be doing the same as the man did to Damon. That had not stopped him though. His hate for him was too strong.

He pulled his light-brown shoulder length hair out of his eyes, and looked around the Inn grounds. It had been rather warm inside the Inn, he thought, and the cool air felt good on his face. "Why don`t we start over there?" he said, indicating to the patch of trees near the Inn. "That is, if you want to," he added.

[piosenniel]

Aman and Zimzi were halfway to the old groundskeeper’s cottage when the nearing sounds of laughter and loud voices mixed in with the clip-clop of horses’ hooves caused them to pull up. ‘I’d know that laugh anywhere!’ cried Zimzi, slipping from the back of Felarof.

A few quick steps soon brought her round a turn in the dirt path and into the arms of her two brothers. Sakal swept her up in his grasp and whirled her about, egged on by Azar to twirl her faster. They paid no heed to warnings from their mother to put her down. Nor did the quick sharp command of their father faze them. This was an old game of the three – spin Zimzi about until she could hardly stand when put down, and later try to evade her own little trap she’d set for turnabout.

Felarof, with Aman still astride, had stopped a short ways away from the meeting. He looked on curiously, shaking his head and snorting at the actions of the group. With a great whoop, the brothers set Zimzi on her feet, laughing as she nearly fell. She clung to Azar’s arm and pulled herself up straight, only to note that both her brothers were staring now towards Felarof.

‘Oh, very nice,’ said Sakal. ‘You’ll introduce us, of course,’ followed up Azar, stepping forward.

Derufin had by this time come up and put his arm round Zimzi to steady her. He grinned at Aman, then spoke to the brothers. ‘Introduce you? Be happy to oblige. To the horse, right?’ ‘Fine specimen, lads, comes from pure stock . . .’ he began.

‘Fine specimen, indeed,’ murmured Azar, nudging his brother out of the way as he stepped in front of him.’ ‘Not the horse, you oaf,’ Sakal muttered to Derufin. Derufin’s mouth formed a mock ‘O’ of surprise.

Zimzi laughed catching the object of her brothers’ glances at last. ‘This is my friend, Mistress Aman, the Innkeeper of The Green Dragon.’ She pointed toward her grinning siblings. ‘And these, Aman, are my dear brothers . . . Azar and Sakal.’

[piosenniel]

~*~ ***Notice of New Game Opening*** ~*~

Firefoot invites you to take a look at her game: Sailing Away

The Discussion Thread will open to take on players January 1st.

Hope to see you there. Should be a fun game.

~*~ Pio

[starkat]

Gwenneth smiled as she returned to the cookies. The last batch had just come out of the oven and were cooling when Cook made up her mind and sent the crow out to help with the outside decorations.

The elf maid smiled. Momentarily lost in thought, Ginger had to tug on her sleeve to get her attention. "I am sorry Ginger. I did not mean for my mind to wander."

"That's alright. I just asked if you wanted to help ice the cookies. We can make the icing while we are waiting on the cookies to finish cooling."

"Alright."Gwenneth reached for a mixing bowl and then with a shy smile she turned to the Hobbit next to her. "Ginger, may I mix the yellow coloring? My mother taught me a special recipe. It is a little sweet though."

Cook broke in, "The sweeter the better! Hobbits enjoy sweet things."

"Yes, ma'am." Gwenneth reached over and picked up a small bag of very fine sugar. Ginger busied herself with mixing the green icing. Every so often Gwenneth could see her friend looking over at what she was doing. The elf began to hum as she worked.

After a few minutes, when Ginger was absorbed in mixing her own batch of icing, Gwenneth reached over and put a small dab of golden yellow icing on the back of her Hobbit friend's hand. Ginger did not notice at first until Gwenneth laughed softly. The Hobbit looked up at the elf in surprise. She retaliated with putting an extra spoonful of sugar in the elf's bowl. Suddenly the two heard an "Ahem" from Cook. They exchanged glances and quickly finished their icing.

[Arry]

Andwise watched the little scene unfold with a knowing half smile on his face. ‘Smitten by a lass in breeches! Get them every time!’ he thought to himself, nodding at the recollection of his own dear Lily one of the first times he’d seen her. Out in the fields, she was, and it was haying time. Her hand scythe went swishing rhythmically through the sheaves of hay she’d grasped in one hand. It had been near evening, the sun dipping down to the land’s rim. And there she was backlit against it. He’d thought her another of the lads, at first, til he neared her, and she raised up, seeing him, her bright smile flashing out in the low light. He remembered how she’d drawn off the kerchief that held back her curls and shook them out in the waning light. And how they caught the last of it, glinting merrily at him. He was utterly transfixed by her . . . a dangerous lass of sorts in breeches, her skin rosy from the effort of the work. She laughed, breaking the spell she’d put him under, only to pull him in deeper as she waved to him. How odd he must have looked to her, he thought. And what simple magics she had woven since, that kept her memory so fresh for him and so happy.

He sighed, wishing again that she was still with him. And in a way, he granted, she was. Even now, he fell to talking to her . . . asking if she remembered that day. His mind echoed her laughter, making him believe she did recall and yes . . . was still near him.

Leaving the Big Folk to get on with their merry meeting, he eased about the group, continuing on to the Inn. ‘A mug and a pipe,’ he thought to himself as he climbed the stairs to the Dragon and entered. ‘That’s what I need right now. The door is done and hung, the little cottage all painted, waiting only to dry now.’ He’d just stepped up to the bar to place his order when he caught sight of Ferdy and his companions reading some list tacked up on one of the Common Room beams.

‘What’s this!’ he asked coming over to them, his mug in hand. Ferdy pointed at a few items still left on Cook’s volunteer list. ‘Look, Da!’ the lad said running his finger down the line of ‘jobs’. ‘There’s a number of things to be done about the Inn for the handfasting. We’re thinking of taking up one or two . . . help out, so to speak.’

‘Be nearer Ginger, so to speak is what he really means,’ whispered Gil to Fallon. ‘Of course,’ pointed out Fallon, nodding to the bar, ‘we’ll be much closer to the ale, too.’ ‘Good point!’ agreed Tomlin and Ferrin. ‘And much closer to the food, as well.’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger put on her most serious, concentrated face as she turned back to decorating her stack of cookies. From beneath her long lashes, she glanced up now and then, checking to see what Cook was doing. At first, Cook’s eye was often on the Hobbit and Elf. But then, as she got to watching her cake pans and fussing with the frosting she intended to use on the tiered confection, her attention wandered from the two cookie makers.

Beneath the table, Ginger poked Gwenneth lightly with her foot. She crossed her eyes as soon as the Elf looked up and stuck her tongue out, then flipped a small amount of red frosting at her from the end of her mixing spoon. Gwenneth stifled a gasp as Ginger put her finger to her lips, nodding toward Cook. The Elf smiled slyly, wiping the blob of frosting from her cheek. A small, soft yellow missile was quickly flipped from Gwenneth’s own spoon, making a sticky landing amidst Ginger’s curls. Another round of silent laughter and face-making was brought up short with one clearly enunciated word by Cook.

‘Ladies!’

The two turned toward her, expecting to see her giving them both a critical look and a wag of her finger. But her back was turned still toward them, as she sliced the layers of cake in two and put on a thick layer of raspberry jam. Their brows went up as they looked at each other, wondering how she had known what they were doing.

‘Eyes in the back of her head,’ whispered Ginger, leaning toward Gwenneth. ‘Just like my own Ma!’

The two stood up and apologized, saying that they really were done frosting the cookies and perhaps they should go and find something ‘constructive’ to do. It was a word Ginger threw in, her Ma often using that when she wanted her children’s shenanigans to take a different direction. ‘We’ll just go down to the cellar and find the little strings of party lanterns,’ said Ginger. ‘And the little candles that go in them,’ added Gwenneth. Ginger nodded, grabbing her friend’s hand and heading toward the cellar steps. ‘We’ll need the ladder from the stable . . . oh, and the hammer and nails, too.’ The two started down the stairs.

‘Hobbits have eyes in the backs of their heads?’ whispered Gwenneth, a questioning look on her face. ‘Just the ones that are mothers,’ answered Ginger. ‘And it must be so . . . never could figure out how else they could see what they saw . . .’ From above, Cook chuckled softly at the chatter of the two lasses. She scooped up a generous portion of icing on her frosting knife and applied it to the first layer. Humming to herself as she did so, she glanced up checking on who had just come into the kitchen, though her back was to the door.

There, reflected in the polished copper bottoms of her good pots and skillets that hung along the wall, was a full view of her domain . . .

[Fairleaf]

One of the Fair Folk and one of the Halflings came chattering toward where she stood. Like little birds, they were. Their voices piping over the grass, hands fluttering like wings. Behind them trailed a reluctant little pony, drafted it seemed into drawing a cart which held their supplies. They stopped at the end of the line of trees in which Fairleaf now stood. She had moved slowly closer to the Inn in hopes of seeing what was going on.

She watched as the Halfling tied the pony to a small log, one of many that were grouped about the great grassy place that grew in front of the Inn. The two young women struggled with some sort of long apparatus, maneuvering it rather clumsily out of the back of the wagon. Fairleaf watched as they extended its length then leaned it against the lower branches of a far beech. The Halfling held the apparatus steady while the other girl climbed it, several pretty, shiny, large, hollow baubles in her hands. Fairleaf smiled at this thinking how nice it was for the trees to be adorned.

Slowly, they worked their way toward her, chatting still. One, the Halfling she now knew was Ginger, made her hand sweep the area in front of Fairleaf. Apparently, this was to be where the dancing would take place, while under the trees to her right and left would be the tables where the food and drink would be. Gwenneth, the Fair Folk one, helped Ginger to place the ladder against Fairleaf (she had learned the word as they discussed it). And now Ginger began handing up lanterns (another new word).

How pretty they look, swinging on my branches. Like jewels; their glass is so pretty with all its shiny colors.

Fairleaf swayed her branches just a little, watching how the glass caught the sun. The motion stopped abruptly as further conversation caught her attention. ‘They’ll look so pretty when we light the candles!’ said Gwenneth with a delighted laugh.

By bark and root! They mean to put fire in the trees!

[Envinyatar]

‘Perhaps we should move along toward the Inn.’ Derufin’s suggestion fell into the thick silence that had fallen momentarily over the group. Zimzi’s mother and father voiced their agreement, Abar flicking the reins lightly on the backs of the horses which drew the wagon. Zamin called out to her sons, telling them to come along. ‘Stop acting as if you’ve never seen a pretty woman,’ she chided. ‘Your father and I didn’t raise you to be such louts!’ The two young men apologized, turning red at their mother’s public words. They took their leave of the Innkeeper and made their way back to the wagon.

Derufin put his arm about Zimzi’s waist, her own cheeks suddenly reddened by her brothers’ behavior and her mother’s remarks. ‘Oh, what Aman must think of my family!’ she said low to him.

‘Aman has a good sense of humor, Zimzi. I wouldn’t be worried about her.’ He grinned up at the Innkeeper, on whose face he had thought he’d seen a small, pleased smile. ‘Aman, lead on to the Inn, if you will.’ Derufin grasped the cheek piece of Felarof’s bridle and turned him about, heading him toward the Dragon. He looked back to where Zamin was talking in a low voice to her sons; their heads nodding at her words. ‘Perhaps by the time we all reach the Inn, they will have learned some manners, eh?’ He slapped the horse lightly on his hindquarters, calling up to Aman just before Felarof carried her off. ‘Though, I must admit,’ he said winking as she glanced down, ‘I have always thought you quite fetching in your riding outfit.’

This final comment was followed by a loud Oof!! as Zimzi nudged him hard in the ribs . . .

[piosenniel]

Notice of time moving forward in the Inn:

Preparations for the handfasting party are getting done - lanterns have been put up in the trees, there are garlands being strung about the outside and soon the inside of the Inn. Many of the lads are helping to move tables out of doors to the front yard, in preparation for the outdoor festivities.

Mistress Zimzi's family has arrived from Lindon.

The present day is waning . . . suppertime has come . . . the sun is moving to its little resting place beneath the rim of the world . . .

Please let your further posts reflect the change of time . . .

[piosenniel]

The cake was done at last. Four tiers of moist lemon cake, their layers filled with rich raspberry jam from the Inn’s own bushes. And overall a light, white foamy frosting set all about with the sugared violets Ginger had done earlier in the week. Cook set it carefully on a wide counter in the pantry, next to the trays of frosted cookies. All was ready for the tomorrow as far as the deserts were concerned. And of course there would be contributions from the goodwives who came in for the party. All vying for compliments as they put their best recipes forward.

Cook sat down heavily in her chair. Goodness, but it had been a long day standing in the kitchen. Productive . . . and satisfying . . . but long and tiring none the less. Servers were coming in and out of the kitchen, taking out platters of sandwiches and pickle for the lunchtime crowd, returning with dishes to be washed. She noted that fewer trays of food were going out and more of the dirty dishes were finding their way back. Lunch must almost be over then already! Buttercup had started the large pot of rich vegetable soup with chicken for dinner and was lining up loaves of bread to be sliced later to accompany it. She saw Cook casting an eye about, her brow furrowed. ‘If it’s dessert you’re looking for, it’s going to be simple, too,’ Buttercup told her, giving the soup another stir. ‘Nice crisp pears from our own trees, a lovely wedge of sharp cheese, and a glass of port.’ Cook nodding her head, thinking suddenly how hungry she was and how she’d like a little of that.

Earlier in the day Zimzi had brought her family in to greet Cook. She knew them already of course from when she’d travel with Zimzi and Master Derufin as chaperone to Lindon to see them; it was a great delight to see them once again. Aman, still in her riding breeches, had come in with them, and Cook noted the surreptitious glances the brothers made toward her. And how they vied for her attention – one pulling out a chair for her, the other offering to fetch a glass of water were she thirsty. Cook tsk’d keeping the comment to herself that perhaps the Innkeeper should be dressing in a way more befitting her station. It’s what comes of hiring one of those Big Folk from Rohan she supposed; perhaps that is how they dress there she thought reconsidering her opinion.

All had seen the cake and approved of it, though the men mostly nodded their heads at the comments which the ladies made about it, bemused looks on their faces. Zimzi was delighted, too, with the cookies Ginger and Gwenneth had done, and asked Cook to be sure to give her thanks to them. Cook said that she would, saying they were out with the others putting up the lanterns and garlands about the front yard. She could see that Zimzi’s family was tired from their long journey, so she left them in their daughter’s able hands and bade them rest up as they wished or relax in the Common Room.

Ginger had come in later, her cheeks flushed, trailed by Ferdy and his companions. Gwenneth had gone for a short ride before supper, she explained, and the fellows had helped her with the rest of the lanterns and some of the garlands. ‘I’m just going to get us something to eat and drink,’ she told Cook, motioning for the lads to go on into the Common Room.’ She piled some sandwiches onto a tray and fetched a large pitcher of cold cider with six mugs for the lot of them. ‘Once the dinner crowd’s thinned out tonight,’ she said backing through the door with her tray, ‘we’ll get started on the garlands for the inside of the Inn. Oh, and could you let Gwenneth know where we are if she comes in through the kitchen?’ She was out the door before Cook could respond in any manner but with a smile and a quick nod of her head.

‘Girl’s feeling much perkier, I’ve noticed,’ said Buttercup, drying up the washed plates and putting them away. ‘And young Master Ferdy’s not quite so tongue-tied any more, either.’ She took out the bowls for the soup to be served in later and lined them in stacks on one of the counters. Once done, she brought a glass of cider each and a plate of sandwiches for herself and Cook. Pulling a chair near, she perched her legs on it with a satisfied ‘Ahhhh!’

Cook took a long swig of her drink and tucked into one of the thick ham sandwiches, speaking around it as she chewed. ‘Best we finish up here soon and get back to it, I suppose. There’s still platters of cheeses and meats to be sliced for tomorrow, though I think Miz Hawthorne and her friend might be handling that. We’ll just get them set up. And we’d best see if the tablecloths were ironed.’ Cook sighed. ‘And then of course, there’s the hungry hordes who’ll be wanting supper soon . . .’

[Noinkling]

Tolly, Keleth, and Avalon

Once they’d got into the swing of things, time flew by quickly. the crow was helpful, flitting from tree to tree, pointing out the best and most full pine and balsam boughs for the garlands. Keleth and Tolly had hewn them down, being sure not to cut too many from each tree. ‘Wouldn’t want them to look all lopsided for the party tomorrow,’ the Hobbit said. They’d take a little wagon out with them, piling the boughs in it as they went along. By the time the sun was standing half past noon, they’d gotten what they needed and had gone back to the stable with the cart. One of the servers had packed them a lunch which they wolfed down in little time, along with a jug of cool cider to drink.

In the stable, they’d found the baling wire and the cutters for it. And the rest of the afternoon was spent making long garlands of the boughs which others of the work crew would fetch for those putting them up along the long verandah of the Inn. One of the Hobbits helping to do this had confided to Tolly that his cousin and his band would be setting up tomorrow on the wide front porch and be playing for the dancers. Tolly grinned at the news. He loved to dance.

Tolly’s stomach was beginning to grumble as they finished the last garland string. He looked out the stable door, noting it was getting late in the evening. Keleth, too, looked tired and hungry. ‘Let’s knock off for the evening – get some supper. We’re done here, anyway.’ He looked up at the crow, perched on one of the overhanging beams. ‘You come, too,’ Tolly said motioning for the bird to follow as they exited the stable. ‘You’ve done a long day’s work as well. We’ll find some scraps and a plate of ale for you!’

[piosenniel]

Notice of time moving forward in the Inn:

Preparations for the handfasting party are getting done - lanterns have been put up in the trees to be lit tomorrow evening for the party, there are garlands being strung about the outside and soon the inside of the Inn. Many of the lads are helping to move tables out of doors to the front yard, in preparation for the outdoor festivities.

Mistress Zimzi's family has arrived from Lindon.

The present day is waning . . . suppertime has come . . . the sun is moving to its little resting place beneath the rim of the world . . .

Please let your further posts reflect the change of time . . .

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

When I return home from work, @ 1 a.m. Pacific US time - the time will move forward again to around midnight in the Shire . . .

Thanks for your patience!

~*~ Pio

[Nimrodel_9]

Tolly, Keleth, and the crow sat at a table near a fireplace. Keleth tore a piece of his bread, and gave it to the crow, who took it gladly.

Cutting the limbs had been long and tiresome, but not all together hard. He took a large gulp of ale and looked about the room. People were busy preparing for the party. Keleth was surprised to find that he was excited for the party. At parties, he normally sat in the corner, listened to the music (Keleth was very fond of music), and waited for it to get over, but he felt he would enjoy this one more. He couldn`t explain why. Maybe it was the presence of the small and cheerful hobbits.

Keleth turned and watched a hobbit lass clearing off a table, and a thought hit him. The conversations between he and Tolly were often about himself. The hobbit would mention small things about his family, but never said spoke much of himself.

Keleth turned back to Tolly. "Uh, just curious, but are you courting anyone?" Keleth realized how this question may have sounded. He laughed. "Not that I`m asking you to court me, but I was just wondering."

[Regin Hardhammer]

Huan sat by the fire and watched the parade of people going in and out of the Inn, his tail thumping against the hard wood floor. There were a great number of folk getting ready for some festivity. Some of them were working on moving tables outside or beginning to string garlands around the Common Room. Others had set vases with flowers on the table. Still others had taken seats around the tables inside and were eating their supper. The women and girls serving the meal scurried back and forth from the kitchen to the tables. The spectacle of so many people was very interesting, but Huan was beginning to think about getting some supper of his own.

Huan had not had anything to drink since his arrival earlier that day and greatly desired some nice cool water. His parched pink tongue hung lazily out of his mouth. Hawthorne, his charming mistress, was sadly ignoring him since she was busy serving guests and told him that he would have to wait. Huan found a mug of ale spilled on the floor that someone had been too lazy to pick up or was unaware of its fall. Although it was neither cool nor water, it was wet and that was good enough for this dog. With several great laps of his tongue Huan cleaned out all of the ale from the flask and the surrounding floor.

After allaying his thirst, Huan realized that he was beginning to be quite hungry. Suddenly he spied a prize snatch that looked wonderful through his big brown eyes. A roasted turkey leg lay half eaten in front of a human man who was talking to a stout dwarf. The man appeared to be telling some sort of joke to the dwarf, who in turn was laughing loudly. Quickly Huan rushed over toward the preoccupied victim, slinking down as he padded silently and swiftly along the wooden floor that was exactly the same color as his shaggy coat. After snatching up the leg and firmly clenching the treat between his teeth, he fled before the man was aware of its absence. Retreating to an empty closet inside the kitchen he began gnawing his dinner with gusto, with muttered growls under his breath when one of the kitchen maids tried to step forward and deprive him of his prize. From the inside of the closet, he could hear the man across the room howling at the serving maids about his missing dinner.

Finishing his supper and peering out around the closet door, he noticed a large white fur-ball who was roaring like a lion to get others to notice it, although no one seemed to be paying any mind. Huan sprang to attention and felt a loud growl begin to well up in his chest. How he despised cats! They were always purring at people and trying to win attention, always thinking about themselves without the slightest regard for their master or mistress. Huan found their attitude deplorable.

He began to accost the feline with barks and snarls. The cat puffed up even more and began hissing back. Then suddenly the merry race was on. Under tables, over benches, behind the bar, around chairs, they raced snapping and clawing all the way. Like a tornado they left two broken vases, crushed flowers, and toppled chairs in their wake plus one Hobbit sprawling on the ground who had been misfortunate enough to be climbing a ladder to try and string a garland. As the chase continued, Huan’s hatred toward the cat mounted until nothing, not even the army of king Elessar himself, could stop him from catching that fatuous feline.

[Tevildo]

Round and round the room they raced, tracing and retracing their tangled path. If truth be told, Tevildo was enjoying the chase, but in a short time came to the conclusion that enough was enough. He'd had his fill of running: now it was time to do battle against this bothersome hound.

The decision to change tactics came none too soon, since the animals had exited the Common Room and were rapidly approaching the end of the hallway, a small nook that came to a dead end under the stairs where there was no place to turn right or left. Tevildo spun around, dug in his claws, and hissed loudly, puffing up to twice his size, "You nassty dog! Vermin of the Earth, slave of your mistress, probably even a lover of Elves!" The cat had hurled out the worst insults he could think of.

Over the years, Tevildo had discovered that, even though humans were too dense to understand most of what he said, dogs invariably got the idea. From the look on the hound's face, Tevildo could tell that most of his announcement had registered. It was only the last little bit, the reference to Elves (whom Tevildo truly hated), that had flown over the dog's big, stupid head.

The cat issued his final warning with a ringing salvo that meant something like this: "I am a servant of the great lord Melko. Turn and retreat, or prepare to die." The dog shook his head, looking slightly puzzled, but showed no sign of turning back. Undaunted by his opponent, Tevildo sprang forward through the air, managing to bat the hound on the nose with a resounding slap. Landing adroitly just a few inches away, the cat crouched low and prepared to lunge forward a second time, howling his indignation. But this time the lunge never came...

There was a scurrying noise and loud upset voices as feet came running down the hall. "Where are they?" bellowed the young Hobbit lass to her companion.

"Under the stairs," Mistress Ellie cried out as she ran straight up to Tevildo. With her arm carefully protected by the thick folds of a wrapped apron (she'd had experience with this sort of thing before), Ellie reached down and snatched the squalling cat from the middle of the maelstorm, chiding him as she lifted him up by the scruff of the neck. "Tevildo, you naughty thing. Picking a fight with this nice dog. I'm sure he didn't harm you in the slightest. You'd best behave or Mistress Aman will exile you to the stables, and you won't be able to sit by the warm fire. There's going to be a grand feast here tomorrow, and we can't have all this fuss!"

Screeching and clawing, Tevildo tried very hard to tell Mistress Ellie that Huan was definitely not a nice dog, and that the hound had been the one who had done the first attacking. But no one, not even Mistress Ellie, seemed to be listening to him in the slightest. To his chagrin, he was hauled upstairs by the scruff of the neck and locked inside Mistress Ellie's bedchamber. The room was not very warm; no fire burned in the grate. Tevildo sat shivering on the window sill, feeling very sorry for himself. He gazed sullenly over the courtyard, his tail twitching nervously back and forth while he reflected on how hungry he was.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne knelt down beside Huan, and gently stroked his head, as she took a closer look at the place where Tevildo's claws had managed to connect with his nose. Finding a small cut that was beginning to bleed, she quickly led Huan back towards the kitchen hoping to cleanse the wound and find a salve to put on it. As she led the dog down the hallway, she muttered a few words of consolation, partially directed to herself and partially for Huan's benefit, "That nasty cat! I can't believe he attacked you like that! You poor thing. They'd best keep an animal like that out of the way with the handfasting and party getting under way!" Feeling a little guilty for ignoring her hound earlier, she noted, "And I didn't even feed you. You must be starved!"

Finding her way to the kitchens, Hawthorne tended to Huan's battle wounds and then detoured to the cutting board where there was a large steak bone with plenty of thick, juicy meat hanging off of it, a prize that Cook had set over to one side. Hawthorne picked up the bone and led Huan out to where he could sit on a large mat in front of the hearthfire.

Wagging his tale in glee, Huan came forward to his mistress, licked her hand appreciatively, and deftly relieved her of the steakbone. Then he settled down on the mat to gnaw at this prize and enjoy the warmth of the fire. Hawthorne could tell that Huan was feeling good about himself. His tail thumped contentedly against the floor as he surveyed the room. In fact, studying him more closely, she could almost swear that he was laughing at something.....

[piosenniel]

Notice of time moving forward:

It is now very near midnight in the Shire. Most of the local Hobbits have all long ago gone off to their burrows; the guests of the Inn have made their way to their rooms, and are now snug under quilts.

Only a few of the Inn staff and a small number of late night guests are still in the Common Room, drinking the last of their pints or straightening up a bit for the morrow . . .

[piosenniel]

Midnight in the Inn . . .

Cook was making a last round of the kitchen before retiring to her room. She was looking forward to the mug of hot spiced wine she’d made for herself, once she’d banked her little fire and snuggled under her quilts. The kitchen was all in readiness for managing the food and drink for tomorrow. She’d recruited one of the local lasses to finish the platters of sliced meats and cheeses which Zimzi had started. And sent Zimzi off to be with her family. The cookies were done; the cake finished; the huge Inn punchbowl drug out and washed.

Her next step, and last she hoped for the night, was a quick trip to the bar where Miz Aman was busy drying the last of the mugs for tomorrow. The two ladies nodded at each other, both too tired to begin a conversation. Cook raised her brows and Aman tipped her head to one of the shelves below the bar. There she had placed the various bottles of spirits which were to make up the punch. Cook tucked two bottles under each arm and grasped the other two in her hands. ‘Should be enough,’ she muttered to herself as she ran through the secret recipe. ‘At least for the first round!’ she chuckled. With a quick step she retreated back to the kitchen, lining up the bottles on the counter next to the bowl. Like little soldiers, she thought, ready for battle.

The old cat was curled up on her rug by the stove. Cook scooped her up under one arm and trundled her off to bed, making a nice little nest in the quilts for the tabby. Then, with a sigh of contentment, she removed her robe and slid under the covers. A mug of wine later found her snoring soundly on her pillows, her little lamp still burning softly . . .

[HerenIstarion]

The warmth spread from the hearth, and jumping shadows of the flickering fire made the familiar and beloved nooks of the Common Room even more cozy than usual. It was late, and those who haven’t yet left for home, were drowsy. Odds and ends of lazy conversation may have been heard, if anyone were in the mood of eavesdropping, but curiosity itself was lazed by the late hour and warmth of the room. It’s been a hard day, with wedding preparations full steam ahead, and hosts and helpers alike felt they deserved a little bit of rest

It was a cold night outside. Freezing drizzle, as if suspended in the air, was making efforts of becoming rain proper, but failed, succeeding though in wetting the earth, and turning the cart-way into the line of icy mud.

‘I hope it gets better than that tomorrow’ muttered someone lazily.

‘It will, Old Toby said we’ll have fine weather as sure as sunshine, and that old stub keeps his nose down the wind with more skikk than anyone I know of’

As the guest spoke, muted clatter of hooves and squeaking of wheels may have been heard coming from the South, were customers in the Common Room attentive enough to pay heed. Three heavily loaded wagons, pulled by extremely wretched nags of a horses and covered with tarpaulin, seemingly roughly knocked together out of some allegedly ligneous flotsam and jetsam, rolled up the pathway to the front door.

Tree coachmen jumped off almost concurrently. All three were broad of shoulder, but stocky, almost squat. They were even dressed alike, in some grey and dirty rags, topped with equally grey torn cloaks. One, apparently the leader, slapped the board of the middle wagon with the handle of his whip.

‘Hey, you riff-raff’, come out!’ he shouted in harsh voice. ‘You can go on slugging inside that hovel of an inn for a change!’ For some time, no sound came in return, than a whole chorus of muffled grumbling and bustling could have been heard, and some more ragged figures hoisted themselves down from the body of the wagon. Judging by their lesser stature and higher tone to their snarling, these were the women, but equally stocky and broad of shoulder as the coachmen were

‘What is this place?’ sulkily asked the youngest. ‘Why could not we stop somewhere, father, instead of roaming all the time?’

‘Because they always drive us off, if you please, you dunce’ snarled the chief coachman, ‘they don’t like us, you know. And this is the very place they killed our Sharkey, so keep your mouth shut, everybody, I’ll do the talking!’ Hey, what do you think you are up to?’ he turned abruptly to the second coachman, who just started to unharness his pull-horse.

‘What?’ startled coachman stared at the leader with apparent fear.


‘I’m a leader of the band of idiots!’ growled the chief coachman under his breath, then yelled at the delinquent, ‘Do you have gold on you, Snaggy?

‘No, uncle’ answered the latter with unconcealed terror.

‘So, you probably would guess that we don’t have the means to pay for our food and lodgings here, would you?”

‘Yes, uncle’ cam an answer in hardly audible whisper.

‘Than, I dare utter a guess, you’d prefer to have wagons ready at the door for our escape, would you not?

‘Yes uncle...’

‘So leave the heck that harness alone, you dim-wit!’

‘But, uncle, the horses, they need...”

‘What, what damn horses need? Drop it, I say, or I’ll have your head for my supper tonight!’

‘Yes, uncle’

Grumbling and sulking, party followed the leader up to the front door, which he threw open with an angry jerk of his shoulder.

The quiet whisper of the Common Room dropped abruptly as the newcomers filed into the room, bringing in sharp smell of frost and horses. The Chief coachman, followed by his train, approached the bar, where Aman was wiping glasses, but now stopped and turned attentive eye on the company.

‘Good evening, M’am’ started the chief coachman in an unctuous voice, mastering his anger at the face of his need. ‘My name is Dublong, there are my wife and daughter, and those youngsters over there are my nephews. We travel from the South – they say there are good places to live in now that the King returned’

To her surprise, Aman noticed that Dublong pronounced ‘King’ with the twitch, unlike usual affection the word radiated when spoken by everybody she knew. Meanwhile, Dublong went on.

‘We will be going on tomorrow, M’am, but we’d like room to roll the night over, and something to chew before.’

There was something strange about the man. He seemed friendly, but Aman could not help feeling uneasy about him. There was something wrong, something Mayor Samwise would call ‘fishy’ if he were about to put a name to it.

Yet she smiled and answered courteously

‘I’m Aman. This is the right place you came to, Sir’. I have a free room for five, and the supper is fresh from the fire. It’s mushrooms today, with a melted cheese on top. Besides, I may offer you white bread, and butter; and milk for the lass, and beer for you and your nephews, of course. Would you like it served here or in your room?’

‘In the room, we are tired from the road’ came a quick reply.

‘Too quick’ thought Aman ‘as if he were afraid of something.’ ‘But of course, as you wish it, Sir’ was what she said aloud. ‘Are those your carts outside?’

‘Um... yes?’ Now the man looked wary.

’Merry will take care of the horses. They are no less tired and hungry than you are, I believe?’

‘Um... I would not wish to trouble you that much, M’am, no need to, no need to, they are sturdy beasts, they can spend the night were they are...’

‘Well, it is not a trouble for a stablemaster to lead the horses to the stable, Sir’ smiled Aman. ‘Don’t you worry, they will be taken a good care of, Merry is a good groom, the best to be found for twenty miles round the place.

‘Well, if you say so. Thank you, M’am’ Dublong felt that insisting in the matter may give rise to suspicions. “We’ll have to slip to the stables first thing in the morning, than’ was what he thought. ‘Now, we would like to go to our room, M’am

“But of course, follow me’’

Aman came out from behind the bar, took one of the sconces standing on its side and lead the party through one of the doorways leading to guest rooms behind the Common Room.

‘Funny customers, those’, muttered Tolly to no one in particular
‘Sure’ answered Kaleth, ‘but you get all sorts of these days, what with all comings and goings up the greenway and all’

‘Yeh, mighty load of folks coming North, you’re right’ yawned back Tolly.

The room fell back to quiet buzzing of muffled whispering. The party of newcomers, obviously, haven’t aroused much interest in the tired old hands of the Inn.

[Noinkling]

Before going to bed, Tolly had gone out to check on his pony. Benny enjoyed these nightly visits from his owner . . . there was the lovely scratching between the ears, the soft words, and of course, the tasty carrot, or apple, or better yet, a sugar lump. Benny nosed about in Tolly’s pockets until he’d ferreted out the treat. No! Treats plural. A sugar lump in his cloak pocket, and an apple in his breeches. Keleth had come out with the Hobbit, wanting to stretch his legs a bit before going to bed. He sat on one of the hay bales, watching Tolly and Benny.

As they walked back toward the Inn, Tolly looked toward the west with a smile just seen under the spare moon. ‘G’night, my dear,’ he said, then laughed a bit at Keleth’s look of surprise. ‘We always say goodnight to each other,’ he explained, my dear wife, Blossom, and I. I mentioned her when you asked if I were courting anyone.’ Tolly laughed again. ‘My stars she’d be laughing, too at the question.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment, ‘Though of course, being married, if you really work at it, or so I’ve discovered is a lifetime of courting each other.’

The two had gotten back to the warmth of the Common Room and stood shaking off the icy rain that had just started from their cloaks. Keleth had insisted on a last round of drink. ‘Something warm,’ he’d said, taking a chair by the small fire in the hearth. ‘Let’s have a bit of tea, then. Laced with honey and a drop of Bywater brandy. Good for sleeping.’ Tolly pulled out his pipe as he sat near Keleth and offered his pouch of Southern Star to his companion. ‘Here, take a pipeful. I’ll be back in a trice with the tea.’

The door to the Common room blew open with the wind and rain, allowing in an odd group of folk who looked about the room with suspicion. As Tolly and Keleth watched they made their way to where Aman stood, wiping up the last of the cups. An odd lot, the two companions agreed as they puffed on their pipes.

‘I think I’ll make my way to bed,’ said Tolly, knocking the ashes from his pipe into the fireplace. Two cups of the special tea had made him quite drowsy and he noted Keleth was yawning, too. ‘I’ll see you at breakfast, then,’ he called as he made his way to the back of the Inn where the nice, snug Hobbit rooms were. ‘There’re still a few tables to be moved out to the lawn . . . after that we can relax and watch the lasses pretty them up with the cloths and flowers and all.’ He waved goodnight to a widely yawning Buttercup as he passed by her. ‘And of course, we should test the ale . . . make sure, you know, that it’s up to the high standards of a Hobbit party.’ He nodded to Keleth who had gone toward his own room. ‘See you then . . .’

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

He had left the Inn in contempt and returned now in despair. The bone-biting chill of the rain that soaked him through and through was an apt reminder of what awaited him beneath the roof of the Green Dragon. He could well imagine what Aman and Toby would make of his desertion, of the late night disappearance without so much as a word of farewell. At the time it had seemed the only thing to do. He had been at the Inn for less than a day and already he had become embroiled in the petty concerns of those who dwelled in this tiny land. Toby’s ridiculous problem could so easily be solved. Snaveling had money and position enough to give his friend a life of easy and luxury in the South beyond the wildest imaginings of the peasants in this land, and yet his friend – from some inconceivable devotion to this place – had refused his offer to take him away. The rejection had stung, and stung deep, for Snaveling had long contemplated what he could do to make the elder hobbit ample recompense for his friendship. At last, there was as an opportunity, and the old goat had thrown it back at him.

It was not Toby’s behaviour, though, that had driven Snaveling from the Inn, and in his more honest moments he could admit that to himself. It was Aman. His last night at the Green Dragon, he had been firm in his resolve to speak with the Innkeeper in the morning, but as the night wore on his resolve weakened. Aman’s girlish infatuation, at first almost flattering, had become a galling idea. He did not relish the thought of having to speak with her about it, and he began to hope that she would realise of her own accord how hopeless it was. By the time the grey light of the dawn was just touching the horizon he could think about speaking to her with nothing less than a shudder at the indignity of it, to her as well as to him. He had come North once more to find Roa, not to indulge the romantic fantasies of a mere slip of a girl from Rohan. As the morning came on he began to see more and more clearly what his purpose should be. He would leave now, before speaking with Aman, so that she could in time come to realise that he was already bound to another, more great and altogether noble person than she. Roa was a worthy mate to Snaveling, last heir of the vanished west, in ways that Aman could never be. It was a painful truth, but one that he felt sure Aman would come to on her own, given time.

So he had crept out of the stables before dawn and disappeared into the Wild. For a long time he had scoured the North in search of Roa, but he could find neither sign nor news of her. Where had she gone? He went first to the East and searched past Bree, all the way to Amon Sul. From there he had gone south once more to the fords of Bruinen, where the Rangers had once lived before being called to their King in the South. North and West he had then searched, all the way to the lands beyond the borders of the Shire, where the chill of winter clung to the land even in the heart of summer. But it had been fruitless. With nowhere left to wander, he found himself turned once more toward the Shire and the Green Dragon Inn. It was the one place in all the North where all the news that could be had was gathered in one place, and it was – he had to admit – the best and only place to search for Roa.

He plodded up the road and through the drizzle toward the few lights that remained at the Inn. He had consumed the last of his food three days before and his stomach was pained with hunger, but his heart was not up to the task of entering. At this time of night, only one person would be sure to be awake, and he could not face her until he was rested, fed and more at his ease. There was a large party of Men entering the Inn as he came into the yard, and as they passed through the door, Snaveling caught a glimpse of the warm yellow light that still filled the Common Room. He passed by the windows as silently as a shadow, but could not help glancing through the rippled glass as he went. There, sure enough, behind the bar, her face brightening with the practised polish of long use as she greeted the newcomers, was the Innkeeper Aman. Snaveling’s feet paused ever so quickly as he looked at her, and she seemed – for no more than a heartbeat – to glance toward the window, but he rushed past, hiding his features beneath his hood.

So well did he know the stables of the Green Dragon Inn that he did not need the use of his eyes to find an empty stall. Curling in amongst the hay, he was soon asleep in its warmth.

[Boromir88]

Fastrod spotted a well lit building, just up ahead, "that must be it." he said to himself. Word had spread to Bree about a special party for Master Derufin and the Mistress Zimzi. Fastrod was interested in these sort of things, especially parties. He was getting bored of life in Bree, just spending most of his days at the Prancing Pony, and when he heard of this grand party, he was more then happy to set out on a short journey.

As he approached the inn he spotted some rugged, but broad looking men standing outside the inn, and first he thought, great they're out of rooms. He had lost his horse near Frogmorton, and also his stay at The Floating Log delayed him even more. He had hoped to pick up a horse, or maybe someone kind enough to take him the rest of the way, but he got too relaxed in the inn, which he often tended to do when he was around them.

He approached the grim looking man, who stood muttering to the rest of his travellers. "Is there still room in the inn?" The man just scowled and continued on with his business. Fastrod was definately taller, but these men here were broader, and looked like they were up to no good. "Sorry, to bother you." he replied, but the man gave no reply back.

Fastrod was tired, and cold, but as soon as he walked into the inn a warmth siezed him. He stepped fully into the inn, now out of the reach of the cold. As he gazed around, a few people were still gathered in the greeting hall, most of them looked like they were about to doze off. He walked up to the innkeeper, who was a young lady. He didn't care about eating, he was too tired, he was just hoping to find a room. "Are there any rooms available, my lady?"

[THE Ka]

A heavly burdened stranger walks through the mists of the night. Walking towards the Green Dragon, the creature comes under a lantern and we are able to see them. A tall creature she is, with dirty blonde hair. She is of the elven race and her eyes are a deep storm blue. Her garb is a bit frayed and tattered, wearing a corset and an old skirt. Among her garb like a diamond in the ruff is a elegant top hat, with many a strange feather poking out. She is trudging along with a crate of mysterious contents and a large pear-shaped and long necked case. As she passes, her steps speed. She had recieved an invitation to a handfasting, though through the origins of a friend of the couple.

"Hmm, quiet a lovely place... At least i've managed not to let any of my supplies drop out. Such a long way from Eryn Vorn, I hope there is a room left... Ah, there it is! The Green Dragon!"

She manages to walk through the door with much gruffing and sliding of supplies, finally reaching the owner's desk. She asks for a room, trying not to sound too strange to raise the attention of the other people gathered within the Green Dragon.

"Yes, um. My name? Rasputina. Yes. R-a-s-p-u-t-i-n-a. Thank you..."

After paying for the next several nights, she slips to the hallway and into her room. Even with her two large and mysterious looking packages, no notice is taken to her. She closes the door behind her with her only available limb, a left foot. Putting the burdens in the corner, she opens the pear-shaped one first. A strange instrument, almost like an enlarged fiddle, lies in the case. Next to it is another package in brown paper, and a long device made up of wood and hair. She removes the brown package and stores it in a dresser. Lifting up the heavy instrument and stick, she sits in a chair. Taking her other free hand she moves the stick across the instrument's strings. A deep and rich sound emits from the hole in the middle of it, filling the room. Before she can continue, a loud "thwap!" comes from the adjacent room. She sadly puts the lovely instrument away. Tomorrow though, it would sing and bellow for everyone's ears. It made her smile. It had been so long since another's ears had heard such an instrument, it delighted her to see it happen again.

As her mind ran through the thought of a handfasting, she remembered how tired she was. She couldn't sleep but, a rest upon a nice soft bed would be all that she needed.

[Mithalwen]

It was around midnight and few of the Shire folk were still abroad but any late to bed would have heard weary hoof-beats before they discerned a grey clad figure riding an iron grey horse. The elf, Mithalwen, had rested the previous day at Woodhall, where in times past she might well have met her kindred pausing in their own journey between Lindon and Rivendell. These days it was less likely - so many had gone to the Havens and departed Middle Earth forever.


Mithalwen sighed. Mithlond was her home. Although she seemed no older than a mortal maid of some twenty summers - unless you looked into her sea-grey eyes that held the memory of much - her earliest memories included the sight of the tall ships of Numenor sailing fr om the west; but now no ships sailed in to the havens - save from time to time ships from Gondor might arrive - and each departing ship was a reminder of the journey she would herself make at last. At such times, it was her habit to travel inland a while, as if to refresh her memory of the beauty of Middle Earth. She had not tired of it after a long age of the world and it would be hard to leave it forever, even if it meant rejoining her kin who had gone before.


As she sighed, her horse, Aeglos, stumbled and although he recovered his footing, Mithalwen realised immediately that his pace had become uneven. She dismounted and saw that he had cast a shoe. Although she found it a few yards back it had twisted. Mithalwen's father and brothers had been smiths and shipwrights and she had learnt from them how to shape both wood and metal (this not being forbidden to women of the Eldar though not common). By choice she wrought musical instruments (so combining a delight in craft inherited from her Noldorin father with a love of music passed from her Telerin mother) but by necessity she could turn her skills to more practical tasks. Replacing the shoe would not be a problem; straightening it with the small tools she carried in her saddle bags would. She needed a forge to do a decent job. She looked around her. It was not her practice to stay in mortal dwellings but she and her horse were soaked by the nights bitter rain and although she minded physical discomfort less, her spirit was lowered. Aeglos loked at her balefully. Her keen elvish sight picked out a sign hanging from one of the village buildings. "The Green Dragon" it read. Even if they had no stabling, they would know of a smithy. But that no doubt would have to wait til day.


It had stopped raining at last but water dripped from her sodden clothes. Her only piece of oilcloth covered her horses hindquarters. "Come, Aeglos mellon nin" she said " I will find you a warm stable " she threw back her hood and her usually silver hair, was darkened with rain and hung it rats tails about her pale face. "and I could use getting dry myself". She led the way to the inn and trusting Aeglos not to stray she searched for signs of activity.

[piosenniel]

Please note:

It is about three hours after midnight now.

The rain has stopped; the clouds have cleared off, leaving the quarter moon shining feebly down on the Shire. The roads are still muddy and the air is chill from the passing storm.

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver ought to have been in her bed, but she had woken early and gone outside, wrapped in her shawl, barely noticing the chill in the air from the rain. She was filled with thoughts of her new found happiness, and the thought that the garden she had made ought to be perfect was still on her mind. She knew that the only thing that would soothe her would be to go outside. Despite it being night, she knew it would be safe, and she knew she would find some peace in the open air.

Early the previous morning, the cart had arrived from Bree carrying all the little plants she needed to make the garden perfect for Derufin's bride. She had been eating her breakfast when it arrived, and had run out with her half eaten toast hanging from her mouth, forgetting herself, as she was so excited to see her plants arrive. She had continued to munch on the toast while she examined the delivery to make sure everything she wanted was there and had arrived safely. When at last she was satisfied that she had everything she needed, Jinniver unloaded the plants and paid the carter a good sum for his trouble.

She had worked right through until lunchtime without ever once thinking of her brother Pegram and where he might have got to. Once she had heard of Aman's plan to carry out a little trick on him she had gone straight to her bed without even looking for him. He had upset her and she had just wanted to go to sleep and forget all about it; if she could not throw herself into work to forget her troubles, then sleep was the next best thing. But he had not appeared that morning, and in her excitement over the cart arriving, she had not noticed his absence. Once she had stopped for a rest, she began to wonder where he was and walked round to the side of the inn where his room, one of the 'best' was situated. The shutters were closed. But she heard a faint noise, and listening closely, realised it was her brother groaning and splashing water about in his bathtub.

She had laughed when she heard it as she knew what Aman had done to his bed. She had put ants into it. Talking conspiratorially over that late night cup of tea she had told Jinniver that when Pegram asked for one of the best rooms, as they both knew he would, then she would make sure he was offered one in which she had quietly slipped a few ants, along with the warming pan. Jinniver had thought it a good idea, and it had sent her to bed with a wide smile on her face as she thought of how her proud and overbearing brother might be brought a little more humble after the experience of a night with ants in his bed.

Jinniver had crept up to the corridor outside her brother's room when she heard his groaning; half laughing and half a little worried that he might take it angrily. When she got to the door she heard him splashing the water in his bathtub and muttering. "Wretched ants", he said gruffly. "How can I stop this itching?" Her natural concern got the better of her and she spoke up.

"Pegram, what is the matter?" she had said, crouching at the edge of the locked door.

"I am bitten all over with ants," he wailed, and she stepped back a little to hear the upset in his voice. She thought she heard a sniffle. "Jinniver?" he said hesitantly. "Could you leave me some of that balm you make? Leave it outside the door for me? Please?"

She had smiled at this. He usually refused to use the old remedies she made from their mother's cook book.They were not good enough for him; he preferred whatever expensive unguents he could buy from traders coming up the Greenway from Gondor. Of course she would bring him some balm. Nothing would give her greater pleasure than to see him finally accept that his sister might have something useful to offer after all. But she hadn't been able to resist adding something before she agreed.

"If I bring you this, will you promise to leave me be here?" she had said boldly. "I am your sister and you should let me alone you know. I know you care for me as any brother should, but I am not the silly young girl I used to be." She had fought hard to resist tears as she said it and was rewarded with a very quiet, whispered "yes".

All afternoon she had worked on the garden until she was happy with it and then was so tired, she fell asleep beneath one of the trees. She was woken at sunset by a hand on her shoulder, a gentle hand. It was Pegram, dressed for travelling, leading his fine horse in the other hand. He was smiling uncertainly.

"I am going now, just as you asked, " he had said, unable to look her in the eye and red faced. "I, erm, I would like to thank you for your help." Then he turned and saw all the hard work she had put in through the day. His mouth fell open as he saw the beautiful borders in front of the cottage, stocked with fine healthy plants, all the work his sister had done. No words were needed. He looked at his sister as she sat up.

"This is a fine place," he said quietly. "We will miss you in Bree if you linger too long you know, but you are safe here. After all you have suffered, you ought to be able to enjoy your life and do what is best. And I was one of those who made you suffer." He hung his head, and before Jinniver could rise, climbed into the saddle of his horse. He had been humbled by the sight of his sister's work, and humbled by having to ask her for help. But he was not yet so humble that he would linger for her to have the chance to act proudly with him. He wanted to go now, back to Bree. He wanted to go quietly, and Jinniver could see this, so she let him go as he wished. But she sat a while longer beneath the tree, watching his horse disappear into the evening, listening to the sounds from the inn.

*

Now in the darkness, she finally stood quietly alone and was able to appreciate her work. The scent of the flowers was heady in the night air and she breathed it in deeply, sighing as she did so. It had been important to her that she create as perfect a garden as she could; this was to be a gift from Derufin to his bride after all, and she knew how important that would be. She checked the flowers once again, stamped down a little more earth to settle the roots of the plants, and picked off a few straggly leaves, enjoying the work despite the late hour. She thought of how happy she was in The Shire. All her old troubles had been left behind. She had managed to bring her brother around to seeing that she was now grown and sensible. She had friends here, and one of them was about to be married. She even relished the thought of the party to come, and a party would normally have frightened her more than anything. She stretched out her arms, yawned and enjoyed the sensation of the cool night air on her hands, and then smiled.

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth chuckled softly as he made his way to his room. Tolly was married. He had been embarrassed at first, but now found his mistake rather amusing.

Keleth was so tired that he crossed the room, lay his pipe on the bedside table, and crawled into bed with his clothes still on. He was asleep with in minutes.

Keleth woke with a start, and felt an icy draft. The window had been left open! It had been closed when he went to sleep. Puzzled, he crossed the room to the small window. He leaned out and looked around. It was very late, and there was no sign of movement out there. Quietly he shut and locked the window.

He fell back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes. The wind just blew it open, he told himself. Nevertheless he rolled over, reached his hand under the bed and pulled his hunting knife out of his pack.

[piosenniel]

It was the wee hours of the day and still dark and still cold. Cook’s eyes popped open once again. There was something about this night that had her all at sixes and sevens. She’d drifted off briefly after the warm cup of wine only to find herself awake again thinking about this and that and listening to sounds in the Inn. Even back in her snug little room she could hear the great doors opening and closing and the tramp of feet, however light, on the floorboards of the Common Room.

Perhaps it was the party, she thought. Today, after all, was to be the day. She lain in bed, eyes closed running the list through her mind. Most was done. They’d only need wait for the sun to come out and dry away the passing drizzle and the muddy mess it would leave behind. The tables could all be placed outdoors then, the lines spread on them, and the flowers sat round. Master Samwise and his family were coming late in the afternoon. He’d be the one to officiate, so to speak, at the tying of the wrists and the writing down of the names in his great record book. And his lovely rose had promised several mushroom pies from her kitchen to grace the food table.

More feet in the Common Room and the buzz of a few voices as the ledger was signed and the money exchanged for lodging. She could hear someone in the kitchen itself, looking through one of the drawers. Cook lit her little lamp and got up, pulling on her thick robe. ‘Who’s there?’ she called out poking her head out of her doorway.

‘Just me,’ came the hushed voice of Ruby. ‘Miz Aman’s asleep and I’ve got up to see to some more travelers who’ve come to the Inn. Where’d we put those extra candles we got in just yesterday? I need them for the guests.’ The two Hobbits fished about in two of the little crates stored in a corner of the room soon finding the needed tapers. Ruby went off to see to the guests while Cook, looking longingly toward the comforts of her warm bed put the kettle on to boil.

‘Might as well get to the bread making long as I’m up. Be baked by dawn if I start it now.’ She made herself a large pot of strong, sweet-spice tea and poured a large mug of it. ‘But first I’ll just fortify myself with a bit of tea . . . oh, and of course,’ she chuckled, looking down at the old tabby who mewed plaintively at her. ‘Of course . . . a bit of warm milk for you, little mistress.’

A thought came to her as she sat at the table sipping from the steaming mug. ‘What with all the comings and goings-on tonight, I hope the lodging fees were gotten from all the newcomers . . .’ Not that she thought most travelers were bent on getting a room for free . . . but her long years at the Dragon had taught her it took a careful husbandry of the funds to keep an Inn afloat . . .

[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.