The Golden Perch Inn

[Folwren]

Before Daisy quite knew what was happening – before she had even overcome the shock of running into the dwarf in fact – she had been swept up by powerful hands and placed on the tabletop. From this perch she could straight into the dwarf’s face, and for a few moments, her entire attention was locked on those eyes. He and two other dwarves were speaking, but none of their words registered until he asked her what her name was.

“And you, little master,” he went on, looking over toward the boy, “have you come to give greeting, also?”

The siblings glanced at each other, their eyes wide and their faces confused – both unsure quite how to answer.

“Don't mind these three,” a fourth dwarf said. Daisy turned her head to look at him. He was smiling kindly. “They're just teasing you. They really do like you. Go on. Tell us who you young un's are."

“Daisy,” she said, shyly shrinking back. She looked around again at the dwarf holding her gently. “Daisy Boffin, sir. I’m sorry I ran into your chair. Dorlind was chasing me.” She waved her hand towards her brother.

“I woulda caught her, too,” Dorlind said, walking forward the last few paces. He stood right by the table now and stared around from one dwarven face to the next. “I’m Dorlind Boffin. Daisy's my little sister. Are you going to tell us a dragon story tonight?”

[Forest Elf]

“Actually, I can’t get down… When I was patching the roof, I accidentally nailed my sleeve under the shingle. So, I’m kind of stuck up here, for awhile.” Gable replied, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Gable climbed onto the roof awkwardly, from her sleeve still being nailed to the roof. She sat down, next to the shingle that she had accidentally nailed her sleeve under, and the nail was too tight for her to remove.

[Arry]

There were loud voices and the sound of someone moving along on the roof. Will set down the apple he was munching on and went out to investigate. There was Primrose, balancing on her crutches, and Rhys, who’d come in with the cart and two horses, Both were looking up at the roof where Gable sat, looking quite forlorn, and a little embarrassed.

A brief conference with Rhys, and the explanation that the Elf had managed to nail her sleeve to the roof was discussed. Will stepped quickly back into the stable and fetched a small crowbar along with a pair of pliers from the work-table.

‘You’ll have to be the one to go up,’ he said to Rhys. ‘Got a bum arm myself, or I’d do it.’ He stepped to the ladder and put his right hand on it to steady it for the man.

[piosenniel]

Rhys waved to the cart where his sister and Granny Greenhill waited. He stuffed the pliers in his pocket and secured the little crowbar in the waistband of his breeches. Will had cautioned him about one of the lower steps on the ladder; it being the cause of the afternoon’s mishap to Primrose and to Will. Rhy’s legs were much longer than the Hobbits’ and he stepped passed the broken rung easily.

In a short time he had climbed up to the roof and onto it. In the fading evening light he managed to see where the nail had pinned down the sleeve. Inserting the little crowbar under its head, he pried up the offending spike and used the pliers to pull it all the way off.

With her sleeve now freed from captivity, he helped Gable to the edge of the roof and down onto the ladder.

[Undómë]

Rowan was so distracted as she waited for Meliot to replace the map and hurry back out that she mixed up a number of orders. Ale had gone to a table who had ordered tea and fish stew to a Hobbit from Stock who’d only wanted some bread and butter to go with his fried mushrooms. Red-faced, she had busily explained she’d had some rather bad news that day and just wasn’t herself. When pressed for details, though, she simply looked solemn and sighed and shook her head in a grave manner.

She had just finished righting her mistakes when Meliot came hurrying toward her. ‘Done?’ she whispered to her friend as she drew near. Meliot’s face seemed white as a sheet, and Rowan feared the worst. That somehow Jack or someone else had caught Meliot out in her burgling. though it’s not really burgling, is it, if you’re putting something back . . . she reasoned to herself.

But Meliot shook her head in the affirmative, and Rowan let out the breath she’d been holding. She took her friend by the arm and led her to a table. ‘Enough excitement for today, eh? You just sit right down here. I’ll bring you a nice mug of nut brown ale to steady your nerves and a plate of fried mushrooms and bread.’ She raised her brow in question. ‘I could manage a bowl of fish stew, too, if you’d like.’

The attention of the two lasses were drawn to the kitchen door as it opened out into the common room. There was Jack! With Master Boffin! Rowan looked away quickly not wanting to appear to be staring their way.

[Envinyatar]

Jack recalled a few of his manners and opened the door to the common room, allowing the innkeeper to pass through before him. ‘I think,’ said Jack, having given some brief consideration to the offer Master Boffin had made, ‘that I’d like to work for my room. Though, I was wondering if we might come to some agreement about having a bit of food, too.’

He looked round the common room at the guests, noting that the server lass who’d seen him to his bath earlier . . . Rowan, that’s what she called herself . . . that she’d been glancing his way and then away quickly. ‘Now I wonder what that’s all about,’ he murmured to himself. He shrugged it off and turned back to his conversation with the innkeeper.

‘So, what would you like me to do? Shall I bring the folk drinks?’ He was really hoping that he would not be asked to go into the kitchen to get food. Cela was in the kitchen, and as he’d noted before, she scared him.

[Noinkling]

‘Well now, I suppose we could manage a story for you tonight...’ Skirvir nodded, looking towards his cousins. ‘But dragons?’ He moved his head from one child to the other. ‘They’re great, fiercesome creatures, you know. Not given to niceties. And they’ve great long teeth, very sharp. And claws to match. Their great bellies hold a burning fire and sometimes they breathe out those flames, setting whatever is in their path on fire.’

He leaned back a bit in his chair and measured the girl and boy with the length of his thumb. His eyes gave them each a considering look. ‘Why the both of you would make barely a toothsome snack for some hungry wyrm.’

Skirvir lifted Daisy from the table and set her down gently by her brother. ‘You’re young pups, little mistress, little master. And I’m not wanting to get in any trouble with your mother or father. Perhaps you should see to asking them first about whether they want you listening to stories about dragons first. Agreed?’

He laughed and pointed to Bívor before they could answer. ‘My cousin, here, Bívor, used to get so scared when one of his uncles would tell stories that we’d have to leave two little lanterns burning at night where he slept – to drive away any scary shadows!’

Bávor chuckled at his brother’s expense while Bívor simply huffed and puffed a bit and shook his head as if to say it was all a grand lie.

[Mithalwen]

The boy Cir, temporarily vanquished, and ignored by his sister who was discussing details with Dick. took himself and his beer off and folding himself in to the low windowseat he nursed his pint and his sorrows. He didn't want to sing and he didn't want to play his sister's stupid whistle. He blamed himself for orchestrating their departure but he never thought that Cir would extend a couple of hours exploration into a few days absence. And now as usual he was caught.

He looked through the window watching the light fade. Wondering what would happen when the party regrouped as the stars opened to eat and sing together and they were properly missed. He didn't mind singing as part of a group so much - it was only when he sang with Cir that the now much greater contrast between thier voices seemed so conspicuous, another difference that would become more marked as they grew up. Even to himself Cir could not use the word matured.

He was tiring of always being in strife .... maybe it was time to accept the differences and become Carantilion..... however before he could get far with such an uncharacteristically serious train of thought he took proper notice of the dwarves for the first time. He sniggered to himself remembering how Cir and he had sat in the trees of Rivendell and made fun of the ones who had brought Mr Bilbo with them.... there was somthing about a dwarvish beard - and the unbelievable rumour that even dwarf women had them that just seemed too ridiculous to be true. He smiled for the first time since his sister had revealed her plan and when he caught her eye he inclined his head briefly in the direction of the Naugrim and knew she shared the memory.

[Dimturiel]

Meliot tried to steady her nerves. She felt anoyed with herself, falling apart like that. And worse, she could draw atention to herself. "I'm sure you look exactly like our young Tom, after he has stolen strawberries from the neighbour's garden" she tought in an attempt to encourage herself. Well, after some ale and some mushrooms, she would feel better. And a bowl of fish stew! Yes, that would make her day. She nodded to Rowan and managed a smile.

At that moment the kitchen door opened and in came master Boffin with Jack of all people! Meliot felt uneasy. He was not there to complain about someone burglaring his room, was he? But maybe not. He did not look as if he knew that someone had taken something from him. Meliot looked at Rowan, a questioning look in her eyes.

"You don't think he's here about us, do you?" she asked her friend. "You don't suppose he somehow found out about what we have just done?"

[Kath]

Still standing at the counter even though Dick had left her Cir looked over at her brother. She hadn't meant to upset him, she'd really thought that staying here and having some fun would cheer him up a bit. He seemed so low at the moment, though she couldn't fathom the reason. Still, maybe she should have talked to him about her plan rather than springing it on him, he always wanted to be in the know as much as she did, and tended to get equally annoyed when he wasn't.

Suddenly she saw him smile as he caught her eye and nodded toward the Dwarves sitting at the table. The mischievous glint in her eye had her remembering a few years back to the last time she had seen the race. Glad that Cir was looking happier she shot a grin at him and mouthed a few words of one of the songs she had sung. Realising what she was about to do her brother shook his head to try and dissaude her, but couldn't stop the growing smile.

Cir waited until the hobbit children had disappeared from the table, not wanting to interrupt a conversation, and then stepped up next to the Dwarves, making them jump as she burst into song.

"O! What are you doing?
And why are you staying?
If you don't plan on leaving,
We could use your help playing!"

[Folwren]

Daisy took a few steps back as the dwarf put her down. He smiled at the two of them. “You’re young pups, little mistress, little master. And I’m not wanting to get in any trouble with your mother or father. Perhaps you should see to asking them first about whether they want you listening to stories about dragons first. Agreed? My cousin, here, Bívor,” he added, chuckling a great, deep chuckle, “used to get so scared when one of his uncles would tell stories that we’d have to leave two little lanterns burning at night where he slept - to drive away any scary shadows!”

Dorling and Daisy didn’t know whether to believe this tale or not. All they could manage was to stare all the more as all the dwarves but Bívor laughed, and Bívor gave them a look very easily interpreted to mean ‘Don’t believe a word they’re telling you!’

Dorlind recovered his wits the fastest. “We’ll ask Papi,” he said. “I don’t think he’ll mind!”

“No, Papi won’t mind. But Dorlind gets scared, too, sometimes, when he hears scary stories,” Daisy winked slyly, a funny and unexpected movement on the part of the five year old. She grinned before turned and walking quickly away.

“I don’t get scared,” Dorlind said quickly, backing away. “I’ll ask Papi. I hope we’ll be able to hear a story. So long!” As quickly as he thought polite, then, he turned and trotted after his sister. He caught up to her quickly and whispered furiously in her ear. “I do not get scared! I told you earlier!”

“Never mind,” she said, giggling. “There’s Papi, let’s ask him!”

They ran forward, around the bar, and to where Dick stood speaking with Jack.

“Papi!” they both cried together as they ran up to him, stopping just short of colliding with him. “Those Dwarves over there?” “They know stories!” “About dragons!” “Can we listen to them?” “Please?” “I won’t be scared, I promise!” “And they said that if you said-”

“Hold on, hold on!” cried Dick, laughing and placing a hand on each of the twins’ heads. “One second and then when I finish with Mr. Jack here, I’ll hear you one at a time. Now, Jack, I think you’d be quite a help to Tollers if you worked out here. Go and try to catch up to the lad and ask him to show you how to manage things and you’ll get along capitally. Better let Tollers handle the drinks, it’s mighty tricky not to spill it sometimes when there are a great many orders. You’ll manage.

“The work will pay off for your keep and probably enough even for your food. Don’t worry about that, though. We’ll figure something out. For now, help Tollers. Thanks mightily.”

[Firefoot]

Cela had never quite realized just how much she enjoyed having Primrose’s – or anybody’s, really – company in the kitchen while they worked. Certainly, Dick, Tollers, and others were in and out of the kitchen fairly frequently, but by way of conversation she had little else to talk to than the vegetables. Instead, she had often found herself humming a familiar tune or talking to herself.

“Bit of this, bit of that,” Cela now murmured as she added herbs to the large pot of steaming fish stew. Tollers had brought in a more than enough fish for the stew that was smelling ever more appetizing as it cooked. Even more tempting, however, was the fry pan of mushrooms that had caught Dick’s attention earlier. Cela picked one out of the pan to taste and silently declared the mushrooms done and every bit as tasty as they smelled. Not that she had really needed a taste to tell, but she could never be too sure – not where mushrooms were concerned, anyway. These combined with the bread left from the afternoon meal completed the supper; all that remained was for it to be served.

She ducked out of the kitchen to inform Dick of this and found him talking with that Man Tollers had befriended. She hoped that Dick did not intend to set him working in the kitchens again; she had found him rather blundering with the plates, as she imagined most Big Folk like him must be, and the kitchen really was not meant to hold such large workers…

“Food’s all ready,” she said, “and if everything else is set, I can start dishing up some plates…” Then her gaze darted towards Jack and back to Dick with her eyebrows raised, silently asking if there was anything she ought to know.

[Forest Elf]

“Thanks.” Gable said when they were on the ground again. Now that she thought about it, it was probably a good thing her sleeve was nailed there, or she would have fallen… Then again, she’d never of been in that situation if she’d never climbed up there in the first place, yet she couldn’t resist. She had to make herself useful, or she’d just go off wandering again. Like her mother was when she was young…and alive.

Gable suddenly remembered the pony. Odd, she hadn’t thought about it all day, when usually she would be worrying her head off about stuff like that. Must be because of all the commotion, and unexpected visitors from Rivendell, Cir and Cir. She was glad to see them again, yes. But in seeing them again, it brought up old memories of times at Rivendell. Running off on a new adventure, riding all day without a care in the world, her parents always telling her not to wander off to far to no extent, and no use. She wandered no matter how much they told her. At times, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been her fault that they died. That she should have listened and they’d still be here. Yet, she wouldn’t be here, in the beautiful and peaceful Shire, and made the friends she has now.

[Celuien]

Once Gable's feet were safely on firm ground, Primrose let out a sigh of relief. She knew only too well the effects of a fall and would have been sorry to see another dweller at the Golden Perch harmed.

Will still lingered at the other side of the ladder. Primrose hopped closer, reached into her pocket and pulled out the apple she had found in her lap earlier. A soft twinkle came into her eyes. A corner of her apron served to polish the apple again, though the bright red peel already reflected the afternoon sun almost as brightly as the waters of a still pond.

"Thank you for the apple, Will," she said, and laughed gently as Will was suddenly flustered by her acknowledgement of the gift. "Don't look so surprised. There aren't many here as would take the trouble to shine up an apple for me as bright as you did." Primrose suddenly found herself blushing again as she went on, "But an apple always tastes sweeter if there's someone to talk to while you're eating it. Would you like some company?" She added quickly, "It's lonely out of the kitchen."

[Arry]

Now had it been yesterday, Will would have had no problem inviting Prim in to share an apple. But somehow, since this morning, his ordinary, dependable, routine life had gone slightly askew. He found himself quite tongue-tied and somehow the area under his collar had grown quite hot.

We…we’d be alone in there! And have mercy! Wasn’t she standing there looking at him, her eyes all twinkly. Were they twinkly before and he hadn’t noticed? He couldn’t remember.

Will managed somehow to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and squeaked out, ‘Company?’ He brought his fist to his mouth and coughed, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

‘Company, yes...that would be nice,’ he managed. ‘But, you know,’ he went on, ‘the floor in the stable’s pretty uneven, and I wouldn’t want you to fall again.’ He touched her lightly on the elbow, saying, ‘May I?’ offering support. ‘Why don’t we go on into the kitchen? I didn’t get any of the stew.’ ‘And,’ he grinned at Prim, his hunger lending him confidence, ‘I’d sure like a few more of the mushrooms Cela fried.’

He paused for a moment – the thought suddenly striking him that perhaps she might have her own druthers about where she wanted to have her meal.

‘Or…we could just go into the common room. See who’s there. What do you think?’

[Noinkling]

Two pairs of dark eyes turned quickly to consider the source of the loud noise. An Elf, of course! The blighters were good at sneaking up on folk. thought Bívor, turning back to look at his brother. Bávor stroked his chin as he looked the singer up and down. Both pushed back their chairs a bit and flicked their gazes toward Skirvir. Their cousin was not overly fond of Elves. Overbearing; rude, he thought them. And the name “Naugrim”, which was so often used by the Elves, grated on him each time he heard it said.

Skirvir’s eyes were seemingly drawn to a small puddle of ale on the table. With his index finger, he traced a spiral, in and out and in once again. ‘So,’ he spoke at last, his brow furrowed, questioning. ‘Do I have the right of it? You Elves are in need of Dwarven help?’

[Envinyatar]

Cela’s gaze had darted towards Jack and back to Dick; her eyebrows raised. Jack squirmed a bit under her scrutiny. Buck up, boyo! he chided himself. You’ve got to help out if you’re to stay at the inn. And this is what needs doing at the moment.

He’d followed Master Dick’s advice and sought out Tollers. They’d made an agreement that Tollers would set up the trays for him to bring out to the folk; that way allowing him to avoid the further eagle-eyed look-over of the cook. Jack had done fairly with this system, picking his way carefully between the tables as he delivered the bowls of stew and bread and mushrooms.

For the most part the meal had gone passably. With only one small mishap of a dropped bowl, luckily empty, just outside the kitchen door that had simply jumped from his tray to spite him. Jack had grabbed the broom and dustpan quick as a wink and tidied the pieces up; wiping up what little spatter there was with a spare bar towel. He’d placed the pieces in the wooden dustbin behind the bar, figuring to himself that it was only one bowl and no need to be letting Mistress Cela know.

He hadn’t time to keep tab on Tollers; the fellow seemed a bit preoccupied to Jack. And he wondered if he was going to hold true to their agreement and keep mum on the coin he’d found.

Another call from a table of Stock folk drew his attention and he nodded at them. Cries of ‘More fish stew, my good sir!’ rang out. Partly, Jack thought, because they hadn’t yet filled that hollow leg of theirs to the brimming; and partly, too, because they found it a novelty that one of the Big Folk was serving them.

Back to the kitchen he went, keeping his head down and his eyes on his work as he fetched the stew and another basket of bread himself.

[Folwren]

“Food’s all ready,” Cela informed him, giving him a piercing glance for goodness knows what. “And if everything is set, I can start dishing up some plates.” Her eyes flicked briefly in the direction of the Man standing there and Dick suddenly understood completely. He smiled, as winningly as he could.

“Why, Cela, that’s wonderful. I think if you think all is set and ready, then it is. Go ahead. Run on in there and start dishing things up, I’ll be in shortly to double check that everything is prepared.”

Cela turned in a small huff and Dick lifted his eyebrows after her before turning back to Jack. “Run along now,” he said, nodding his head towards Tollers, busy about the tables. “If we have any further questions to discuss, we can later.”

Jack went and Dick turned to go into the kitchen. He braced himself for the storm as he stood in the doorway, seeing Cela spooning steaming spoon fulls of the stew into the wooden bowls with no little impatience.

“A’right,” said Dick, walking forward. “What’s eating you?”

[Celuien]

In the flurry of activity that followed Gable's near accident, Primrose hadn't noticed the lengthening shadows that marked how many hours had passed. The day was heading well into afternoon, and Primrose's appetite had grown far beyond an apple. Mushrooms and stew, however, sounded perfect.

"Mushrooms! Now, I say that a meal isn't a meal unless there's a nice plate of mushrooms with it. We ought to go in and have a nice plate and a bowl of stew too." Primrose thought for a moment about where to go - the kitchen or common room.

Will was being a bit odd. What was behind that cough and confused blurt of 'company'? With her usual humor returning, the twinkle in Primrose's eyes doubled. Poor Will. Cela would be in the kitchen. Cela could help Primrose decide if there was anything behind Will's apparent confusion besides worry about the condition of the stable floor. And they had gone from breakfast to supper without another word about Cela's plan for him. A nice dinner in the kitchen, under Cela's eyes and ears, was the perfect opportunity to bring it back to light.

Besides, Primrose was growing tired of her exile from the kitchen. She was curious to find out how Cela was managing without her help. And too, she missed the cook's conversation. They would go back to the kitchen.

"You're most likely right about my hurting my leg again. I'm none too steady on these crutches, and an uneven floor would probably have me falling pretty fast. The kitchen sounds about right. And it would be like going home again for me. Didn't really want to come out and rest in the first place." She laughed and leant slightly on Will's arm. "Let's go in."

[Firefoot]

Cela was already working herself into a right temper by the time Dick walked in. Not asking my input, as if this isn’t my kitchen as much as – even more than – his. Sending the clumsy giant in to handle the dishes. Could have put him out in the stable – or to finish repairing the roof, there’s an idea – instead… And now he walked in, wanting to know what the problem was, as if it wasn’t as plain as the nose on his face! She was not bothered by the thought that he could not, of course, easily see his own nose.

“I’ll tell you what’s eating me,” she said, glaring at him. “That fellow you’ve had in here, that’s who – Jack. Broken more dishes in a day than have been broken in the past month.” As if to accentuate the point, she heard another crash just outside the kitchen door and winced. “There’s another. You might have asked him if he’d ever worked in some sort of kitchen – any sort! – before sending him in here to work with dishes,” she accused, jabbing her spoon in Dick’s direction and not even minding the little bits of broth that flew from it. “As if I don’t have enough else to deal with right now!”

She spun back around to her stew and in doing so caught sight of the very last people she would have chosen to hear that: Will and Primrose, coming in from outside.

[Folwren]

‘Oh, so that’s it!’ Dick almost said, a longing to defend himself instantly rising in his mind. Why was she suddenly so blazing mad about it? How was he to know she didn’t like the fellow? She hadn’t said anything about it! Something about females – they always thought their minds were supposed to be read – but then when you did guess what they were thinking, they always got huffy about it!

As it turned out, Dick did not get half a chance to say anything. Cela ranted and raved, waving her spoon about in a most dangerous fashion, managed to splatter broth all over his vest front, and then as if to cap it off, Will and Primrose appeared in the doorway leading outside, just in time to hear her last few sentences.

“-Before sending him in here to work with dishes! As if I don’t have enough else to deal with right now!”

Cela finally turned away, furious, and stopped short when she saw the two young helpers in the doorway. Will and Primrose looked shocked and awkward, as well they might. There was a prolonged pause that sounded rather like a silence. Then Dick slowly and deliberately took out his pocket handkerchief and dabbed at the bit of broth on himself.

“Well, well,” he said, keeping his voice level. “It seems Miss Brandybuck and I have some things to discuss. Will, Prim – you do not mind if I ask you to step out for a few minutes? Unless you would like to put your input on the matter. I don’t know that it’s all that serious, but our dear cook seems to think it is.”

[Rose]

‘My, my! Now wasn’t that exciting!’ Penstemon’s bright eyes looked from Rhys to Tanni. ‘Not that I would want her to get hurt; but it’s not often you see a young Elf hanging from the roof by her sleeve, now is it?’ She stumped up the step of the porch leaning on her walking stick, and nodded at Rhys as he opened the door for both herself and his sister.

The heat from the fire washed over her as she entered the common room, along with the rise and fall of voices, the clatter of spoons against bowls, and the savory smells that came in bursts each time the kitchen door opened.

‘Mushrooms! And trout!’ Granny exclaimed. Just then a young Hobbit passed by with a tray of mugs foaming over with ale. ‘And I believe I’ll have one of those, too,’ she said pointing to the tray as it passed by. She craned her neck looking about the room.

‘Lots of Big Folk here. Can’t see over them. Can one of you see a good table for the three of us?’

[Arry]

‘As if I don’t have enough else to deal with right now!’

Will’s mouth dropped open at the sight of Mistress Brandybuck jabbing her cook spoon at Master Dick; that and the loud angry tone in which her words were couched.

He was just about to close the door and suggest to Prim they walk around to the main entrance when Master Dick spoke up. ‘It seems Miss Brandybuck and I have some things to discuss. Will, Prim – you do not mind if I ask you to step out for a few minutes? Unless you would like to put your input on the matter. I don’t know that it’s all that serious, but our dear cook seems to think it is.’

‘Input? No, I don’t think so.’ Will looked toward Prim, his brows raised. ‘Just looking for a bite to eat. Perhaps Prim and I will just follow up on your request and go off the common room.’ He gave Prim’s arm a little squeeze. ‘Shall we go?’

[Envinyatar]

Jack’s cheeks were flaming from the cook’s words. The tray of bowls, all brimming with fish stew, shook in his hands. And his hands had become all sweaty as they trembled. He looked down at the roiling contents of the bowls and felt his heart begin to race and lurch within his chest.

Gripping the tray all the tighter, he inched backwards out the door and into the common room. With a sigh of relief, he set the tray on the bar top and grabbed a dry bar towel to wipe his hands and face.

Tollers was just approaching the bar with a tray of his own filled with empty mugs. Jack waved him over and let him know what was going on in the kitchen between the innkeeper and the cook. ‘Can you help me, Tollers?’ he asked, his eyes sliding to the closed kitchen door. ‘The old dragon in the cave,’ he went on, ‘is all riled up. And as I live and breathe, I just don’t want to go back into her lair. But I don’t want to let Master Dick down either. Can you fetch the food for me? Bring it out here. Be happy to take it around.’

[Mithalwen]

Cir's keen elvish hearing had no difficulty in picking up the lyrics of his sister's song or the dwarf's response. He decided he had better intervene, hoping that he would not make matters worse. Still clutching his precious tankard of ale he made his way across the room swiftly on nimble feet and went to see if he could talk them away form trouble as way to into it.

"Please forgive my sister's intrusion," he said to the dwarf who had spoken. He seemed to be frowning as he traced a pattern on the table while the intent gaze of his companions was a bit disconcerting. "It is only that we are to sing for the company this evening and have no other instrument to accompany us save this whistle; now it is known to us from the visit to our home at Rivendell of Thorin Oakenshield and his companions that ...." here Cir hesitated since he had the wit to remember that Naugrim was not a term to be used to the face of one of that race.... unless you wished to offend, but he hesitated for a moment for an acceptable alternative. Althought he beer had helped loosen his tongue it had not increased his westron vocabulary so he had to improvise, "that the sons of Aule are fond of music and as craftsmen are seldom equalled, and perhaps you might have instruments that might bring enrichment to the evening's entertainment"

Having finished his speech he remembered a bit more of dwarvish customs from the visit of Mr Bilbo and his companions. "Carantilion Laicirith at your service" he added making a low bow which might have seemed a mockery had it not been for the earnestness of his expression. "And this is my sister Enpauriel Laicirith ... but mostly we are called Cir ...." his voice faded and he waited for a reaction or for his twin to interrupt.

[Celuien]

On hearing Cela's outburst, Primrose's face might have been the mirror image of Will's, mouth open, eyes as wide as saucers. Jabbing Master Dick was the last purpose Primrose would have thought Cela would find for her spoon. And the raised voice made her almost squirm where she stood.

"Shall we go?" Will said.

Prmrose quickly replied, "Yes. Let's." They left as hurriedly as her injured leg allowed and sat at a table in the common room.

"Dishes and spoons? I wonder what that was all about!" Primrose exclaimed softly under the din on the busy room. "I've never seen Cela in quite so much of a bother."

[Folwren]

Will and Primrose withdrew as quickly as they could manage (it was not terribly quickly, as Primrose’s injury kept her from being too swift) and the doorway was once again empty. Dick moved his eyes back to Cela. She stood with her back to him, stirring the stew swiftly with her spoon.

“Stop that, or you’ll break the fish into tiny little bits and no one will be able to find them,” he ordered. She stopped abruptly, but still did not turn to face him. Dick drew a very deep breath and let it out slowly before he walked to the table and sat down. His feet ached from being stood upon all day and he gratefully propped them up on the chair at a diagonal with him.

“Look, Cela,” he said in a soothing a voice as he could conjure up at the moment, “the poor chap needed help. You might not’ve seen him when he came in, but he was a mess and a poor one, too. I took his last coin for the breakfast that he had here this morning. I can’t very well send a fellow off with nothing in his pockets and even less in his stomach now, can I? What’s the harm of letting the fellow work if he’s a mind to? It’ll do him more good than it will do bad to your dishes.

“Well, maybe not,” he added immediately. “But be that as it may, we can get new bowls and plates if he breaks all of ours. Don’t worry, he’ll get less clumsy the more you let him work here. Bear with me, won’t you?”

[Undómë]

Rowan frowned as she saw Jack back out the kitchen door and set his tray on the bar top. The man seemed a bit frazzled. She narrowed her eyes, watching him. And were his hands shaking? It certainly seemed so. She saw him motion to someone, and there came Tollers. Hmmm….now what was that about? she wondered. She glanced quickly over to where Meliot sat. And what are they talking about…?

The front door opened and two familiar figures stood in the entryway. Primrose! And there at her side was Will, holding the door open and ushering her in. My goodness! And what were they doing here in the main room and not in the kitchen?

She watched as they took a table and settled themselves in. Prim was leaning toward Will, speaking, as Rowan drew near their table. ‘Say, you two! What’s up?’ she asked, leaving the question open ended.

[Noinkling]

Now Dwarves can be as clannish as any folk. And perhaps more so, since there are a certain number that harbor a deep resentment against those chosen to be the Firstborn. Much like any child taken in by a generous parent, there is bound to be some resentment against the natural children; a feeling of being considered second rate in the eyes of the adoptive parent. And of course, it is no help to the Dwarvish sense of pride that the Firstborn have an overweening and outspoken sense of superiority.

Bívor and Bávor huddled close to Skirvir, speaking in low undertones to their cousin. ‘They’re young ones, cousin,’ Bívor offered. ‘Wet behind the ears yet. We can afford them some measure of indulgence. Don’t you think?’ Bávor nodded, saying 'perhaps', and adding the word ‘brats’, and the observation that perhaps such spoiled behavior came of overly indulgent parents.

Skirvir rubbed his forehead, wondering whether it might be easier just to accommodate the Elves. And then perhaps they would go away. And he could go back to his pleasant conversation, his food, his ale, and his pipe.

So it was with some surprise to his two cousins that Skirvir looked up toward the Elves and offered their assistance. ‘My cousin Bívor here,’ he said raising his brows to the left, ‘he plays the flute. And Bávor, there, he has a very fine voice; knows many songs.’

Bívor and Bávor raised an eyebrow each at him. ‘And……..?’ one of them prompted.

‘And I will, of course, participate.’ He poured himself another mug of ale and took a deep drink from it. Placing it carefully down in front of him he rubbed his hands together vigorously. ‘I will clap.’

[Glirdan]

Kár was listening to the conversation. "And I will, of course, participate. I will clap." Kár noticed that he didn't seem to keen on participating.

"Well, Skivir, if it pleases you, I shall join you. That is, if you don't mind the company," he added. "And in this way," he thought to himself, "I'll be able to find out more and tell him more of my past."

[Kath]

Cir clapped her own hands in delight as the Dwarves agreed to join in, with their spokesperson having a sense of humour she'd never expected from one of that race.. She had of course heard the not quite so nice things said about her and her brother, but then the Naugrim weren't known to be the most friendly of folk, and they had at least lowered their voices first. In addition, she was quite willing to forgive them most insults since their agreement had put a smile back on her brother's face.

"Thank you!" She cried, beaming at them. "We must eat first for we promised the Innkeeper that we would try some of this famous fish stew, but once we are finished we would be happy to find a tune that has parts for flute, voice and hands alike."

Nodding at her the Dwarves began to turn back to their meal and the words of another Dwarf sitting with them, but resignedly halted their movement as Cir's voice rang out at them again.

"Oh! But my brother here still doesn't have an instrument to play. Have you any spares with you or should we rely on those of this Inn?"

[Firefoot]

“Yes, of course,” Cela replied resignedly and stiffly. Strains of obstinacy and pride urged her to disagree, but she had not the heart for it. Master Dick had a point, even if she did not wholly agree with taking in any “stray” that wandered through – like cats. Soon we’ll have a whole passel of them. But the thought lacked conviction. Also, Cela was not by nature argumentative and there was no point in protesting too much the way Dick chose to run his inn, and truly Jack was not doing much harm – not that she wouldn’t still watch him like a hawk.

Even with all of this, however, Cela may still have chosen to disagree had it not been for Primrose and Will’s timely entrance. Oh, she felt a wretched fool, not for letting them overhear but for letting herself become so stressed out and carried away over nothing.

“Have some stew,” she said abruptly, turning and putting a full bowl down in front of the innkeeper.

“What?” asked Dick, temporarily lost by this switch in subject matter.

“You haven’t eaten yet. Have some stew,” she repeated, “and mushrooms.” She piled up a plate for him and set it down. For while she would never apologize outright, this was her way of saying that she would accept his judgment, whether she agreed with it or not. Perhaps Dick would recognize it as such, or perhaps he would simply be glad that his head cook was no longer shaking her spoon at him. She smiled in amusement at this; yes, that would be just like a man.

[Noinkling]

‘Afraid not, Mistress Enpauriel Laicirith,’ Bávor said, taking a quick poll of those seated at the table. ‘No spares. Perhaps we should put off the night of entertainment for another date.’ And preferably one after we’ve gone!

‘At any rate, just let us know when you’ve gotten yourselves situated with instruments and song and such,’ Bívor added, turning from his bowl of stew to look at the female Elf. ‘What about you, Kár? Did you want to join in on the singing and the playing?’ Bívor asked, turning back to his fellow Dwarves. ‘Didn’t mean to leave you out.’

[Arry]

‘What’s up?’

Rowan’s question hung brightly, expectantly in the air. Will squirmed a little in his seat. He loved to gossip as much as any other in the Inn. But somehow the heated discussion between Mistress Cela and Master Dick seemed something that should be settled just between them, without others poking their noses into it.

‘Two things are up. First, you missed the big excitement out in the stable yard. Gable was up on the roof, helping to fix the part of shingles that I had still to do. And, well, she slipped and nearly plunged off the edge – and would have done so, except that she’d managed to nail one of her sleeves to the roof.’ He looked around the room and pointed out the man, Rhys. ‘That was the Big Folk fella that helped her down.’

‘Now, the other thing that’s up is that Prim and I are hungrier than bears in Spring. I was hoping that with all these folk in that there might be some music tonight or storytelling.’ He smiled over at Prim. ‘Made the poor lass walk all the way round to the front for her supper!’

He nodded over to where Tollers and the man were speaking. ‘Does the inn have a new worker?’

[Tevildo]

Tollers clapped Jack on the back and reassured him, "All right now. Don't worry. The Innkeeper is a good fellow, and I'm sure he'll smooth things over very quickly, Just stay here a bit, and I'll go to the kitchen and get you everything you need for serving so you won't have to face the bear in her den."

Tollers quickly slipped into the kitchen and began loading a series of stew bowls onto a long wooden tray. He had wanted to ask the Innkeeper a question, but now did not seem to be a good time. Tollers was quite adept at handling large loads and managed to stack two or three bowls in a wobbly pile to be sure that Jack had enough food available to keep his customers happy. He scooped up the tray and returned to the bar, loading a second tray down with flagons of ale.

Taking up the tray with the bowls in his right hand, and the second tray with the ale in his left, Tollers trotted over to where Jack was waiting. "Here now, take this. Plenty of fish stew here. Just pass them out to the guests who are waiting. This should keep you busy for a while. Meanwhile, I'll be passing out the drinks."

[Forest Elf]

“Well, see you round.” Gable said to Rhys. Then walked to the stables. She opened the stable door to the injured pony’s stall and checked on her. The water wasn’t too low, and there was plenty of fresh hay, or sort of fresh, and nothing needed taking care of.

Gable also checked on the other horses’ stalls, food and water. They all looked fine. Gable headed to the Inn, figuring that she’d search for the owner again, headed to her room. She changed into her boy clothes again and headed out to the stables.

[Envinyatar]

Rhys and his sister stood in the entryway with Granny Greenhill. All three were looking about the room. In search of a table, he thought. Hithadan stood and waved at Rhys as he caught his eye, nodding his head down to his own table.

From a nearby table he obtained an additional chair. And noting one of the servers nearby, he motioned him over.

[Folwren]

To tell the truth, Dick was confused and surprised by Cela’s sudden and abrupt softening and offering of food. That certainly didn’t stop him from eating, though. After thanking Cela warmly, he gratefully ate, quickly, though not hastily, as he enjoyed each bite. For a time, a silence ruled in the kitchen. Cela moved quietly about the stove. When the bowl was half empty and most of the mushrooms eaten, Dick finally looked up again.

She hadn’t taken up the argument again, he told himself as he turned his thoughts back to their short disagreement. Her very slight agreement – that ‘Yes, of course’ – hadn’t sounded very much like a real agreement, nor at all like a surrender. In fact, it had sounded almost entirely like a reply forced out of the necessity to be obedient to his last request. He didn't like that.

“If you really don’t like him that much, then he doesn’t have to stay,” Dick said abruptly. “We can’t do without you, Cela, that’s for sure, and I don’t like it when anyone here is unhappy. I don’t want to turn him off, though, empty handed. Could you put up with him, do you think, for at least a little while? Maybe he’ll get tired of us and leave of his own will. I’m only asking for a few days – maybe a week – and after that, we can talk about it again.”

[Firefoot]

Cela shook her head exasperatedly. Where did he get his ideas? "I most certainly shan't be leaving the Perch over something like this," she said, "and if this is some ill-thought-out attempt to get rid of me, well, you might as well say so out loud." Dick started to protest that this was not at all the case, but Cela overrode him. "And as for the rest, I already agreed, didn't I?"

Dick still did not look wholly convinced; Cela supposed she would have to speak a little plainer. "Listen," she said. "I told you what I thought, and after that it's up to you to run your inn as you see fit. The question at hand is not whether I will like him or appreciate him or go easy on him; it is whether I will tolerate him in my kitchen, and I have told you yes. If you would like me to change my mind, feel free to keep arguing the point."

As for playing nicely, Cela would not. She would draw the line short of terrorizing the man, but it might even be rather fun to play with his head a bit. Making up for the broken plates - yes, that was right.

[piosenniel]

‘Well, look. It’s Hitha--,’ Rhys began, a smile on his face as he waved back to the Ranger. But before he could finish his sentence, his sister, he noted, was already on her way toward the proffered table, Granny in tow. He snorted as he shook his head, and stepped lively to keep up with the two females.

The two gentlemen seated the ladies first. Rhys pulling out the chair for Granny while Hithadan saw to Tanni. He took in the smile and the thank-you his sister offered the Ranger, noticing, or so he thought, that her eyes lingered on his face a little too long and too readily. And did his eyes betray him, or did the man’s hand linger overlong on the back of her chair, he wondered. He seemed courteous enough, the Ranger did, but Rhys’ father had charged him with the care of his sister, and there were certain warning bells that seemed to jangling on the outskirts of his awareness.

He looked at Tanni, who had leaned across the table to speak with Granny. And Hithadan, he noted, had sat down and was now speaking to a server who had drawn near. What momentary alarm he’d felt seemed quieted now, but nonetheless he would speak with Tanni when they were alone. And for now, he would be vigilant.

‘So, what is it that the good cook has made for us this evening?’ Rhys heard Tanni say as she turned to the server.....