The Green Dragon Inn - Part 9

[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 of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

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

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

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

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

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

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

Fredgar Hornblower – local Shiriff from Hobbiton – played by Fool of a Took
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Please Note:



No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn.


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

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

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

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.
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IT IS NOW LATER MORNING MOVING ON INTO THE AFTERNOON IN THE SHIRE.

The Fire is out, though it is still very smoky; those at the Inn are taking stock of the situation. The wounded are being taken to the Inn stable, which has been cleared of the horses.

Buttercup and Ruby have started a small cooking fire, well away from the stable and remains of the Inn, and have put on a large, rescued soup pot filled with water. Members of the surrounding community have brought vegetables and a few soup bones for the making of a thick soup.

The stable’s pump is now the scene of people washing up bowls and spoons for the upcoming meal.

Some brave souls are still rescuing important items from the Inn

The Shiriff of Hobbiton, Fredgar Hornblower has arrived, and things are getting organized.

Some resourceful Inn patrons have poked about in the hayloft of the stable and found three large tents, usually used for the Midsummer fete, and have set them up to house the displaced.

[piosenniel]

Buttercup

Ruby had recruited several of the Hobbits from the village to help serve the soup, leaving Buttercup free to pass round the crowd with a pitcher of ale in one hand and one of cider in the other. Fighting fires was thirsty work, and after a few passes, Buttercup opted to set a small keg of cider and one of ale on a wooden handcart from the garden shed.

She had just made her way to the table where Miz Aman sat talking with the Shiriff and the Dwarf who had helped her and Ruby to escape from their room. Ever the one for a little eavesdropping, Buttercup sidled up behind three of the Big Folk who stood near the table, pouring them ale in a perfunctory manner while craning her neck toward the three at the table. Fragments of what the Dwarf, Regin if she remembered correctly, was saying floated toward her. Something about that snippet Hawthorne.

‘Innocent my foot!’ thought Buttercup, accidentally slopping a bit of ale on the fellow in front of her as he reached for his mug. ‘Shhh!’ she whispered, as he protested. She peered around him and ignored his further comments.

When one of our young dwarves steps out of line, we make them carry very heavy stones from the quarries to the builders’ workshops to pay off their debt.

‘Oh, now that is a rare image!’ thought Buttercup, and for added effect she imagined the Hobbit clapped in irons, or at least cuffed with Fredgar’s cuffs that hung from his belt.

Perhaps she could use her pony and wagon to carry back stones that other stronger hands have gathered.

Buttercup’s image of the suitably struggling Hawthorne crumbled at the Dwarf’s words. ‘Hmmmph! Pony and wagon! I’d like to see a few honest blisters on those lily white hands of hers.’

. . . make herself useful. Besides, it will be a while before the Inn will be rebuilt and we can use all the help we can get, even that of bubble brained hobbits.

Buttercup pushed forward a little with her cart, catching just the last of Regin’s sentence over the squeak of the cart’s wheels. ‘Bubble brained Hobbit!’ The words struck the tired young woman and rattled about in her mind. She could feel them rumbling about, deep in her chest, then welling up and pushing themselves out through her mouth. Tears started in her eyes as the convulsion of laughter tumbled from her lips. She bent over, holding her sides, and laughed and laughed and laughed.

When the fit subsided, she stood gasping for breath, leaning against the side of the wagon. Those around her stood looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. She waved them off as they extended their offers of ‘help’. ‘I’m quite alright, really,’ she told them. ‘It’s been a very long day.’ She hiccupped a little, as a small laugh squeaked out.

Buttercup’s eyes twinkled as she poured a generous pint of ale and took it over to the Dwarf. He sat looking expectantly at the two sitting with him, but neither of them seemed forthcoming with an answer. Buttercup plunked the mug in front of him, a bit of its head streaming down the side of it. ‘Thanks for the laugh, Master Dwarf,’ she said, wiping the trail with her apron, ‘though if you asked me, I’d like to see her packing the rocks . . . and not the pony.’

The Hobbit meandered off to the next table, chuckling as she went along . . . the phrase, ‘Bubble brain!’, trailing after her . . .

[piosenniel]

~*~ NOTICE OF TIME CHANGE COMING SOON IN THE INN ~*~

This coming Thursday tomorrow), late U.S. Pacific time, I will be moving the timeline in the Inn forward a week.

Most of the debris from the fire will be cleared away by then. Regin Hardhammer, the Dwarf, will be working on the stonework foundation. Master Meriadoc, having heard of Hawthorne’s unfortunate episode, will have sent a troop of builders from Brandy Hall along with two wagonloads of milled lumber for the rebuilding.

I’d like the posters, then, to spend about a week or so, real time, getting the Inn back into shape – and once done, a re-opening party can be organized.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Shirriff Hornblower is my cousin and I’m sure he can find the time to oversee the conclusion of this weary endeavor. Toby’s words hung over Snaveling’s head like an axe. He had been too preoccupied by the strange fading of his vision to pay much heed to what the rat-faced, dim-witted, tallow-sided halfling was going on about until it was too late. A shirriff! What could the hobbit possibly be thinking! Wrenching himself free from his brooding thoughts, Snaveling turned his most ferocious glare on the hobbit, hoping that this would be enough to stop that interminable mouth of his. But before he could say a word, the halfling jabbed Roa in the arm – Snaveling had no idea why – causing her to roar in pain.

Snaveling slumped back against a tree in defeat – what could he possibly do when surrounded with people like this? Galadel immediately took charge of the situation, of course, and began ordering everyone around. Snaveling’s eyes fell on Roa as she was receiving the Elf’s care and he could see that she was resolving something slowly in her mind’s eye. He also knew, the instant he looked at her, that she was somehow responsible for the loss of his vision. It’s a hunting lodge, he cried out to himself, with…five?…rooms…and a porch, and there will be a woman to cook for you…; but even as he tried to fix it in his memory once more, he could only see the words, not the things they stood for. The birdsong in the valley below the porch had faded, the sun had gone dark and the halls of his home were growing stale and dusty with disuse.

He sighed heavily and looked toward the Inn. All the colour drained from his face. For the first time he noticed that the Inn yard was veritably swarming with Shirrifs! The one in charge, whom he took to be Toby's cousin, was apparently trying to arrest a child over the objections of a beligerent dwarf. Snaveling's back crawled at the thought of what this fellow would do with someone such as himself, should the theft of the gold be discovered. But that was his one ray of hope at the moment -- had the theft been reported, the hue and cry would no doubt have been raised. So perhaps his luck would hold. For the time being, however, he had to find someway to settle this issue amongst themselves -- anything to avoid getting the shirriffs involved!

Snaveling turned to Galadel, and idea formulating itself in his mind. "My Lady," he began, mustering as much sincerity as he could. "You are clearly one of high birth, and this matter is new to you, perhaps we could rely on your judgement to settle it for us until such time as the Inn is repaired and we can think on it again." Galadel looked uncertain but exchaning a quick glance with Roa, she then assented. Assuming the superior air that belongs solely to Elven kind, she asked what, precisely, was the problem.

Snaveling opened his mouth to reply, but Roa cut him off with a look. “As you can undoubtedly tell,” she said softly, “there is some dispute over the ownership of that gold. It is a complicated matter that I daresay will take some time to resolve. This Man,” she indicated Snaveling, “claims that the gold is his, but Valthalion has his suspicions about that. I must admit, that I do too. I have, however, been thinking about a way to resolve this matter. For the time being, Valthalion will keep the gold in trust for the rightful owner. He is young and rash, but honest. I will act as his surety. As to Snaveling, he may be the rightful owner, or he may not. Whatever the case may be, I would suggest that for the time being he be kept in my custody.” Snaveling’s heart sank. He knew that Roa was proposing this for more reason that the gold – such a trivial matter was below the consideration of a Dunedain such as herself. She clearly was beginning to have her suspicions about how she came to be trapped in the cellar, and she wanted to keep him close by until she could work them out.

Galadel thought for a moment about this before speaking with each of them in turn. When it came to Snaveling to speak, he was as guarded as he could be, but he could tell that she was seeing more in his words than he wanted. Snaveling and Toby grudgingly agreed to Roa's solution as it kept the shirriffs out of the way -- for the time being. For Valthalion it was enough that Roa had suggested it to make him agree. It was soon resolved that until the matter of the gold were settled once and for all, it would remain in the keeping of Valthalion, while Snaveling remained in the keeping of Roa.

For the first time in a very long time, Snaveling could not think of anything to say.

[Will Witfoot]

Fungrim sat at the cooking fire staring moroselly into the flames, an empty soup bowl in front of him. In his hand was a full flagon of ale and in his mouth his long wooden pipe.
He wondered if the child was going ot be allright. He certainly hoped so, but she had obviously spent quite some time in the cramped kitchen cupboard, smoke obscurring her breath and the heat eating away at her strenght. Well, if anyone could heal her proper, it was those elf women that did most of the healing in the aftermath of the fire. He had left the girl into the care of one of them and hoped that she could save her.

He blew a great cloud of acrid blue smoke and took a sip of the beer. Why, he wondered, did he care so much for the child? Most of his emotions had been corroded by the time spent away in the wilds, burried somewhere deep like a collapsed mining shaft under tons of rock. Why would they choose to surface now?
He thought he knew the answer. He had spent the prime of his life alone, scrapping a living out of the forests of the world, slaughtering the beasts of darkness that still lingered in the world even after their dark master had been defeated. The child provided a point of focus and something that he could concentrate upon. The worry he held over her served to fill his life with some small purpose.

He looked at the smoking remainders of the inn. The locals would have their work cut for them in the rebuilding of the place. Perhaps he should stay and help too. He gave a small smile with some irony in it at that. What else did he have to do?

[Galadel Vinorel]

Time moved slowly by for Galadel, though probally faster for the others that she sat with, as they talked about what would probally have to be done about the inn. The elf barely heard them or contributed in the conversation, except for an occasional word or nod, for she was lost in her own thoughts. The pain of the wound on her side once again ached. She remembered how she had gained that injury only....two weeks ago! Could it really be that short of time since she had been attacked by the creatures that had waylayed her on the road? There were few thieves left on the roads of Middle Earth, yet the few that there were had somehow found the elven maiden while she was traveling. The memory of that attack echoed through her head, the dark despondent road filling her thoughts.

Suddenly, while lost in the memory of her journey to the Shire, she heard a voice saying to her, "My lady. Miss? Are you alright?" Galadel quickly looked up from where she had been sitting, completely absorbed in her thoughts. Next to her knelt Vathalion, and beside him was Roa. As the elf looked over into the face of the worried Ranger a sudden memory flashed through her mind. "a curse on you and your kin...," she heard a voice that was vaguely familiar say angrily. "It is far from over yet," Galadel thought to herself, "The curse must still run its course. It shall not be good for the one who had the curse put upon them. So much that they may soon wish that they were never born. I fear terribly for the one who it is layed upon. Poor man."

Then the memory was gone, and Galadel was in the real world again, where she was sitting on damp earth, the smell of charred wood filling her nostrils. Blinking her dazed eyes, she looked up once more at Vathalion and Roa, who were both beside her, gazing at her worriedly. "Are you feeling alright, my lady?" said Roa, her voice filled with concern.

The elven maiden smiled at her and nodded. "Yes, I am fine," Galadel responded, clearing her parched throat.

Roa returned the nod, and then stood up with the young man to join the others, who were also standing. "We were thinking of going to get some food and drink, which they are now serving for all in the garden. Would you like to join us, Lady Galadel?"

The elf nodded and stood up. "I would like to do so very much," she answered. Then the five "companions" set off together to where others were gathered to enjoy a good meal of warm stew with one another.

[piosenniel]

All Inn Players Please Note:

1.) Remember there is to be no violence in the Inn or on the Inn grounds. Do not draw and brandish weapons.

2.) Be careful of using other player’s characters without their permission and without checking to see what they are presently engaged in the Inn storyline.

3.) Use the ongoing characters who are not played by specific gamers gently – do not overly involve them extensively in your plotlines. They are primarily for the use of the moderators and Innkeeper as needed in the Inn storyline.

4.) When portraying elves – it is preferred that the mind-to-mind ability not be overused. Between Elves, a little osanwë is alright, but please don’t have your Elf using powers to pry into other characters, minds.

Any questions – please feel free to PM me.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Linnahiril Tinnufinwen]

Asphodel sat on the ground, her back to a tree, and basked in the late morning sunshine. Its warm rays felt good on her tired body, and she was cheerful and happy, despite the melancholy of those around her. She reflected back on the strange night, and her close call in the Story Room fire. A question flited across her mind, one that she had not remembered until just then.

Who had saved her? Asphodel sat up and looked around. She tried to see if there was anyone who glanced at her, or who seemed to know her; who looked as if they had saved her from the monstrous blaze. But there didn’t seem to be anyone. Asphodel was not, however, at a loss for a source of employment or amusement. She observed the comings and goings of the people around her. There were several Hobbits eating soup at makeshift tables. There was an elf attending to the wounded. Several bold people, men and Hobbits alike, were dodging in and out of the ruins to collect items that had not been too harmed by the fire. A few of the bar maids were working with unfaltering enthusiasm; tending to the soup in the huge black pot over the fire, moving nimbly back and forth between the different tables. Just as they would have been doing, had the Green Dragon still stood. Asphodel marveled at them. They were honest, strong Hobbit maids, Ruby and Buttercup. Asphodel hoped that, in a similar situation, she would be able to come out as well and as cheerful as they seemed to be. She admired them exceedingly.

Asphodel rested her head against the tree once again. She felt its bark prickle the back of her scalp, but she didn’t care. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the fresh air. It always smelled so clean after a rain storm. When he had percieved how tired she was, and it was observed that Asphodel probably could not take the hour long walk to the Southfarthing without having some difficulties, her father had gone to Sigismond Proudfoot’s house, to ask permission to borrow Sigismond's cart so that he could take Asphodel home. Sigismond’s pony was a gray, cheerful little fellow named Merrylegs. He was called so, because he had a thick, chubby body and short stumpy legs that pranced too and fro in a very happy manner. He was probably one of the slowest ponies in all of the Shire, but he didn't seem to care. Merrylegs was happy to go at his own leisurely pace, and he was extremely popular with Hobbit-boys and girls. Asphodel smiled, as she thought of the gentle pony, his shaggy mane, resembling that of his master's, hanging over his big, friendly brown eyes. Asphodel liked him the best of all the ponies in the Shire.

The sensation of someone being near her, and the brush of a cloth on her lap, made Asphodel open her eyes. There, standing over her and smiling, was Aman the Big Folk barkeeper. Asphodel smiled up at her. Aman gently placed a green blanket in the little Hobbit's lap, bent her towering frame in half to kiss Asphodel on her curly auburn head, and was gone.

Not a word had been exchanged between them. But no words had been needed. Asphodel smiled again to herself and sighed a tired, but happy sigh. She knew who had saved her from the fire. Big Folks were not so bad after all.

A sound next aroused Asphodel. A large crunching sound, it seemed, was coming towards her. The sat up and peered to her right. There was Sigismond Proudfoot leading Merrylegs the pony down the road, a large wooden cart attached at his haunches. Halfred Hamfast sat in the back. In another minute, Sigismond's large frame was before her, and with a cheerful, "Good day, Miss Hamfast," he lifted her up and set her in the cart next to her father.

Getting on top of Merrylegs, Sigismond hollered, "Next stop, the Southfarthing! Hamfast Plantation!" and with a light kick of the side of the gray pony, they were off. The cart rattled and bumped as they entered the dirt road leading out of Bywater. Asphodel wrapped herself in her green blanket, layed down in the cart amongst the empty sacks, and put her head on her father's lap. She felt tired, but very happy that she was again with her family. Soon, warm and cheerful, Asphodel's eyelids dropped, and she began to nod off to sleep.

A few onlookers, still eating their meals and going about their business, watched as the large wooden, rickety cart made its way, slowly but surely, down the Bywater road. Soon, it came to a bend in the path. The warm, yellow beams of the afternoon sun illuminated the cart and its occupants for a fraction of a second; then, turning into the road and rolling slowly behind a large bend in the hill, it disappered from sight, and was gone.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman watched as the little pony and cart rattled away down the path with it's sleepy hobbit burden, and smiled; she didn't think Asphodel knew who had saved her from the fire, but no matter, the little hobbit apparently wasn't harmed. The Inn was always glad to recieve such folk.

Although she had been listening with one ear and subconciously taking in what Regin was saying, it was his last sentence that startled her and she looked back at him, half smiling. "Bubble brain?" she grinned. Apparently someone else felt the same way, as a sudden erruption of laughter made Aman, Fredgar and Regin turn to see Buttercup melting in laughter, one arm around her stomach, the other unsteadily holding a pitcher of cider as tears rolled down her eyes. Regin looked mildly concerned, but the hobbit waitress unsteadily wiped away her tears with a shaking hand and handed him a full glass of fine cider. "Thanks for the laugh, Master Dwarf,’ she chuckled as he took it. ‘though if you asked me, I’d like to see her packing the rocks . . . and not the pony.’

She errupted into a new fit of giggles and wandered off, murmuring 'bubble brain!' to herself and shaking her head merrily. Aman watched her go, smiling, then turned back to Regin and Fredgar; the down to earth dwarf looked quite worried about Buttercup's state. "Is she...?"

"Quite alright, Mister Hardhammer, quite alright," Aman replied dryly, then looked slightly worried. "Master dwarf, I am...I am not one for hard labour as a punishment. But..." she looked slightly troubled, then seemed to make up her mind. "Aye, fair enough - there will be others than Hawthorne working on the Inn, and some less to blame than she - even though I quite believe that she is innocent, Mister Hardhammer," she added, raising her voice a tad at the beginning as he opened his mouth to protest.

Looking back at the Inn, Aman sighed, crossing her arms again and nodded. "And as there will be so much work to do...aye, I reckon that's a fair punishment." Excusing herself silently from the dwarf and the Shirrif, Aman climbed onto one of the upright tables nearby which had been salvaged from the Inn and clapped her hands, speaking to all around her.

"Folk of the Shire, travellers, customers and passers-by," she started grandly, addressing all. "I cannot thank you enough for your help in this situation-!" She paused as someone cheered wearily and clapping ensued for a few moments, before continuing. "However-" there was a groan. Howevers rarely boded well, no matter which land you came from. Aman grinned then continued. "However, the work is not yet finished. This dwarf, Mister Regin Hardhammer, has informed me that the foundations of the Inn are maybe not quite a well put as they could be, and...well, you can all see the state of the rest of the Inn." There was a murmur of agreement, then curious silence once more. The Innkeeper raised her voice slightly so as to be more dramatic - a little drama never went amiss at times like this.

"So I must as you all - who here will help us to rebuild the Green Dragon Inn?"

[Witch_Queen]

"So I must as you all - who here will help us to rebuild the Green Dragon Inn?" Cree looked towards Aman. The inn meant so much to her now. Cree stepped forward, "Aman I will help you as best I can." Avalon let out a screech. "I take it Avalon wants to help you too. After all I owe alot to the inn and to all my friends I have made here." Cree looked back to Grimm. I hope I'm not the only one. But I'm certain others will help.

She felt a change in the weather. Everything was better now. She knew she had to help them so how. If she could do anything it was worth the try. "I might be an elf but I'm use to having to work to get what you want. Avalon knows that too." Cree was trying to keep a straight look on her face. She was serious about helping but she wasn't sure if it appeared that she was willing to help do something.

[Lumiel]

The small girl awoke in the stables, the one unharmed bit of the Inn remaining. She lay on soft hay with a warm blanket on her and she breathed in the pleasant smell. She coughed as her airways burned. The smoke had done no permanent damage, but she was still recovering. Wondering how long she had been asleep, she gazed out from the stables and at the sky. It was near afternoon, as best she could tell. Sitting up, she checked herself over. She had not been harmed seriously, but her skin was covered with dirt and soot, and an unpleasant lingering smell of smoke remained on her.

Her eyes widened as the wonderful aroma of warm, home-made soup made her way to her. The other wounded people around her seemed to notice it as well, and she saw a young hobbit girl making her way to each of them with a bowl of soup. When receiving her own bowl, she cradled it with care and looked up at the young hobbit with warm brown eyes, speaking volumes of gratitude. She quickly finished the delicious soup and lay back down again, curling the blanket around her.

Who had saved her? She vaguely remembered a black beard and a husky voice...and an axe! Yes, that's right, he had an axe! She remembered. He had not been tall, but he had been very strong and compact...she paused, thinking. Had she been rescued by a dwarf? She giggled to herself and smiled. She had never met a dwarf before! How wonderful! She would have to find him and thank him, it was only proper.

Almost near sleep once more, she suddenly heard a woman speak above the crowds. "So I must ask you all - who here will help us to rebuild the Green Dragon Inn?" She recognized the woman as the one who had owned the former Inn.

She needed a home. She needed a family. Most of all, she needed to stop running. Getting to her small feet, the young girl made her way through the crowd near Aman and stood behind her. Tugging at the hem of her dress, she waited until she had Aman's attention and spoke as seriously as she could in her child's voice. "I'll help you Miss Aman. My name's Hindolen, but you can call me Indy." she said. Her brown eyes glowed with a soft warmth and her blonde hair, dirty and mussed as it was, seemed to frame perfectly her tiny dirt-smudged face with its pouty smile and button nose.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

"So I must ask you all - who here will help us to rebuild the Green Dragon Inn?"

Snaveling sat with his bowl of stew in his hands, and his heart sank into his very toes as he heard this. He did not even need to look up to know that it was Roa who had risen to her feet, and he did not even need to listen to hear what she said. "I will help -- as will this Man." And he knew that she was pointing at him.

Valthalion, of course, leapt to his feet and swore that he would single-handedly rebuild the Inn. Snaveling buried his face further into the steam from his bowl and wished he were anywhere but here. . .

Snaveling hated manual labour.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne flashed a quick smile at Regin for graciously coming to her aid and for pushing the idea that she serve out her punishment by working at the Inn rather than sitting inside a prison cell. If she was ever in a position to do the Dwarf a similar favor, she vowed to make every effort to do so.

Shirriff Fredgar still did not look completely at ease with this arrangement, but that was to be expected. Aman had given her word, and that should be enough. Hawthorne vowed to try and do the best job she could, not to show off to anyone but just to prove to herself she could do it. In the meantime, she pulled her cap down low over her ears to block out the derisive sound of Buttercup's laughter. She promised to ignore the two hobbits' pointed barbs, but it was not easy or pleasant.

If Aman wanted her to lift heavy boulders, so be it. Hawthorne had never been one for any kind of housework or cooking. She hated being stuck inside a burrow and preferred to be outside where she could hunt, fish, and work with the soil. She didn't know much about boulders but she was determined to learn. Her parents had disapproved of such activities on the part of a lady, but they were not here to tell her what to do. If it had not been for the awful devastation of the Inn, Hawthorne might actually have been relieved at being kicked out of the kitchen. Helping with the rebuilding was far more to her taste.

Wandering off by herself to the back courtyard of the Inn, she took out the one bag she had managed to salvage and began to write a letter. Deep in her pocket, she still had one silver coin. It was just enough to pay the shire post to Buckland. After that there were unlikely to be any more coins unless she went and begged some money off her servant. She was determined not to do that.

Before she sealed it, Hawthorne read over the contents:

Dearest Uncle Merry,

I am so sorry, but I have made an awful mistake. I went down to the kitchen this morning to try and make some breakfast to show folk I could be useful. Instead of making breakfast, I managed to catch fire to some oil and burn down the entire Inn. I know this is hard to believe but it is the awful truth.

Thank goodness no one was seriously hurt! I was so sure of myself and so very wrong in what I did!

I think the Innkeeper will be calling on you for supplies and workers. Would you do a favor for me? Next year, Great Aunt Opal is making me a gift of Birch Manor, that sits in the East Farthing. I want to do something to help repair this mess now. Could you extend me credit for a wagonload of fine timber and send it over with the supplies you are bringing. I will credit the receipts from Birch Manor for the first six months back to you.

Please don't tell anyone I'm doing this. They will only be more upset at me, I'm sure. I can not tell you how much I miss you. Needless to say, my blunders have not made me any friends. Daffodil is staying with Master Samwise so she is well out of all this. I am lonely and keep wondering if I did the right thing in coming here. Tomorrow I will start on hard labor hauling stones to help rebuild the foundation and repay a tiny bit of my debt. At this point I am looking forward to the work, since I won't have to think about other things and or listen to the others' gibes.

One last plea.....please don't tell my mother about this. She will only say "I told you so."

Your silly, sad niece,

Hawthorne


Hawthorne ate her stew in stony silence and found a blanket from the pile. She dragged herself into the stables and found a deserted spot up high in the hayloft. Then she buried her head under the hay and cried herself to sleep.

[piosenniel]

Please Note – TIME CHANGE FOR THE INN HAPPENING NOW

The timeline in the Inn has moved forward one week. The debris of the burnt Inn has been carried away from the site, and is in the process of being sorted for what might still be useful. Many hands will be needed to get things cleaned thoroughly . . . pots and pans and eating and cooking utensils . . . lamps and candle holders . . . mugs and plates . . . etc.

Regin Hardhammer has recruited a number of able fellows to assist with the rebuilding of the Inn’s rockwork foundations. He has also been asked to redo the great fireplace in the Common room and the smaller one for cooking in the kitchen. The mayor, Samwise Gamgee, hearing of the Dwarf’s expertise in metals, has broached the idea that perhaps the great doors to the Inn might bear some of Master Regin’s work. ‘A dragon, if you would think to do it,’ he asked. ‘Something distinctive.’ As yet, he has received no answer to his request, but remains hopefull.

A group of carpenters and builders sent by Master Meriadoc with 2 wagon loads of lumber are asking for help to begin framing the Inn structure. Some of those working on the project are unloading the wagon and sorting the beams into lengths, setting up sawhorses to cut what is needed, and rolling the barrels of different sized nails over where they will be most handy.

One of the neighboring Hobbits from Bywater has drug two large, long logs into the yard, and a number of Big and Little folk are astride them, paring off the bark. The logs are from two great cedar trees on his land, and they will need to be sawed into shingling for the roof.

Many jobs to get done . . . and many not yet listed here . . . such as tables and chairs and benches that will have to be cleaned off and many remade . . .

Pitch in . . . and let’s see the Dragon rebuilt . . .

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[piosenniel]

~*~ TIME IN THE INN HAS MOVED AHEAD ONE WEEK ~*~

PLEASE SEE THE POST JUST PRIOR TO THIS ONE , AND KEEP YOUR CHARACTER CURRENT IN THE GAME.

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Amanaduial the archer]

In the field not far from the Inn, a figure clad in a simple dress fawn dress with it's sleeves rolled up in the bright warmth of the sun shut the gate and attached the first of the three hay nets she was holding to one side of the gate. The horses greeted her with small whinnies, approaching from wherever they had been grazing and nuzzling at her shoulders, chest and hair, which was lightened now from being outside so much. She petted them in return, smiling fondly at their recognition and attached the other two hay nets before she turned her attention to them, especially to the splendid mare, its dark and silver hair shining in the sunlight, the white coming through from underneath like the crest of a wave. It was the parts of the day like these that the Innkeeper had come to love - she was always the one to feed to horses in the morning, and often at night as well, and a makeshift shelter had been made for them in one corner by some kind-hearted individuals. Most were used to being outside often though, and were glad to be outside.

Aman ran her fingers over the especially silky fur of Rochfalmar's nose and lips, smiling lightly as she rested her forehead against hers, then she let the horse go back to its breakfast. Turning, she squinted against the bright early morning sun, shading her green eyes with a hand to look at the Inn, where the helpers were already coming in. She smiled, then looked wistfully back at the horses and ponies, wishing she could linger longer with them; she had forgotten how much she loved spending so much time with them. But no - the Inn workers had been so dedicated, and the Innkeeper intended to keep up her own work in leading them on, tiring though it was - Aman had decided right at the very start of the work that it simply wouldn't do for Cook and Derufin, and Zimzi, to get back and be greeted with a burnt down wreck of a building where their beloved Inn had been. And certainly, it did not resemble any sort of burnt down wreck any more; by mid morning every day for the past week, the strange scaffolding structure outlining the site had been a hive of activity as the hobbits, elves and men flocked back in, either from their own burrows and homes, even as far out as Brandy Hall, from the homes and burrows of kind gentlehobbits who had agreed to give some hospitality for a while in place of the Inn, or from where many of the others were camped out in the stables.

Hauling the tub of oats over the gate from where she had left them on the other side, safe from the prying, nibbling lips of the horses and ponies, she let them clatter satisfyingly into the trough to one side and stepped bach hastily as the horses rushed gleefully towards it. Slipping out of the gate again, she indulged in a few last, wistful pats, then returned back to the Inn yard.

"Good morning, Aman."
"G'mornin, Miss."
"'Morning, Miz Aman."
"Good day, Aman - glorious morning, isn't it?"

Aman replied to each of the greetings politely and warmly, nodding and smiling as she met and greeted each of the folk who had been so kind and helpful over the past few days, even those who had no reason to. As she passed the place where she Inn steps had been (and would be placed again), she saw Ruby already awake, lighting a few fires and humming to herself as she busied herself getting breakfasts ready. The hobbit lass looked up as the Innkeeper passed and smiled. "Morning, Aman - been with the horses?"

"Aye, as ever," came the reply. "Is Buttercup here yet?" She referred to the second hobbit waitress, who had been staying with her sister not far away so as to leave more space in the barn.

"Mmm hmm, 'saw her a few moments ago - she'll be out in a minute, don't you worry."

Aman smiled gratefully and continued on into the large, spacious ex-stables, where many people of all types were either sleeping or just waking up, each now settled in their own corner or space, their salvaged belongings either packed in bags near their pallets or mattresses, or spread around them. The Innkeeper's own bed was laid out in the loft above, along with a few others, including Ruby's and Hawthorne's, although the second hobbit had not been entirely keen at first on laying hers out there. Aman felt sorry for her, despite her initial frustration and disbelief that the Brandybuck lass had actually burnt down the Inn; Hawthorne had been shattered, and Aman had the feeling that she felt she had had one chance at a job and had messed up. But to give her her due, she had worked as hard as the best of the workers, and the Innkeeper had actually had to tell her to slow down a few times so she didn't damage herself. She was attempting to prove herself, and was certainly working at least hard enough.

However, early mornings apparently weren't her strong point.

"Good morning, Hawthorne," Aman said softly, smiling as she entered via the step ladder. The hobbit, who had been dozing, jerked awake and smiled sheepishly at the Innkeeper.

[Crystal Heart]

Crystal had seen the destruction that the fire had caused and had come back to help. Angry was off, trying to convince his parents to meet her. She decided to get out of the house that she had been sitting in and help this place that she was starting to call home.

She walked up to the hobbits that were clearing and starting to rebuild the Green Inn, she noticed their odd looks. She knew that she wasn't entirely wanted here yet and may never be wanted by any of the hobbits even if she did ever get to marry Angry Brandybuck. She walked over to Aman and taped her lightly on the shoulder.

"I would like to help rebuild the Inn. I have skills that could be useful." Crystal said softly to her as she looked around at the destruction that use to be the nice Inn.

[Will Witfoot]

Fungrim shifted through the ash and depriss that used to be the inn, searching for anything that might yet be of use. So far he had found a box of silverware that had propably been stored away in some corner cupboard and thus escaped destruction, some pots and pans in various states of utility and even a variety of wine bottles, most empty but some still holding inside the sweet re liquid.
He glanced over at the stables where folk was just starting to get up. Most of the hobbits and a few of the humans slept pretty late, by his standards. Some lonely souls on the other hand appeared to be early birds like him. Their number included most of the elves, and the innkeeper herself.

He himself had been awake for hours allready. Since he slept lightly like a beast of the forest he thought he might help the wee ones somewhat by seeing what could be salvaged from the remains of the inn. He had done so every morning, before breakfast and the begining of the more demanding work.
He had helped somewhat with the stonework, for even though his skills had greatly degenerated from their former level he was still a dwarf, and each and every dwarf had a natural gift for that sort of thing.
He picked up the treasures he had managed to find and made for the fire burning near the stables. A quick breakfast would be in order before work was begun.

He had mostly avoided the other dwarf, Regin. The shame of his banishing still burned him after all these years, and in all that time he had found few dwarfs indeed with whom he could speak about it.

He pushed these gloomy thoughts from his mind and hoisted the box of silverware onto his shoulder. They could wait, until he got some food under his belt.

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa stretched, soaking in the morning light. The day promised to be a beautiful one, with a cool breze stirring the warm air. She needed to get back to work. Taking a bite from an apple she walked back towards the stables to retrieve Snaveling. Her face lined with apprehension. His behavior had grown increasingly strange over the past week. More and more his steady mask was slipping to reveal fear and anger. More of her memory had returned, and she could now remember struggling with heavy barrels in the cellar. She could almost feel her lungs contract against the smoke.

Roa had also made a startling connection. As her memory returned, Snaveling's condition worsened. She was not certain if they were connected. His strange behavior might not be so strange to him. She had only known him a week. It could also be related to the hard labor to which he was daily induced. If he became too ill, Roa promised herself that she would ease his work load, and send for a healer. She had already consulted Galadel, but the elf had been evasive, as elfs often are. She knocked on the door to the stable, and a hobbit answered. "Here for Snaveling again, Miss Roa?"

"As always, master Otho," she smiled. He disappeared inside. She looked and saw that Valthalion was already at work. Soon the Inn would be finished. What would she do then?

[Kransha]

“Work, work, nothing but work, that’s all anybody does around here.” Toby said loudly to himself. He paced with a frustrated air around the building site, near the stable.

In truth, Tobias Hornblower had done very little work during the past week. He’d avoided everyone’s attempts at convincing him to help and stayed keenly away from both the innkeeper and the dwarf, Regin Hardhammer, though he had engaged in one or two trivial discourses with Fredgar in times of most extreme boredom. From the way he paced, complained, and pointed randomly at unfinished sections of the inn, one might think he was some kind of supervisor. One poor deluded group of young hobbits had actually persisted with this belief, a fact which Toby used to his advantage at the time. Of course, he long since lost track of these Halflings and felt at a bit of a loss without anyone to boss around.

He hadn’t spoken to Snaveling, his would-be partner, in several days. Actually, he hadn’t seen much of the shady man either. The two of them had never attempted dialogue since the nearly failed trickery a week ago. Toby had often thought of trying to strike up a conversation with the man, but never got around to it. Today, though, he was particularly bored. The work dragged along like molasses as hefty folk milled around the property, looming over the shifty hobbit. Toby found no solace in scurrying around like a rat, even though many thought him most fitted for that. He needed something to do besides pace and think. The aged gentlehobbit was denied the ability to go back to Longbottom, since he’d unofficially volunteered himself to help out in the reconstruction of the Dragon and could see nothing else to do except pursue that goal.

Toby flitted with surprising agility towards the frail stable frame and inside, darting past the woman who he now knew all too well. He headed through the structure, past many folk who’d taken up temporary residence there on makeshift beds with some aspects of crude furniture to seem homely around them. The hobbit quickly passed several sleeping and rising men and hobbits until he saw the familiar form and face of that figure, who was currently reclining on the stable floor, his chest heaving up and down in slow succession.

It was early, and a warm blue sky had peeked through cold night to initiate the comforting arrival of a fresh day. In Longbottom, Toby was used to waking up early to tend his pipe-weed crop, even if he was too lazy to actually deal with them. He always inspected his fields early enough in the day, when the dawn sky was still barely tinged red with morning’s light, and then headed to an early breakfast. It was his one admirable quality, at least that he knew of. He had, in truth, enjoyed looking out on a new day’s warmth enveloping the slopes, fields, and glades of the Southfarthing of the Shire. It was quite a sight to wake up to, that hazy sun seemingly rippling into darkness and spreading its dappled paint of color over that sunless cloak.

“Mister Snaveling?” he murmured, leaning down to the man’s level.
He wasn’t sure if Snaveling was awake. He inspected the heavily breathing form and didn’t hesitate to poke it rather roughly in the backside with his knobby index finger.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

It had been, without doubt, one of the worst weeks of Snaveling’s life, and this day promised to be no better. He had spent most of the night, as he had all of his nights since he took up residence in these wretched stables, tossing and turning in an agony of loss. Formerly, his dreams had been filled with something wonderful, a place that had given him joy and an ease of heart that he had never known in life. Where that place might be, and whether it was real or feigned, he could not now remember. Only fragments remained to him now: a cracked and weather-beaten flagstone, the memory of a valley wind, the echo of a footstep coming through a door. Every day he had been forced to carry away the debris from the ruined Inn, and every night he had forsaken sleep. . .for his dreams, when he could sleep, had become a torment and a terror to him.

The dream had come to him on the first night. The purse of gold was there before him, hanging in the dark, and all about him were the sounds of human voices, indistinguishable from the cries of beasts, and the sounds assailed him like blades. He reached for the purse, but as he took it, flames leapt up on all sides, and his skin was charred to ash in an instant. Letting out a cry of agony he released the purse, and it fell to the ground where it shattered like a glass vase. This dream had come to him each night since, and every time it was more terrifying to him than the night before. He awoke each time, clutching in his trembling hand the small, tarnished silver amulet that he wore about his neck. It was a simple device in the form of circle, inscribed with a tiered crown which was itself surrounded by seven stars, but he knew nothing of what it meant or where it had come from before his elder sister had given it to him the day he left home. The trinket was his last tie to his homeland, and he had worn it for many years beneath his clothes without ever thinking of it. But lately, he had found himself taking it out and stroking it even during the day, and deriving some strange comfort from this.

Torn by the exhausting work of the day and the terrifying dreams of the night, Snaveling had kept to himself as much as he could. Try as he might, though, he could never wholly elude the watchful eyes of Roa, Valthalion and Galadel. The only comfort he could find were in the few moments that he could slip into the trees or shrubs around the Inn, lay down upon the earth, and imagine that he was far away from this place.

Snaveling had taken to pretending to sleep late in the mornings, as he had found that the tender-hearted fools who surrounded him did not begrudge him the rest – his deteriorating condition had not escaped their notice. He heard and felt the presence of Toby long before the stupid little hobbit jabbed him in the ribs with his finger. He feigned sleep, but Toby jabbed him again, more insistently this time, and Snaveling was obliged to open his eyes. “Good morning,” the ridiculous creature said. “Well, as good a morning as is possible before you’ve had breakfast. Want to join me for some?”

Snaveling scowled at Toby but he bit his tongue. He had yet to forgive the hobbit for being such a fool about the gold before Roa and Galadel, but he knew better than to say anything about it now. And there was something about this little fellow that appealed to Snaveling. All week he had watched as Toby somehow managed to avoid all the heavy labour, all the while appearing to help. He had also noted his preternaturally high spirits, and his unflagging optimism. Once, Snaveling had even caught himself smiling at the fellow’s antics – a smile that he had quickly wiped from his face when Roa had caught sight of it.

Dragging himself to his feet, Snaveling looked out the stable door and squinted at the brightness of the sun. He was once again absent mindedly stroking the amulet as he spoke to Toby. “Well, I had a miserable night again, and as the day promises to be no better, I may as well have some food before offering myself up as Roa’s personal servant.” He tried to smile but it came out as a sickly grimace. He saw the look of concern that crossed Toby’s face, and in some odd way that touched him. It had been a long time since anyone had shown any real concern for him.

At that moment, Otho ran into the stable and told him that Roa was awaiting him outside. Snaveling clutched his amulet until his knuckles went white. It had been a very long time since he had answered to anybody, or been forced to keep any schedule but his own, and while Roa was a fair taskmaster, and a gentle one – and, if Snaveling had been capable of admitting it, a just one as well – having to pay her heed had been a sore trial for him. Last night he had got almost no sleep, and that little he had managed had been ravaged by his nightmare. And that after a day in which he had been forced to haul away stones from the wrecked foundation of the Inn under the merciless direction of an insane Dwarf. Something inside Snaveling snapped, and his usual reserve slipped. “Tell Roa,” he snarled at the terrified Otho, “that I do not jump at her beck; nor do I await her every whim. I wish to have breakfast first, and then a nice smoke out in the sun. In fact, I do not think that I shall do any work this day – let her carry the stones for once!”

With that, he stamped off toward the cooking fires.

[Kransha]

Toby, a little taken aback by Snaveling’s outburst, ran along behind him as he headed towards one of the cooking fires that had been set up. The man in front of him stormed forward angrily and the slower hobbit had to pick up his pace to catch him. For a moment more, they walked side by until they both stopped in front of the crackling open air fire and sat down promptly.

‘Serves her right,’ he thought scornfully, ‘Trying to push other folk around just because she thinks they’ve done something wrong.’ Toby knew perfectly well that Snaveling had done something wrong, but that didn’t ease his feelings towards Roa and Galadel. He didn’t like anyone who pried so much into the affairs of others, no matter how illicit those affairs might be. Toby snorted, gazing at the flames, and glanced out of the corners of his keen dark eyes at Snaveling.

“So…” Toby tried to begin a conversation, even though Snaveling didn’t look entirely interested, “I’ve been wondering,” Toby frantically searched the corners of mind to figure what he had been wondering, “What is a man such as yourself doing here in the Shire? I know it’s a rather blunt query, but I’ve really been dying to know. You see, ever since the war, non-hobbit folk have been coming to the Shire by the bucketload, and, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. There weren’t half as many big folk around her before that business in the south. Is there some special reason that you would be willing to divulge…or is it some private matter?”

Toby felt like slapping himself. ‘Now that sounded stupid. I must remember to always know what I’m going to say before I say it or I’ll look like even more of a fool. But, I suppose, what’s done is done. Can’t take it back now.’ The hobbit turned slightly towards Snaveling, expecting either a response or a swift punch to the face for doing exactly what he’d just been complaining about. He decided that it would be best to simply wait for whatever Snaveling’s answer to his query would be. Perhaps he could learn something, either about big folk or about what not to say when trying to make petty conversation.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Regin was very pleased with the progress on the foundation of the Inn. They had all come a long way from the time of the fire. The foundation had been damaged beyond repair and all the Inn razed to the ground. Immediately after the demolition, the guests and volunteers had started to rebuild the Inn from the ground up. He had already written a letter back to Master Samwise, telling him he’d work on the gates shortly.

Now, only a short week later, the workers had made substantial progress on the foundation and completed the fireplace in the kitchen. The larger fireplace in the Common Room, which warmed the bones of tired incoming travelers, was in the beginning stages of restoration. Most of Regin’s waking hours, which were more than he cared for, were spent on the half finished foundation, since this task was more immediate than all others. Regin, determined not to sit idly when others worked, helped drag heavy rocks into place. The hours were long and the work arduous, but Regin’s resolution remained as firm as the stone with which he worked. “Harder lads, harder,” he would say even though he realized that they all were working as hard as they could.

Regin was proud of his crew, but none of them possessed much knowledge of masonry. Often times they would place a stone in the wrong spot or use the wrong type of stone. None of them knew how to carve and finish off the large stones for the foundation, a simple task for Regin. Regin did his best to keep his criticism constructive, although his patience was often stretched. His lack of sleep certainly did not help matters, and sometimes he let his frustration get the best of him. However, such events were few and far between, and he always made amends when things went awry. Yet inside he complained. I would shave my beard for a crew of dwarven stoneworkers, he thought.

There was one other dwarf whom Regin had seen him at work yesterday shaping stone to fit holes in the foundation. Regin wanted to talk with him and ask if he could do more, but was exceedingly busy himself and did not get the chance. Now the other dwarf was nowhere to be seen, and Regin was dismayed. He could certainly use a fellow Dwarf knowledgeable in the matters of stone.

Suddenly, Regin saw the dwarf again sitting alone in a corner devouring some stew. Determined not to miss his chance, Regin walked over to the Dwarf who drew back and looked a bit nervous.

“I will not bite,” said Regin, “I come to congratulate you on the fine work you did yesterday with the foundation. Your knowledge of masonry is impressive, and your hard work is greatly appreciated. I do not know who you are, but I implore you to hearken to what I ask. I spend most of my long day working to rebuild the foundation, and have little time for other tasks such as the fireplace in the Commons. Could you take control of that project? Regin sat back and waited to see if the Dwarf would respond.

[Roa_Aoife]

As Otho reported the message from Snaveling, Roa sighed a sigh. She did not like to have charge over others; she new what power did to people. Many of her kin were reluctant in that respect. The Fall of Numenor tainted even the Faithful. In taking charge of Snaveling, she sought to help him and keep him from trouble. For the most part he had been a begrudging participant, but Roa had known his patience would not last. Well, I will let him have his breakfast and his smoke, she smiled to herself.

As for escaping the labor, she would have a look at his condition first. Roa chuckled at his order to pick up the rocks herself. Truth be told, she had done as much work as he- infact she never allowed him to exceed her. A leader should not have his people do what he will not, her King had said once when she had questioned his assistance with the daily tasks. She took all the words of her teachers to heart.

She spotted Snaveling eating breakfast with Toby. That hobbit could be most cunning at avoiding labor. Roa had found his antics amusing, and occasionally, so had Snaveling. Critically, she appraised the man from the South. He did not look well at all. Perhaps he would do no labor today, after all. As she neared, she heard Toby ask, "“What is a man such as yourself doing here in the Shire?" Roa slowed her pace and then stopped, unnoticed by the two. Yes Snaveling, what is your business here?" Roa wondered if he would answer.

[Eorl of Rohan]

Pelleas urged his tired pony, intending to reach Green Dragon by the early dawn. His pony trod dejectedly over the stone-covered road mat his impatient tugging of the rein, nibbling at mouthfuls of grass along the slow way.

A few hours after Pelleas have given up urging his pony and walked, pulling at the weary pony, he reached Green Dragon. Pelleas raised his eyebrows in wonder, as his gaze met the smoking and charred Inn. Various people were going to and fro repairing it.

"Sir!" Pelleas tugged at the robe of a dwarf talking to another who was at hard work in reconstructing the wall. "What happened?" The dwarf irritably looked at him. "Lad, you didn't know? There was a fire last week in Green Dragon."

[piosenniel]

Buttercup

‘Well, I don’t know about you, Ruby Brown, but if I never see another grimy, sooty cooking spoon I’ll die a happy Hobbit.’

Buttercup rubbed the back of her hand on her cheek leaving a grimy smudge from nose to eyebrow. With a sigh, she returned to the task at hand. In her left hand she grasped a long metal spoon, silver it was supposed to be. But now it bore an ugly patina of sooty grime. Buttercup rubbed and rubbed, wiping the bowl of it clean then working her way up the curved handle. Up to the leaf and acorn embossing on the handle’s end. It was one of Cook’s serving spoons, one of her special, ‘good’ spoons she used for those special occasions when she was serving something at a party for friends. Her mother had given it to her, Cook had said.

‘Best get that clean as a new silver penny,’ Ruby said, working on the intricately etched, shell handled silver serving tray that had also belonged to Cook. She handled the tray fondly as she rubbed at the grime in the lines of etching. She had carried the fluted crystal goblets of sparkling wine on this very tray when Mistress Piosenniel and her Mister had had the twins’ naming day party. The two pieces were cleaned and stored safely away, and the Hobbits picked up another piece each and began the slow process of restoring it.

A shadow fell across Buttercup’s view as she bent to the cleaning of one of the big roasting pans. Shading her eyes against the sun, she looked up. It was Halfred. Not as the Shiriff, this time, but acting in his capacity as district postman. ‘A rider brought this in for you, Buttercup Brownlock. Come all the way from Forlond, he said. Said one of the Little Folk, older lady by his description, had given him a gold coin to ride straight away to Bywater as fast as he could.’ Halfred arched his eye brow at Buttercup, and waited expectantly for an explanation.

It was not forthcoming. Buttercup turned the letter round to see the writing on the front. A smile creased her face as she recognized the determined script that spelled out her name. ‘Thank you, Master Halfred,’ she said politely. ‘I’ll let you know if I have a reply for you to send out.’

‘Reply to what?’ asked Ruby, wiping her hands on her soot streaked apron as she drew near her friend. Buttercup broke the wax seal and opened the missive, letting Ruby read along with her.

‘You didn’t!’ Ruby said as she read down the page.

‘I did,’ replied Buttercup, ‘She told us to take care of the kitchen and we promised her we would.’ Ruby nodded her head, ‘We did, indeed,’ she murmured, looking about at the stacks of cookware and other utensils that needed to be cleaned.

‘Well, I wrote to her – told her all that’s gone on. She’d want to know.’ Ruby nodded again at the truth of Buttercup’s words.

They read quickly to the bottom of the page where the neatly written name was signed. And there, at the bottom was a hastily scrawled post script, a quick afterthought written just before the letter's writer had sent it off.

I’ve changed my mind, it read. Your news has put me quite on edge, though I’m sure Miz Aman has things well in hand. I’ll not be waiting another day to leave for the Shire. Expect me back in a fortnight, or sooner.

One last postscript ended the note. And you two, make sure my silver service is secured.

Buttercup folded the letter and stuffed it into her apron pocket. ‘Best we get busy, then,’ Ruby admonished her. ‘We’ve only found half the silver . . .’

‘. . . and cleaned less,’ returned Buttercup, sorting through one of the small piles near her for something recognizable.

The two of them worked with renewed determination. Cook was coming home . . .

[Will Witfoot]

Fugnrim placed the empty bowl of stew into the pile of dirty dishes waiting to be washed by the hobbit lasses. He dug out his pipe and was just about to fill it when the gruff voice wich could only belong to a fellow dwarf startled him. Feeling unreasonably nervous and almost droppin his pipe he turned to Regin.

"I will not bite." The newcomer said cheerily. Fungrim wasnt alltogether relieved. The company of his kin was a thing that made him nervous.
He was slightly relieved when Regin, instead of prying him about his past, congratulated him on his stoneworking and asked him to take the building of the common room fireplace under his supervision.

"Offcourse." There was a brief pause, before he added: "and thankyou for your compliment. I will see to it after a smoke and when more people are awake."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling winced at Toby’s question. Had he wanted to cause the Man pain, the hobbit could have done nothing more pernicious than this. What am I doing here? What am I after? The purse of gold appeared before his waking eye and his skin was suddenly aflame as in his dream. It was only with a monumental effort of self-control that he did not drop his breakfast in pain. Even in the daylight is there no escape or ease for me? He pulled his mind’s eye from the gold but there was no comfort in that, for all he could see was a grey haze where a house – or was it a lodge? – had once stood. Whose lodge was it? And why could he not stop thinking about it?

Tormented by these visions of his shattered dreams, Snaveling took refuge in his past. Fingering the amulet about his neck, he began to speak, quietly and slowly, as though he were relating a story long forgotten, and which was only just now returning to his memory. “I’ve already told you that my people come from the land between the western end of the White Mountains and the Sea. We have lived there quietly, keeping to ourselves for an Age. Much like the folk around here we avoid contact with all other people. We are hunters and trackers, and we used to range unchecked through all the lands between the White Mountains and the River Angren. We used to travel as far as the Misty Mountains and sometimes even beyond them into the rich plains beyond, but when the horsemen of the North came, they harassed us and we have not gone that way for a long time.

“We lived this way for generations, but during the War, Saruman roused the Dunlendings who live to the North of us. They raided the lands south of the Angren and we were forced to abandon those lands. We decided to go south, into Gondor. For a while the hunting was good, but when the War was over and the Men of Gondor returned from Mordor they chased us out. They sent emissaries to us, suing for peace, but their terms were not to our liking – we were to swear never to attack the Men of Gondor or any of their allies, and to keep ourselves within the bounds of our land.” Snaveling spat in disgust. “They know nothing of the hunt. What do hart and hind, wolf and bear know of borders and the lands of Men? When we are in pursuit of our quarry, we do not stop to ask permission of the folk who claim to own the land over which our prey flees!

“My people are few and scattered, but we like our privacy and shun large groups. Even with all the land ‘generously’ allotted us by the noble Men of Rohan and Gondor,” Snaveling’s bitterness was unconcealed and venomous, “we are too many for the game of that land. So I, along with some companions, left, to seek a new land far from meddling folk. Over the years I have lost my companions: some to disease and hardship in the wild, some to the spear of the horsemen and the club of the Dunlendings. Some turned back in despair. But I kept on. Last year, word came to me of this land of Shire, where there were no Men, only a small people who did not like to become involved with the affairs and wars of Men and Elves and Wizards – and it sounded like a place where I could. . .” Snaveling faltered and stopped. Where I could what? he shouted into the darkness of his mind. What had he wanted in this land?

To distract himself from his torment, he turned to Toby. “But what do you make of my strange tale, Mister Hornblower? If you even believe it – for as you know, I am regarded in these parts as a thief and a liar. Is this land as pleasant as I have heard? Do you have a life here of ease and comfort, or do you chafe against it and wish to leave it for the wider world beyond your narrow borders? And you,” he said to a surprised Roa, without even moving his eyes to where she had stood throughout his tale, “what brings you to this land? Surely you seek more than a cup of ale and some weed for your pipe? Speaking of which,” he fumbled with his tobacco pouch and pipe, “I think it’s time for my smoke!”

[Kransha]

At first, Tobias Hornblower just nodded dumbly as Snaveling spoke. It was apparent for most of his oration that the man was not truly speaking to him, but contemplating the question and answering for himself. Finally, Snaveling turned, almost wistfully, back to the slack-jawed hobbit elder and responded with another question, immediately before taking note of the fact that Roa was standing surprisingly nearby. One of Toby’s eyes cast a disapproving glance back at the eavesdropper before returning to set his gaze upon the mysterious man who sat on the other side of him, smoking a pipe aimlessly.

“Well, Mister Snaveling, I suppose I should wish you some luck in your endeavors. In answer to your question; yes, life in the four farthings is most often peaceful. There are always hardships, but any intelligent hobbit can overcome those obstacles with ease. Things like this whole fiasco with the fire are very rare, but there have been other violent and undesirable incidents. Indeed, all Shire residents were very unprepared when the war came to us, including myself I must admit, but luckily that didn’t last too long.” He paused, reminiscing momentarily about those times not long ago, though the thought quickly passed. The hobbit turned away, looking out at the now weary grounds of the Green Dragon Inn and sighed, reaching into his vest pocket.

“Not many desire to leave the comfort of the Shire, Mister Snaveling. There are, of course, a few deluded souls who think their lives will be better beyond the borders of this tranquil land, but most, like me, know wishes such as these to be folly. They may get praise and glory heaped upon them, but I am certain that there exploits were not pleasant enough to balance it all out. You must understand; my family, the Hornblowers and their kin, are closer relations of the Baggins line. That line is now extinguished, all its members and kin gone from Middle-Earth, but those were the Halflings among us who sought far off lands. Perhaps you have heard the ballad of Frodo the Ringbearer, or Bilbo, who aided the slaying of a mighty dragon. Mad Baggins, we called the latter, brave Baggins was the former. To think how our views of them have changed since the war. The Hornblowers do not share this wanderlust held by Bagginses and their other kindred, no indeed. There is nothing a hobbit like myself would like more than to just sit back on a great pipe-weed plantation and smoke and drink while the days go on.”

Toby was surprised how much his own lecture had strayed from what he’d originally intended to say, but, it didn’t matter. He’d gotten the point across at least adequately. He whipped out his pipe with a familiar flourish and spun in his seat on the ground to the woman, Roa. She had come out slightly more into the open after Snaveling identified her hiding nearby

“Now then, ma’am, I believe the same was asked of you. What business have you in the four farthings?”

[Roa_Aoife]

Roa started as Snaveling addressed her. Warily she sat down, upwind and on the other side of Toby. She avoided people when they were smoking unless it was nescessary to approach them. And after his comment about Gondor and Rohan, she also thought to keep a wary distance. Roa did not know the state of Snaveling's mind, but the look on his face made her heedful. She looked to Toby who began speaking. Roa bit back a smile at that mention of Frodo and Bilbo. She had heard Mithrandir speak of the later fondly before he sialed west, and her own Lord had talked with warmth of Frodo, and Sam, and Merry, and Pippin. Prince Legolas and Gimli the dwarf she had met herself, and she was truly honored.

When Toby had finished, they looked at her expectantly. Roa thought a moment, then began her own tale. "As you know, I am a Dunedain, a Ranger of the North. For the most part, I lived in the wild, in the deep woods, not far from here. Long we defended theses lands from the evils in the East. In the final battle, our king called for us to aid him in Gondor. At that time our vigilance left these lands and went south, and for the hardship that aspired here, I am truly sorry." Toby just looked at her with a disaproving stare, which was returned by one of her own. "Believe me when I sasy things would have been far worse had we not gone.

"I was not allowed to go into the battle, on the excuse of my gender and age." Roa regretted this to no end. When she heard tale of Eowyn, the Lady of Rohan, and her exploits on the field, she felt great admiration for her. Indeed, she had sought to speak with her, but she was badly injured. Continuing she said, "I lost many kin in that battle. My brother was among them." Roa puased. After a moment of sadness, she shook herself and the usual underlying mirth returned.

"Afterward, we lived in the White City, our home by right." this was said with emphasis as she sent a dangerous look toward Snaveling. "After sometime there, I grew tired of the exposed life there. I sought the approval of my king to travel back North, for a time. I have traveled alone, keep to the routes known to my people, hiding when nescessary. I was given rest and aid at Rivendell, and then came here. I now want a peacceful existence until my King calls for me again."

Turning to Snaveling, she added,"If what you have said is true, then your people may have been wronged. When the time comes, you may travel with me to see King Elessar. He will listen to your case. My Lord is a fair man, not bound by the politics of court. You will be heard. After, we will return you to wherever you wish, with escort to save you from harm, or alone if you wish." That was her story. How they would react, and what they would think, she did not know, nor did she care.

"Snaveling, you do not look well. You will not work today, afterall. I hope you can find a good place to rest. The stables will be quiet all day while the workers are out." Snaveling looked unabashedly shocked. Roa finished her soup, and rose to join Valthalion in labor.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman paled at Buttercup's words, and her eyes widened. "Coming home...now?" she croaked incredulously, looking at the two industriously cleaning hobbits in turn. She had come down from waking up Hawthorne and tying her hair up into a more practical bun and had been greeted, as she passed, with Buttercup's news.

"In a fortnight or less, she says, Miz Aman," Buttercup replied, polishing a spoon fervently. Aman looked slightly more horrified, glancing at the space where the Inn had been and what there was of it now, gave a strangled cry and darted off towards the Inn. The two hobbit servers looked at each other questioningly before shrugging and continuing to their work.

Aman passed into the Common Room through the absence of wall on one side, ducking easily as a long wooden beam, accompanied by a panicked cry of warning, swung over her head, supported at both ends by metal chains which were attached to one of the other newly placed rafters ahead. The Innkeeper looked around the room, and her heart continued to beat fast - but not only in panic now. They've done so much in a week... she thought proudly. Beams all around the room and forming a net across the sky outlined where the burnt down Common Room would be rebuilt, and after that proper building work could be structured around that and the upper rooms could be re-built. One side of the room, however, had been almost undamaged, and the restoration on it and the magnificent fireplace was well under way, and Regin said he had plans for that, as well, as the doorway, which he was keeping under wraps. As she scanned the room, Aman spotted the dwarf, sternly overseeing a pair of hobbits who were manoevuring a pile of long oak boards through one window to each other, not without difficulty. As Aman came towards them, the dwarf called out a greeting to the Innkeeper. The two hobbits, mistaking it for an instruction, simultaneously began going in opposite directions with the beams, one confusedly backing out and the other, for some reason, swinging sidewards. Regin looked quickly backwards and gave a shout, jumping down from his platform, but Aman was already there, grabbing the beam...just before it smashed into the frame of the large window. She breathed a sigh of relief, whilst Regin started berating the 'bubble-brained fools' (a phrase which semed to have become something of a catch-phrase for the dwarf) of hobbits, who stood meekly looking suitably ashamed and even more suitably tired.

"How goes it, Regin?" Aman inquired when he was done, handing the surprisingly heavy would-be floorboards back to the hobbits who managed this time to get them through without incident.

[Arry]

Most of those who had been injured in the fire were now healed enough to either travel on or to stay and help with the reconstruction of the Inn. Alwin had put away his box of herbs and unguents, save for the now occasional use when they were needed for fingers bruised by errant hammer blows, or heads gone achy from bumping into sharp corners of the framing. He had rolled up his sleeves and helped out now in other ways.

His old back was not strong enough to carry rock for the Dwarf craftsman, nor were his arms used to carrying the heavy beams needed for the framing or flooring. He helped out where he saw the need. The garden first, cleared of ashy debris. The weeds plucked and the rows hoed; the thirsty plants watered. The two serving girls bobbed their heads to him early each morning as they came to gather what was needed for the day’s soup, oft times bringing him a griddle-cake or two and a mug of hot tea to drive away the morning chill.

Afternoons were spent in a shaded area by the stable. The Hobbit who had brought in the cedar logs had brought the two handled, draw-knives for removing bark. Astride a log, Alwin moved in a slow determined manner, scraping off the bark down to the fragrant wood below. One done, the Hobbit and his sons bucked the long log into bolts with their two-man bow saws – bolts being more manageable sections, their length determined by the length of the shingles needed. From there, the brawny young men split the bolts into wedges, stacking them to the side of the stable until they were ready to rive them into shingles.

Alwin watched them as he pulled the bark from the second log, fascinated by the rhythm of their movements. The bolt was turned on end, the froe, like a thin bladed ax, positioned to split a thin tapered plank of wood along the grain. The steady, sturdy thunks of their wooden mallets against the metal heads of the froes as they rived the wood. Then flip the bolt and begin again. A syncopated rhythm ran round his mind, punctuated by the voices of the workers as they spoke in short phrases to each other. His draw knife moved in time with them, and he began to hum the tune now forming, thinking how his fingers might pluck it out on his little harp. He smiled, the tune now coursing through his blood.

Soon, he knew the words would form; the scene be captured. Played and sung round the fire, it would be, for those who would listen and remember . . .

[Lumiel]

It had not taken long for Hindolen, or Indy as she was called, to heal from her ordeal. The next day she was up and about, as healthy and hearty as ever. Eager to help, for she saw the rebuilding of the Inn as an opportunity for her to find a home, she went about following whoever she could and asking questions. At first, she followed the hobbit girls who cooked. They taught her about the herbs and the pots and the pans, and she absorbed the knowledge at an astounding rate. Though she still had a long way to go, she had become a cook. She quickly tired of kitchen work, though she knew it was necessary. Then she followed the hobbit men. They weren't as patient with her, annoyed by her presence. But they warmed to her polite nature (which was quite amiable when she wasn't a hungry, starving orphan) and answered her many questions about the garden and woodwork that they were doing. She helped by holding their tools and quickly learned the name of each. They even taught her how to hammer, though she was too young to yet be skilled in such things. Though more interesting than the kitchen work, this too soon bored her.

She now sat by the makeshift kitchen, her skinny, tanned legs sprawled on the fresh green grass and her toes wiggling as the blades tickled her feet. She no longer wore a smudged pink dress, but had been given a sky blue dress which she kept immaculately clean (though her hands and knees always seemed to be dirty). Her short blonde hair had been neatly combed and a small, dark blue ribbon had been used to tie back a portion of her hair. It seemed almost golden now that it was clean. Her face was clean as well (the hobbit women simply would not put up with a filthy face, and scrubbed it each morning, even behind the ears despite her protests) and her pink pouty lips were turned up in a smile as the sun shone warmly on her. She wondered what she should do now. She could hear the chinks and groans as the men worked on the foundation and gazed languidly towards the sound. She wished she were bigger and stronger, so that she could help with it. She loved outdoor work, and she would probably never get the chance to work with stone after this. But she knew they would never let her join, she was simply too small.

Sighing, she turned her head around to see what the others were doing. Her eyes caught sight of a dwarf not far from her with a dark beard. Regin was speaking to him. She stared for a moment. Something about him....the dwarf! It was the dwarf who had saved her! It must be! Her brown eyes widened and she instantly leapt to her feet, a large grin on her tiny face. She waited until Regin left, and then bounded over to the dwarf, pulling to a halt right in front of him. The dwarf looked at her, giving a small smile as he puffed on his pipe. "Excuse me sir Dwarf..." she trailed off, now feeling suddenly shy.

"Yes, little miss, can I help you?" he asked warmly, his eyes shining, at least it seemed to her.

"Oh yes! I mean no, well, what I meant to say was..." she trailed off again, her thin dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration. She shook her head, as though she had shaken off the mood and smiled once more brightly. She threw her arms around him in as big of a hug as she could muster and cried out happily, "You saved me! Thank you! Thank you!" and laughed. The dwarf chuckled at the small girl's enthusiasm and patted her back. Indy pulled back and looked him in the eye, her head tilted to the side. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Who, me?" he asked as though he didn't know if Indy was talking to him or not. "My name's Fungrim. And what's yours, little lady?"

"I'm Hindolen, but you can just call me Indy. Are you going to help make the foundation?" she asked with curiosity.

"Yes, I am. But not yet, too many people are still asleep. Too bad they're not more like you in wakin' up!" he teased her.

"Really? I want to learn all about the stone and the foundation and everything!" she smiled as she said it and threw out her arms to emphasize her point. "I know I'm really small and just a girl...but do you think I could help? I can carry your tools for you, and I fit in little spaces really good and I can get you lunch and I can even shade you from the sun and...." Fungrim was giving her a strange look. "What?" she asked innocently.

A small man walked along the road near the Green Dragon. He wore green cloak and brown boots. The man's hood was up, and he was all alone on the road. The man stared at the busy yard for a moment, then walked up to it.

He approached the remnant of the inn, and puzzled for a minute. It looked as if the inn had suffered a fire, and many people were busy working. The man called out half-heartedly. "Is there somwhere I can get a drink? I have traveled quite a distance to sample some of your fine ale. I would be glad to help you as well, but I wish to quench my thirst at the moment..."

[piosenniel]

Newcomers to the Inn

Please note the Inn Facts at the top of the page. They will clue you in to what is going on.

Before you post, please also read a number of the posts previous to yours so that you will get the flavor of what other characters are doing.
__________________________________

Brief Synopsis

About a week ago, game time, there was a devastating fire at the Inn. The structure was destroyed, and now the workers at the Inn and the villagers and patrons of the Green Dragon are lending their skills to rebuild it.

The foundation stonework is being redone, as is the framing for the main structure of the Inn.

Items are being salvaged as possible, new tables and chairs are being built, shingles for the roof are being fashioned. There is a cooking fire in the yard, and food is being made there for the workers. Tents have been set up, and some folk are staying in the stable.

Come in and lend a hand.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Memory of Trees]

Flyte stared openmouthed at the smoke rising above the treeline, her blue eyes wide with wonder. "Granny!" She called into the tiny white cottage behind her. "I can see smoke! There must be have been a fire!" Her voice was high with excitement - it wasn't every day something of this sort happened.

"What did you say, Flyte? A briar? Come inside so I can hear you, dear." Flyte's granny was a sweet old lady, and half deaf, too. Flyte ran back into the house, her tiny boots sending up puffs of dust. It had been very dry that year.

"What I said, Granny," she said as sat on the arm of her grandmother's chair. "Is that there was a fire. I saw smoke, and I think it's coming from down the road. There isn't much now, so it must be over, right?" Her little brow was furrowed with concern.

The old woman smiled and patted Flyte's hand, her face wrinkled like ancient parchment paper. "I don't know, dearie. I'll go out and have a look, if you'll bring me my cane. Ah, thank you," she said, and pulled herself stiffly up from the old rocker. The colder weather didn't sit well with her.

"It's over here, Granny. See? I said I saw smoke!" Grandmother and granddaughter stood watching the thick grey clouds roll up from behind the trees where the ground that must be screaming in agony.

"Yes, I see it." Granny's voice was very somber, which frightened Flyte a bit. "Now, you have to listen to me carefully, child. I can't go and see what's going on myself - my old bones won't hear of it. I want you to go down there for me. Help out if you can, if not, run back here quick and tell me the news. You can take the loaf of bread I just baked, and give it to those who need it. Hurry now, Flyte! And be careful please, dear!"

Flyte, her face serious with the importance of the mission, ran inside to fetch the bread. It smelled delicious, making her stomach rumble dicontentedly. She had the fleeting thought that if they gave up this loaf, there would be nothing but thing broth for their own supper before she was tearing down the road as fast as her little legs could carry her.

Her grandmother watched her until she dissapeared around a bend in the path, then turned and went back into the cottage.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne stretched and yawned over breakfast. The tables set up outside were half empty. Most of the others had already finished eating, heading out to whatever job they'd picked to help rebuild the Inn. She was indeed late getting up, but then she'd been up half the night roaming the woods and hills to work on something special. This time, she was very careful to pick a project that didn't involve the kitchen, or anything that could possibly lead to disaster. She stretched and yawned again, staring down intently at her hands. The palms were calloused from the heavy work of hauling stones; dirt lay underneath her nails. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. She'd best wash her hands and arms again, since there was a definite smell of horse manure left over from the night before.

Hawthorne had begun her special project in the very back of the Inn's courtyard, in a secluded niche under the trees just behind some bushes. Few of the Inn guests normally ventured here, and she had fenced off the area with a series of stakes and ropes. She rushed through breakfast and hurried outside to get a second look. Things were progressing nicely. Setting her project immediately outside the kitchen window might have made more sense but Hawthorne could not bear to be anywhere near the kitchen. And she wanted it to be a surprise so she had chosen a more secluded location. She hoped Cook wouldn't mind the extra walk.

Ruby and Buttercup still weren't speaking to her. Whenever she walked past them, they put their heads together and scowled or giggled, pointing a finger in her direction. Hawthorne tried to avoid them, but it was hard when their bedrolls lay so close. If Aman had thought that putting the three of them together would soften their relations, she had definitely guessed wrong.

The news about Cook's return to the Inn had spread like wildfire among the Inn staff. Hawthorne inwardly groaned at the thought of that meeting. Everything she'd heard about Cook had led her to believe that it would not be a pleasant one. Cook was a formidable woman indeed, and would not take the news of Hawthorne's transgression lightly. Still she was trying to do her best now, and hoped that would count for something.

Glancing up, Hawthorne noticed a truckload of logs come rolling onto the Inn grounds. It was the second such wagon in as many days. She bounded over to meet the driver and shouted out a greeting.

"Grimbold Goodchild! It's so good to see someone from home. Daffordil's gone off on a sightseeing tour of the Shire, and left me all alone. And the folk here aren't exactly friendly, at least some of them." She gestured with her hand over to the makeshift kitchen where Ruby and Buttercup were cleaning up the last of the breakfast.

Grimbold grinned back, "I heard what happened. Look it's going to take a while. And these folk just aren't used to Brandybucks! But I have some news. When the Inn reopens and they have a party, your uncle plans to come down and visit." Then he lowered his voice, "Master Meriadoc wanted me to tell you that he did what you asked. About the timber, that is. He'll take the receipts out of the farmstead when it's gifted to you next year."

Hawthorne smiled, "I'm glad to hear that. I'd love to stay and catch up on gossip, but duty calls." Master Regin was calling to Hawthorne from across the courtyard, urging her to hurry and catch up with the crew that was going out to look for stones for the fireplace in the Common Room. She picked up her skirts and ran over to the group of workmen that was just setting out towards The Water.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Regin, still agitated from the incident with the two foolish Hobbits, had to compose himself before responding to Aman. “Bubble brained Hobbits,” he muttered under his breath, “Half-witted fools.”

Wearily, the Dwarf turned to the innkeeper and replied, “Mistress Aman, how good it is to see you. I have been exceedingly busy the last few days and have not met with you in quite some time. Please excuse me if I do not seem attentive, short have my hours been in bed as of late.”

The Dwarf shook his head and sighed, “As you can see from this little incident, the rebuilding process has not at all been a simple matter. Many of my workers seem to lack certain necessary items that would be particularly useful at a time like this, such as a brain. If I do not die from being smashed on the head by a dropped beam or falling stone, I shall consider it a miracle. I look upwards every so often to give myself warning before I have to leap out of the way."

"Otherwise, I would say that we have made substantial progress rebuilding the Inn, surpassing my expectations. The foundation is almost finished and the crews are beginning to build the walls and ceiling. They may not have the quickest wit, but the people here certainly have the bravest heart. Exquisite craftsmanship motivates the finest Dwarven smith, but the folk of the Green Dragon are driven by the Inn which they hold dear. Their devotion to her humbles me beyond words and I am honored to be part of this project."

After he finished saying this, to his astonishment, Regin noticed a tear trickle down his cheek. He felt as if his iron heart had been overcome by a wave of emotion. Not often did the practical and composed Regin Hardhammer openly show such strong feeling. He could scarcely believe that he cared deeply for these people whom he had not even known two weeks before. Wiping his ruddy face on his sleeve, he let out a sob before slowly continuing.

“Excuse me madam, I… I… I… just…,” he stammered and could go on no more, but forced himself to continue and gradually collected himself before speaking again.

“Yes, everything is going very well. By the way, I have just finished talking to someone who could help the project immensely--Fungrim. It is so nice to have another dwarf around; I really could use someone else knowledgeable in masonry. He seemed a bit secretive and apprehensive, as if he had a troubled past that he did not want to revisit. Do you know anything more about him? He will be assisting me and overseeing the construction of the fireplace in the Commons. I feel that he is more than competent and seems to be very discerning in matters of stone. I am sure that he will do a fine job and I hope that it will be up to your standards. His help leaves more time for me to oversee the construction of the Inn and work on the gates. I have a nice design that I think will look very stylish on the gates of the Inn. "

"I have taken a look at the silver goblets you gave me that were damaged from the fire, and I am afraid that I can not help you. The metal was severely charred and misshapen from the fire to the point where even if the goblets were made from the most pliable silver in Middle Earth I could not repair them. Even with my skills in metal tempering, perhaps the best among all dwarves, I can do nothing with them. You may have them back. Unless…"

Suddenly the dwarf was struck with a brilliant idea. He turned to face Aman, "Perhaps you might let me borrow these for a while. I can do no worse with them than the fire has already done."

[Primrose Bolger]

Kiera had withdrawn to the safety of the small copse of oak and beech that grew on the western edge of the Inn’s yard. There were too many people; their noise and smell pressed in on her. She felt safe here among the trees. From her vantage point among the leaves she could watch this strange mix of creatures in relative obscurity.

The old man who had spoken to her was sitting astride a log, scraping the tree’s skin away from the inner body. Three of the Little Folk were busy with a log he had already done. Cutting and chipping it into small flat pieces. She wondered if they understood at all the numbers of lives that had passed while that great tree had grown to such a size. Were they grateful that its spirit now passed into smaller forms for their use?

Like some great mountain pushed up from the earth, the Inn was re-emerging. The very bones of the earth were wrenched up and fitted, one upon the other . . . great stones on which the wooden sides would rest secure. She watched as Big and Little Folk climbed like ants upon the structure, driving home the nails that held the body of the Inn together.

She had been helpful in her own way. At night she would set the fish-traps she had woven from slender willow branches that grew along the river's banks, and in the early morning, before first light, she would leave her catch layered in wet ferns, in a tattered basket by the fire pit where the meals were cooked. Other mornings found her checking the small snares she had put out, and a brace or two of coneys would then appear for the day’s meal. The two serving girls had taken to leaving some covered bowls filled with the day’s food and a small loaf of bread out for their ‘helper’. They were always returned the next day, scrubbed clean.

Between times, when she was not sitting among the leaves of the great oak, she sat hidden in the brush by the river. Kiera had ventured into the stable late one night and found a small metal chisel and a stout wooden mallet with which to drive it. With her borrowed tools she was carving a fair sized, grey stone flecked with black. It was half her height, and tapered from top to its more rounded bottom. A sturdy presence that yielded but slowly under her patient hands.

It was to be a present for the new Inn. Something to safeguard it against future dangers.

[piosenniel]

Newcomers to the Inn

Please note the Inn Facts at the top of the page. They will clue you in to what is going on.

Before you post, please also read a number of the posts previous to yours so that you will get the flavor of what other characters are doing.
__________________________________

Brief Synopsis

About a week ago, game time, there was a devastating fire at the Inn. The structure was destroyed, and now the workers at the Inn and the villagers and patrons of the Green Dragon are lending their skills to rebuild it.

The foundation stonework is being redone, as is the framing for the main structure of the Inn.

Items are being salvaged as possible, new tables and chairs are being built, shingles for the roof are being fashioned. There is a cooking fire in the yard, and food is being made there for the workers. Tents have been set up, and some folk are staying in the stable.

Come in and lend a hand.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator