The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

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

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

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

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

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

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Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Noinkling]

Tevildo within his sights . . .

Cullen raised his head from his plate of stew and looked closely at the white haired cat who was ambling among the table legs. There was something about the creature that raised this great hound's hackles. His eyes widened, and he growled low in his throat. He bared his teeth, curling back his lips as he took the cat's measure.

Benat reached down and put a restraining hand on the dog. 'Now you leave the nice little kitty alone,' he said gruffly to Cullen.

'Nice little kitty, my hind leg!' growled Cullen. He laid down, resting his head on his paws - the picture of obedience. But his gaze tracked the offensive furball as he pussyfooted about, begging scraps.

[Huan]

The Players arrive

‘There she is!’ cried a clear voice from the road that passed by the inn. Talan stood up from the cart seat and pointed toward the Green Dragon. Her dark hair was cropped short; the breezes ruffled them slightly as she threw back her hood.

‘Whoa up, there, Flint.’ ‘And turn in there, Jasper!’ came a deeper voice as the pair of geldings pulled at their traces and turned the wagon onto the dirt lane leading to the inn. Gwynn pulled at the reins, slowing the horses’ pace. He was twin to his sister, dark hair cropped as hers. His eyes though were hazel with glints of gold in the light where hers were grey as granite.

The two were of similar size. Gwynn was a hair taller; his frame a little larger. Talan was as fit as he but more slender. Their mouths were wide and generous with smiles. And both were lissome, moving with an assured gracefulness. Both wore breeches and soft leather boots and thin tunics of fine spun wool from the looms of Lindon. In their bulky dark blue cloaks, hoods pulled up to overshadow their faces they looked the same.

‘The Dragon!’ chirped another who stepped fleet footed by the wagon’s side. He was dressed in a motley of greens and browns and his fair Elven hair fell down his back in a long plait woven with ribbons of various colors. From his belt he drew a silver pipe, and putting his lips to it blew an intricate melody, an enchanting weave of notes that rose and fell beneath the bright stars. ‘There! She is made tame within my little net of song,’ Emlin laughed, putting his flute back into its case.

Behind this trio came another wagon, smaller in size and pulled by two sturdy ponies, Cobby and Hal. ‘Think they’d never seen a proper inn before,’ Rowan Foxburr said to her brother Tolly. ‘Well, think of it,’ he returned, urging the ponies on with a light flick of the reins. ‘The inns of Lindon are those of Elves or Men. Too melancholy on the one side, too rough and churlish on the other. And our travels through the southern parts of the Shire have shown them only the small establishments. Pincup’s been the largest town we’ve been to and its Flowering Beech is hardly more than a little watering hole for the locals.’ He turned to her and grinned. We’re here in Bywater and Hobbiton, Rowan. Heart of the Shire! Home of the Dragon and her tasty ales!’

Rowan grinned back at her older brother. She pushed back the hood of her brown cloak and smoothed back the stray chestnut curls from before her ears. Her brown eyes caught the moonlight and glinted with pleasure at the thought of a nice hot bath and a soft bed with a feather quilt. Not that their little cart was uncomfortable. It was built like the Big Folks’ cart, a little house on wheels, and had a little door at the back with a set of steps that folded down from it when they were camped. It was a snug little thing, holding all their belongings. But hot baths and food other than cooked by her own hand were a rarity as they traveled, and she relished the idea of indulging in some luxury.

Tolly was two years older than his sister. They were Hobbits from the Tower Hills, from a little holding where their parents raised sheep and goats and grew a good sized garden. His eyes, too, were brown. His hair, also, though a lighter shade than Rowan’s. They had been traveling with Gwynn, Talan, and Emlin for a year now, providing the music and sound effects for the puppet shows they played for crowds along the way. Gwynn and Talan were the puppeteers; Emlin the singer and story teller for the plays. It had been an interesting journey so far. Much had been learned and much laughed over.

The Big Folk and Emlin had been together for a number of years. They had welcomed the addition Rowan and Tolly and had been gracious in their instruction. At the moment, the two Hobbits could not imagine themselves doing anything else.

The two carts were brought round to the stable; the little lamps that hung from the corners of their roofs’ eaves were blown out. Master Meriadoc took the horses and ponies in hands with a promise of warm dry stalls and a nosebag of oats for each.

It was Emlin who opened the door for the others, holding it wide as they all passed through. They stood blinking in the bright light of the lamps and the fire until their eyes adjusted. Then Gwynn spied a table big enough to hold them all and led his troupe toward it.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik stirred in Uien's lap and looked up, a question in his eyes. She hushed him. "Many hours must pass before dawn, Lauréatan," she whispered, caressing his brow. He sighed, smiling, and passed back into sleep.

Her Elven awareness heightened by his wakefulness, Uien sensed another Elf not far away, coming near. It was the burned one, he whom Falowik had named Lithmirë. He stopped suddenly, drawing a harsh breath, and labored away from them, his mind tightly shut. Uien sighed. There was much she could do for that suffering one, even though his hurt was worse than Falowik's had ever been. She let it pass. That one was not ready to be aided. She was not sure she could heal him, though that was her art, but she knew that she could assuage his pain. But only if he wished it.

Her awareness of that Elf, approaching the Inn, brought yet another Elf within her perception. Mithalwen was in a corner of the Common Room, writing. She also seemed closed. Uien sighed. A day ago Uien had called her "heart's friend", but this day that had just passed Uien had given her what was commonly known in the world of humans as 'the brush off'. 'I must go and make it right.' As she was about to lift Falowik's head from her lap, she sensed that Mithalwen was hiding from her! Then she would stay away. A tear slipped from her eye and she let it fall.

She looked up and saw that the hawthorn tree was still there. 'Do you see all the darkness that has not faded with the passing of the Dark Lord, hawthorn?' She did not speak her thought. Then she looked down at the Man who loved her. His face was peaceful. She thought it beautiful, though other Elves would think her daft or fallen to quaintness, but they did not know this one whom she knew. He had opened his heart to her, and had accepted all the difficult darknesses that were in her own heart. She smiled and bowed her head over his face, her long golden hair catching the gleaming stars as it fell around his face, and she kissed his brow. He stirred briefly, and the faintest echo of a smile passed his lips.

She was on the Swan ship with the Lady of Lórien as it floated down the Silverlode to meet the three small boats of the Company of the Ring. She held in her hand one of the cloaks, the one made for the youngest of the Halflings. She had worked hard at the brooch that would clasp it at his neck, and had wondered what the fate of this cloak and brooch would be.....

[Firefoot]

After a hearty supper, Thistle sat back in her chair. She and Peony had maintained light conversation throughout the meal, and while the lass's enduring cheerfulness was slightly irritating, it was also contagious. The combination of good food and conversation had improved her mood considerably so that she had almost forgotten about the two insolent lads who had run into her and waved to her from atop the furniture respectively.

Noticing the darkened sky through the windows, Thistle realized the day was drawing to a close and that she had best be getting home. "It was nice chatting with you, Peony, and thank you for your company. However, I'd best be getting on home, as it's getting rather late. You're from around here, you said? Perhaps I'll be seeing you around."

"Yes, perhaps," Peony answered with a smile. "Good night, then."

"Good night, lass." With that Thistle levered herself to her feet and, picking up her cane, thumped her way towards the door. On her way she passed some people carrying a tall man into the kitchen, and she hmph'ed. "Too much ale, no doubt," she muttered to herself. Men who drank more ale than they could take were another one of the many things she could not stand.

She pushed through the door, leaving the Inn behind for the night. "A tad too chilly," she murmured absently. Never happy without something to complain about, that was her way. "And not even the moon shines to light the way..."

[Gwydion]

"Wha... Where am I?" Alastair moaned. His vision was fuzzy, but clearing quickly. His forehead felt wet and there was a strange smell hanging in the air. Alastair tried to move his arm, but his wound twinged painfully when he did. Slowly he moved his arm to it's former position and waited until the pain subsided. He looked around and realized he was laying on a long table.

"Thank you for your help. I have an old wound from an orc, but I think I can clean it on my own." Alastair moved his arm to try and see his wound and gasped in pain and fought nausea. "Nevermind, I think I will need your help after all. But first may I have some sleep?" Someone agreed and helped him walk to his room. He layed down and pulled a thin blanket over his body and slipped into a fitful sleep.

[Arry]

Gil greets the players . . .

As they’d aided the stricken Ranger to his room, Gil noted a group of newcomers had just entered the Common Room. Two of the Big Folk, who looked to be brothers, a fair haired Elf dressed all in greens and browns, and a pair of Hobbits. The male Hobbit appeared to be about his age, he thoughts and the female just a little younger. Her brown eyes had regarded his face for a moment then passed on. But in that moment he managed to blunder into Buttercup, sending them both crashing to the floor.

‘Off me, you oaf!’ cried Buttercup, pushing him from atop her legs and standing up. ‘Now look what you’ve done! Cider all over my blouse and skirt!’

Gil scrambled to his feet, hearing the none too subtle laughter of his friends. He apologized profusely and promised Buttercup he would take her place in serving the cider and ale until she could clean herself up. She gave a miffed hmmmph! as she twitched her skirts and stomped off to the kitchen.

‘Take a seat lads,’ Gil told his friends. ‘I’ll bring round some ale for you all and some cider for the little lads.’

He was as good as his word, hurrying to the bar for a fresh pitcher of ale and one of cider, along with a stack of mugs. He made his way round the room filling mugs and taking orders and suffering the good-natured ribbing of the Green Dragon patrons.

And all the while, his eyes flicked often to the group of strangers he’d seen come in.

Soon, he came to their table, handing out ales all around as requested. And taking their orders for something to eat and plenty of it, if he pleased. He smiled, nodding his head yes to their directions and questions. When the chatter of their orders had died down he paused for a moment, before turning away. ‘My name is Gil Tussock,’ he said. ‘And those,’ he indicated with a pointing of his finger toward where Tomlin and the others sat, ‘are my band members and my two young nephews. We’ll be playing in a little while. I hope you will stay for a tune or two.’ He looked at the oddly mixed group and grinned. ‘And perhaps you will join us if you’re in the mood. You are the players up from Pincup aren’t you?’

[piosenniel]

Cook remembers to answer the door

‘Never rains but it pours,’ muttered Cook as she served up bowls of stewed coney and taters for the servers to take out to the guests in the Common Room. There’d been a faint knock at the kitchen door and then the rather dramatic entry of Gil and friends along with Derufin carrying in the limp body of a man. Ranger, it had turned out to be. And none too clean by the looks of the table where his clothes had left dirty marks on the freshly scrubbed surface.

Well, he’d left . . . before she could clean and dress his wound; his rescuers trailing out the door behind him. Leaving her to clean the table after him. And now there was Buttercup fretting and fuming over her cider soaked apron and clothes. She was sponging away at them, quite ineffectively when Cook ordered her up to her room to change into clean, dry ones. ‘Be faster,’ she called after the grumbling Hobbit. ‘And change that look on your face while you’re up there, Miss! I’m sure Master Gil apologized. He’s a well mannered lad at heart. I don’t want you scaring the customers off with a soured frown.’

She’d almost forgotten that someone had knocked at the door earlier. Balancing the stirring spoon on the stew pot, she wiped her hands on her apron and reached up to tuck her errant grey curls behind her ears. ‘Goodness gracious! I hope the poor dear left standing there has not gone off in a huff.’ As quick as her legs could carry her she came to the door and opened it.

There was no one there. The step was empty. She was just about to shut the door, when she heard the faint rustle of someone’s cloak. And then a tall figure stepped up onto the little porch, looming over her.

Cook stifled a gasp and put her hand to her heart to keep it from leaping out her chest. ‘Land sakes, Master Lithmirë. You scared me half to death! Come in! Come in! You’ve not missed supper. And I’ve put together some of your tea herbs for you.’ She motioned him to follow her to the table the Ranger had recently vacated and bade him sit down. ‘Just let me brew some up in a little pot, then we’ll have a bite to eat together.’

She poured the hot water in the pot and set it in front of him, along with a cup. ‘I’ve spoken with Granny Oldbuck,’ she said, keeping a steady patter of conversation going. The Elf was a quiet one, and rather skittish. Best to keep a stream of calm words going. ‘She says it’s fine if you come up to her place and poke about in the woods round her house. I told her we might come up tomorrow . . . that is if you’d like to . . .’

[Esgallhugwen]

Falowik and Eswen talked for a brief while before Falowik ventured back outside to check on Uien. They cannot be parted for long can they? she thought, wondering what a love like that would feel like if she could be so lucky.

She had long finished her miruvor, her strength was no longer stretched and thin. Eswen looked about her, not wishing to become involved with the other patrons she watched them passively.

A larger group of newcomers were being served dinner, Lithmirë was no where to be found. Hobbits scurrying about and an assortment of men and those of her Kin were sitting down to dinner as well.

She sighed and took up her saddle bags to her room, moving lightly and swift before anyone could tell who or what had passed.

Eswen sat on the bed gazing into the small crackling fire, you should have told him how you felt, now it is too late and he is gone, she moved to the window and opening the latch she cunningly crept onto the roof of the Green Dragon.

Thinking back on her dark journey, she held a dagger in her hand the ebony twin of the ivory set she had given to Lira.

What is my purpose?

But there were only stars and silence to answer her.

[Kath]

After finishing her meal and her letter Astilwen headed out of the Inn to escape the commotion within. She walked around the grounds admiring the beautiful plants and flowers as she breathed in the refreshing night air. She gave a wide berth to the elf woman and the man who were lying together under a large tree as they looked peaceful and she had no wish to disturb them. She did give the tree a closer look however, as she had seen it on the way in and it now appeared to her to be in a slightly different place. Dismissing the thought with a shake of her head she continued walking.

Coming to a hobbit sized bench on the far side of the Inn she sat down and tilted her head back to look up at the stars. They were exceptionally beautiful as the night was so clear and every separate star could be seen. As she tried to find some of the constellations her father had shown her as a child her attention was diverted by the sudden flash of starlight reflected by something on the roof if the Inn. Standing up on the bench Astilwen saw another elf woman sitting on the roof, with a dagger in her hands. She looked pained and deep in thought, twirling the dagger as she stared up into the sky.

Before she was really aware of her actions, Astilwen called up to the elf
"Hello? Are you alright ma'am?"

For a moment she was unsure if she had been heard, as the elf gave no sign that the words had reached her. Then, as if coming out of a trance, she lowered her eyes a little towards Astilwen.

[Huan]

Gwynn and the others introduce themselves to Gil

‘Up . . . from Pincup . . .’ Emlin smiled as he drew out the words. ‘Surely we have a poet in our midst! And one who serves ale,’ he went on, ‘a delicious duo of occupations.’

The others laughed at the poor joke, then chided the Elf for putting Gil on the spot. ‘We are those players. And tired and hungry ones to boot.’ Gwynn started the introductions by giving his name and looking expectantly toward his sister to be next.

‘We’d be happy to play. Or rather I should say, Gwynn and I, Talan, can keep time with our clapping if you wish. We handle the puppets, and have no skills really for the music.’ She pointed toward the Elf. ‘Now Emlin, there, is a singer and plays the flute, too. And truth be told, it doesn’t take much to encourage him to show off his skill.’ She nodded down to where the Hobbits sat. ‘Rowan and Tolly Foxburr. Now they are our musicians. Rowan plays the pipes, all sorts I should qualify, and Tolly the hand drum and bells. And both are a fair hand at the dulcimer.’

‘Let us have our supper first,’ chimed in Tolly. ‘And a few rounds of the Dragon’s ale under our belts. We’d be glad to join in the evening’s festivities.’ He looked toward Rowan and amended his offer. ‘That is, I would be willing to play. I should let my sister speak for herself.’

Rowan looked toward the table Gil had pointed out where his friends and little nephews sat. The littlest one stood on the bench waving over to her and the other players. ‘Can’t disappoint our fervent fans,’ she laughed, waving back at the youngster. ‘And I suppose we might do one short tale, too, for the boys.’ She cocked her head and looked appraisingly at the lads. ‘I’m thinking something with a dragon in it would do, eh?’ Her brown eyes turned back to Gil. ‘But let us fill our grumbling bellies first with the Inn’s good food and drink,’ she added, holding her mug out to him.

[Fairleaf]

From her vantage point, Fairleaf watched the tableaux of the Uien and the fair haired man who rested against her. The man seemed to be sleeping. His face was peaceful, a smile gracing it for one brief moment as the Elf bent to kiss his brow. The Elf, however, did not sleep. Her eyes were open in the starlight and memories, the Ent-maid supposed, ran deep beneath them.

In the distance, she saw the scarred Elf knock on the Inn’s back door, then slide into the shadows to wait for an answer. It was some time before the rectangle of bright light that shown from the kitchen flooded out onto the little porch and the sturdy figure of the cook stepped into it.

Good, good! She is taking him in. thought Fairleaf. Root and Stem! He needs a little nourishment for both. If only he’ll take what’s offered.’

Fairleaf stirred her leaves, catching the scents on the night breezes. She inched her roots deeper. Elves can revel in their waking dreams for a long time she recalled. She would have to be patient and wait for them to leave.

[Lasbelinion]

Dinner with Mistress Bunce

Lithmîrë sipped at his tea, watching Mistress Bunce move about the kitchen tending to this task and that. The stew was stirred, and portions of it served up in bowls for the diners in the Common Room. One of the servers, Buttercup, he heard her called, came down from her room, and putting on a fresh apron, picked up the tray of food to take it out. He wondered as Mistress Bunce stopped her, hand on hip, her foot tapping expectantly. There must have been some problem earlier, he thought, because the lass flushed guiltily, then put a smile on her face before leaving the kitchen.

He took another sip, the brew easing the pain that shot through his scarred cheek and arm. Whatever the Hobbit had put in it was doing its job and quickly. He found himself giving a half smile as Mistress Bunce chattered on to him. Her back was to him; she was slicing some bread to fill the baskets for the tables. The flow of words was light, requiring no answer on his part. Soothing, almost. And he wondered if perhaps they held some Shire magic that infused the pain relieving tea with greater power.

‘I should like to do that,’ he said, startling the Hobbit for a moment, so that she grew quiet and turned to see if it were he who had indeed answered. ‘Granny Oldbuck’s woods,’ he went on, referencing his remarks. ‘If you can take the time to show me, that is.’

Before answering him she plunked a generous serving of stewed coney with vegetables in front of him, along with a basket of fresh sliced bread and the pot of butter and another of honey. He nodded at her, waiting to pick up his spoon until she had seated herself.

[Gwydion]

Alastair awoke later in the evening, drenched in sweat. Alastair ruffled his hair and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and thought about his dream. He had been dreaming of his encounter with the band of orcs in the Misty Mountains and of how he recieved his wound. Thinking of his wound Alastair got up, lit a candle and walked over to his belongings. "Now where did I put it.."he murmered to himself. "Aha!"he annonced to the air as he pulled a pouch from his knapsack.

Opening it, Alastair rummaged around for a moment and pulled out athelas leaves and strip of leather. Humming a tune to himself he silently chewed the leaves. After a few moments he spit the leaves onto the leather and applied it to the wound under his arm. Alastair checked the poultice, pulled on his jerkin and walked to the door with his pipe in hand. Yawning, he opened the door and nodded to the innkeeper and walked outside.

Alastair noticed an elf laying on the ground with a man beneath a tree. Alastair leaned up against the wall and lit his pipe. As he smoke he slipped deep into thought.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen thought she heard the resonance of a small voice direct it's attention to her. She looked down slowly from the stars her eyes re-adjusting to the darker shadows.

A small form was standing upon a bench looking up at her, Eswen was not mistaken when she realized it was a Hobbit. " I'm quite alright, thank you young Hobbit, I'm simple reminiscing of things long past", she looked up to the stars again for a brief moment, then looked back down to the Hobbit lass.

"Not that theres any danger but what are you doing out here alone?"

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik slept on.

"Hello? Are you alright ma'am?"

Uien heard the words and cast her thought toward the speaker. No, the words were not directed toward Uien. A hobbit lass spoke them; she was standing by the Inn, looking up on the roof. Who was there? Eswen! Uien sped her thought to her friend.

What is my purpose? echoed back to Uien.

" I'm quite alright, thank you young Hobbit, I'm simple reminiscing of things long past." Eswen paused moment. "Not that theres any danger but what are you doing out here alone?"

Uien smiled. Let the lass and the Elf woman converse. Still, she sent a thought. 'Of what purpose do you think, my friend?'

[piosenniel]

‘Please, go ahead and eat, Lithmîrë,’ Cook said, putting her napkin on her lap. ‘Don’t let it get cold!’ She picked up her own spoon and took a generous mouthful of the savory broth and vegetables. With her buttered bread, she scooped a bit of coney onto the spoon and ate it next. ‘This was my mother’in-law’s recipe. The women knew how to cook coneys, I’ll give her that. That and she raised her boy to be a fine man.’ She took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. ‘Of course, I couldn’t help but improve on both of them a little bit . . . the coney and her son.’ Cook laughed at her own joke, and was gratified to see what might pass for a grin perch fleetingly on her dinner guest’s face.

‘We can go up and see Granny Oldbuck sometime after breakfast tomorrow. The girls can see to the serving of it and the clearing up.’ She drizzled some honey on her bread and took a bite, using the crust of bread to emphasize her points as she went on to talk about their trip tomorrow. ‘Now Granny Oldbuck’s an odd duck, some would say. But I find her company quite enjoyable. No *****-footing around and being polite for her. She says what she thinks outright, and let the chips fall where they may. You won’t find her judging you by your looks . . .’ Cook glanced Lithmîrë’s way, hoping he hadn’t taken offense. ‘But she’ll surely judge you be your actions. Wise old woman. As true a friend as you can have if she takes a liking to you.’

The Elf had worked his way through half of his serving. Cook, not asking if he would like a bit more, simply brought the small pot over and dished him up a fresh helping. She refrained from poking him in his ribs since they were only just getting to know each other. But, she did mention to him that he could stand to put a little more meat on his bones to her way of thinking.

[Kath]

The Elf answered Astilwen and then looked back up to the stars for a moment, before returning her attention to the hobbit and asking,
"Not that theres any danger but what are you doing out here alone?"

"I just came out for a breath of fresh air, it got pretty stuffy inside the Inn there with all those people and their love of smoking. Plus there was some kind of a commotion. A man fell unconscious though I think he's alright now and as they were taking him into the kitchens things were getting knocked over. I didn't fancy getting squashed by a table!"

Again Astilwen was unsure if the Elf had heard, as she looked as though she was hearing something else, her eyes a little unfocused and her head cocked to one side. Nevertheless she waited patiently for her to come back again from her memories.

[Gwydion]

Alastair jolted out of his thoughts. He stared up at the stars and stretched. Then he remembered the cook who had allowed him to be layed on the table in the kitchen. Alastair dumped out the contents of his pipe and walked around to the kitchen and knocked on the door. The cook answered the door with a rather annoyed look and recoiled when she saw that it was Alastair.

"I just wanted to thank you for letting me use that table until I woke up." The cook mumbled a welcome. Alastair gave a slight bow and then he notced the elf. He stared at him for a moment and then bid the cook farewell and walked out of the kitchen. Once he had exited the kitchen he walked back inside the inn and ordered an ale. Then he relit his pipe and began to puff away.

[Arry]

Gil filled Rowan’s mug to the brim, then did the same for her brother, Tolly. ‘Good, good!’ he said on hearing they would bring out their instruments a little later and join Gil and his friends. ‘Ah! I see Buttercup coming out to take my place. She’ll see to your meals and any further drinks.’ He pointed to a small raised platform to the left of the bar. ‘We’ll play there. Come join us when you’re ready.’

He grinned at Buttercup as he handed off the tray to her, and mumbled another apology. She scowled at first, then laughed as he told her she looked even better in this new outfit.

His companions had finished their drinks and were watching as he approached. ‘Let’s set up,’ he told them. ‘Once done with their meal, the players there will come join us for a song or so.’ He noted Woody and Hanson looking up hopefully at him. ‘You two can tag along. Ferrin, loan them a set each of your rhythm sticks; they can keep the beat with you.’ He winked at the two boys. ‘Oh, and the Big Folk . . . they thought they might tell a story tonight . . . one with great, fierce dragons, and no doubt swords and treasure and such . . .’

Woody and Hanson’s faces were wreathed in smiles. With a whoop of delight they went running off toward the little stage.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger set her tray down wearily on the counter in the kitchen. ‘I think everyone’s been served, Miz Bunce. All are happily tucking into their suppers or at least busy drinking their ales. She blushed a little realizing she’d interrupted the meal Cook and her guest were having. ‘Oh, sorry, m’am,’ she said, nodding to Cook and Lithmire. ‘I’ll just leave you two to finish your own meal.’

She took off her apron, hung it up on the peg by the door, and started back out to the common room. Ferdy had saved a seat for her at his table with Gil and the others.

‘Oh,’ she said, turning back to Cook and her guest just before she exited. ‘Gil and his band are setting up to play some music. And I heard him ask that troupe of players we were expecting to join in. Should be fun! Come out and join us!’ Ginger dropped a small curtsy and hurried on out to join her friends.

[Arry]

‘Now here’s a song that many a man here can understand. All you with your mugs filled with the Inn’s foaming brew or a deep cup of Old Winyards, lift them up and salute the one that wrote these verses.’ Behind him, Gil’s companions solemnly raised their mugs and glasses; then, set them down at their feet and picked up their fiddles and drum with a grin.

Gil started the music with his concertina, joined by the others after the first verse. Then with a wink to one of the serving lasses, he sang out in a clear voice.

The Women all tell me I'm false to my lass,
That I quit my poor Rosie and stick to my glass;
But to you men of reason, my reasons I'll own,
And if you don't like them, why let them alone.

Although I have left her, there truth I'll declare;
I believe she was good, and I'm sure she was fair;
but goodness and charms in a bumper I see,
That make it as good and as charming as she.

My Rosie had dimples and smiles I must own;
But, though, she could smile, yet in truth she could frown,
But tell me, ye lovers of liquor divine,
Did you e'er see a frown in a bumper of wine?

Her lilies and roses were just in their prime;
Yet lilies and roses are conquer'd by time;
but in wine, from its age, such a benefit flows,
That we like it the better the older it grows.

They tell me, my love would in time have been cloy'd;
And that beauty's insipid when once 'ts enjoy'd;
But in wine I both time and enjoyment defy;
For the longer I drink the more thirsty I am.

Let murders, and battles, and history prove
The mischiefs that wait upon rivals in love;
But in drinking, that Heaven, no rival contends,
For the more we love liquor, the more we are friends.

She, too, might have poison'd the joy of my life,
With nurses, and babies, and squalling and strife:
But my wine neither nurses nor babies can bring;
And a big-bellied bottle is a mighty good thing.

We shorten our days when with love we engage,
It brings on diseases and hastens old age;
But wine from grim death can its votaries save,
And keep out t'other leg, when there's one in the grave.

Perhaps, like her sex, ever false to their word,
She had left me, to get an estate or a lord;
But my bumper (regarding nor title or pelf)
Will stand by me when I can't stand by myself.

Then let my dear Rosie no longer complain;
she's rid of her lover, and I of my pain:
For in wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy;
Should you doubt what I say, take a bumper and try.

Near the end of the song, many of the men had emptied their cups or mugs of drink and were banging them on the tabletops in rhythm with the song. And some of the braver ones, whose wives had not raised brows at them, were singing along with Gil.

[Gwydion]

Alastair was drinking his ale when the song began. He listened intently and found that by the niddle of the song his foot was tapping along with the song on its own and before the song had ende he was humming to it in a deep throbbing baritone.

After the song finished Alastair was reminded of a poem he had heard among the dunadain. When the singer had finished his song Alastair drained his glass and stood up. "If I may young masters, I would like to recite a poem." No one said anything and he took that as a consent.

Sadly you walked far from home,
Isildur's bane heavy on your mind
The weight was heavy, the burden great,
and despair was on your mind.
An evil fate, the crack of doom
and forth the world was saved.

With that Alastair sat back down and ordered another ale with the poem ringing in his mind.

[Arry]

Little Hanson stood up while the Ranger was reciting his verse and slipped away from the table. His brother, Woody, was listening closely to the man and did not see him leave. With quick steps, the Hobbit made his way to the table where the Players sat.

They, too, were intent on the music and the verse and paid no attention to the Hobbit lad as he came near their table. He looked about the legs of their chairs and even dared a quick peek beneath the table. His face, as he stood back up, registered grave disappointment. With a frown on his brow he went quietly up behind the Elf, dressed very colorfully , he thought, all in browns and greens and ribbons in his braid.

‘Sir!’ he said, hoping this Elf was as nice as his new friend Neviel. He tugged lightly on the fellow’s sleeve. ‘Sir, did you bring the puppets in? I don’t see them anywhere. And . . .’ The Elf turned his merry grey eyes on Hanson. ‘And is there a dragon?’

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien lingered near a corner of the room, tapping her toe with the music of Gil's song. She sat down quietly in a corner and smiled as the patrons sang along.

She listened with rapt attention as the Ranger recited his verse, and found her mind rifting to tales of old, those which had been long told, and those which had not yet been revealed. She watched wistfully, hoping that perhaps she might find the courage to recite even the smallest verse, to dare to murmur the slightest tune. She thought back to the days when Elrond would lift her into his lap, and begin to tell her fantastic tales of far away places, brave soldiers, valorous maidens and desperate villians.

She suddenly found herself gaining courage that she never knew she had. Clearing her throat, the stood up on the table.

'If I may,' She said, loud enough for everyone to hear, 'I would like to sing a song. It's one of my own composistions. It may not be as skilled as many songs are, but it has a dear place in my heart. I usually recite it in Elvish, but shall try to translate it.'

She slipped the hood of her cloak back over her head and bowed her head. Slowly, she started to sing, faltering with the the first few notes. Gradually her voice sounded more sure, and surprisingly pleasing to hear. The tune she sang was mournfull, and full of pain.

Travelers cold and weary,
On a lonely mountainside.
Through passes dark and dreary,
Trying to make it through the night.

Unaware of the danger,
That the shadows did conceal.
Think of the words of this stranger,
Remember what they can reveal.

Foes and enemies aboud,
When the summer sky grows dark.
Death and tragedy surround,
Memories that scar my heart.

They tried to fight but couldn't.
Their numbers were too few.
For travel, you shouldn't,
When there are only two.

But wait! A babe is hidden,
Behind a smaller rock.
A life for hers is given,
Her mother paid the cost.

A man upon the trail,
Finds their bodies on the ground.
Tears of sorrow falling,
As he utters mournful sounds.

He hears the baby whimper,
He searches and he finds.
Life among the sorrow,
And a child a home shall find.

Larien curtsied and stepped from the table, a tear slipping down her cheek as she sat down.

'I know it doesn't flow as well as it should, but I don't have the heart to change it.' She whispered.

[Huan]

Emlin and Hanson try to spy out the dragon

Emlin steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and looked down to where Hanson was standing. ‘The dragon . . . you say you’re looking for a dragon?’ Hanson’s eyes went wide as the Elf got down on his hands and knees and began looking under the table. ‘I was sure I had one here. Brought the beastie in myself.’ He poked and prodded between chair legs, then sat back on his knees, a rather scared look on his face.

With a crook of his finger, he urged the Hobbit nearer. ‘Must have escaped!’ he whispered. ‘’Bout time for his dinner, too. Oh my! Best we keep a watch on those sitting in chairs in this room,’ he went one, shifting his gaze carefully about the common room. ‘If we see one of them suddenly disappear beneath the table, we’ll know we’ve found him.’

Hanson nodded his head solemnly his eyes as big as saucers at the possibility of a dragon on the loose.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger sat next to Ferdie at the table, listening to the songs. Gil and his band had done a funny one, she thought. Though it seemed a bit odd that the fellow in the song would rather have a flagon of wine than his lady by his side. Then, she remembered Uncle Otho on her Da’s side. He had a liking for Old Winyards that many a lass could not compete with, or so she’d heard her Da speak to her Ma about it.

Of course, Azalea had put and end to that infatuation as she called it. And now she was Aunt Azalea and Otho was rationed to cup of ale on week days . . . two on the weekend . . . ‘Anyways,’ Ginger thought, ‘it was a funny song as long as you weren’t having to worry about your own sweetheart throwing you over for a drink or two or three.’ She stole a glance at Ferdy. ‘No, he’d never do something like that, I’m sure.’

As if reading her thoughts, he looked at her and grinned affectionately. She blushed and grinned back, snuggling into the arc of his arm about her shoulders.

One of the Big Folk got up next and recited a short verse, A good one, too, she thought. She was sure it was about Mister Frodo and his adventure and she wondered how a Ranger would be knowing a poem about a Hobbit from the Shire.

She had just taken a drink of her cider when she saw Larien stand up to sing. Her new friend was full of surprises! Ginger was much too shy to ever get up in front of a crowd to perform, but there was Larien going to sing. And she’d made up the song herself!

As Ginger listened to the words a certain sense of sadness stole over her. Someone’s mother dead. And the father, too, she thought. A poor baby left all alone and found by some kind man. Ginger hoped the story had a happy ending. Did the man find the baby a new home? Did he take the baby in himself? Ginger found herself nearly crying as she listened to the song and thought about it.

‘I wouldn’t change a word of it, Larien,’ she said, going over to where her friend was sitting after she’d sang. ‘It was beautiful!’ Ginger smiled and wiped her own eyes. ‘But what happened to the baby? I have to know it was alright.’

[Arry]

Hanson put his finger to his lips as Woody came trotting over to see what his brother was up to. ‘Sshhh!’ he warned his older sibling. ‘The dragon they brought in for the play has got loose. I’m helping to look for it.’

Woody’s brow furrowed as he gazed about the room. ‘Are you daft?’ he asked, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. ‘There’s no dragon hiding in here.’

Suddenly, there was a loud commotion behind the two boys, and a collective gasp from the players at the table. Woody and Hanson turned around just in time to see the trailing hand of Emlin, the Elf, sliding down from the seat of his chair and into the dark beneath the table.

Curious and horrified at the same time, they crept closer to the table and bent down to peer into the shadows . . .

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine was shaken from his long reverie by the sound of music. The hours had passed swiftly as he contemplated the new song, and even the meal that he had taken at supper had passed his lips almost without his notice. The front part of the room had been taken over by the same party of Halflings who had sung last night and it was their music which had reawakened his spirit. There was applause from the crowd and he joined in heartily, crying out his approval of the tune.

A Ranger whom he’d not noticed sang next, and he was followed by a tiny Halfling maid. She sang quietly at first, but as the music took hold she gained in confidence and strength and soon Hearpwine was transported by the power of the simple tune, which sprang from somewhere near to her heart. He was surprised that it had been composed in Elvish and its origin in the tongue of the Fair Folk was clear in the ringing tones of the composition. When she had finished, the maiden quickly moved away from the stage and sought her own chair once more, pulling her blue cloak about her face. Intrigued, the bard moved to her table.

He loomed above her, his head seemingly a few scant inches from the rafters, and he introduced himself. “Well sung, mistress, and well met! It is odd indeed to meet one who composes songs in the language of the Eldar. I myself know but a few songs of the Elves, and have not yet discovered the facility to create music of my own in that language.”

The hobbit blushed slightly and thanked the bard for his kind words. She introduced herself: “I am Larien, Mister…?”

“Hearpwine!” he cried. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance Mistress Larien. I would ask you to tell me the tale of how you came by the ability to write Elvish music, but I am loathe to ask you for something without granting something in return. I am a bard and I have sat most of this long day without singing. Might I pay your for your tale and warm up my throat with a short song of my own?” The Halfling nodded, and without any more encouragement, Hearpwine was singing.

“As I was a walking down in Stokes Bay
I met a drowned sailor on the beach as he lay
And as I drew nigh him, it put me to a stand,
When I knew it was my own true Love
By the marks on his hand.

“As he was a sailing from his own dear shore
Where the waves and the billows so loudly do roar,
I said to my true Love, I shall see you no more
So farewell, my dearest, you're the lad I adore.”

She put her arms around him, saying “O! My dear!”
She wept and she kiss'd him ten thousand times o'er.
“O I am contented to lie by thy side.”
And in a few moments, this lover she died.

And all in the churchyard these two were laid,
Anda stone for remembrance was laid on her grave,
“My joys are all ended, my pleasures are fled,
This grave that I lie in is my new married bed.”

As he finished a hush fell on those in the immediate vicinity for it was a sad song, and the bard had sung it movingly. Bowing to the scattered applause which came up from the silence, he seated himself next to Larien, and awaited her story.

[Esgallhugwen]

'Of what purpose do you think, my friend?'

Of my purpose here, for all my foresight it is still unclear to me. And yet I cannot leave for I am still drawn to this place, there is something that I must accomplish yet.

Eswen's eyes refocused coming back from her hidden thought. She turned her attentions once more to the Hobbit lass.

"I just came out for a breath of fresh air, it got pretty stuffy inside the Inn there with all those people and their love of smoking. Plus there was some kind of a commotion. A man fell unconscious though I think he's alright now and as they were taking him into the kitchens things were getting knocked over. I didn't fancy getting squashed by a table!"

"No I don't suppose any of us would fancy getting squashed by anything including a table", a white glimmer was approaching the lass from behind. "Don't be frightened".

"Frightened of what?", something wet met her hand and she jumped forward, farther then Eswen had ever seen a Hobbit jump, with a shriek. She spun around and two gold eyes, the left flecked with ice blue, met her wide eyed stare.

"His name is Nimrómen, a wolf cub barely a year old"

[Huan]

Rowan and the dragon hunters

Rowan crouched down between the two boys, her brown eyes glinting with merriment. ‘Well, which of you brave lads is going in after him?’ she asked, her voice pitched low. ‘He’s our singer, you know. And we’ll be needing him soon.’ She nodded her head to the little stage across the room. ‘The fellow over there. Gil, isn’t it? I can see him waving to us.’

She reached into one of the pockets in her vest and handed each of them a small silver bell. They tinkled merrily as she laid one in each boy’s hand. ‘A traveling tinker from the Blue Mountains gave them to me. He said the Dwarves there make them to scare off the little dragons that still haunt the deeper tunnels. Just hold them out before you and jingle them as you hunt for Emlin.’

‘Go on now,’ she urged them, pointing to the shadows beneath the long table. ‘Bring him back to us!’

[Lasbelinion]

Lithmîrë could feel himself begin to relax as the meal progressed. In part, he knew, because Mistress Bunce had given him the herbal tea concoction. But also, he thought, it was the company. They’d talked more of gardens and the herbs she’d used to flavor the stew.

The conversation had drifted into family and where she’d come from. She hadn’t pressed him for any details on his own, and he was glad of it. For what could he tell her that wouldn’t send her screaming from the room? He could barely recall the early days, before the long years of captivity and labor in the ashy plains of Mordor. And those long years were not something one could share lightly. He wouldn’t know how, anyway. Not now and possibly never.

Mistresses Bunce’s voice flowed over him, including him in her little stories, filling him in as if he were a long lost friend who needed catching up. For his part he’d managed a few sociable comments and found himself surprised at times in his interest at the details of her ordinary life.

His attention was caught by a long pause in her talking, preceded, he thought, by a rise in the tone of her voice. She had asked a question. Scrambling wildly to recall the words, he heard the music and singing come in through the partially opened kitchen door. Mistress Bunce was looking at him expectantly.

‘You’d like to go out and listen to the music?’ he asked tentatively, fishing for the source of her question.

[Kath]

"No I don't suppose any of us would fancy getting squashed by anything including a table" replied the Elf, smiling gently. Suddenly her eyes seemed to fix on a point just behind Astilwen who had just time enough to ponder the quiet command not to be frightened before she felt something wet behind her. Leaping off the bench in fright she screamed and whirled around, coming face to face with something she had only ever heard described in fireside tales, meant to scare hobbit children off to bed.

"His name is Nimrómen, a wolf cub barely a year old"

She heard the Elf speaking to her and tried to concentrate, finding it a little difficult with the wolf looking right at her with his oddly coloured eyes. But as she calmed a little from her fright she began to take in the beauty of the creature before her, the wolf's fur really was the purest of whites and his stare seemed to contain curiosity rather than malice. Shakily she moved to sit down on the bench, hoping her legs would keep stable til she got there. Having sat she took a few deep breaths and called up again to the Elf.

"He's only a year old? He's big! Is he yours?"

[piosenniel]

Cook looked at Lithmire a little perplexed. Sometimes he just seemed to drift off, lost in some old memories or thoughts. He’d missed her question, which had nothing to do with the music from the common room. Rather she’d wanted to know if he’d like to have tea and some of her plum tarts now or a little later. But since he’d given her opportunity, she ran with it.

‘Yes,’ she answered him, nodding her head enthusiastically. ‘Gil and his band have set up and are playing. And there are some Players who’ve brought their puppets and things and might be persuaded to give us a little show later.’

Not waiting for him to decline the invitation to go out to the Common Room, she got up from her chair and bustled over to the counter where the tarts lay ready to be served. She piled a number of them on a small plate and poured a fresh pot of tea for the both of them. Motioning for him to bring the cups along, she led the way to the outer room and found them and out of the way table with a good view of the little stage area.

‘There we go!’ she declared setting the tarts and the teapot between them. ‘Now we’ll hear us some good Shire tunes. And look there! It’s Master Hearpwine just finishing up a song. He’s from Rohan, you know. Just like our Aman. The Innkeeper. Though I swear the girl’s got a better head on her shoulders than he does. It must be all that being a bard for the King and all there. Makes him a bit featherheaded and loud. Got a good heart, though, helping with the little ones in the school and all . . .’

She kept up her patter, commenting on this one and that until she saw him relax and settle into his chair. ‘Always looks like some little hare . . . eyes darting all about and ready to run at the slightest hint of danger,’ she thought to herself as she poured him a mug of steaming sweetspice tea and edged the plate of tarts near his hand.

[Arry]

Gil nodded toward where Larien sat talking to the Bard. ‘Perhaps later we can entice her out again to sing for us,’ he said to those gathered in the room. ‘A fair voice she has. And a fair face, too. Easy on the ears and easy on the eyes, that lass!’ He turned back to his fellows and spoke quietly with them for a moment.

‘Well, here’s one for all you merchant men,’ he said, as Ferrin and Fallon played the opening notes for the next song. ‘’All of you who have to leave your sweetheart at home while you’re off to take care of business.’

I'm lonesome since I crossed the hill,
And o'er the moorland sedgy
Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill,
Since parting with my Rosie
I seek for one as fair and gay,
But find none to remind me
How sweet the hours I passed away,
With the lass I left behind me.

O ne'er shall I forget the night,
the stars were bright above me
And gently lent their silv'ry light
when first she vowed to love me
But now I'm bound to Bree and beyond
kind heaven then pray guide me
And send me safely back again,
to the lass I left behind me

Her golden hair in ringlets fair,
her eyes like diamonds shining
Her slender waist, her pretty face,
that leaves my heart still pining
Stars above oh hear my plea
to my beauteous fair to find me
And send me safely back again,
to the lass I left behind me

The bee shall honey taste no more,
the dove become a ranger
The falling waters cease to roar,
ere I shall seek to change her
Vows we made to the heavens above
shall ever cheer and bind me
In constancy to her I love,
the lass I left behind me.

[Undómë]

Hob puffed quietly on his pipe. He’d passed on the last offer of Dwarven spirits, preferring instead to stick to his mug of stout. The song the young lads were singing brought a bit of a mist to his eyes. And he wiped it away quickly with his cuff. The song had set him to thinking about his dear Marigold. Back on Girdley Island. Looking after their two small sons and their wee house while he was away.

He glanced at the big man, Benat, and wondered if he had someone he’d left behind when he’d gone on his travels.

[Arry]

Tinkle, tinkle . . . tinkle, tinkle . . .

The little silver bells chorused softly beneath the table. ‘Must be working,’ whispered Hanson, his grip tight on the thin leather thong that looped through the ring at the top of the bell.

The area beneath the large table was surrounded by a forest of chair legs, table legs, and Hobbit and Man legs. Try as they might, the two brothers could see no sign of the Elf or the dragon. ‘Good thing is,’ whispered Woody, sitting back on his haunches, ‘is that there doesn’t seem to be any blood or extra . . . ummm, parts lying about. So I don’t think the dragon ate him.’

‘Yet, you mean,’ added Hanson ringing his bell at the sight of something he thought moved beneath the chair legs to the left of him.

As they sat talking to one another, there cam a sound on the table top above them as if something were scratching on it. Something with large, sharp claws. Woody caught sight of the long green scarf Emlin wore round his waist as a sash. It was far to his right, at the end of the table, and trailing upward over the seat of one of the empty chairs. He nudged his brother and they scrambled after the scarf, catching it just as it was about to disappear above the table’s top.

With all their might, the two clasped onto it and gave it a mighty tug. A loud thump was heard above their two heads and a loud sigh. Climbing up over the empty chair where they’d seen the scarf end, Hanson and Woody peeked over the edge of the table, expecting to find the dragon lying in wait with the Elf clasped firmly in his claws.

[Huan]

Instead, they came face to face with Emlin, lying limply on the table top, his head turned toward them. ‘Thank you!’ he croaked at them, as if his throat were raw from wanting to scream. ‘You’ve saved this poor Elf from a fate worse than death!’

He placed one arm over his eyes and sighed heavily. With his other arm he pointed to the window near the table. It was open and the breeze fluttered the curtains as it blew into the room. ‘Your bells drove the creature away. And he would have dragged me with him had you not held onto my sash.’ He sighed once more.

Now the younger lad’s eyes were wide with wonder, but the older brother, Woody, was not as easily taken in. Before he could speak, Emlin raised himself to a sitting position on the table, and looking down at a patch of the wooden surface near where his head had lain, he gasped. Pointing a trembling finger at the table top he drew their attention to a set of three long gashes, as if claws had dug into the table.

‘It’s true lads. You’ve bested the dragon and driven him off. Come up, come up and sit with us. We’ll toast you with cider and cakes!’

The others round the Players’ table smiled and clapped quietly as the two brothers hoisted themselves up onto the chair. Rowan got up and closed the window tightly, winking at hanson and Woody as she did so. ‘Wouldn’t want him sticking his toothy snout back in here, now, would we,’ she asked them. When they handed their bells to her, she shook her head, saying they should keep them; they’d earned them. Gwynn called for one of the servers to bring them a pitcher of cider and two extra mugs for the brave young lads who’d just joined them.

When it came, Talan filled everyone’s mugs, and Tolly called for a toast. It was Emlin, who raised high his cup and spoke. ‘Here’s to the brave brothers who set fear in the heart of the scaly beast. Long may they keep the Shire free of dragons!’

Woody and Hanson beamed as the group downed drinks in their honor and clapped them on the backs.

[Envinyatar]

Zimzi nestled herself comfortably against Derufin’s shoulder. She enjoyed listening to Gil and his friends. And the addition of offerings from Hearpwine and the young lady Hobbit had made the evening even more pleasant.

Like Hob, she had given up on the Dwarven spirits. One taste was enough for her to declare they were too strong to her liking. She’d ordered tea for herself. The night was a little chilly despite the cheery blaze in the fireplace. Someone had opened a window, letting the cool night breezes in.

She glanced around, looking for the source of the chill. A ways away from her was a large table near one of the outside walls, someone was jus standing up to close the wide open window. Zimzi blinked her eyes, noting that on top of the table lay and Elf. And now he sat up and was talking to two Hobbit lads whose faces had popped up above the table top from beneath the table itself.

Zimzi sat up straighter in her chair. Now there was clapping and a round of drinks was poured, including those for the little lads. And then a toast was made, apparently in the boys’ honor. ‘What on earth is going on over there?’ she whispered to Derufin, pointing to the strange tableaux.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

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

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

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

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

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

_____________________________________________

Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator