The Green Dragon Inn - Part 6

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman did a quick calculation and replied to Sarn's question, at which the man looked rather relieved, before taking his leave with a nod and a smile as he stepped out into the 'bracing' day outside.

Well, at least the rain has abated a bit, the Innkeeper mused, craning to look outside. The rain had slowed somewhat from the heavy, tumultous dowpour it had been before, but not so much that it mizzled miserably, instead coming down in a steady, clean shower that expressed the very meaning of 'I can go on like this all day'.

Aman winced as she heard Ruby promising that the pint of ale she had served up to the secretive looking Gondorian - and she was by this time sure he was of Ithilien - in the corner would 'warm him down to the hairs on his toes', then saw uby almost visibly wince as well before politely but hastily taking her leave, leaving a bemused customer behind her. What was it he had said his name was? She had quite missed it...catching his eye accidentally, Aman met the young man's gaze with a small smile and a nod, and was replied, after a second, by a similar nod and the mere ghost of a smile. That'll do for me...

Seeing another customer near the Gondorian's table trying to catch Ruby's attention, she moved over towards him herself, coming up from the direction his eyes were not.

"Beautiful little trinket you've got there," she murmured to him close by. He turned, a look of what might become outrage on his face, before he saw the hint of a knowing smile on Aman's face as she winked at him.

"Ah, yes, it's..." he paused for a moment, twisting the ring in his fingers so it caught both the warm, deep light of the fire and the clear, steady light from outside. Like catching two sides of a personality...the man seemed to catch himself as Aman's mind inadvertently produced this thought, slipping the ring on his finger and smiling up at the young Rohirrim innkeeper. "Just some milk, and some bread, please."

Aman nodded politely, departing to the kitchen to deal with this simple order, and coming back swiftly to Derakis, who, she guessed, was also of Gondor. What was it, first an influx of elves, then a torrent of Gondorians. She smiled as she placed the bread and milk on the table, both at the customer and the thought - a torrent to match the rain. Wiping her hands lightly on the white apron which hung over the skirt of her dark blue dress, she straightened from the table, nodding politely to Derakis before moving away. But as she did so, she couldn't help looking at the intriguingly mysterious fireside Gondorian...

[Nurumaiel]

Hamson wasn't sure to feel pleased or upset when the rain ended. Now that he had gotten wet the sunshine was welcome, but sunny days were not the kind of days he really enjoyed. Feeling a bit gloomy still about Melilot's quick departure, he decided to stay outside for a little while, hoping the singing of the birds would make him feel better. He was anxious to get the matter of the hole resolved, but if Melilot wouldn't listen to his reasonable suggestions and insisted on just taking the hole without further ado.

Hamson stuck his hands in his pockets and with a start realized that his tin whistle was still there. Taking it out, he put it to his lips and, without hesitation, began to play a lively tune. He wasn't sure if it would reach the Inn or not, but he hoped not. It might disturb some of the guests, and, even worse, someone might ask him to play for everyone. The very thought of it made him blush a deep crimson red. He couldn't do that.

Melilot's face appeared at one of the windows, looking sourly at him. He paused in his playing, then grinned as he remembered how much his music annoyed her. Selecting another tune, he began to play louder than ever.

[Lumiel]

For the first time, Lumiel felt a certain kinship with someone of her own kind. Uien seemed to know how to go about things properly, and Lumiel couldn't help but admire the woman for her courage in standing up for this Falowik man, even against her friends.

And here was something she could relate to more closely, she thought as she lazily watched a swallow swoop to the ground nearby as she followed Uien. Loving one who would seem quite "dubious and nefarious", to use Uien's own words, was something she knew of, and quite well at that.

She stopped for a moment as a lump rose in her throat unprepared for. She couldn't, no she wouldn't let anyone see her like this. Inhaling deeply, she set her mind at ease, though her heart still felt the pang of loss unlessened by time. She wiped one tear away before it could fall and whispered to herself, "I'll make you proud, Farin."

Looking up, she saw that Uien had stopped ahead and was looking back at her curiously, wondering why she had stopped. Lumiel sprung forward, catching up in a few lithe steps. "Are you alright, Lumiel?" asked Uien who had seen the tear before it was erased.

"I'm alright, thank you. I was just thinking about someone....I used to know. He was an honorable man, he taught me all I know. But, like Falowik, he was considered an untrustworthy man to say the least. Yet, I could not help but love him." She sighed, her eyes shading to a dark grey-blue in memory of another.

"He must have been a great man." said Uien soothingly. Lumiel nodded and smiled, putting on her normal bright facade once more. The two continued and Lumiel put her mind to the task at hand, and wondered what would come of all this.

[Derakis]

Derakis thanked the woman after she gave him his meal. Taking a small sip from the glass of milk, that small sip quickly became several swallows as he realized that the milk was, in fact, whole, cold, delicious, and not watered down in the least. Putting down his now half empty glass, he took a slice of the fluffy, warm bread. Its texture was perfect, and it had an absolutely wonderful taste.

As he ate, his eyes shifted to the fireplace and the Gondorian brooding as he stared into the flames. That image brought to Derakis' mind another, from years past. His brother, home from the battle at Osgiliath, where Lord Boromir, and Lord Faramir had led all the men that would follow them into battle against the Easterlings and the Haradrim.

From what little he could get out of his brother in the following years, Derakis learned that his brother had fled in the face of a Nazgûl, instead of following his Lords.

For years after, his brother was a lifeless shell of what he had been before. Constantly in his thoughts was the shame of abandoning his Lords, and the fear that the Black Rider had put in his heart. It was only recently that he was able to start to put these things behind him, but he still had a long way to go.

Derakis continued to eat in silence.

[Elfwine]

He paused, baffled, yet warmed by the hobbit's comment. "Much thanks." The bouncing of little Buttercup's curls brought a grin, oddly enough, to his face, and a distant look to his eyes. He sighed a wary sigh and shifted his heavy gaze upwards towards the ceiling, veiled in shadows. Slowly, long fingers crept out from their warm retreat inside his sleeves' cuffs to curl about the mug before him. He remained this way for quite some time until the popping and crackling of the fire behind him finally stole his attention. He shook his head as if to clear unwanted thoughts, and threw his eyes in a random direction.

This 'random direction' happened to be towards the counter that rose to the base of the kitchen window. From it approached a young woman, the one he'd nodded to earlier. Her golden tresses told him she was a woman of the Rohirrim; his age, or perhaps a bit younger. He offered her a smile that shined through grey eyes, and afterwards lifted his gaze and placed elsewhere, making a note not to stare too long.

[ October 01, 2003: Message edited by: Elfwine ]

[Jack]

Éofalas looked at the girl sitting next to him. She looked familier but then again...

"Yes, I am Éofalas. It is nice out, I like rain but I think it stopped." Éofalas realized he sounded vary lame just then so he changed the subject since he never was good with weather. "What is your name? You look familiar." Éofalas took a drink of his ale and nearly gagged. He had never really liked ale and ale was too strong for this time of day anyway.

[piosenniel]

Green Dragon Inn Facts:

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

King Elessar is on the throne.

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Derufin, a Man from Ethring in the Ringló Vale, is the stablemaster and general handyman/jack of all trades for the Inn. (Character written for by Envinyatar)

Vinca Bunce, Hobbit – ‘Cook’ – widowed runs the kitchen (Character written for by Piosenniel)

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff and Postmaster; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

Amaranthas Bolger – very old, crotchety Hobbit from Hobbiton, nicknamed ‘The Dragon’

Piosenniel – Elven, Innkeeper prior to Aman; married to Mithadan; has two children: a twin boy and girl; as yet unnamed infants.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It is mid-morning of a mid-Summer's day. The rain has stopped and the clouds are beginning to clear away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[piosenniel]

Buttercup had the curious knack of recalling bits and pieces of things she’d heard. And at odd moments a word, or phrase, or snatch of song would coincide in a seemingly incongruous way. This was one of those times.

‘Sunlight,’ she murmured to herself, as she and Ruby took their empty trays back to the kitchen to be refilled.

‘Well, yes,’ said Ruby, looking close at her friend. Buttercup stood still, her eyes unfocused, her ear cocked as if listening to something. ‘Yes,’ said Ruby again, nudging her to put her tray down on the counter. ‘Don’t be daft. It’s stopped raining, and there is sunlight.’ She peered out the small window by the kitchen’s back entrance. ‘Though if truth be told, there are clouds on the horizon, and it could be gone in a snap.’

Now it was Buttercup’s turn to look at her friend with a wondering expression. ‘I’m not talking about the weather, you ninny!’ She hummed a few notes of a pretty little melody. ‘Sunlight! Once I heard Mistress Piosenniel singing a little song as she rocked her babies. In Elvish it was . . . soothing. It rippled along in the air . . . like the merry sound of The Water where it riffles over the pebbles and rocks, where it enters Bywater Pool. She said it was a lullaby – her own mam had sung it to her to help her sleep, and now she sang it for her wee ones.’

‘Go on,’ said Ruby, wiping the crumbs from the trays as she listened to her friend.

‘It was about water, and the part she sang to me was how silver moonlight loved to dance on the little waves at night, and the golden sunlight did the same for the day.’ She looked toward the door that stood open to the Common Room. Aurë, that was the word for sunlight Mistress Piosenniel used.’

Buttercup called up the image of the man as he had turned toward them, the golden light falling over the features of his face. ‘He doesn’t look all that sunny, does he?’

‘Who?’ asked Ruby, her rag poised in mid swipe.

‘Why, that Mister Auryn out there . . . He’s all sort of clouded over and hidden, isn’t he? Take more than that pint he asked for to “rid him of his chill”, or so I’m thinking . . .’

‘Well, what I’m thinking . . .,’ came the low voice from behind them. The Hobbits froze at the familiar sound. As one, they whirled to face Cook, who had come up quietly behind them.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Buttercup, trying a small smile out on the older Hobbit. ‘We know. The guests are fed, now the dishes need doing.’

‘Then it’s break time,’ they continued in unison.

Cook arched her brows at this rote recital of her rule, then burst out laughing. ‘Come now! I’m not that predictable am I?’

A questioning look grew on her face as the eyes of the two Hobbits grew wide, and Buttercup gasped and clapped her hands.

Cook felt a gentle grip on her shoulder and soft words spoken with a chuckle near her ear. ‘You are just that predictable, Cook. It is one of the reasons I am so fond of you.’

A wide grin split Cook’s face, and crinkled up the corners of her eyes. She turned, her arms going tight about the waist of the woman who stood there. ‘Mistress Piosenniel! We weren’t expecting you for a few days, and now here you are come sneaking up on a poor old Hobbit, and scaring her half to death.’ Cook hugged her tight again. Ruby and Buttercup came forward adding their noisome greetings and hugs.

‘Hey!’ came the voice from the kitchen’s back door. ‘What about a greeting for the poor lout who’s had to pack these fussy little whelps under his cloak from Waymeet to Bywater so they wouldn’t get wet!’

‘Mr. Mithadan!’ went up the cry, as the three bustled over to relieve him of the babies. Another lively exchange of greetings and embraces ensued, and a brief argument over who was to hold the twins first.

Buttercup lost out on the first round and stood, hands on hips, a pout on her face, as the other two cooed and fussed over the little ones. She fixed Pio with a stern look and tapped her foot impatiently on the ground. ‘I told you before we needed one more to go round!’

Mithadan laughed and nodded at Pio to take that complaint. Pio knelt down and put her arm round the stiff little Hobbit. Drawing her near, she whispered in her ear. At her words, the storm clouds in the Hobbit’s face fled, replaced by a gasp of wide-eyed surprise and a loud whoop of laughter.

‘Quiet,’ mouthed Cook, the little girl stirring in her arms. ‘Shhh,’ hissed Ruby, quieting down the boy with a rocking motion as he startled awake.

‘Sorry!’ said Buttercup in a quieter voice. At a nod from Pio she spoke again.

‘Next year, when they come back for a visit,’ she paused and looked meaningfully at the Elf, ‘next year, there’ll be a baby for me to hold!’

She clapped her hands quietly, grinning all the while at the surprise registering on the faces of Cook and Ruby . . .

[Elfwine]

He raised the tin mug to his lips and sipped at the sweet ale, exhaling satisfyingly after he swallowed a drink's worth. The gentle drum beat that had sounded against the battlements had come to a halt, and he found himself staring out of the small, rectangular windows near the Inn's entrance. The rain had ceased, and needles of sunlight pierced through the murky glass and splashed the tavern walls with gold.

Coincedentally, a burst of merriment errupted near to where the halflings had retreated. What he heard first, and eventually saw, was a she-elf and her apparent husband. The two were greeted by wide grins and open arms; those of Ruby and Buttercup and the Cook. He smiled meekly at their happiness, then took a long drink of his pint. Eyes allowed a glance at the Rohirrim woman, then rested on the contents of his mug.

[Dûrlossiel]

Jerin walked through the inn yard, looking around with his good eye. This looks like a good place to spend a few days, he thought. He decided to stay outside for a little while to enjoy the sunshine and practice his quarterstaff.

Now that I've worked up an appitite, I can go inside and eat. Maybe even meet some people. Once he was inside, he looked around for an empty table or stool. He saw a few hobbits surrounding an elf with two infants and decided not to bother them. He turned to an empty table and sat there wondering if he should call for a server.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen sat by the fire close enough to dry off, but not to close, that was her way. She sat next to a hooded Gondorian man, but not so close as to get him wet, her dark auburn hair dripping with dew.

Motionless she sat looking into the flames, her face like marble, eyes of cold grey always holding within them some memory, the light of the flames flickering in her eyes. It gave her a haunted look of something dark and shadowed, yet beautiful she remained despite what she held within her.

The thought of the mission ahead of her she pondered still, supplies were needed, food and candles; herbs in need of replenishing for her creams and balms. An excited noise came up from the kitchen must be Mistress Piosenniel that I've heard about; with her two young ones and her husband. And when lunch came about Cook had asked her to make it for the Inn, apparently her soup the other day had been a hit.

The Inn became lighter with the passing of the clouds, and soon she would head out to seek for herbs; though she was more than certain Uien had already replenished her supply with the help of Falowik.

And when would he return, surely it would be soon, the horse seemed fast enough to carry him swiftly and safely, never mind the fact that not much danger ever lived in the Shire.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Another? Well, well, you have been busy since we last saw you, Pio," Aman's cheeky comment and familiar, droll voice made Pio turn, a smile upon her face. Aman's small smiled immediately lit up into a huge grin which she couldn't resist as she stepped forward from the doorway, arms out, embracing her friend tightly. Then, as the news actually sunk in, she shyed back slightly, an apology on her lips and a hand towards Pio's stomach. "Oh, goodness Pio, I'm sorr-"

"Don't be, don't be!" Pio laughed, shaking her head, then hugged Aman again. "Its brilliant to see you again."

"And you. You look...radiant." The word seemed to fit the elf perfectly - she seemed to practically be glowing from head to toe. Aman inclined a head to Mithadan, holding out a hand. "You have taken good care of her, Mithadan."

The man smiled, shaking Aman's hand firmly wuth both of his. He too looked well, if a little tired, but his eyes twinkled with the same happiness which practically radiated from Pio. He winked. "I do my best, Aman."

"And what about you - have you been taking care of my Inn, hmmm?" Pio took on a mock severe voice, hands, now free of babies which Ruby and Buttercup were cooing at and cradling, on hips. Aman grinned, then became seemingly more serious, ticking off points on her fingers as she spoke.

"It has been pretty uneventful, you know. I mean, there was of course that incident with the stag night which was a little too rowdy, but the ale stains came off eventually." A shadow of doubt flickered across Pio's face, and Aman continued, her face still straight. "Then there was the horse thief, but they only made of with five or six purebreeds. And the debt, but I'm sure it can be redeemed, we'll surely be able to pay off 6,000 gold pieces to Butterbur eventually..."

"And the fire - don't worry, we put it out eventually -" Ruby interjected, catching onto the charade.

"Fire? What-" Pio exclaimed, panicking, but Buttercup interrupted.

"Not to mention the duelling match between the two hobbits -" Buttercup was almost giggling, and Pio's face was becoming more and more concerned.

"And the robbery-"
"The dancing oliphaunts-"
"The flying pigs!" Both hobbit waitresses and the Innkeeper couldn't help the fits of laughter finally getting the better of them at the expression on Pio's face, rising steadily to panic, more panic, downright horror...then realisation. She raised an eyebrow, grinning with them, while Mithadan behind them was also doing his best to keep a straight face.

"I take it that means all was well?"

Aman smiled, nodding slowly. "Aye, nothing too devastating, I'm sure...come, have a drink, I'm sure there will be plenty who would be delighted to wish you back."

As the lady of Rohan guided Pio and Mithadan into the common room, accompanied by Ruby and Buttercup and their eager torrent of news, she brushed a swathe of her blonde-streaked hair back behind her ears, and her eyes once again met those light grey, solemn ones near the fire. Auryn looked away almost immediately, but Aman couldn't help watching him for a few more moments. His fingers seemed to be unfurling with his curiosity, and she noted, for some absurd reason, their length and slimness. Clever fingers...forcing herself not to stare, she turned back to her old friend and her little family, chattering away with them all.

"Ah Beren. I don't believe you've met Pio, have you?"

Aman may not have noticed that the grey gaze of the Gondorian returned inquisitively to her, but another observed it...

[elf-girl-63]

The man had turned away to speak to Ruby and Buttercup so Nuinyulma had left to buy some supplies for her journey. She wandered round the stalls once more buying food, herbs, rope and the like. She had no need for clothes- not that the hobbits clothes fitted her anyway. As she finished buying some candles and tanked the stall owner, she heard some shouting and laughing in the corner. There was a youngish elf maiden, a man and two babies standing and tlaking to Cook, Aman, Ruby and Buttercup. She smiled to herself and decided it must be Pio, that everyone spoke so reverantly and just by glancing over Nuinyulma could see why. She seemed to light up the room, as if she had brought the sunlight inside. The man who appeared to be her husband also carried the same glow although he appeared quite weary.

She took her purchases and quickly climbed the stairs. There she lay down on her bed and thought aobut the coming trip-again! She was so excited, and yet nervous. What if she wasn't good enough? What is she messed everything up? What if they didn't save the man? What if..? She banished the images from her head and set about preparing properly.

She packed most of her light clothes into a small bag and also her new purchases. She made her bed and tidied the room until it could almost be likened to the Last Homely House; Ruby and the like were going to bust with the arrival of their old friend and she wnated to help in a sort of thanks for their kindness over her short stay.

The elf finished her work, left her room and sat on the stairs just thinking. She wondered about Doran, she hadn't seen him for a long time and didn't know if he would be joining the search pary. SHe also was eager to meet Falowik, Uien spoke of him so highly. Also, to journey with other elves once more would be good for her.

She suddenly heard noise downstairs and was reminded of Pio's arrival- maybe there would be a party (though whether she would be invited was a different matter); however, she didn't want to say anything- all the staff looked rushed off their feet. Especially, with so many people arriving that morning.

Instead, she stayed at the top of the stairs, humming tunes and day dreaming aobut life to come.

[Kates Frodo Temp]

Aietmen hesitated at the door of the Inn, wondering if it was really such a good idea to be seen here. If the innkeeper truly did think he was a thief, she might not be too keen on having him stay in her inn. Still, he needed a room, and by now she would have forgotten all about the incident in the stable. I hope so.

In any case, he had smiled his way through much tougher situations. The innkeeper...what was her name? Am...Aman? Aman didn't seem like the sort of person to turn a poor orphan hobbit away. Aietman began to whistle snatches of a tune he had composed on the road as he pushed open the door. Things were working out just fine!

[piosenniel]

Zimzirân

‘Tell me, Gilly, what are the folk here like. I’ve had sketches from Pio, in words and drawings, about those who stood out in her mind. And I’ve seen the countryside as we rode in. But what of the flavor and texture of this place, what can you tell me of that?’

It was an odd pairing, the small brown haired hobbit, pacing alongside the tall woman; her short, quick paced steps keeping up but just with the long stride of the other. Gilly pointed toward the open door to the stable, as they led the horses in, and left the wagon, parked closed under the eaves, to the care of the stableman when he returned.

‘He’ll be surprised to see ‘Falmar back in her stall, I think,’ said Gilly, latching the stall door behind her. ‘Though I can’t think how he allowed her to run off like she did. Lucky she found us.’

‘Lucky,’ thought the woman, ‘or simply the pull of the Elf on the creatures about her.’ She smiled, shaking the image of her friend at the center of an enlarging spiral. Sitting down on a stool by the stall door, she asked her question once again.

‘Well,now, isn't it funny you should use the words "flavor and texture" when you asked what folks here are like . . .’ and with that Gilleflower Took began the weaving of her picture of the Shire, as a whole, and Hobbiton-Bywater in greater detail. The woman’s eyes grew wide as the words flowed on, and after a goodly number of minutes, and in the midst of some very important bit of genealogy, she put her hand on Gilly’s arm and gave a low laugh. ‘What a treasure trove of information you are! But I’m afraid that is too much for me to take in all at once.’ She cocked her head a little to the side, and chewed her lip, her grey eyes flicking to meet Gilly’s brown ones. ‘Simplify it a little for me. Will we like each other, do you think?’

Gilly gave chuckle and shook her head at the woman. ‘Well, I’m from here, that is, from Waymeet. And you’ve met my family. Pretty typical folk, I should think. You’ve gotten along famously with us. You’ll do fine with those you meet here.’

‘We should be going, I think. The twins will be needing me. Mistress Piosenniel and her Mister will be wanting to catch up on the news and speak with friends. I should see to the wee ones.’ The young Hobbit was Pio and Mithadan’s nursemaid, and she took her job very seriously. ‘Are you coming, too,’ she asked, as she turned to head toward the Inn.

‘In a while,’ came the woman’s voice. ‘It’s been a long day’s ride for ‘Falmar. And I see no one to care for her. Let me see to her needs, then I will come in.’

‘Don’t be long,’ came the fading voice of the Hobbit as she ran toward the kitchen’s back door.

~*~*~*~

‘Now that I’m here, I’m wondering if this was a mistake.’ Falmar whickered softly at her, as if encouraging her to go on.

Zimzirân’s long fingers ran lightly through her long black hair, picking the tangles from it, and pushing it back from her face. She had lived all her twenty-seven years near the haven of Forlond, in Forlindon. A small community named Strand - an unimaginative, but descriptive name from the slender shingle of beach that marked where the land faded into the waters of The Sea.

Her family had been small, just her parents, her two older brothers, and herself. Her father was a fisherman, and his son’s had followed his calling for the sea. Her mother was a fisherman’s wife, and a jolly woman who kept her family entertained on cold winter nights with stories passed down through her family from ‘the old days’.

The old days, when Westernesse still hung like a bright jeweled brooch on the bosom of the sea’s dark waters . . . the old days when the King still climbed in silence the spiral road to the peak of the mountain in Mittalmar . . . the old days when the Faithful, driven by winds from the west, were at last delivered in their ships to Lindon . . .

Sometimes, near sunset, as she stood on the edge of the strand, the froth from the waves spilling over her bared feet, Zimzi thought she could see the sun’s last rays gleam for a brief second off the tip of Meneltarma, and at other times she saw in the distance the great ships that bore the Elf-friends and the Palantiri to their refuge in Middle-earth. A blink of an eye, though, and they all were gone.

Sea dreams . . .

She wondered if in truth those old places had ever existed save in her dreams and the dreams of her family.

It was Pio who had confirmed the tales for her. The Elf with her laughter ringing out over the sands one evening not long after they had met. ‘Of course they are true,’ Pio had cried to her wide eyed friend. She remembered the Elf had waded out into the water, letting the waves rush against her bared legs. ‘I have seen the view from Meneltarma,’ she had said. ‘And these feet here,’ she laughed again, wiggling her toes in the water-shifted sand, ‘have walked on the lands now hidden here.’ Zimzi had plied her with many questions, and the Elf had answered all that she could. ‘How wonderful!’ the woman had thought to herself, ‘to have seen so many places.’

And now here she was, having followed her friend to the Shire – the farthest she had ever been from home. ‘You can always go back,’ Pio had told her, the day she asked if Zimzi would like to travel with them for a little while. ‘But when you do, think of the wonderful stories you will have to tell.’

Zimzi finished brushing Falmar’s coat. She threw a blanket over the horse’s back and gave her a measure of oats. Her hands went to the simple, dark grey woolen dress she wore, and she smoothed out the wrinkles left from the long ride. Her dark blue cloak was dry now, where she had hung it on the hook just outside the stall. She took it down, shaking out the creases and the odd bit of hay stuck to it. Drawing it about her shoulders, she fastened it carefully with the shell clasp.

Quick steps brought her to the front entrance to the Inn. She paused, taking a breath, then squared her shoulders, and entered . . .

[ October 04, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman's attention was caught suddenly by a flash of something outside the window. A small face it looked like, she could have sworn it...but it had only been there for a second, then had vanished. Maybe it was just the stress getting to me, the Innkeeper was telling herself when - no, there it is again! Definitely a face!

The Innkeeper politely excused herself, leaving Pio still rather overwhelmed by the group around her, then marched briskly across the room, where she peered into the sky outside, as if simply looking for any rainclouds. And sure enough, a muffled yelp of surprise and a quiet scuffling told her the face had indeed belonged to someone. Looking down sharply, she missed the person's face, but by the size and build, it was a hobbit child. And what a state he was in...

The brief glimpse was snatched of the boy before he turned a corner around the side of the Inn. The Innkeeper smiled to herself; she could head him off at the kitchen door. Grinning, she half ran, in a dignified fashion, of course, towards the kitchen, pushed the door open quickly to cross the warm, cosy room, where Cook's baffled gaze followed her, to the door outside, where she paused, ear against the door.

Cook was looking at her like she was mad. "Aman, my dear, may I ask-"

Frantic flapping movements halted to old hobbit, and she stopped, surprised and curious despite herself as to why Aman was being so quiet, stealthy, and crazy looking. But the Innkeeper had a fair idea of who this intruder was...keeping her ear against the door, she was soon rewarded by the sound of scared, shallow breathing and scuffling footsteps. Closer, closer...Aman flung open to door suddenly, one hand shooting out to grab the creeping figure by the scruff of the neck.

"Ah ha!" She cried, then all of a sudden felt very foolish. But in her grasp, sure enough, wriggled exactly who she had thought would be there - the small 'horse-thief' who had been with Rosie Brandybuck, the little ill hobbit, several weeks ago. he squirmed and shook wildly to escape, but when Aman simply put him down, he seemed to stop purely out of surprise, before he backed up against the wall as hard as he could and excuses gushed out of his mouth, his eyes wide and scared.

"I wasn't doing anything, mistress, not to say you might think I was, and not that I have a guilty con-shi-unce, or anything, but I needed somewhere to stop, and I'm not a thief, or a kidnapper, or-"

Aman pinched the bridge of her nose. Why did young hobbits have such a capacity for speech? She now directed her flapping hand movements to the boy, but more slowly, and accompanied by 'shhh'-ing noises, as if calming a scared colt. The poor boy looked half starved now she looked at him closely, and his ragged garments couldn't cover the scraped knees and bony elbows. Whats more, he was soaked through - obviously the poor little mite had been caught in the rain.

She took a long look at him, then beckoned him inside through another door, so Cook and the rest wouldn't see him in such a state. "You'd best come in..."

"Aietman." The name came out in a sigh of relief. "My name's Aietman."

[Derakis]

Derakis finishes the last slice of bread and gulps down the last swallow of the fine milk. Setting the glass down he sits back for a moment, quite content.

His attention shifts once again to the Gondorian at the fireplace. Deciding he would like to see someone from his homeland, he stands and walks over to the fireplace.

When he reaches the stranger, he speaks in a soft, low voice. "Excuse me. Am I right in presuming that you are from Gondor? I am Derakis, son of Titus, and I would enjoy sharing the company of another man from my homeland."

[Enif]

"Oh yes... how silly of me... my name is Enif." She said shyly. "I believe I've seen you on my way to the stable. Althought I do think I have seen you before. Where do you come from? Perhaps I have seen you elsewhere." She asked smiling as she noticed the sun coming thru the windows, the rain had stopped.

Enif looked at the ring in Éofalas hand, it seemed something about that ring made him grief. She hesited whether to ask him or not about the ring. And though her curiosity was to great to be contained she kept quiet.

[ October 02, 2003: Message edited by: Enif ]

[Beren87]

"Met her?" The words came out before Beren could hold them back, the taste of cynicism rolling off his lips. After all, it wasn't Aman's fault he hadn't introduced himself, but then again, not being able to fit his name in the pauses of her sentences wasn't exactly helping.

"Well, hello, I suppose it is, M'dear." he spoke in the most eloquent tone he could manage. After all, the elven folk always seemed so proper to him. "Lovely Inn, this one," his hands moved to encompass the Inn. For some reason, he had always moved his hands while talking. "I, for one, am glad you left it to Miss Aman, here. The fair light of this land, she is, if I may so." He risked a wink in her direction at these last words. She had moved off a bit, just as he finally started speaking.

Just then, something caught his eye. What on earth was with that staring man? Something about those eyes caught him, some meaning they conveyed. Then again, perhaps it was what they were staring at...

His mind jumped back to the conversation at hand, leaving the matter of the overly-inquisitive stranger for the time being. "Your Inn seems to attract such odd people, m'lady, part of the reason I love it here. I've even decided to stay on as the gardener. It's so lovely around here, if you get my meaning. The land, the buildings, the...people." Here his glance shifted slightly again. It certainly was difficult to keep his mind off of her.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Lis

The young woman stood on tiptoe and craned her neck forward peering in with solemn brown eyes through the half-parted curtains. Her curls lay matted against her forehead, soft wisps of brown still wet from the downpour and from the raindrops that came shaking off the overhanging boughs whenever the wind whistled through the grove of trees near where she was staying.

She was hesitant to go inside. Her hands were dirty, her clothes stained with mud. There were cuts and abrasions on her fingers from hard manual labor. Her fist was still clenched about the shaft of her axe, her arms tough and muscular. She looked down critically at herself. Her tunic was frayed at the edges; her breeches made her seem more like a boy than a girl. But then others had made that mistake before.

Indeed, she looked nothing like the other women, those inside the Inn who were going about their business, laughing and drinking and eating; doing chores in the kitchen or waiting on tables. She could see the lasses in their soft, sweet skirts and the warrior maids with swords girded at their sides. To be truthful, she did not look like either of these. She was altogether a peculiar sort, very aware of her oddity, and full of doubt as to whether she would fit in very well.

She strained her ears to hear if any spoke the name “Baggins”, but none of the Little Folk seemed to go by that name. Maybe she had been wrong to come here.

I’m not supposed to be here. None of us are, she reminded herself. Remorselessly, the words raced through her mind. She was always going places where she wasn’t supposed to be. Through the glazed pane, she caught a glimpse of a solemn maid with tangled black hair streaming down her back, her fingers long and graceful. Nothing like mine, she thought. But then, they wouldn’t be terribly useful for the type of work I do.

There was a great fuss going on inside centering on a family of four: two small babes, a man and his wife. She narrowed her eyes and looked more closely at the lanky figure of the wife. Then she stepped closer and stared, pressing her nose hard against the window pane. She was both startled and fascinated by what she saw. An Elf! Whatever is an Elf doing in the Shire? I could understand Men slipping in from Bree, but father never spoke of any Elves here! If truth be told, she might have seen more than one Elf sitting and drinking in the Dragon on this or any other day. But her eyes were fixed on this particular Elf, and she was puzzled.

That settles it for sure. If there is one Elf inside, there may be more than one, I’m certainly not going to take a chance. The warmth and music tugged at her heart and the smell of good hot food, but she was not in any mood to meet an Elf, at least not today when she was dressed like this. For an instant there was a lull in the conversation as someone in the Dragon hurried over to push open the sash and let in the sweet smells of the Shire after the rainfall.

The woman on the steps jumped back but not quite in time. A pair of grey eyes turned quizically towards her. Totally alarmed, and sorry that she had ever stopped to take a peek, she clambered down the steps and began running along the path towards the back of the Inn. Only when she was half-way to the pond did she realize that she had left her precious axe sitting on the front window ledge of the Dragon. It lay there undisturbed for some time. The copper and gold glinted in the morning sun with its inscription carved in elaborate runes: To sweet Lis. From your father Balin

[ October 05, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Jack]

"Well met Enif," Éofalas said. "I am from Rohan but I don't think I have seen you there... yes the stable that’s why you looked so familiar…”

Éofalas smiled, Enif seamed to be hesitant to ask a question but it was there anyway. He tried to tell what she was looking at and found himself staring at his ring. "She notices much..." Éofalas murmured to himself.

“You see my ring, I see…” Éofalas said cautiously. “It was my mothers…” Éofalas looked away. Would Enif want to be bother with his problems?

The rain had stopped and clouds were beginning to part. Despite her dank and weary mood, Nedieth had to smile. A short while ago, the hobbits Ruby and Buttercup had brought over a cup of hot cider and a honey bun. They had talked with her for a little while making her feel more welcome. Still, she was tired and lonely, and wet.

She sipped the cider, relishing the warm feeling it made inside her. It was not cold out, being midsummer, but being wet can be cold. She was anxious to go to a room to dry off and rest. With all the people there, though, it would be a wonder if she got a room. Elves, men and hobbits talked and laughed with one another.

“ Amazing,” she thought. “ That all these races should talk together without recognizing their differences. It warms my heart. It will never be like this in Mirkwood.”

Nedieth had originally lived in Mirkwood, but for the past 1000 years, she’d lived in Rivendell, occasionally going to Loth Lorien for a few years. She went to Lorien to visit with Arwen, who was a close friend of hers. She had met her when she first came to Rivendell as an elfling, after her mother had died.

Her father hadn’t been able to care for her, because he was always away from Mirkwood, being the commander of its army. Her aunt had taken her into her care and then decided to move to Rivendell, where they would be safe from the war that had threatened Mirkwood. Fortunately, no war actually happened, but her aunt decided to stay in Rivendell.

She was on her way now to see her father, who was waiting to sail to the undying lands. She was both nervous and excited. She hadn’t seen her father in quite a while and she had never been to the Grey Havens before. She was kind of wishing now that she hadn’t left Rivendell, though. She had traveled through rain, thunder, and lightening and harsh winds.

Time seemed to be moving slower to Nedieth. She was exhausted beyond belief and starting too feel faint, which rarely ever happened to elves. Looking up, she saw Aman coming towards her and sighed in relief.

“ There is a room free now. Follow me,” Aman said.

[Elfwine]

The merriment and happiness of the moment dispersed, as did the people it touched, including the Rohirrim. She had disappeared behind the counter, and the others had gone about their business. He tightened in his chair as Esgallhugwen found a seat beside, and the fingers of his right hand, which had been sprawled across the low set table before him, curled fist-ward. His left hand raised the mug once more to his lips, and he took a savouring sip.

The fire behind had transferred as much of its energy to Auryn as was comfortable, and the young man shifted position restlessly. Letting out a sigh of discontent, he loosened the ties of heavy cloak and pulled it back to reveal the old burgundy tunic he wore over a worn and wrinkled cream-shaded shirt. Shaking the waves of deep brown hair from his eyes, he slid his fingers from the mug and crossed his arms in a new, laid back stance.

[Alatariel Telemnar]

Amarië did not know what to say. How could she just drop and say what the truth was. 'The letter may have been addressed to you too, but it was given to me, for you had already been lost, far away, although the letter should have explained most of it. Did you not read the whole thing? There were at least two pages?'

The letter would have explained it all, and Amarië did not understand how she could not have understood it. Then she remembered, that was not all of it. Although it was very long there was another letter. The maiden looked confuzed. Amarië took out another envelope from her pouch. 'Here read this.'

She handed her the letter and then walked to her room. It may still be early, but she felt weary and wanted to rest.

[Elora]

Lumiel and Uien were fortunate indeed to catch the horse trader before he left the inn for the nearby establishment of the Merry Bowman at Stonebow. He was in the process of packing his papers up neatly when the pair approached him. He cast an assessing gaze over them and smiled in manner he chose for all prospective customers. With his geasture to take a seat, the pair did so and returned the trader's smile.

His papers were spread before him, and he launched into a spiel about horses fit for Elven maidens. Never mind that there was a handsome price attached. He flashed the relevant certificates of ownership, each bearing one or more stamps of authenticity. It was a dizzying display and if you did not keep your head, you'd find yourself in possession of a team of the finest of horses aside from the Mearas ready to lead a carriage you didn't have.

Uien held up a hand when the trader took a breath and interjected, "They are fine, good sir, but for my part I am interested in a sturdy horse able to bear me many miles through the wilds."

Lumiel nodded, adding, "I also wish such a mount." The trader rubbed his chin as he peered at them.

"What business could take Elf maids into the Wilds. Fierce places are those... even Rangers tread lightly." He combed the crowd, looking for a Elven accompaniment, complete with sword and keen gaze. Sometimes they sent their women in, only to swoop when the trader was softened up by Elvish beauty and smooth voices. At least, so this horse trader thought.

"The business of the Master of Buckland," Uien replied simply. That got the trader's attention. So did her action of placing a stack of silver coins on the table. Lumiel followed suit. He blinked at the coins and hurridely sifted through his records to extract two papers which he set before them.

"Well now, here are two fine horses. One a gelding and the other a mare. The gelding is 4 years old, the mare is 5. Sturdy creatures, not simply carriage and show flowers. They're not sprinters. You'll not win a derby with them.

"But they're strong and they have a doughty constitution. They'll be going long after your pretty ones have gone to lather and foam. Serviceable horses, these. Both well trained and only occassional bite."

Uien laughed lightly to herself at that.

"I do not think it is the bite of a bad tempered horse that worries us most, sir. What price is on them?"

And that was when it got truly interesting. The haggling was energetic and intense. After ten minutes, they had a deal pending inspection of the horses.

"Done," said the trader with a grimace that was not entirely for show. "You drive a hard bargain, m'ladies." Whether or not they had an escort, he did have a soft spot for Elvish maidens. "They're yours for 10 silver a piece."

"We will wish to see them first, sir," Lumiel said. The trader nodded earnestly.

"Yes, yes, as I said. I'm a reputable trader, as good as my word. I'll bring them round for you mid afternoon."

"Until then, sir,' Uien replied, bowing her head in gratitude as did Lumiel. They watched the trader gather his papers and rise, hurrying out with a head filled with calculations on the profit. Twenty silver in, 14 to purchase them from the last owners, 2 to stable and feed them.... that made... only 4 silver in profit. The peace was terrible for business, that much was sure.

Uien turned to Lumiel with a faint smile. "That went well, I think." Lumiel nodded, returning the smile. "What else is to be done that I can assist with, Uien?" Uien dropped her pile of coins into her pouch.

"There is little else, aside from gathering more perhaps. The rest awaits us upon our road."

Uien gazed out the window, thinking at that moment of a man who was already on that road and how she wished the distance and time to fade so that she was with him. Through her wistful longings, Uien noticed the sun was out fully now and the stable was filled with horses.

"For now, though, I had best see to my dutied before Derufin sees fit to relieve me of them." Uien rose with a smile and set to her task of moving the horses to the day pasture before they ate the supply of hay and feed in the stables.

[Lumiel]

After a seemingly intense haggling session for a horse to buy with Uien, Lumiel had little left to do. She had always carried all that she needed with her, and she had bought extra supplies earlier. So she decided to rest with company at the Inn until the man brought the horses out for her and Uien's inspection. She sat by the fire, a smile as warm as the hearth by which she sat and just as bright. Its light flecked off her hair in glints of gold among the earthen brown locks. Her eyes seemed to dance among all the faces joyful around her.

She ordered an ale and sipped at it, making small talk with a few of the folk. Never would she have thought herself to be socializing among such a group of peoples. Often she saw a loving, proud smile in her mind of Farin, her mentor and father.

She lowered her gaze for a moment, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she rubbed her finger around the top of her glass. Farin was a Ranger, but had been banished long ago, by Arathorn, Aragorn's father. She herself was a full-blooded elf, with noble parents.

Her family lived alone in a small yet beautiful sylvan home. For her early years, her parents were all that she knew. But they decided when she was still a child that they would leave for the Grey Havens. They arranged a meeting place with an elf from Rivendell, and set out on their forsaken journey.

They were only a few days away from their designated meeting place when they were ambushed by a small orc-host that stumbled upon them. Seeing three elves alone, they could not resist a battle. Her mother ran with her while her father tried to hold them back. As great a fighter as he was, his efforts were in vain and he died a hero among the foul orc cries. Her mother did not get very far before she was surrounded and herself killed brutally by Lumiel's side.

In an instant, her entire world had been shattered into a million unforgivable pieces. She was ashamed of her actions then, though she knew in her heart that she had been but a child, lonely and scared. She begged the orcs for mercy, and cried until there were no tears left and no voice left to mourn with. The orcs decided not to kill her, but to take her as their captive for their own amusement. For several months, she endured the company of the orcs. Her memories of her parents, her heritage, even her language, disappeared into a blur of a too distant past.

They were passing through what for them was unknowingly Farin's "prison" with a small group of about 15 orcs broken off from the main group. Farin had seen the orcs from a distance, and noticed young Lumiel among them, though it was difficult to separate her own dirty face from the rest. Farin came up with a plan, that by saving Lumiel, he could get back into the world.

So, in the dead of night, he snuck into their camp, killing the sentry silently. He crept to Lumiel and snatched her up, waking her up immediately. In the dark, he appeared to her as some evil shadow demon and she screamed in fear, waking the orcs up. Farin fought that night as few have, and slew every single orc before he took Lumiel away, leaving them to drown in their own filthy blood.

Farin took Lumiel to his home, which was more of a simple shelter, and healed her. He decided to raise her for his own revenge, regardless of its effects on her. Lumiel relearned of her heritage and her language, though she never recovered her memories of her parents entirely. She grew to love Farin as a father, though he forbade her to call him such. Farin, though he had originally intended to use her, came to love her as a daughter and taught her all he knew as a Ranger, hoping to give her a chance in the world.

Lumiel never left Farin's side, but the fate of mortals is not something which can be controlled, not even for love. Farin, though he had Numenorian blood in him, eventually grew old and grey, while Lumiel appeared only to have aged a few years closer to adulthood. In his final hours, he confessed to Lumiel his crime for which he had been banished, and why he had saved her. She knew that Farin did love her, despite his first intentions.

Farin gave Lumiel his sword, and entrusted her with the promise to both redeem his name to the leader of the Rangers, whoever it was at the time, and to find her own people and seek her own destiny. After far too lonley funeral, in which she had to bury the body, she set off to forfill her promise, with little notion of how to do it.

That had been only a few months ago, and now she found herself at the Green Dragon Inn, among men, hobbits, and even elves like herself. Still she felt that fear of people, and yet still she felt the loss of Farin. But she would persevere and forfill her promise, for she owed both Farina and herself that much.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman noticed a woman sitting waiting at the table hopefully, evidently wanting to speak to someone - order a room no doubt. The Innkeeper searched quickly for Ruby in the crowded common room...only to notice the waitress was still with Pio. Botherbotherbother. She dithered for a moment, caught between the little hobbit boy whose arm she was still holding firmly and a customer, then sighed. Turning to Aietmen, she let go of his arm.

"Stay here, please. And whatever you do, don't let Cook see you!" Aman couldn't imagine what would happen if Cook found an individual of such scruffy appearance lurking in the Inn. The little hobbit boy nodded timidly and Aman smiled at him, then straightened her hair and walked across the room towards the Nedieth. Just before she reached the elf, she shot a look back...and noticed the boy seemed to have gone!

Struggling not to panic at the prospect of having a possible thief running around in the sort of attire that would have Vince Bunce up in arms, Aman turned quickly back to Nedieth, smiling outwardly. "Good day, madam," She said politely. "You are looking for a room?"

The elf, of Mirkwood Aman guessed, looked surprised at Aman's having guessed, then nodded, smiling wearily. Aman returned this. "Excellent - there's one ready. Follow me please."

Walking briskly across the room followed by Nedieth, the Innkeeper came to the far end of the bar and pulled the heavy logbook from underneath, flipping it with practised ease to the next entry space and, fishing a pen from in one of her skirts pockets, she handed it to the elf. "Ok, sign herei...uh huh...and here...thankyou. Excellent. Go up the stairs, turn right, and your room is the third on the left down the corridor." She handed a key to the elf, who smiled again gratefully. "Lovely view of the Shire borders," she added more softly. This elf looked so sad and lonely...

Nedieth. The name was written in a well practised and flowing hand. Aman didn't know what the name meant, but she wished she could bring laughter to this melancholy elf, and hoped she would come down later to have a drink with the rest of the customers. For now, she would ask Buttercup to go up later and provide the woman with some dryer clothes temporarily as she seemed wet through.

As Nedieth drifted off upstairs, Aman made her way quikly back to the spot where she had left Aietmen, under the stairs. The boy wasn't there, she was sure of it. "Aietmen!" She hissed desperately. "Aietmen, where are you?!"

"Yes, Aman?" The boy's timid voice startled Aman, and she jumped around to see the hobbit lad fairly melt out of the shadows. She grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Hmm, nice trick..." she murmured, then jerked a head the way she was going, signalling him to follow her to her quarters.

They slipped in secretely, and Aman went straight to the trunk where she kept most of her bits and pieces. Since the mathom sale, it had become half full of odds and ends which hadn't been sold and which Aman had kept out of curiosity's sake. A carved bird, a two spouted teapot, some sort of strange, battered top hat, to name a few...and a little outfit, a shirt, waistcoat, and breeches, the right size for a small hobbit child. She had kept it simpyl because she was sure no one in Rohan would ever believe her about how small the hobbits truly were if she went back, and also because she wished that, if she left the Shire, she would never forget exactly what these little people looked like. Turning, she held the fine clothes up to Aietmen with a flourish. "Ta da!"

His eyes widened. "For...for me?"

Aman rolled her eyes. "No, I intend to wear them. Yes, for you, silly! Go on, go and get dressed in the room next door, its unlocked, then I'll get something to eat for you from Cook."

Aietmen smiled, bashfully and gratefully and, muttering some startled thanks, he slipped out into the corridor, clutching the clothes as if they were the finest gold. Aman raised an eyebrow after him, then smiled. It would be a pleasure to help him - she had often taken in ferral cats and stray dogs which had been abandoned or had run away in Rohan, feeding them and looking after them for a few weeks. Aietmen, sadly, was just a stray of another type.

Turning back to the sturdy wooden chest, she took out the fine, soft, dove-grey dress which she had rescued from the attic in a time that seemed so long ago. It was actually only a few weeks, but it had been when Uien had first joined them. She remembered the girl's awe at the little hobbits, her surprise at the collection of mathoms, her delight in fine things, like the feath boa and Aman's dress. It had been Aman's intention to give the dress to the lost, lonely elf maid who was trying to fit in and seemed so different and frightened.

Now Uien was quite different, of course, confident and competent, with hardly a trace of the scared little mouse she had been. But, if her 'friendship' wit Falowik continued to grow, Aman might just be presented with a perfect oppurtunity to give Uien the dress for an excellent reason...

If nothing went wrong on their quest for Eodwine...

[piosenniel]

Pio suppressed the urge to laugh when Beren summoned forth his courtly eloquence and spoke to her. ‘Shall I extend my hand to let him kiss it, or just wait for him to bow to me,’ she thought to herself, as he talked on. Her eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Obviously Aman has not spoken much of me to him, as yet. Proper! What a concept to think of paired with me!’

Mithadan watched the interchange between Beren and Pio with amusement. Coming to her side he grasped her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. He’s doing his best. Don’t put him off already with an outspoken comment! Mithadan’s quick thoughts brushed against hers.

You are right, of course. She chuckled as she observed the tenor of the other thoughts and gestures that flew in the room. And besides, there is something going on here that I need to ferret out.

Mithadan stepped forward and greeted Beren, leaving Pio to corner Buttercup and Ruby, who were always reliable sources of information . . .

[ October 04, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Imladris]

Lira saw with joy that the clouds parted as a curtain revealing the golden light of the sun as it shone down upon the fair land of the hobbits. She hurried out and began to look for herbs, herbs of healing, as she had given the stash she had brought with her in Minas Tirith.

--------

Lira leaned against the walls of the stable, the cool wood against her pale face as she thought with pleasure the herbs she had gathered. Long she had sought for them and found them hidden under the green boughs of the forest, others she had found dancing in a hidden meadow or dell, and others she had found near to the Green Dragon itself.

She drew the knife that Esgallhugwen had given her and began to hone the edge. It was quickly sharpened and Lira soon made her way towards Merkaliel, and began to pack the herbs she had gathered into saddle bags.

Glancing at her bedraggled dress, she studied it. It was wrinkled, and still dripped with water. Picking it up, she draped it across the coral, where the sun could dry the remaining water with her gentle rays.

Nedieth followed Aman's instructions and found her self in a beautiful little room. Looking out the window she found that the view of the Shire was much more than nice. It nearly took Nedieth's breath away. It was open grasslands riddled with hills. All of the hills had windows and door embedded in them. There were hobbits outside their homes tending to their gardens and child running happily across the fields.

Below the window, there was a bridge that crossed over into the square where market tables held wonderous treasures. She would certainly have to browse them, but first she would rest.

Nedieth sat her pack down in a chair infront of the fire place and began stripping off her clothes. She reached into her bag and pulled out a brush. After braiding her hair and putting on her shift, she climbed into the bed. As she drifted to sleep, she suddenly felt content and welcome. She smiled and buried her face in the pillow.

[piosenniel]

Zimzi

‘Who is this?’ Zimzi stepped into the warm air of the common room, turning round a little to make sure the door had closed securely. Her eyes caught the small face pressed up against the Inn’s front window.

She stared stared at the child who peered round the room with hope dimming in his eyes. A boy, looking for someone, . . . no, a girl, with deep brown eyes and curls capped against her head from the recent rain.

She looked closer before the child startled and ran off. The sun caught the features of the child’s face as she turned.

No, not a man-child. She was short in stature as a child might be, but her face bore the features of one who has seen much and has suffered in some way. A long time on the road perhaps, she thought, noting the stained shirt, frayed at the edges and the raggedy breeches that flapped against the muscular arms and legs.

Zimzi moved quickly out the door to the verandah, intending to invite another obvious newcomer in. ‘My lady!’ she called, cupping her hands, round her mouth. No use, the small woman picked up her pace, running north and east from the Inn. Something clattered on the wooden planks as the Inn’s door shut behind her.

‘What’s this?’ she wondered, picking up the axe. The sun glinted off the copper and gold head. ‘Beautiful,’ she said, admiringly, rubbing a little dirt from the blade. Her finger slipped, a thin line of blood welling up in evidence to the sharpness of it. She sucked on her finger, pressing her tongue against the cut, as she turned the axe over. There, in a script she did not recognize, something was written.

Zimzi pushed her shoulder against the door and came back into the Inn gripping the axe securely in her hand. Scanning the room for Pio, she made her way toward her friend, and held the handle of the axe out toward her.

[ October 06, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elora]

Uien latched the gate and dusted her hands off on her skirt. The bridles jingled lightly as they hung over her shoulder. After the rain, the day had become bright. The colours of theworld seemed new again and vibrant. Uien drew a deep breath and watched the horses and ponies mill around their pasture, tails swishing as they inspected turf, water and the grain that sat in the hanging feed bins.

A dragonfly ephemerally drifted through the air, as if suspended by a transparent thread from the sky above. It landed on the sun struck waters of the trough, fluttering its wings. Uien smiled faintly, her mind distant. She spread her hands over the wooden posts of the fence, their weather worn grain smooth against her palm, and her smile faded.

Uien closed her eyes and bent her head until her brow rested also against the wood of the gate, lost in her thoughts. The morning breeze that had blown the rain away tossed in her hair and skirts. Only yesterday, last evening, she had spoken of the shadow she carried with her in this place. It had lifted for a moment, shining and precious, with the telling. Now that the one who had lifted it, and her with it literally in the Twilight, was gone it haunted the edges of her thoughts.

Who was she to be setting out and impelling others with her? She had been foolish enough to let her wandering feet carry her through blizzard to... Uien shuddered in the warm summer day and shook her head. If they knew how little she knew and how often her actions led her awry, they would rightly reconsider.

She was no warrior, no fierce soldier. She hated swords and all they represented. She was no Lady, able to negotiate a clever peace pact either. Falowik looked at her with eyes filled with hope, and she despaired of disappointing that. With a sigh, Uien turned from the fence and made for the well to wash her hands. It was busy inside and likely Aman would be grateful for some help with all these visitors.

It would give her something to occupy her hands, if not her mind, with. As Uien delved her hands into cool water she had pulled up in the well's bucket, she set her thoughts to Derufin and Aman. She could not leave without a word those who had taken her in, turning her back on their generous hearts and welcome.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen was deep in thought when she noticed the man next to her tensed up only to to fall back into the chair more relaxed running his fingers through his deep brown hair. Her hair was dry and her appearance now was a little less enchanting as before when she was dripping with cold dew.

She smiled at the man turning her back to the fire. Esgallhugwen did not converse with men, not because she felt they were boorish, but because she had never really talked to a mortal man before.

Well I suppose now would be the time to try if chance has it that you will leave with Falowik and the rest of the search party. Her thoughts sank deep; rembering she promised to go with Uien and Falowik to search for Eodwine, and that she would fight if need allowed it.

Her fingers edged the engraved pommel of Nárkir, the sword hung in it's scabbard at her side. She looked up at him again, your behaving like a childshe thought. 'Greetings, I am Esgallhugwen, what brings you to the Shire? I myself am just a wanderer'. She faintly again at the man, never had she felt so awkward in her life, having always kept to herself and always remaining quiet.

Esgallhugwen never bothered with communicating with anyone but Morsereg, but with the task ahead of her she would certainly need to communicate more, so they wouldn't think her to be concieted or worse.

The rays of the sun shone brighter through the windows of the Inn, Esgallhugwen could hear the faint singing of birds outside amongst all the bustle of the Inn.

[Amanaduial the archer]

After guiding Aietmen downstairs and shooing him into the kitchen where Cook began to coo and fuss over him, Aman left him tucking into a pile of toast and some bacon as if there was no tomorrow. Smiling, she stepped back into the Common Room...and nearly jumped back when she saw a raven-haired striking woman bearing an axe towards Pio!

Almost sprinting across the room, all sorts of terrible ideas in her head, Aman remembered rather belatedly her absent-minded thoughts of getting someone to stand at the door and keep weapons out. Well, that was it, it would be a flaming great Ranger or something now, she thought savagely, maybe part troll or something... But as she reached the side of the room, she slowed suddenly as Pio turned around...and smiled at the axe-bearing woman.

Aman blinked and suddenly felt very, very foolish. Hadn't Pio said she would be bringing another friend. Zimzar, Zimsir...Zimzaran, that was it! Pio suddenly looked up from where she sat with Ruby and Buttercup, her eyes moving past the woman's face to Aman's, her eyes laughing.

"Where's the fire, Aman?"

Aman raised an eyebrow in reply to the mocking, laughing tone of the thought which Pio sent out, grinning ruefully in return and shrugging. But was there something else there - guilt, that was it. Aman's eyes narrowed momentarily, and she noticed her friend was sitting with the two finest sources of information in the Shire. The Rohirrim Innkeeper had missed the expression on Pio's face after she had met Beren, but she could see from here - the elf was up to something...

Making her way across the Common Room, Aman tried to make it look like she hadn't been about to bodily throw herself on the raven-haired woman and wrestle the axe from her grip, instead smiling at her and Pio. Pio grinned back, but got in quickly to speak - she wasn't giving Aman a chance to wonder about the expression of curiosity and interest the Innkeeper had seen on her face when she was speaking to Ruby and Buttercup, voicing the thought she had send to Aman before.

"Where's the fire, Aman?"

The other three smiled, laughing slightly, and Aman raised an eyebrow as she had before, actually able to reply properly this time - she wasn't as apt as Pio at the whole business of message sending.

Aman turned to Pio's friend. "Good day...?" she stopped inquiringly, half turning to Pio. "I do apologise, I'm not sure we've met, although I have an idea who you may be - would I be right in guessing you're Zimzaran?"

[Derakis]

SAVE for reworked post

[ October 05, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

‘You would be mostly right, m’Lady.’ A crimson stain spread up the neck of the axe-bearing woman, leaving small blazing chevrons on her cheeks. All eyes had turned to her as the Innkeeper spoke, and she was unused to such close scrutiny.

With a smile of welcome, Pio stood and stepped toward her, closing the short distance that separated them. She held her hands out to Zimzi, and drew her close, with a few whispered words to put her at her ease.

‘This is my friend, from Forlindon,’ she said, slipping her arm around the woman’s waist as she turned her toward those gathered at the table. ‘Her name is Zimzirân, and she’s come to see the Shire . . . to see if it is all that I have told her it is.’ Pio pointed those out about the table. ‘Zimzi, this is Ruby . . . and Buttercup . . . and here, just coming in from the kitchen is Cook.’ Zimzi nodded to each as she was introduced and extended her hand in greeting, repeating each of their names with a smile of recognition.

‘And here is someone new I have just met . . . one Beren . . . a man of some interest, or so I have been told.’ Pio winked quickly at Buttercup, who colored and spluttered and fell to fiddling with her apron as if it were the most interesting item she’d seen in years.

‘Of course, you must recognize this lady of the Mark, do you not?’

Zimzi’s grey eyes took in the Innkeeper, filing away her features. ‘Of course . . . of course! This is your good friend . . . from the east! Amanaduial.’ She stepped from the protective circle of Pio’s arm and held out her hand, a smile lighting up her eyes. ‘So very good to finally meet you! Please, call me Zimzi.’

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

‘Now that’s a pretty name, isn’t it?’ Ruby leaned in close to Buttercup and Cook, one eye on Mistress Piosenniel’s new friend. ‘Sounds like something from far away, doesn’t it.’ Cook nodded her head, saying the name softly to herself. ‘I don’t believe I’ve heard another like it,’ she said, rolling the sibilant word about on her tongue.

‘Yes, you have,’ said Buttercup, who had been sitting quietly since her introduction. The two Hobbits looked at her, waiting for one of her rememberings to surface into words and sentences. She turned to the two and spoke low. ‘Mistress Piosenniel used to tell us stories . . . some of them about that land that sank beneath the sea . . . the one where the greedy men were drowned and the ones who had remained friends to the Elves and faithful to their promise got away in their ships to come here.’ Cook and Ruby waited patiently for her to go on. Somewhere along the line, they knew she would tie in Zimzi’s name. It was not a long wait.

‘The greedy King left his wife when he sailed West to try and invade the Blessed Lands. She was drowned when the Lords of the West submerged the Men’s island in a great wave.’ Buttercup drummed her fingers on the table for a moment and chewed her lip, dredging up the name that hung on the edge of her lips.

‘Ar Zimraphel – that’s what the bad king named her! Zimraphel . . . but her name was really Míriel.’ Buttercup beamed as the last connection fell into place. ‘That’s where her name is from. Zimzirân . . . from the old language of the Big Folk, from Westernesse . . .’

[ElenCala Isil]

Túrelie watched as Amarië walked away. When she was out of sight, Túrelie looked down at the new letter. She was puzzled, but hoped the letter would help her find out the mysterious connection between Amarië and her past. Staring down at the letter, she saw familiar handwriting. Túrelie was now somewhat upset, and it seemed that all sense of mystery had left her. She read the letter bitterly. How could all this have been kept from her?

She read the letter, which was addressed to Amarië, it seemed to explain a little:

Amarië,
I feel that on your journies, you shall come upon Túrelie. When you find her, you will know what to do. It was such fate that she was lost from us, and such a sorrow to me that I never knew my own daughter. But, I have been fortunate enough to have you, and am thankful that you were not also taken.

You were sworn to secrecy, but you know that you cannot deny her of her past...

It seemed that the letter was a bit weather worn, and the rest was illegible. From the letter, Túrelie could tell that Amarië knew her mother. Túrelie read the letter once more, and it registered in her. She recalled from her past, being told that she was to be sent away. Her angry had passed by now. It was all a lie, she had never been sent away, but was taken. For what reason, she knew not.

Rereading the letter, she began to fill in the gaps from her past. All times, her thought wandered off to Amarië. They were connected, and Túrelie could at last assume how so. She walked back to her room, and sat at the desk. For the longest time, she sat pouring over the letters, reading between the lines. It seemed to Túrelie that the emptiness inside her was being filled slowly.

Túrelie at long last sat in silence, she slid the letters away from her. She fingered the jewel about her neck. Now at last she realised the connection, but wondered why Amarië was so reluctant to tell. To Túrelie she seemed quite close, yet wise.

Túrelie decided that she could not take the silence anymore, she arose and walked out her door. Slowly she approached the door of Amarië's room.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin had been in Frogmorton since early morning. Cook sent him off at the crack of dawn with instructions to the cook at the Floating Log that she was wanting some of those new little chickens she’d heard that Lyssum had gotten. Little bits of things, she’d told Derufin, black and white stripeyed she’d heard. Good layers. ‘You get me a rooster and four hens, if Lyssum can spare them,’ Cook said, handing him a good sized wire and wood cage, and a small pouch of coins.

The trip had gone smoothly, excepting the sudden downpour. But he’d brought his oilskin cloak with him, and had not been much bothered by the rain. One rooster, three hens, and a new horse later . . . It was a bargain, he reasoned. The hostler there wanted to be rid of it. Eats too much the man had said, and none of the Hobbits round there needed a full sized horse. Derufin was hoping Cook would not make a fuss that her pouch was a few coins lighter than it should be.’

He’d strapped the cage to the new horse’s saddle, and led it behind his own back to Bywater. The going was slow . . . the horse did like to eat, and tried to stop at every clump of grass growing along the road.

It was late afternoon when he got back to the Inn. He put the chickens in the henyard, and took the two horses to the stable. Someone, he noted, had pulled a wagon up under the eaves of the stable, out of the way of the earlier rain shower. Shrugging off his cloak, he hung it on one of the hooks just inside the stable door, then led the two horses to empty stalls and wiped them down. Giving them a measure of oats and some fresh water, he walked to the back of the stable, to his room to freshen up.

Head down, watching the floor and lost in thought as he walked along, he nearly missed the familiar whicker as he passed the end stable on the left. He glanced over to see who had been put in the stall.

‘Falmar!’ he cried, his eyes lighting with delight. ‘You’ve come back to us, girl!’ Derufin entered the stall and ran his eyes and hands over the horse. ‘Someone’s been taking good care of you! You’re as fat and sassy as ever!’

He strode quickly from the stable, latching the horse’s stall door securely behind him and made for the kitchen. ‘Cook!’ he shouted, throwing open the door. ‘Falmar’s come back!’

Cook looked at him, grinning widely, and pointed out toward the Common Room. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And Mistress Piosenniel’s come with her.’

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ NOTICE OF NEW GAME ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elora and littlemanpoet have a game they would like you to consider: The Hills of Evendim (HERE).

This Discussion Thread for this RPG will be open to take on characters on October 12th.

Until then, read the proposal thoroughly, draft a descriptive and creative bio for your character using the Character Description Form, and write a well done First Post for your character to be submitted at the same time as your character description. Make sure you have read the Opening Post for the game - it will give you information with which to craft this post.

This will be an exciting game!

~~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

Green Dragon Inn Facts:

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

King Elessar is on the throne.

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:

Derufin, a Man from Ethring in the Ringló Vale, is the stablemaster and general handyman/jack of all trades for the Inn. (Character written for by Envinyatar)

Vinca Bunce, Hobbit – ‘Cook’ – widowed runs the kitchen (Character written for by Piosenniel)

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff and Postmaster; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

Amaranthas Bolger – very old, crotchety Hobbit from Hobbiton, nicknamed ‘The Dragon’

Piosenniel – Elven, Innkeeper prior to Aman; married to Mithadan; has two children: a twin boy and girl; as yet unnamed infants.
_____________________________________________

It is now nearing noontime in the Inn. The sun is shining after a morning's rain.

[ October 06, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]