The Green Dragon Inn - Part 9

[Linnahiril Tinnufinwen]

Halfred had certainly ordered a feast. Asphodel's eyes widened in disbelief as several servers came to their table carrying large, silver platters full of food. There was plump golden chicken and salted pork, slices of juicy roast beef, mounds of baked potatoes, legs of mutton, fresh tomatoes, purple grapes, green and red apples, celery, carrots, turnips; everything anyone could want. Asphodel half suspected her father of ordering every kind fruit and vegetable the Shire had to offer. Big loaves of freshly baked bread, and slabes of yellow and white cheese were also set upon the table, and a steaming hot silver basin of rabbit stew was placed in the middle.

"For love of the Shire, Halfred," exclaimed Asphodel's aunt, "this is a mighty feast for just four Hobbits! We are known to have good appetites, and mine is as good as any, but to eat all of this we would need at least one more companion."

"I'm afraid it will not be enough," said Halfred, "for I have four more coming at eight o-clock." He pulled out his gold pocket watch. "That is in but fifteen minutes."

"Four more?" exclaimed Asphodel. "Who could they be?"

"Well," said Halfred, "first there is Fastred Longfellow. Then Pinto Goldburrow, Gormadoc Chubb, and my nephew Tolman Brown."

"Cousin Tolman is coming?" asked Hanna excitedly. "Good! I can show him the Longbottom Leaf that I picked this morning!"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:17 PM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: Linnahiril Tinnufinwen ]

[Kransha]

Tobias wandered aimlessly throughout the inn, still trying to avoid the gaze of the innkeeper. He knew he’d probably paid enough for the room, but he didn’t want to risk speaking to her again before he’d had his fill. He decided that rather than ordering food and drink, he might “borrow” some, very tactfully. He soon spotted a perfect target; a table with much more food than the four hobbits who sat at it could eat.

He walked over as calmly as he could and addressed the young hobbit girl instead of the man who’d obviously ordered the meal. He hoped for more lenience from her. He hadn't been in this part of the Shire in ages, and didn't recognize the hobbit maiden and the others around her at the table.
“Excuse me, madam,” he said politely, with a false charm on his aged face, “I was just wandering by and noticed the succulent feast you have here. Though I do not doubt your hunger, I suspect you may not be able to finish such a gargantuan meal. I would willingly finish off whatever is left and grace you with a satchel of my finest pipe-weed as payment for the gift.” His right hand moved to one of the pouches of Longbottom Leaf on his belt.

He waited for the response of someone at the table, his stomach making a visible growling sound. His fingers began moving towards the mutton legs. He tried in vain to avoid drooling over the feast.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:31 PM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: Kransha ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor was silent, but his mind flashed through the hard life he has led.

The desease that took his mother. The betrayal of the easterlings. Burning of Greenwood the Great. The battle at the edge of Dead Marshes. Compromise that took his father's life. Running from the brick of death and memories that shattered his soul, wandering over the face of ea. Minas Tirith. Guard, lieutenant, then captaincy.


And from the shadowed memores of the past, his half-brother, come to claim his own... His life.


"Hir." Ferethor spoke, when he was able to control it from betraying fear or hatred. "What business brings you over hill and dale, from the brick of death to the far land of the North?" He instantly realised that his voice was still tinged with anger, but Hirifilen never noticed much anyway.


"Can't you guess?" Hir stared at him, but Ferethor met his gaze with his hard, grey eyes without casting it down. "You've always been keen-glanced, Thor, and looks inside both mind and people easily. I think you already know why I am here."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:52 PM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

A strange noise approached the Green Dragon Inn. No, it was not the clippety-clop of the brown pony’s hooves, nor the tinkling of small bells attached to its bridle. Rather it was the strange passenger the pony was bearing. An old man, singing a strange song, and laughing all the while.

Why, that’s Aldwine. Or at least that’s what his latest name was.

What does he do? Why, he collects tales, of course. And what a collection this man has. He had travelled all around, listening to stories of other cultures. From the Forochel in the North to Harad in the South, this guy has probably gone everywhere.

Except the Shire. But that's about to change.

Someone approached him, probably a stable hand. Aldwine went down and said to the man,

"Oh, don't bother taking my horse to the stables! Iaroch won't go for hay, anyway. He only feeds on living grass."

He walked on to the inn. Stopping at the threshold, he breathed deep(to smell the air; a habit before entering a place), and walked on, saying, "Ah, a good this one is! Reminds me of the inn the Beornings have!"

As he seated himself on one of the vacant tables, he pulled a pen and notebook out of his sack. He then went around the room, as was his wont, listening to snatches of story one might be kind enough to tell.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:48 PM January 29, 2004: Message edited by: Nilpaurion Felagund ]

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor rose. His voice was bitter, but neither were they sad or afraid. "My life?" At that clipped question, Hirfirilen threw back his head and laughed. "What use shall I have, little brother, for your death? My revenge is buried in the path I've trod for seven years.

"So you say." Ferthor sad, not slakening his wariness, fencing. "So you may even believe. But I see your anger, however well you disguise it, burning behind your laughing eyes. You're consumed with undeserved hatred, and it made you a man eager to destroy."


"If you will be only satisfied with my life, then so be it. But I am not going to help you in any vile thing that you're plotting in your heart. It's going to end with my death anyway - you've never had much faith."


Ferethor left the room.

[Fool Of A Took]

Grimm wrote his name, number of nights, his homeland and signature in the book and handed it back to Aman. "Good night, my Lady" he said and bowed. Aman smiled and bowed too. Grimm left the room quickly and walked up the stairs. He found his room and entered. It was wonderful. He gasped again and rubbed his eyes.

It was hard to sleep, he really wanted to know how it turned out with Crystal and Cree. He sighed and closed his eyes. After a while he fell asleep and started dreaming about Rohan. Grimm thought the dream felt so real, as if he really was riding on the fields with his brother by his side. He woke up and looked around himself. He then realized he was in his room at the Inn. He layed down again and fell into sleep.

[Angry Brandybuck]

When Hama didn't answer Angry saw that he had fallen asleep by Crystal's bedside. Quietly he walked to the bed and looked at Crystal.

Her skin was waxen and pale in the fat candle light, Her breathing was only perceptible from a slight rising and falling of her breast and her closed eyes darted back and forth beneath their lids. His heart ached as he stood and took in every deatil of her. He was feeling so helpless, so utterly utterly helpless.

All he could do was to pull up a chair, kiss her upon the forehead and sit holding her hand in his, idly tracing circles on her palm.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree realized that she was alone. Slowly she walked over to Aman and asked where Grimm was. Once she found that out she began to slowly stagger to the stairs. Upon finding his room she began to knock furiously.

"Grimm.. Grimm." Suddenly without knowing it she dropped to the floor. Her head hit the door. "GRIMM." She knew she would end up waking someone. She didn't know who. The door opened and her body hit the floor. Her side was still bleeding and she couldn't figure out why.

"I'm sorry." Cree quickly slipped into what seemed like sleep.

[Fool Of A Took]

Grimm woke up by the sound of someone knocking on the door to his room. Who could it be at this late hour? He slowly walked over to the door and opened it. He got terrifyed as he saw Cree laying on the floor. She was hurt and he could see blood at the floor beside her. "Cree? CREE! Wake up!" he said, he got more and more frightened. "I'm sorry." Cree quickly whispered with effort. Grimm fell down on his knees and held her head up. She had faded again.

What to do now?! Don'y get paniced!! Grimm lifted her up and carried her. He looked around himself to find her room. A hobbit passed him by and he asked her "Excuse me, do you know this young Lady? Do you know where her room is?" The hobbit nodded and said "Over there." Grimm said a short 'thank you' and ran to Cree's room. He placed her on her bed and he sat down in a chair trying to think about what he should do now. Water! She must have water. He got her a glas of water and tried to wake Cree. "Cree? Cree, wake up." He got worried as she didn't answer.

Then she suddenly began to move and she mumbled "No! It wasn't my fault!" She opened her eyes and looked at Grimm. Grimm tried to force himself to a smile.

[Witch_Queen]

"What happened to me?" She looked up and noticed she was in a room. She could feel that someone was there with her. She could remember that her side was bleeding. "I had another spell didn't I. But this one was worse."

She rolled her head over and saw Grimm was there. "Did I wake you up. I'm sorry." Cree tried to move but her side was hurting her too much. So it wasn't my fault after all.

Cree could remember what happened in her spell but not what she had done. "I'm so sorry that I woke you." She moved her hand from her side and saw that it was a deep rubey-red. Cree could still taste the blood that was in her mouth.

What if the next one is worse? What if it kills me? Am I so blessed and cursed at the same time?

[Fool Of A Took]

"You faded, my Lady, you are hurt" Grimm said and had a worried look on his face. What's happening? He handed her the glas of water and she drank it slowly. Grimm looked at her side and said "What is happening?!" He almost got scared now. Cree seemed like she didn't know what to say. She looked out the window and Grimm did it too. It was dark outside and it was all quiet. Grimm felt a tear falling down his chin. He didn't know why.

"You must tell me, Cree, maybe I might can help you." He continued. Cree looked up at him and her eyes looked sad. Sorrow was in her eyes, he could see it. Grimm was confused. Spell? Is she cursed?! He could almost not understand a thing. He stroke back his brown hair from his forehead and covered his face in his hands. All the sorrow in the room reminded him of his brother. And now he didn't want Cree to see him cry.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:46 PM January 29, 2004: Message edited by: Fool Of A Took ]

[Witch_Queen]

Cree could tell that Grimm was crying. She thought she got a glimpse of a tear. "Its okay Grimm. I'm not going to die. You don't have to hide anything from me." She could feel her heart beating. For a minute she thought her heart would burst. She placed her other hand on the hands he had over his face.

"Please.. don't." Cree moved her hand and realized that her side had stopped bleeding. "Well like I said, I'm not going to die any time soon. Thank you for the glass of water." She looked at the man setting beside her bed. Why does he seem so precious to me?

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne Brandybuck

Hawthorne had been put in charge of washing up the supper dishes. She had never seen so many dirty plates and bowls in her life. She'd needed tub after tub of hot soapy water in order to get everything clean. The skin over her fingers was all shrivelled up, the same way it looked when she went swimming for the entire day. Only, this time, there had been no swimming or fun, only an endless pile of work.

Hoping that she was finished for the night, she had tried to slip out of the kitchen when Ruby wasn't looking. But the keen-eyed hobbit had caught her escaping down the hall, nabbing her by the collar and dragging her back inside. Ruby had promptly given Hawthorne a half a dozen tea towels and said that the Bucklander must dry each and every dish that she had washed.

This seemed preposterous to Hawthorne. Why couldn't they simply let the dishes sit out and dry in the nice cool air? Just set them on top of the table and chairs and counters. Ruby had impatiently pooh-poohed this idea, explaining that the kitchen was too small to leave hundreds of items all scattered about. Everything must be dried and carefully put away for the morning.

With considerable reluctance, Hawthorne had spent the rest of the evening doing what Ruby asked. Now, she was finally free. Hawthorne took a minute to drop by the pantry checking on ingredients and then went outside to locate the chicken coop. She wanted everything to be perfect when she came down to the kitchen the next moring to make her little surprise. How pleased Ruby and Buttercup would be if she had finished cooking breakfast before they even went downstairs!

She'd gone out for a moment to find a seat in the Common Room and have a cup of honeyed tea. She propped her feet up on another chair and listened to all the conversations going on around her. She could hear a commotion that was going on upstairs. Apparently, someone had experienced a nasty fall, and others had gone to help.

By this time, many of the folk had cleared out of the Common Room and retired to their chambers. Hawthorne was just about to do that when she spied an interesting looking fellow who went by the name of Aldwine, or so some of the guests told her.

He had a pen and notebook and was taking down stories that people were telling him. Most of the stories were very sad indeed....tales of Elves and Men who'd faced terrible hardships and grief. Hawthorne would have liked to speak with him, but she wasn't sure what to say. In any case, all the hobbit stories she knew were quite silly or adventurous, and didn't sound anything like those that other people were reciting. Surely this serious fellow would not be interested in hearing about a hobbit girl from Buckland, and the stories her grandmother had passed on to her.... But she was extremely curious as to exactly who this gentleman was and what he was doing, especially since she liked stories.

Hawthorne sidled over to his side, tugging at his sleeve. "Excuse me, Master Aldwine. But why are you writing all that down in your notebook? Where do you come from, and what tales do you keep in your book?"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:03 AM January 30, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Hama dozed quietly while Angry sat at the bedside, his breath wheezed in and out. He twitched a few times, but Angry was looking at Crystal. "No..." said Hama quietly...

Angry looked at him, but he was still asleep, so he paid no attention... "No...no..." Hama started to tremble in his chair. Angry looked slightly concerned up at him, but it was obvious that he was only dreaming, so he looked back to Crystal...

Hama settled back down and started his wheezy breathing over again...

[spirit_detective]

The sun had just about sunk below the treeline, casting a long shadow ahead of Satch. Red hair that usually cascaded down to her waist was now reduced to short strands that only reached the top of her neck and were plastered to her scalp with sweat. Her attire of black pants, a white tunic, and a navy vest where laden with soil and tatters. The white tree of Gondor that had been sewn onto the vest with silver and white threads was all but completely pulled out. Blue eyes swept the landscape for a shelter, resting finally on the Green Dragon. Sighing with relief, she gathered her pack and rushed to the door of the inn.

'Please don't be closed. Please oh please ohplease.' Leaning her weight against the door, Satch managed to push it open, shut it behind and then slump down onto the stone floor. A hobbit came out from behind the counter. Obviously the innkeeper.

'Miss, are you alright?' The young girl smiled at the mistress and nodded wearily.

'I'm just wondering if you have anywhere to stay for the night.' The innkeeper smiled and led Satch to a room, handed her the key, and bid her goodnight. The two rooms on either side of her let out a mist of worry and sorrow, pressing on her already heavy burden.
Slipping off her boots and vest and crawling into the warm sheets of the bed, she relaxed and let her eyes droop. The message she carried may be urgent, but it could wait for her to rest one night.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal fought back to consciousness. Her eyes flashed opened and she looked up at the man that was holding her hand. It was Angry. He was rubbing her hand, slowly, and concentrating. His eyes were far away.

She smiled and blinked. She was feeling so much better. It was as if a miracle had been performed on her.

"Angry," Crystal breathed with a smile,
"I had hoped you would be here. Especially after what I told Cree to tell you,"

She squeezed his hand lightly and giggled.

"Why, Angry, I do believe you are trembling,"

[Memory of Trees]

Reign stared into the innkeepers eyes; she seemed friendly, and a little tired. Generally nice, she thought. Aman smiled at her incouragingly. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked again.

Reign swallowed hard, but when she spoke her voice was smooth and soft. "Yes, thank you," she said. "I need a room for the next few days. The size doesn't matter - I'll only be sleeping there. Do you have anything available?"

Reign waited for her to answer.

[Linnahiril Tinnufinwen]

Asphodel had been nearly on the point of spooning a bit of rabbit stew into her mouth, when she found herself unexpectedly addressed by a strange gentleman Hobbit. He pleaded for food in return for some pipe-weed. "Strange indeed," thought Asphodel. "What could have possesed him to want such a trade?" She gathered her nerves and addressed him.

"I should be glad to help you, sir, if I had any way of understanding you," she said calmly. "What in Middle Earth are you about, bartering pipe leaf for food? I'm sure there are many server maids willing to assist you, if a good meal is what you desire. You'll find that the Green Dragon Inn has some of the best service in all the Shire. Are you new to the Shire?"

"What's going on over there, Asphodel?" came Halfred's voice from behind the large soup basin. He stood up walked over to her side of the table. A white napkin was tucked like bib in the colar of his shirt, which he seemed to have forgotten momentarily.

"And who in the name of the Shire are you?" said Halfred to the gentlemen Hobbit, giving him an icy glare. "Why are you bothering my daughter? Did not you see that I am the head of this family, and that it is only proper to address me, and not one of my under-aged daughters?" The stranger was silent. "Address me at once, please, sir!" exclaimed Halfred.

Asphodel suddenly felt guilty for having been so nice to the stranger. Her father had also caught the attention of Hanna and Belladonna, who had stopped eating to watch the exchange.

Halfred had crossed his arms, and was tapping his foot impatiently upon the wooden floor.

[Kransha]

The hobbit, as always, tried to handle the situation with tact. He addressed the older hobbit first, to avoid further interrogation by the Halfling standing in front of him.
He looked overly nervous, but tried to conceal it with a pleasant smile.

“Good sir, I merely addressed you fair daughter first because I hadn’t noticed your head behind that soup bowl.” Toby swore inwardly, suddenly realizing how stupid that sounded, “If it is my name you wish to know, I can give it; Tobias Hornblower of Longbottom at your service. I have been come here from the south and only desired a little rest and sustenance before I continue my journey north in a few days. The reason I requested food of you was simply that I, most regretfully, have no money with me. I feared that the innkeeper might not accept a trade for that required food, so I thought it might be simpler to make the trade with a venerable hobbit such as you.”

He paused momentarily, hoping for a desirable response. Flattering rarely got him anywhere, but it was always worth a shot. He added one phrase for good measure.
“If you have no need of what I have to give, I will move on.”

[Linnahiril Tinnufinwen]

Halfred raised an eyebrow, obviously suspicious. His mouth was closed tighter than the lid on a jar of marmalade. Asphodel could tell he was contemplating the strange Hobbit.

Finally, though still suspicious, he said, "What have you to offer me, Mr. Hornblower?" Asphodel thought this was a good time to intervine.

"He wants to give us some Longbottom Leaf," she said. "You can get back what you gave to Angry Brandybuck."

Halfred sighed. Asphodel knew she had said the right thing. Besides, this Mr. Hornblower gave her a nervous feeling in her stomach, and she wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible.

"Alright," said Halfred reluctantly. "But I warn you, sir, I'll be able to tell if the leaf is poor quality, because I have a small plantation of my own."

He took the pack of Longbottom from Mr. Hornblower and observed the leaves, sniffing at them, scratching at them with the tips of his fingers.

After a long deliberation, he said, "They will do. Take a leg of mutton and a few other things, and be off with you."

Mr. Hornblower smiled graciously and bowed. After gathering his meal, he said his thanks and made off with his new bounty.

Asphodel breathed a sigh of relief. Halfred sat back down again and began eating in silence. Soon, everyone at the table had resumed eating.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:36 PM January 29, 2004: Message edited by: Linnahiril Tinnufinwen ]

[Fool Of A Took]

Grimm looked up at Cree from his hands and he could see she was tired. He rose from his chair and said "Well, you seem to need some rest. So I am going to my room now. But if you need anything or there is anything that I can do for you, just come over and wake me." The last words he said with a smile. Cree smiled back but she had a weak look in her face. She closed her eyes and Grimm slowly and quietly walked out of the room.

Grimm got back to his own room and he layed down in the bed again and closed his eyes. Yet this time it was hard to sleep. All his thoughts came back to Cree. Is she allright now? He drew a deep sigh and tried to think of something else. After a while he fell into sleep.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:17 AM January 30, 2004: Message edited by: Fool Of A Took ]

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Hawthorne got a quick response and an even quicker smile.

"Oh, it's a pretty young halfling - sorry - hobbit! May I ask who you are?"

"Hawthorne. Hawthorne Bandybuck."

"Well, Lady Hawthorne, in this notebook I write tales all around Middle-earth. It's quite fun, to learn things about other people. Do you want to hear one of these stories?" he asked, looking intently at the hobbitlass' face.

"Well, I see you want to...

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:08 AM January 30, 2004: Message edited by: Nilpaurion Felagund ]

[Primrose Bolger]

Her tiny face, brown as an acorn from the forest oak, peeked out from a ragged curtain of black hair. From the shadows of the great oak in the Inn yard, her dark eyes surveyed the Green Dragon. The great structure stood like a small mountain, she thought, cast up high from the earth that bore it.

Yellow light pushed back the darkness as it spilled from the windows, and highlighted the figures of those who passed by them. Tall, slender Elves – they would be beautiful, she knew. She had seen them in earlier days, passing through her woods. Grey cloaked figures passing silently beneath the silvered-grey leaves of the forest. And Men – they would have stern faces, sad, unused to laughter. The ones she liked best were the little ones who lived in this land . . . small like her. Close to the earth, they were, and lovely in their laughter.

Kiera pulled her tattered brown cloak about her and drew closer to the Inn itself. Up the steps she went, and stood on the wide porch, her hand flat on the door. Voices drifted out to her from the open window to her left. Too many voices, too much for her tonight. Her courage wavered and she ran quickly back down the steps, her bare feet stirring the dust as she ran back to the tree.

Quick as a red squirrel she shinnied up the trunk, her feet and hands finding purchase on the rough bark. One of the tree’s great limbs welcomed her, and she settled in to pass the night. Her head nestled in the crook of her arm as she lay along the limb, and she drew up her little brown legs beneath her cloak as best she could.

The night breeze rustled the leaves around her, a familiar, comforting sound. And she passed into dreaming of the Old Land she was bound for . . . a sea of trees, she had heard in the stories round the cooking fires . . . Druwaith laur . . .

[Kransha]

After a long deliberation, and careful inspection of Toby’s stash, the hobbit said, "They will do. Take a leg of mutton and a few other things, and be off with you."

Toby smiled graciously, concealing a slightly unsettling grin, bowed slightly, and scurried backward like a rat with some particularly exotic cheese in his possession. He had a large leg of mutton in one hand, a smaller piece of salt pork in the other, and several shining apples stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t bother thanking the donor of this meal, too busy with that leg of mutton. He settled in one of the chairs in the dimly lit end of the room, swung his surprisingly large feet up onto the table, and promptly began stuffing his not-so-venerable hobbit face.

In less than a minute, all that was left of the meal were some inedible strips of gristle and the cores of three apples messily strewn across the table top. Tobias gingerly wiped the corners of his mouth with the fringe of the table cloth and leaned back in the chair. He whipped out his pipe again, with an equally ceremonious flourish, and drew out a satchel of the finest Longbottom Leaf he had, laying on the table. Soon his delicate smoke rings were wafting through the room.

He listened to things going on around him, the conversations, arguments, even the meal chatting. He didn’t have an ear for gossip, but you never knew what interesting things you might hear if you listened. He only picked up snippets of unruly conversation, minced with the bubbling of ale and the tranquil crackling of the fire. He didn’t mind the lack of audible conversation. He was happy enough right here. With the pipe still hanging out of his mouth, he slowly dozed off in the chair.

[Angry Brandybuck]

Angry was overwhlemed to see Crystals eyes open and looking, bright and sparkling, directly into his own. A lump was in his throat from the thoughts that had been crowding his brain; thoughts of finally finding a woman that didn't find him repulsive the moment she saw him, and then losing her that same night.

Clearing his throat, he spoke with a voice quivering from hapiness and sadness and a whirl of other emotions. "Well, if I were to tel you the truth, Miss Crystal, I'd have to tell you that I was tremblin' with fear that you'd not be making it through the night, so to speak."

"Now you're up though, I guess you could say my fears are somewhat lessened. So..." he said, trying to hide the expectancy and trepidation that he was feeling "will you still be needing that place to stay? my door will always be open to you"

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne Brandybuck

A story?....

Hawthorne's eyes lit up and her face relaxed in a broad smile at the prospect of hearing a story. It was a good fifty miles from Brandy Hall to Hobbiton, and they had covered the ground as quickly as they could, camping outside at night rather than stopping off at Inns. They'd been too busy travelling to bother with story or song, and Hawthorne had missed that.

Even back at Brandy Hall a story was a rare treat. Her grandmother had known how to tell tales, and also her nanny Cami, who'd taken care of her when she was very young. But they had both been gone for some time, and neither of Hawthorne's parents were very good with stories. In fact, she had to read her precious books of dwarven tales and hobbit history out in the stables late at night, so her mother wouldn't notice what she was doing. Except for Hawthorne, all the members of her family considered such tales to be impractical and useless. Her mother was always reminding her that she would be better off spending her time figuring out ways to lure a rich Hobbit lad into her clutches so that she could marry well.

The best storyteller Hawthorne knew was Master Merry. The young hobbit would sometimes talk about the Scouring or how he had fought in the Great War. Of those fine tales, Hawthorne's favorite was where Eowyn helped to slay the Witch King and then went on to marry Faramir. Unfortunately, Master Merry was often busy with all the things he had to do to run Brandy Hall and help the families there, so he generally didn't get to tell such tales, except on special feast days or at a party.

All this flashed through her mind in a single instant. She turned around to face Aldwine and beamed back at him, "Oh, yes, I should very much like that. To hear a tale, I mean. It's been a while since I've listened to a really good yarn." She sat down on one of the chairs, beckoning him to do the same, and, as a gesture of courtesy, ordered both of them a large mug of steaming tea flavored with honey.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:21 PM January 30, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Linnahiril Tinnufinwen]

All the Hobbits at the table ate without saying a word for awhile. Part of this was because they were all deliberating over what strange event had just occured. But part of it was also due to the fact that they were very well occupied by the business of eating. If there was one thing that could be said about the Hamfasts, it was that though they sure talked a lot, they liked a good meal so much that they only stopped talking at meal time. Eating was a serious matter to them. Asphodel, for her part, could not stop thinking about the strange gentlehobbit who had accosted them. After half an hour in this manner, it was Hanna who said something first.

"When are the other's going to be here?" she asked. She looked enquiringly at her father, who had just taken a bite of salted pork and was now chewing vigorously. "Is it eight o-clock yet?"

Halfred swollowed his pork, wiped his mouth and his hands on his napkin, and took out his pocket watch.

"It is now eight-twenty," he said. "Where are those boys, they're twenty minutes late!" He stuffed his watch back in his pocket and took a big gulp of ale from his mug.

"They'll be here," said Belladonna calmly. "Your friends are always late, Halfred. You should know that by now."

[Feared Half-Elf]

The woman breached the crest and stopped, watching the Inn. What was it? Oh yes, The Green Dragon. Well known, even in her homeland. Mirkwood, land of the elves. Or rather, it had been Mirkwood. Now it was Eryn Lasgalen. It was still the forest she had known from long ago.

She was elven, her light brown hair falling to her waist, and her blue-green eyes like the sea on a summer's day. She'd seen the sea many times. She'd travelled with the King Elessar through the Paths of the Dead, and fought when Merry and Eowyn slayed the Witch King of Angmar.

Now she stood for a moment, her silver mare still beneath her. The breeze ruffled her hair, making her black cloak move slightly. Her mare fidgeted, impatient.
"Hush Annufin. We are almost there for tonight."

She was Elkamia, the daughter of the King of far off forest to the east, forgotten by many. She lived mainly in Eryn Lasgalen, travelling back to her father Moraglas every so often. Now she was travelling from Minas Tirith, an errand given to her by King Thranduril. This was her second overnight stop. The third was probably to be Rivendell, then the two day trek to the great forest. So far away.

She neared the Inn, and then noticed the small figure of what seemed to be a ragged child asleep in a tree by the road.

[Primrose Bolger]

An Elf! Kiera heard the soft clip-clop of the silver horse as it drew near. She sat up, scrunching herself against the bole of the oak, and drew her cloak tightly about her. She sat still as death, only her sharp, black eyes moving as she watched the rider approach.

Fair as any of the Eldar, the brown haired maiden advanced, almost stopping at the tree. ‘Pass on!’ Kiera thought to herself. ‘Let me just rest for the night.’

[Arry]

‘Well, now, who’s that, I wonder?’ Alwin stepped out into the puddled moonlight just beyond the clump of tall birches that stood sentry on the path leading up to the Inn. It had been a long journey these past three days from the Twilight Hills and the welcoming light from the Green Dragon gladdened his weary spirit. Leaning against his blackthorn walking stick, he’d sighed in relief at the promise of hot food, strong, sweet tea, and the comforts of a soft bed. Even now he could feel his old bones sinking into the mattress as he pulled the warm quilts over his tired legs.

An Elven maiden had passed up the path already, he noted, slowing as she approached the great oak tree which stood in the Inn yard. It was then that the movement of the small shadow caught his eye, the hint of a small hand, brief in the moonlight through the leaves, as it drew its cloak tight. The figure had disappeared against the dark of the trunk, and he could not make the features out, though he squinted his sea blue eyes hard at the darkened canopy. The Elf on her shining mount had moved on toward the Inn.

Strangers are best left to their own devices, he reminded himself, thinking on the small, quick hand he’d seen. No need for an old man to go poking about in another’s business. Still his gentler nature could not resist a whispered offer as he passed beneath the oak. ‘Come down, little one. The Inn is warm, and I’ve coin enough for the both of us to fill our bellies. No need for fellow travelers to be cold and hungry.’

In the shadows beneath the tree, Alwin stopped and drew his pouch of coins from his belt. He fished in it, bringing out several tarnished silver coins, and placed them on one of the tree’s great roots. They glinted here and there in the moonlight that dappled through the rustling leaves.

A few strides brought him to the Inn door. He tapped the soles of his boots with his stick, knocking the residue of an earlier muddy path from them, and shook his grey cloak free of the day’s dust. It was busy in the Common Room as he entered. The sights and sounds and smells nearly overwhelming his senses. But there to his right was a cheery fire, and straight ahead the bar. And there behind it, the Innkeeper, brandishing her rag along its top like a good sailor keeping her decks clean.

‘A mug of hot tea, if you please, Goodmistress,’ he asked, leaning against the bar. Alwin introduced himself to the woman as she nodded at his request. ‘And a trencher of meat and bread, if you will.’ He turned away looking for a table, then remembering his other need, turned back. ‘And a room, please. With a soft mattress and two quilts, if I may.’

He balanced his stick against the edge as he brought out his coins, and looked at the Innkeeper questioningly.

[Kransha]

Tobias was snoring loudly, his full chest heaving up and down in rhythmic succession. Every few seconds, his head would loll to one side and he would say something inaudible in his sleep, and then turn over again. He didn’t often dream, a trait that most Hornblower’s shared, and if he did see some nightly vision, rarely recounted to anyone else afterward. He did considered dreams a form of unnecessary escapism from reality which no decent person should indulge. Dreams and tales of things that will never be do nothing but mangle any hobbit’s perception of reality, which was a dire fault which the Hornblower family frowned upon.

Tonight, though, Tobias Hornblower was dreaming. It was truly more of a remembrance, a sequence of images he’d kept locked within him to recall whenever away from home. He didn’t love his home, nor did he hate it. He was indifferent about his family but did not shun them. He did love Longbottom, though, and his pipe-weed plantation near Sarn Ford. It was always a sight that gave him comfort and made him feel calmer and more serene, ever a welcome picture to view in dreams.

And he dreamt, feeling a new horizon, somehow familiar.

Right now he was standing on the furnished porch of the Hornblower Lodge that overlooked the valley of Longbottom, surveying the gentle slopes and rolling grasslands, dappled with the bright colors of autumn. He could see the green patches of pipe-weed stalks swaying slowly in the warm breeze. A red-rimmed sky surrounded him with the murky light of the sun at dusk darting meekly between the dense clouds. Rain was coming at Toby’s stash would profit from it, having suffered a lack of rain during the brief drought.

The first droplets fell, beginning a light wave of drizzle that soaked the parched leaves after several minutes. Tobias looked at each divided grove of the leaf, each separated by birch-wood fences. He saw the sturdy stems of the Southern Star pipe-weed, the mingled strands of Old Toby, and the blooming strains of Longbottom Leaf relishing the summer storm as it slowly but surely drenched the greenery. The elder gentlehobbit looked upon the diagonal slope that stretched downward into Southfarthing Valley were the peaceful city of Longbottom was nestled. Each thatch-roofed shack and homely cottage boasted a generous garden brimming with plant life. Tobias’ own plantation grounds expanded throughout the city and spread over into the land on the other side of the valley.

Longbottom was the ancestral home of the Hornblowers and other hobbits who befriended them. It was the prime city of the Shire’s Southfarthing and its greatest producer of the Halfling’s Leaf. Ever since Tobold Hornblower first introduced the addictive habit of smoking, it had become a practical fad of the Little Folk. Tobias loved this position, the patriarch of a powerful economic family line. He could get away with almost anything he wanted in Longbottom and often tried to do the same everywhere else. He lived a comfortable life on his plantation, sometimes traveling to other farthings or towns. In the rest of the Shire, he was less respected because of his shady nature and slight lack of morals, but he didn’t care. He bided his time, and didn’t like any nosy folk who might interfere with the business of others, although he himself had done so on more than one occasion.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:17 PM January 30, 2004: Message edited by: Kransha ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman nodded at the woman, pushing the log book across the bar from where Grimm had left it - she hadn't put it away yet. "Of course - and they are plenty spacious, just in case you change your mind." She grinned amiably at the woman, who smiled cautiously back.

"Thankyou." Her voice was soft and smooth, as if it was wearing slippers. But those who wear slippers are often creeping around trying not to disturb; who was this one creeping from? Aman bridled her inquisitive mind and showed the woman where to sign. Pretty little thing she was, the Innleeper thought as the other leaned over to write in the book, but she did seem so terribly nervous. Not that you would know it to hear her; perfectly confident.

As the woman was filling in the entry, another approached the bar, rather different from the former, asking for "A mug of hot tear, if you please, Goodmistress. And a trencher of meat and bread, if you will."

Aman smiled at the old-fasioned term, surprised - she wasn't sure how she felt about that. Goody Aman...good grief! She smiled secretly to herself as she turned away to pour the steaming water into a small teapot to let it brew with some of 'Brandywine's Finest' teabags. As she turned back, the elderly man introduced himself congenially, then, as if remembering, added a request for a room.

Although the man did have a spritely spark in his eye, Aman could well understand his request for an extra quilt - she remembered how her grandmother, although she rode as well as any of the rest of her family in the Summer, suffered terribly from her old bones in the winter. "Fear not, sir, the mattresses at the Green Dragon are as soft as they come."

Turning to the woman, the Innkeeper pushed a key across the counter. "For when you're done," she added, by means of an explanation. "The room is just up that flight of stairs - turn left down the corridor and its the second one to your right. If you don't mind waiting, I'll show you to it once I've put forward this gentleman's order. And sir," she turned back to the man. "If you could just sign in there - hang on, I'll just pop back and ask Buttercup to sort your order. How does venison sound, and gravy too? I'm sure this young lady won't mind telling you where to sign."

Smiling encouragingly at the shy woman, and hoping she wasn't putting her on the spot unfavourably, Aman turned back to the kitchen to find it empty. Thinking about it, she distinctly remembered seeing Hawthorne resting her feet at the fire. Sighing, she went in herself and opened the lid of the metal pot which sat on the sideboard, containing the remains of the meat, with the potatoes and vegetables in another pot beside it, ready to be made into a stew tomorrow. Sure, Hawthorne hasn't been at all bad today - especially after what that letter from Merry and that visit from the Mayor and Dandelion suggested, she thought absently as she began to serve the meat, and some potatoes, into one of the dipped plates. It was warm still, but not hot. Leaving it on the thick metal plate slightly overhanging the fire - meant for the very purpose of heating smaller dishes of food, an ingenious invention of Cook - Aman re-entered the Common Room.

"That will just be a few moments, sir," she explained to the man, then clapped her hands and addressed the Common Room as one.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as the evening draws in, the time for stories comes in with it! Please, feel free to come around the wide fire and listen to the stories from all over Middle Earth, even here in the Shire and, if you wish, tell some of your own!"

Smiling at the excited murmur that ensued, and more specifically catching the eye of an odd looking individual (if it was possible to describe one person spefically as being odd, here in the 'Dragon) who held a notebook and pen, sitting near Hawthorne. He seemed poised to write, but smiled absently at the Innkeeper as she caught his eye and allowed her eyes to flick to the notepad and pen. It seemed Hawthorne was about to begin the tale-telling - a Brandybuck through and through, to be sure, with all the boldness of her cousin Merry!

Turning back to the bar and filling in the key-numbers in the space on the entried, Aman then addressed the shy woman, who still hovered by the bar. "Would you like me to show you your room now, or later, miss...?" She left the space open for a name, should it wish to be given, not asking directly; secretive folk often passed through the 'Dragon, and this slipper-voiced woman might not be an exception.

[Arry]

A promise of stories to accompany his meal! A rare treat, indeed, thought the old man, running his hand down the long length of his grey beard, smoothing it. His eyes twinkled at the thought of hearing another voice other than his own, and his mouth bowed up in a smile.

It had been a long road this time, and still further to go. Much of it spent in solitary wandering, with only the wind and the croakings of frogs to lighten an evening’s meal.

He took the key from the Innkeeper with a nod of thanks, and wandered to a small table by the window. The mug of steaming tea clasped close in his hands warmed them, and he pushed his tired back thankfully against his chair. One of the serving maids, Ruby she said her name was, said his meal would be out soon. She flashed him a quick bright smile as she moved on to the next table.

The sea of voices rose and fell about him, but he did not heed them. His gaze went often to the darkened tree in the yard. And he wondered at the one who would choose such a hiding place.

[Kransha]

Tobias was rudely stirred by the sound of hands clapping together. His eyes fluttered open wildly and he snorted indignantly, his pipe falling to the floor. He scooped it up quickly from the floor and sat back again in his chair. He listened to the lady innkeeper as she mustered the attention of the masses and spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the woman in a jovial and gentle tone of voice, "As the evening draws in, the time for stories comes in with it! Please, feel free to come around the wide fire and listen to the stories from all over Middle Earth, even here in the Shire and, if you wish, tell some of your own!"

Tobias narrowly avoided snorting again. ‘Stories,’ he thought ‘what a futile way to spend one’s time.’ A Hornblower had no use for fairy tales and works of embellished fiction. Toby Hornblower had heard the stories of Mad Old Baggins and his kin and had no need of them. If he’d never seen a troll, orc, or oliphaunt, why should he believe they existed? He believed what he saw, and what he saw pleased him just fine. He needed no tales of heroes and damsels and dragons, no legends of ancient creatures and foul demons. They were the addled concoctions of children and maniacal old coots, not dignified gentlehobbits such as him.

But, for the sake of argument, Tobias decided to listen anyway. He supposed he could enjoy critiquing the work of fiction to satisfy his own curiosity. He leaned forward against the table’s edge, casting an aimless glance at the table beside him and the darkened window the sat above it. He was met by a strange sight.

First, he noticed the object outside the window. In the gnarled branches of a twisting tree, a figure twitched slightly, at least so much to prove it was not inanimate. It was no woodland beast, as shown by its size. Tobias couldn’t see it well through the murky glass pane, but he could tell that it was some bipedal figure sitting on a sturdier branch. Who in their right mind would take up residence in a tree branch?

Second, he looked to the other figure looking out the window. It was a man, taller than any Halfling, with a full beard of grey. His gaze lingered upon the old man for a moment too long, seeming rude to anyone who noticed. He did not like foreigners, a fact which he often established for anyone he met. Men of the south didn’t belong here in the Shire. Even Bree-men shouldn’t wander here too much, encroaching on the property of any self-respecting hobbit of quality. The qualities of good breeding in Bree were questionable, despite the alphabetic irony. Men of any sort ought not to make themselves comfortable on hobbit land.

His sharp bird-like eyes turned back to scanning the room, waiting for the yarn to begin. He could have a good laugh about the tale with his friends in Longbottom when he returned to the Southfarthing. He coughed loudly, cleared his throat, and waited, his eyes still turning back to the aged man every now and then.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:01 PM January 30, 2004: Message edited by: Kransha ]

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal smiled brightly.

"Of course I'll be needing that place to stay Mr. Brandybuck. And I thank you for worrying about me. No one has since my mother,"

Her eyes held his and she was sure that she had found the one man she wanted to love forever. This time her heart wasn't lying.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree woke up during the night. She couldn't sleep any more. "He's gone." She walked out of her room and headed towards where she remembered he was staying. "Grimm! Grimm are you asleep?" She feared that she would have to spend the rest of the night alone.

Right now all she wanted was someone to talk to. Someone she didn't have to worry about dieing on her. She needed to talk to Grimm. She had to thank him for helping her.

[Kates Frodo Temp]

Lon smiled at the happy noise of the inn as he stood just outside the door. His father would be angry, but no matter. Tonight was happiness, was freedom. And really good ale!

He pushed back the hood of his green cloak and stepped inside, humming a travelling song he had learned from a little fellow along the road. The Green Dragon! The best news, and the best drink for miles! The food wasn't half bad, either, though he had never eaten any warm: the talk was too engaging.

He walked up a to very busy Aman. "Excuse me, can I get a room? Just for tonight?" Though he never raised his voice, not even in the din of this room, Lon's earnest tone always caught the ear of the one he was speaking to. He looked always as if he were sharing some great secret, or telling a rare joke. More often than not, he was; his twinkling eyes and soft smile made everything he said seem a gest.


Lon followed Aman over to the bar, where he signed for a room. "Thank you. What's good to eat tonight?" He made his order, and stood at the bar to wait.

"Don't you want to listen to tales like the rest?" Lon looked up at the sound of Aman's voice, smiling. She never seemed to like him standing around.

"Not tonight. Haven't you got a riddle for me?"

[Memory of Trees]

“How about that one?” Reign asked Aman.

The innkeeper smiled at her. “I think it would suit you very well, miss...?"

"Reign," she supplied.

Reign, then. Follow me, please.” She turned and led Reign up a flight of stairs.

Reign followed Aman up the stairs and into the room. It was small, containing nothing but a bed and a squat table in one corner.

“Is this alright?” the innkeeper asked as she set her candle on the table.

“It’s fine,” Reign said quickly. “I’ll take it.” She was worn out, and Aman seemed busy. She handed the woman some money. “It’s enough for three nights,” she said. “If I need to stay longer, I’ll give you more. Thank you.”

Aman smiled and left the room.

Reign removed her boots and settled herself on the bed, savoring the comfort of a real mattress. The smell of food from downstairs made her hungry, but the cost of the room left her a little short. Her own food would do well enough tonight.

Reign undid the drawstring from the bag that lay beside her on the bed. She took out a package of bread and cheese, only slightly stale, and a flask of luke-warm water. As she ate, she let her thoughts wander.

She could see her family, just the way they looked at suppertime, all smiling and happy. She could see the expression on her mother’s face as she asked for the soup, and the way the corners Father’s eyes crinkled as he laughed at a joke. But most of all she saw Jesse’s face, Jesse smiling, Jesse laughing, Jesse telling her a story about Ripred the One-legged Bandit. She loved the way his dark eyes flashed and sparkled, turning from excited to serious to happy to sad like a continually shifting kaleidoscope.

She had gone out to the field one evening to call him to dinner, just as she had done every night for as long as she could remember. Father had gone into town that day, so Jesse was seeing to the farm himself. Her father and Jesse always ended the day in the cornfield, and this year had been an especially good one.

She had known that something was wrong when she could not see her brother’s dark curls bobbing up and down behind the tall rows of corn. She started to run, pushing the thick stalks aside and calling his name.

Then she saw him, laying facedown on the ground, and she was screaming and telling him to get up, and there was blood … so much blood … maybe he was sleeping … she tried to wake him up … but the blood …
Then everything went black.

Through the dimness, she could hear voices, and the voices said that she had fainted and that everything was going to be okay now. But as the voices moved away they said something else, too, that her only brother was dead and someone had killed him. Not Jesse! They were talking about someone else’s brother. Jesse was sleeping in his bed across the room. Orcs, the voices went on. Orcs had killed him with his own scythe. Hacked him to pieces in the field for no reason but cruelty. And now someone was screaming, screaming like their skin was being peeled off or something terrible like that. And it was herself who was screaming. The voices thought she was sleeping, but she was not, and Jesse was dead. Her own beautiful brother lying dead on the ground.

Reign jolted back to reality with her mouth filled with blood. She had been biting her tongue, and it throbbed with pain. She took sip of water from the flask, snuffed the candle, and lay shivering in the dark. Eventually Reign fell into a restless sleep.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:04 PM January 30, 2004: Message edited by: Memory of Trees ]

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Come down, little one.’ He must think her a child. Though, he had called her a fellow traveler. Surely he did not think children would be about at night, alone. The tall ones were puzzling, a fact she had heard from her father, and learned on the road.

There was a certain kindness in his voice that made her listen to his words. She saw him fiddle with something at his belt and heard the clink of metal on metal as he bent beneath the tree. When his tall lean figure had disappeared into the belly of the Inn, she peered down, seeking what had interested him so much. Moving the leaves aside let the light filter down to the ground in larger splotches, and there, perched on the gnarled length of the root, were several rounded, silver objects.

‘Coins,’ she whispered with a certain surety to the leaves that pressed in against her. From somewhere in her mind Kiera pulled that word up. She rolled the word about in her mouth, tasting the sound of it. She had none of her own; her people did not use them. There was the small bow and arrows, or her sling with its pouch of thumb sized rocks for food. Tasty roots and berries when game was scarce, and always the sweet water of flowing rivers for drink. Still, they were a necessary thing in those parts of the world where people crowded together and dwelt in immovable structures.

This would be a chance for her to pay in kind what was expected at the Inn, she thought. Before times, at other Inns, she had brought in a stringer of quail or one of fish, trading for what she needed. Now there would be no need to haggle over a price. She would present her coins and none would look askance at her.

But they were not really her coins, she argued with herself. If she took them she would be a beggar, or worse yet a thief. Kiera pulled her knees up beneath her chin, encircled by her arms. Rocking back and forth she considered how to keep her honor clear. Perhaps he would trade for them. Though what of hers would one of the tall ones want from her? She fingered the necklace of small rough pebbles her brother had made for her. Precious it was to her, but not to the old man she supposed. Her weapons and hunting gear were minimal and she could not afford to lose one of them. Except for the water skin she carried and the clothes on her back, there was naught else she could think of.

Then, from her belt she took the slender pouch that held her small number of personal items, and poured the contents out onto her now outstretched legs. A small carved wood tree frog; a stone, more crudely carved, in the shape of a lumpish seated man – ‘May the Old Ones look after you,’ her mother had said, pressing it into her hand when she left; the whorl of a river snail captured in a small piece of grey stone. A short, thin wooden bird whistle and a little clay pipe wrapped in cloth one of the bearded ones from beneath the ground had given her. None of these, it seemed to her, would carry interest for any other than herself. Last to roll out was a small green stone. She held it up between her thumb and forefinger, admiring the glint of moonlight through the glassy surface. Perhaps he would like this – she had seen such captured in metal bandings and worn as decoration by the tall ones.

Kiera scooped her treasures back into her pouch, and secured it at her waist. Quick as a wink she was down the tree, grabbing the coins in a single pass of her nimble fingers and scaling up the trunk once more.

Tomorrow she would visit the Inn and leave the old man her stone in payment.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor found himself outside the inn, staring at the star-speckled Northern sky. The sky, in all it's transperancy, seemed blurred. Why? Then he realised that he must be crying. Abashed, he dashed his tears away.


"Why am I crying?" Ferethor asked the glimmering silmaril of Earendil, greatest of the twinkling jewels of Varda Elbereth. "Guilt? Bitter memories? Yet I had no choice."


He impulsively headed to the stable, where his horse Apple was saddled and ready to ride. Then, a thought striked him like an arrow. "Why should I flee ever from my past and my momories? All man must find their way through the cold halls of Mandos and sail away one day. Should I deny my better judgement, ever running to no purpose?"


Ferethor turned back into the inn. Jostled men looked angrily at him, but it was the least of his concerns.