The Golden Perch Inn

[Forest Elf]

"Yes, wolves," Gable said. Then grabbied her plate and sat down at the table; facing Primrose and Cela.

"I was up early, just before sunup and I was making my way back to the inn from the road, and there was a pony, being attacked by a wolf. I killed the wolf and brought the pony here. . .but I couldn't find the pony's owner, she still had her saddle on when I saved her, but I couldn't find the owner." Gable said, looking down at her bacon, shame showed on her face for a second before she took a bite of eggs.

"Who ever the pony's owner is, I hope that he or she is ok. . ." Gable said, before taking another bite of bacon.

[Arry]

Will fetched his bucket of tools from the work table at the front of the stable and walked round to the north side of the building. The horses and ponies were all taken care of for now. He’d left the long ladder stored against the wall yesterday after his inspection of the roof. Now he leaned it securely against the edge of the eaves.

A section of shingling had suffered from last winter’s snows, and now in the more constant sun he noted they were beginning to crack. None looked to be cloven clean through, but given time they would be. And that would be bad for the hay stored on the wide platforms beneath the rafters. ‘Can’t have my charges eating moldy hay,’ he’d said as he’d walked carefully along the slanting roof, kicking at suspect shingles with his toes.

In the storage shed near the stable, Will brought out a couple of stacks of wooden shingles tied in manageable bundles with thick twine. He’d made a number of these bundles last autumn with Gable’s assistance from one of the big cedar trees downed by the Longburrow family at the edge of the Green Hills. They’d brought the large log in, in trade for a small barrel of Will’s raspberry ale.

Earlier that morning, Will had heated up a fair sized kettle of tar, and now he dipped out a bucket of it to take up to the roof along with a thick-bristled broom. He balanced the buckets of tools and tar on the two little platforms he’d made yesterday. Just temporary shelves for the job, and one larger one on which to put the stacks of shingles.

Tying a rolled handkerchief about his brow, he began clearing off the broken shingles and a small perimeter about them. Once done he would begin spreading tar on the roof platform below.

But for now, he crawled about on the roof, ripping off shingles and sending them sliding over the edge of the eaves behind him . . .

[Celuien]

Cela was right, of course. There had been no wolves in the Shire since the Fell Winter, when the Brandywine was frozen, and there had been a path into the Shire from the lands outside the Hobbits' comfortable domain. And that was nigh upon 50 years ago. She supposed it was possible that a stray wolf had wandered over the borders. But not likely. Still, Gable had seen - and killed - something. Primrose wished she knew what it was. She hoped Cela was right about its not really being a wolf. Wolves would be an ominous sign indeed.

In any case, Primrose shared Gable's concern for the pony's keeper. "Yes. I hope that no harm has come to anyone. Whatever the source. Wolves or no."

With that, she turned back to Cela.

"You, old?" Primrose laughed. "Never. And I've no doubt you can run things perfectly well. Why, there's no better cook anywhere! Not if you went all the way to Hobbiton. Or Bree!"

Which was Primrose's way of saying that Cela had no equal in all Middle-earth.

"But you know if you needed my help, should things turn busy with the midday travelers, I'd not want to leave you with all the work. Wouldn't be doing my job if I did." She smiled.

Then she added, "Thank you for sparing me today. In more ways than one."

[Dimturiel]

"Why, it's good to see you, Rowan!" Meloit exclaimed. "I meant to come even earlier today, but our Tom's trousers were in such a state! I think some cheese cake and some eggs would do for me, at least for now. And some ale also, if you don't mind. But first stay and chat for a bit."

Meliot always liked a good talk, with anyone that she could have, and on any topic. Trifles, such as the fact that the young Bolgers were stealing fish from Noakes, were to her as fascinating-if not even more- as the news that folk used to bring from the Outside World.

"Why, my goodness!" she cried. "Will those two devils ever learn! Why, last week they were stealing carrots from Mister Boffin's garden, and now they take fish from poor old Noakes. What next, I wonder? And I very much hope that my two brothers are not in league with them. Goodness knows where they are going and what mischief they are doing. "

She spoke as if to show that she was cross, but actually she was mostly amused. And she was still young enough to remember her own expeditions from when she was small. She spent all days with the Hornblower lads and with many others, and they were the terror of all farmers. Why, there was no garden left untouched by their greedy hands.

"Well, they are young," she continued airily, "They'll soon come to their senses. But tell me, what did old Noakes say to those two rascals? I have heard he has a frightful temper. Don't you know, he got into a row right at this inn, a few months ago, with a hobbit from Bree. They had some disagreement over pipeweed."

[Envinyatar]

‘There's cheese and biscuits in the locker at the foot of my bed. The table's a bit cluttered. I was counting out my pay last night. Just sweep the pennies into my leather pouch along with all the others and stuff the bag under my bed.’

Tollers directions caught Jack by surprise. ‘The fellow is very trusting,’ he thought to himself. ‘Telling a stranger he’s just met about his coin. And his room . . . left unlocked!’ Jack shook his head, his eyes narrowing a bit in a considering look. ‘Or maybe he’s shrewder than I thought him . . . Testing me, perhaps.’ Jack tapped his fingers on the table, thinking on how he might like this new opportunity to play out. There could be the quick grab-and-run . . . but he was tired, he admitted to himself. And this was a place where word of him had not preceded his arrival. He wrapped his hands around his mug of ale and considered the problem.

With a last gulp, he drained the mug and made his way to the fireplace and through the entrance to the corridor…

[Undómë]

‘Oh that was a bit of fuss and bother, wasn't it.’ Rowan took a look about the room, and since most of those gathered there were happily engaged in eating and drinking, she pulled out a chair and sat herself down. ‘Old Noakes didn't do much "speaking". He did clout one of the boys on the ear with his stick, so mad was he!’ She leaned her big serving tray on one side of the table, getting it out of the way of the passersby.

Rowan laughed and leaned closer to Meliot. ‘The Bolger boys of course denied to their Ma and Da they’d done anything wrong. But Noakes was there and pulled the hat off Minto’s head to show them the ear.’ She bit her lower lip and shook her head. ‘And don’t you just bet those boys’ hind ends got as red as Minto’s ear after Noakes left!’

One of the Big Folk who’d come in that morning caught her eye. He’d stood up from the table where he and Tollers had been sitting and was walking across the room to the fireplace.

‘Hey! What do you think that fellow is doing?’ Rowan said, pointing to Jack Greymoss as he disappeared into the corridor where everyone’s rooms were . . .