The Green Dragon Inn - Part 6

[piosenniel]

Green Dragon Inn Facts:

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

King Elessar is on the throne.

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

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

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

Aman – a young woman from Rohan. *

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

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

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

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

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

Piosenniel – Elven, Innkeeper prior to Aman; married to Mithadan; has two children: a twin boy and girl; as yet unnamed infants.
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It is late afternoon of a sometimes sunny, sometimes grey and threatening rain again, day in midsummer.

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[ October 12, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Pio listened in with half an ear as Cook an Aman talked about the party. The babies had both nursed and were now playing happily on the thick quilt Cook had retrieved from her room.

‘I’ll not have the wee ones getting a chill!’ she informed the Elf, as she laid the folded in half quilt on the floor near the smaller fireplace. The twins were young enough not to be mobile; though, Cook admonished Pio with the directions she should keep a close eye nonetheless since babies in her experience could move about quite well just by rolling.

Aman winked at her friend behind Cook’s back, and Pio was hard put to keep a straight face. Hobbit, Big Folk, or Elf – none escaped the firm hand and oft provided opinions and directions of Cook.

Resisting the urge to say ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Pio changed the subject back to that of the party. She explained that this Naming Day was for the Father to give the children their first name. It was an Elvish ceremony called Essecarmë or ‘Name-making’. And she would prefer if the ceremony, which was quite brief – just an introduction of the children to the community with their names – would happen at night when the stars were out. She, too, would announce the names she had chosen for them. These would be the amilessi tercenyë, the ‘mother-names-of-insight’.

‘The party, of course can begin well before then,’ she continued. ‘I have missed the Hobbit gatherings we had here – the food and drink, the music and singing and dancing, the endless talking of little things that are happening in each others lives, the pleasant and reassuring wholeness of life in the Shire. I’m quite looking forward to it!’ She laughed as a thought struck her. ‘And most of all, I am looking forward to simply enjoying it, without having to do any of the work!

‘As am I.’ Mithadan had come in from the Inn’s back yard, having had a pleasant stroll about the area with Beren. He crouched down by the twins, offering them one of the bright little rag dolls which Cook had feretted out of her chest, toys her grandchildren had enjoyed on their visits to the Inn. In characteristic fashion, the twins each grabbed a small section of cloth in their fists and jammed it in their eager mouths to get the flavor of it.

He came to sit at the table with Cook and Aman. ‘Though I might be willing to deliver a few flyers to the good folk we’ve met here. I’d enjoy a ride to see old places.’ He accepted a cup of tea from Cook. ‘I doubt we’d have to give messages to many – a few select Hobbits told in the morning and the whole area should be well informed by evening!’

‘By noon, I should think!’ came the response from Pio, with a chuckle.

With a bang, the door to the kitchen flew open, and Zimzi rushed in, hurrying to Pio’s side. Apologizing for bursting in, she leaned near the Elf’s ear and whispered a few words before rushing out again.

The three at the table looked at Pio expectantly when Zimzi had left.

Pio arched her brows, and considered how she might explain the scene to them. ‘Just part of a plan I had hoped might work out.’ She looked back at the door which had now swung shut. ‘And apparently my hopes may yet bear fruit . . .’ Mithadan snorted – the Elf and her plans! While Cook, narrowing her eyes, thought she would need to keep her eyes peeled as to what was cooking that involved Zimzi – she’d corner Buttercup and Ruby later; they were her eyes and ears to what was happening in all places in the Inn.

Aman, a considering expression on her face, looked closely at her friend, and mouthed 'Later . . .' to her.

'Hmmm,' thought Pio to herself, 'perhaps I can enlist the aid of the Innkeeper in my little plan . . .'

[ October 12, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

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

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

This Discussion Thread for this RPG will be open to take on characters October 13th.

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

This will be an exciting game!

~~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Esgallhugwen]

To Esgallhugwen's surprise the Dwarf opened up about a story, that seemed rather sad at the end but none the less Lis offered her a drink. Esgallhugwen took a stool beside her "my name is Esgallhugwen, some have difficulty pronouncing it I have recently realized, so I suppose it would do no harm in calling me Elenglin, a more personal name that my mother used", she smiled taking the offer of drink with thanks.

Lis ordered up an ale and Esgallhugwen took it gladly having a taste for strong things. She took a sip "I suppose I would say I hail from close to what is now called 'Eryn Lasgalen', my home had no name, it didn't last long enough to be given one" she stopped with a sad tone, "which brings me here, to lift up my spirits I suppose though long years I have wondered, with only my mount, Morsereg, as a companion".

Esgallhugwen smiled at the Dwarf, taking another drink. "I have never held converse with a Dwarf before, your people are most courtious".

[ October 12, 2003: Message edited by: Esgallhugwen ]

[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).

[Imladris]

Lira rose to her feet and scratched Corn under his ebony beak, while he made soft croakings that Lira compared with a kitten's purr. She must be on her way, though first she must thank the innkeeper and pay her reckoning for the room. Making her way slowly towards the inn, she whispered, "Wait here, Corn, in the branches of that elm," she added as she flung her arm upwards, launching him into the air. Upon her fair skin, two lines of blood began to ooze, the unwitting work of Corn's sharp claws. Ignoring the scratch, she entered the room and waited for a brief instant while her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Esgallhugwen was speaking with a dwarf man -- wait, woman. Lira frowned slightly in dislike -- she had never really cared for dwarves.

Lira did not see Aman in the Common Room, so she drifted towards the kitchen and peered into it. Two babes slept peacefully beside a small fire place, wrapped in a comfortable quilt. Lira slipped into a nearby shadow as an elf maid rushed by her, and, after she had passed, Lira again peered into the room and saw that another elf was speaking to Aman and the Cook.

Waiting patiently for a break in the conversation, Lira's gazed travelled to the babies who were now playing quietly in the quilt. She leaned against the post and watched them, a smile playing about her lips, her blue eyes twinkling with fascinated joy.

"Lira?" asked Aman, who had now noticed her, "is anything the matter?"

Her words jerked Lira back to the kitchen, and turning, she said, "Yes. I regret to say that I must leave and travel North, but I want to pay my reckoning. Forgive me for interrupting you and..." her eyes flicked to the other elf and asked a question to Aman.

"Mistress Piosenniel," Aman laughed as Lira dropped a curtsy.

The Innkeeper named a sum, which Lira fished from a leather bag and handed it to her. "I will return," said Lira, as she left the kitchen.

Skipping gracefully towards the stable, she packed her now dry green dress, and leaped to Merkaliel's back and cantered down the lane.

[Enif]

'Yes the Shire is such a lovely place, so peaceful! Sometimes a little too peaceful, I'd say. You see, I'd rather venture around, though the thought of having a place of such beauty and peace, some how, conforts me.'
It was already late in the afternoon and Enif felt that she could use a rest. she took a deep breath and said: 'Well Éofalas it was a pleasure, but do understand I travelled an awfuly long distance and I could really use some rest now. I hope to see you later... now if you'll excuse me I'm going to find myself a room.'
She got up and walked on the direction of the innkeepers, she found them talking. 'Excuse me I was just wondering, are there any free rooms? You see I had quite a long journey...' Enif said a little unconfortable to have interupted the conversation.

[Theoric Windcaller]

Among the brewing conversations and hollars for more ale and the choes of laughter, a small creak sounded. The door opened, inching its way closer and closer towards the wall. It soon stopped.

The inn, busy as always, never ceased to be noisy. The dwarf's memories of a time long since passed came back to him.

As Theoric, the small dwarf entered, he was reminded to take his weapon and lightly lay it down beside the wall at the door. He remembered this rule, and he remembered that he was told never to disobey it.

He leaned his axe against the wall and unhooded himself, letting the light from the roaring fire gently warm his face. He had been travelling for many miles, speicifically from the stretching plains of Rohan, home of the horse-lords.

Many miles was his trek, and he came here only for one thing: a pint of ale.

Yes, this ale was the best in the land of Middle-Earth, save for the ale that was made in Rohan, and still that alle had not the strength and enlightenment of the ale here in the Green Dragon Inn of the Shire.

Every muscle and bone in his body ached. He looked across the inn at the bar, and he saw a familiar face that he had not seen in many months.

Aman, the bartender.

He smelled the delicious food and dreamt that it was already in his mouth. He closed his eyes, dazed and bewildered by the fact that when he opened them, he was chewing on his own tongue!

He made his way through the maze of randomly positioned tables and chairs and sat himself on the last open stood at the bar, between two young hobbits that sat there, drinking pints of ale.

Both were young, their eyes blue and green, and their youth displayed through their lively laughs when they joked with one another.

Theoric thought to himself. 'Why would two young hobbits waste their lives away drinking ale here? They have wars they must train for!'

But then he remembered-he was not in Rohan anymore. He was in the Shire, a place where wars did not exist and death was rare. This was the norm, for hobbits young and old.

Theoric laughed to himself as he looked deep into the eyes of the approaching bartender.

He smiled.

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~ Notice of New Game ~*~*~*~*~*~

Elora and littlemanpoet invite you to take a look at their RPG:

The Hills of Evendim

Click HERE to read the proposal.

The Discussion Thread is open to take on characters.

It will be a fun game!

~*~ Pio

[Imladris]

I clutched my wooden staff convulsively as I tripped over a stone that sent me tumbling to the ground. My whole body jarred as it hit the dusty earth, and I sneezed as dust entered my nostrils. I glowered and imagined that the stone was chuckling malignantly to itself and had purposely tripped me.

Crawling to a sitting position, I really wondered if following this path that supposedly led to a reputable Green Dragon Inn was worth the trouble. It was slightly up hill and the groud was rocky. At the mention of stones, I suddenly realized that a warm red liquid was trickling down my feet; leaning over, I gently drifted my fingers against my bare foot, wincing as the finger-tips brushed against tender new skin that were slowly forming into callouses. Then I found it: a broken blister with liquid flowing freely from the rupture. Soaking my finger, I brought it up to my nose and sneezed again at the revolting smell of blood. I glared at my bare feet: long before I had tossed aside the ragged pieces of leather that had once been durable sandals of a lay man of Gondor.

Easing myself to my tender feet using the wooden staff, I could feel my lyre thump comfortably on my back, and smiled sadly and bitterly as the strings jangled pleasantly. Never again could I play the stringed instrument: I had known so twelve years before, but I could not bring myself to part with it.

My staff clumped upon a wooden step and drawing myself upon it, I stood still and listened: hearty laughs came from within, the scrape of knife against fork, the giggles of flirtatious lasses. I sniffed deeply and smelled the homely smell of pipes being smoken, the waft of lingering dinner fragrances. Surprised, I lifted my head and sniffed again: a slight scent of former rain perfumed the air.

Suddenly, a body brushed past me and I grasped it by a sleeve: thoughts raced frantically in my head: it was finally woven, and by the feel of the cloth it was spun from the wool of sheep. "Please, sir, is this the Green Dragon Inn?"

A decidedly female voice answered me and I could feel myself blushing scarlet in chagrin: "Yes, but why do you call me 'sir'? I am but a hobbit lass."

"And I am but a blind girl of Gondor," I retorted, letting go of her sleeve, or skirt, or apron. I couldn't tell which I had grabbed.

"There is an empty table to the right of the doorway," the hobbit said, volunteering what she gathered would be useful information.

"Thank you," I said, cautiously feeling the way with my staff. I somehow managed to find the empty table and sank down with a sigh, my poor feet crying their thanks to me.

There was a window beside me: the glass was smooth and delightfully warm. My fingers trailed until I found the wooden sill: I could tell that it was dusty, but I smiled. Long before when I was little I had had much fun with dusty sills and leaving impudent messages traced in the dirt, a subtle hint to my sister that the house needed to be cleaned. I laughed and was happy that I had grown a bit more mature (at least I fancied that I was). Still giggling, I began to trace my name: Finduilas.

[ October 13, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Jack]

Éofalas watched Enif as she walked away. Rest wasn't such a bad idea he desided. Later he would think about going back to Rohan now he didn't want to.

Éofalas smiled thinking about Enif's description of the Shire... it was quiet, maybe even to quiet. Beauty he hadn't knowtest yet... maybe a walk would show him that. After he had rested. Slowly standing he walked towards the stairs.

[ElentariGreenleaf]

The sound of Moon's hooves coming into contact with grass was relaxing. The elf had not been to the Shire in a long time, but she loved it here. Everyone was happy, whether they had been drinking or not. The high sun was shining down onto the elf, causing her to become hot under her cloak’s hood. Oh well, she thought. I’ve come this far without anyone knowing my identity. It couldn’t have lasted much longer. She pull back her hood. As she had expected, none in the Shire knew her, but when she got to the Inn, there would be a reunion between old friends.

When she neared the Green Dragon, the elf could hear some commotion coming from inside. She took this opportunity to slip in unnoticed. Dismounting from Moon, she let the horse roam freely, for the elf had no need for saddle or bridle. As she entered the Inn, the she-elf remembered some happy times that she’d had there. Memories kept her alive, as everyday she re-lived one of her adventures in a daydream. She remembered about when she had led a quest during the second age. A group of elves and humans, even dwarves, had travelled to the Blue Mountains to slay a great and powerful dragon there. So many memories, so little time to share them with other people at the Inn. But, then again, she intended this stay to be longer than her previous ones.

The elf looked around for someone who she might converse with. To her left were some hobbits, all very merry with many mugs of ale on their table. In front of her were some people who looked rather agitated, perhaps from the commotion she had heard, so she decided against joining them. As she began to walk toward the kitchens, to see if anyone she knew was there, she saw from the corner of her eye a girl with her hand on the windowsill she sat by. She walked to the free seat an was about to ask if she could join the girl, when she noticed the girl was not looking at her, as if she had not noticed the elf’s arrival. Elves move soundlessly at all times, and when she saw the girl’s staff she put two and two together. This was a blind girl that the elf stood before.

Being careful not to startle, the elf introduced herself.

"Greetings, young traveller. It would greatly honour me if you gave me leave to sit with you. I am an elf named Elentari."

"You may join me if you wish."

Elentari sat in the chair opposite the girl, placing her own staff next to the girl’s.

"May I ask your name?"

"You may. I am named Finduilas."

Elentari smiled as she realised that was what Finduilas ha been tracing in the dust.

"If I am not mistaken," said Elentari, "that is a Gondorian name."

"That is true," replied Finduilas, smiling at the sound of the elf’s voice. "Where is it that you come from?"

"I am from the Wood of Green Leaves," the elf answered. "You must have travelled a long way. How is it you came to be here?"

[ October 13, 2003: Message edited by: ElentariGreenleaf ]

Nedieth woke up to see the sun shining through the window. She stretched her arms and stood up. She felt very much better now that she had slept, she even felt a bit of happiness.

She found her self smiling as she opened her bag and drew out a simple maroon dress. She put her hair in a hair net and headed for the Common Room.

[ October 13, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Elora]

The midday rushed had slowly abated into the afternoon and Uien was permitted to quit her post at the room reservations book. There was work to be done in the stables and Derufin was preoccupied with some of the newer arrivals. Uien had watched all with interest, sparked in particular by the Dwarven woman and her axe. It had roused memories of her own time in Dwarven halls along with surprise at the presence of the woman. The Seven Fathers did not often send their women out into the wider world.

The afternoon had brought several new arrivals, but most seemed after refreshment which was capably under Aman, Ruby and Buttercup's purview. Uien slipped out the door, past the girl who spoke with a newly arrived Elf, and took in the afternoon. More rain, mayhaps, Uien thought to herself as she crossed to the day pasture. She'd need to get the horses in out of that before it struck, else there would be a stable full of unwell horses and her hide would be fit to be flayed for that oversight.

Still, Uien judged by her inspection of the sky that there were some hours of daylight left and the rain was not about to press upon them yet. There was time. She checked the water and grain troughs to be sure there was ample of both, scratched a curious horse under his chin and then made her way to the stables.

A quick review of that revealed two discoveries. The horse that had gone missing was back. Uien smiled, for Derufin would be pleased. Her second discovery was that Lira's horse was gone. Uien sighed a little. A second one lost before you've even set out. As the hours passed, Uien became more and more certain that she was only giving Falowik the reasons to turn away from her. He'd left her with an important task, and she was failing him.

Uien ran her hands over the herbs she had bundled and left tied to a rafter and nimbly climbled the ladder to the loft. She retrieved some wood and her belt knife, climbed back down, found a stool towards the back that Derufin often sat in to carve his own fine work, and settled into that. After holding her raw block for a moment in her fingers, Uien's thoughts cleared a little and she smiled sadly as she recognised what lay within the wood.

Then, she set her blade to its work, head bent over it in the afternoon rays of sunlight that reached through the open stable doors.

[Amanaduial the archer]

The Innkeeper smiled sadly after Lira as she skipped out of the Green Dragon door for the last time and into the now clear, fine day. For a moment, the elf was framed in the doorway, the green outfit and the blonde in her hair entwining with the fine strands of blonde in her hair. She had been a great help with everything in the Inn, and Aman hadn't charged her even half of what she should have done - it wouldn't have been right to charge a friend for such a stay. Aman hoped Pio didn't guess she had undercharged the other elf, but something Aman noticed in her eyes told the Rohirrim Innkeeper that she knew full well, and didn't disapprove. Then, with a jaunty wave, Lira was gone - she would go to the stables, then down the road and off.

"Excuse me I was just wondering, are there any free rooms? You see I had quite a long journey..."

Aman sighed, shaking herself away from the image of her friend which she could see in her mind's eye skipping down the lane, and turned to the other elf who had approached herself and Pio rather nervously as she was watching Lira, suddenly back to the moment. She smiled at the elf, Enif she thought her name was from earlier, who was evidently ill at ease with distracting herself and Pio from her talk, hoping to put her at ease, and her friend smiled also. Pio nodded understandingly and Aman stood.

"Of course, I quite understand, miss...?"

"Enif. My name is Enif." The elf smiled again, still seeming a little uncomfortable but a little more relaxed now. Aman nodded and went towards the bar, where Vanwe was still patiently taking down names and rooms of those who needed them. Aman relieved her and the elf gratefully scooted off with a smile, out to the stable. She still seemed a little distracted, deep in her eyes, and Aman knew the dwarf's coming would no doubt have given her something to think about - she would be carving this afternoon, at least for a while, the Innkeeper would wager. She would bring out a cup of tea to her later on; she and Vanwe hadn't talked properly in quite a while it now seemed, and the Innkeeper wouldn't wish for the elf to set off with Falowik on what could be a very dangerous trip with states left in this drifted-apart manner.

Turning the log book towards Enif, Aman handed her the pen and showed her where to sign. As the elf did so, the Innkeeper let her eyes wander around her common room once more, taking in new faces she had missed. Her eyes caught one, near the door, a girl, not quite in adulthood yet it seemed, talking to another, a woman whose hood was pulled back from her head, from which fell a mass of golden hair. There was something about the girl's eyes which Aman couldn't quite see with her turned in that direction...

The girl turned and in an instant Aman recognised what was different about the girl's slightly misted, still eyes - she was evidently blind. The Innkeeper was reminded of her mother's saying of 'you don't know how lucky you are' - it was true. This girl looked to be about eighteen, although her face seemed a litte older than perhaps it was meant to be - some time younger than Aman. And yet she would never see the Shire... Aman made a note to talk to her when she Enif had her rooms sorted and make sure she was alright with everything. But there was something about her companion which made Aman continue to look...the woman suddenly laughed, tossing her hair slightly and as she did so, her face turned slightly to the side. Aman's eyebrows shot up - surely it couldn't be?

Well, if it was, this would be an interesting reunion indeed!

[Imladris]

I listened to the elf’s voice in wordless wonder: never before had I heard anything so sweet, so pure, so lovely in all my living days; even if she had not introduced herself to be an elf, I would have known it was a member of the Fair Folk who now spoke kindly to me. “Elentari,” I said, savoring the word as I spoke it slowly, then I laughed as I realized that she had asked me what had brought me here (she was from the Wood of Green Leaves, but I was not familiar with the name). “How I came to the Shire, and to this Inn, in particular --” I stumbled slightly over these words -- “is a long story. My family are peasants in Gondor, but we have distant relatives in Bree.” I stopped, for I did not like these aforesaid relatives. Quickly, determined not to dwell upon such unpleasantness, I said, “Some time ago, I traveled here because they had suffered misfortune: the mother had died in child birth, and the other children needed a woman’s hand. So I set out on horseback, to Bree, for I was not blind then.” I frowned, for I was upset. I couldn’t really see clearly when I had departed from Gondor: I could stills see blurries of colours, and I could see large objects. Yet, even then, I had known that my sight would be taken away from me, but instead I had not thought of it, had always been seeking for things of beauty with what little sight remained to me. I had stayed on the roads, and they were considerably safer and I had reached the home in Bree, but then -- “Stop it,” I snapped out loud. I felt the elf stir, and said hastily, “Stay! Forgive me…I was not speaking to you but to myself.”

I rose quickly and promptly stumbled over a wayward stool and soon I found myself again upon the floor. Pulling my knees under myself, I crouched there on the floor so that the Elentari could not see my flaming face. I fought back the tears that insisted on coming to my eyes: of all things, why did I have to suffer this curse of blindness? I felt a helping hand raise me to my feet and guide me back to the seat: “Thank you, Elentari,” I said, assuming it was the elf. I bit my lips and, turning to where I thought she was seated, I said, “Tell me of yourself: from where you have come? How do you look? What is the colour of you hair? Of your eyes? Everything about yourself, please tell me.”

[Theoric Windcaller]

Business, or life, should I say, went on like always, people hustling in and out of the inn, having their drinks, saying their messages and then heading off.

They were wrong, Theoric thought. "If this place is peaceful than I am an elf," he laughed. Beside him, silently sat an elf. The hobbits that occupied that bar stool left only ten minutes ago.

The elf turned to him, slamming his ale down upon the bar. "What did you say?"

Theoric knew he should have just kept to himself. "Nothing, master elf. Keep to your business and I shall keep to mine."

This probably wasn't the best reply, Theoric thought, but nonetheless, it got the to turn away and continue on, drinking himself to intoxication.

He knew that he came to the Shire to settle down for good, and have nice peaceful life, but he was having second thoughts. He did not know where he belonged, where his home was. He did not mean his literal home as In Laketown, he meant where it was that he most felt comfortable in, and most peaceful there.

This had been his lifelong quest, leaving home to find another home. He even thought of the sailing west, to the Grey Havens, but he knew that once he was there, he could never come back. And that raised the question, What if he were meant to just be a nomad, like a ranger, never to truly find a real home?

His head was hurting, for the meals, though hot and delicious, did not heal his lost heart or his aching limbs.

He looked around; he recognized no one, save the beautiful bartender, patiently tending to those at the bar. Whatever his reason for coming here, he did not care for now, he suddenly felt an urging to leave, to sail to the Grey Havens. He did not know, for he had no one to consult with on the matter. He felt out of place here, more than ever, for he had spent the majority of his life with men, and he once thought to go to Rivendell, but he remembered, there were not many elves in Middle-Earth. They were all sailing west... to Valinor.

He stood up and stumbled towards the door to exit the inn.

[Nerindel]

The appearance of the heated dwarven woman had caused Taurëwen to tense slightly, she had never met a dwarf only seen the injuries caused by their weapons, but seeing Reynions indifference she relaxed, her face flushing slightly under Reynion's affectionate gaze.


She smiled as he told her that he had not even got drunk while she was gone, this was a good thing but something about the way he made light of his achievement troubled her. A healer by trade she knew the only way he would truly overcome his darkness was to talk about it, but in his own time she thought to herself.


Just then an elven woman passed with two elfings in her arms, that reminded her that Reynion, knew nothing of what had became of those who had survived the dark times.Turning back to him she told him of Ceros and Ihwesta's marriage "Thillersk and Rydian are both captains, and Lady Dorienne counsels those ill of heart," she went on.


"What about Arie?" he asked, at this her smile faded slightly and a sigh escaped her, "the weeds that I have gathered are for her, her heart and mind are not as they once were, not since....but we hope that the weed will help, we also believe that the healing properties of the weed might help the others aswell." she smiled hopefully.


"Infact someone should be arriving tomorrow to collect what I have gathered and take it back to the halls of healing in Eryn Lasgalen, but enough of my work!" she laughed.

"Surely you have some tales to tell, of the places you have visited?" she urged gently.

[ October 13, 2003: Message edited by: Nerindel ]

[Tinuviel of Denton]

"Surely you have some tales to tell, of the places you have visited?"

Tales to tell? Oh, he had tales to tell, but...somehow, he got the feeling that Taurewen wouldn't enjoy them. Men could be very cruel, and Taurewen was far too kind. His tales would cast a shadow on their thus far lovely day, and he was enjoying himself too much to do that. But as for the places he had visited...

"I must confess that I don't remember most of the places I've been. I was usually drunk, or recovering from a drunk. Neither state is conducive to memories." That wasn't strictly true, but the places he could remember had been the places that one didn't dare get drunk in, or risk ending up in an alley with one's throat slit. He doubted Taurewen would want to hear about those. Or rather, that he'd been to that sort of place.

"So, Ceros and Ihwesta are wed? That doesn't surprise me; they were half in love before we left..." he trailed off, wanting to avoid talking about anything that would remind either of them about that awful mission. Unfortunately, there wasn't much else to talk about. He wanted to avoid tales of his travels, for fear of some of the memories contained therein, he wanted to avoid discussions of Eryn Lasgalen as it used to be, because he didn't really want to go back, and he wanted to avoid memories, simply because most of his memories were rather...uncomfortable. So what was there to talk about?

[Theoric Windcaller]

"Aye, dark times indeed, the third age," commented a hobbit, taking another gulp of his ale.

Theoric had apparently decided to stay for a bit longer. He told himself that the ale was such an addiction that he couldn't handle it--but he knew the real reason. He didn't want to leave.

"Did you take part in the War?" asked Theoric, interested in the elder hobbit's tales.

"Nay, but I did partake in the great uprallying at the end of the Third age." His voice quieted to a whisper.

"See, not many hobbit-folk like to speak of this, but back many years ago, when the War of the Ring had finally come to an end, a great man, very wizard-like, came upon our peaceful Shire and stirred up trouble.

"He went by the name of Sharky, and he had a small little fella' with him too, nasty creature. Very pale, seemed to glare at you all of the time."

Theoric nodded. "I think I had heard of that before. I believe that men from Laketown used to call it the Scourging of the Shire.
I always thought it was just a tale, to keep us occupied instead of going and stirring up trouble in the village."

The hobbit set down his ale. "It did not much have a name, but it was when the four came back," he replied.

Theoric was now deeply interested in the tale. "The four?"

"Well yes, lad. Haven't you heard of the Company of the Ring?" asked the hobbit.

Theoric nodded his head slightly. "Aye, it was the fellowship that set out for Mordor so many years ago," he replied.

"Aye, well, four members of that company were hobbits, Shire-folk like me. In, two of them, Frodo of Nine Fingers and Samwise Gamgee were of the four, the others I cannot remember."

"So Frodo of Nine Fingers was a Shire-hobbit?" asked Theoric.

"Of course," laughed the hobbit. "In fact, Samwise Gamgee is mayor of the Shire. He used to be Frodo Baggin's gardener, down at Bag End in Hobbiton."

Theoric was silent. The elder hobbit looked at him with a warming and encouraging smile. "You seem interested in what I have to say. I tell you, if you want details about what has happened in the Shire's uprising and the War of the Ring, I am sure Samwise Gamgee, mayor of the Shire could very much help you."

"Do you know where he lives now?" asked Theoric.

The elder hobbit turned away from the dwarf to finish his ale. "Aye, he lives in Bag End, on Bagshot Row in Hobbiton, which is a little ways from here.

"Aye, he started living in Bag End ever since Frodo disappeared once again, and he never returned since. Yes, a strange lot, those Bagginses were, very spontaneous and extremely unexpecting."

The hobbit turned to the dwarf, who was already grabbing his axe from the weapons depot and walking out of the inn.

The hobbit laughed to himself. As Aman approached he smiled at her. "It is strange, the kind of people the Shire has in its inns and taverns in these days."

Aman just smiled and began to tend to another when the hobbit spoke again.

"Queer days these are, but that was the same thing I said back during the War of the Ring, and those were less queerer. It makes me wonder how much more queerer the days will be that are to come," smiled the elder hobbit.

"I'd rather not wonder," squeaked a hobbit sitting beside the elder hobbit. "I'd rather not."

[ October 14, 2003: Message edited by: Theoric Windcaller ]

[piosenniel]

Please note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Green Dragon Inn.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Amanaduial the archer]

"It is strange, the kind of people the Shire has in its inns and taverns in these days."

Aman smiled and nodded with feeling at the dwarf's words - he'd hit the nail right on the head. She thought she recognised him, and it hit her a moment later as she departed from the table - that dwarf was the trouble maker who had stopped in her...well, it must be over a month ago now. Picked several fights so he did...she cast a glance in his direction, but Thorin seemed absorbed in his conversation with the hobbits, and he had thankfully left his axe at the door - excellent. He caught her eyeas she looked at him and smiled from beneath his voluminious beard, and Aman replied to this with a smile of her own. Turned over a new leaf then, she hoped.

There was a clatter from the other side of the room, causing Aman to look around quickly from the bar where she desposited the dirty glasses she had just picked up. Her eyes found the source in an instant, and she saw the Gondorian girl on her knees on the floor, slightly curled up as if in a protective position, evidentally having fallen over.

The noise, amidst so many others in the noisy common room, didn't attract much attention, but Aman began to move across it quickly towards the table. Elentari, if it was indeed Elentari, and the Innkeeper was pretty sure it was, got there before her though, gently helping the girl up. The blind girl said something in muttered thanks, then spoke again to Elentari, asking her to describe everything about her.

"Well, Elentari is about...ooh, 5 feet 9 inches, slim in build, clear green eyes, beautiful silky blonde hair-"

As Aman spoke, arms folded, Elentari turned around, surprised, her mouth open as if to protest, and the girl's eyes worked up to the approximate area of Aman's face.

"Aman!"

"-and a habit of making friends over a summer of travel and then not being seen for five years." Aman ended, one eyebrow raised, then smiled. "Hello Elentari."

The elf laughed and, standing, embraced Aman joyfully, and Aman returned it, patting her friend on the back and for a few moments they were simply caught up with their reunion, speaking quickly and merrily to each other, before Aman remembered the blind girl and realised she must be confused. Remembering her manners, she stopped and turned to the girl, not knowing how bad her sight was and so not knowing whether she could make out silhouettes and light and nodded her head to her.

"Good day, miss." Her voice was warm and kind, but not at all patronising. "I do apologise for not introducing myself - my name is Aman, I'm the Innkeeper here."

"The Innkeeper?" The girl smiled tenatively, nodding her head slightly to Aman, her unseeing eyes remaining in the direction Aman's voice came from. "My...my name is Finduilas. Please...sit down."

Aman did so, sitting near to the girl so her face was not far from the girl's own. Finduilas took a moment, then raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You are not one of the little folk at all."

Behind them, Elentari laughed. "No indeed. She is one of the Rohirrim - the horse people!"

Aman smiled at her friend, and Finduilas's expression remained puzzled. "From Rohan then? But why are you here?" She paused, then sighed wistfully. "Blonde hair then, maybe? And green eyes...?" She stopped, her face sad. Aman understood, or understood as much as one who couldn't truly know could. Gently and carefully, she took the girl's hand in her own and guided it up to her face. Finduilas seemed surprised, then ran her hand slowly over the Innkeeper's slim, high boned face.

"Brown hair actually, but streaked with blonde. And yes, green eyes - clear, bright and perceptive, I'm told...."

She talked clearly but softly, filling in the details of her appearance for those few moments that Finduilas couldn't possibly gather, but the girl could find quite alot from those moments. And in this gesture, Aman hoped she had put the girl at ease - that she had made a friend.

[ElentariGreenleaf]

"Tell me, Elentari," said Aman. "How is it you have returned now, after so many years?"

"Patience, Aman. You did not tell my good friend here much about me. As you know, Finduilas, I am an elf. I have long blonde hair and green eyes. For most of the time I wear a green dress, the shade of green that colours the leaves of Eryn Lasgalen, if you ever saw them, and a golden necklace with my named engraved upon it in runes. With me I carry a staff and a sword, named Star, and my mount is a white mare named Moon. There is little else to tell.

"I have been on many adventures in my time, but now the evil of these lands has been cleansed; my home forest has been renamed from Mirkwood to Eryn Lasgalen, the Wood of Green Leaves. I once protected the forest, in its darker days. After I returned from one of my adventures, one to Cirith Ungol, I was given the title Spyder Slayer, a title once owned by the brace Maia named Arawil. However, now that the forest is free from its infestation of Spiders, I have no reason to be there. I left the Wood of Green Leaves and travelled south, to the fair wood of Lothlorien. Few elves remain there, so I did not stay long. An interesting idea formed in my head – to fellow the path that Aragorn had taken years before, during the war of the ring. The elves of the Fair Wood gave me a boat so that I could travel down the Anduin. Once I got past the trees, I could see for miles across the plains of the Riddermark, Rohan the land of the Horse-lords. While I was looking out across the plains, a strong wave that I had not anticipated capsized my boat." The elf laughed, remembering how cold the water ha been, for she had travelled in winter, as the Fellowship had.

"I had to continue for a while on foot, but by the time I reached Fangorn I had sent a message to the Wood of Green Leaves attached to the foot of a swift swan, for they are my favourite of the birds. The message asked for my horse Moon to be sent to Edoras. On my way to Edoras I visited Helm’s Deep, not wishing to follow the King’s path exactly, for he went to Edoras first. I did not see any point in travelling to Edoras twice. Helm’s Deep is the largest structure I had seen that has been made by mortal folk. It is impressive, but not as it once was. The scars of battle still show on its walls.

"Edoras is a beautiful place, with the Snowbourn running from it to the Anduin. I headed straight for the stables, for a magnificent horse like Moon would not have been allowed to run free. The Horse-lords would have cared for her, wanting to keep her for themselves, but knowing they couldn’t. They ha cared for her well, and I thanked them with both words and money. I explored Edoras thoroughly, but I was intrigued by the Golden Hall, so I spent most of my stay near to it. My stay was longer here than in Lothlorien, for the mortal race fascinate me. Little time have I spent with them, yet when I have it has been in times of danger, when you find out what they can really do. I have seen mortals pass into the realm of the dead before my very eyes, and it grieved my every time to see it happen. Their lives are so sort, so they could never see the things elves see; never see how the world changes." Elentari stopped. Her words were upsetting Finduilas, and the elf cursed herself for not stopping earlier.

"Forgive me," she said to the mortal. "I should not have talked so long of sight or of death. But, even though your sight has left you, you can learn to she the world in other ways."

"What do you mean?" asked Finduilas.

"Elentari," said Aman, "do you mean through other senses?"

"Yes." Elentari looked out of the window for a moment, then at Finduilas' name traced in the dust. "Using your sense of touch, you managed to trace your name in the dust on this windowsill. You pick up your staff after you have put it down by fining it with your hands. Your sense of touch helped you find this table. Through that sense you can build up a picture in your mind of where things are and what they are like. The same goes for hearing. If I were to move to another place in the room an talk, you would know where I stood."

Finduilas smiled a large smile.

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Oh, my! I’m here already! And thanks goodness for that. Miss Bunce would have my hide if the vanilla beans and lavender water didn’t get to her in time.’

Prim’s thoughts trailed off as she flicked the reins on Poppy’s back, urging the pony, and the cart she pulled, up toward the Inn’s stable. An Elf met her as she neared it. ‘Curious,’ she thought to herself, ‘how many of the Fair Folk seem to pass through the Dragon. ‘Not like The Floating Log,’ she continued. ‘Good Hobbit folk is what we have there. Though to be truthful, it would liven the place up if a few more interesting passersby would frequent Frogmorton.’

Primrose Bolger set the brake on the small cart, and clambered down from the seat. The Elf looked friendly enough as Prim handed her the lead for Poppy. ‘Mind you now – no oats for this one!’ she instructed the Elf. ‘She’ll swell up with the bloat and I’ll be here for days nursing her.’ The Elf nodded and gave Poppy a reassuring scratch between the ears. ‘Just some hay will hold her for now. Oh, and a carrot or apple, if you will,’ she went on with a reassuring smile, seeing Poppy’s doleful eyes turned on her.

Prim took off her light, homespun, brown wool cloak and shook out the dust from the road. Hanging it for a moment on the side of the cart, she smoothed out the wrinkles of her green skirt and straightened her black vest. She rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse, and got to work – hauling several covered baskets to the door of the kitchen. It was the vanilla beans, the lavender water for faerie cakes, and several other delicacies that the Cook at the Floating Log had sent along – two honeyed hams from Budgeford, a basket of yams from Farmer Burrfoot up near Scary, and several bottles of sweet Maywine from Gammer Larkspur’s cellar in Whitfurrows.

Pushing back the brown curls from her sweaty brow and giving a hasty wipe of her hands on the backside of her white apron, Prim gave a knock on the kitchen door, and opening it wide, peeked her head in.

‘Anyone in?’ she asked in a clear, little voice. ‘I’ve some things here from the Log . . .’

[Amanaduial the archer]

As Elentari and Finduilas were discussing this, with knowledge from both sides, Aman quietly cleared away the dirty glasses which had been left on that table since before they came. Taking also the glasses she had put on the bar earlier, the Innkeeper went into the kitchen to deposit them in the sink. She snuk into the kitchen very quietly: hopefully, if Cook was distracted enough with Pio at the bar, where they were talking animatedly about the party.

Getting quickly to the sink, Aman left the dishes and glasses in and started to run the water so they would be able to soak. She would allow about four or five inches, just enough to get some water into or around all of them...just as her target was reached and she turned off the tap, a knock, however small and polite, made her jump and turn around quickly.

"Anyone in? I’ve some things here from the Log..." The clear, quiet voice was followed by a pretty, rosy cheeked face, framed with brown curls, peering around the door. Aman smiled, feeling slightly foolish at having jumped so, and walked across, opening the door wide and taking in the hobbit, who was clutching a covered basket.

"Excellent, come in, please," Aman stepped aside and, with a small smile, the hobbit came in, putting down the basket on the table. The Floating Log was another Inn not too far away, and was almost like a 'sister-Inn' to the Dragon - Aman knew the Innkeeper there, who had recently moved on, had been a good friend of Pio in her time here, in a comradely sort of way. And Pio had always laughed as she told Aman of how surprised the folk there were to see her when she occasionally had to come by - seldom did any of the big folk at all pass through Frogmorten, and elves were completely scarce, obviously.

"I'm Aman, the Innkeeper." Aman smiled and nodded courteously, careful not to look down in any way at the hobbit.

"Primrose Bolger. From the Floating Log - we heard about Miss Pio arriving and about the party and we brought along a few items like - delicacies is you may - not only from the Log, but from a few other well wishers like, you know."

Aman nodded, and her gaze strayed outside the door...and her eyes widened. What Primrose seemed to class as 'a few items' stretched to four to six baskets which now sat outside the door. The Innkeeper smiled slightly incredulously.

"Excellent," she said breathily. "Absolutely excellent. 'Scuse me, I'll just go and get Coo - sorry, Miss Bunce, and - well, you won't have seen Pio's babies yet, will you?"

Primrose beamed, her face lighting up. "Oh, that would be wonderful!"

Aman smiled and hurried outside to the common room. Pio, you have a visitor - and a very welcome one at that. From the Log.

The elf looked up as Aman sent the message, and her face also lit up. She spoke quickly to Cook, and the hobbit also grinned, as the pair stood, a baby apiece, and started towards the kitchen. Aman smiled at them as they began to come across, then ducked back into the kitchen to help Primrose start unpacking the first of the baskets.

[piosenniel]

Cook cast a critical eye at the contents of the baskets that lined the counter. Ah! There were her precious vanilla beans – come through from Bree she knew and before that all the way from Harondor. And nothing was better than the lavender from the Floating Log for flavoring cake batter. The lass who made it for them had a deft hand with the concoction. It made the faerie-cakes seem even more otherworldly and light.

Cook chuckled to herself – ‘and a touch of the scent behind the ears had been know to make certain Hobbit lads swoon with delight at the mouth-watering scent.’ She laughed a little louder, remembering the old saying, and shaking her head at the truth of it. ‘The way to a Hobbit lad’s heart is through his stomach.’

Ruby and Buttercup were enlisted to get the new supplies put carefully away. ‘And mind that Maywine!’ Cook called out after them. ‘We’ll want it for the toasts! Don’t shake up the sediment.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’ came the chorused replies, followed by stifled giggling as the two traipsed down the stairs with the bottles carefully in hand.

Cook tsk’d at the impertinence but did not follow up on it. She turned to watch the Hobbit lass who was holding the little girl now, having just given the boy back to Pio in exchange. Pio had crouched down so that the Hobbit . . . now what was her name? . . . Primrose, that was it . . . so that Primrose could get a good look at the both of them.

‘Primrose Bolger,’ she murmured to herself running her list of family trees through her head. ‘Would you be Pearly and Wilcome’s daughter - Girdley Island?’ she asked, raising her voice a little to grab the lass’ attention.

[Imladris]

I held my breath as Aman's hands guided my own over her face; my senses thrilled as I touched her fine skin, while I listened attentively to Elentari. It was wonderful, that they should show much kindness to one such as I. "You do not disturb me, Elentari," I said, smiling softly as I played with a lock of her hair, which I had somehow found. "Yes, I am learning to feel and hear as I have never done before."

I frowned slightly and bowed my head when Aman again told us that she must clear some dirty dishes. I could hear the thump of glasses, the patter of hobbits feet, the coarse laughter of a rugged man...heaving a sigh, I turned to Elentari and said, "My parents were farmers in Gondor and lived some miles from the White City. When I was around five or six, I was sent to a weaver-woman who lived in Minas Tirith so that I could learn her craft." I fell silent, and recalled the buried memories: sitting before the loom, hearing the wooden shuttle clack merrily back and forth, the smooth feel of the spun wool in my fingers as the design of the blanket took shape. I remembered curding the wool, freeing it from snarls and brambles that had somehow managed to bury themselves and ensnag themselves in the soft wool. Then spinning it into fine thread, the whir of the wheel purring softly as I spun in the firelight.

But that had been when I was older, when my sight was fleeing from me. I continued softy, braiding the elf's fair hair, and said, "Then the attacks came. I did not wish to live the White City, for it impressive and so fair that I could not bear to part with it. I ran from my the Weaver-woman's charge and snuck back to the her house, which was near the wall. I could hear the sound of battle, and I could see small round objects hurtling through the air. One landed with a sickening thud before me and I saw that it was a head: severed cruelly from its body, it's fair face frozen in enduring nobility, though the shadow fear hovered about his eyes. I screamed and rushed into the house, and cowered in the middle of the floor, beside my loom. I don't know how long I stood there, but suddenly, as I was leaving (my conscience having gotten the better of me) to see if I could find the Weaver-woman, a flaming ball of fire plummeted to the house and hit the walls of the house. Flying shrapnel exploded in a fiery rain, and some landed in my eyes. I screamed for the pain was great: that was the first taste of blindness. One found me and brought me to the Houses of Healing, where they later told me that my eyes were bleeding, and that it was a mercy I could see again.

"I learned in that time the art of weaving and sewing, and of the lyre. I could do both well, but there were times when my vision blurred, and my eyes ached. Steadily it became worse until I lost it completley."

[Primrose Bolger]

‘No ma’am,’ came the courteous reply from Primrose, followed by a giggle. The baby had latched onto her finger and was bent on stuffing it in her mouth. Aman scooped the little one from her arms, saying it was her turn, and Prim drew nearer to Cook.

‘Pearly and Wilcome are my aunt and uncle,’ she said, watching as Cook took a single, long vanilla bean pod and buried it in one of the big sugar canisters. ‘Wilcome is my Dad’s older brother. My parents moved to Budgeford just before I was born, to be near my Mother’s family.’ She caught a whiff of the sweet vanilla scent from Cook's hands. Delicious, she thought, then turned her attention back to details of her family. 'It's Larkspur and Tomlin Bolger who are my Mother and Father.'

Prim’s brow furrowed as Cook took the canister and put it in the back of the baking cupboard. She was dying to know why Cook had buried the rather ugly looking bean in the sugar, but didn’t wish to seem impolite. Try as she might she couldn’t recall her Mother ever having vanilla beans.

She was just on the verge of asking the question when, of its own accord, her stomach brought up another topic of looming importance, evidenced by its rumbling and grumbling. Her cheeks crimsoned as the others took note of her. It was a long trip from Frogmorton to Bywater, she offered in explanation, and lunch had seemed hours ago, and a small one at that.

The savory aroma of roasting beef and steaming vegetables had been prickling at the edges of her consciousness, and now with the urgings of her empty stomach, became quite overwhelming. She pulled out her little coin pouch, a pretty little embroidered thing she had done herself, and fished out a few coins the Innkeeper from the Floating Log had given her.

‘Something smells delicious she said, sniffing the air appreciatively. ‘Do you think I might get a plateful and a mug of cider?’

[Jack]

Éofalas fell into a deep sleep. Suddenly a dream of such vividness jarred his mind.

"Come back me, my son..." the words echoed around him, it was a voice he knew well. His grandmother.

Then he saw her, she was lying in a pool of water and gasping. He ran towards her but she dissolved into thin air.

"Come back..." echoed and reverberated around him. He sat up in bed sweating and gasping. He had to go now! Immediately!

Getting up he, grabbed his bag and ran down the stairs (nearly running over some people in his hast). Out to the stables, he got Wyn out of his stall, saddled, and bridled in record time. In moments he was galloping away from the inn. One look back was all he gave it. Someday he would come back... someday!

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik rode into Bywater in the company of Doderic and Gorbadoc Brandybuck. The westering sun was still well above the horizon. He was tired of riding, even though the journey from Buckland was not long by horse.

The Water, just to the north of the road, reflected the intermittent sun and clouds; rain threatened. At least it had held off until they made it into Bywater. The horse and two ponies stopped before the Green Dragon Inn, not far from the stables. The man and two hobbits dismounted and led their mounts to the stables, and wrapped the reins to stable posts. Falowik led the hobbits into the Inn and was met by a commotion of activity!

Falowik was looking for one person. His face did not give away his anticipation - except for his eyes. The Hobbits passed around him and made their way to the bar, but Falowik hung back, hoping to see Uien somewhere in all this crowd of people. They had news to sahre, he was sure, and he hoped hers was good; at least better than his.

[Elora]

Uien blew gently at the shavings and pulled back to see what her carving had revealed. Ah yes, there is one petal, she thought. She had been surprised to find in this wood memory of that flower. It evoked memories sweet and sorrowful both. She stroked the newly shaped petal lightly, aware that there were horses approaching. They drew up outside of the stables. Uien sheathed her knife and set down the newly begun carving. She'd finish the mallorn flower later, when she had a moment.

Standing, the fragrant wood shavings falling from her lap, Uien went to see to the horses that had been left by the stables by the most recent arrivals to the inn. She emerged smoothing her hair back from her face and stopped where she stood. One horse she knew in particular, for she had spoken with it. Uien glanced about, looking for the man who rode it. Falowik was nowhere to be seen.

Faster, Uien drew near the horse he had riden and whispered to it. The horse flicked his ears and snorted in greeting, nudging her shoulder gently. Uien's face cleared as she learnt that the horse had returned with the rider he had set out with, her heart lightening from it's sudden weight. With a sigh of relief, Uien set about breaking the Inn's speed record for tending horses.

She had grain out and water filled for all three at a blistering pace. That done, she all but dashed across the yard to the inn and was still brushing off her hands as she entered the common room. Her eyes scanned the crowd impatiently, roving and searching. She found the one she had been looking for standing through the crowd with two Hobbits. One was Doderic, which she recognised from the night before, the other she did not know.

Uien saw Falowik look about him at the crowd. He found her as she was weaving through the throngs of people. Her eyes were perhaps as bright as her heart that he was well and returned so soon. Her skirts were still swaying around her as she stood before Falowik as Doderic struck up business.

"Ah, there you are Miss Uien. Difficult to spot you amongst so many Elves today. Have you recruited amongst your kindred?"

Before she could answer, they were joined by another who had spotted Falowik's arrived.

"She did try, I'll give her that," Falco Boffin allowed generously, favouring her with a pleased smile. "She had three, in total as of last night. But it seems two of them have thought better of an Elvish riding jaunt and have since left."

"Oh, that is unfortunate," Doderic replied. Uien felt the strongest urge to stamp on Falco Boffin's curly haired toes at the moment. Instead, she inclined her head and demurred as gracefully as she could.

"'Tis true that three did answer the call to search. Two have since had graver business yet to see to and I do not begrudge them that. One still remains." Uien's gaze returned to Falowik's then, patent regret within her eyes.

"I am sorry I could not do better," she finished. There was more she wanted to say, much more, but for now it sat within her. Falco continued his attempt at largess as far as she was concerned.

"Well, you did your best, like as not. Such things really are better left to those professionals who know their business." Uien really did like Falco better when he was being openly peverse.

"I have been able to arrange supplies and mounts for those that remain willing to set out. The horses were not cheap, but they'll serve well. There is sufficient coin to see us a good way down the road."

The hobbit unknown to Uien looked her up and down. Some curled wood shavings clung to her skirts still. All in all, she hardly looked to have the means to so much as purchase a loaf of stale bread. Uien said nothing of what she had parted with. Gorbadoc said nothing of his surprise. His expression was eloquent enough.

"Maybe we should find a table,' he suggested instead. The tables were fast filling for the evening rush and so they took his suggestion and seated themselves nearby. The three hobbits fell into a fast paced discussion of doings as they sat, who was where, which relations were about what business and anything else that seemed to fall within their interest.

That left Uien and Falowik to their own devices. Uien clasped her hands on the table lest she reach across for him now. Instead, she contented herself to drink in the sight of him.

"How do you fare, Laurëatan?"

[Esgallhugwen]

As Esgallhugwen conversed with the Dwarf, Lira took her leave, and what seemed not to far behind a blind Gondorian girl entered. She had taken up with an Elf and Aman saw to her as well,pity, she thought how that can happen to such young beings, the gift of sight taken away.

But her thought were soon disturbed, a man with golden hair entered and Uien rushed to great him; Esgallhugwen knew then and there it must be Falowik. Then the Shirrif came with his snarky remarks, yet he seemed not so demeaning this time trying to sound his fairest.

Esgallhugwen took the last of her drink and thanked the Dwarf for her kindness; saying she needed to tend to her mount. She smiled at Uien as she passed out the door to the stable.

Her graceful yet strong legs brought her quickly to the end of the stables, Morsereg whickered keenly at her arrival. She stroked him gently behind the ears, brushing his jet black mane.

Morsereg's eyes glimmered curiously at the folded piece of cloth that she held next to her side. He stamped his foot, 'a blanket newly made, I purchased some cloth from a Hobbit this morning and set to work on making it; weaving it with silver thread, for the journey ahead of us, it will become cold in the north no doubt and it may come in handy'.

The sky was dim, clouds clumped and streched above them, dripping every so often as if wringing out some wet garment trying to get dry. Esgallhugwen packed it away safely in her saddle bag, humming slightly to the joy of Morsereg's ears.

[Nerindel]

well if you have nothing to tell then I do, she laughed throwing him a mischievous wink.

"After leaving Eryn Lasgalen I journeyed to Lothlorien, Oh! Reynion you should see it even near deserted as it was it still held the beauty of the galadrim, most of those that remained moved to East Lorien, with Lord Celeborn."

Taurëwen spoke nothing of East Lorien, as this was the land where all their bad memories were born, but perhaps sometime she would show it to him. The elves of East Lorien removed all traces of the dark tower and it was a beautiful land once more.

"From Lorien I went south to look in on my Parents who went to Ithilien with prince Legolas, and Reyn it is true he really is friends with a dwarf, " she laughed lightly.

"Then I went to Rivendell, so different from the other elven realms, I spent much time in the hall of fire, listening to songs and tales of old, even adding a few of my own" she smiled.

"It was in Imladris that I was told of gallows weed and an elven ranger suggested that it might help to clear ones mind and one of the Dunedain Rangers that visited the last house recommended this inn,"

"So here I am!" she beamed.

"Oh, that reminds me I have yet to procure a room, perhaps you can help me by directing me to the innkeeper?" she smiled hoping there was a room left.

[Annalaliath]

Annalaliath who had been busy mending her old and worn clothing not to mention making herself an entirely new outfit. Came down into the common room for the first time in about a week, well at least she thinks. Looking around she found Aman in the kitchen. Aman was unpacking baskets.


"Aman?" Anna said, and with out stopping she went on, " have you anymore work for me?" Then waiting for an answer Annalaliath, the elf, stood there in the kitchen in her new cloths waiting for direction.

[ElentariGreenleaf]

Elentari sat in silence as her new friend recounted to her the painful memories of how her vision was lost. The elf was lucky – she had avoided the War’s worst battle, sticking to her job of killing Spyders in what was then known as Mirkwood. Finduilas had great courage, for to one so young as her, sight is everything. At that age there is still so much to see. But Elentari hoped to mentor this young woman, teaching her other ways in which she can see. She smiled as Finduilas continued to play with her golden locks, twisting and braiding them.

“Your tale is a grim one,” sighed the elf. “But, if you allow me to, I hope to mentor you, guide you in your life. I once had a mentor, and it was his wish that I should help another the way he helped me. Would you allow me this honour?”

Finduilas ceased to braid the elf’s hair. For a while she seemed to be thinking, and then she seemed on the brink of tears. She had had little or no contact with elves, and for this one, this elf she had only just met, to want to help her, it was wonderful.

“I would very much like that!” said the Gondorian, amongst happy sobs. “But I thought you had perhaps come here to sail beyond the Grey Havens, to the Undying Lands.”

Elentari smiled, laughing a little. “I will never Sail. My duty is to the people of Middle Earth. I help those that need it. I would rather stay here an assist people than sail to Valinor. It may sound strange for and elf to say that, but I will never tire of these lands, for I love them and all in it. There are now no battles for me to die in, so I shall live until Time catches up with me, and then, when I am of no use to people anymore, I shall sail.

“It is a great honour for people to allow me to help them. I have met people who have refused my help, believing that an elf can have no love for mortals. I, and many other elves, are so very different to that opinion – we savour every moment we spend with mortals.”

[Kates Frodo Temp]

Aietmen smiled. Perfect! What fools these good folk are! He felt a song coming on. A clever plan, well executed, always brought good inspiration for a song, and never had he been more pleased with a day's work. Yes, the tune was forming now.

The rest would have to wait, however. He was very busy with a steaming bowl of soup at the moment, and could not bother himself with composing. He had been allowed to stay in the kitchen for a while, and was enjoying every minute of rest. The Cook didn't seem very happy, but he kept clear of her, and there was no trouble. The last thing he needed now was them thinking he really was a thief, or simply a trouble-maker. Aman was kind, and Aietmen was confident she had given up the accusation of theft. Still, he would have to be especially careful.

Surely she can't think I'm here to beg. He wasn't sure whether he should be grateful or offended. She had grabbed him roughly, but then suddenly let go and allowed him to speak. Actually, what she did was stare at him more then listen to what he had to say. That was fine, because things hadn't really come out right when he tried to explain. After studying him, she had given him permission to stay in the kitchen to dry off and get something to eat. That was good of her, but it proved she hadn't really been listening to him.

All Aietmen really wanted was to find a place where he could sing his own songs, and dance to his own rythyms, without being hungry and cold, or having people look down on him and pity him. He deserved it, too. Wherever he sang along the road, a crowd would gather to hear him. His voice was sweet and clear, but more importantly, he sang the songs of all lands and peoples.

[Theoric Windcaller]

Theoric returned to the inn shortly after he left, a cloud of weariness over his face.

He was not successful, in finding Mayor Samwise, for when he arrived at Bag End, he found that a message was posted at the door saying that the mayor had gone on some business, and would not be back for a long while.

He walked into the inn, not forgetting to leave his weapon at the door. He knew not what to do now, and he was not the patient type. He did not take liking to the option of waiting for Mayor Samwise to return.

He came to the Shire hoping to settle down quietly, but he knew deep down in his heart he was too young to settle down. His brother once told him that adventure is not gained by those who look for it, but comes to those that it deems worthy.

He began to recount the many adventures he had, and began to dwell on the adventures he might have in the future. He did not think that the Shire was the greatest place for adventure.

The door to the inn swung open, making a loud BONK! as it hit the wall. Two men walked in, their hoods off and their faces in plain sight. Not very secretive, Theoric thought.

They walked in and noticing the sign on the wall, they laid their weapons out gently against the wall.

The first one was with the greatest arsenal of weapons that Theoric had ever seen. He pulled at two daggers from both of his boots, he unsheathed his sword from his belt on the right side, unsheathed another from the sheath on his back, took two larger daggers from his thigh pockets, and finally he unsheathed a short sword from his other sheath on the left side of his belt.

Theoric laughed to himself as the room quieted, staring at these two warriors clad in glitter chain mail, releasing a great load of weapons at the door. Who knows what they used them for. Certainly there were no orcs, goblins or balrogs in the Shire, what were they doing with such weapons here?

"Just passing through," Theoric said to himself, thinking aloud. Aman looked up at his remark with a confused face.

"What?" asked Aman, drying a wet mug with a dry towel.

Theoric only nodded his head, construing that he was only thinking aloud.

Aman walked on, for another hobbit came to the bar, asking for seven or eight pints at the table in the back right corner of the room, by the fireplace. This seemed unusual, for Theoric, because only two hobbits sat at that table, and seven or eight pints of ale was a lot to be consumed.

Theoric quickly pieced it together when another dwarf, like Theoric, had stepped through the inn door along with another man. They unloaded their large arsenal of weapons at the weapons depot, and headed over to the table in the back right corner, where three hobbits and the two men that came in earlier sat.

The dwarf and man joined the others at the tables. This brought their party up to seven members. Their laughter and boasts and their loud voices totally upped the volume of the inn by a great number.

Theoric noticed too, that there were eight chairs at the table, and an eigth pint of ale was sitting, unmanned at the empty eighth spot.

Theoric stood up and walked closer to the table, taking a seat by the fireplace. The tw, large comfortable chairs were called the 'Fireside' by Theoric. He always loved to call it this, for it was where he had always sat and drank his ale and smoked his pipe, thinking of new ways to excite his life.

As he sat down at one of the two empty chairs at the fireside, he began not the think of ways to excite his life, but to listen to the strange party's conversation. The dwarf was able to hear every word breathed from here.

"Aye, the plains of Rohan stretch far and wide, and every once in a while a traveler will get lost, and die of starvation, or maybe of a heat stroke, for that it common in those lands," said one of the humans.

"Aye, but the Shire is extremely comfortable, and next season will my favorite season, autumn," said one of the hobbits.

"I found it quite comfortable in the mountains, in the dark."

That was obviously said by the only dwarf there. There was an uneasy silence. "That reminds me," laughed one of three men.

The dwarf looked at him. "Don't you dare."

The entire group laughed. "What?" they all asked.

"Well, it was when we were all travelling through the Misty Mountains, and Tallon brought along his fiancé, and his sister, for reasons I do not know."

The entire party erupted in laughter.

“And, I think it was the fourth night on our journey, and Tallon was having a very passionate kiss with his fiancé, and Tallon stopped for a minute to go and set out his candle that was lighting the cavern. He did not know that I was awake, thus he went back to his fiancé, and kissed her.

“Well, upon feeling a rough, coarse beard, he jumped back, and realized that it was not his fiancé he kissed, but his sister.”

The party erupted in such joy that Theoric had never seen before. They laughed for a grand total of six minutes, not counting the snickers afterwards. This was the table Theoric needed.

“Well, now that you have very near driven me to hang myself,” snorted the dwarf. “May I ask a question?”

The first of the three humans, Jeramid, replied with a short chuckle. “Aye?”

“You were last seen with the elf, Elithion. Where is he now? He has yet to hear of my great mistake.”

“Alas,” replied the human, “he could not make this grouping, nor could he make it to the business afterwards. Very busy with other business, you see.”

There was a brief silence. “Well, may his mind rest when he is through, and he shall accompany us on our next adventure,” said one of the hobbits.

Theoric’s eyes widened, his smile grew, and his hair stood on end and his insides bursting with joy. What more could he ask for? An adventure had been thrown his way; he must intercept it to be able to participate in this so-called, adventure.

Theoric stood up, the table behind him still laughing and reminiscing, and the dwarf still bitter towards the story that his friend had told.

He inched his way towards the table.

“Excuse me,” he smiled. “I have overheard that a companion of yours was not able to make an appearance at this congregation; I was wondering if I might take his place.”

The party of hobbits, men and a dwarf sat quiet, some of them holding their mugs still as they were in the middle of a sip, letting the ale drip down to their laps.

The dwarf laughed. “This is quite hasty, friend. Do you know us? Do you trust us?”

“I trust everyone save those who have fallen into darkness, and it seems by the moods of your party, sir dwarf, that darkness does not hold sway upon you,” the dwarf wisely replied.

“For all you know, we could be bandits pulling a shadow over your eyes, blinding you from seeing our true selves,” smiled a human.

“For all you know, I could be the same. I could be a cleverer bandit, disguised as a dwarf, only to throttle you in your sleep one night and take your money. But I’m not. Nay, sir dwarf, trust is our only weapon against those we do not know, we can either use it or discard it, but the wise man, uses any weapon he has.”

Theoric hit the nail on the head yet again. He succeeded in making himself plentiful in wise council and he made it obvious that he has been to many places and heard and seen many things. This alone, would be enough to sway a council of orc lords towards the dwarf’s will.

“I can see, stranger, that you are not a bandit, for I can sense these things. And I can see, by your wind-worn hair and your tired grey eyes that you have been many a place; you are welcome here,” smiled the human.

With that, Theoric sat down, grabbed the mug of ale, and drank half of it in one gulp.

“My name is Jeramid, and my other two human friends are Jonathan and Damien.”

The two humans nodded their heads with a smile. “Welcome.”

“The two hobbits that you see, graciously letting their ale fall from their mugs are Heman and Deman, they are brothers,” said Jeramid.

The two hobbits greeted him and went back to their ale.

“And the dwarf, as you might already know, is Tallon Mistdancer.”

The dwarf smiled brightly, a smile that Theoric had not seen in years. “Welcome, brother.”

And finally, Jeramid stood up, motion to everyone else to do the same. “We are the Brotherhood of the Light.”

“Does this mean I am invited to be a brother?” asked Theoric, with a smile.

“Oh nay! You must prove yourself to us. This just means that we officially invite you to join our table. From now on, whenever we meet you along the road, you are welcome to dine with us.”

Theoric sat down with a wider smile than before. Theoric not only intercepted his chance for adventure, but he charged for the victory as well.

[littlemanpoet]

"How do you fare, Laurëatan?"

Falowik felt as if just the short time apart had caused a chasm that needed to be crossed with great care. Her bright eyes did much to span the chasm, for her heart was in them.

"Well enough," he replied, allowing a slight smile. Far better now that I see you again. But those words did not come to his mouth. "The Master of Buckland is a good man-" Falowik's eyes strayed to the three hobbits deep in talk. "-hobbit, if I'm any judge. He has sent Gorby, here, to be one of our party. Doderic, Gorby, and I are off to Bree as soon as Doderic deems we're ready. We wanted to come by here and see how your efforts were-" His report faded on his lips. She was giving her full attention to his words, but they were not worth her attention. There were other things he wished he could say.

He had begun to convince himself, while on the road, that she, an Elf of high birth, was too noble for him, a mere wanderer of a Man, that she deserved his adoration and courtesy, but her heart was too high to be given to him. So he had convinced himself in his mind, and he was sure that it was right to be so convinced. Meanwhile, the closer they came to Bywater, the more urgent became his need to see her again.

She waited in the silence he left while these thoughts rushed through his mind. A single line creased her brow.
"I am sorry," Falowik ventured, "I say so much and so little. It is good, aye," he nodded, "good to see you again." I felt half a man away from you. He would have said the words he thought before he had left Bywater for Buckland, but now he could not voice them. His need for her raged against his resolve.

"How do you fair, Uien?"

[Elora]

So much and so little indeed, Uien mused as Falowik spoke. An impatience fluttered through her like a summer rain storm, quickly rising and passing. She would happily beg leave of the Hobbits, indeed the world, if only to have the chance to speak as her heart wished to. To do so would be intemperate and hasty and Falowik, she had learnt this much, was a man of discreet privacy. She would not cheapen their moments with desperate haste.

However, Uien was not beyond the pull of her thoughts and emotions. At Falowik's questions, her lips curved into a soft smile that perhaps was not so discreet and her eyes were warm.

"Better, now," she said with subtle emphasis on her meaning. Something hung behind Falowik's words that she could not quite understand. She looked briefly down at her hands and unwound them from where they clasped before her on the table. No barriers, not with her love and not between her love.

"Much better now," she reaffirmed and looked up into Falowik's face once more.

"Don't see why she's so pleased," Falco commented as he noted the clear pleasure of her expression as she gazed upon Falowik. Uien merely raised a brow and bit her tongue. There was a great deal that perhaps the Shirrif did not see, but pointing it out now would not aid any of them, Falowik least of all.

"I am pleased you have returned well and so soon, with more aid what is more. I have been looking to your return before you had even faded into the night." That last statement was meant for Falowik also. There was much more she had to say to him and he her, if she guessed correctly.

"We returned as quickly as we may," Doderic assured her.

"I take it that the Master of Buckland has committed aid to this venture," Uien inquired. Doderic nodded, Gorby mirroring his cousin's response and adding, "He's sent out a notice that any who would aid are to gather at the Prancing Pony as soon as they may. Provisions, horses all are to be supplied."

Falco snorted in laughter, "Generous as ever... I take it you'll be keen to sell back your horse then, Uien, for that Dwarvish trinket you traded." At that Uien's brow furrowed once more and she took issue.

"I regret it not at all. What value a trinket or mathom when set against a man's life?" Or love, she added to herself and looking back to Falowik.

"Though I hope otherwise, it may be that we will become grateful of the extra mounts and supplies when alone in the wilds. A cleverly designed Dwarvish brooch will be of little comfort if we starve whilst admiring it's beauty."

Never mind that she'd sell the dress off her own back if it came to it, for love of Falowik. "When do we set out tomorrow," she asked, her hand moving across the table to establish some nearness to Falowik of its own accord, discretion and propriety irrelevant to it.

"As early as can be," Doderic suggested. Conversation turned to negotiations over first and second breakfasts soon after that. Falco was strongly advocating first and second breakfasts were to be had at a table, as proper. Doderic was advocating a brief first breakfast and not hint of a second breakfast. Gorby ventured a first breakfast at a table and a second upon the road, but neither Falco nor Doderic paid him any attention.

In that space, Uien dared reach the final distance to brush Falowil's fingers with her own. The warmth of his skin on her fingertips was like a sigh rushing through her and she smiled into his face. Falowik watched her hand, caught in that moment.

[elf-girl-63]

Nuinyulma looked up in surprise as Falowik, Falco, Doderic and another entered the common room. Quickly, she bowed her head, not wanting to embarrass herself. She still felt guilty about deciding against the trip, it was to help a Rohan man. Why had she decided against it? Deep in her heart of hearts, she knew. Rohan was a place of pwerful memories- memories she had not told anyone. She had meant to, meant to tell many people. But the subject had never come up so she had just spoken around it. It was true that she had left Lorien and journeyed over far and distant lands but there were events inbetween that.

She could never have gone. It would have been disasterous if the man had recognised her. She could barely speak to Aman even though she had never even heard of Nuinyulma before she arrived at the inn.

Nuinyulma looked up again, Uien and Falowik were in deep conversation and had obviusly not noticed her. So she decided to go and find Pio, maybe they could finish their conversation and maybe she could reveal the truth. She slipped through the common room and opened the kitchen door. There sat, Pio, Mithaden, Aman and some others as well as the twins. Well, she couldn't talk now. She was about to leave when Pio's voice rang out.

"Nuinyulma! Come and join us!"

She blushed and walked over to the group and sat down.

"Let me introduce you to Mithaden, my husband. I believe you know the rest."

Nuinyulma blushed again, nodded and held out her hand to Mithaden.

"Another elf. This is becoming almost like the Last Homely House Aman. How many more can we expect?" He grinned and Aman frowned, though in a friendly way. Nuinyulma and Mithaden both sat down.

"We were just discussing the party for the twins. The actual naming ceremony will be quiet but we should have many celebrations before and perhpas after."

Aman nodded in agreement and then suddenly sprung up. "My, my Pio! You would have been talking about parties and the like when I should be running this inn. Honestly! Ruby! Buttercup! Come! You need to start serving some food and drink. Folks don't come here to sit around by themselves."

And with that she left the kitchen with Ruby and Buttercup trailing behind. The three that were left smiled while the twins cooed. Mithaden smiled lovingly at them and Pio while Nuinyulma watched. He soon got up and spoke to his wife.

"I'll be back later my dear. But I wish to walk around for a little while and then may have some ale in the common room."

She nodded him away and turned to Nuinyulma who sat silently.

"So, are you going to tell me your story?"

"Well, I am originally from Lothlorien but when Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn left so did I. Since then, I have been wandering. I have passed through Rohan and Gondor and Arnor to the north. I did not visit Eryn Lasgalen for I fear there is noone there although I hope I am wrong. There is little left in my home as well. I arrived in the Shire for no particular reason. I suppose since Frodo and his companion journeyed with the Ring I have had an interest in it."

She sighed in contemplation and the elder elf stared into her eyes as if she didn't quite believe her. To break the silence she offered to take the baby girl and gladly received it. They both rocked the babies for several moments.

"The Shire is an interesting place. Much more than many believe." She turned away remembering the past.

"Now you have heard my story Mistress Piosenniel. Tell me yours."

[ October 19, 2003: Message edited by: elf-girl-63 ]