The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[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) - AWAy AT PRESENT

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

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

[piosenniel]

Time of Day

It's morning in the Shire. Breakfast is being served.

The weather is pleasant - sunny with a clear sky.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and Wren cleared the table, scraping what scraps there were into the bucket for the garden’s compost pile. The dishes and tableware were then piled neatly into the sink to be washed a little later.

‘Come help me ladle the cake batter into the pans, will you Wren?’ she said, handing the girl one of the aprons from the pegs by the door. ‘We’re making sheetcakes for after supper. Nice yellow cake. Four of them I think. We’ll serve them up with strawberries and whipped cream.’

Handing Wren a cup, Ginger showed her how to go from pan to pan, pouring a cupful of batter into each until all the batter was gone and the pans equally filled.

‘Now let’s just open the oven . . . make sure there’s enough wood in the fire box. Then we’ll pop the pans in.’ Ginger pulled on the thick quilted mittens and pulled out the racks, placing each carefully carried pan Wren brought her on them.’ ‘You know, once we’re done here,’ she said, turning the small half-hour glass on the stove shelf over. ‘I could brush and braid your hair if you’d like. I have some pretty ribbons to tie them off. Blue, yellow, or pink. What do you say?’

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman watched the boy from a few steps off, close enough to jump forward to prevent him coming from harm should he step too close or press to hard. But he seemed strangely at ease with the giant stallion - though dwarfed beside Taydoch's muscular eighteen hand figure, the boy's hand moved with gentleness and ease over the soft black coat. And, incredibly, the horse also seemed not to mind, nuzzling the boy's hand gently with his oddly angular face: as she had said, Taydoch was one of her three horses, but he was the youngest and most exciteable, barely a colt, and from wild stock - he was the product of a a Rohirrim stallion and an Easterling mare, and so was almost unique, beautiful yet serviceable, streamlined for running yet muscly and strong enough for combat, and with the fire from both his parents' stocks. The Innkeeper was fairly impressed, then, when she noted how calm both horse and boy were; he hadn't been exaggerating when he said he knew how to handle horses - even Merimac, the stablehand, wasn't particularly fond of dealing with Taydoch, simply because of the horse's size and the fact that, Merrimac claimed accusingly, 'it watched him'.

Aman gave the stallion a quick pat on the nose, then showed Tim around the stables, finishing with her own other two horses: a dappled grey mare whose very coat seemed to shiver into different tones like a cresting wave whenever she moved. She went by the name of Rochfalmar, and had been a gift, or maybe just a loan, from a good friend of Aman's - an elf by the name of Pio, the previous Innkeeper at the 'Dragon. And lastly, the most recent addition to her little team: Felarof, another black stallion but this time descended from the line of the meeras, and as such one of the finest horses in the South - a present from Aman's good friend and grandfather (as strange a wording as that may seem), Tar-Corondir.

As they left the stables, Aman felt it may have been safe to ask a few more questions about the boy - maybe he did not trust her yet, but he was more at ease. "How old are you, Tim? And your sister?"

[Folwren]

Wren, in the kitchen, stepped back away from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron as Ginger offered to do her hair. She smiled shyly and nodded.

“I’d like that,” she said quietly. “Should we take off the aprons first?”

Ginger agreed with one of her many smiles and they took off the aprons and hung them up. Ginger fetched the brush, comb, and ribbons and sat Wren down in one of the kitchen chairs and commenced to brush out her hair.

There were many tangles and for some time, the Hobbit worked in silence. Wren sat as still as she could, swaying back when the brush caught on a particularly hard knot, and going forward again when her hair was released. She showed no sign of any pain, for she felt little - Ginger was gentle.

“I like you,” the little girl said after many minutes of silence. “You’re nice. I hope Tim says we can stay. We haven’t met anyone like you on the road. Most people didn’t like people from outside the Shire, you know. One person let us sleep in their barn once and in the morning when some eggs were missing, he accused Tim of stealing them and didn’t let us stay for breakfast even. But it wasn’t Tim,” she said with a slight sigh. Her hand picked absently at a thread in her dress as she stared out the kitchen door and continued talking. “It was one of their dogs. I saw him get into the nests. But the fellow was very mean to Tim and I think Tim would have gotten mad back if he had any chance of convincing him that he hadn’t done it.” Gingner was braiding her hair now and Wren turned her head slightly and changed the subject abruptly. “Can you use the blue ribbon? That’s my favorite color.”

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Walking across the yard again, Aman asked Tim how old he and his sister was. “I’m almost eleven,” Tim said, looking up at her briefly. “And she’s eight and a half.” He stopped and gnawed on his lip thoughtfully for a brief moment and went on. “I know we’re kinda little and we may not look like we can do much, but we’re not weak, and neither of us are dull.”

Aman smiled kindly, and shook her head. “No, I’m sure you’re not,” she half murmured.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien sat at a table, enjoying her breakfast in silence. She watched the other patrons, her saphire eyes roving about, searching for something of interest. She had a slight hangover from a little too much ale the night before, but she chose to ignore it.

She noticed that a young lad and lass were there, although they seemed to have no father or mother with them. She wondered curiously what they were doing out alone. She noticed how quiet the boy was with the great stallion, and how much help the girl was in the kitchen.

'I wonder who they are.' She pondered aloud.

[Primrose Bolger]

‘The blue ones it is, then,’ said Ginger. She finished one of the braids and bound it with a short piece of kitchen string. Her hands flew quickly through the other braid, and soon it too was done and bound. The length of one of the blue ribbons, the one the color of a bluebird’s feathers, was cut in two and twin bows soon found themselves perched securely on each of Wren’s braid ends.

Ginger glanced at the half-hour glass. The sand had almost run through. She peeked into the oven, noting the tops of the cakes were still wet looking. Closing the oven door once again, she turned the timer over.

‘Well, I suppose we could get these washed up and chopped,’ she said pointing to the carrots and taters and onions Aman had brought in from the garden. Cook does want to have some nice thick chicken soup for supper, but . . .’ She pursed her lips, then grinned at Wren.

‘If we’re quick about it, there’s a wardrobe of clothes that travelers have left in their rooms and never come back to collect or sent for. I’m certain there are skirts and blouses and dresses that would fit you. In fact, I know there are – I’ve looked at them myself.’ She held Wren at arm’s length and twirled her about. ‘You’re a Big Folk child, but still we’re about the same height. I’ve got maybe an inch or so on you.’ She took Wren by the hand and pulled her quickly up the back stairs of the kitchen toward the attic rooms above her own and the other server girls. ‘Step lively. We wouldn’t want the cakes to burn,’ she said, hurrying the girl along.

Ginger flung open the door and sneezed a bit in the stirred up dust. ‘There’s the wardrobe over there,’ she said pointing to a corner near one of the attic’s small windows. ‘Help me get the doors open, won’t you. They’re a bit sticky.’

[Pivli]

She paused at the top of the steps and leaned on her cane for a bit to catch her breath and rest her legs. ‘Not as spry as we once were, are we dears,’ she said flexing her creaky knees in anticipation of the short trek to the door.

Miz Violet Greengage brushed the dust from her dark green skirt and straightened the hem of her weskit. A familiar little whinny caused her to turn and she could see one of the stableboys leading her Nobby off toward the barn, her little green cart rolling along behind.

She walked to the large oaken door and putting her gnarled hand on it pushed it open. It was easier done than she thought it might be. ‘Kept in good order,’ she noted, nodding her head with approval.

Violet hadn’t been to the Inn in ages, it seemed. Though she lived not that far from it in a snug burrow up by The Pool. What with her children she’d raised, and their children and her garden and her few chickens and the goat, she’d kept herself busy enough paddling about in her own pond, as she’d say.

Now Mister Greengage, long since passed and buried in the small graveyard on the little hill that stood north of The Water, had enjoyed his weekly trips into Bywater to trade at the little market in the square, and had often spoken fondly of meeting with his friends in The Dragon, and a pint or two shared.

One of the ladies who lived near her had recently told Violet about the Faire that was to happen in a few weeks. There were to be booths of all sorts and she was planning on showing off her jams and jellies along with some of her neighbors. ‘And what about you, Miz Greengage?’ her neighbor had asked. ‘You going to show off your pretty quilts this year?’

Violet’s eyes were still sharp and she could still ply a needle with great skill. Her neighbor lady had gotten her to thinking about the many quilts she’d made that were stowed away in her great cedar chest. Perhaps she could show them off, she thought.

She made her way into the common room and looked about. ‘Now where was the Innkeeper,’ she said to herself. ‘And for that matter, who was the Innkeeper now.' One of the Big Folk she thought she'd heard from out east.

With her yew-wood cane tapping along on the wooden floor, she approached one of the tables. My, my it was one of the Fair Folk sitting there. Big as life and eating a proper Shire breakfast!

‘Pardon me for interrupting your meal,’ she said, standing near the Elf. ‘But have you seen the Innkeeper?’

[Seth Cotton]

Éothen was leading his horse along the road. The horse was tired, a long night of idle riding without a smallest pause. Éothen kept calming it, stroking it over the mane slowly with his hand and saying something silently to it that was almost unhearable for ears of Men.

The road led to The Green Dragon, an old Inn he had visited so many times before. Its renowned ale was the best he had ever tasted. The horse became more and more uncomfortable and pulled the reins and snorted constantly. Not even the calming words of his Master now helped and the situation became more serious.

Éothen really suffered and felt the pain as his noble stallion did. It was a bond he had never had with another horse before, and because of it, the horse had become really precious to him.

Finally he reached the Inn, he feared before that he wouldn't make it, and just seeing the small, narrow road leading down the Inn house made him sigh in relief. A great burden from his chest was gone as if it had never been there.

He came closer to the stables and met the Stablemaster, Meriadoc. He rushed up from the stool he was sitting on, leaning against the stable wall behind him smoking some pipeweed. 'G'day Sir! Is your horse in need of rest?' He glanced at the horse, and had obviously noticed the quite radiating exhaustion.

'Aye, it is my Friend.' Éothen responded, smiling faintly at Meriadoc. 'And so am I.' He chuckled and Meriadoc did as well. Éothen handed the reins to Meriadoc and made sure his horse did get plenty of food and water. He took farewell of Meriadoc and went over to the Main Building of the Inns grounds.

He went inside, and noticed, of course as it was early morning still, that breakfast was being served. Many was already up, sitting in the Common Room talking, eating or preparing to set off. Éothen was rather hungry by now after a long night of travelling. He did actually enjoy travelling in the night, he couldn't explain why.

He got himself some tea and bread then gazed around looking for a place to sit down. He heard a womans voice talking loud just behind him, probably talking to herself, but it was loud enough to drag Éothens attention just to see who it was.

He smiled and looked at her, seeing she sat alone eating her breakfast. He cleared his throat and asked 'Would you mind if I joined you, my Lady? It would be an honour'. He smiled again and half-bowed at her. He awaited her reply, looking at her with still a warm smile.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien looked up in surprise to see a man standing before her.
'Would you mind if I joined you, my Lady? It would be an honour'. He bowed, smiled, and waited for her answer. For a moment Larien was speachless. Aparently this stranger wished to sit with her. What was it about the Shire that people were so friendly to her, an Elven-raised Halfling who was running from her past? Why weren't people more suspiscious, even travelers like this man.

She realized that she couldn't leave this man standing before her all day, so she rose and curtseyed.

She smiled up at him. 'Yes please join me, Sir. I would be happy to share my table.' She indicated the chair oposite her and sat down once more.

She could tell from his attire that he was a traveller, and a man of Rohan. Curiosity drowned out her own cautious nature, so she decided to make conversation.

'From whence do you come, Sir, if you don't mind my asking. You are man of Rohan, if I am not mistaken, and that is a place far off from this.'

[Seth Cotton]

Éothen nodded and sat down in the opposite chair with his tea and bread. He started to eat a little of his bread, and he noticed the woman was looking at him. He looked up at her, smiling friendly, then she asked 'From whence do you come, Sir, if you don't mind my asking. You are man of Rohan, if I am not mistaken, and that is a place far off from this.'.

‘True.’ Éothen said shortly and cleaned his hands with the napkin. ‘Far indeed; it was a long journey here.’ He smiled and sipped some of his tea, the aroma was delightful and the heat from the tea sparkled and warmed hup his whole body. He had a recovering feeling that he got from the tea, he looked down in the cup, but as it appeared just normal he shrugged.

‘Oh, and yes, maybe I should introduce myself closer.’ He chuckled and put his plate of bread and napkin away. ‘I am Éothen, Captain of Rohan. I serve King Éomer.’ He paused, but then added. ‘I am not on duty now, of course, this is a small private journey off-duty made for pleasure and exploring.’

The woman appeared troubled to him, sort of uncomfortable. He glanced around from side to side, trying to see if there was something nearby that made her feel uncomfortable. ‘My Lady...’ He started again, but stopped. He didn’t want to question her right away, it wouldn’t be polite. Especially as they barely knew each other.

‘And what is your name, my Lady? Are you from around here?’ He forced a smile, just to ease up the situation a little and took another sip off his tea.

[Alcarillo]

Alcarillo swallowed his mouthful of bacon, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, cleared his throat, and when the elderly hobbit woman seemed to be losing patience, spoke.

"I have not seen the innkeeper all morning, madam, but I'm sure that one of the servers could direct you to her," he answered. Remembering to be courteous, he said "Please, have a seat." Alcarillo gestured to an empty chair at his table. "My name is Alcarillo Nession, and I'm from Harlindon. Are you hungry?"

Alcarillo was finishing his breakfast, but still felt it was rude to be eating in front of her while she ate nothing. Alcarillo pushed his half-eaten plate of bread across the table towards her. "Here, have some bread."

[Nerindel]

Lúrëaelda's return

A low sun shone bright in the clear blue morning sky, as Lúrëaelda rounded a the hill that led to the Green Dragon inn. The road was dry and small dust clouds rose in his wake, leaving a thin covering on the deerskin boots that covered his feet and half way up his calf. As the familiar sounds and smells of the inn reached this ears and eyes he looked up, his unusual piercing yellow eyes glistening in silent recognition at the familiar sight of the green dragon hanging almost welcomingly over the door.

A single voice coming from the rear of the inn caused the Silvan Hunter to freeze, his dark grey skin paling as he recalled the admonishments of the inns Cook the last time he had arrived at the inn. As he remembered it he had been innocent in the whole incident, but still Ms Vinca Bunce was not one to upset especially when it came to food and the payment thereof.

“No, surely she will not remember,” he swallowed shaking his head and turning away from the busy kitchen sounds and facing again the welcoming entrance of the inn. It had been sometime since he had left and as well as being a little taller than before he was now more sure of himself. A lot had happened since his last visit some good and some not so, but in all that time one image had burned in his memory.

A wry grin reached his lips as he ran a nervous hand through his dark cropped hair, disturbing the thin silvery braid from his shoulder so it fell down his back over the dusty hide jacket that covered the garb of an elf of Eryn Lasgalen, would she even remember me he wondered fleetingly. Then adjusting the bow and pack on his shoulders he pushed open the green door and stepped inside, his eyes hopingly searching for the friendly warm smile of the Dragon’s innkeeper.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien smiled when Eothen mentioned being one of the rohirrim. She recalled an adventure she had had a few years ago in Rohan. She had the privilage to meet the King and many of the soldiers and captains. She wondered if she had met this man before.

Her smile faded quickly when she remembered the consequences of that adventure, though. One of the very events that had led to her sitting at that table with this stranger in the Shire.

‘My Lady...’ She looked up quickly, remembering her manners, hoping he had not noticed her attentions wandering off. The Stranger's voice trailed off, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. I hope I haven't offended him in some way. She worried to herself.


‘And what is your name, my Lady? Are you from around here?’

Larien's face flushed with embarresment when she realized she had forgotten her manners and failed to introduce herself.

'Forgive me sir!' She cried. 'I am Larien Telemnar. I am a traveller, going from one place to another- but there was a time that I lived in Rivendell, as the adopted daughter of Lord Elrond.'

[Pivli]

Violet sat down on the offered chair; perched, that is, like some small green bird, on the seat’s edge. ‘The fellow is nice enough,’ she thought to herself, ‘but Violet you don’t really know him now, do you?’

His offer to share his bread with her, however, melted her reserve somewhat, and she smiled at him. ‘Well, now that would be quite nice,’ she said, scooting herself back in the chair.’

The elder hobbit loosened the ties on her black and beflowered bonnet and set it carefully to one side of the table. She patted her graying curls, hoping they had not got all wild and flyaway when she removed the hat.

‘My name is Miz Greengage. Violet Greengage. Live up by The Pool,’ she said, introducing herself. ‘Very nice to make your acquaintance Master Nession.’ Violet glanced about the room, hoping to see someone who looked as if they were in charge.

‘I wonder - might I have the pot of jam, there, too, if you don’t mind?’ she said as he pushed the basket of bread toward her. ‘And one other, small request, if you don’t mind. I haven’t been into town in a great number of years. Who is the Innkeeper these days?’

[Seth Cotton]

Éothen smiled back to her, being in a pretty good mood. He fiddled some with his hair, spun the hair around his fingers as they went on talking. It was a habit he had as long as he could remember. The woman then exclaimed as Éothen had asked for her name.

'Forgive me sir!' She cried. 'I am Larien Telemnar. I am a traveller, going from one place to another- but there was a time that I lived in Rivendell, as the adopted daughter of Lord Elrond.'

For a moment he thought she looked sad, into deep thoughts of sorrow. And that she after this statement returned into them. Éothen nodded slowly at her. He didn't know what to say.

'Lady Telemnar.' He said, nodding again, 'I guess you have great experience in travelling to distant places?' He grinned slightly, but only felt stupid as she saw she was unhappy. Her expression spoke of a sorrow long forgotten that had returned as they spoke. He was curious, wondering what once happened to her.

'Lady Telemnar..? Is something wrong?' he asked, sounding worried. He leaned closer and glanced at her. She did not smile, Éothen was growing nervous and afraid of maybe have insulted or brought up something he shouldn't have.

[Folwren]

Wren reached up and took the handle of the wardrobe. Ginger smiled down at her and then they both pulled at the doors. It came open with a reluctant squeak and they swung the doors back to the wall behind it. Wren searched the dim insides with bright, expectant eyes as Ginger reached forward and opened drawers and pulled out different dresses and aprons to go with them. Wren’s eyes got brighter and brighter as Ginger pulled out more. Finally, the hobbit stopped what a triumphal ‘Aha!’ and held out a dress that looked like it might possibly fit the small form of the girl.

Ginger helped Wren take off her first dress, worn from the constant travel and use and with the dirt of the road clinging to it’s folds, and put her into the new outfit. She did up the buttons in the back and then put an apron about her and tied it in the back around her waste to bring the dress in (it was, of course, to wide for her there).

“Does it look pretty?” Wren asked, looking down at herself as well as she could and turning about to make the skirt swirl. Ginger smiled and led her with gentle hands to the mirror at the other side of the room. Wren nearly squealed for joy when she saw her reflection. She had not looked so nice for weeks, she knew. The dress was almost fit perfectly, and her hair was done up admirably. She turned to Ginger and took her hand with excitement and began pulling her back towards the door. “Can we go down to the kitchen and show Tim? He’ll like the new dress and he likes blue, too, so he’ll like the ribbons...”

She didn’t wait for an answer and hurried out with the hobbit in tow. In a minute, they were back in the kitchen. Tim and Aman were just walking back in through the door and Wren let go of Ginger’s hand and ran to him.

“Look, Tim! Ginger did up my hair all nice and found me a dress, and see, look, she even let me have blue ribbons for my hair and she’s real nice, Tim. Can we stay? Please, can we stay?”

Tim surveyed his little sister carefully with a small smile on his lips and a fond light in his eyes. Her last question brought a little stronger smile and he looked up at the others in the kitchen briefly. Then, turning his look back to his sister, he answered. “I don’t know yet, Wren. It’s not up to me. We’ll see what comes.”

[Larien Telemnar]

'Lady Telemnar..? Is something wrong?'

Larien looked up suddenly, bringing her mind out of the memories of the past and tried to conentrate on the future. She gave a half-hearted smile.

'Forgive me sir. It seems as if I have returned to the road leading to the past, a place I often find myself these days.' She looked down at her hands uncomfortably, her fingers rubbing against the cloth of her skirt, as they always seemed to do when she was anxious. Perhaps I should tell tell this stranger my troubles. She thought. Perhaps he will not think ill of me.

She glanced at him to see a look of concern on his face, his eyes sincere and kind. After a short moment of deliberation, she resolved to tell her tale at last.

'I have only told the fair people at this inn about the early events of my life, bu only one other knows of my guilt, and the events that happened only within the last few years. I am the daughter of two Hobbits who wer travellers. One night while travelling through the misty mountains they were ambushed by Orcs. I was just an infant, so it was an easy task for my mother to hide me. Lord Elrond of Rivendell was travelling through the mountains and found me, took me home and raised me as his own daughter.' Here she paused to take a sip of her tea.

'I lived there for many years, untill the War of the Ring. I was lurking in the shadows during a council that was held, concerning Isildur's Bane. I thought to aid Middle-Earth in some way, so I ran away, against my father's wishes. A friend went with me, a young Elf by the name of Tyaro, as well as a few others. We had travelled to Rohan ten years before that, and decided that we would travel there first. After travelling to Rohan, we wandered about, fighting small bands of Orcs. One night Tyaro and I were seperated from our group, and were attacked by Wargs.' Here a small tear trailed down her cheek. 'We tried to fight them, but there were too many. Tyaro knew there was no hope of defeating them; he had already been mortally wounded, so he hid me in a rock clef- against my wishes- and drew them away. I can still hear his screams at night.'

Her voice trailed off as the tears streamed down her cheeks. 'I could not fight after that, so I sent the rest of our band away, back to Imladris.'

She gave a weak smile through her tears. 'Forgive me, sir. I should not be troubling you with this tale.'

[Seth Cotton]

Éothen sat speechless and baffled by her story. He wasn’t sure of what to say, if it would sound stupid, heartless or even mean? He decided to remain silent for another moment, maybe she would say something. She cried, not a sound, but he saw the tears roll and he felt a bit uncomfortable with the situation and he looked down in the table.

‘I am s-sorry...’ He started, thinking it must sound really stupid. His way of saying it, his words of choice. The tone in his voice that sounded more like someone who has nothing better to say than that. He felt guilt and rubbed his head a little innocent.

‘I am really sorry to hear about your dear friend, my Lady...’ He continued and sounded more comfortable as the tensed situation began to ease and he felt more confident. She had almost stopped crying, yet she was still sad, no doubt of it. ‘Still it seems to me you are afraid of something?’

Maybe it was stupid of him to ask further more about it. Perhaps it would just make it worse, he would probably just bring up more darkness and sorrow. Even though it wasn’t his intention it seemed inevitable to him. He knew how it was to lose a friend, he had lost many. He thought of her as a brave person to actually talk about it; talk about the sorrow she felt. That was a braver thing than fighting a hundred orcs.

Éothen, for one, would never speak of such things. They were still strangers to each other but she must have built up a lot of confidence for Éothen which made him feel a little bit better and he even smiled, but stopped abruptly as he realised how dumb he must look. He sighed deeply; not even the sun outside helped. The shadow was lying over them as a covering of sorrow. No sun would take it away.

‘Maybe we should speak of something else...’ Éothen said a bit melancholy. He glanced at her and then made a quick glance outside at the fine weather. ‘Would you join me for a walk in the garden instead? Maybe it will make things better?’

As the young man reached the stables of the Green Dragon Inn, he smelled the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the kitchen. He was not tall by human standards, but he was finely built in musle and had a firm jaw. His black traveling cloak covered a leather breastplate with a horse embroidered upon it, common to the Riders of the Rohirrm. A shortsword was strapped to his side, as well as a long dirk. On his back he wore a quiver and shortbow, and his leather greaves were stained with mud. The famed inn was bustling as he walked in, people moved about waking and shaking sleep from their eyes. He moved carefully, ducking passing serving maids and dodging groggy adventurers.

"Sir, would you like a room?" a man asked.

"Yes, but I do not know how long I will be staying."

"Alright, may I ask your name?"

"My name is Palin, Palin Viccus. And m'am," Palin asked as the woman turned to leave, "may I get some food as well?"

"Certainly," the innkeeper said as she shuffled off to check on other guests. So, this is where I will start my adventures he thought. He was passed a plate of bacon, bread and a cool ale. He downed the meal in moments and pulled the cowl of his black cloak over his eyes, and slowly he drifted off to sleep.

[Dragon Elf odin Ragnorock]

It was a bright and sunny morning when a man in a dark cloak rode up to the green dragon inn.When he gets there he ties his horse up and walks in the bar. Then he askes the bartender if he could get a cold ale, some food, and a room because he had been riding all night and wanted to get some rest. Then he told the bartender to bring the food and drink to the back table in the corner. while he was waiting he pulled out his pipe and sat down in the chair dowsing off every once in a while. why didn' I stop at the last inn I came to he thought to himself.

"Here is your food" said the waitress

"Thanks" said the man

"is my room ready" asked the man

"I dont know" said the waitress "let me ask the barkeep"

"ok"

Then he ate his meal and had two more drinks. Then derifted off to sleep in his chair, but was suddenly sturred by the sound of darts on a dart board.

"Can I join your game?" asked the man

"sure"said one of the players"but what is your name?"

"it is Menecar"

[Gelmir]

It was morning. Gelmir had just woken up when he found himself leaning on a brick wall. He looked up he saw the bottom of a sign. He stumbled and looked at it again in a different angle, "Gr-green, Drain- No, Dragon... Ann. The green Dragon Ann." A hobbit walked passed,
"It's the green dragon inn" He said.
"Ugh, Hobbits. Have no respect for wood elves" Gelmir murmured. This particular hobbit was drunk.

Gelmir walked in, he went to the barkeep, "Could I have four of your breakfasts and six of your Ales, please. I'd like a room when I'm done." He said, "Oh and if you have any purple soup, I'd like that, here's a tip any how." Gelmir skipped along to a table. Gelmir got out a small ball and rolled it around to and fro, until the waiter came.

The waiter came with five trays. "Is this the party of Gelmir?" Asked the waiter
"Yes." Replied Gelmir
"Well, here's what you ordered, you sure you have enough?" chuckled the hobbit waiter,
"Yes. Could you ask if my room is ready," Gelmir asked.
"Certainly, sir. Anything else?" Asked the waiter.
"Where's my purple soup?" Gelmir ranted in his way, which wasn't much of a rant rather a wine.
"We don't serve 'purple soup'," He replied softly.
"When will you?" Asked Gelmir.
"Long after your dead." He replied again.
"I don't die, I dye you.... re hair green if you like..." laughed Gelmir
"Oh yes please" Answered the waiter sarcastically.
"Well, I just want to know if my room is done, thank you." Replied Gelmir,
"Will do right away, Sir." He said.
"Good day," Waved Gelmir.
Gelmir tucked into his food. When he had almost finished the waiter came again.
"Your room is ready, Sir." He stated.
"Thank you." He said as he clutched the keys in his hands and finished his lunch.
He went up stairs into his room and went to sleep very early................

Gelmir will wake up the next morning.

~Gelmir~

[Kath]

Astilwen had eventually found the Innkeeper after wandering through the kitchens. She was pretty busy with a pair of Big People children so she waited until she had finished with the girl child and just slipped in for a moment to ask for a room. The woman gladly gave her one and gave her directions. Astilwen hurried up the stairs to the room and gratefully sank into a warm bath. Once she was clean and had worked all the nasty kinks out her muscles she dressed again and went downstairs.

Her stomach had been rumbling in the bath and she realised that she must have missed dinner the night before and though the morning was getting late she would prefer to have a breakfast rather than a lunch. She moved to sit down at a table, not realising that there was already someone sitting there as he was so wrapped up in a black cowl. Startled she jumped up but caught her foot on the table leg. She fell, landing on the man's foot and taking the table with her with a large crash. Mortified she leapt up and began to try and put the table back to rights and apologised over and over to the poor man she had fallen on.

"I am so sorry sir I didn't realise you were there. I'll clean this up and pay for you to have another meal as I have ruined this one if you will just accept my apologies."

The man looked up as if in a daze and Astilwen realised that she had awoken him from a deep sleep. Now feeling even worse she carefully placed the broken crockery on another table and tried to right the one she had knocked over but found it too heavy. Straining with the weight she suddenly felt it lighten, and looked up to see the man setting it straight with a rather bemused smile on his face.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien felt guilty that she had brought her years of sorrow and shadow into this kind man's life. She felt the cloud of her greif hovering over them, overshadowing the beautiful morning.

Why, oh why did I tell him my tale? She though. It would have been best had I died that day. I am dead inside already.

'I am s-sorry...’ Said Eothen haltingly. Larien could tell she had made him uncomfortable. Still, the man tried another effort at lightening the shadow.

‘I am really sorry to hear about your dear friend, my Lady...’ He stopped, as if unsure of himself, then continued. ‘Still it seems to me you are afraid of something?’

Larien looked down at her hands and sighed. How could she burden him with all of her fears and sorrows? It seemed to her that he had seen much grief already.

‘Maybe we should speak of something else...’ Éothen said, sounding not at all cheery. Larien thought that might be a fine change, but didn't know what to talk about. ‘Would you join me for a walk in the garden instead? Maybe it will make things better?’

Perhaps he will start a new topic of discussion. She thought. Smiling, she stood.

'I think that would be wonderful.'

[Nurumaiel]

Falco Headstrong stumbled wearily into the Common Room, and found that Marigold had already come down. She was perched on top of one of the tables, and when she saw him she waved frantically. Grumbling, he staggered over to her and sat down heavily in one of the chairs. She lightly sprang from the table to the floor, and likewise sat down.

"I had to sit on the table until you came," she said. "I wanted you to know where I was and I was afraid you might not see me if I were in one of the chairs. There are so many tall folk about. I was very afraid that someone would see me and say I wasn't allowed to sit on the table, and then what would I do? I'd have to give you up for lost, Mr. Headstrong."

He said nothing, but groaned loudly.

"Am I annoying you?" she cried, her face filling with distress. She clasped her hands together and looked earnestly into his face. "Do you dislike it when I talk?"

"At the present moment," he said, "anyone's talk, whether yours or the man in the moon's, will bother me. I have an awful headache that has been going on for most of the night."

"Oh, I'm quite sorry," she said. "But, you know, it just goes to show that names, like appearances, can be deceiving. Anyone who was just introduced to you might think that you had a very strong head. But your head is just as likely to ache as anyone's."

He groaned again, and quickly she closed her mouth and remained considerately silent... for a time. Her eyes darted about the Common Room quickly, as if she were searching for something, and then she took it upon herself to explain.

"I'm so excited for school to start," she said. "I find it so much easier when you're past the first day. The first day, you know, I was very quiet. I was so afraid I would make a fool of myself but saying something ridiculous. But I'm beginning to feel more like talking. After all, many of the children don't know anything, and I know something at least, even if it's not very much. Maybe if I studied all the day, and not only when the school is going on, I would become so wise that I could help teach. And then all through the day the children would come to me asking questions about this and that, and that and this. I'd feel quite important then. Not that I don't usually feel important. I felt important the time I fell off the horse and all the Elves were so worried about me. I suppose you're awfully important when Elves worry about you. But I was hurting all over, so it wasn't as exciting as it might have been. It will be something I can look back upon in my old age, though. Do you think they'll teach us about Elves in school? There are so many Elves here in the Inn we could talk about... and they could come and teach about themselves! Wouldn't that be funny? Imagine if I were to go to a school to teach everyone about Marigold Baker. Don't you think that would be odd?"

She turned bright eyes to Falco, and saw from the expression on his face that he wasn't in the mood to think about anything. Her eyes grew wide and she wondered how long she had been prattling on. She closed her mouth again, this time much more firmly, and this time it stayed closed for a little while longer.

Eadwyn paused her whistling for a moment to wince at the pains of hunger that were currently gripping her stomach. She had been riding since before the sun was up without a meal, and the long hours on the road admiring the beautiful scenery had distracted her from taking a break. The inviting sign of an inn just up ahead made a smile creep onto her young face. Eadwyn slowed her horse to a stop and climbed slowly off the dapple gray mare. She took a much-needed stretch and looked up. Her pale blue eyes took in the sign out front.

"The Green Dragon." Eadwyn whispered with a smirk. "Sounds friendly enough."

Eadwyn took the reins of her horse in her hands and gave the mare a pat on the nuzzle. She pulled the hood back off her head to reveal a mass of golden blond hair neatly tied back behind her head.

Eadwyn located the stable hand, Meriadoc, and after making sure her travel companion was in good hands she entered the inn. Things seemed pretty calm; Eadwyn looked around and found an empty table. She maneuvered quickly across the floor and slid into a seat at the table.

Eadwyn hailed from Rohan and she realized for the first time in many days how truly far away from home and all familiar things she was. Her mother, a lady of the court, had detested much of Eadwyn's decision to go out and explore the world she lived in. Her father, a celebrated member of the Rohirrim, found it amusing that his spirited daughter wanted to expand her horizons. Eadwyn had spent much of her childhood causing mischief and getting in to trouble by playing with the boys. She had always wanted to be a rider like her brother, but the rules of the world would always put a damper on her dreams.

However, today her dreams brought her to this cozy little place filled with interesting faces. Eadwyn was eager to meet new people, but her boisterous personality was masked as usual by her shyness. She settled for ordering some breakfast from someone named Ruby who seemed to be the kitchen help.

Eadwyn wished to take her time eating. She needed to take a long, long rest for the road that still lay out ahead of her.

[brim]

Brim skuffed her toes on the door of the inn. Ouch I didn't see that one coming she thought herself shaking her golden elven locks. "Of corse I did't see it though I'm blind" she reminded herself. she could hear the busy inn inside. she was on her own now while Hender saddled the horses. The only thing that really comfrorted her ,as she walked carefully to her seat, was the lump of throwing knives in her boot. all she would have to do is wait for footsteps from an enemy and he/or she would be dead in their tracks.

Sitting down in the quietest corner she could find she waited. her elven features were unmissable. Brim had grown up in what once was mirkwood. It had never really felt like home, especially with all her traveling with Hender.

[Saelind]

"Please, Father, please," the younger Elf intoned. "Last night at supper, you said we might stay for a bit. I do like it here. I can go to Miz Bella's class, and the lads about the Inn were kind to me. Everyone's beginning to talk about the Fair: the fine foods and the games and the singing. I should like to see all that. Then, when we are finished, we can go sail to mother."

Thalion regarded his son with a shake of the head, uncertain how to respond to him. His intention had been to continue to the Havens and then set sail for the West. His own wife had already made the journey, and all of his companions from Lorien had also departed across the Sea. Elves were supposed to be above mundane sentiments like loneliness, but sometimes there was an emptiness in Thalion's heart that felt suspiciously like an empty room.

Yet what about his visions from the evening before? His dear Anoriel had urged him to remain in Middle-earth for the sake of their much beloved son. In the second dream his mother had accused him of being obstinate and pig-headed for not acceding to his wife's wishes. Perhaps the two were right. He had not experienced the true Sea-longing that drove so many to the Western shores with no hope or possibility of return. He still had a choice. There would be all the time in the world to reunite with his kin in the Blessed Isle. But for his own son to understand the ways of the other free folk, there would be only this one chance.

Neviel looked up at his father with pleading eyes, towsled black curls falling back onto his shoulders and a look of trust etched on his face. Thalion felt his own resistence waver as he steadily regarded the lad. "Perhaps, you are right," he began, enunciating his words very slowly. "Perhaps it would do no harm to linger at this Inn for a bit. I might be able to do something to help that young hobbit Rory. In Rivendell, I have seen others with a palsy worse than his regain the use of their limbs. The fields about here are green and inviting, just the sort of thing for a short trek. And it is possible that some of these travellers or other hobbits who live in the region might require the services of a healer."

"We stay then?" queried Neviel, a broad smile spreading quickly over his face.

"Yes, for now. You may attend Miz Bella's class, but I will need your help in planting a small herb garden. Perhaps, Cook or the Innkeeper could secure me the use of a small plot. There seems to be plenty of land to spare, and, if I am to be of any help to the local folk, I must replenish my herbs."

Neviel's head bobbed up and down as he promised his father to help work in the garden. The young Elf hurriedly finished his breakfast and then ran off to see if he could find one of the other children whom he had met at the school. His father still sat at the table as he watched Neviel speed off, seemingly so comfortable with the folk and his surroundings .

[Morsul the Dark]

Morsul sat listening to the gaffer's tale it was certainly very long. It seemed to strech farther then morsul's own mustache. I pardened himself and looked around to see where the inn-keeper was he saw, a lovely woman bustling about pouring drink here laughing there morsul was about to approach her for lodging but decided to instead move back outside he lay beneath the trees and searched the woods lovely almost elvish trees they seemed although Morsul had never seen elves.

As the thought came and went a troupe of dwarves were bumbling up the road towards the in Morsul bade them sit with them and talk awhile being kind hearted they refused claiming their weariness too strong when Morsul offered to pay their beer tab and buy them breakfast they were more apt to talk.

Morsul was becomiong quite known for his generousity with money the strange bit was he was almost out of it he would have to be off soon and find a way to get some spare gold

[Alcarillo]

"The innkeeper here is Aman, a woman from Rohan," Alcarillo told Miz Greengage, "a land to the south." He wondered if the hobbits knew of different lands, if they had even heard of them. Surely they aren't cut off from the outside world , Alcarillo thought, At least not since the War of the Ring. They must've learned all about Gondor and Mordor then. He munched on his last piece of bread thoughtfully. What a different people, these hobbits. They live peacefully without any fear. They may not be a very mighty people but they must be counted among the happiest.

"Now I have a question for you, Miz Greengage," Alcarillo announced, "You must be very familiar with the Shire. Can you tell me where the nearest inn that lies eastwards is? I'm traveling that way, you see, and I am somewhat unused to sleeping at the side of the road." He smiled pleasantly at her.

Pulling the door to the Dragon open, a hobbit scurried in quickly. He was so used to duck around the Large Folk in Bree that it had just become second nature to move a bit faster than he would normally like. The pudgy halfling out of the way of the door took in a big breath of air as he gave the tavern a once over. The road from Bree to the Dragon had been tiring on his dusty feet and he leaned against the dark tavern wall to relieve them. If it hadn't been at the insisting of his mother, he would still be at home, lifting pints at the Pony. He rolled his brown eyes as his mother's crow like voice filled his head again.


"You 'aven't been to see your Aunt and Uncle in ages. They deserve more than one visit a season, you good for nothing." The grey haired woman had her moments of kindness, though those were as rare as elves.


"Well, why don' you go an' see 'em then?" The hobbit had countered.


"They asked to see you not me, Milo. Now go on, before you miss the Trader's cart!" She had said, ending further chance for argument. Well, he had missed the Trader's Cart and now he had a jolly walk to The Green Dragon where his Uncle would soon be meeting him.


The hobbit was altogether unremarkable. He had light brown hair accompanied with his ruddy skin and dark brown eyes. His hair hung on is head in a mess of curls, unable to be tamed. Wearing a bright yellow shirt with a dark green traveling cloak thrown hastily about his shoulders, Milo also wore a pair of brown breeches that now had several unfortunate tears from his walking excursion. They were held about his frame by a pair of brown suspenders. He was a bit thinner than most hobbits, something his mother was forever commenting on. The Dragon looked nearly the same as the last time he had come. It was still smaller and easier to navigate than the Pony at home. He smiled, even though he was miles away from home, a tavern was a tavern. Loosening the clasp on his cloak, Milo brushed a bit of the road dust that had accumulated on his shoulders that day. His brown feet walked toward the bar in a tired ambling sort of way. Milo opened the small pouch on his belt, fumbling for a minute, seeing if he had brought enough for an ale. He smiled broadly as he found several coins and his walk quickened a bit.


He took an open seat at the bar, not having to hoist himself up like at home. Milo scratched as his head as he patiently waited. He pulled a twig from his hair and chuckled, tossing the small bit of foliage away. Milo absentmindedly pulled out his coins and began to fiddle with them on the bar.

[Dunwen]

A short, sturdy woman mounted on a small sturdy gray pony entered the stableyard. She patted the animal's neck and murmured, "It's been a pleasant jaunt this morning, hasn't it, Cinders? Let's get you unloaded and watered and see what's what in this place." The pony's ears flicked back at the sound of her mistress' voice and she snorted as if in agreement. She had enjoyed ambling along in the clear morning too, but it was time for a drink of water.

Pony and rider paused and looked at the bustling stableyard with interest. Horses, Humans, Elves and Hobbits were engaged in their daily business, and there was delicious scent of new-baked bread and and bacon wafting from somewhere. Seeing a fair-haired young woman and a lad coming from the stables, the woman dismounted and led Cinders over to them.

"Good morning," she said. "I need a stable and fodder for my pony, and a room for me, for the next day or two. Do you have room for us?"

Aman looked down at the Green Dragon's latest arrival. She saw a slightly stout, brown-haired woman about five feet tall leading a rough-haired gray pony by a worn bridle. The newcomer appeared to be in her early middle age, with a stern face somewhat softened by a pair bright hazel eyes surrounded by laugh lines. She was dressed simply, in a linen blouse and a pair of dark homespun breeches tucked into well-worn leather boots. Her only ornamentation was a pattern of gaily-colored flowers stitched at the neck of her shirt.

"We have room, indeed," Aman said. "We'll see to your beast at once. If you are hungry, we're serving breakfast in the common room."

To Aman's surprise, the woman smiled and shook her head. "Thank you, dear, but if you'll just show me the stall, I'll get Cinders here settled myself. Barliman speaks well of the Green Dragon, but I know what she likes."

The innkeeper was torn between approval of this woman's concern for her pony and chagrin at her implication that the Green Dragon might be lacking any necessities for man or beast. Approval won out -- mostly.

"As you wish, madam," she replied ruefully. After showing the new arrival a clean stall, Aman returned to the yard to greet the next arrival.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Several minutes later, the inn's newest guest entered the common room, carrying her saddlebags and looking pleased. If the condition of the stables was any indication, this would be a very pleasant place to stay. Looking around for an empty table, she noticed several hobbits, at least one Man, two other Women, an Elf and what appeared to be the remains of two dropped trays on the floor. Used to the constant pandemonium at the Prancing Pony, she calmly located an empty table and sat down, carefully arranging her saddlebags under her feet.

Catching the attention of a tray-laden hobbit-lass, she said courteously, "Little mistress, when you have a moment, I would be thankful for some hot tea, eggs, and buttered toast." In no time a warm plate containing a generous breakfast was placed in front her, along with a steaming mug of tea. "Thank-you, dear," she smiled. Handing the girl a copper penny, she continued, "I'm Widow Rosebank, from Bree. Would you mind asking the innkeeper if she might have a few minutes to talk to me?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

With a broad smile, Miz Bella glanced towards the woman who was called Widow Rosebank from Bree. She felt an instant liking for the sturdy figure, so practically dressed in breeches and boots. It was a guise she had often adopted on her own journeys to the furthest corners of Middle-earth. And Bree seemed like such a sensible, good natured place....a place where Big and Little Folk rubbed shoulders and had actually managed to be neighbors. Since returning home, Miz Bella had come to appreciate hobbit common sense, but occasionally found herself questioning the too prevelent attitude that there was nothing to be gained by poking one's nose outside the Shire boundaries. Widow Rosebank did not seem the type to put up with such nonsense.

Turning to the next table, Miz Bella issued an invitation for the stranger to come and join her. "I'll be leaving for the classroom in a bit but you are welcome to share a spot of tea and a bit of conversation before I go. I would be curious to hear how you made your way here. Once you finish your conversation with the Innkeeper, or even before, you are welcome to share my table."

With that Miz Bella gave an encouraging nod of her head, and slipped back into her chair. She was still thinking about a conversation she'd overheard between Woody and Gil that had centered on the possibility of making the story of Master Bilbo and the Dragon part of the puppet show for the Spring Faire. This seemed like a wonderful idea to Miz Bella, who was eager to have the children work on the props they would need. As Gil had suggested, they would require painted stones to serve as jewels, boxes transformed into treasure chests, and perhaps a 'skellyton' or two that the young lads would appreciate. When she noticed Ruby hurrying by laden with a tray of breakfast goodies, Miz Bella asked if she could leave a message for Gil to come see her if he should wander into the Inn.

Then she turned her attention to the one other guest in the room whose face was familiar to her: the Elf Thalion, father of her new student Neviel. As Miz Bella glanced at the Elf, she could see that he was staring solemnly into the inner pouches of his healer's kit; he seemed to be examining the small vials and packets of herbs to see what was there and what was missing. Once again, she made a welcoming gesture with her hand. Thalion came over to sit down.

"I wanted to thank you," Miz Bella noted, "for letting your son attend class. He is a bright and kind hearted boy, and is getting along well with the others. He was especially kind to the youngster Rory, the hobbit lad who has trouble walking. They got along well." She leaned forward and lowered her voice to ask, "Have you seen Rory? Please tell me. You are a healer. Do you think he could be helped to walk again?" Mi\z Bella had never been afraid to poke her own nose into another's business if she felt that some good could come out of it.

[Saelind]

Thalion


Thalion stared down at the table, carefully avoiding Miz Bella's probing eyes. He had seen the hobbit lad at dinner the night before and had listened to Neviel's earnest tale about how much trouble Rory had encountered trying to navigate the steps of the Inn. It had crossed Thalion's mind that something might be done, but whether he would be the right person for the task he wasn't sure.

Thalion glanced over at Miz Bella and then looked distractedly out the window before clearing his throat and beginning to speak, "Yes, I have seen the lad. Last night in the common room. But whether he can be helped or not, I could not say. Once, on a trip beyond Mirkwood, right after the great war, I worked with one man from Dale, who had lost the use of his limbs due to illness. It took many weeks of work and a fine pair of braces made by one of the Dwarven cratsmen, but he did regain his ability to walk."

"There was an Elf here a short while ago," continued Thalion. "He was a fellow named Mithalwen, whom Neviel said had some interest in devising a pair of braces for the lad. My own skill with such things is limited. I would be glad to work with the boy in teaching him to walk again. The harder part would be the brace. I have never fashioned such a device."

"You would do it then? You would at least try?" Miz Bella pressed, with a trace of excitement in her tone.

"I would certainly be willing to speak with Rory's mother, and see if she would agree to have me look at the lad. And perhaps I can check if Mithalwen is still about or if someone else has the skill to devise a brace. More than that I cannot promise."

Miz Bella reached out a hand to thank the Elf, and voiced her thanks, "It is more than I could have hoped for. As a word of warning, you might want to speak with Camille as well as her mother. She's very protective of her brother. It might go better if you put her mind at ease." Miz Bella remembered how uncomfortable Camille had been to hear that Neviel was joining the class, but she thought it best to keep that point to herself at the present moment.

"I shall keep that in mind," Thalion replied. Then the Elf stood up and went back to his job of sorting out packets and vials of herbs.

[Dunwen]

Widow Rosebank had scarcely had time to tuck into her tasty breakfast when a hobbit woman at the next table asked if she would like to join her. The widow wasn't surprised. Hobbits were generally gregarious, and never more so than at mealtimes. This hobbit looked like she might be a bit younger than the widow, and had an open, friendly air about her. She looked like she would be good company, and perhaps might be willing to talk about the Shire.

Unfortunately, the widow had just taken a large bite of egg and was unable to respond immediately. By the time she chewed and swallowed, her neighbor was speaking to one of the servers. The Bree-woman continued to eat as the little hobbit invited a somber-looking Elf to join her. She would have liked to go over then, just to get a closer look at him. She had dealt with Men of all sorts, and Hobbits and Dwarves often enough, but Elves traveling on the Great Road tended to go around the thickly populated Bree-land. She had once spoken briefly to an Elf she had met by chance a few years ago while walking through her daughter and son-in-law's fields, but that was the only contact she had had with the Fair Folk. However, he and the hobbit woman appeared to be having a private conversation, speaking quietly with their heads together.

As the Elf got up from the hobbit's table, Widow Rosebank thought she'd better get over there before the sociable stranger had to leave. She got up and slung her saddlebags over her shoulder. Picking up her mug and plate, she walked over and greeted the hobbit woman.

"Thank you kindly for asking me to join you. I do apologize for not answering you right away. I only travelled from Frogmorton this morning, but the fresh air does give you an appetite. If you don't have to leave right away, I could do with some company, not having been to the Shire before." Carefully setting her food and drink down, she shrugged the saddlebags off her shoulder and set them on the floor. "How d'you do," she said politely, once she had a hand free to offer the stranger. "I'm Ebba Rosebank, pleased to meet you."

The two shook hands. "I'm Miz Bella," replied the hobbit. "Pleased to meet you, too. Tell me how it is a Breelander finds her way to the Shire."

Ebba considered her answer for a moment. "Well, I do business with some of the farmers here who have sheep. I have a nice little store in Bree -- Rosebank's Drygoods and Notions," she said proudly, "and I sell wool for yarns and stitchery as well as cloth of all sorts, and a few things from Dale and the South, too. While I'm all for selling Bree-goods as much as I can, the wool from the Shire is as nice as I've seen, and there are more sheep here -- there would be, of course, the Shire is bigger than the Bree-lands -- and more wool. So I've dealt with some of your farmers for years through traders and such. Seeing as how my girls are old enough to mind the store for me, and as how I've never been out of the Bree-lands before, I thought I'd come myself this year. I've had customers traveling from the Shire for years talking about this tree of Mayor Gamgee's up at Bag End, and I've always wanted to see it. All gold it's supposed to be."

She stopped to take a sip of hot tea. "And then they're talking all the way to Bree about this fair you've got coming up, and I don't mind telling you that I'm mighty interested in that." She nodded significantly to Miz Bella. "I have a little business proposition for whoever is running it."

"Here now, I've run on about myself long enough. Are from you Bywater yourself?" Ebba settled back in her chair to give Miz Bella her turn to talk.

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold opened her mouth to say something, but caught herself just in time. Perhaps the threatening widening of Falco Headstrong's eyes helped her to remember. But, for goodness' sake, if his head hurt so much, why didn't he go back to his room? He said he didn't want breakfast, so there was really no reason to stay in the Common Room. Unless he liked the talking of all the people, which he couldn't, because it would make his headache worse. Why didn't he go? She liked his company when he was good company, but he was just a trial now. Sitting there, moaning, groaning, keeping her from speaking...

She turned discontented eyes away from him and they fell on an Elf that seemed to be looking at her. Immediately she blushed and dropped her eyes. Was that Elf looking at her? She had never expected that an Elf would notice her. She didn't seem interesting enough for an Elf, and aside from that she was so small that she was easily overlooked. What if the Elf was looking at her? What if the Elf tried to talk to her? How does one talk to an Elf? Would one try to speak very intelligently and very mysteriously?

She glanced up again quickly, and recognised the Elf as young Neviel. He had been at school. She smiled in great relief. It wouldn't be so bad to talk to Neviel. She wouldn't have to try to be Elvish.

He had caught her smile and had begun moving towards her. She recalled that Falco Headstrong was sitting at the table, and deciding it would be better to hold conversation away from him, she sprang up and hurried over to Neviel.

"Hello, Mr. Neviel," she said, slightly shy. "I'm so glad you came over. I've been wanting to talk all morning but Mr. Headstrong has a headache."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Mis Bella listened quietly as Widow Rosebank explained how and why she'd come to the Shire and about her business back in Bree. When the Widow had come to the end of her explanation, Miz Bella threw back her head and laughed, "I'm definitely not the one to see about transactions at the Faire. I am a newcomer myself to these parts and a teacher of young children. Business dealings were always beyond me. Maybe that's because I am a Took, born and raised outside these lands, one of the very few hobbits whose father went roaming far from the Shire. You see, father was never much for practical things either," added Miz Bella with a sigh.

"But that's enough about me. I do admire gumption in a hobbit, and you seem to have plenty of it. I know there are folk here who could help you. Cook, now, knows everyone in these parts and can put you in touch with someone with a good business head on their shoulders."

"But there is one thing you said that I am definitely interested in," Mix Bella stared fixedly at the Widow. "I love good yarns and such. You wouldn't happen to have any of those finished yarns for stitchery along with you? I'm looking to buy some for the little ones who come to my class. They'll be working on the props for one of the plays that's to be put on at the Faire. A bit of brightly colored yarn would do well both for decoration and even for sewing some of the puppet costumes and such."

"If you've got such along with you, I'd be mighty obliged to have a look...."

[Dunwen]

Ebba smiled broadly when Miz Bella asked her about her yarns. She had an entire saddlebag full of those of her wares which could easily be packed and carried, including skeins of yarn and spools of cotton thread. One of her great pleasures was creating designs on cloth with jewel-colored threads, yarns, and when she could get them, beads. For that purely selfish reason, she always had a supply of good quality yarns, cloth and thread at hand.

When she had been left a young widow with two small daughters, she had turned to peddling as a way to provide for them all. Her hard work had paid off and she now owned a respectable business in Bree, patronized by Big Folk and Little Folk alike. Like most of the other Big Folk in Bree, Ebba had grown up with hobbits and was familiar with their preferences, so she thought Miz Bella might find something she liked.

Now she opened a saddlebag and pulled out skein after skein of yarn: rich blue, golden yellow, buttercup, moss green and emerald, red, orange, violet and cream. A rainbow appeared to have settled on the table in front of Miz Bella, who exclaimed in delight.

Most of the yarns were ordinary knitting yarns, but there were some that were thinner for fine work, and some that had an odd loosely-twisted appearance. There were even spools of cotton thread suitable for embroidery in the colorful mass, as brightly colored as the woolen yarns.

"There we are," Ebba said. "Take your pick!"

[Saelind]

Neviel listened intently to Marigold's description of Falco Headstrong. The young Elf thought a moment and then he spoke. "Don't feel bad, Marigold....about Mr. Headstrong, I mean. Whenever big people have problems they don't want to talk about, the just tell everyone they have a headache. My father is the same way. When he is feeling blue and missing mother, he just says he has a headache. Elves aren't even supposed to get headaches, but he still says it anyway! If Mr. Heastrong told you that, it probably means he wants to be alone to think through something."

"Look over there," said Neviel excitedly, pulling determinedly on Marigold's sleeve. "Look and see what Miz Bella is doing." Their teacher was seated in front of a large display of yarn and threads and was picking them up one at a time. It looked as if every colour in the world had been splashed across the table. Some of the yarns were bright reds and yellows and green, simple colors that hobbits love. Others were soft, muted shades of blue and grey that reminded Neviel of the Sea. He thought that his father would especially like those. Still others seemed to glitter with silver and gold. Intrigued by the sight of so many colors, Neviel snatched again at Marigold's sleeve and began guiding her over to the table where Miz Bella was seated.

[brim]

Newalme led Brim by the hand into the crowded inn. He Carefully avoided the occupants and sat down in a realatively empty corner. He smiled as his friend's empty pool like eyes met his. It was almost like she could actually see his sandy blonde hair.

Brim took her seat gingerly. She had gotten quite used to her seat being pulled from under her by now. Brim's muscles ached from the long Journey she had taken a break from. As she felt for her book ,with various bumps and spaces instead of words, she brushed against the handle of one of her infamous thowing knives.

Newalme had always wondered how I could hit my target. brim thought to herself smiling. It was simple really her hearing and judgment was better so all she would have to do is wait for her enemy to advance on her. She sighed and pulled out the book begining to read.