[Huan]

The Players arrive

‘There she is!’ cried a clear voice from the road that passed by the inn. Talan stood up from the cart seat and pointed toward the Green Dragon. Her dark hair was cropped short; the breezes ruffled them slightly as she threw back her hood.

‘Whoa up, there, Flint.’ ‘And turn in there, Jasper!’ came a deeper voice as the pair of geldings pulled at their traces and turned the wagon onto the dirt lane leading to the inn. Gwynn pulled at the reins, slowing the horses’ pace. He was twin to his sister, dark hair cropped as hers. His eyes though were hazel with glints of gold in the light where hers were grey as granite.

The two were of similar size. Gwynn was a hair taller; his frame a little larger. Talan was as fit as he but more slender. Their mouths were wide and generous with smiles. And both were lissome, moving with an assured gracefulness. Both wore breeches and soft leather boots and thin tunics of fine spun wool from the looms of Lindon. In their bulky dark blue cloaks, hoods pulled up to overshadow their faces they looked the same.

‘The Dragon!’ chirped another who stepped fleet footed by the wagon’s side. He was dressed in a motley of greens and browns and his fair Elven hair fell down his back in a long plait woven with ribbons of various colors. From his belt he drew a silver pipe, and putting his lips to it blew an intricate melody, an enchanting weave of notes that rose and fell beneath the bright stars. ‘There! She is made tame within my little net of song,’ Emlin laughed, putting his flute back into its case.

Behind this trio came another wagon, smaller in size and pulled by two sturdy ponies, Cobby and Hal. ‘Think they’d never seen a proper inn before,’ Rowan Foxburr said to her brother Tolly. ‘Well, think of it,’ he returned, urging the ponies on with a light flick of the reins. ‘The inns of Lindon are those of Elves or Men. Too melancholy on the one side, too rough and churlish on the other. And our travels through the southern parts of the Shire have shown them only the small establishments. Pincup’s been the largest town we’ve been to and its Flowering Beech is hardly more than a little watering hole for the locals.’ He turned to her and grinned. We’re here in Bywater and Hobbiton, Rowan. Heart of the Shire! Home of the Dragon and her tasty ales!’

Rowan grinned back at her older brother. She pushed back the hood of her brown cloak and smoothed back the stray chestnut curls from before her ears. Her brown eyes caught the moonlight and glinted with pleasure at the thought of a nice hot bath and a soft bed with a feather quilt. Not that their little cart was uncomfortable. It was built like the Big Folks’ cart, a little house on wheels, and had a little door at the back with a set of steps that folded down from it when they were camped. It was a snug little thing, holding all their belongings. But hot baths and food other than cooked by her own hand were a rarity as they traveled, and she relished the idea of indulging in some luxury.

Tolly was two years older than his sister. They were Hobbits from the Tower Hills, from a little holding where their parents raised sheep and goats and grew a good sized garden. His eyes, too, were brown. His hair, also, though a lighter shade than Rowan’s. They had been traveling with Gwynn, Talan, and Emlin for a year now, providing the music and sound effects for the puppet shows they played for crowds along the way. Gwynn and Talan were the puppeteers; Emlin the singer and story teller for the plays. It had been an interesting journey so far. Much had been learned and much laughed over.

The Big Folk and Emlin had been together for a number of years. They had welcomed the addition Rowan and Tolly and had been gracious in their instruction. At the moment, the two Hobbits could not imagine themselves doing anything else.

The two carts were brought round to the stable; the little lamps that hung from the corners of their roofs’ eaves were blown out. Master Meriadoc took the horses and ponies in hands with a promise of warm dry stalls and a nosebag of oats for each.

It was Emlin who opened the door for the others, holding it wide as they all passed through. They stood blinking in the bright light of the lamps and the fire until their eyes adjusted. Then Gwynn spied a table big enough to hold them all and led his troupe toward it.