The Golden Perch Inn

[Flame of Udûn]

He spent a short while thinking of the lands that lie to the south of Gondor, he had spent a long time wandering in Ithilien, especially in the easternmost parts of that land where he kept a close watch on the orcs movements.

"Much of the lands in Gondor are decaying, slowly they are falling as the blood of Numenor thins, but one land falls less sharply, or perhaps fell from a much grater height. Of all the lands that I have wandered it is second in beauty only to Rivendell. It lies near to the Ephel Duath but it is not marred by their shadow, many times have wandered through Ithilien scouting the enemies movements, but I always linger longer than I aught and I am loth to leave it when I must. It is a rolling land which in spring is filled with the sweet scents of the trees, and all the while you are within earshot of the streams as they make their way to the Anduin and these make a simple music which can gladden the heart of any who hear it.”

[piosenniel]

Iris

Now it was Iris’ turn to scold herself. He didn’t seem the rude clodhopper she’d first thought him when she’d looked up to see him eyeballing her.

Stars above! She glanced down at the crumbles of garden dirt still clinging to the hem of her skirt. Gathering it up a bit she noted the smudges on her knees and the faint dusting of soil along her shins. And her hands, they were grimy with dirt despite her having brushed them together before she’d stood up. Not a wonder he’d gawked! What a sight she must be!! Lucky you didn’t scare the poor fellow!!

Replacing the earlier scowl with what she hoped was a friendly, though not overly encouraging smile, Iris sailed past Tolly, nodding her head somewhat as she did so.

‘It’s Mistress Puddifoot,’ she said, turning to face him as he entered the kitchen after her. ‘Iris Puddifoot.’ She pulled her handkerchief out of her apron pocket and wiped off as much dirt from her hands as she could.

Iris let her gaze drift round the kitchen. It seemed somewhat bedraggled. No wonder the garden is in such a sad state! she tsk’d to herself.

‘Where’s the Cook?’ she wondered aloud. ‘Be glad to lend her a hand with the garden while I’m here.’

[Galadriel55]

The man introduced himself. He said that his business in the Shire was “researching”, whatever that meant. The closest word Al has ever heard was “search”, so he assumed that Master Hamwill’s first search was fruitless and he had to do it again. But what could be so important that a man from Bree would travel to the Shire – a thing almost unheard of - just to look for it? Al couldn’t hide his annoyance and disapproval this time. However, the man didn’t seem to notice, and went on about his travels.

“There was a farmer nearby who told me a good bit about mushrooms. He had horses the size of hounds - er, hounds the size of horses - too." Now this is something more or less familiar. That must be old Farmer Maggot – who else could have dogs the size of horses? But there is something odd about this whole thing. Either the man is exaggerating, or I have not known Maggy! Him, giving away his mushroom secrets?! He’d rather swim down the Withywindle! Al accounted the confusing part about horses and dogs for the man’s queerness and lack of hobbit common sense (hobbit, because men simply didn’t have it). If he would ever have seen a real horse in his life, he’d take the last part with skepticism as well.

Some disbelief must have shown on Al’s face, because Hamwill stopped talking. After a small pause, he added, “In any case, if you are from Brandy Hall, would you mind talking?”

At that point, Al’s head almost exploded with curses, retorts, questions, and outrage. Unfortunately, they couldn’t all come out of his mouth at the same time no matter how much he tried (which was very lucky, because the tome that the man was holding looked pretty heavy). He even turned a bit red from the effort. After a few moments he finally choked out of himself a politely-worded but rude-sounding reply: “Talking about what, Master Hamwill?”

[xMellrynxMaidenx]

A picture began painting itself inside of Aeron's head; climbing, scented woods dominated the lands before them; the gentle, sloping lands rolled out like large earthen carpets; the refreshing streams flowing over rocks to meet the rushing Anduin. The young Ranger could even hear the water and smell the wood from the trees as Arandon had described. Aeron had a distant look in her eyes, telling those who looked at her that she wasn't there; not mentally anyways. Aeron would have remained in her reverie had it not been for the sound of a hobbit's voice mingled in with the other sounds of the Inn. Her cheeks colored pink when she looked back to Arandon, offering him a sheepish smile.

"Forgive me, Master Ranger, I was envisioning what Ithilien would look like. Please, tell me more." She paused, though quickly added,"if you do not mind, that is."

[Flame of Udûn]

Arandon saw the ranger drift off as he spoke but her question at the end puzzled him, there was little more to tell of Ithilien since no people lived there and other than himself he knew of none save the rangers of Ithilien who ever went into the land, he had heard of there hidden refuges he had never seen any. He wondered if she may have wanted him to talk of his own travels there or of other lands but he decided to finish his description.

"I have been somewhat untruthful in my description of Ithilien for while most of the land is free from shadow there is one place that is now totaly consumed by it, Minas Morgul. The Valley around it has become a place of great evil where few would dare to tread and fewer still would return, the Morgulduin which flows down the valley is poisoned, its waters do not sing as the others do, it is in discord with the rest of the land and has an foul smell which comes from the white flowers which are the only vegetation that grows there, it is a place I prefer not to speak of."