The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Fairleaf]

Reggie followed Hanson and Woody from the schoolroom. He hung back a bit, seeing Woody talking seriously to his brother. He knew all about older siblings and their serious talk – mostly it was threats about being good punctuated at times with a little pinch or two if his sister didn’t think he was paying proper attention.

He loved his sister and he was pretty sure Hanson felt the same about his brother. But boy-oh-boy, sometimes his sister sounded just like his Ma. Not that he didn’t love his Ma, either, It’s just that sometimes it felt like there were just too many rules to remember.

He sat near the two boys, on the ground, drawing little pictures in the dirt. He could see Hanson glancing his way, squirming a little. ‘Hey, Woody!’ he said quietly, in a hopeful voice. ‘You think Hanson and me could just play over there. In the corner. I promise we won’t go anywhere else.’

[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

[Envinyatar]

Derufin raised his chin toward Benat and grinned. ‘Look,’ he said, turning his head back toward Anyopâ. ‘Benat’s back.’ He raised the mug of ale he held in his left hand, signaling to Benat that they would join him.

‘So, here you are. How was your visit with the mayor?’ Derufin and Anyopâ pulled out chairs for themselves, helping themselves to the basket of bread and the cheese Ginger had brought out.

Benat was about to tell them about his morning, when Ginger sailed up with a tray with two large bowls of soup. She eyed the nearly empty basket of bread and the depleted plate of cheese. Derufin winked at her, and apologized. Then pointing at Anyopâ, he ordered another two baskets of bread, another plate of cheese, and two soups.

Just before she left their table, he called her back. ‘And do you think perhaps Cook has a few of her spice cookies hidden somewhere you could bring for us?’ He gave her his most ingratiating smile.

‘Now tell us about Sam and what you found out,’ he said, turning back toward Benat.

[Anguirel]

Artifondo's eyelids were drooping contentedly down when Ginger returned with the Cook's imperious summons. They produced quite some consternation in the dreamy Hobbit tween.

"Bring a few of my chokes? Ah...but..."

As far as he knew, he hadn't a single vegetable on him. His father had been sure that the fame of the Dwellover Artichokes alone would be enough.

"That name, Fellover, m'boy, will get you into a king's counting-house. You won't need to disturb a single one of my crops."

Ursula had thought differently. "Father, Vinca Bunce is hard as old boots. She'll be sure to demand some guarantee of quality. Artifondo's enough of a dolt even when he bears produce...if he comes in empty-handed, well..."

But Pellinco Dwellover had stuck firmly to his position. "I won't lessen my yield nor demean the Dwellover renown. Besides, Fellover's a good lad really, aren't you?"

Artifondo rolled his eyes. He hadn't known what to say to that; for compared to his rascally, irresponsible little brother Gandrio he was indeed a "good lad". Then at last a memory clicked into place. Grizel, cunning little Grizel, had handed him a bundle as he left. It had completely slipped his mind...now he hurried over to where his cloak hung, ransacked it, and eventually produced the heavily swathed lump, hurriedly unwrapping it.

It was a large, perfectly shaped artichoke, filling his fist. Superb...if you liked that sort of thing. It grew slightly paler at is ages, which lended it a look almost of refinement. Somehow it had escaped being damaged during his fall. He couldn't recall what Pellinco called this strain. Wholesome Carbuncle, or something similarly ridiculous.

"Right," he said to Ginger in relief. "I'm ready to come with you." And he smiled; for he had had an idea, and he intended to present this "thistle" in a way that would be positively impossible to resist.

[Primrose Bolger]

‘That’s it?’ asked Ginger, leading Artifondo round to the deliveryman’s entrance at the back of the kitchen. ‘I think she’s expecting you to bring your cart with you, with the artichokes in it.’ She looked at him in a questioning way. ‘We don’t often have merchants come to the Inn with nothing for us to buy.’

She hurried him along, hoping he wouldn’t fall over as he followed after. He seemed like some young pony whose legs weren’t all working the way they should.

Two steps and they were on the porch at the kitchen’s back door. Ginger waited as he mounted the steps and brushed himself off a little and straightened his vest. ‘Her name is Miz Bunce, by the way,’ she reminded him before they entered the kitchen proper.

‘Well, here he is Cook.’ Ginger took him by the elbow and moved him forward. ‘Master Artifondo Dwellover . . .’ She rolled her eyes and nodded toward the rather large thistle in his hands. ‘ . . . and his artichoke.’

[piosenniel]

Cook meets Master Dwellover

Cook turned from her rolling out of the plum tart pastry and wiped her hands on her apron. Her hands went round to untie her apron as she nodded at Ginger and Artifondo. Laying her apron on the back of a nearby chair, she motioned toward the kitchen’s old oak table, indicating Artifondo should have a seat.

Ginger she instructed to fill the tarts and set them to baking while she spoke with the merchant. Might young! she thought to herself. She watched as he neared the chair across the table from her. Tall lad. Don’t remember the other Dwellovers being of such a height. She shrugged mentally. Never did have much occasion to get to know them well.

Time was passing, and she wanted to get ready for tea with the Elven gardener she’d met. ‘Well, Master Dwellover . . . what sort of wares have you brought for me to look over . . .?’

[Child of the 7th Age]

After several trips back and forth between the courtyard and the schoolroom, Miz Bella had finally managed to sort out the worst of the misunderstandings. She had spoken with Camille and Neviel, and gotten the hobbit lass to agree that the young Elf would help her brother down the steps the next time the children went outside.

For now, it was time to return to class and begin the afternoon lessons. With this in mind, Miz Bella had gone out to the garden and diligently herded the remaining children back into the schoolroom. She counted noses to make sure no one had been left behind. She thought she'd accounted for everyone, although it was hard to tell since a child or two had dropped into the garden during lunch and, seeing the tasty meal provided by Cook, had impulsively decided to join the class on their own.

Once everyone had taken their seats and a special spot was made for Rory, Miz Bella stood up to address the class. But before she could say anything, there was a gentle rapping on the door, and Ruby came into the room, explaining, "Ah, Miz Bella, you're back. Mistress Aman was hunting for you while the class was outside. She has something to ask you."

Miz Bella quickly replied, "Ruby, on your way back, would you tell the Innkeeper that she's welcome to drop by our class anytime. She can see how we're doing and have a word with me whenever she'd like." Ruby nodded and disappeared down the hallway as Miz Bella turned back to the students.

"Master Hearpwine should be arriving shortly. And when he does, we'll shift over to singing. But for now, I have some riddles for you to answer. Whoever gets an answer correct will earn a prize." Miz Bella pointed to a number of small treasures lined up on her desk: a small bag filled with sweets, three chalk sticks, a leather ball, a bright green kerchief for a lass to tie back her curls, and, most glorious of all, a knife that could be used for carving small things out of wood. "Everyone who tries to answer the questions will get a peppermint stick. But whoever has a right answer will be allowed to pick one of these special prizes. If we're interrupted by visitors," Miz Bella noted, "we'll continue with our game later."

"Alright now, here's the first riddle. Listen carefully.

Thirty white horses upon a red hill,
Now they champ, now they clamp,
And now they stand still.

That's the easier one. And here's the second.....

In spring I am gay,
In handsome array;
In summer more clothing I wear;
When colder it grows,
I throw off my clothes;
And in winter quite naked appear.

Can anyone guess what either of those are?"

[Huan]

‘Perhaps I should go and clean up, also,’ Anyopâ commented, watching as the Hobbit disappeared from view. ‘Although,’ he went on, lifting his head to where the faint breeze ruffled his hair, ‘it feels nice just sitting out here.’

He grinned at Derufin. ‘What say we get a pitcher of ale and sit there beneath the oak tree by the stable.’ He picked up his vest from the ground beside him and fished through the pocket. I’ve got my pouch of pipeweed here. We can sit and talk and smoke and relax.’

[Envinyatar]

‘Better yet,’ offered Derufin, ‘let’s get a pitcher and take it to my cottage. There’s a nice wide porch with comfortable chairs. We can put our heels up on the porch railing and enjoy ourselves. Mayhap we can also entice Zimzi out for a cup of ale.’

This latter plan was agreed upon. And Derufin was appointed to fetch the ale, while Anyopâ started for the groundskeeper’s cottage. ‘Tell Zimzi I’ll be there shortly. And please, make yourself comfortable until I return.'

[Firefoot]

Thistle hesitated, then reached out for some mushrooms. Mushrooms were good almost no matter their state: cold, hot, fresh, cooked, or otherwise. "Don't mind if I do."

As if by chance she looked around the room and happened to see a young lad waving - at her? He was standing atop the hearth (climbing all over the furniture. Hmph.) and flushed as from exertion (lads these days have far too much energy). She squinted, trying to remember if she knew him. Ah, yes, that was right! He was one of the young lads last night so intent on going to that school. Hmph. He hadn't paid her any attention last night, either, not like that nice Willi chap. She gave Reggie a withering glance and turned back around.

She noticed that Peony was watching curiously. Thistle, misinterpreting the look, said, "Don't mind 'im. 'E's just one of them rambunctious lads, too full of 'imself to be polite. And a student at that school, at that."

[Strider]

“Enchanted,” the newcomer replied to Miss Brown’s cordial welcome, “It would please me greatly if you would bring me a bit of hot water.” He was soft-spoken, his voice low, melodious, and laden with a faint lilt which suggested that Westron was not his first spoken tongue. His eyes were bright, almost excited as they scrutinized the hobbit lass, for it had been some time since the ellon had rested his gaze upon one of her kind for long years had passed since he had ridden this far north or indeed so far from home.

Smiling earnestly at Ruby, he paused before turning his attention towards pulling his cloak over a lithe shoulder and loosening the laces of his tall leather boots. Fingers worked deftly and languidly, gray gaze wandering across the colorful medley of the inn’s guests. When he happened upon a pair of curious eyes, he offered an urbane smile. To those of his kind he nodded in silent greeting, a truer, less reserved grin raising the corners of his mouth.

[piosenniel]

It is now early evening at the Inn.

Supper is being served: Conies stewed with taters and carrots. Fresh peas from the garden, glistening with butter. Big, fluffy biscuits with jam and honey and sweet cream butter.

Ales, wines, teas, cider, and other beverages are available at your request.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Not wanting to intrude upon the solemn affairs that Esgalhugwen talked of to Falowik, Aman had murmured a few polite words and quietly excused herself from their company. After all, she did have an Inn to run, even if it did seem to be part-schoolroom, and even if it did manage to get along quite well enough without her help sometimes. Running a hand through her hair, the Innkeeper surveyed the Common Room thoughtfully, one hand on her hips; she had neglected it somewhat over the past few days, she supposed, and no doubt would need to make it up to Cook at some point. Goodness knows how the old hobbit woman matron deserved it, a break - but on the other hand, it wasn't like she would ever dream of taking one.

As if the very thought could conjure her up, the aforementioned Miz Bunce bustled past Aman as she spoke, heading for the kitchen purposefully. As she did so, she almost ran into a small hobbit lad, and Aman caught her elbow instinctively. Distangling herself from the younger Innkeeper, Vinca raised her eyebrows amusedly at Aman. "Now, now, Aman, I'm not a senile old bodger yet."

The Innkeeper blushed slightly. "Oh! Oh, no, sorry Cook, I didn't mean to cause any...any offence..." she trailed off as she saw that Vinca was laughing at her, and raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Ah. I'm just being mocked as usual. Well, very well, do carry on..." she replied sarcastically. Cook nudged her companionably, tutting good-naturedly. "Ah, hush now, Aman: you're as bad as some of these little'uns!"

As the hobbit woman bustled away, leaving the Innkeeper with this comment, Aman took a second then hurried after her. "What do you mean by that, hmm?" she challenged, pretending to take offence. Her half-moon glasses perched on her round nose - unusually, for Cook did not usually wear them unless she was doing the accounts - Vinca looked severely up at Aman, taking on the role of scolding school teacher. "Having a paddy indeed, Aman - as bad as any of these 'ere children! Not that I mind having the little ones about the place, of course - keeps you young, isn't that what they say, hmm?" Chuckling to herself, Vinca departed in her purposeful potter towards the kitchen, leaving Aman to muse on the hanging rhetorical question. Glancing about at the room, she eyed the hobbit children, who were now reluctantly allowing themselves to be gathered in by Miz Bella, and grinned to herself as she went about gathering the plates and cups already left over from the beginnings of lunch. By the fiercely good-natured determination on the young schoolteacher's face, she wasn't sure Miz Bella would agree with Cook's last statement.

Reading, 'Riting and 'Rithmatic - the three 'r's, taught since the beginning of time by schoolteachers everywhere, and no doubt to be taught to every groaning schoolchild until the end of the worlds came and the gods sailed from the West. Would Miz Bella inject any extras? After all, the Green Dragon was a very unusual Inn; it would be fitting that what was taught was a little different... And it wasn't as if there was any lack of teachers around here from any walk of life, who could teach the budding students any number of things - however irrelevant, it would certainly be an interesting education! Why, Snaveling, or Tar-Corondir as Mithalwen named him: his knowledge of Dunedain history was detailed and from several perspectives, especially the history tracking Gondor for the last century at least, being as he had lived through it; and his knowledge of the court of Gondor. And Miz Bunce? If she could be prised away from her beloved kitchen ad duties, she had a wealth of knowledge of cookery and gardening which Aman solemnly believed was sorely to be matched by any in the Shire, plus her rigid ideas of morals and etiquette, especially for young hobbit lasses. And for the boys? Well, Derufin was able to turn his hand to just about everything - include teaching and he could probably impart some of his useful skills to the children, while Zimzi, his darling new wife, had her own skills...

And why not? The musings carried Aman along in a daze as she patrolled the Common Room. The Three 'R's - add to them botany, cooking, etiquette, history, geography... Her gaze alighted on Hearpwine and Aman almost clicked her fingers as she realised a vital skill for any small hobbit: music-making! In her inquisitive and flowingly curious state of mind, Aman 'accidentally' caught the end of Mithalwen's reply to the Rohirrim Bard.

"...and at all times the necessaries of life - but my greatest delight, and I hope skill, is in the making of instruments of music."

"And who is to say those things are not one and the same?" Aman interjected, smiling warmly at Mithalwen. The elf looked surprised - after all, their interchanges yesterday had not been exactly warm - but picking up on the sincerity of Aman's expression, Mithalwen hesitantly returned the gesture. Hearpwine seemed unaware of the tension, his broad features breaking out into a proud smile as he nodded approvingly up at Aman. "Spoken like a true Rohirrim!"

Mithalwen seemed to wince slightly, and bearing in mind Aman's newly discovered ancestry, the irony of the statement did not escape Aman, but she managed to limit her reaction to a mere twitch of the eyebrow. Covering it up, she continued to clear the glasses on the couple's table onto her tray. "Aye, well, music is the food of life, Hearpwine, as well you know - and talking of which, would you too like lunch at all?"

Mithalwen politely declined but it didn't take much cajoling from the Innkeeper, who would not take no for an answer, for her to accept; Hearpwine was, as always, ready for the Green Dragon's hearty but homely feasts. ("All well and good, just so long as he stays out of the kitchen from now on," Vinca had muttered darkly.) But before she left, Hearpwine commented on Aman's thoughtfulness, and the way she kept glancing towards the school children. Seeing the perfect opening, Aman clicked her fingers and jumped in. "Strange you should mention that, Master Hearpwine. I was...well, I was just thinking about how we could maybe...erm...'extend' the class's curriculum."

"Oh yes?" Mithalwen replied, apparently interested as she leant forward, eyebrows raised. Aman perched on the edge of the seat for a moment, speaking excitedly as she outlined her proposal of all the Inn's denizens and staff had to offer. "I mean," she concluded. "Hearpwine has already attempted to entreat them with music, and were your songs not well recieved?"

"Indeed, indeed, Innkeeper," the bard secondly heartily, taking a quick pull at his fast-emptying pint. "But you yourself, do you not play an instrument?"

The Innkeeper shrugged. "I have not played a harp in many years, Hearpwine, but I remain a vocalist, I hope..." she shrugged again as she rose from her seat, not one used to blowing her own trumpet. "It's just an idea really."

"What does Miz Bella think?" Mithalwen asked.

Aman ran her tongue around her lips anxiously, wincing slightly. "I haven't exactly broached it with her yet," she replied carefully. "But...well...maybe I will..." she added thoughtfully. On that note, her head full of possibilities, the Innkeeper swept off to prepare food, drinks, and a proposal to Miz Bella...

[piosenniel]

Tea with Lithmîrë is finalized; the Artichoke merchant is sent for . . .

‘I’ve been stared at by Elves more bristly than you, Master Lithmîrë,’ said Cook staring back up at the tall fellow. She really didn’t like folk looking down on her, especially with the ‘look’. She was not that short for a Hobbit. Just right in fact, in her opinion. And being short did not mean she could be easily pushed about.

Cook chuckled to herself, recalling how Mistress Piosenniel had tried to ‘manage’ her as she gazed down from her height. ‘Just say what you need and I’ll accommodate as I can. No need to get your hackles up. Tea out of doors will be fine. Perhaps we can just step round in and hour or so to the little bower out near where the groundskeeper’s cottage is.’ She oriented herself and pointed in the direction she meant. ‘It’s a nice private place where two gardeners can talk without fear of turning the others about them to stone from the boring details of plant and dirt. I happen to know that the groundskeeper and his wife will both be gone for the afternoon.’

She led him over to the pump in the Inn’s back yard. ‘Now, if you will, just give the handle a few up-and-downs and I can get my hands washed.’ She did the same for him, worming out of him with her small chitchat what sort of sweets he might like with his tea.

Cook came round to the front door of the Inn, looking for one of the young fellows she’d set to tending the flowers in the front gardens. He wasn’t there, but he’d done a most excellent job so far with the weeding and the pinching back. His tools, she noted, were neatly lined up by where he’d left off. She nodded approvingly. ‘Gone into the Inn for a bite,’ she thought to herself.

Aman was there as she crossed the Common Room. The dear girl had maneuvered her aside to avoid one of the youngsters that was haring back toward the schoolroom. She tossed the young woman a few short comments, her eyes twinkling as she did so. As she hurried on to the kitchen, she could see the vaguely perplexed look on the Innkeeper’s face. ‘Keep her on her toes!’ she chuckled.

Ginger came up to her, just as Vinca was tying on her apron. The story of Artifondo and his artichokes was relayed. ‘Hmmm,’ said Cook, thinking how long it had been since she’d had a nice, plump artichoke to eat. All steamed up nicely; the leaves dipped in melted butter. ‘Have him come to the back door of the kitchen with a few of his ‘chokes. I’ll look them over and see if I want some, or not.’

She stepped into the pantry, looking for the dried plums she had stashed in the back. Out came the plums, sugar, flour, and the big crock of butter. ‘Plum tarts for dessert tonight,’ she announced to Buttercup, who was washing the dishes. ‘Can you mix up the icing to drizzle over them when they’ve cooled?’

[Noinkling]

Benat spies Derufin and Anyopa coming into the common room

As he waited for the arrival of soup, bread, and cheese, Benat looked curiously about the room. New people had arrived to swell the ranks of those he knew by name or at least sight. And he thought he’d seen, off to the side of the building, as he approached, a group of children eating together in a small courtyard and playing games. Now what was all that about, he wondered? He’d ask Ginger about it when she returned with his food.

He was just pouring himself another mug of cider, when he saw some fellows he’d met last night walk through the door, form the kitchen. Cullen thumped his tail at their approach. Benat stood, pulling out some chairs for them.

‘Come! Have something to eat and drink with me,’ he said in a hearty tone. ‘I’ve had the most amazing morning . . .’

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis and Ravon ate their lunch and talked of many things. About buying the house, about how Lewis' brother had been staying with them for a while and about a good deal of other things. Most of all, Lewis was paying attention to Ravon's elfish beauty and grace, and he thought about how they had met and fallen in love in this same inn, several months prior.

After they had finished their soup, Lewis knew it was time. He looked around to make sure no one was watching as he was feeling rather timid. "Ravon," Lewis started, as he reached into his pocket and got down onto one knee. "I love you so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He pulled out the case and opened it, inside was a perfectly crafted silver ring with a saphire set into it.

"Will you marry me Ravon?"

[Angel_Queen]

Ravon

She looked at Lewis. For once she was the happiest person in the world. "Lewis you know I will." She jumped out of her seat and hugged the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with. She knew now that nothing was going to take him away from her.

At about that time Lewis' brother walked in the Green Dragon. He had a big smile across his face. She looked at him. "Did you know about this?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine’s delight was apparent when he learned of Mithalwen’s craft, and in token of esteem to it he rose and bowed deeply to her. “My compliments once more to you Lady, for devoting your talents to such a lofty goal! I know but little of the instruments of Elves, but they are things of surpassing beauty in both form and function. There is a small harp in particular that I adore. It has many strings and is made of a fine, light wood from Lorién. Many’s the time have I been moved to tears simply by the sound of its chords.”

Mithalwen looked wary. “You would not ask of me to make you such an instrument would you, Master Bard?”

Hearpwine laughed. “Nay, Lady, I would not presume. My old master always thought me overbold – reckless even – but my impetuousness would never extend that far! Besides, in my land the Bard is expected to make his own instrument. Behold!” he pulled forth his harp once more, brandishing it in the air between them. “I fashioned this from the wood of an ancient tree that had been hewn by the foul creatures of Mordor when their kind befouled beautiful Ithilien. I sang a lament over the bole of the great beech before cutting it to the heart. The wood inside was clean and pure, and formed of straight lines, and from that I was able to make an instrument that is considered amongst the finest of my kind, although I am sure that to a maker such as yourself it must appear as the plaything of a child.”

He handed it to the Elf, eager to hear her opinion of his work but aware nonetheless that with the afternoon now underway he was expected in the schoolroom.

[Mithalwen]

"Well, there is no one right way to build a harp and I have had rather more time at my disposal, I started learning my craft when Elendil was founding his kingdom and some of my teachers had learnt theirs in Doriath and Gondolin. The wood I use, I have usually watched grow from a sapling and while to cut a tree is a sorrow, there are worse fates we deem. Each wood has it's own quality, the beech is beloved of elves and long lived so I use it seldom by design" She took the harp and examined it closely before drawing a range of scales and arpeggios from the instrument.

"I deem you have made it well to suit your purpose and needs. " She answered diplomatically - the harp had a robust but true tone, " were it used mainly for Elvish music, I would make certain adjustments to the voicing. Forgive me if I am too critical but in my own land, I am expected to make the instruments only for those with greater skill in performance ".

Nevertheless she picked out a tune she had learnt many years ago in Gondor, a tune of mortals she thought would suit the tones of this man made harp. For elves, music conjures visions or memories in the mind and she was transported across many centuries to the day when she had learnt that tune, the memory of the one who had taught it her brought back emotions still too painful to deal with in public and she stopped playing and returned the harp to its owner.

"I regret, I can not show you an instrument of my own making for I brought only the things which I expected to need on my journey. And no instrument has travelled to the south I think, unless perchance the lady Arwen took with her the lute I made for her long ago"... Mithalwen paused, lost again in memory and then stirred, wondering if it was time that she should return to the forge. But at that moment the vittles ordered by Aman arrived, hospitality she felt she could not refuse.

[Lasbelinion]

Lithmîrë’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement at what had just occurred. His hand still rested on the handle of the pump in the Inn’s back yard, a few driblets of its precious water splashing down onto the rocky bed below. He looked down, noting a few of the bees from the gardens had landed on the rounded rocks and were busy drinking. Precious water . . . he thought, watching a fat drop splatter on a rock and roll down, lost between the cracks where the stones butted up one against another. Where he had worked the fields, the water had flowed down narrow ditches to the thirsty plants. No drop wasted.

His gaze followed the track to the door through which the Hobbit had disappeared. He felt disarmed, in a way, by her conversation. He was not sure how she had done it. He ran their conversation back through his mind; not just the words exchanged, but the gestures and tones, the subtleties. Disarmed. And she without a lash or cudgel, and seemingly without design.

A strange, low sound surprised him. He felt it rumble through his chest, shaking his belly, until his throat gave voice to it. It was an odd sound, long unused by him. With a will of its own, the rusty laughter fell from his curved lips, following the track, too.

He found himself looking forward to the tea she had promised. It was a hesitant hope. And he hid it away quickly lest it disappear as the water had done among the hard stones of the drain field.

His head turned round to where she said she would meet him. His feet moved in the direction of the bower near the cottage at the edge of the yard.

[Anguirel]

Artifondo gulped slightly as he sat down. Miz Bunce, as his sister had described, was pretty formidable. Would the piece of sweet-talk he had planned succeed?

"Unfortunately, madam," he started, "my father...ah...was, um, unwilling to yield too many of his glistening fresh produce. I have brought only one, and not, perhaps, ah, the best..."

Now for the piece of theatrical dash. Holding out his left hand, he opened it slowly; but there was nothing in it. With a shy smile, in the face of the Cook's mounting impatience, he extended his right arm. Unlike his model, Beren Erchamion, he could not impress his viewer with a severed stump; but he could reveal the artichoke, its pale tips slightly luminescent in the darker kitchen.

"My father calls this strain of artichokes the Silmarils, madam, after the jewels in the old tales. As the gems are supposed to have coursed whoever ate them in holiness, so these bathe the body with a, ahm, a tremendous restorative quality as the heart is ingested. They will go perfectly beside your famous stews, or simply alone, ah, and, um, dowsed with butter."

Artifondo took a rather ragged breath.

"Sorry...didn't bring more...you know how it is..." He rolled his eyes. "Father...likes to keep them...for himself..."