The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

Time in the Shire

It is now evening. Supper is being served:

Stewed chicken with taters and carrots; mushroom pie; fresh garden peas with mint and butter; big fluffy biscuits with plenty of butter and honey and jam.

Spice cake full of plump sweet raisins iced with thick vanilla frosting.

And numerous beverages to suit anyone's needs.

---

The night is clear; the stars bright points of light studding the darkness. It is chilly with the promise of a spring storm later in the night . . .

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen reflected that it was the second time Aman had startled them. There was something unusual about this young woman - or else Mithalwen's senses were dulled by the hubbub and unfamiliarity of the inn. Few mortals can catch an elf off guard even if they are not consciously on their guard.

"Aman, will you join us?" Mithalwen poured three generous glasses from the bottle she had brought over. "Then perhaps we can resolve the misunderstandings and grief that have occured ... and there are one or two more trivial matters I would ask your counsel on... but " Mithalwen hesitated .. the situation stretched even elvish skill in language, and though these few days in the shire had refreshed her long unused Westron she wished she could speak in her own tongue - but while Snaveling would cope she did not think that maids of rohan were raised to use the elvish tongue. "Forgive me, what I am about to say is likely to surprise you, shock you even and I may ask questions you find intrusive after such slight acquaintanceship, but I ask that you hear me out?"

Aman took a good sip of of wine and nodded her assent, although her gaze met the elf's grey eyes steadily she could not but be aware of the tension that filled Snaveling. They formed a strange triptych in the relative seclusion of their shadowed corner. The shabby dunedain lord flanked by two women, the golden maid of Rohan, elven fair and her pale reflection, the ageless elfwoman, silver haired and grey clad. However in Mithalwen's eyes, Aman saw compassion fuelled by the memory of loss and long sorrow. They implored her to listen and understand and the words though spoken seemed to carry soothing melodies, although at first she was bewildered since Mithalwen was telling her things she already knew - of Snaveling's lost family.

" Since you spoke this afternoon, Tar Corondir, has come to a certain realisation, but only you can confirm if it is really true.... " time to utter those words which no matter how gently introduced were likely to have the same effect on Aman's mind as spring had on ice floes, words that might shatter her world - but also remake it, and Snaveling's. she laid a gentle hand on Aman's

"Tar-Corondir has noticed a ressemblance between you and his late wife, he believes you may be his lost son's child. ... There is a connection between you I deem ... I know little of your history but is it possible that it is true - or is it only that his wish sees a likeness ?"

[Encaitare]

Caity had slipped away from the others some time ago, in fact, just after young Marigold's outburst. She had felt terribly awkward upon hearing Aman and Snaveling's past revealed in front of the whole of the Inn, and so she had quietly taken her leave, figuring that it was best to leave those involved on their own for a while.

She had strolled around outdoors for a bit as the weather cleared up, feeling the mud squelching between her toes and grinning to herself at the oddly pleasant sensation. After a substantial amount of roaming the area and playing idle tunes on her whistle, she returned to the inn with a growling stomach as her motivation, carefully wiping her feet on the grass so she wouldn't get the floors very dirty.

The homey and delicious smell of chicken and mushrooms greeted her as she opened the door; she found herself a table and ordered a plate of chicken and taters and mushroom pie with a mug of hot cider. She dug in, trying to mind her own business but at the same time wondering exactly what had occurred with Aman and Snaveling.

Oh, don't you go poking your nose where it doesn't belong, she thought, turning her mind to what might be going on at home. Quite frankly, she did not wish to return overmuch, and people were talking of more rain -- that would make a fine reason to stay another night! She nodded in satisfaction to herself when she thought she heard someone calling her name.

She craned her neck and looked around, and then a voice came in her ear: "Caity! There you are!"

She jumped and turned, then tried her best not to groan. "Tommy, what are you doing here?"

"Mother sent me to come get you," her younger brother said, sing-song. "She told me to tell you that you've been wasting your time at the Inn long enough and you have to come back home. Or else," he added, an afterthought.

"I'm not going now," she responded, gesturing at her dinner. Tommy picked a tater off her plate and popped it into his mouth. "Hey!" she protested, drawing looks from some of the others in the room. Suddenly she felt like a very selfish person... but still... she didn't want to go.

Sighing, she said, "I take it you're not to leave without me." The lad nodded; so did she. "Then have a seat. I'll buy you some dinner."

[Arry]

Music in the Inn . . .

‘Oh no, please!’ laughed Ferdy, holding up his hand at Aranel’s questions. ‘Even Hobbits have their limits with food and drink . . . and thanks to your generosity, I’ve reached mine!’ He stood up from the table, collecting the plates and cutlery to take to the kitchen when a commotion came up the aisle behind him.

‘Leave those for now, Ferdy,’ cried Gil, followed close by Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin. ‘We’re going to play a bit of music, there near the corner of the fireplace. Ferrin’s Da has made him a new hand drum and he’s itching to try it out.’ Gil paused for a moment, looking over at Aranel. ‘And bring your friend, if she’s so inclined,’ he said aloud, grinning at the woman. In a hushed whisper he said as an aside, ‘Looks as if she could do with a bit of cheering up, doesn’t she?’ Gil turned back to Aranel. ‘Come now Miss; join us if you will.’

While Ferdy and Aranel found seats near the impromptu stage, Gil and his companions took out their instruments. Tomlin and Fallon both played the fiddle; Gil, the concertina; and Ferrin of course took out his new pride and joy, his hand drum. Aranel looked at Ferdy, an implied question of what might he play. ‘My hands!’ he said laughing as he clapped them together in a syncopated rhythm. ‘And my feet, too, keep the main beat . . . or dance as the spirit strikes.’

Gil gave a squawk on his concertina, drawing the attention of the diners and drinkers. ‘Ladies and gentlemen and good Hobbit friends and neighbors. Don’t put down your forks or cups of ale and cider, but enjoy our little bit of music to make it all the sweeter.’ Ferrin began the beat, then Gil turned round to face the fiddlers for the opening chords, turning back when it was time for the words to meet the music.

I've been a wild rover for many a year
I've spent all my money on whiskey and beer
Now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I swear that I'll play the wild rover no more

And it no, nay, never

‘Clap your hands four times here,’ whispered Ferdy to Aranel

No, nay, never, No more
Will I play the wild rover
No, never, no more

I went into an ale house that I used to frequent
And I told the lady my money was spent
I asked her for credit and she answered me nay
Such a custom as yours I can get day


And it no, nay, never
No, nay, never, No more
Will I play the wild rover
No, never, no more

And out of my pocket and pulled sovereigns bright
The landlady's eyes opened wide with delight
She said I have whiskey and wines of the best
And the words that I said were only in jest

I'd go home to my parents confess what I've done
And ask them to pardon their prodigal son
And if they'll caress me as oft times before
Then I swear that I play the wild rover no more

The fiddlers stepped forward and played a verse and chorus once more. Then the instruments dropped out and only the voices of the four lads rang out.

And it no, nay, never
No, nay, never, No more
Will I play the wild rover
No, never, no more

Will I play the wild rover . . .
No, never, no more . . .

There were shouts for more, and the banging of mugs on the wooden table tops in approval. And several voices called out songs they wanted the little band to play.

‘Tis thirsty work,’ Gil called out with a wide grin on his face. ‘And many the songs you want to be hearing.’ He looked round the room. ‘Now, who will stand us to a wee bit of drink to keep our pipes clear and our fingers nimble?

[Envinyatar]

‘Oh, I know what this is!’ Zimzi turned the piece roundabout in her fingers, admiring the workmanship. ‘Tis Anadûnê, Starwards!’ She placed the pin on the folds of the dark blue cloak, a small isle on a great sea. ‘Many the stories has my mother told us of the gift now gone. And this . . . this is a quite lovely rendering of it.’ She turned to Derufin, giving his arm a small squeeze. ‘I wish I could show him the little pieces of jewelry my father and brothers make.’ She took the clasp from her hair that her father had made for her. Mother of pearl in swirling greens and blues like the sea near her home, cradled in fine silver. ‘They work some in gems, but mostly in pearls and such as this,’ she said, turning back to Anyopâ and handing him the hairclasp.

‘Look!’ whispered Derufin near her ear, drawing her attention to Gil and his companions. He brushed the thick fall of her hair to one side and kissed her lightly on the lobe. ‘Perhaps there will be a song we can dance to,’ he said, leaning back in his chair with a smile.

‘Well, perhaps so,’ she teased, ‘but only if I haven’t gotten a better offer! And Aman allows us to clear a dance floor, of course.’ She glanced over at the Innkeeper and the man and Elf near her, wondering as she did so, at the air of tenseness that seemed to hover about them. Zimzi nodded toward them with her chin. ‘What’s going on over there, do you think?’ she asked Derufin in a quiet voice. ‘The man looks as if he’s seen a ghost. And even the Elf seems out of sorts.’

[Noinkling]

Even Cullen’s great tail moved in time to the music of the four Hobbits, and he pawed the floor at times as if he were itching himself to be dancing. Benat clapped loudly during the chorus and raised his mug high at the ending as he beat the palm of his hand on the table top.

‘Grand music!’ he called out in his booming voice. None of the other Inns he’d stayed in had had any singing and playing, and he thought it a lovely addition to an already fine day.

‘I’ll stand you four a round,’ he called out again. Gil raised his cap to the beaming giant of a man and sent one of the servers to collect his coin.

[peral]

Sharya re-entered the Common Room. The cook had told her that she would be able to get a meal now. A meal made with her own hands. She allowed herself a wry smile at this thought. How long had it been since she had worked in a kitchen and been allowed to eat the fruits of her labours? She sat down and Ruby immediately brought her food to her. Thanking Ruby she dug in and realised how long it had been since lunch.

The chicken looked delicious. She usually steered clear of any sort of chicken for she hated the taste, but the chicken could have tempted the palate of even the most choosy person. She ventured a taste and instead of screwing up her face, she took another bite. Surprisingly good. It didn't taste a bit like any other chicken she had tasted before. The carrots which had been cut by the little girl Camille had cooked extremely well. However much she ate, she didn't seem to feel bloated. Ah wonder of wonders, a meal which one could eat much of and still not feel as if one would burst. Then came the mushroom pie. She tentatively took a slice and examined it from all directions. It was true she hated mushroom but that was what she had said about the chicken. With this thought in mind, she tentatively took a nibble. Oh glory of glories. It was true. Everything hobbits cooked seemed to immediately transport her into paradise. She took another slice and hoping no one would notice and think her greedy quickly downed it.

The vegetables were still sitting on the side of her plate. They had been overlooked in her rampage of all the savoury stuffs but finally Sharya had noticed them. Peas, oh glorious peas. Surely if all the rest of the food tasted good, this must too. One bite confirmed everything. She would live the rest of her life in this land of halflings. Without money, the thought came back again and she quickly brushed any hope of living in this country where food was the sole reason for living.

Musical beings they were too, for the hobbits standing by the fireplace unexpectedly struck up a tune. It was a happy tune, and she remembered that here was a place which rarely experienced hardship or evil. Here was a place envied by all others for its ability to remain so quiet and peaceful. It was such a change from what Gondor used to be. When the song ended and the applause began, Sharya felt somewhat disappointed. The song reminded her of her childhood when her brothers and her used to perform before her parents. Unskilled and - when she looked back upon it - silly performances, yet they had brought her parents so much joy. She held back tears. It was silly, always breaking out to bawl when the smallest thought of her past came up.

Luckily the dessert came soon enough and distracted her. Several slices of spice cake covered with a thick vanilla frosting. Sharya immediately bit into the cake. Raisins, she thought to herself, oh glorious raisins! And these were no ordinary small, shrivelled up ones, these were nice plump raisins with substance. And the frosting, how to describe it? Rich, creamy, frothy and all other words that she could dig up would not describe the tenth of the delicious melt-worthiness of that frosting. Without another thought, she was happy just to lick the frosting off like a young child and laugh when it got onto her face. When all the cake was gone, and the crumbs from off the plate, she leant back in her chair. Happy, content and without a care in the world.

[elf-girl-63]

Aranel enjoyed the music, and smiled inwardly as she was swept away by the cheering voices of the hobbits and the energetic sounds of their instruments. The lyrics were simple and happy, they spoke of optimism and a life with little pain. She readily joined in with clapping when necessary and at one point found her feet steadily tapping to the beat. Considering she had little musical talent, more of a respect for those who could conjure up such melodies, she was quite surprised. But then again, it seemed anything was possible in this little inn of apparently little consequence.

When the lady had arrived earlier that afternoon, those had been her thoughts; the Green Dragon was a place to stop and rest her weary feet and fill her empty stomach. Now she was reluctant to leave it and knew the 2 nights she had paid for wouldn't be her last in this hubbub of activity. In fact, tomorrow she must speak to a server or someone and extend her stay... but not now... now need to interrupt anyone now...

Aranel awoke with a start. She had dozed off on her comfortable velvet-backed chair and looked around to see Ferdy carrying back several tankards of ale for his band friends. She blinked in the dim light of the inn, wondering how long she'd been asleep.

"Ah Miz Aranel, you're awake I see. Just as I return with drinks and all!" seeing her confused look he explained, "You fell asleep after all that merry-making. Though don't worry now, you've just been 'resting your eyes' as they say, why its only been 20 minutes or so. The lads and I are just taking a break then we'll be back up in a jiffy."

She smiled sleepily but was keen to hear more music so nodded at the band, "Are you friends then? Why I am not surprised. Ferdy here seems to know everyone in this inn. Would you introduce me?"

"'Course, I'd be honoured. There's Tomlin and Fallon- the fiddlers, Gil- him with the concertina and Ferrin with his new drum. Yes that's everyone."

Aranel surveyed the young hobbits all laughing and joking and again felt her spirits rise. She was drinking from her tankard when Gil spoke up, "Tell us Miss Aranel. You are from Gondor I hear so you must've travelled a good distance to reach us in Bywater. Surely you know some songs..."

Aranel saw Ferdy tense when Gil mentioned her homeland but she didn't mind this evening. The rich food and lively comapny had relaxed her so she nodded, "Yes. I've heard a great many along the way but I'm afraid I've no great singing voice."

The hobbits spoke up in objection and she blushed as she tried to persuade her to sing, just a verse at least. Eventually she succumbed and agreed to sing at their table, softly so that none of the other customers would hear. The hobbits smiled with their achievement and settled back to enjoy a new song.

She chose one that her nanny had taught her when she was young, about said Nanny's home village outside of the city. It was a bittersweet song- not entirely melancholy but neither completely joyful either. Aranel ended up singing the whole thing and when she had finished, awaited her audience's response.

[Nurumaiel]

Ignoring Benat's offer to buy a drink for the hobbit lads, Marigold jumped up and cried out: "I will, I will!" And then, never minding if anyone laughed at her or not, she turned to Falco Headstrong with shining eyes, as he blushingly pulled her back down into her chair. "Oh, Mr. Headstrong, won't you help me buy a drink for them? Oh, Mr. Headstrong! Why don't you get out your whistle and play with them?"

Falco blushed, and pretended embarrassment, but it was not difficult to see that the colour on his cheeks was from excitement and pleasure. He looked towards the lads for a moment, and then he shook his head. "Maybe it would be nice, Marigold, my girl, but your father's whistle is in my room."

"I'll go get it," she said eagerly, and began to jump up again, but he caught her and again pulled her into her chair.

"No, no, you'll not be going anywhere," he said. "After that tumble from the horse you took today I think it would be better if you just sat for the rest of the evening." His eyes wandered to the hobbit lads again, and he stared at them, and slowly took up a spoonful of his peas. "I'll get it," he said, "as soon as I've finished my supper."

[Noinkling]

Benat smiled at the fair-haired cub who’d stood so boldly and offered the band a drink. ‘Let hers be the first round,’ he spoke in a rumbling whisper to the server who drew near. He fished in the pouch at his belt and brought out a number of thin silver coins. ‘Then let mine be the second,’ he said thumbing the coins into the server’s hand.

When the lass protested it was too much, Benat laughed and closed her hand over the coins with his large one. ‘Just keep the ale coming as long as the coin lasts. My dog and I are quite enjoying the music.’ As if on cue, Cullen yipped quietly, thumping his tail on the floor.

[piosenniel]

Aranel’s song is well received . . .

‘A good’un!’ came the cry from a corner table. ‘Near brought a tear to my eye,’ said one of the old gammers sitting there, pipe smoke circling lazily above her grey curls. ‘Sets me to thinking of the time I left my family in Pincup to settle with my mister here.’ The old gal sitting to her right nodded her head. ‘Stings, don’t it . . . when first you leave, that is. Fair broke my heart leaving my family behind.’ Her rheumy eyes misted thinking on her own Ma and gammer as they waved her good-bye. ‘But life do go on, don’t it?’ she said, more as an observation than a question.

‘Oh, aye,’ came the general chorus of consent from her friends. ‘A cup then,’ said the third of the old ‘uns. ‘To old and new!’

‘And ale and pipeweed,’ cackled the first old gammer. ‘Enough to see us through!’

‘Another one lads!’ the trio called out. ‘Bend your elbows to your bows, fiddlers,’ they laughed aloud. ‘And less to your mugs!’

[Arry]

An old piece of history sung . . . The Bowmen of the Shire

Gil grinned widely and raised his mug to the Gammers at the back table. ‘A moment, my old dears,’ he said winking boldly at them. ‘Tis the drink that makes our elbows work all the better for the playing!’ They laughed aloud and shook their fingers at him saying, ‘Shame, shame on you, you silver tongued boy!’ He waved his hand then to Marigold, and held his mug high, mouthing a thank-you.

He turned his attention, then, to Aranel, saying she had a lovely voice, and thanking her for the sharing of her song. ‘A cup of ale, Miss’ he asked waving Buttercup over with the pitcher. ‘In case you might be wanting to share another later.’

The four huddled on the stage whispering together for a moment. A sly look passed among them as they glanced toward the table where Falco sat.

‘There’s a fair piper in our midst,’ said Gil turning back to the crowd in the room. ‘Now I’ve no pipe on me the like of his, but a wee, sweet tin whistle I do have here.’ He bent down and plucked a thin whistle from his concertina’s bag. ‘And if he’d be so kind as to join us for our next song or the one after.’

‘Or the ones after those!’ harmonized the three other Hobbits smiling toward Falco’s table.

‘Anyway, I’ll just leave it here,’ Gil went on, laying it carefully on the small table where their mugs were set. ‘In hopes of enticing the piper to join in.’

Gil picked up his concertina and played a melancholy few bars on it. ‘This next song,’ he said, looking off to where the Gammers sat, ‘is one my Gammer’s gammer many times back taught.’ The trio of elder Hobbits raised their hoary eyebrows at his words, nodding for him to go on. ‘Now ‘tis a true story, my Gammer told me. But one not often talked about. An old story of brave men who answered their King’s call.’

Tomlin played a few sweet strains on his fiddle before Gil went on. ‘We’re faithful to our promises, my Gammer told me. Pay our debts we do to those who have extended their helping hands to us.’ Ferrin joined in with a steady low beat on his drum, a heartbeat driving slow beneath the story. The crowd grew quiet, listening.

‘Before we Hobbits set on foot in these Shire lands, we lived about Bree.’ There were nods of the head about the room as that old thread of history was pulled up from the Shire history. ‘The great King in the North, Argeleb the somethingth, in his wisdom and generosity granted old Marcho and Blanco the right to cross the Brandywine, head west, and claim a land for us Hobbits.’

‘More like he was tired of our drinking and singing and sent us off to give the Shiriffs there a break from having to haul us in all the time,’ said Ferrin in a loud aside to the audience. There was good natured laughter at this, then the call for Gil to go on.

‘Now later down the years, the shadow had reared its ugly head up north of the King’s country. Yes – that same pack of bad ‘uns that our own Mister Frodo and our Mayor went to help put an end to. And no, I don’t quite recall the name of the King that sent the message to us . . .’ He looked toward the table of Gammers.

‘Twas Arvedoo,’ said one. ‘Aye, close enough. Arvedui, it was. The one that drowned, we heard,’ one of the others corrected her, pointing the stem of her pipe at Gil for emphasis.

‘Arvedui, then,’ said Gil nodding his head. ‘His kingdom was crumbling. Beset on all sides by those foul creatures of shadow. Fearsome old things, too.’

‘Nasty old Witch-king,’ called out one of the elder ladies. ‘Sold his own country and hisself out for some promise o’ power what was never going to work out.’ ‘Dumb as stumps those bad ‘uns when it comes right down to it,’ another of the Gammers said. ‘May we never see them again!’ they all said in unison, crossing their fingers as a ward against dark evil.

‘Anyway, the King, Arvedui, was at his wit’s end,' Gil continued. 'And he sent out a call for his loyal subjects to send aid. Now word came to our Chieftains here in the Shire of the King’s request. And they sent a troop of the finest bowmen in the Shire. Sorry to say, their names are long forgotten. But their deeds and brave spirit were not.’

All the instruments had gone quiet as Gil stepped forward and raised his voice. He sang the first verse without accompaniment, then joined in with the others to play for the remaining verses.

'Twas down by the glenside, I met an old woman
She was picking young nettles and she scarce saw me coming
I listened awhile to the song she was humming

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Shire men

‘Join in now,’ he called out to the crowd, ‘tis the same last words at the end of each verse.’

'Tis many long years since I saw the moon beaming
On strong manly forms and their eyes with hope gleaming
I see them again, sure, in all my daydreaming

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Shire men

They died round old Fornost, and most near a stranger
And wise men have told us that their cause was a failure
They fought for the North King and they never feared danger

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Shire men

I passed on my way, fate be praised that I met her
Be life long or short, sure I'll never forget her
We may have brave men, but we'll never have better

Glory O, Glory O, to the bold Shire men . . .

Yes, glory o, glory to those bold archer men . . .


----------

with thanks and apologies to the original song: The Bold Fenian Men

[Nurumaiel]

Falco was, perhaps, the most enthusiastic of those applauding. He was familiar with the song. His friend Fosco had learned it in some quiet Shire garden far from his own home, and had brought it back to teach to Falco. Aside from this, Falco was as fond of the boys as he possibly could be fond of anyone having met them just the previous day. He had wondered about them that morning, and it was delightful that they were back again, singing as strong and fine as ever, their sympathy with their instruments sounding in every echoing notes.

He was grateful for them for having invited him to play with them, and more grateful that they had gone through another song immediately afterwards. It gave him the opportunity to sneak quietly up besides them, picking up the whistle on the way, which was preferable to coming up in the midst of their praise and risking all eyes upon them. He was still slightly hesitant about going up, for though he wanted to very much he felt just slightly embarrassed, but Marigold caught onto his sleeve and gazed up at him with eager eyes.

"Hurry, Mr. Headstrong!" she cried. "Hurry up there before they begin another song! Oh, Mr. Headstrong, I want you to play the tin whistle; please do! You play it so much like my papa, and you know all the songs that he used to sing to me, and all the ways he used to play them!" When she saw that he still hesitated (though he did it merely for show), she pouted and stamped her foot, putting her hands on her hips and assuming a very motherly air. "If you don't go up there right this minute," she said, wagging a finger at him, "I will make such music that only a crying and bawling little hobbit girl can make!"

"But, Marigold," he said, his voice protesting, though he was already on his feet, "I was discussing the laundry with Miss Camille's mother..."

Marigold gave him a very stern look, and then she turned to Rory. "I don't care if he stops discussing laundry, do you? She's your mother. Don't you want Mr. Headstrong to go up and play the whistle with those boys?"

Rory nodded, and his eyes were just as eager as Marigold's. Falco gave a reluctant sigh, but the twinkle in his eye could not be hidden. He left the table, crept towards the lads quiet casually with his hands in his pockets, and, unobserved, or at least hoping he was, he picked up the tin whistle and melted in beside them. His welcome from the boys was warm, and he felt the old feeling of the days of his youth returning to him. He already felt his toes tapping, though there was no lively whistling, and he already felt the tear in his eye, though the sobbing of the fiddles had not yet been strained.

"Now, what is it you had in mind to play?" he asked.

[Huan]

Anyopâ put the hairclasp on the table when the music began. Zimzi was right, he would like to speak with her father and brothers about their jewelry. If the hairclasp were a good example of their skill, he was sure there were techniques they could discuss that would be of benefit to both of them. At a convenient break in the music he would ask her if they were still here. If not, perhaps he could pursue with her the possibility of visiting them at some time.

For now, he turned his chair so that he could face where the musicians were playing. They brought a smile to his face. He took a sip of his ale, letting its pleasant warmth run through him. Perhaps a few more cups, and even he might share a song from his country. The thought made him smile all the wider. Perhaps more than a few . . .

[Witch_Queen]

Jon watched as Aman left the bar. He would perhaps talk with her later as she said. He picked up the two mugs and turned towards the table at which the dwarf sat. Walking careful to keep from causing any to spill Jon decided it best to return to the table."The strongest they have..." Jon slid the full mug over to the dwarf. He sat his mug down on the table and sat his body down in the unoccupied chair.

Jon had no idea what to say next. The silence between the two of them grew until Jon thought that the dwarf had gone mute. "So.... how did your travels bring you to the Shire?" Jon knew it sounded as if he were trying to change the entire subject of their conversation. Deep down inside he hope Dwaline wouldn't catch it. But then again he knew Dwaline wasn't that stupid.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline raised an eyebrow with a smile. Changing the subject, eh? I must have hit deep, thought Dwaline. He took a deep gulp from his mug, and placed it carefully on the table.

"Strong stuff!" he said, "Strongest I've had in a while." Dwaline shook his head and looked sternly at John. "I came to the shire following Fáinu, a friend of mine. He was seeking Cirdan, and brought a message to him. Originally I took the message, but Fáinu is a swifter rider. Still I wished to see the havens, and I have." The Dwarf looked out of the window and seemed to be staring far off. He took another drink of the strong ale and coughed a little.

Reaching into his pack, Dwaline brought out a long wooden pipe with a deep bowl, it was carven in the shape of a hammer, with carvings of Dwarves hard at work, upon its stem. He filled it with tobacco from his pouch and lit it with a match. Blowing a few smoke rings into the air, Dwaline sat back and looked at John.

"Do you have a pipe about you?" he asked cheerily, "You may have a fill of my tobacco, if you care." he blew another smoke ring and it floated just above John's head before whisking away.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon coughed and looked at Dwaline. "No I was never one for smoking. Plus it tends to cause me to cough. But thanks for the offer." Jon could tell that Dwaline noticed the change in subject. He took another sip of ale before looking at the white crow.

"And what brought you to the Shire. A crow of your statures should have a fascinating story." He took another sip of his ale this time being careful not to breathe at the same time. His attempt at keeping a straight face was foiled when he choked on the ale.

[Arry]

One more song and then a brief break for the band . . .

‘What’s the name of the lad sitting there with your Marigold?’ asked Gil of Falco. ‘Rory,’ came the answer. Gil turned toward the table where Marigold and the lad sat. ‘A song for you, Mistress Marigold, and your new friend, Rory, is it. A thank-you for the ale to wet our whistles!’ Gil winked at her and took a sip from his mug.

‘Now I know you all know this song,’ Gil went on, speaking to the rest of the crowd. ‘We’ve all had those dares when we were younger to see how long we could keep it going.’ He played the little tune once through and calls of, ‘Well, then, it’s Gaffer Finnigan! rang round the room. A number of the young Hobbits there with their families crowded up around the group of players and clapped their hands.

‘I’ll start it off, then,’ Gil said to them, and you can add verses.

There was an old man named Gaffer Finnigan
He grew whiskers on his chinnigan
The wind came up and blew them in again
Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, begin again

Little Daisy Heathertoes piped up in her sweet eight year old voice with a verse aimed at her older brother, Tolly:

There was a clumsy boy named Tolly Finnigan
He fell down and broke his shinnagin
Folks said, "Tolly, you'll never swim again"
Poor old Tolly Finnigan, begin again

Tolly turned red and screwed up his brow trying to think of a verse, but Gil’s little brother grinned and stood up. He raised his voice, pointing a finger at his older brother:

There was an OLD man called Gilly Finnigan
He kicked up an awful dinnigan
Because they would not let him sing again
Poor old Gilly Finnigan, begin again

Gil laughed and stuck his tongue out at his brother. ‘Little imp!’ He nodded toward Rory and made up a verse:

There was a young lad named Rory Finnigan
He hid away in the apple binnagin
Sister closed the lid, wouldn’t let him out again
Poor old Rory Finnigan, begin again

Rory put on a face of mock sadness and shook his finger at Camille. His little voice rang out then as he turned to Marigold:

There was a pretty girl named Marigold Finnigan
Went off fishing with a pinnagin
Hooked a trout but it fell in again
Poor old Marigold Finnigan, begin again

Gil and the others rang in with another chorus, as Falco piped the lively little tune.

There was an old man named Gaffer Finnigan
He grew whiskers on his chinnigan
The wind came up and blew them in again
Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, begin again

One of the old Gammers got up saying, ‘Don’t forget this verse!’

There was an old lady named Gammer Finnigan
She grew fat and then grew thin again
Thinner than a old clothes’ pinnigan
Poor old Gammer Finnigan, begin again

A number of other verses came out of the memories of the audience, some in quavering voices and some strong, though a mite off key. There was much clapping and good-natured laughter as many in the crowd joined in. At last Gil called out for one last chorus for the large and unfortunate members of the Finnagin family:

There was an old man named Gaffer Finnigan
He grew whiskers on his chinnigan
The wind came up and blew them in again
Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, begin again

Poor old Gaffer Finnigan, DON’T begin again

‘Time for a little break, don’t you think,’ said Tomlin, eyeing the trays of spice cake that the servers were now bringing out. The others agreed, laying their instruments back in their cases for the moment. Gil went with Falco to the table where Marigold and the Hedgeburrows sat. Introductions were made and Gil said thank-you once again to Marigold for the offer of drinks for the band. ‘And a fine little voice you have, Master Rory,’ he said, turning to shake the lad’s hand. ‘Give us a look up when you’re a bit older and we’ll see about bringing another singer into the group.’ Rory’s face lit up with pleasure. ‘And mayhap, Mister Headstrong here can teach you a bit of the whistle, too.’

‘And speaking of whistles,’ Gil went on, looking up at Falco, ‘how ‘bout you choose the next song – let us follow along behind you. We’d be honored.’

[Nurumaiel]

"Ah, very well," said Falco, just barely able to pretend reluctance. "The hand-fasting of yesterday is still on my mind, so I'll sing another little song in honour of that, if you don't mind. This one I first learned as a dance tune, called Haste to the Wedding, but one day a friend of mine came up and said he'd found words that fit the tune, and we tried it out right away. We'll just begin with a brief introduction, then we can go through the song, and after that, we might play the tune over again once or twice by itself."

The lads presented no objections to the proposal, and they finished their cakes, answering of all of the eager questions about their instruments that Marigold and Rory presented. Then they returned to their instruments, and Falco began the lively and merry tune on the whistle, joined by the lads. When he began to sing he stumbled a bit over the words, for lack of practice, but it was nothing very noticeable, and indeed it was probably just him who noticed it.

Come haste to the wedding ye friends and ye neighbors;
the lovers their bliss can no longer delay.
Forget all your sorrows your cares and your labors,
and let every heart beat with rapture today.
Come, come one and all, attend to my call,
and revel in pleasures that never can cloy.
Come see rural felicity,
which love and innocence ever enjoy.

Let envy, let pride, let hate and ambition,
still crowd to, and beat, at the breast of the great.
To such wretched passions we give no admission,
but leave them alone to the wise ones of state.
We boast of no wealth, but contentment and health,
in mirth and in friendship, our moments employ.
Come see rural felicity,
which love and innocence ever enjoy.

With reason we taste of each heart-stirring pleasure,
With reason we drink of the full flowing bowl,
are jocund and gay, but 'tis all within measure,
for fatal excess will enslave the free soul.
Then come at our bidding to this happy wedding;
no care shall obtrude here, our bliss to annoy.
Come see rural felicity,
Which love and innocence ever enjoy.

And then Falco returned to his whistle and let the merry little notes accompany the strains of the fiddle as they played through the dance twice. Little Marigold, seeing that there was no one to dance with except Rory, who of course could not dance, jumped to her feet and merely danced by herself, clapping her hands and laughing with delight. Her bright and laughing eyes inspired Falco to play all the better, and however he may have stumbled over the words, the notes of his whistle were clear.

When they finished Falco smiled, brushing a damp lock of hair away from his forehead. "Perhaps it isn't as merry and enjoyable a song as Gaffer Finnigan, which I remember well from my younger days, and still love heartily, but it is a fine song nevertheless. Often I danced to the tune, and more often I played it. Thank you, my boys, for assisting me in the playing. The music was splendid."

[Envinyatar]

At the start of the song Zimzi had clapped her hands together, saying as she then laid the slender fingers of one hand on his arm that it just wouldn't do to sit still. The music was too lively; feet moved of themselves in the quick rhythm of the tune.

Benat and the others at the table soon pulled it back a way and moved their chairs to the edge of the little space just cleared. As the fiddle played and Falco's pipe wove with it, Zimzi picked up her skirt until the hem was at her knees and capered to the center of the dance space. She turned and curtsied to Derufin, who grinned and shook his head as he joined her. From his pocket he took a clean kerchief and holding one end gave her the other. Tethered lightly, they pranced easy and briskly side by side, forward and back, her twirling and passing beneath the bridge of his kerchief and arm . . . until they were out of breath and laughing as they stumbled into one another. Wheeling madly in each others' arms until they fell with a whoop and a grin into one of the empty chairs; she landing squarely on his lap. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek and her eyes gave a promise.

And then she was up again, pulling him to his feet, and motioning for the others to join in if they would. 'You missed the wedding by a day, but now there is no need to miss the dancing!' she enjoined them.

Let envy, let pride, let hate and ambition,
still crowd to, and beat, at the breast of the great.
To such wretched passions we give no admission,
but leave them alone to the wise ones of state.
We boast of no wealth, but contentment and health,
in mirth and in friendship, our moments employ . . .

She beamed at the band when the tune had finished, and gave a merry wave of her hand to Falco, mouthing, 'Well done and thank-you!' With a satisfied sigh, Zimzi resumed her seat and took the cup of cider Derufin offered her.

Her cheeks were red as ripe Shire apples, he thought, as he watched her bring the mug to her lips. 'What a lucky, lucky man I am,' he murmured to himself, his dark eyes drinking her in.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

As the music played on, Dwaline tapped his foot along to the beat. Avalon the Crow seemed to enjoy the song and dance going on, and chirped away to the tune. John's question stuck in her mind. She herself was not sure why Cree had come to the shire, though she had told her, Avalon was not sure about what truth was in it. Paranoia was setting in.

Dwaline leant over to John. "And I suppose you understand the tong of Birds now, do ye?" John frowned and shook his head; "Avalon came on business with her elf friend, that is all you need to know."

As the music continued, Dwaline thought back to when he was a young Dwarf, he heard many songs on his travels. From Elves of the forest, to wild men in the mountains, even the old sing song from a disgusting Goblin.

"Nothing compares to the music of the shire," he said to himself, "It's all so cheerful and merry, whimsical and jolly. I have to say it's my favourite. Yes, elvish singing is not a thing to miss, but Hobbit folk have a way of making songs about the strangest things.

"We dwarves have very queer songs by their standards. I don't suppose they'd be well received by the Half-lings. They are mostly dark, and dreary, going slow. Oft, they are about treasures, dragons and such. I remember a poem my father taught me..." He quietly spoke softly while the band rested for a minuet.

Deep in caverns grey
A secret treasure lay
Forgotten by Kings of old
Lost by warriors, bold
Carven jewels and gold so bright
None can save it from this plight.
Elvish gems, Dwarvish gold
This thing makes them ashen cold
Dwarrow delf, and Moria
Durin himself would travel far
To find where the secret treasure lies
Before the sun fails, and moon dies.

A silence came about them for a moment as Dwaline finished his poem; some Hobbits had listened in and shook their heads. "Nonsense!" they said of it. Dwaline took another drink of his ale and levelled his eyes at John.

[piosenniel]

As the Dwarf finished his poem, some Hobbits who’d been listening in shook their heads. "Nonsense!" they said of it.

‘And “nonsense” to you, Minto Banks,’ came the firm voice of Cook. She’d come out of the kitchen to listen to the music and now found herself making her way through the tables with a large pitcher of the Dragon’s darkest stout. ‘Here have a mug of this,’ she told the farmer from Waymeet. ‘Puts hair on your toes!’ she said, with a smile as she filled his cup to the brim. Minto harrumph’d a bit, then raised the creamy headed brew to his nose and gave an appreciative sniff. He lowered the rim to his lips and took a long gulp, letting the bold brew nip at his tongue and tonsils as it slid down his throat.

‘Well, I’ll grant you the truth of the Dragon’s Stout, but all that about treasures in the deep still hidden . . . well I don’t know about that.’ He took another sip and fixed Cook with his eye. ‘And I suppose you’re going to tell me there’s a real dragon guardin’ the treasure to boot!’

‘And why not,’ said Cook topping his mug off once more. ‘Didn’t our own Mister Bilbo best a dragon in his den . . . and wasn’t there treasure enough to fight a war over. Or so he wrote.’

‘Oh, he was queer one . . . that Bilbo,’ said Minto, putting down his cup. He tamped his pipe and lit it. Pointing the tip of it round the table at his companions. ‘What sort of respectable Hobbit goes off adventuring, I ask you. Made it all up, I say.’

[Noinkling]

Before Cook could answer, Benat stood up and made his way to the table where Minto sat. The Hobbit’s back was to the man, but he knew there was something odd from the looks on his table mates’ faces and the sudden shadow cast over him.

‘Master Baggins was a quite respectable Hobbit, sir,’ came Benat’s rumbling voice. ‘Never met him myself. But my Granda did and he quite liked the little fellow. Now I haven’t heard the whole story - what followed the visit of the Dwarves, the wizard, and Master Bilbo to our home near the Carrock. But to be sure I’ve heard many times of the adventure to that point.’

Cullen came up, curious as to what his master was doing. His nose found the pungent smell of the Hobbit’s mug quite enticing and he couldn’t resist a closer inquiry. A nose full of creamy foam was his reward. Unfortunately for Minto, it made him sneeze. ‘Ach! Cullen now look what you’ve done!’ Cullen gave a sorrowful eye to Benat, then tried his best to lick the Hobbit clean.

Minto was escorted to the kitchen by one of the servers to wash up a bit, with Cook’s promise she’d see to a free mug of ale for his bother. Benat, though, thought he could hear her mutter that the fool got what he deserved for saying such about Bilbo. The others at Minto’s table laughed at his discomfiture and looked hopefully toward Cook also.

‘I’ll stand you all to a drink,’ offered Benat, to which there were shouts of ‘Good fellow!’ and ‘Hear! Hear!’. When the drink came, Benat asked if he might sit down with them. ‘Twasn’t a war exactly,’ he said, pulling out a chair for Cook first. ‘It was a very large battle. Five armies in all. And the Great Eagles came to lend talon and beak and my Granda, Beorn, he came, too.’

‘Must’ve been a great advantage,’ said one of the Hobbits at the table, offering Benat his pouch of pipeweed. ‘A great advantage – to have a man as large as you are fighting against the foe.’

Benat laughed, saying he supposed it would be. ‘But my Granda didn’t come as a man,’ he told them, grinning at the thought of the surprised goblins. ‘He came as a bear.’

[piosenniel]

The eyes of those at the table were round as saucers, but none disputed this seeming lie to the big man’s face. And besides, wasn’t he buying them a round of drinks? Perhaps the hospitable offer could be stretched out a bit.

One of the bolder fellows, Madoc Gamwich, poured the man a drink from the pitcher Cook had set down on the table. ‘Supposing you just tell us about that, sir,’ he said, pushing the mug toward Benat. ‘We’d like to hear your tale.’ Maddy, as he was called, made introductions about the table, then settled back comfortably in his chair as Benat fiddled with his pipe. Minto made it back from the kitchen looking a bit damp about the ears. He glanced at Benat, then raised his brows to his companions.

‘Master Benat, here,’ said Maddy by way of explanation, ‘was just settling in to tell us his story about the war that was really just a big battle and how his Grandda fought in it.’

‘Now that’s more like it – a battle and no fancy-schmancy treasure hordes with dragons and such,’ said Minto, reaching for a drink of his own.

Maddy laughed, looking round to those at the table. ‘He’d just begun, Master Benat had,’ Maddy said. ‘Seems his Grandda came as a bear!’

Minto choked on his first gulp, spilling it down his shirt once again. Cullen raised his head from where he’d lain down on the floor and looked at the Hobbit hopefully.

[Huan]

Anyopâ could not help but hear Benat’s voice as he chided the Hobbits for making fun of another Hobbit, a Mister Bilbo Baggins he learned, and his stories of adventure in the world beyond the Shire. The talk had grown a little quieter at that table when Benat sat down. Anyopâ, wanting to hear more of this Hobbit and his journey, excused himself from the present company to take a chair at an adjoining table.

Ah! Now this is very interesting . . . he thought sitting down as quietly as he could. Benat’s declaration came clearly across the space between the tables. His Grandfather had come to the battle as a bear! Now what could that mean? Was Benat from a tribe of wildish men who hunted the great bears and wore their skins into battle? From the looks on the Hobbits’ faces he could not tell whether they believed the man or thought him an outrageous liar.

Waiting until the one who had choked on his ale had gotten himself back together a bit, Anyopâ cleared his throat, and catching the eye of those at the table drew his chair a little nearer. ‘Begging your pardon Benat, but I’m very interested in this story of your Granda and the battle.’ He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘And begging your pardon once again and hoping you won’t find my question to bold. But about the “came as a bear” statement . . . what exactly did you mean by that?’

Maddy and Minto and the other Hobbits at the table looked squarely at Benat. ‘Sound place to start,’ said Maddy, as the others nodded their heads. ‘What about this “bear”?’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella sat quietly at a side table in one corner of the Common Room, eating her dinner while listening to all the songs. Her father had made it a point to teach her much of the history of the Shire as well as reciting tales from Arnor and Gondor. Much of what the singers outlined in their ballads was familiar to her. A few years before, when she had stayed in Minas Tirith for nearly a year, her friend Cami had shared with her another book of Elven Lore that Master Bilbo Baggins of Hobbiton had translated into Westron. Bella had spent some time copying out sections of this work and hoped to use some of those tales with the students who would come to her school.

Finishing up the last crumb of cake and setting down her fork, Bella pushed her plate aside and took one last look at the placard that she had carefully written out earlier that day. Happy with her effort, she picked it up and walked over near the entry to the kitchen, tacking it onto a small hook that was intended for posting public notices:

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

After securing the placard where everyone could see it, Bella retreated to sit down when her eye caught a group of hobbits happily chattering away at the next table. They looked to be a loving family: a mother, a father, two sisters close in age, and a younger brother who had suffered some physical injury or disease that made it difficult for him to get about. The lad had secured a copy of the menu and was staring intently at it, tracing out the letters with his finger. A liklier prospect for learning to read Bella had never seen!

At a break in the singing, Miz Bella slipped over to the larger table and held out a hand in welcome, speaking directly with the mother. "Excuse me, ma'am, if I may interrupt. My name is Bella. I've come to Bywater to settle. I am afraid I am new here and don't know your name."

"Lilly. I am Lilly, and our family is also new here. We've found it a fine place, though."

Nodding in agreement, Bella went on to explain, "I wanted to speak with you about a new project I am starting here at the Inn. Cook arranged for me to rent rooms and to hire a sturdy lad or lass to help set up a dame school for the children in the neighborhood. Perhaps you might wish to speak with your husband and see if you would want any of your brood to attend? Over there on the wall is a placard explaining how it will work. The cost is very modest, and your children would receive a fine start at their reading and figures." Miz Bella smiled at Lilly waiting for her response....

[Arry]

When the four lads and Falco returned to the little stage area, they gathered some stools near each other and sat playing a few soft strains of some old familiar ballads, each of them taking a few bars and expanding on them with their instruments. They were playing more for themselves now, than for the others in the room, feeding off each others’ energy and innovation. Tomlin’s toes began to tap faster as he took them through a lively reel and Falco moved them at an even quicker pace with a trio of jigs.

Gil brought them back to a slower beat with a song he’d learned from a traveler from the Misty Mountains . . . The Mist Covered Mountains the traveler had named the tune, and what words there were, were of longing to be back among those misty peaks.

When they were done with that melancholy piece, Fallon played a more lively set of notes on his fiddle. ‘I was wondering if you’d heard this one before. I got it from an old Brandybuck fiddler, from around the eastern end of the Green Hills. It’s a fun song . . . gets your feet moving, and even the littlest ones like to sing along with it.’ He played the song through, then began once again as the others took it up on their instruments. Once they had it down, he began to sing the words:

Oh many years ago near old Woodhall--
A stranger told this story to my ma--
And often was the time she said to me--
I know it is the truth certain as can be.

There was once in the hills quite a music makin' man--
known far and wide as fiddlin' Dan--
He could fiddle every tune, He could holler every call--
For circle, square or reel, he could fiddle them all---

One night as Dan was walking out to play--
He met a bear a’standin' in the way--
He couldn’t climb a tree, he had no club
He was sure that he was grizzly grub.

Said the bear with a roar as he shook a mighty paw--
Your fiddlin' Dan from old Woodhall--
I will let you alone if you'll play a little tune--
And organize a dance by the light of the moon--

Ol’ Dan he tucked his fiddle under chin--
He drew the bow his music to begin--
From all the country 'round the critters ran--
To join the party made by old fiddlin' Dan.

Prancin' out went the coon with the little porcupine--
The bear and bobcat stepped her fine--
They danced all the night every reel and every set--
And somewhere in the hills they are dancin' yet.

And somewhere in the hills they are dancin’ yet . . .

Fallon finished with a quick-time rendering of the last few bars. The children who’d gathered round to clap and dance shouted out for him to sing it one more time. ‘Learn us the words . . . go slow, won’t you . . .’ they prompted him. He placed his fiddle under his chin and began to teach them, line by line . . . And once, as he glanced up from where they were gathered, he noted that the rather large man who was sitting with a table of Hobbits was looking at him curiously . . .

[Fairleaf]

The Chubbs encounter Miz Bella’s notice

Little Daisy Chubb was delighted by the music. Her father, Wilfrid, had come into Bywater to sell some of the fine wool from their sheep. It had been a generous shearing this Spring with several extra bales. Marigold, Daisy’s mother, had scoured the wool, and half of it she had carded and combed and spun into yarn. All of it, the worked and unworked wool had fetched a good price and now the little family was celebrating at the Inn.

Daisy’s younger brother, Reginard, was there at the edge of the band’s little stage area with his sister, clapping and dancing along to the story of Old Dan and his fiddle. He was five with dark brown curls and hazel eyes, while his sister, with her auburn curls and dark brown eyes had reached the notable age of nine. Notable at least to Reginard, or Reggie as he was mostly called, because he was always amazed by her. She knew so much and so many fun things to do. And didn’t she stand up for him when he got in some sort of a scrape.

‘Can we get some cake?’ asked Reggie, watching as the server who’d brought out the slices was now disappearing into the kitchen with her empty tray. ‘And a cup of cider, too!’ he added, looking at the empty mug in his hand. ‘Can we? Can we?’ he chanted, hopping from one foot to the other.

Daisy placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder to quiet him down. ‘Now what have I told you, Reggie,’ she asked. He screwed up his little face, thinking, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s “MAY we”, not “can we”,’ she went on. ‘That’s the magic word, remember?’

He hopped up and down a grin on his face, holding his cup out to her as he sing-songed ‘may . . . may . . . may . . . may . . . may we?’ With a laugh, she spun him about and fetched the empty cup from his chubby little fingers. ‘Oh, come on then!’ she cried grabbing his hand to pull him toward the kitchen door. ‘We’ll just see if there’s any cake left and find us a little cider to go with it.’ She glanced up quickly and waved to her parents who were sitting across the room. Some friends had joined them it seemed. Daisy’s mother waved and smiled back then returned to her conversation.

Near the entry to the kitchen, Daisy spied a notice pinned up on the hook. It was printed in a fine hand and she puzzled over it, not able to decipher a number of the words. Her mother had taught her some letters and numbers, saying that when she married a farmer, she would have need of them for keeping the ‘accounts’. Her mother had shown her the accounts’ book written in her plain, bold hand. Not much to it really, Daisy thought. Names of vegetables and animals and wool sold on one side and what was gotten for them on the other. Ordinary things. None too exciting.

But this was different, she thought, as she murmured the sounds of the letters and tried putting them together. She saw the words ‘Green Dragon’, that was easy enough as she recognized it from the sign at the front of the Inn. And here was the word ‘tut – or’ and the word ‘dragon’ again, but now a bunch of them. Daisy grabbed hold of one of the older server’s sleeves and asked if she would read the notice to them. Buttercup, it was, who read it through. Daisy thanked her politely, asking if she might point out Miz Bella. There at a table with several other children was the older Hobbit lady.

Reggie pulled at his sister’s skirt and pointed insistently at the kitchen door. ‘Listen here, Reggie,’ Daisy said, picking him up and pointing toward the grey haired Hobbit. ‘She’s some sort of teacher, I think. And she knows all about dragons, and ships on the sea, and Elves and such. Lots of grand stories, I’m thinking. Let’s go see if she’ll tell us one.’ Reggie was torn, but in the end the two had come to a compromise. Daisy would fetch him a plate of cake and a cider and he would come see Miz Bella with her.

Bella was talking to the children’s mother when Daisy and Reggie drew up near her. They hovered by her elbow as she spoke, then as she grew quiet waiting for a response to her offer, Reggie, not one to wait patiently for long, piped up with a question of his own.

‘Can we come to school and hear about dragons, Miz? Can we?’ He felt a small shove at his shoulder. Blushing, he took a deep breath and began again. ‘MAY we?’ he asked, grinning up at Bella. ‘We like dragon stories. My sister and I. We like them a lot!’

[Firefoot]

Old Thistle Bracegirdle had not felt like cooking supper for herself this night, and so had decided to stop by the Green Dragon, a reputable inn by all accounts. She was hungry, and feeling rather grumpy. Here she had been waiting, and yet no one had noticed her or asked if she might like something to eat. Hmph! Her interest was caught by the young lass and her brother puzzling over the sign, but she hung in the background, unnoticed. When the hobbit server had stopped to read the sign out loud for them, Thistle strained her ears to hear how it read. Her ire grew as she heard what was being said. Reading, 'riting, 'rithmatic... Elven lore and tales... Hmph! What did hobbit lasses and lads need to learn such outlandish things for? Better they were off learning from and helping their Mas and Pas about cooking and gardening and farming and other sensible activities.

As the excited youngsters bounded away from the sign (Little’uns are so boisterous these days), Thistle hobbled up to get a look at it for herself, though she could not read a word of it. Looks like little more than chickenscratch, she thought. Now why does anyone need to learn to make the little marks beyond 'ritin their name? She scowled at the sign and thumped her wooden cane irratably on the floor. Didn't this Miz Bella have anything better to do with her time?

One of the hobbit maids came by (So someone finally notices me!). “Is something the matter, ma’am?”

“I should say so!” stated Thistle loudly. “What kind of nonsense is this, anyway? What do our lads and lasses need to be learning all this for? Elven lore and tales of dragons - hmph! Ninety-six years I’ve lived without knowing more letters than how to write my name! They’d be better off helping out their folks at home - learning to cook and work in the garden. Not good for hobbits to learn too much about the outside world. Get queer in the head, they do!”

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger takes Miz Bracegirdle's order

‘Yes, m’am,’ said Ginger as Miz Bracegirdle made her points, the old gal thumping on the ground with her cane to emphasize each one. Truth be known, Ginger had stood near as Buttercup read the notice to the children and was thrilled at the notion. ‘Yes, m’am. Queer in the head.’

She put on as polite a face as she could. She didn’t believe all that for one minute. If queer in the head meant having a little adventure in your life, Ginger was all for it. Shy as she might be about going out on an adventure herself, still she was glad that others had made the bold step. She shivered a little with anticipation and delight. She could stay safe in her own little burrow and venture out to visit the Elves and see about dragons and treasure and such without setting foot out of the Shire.

Tomorrow, she would see Miz Bella about joining up in one of her classes. She didn’t mind sitting in with some of the littler children. She liked the little ones. And maybe she could help Miz Bella with keeping them in order. Goodness knows she had enough practice with that between her younger brothers and sisters and her older siblings’ little ones.

Miz Bracegirdle was looking up at her as if she thought Ginger had gone daft. Regathering her wits about her, Ginger asked what the old dear would be wanting to eat and drink.

[Undómë]

‘Well, Strawberry, here we are! Let’s get you unharnessed and into a nice stall for the night. Clean straw and a nosebag of oats for all your long traveling today, m’lassie.’ Hobson Bridger pulled his small cart up to the stable and hopped down to the ground. With a practiced series of motions he quickly unharnessed his red chestnut pony from the shafts and led the tired little horse into the stall the stableboy had pointed out to him. A few coins exchanged hands, with the boy promising to rub the pony down and brush her in the morning. The cart was pulled close to the side of the stable and secured beneath the overhanging eaves.

Satisfied his four-legged companion was well taken care of, Hob picked his way across the darkening Inn yard and up the steps to the door. A rush of warm air greeted him as he entered, and he stood for a moment blinking in the lamp and fire lit interior of the common room. His eyes adjusted, he made his way to a small table occupied by several other Hobbits. They offered him the empty seat, passing their jug of hard cider to him along with a clean mug. ‘Green Dragon cider. Put hair on your toes, it will,’ they assured him. He in turn offered a pipeful to each from his pouch of pipeweed. One of the servers came by, and he allowed as how he might try a large wedge of that mushroom pie he’d seen being brought to others. And some bread and butter would be nice and a small wedge of cheese. It had been a very long day on the road from Budge Ford to Bywater, with only a few apples and some cold cornbread from last night’s supper to see him through.

He took a long pull on his drink and then looked about expectantly for someone who might be the Innkeeper. He’d need lodging for the night and perhaps the next few days, depending on how his trading went. Hob leaned back in his chair, listening to the small talk of his tablemates, joining in when he could. His keen brown eyes swept the room slowly as he puffed on his pipe. Just might be a good day at the market tomorrow, he reckoned, that is if the weather held

[Tevildo]

Lilly's face had gone beet red when she heard that Bella mistakenly believed that she and Master Falco were all part of one family. She was relieved that Falco had slipped away from the table in order to go make some music with the others and hadn't heard everything that was being said. Still she had best clear up the confusion and explain.

"I am pleased to meet you, Miz Bella. My name is Lily, and I am the mother of Rory and Camille, just a poor widow who lives down by The Water. Master Headstrong is a friend of our family, a newly acquired friend to be sure but still a dear friend and benefactor. If you wish to inquire about the young lass Marigold going to your school, you had best ask him."

"As to my own children attending your school, I would dearly love that, but I am afraid we have few extras for such an indulgence. My daughter secured a position at the Inn only today, and I have arranged to do Master Falco's laundry. We'll be needing every penny from those two jobs for food and blankets and other necessities."

Camille looked quite happy, even relieved, upon hearing her mother's response but when Lilly looked over at her son, she saw a look of sheer disappointment registered on his face. Lilly wished she could reply differently to Miz Bella, but food had to come first. It would be foolish to think otherwise. At that moment, before Bella could even respond, two young hobbits scampered over to the table and blurted out another question about wanting to come and attend the school.

[elf-girl-63]

Aranel looked around the room. Most of the inn's customers seemed to be enjoying the music, and she was too, although she was beginning to miss Ferdy's company. He had been accosted by some younger hobbits and was now busy teaching them the basic rhythms of the songs. She smiled at how relaxed he looked with them. He must have realised she was staring because he raised his head suddenly and winked at her. Blushing, she immediately turned away, not used to such actions.

The room was full of hobbits eating loudly but Aranel jumped at the door banged shut and in entered yet another hobbit with dark brown eyes. He sat down with some acquaintances (or were they friends? SHe couldn't quite tell) and began puffing on a particularly large pipe. The smoke, however, began to drift over to her table, making her cough and splutter. After wiping her eyes in a dark green handkerchief, she eventually got up to order some food. For some reason the journey had left her weary and hungry... the late lunch she had eaten only a couple of hours ago had done little and so she made her way to the bar.

A young hobbit girl was there with bouncing curls and a pleasant face, 'Would you like some supper Miss?" she enquired politely.

"Yes could I have the chicken with vegetables, the spice cake and some water please?"

The girl nodded and asked to her seat, "Oh, just over there in the corner near the window, thank you." Aranel swept her long hair out of her face and made her way back to her quiet table.

[Firefoot]

"Some dinner, of course - whatever it is that smells so good," answered Thistle. "And make sure it is hot. Cold dinner's no good. With apple cider." Thistle could not help but feel she was being put off. And this girl, Ginger; why, did she not have anything of her own to say? Only a "yes m'am" and the repetition of Thistle's own words. Didn't these young folk think for themselves anymore? Ginger had got right dreamy-eyed, too, once she had finished talking. This was what happened when a hobbit interested themself in tales about elves and dragons - not a sensible thought left in them! Thistle bet that Ginger had probably been one of the first to sign up for these hogwash lessons.

"Yes m'am," said Ginger. "Why don't you have a seat and make yourself comfortable? We'll have it ready shortly."

Thistle allowed herself to be ushered to a small table, but not without a few more admonishing words to Ginger. "Make sure you don't go filling your head with this tomfoolery about dragons. You be sensible, help out your folks at home. Life'll go better for you, you mark my words..."

"Yes m'am. Your dinner will be right out, all right?"

Thistle nodded sourly. Of course she'd leave her all alone like this. No one ever cared to give her company any more. Not even the children came to visit with their families.

Thinking of children, why were there so many of them here? And noisy children. Noisy, rambunctious, singing children. Was this how children were raised these days? In fact, those nearby seemed to be encouraging it! Hmph. What was the Shire coming to these days?

[Arry]

‘Shoo now! Band’s on a break for the moment and I’ve got someone to see.’ Ferdy watched as the children went running off in ones and twos back to their parents’ tables. All save one impish little lad of about five years of age who grinned up at him. ‘Ferdy’s got a girlfriend! O – o –ver there!’ he chanted, laughing as Ferdy turned a bit red about the collar. He’d seen Ferdy look toward that girl with the long hair and give her a wink.

‘Ah, Willi,’ returned Ferdy, putting his arm about the boy’s shoulders. ‘You’ve the right of it that I’ve a girl. But she’s my new met friend,’ he said nodding toward Aranel. ‘Now there,’ he went on, turning Willi toward the kitchen door where Ginger was just passing through, ‘there’s my heart’s own.’

‘Can’t see, Ferdy!’ the boy protested. Ferdy picked him up and sat him on his shoulders. ‘There she is, Willi. You can’t miss her pretty carroty curls. Name’s Ginger. Isn’t that a grand name? And if we were closer you could see the little sprinkle of freckles over her nose and fair cheeks.’

Now Willi had never heard of a girl being talked about like that. He clambered down from Ferdy’s shoulders and grabbed his hand, urging him toward the kitchen where Ginger had disappeared. It took little prompting for Ferdy to follow along at his side.

[Primrose Bolger]

Miz Bracegirdle is served her supper . . .

Ginger cut a large wedge of mushroom pie and putting it on a plate, popped it into the warming oven above the stove. Next came a bowl of steaming chicken stew filled with plump pieces of meat and good sized chunks of carrots and taters and onions and green peas. That, too, got put in the warmer while she sliced off a couple of thick pieces of warm crusty bread to put in a small cloth covered basket.

A small pot of sweet cream butter and another of thick, sweet/tart gooseberry jam were placed on a tray, along with a mug of cold apple cider, the bread, and the tableware wrapped in a clean napkin. She was just about to get out the hot food out when a little voice pulled her attention toward the kitchen door.

And there was Ferdy, standing just across the room from her, smiling a foolish smile. At his side was the source of the words. One of the little lads from the common room. He was looking up at Ferdy and nodding his head. ‘They are real purty, her reddish curls and all. But I still can’t see her freckles.’ He peered up at Ginger as she came closer to them, wiping her hands on the towel that hung on her apron. ‘He says you’re his “heart’s own”, Ferdy did,’ said Willi taking a good look at her. ‘I never saw one of those.’ Now it was Willi’s turn to flush a little as Ginger smiled at him and reached out to tousle his curls. ‘But, gosh, I guess he’s right about it.’

There was an awkward moment of silence as Ginger smiled at Ferdy. Then, Ginger took the little boy’s hand and marched him over to where she was putting together Miz Bracegirdle’s supper. ‘Ferdy,’ she said, ‘if you’ll help him wash his paws up a bit, he can help me with this last order. Then maybe we can sit down and share a cup of cider ourselves.’

Face and hands washed, curls pushed back from his red-cheeked face, and his shirt tucked in so he looked like a proper server of the Inn, Willi took the small plate that held the square of spice and raisin cake solemnly in his two chubby hands. Ferdy held the door for them as Ginger led the way with the tray of hot, savory food. Ferdy followed up with the mug of cider in hand.

The stew and mushroom pie were placed in front of the old Hobbit along with the basket of bread, the pots of butter and jam readily at hand. Ferdy plunked down the mug of cold cider, saying he hoped she would enjoy her supper. Last came Willi who carefully slid the cake plate onto the table and nudged it toward Thistle. ‘Yes, ‘njoy,’ he echoed. ‘And especially the cake,’ he whispered. ‘Got more raisins’n a anthill got ants.’ He turned a bit shy and backed off, intending to let the lady eat.

His eye caught her substantial cane leaning against a chair near her at the table. It reminded him of the stories his Da had told him of when the ruffians made trouble right here in Bywater. It was a grand story . . . exciting and scary at the same time, even though he knew in the end the Hobbits would win out.

‘Ooh! Nice cane, Miz Bracirdle!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Bet you gave those old ruffians a good thump when they was here . . . you and Master Merry and Master Pippin . . .’

[Undómë]

Seated nearby was a table of Shire folk and one of the biggest men Hob had ever seen. Now Girdley Island was on the north eastern boundary of the Shire, and there were many different folk that passed through the small inn there. The Cottonwood Inn had rangers of all sorts and sizes that frequented it, some rougher looking than others, though most of them tall and wiry in build. And there were the Men from the nearby farms. Broad built and muscular, they enjoyed their ale and the hearty fare the cook there served. The very occasional Elf, there was that visited, but they were quiet folk and moved on quickly. All of them heading west.

And once there had been a pair of Dwarfs. Sturdy fellows on their way north to see to some old mines they’d heard of up there. No wizards - that he had heard of. Though once a fellow cloaked all in brown had may his way across the bridge to the island. He’d left a wounded goose he’d found in the woods nearby. Mended its wing and asked the Innkeeper to look after it. Still waddled about the Inn yard, that goose. Cook never took the axe to it, didn’t have the heart to. She said it always seemed to be looking for something or someone.

But a big fellow, like the one he was looking at now, now that was something they’d not seen on Girdley.

There was another fellow at the big man’s table, one of the Big Folk, but not as large as the other. He too was leaning forward, looking as if he had just asked a question and was waiting for an answer. Hob’s tablemates were busy discussing the success of the Spring lambing and gave him a friendly wave when he excused himself, saying he thought he saw someone he knew. He made his way to the big fellow’s table and stood at the edge until someone scooted a chair out for him, inviting him to sit down.

The man who had looked as if he’d asked a question, spoke up again. ‘What about this ‘bear’ you spoke of?’

Ah, thought Hob, a good hunting story! He settled in to listen . . .

[Noinkling]

Benat nodded as the new Hobbit settled in. Anyopâ had asked his question again and the full attention of the table was now focused on how he might answer. Benat, himself, was wondering how to answer the man’s question without causing too much alarm. It had become quite evident to him that few, if any, had heard of the Beornings here in the Shire. And good folk as they were, still he wondered how they would view something so familiar to him and yet so unordinary if not unthinkable to them. He decided to begin with the story of how Gandalf had brought Mister Bilbo and the Dwarfs to the land about the Carrock.

He was well into the story, pleased with himself, since they had some knowledge of it and seemed to be enjoying it. They’d asked where the Carrock was and he’d explained about the northern parts of The Great River, the Anduin. Bigger and rougher than the Brandywine he’s told them . . . and deep enough for small ships to pass up it for a ways. They’d shivered as he spoke to them of the nearness of the old forest, called Mirkwood, then, he’d said. ‘Just to the east of us, and filled with shadow and all manner of dark things.’ They’d nodded at this, being familiar with the Old Forest near Buckland.

‘And to the west were The Misty Mountains . . . a warren of tunnels and caves all used for many long years by the great hordes of goblins and Orcs and other foul and dangerous creatures,’ he told them.

‘Have mercy,’ murmured Maddy, shaking his head at the grim picture. ‘Seems like you were caught in the grips of a vise – bad ‘uns to the left and right of you! How ever did you and your folk survive?’

‘We had the advantage of being bigger and stronger and more ferocious as need be than our foe,’ Benat went on. He took a good sized swig of his ale, then continued. ‘We’re Skinchangers, my folk . . . and I.’

There were looks of confusion on the faces of his tablemates. ‘Let me explain . . .’ They were only a small number living in that dangerous place, but they had the ability to change at will into great Bears with keen eyes and noses, and very sharp teeth and claws. They patrolled the borders of their little land and for many lives of their folks they had kept their holdings and families safe from the marauding evil. And even now, though the King’s Peace, was spreading slowly through the lands, still beneath the mountains, in the darkness, dwelt little pockets of Orcs and goblins and trolls. And the wolves of the north still hunted in the mountains and would make forays into the fields and pastures when the winters were particularly bad.

The Hobbits asked a number of questions, as did Anyopâ. They all held a look of wary fascination in their faces, though from what they asked they seemed to be trying to slide their minds around what he had told them. Benat called for another pitcher or two of ale. They would be needing it when he got into the tale of the battle he thought.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Excuse me for a minute. I still believe we can work something out, but let me help these little ones first." With that, Miz Bella turned away from her conversation with Lilly to focus her full attention on the two young hobbits who were now tugging intently on her sleeve.

"And who might you be?" she asked.

"I'm Reggie, and this is my sister Daisy. We heard about your school, and we want to come hear all those dragon stories, please ma'am."

"You may call me Miz Bella, and I would be most happy to have you come. I do love dragon tales myself. But first you must ask your parents what they think. If your parents or you would like to come tomorrow morning to my chambers, you can help me fix up the schoolroom in the morning. Perhaps by the afternoon we can have a short session."

She looked impishly down at the children and asked, "Do you like riddles? I like them almost as much as dragon stories. Think about this riddle tonight and see what you think the answer is. You can ask your folks for help if it is too hard." Then Miz Bella recited:

The beginning of eternity,
The end of time and space,
The beginning of every end,
And the end of every space..

"If you can find the answer, you'll be on your way to learning to read."

With that, the little ones ran off, and Miz Bella directed her attention back to Lilly, noting, "I think we might come to a very agreeable arrangement. When you come down to the Inn to pick up Master Headstrong's laundry, I'll have a small bundle of my own. I'll need my own clothes washed but also the rags and such that we use to clean the slates at school. It would be a big help to me not to have to worry about such things in the evening, and I would gladly include Rory and Camille in the classroom in exchange for such a service. What think you?"

[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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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