[Nurumaiel]

Toby's answer was drowned out by the loud singing from another part of the room.

Oh! Welcome all you halflings past the borders of your Shire!
To a place of green and brown and things, but never that of fire!
They say it's dark, and dangerous, and all the trees're to fear!
But my grand old home in the forest of Old, oh I say it's not so queer...!

Marcho scowled furiously and Blanco raised an eyebrow, muttering to Posco, "Is he talking about the Old Forest?" The singer had collapsed in a crumpled heap on the floor. A little cry escaped Bingo's lips and he sprang to his feet. Marcho caught his arm. "Don't go over there, lad," he growled. "It might be dangerous."

Bingo gently pulled free of Marcho's grasp and gazed sorrowfully at his friend and then at the rest of the people in the Common Room. All seemed disgusted and made no move to help. Bingo felt an urge to weep at the faces of some, but he composed himself and turned back to Marcho. "He might need help, Marcho." Oblivious of what others might think of him, he left his table by the fireplace. The singer had jumped up and began talking again. The fair young woman of the Big Folk looked terrified; Bingo hurried forward, his eyes full of compassion. He gently but firmly took the singer by the arm and sat him down. He turned to the woman of the Big Folk and said, "He's very drunk. He's in no condition to be walking about. You needn't worry about it; I'll take care of him."

Marcho heard these words and snarled viciously. What a fool Bingo was, offering to help that drunkard!

Bingo had put a hand on the singer's forehead and frowned gently. "He's going to make himself sick if he doesn't stop and sleep off his drunkeness," he said. Once again he addressed the woman of the Big Folk. "Tell me, miss, does he have a room?"