The Golden Perch Inn

[Tiffany Aching]

‘No, not traveling through,’ Miribelle laughed. ‘Indeed, I live here in Stock.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘I’m a weaver – these past years at least. And I run a small fabric shop in town.’ Miribelle reached down and hauled her carpet bag up to her lap.

‘I’ve just been down Marish way to see one of the goodwives there who spins yarn. Lovely, soft wool she gets from her little flock of sheep. Much prized for ladies’ shawls and baby’s blankets.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out several skeins of fine spun yarn – a soft green, a nut brown with flecks of black, and sunflower yellow. ‘Lovely colors, aren’t they? She has a deft hand with her dyes. And closed mouthed about how she makes them, too.’

Miribelle placed the skeins carefully back in her bag, snapping it shut firmly. ‘Truth is, Master Tavaro. I live by myself. And though my cooking’s quite passable, I like to treat myself once a week to Cook’s chicken and taters.’

‘What about you? What brings you here to our little village?’ She munched happily on a bite of her biscuit and blackberry jam as she waited for his answer.

[Arry]

Will said nothing in response to Rowan’s query. Instead, he held up his little knife, a half-pared potato skewered on the end of it. He cocked his head toward Cook, who seemed to be muttering over her frying pan.

Come sit by me he mouthed at Rowan, sliding a chair out from under the table with his foot. ‘Something’s put a wasp under the old gal’s petticoats today,’ he whispered, leaning in close. ‘You have any idea what?’

[Tam Lin]

Tavaro considered the elder Hobbit’s question carefully, choosing the words he would use. He did not wish to lie to her, but a little misdirection would work as well he thought. No need for all the details of his journeying to be told. He waved his hand toward his leather satchel.

‘I’m gathering stories, Mistress Rushybanks. From all over. Songs, too.’ He paused for a moment to eat a bite of biscuit and drink some tea. ‘We Elves love to gather such things in, keep these tales pressed between the pages to be read and sung and wondered at through the ages,’ he went on. Tavaro fetched out the leather-bound chapbook that perched just within the confines of the leather satchel. ‘See here,’ he said, opening to one of the ink filled pages. There were small sketches of all sorts of people. And between the sketches were lines written in a fine Elven script. ‘These were a trio of Dwarves I met. Here, actually, a while ago. They had some fine stories and fine songs, too.’ He tapped his foot in time to one of the tunes and hummed it in a deep voice. ‘I’ve never been in one of the mines, but you can almost hear the song resounding down the long deep tunnels, can’t you?’

[Undómë]

Rowan scooted the chair close toward Will. She picked up a small knife from the table and fell to paring taters with a deft hand. ‘Well, Prim told me Cook’s upset about the wolves and all that as went on earlier,’ she said in a low voice, leaning in closer toward Will. She flipped her now jacketless tater into the pot and put down her knife. ‘And I think that’s probably part of the problem, but....’

Rose motioned for Prim that the pot was full enough it could be set to boiling. She helped Prim to set the pot on the stove, and they both worked at stoking the fire to a hot pitch. ‘I’ll watch the pot and help Will peel another batch, Prim’ Rowan went on. ‘Why don’t you take those other biscuits and more tea out to the common room? There’s a lot of hungry folk out there. Let Master Boffin know what’s going on here in the kitchen, Maybe he can offer a few rounds of ale to take the edge off.’

She watched as Prim gathered up the food and drink and went sailing through the door. She hurried over to sit with Will again. ‘The thing is . . . about that problem we were discussing,’ she whispered. ‘I saw Cook get a fat letter from Hugh, the postman earlier in the day. Right after breakfast was cooked and served, in fact. Now I don’t know what it said, but she turned white as a ghost when she read it.’

There was a growling sort of noise from where Cook stood. A mound of crispy fried chicken was now arranged on a large china platter next to her frying pan. She was just flouring another batch and dropping it piece by piece into her big skillet as she looked up at Will & Rowan. ‘Taters won’t get peeled with jibber-jabber,’ she directed toward Will. And you, Miz Rowan, see to the peas, please before they completely turn to mush.’

[Elfchick7]

When Luriniel finally awoke, she could not believe how late it had become. Never had she allowed herself to waste so much time in sleep. She looked over to Nienna and found that she still slept soundly. Was it just exhaustion that held her sister in such a deep sleep her was it something more? Luriniel stood and found that it took a great deal of effort. Her body ached all over. Nienna slept peacefully. It had been many days since Nienna had looked so rested. What was it that Vehil had given her to make her sleep so long? Luriniel wondered, Why did I sleep this day away? She felt Nienna's head for fever, but there was none. Seeing that her sister was breathing normally and that the wound was healing nicely, Luriniel sighed with relief.

What next Luriniel? Can you afford to risk staying here a few days longer? Is Nienna well enough to travel? Is Melinor still searching for you? Does he care, or no longer? Too many questions. She paced the room anxiously as she weighed her options. Still feeling weak, she took her chair once more. She let her mind wander back to the days before her father betrayed them. Her mother was still living and Melinor, her betrothed from childhood, was still with her. When doubt was cast upon their family and they were treated with undue suspicion, Melinor stayed faithful. He did all in his power to console her when her mother passed and her Father fled. Why mother? You abandoned your will to live. Could you not see how much we needed you? It wasn't long after that the sisters fled from their home. Luriniel knew that Melinor would try to follow, so she drugged him in order to give herself a better lead. For several months, she was a aware of his attempts to track them. Somehow she could sense him. Then his presence grew more and more faint. It became very rare for her to sense him at all. Finally, it became to Luriniel as if his presence was no more. She felt as if her last hope died that day, the day when she lost Melinor. Yet, how could she grieve when things had been so much worse for Nienna.

Nienna had been so close to their father, then suddenly found him becoming distant from her. Loving him too much, she pushed aside warnings that he had allied himself with evil. When he was finally exposed as a traitor, suspicion fell heavily on Nienna. She too was intended for marriage, but her betrothed met her in the Hall of Thranduil and publicly denounced her. Luriniel hated him for that. She saw the shame slowly crush Nienna under its weight and knew that they had to leave. In all there travels, Nienna never blamed those who sought to betray her. Luriniel marveled at her sister's goodness. She knew that if she lost her sister, she could not go on. Eru, if you have not wholly rejected these poor sisters of Mirkwood, you daughters, please save my sister. Do not let this wound take her. Looking worriedly over at her sleeping sister, Luriniel wept bitterly. Nienna stirred and Luriniel rushed to her side only to find that her sister continued to sleep soundly. Luriniel rose from the bedside and left to room to seek food before the Inn closed up for the night.

[Envinyatar]

In the distance the lights from the inn glinted softly in the falling dusk. It was a welcoming sight against the growing dusk. Hithadan stopped for a moment beneath the cottonwoods which grew along this little stretch of the brook. With a oomph of tiredness he leaned against the slender beech branch he’d fashioned into a walking stick, balancing on it and his right leg to take a bit of pressure from his left. He chided himself both for the injury to his leg and the careless actions that had promoted it.

‘That’s what comes of too much drink, you knot-head!’ he said aloud to a small bird peeping down at him from the branches of a tree. The bird, startled by his voice and the large presence of the man beneath him, twittered and flew off. The Ranger’s laughter followed after the bird’s seeming protest. And he called a bit louder, as if to apologize. ‘Not you little one! It’s this clumsy two-foot here who is the knot-head!’ There had been a number of rounds of drinks several days ago at the Pony in Bree; some bought by him, some by others. Tongues had loosened amidst the ale-driven camaraderie and some very interesting pieces of news had been boasted about. Doings especially from the south and east were valuable bits, no matter how small. To be passed on and sifted through with other news from other places by those whose task it was to keep the larger picture in mind.

At any rate, he’d drunk a drink, or two even, beyond his normal and had not been as nimble footed as he’d needed when he left the inn. A scattering of loose rock and pebbles had caught him off guard; and to be short, he'd fallen. Rather ungracefully so; twisting his left ankle and putting a rather nasty gash in his lower leg. He’d managed it this far, but now his leg and ankle were swollen fat as a Bree summer-sausage, and just as darkish red as one, too.

Hithadan hobbled the last distance to the inn and a little further round to the side door to the kitchen. He had a delivery for Cook. One of the merchants traveling in Bree had asked him to deliver a small sack of some beans, coffee beans he’d said. And he’d be mightily thankful should Hithadan be able to take them along with him to The Perch.

Stopping briefly at the pump in the kitchen yard, Hithadan washed off the grime from his travels as best he might. He shook off what leaves and dirt he could from his cloak and brushed off his pants; at last straightening his tunic into some semblance of order.

‘Delivery for Mistress Brandybuck!’ he called out, holding out the rough cotton sack as he entered.

The kitchen seemed in a frantically busy state. Without so much as a welcome, one of the Hobbits quickly took the offered bag from him and shoved a large potato masher into his just emptied grasp. A steaming pot of just drained potatoes was pointed out to him.

‘Bit of a tizzy here, Master H. Use those Big Folk muscles of yours and whip these taters into shape, won’t you?’ he heard the Hobbit’s voice say. Not waiting for an answer, the Hobbit headed to the common room with a basket of biscuits and a pot of jam. Hithadan leaned against the counter where the pot stood and fell to with the masher.

[Tiffany Aching]

Miribelle was a bit distracted. There were wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, especially as the servers went in and out the kitchen’s door. Her mouth watered at the thought of the main meal to come. And it was with a struggle of will that she refrained from getting up to have another helping of biscuits and jam.

The question in Tavaro’s voice drew her attention back to what he had been saying. ‘I have to admit the only tunnels I’m familiar with are those we Hobbits have made for our homes.’ She echoed a part of the Dwarvish refrain he’d just hummed. ‘It’s a very big song those Dwarves have made,’ she went on. ‘Lovely, really, but I should think their voices would rumble through our little tunnels like a winter’s storm through the willows along the river. Too big for our walls.’ She hummed a little more, a spark coming into her eyes at the deep beauty of the song. ‘But you’re right . . . wouldn’t it just be grand to hear this echoing in the great cavern beneath the mountains!’ Spots of color bloomed on the Hobbit’s cheeks at the daring idea she’d briefly entertained of such an adventure as that might be.

‘I really do like those little pictures that you’ve drawn, Master Tavaro,’ she continued, reining back her imaginings. ‘Tell me, what has struck your fancy here in the Shire? Have you ever been to one of the mid-summer parties here in Stock? Plenty of songs and storytelling at those.’ She eyed his tall, lean figure. ‘Why you might even like to join in a springle-ring!’ Miribelle tapped her toes in a lively rhythm as she smiled at him. ‘Keeps you young, you know!’