The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

TIME IN THE SHIRE

It is now early evening.

The skies are clear, no more rain.

Cook will soon be putting the finishing touches on supper.

~*~ Pio

[peral]

Sharya made her way down to the kitchens. The sky outside was darkening and she smiled when she noticed the lack of any rain. She needed to find the innkeeper, what was her name again? Aman or something. Yes, surely there was some hard labour that they could offer her for a meal or something small. She didn't know what customs they had here or how they would respond towards her just out of the blue asking for a job, but she had to try. She touched her money pouch again and felt the few lowly coppers that jingled in it still. Yes, she needed money and fast.

She needed to find the innkeeper, but where would the innkeeper be? She touched Ruby on the shoulder gently and when the girl turned around she asked, "Could you tell me where to find the innkeeper?"

Ruby looked slightly taken aback, but nonetheless answered promptly, "I do believe Miss Aman would be in the kitchens now, at least, that's where I last saw her." Sharya thanked Ruby and quickly headed to where the girl was pointing.

The kitchen was clean and Sharya began changing her previous opinion on the state of the area where food was prepared in bars and inns. She could find no apparent fault in the cleanliness of this kitchen. She saw Aman standing in the corner.

She approached her and being met with a questioning look, tentatively asked, "I was wondering, if it was possible, if I could possibly find some sort of work." Then seeing the look on Aman's face she quickly added, "I can do any sort of work, just need to tell me to do it and show me how to."

Aman looked at her thoughtfully. "Perhaps if Ms Bunce," she said indicating the cook, "has anything that she needs or wants help with. But you'll have to ask her yourself."

Sharya took a deep breath and swallowed a few times before approaching the cook who was watching over a colossal pot of food, no doubt the dinner that would be served soon in the Common Room, that she herself would most likely partake of later that evening.

"Ms Bunce, I was wondering, if you had anything that I could help with, for perhaps a meal or two," the words came out in a huge rush, and she could only stand back and wait for an answer.

It had been long since he last visited the Shire, and the Green Dragon Inn. Too long, he thought and slowed down his white horse as he came closer. A local farmer waved to him as he passed with a great smile. "Always welcoming every stranger with joy, no thought of what the person brings to them." He said to himself smiling politely back to farmer and nodding.

He had been riding all day, and was for the time being quite tired after the long trip. Isilmë passed the old stables, where of course merry old Meriadoc stood feeding the other steeds in the stables. "Isilmë, is it?" Meriadoc said, with a quite susprised tone in his voice. Apparently not expecting Isilmë to return. Isilmë confirmed the question with a nod. "Take good care of him, he is meaning a lot to me." Isilmë said smiling, then handing over the reins to Meriadoc. He nodded and took the white steed to an empty stall. Isilmë nodded and thanked Meriadoc and then went out and over to the Inn building.

The door creaked friendly when he opened the wooden door to the Inn, the creaking sound drawed a lot of gazes over at him and Isilmë nodded to them. He slowly made his way over to the counter. He leaned casually against it, clearing his throat.
"Miz?" He asked carefully. The hobbit lass swiftly turned smiling at him.

"Yes, Master Elf?" She said so politely, that Isilmë almost blushed.

"I wish to have an ale, thank you." Isilmë said smiling back, glad to meet so many warm greeters after his long abscene.

The hobbit lass nodded and took up a pint and poured up some ale in it from a barrel. "Here you go Master Elf." She said and handed the mug of ale over to him, and the pointed over to another counter. "Go over there if you plan to stay for the night, dont be too late, or there will be no rooms left."

Isilmë nodded and decided to first drink his ale before consulting regarding a room for the night. He glanced around him slightly, while sipping his ale standing a corner. I guess none of them recognizes me, and I have to admit, that I dont recognize them either, he thought and then sighing.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Having finished the dishes and escaped from under Cook's watchful eye, Aman emerged into the Common Room in a cloud of delicious smelling steam, whistling quietly as she wiped her hands on a rag cloth, looking around the room. Catching the eye of an elf at the bar, she smiled politely, nodding amiably at him. The elf looked slightly surprised and smiled back before retreating bashfully behind the pint that Ruby had handed him. Aman grinned and passed an eye quickly over the patrons of the Inn, many of them hobbits gathered for a quiet evening drink, although the Inn's usual, more travelled customers remained, as usual. Her gaze brushed over them and, not to her surprise, she noted that Snaveling had slipped away once more. But her sigh and frown only lasted for an instant: the things he had told her...it was alot to take in, she supposed. There would be ample time to muse on all of that later - for now, she had spent enough business time on Snaveling.

But despite the notable absence of one man, the appearance of another caught Aman's attention, but for no real reason that she could determine: a man of fairly average build, seated with her back to her, but with light, blonde streaked hair that spoke of Rohan, one of Aman's own land. Something about the way he was speaking, the tilt of his head as he inclined it to the dwarf seated opposite him, seemed oddly familiar to Aman, but she couldn't quite place why. Still, the evening was young: she ws sure to be able to wangle some excuse to check over his face before the night was out. For now, there were other matters to deal with: business as usual.

Striding over to the bar, Aman smiled warmly at the elf who she had exchanged a smile with a moment earlier and slipped behind the bar, stowing her rag behind it. Taking the man's now redundant and empty glass, she re-filled it and slid it across the bar back to him. "Good evening, sir, how can I help you?"

The elf gave a quick, slightly nervous laugh, raising his glass. "You already did - thank you. Could I get a room for the night, please?"

"Of course." The Innkeeper took the logbook from underneath the bar and pointed out where the man should sign for the night, firstly in whichever language he preferred and secondly in the Common Tongue - although Aman was a dapper hand at Quenya and fairly proficient at Silvan, it was easier to keep a common denominator in which all names were signed: it became somewhat wearing trying to decipher dwarvish runes when a customer tried to duck payment.

Aman's eyes flickered once more to the blond man, biting her lip as the familiarity of his mannerisms tugged at the edge of her mind. Why was he so familiar?! The new customer cleared his throat quietly and, startled, Aman looked back down to his face, then at the logbook, trying to decipher the angular, upside down elvish runes. Isilmë. As the elf signed off his name in the Common Tongue, Aman turned the logbook back around and signed her name in the space, then grinned at Isilmë, handing him a chunky wooden key in the shape of a dragon. "Welcome to the Green Dragon, Isilmë. May I get you anything else?"

While leaning against the counter, staring out in the crowd of people sitting eating, drinking, talking someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and noticed that Aman stood there, smiling gently towards him. He got his mug refilled with more ale and he smiled to her.

"Do you wish to have a room for the night?" Aman asked, smiling politely to him.

Isilmë nodded and thought that it would be best to have it overwith now, so it was done and he didnt have to bother anymore. He signed the logbook and was given a beautiful key, in the shape of a dragon.

Isilmë smiled back at Aman and examined the key he had been given. Interesting key indeed, he thought and put it safely away in his pocket. "Thank you, miz." He said and half-bowed, as much as he could actually, before he would hit his head in the counter. "And no thank you, I am just fine for now." Isilmë added while nodding, catching Amans gaze that slightly looked away in another direction. He looked where she did and noticed that she was staring at a man with blonde hair, standing with the back against her.

"Is everything allright, miz?" Isilmë said after a quite long time of silence between them.

"I'm fine, just fine." Aman replied quickly and looked back at Isilmë again.

Isilmë smiled and took another sip of his newly refilled ale. "So, do you have any news to tell?" Isilmë said again after a while, now finished his ale and handed Aman the mug. She put it away with a few other mugs that required dishing and then turned back to Isilmë.

"News you say?" Aman looked like she was thinking of something, and Isilmë awaited her reply. As it had been long since he last was here, he was very curious to know what had happened while he was away.

[Tevildo]

Camille stood in the kitchen of the Inn energetically scrubbing a stack of dishes in a large tub of soapy water that Ruby had provided for her. When Camille had returned to the Dragon late that afternoon, Cook had given her a list of chores for the evening and said that she could ask Ruby or Buttercup for help if she encountered any special difficulties.

So far there had been no difficulties. Camille sang softly to herself as she did her chores, all the while reflecting on the events that had happened earlier that day. She had thanked Mithalwen for her offer of help and said that she would be most grateful if the Elf could assist in bringing her brother Rory up to the Dragon later that evening. Camille was actually delighted with this idea. If Mithalwen carried Rory, not only would this make it easier for Falco, but it would give her mother and Falco additional time to talk by themselves, which is just what Camille had hoped would happen. Perhaps Falco would even take her mother gently by the arm and guide her down the muddy path to be certain that she did not slip.

With everything settled so nicely, Camille had scurried off to her mother's burrow and explained what was happening, leaving out the parts about the dress in the bag or how she hoped that her Ma would get along nicely with Mister Falco. Hearing what was to happen, her mother had done some quick stitching and cutting so that her own spare dress would fit Camille. "Can't have you starting work at the Inn looking like a hooligan, can we now?" Her mother had listened with interest when Camille told her what was to happen later that evening and had laughed with approval, "Such a resourceful young lass! Doing a bit of laundry for a guest at the Inn is a good idea. Yes, if one of your friends can help Rory, we'll wait for them to come here and then walk together to the Inn for a little dinner. An evening out would be a rare treat." With the assurance that Rory and her mother would be joining her at the Dragon, Camille had trotted back to the Inn and reported to Cook for work.

Just as she finished scrubbing and rinsing the last of the dishes and platters, Buttercup hurried in and handed Camille a large sack of carrots and onions and another of mushrooms with instructions to clean and pare them. "Cook already has a stew simmering," Buttercup explained, "but it looks as if we're in for a big crowd tonight. We'll need an extra mushroom pie or two, and a pot of carrots cooked in butter. Just work on these vegetables and give them to Cook as soon as you finish." Camille immediately set to work with the cleaning and chopping, while keeping one eye on the Common Room to see when her mother and brother would arrive.

[piosenniel]

Sharya finds herself helping out . . .

‘Ms Bunce, I was wondering, if you had anything that I could help with, for perhaps a meal or two . . .’

The words had come out of the woman’s mouth in such a rush and tumble that Cook almost asked her to repeat herself. Instead, she just said, ‘Slow down, Miss! These old ears can’t listen as quickly as your tongue can wag!’ Cook looked the woman up and down, and decided she looked able enough. She directed her over to where Camille was just starting to clean off the carrots and mushrooms that Buttercup had brought in.

‘You can help Camille, here, get the carrots chopped in nice thick rounds and put into this big pot to be set to boil.’ Cook took down one of the mid sized kettles and put it on the table. ‘Now mind you don’t boil them to mush. They need to have some gumption left in them when we serve them with butter.’ Next, she showed them the seven big pie plates she had lined with pastry. ‘I’ll be wanting the mushrooms and onions sliced thin and layered in the pie pans . . . heaped up just a bit above the rims. Once you’re done, I’ll dot them with butter, put the top crust on and pop them in the oven.’

She got out some large cutting boards and knives for Camille and Sharya and giving Sharya an apron to put on, bade them hop to it.

[Envinyatar]

Supper for the hungry woodcutters . . .

‘Good work, men!’ Derufin leaned on his long handled splitting maul and surveyed the stack of split firewood and the sawn logs still to be split and some done further into kindling. A good half-day’s work on the morrow and the Inn would be set for several months. Denegal had gathered up the saws and Benat the axes, and both men were now putting them on the cottage porch, in readiness for the next day’s work.

Zimzi had brought out a large towel for each of them and a cake of soap to be shared. ‘Wash up at the pump,’ she directed the three. ‘I’ll just fetch my cloak, then, and we can go over to the Dragon.

The full supper crowd had not shown up yet, so they were able to take a table near the fire. Zimzi fetched them a pitcher of ale and three mugs and a mug of cider for herself. Derufin offered round his pouch of Old Toby and soon there was a spiral of sweet smelling smoke wreathing the heads of the three men. Ginger stopped by the table asking if she might take their orders. Supper was nearly ready . . . stewed coney, mushroom pie, buttered carrots, crusty bread with sweet cream butter.

Derufin looked hopefully at Ginger, who grinned impishly back at him. Zimzi looked from one to the other, her brows raised, a small smile dimpling her cheeks. ‘And spice cake with lots of plump raisins and thick, vanilla icing for dessert . . . just as Cook promised, Mister Derufin!’ Ginger said, laughing.

Everyone gave their order, then settled back comfortably to enjoy the hum and buzz of the Inn and the pleasure of each other’s company.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik and Uien found Denegal with Derufin and a very big man with whom the first two seemed quite friendly. They sat at an empty table.

"There you are, Denegal!" said Uien, and turned to Derufin. "Good day to you, Master Derufin. How does married life suit you?"

"Well enough, you can be sure," the man beamed back.

"'Tis no surprise, but I am glad to hear it." She glanced at the big man. "Good day to you. I am Uien of Lorien, and this is Falowik Stonewort of Bree."

"Well met," the man smiled. "I am Benat.

Falowik stepped forward. "We have a small gift for Denegal." He produced a brand new pair of leather boots. Nothing fancy to look at, but sturdy and well made they were. Denegal's eyes widened. "Try them on, Denegal!" Falowik held them out.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had gone with Mr Headstrong to Camille's house (Marigold had been well enought to be left briefly under the kindly watch of the inn staff), and having briefly examined Rory in the privacy of his own home she had born him back to the inn. She had considered taking the gentle Aeglos, but she knew that Falco was unlikely to approve of her letting any hobbit child ride any horse so soon aftwer Marigold's accident. Besides the distance was short and the frail child was a slight burden to the elf.

"Can you help him miss?" , the mother had asked, not quite believing that her humble home had been visited by this exotic being. Mithalwen found it strange to be treated with such awe - amongst her own people she was quite unremarkable and the last time she had spent much time with mortals it had been Numenoreans of the generation of Elendil and his sons, who were not fazed by the mere presence of the Eldar.

"I would speak with another of my kindred back at the inn before, I say for certain - but I think I may be able to help even if if I cannot heal". The boy was not paralysed, but his limbs were weak and slightly distorted. Mithalwen hoped that maybe with calipers and strengthening exercise Rory might be able to walk, maybe in time even the limbs might take a better alignment as they grew - but that was what she needed to consult Uien about - the healer would have a better idea of mortal development. Mithalwen knew she could construct the braces - if the smith would lend her his forge ... or rent it to her. She sighed. Although she had some tools with her, she hadn't the right materials and these would have to be paid for: another unexpected expense. Now only she begrudged that wastrel Snaveling the meals she had bought him. It was clear that the boy's family would be hard pressed to pay for the iron and leather she would require.

Maybe the smith would let her pay in kind. Though he could shoe horses well enough himself she knew and she doubted that these rustic folk would have a call for the fine work she excelled at, but she perhaps should try. Either that or she would have to take measurements to Rivendell and the boy wait for her return. That would not be ideal - for such things need to be tailored precisely to the owner with many fittings. That would take time and to prolong her stay at the inn would also cost money. If necessary she could camp she supposed, like Uien and Falowik. She had some silver wire in her baggage - maybe if she made some jewellery she might find some buyers - just simple items that would not stretch a hobbit purse too far and would make enough pennies to finance her stay. It was a possibility at least.

Such were the elf's thoughts as she returned the inn. She was glad that Mr Headstrong and the boy's mother had occupied each other in conversation during the journey, and that Rory was still too much in awe to ask as many questions as his sister. Though the damp day had faded into a clear evening (Mithalwen thought briefly and slightly ruefully that it would have been a good night for travelling, had she not let herself get involved in the plight of various mortals), nevetheless the light and warmth emanating from the fires and lanterns of the inn were welcome - especially to the hobbit child who stirred with excitement as he saw them. The elf had noticed how much colder the family's home had been - it did not bother her much but she knew that such things affected mortals more.

The common room was a lot fuller than when they had left both with local hobbit folk and it seemed some new travellers. Mithalwen was pleased to see Uien and having placed Rory gently in the windowseat that marigold was happy to share. She went over to the table where she sat with Falowik and another mortal man. She greeted Them all openly but saved the details of her mission for silent communication with Uien "Uien, you are a healer , may I have your counsel...?"

[Nurumaiel]

Though Falco did not show it, he was very annoyed, and even slightly angry. He was angry with himself, for having ever relented as much as he did to the Elf, but he was angrier with her. His mood, which had been improving, had once again grown sullen and grumpy. When he had arrived at the home where Camille dwelt with her family, and seen small Rory looking from one to the other, unable to walk, he had felt his heart go out to the boy, and had blessed Camille for giving him the task of bringing her brother home. And then that Elf had taken two long strides and lifted up the boy in her arms without a word. It was more than Falco could bear. He wanted to carry little Rory to the Inn. Camille had asked him to do it.

There was no doubt in his mind that, if he were a little boy feeling so grievously wronged and going to his mother for consolation, she would have looked at him with a gentle little smile, saying: "Now, Falco, don't you think that is just a wee bit ridiculous?" Perhaps she would think so, and perhaps they would all think so, but to him it was no small matter. He had wanted to carry that frail little body up to the Inn. It was partly because Camille had asked him, Falco Headstrong, to do it, and he had agreed, but it was more because of his constant longing to help the little weak things. That longing would have merely made him regret that he had not moved to help before the Elf, but he experienced anger rather than regret, because he felt he should have been the one. He had been asked.

Conversation with Rory's mother had helped him refrain from his sour looks towards the Elf, but even that pleasant conversation had been a slight wear on his nerves. He could not casually converse, but he was compelled to cautiously converse. He wanted to say nothing of his plans for helping the family, for fear of making her stiffen at the thought of receiving 'charity.'

When they arrived at the Inn he was pleased to see that, after placing Rory next to Marigold on the window-seat, the Elf left. Now Falco would take full advantage of the situation. He would make up for having his duty stolen from him. He would sit by Rory, talk to Rory, play with Rory, and he would not leave Rory's side for the rest of the evening. He would make sure he was always there first to attend to Rory, even if it meant he had to scamper like a hare to match the Elf's long, graceful steps. Come to think of it... that Elf had stopped him from helping that Big Folk fellow by helping him herself. Would she never let him, Falco Headstrong, show an act of kindness? Was she so jealous of letting others be kind?

"It's not me," he muttered viciously, crushing the thought that flashed through his mind. "I'm not in the least jealous of the kind things she has done. If she went and did something of her own accord I would be very pleased that she had done so. But she has only ever stepped in front of me to do what I had already offered and agreed to do."

"Now, Falco, don't you think that is just a wee bit ridiculous?" came a gentle voice, echoing softly from his past.

He grit his teeth, and before going to the window-seat to sit with Rory and Marigold, muttered: "No, Mother, I don't."

[Envinyatar]

‘I have heard,’ said Derufin, leaning toward Benat, ‘that you hail from north up the Anduin. I’ve never been farther north on that river than Minas Tirith.’ He drew his index finger through the puddle of condensation left on the wooden surface of the table by his mug. ‘It’s a wide river there, with some swift currents that run in the middle channels. But for the most part it runs lazily down to the bay between widening banks. What is it like, further north . . . much the same?’

Zimzi drew her chair closer to Derufin’s. She too was eager to know about the place where such a giant of a man hailed. She had come from Lindon, and Bywater was the furthest east she had ever come. Derufin leaned back in his chair putting his arm about her shoulders and pulling her near in a comfortable embrace. She snuggled in against him, her dark eyes on Benat’s face. ‘Is there a Missus at home?’ she asked, thinking how lucky a woman would be to have such a strong, gentle man with such merriment in his eyes. ‘Someone waiting for your return?’

[Huan]

Anyopâ came down the stairs from his room, pausing on the landing before taking the final flight. The smoke and heat from the common room crept up the steps; it curled about his boots, and he felt as if he stood on the summit of some mountain, its head peeking just above the wispy clouds.

He had taken a short nap during the afternoon, rousing from sleep as his room darkened with the westering sun. Someone of the servants had kindly left him a pitcher of water and a towel and wash cloth. He’d laved his hands and face, running his fingers through his dark hair as he drew it back from his face and tied it with a leather thong. Refreshed, he had put on a clean linen tunic, drawing over it a plain, dark leather vest. His large pack he left on his bed, but in his smaller rucksack he stashed his chapbook, pen and ink. On his belt hung a small leathern pouch and into it he put a handful of coin. He hoped to make the acquaintance of one or two of the others staying at the Inn. He was interested in learning about other places and peoples.

Near the fireplace, he spied the tall, large man he had seen earlier in the common room. He was now seated at a table with several others. A man and woman . . . married, he thought; another man, speaking with one of the Fair Folk and a yellow haired fellow who stood by her side. The yellow haired man had a pair of new leather boots in his hands and had given them to the other fellow, who in turn was now trying them on. And now another one of the Fair Folk, another lady, had approached the first Elf and was speaking with her. It was an altogether interesting mix of people . . . or so it seemed to him.

Descending to the floor of the common room, Anyopâ stopped one of the servers he had met earlier in the day – Ginger, he recalled. A short conversation with her and a quiet request brought him soon to the table by the fireplace. She introduced him, saying he was a newcomer to the Dragon and to the Shire, and would they be so kind as to make room for him at their table.

He bowed slightly as he was introduced, placing one hand lightly on the back of an unoccupied chair. ‘With your permission,’ he said. ‘I would very much enjoy sharing your company for the evening meal.’

[samsmyhero]

Denegal had worked with a good spirit all the afternoon, enjoying the comradery with which hard manual labor can endow a group of strangers, fast now becoming friends. By evening, they had accomplished more than was to be expected and they headed off to the inn for a well deserved rest and supper. Denegal had stopped long enough at the stable to ascertain that Falowik and Uien had left, the stall in which they had been working tidied up and the tools gone. Perhaps they have taken themselves off for a break and a moment alone, Denegal thought to himself. He was brimming with pleasure at the thought of the new boots. His slippers, now much begrimed and with a tear in one toe, leaving it dangling in a woe-begone fashion, would not take much abuse as work shoes. They were meant for finer things! He smiled to himself as he thought of the assuredly once proud owner sashaying around in them.

Derufin and Zimzi played host to Benat and Denegal, and the four made a merry party as they ordered their food and then had a relaxing smoke, at least the men. Denegal had not had much experience with pipeweed, it still being somewhat of a luxury in Minas Tirith, and even scarcer in the southern provinces where he had grown up. But the scent was pleasant, even if he felt the need to cough. He was just settling down to it, when Falowik and Uien appeared.

Jumping up from the table, Denegal nearly upset Benat’s mug of ale. Cullen, who had wrapped his enormous frame as best he could around his master’s feet under the table, gave a start and whined inquiringly as to the cause for the commotion. “It’s alright boy!” Denegal said cheerfully. “They’re my friends.” Cullen thumped his tail expectantly, thinking they might be the bearers of a nice bowl of that delicious smelling coney stew. Denegal himself had a similar air of expectancy, and he stared intently at the two.

Falowik and Uien apparently had the acquaintance of the groundskeeper and his wife - his new wife from the sound of things. As Uien proceeded to introduce herself and Falowik to Benat, Denegal was practically hopping from foot to foot, wondering about the boots. But he politely waited until greetings were exchanged all around. Falowik, sensing the young man’s impatience, was tempted to drag things out even longer. However, seeing the moist sheen of Denegal’s eyes, indeed like a dog awaiting a bone, he took pity on him, and, stepping forward announced “We have a small gift for Denegal.” He pulled the boots from behind his back and held them out. “Try them on, Denegal.”

A wide smile split Denegal’s face, as he sat and quickly removed the outrageous slippers from his feet. Lovingly, he ran his hands over the supple leather of the boots and then placed them on the floor. He slipped first one then the other onto his feet. They fit perfectly! He grinned up at Falowik and Uien, who smiled back. “Perfect! They’re perfect!” he proclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of those seated nearby. “How can I ever thank you?” Denegal stood and strode several paces, feeling the fit and give of the leather. Coming back to the table, he gripped Falowik’s hand and gave it a mighty shake. “Thank you, friend! And you, Uien.” He turned to the gracious elf, and then hesitated, not knowing if it were proper to shake her hand. Sensing his uncertainty, Uien smiled at him and stepped forward, giving him a warm hug. “It was our pleasure, to help you out. And I still expect to hear a tale this evening.”

Denegal was completely flabbergasted at this unexpected embrace. Falowik smiled to himself, completely understanding the young man’s confusion. “We enjoyed the making of them. It is good to be able to work with the hands, creating something out of nothing. They are not fancy, but they will wear well and should last a good while.” He clapped his hand on Denegal’s shoulder. “Now, Uien, shall we order some supper?”

“Well, young man, seems you have acquired some new footwear. And Cullen here has adopted the old!” Benat chuckled and pointed under the table. All looked and saw the dog resting his huge head on the worn slippers as if on a down pillow.

“He’s most welcome to them!” Denegal laughed. “I daresay they’re more fit for a dog than a man.”

[littlemanpoet]

Uien and Falowik had just settled down at table with Derufin, Zimzi, Denegal and Benat, when Mithalwen came up to them with a pleasant greeting for all; but Uien heard in her mind the thought of the Elf-woman of Lindon.

Uien, you are a healer , may I have your counsel...?

Uien nodded to Mithalwen, rose and excused herself, and followed her across the Common Room to a pair of young hobbit folk sitting in a window seat, with a grown up hobbit who was scowling mighitly at the two Elf-women as they approached. The little hobbit lass was as cute as a button, and the boy would have been in boyish fashion except for his weak and bent legs. Uien's heart went out to him. Then the grown up hobbit's thoughts raged loudly within range of her perception.

Falco Headstrong, you are jealous of the Elf woman and you know it. It's not me, I'm not in the least jealous of the kind things she has done. If she went and did something of her own accord I would be very pleased that she had done so. But she has only ever stepped in front of me to do what I had already offered and agreed to do. Now, Falco, don't you think that is just a wee bit ridiculous? No, Mother, I don't.

Uien sent her thought to Mithalwen. There is more healing to be done here than one pair of legs. Mithalwen nodded, a little wide-eyed at the not so well disguised rage of Falco.

"Hello, Marigold," Uien said. "I remember you from yesterday, so curious about marriage. Did you get all your questions answered?"

"No, but I will!"

Uien laughed. "Hello, Rory. Would you like some help from us, and Mr. Headstrong here, to see if we can help make your legs stronger?"

He nodded shyly, and Uien smiled warmly, holding her tears of sympathy back with all her will. She turned to the irascible hobbit with the good heart.

"Good day to you, Mr. Falco Headstrong. I am Uien of Lorien."

"Hullo," he said curtly, suspicion in his eye.

"I have been known to help a few folk who were ill, to become well again."

"Rory's not sick," Falco protested, "he just cannot walk."

Uien nodded. "I think it admirable that you want to help Rory. I would like to also, and so would Mithalwen. Do you think there is some way the three of us might work together to do that?"

[Sett]

Galither was about to begin the story as he had the finest pipe weed in the land and all the ale he could want but there was something missing. He needed some atmosphere to give him motivation to tell the two hobbits the story so he asked them if they wanted to go inside.

“Its rather quiet out here you mind if we go inside as it is more cosy in there?” Galither asked

“Okay I think it would be nice to hear the rest of your story in a relaxing environment” Replied Hamfast

The three of them then grabbed their ale and walked into the inn. It was now livelier than before and anyone could tell that it was evening by the merry atmosphere of the hobbits and men inside. Much laughter spread across the room as Galither scanned the room searching for a seat for the three of them. He noticed a lone table in the corner of the room. It was darker than the other seats but they had no choice if they wanted a whole table to themselves.

They sat down, Galither on his own and the two hobbits sat in the opposite side of the table. Galither was still chugging on the pipe weed as it passed through his lungs with such softness that it did not feel as brisk as the usual pipe weed he smokes.

“We were invited back to our kinsmen home for the nights shelter before we continued north. It was a cosy little village far east from here. The inn there was very lively. The women were very elegant as they almost floated around handing out the ale to the rough and scraggly looking men that sat in each booth. They really made you feel like a king while you were there. The finest meat we had ever tasted was cooked nice and medium for my bitter taste buds. We feasted all night until our belts felt tight on our stomach.

Later that night we were treated to dancing in the town centre. The lantern that was producing the light for everyone was immense. No one slept that night for they all drank for victory that day against the hordes of goblins that emerged from the darkness in northern moria. We sat up and gazed at the stars without a care in the world. It felt so calm. I had more inner peace than I ever hoped to achieve. Falmir spilt all four pints over my clean trench coat; he was that unaware of his surroundings. I think he was really enjoying himself even though he puts on a façade most of the time.

We woke up the next morning in the very centre of the town. We had become so drunk that we feared for what we may have got up to. The maids that were clearing the place up were giving giggles to each other at the sight of the men.

“What did we do last night?” Falmir asked

The three of us all gave each other looks of emptiness for none of them knew what had gone on that night. We thought that our best plan of action would be to sneak off early to allow things to die down. Then we would be able to return in a few days after their current mission and find out just what we did.

We swiftly gathered all our belongings and scampered down the pathway to the north track towards the destination. It took a few hours until we reached a rather green hill. No flowers could be found here it was completely flat. Upon reaching the top of this hill however we become knowledgeable of why this was so. Another skirmish was taking place down the other side of this hill. No humans were here this time though as it were two rival goblins starting a fight upon each other. We strafed around the violence trying not to be noticed as this was going to be very incontinent if we were to get caught. Silently we crept along the heath avoiding all branches and folly that could make noise for if the goblins were to be alerted of our presence then we would surely suffer a fate without mercy.

It was successful; we made the destination without a scratch. It was absolutely beautiful. We stood in awe over this glimpse of heaven. Never before had such purity been coexistent with the world. It felt like something unearthly for such beauty cannot survive in such horrors that corrupt this world surely.

Well there we have it the mission was complete. They stayed there merely to behold the beauty that the item offered until removing themselves from the place and continued back to Gondor. Along their way back they again passed the village they stayed at before.”

Galither was interrupted by Hamfast who was running low on ale and implored Galither to take a break so that he could fill himself up with the good stuff again.

Galither lit up more pipe weed to give him the motivation to finish the story. When Hamfast returned to the booth with the drinks Galither was preparing to continue once again.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon was surprised by the dwarf's words. "My dreams are mere children dreams. Nothing more nothing less." Jon looked down at his mug. Empty he thought to himself. "If you will excuse me I am in need of a refill. Can I get you one while I'm at it?" Jon wanted to pull the hood back over his head but didn't cause he didn't know whether or not he would see Aman. The dwarf nodded his head and Jon picked up the other mug and headed for the bar. "News you say.."Jon thought he head a very familar voice. Jon turned to see an elf setting at the bar talking to Aman.

Jon thought about going on back to the table and forget about the ale. But his throat was dry and no doubt that the dwarf's was too. "Excuse me... I really do hate to barge in on your conversation...But could I get a refill." Jon looked at the inn keeper a smile across his face. He turned to the elf, gently nodding his head.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline followed John with his eyes. As he seemed to interrupt another conversation, a slight feeling of curiosity began to come over him. Avalon noted this and fluttered upon his shoulder. Dwaline glanced at her and she saw a small glint in his eye. Almost as if he was formulating a plan of action.

Avalon whispered something into his ear and Dwaline nodded. John tarried by the bar for a while, before Dwaline called over, "John, ask for the strongest stuff they have." Dwaline smirked as John cocked his head to the left and then shrugged.

[Nurumaiel]

Why, she acted as if she could read his mind. And that wasn't right. Of course, she couldn't... but if she could, it wasn't right. Falco had seen enough of old maid hobbits prowling around into other people's business, and what would happen if they could prowl into other people's minds? Was his face so very expressive that this new Elf woman could read his thoughts? It was annoying. He looked at the ground to keep his face hidden from further mistakes of expression.

It was an unfair question, that's what it was. "I don't mind them helping," he thought, colour mounting to his cheeks as he reflected on how honest he was about to be with himself, "but I want to be able to take care of the poor little lad. I never had any children of my own, though I always wanted them. It was my delight to take care of Marigold, but it would be wonderful to take care of a boy like Rory who will someday be a fine, upright young laddie. It helps me to pretend that I do have little sons and daughters of my own." The crimson spread further on his cheeks. That was so sentimental. How in all the Shire could he actually say that to all of them aloud, if just thinking made him feel so humiliated? And if he didn't say that, what else could he say? No, thank you very much... that would never do. Yes, thank you! would be just as bad. They would think they could continue to shove him around. They were so much taller and all that, and it was easy to brush him aside to tend to the poor hurt little children themselves. And they were so much taller than he that they wouldn't be able to see how much he wanted to take care of the children himself.

"I... don't... know..." he managed to stutter out. It sounded odd, but what more could he say? Neither yes nor no was the proper answer, the answer he wanted to make, but the proper answer... he could not say it. He wasn't a crusty old hobbit who couldn't smile for fear of being thought sentimental, but to tell them that... oh, it would be too much. Even the most open of hearts would blush.

"I don't know," he murmured again, and looked in a disappointed fashion at the ground.

[Envinyatar]

‘Please . . . be our guest!’ Derufin pushed back his chair and stood up. He reached out his hand to clasp that of Anyopâ. ‘Yes, welcome,’ said Zimzi, turning to smile at the newcomer. She reached for an empty mug and poured some ale for him, setting it down at the place next to her.

‘We’ve not ordered yet,’ Zimzi continued as Anyopâ sat down. Derufin held out his pouch of pipeweed. ‘Don’t know if you smoke, but if you need a pipe, there’s an extra in the outside pocket.’

Buttercup came to the table with a fresh pitcher of ale. ‘Cook says she’ll stand you lot to three pitchers for the table and dinner all around for the work you’ve put in.’ She cast a look about the table and its occupants. ‘though I doubt she knows the numbers have somehow swollen.’

Derufin gave her his best smile and pulled her to one side. ‘I’ll square it with Cook if there’s a problem. For now just feed my guests and keep their cups filled.’ Buttercup rolled her eyes at him, then laughed, and went back to the kitchen to fetch supper for the table.

As he sat back down, Derufin saw Zimzi had leaned in close to Anyopâ and was looking at something . . .

[Arry]

Ferdy and Aranel

‘Pardon my saying so, Miss,’ said Ferdy, laying his fork down by the side of his plate. ‘But it seems to me as if you’ve barely said enough, not “too much”.’ He handed her his napkin nodding at her tears. ‘No need to salt the soup with them, if you get my meaning.’

He watched as she wiped them away. ‘Seems like you’ve gotten to do what you felt you needed to. So why are you unhappy?' 'If you don’t mind my asking,’ he added hurriedly. He wondered to himself if she was sad because she’d been so long away from her family. He knew that he would be. But then, he reminded himself, his family had always stood solidly behind him.

The face of his Gammer rose up fondly in his mind. She’d pack him a lunch and give him a kiss and a few words of care, saying how she’d always be thinking about him. Then she’d send him off, as would his Da, saying she’d hope to see his face again. It would never happen, though, Ferdy thought; his roots were too firmly planted in the Shire.

‘Do you miss your family, Miz Aranel?’ he asked quietly.

[Huan]

Anyopâ drew back in his chair as Derufin sat down. ‘You have a gracious wife, Master Derufin. And to my delight I find that she bears one of the old names – from Westernesse. A name dear to my heart. Zimzirân; beloved jewel.’ He pushed the chapbook that he and Zimzi had been looking at, across the table to Derufin. He had already given her a very brief tale of where he hailed from, saying that he, too, lived near the sea. In Lond Daer Enedh, still a small harbor for ships.

‘I grew up on the old tales of those who came east from Westernesse. Tales of the men of Númenor and their landing at Vinyalondë. Aldarion and his guild of mariners, the Uinendili. The River Gwathló runs not too far a distance from my family’s home.’ A far away look shone in his eyes. ‘The forests have grown back since they built their harbor there, those Kings of Men. There would be timber aplenty once again for the great ships they built.’ His gaze softened as he recalled himself to the snug warmth of the Common Room. ‘Now only the small merchant vessels who ply their trade up and down the coast stop in at our harbor. And we, that is, I should say my family, have put their hands to other crafts. Fine metal and jewel work.’ He leaned forward, pointing to some of the sketches he had made. ‘Like these . . .’

[Noinkling]

Benat listened with great curiosity as Anyopâ spoke. Precious metals . . . and jewels . . . I wonder if the men of Lond Daer trade with the Dwarves . . . and if they do, where do they go . . . to the Misty Mountains . . . he wondered, beetling his brow. Or were there still Dwarves who dwelt in those mountains far to the west . . . the Blue Mountains . . . yes, that was what they were named.

Cullen stirred at the Beorning’s feet, and Benat put down a hand to scratch his ears and quiet him. Reaching for his mug, he found it empty. Zimzi smiled across the table at him and filled his mug from the pitcher near her. She fell back then to talking with Anyopâ.

The Blue Mountains were not a far distance from the Shire, or so he had heard from the various travelers he had met on his way to Bywater. Often as he could, he would ask about what lay beyond wherever he had camped or stayed for the night. And some were more than willing, for a hot meal and drink, to tell him of places far off they had seen. Benat narrowed his eyes over his mug as he drank and wondered about this new tablemate.

Was he on a buying trip now? he wondered. And if so, would he mind a companion to travel with him . . .

Benat’s eye caught sight of one of the drawings that Derufin was looking at. A pretty little thing . . . a pin . . . gold, in the shape of a bee . . . and set with some many faceted gems for the eyes . . . He has some skill in his hands, this Anyopâ . . .

‘Tell me,’ he spoke aloud, his great voice rumbling into the conversation. The others look up at him expectantly. ‘Do you have any of your finished work with you, Master Anyopâ? And might we see it?’

Others about the table nodded their heads at his request . . .

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling sat in the shadows and watched Aman speaking with the new arrival. He had spent the day by himself pondering the words that he and she had exchanged, going over and over them in his mind. At first, he had been oddly relieved by their conversation as it had finally put the girl to rights as to their relationship, but as the hours had worn on he had become more and more…anxious, was the only word that he could summon. He sat at his table and sipped a slow glass of wine as he worked through their last encounter yet again. As the scene replayed itself this time, however, he paid no attention to the words she had spoken, but focused instead upon something that she had done with her hands, a peculiar manner of holding them in her lap… It was something he had seen her do a number of times before…but had he? That was, he realised, the real sense of his anxiety, for he could not consciously remember seeing the Innkeeper hold her hands in that familiar way, nor – now that he thought of it – tilt her head in that comfortable fashion. The more he thought of it, the more he realised that there had always been something about her that was comfortable, even, almost, recognisable, like the barely heard murmur of an old tune from one’s childhood.

He took another tentative sip of his wine. Mithalwen, whom he had not seen all day, had returned to the Common Room and though he longed to speak with her she was with a large group of folk he did not know, and he little felt ready to the task of introducing himself. His mind drifted once more, back to the rooftop and to the evasive answers he had given his friend about his lack of funds.

He had been hesitant at first to explain, but why he could not have said. “I met a man,” he had explained, “a man who claimed to have information for me – or, more exactly, about me.”

Aman’s eyes had narrowed at his manner. “What kind of information?”

He sighed, reluctant to continue, and again not sure why. “I was married once, long ago,” he said, and he caught Aman’s slight intake of breath. She was angry. “I was very young, and it was not for very long that we were together. My wife was slain…as was our child.”

“Oh, Snaveling, I…I had no idea…” Aman reached out a hand to him, but the shift in their relationship, so jarring and painful and recent, stilled her motion and she fumbled for something in her lap. It was this motion that Snaveling noticed and recognised. He had seen it before. His eyes locked on to her face and he saw in it something that had been there all along, but which he had never noticed before. What is it?

Shaken, he replied to Aman with unusual candour. “As I said, it was a long time ago. I had gone ahead to the winter hunting grounds with my companions to build shelters, and the women and children were coming along after. It is our way. They were ambushed by Dunlanders. None escaped.” He took another deep breath, reluctant to go on to the most painful part. “It took time and many years, but I had come to accept their loss. But the man I spoke of, he claimed to have information about that attack. He claimed that there were survivors of the attack…” he trailed off, and Aman’s eyes grew wide.

“Your wife?”

Shaking his head, he said quietly. “My son.” There was a moment of silence as the wind played about them, carrying their words away into the morning air of the Shire. The sun was still shining and the world was beautiful, but Snaveling could see none of it. “When I was in the King Elessar’s court, the story of my family became known. I believe that there was even a brief song made about it, ‘The Death of the Infant Heir’ it was called, I think. That the lost heir of Numenor should appear was a tale in itself, but when it was revealed that his infant son was slain by wild men of the hills, effectively ending that line, well…the Gondorians, I have found, are a sentimental people.” He managed a wry laugh. “This man I speak of is named Wutan and he came to hear of my story. He set out immediately to speak with me, but I had already left Minas Tirith in search of…to come North. He followed me, seeking me everywhere, and finally he found me at the Prancing Pony. I was just on my way back here from the marshes, and I was seeking comfort and warmth from a pint of ale. He sat across from me and introduced himself, but a more disreputable person I had not seen – not, at least, since I had looked at myself in the mirror when I was still a wandering and houseless vagabond! He told me that he had been servant to a lord of Rohan, and that this lord had taken in a foundling waif who had been taken by the Dunlendings. He claimed, that he could prove that this child was my own son, and that he could give me his name…for a price.

“Elessar had warned me that once my story and wealth were known that there would be many such men as this, and at first I refused to listen. But the more he spoke of the lost child and of the circumstances of his discovery, the more I was compelled to listen. For three days we stayed together at the Pony and I questioned him about his tale in the most particular detail, but never once did his story falter or change, and there was ever in his manner the air of a man telling the truth. He was a cunning and subtle scoundrel, no doubt, but I could see that he believed what he was telling me.

“Still, I would not pay the price he was demanding for the tokens that he spoke of. I told him that information which is bought with gold is as empty as the purse which has paid for it. Seeing that I was resolved he reluctantly produced his proof.” Snaveling reached into the folds of his tunic and produced a small brooch. Aman gasped in recognition, for she instantly saw from the shine of the metal that it was mithril, and it bore upon it a familiar design: a tall crown with seven stars above it.

“That design,” she said wonderingly, “it is the same as your amulet. The token that proved you to be the heir of Numenor!”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is the match to that amulet. Before I left my family, I gave it to Heoll, my wife, to keep in trust for my son for he was but a year old. I demanded of Wutan how he came by it, but he refused to tell me. All he would say was that his lord had taken it from the child and kept it secret, believing it to be an evil device of the Dunlendings. It was the belief of this lord that the child was of Rohan, and that he had been taken by the wildmen as a slave. It was an easy mistake, for my son was like his mother, with hair that shone like straw and eyes as blue as the sky upon a winter’s morning. I believe now that Wutan stole the brooch from his lord when he fled in search of me, but as it is mine by right I took it despite the method of its return. I demanded to know the name and fate of my son, but Wutan demanded money again. I asked how much he wanted, no longer caring, and that was a mistake for he saw my desperation and asked a price so high that in paying it I left myself not only destitute, but in some considerable debt to the Innkeeper Barliman, who agreed to loan me the extra.

“It was a high price to pay for bitter news, for what I heard was little to my liking. He told me that my son had been named Arad by the lord and that he had been raised to think that he was the lord’s natural son. I was wild with hope but Wutan destroyed that like glass when he told me that Arad had gone to war with the Lord Elessar…and that he had fallen before the gates of Minas Tirith.” Snaveling felt a tear slide out of his eye, but he did not brush it away. “I lost my son again in that moment. But…” his voice caught. Aman’s hand reached out to his own and took it up, pressing it to her lips in a kiss. It was not a gesture of passion, but of comfort and friendliness and Snaveling returned it with a grateful look. Aman returned his gaze with a warm smile, like sunshine upon frozen ground.

And his breath had caught in his throat, and his heart had skipped a beat. For in that moment, the expression on the Innkeeper’s face, like so much about her, was as familiar to him as his own countenance, and for the first time he saw it fully. He was stunned that he could have been so blind to it all this time. For in her face he saw the likeness of his wife Heoll looking back at him. The expression of her eyes, the tilt of her head, even the deep and welling sadness came to him as though the years were but a day, and he was once again beholding his beloved bride. The resemblance had terrified him, and rather than continue the conversation he had hurried away, seeking solitude, and hoping that once more the girl’s goodness of heart would forgive him his odd shifts of mood.

As he sat at his table now, looking at Aman and sipping his wine, that moment of seeing his wife in the Innkeeper’s face returned, as did the rest of his conversation with Wutan – the part of the conversation that he had not been able to reveal to Aman. “But that is not the end of your line, Tar-Corondir!” he had said, “Arad did not die without issue; he left behind him a daughter – your grandchild!”

Snaveling had grasped Wutan by the wrist savagely, wringing from the wretch a cry of surprised pain. “Who is she?” he had demanded. “Where can I find her?”

“I do not know!” the man gasped from between clenched teeth. “Not for sure, but she may be nearby. Before I came in search of you I made inquires. Your son’s daughter came north some time ago to visit a friend, but she never returned.”

As Snaveling gazed upon Aman and remembered Wutan’s words, the truth was revealed to him with a thunderbolt. He fell back in his chair, and the wine glass slipped from his hand to shatter upon the floor. The Inn span about his head like a flock of birds, and he knew…he knew…

He had found his granddaughter.

[littlemanpoet]

While Falowik listened to the back and forth between Derufin, Benat, and all the others, quite happy to sit back and listen as he supped a brew, Uien stood before Falco Headstrong, horrified.

She was horrified by her own presumption and paternalism as the thoughts of the hobbit slid by her percipience.

Is my face so very expressive that this new Elf woman can read my thoughts? It is annoying.

Uien turned to Mithalwen and asked her mutely, Have I been that unsubtle? Mithalwen gave the slightest sympathetic shrug, unnoticed by Falco, who was looking at the ground, his face hidden; but not his thoughts. It is an unfair question. I don't mind them helping...

Uien went cold inside. Of course, the poor hobbit was right! It had been the height of arrogance for her to barge in and take charge, treating this hobbit like an inferior, speaking to him as if it had to be obvious that what she thought was right, was indeed the only way that could be. She did not withhold her thought from Mithalwen.

Falco blushed, for he was being more honest with himself than usual. I want to take care of the poor little lad. I never had any children of my own, always wanted them. It was my delight to take care of Marigold, but it would be wonderful to take care of a boy like Rory who will someday be a fine, upright young laddie. It helps me to pretend that I do have little sons and daughters of my own.

Uien laughed inwardly at her own earlier words, "There is more healing to be done here than one pair of legs." Falco needed to be needed. It was a simple thing, really. So wise, Uien, she scolded herself, as if you could possibly know best!

Falco's blush deepened as he accused himself of sentimentality. Now he was wrestling with what words to say, words that would not place him in the very kind of impossible situation that her own words had oh, so wisely, forced upon him! He was intimidated, of course. Who would not be? Uien scolded herself roundly and insisted to herself that she must stop being intimidating.

"I... don't... know..." he stuttered.

Uien was relieved. Wise hobbit. He had given her the only answer left to him that would not put him in virtual servitude to her "elf-knows-best" arrogance.

"I don't know," he murmured again, and stared at the ground.

Uien dropped to her knees before him, so that they were eye to eye. "You are a wise hobbit, Master Headstrong." The hobbit's head came up in surprise. The hobbit lass and lad watched, eyes wide. "I spoke thoughtlessly and placed you in a most difficult position. Forgive me! Mithalwen and I are pilgrims, passing through, and soon on our way. You will always be here with Rory and Marigold. The children look to you, not us. Please, tell us what you would have us do."

[Nurumaiel]

Falco gazed up at the Elf woman in deep amazement, and fumbled about with his hands. He was at a complete loss for words in the face of her kind smile, and he felt upset with himself. What had he said to make her apologise so? He had wanted to see these Elves apologise, but now that this fair lady was... it was not right. She had done nothing wrong. But... how could he say even that?

"I do not know what I would have you do," he faltered, feeling inclined to drop his eyes again, yet unable to take his eyes from her kind face. "Do what you think best for the lad. I know I can do nothing for him but be his friend... but perhaps you can help him more than that."

"Do you think," she said, "that to help restore the use of his legs would be a better help than the love and kindness you will show him?"

He crimsoned at her open use of the words 'love' and 'kindness' in relation to how he felt towards the lad, and at the not at all subtle implication of praise in her words. He could think of nothing to say, but again: "Do what you think best." And then he hurried to sit beside Rory and Marigold before she would say anything further.

Marigold smiled shyly up at him, and when he looked down at her he started momentarily, the vague feeling of familiarity stirred up in him again, as it had been at the hand-fasting the day before. He felt, as he had then, that he had known her before, and it puzzled him.

"I do look to you, Mr. Headstrong," she said. "You've been kinder to me than any other hobbit since my dear mamma and papa died."

He started again, more violently this time. He had not known that her parents were dead. He had wondered absently why she was wandering about with no one to care for her, but he had never guessed that she had no parents.

She put a little hand on his arm and looked up at him with big, shining, earnest eyes. "Will you take care of me?" she asked.

Falco looked quickly away and coughed, and made a grunting noise that could be taken as either agreement or dissent. Of course he would, if she wanted to him, and even if she didn't really care if he did or not. But this was getting much too sentimental. Little hobbit girls could have big shining eyes, but it was awkward when they were looking up at a crusty old hobbit. Much too sentimental.

"Do you know, it has gotten quite late, and I did not notice!" he said, coughing hastily again. "Why don't we find a nice table to sit at, my lad and lass, and prepare ourselves for the delicious supper that is no doubt waiting for us?"

[littlemanpoet]

Uien rose as Falco Headstrong led Rory and Marigold to a table, and turned to Mithalwen. "It seems that we must wait until after supper to take a measurement, unless you trust your eye."

"There is time," Mithalwen replied.

Uien frowned. "I fear I use the osanwé overmuch. As easily not perceive the thoughts of those around me as not to smell a rose that is held before my face."

"I do not blame you for its use."

"Thank you," Uien smiled. Then she turned, and shared her thought with Mithalwen. "Did you notice that, a shock in someone? A man who calls himself Snaveling. I wonder what befalls there?"

[Tevildo]

Camille had finished the last of the chores that Cook had assigned and had even gotten permission to join her family for supper. “Just tonight, mind you,” Cook hastily explained. “I can’t have you in the kitchen chopping and scrubbing while your family has its first meal in the Inn, especially not when Master Falco was so kind to set up everything.”

Camille had nodded in agreement and stolen a quick look at the five cakes that had been set on a sideboard in the kitchen. These were small cakes but not too small: each one just the right size for a hearty hobbit appetite. “Out with you now, Miz Camille,” Cook had chastised her lightly. “No use fixing on the end of the meal until you get through the beginning.”

Then Camille had helped to carry out a tureen of stew and a platter heaped high with biscuits to the table where her family was sitting. On one end of the table Falco presided. Rory was seated on his left and Marigold on his right. She and her mother were next to each other on the opposite end facing their benefactor.

Camille beamed brightly at her mother. “Ma, you look pretty tonight.” For her mother indeed looked far happier and more radiant than Camille had seen her for some time. She was wearing her nicest dress, a green skirt with a vest of brown and a small lace collar; she had combed back her thick red curls, and had even fastened a ribbon with a locket about her neck. Camille wondered if Master Falco had noticed how lovely her mother looked. She wondered if there wasn’t some way to get her mother to sit beside Mister Falco instead of Rory, but she didn’t know how to do that politely.

When her mother and Master Falco began discussing the arrangement with the laundry, Camille got out of her seat to give her brother a hug. She noticed he had found one of the little placards on which appeared the names of the foods that were to be served at the Inn for that particular day. Rory could not read the words but was carefully tracing the letters with the tip of his finger. He did not stop even when the stew and biscuits were set on the table in front of him. The young boy asked Camille to read the words for him, but she just threw up her hands and laughed, “I’m no good with words, Rory. Perhaps Master Falco can help you, or even Marigold.”

[Mithalwen]

Snaveling! Mithalwen's curiosity about the man had been her reason for staying and now she had got caught up with first Marigold and then Camille and Rory. She had only come to the inn to shelter from the foul weather and this would be her third night. Tonight was paid for but if she needed to stay longer for Rory's sake .. well she would think about that tomorrow.

At least, Uien had made her aware of the source of Mr Headstrong's resentment - injured pride. Uien and she had made the same understandable mistake... elvish communities were it seemed more communal than hobbit ones. Different people had different skills but used them largely for the common good. She started in her gentlest, humblest tones,

"Mr Headstrong, I believe braces could be made to straighten and support young Rory's legs while his limbs strengthen. I have the skill to do this, but I do not have the resources since I am merely travelling through the land. Perhaps you know where I could obtain, the steel and leather I will need - for local folk know best where to find these things and get the best value......"

Falco had seemed mollified to be asked for his advice and promised to give it his consideration. Mithalwen thought ruefully of her workshop at the havens. There she could have done this kindness using spare materials at no cost other than time. She hoped Falco might offer to pay for the materials but she suspected that if she admitted to her limited resources he would think her some penniless vagrant - at least a foolish traveller who did not think to prepare herself for her journey. He would not know that she had journeyed often to Rivendell but that this was the first time she had needed to spend more than trifling amounts. . She excused herself to the group audibly and Uien silently, giving her a fuller impression of why she felt the need to talk to Snaveling . "I will return after the meal".

She decided that she could afford wine at least and collecting a bottle of the local vintage (a fine drop thanks in part to the Lady Galadriel's gift) and slipped across to the obscure corner where Snaveling sat . " Tar Corondir.. may I join you? We have not had a chance to speak sice Marigold's mishap - from which she seems to have suffered no lasting effects - I hope you resolved the embarassment of her indiscretion with Miss Aman?" Then she was close enough to see the expression on his face and on whom his glance was fixed .. perhaps not... she sought to probe his mind "Tar Corondir, what has happened?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

Bella had spent most of the day quietly reading and napping in Cook's parlor. By evening her strength had returned, and she was ready to look at the rooms that Cook had mentioned. She had gone downstairs and found Ruby, who had escorted her over to a small suite of rooms located in a hallway off the back of the Inn. Thanks to Cook's instructions, the smallest of the rooms had already been tidied up for her use. It had a bed, a wardrobe, a table, and two chairs along with a shelf nailed onto the wall that would be excellent for storing her personal books and slates.

An adjoining room was large enough for a group of six or seven children to gather, sitting at tables and studying . Ruby explained that this particular chamber had not been used for some time. She removed the key from her belt and unlocked the door so that Bella could have a look. The schoolroom was a jumble of old furniture. Large dustballs rolled across the floor, and odds and ends were strewn everywhere. Still, Bella could see that it was a good size chamber. Best of all there was a large window that faced the garden and even a little door that opened to the outside. Along one wall were a series of cupboards and a small hearth where a fire could be lit on chilly days.

Bella looked about and smiled, "Yes, I believe this will do very well. Would you be kind enough to tell Cook that I plan to take her up on her offer? And please ask if she could use a bit of the money I gave her to assign a sturdy young lad or lass to help me haul out the furniture we don't need and get the schoolroom in shape. Meanwhile, I'll be working on a notice that I plan to post in the Common Room.

Tearing out one of the sheets from the back of her journal, Bella sat at the little table in the bedroom and began to write.

[elf-girl-63]

Aranel took out her rarely used handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. Now that Ferdy had prised open the gate to her feelings, she couldn't stop them rushing out. Breathing deeply and taking a gulp of ale, she organised her mind.

"I suppose... I suppose I do miss them. Well my brother especially. My sister, I didn't really get along with her. She was alway popular, as I said before but she was spiteful too. I remember once, I caught my dress on our nail in our house. I went to tell my mother but she got there before me and said I'd done it practising with my sword. I hadn't but of course my sister was believed and I was hit," seeing Ferdy's concerned look Aranel hurriedly added, "It didn't hurt too much and it was long ago."

While Ferdy nodded and continued eating (did hobbits ever stop?!), she gazed out the window and saw a dark pinky-blush sky. The day had cleared up and now evening was coming on quickly, she was glad she had a room for the night but wondered about others out on the open road. Her mysterious friend for example, where would he be now? She frowned as she remembered he'd given her no name but what use was it to her?

She turned her gaze and Aranel saw in Ferdy's face something she'd had little experience of in her lifetime. An unconditional love for his family and his home. Of course she missed the city, its interesting ways, its bright life but she did not pine for it as she knew he would this place. Her family and Minas Tirith went together as a package, like Ferdy and the Shire, they could never be separated. For some reason, the young woman felt she should resent the hobbit for it but she did not. All she felt was gladness... gladness that someone could feel such a deep-running affection for a place and people.

Aranel blinked suddenly and realised her melancholy mood was making her new acquaintance nervous. As she had stopped talking he was just gazing at the table as if he daren't look up in case she began sobbing again. She forced her mouth into an almost smile and touched his arm.

"Listen, I'm fine now. Would you like another drink? Or some more food? You hobbits do eat an awful lot!" She half-laughed but Aranel wondered if he could see her bright eyes.

[Huan]

‘I do have a few pieces of my work . . . two; no, three is all. And those are ones that I wear as personal ornament. Two of them really are the same – I brought a pair of links for my more formal shirt’s cuffs. They are fairly plain . . . a small gold anvil on one side, a chasing hammer on the other. Each one is set with a small beryl, a favorite gem of mine, and each a different color. But here . . .’

He reached for his cloak, rubbing the pin on its left shoulder to take away the film of dust from recent travel. He opened the clasp of the pin, taking it from its bed of dark blue wool. At first it appeared to be a starfish, worked in gold . . . five pointed as the creature is, yet upon closer inspection, irregular about its borders. The middle, too was raised up to a definite point, and in it was set a small, many faceted clear gem.

‘This is lovely!’ one of Anyopâ’s tablemates said. ‘Something tickled in my memory as you removed it from the blue folds of your cloak . . .’

[piosenniel]

Supper was moving along nicely. The cold of the earlier day had sharpened people’s appetites and they tucked in with appreciation to the chicken stew, thick with taters and carrots, and the big, fluffy biscuits that accompanied it. They were thirsty, too. The hours of confinement in the Common room as the rain pelted down had dried their throats mightily as they strove against the inclement weather with friendly conversation and pipeweed.

Never mind that the sun had come out late in the afternoon and the weather turned more pleasant. Once those in the Inn had their seats planted firmly on the comfortable chairs and benches, a pipe in their hand and a neighbor to jaw with, no amount of sunshine would flush them out.

Camille and her family looked to be having a good time, thought Cook as she peered out the doors from the kitchen. The girl was a good worker for one so young. Cook pondered the possibility of having one of the maids show her soon the routine for getting a room ready for a guest. The Spring Faire would be coming on soon; it always drew in a great lot of visitors. Many hands would be needed to keep things in order in the kitchen, the laundry, and the rooms to let. It was best if workers knew more than just one job. She was half-way through her ponderings when Ruby came in, bearing a tray of dirty dishes.

‘I thought you were helping Miz Bella?’ asked Cook, coming over to help scrape the plates.

‘We’ve got about as far as we could get before supper,’ returned Ruby, setting the scraped dishes into the deep pan of soapy water. ‘She said for me to tell you she was going to “take you up on your offer”.’ Ruby dried her hands on a dish towel and looked at Cook expectantly. But Cook only said, ‘Ah! Good!’

‘She also asked me,’ Ruby went on, ‘to have you find a helper of some sort for her. To get things carted about and arranged and all that. Said you should use some of that money she gave you.’ Again Cook was not forthcoming, her thoughts turning to whom she might spare.

Camille hurried into the kitchen just as Ruby, exasperated with trying to find out about “offers” and “money” had loaded a platter with bowls of stew and baskets of biscuits and was heading for the Common Room. The young lass, it seemed, was after another pot of honey and one of butter for the biscuits. While Cook showed her where to find them, she asked Camille if she would be willing to take on a small task for her. It would help out immensely, and there was the promise of a certain number of coins a week and meals, of course, while the job lasted. A strong worker was needed by one of the new Inn guests to move about small boxes and odds and ends of furniture. And any other handiwork that might be needed. And did Camille think she could do such a job?

‘But no need to answer me now, dear. Enjoy the rest of your meal. Then come see me when dessert is done and they’re all sitting about talking. If you’re interested, we can start you tomorrow on it. She’s a nice lady you’ll be working for if you decide to take it on.’ She gave the girl a push out the door. ‘Go on now and finish your meal . . . And don’t forget to save room for cake!’

Cook watched as Camille made her way to the table where her family and Mister Headstrong and Marigold were sitting. ‘She’ll do nicely, I think,’ Cook nodded to herself. ‘Be a real help for Miz Bella.’ At the thought of Miz Bella, Cook sent one of the servers to her room to ask if she might like to take her supper in the kitchen, or would she like it sent along to her room . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

After closely examining her handiwork, Bella set down her pen and smiled . Then, she held the note at arm's length and scanned the words a second time. It was exactly what she wanted to say:

Dear Inn Guests and Fellow Residents of Hobbiton and Bywater,

Miz Bella Tûk, recently returned from extensive travels to all corners of Arda, wishes to announce the opening of a dame school for lads and lasses at the Green Dragon Inn. This school provides both rudimentary and advanced training in reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic. Hobbit geneology and the natural history of the Shire will be included at no extra charge as well as a brief overview of Elven lore and tales of sea voyages and dragons.

Additionally, Miz Tûk is available to tutor those of more advanced years who prefer to carry on their studies in private. Lessons in wood and stone carving are also available.

In addition to Shire coinage, Miz Tûk accepts payment in the form of eggs and other farm produce as well as useful services that can be tendered to her. Please apply to Miz Tûk, #12 Green Dragon Inn, Hobbiton-Bywater Road.

Bella Tûk, daughter of the late Hildifons Tûk who was formerly of Tûkborough

Bella had written out two identical papers. Her intention was to post one in the Common Room this evening while the other would be tacked up in a suitable public place the next day, perhaps a fencepost or gate that stood along the road that ran between Hobbiton and Bywater. Then she would have to wait and see what kind of response she would get.

Bella had already informed the serving girl who'd come to her chamber a few moments before that she planned to take her evening meal in the Common Room, and would be there shortly. She'd left a personal note of thanks on the table for Cook who had made such a generous loan of her personal quarters. Bella did not want to cause her any more inconvenience by overstaying her visit. She'd already brought her clothes and books over to her new chambers so that she would be able to sleep there tonight. Gathering up the last of her meager belongings and stuffing these into a canvas sack, she opened the door and headed down to the far end of the hallway towards a room where she could hear many voices and catch the sweet aroma of an assortment of dinner dishes.

[Nurumaiel]

"I don't know how to read," said Marigold promptly, and without a hint of a blush of shame. "That is, I know how to read a little. I knows that says 'eggs,' and that says... to-ast... 'toast,' but I never learned to read very well. My papa tried to teach me once but I didn't pay very much attention, so he said I'd wait until I was older and not such a flighty little thing. I'd liked to learn more now, but..." She spread her hands out wide. "I have no papa to teach me."

Falco was struck by the odd way she regarded the death of her parents. She never burst into violent tears when she mentioned them, nor did her chin tremble and the tears fill her eyes, nor did she mention them as briefly as she could. She enjoyed talking about them, it seemed, and the way she spoke about them was loving and affectionate, with only the slightest hint of sorrow, so slight that it was barely perceptible. "But she is young," Falco thought, "and perhaps it does not touch her as deeply."

"Mr. Headstrong," she said, turning to him, "do you know how to read?"

"Why, yes, my little Miss Marigold," he said, with a smile. "I had a good friend in my youth, and we were always going about the Shire to collect old songs and stories. Most of them could be told by mouth, but sometimes there was a song that had just been made up one day, and never learned by anyone. Those songs we always found on little scraps of paper, and so it was necessary to be able to read. My parents never set to much store by the letters, but Fosco's parents, now, they were always trying to put a lot of knowledge in his head."

"Was your friend called Fosco?" Marigold cried, with a little smile of delight. "Do you know, that's one of my favourite names. I like to think that you had a friend who had my favourite name."

Falco stood up and went to stand behind Rory. He put his finger under the words and read them slowly. "Stew... and this says biscuits... there, you see, that's what you have sitting right before you."

Rory turned his eyes up to Falco, and they were shining at the idea of being able to tell what was served for supper by the little figures scratched on the piece of paper. "Will you teach me how to read?" he asked.

Falco blushed. "Why... er... you know, Rory, I'd like to, but I don't know how to begin. I'm such a confounded... er, rotten... teacher, that you'd learn it all backwards, I'm sure. I... er... well..." He paused, deeply embarrassed. "I... er... well... I don't know how to do it at all... I'd just make a mess of it... er..." He trailed off, and then set his eyes on the stew and biscuits. "Here, lad, why don't you eat your supper?" he said hastily. "I hate to sit at a table where the little ones aren't eating. Come along, lad and lassies, eat up."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling almost laughed aloud at the question. What has happened, indeed? he thought. How could he ever explain it to anyone, even to an Elf, without a week's worth of explanations? The facts in and of themselves were easily and soon given, but the facts were far from the only things that had happened. Snaveling's whole life had changed, in an instant of overpowering recognition and shattering glass. He was not alone in the world. He had a family. There was someone in the world to whom he was joined irrevocably, and this someone was already as dear to him as his own life.

But what else had happened? She had fallen in love with him, and he had rejected her. She had opened her heart to him and he had given it back to her on a platter with gashes and wounds upon it. She did not know that he was her grandfather, and he could think of no way to tell her.

"What has happened?" he echoed her words aloud, dully. He could think of nothing else to say but the truth. "Aman is my grand-daughter, though she knows it not, and I fear that of all the trials of my life, this will prove to be the greatest and the most painful for me."

Mithalwen's mouth fell open in surprise, and her tongue was stopped. He met her eyes and opened his mind to her, pouring out only the wave of feeling that threatened to overwhelm him in a moment. Here, he thought. This is what's happened.

[Mithalwen]

"Need it be so?" Mithalwen answered him silently - if any in the inn had been interested in the travellers it would have been a strange sight, the elf and the dunadan, passing thought from mind to mind eyes flickering.

" You have only rejected a kind of love you could not have possibly accepted. The bonds of kinship run deep, she may have sensed the connection between you at a deep level and interpreted it in the only way that made sense to her. Once she knows the blood connection she will be able to interpret he feelings correctly. Yes she is hurt... but that is better than indifferent. She has shown compassion for your plight not knowing that she might be its balm.... if you will, I will speak to her for you for it would be natural for her to vent her shock in anger and it is better if that is not directed at you. This might end well ... Aman has a brave spirit and a generous heart. trust her" These last words Mithalwen had spoken aloud.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman wrinkled her nose pleasantly at the particularly open nature of the question. "News, you say? Well, sir, that depends on exactly how long you've been away..."

"Excuse me..." A voice interrupted Aman and she turned, eyebrows raised, to the man who had interrupted. As she recognised him, her eyes widened in surprise. The blond haired man gave a cheeky smile, winked, and continued, "I really do hate to barge in on your conversation...But could I get a refill."

"Good lord, what on earth are you doing here, To-"

"Well, you know, just in passing, just in passing," John cut her off before she said his name, and the suddeness of his reply seemed rather incongruent with his casual manner. She narrowed her eyes slightly, but didn't think anything of it. Excusing herself from Isilme's company - the elf seemed a little bemused but didn't appear to mind the interruption - Aman darted out from behind the bar and took John's hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "Just in passing? Scoundrel, this is the Shire, to just be passing from Rohan - psh!" Aman snorted derisively. The man grinned at her. "Well, maybe a little twist of the truth there." He displayed his teeth widely in a good natured grin as he returned Aman's handshake, his pleasant, solid features still the same as Aman had ever remembered them. He shrugged enigmatically. "But what the hey - ol' John is here now, to see his brother's favourite horsewhisperer!"

Aman hesitated for a moment, and a flicker of confusion shivered across her features as she noted the second, rather startling inconsistency in what John had said: the very fact of his name. "'John'? What do you-"

John laughed, still beaming easily, but his eyes darted quickly away from her, as if worried someone else might have heard then he opened his arms and Aman, pushing her concerns to one side, embraced her old friend. For she and 'John' went back a long way - as the man had said, Aman had worked for some time as a horse trainer for Elisar, John’s eldest brother, during which time she had made a select group of fine friends – John being one of them. But the Rohirrim man had never been desperately secretive – here, he hadn’t given a straight answer to a single thing Aman had said. Breaking the embrace and looking at it, Aman gave John a curious smile, as if about to question him, when the conversation was broken into by the gruff voice of a dwarf. “Ask for the strongest stuff they’ve got,” he called over jokingly. John turned and raised an eyebrow at the dwarf, then turned back to Aman, who nodded and returned behind the bar to pour two glasses, one of the finest ale, the other of a rich dark beer which in the past had been a favourite of Dwarin, a previous Innkeeper. Handing the two glasses to John, Aman excused herself and began her round about the room, saying she would speak with him later and catch up.

But having gone all around the room and visited nearly every nook and cranny, Aman could not avoid it any more: she felt strangely drawn towards the table at which Snaveling sat. With an empty glass. That's obviously what I feel drawn to. Professional duty and all... Aman smiled wryly to herself, rolling her eyes at the thought, but nonetheless she straightened up, collected various glasses together, and made for Snaveling. But even eavesdropping without meaning to can have rather intriguing results...

"...This might end well ... Aman has a brave spirit and a generous heart. Trust her."

"Complimentary words, Mithalwen, what did I do to deserve such an honour?"

Both Snaveling and Mithalwen leapt around like guilty children when Aman spoke, like rabbits caught in a sudden burst of torchlight. She laughed at their shock, but inside felt unease stir - a feeling that was becoming familiar where Snaveling was concerned. She creased her eyebrows slightly, still half smiling as she looked from one guilty face to the other. "What is it...?"

[peral]

Sharya looked gratefully at the cook and accepted the offered apron before quickly setting to work on the mushrooms and onions. She had done this type of work before, not for a long time, but her fingers soon remembered their past dexterity with kitchenwork as she sliced up the onions. The pile seemed neverending, but, Sharya reminded herself, she was cutting onions for a massive room of hungry inn patrons. Not to mention that most of them were hobbits and if what she had heard about hobbits were half true, she would be here a long time cutting up vegetables. However, she set her mind to enjoy the time cutting up vegetables and let her mind wander as her hands did the chopping.

***

"Father!" the girl cried running towards him. The man didn't look as if he had seen a bed or bath for weeks on end, yet still carried a happy look as he swept the girl up into his arms.

"Sharya!" he exclaimed as he scooped her up, "You're getting heavier and taller every time I come home."

"Ma says I'm growing taller everyday," the girl declared proudly. "She reck'ns I'll be taller than her one day."

"I'm sure you will be," confirmed the man. "Now, have you been a good girl since I left?"

The girl nodded. "I helped with everything everyday."

"Every day?" queried the man.

"Well...almost everyday," answered the girl sheepishly, caught out in a lie.

"We're going to have to do better than that when I'm home," said the man, carrying the girl into the house.

***

The onions seemed to be finished too quickly. And Sharya found it time to start on the mushrooms. She wrinkled her nose. Mushrooms, the bane of her life, how she hated them. Yet, these little hobbits seemed to adore them to no end. Still, what had to be done had to be done and she proceeded to chop them up as well. However, she considered, mushrooms were heaps easier to chop up than onions. This strange thought cheered her up substantially and soon the mushrooms were done as well. Smiling at her accomplishment, she went on to layering them in the pie pans. When this job was done as well, she went to tell the Cook.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

_____________________________________________

Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator