The Green Dragon Inn - Part 6

[Elora]

Uien entered the inn just in time to beat the lunchtime rush. Her arrival was greeted with enthusiasm by Buttercup. She examined Uien's hands and smiled at Uien.

"Clean hands? Wonderful! We could do with some help with the midday rush." No sooner had Uien managed to nod her reply did she find herself installed behind the bar.

"Aman says the rooms are filling fast. Record the names here and give a key with payment - in advance, mind you. There's some space left yet, but not much, and I'll not loose it to insolvent drifters." Buttercup patted Uien on the arm, speaking as though the solvency of guests and occupancy rate were her chief concern. "Thanks again, Uien," Buttercup added as she walked away.

Uien examined the book and the key rack and shrugged her shoulders. She could do this task. Westron, she noted as the read the entries in the book. Aman wouldn't thank her for a tengwar scrawl. Noting that, Uien took it upon herself to smile at those that passed in a welcoming manner. Aman's warm hospitality was still fresh in Uien's recollection. She'd given Uien a bed without so much as a sniff of coin.

At her post near the room reservation's book, Uien was given the chance to observe the common room. Derufin had recently arrived back, she noted. She would have to speak with him before tomorrow morning. He was smiling merrily as Cook spoke with him. The look of delight on his face warmed her heart and Uien found herself echoing his smile herself.

Falco started when he saw her expression and checked over his shoulders to be sure she really was smiling in his direction. Uien made no further indication of recognition, but smile she did. The Hobbit blinked and then straighted his waistcoat.

"Strange," he muttered. Inwardly he had to admit that he liked to see her smiling at him instead of frowning or worse still gazing cooly at him from great height. But only inwardly. "Now't as strange as Elves, as they say," he reinforced for himself lest he soften a little with her wily smile.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman noticed Pio's non-too-discreet wink at Buttercup and would have glared, fighting down the blush, had she herself not then been introduced.

"Of course, you must recognise this Lady of the Mark, do you not?"

The immediate friendliness and warmth of Zimzi's responce surprised Aman, even in a land full of hobbits. "Of course . . . of course! This is your good friend . . . from the east! Amanaduial." The last word seemed almost musical, making Aman's name like a minature song.

Aman nodded and shook the woman's hand warmly, apparently surprising Zimzi as much as Aman had been surprised. "Yes...yes, that's right. Although no one has called me by my full name since..." she paused, trying to recall. It seemed she had been simply Aman for years, although she remembered Pio had only started calling her by the shortened version after some resistance and several months friendship. The Innkeeper snapped out of her reverie, focusing on Zimzi again. "Well, must be a fair few years anyway. How...?"

She paused, wondering if it was impolite to inquire how the woman knew her like that. Not sure whether to bring this up - she wouldn't like the make the woman uncomfortable as she inadvertently had done before - she changed the subject, looking down at the axe the woman held. Noticing something on the handle, she traced her forefinger lightly around the runes. "Goodness, what's this?"

[Enif]

She saw Éofalas grief at the mention of the ring, still she continued... 'I see...' She hesitated a moment.
Noting that Éofalas hesitated she aded in a hurry: 'I am sorry sir I can be pretty inoportune some times...' She paused. 'I problably shouldn't be asking you about it, I know it is personal, I see you grief at the mere mention of it, but do understand I am quite curious about it. If you would like to share the story I would be glad to hear it.'

[piosenniel]

‘It looks to be a Dwarven axe.’

Pio took the implement from Aman, her eyes sliding over the fine workmanship, from the long, smoothed oaken handle to the sturdy, sharp head. Where the metal of the axe head wrapped round the handle there were set, on the copper plate affixed there, Dwarven runes, filled in with gold.

‘Curious,’ she said quietly, recalling a story her good friend Cami had once told her. ‘I wonder . . .’

‘What does it say?’ asked Zimzi, noting the look of puzzlement on her friend’s face.

‘It was a gift to someone . . . and I think she will come looking for it, and soon. It must be precious to her.’ She handed the axe to Ruby, telling her to be careful as it was quite sharp. ‘Put it away where it will be safe, and out of harm’s way.’

Further discussion of the axe was forestalled as Pio caught a glance of Derufin peeking in from the door to the kitchen. She smiled, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her friend. ‘Come now,’ she called to him, an impish look on her face. ‘Come greet me, stablemaster . . . and tell me how it is you managed to lose my horse!’

[Jack]

"Well its rather complicated, you know... but if you are sure... The ring is my mothers, and when she died she gave it to my grandmother to give to me when she though it was her time to die. So this ring means either my grandmother thinks she will die or she knows she is sick! Its also her way of saying I better settle down and marry. She always said she would bless it and give it to me when married but I never have. I have never wanted too really." Éofalas said.

Éofalas wondered if Enif would think he was insane or hinting or something of that sort, neither of which he was doing!

"Thats my story," Éofalas said and waited for a reply, or some thing that would tell him what Enif was thinking.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin smiled as he watched her in the familiar surroundings of the Inn. The way she seemed the center of that which swirled about her. She was so much at ease in her skin and bones, effortless in her actions. He was captured by her grace once again.

Guileless, Piosenniel grinned at him when she saw him. Her grey eyes glinting with the old mischief, daring him to step close to her. He groaned, both dreading and desiring this moment. She had come back . . . but not to him . . . as he had imagined a thousand times in a thousand different ways. She had come back as his friend, as she would always be.

He must remember that.

‘About your horse, Mistress Piosenniel,’ he began, putting an expression of chagrin and contrition on his face. She stopped his mock confession with a laugh and held out her hands to him.

‘Come, say hello to Mithadan again,’ she urged him, her hand light on his arm as they walked to where he stood, speaking with Beren. A few pleasantries, and then she was drawing him over to where a slender, dark-haired woman stood, speaking with Aman . . .

[Enif]

Enif grinned. 'I see... I myself have been intimidated buy my father he thinks it is rather foolish of me to wonder around with no certain destiny. He insistis that I should setle down while I am still young or else I would end up alone in this world.'
She gave a short pause and continued. 'I told him my heart had not been born to a live a setled life. So I kept on wondering until the day I recieved notice that my father had set sail to the Grey Heavens without even giving me notice but I gess I diserved it.''Now you too know my story'

Enif looked at him with a shy smile on her face, though she was not certain if he thought her a fool, infact she had no clue what he thought of her. She just stood there while she wacthed the lunch beeing prepared.

[elf-girl-63]

Nuinyulma got up from the step, she didn't know how long she'd been sat there- a few hours maybe. Anyway, it was long enoguh for her body to begin to feel numb. She dusted off her skirt and looked out the nearest window. The sun had strengthened after the early morning rain and it was now high in the sky. Her stomach moaned. She was beginning to feel hungry (again) and she needed to tell Uien something.

She walked slowly, lingering on every step, trying to delay the inevitable. As she reached the bottom step her head began to ache. The inn was busy with lunch and she had to search a while before she found Uien.

"Excuse, me Uien. Could I have a word?"

The golden-haired elf turned around with a puzzled expression but nevertheless she followed Nuinyulma to a quiet corner.

"What is it?"

"Well. It's just that, that," she took a depp breath, "I can't come with you on your search. I'm really sorry, really, truly."

Uien laughed and Nuinyulma blushed crimson.

"Nevermind, my friend. Whatever reason you have-it can't be helped. Do not worry about it, now come. I would have lunch with you but I have work to do. Go and sit down though."

Nuinyulma smiled a sigh of relief and wandered back into the the common room. She sat by herself once more. It seemed she wasn't very good at making friends. Or being of any use to anyone. She wondered whether she could find a job here in the inn. It would give her some money, a essential that would soon run out. She decided, however, not to think of that and let her mind wander as it was prone to do.

It was not long before Buttercup appeared flustered and rushed off her feet.

"What will you be having for lunch Nuinyulma?"

"Just soup and bread please Buttercup. Lots of it please and you needn't hurry- I'm in no rush."

"Aye, well, you may not be but I am. What with Pio's return and all these new guests. We're running out of space. Mind, I'll bring it as fast as possible, though how fast that will be I can't say."

Nuinyulma laughed as the young hobbit ran off to the kitchen. She was right though. When Buttercup eventually returned with her lunch, she took it eagerly and carefully chomped her bread and sipped her soup.

It tasted much better with her admittance to Uien off her chest.

[Jack]

Éofalas smiled, "Then we are alike... Thank you for listening Enif... It helped a lot. I hope you and your father..." Éofalas wondered if he was getting to personal here but went on, "Patch things up."

Pausing for another moment Éofalas added, "Would you join me for some lunch?" He liked Enif, she reminded him think of spring and flowers.

[piosenniel]

‘Now isn’t this interesting,’ thought Pio to herself, watching Zimzi and Derufin exchange greetings and make their first attempts at conversation. She left them to sort through mutual points of interest and enlarge the details of the brief introduction she had made of one to the other. Buttercup had come up and putting her hand into the Elf’s, stood watching the pair. Pio leaned down, and spoke softly to her.

A smile was on the Hobbit’s face as she brought the two mugs of cold cider, asking why didn’t they sit down and wet their whistles while they talked. Mithadan had come up by then, Beren having drifted away for the moment. He stood at her shoulder, noting the direction of her gaze.

You have that Cami-look in your eye, Piosenniel. Matchmaking?! Whatever happened to the discussions of people making their own decisions?

Pio laughed as she turned toward him. ‘Caught red-handed! And I am just giving things a nudge, not threatening with sword and chain. Surely that is an improvement!’ She excused herself for a moment, saying she wanted to speak with someone. Mithadan was drawn off by Cook, to be bedeviled with plans for the Naming Day party.

So many Elves, she thought to herself. More than when I was here. Pio approached the young Elf who busied herself with bread and soup.

‘It is good, is it not? I have always found Cook’s meals very satisfying, no matter the simplicity of them.’ she smiled at the young Elf, asking if she might sit down.

‘My name is Piosenniel,’ she said, sitting down, across from the Elf. ‘Might I know yours and where you are from? And what brings you here to the Green Dragon?’

[Envinyatar]

She was talking, but he had lost track of her words.

His eyes were on her hands. They were strong, with long tapering fingers. And they moved gracefully as she spoke, like birds gliding from branch to branch. Sure of themselves in their flight.

Solid, working hands. Nails cut short, not fussed over. Their skin stained by the sun. He imagined them roughened by use, and was surprised when her fingers grazed the back of his hand in passing as she took his mug to refill it. Smooth . . . soft . . .

He caught the end of a question she asked. Something concerning clay, he thought. His brow furrowed and he glanced up at her expectant face.

‘Clay, m’Lady?’

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman watched Zimzi talking to Derufin, and raised an eyebrow at the back of Pio's head. As she watched, the elf turned to Mithadan, who had approached her from behind, and laughed with her husband. Seems Aman wasn't the only one who had caught Pio's business. The Innkeeper's eyes turned back to Zimzi and Derufin, where their halting conversation was starting to relax, even if neither of them seemed to be paying particular attention to the words, and she smiled - and to think she had always thought it would be Uien who got the last word with Derufin...

Aman turned her attention back the the axe in her hands, her slim fingers once more moving absent-mindedly over the words she couldn't fully read. But here was something interesting...she peered more closely at the last word on the inscription, her mind working on what little she knew about Dwarven runes. But this word...she had seen this word before, and something about it seemed familiar...then she realised, and with the realisation, she managed the word before the last one as well.

Your father, Balin.

The Innkeeper looked up sharply, then glanced at Zimzi. Well, to be sure, she certainly wasn't a dwarf. So where on Arda could she have come across such an item?

Bemused, the woman of rohan stood, the axe held with both hands, her fingers seeming to slip to where the hands would fit. She marvelled at this - she had only held an axe two or three times before, yet this axe...it seemed made to fit. A fine weapon, to be sure - a fine gift. Holding it carefully, Aman began to thread across the room to Pio, to ask her whether she knew where it had come from. After all, the added to herself with a smiled, she wouldn't want to disturb Derufin and Zimzi...

[Elora]

Uien dutifully kept her post, pencil threaded between her fingers. Nuinyulma found herself joined at her table and Uien looked away, not wishing to stare further. It was true, she did understand. Uien gazed at the wooden grain of the counter top as she mused further.

Nuinyulma had her reasons and truth be told Uien could not blame her. Afterall, who would wish to venture into the Wilds with someone like Uien? Uien had known the task before her had been a challenging one and all she could hope was that Falowik was having better sucess than her. Uien sighed, the weight of his absence heavy on her shoulders and within her. Shine for him she would, and had been trying to do so since he left, but it was not easy without his voice to listen to and his face to gaze upon.

Setting down the pencil, Uien looked up and across the room. Aman was walking with an axe, Dwarvish Uien recognised with a start. An axe! A faint shudder for the work of axes skittered up and down her spine. Derufin was speaking with a dark haired woman, carefully watched. Uien knew the smile that Buttercup wore. Something was afoot. Her lips faintly curved upwards in her own smile.

In all this bustle, Uien found that what she needed was time to gather her thoughts. Perhaps she take in the twilight this evening, she thought, perhaps she find a shape in a piece of wood to set free. That soothed her a little and her eyes cleared. Yes, the twilight and carving would do the trick and she'd have little time to indulge in such things once on the road.

[Enif]

'I'd be glad to have lunch with you. It has been an awfuly long time since I last shared a meal with somebody, infact it has been a long time since I had any company at all.' She said with a sincere smile on her face.

Enif was really glad she had found someone to talk to, sitting there with Éofalas she seemed to have forgotten completly about the weariness of a long solitary journey.
The inn itself, made her forget all her worries, the music, the laughter, the friendly people.

[ October 08, 2003: Message edited by: Enif ]

[ October 09, 2003: Message edited by: Enif ]

[Elfwine]

"As am I." He replied in his low voice, his attention on the lapping flames. A small smile raised one corner of his mouth, and he shifted his intent to the Elf who spoke to him, grey eyes, a trademark of Gondor and its people, swimming with content. "Of the wilds; that of the trees," -he paused, an impish light sparking in his steady gaze- "and of the cities of man." His storming orbs wandered elsewhere, "I heard the Shire was a peaceful place," and his smile faded. He brought the mug in his hands to his lips once more in a drink that drained all that was left of its contents, and he let out a sigh.

Pushing the pint to the edge of the table, his arms dropped below, one resting on a boney knee, the other swooping back smoothly to clutch a loose end of his cloak. Now more sure of his surroundings, he let fly his hawk's eye and loosened his shoulders.

[ October 08, 2003: Message edited by: Elfwine ]

[Nerindel]

The noon sun shone through the mornings rain clouds, warming the cold wet rider as she approched the courtyard of the green dragon, under her hood she smiled as the inn came into sight.

"I hope he is still here and that he got my note?" she whispered to the grey elven mount she sat upon. The tall slender figure dismounted and lead the saddleless mare across the courtyard to stables.

The stable master thoughts seemed elsewhere so she coughed politely and he looked up, "Good day too you stranger, My name is Derufin Stable master of this fine establishment, do you require a stall for your mount?" he smiled warmly. Removing her hood and shaking out her golden hair she nodded, politly returning his smile "She will suffer no saddle or bridle, but is of good nature and will go where you lead her, if you are of gentle hand, her name is Lintaer and mine is Taurëwen Taur'ohtar."

"Well met master Derufin, but if you will excuse me I am hoping to find an old friend within the inn." her eyes glittering with joy as she spoke. She then gave Lintaer a loving pat and headed for the inn, "Please still be here!" she whispered as she pushed open the door.

As her eyes hopefully scanned the common room she was slightly taken aback by the number of elves in the room, most younger than herself. The Greenwood elf sighed as she finnished her scan of the room, 'he's not here!' she thought sadly

she removed her cloak and hung it on a peg by the door, then disheartedly she made her way towards the bar....

[ October 09, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen smiled back lightly "are you from Gondor sir? It looks as if you are by your eyes and your dark hair". She looked about waiting politely for his answer when she noticed Uien; who seemed to be deep in thought, but that was no surprise a great journey was ahead of her and perhaps a dangerous one at that. Perchance for Esgallhugwen as well. But that remained to be seen.

Lira was no where to be seen, Esgallhugwen hoped she would join them, the two Elves had matters to discuss. But for now she relaxed, knowing well no harm could be brought to her within the bounderies of the Shire except a scolding from a Hobbit on how the Elves don't seem to eat.

[Jack]

After they ordered lunch, Éofalas desided to direct the conversation to safer ground. "Do you like it here at the inn?" Enif nodded.
"Like it too, everyone is all so alive and busy..." Éofalas trailed off. He really couldn't put his finger on why he liked it so much.

Strange, so many people... yet, something was missing for this purfict picture. Maybe it was the lack of food, Éofalas smiled as his plate was set before him... yes, that was it food.

[ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: Jack ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Reynion

The lame elf limped down the stairs, silently grumbling about the leather straps holding his wooden leg onto the stump. They chafed, but there really wasn't a better way to attach the leg. At least, the human who'd made the leg for him had done his best, and while in human lands, there wasn't as much choice in how such things were done. The harness was slightly uncomfortable, but by now, Reyn was used to it.

He wondered where Taurewen was, if his ridiculous reaction to her arrival at first had made her rethink her love for him. If indeed she could love someone who was as tarnished as was he. He still though that his soul was darkened, like the clothing he wore. Perhaps he was mad to boot. It certainly seemed that way at times. He was probably the single most broken elf in Middle-Earth. How many others drank like he did, or for that matter, how many others had only one leg?

He hadn't gotten himself drunk in some days, though. Ever since he saw Taurewen again...His memory of her, of her face, of her voice, of her hands, of her heart, had been the only thing keeping him sane for a long time, and seeing her again, he had remembered what he had once been. He wanted to make himself better, like he once was. For her, so that she wouldn't have to be ashamed of him.

He looked around the common room, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs. He was tired of sitting in the room that Aman had been kind enough to let him stay in and doing nothing but thinking. Once or twice, he'd woken up from barely remembered nightmares, but they were a far cry from the horrors that had plagued him for so long. His gaze passed over Hobbits, Men, Elves--more Elves than he'd seen in many years--and roved over the bar--then stopped. She was sitting on a stool, looking down at a mug of tea (not his preferred beverage, even this early, but she was smarter than he was. Always had been).

He stumped over to the bar, and leaned on the counter next to her.

"Taurewen?" he ventured, tentatively...

____________________________________________

Niniel

She hummed a merry tune as she mucked out the stalls, one she'd heard an elf singing the other evening. Well, it was indeed merry, but it also held elements of sorrow. The words, what few of them she'd understood, had seemed to tell of the joys awaiting across the sea, but also of the things the elf would miss here in Middle-Earth. The melody soared higher than a lark and dove deeper than a dolphin by turns.

This was the last stall; most of the horses were out to pasture, and they were surprisingly clean animals. For horses. They still produced a great deal of--ahem. It was rather amazing...

She finished raking fresh straw from the loft into the stall and looked up. There didn't seem to be any more for her to do in the stables, and she decided she should go find Derufin and ask him if there was anything else that he needed her to do. She was determined that he not regret letting her help him.

[Nerindel]

Taurëwen started slightly hearing her name, but recognising the voice she looked up, her eyes sparkled lighting up her smile as she held Reynion's gaze. "I thought perhaps you had left, when I did not see you down,." she laughed airily.

"And you,I thought that perhaps I had frightened you off," Reynion smiled nervously, at this Taurewen's smile faded slightly, "Did you not get my note?" she asked, concern creasing her brow as Reynion shook his head, "But I.... oh, no!" she cried putting a hand to her lips and the other into her pocket, she slowly pulled out a carefully folded piece of parchment, which had Reynion's name delicately written on top. "Well I meant to leave it" she smiled apologetically, handed him the parchment.

She watched as he slowly and carefully unfolded the page, silently mouthing the words she had written, as he read;

Reyn, my love.

I must leave for a few days, there is a weed that grows only in these parts and is only ripe for picking during midsummer, I have been told that this weed holds a strong healing property, for mind and spirit and I just have to find out for myself if this is true, I shall return shortly.

Love, Taurëwen

"Gallows-weed, they call it here, it grows only in the marshes they aptly call midge water marshes," she laughed holding up the green weeds as evidence, their pungent smell causing those nearby to wrinkle their noses in disgust! seeing Reyn's nose wrinkle slightly she quickly returned them to her herb satchel securing it tightly, preventing the smell from escaping.

"So what news with you, what have you been up to while I was being bitten alive by midges and knee deep in cold marshy water?" she asked jovially as she finished her tea.

She still had many questions she wished to ask him, but they could wait for now as could the news she had from home, but just now she did not wish to say or do anything that would take him back to that dark time in their lives. For now she was happy just to be there with him at her side.

[ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Lis stood outside the front entrance of the Inn with one foot lightly poised on the bottom step and the other still firmly planted in the ground. She was having trouble deciding exactly what to do. She'd peered through the window and gotten a brief glimpse of the customers inside. The building was packed to the gills with guests having lunch; the hobbit servers made their way out to the tables with heavy platters of food, set these down before their hungry guests, and then returned to the kitchens to repeat this process all over again.

This part had actually looked quite inviting to Lis. She was extremely hungry. Her mouth watered as she picked up the faint aroma of good pork pies and savory slabs of venison lathered in thick gravy. If she could just mount up her courage to go in and take care of business, she might even stop for a moment to order some lunch.

But there were other things about the Inn that Lis found far less appealing. The place seemed overrun with Elves....a good handful of them, sitting and mooning and taking tiny bits of food in that soulful way that most Elves have. She imagined that some of them were moaning loudly about their tragic past. Lis shuddered slightly in disapproval. Her family had had its own share of troubles, but they did not go around informing all of Arda about the particular miseries that they had faced.

Her father had mentioned nothing about Elves when he talked to her about the Shire, just the Little Folk with their funny manners and good hearts and slightly silly way of doing things. Even more alarming, in all this plethora of Men and Hobbits and Elves, there did not seem to be a single one of her own people. Perhaps Dwarves were not welcomed in these parts.

Still, she had not come here to win over friends. Somewhere, inside that room, there was someone who knew exactly where her axe was. She scowled and shook her head. What a foolish thing to have done! She would never forgive herself if any harm came to it. It was not just the practical value and intrinsic worth of the weapon, although those things could not be denied. Rather, it had been her father's last present to her, and nothing in Middle-earth could ever replace it.

Steeling up her courage, she felt down for the hilt of the dagger that was strapped tightly to her waist. Hopefully, she would not have to use it. But, if Elves and such proved obstinate, she would not hesitate to strike a blow. Deciding that the direct approach was also the most sensible one, she went barging up the steps, threw the door open, and thrust her body into the midst of the common room. Looking fiercely about from one side to the other, she pounded her clenched fist loudly on the bar and bellowed out her complaint, whoever has my axe had better come forward and return it, or you'll soon see what it means to face the blade of a Dwarf. Her fingers stole unbidden to the hilt of her weapon as she glared stubbornly around the room searching for the culprit.

[ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Imladris]

Lira leaned against the back of a tree and closed her eyes letting the sunlight dance upon her closed lids. Colours appeared unbidden: greens and blues smeared together and a delicate pink tiptoed softly across the road they had made, before swiftly vanishing. A blob of black dropped malignantly from above, only to be fiercely driven down by vying violets. Doleful browns covered everything with their plain dreariness and --- the racous cawing of a crow caused Lira's eyes to fly open and scan the sky eagerly for the sabled bird.

Rising to her feet, her dress (damp from the dew) clinging to her legs, she shaded her eyes and finally saw him come winging towards her, his black wings glittering in all their glory as they flashed against the sun. Lira held out her hand and slightly winced as his sharp claws dug into her flesh as he steadied himself.

The Raven's feathers were windstrewn and, being the vain fellow that he was, he instantly began to run his beak hastily through his feathers, setting them to rights. He glanced once or twice in her direction, his beady eyes sparkling merrily with mischief.

Lira smiled at him, delighted, and petted him softly upon his bony head with a delicate finger. Then she noticed the bit of parchment that was tied to his leg. Frowning, she untied the leather string and let it drop to the ground. Flowing writing was written across the paper which read:

My dear Lira,

This is Corn. Of course only a raven with so ridiculous of a name could only have been named from your father. Since he was the one who found it injured and dying in the corn field he insisted on naming (which I just admit is only fair) but Corn is such a queer name for such a magnificent bird.

We are well here and in the north, though we are swiftly departing it for the Grey Havens. I am glad, too, because the cold and wet is so uncomfortable and there are rumours of ruffians about...

Namarie with my love,

Mother

Frowning, Lira folded the piece of paper carefully and slipped it into her pocket. The bright sparkle of fun had departed from Corn's eye and a morose expression had taken it's place. "She's not telling me something," she whispered to Corn who decided to retain a state of feigned innocence and commenced his preening. "She's too cheerful," she decided, "and she's never minded the cold and damp before." Corn hopped onto her shoulder and began to quietly nibble her ear.

[ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[piosenniel]

Aman had just put the axe in Pio’s hands. Black hair intermingled with gold fell across the blade as they looked at the inscription. The Elf listened as her friend moved her finger slowly over last half of the runes.

‘Your father, Balin,’ the Innkeeper said. ‘That’s what I’ve puzzled out,' she said.

Pio ran the end of her finger beneath the first of the runes. ‘See this here,’ she said, pointing at the five symbols that made up the second word. ‘It is a form of endearment. ‘And here . . . this is the name, attached on to it.’ She read the line aloud, in Dwarvish, and then began in the Common Speech.

‘To sweet . . .’ Before she could get the name out her head snapped up to look at the bar. A young woman stood there, scowling, angry. Her hand was at her belt, and the words . . . ‘Or you’ll soon see what it means to face the blade of a Dwarf,’ rang out across the room.

Approaching her, Pio stopped a fair distance away and held the shoulder of axe handle in her left hand, the end knob of it pointing toward the Dwarf.

‘Lis, if I am not mistaken,’ she said clearly and evenly, the fingers of her right hand running across the runes on the blade. ‘We have kept your axe safe for your returning.’ She moved a step closer to the woman at the bar.

‘Daughter of Balin . . . Fundinul uzbad Khazaddúmu . . . most welcome is one of Durin’s folk once again to the Shire . . .’

Pio’s right hand slipped beneath the loose sleeve that fell over her left hand, as if to adjust it. Her fingers loosed the binding on her knife hidden there. ‘Best to be ready in the event this Dwarf does not take kindly to Elves,’ she thought to herself, grey eyes watching closely the movements of the other woman.

[ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Esgallhugwen]

A commotion arose jarring Esgallhugwen from her thoughts. It appeared that a female dwarf had entered demanding the return of her axe, Mistress Pio went up to her, seeming to adjust something by her sleeve.

A dagger, thats to be expected by any Elf to be cunning towards a Dwarf that didn't take a like to the Fair Folk. But she hoped no fight would break out, not wanting to intrude unless to help in restraining the aggitated Lis. She watched closely for any sign of forced movement, loosening the sword in her sheath at the side.

Esgallhugwen would not strike the Dwarf, she would only use it as a fair warning.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Take your hand off your weapon," Aman's spoke softly into Esgalhugwen's ear, so Lis would not hear, but made the elf jump in any case, and for a second Aman was worried she would loose her sword out of pure shock that second. She continued, facing the elf now, murmuring, "It will do no good for another elf to be seen threatening her."

"Her?" Esgalhugwen sounded surprised, and Aman supposed she couldn't blame her, but her voice came out louder than was probably intended. Lis heard this time and turned, her hand reaching towards the hilt of the axe which Pio still held out, her eyes flaming. Pio did not resist, but simply kept her grey eyes fixed calmly on the dwarf, in silent askance that things did not get out of hand. But Aman noticed her friend subtly adjust her left sleeve. Anyone who had not known Pio so well would have thought nothing of it, a mere, absent-minded adjustment, but Aman knew of the weapon Pio kept there. Pretending she had noticed nothing, the Innkeeper stepped forward slowly into the circle that had somehow formed. Nosy Shire folk - being surrounded, in the centre of a crowd of folk, many of whom were elves, would hardly improve Lis's state of mind.

She smiled respectfully, inclining her head slightly and in doing so taking her eyes of Lis - a movement that indicated trust and friendship in the fact she couldn't, for a split second, see what the dwarf was doing. A necessary and hopefully strengthening movement, but one that non the less made Aman's heart seem to stop for a split second. Unlike Pio, she didn't have a weapon on her - a few weeks after she came to the Green Dragon she had stopped wearing her usual dagger against her thigh. The closest weapon she had was the sword behind the bar. On the other side of Lis. Funny, she thought wryly, she obviously should have been prepared for a hostile dwarf...

She caught Pio's eye for a split second, and the elf shook her head very slightly. I will not, do not worry, came the reassuring message from the elf. Leastaways, I certainly do not intend to.

Aman's eyes flicked back to Lis's, and she saw the dwarf was slightly off-guard at having yet another representative of a race greeting her, a human this time. But in her outraged, flashing eyes, Aman could see fear as well.

"Good day, friend," She did not use the dwarf's name for fear of making her more uneasy, but used the title 'friend' rather hesitantly and, she feared, rather optimistically. "As my friend - Pio -" She indicated the elf who smiled cordially. "-said, we were minding your axe. Someone found it and brought it in." Leastaways I hope that is the truth. "Please...we didn't mean any harm."

She smiled again, her voice reassuring and soft, trying to ignore the voice in her head telling her exactly what could happen if this furious, scared dwarf loosed her anger, and her axe, in this Inn...

[ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Lis reached forward and gingerly wrapped her fingers around the end knob of the axe, gently tugging the weapon towards her body. The tall Elf loosened her grip and the axe slipped readily forward into the dwarf's clenched fist. Everyone in the Inn stood frozen in place, not daring to breath or say anything for fear they would provoke this argumentative stranger into a rage. Lis took up the weapon and carefully cradled it near her, like a friend who has been too long away.

She had no wish to provoke a fight as long as she got back what was rightfully hers. What startled her the most was not that the two Elves were obviously carrying weapons. That much was to be expected. But how and where did any of these folk learn to speak a few words of the Khurzdal tongue? Such skill was rare indeed, and could only come about because some dwarf had enough trust in them to share a word or two. What was even more strange is that the tall Elf had not only spoken a few words of their lambe but had even used the correct iglishmek or gestures that Dwarves used in aglab when speaking among themselves. It was indeed very puzzling.

She remembered back on the tales of the First Age that her father had told to her.... Curufin had been the only one of the Noldor to win the friendship of the Khazad. And once it was said that a great friendship had existed between her own people and those of the House of Hador. She had even heard that Gloin's son had become close friends with the Elf Legolas, as unlikely as that sounded. But such instances were few and far between.

Still, if someone knew enough to address a Dwarf with a few words of their own speech, it would not do to show them the sharp edge of an axeblade. Still wary of trusting too much, but not wanting to be accused of rudeness and lack of hospitality, Lis put the axe down at her side and nodded her head in welcome. "Yes, I am the daughter of Balin Fundinul uzbad Khazaddumu. May the blessings of Mahal be on your head for the care you have taken with my weapon."

She stepped back a moment and looked around, detecting the strong, sweet odors of hot cooked food, "Now, does anyone here know if a Dwarf maid can get a tankard of ale and a trencher of meat and gravy in this fine establishment?"

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman's breath almost came out as a huge, audible sigh as Lis spoke, and she grinned in relief, offering a hand to the dwarf.

"Absolutely, I'll see to it directly. My name is Aman - I'm the Innkeeper of the Green Dragon."

After a brief pause, the dwarf took her hand and gingerly shook it, an unfamiliar gesture that all came to use in the Shire, no matter where they hailed from. She smiled back and replied with more warmth, "Thank you. I'm...I'm Lis." She smiled again nervously. "Although..although you already know that."

Aman smiled back, nodding her head politely as she took her leave towards the kitchen to ask Cook, inclining a head to Pio towards the bar in askance as to whether the elf could deal with a pint of ale. Hand moving safely, but slowly, away from her wrist, Pio smiled and stepped towards the bar to oblige.

As she went to the kitchen, Aman pondered on what she had just said, how she had just introduced herself. Not as she had when she was a child, not how she had when she travelled for a short time with Pio, not as a horse trainer of Rohan...

"My name is Aman - I'm the Innkeeper of the Green Dragon."
"I'm the Innkeeper of the Green Dragon."
The Innkeeper of the Green Dragon..."

How long would she be able to introduce herself like that now Pio was back?

There was no time for that now though, and Aman pushed such abstract, distracting thoughts from her mind as she smiled at Cook, who had missed the excitement and was starting lunch, and the rohirrim woman switched back to her role as Innkeeper, as ever. "Ah Cook. Would it be possible for a trencher of meat and gravy?"

The old hobbit beamed. "Absolutely, Aman. I was thinking of beef as the main body of lunch?"

"Excellent. It's just...well, we have a rather unusual visitor to the Inn. And I need to discuss party details with you - the time is rather upon us."

"An unusual visitor? In the Dragon? Dear me, add them to the list." Vinca chuckled, reaching up to where the meat had been thawing in the cupboard. She turned, indicating a hand towards the table and the carrots. "Well, come on then, missy, those vegibles won't be cutting themslves."

Aman smiled, taking up a knife and starting on the 'vegibles', and as she did so, the began to tell Cook of Lis and the commoton that had gone on...

[piosenniel]

Point of Information for everyone:

Mirkwood is no longer called Mirkwood at this time.

At present, the Green Dragon Inn is in the 4th Age - year 12 (many years after the War of the Ring – ended 3rd Age 3019; 4th Age began at the end of 3021 of the 3rd Age.).

In 3019 of the 3rd Age, Mirkwood was cleansed. It was renamed by Celeborn and Thranduil - 'Eryn Lasgalen'- the Wood of Green Leaves. It has been called that name now for about 14 years.

It is a name reminiscent of the Forest's original name, Greenwood the Great, before the shadow of Sauron as the Necromancer fell over it from Dol Guldur (about 3rd Age 1050).

[Artalwen]

Nobody notices a small, dark-blond hobbit girl walk into the inn. She slips her hood off her head, and glances around, relieved that she was able to enter unnoticed.

Slipping off her red cloak, she carefully hangs it on a low hook on the coat hanger next to her, and quietly walks further into the inn. Instead of immediantly asking for a room, she silently slips into a seat at one of the hobbit-sized tables, and patiently sits there, admiring the scenery outside the window next to her table.

[ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen had no wish to threaten the Dwarf, let alone draw attention to herself. But something in the Drawf's eyes caught her apprehension when Esgallhugwen spoke louder than intended. She loosed her grip on her sword at Aman's words watching all the while with great care.

The commotion subsided, and Esgallhugwen did not know whether it would be wise to approach the female Dwarf Lis in apology for her rash reaction and words; or word rather. At times it proved difficult to identify a Dwarf as a man or women considering the women were rarely seen in the open, in the old days.

She did not fear Lis, no matter how stubborn and hotheaded the Dwarves seemed to be, that was their protection from strangers really, once they knew you were of no harm and of good will they might open up to you; slowly but surely. Time, patience and trust is what it takes.

And yet the Elves were not accustomed to be companions with Dwarves, it was very much the same the other way around; though Esgallhugwen had heard tales of such unity. She only wished to make amends, hoping that Lis would accept her apology.

Her long legs made there way towards the Dwarf, and Lis noticed her quick enough becoming tense. 'I mean you no harm Lady Dwarf, I only mean to make apology to you for my actions before, you may not think kindly of the Elves and I will not be the first to admit our alliances have grown weak and strained over dark times, but light has come again, I have heard abroad this land that alliances and friendships are being made again unless my ears decieve me, and I would not have one foolish mistake from an over stressed Elf take all that back".

The Dwarf seemed to ponder her words but Esgallhugwen waited none the less for an answer, no matter what it may entail.

[piosenniel]

Buttercup

‘Well, hello Miss!’ said Buttercup brightly to the Hobbit lass who had just come into the Inn. Dark golden curls framed a pretty face on the young hobbit. ‘I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, have I? asked Buttercup, swiping the table in front of the Hobbit lass with her rag.

‘Now, what can I get for you? We’re still serving a late lunch and there’s tea, or ale, or wine if you prefer. Or cider,’ she said, remembering that a jug of cool cider was sitting in the pantry, just fresh squeezed that morning by the apple tree farmer just down the road a bit.

‘I’m Buttercup, by the way,’ she continued, waiting for the Hobbit to decide on her order. ‘And what shall I call you?’

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Cook

The meat had thawed nicely, and now sat on the counter top, waiting to be tenderized. Cook reached for her oaken mallet and gave a mighty whack to the slab. Aman was sitting at the table, a pile of potatoes and carrots and parsnips challenging her paring knife. Ruby sat across from her snapping the ends off the large bowl of green beans that Beren had gathered that morning. He had craftily sneaked out before Cook could corner him to assist with the meal.

‘Got to see to those new hens of yours he had told her,’ he said, flashing a smile as he hurried out the door.

With the unfolding of Aman’s story about Lis, Cook’s mallet blows came faster and harder – stopping with a murderous thunk when the stand off was described. ‘She’s a lucky Dwarf not to have pushed Mistress Piosenniel.’

‘And lucky even more that Cook was not there with her mallet,’ whispered Ruby, noting how thin and stretched the meat seemed to be getting.

‘You have the right of that!’ said Cook, as she salted and peppered the meat and rolled it up, tying it into a roast. ‘I’ll not have the mother of those dear bairns injured. Dwarf or no, she’d have had me to get through.’ A second piece of meat was dealt with in a similar manner, and both set on racks in a pan to roast in the oven. The beans, now done, were put in a pot, and covered with cold water. The vegetables went into another large pot and waited their turn, along with the beans, to be cooked.

Cook pulled the ham from the cool pantry and sliced off several good sized slabs, piling them on a plate. A loaf of bread was cut into thick slices and put in a small basket, along with a crock of mustard and one of Cook’s spiced pickle relish. A wedge of cheddar offered itself to be cut into slices which were piled with the ham.

Aman and Ruby watched as Cook placed the dishes and some utensils on a tray, and hefting on to her shoulder, sailed through the door and into the Common Room.

And there was Esgallhugwen speaking to the Dwarf. Cook sat her tray on the counter and waited for her chance to speak.

‘Begging your pardon, Miz Lis, but dinner won’t be ready for several hours. I’ve brought you something to hold you over until then.’

Cook’s eyes swept over the young woman and then looked to where Mistress Piosenniel was sitting. Satisfied that everything looked under control, and that Pio had not been injured in any way, she nodded to the Dwarf and retreated back to the kitchen.

Aman was just drying her hands in preparation for going back out to see the guests. ‘Ruby’ll see to them for now,’ said Cook, scooting the Hobbit out the door to the Common room. ‘We’ve got a few moments to ourselves, I thought we might get the ball rolling on the Naming Day party. Any ideas on how we should get it organized?’

Cook poured a hot cup of tea for herself and for the Innkeeper, and pushed the honey jar toward Aman after she had put a generous dollop in her own. Her spoon clinked against the sides of the pottery mug as she waited for Aman to speak . . .

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

Gilly brought the twins out to where Pio was sitting. ‘They’re done napping, and they’re all freshened up,’ she said handing the Elf the two baskets. ‘And now I think they want they want their ammë.' Gilly watched with a smile as Pio picked up her daughter and then her son and cradled them both on her lap.

Their grey eyes followed her face with a certain solemnity as she spoke softly to them, their arms and legs moving with a gleeful excitement as she touched her nose to theirs.

‘Come,’ she said, gathering them up in her arms, and motioning for Gilly to bring the baskets. ‘Cook has a rocker in the kitchen. I can rock them a little and then the little ones can play on the quilt on the floor. Though I doubt they will get the chance to be on the blanket if Ruby and Buttercup catch sight of them.’ She walked across the Common Room, Gilly trailing behind her. ‘Once we get settled, go ahead and take the rest of the afternoon off,' she called back to Gilly. 'I can see to the sweetlings . . .’

[Child of the 7th Age]

As Lis sat nursing a flagon of ale and waiting for her meal to appear, a tall and slender figure walked over towards her, the Elf who had earlier been reaching for her sword. She listened to the Elf's words and hesitated for a moment, then reached out her own hand in a welcoming gesture as she'd seen others do, "I've no reason to hold a grudge against you. I know nothing of great alliances among the mighty, save perhaps that of my kinsman Gimli whose views are still accounted a bit strange among our folk, but I do know honest words when I hear them."

"I've come to the Shire not to make trouble but because I was curious to learn what the folk and land were like. My father told me many tales about the Shire, and of how he and his dwarven kin journeyed out and shared an adventure with a hobbit. Even after that, father would come roaming back to pay a visit to Master Baggins and renew acquaintances, along with Gandalf with whom they shared a common friendship."

"But, alas," she whispered, with a sigh, "Our friend Gandalf is here no more. For Gimli has told us that he sailed across the sea. And rumor has it that Master Baggins sailed too, along with his kinsman Frodo. I have come here to see if that is true, and to inquire if there are any other of Bilbo's kin who still dwell in this place and might remember the tales he told, and honor the name of my father."

"I thought of doing this for many years, ever since my father sent my mother and me away from our home in Moria and...." Lis's voice trailed off, and she seemed lost in her own thoughts. She hesitated a moment and then went on gruffly without finishing her sentence, "But times were bad then, and I feared to travel the roads. And my mother would not hear of it. For she held to the old ways that said dwarf women should stay at home, tending to their crafts and families, and not go travelling footloose on the highways. But she is gone now and here I am." The final words were spoken in such a way that Esgallhugwen clearly understood the Dwarf was not inclined to say more on this subject, at least at the present time.

Lis quickly recovered herself and smiled broadly, "I do not know what made me load that story into your ear, for it is not our way to confide such things. But there it is anyway. But how can I talk with you when I do not even know your name or from where you hail? Indeed, I am remiss in my duties as a host! May I order you something to drink?"

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

It came as a pleasant relief to be able to sit down, relax, and have a cup of tea with Cook - she was usually so busy. Accepting the cup, she sat down and took a spoonful of runny honey from the jar, winding the viscous amber substance slowly around the spoon a few times thoughtfully before replying.

Stirring the tea gently, Aman looked up at Cook thoughtfully. Finally, just as Vinca seemed about to burst with waiting (she had been positively quivering for the last few moments, and Aman tried to pretend she wasn't amused), she spoke.

"We're going to have to send out invitations to the whole Shire."

Cook snorted. "Oh, Aman, Pio arrived about an hour ago, news'll have got all the way to the centre of Hobbiton by now!"

Aman smiled. "This is the Shire, Cook - I know how much you like to be properly invited. I mean, you would turn up anyway," she grinned "but lets get up some posters anyway - you know, make it even bigger and wider reaching."

Cook beamed, and Aman went on. "Also, we'll need people to know for other reasons. This will be no small party, not with the amount of people who've passed through the Shire during Pio's reign, so to speak - we'll need a fair few helpers to sort things."

"You'll find plenty who'll be glad to help."

Aman nodded. "I know. Excellent. Drinks are all labelled, but I'll need to check the amounts. Food - gods, there will need to be alot of food, this party could easily spread across two or three meals. Could you...?"

"That's what I'm here for, Aman," Cook beamed again. "Leave that to me. Although...although I may need to consult you every so often, you know."

"Food, drinks, posters, decorations, games for the children, somewhere set up nicely for the ceremony..." Aman stirred her tea again, before looking up and smiling ruefully at Cook. "When I said a few helpers, I may have been underestimating."

[Tinuviel of Denton]

Reynion paid no attention to the dwarven woman; the Innkeeper (Innkeepers?) seemed to have everything well in hand. It was rather interesting watching the two of them, but Taurewen was more so. Much more so, in fact.

"Now, where were we?" he mused aloud. That dwarf had interrupted them rather well, but it had given him a chance to gather his thoughts. "Oh, yes, you were asking about what I was doing. And the answer is very simple. I did nothing. I didn't even get drunk, much to my own surprise." What had been more surprising was that he hadn't felt the need to get drunk. "It's amazing how much clearer my mind is when I'm not suffering from a hangover..."

Taurewen smiled, but he got the feeling that she didn't like him talking about his habit. Which was in no way surprising, considering how she'd found him. It still embarrassed him that his first meeting with her in--well, he'd not been counting the years, but in a very, very long time--he was hung-over. It was hardly a flattering position in which to be, though he was actually rather used to it.

[piosenniel]

Zimzi

Derufin’s question had gone unanswered. The young woman that Zimzi had seen through the window of the Inn had come into the Inn, looking for her axe. Derufin’s hand had grasped her arm when she rose to try to speak to the woman, and in a whisper he bade her stay still until Mistress Piosenniel had taken care of it.

Zimzi could scarcely breathe as she watched the tense scene play out. Violence of any sort had been the rare occasion in her life, and she found now that it came near to her, she did not relish the taste or feel of it. Derufin too, was tensed, she noted, but it a different way than she. His left hand was on the table top, ready to boost himself up quickly, his right hand grasped firmly the top rung on the back of his chair. With one movement he could be up on his feet, the chair flying toward the threatening Dwarf.

She watched him take a deep breath as the Dwarf took the axe from Pio. And as Lis relaxed her stance, Derufin relaxed his, his gaze staying on her even as she spoke politely to the Elf.

When the tense situation had abated, and those in the room turned back to their drinks and food, Zimzi returned to the conversation that she had been having with her companion. Derufin turned his back to the room and returned his attention to her as she spoke.

‘I was talking about clay,’ she reminded him, her hands starting their punctuation of her words. On the table top, in a pool of condensation from the ale, she drew a map of a small stream that ran north from Bywater, on the east side of Bindbale Wood. ‘Pio says she is sure she has seen clayey banks along this part of the stream, just above Overhill. She’s promised to take me up there while we’re here.’

Derufin’s brow furrowed. He had obviously missed something in the main body of her previous conversation. He knocked himself mentally and focused his attention on what she was saying.

‘I know that area,' he said, 'though I confess I never noticed clay banks – but then, I wasn’t looking for them, either.’ His eyes lit with a realization that Niniel was here to take care of the horses and there were no odd jobs to be done on his plate at the moment.

‘Would you like to ride up there?’

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Artalwen]

‘I’m Buttercup, by the way,’ she continued, waiting for the Hobbit to decide on her order. ‘And what shall I call you?’

The hobbit glanced up, her very light blue eyes shining with laughter, it seemed. 'My name is Gloria' she answered Buttercup with a smile. "And if you don't mind, I'd rather just have some water for now."
Gloria noticed the commotion happening in the inn with a dwarven woman, but disregarded it, for she did not want to become a part of it. She liked being in the shadows, unnoticed. It had always been part of her life, being overlooked and it had always suited Gloria just fine.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin waited while she considered his offer. He half expected her to say, ‘No’. She barely knew him. He tapped his fingers quietly on the sides of the mug he had grasped in his hands. Perhaps he should offer to ask Piosenniel to go with them.

‘Yes, that would make it less awkward, you ninny,’ he told himself. ‘What were you thinking, to be so bold? This isn’t your style.’

His mind wandered down conflicting paths. Not a man to be uncertain of himself, he found this somewhat disconcerting. Mentally revising his approach for the fifth or perhaps sixth time, he almost missed, again, the words she was speaking.

‘Yes,’ she said, her grey eyes looking at him with some amusement. ‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘Let me just tell Pio where I’m going, and I’ll fetch my cloak.’ She rose from her chair, heading for the kitchen. ‘Can you bring a small bucket and a cloth to cover it,’ she called back over her shoulder.

Derufin nodded his head, saying that yes, he could do that. ‘Clay,’ he said to himself, finishing up the last swallow of ale in his mug. ‘The woman wants clay . . . and she shall have it.’ He shook his head, trying vainly to remember what she had said about it and why it was so important.

‘Just play along, man,’ he told himself, walking out to the stable. ‘Sooner or later it’s bound to come clear without you asking and making a fool of yourself again.’

[elf-girl-63]

Just as Nuinyulma was to rpely Pio had left to sort out the scene with the Dwarf. She appeared to be a dwarf-maiden and had confirmed it herself by asking for some ale. It was so hard to tell the difference between them and Lis (that appeared to be her name) didn't seem particularly happy about the number of dwarfs in the inn. That couldn't be helped though.

After the near fight- Esgallhugwen nearly drew her sword though Aman stopped her- peace returned to the inn. Pio hadn't returned and Nuinyulma had seen her taking the twins into the kitchen. Most probably to feed them. They seemed to be quite a handful.

Instead, Nuinyulma sat peacefully day dreaming. The day outside was still calm but looking into the sky, she felt there would soon be some more rain although perhaps not as heavy as the morning's storm.