[piosenniel]

Bullroarer waited for his tankard to fill, listening to the Innkeeper talk about travel in the countryside about Bree-land. The Innkeeper handed him the foaming pint, and Bullroarer took a long pull at it. He choked and spluttered on it, as his eye caught a furtive movement in the shadow of the wall to the left and far behind the bar. Someone was trying the handle to the door there.

‘Are you all right?’ the Innkeeper asked, concern on his face. Bullroarer coughed, saying ‘yes’, and would the Innkeeper please excuse him for a moment. Other customers had come up to the bar to place their orders, and the Innkeeper was called away by their demands for service.

Bullroarer set his pint down on the bar, and walked to where he had seen the familiar figure pause in the shadows. Branda! Coming up close to the Hobbits left ear, he spoke low.

‘Going somewhere, Master Branda?’

The nearness of the imposing Took caused him to stumble slightly, and he fell forward, pushing the door to the darkened room open. A single candle lantern lit the far wall of it, where another door stood closed.

Bullroarer had followed Branda into the room, closing the door behind him. He intended to scold the curious Hobbit about being impolite to their host. But paused as his eyes accustomed themselves to the dim light.

Now he looked about and wondered at this place. Sparely furnished with plain tables and chairs, there were maps tacked up on the walls. Maps of the all the lands from the Great Sea, east to the shadowed and unknown lands. Maps of the frozen regions and maps of the unknown regions of the south. There were arms and supplies piled in neat bundles to one side of the room. A meeting room, he thought. But for whom? He and Branda walked about the room, looking at but not touching the maps.

A sudden noise from the door across the room alerted him that someone was entering. No time to get back to the Common Room! He grabbed Branda by the collar and hauled him down behind a stack of boxes and trunks in one corner of the room. Putting his finger to his lips, he warned Branda to keep quiet as they crouched in their makeshift hiding place.

Cold air swept in from the outside, the sound of boots on the wooden floor echoed in the room’s silence, then the sound of the door being firmly shut against the wind and snow.

‘Well, Olo, for tonight, at least we have some shelter from the storm. Set those two braces of coney’s over there until we are unpacked. The Cook will have some good meat for stew and the bones to make stock with. Ask her to save the skins for me – I want to line some gloves with them.’

‘How about a pair for me, too, Volondil?’ came the reply from nearby. The sound of the conies frozen bodies unceremoniously dumped on one of the crate tops caused the two Hobbits to hold their breaths. ‘After all, I helped trap them and as I remember, correctly, I hauled them on my pack from the Weather Hills to here.’ The sound of good natured laughter filled the room.

Bullroarer nudged Branda, and brought his mouth close to the other’s ear. ‘One of those voices belongs to a Hobbit!’