The Golden Perch Inn

[Kath]

Cir was bored, and the sidelong glance at her brother confirmed that he was feeling the same way. They were sitting by the fire in the Woodhall, staring into the flames as though they would offer some excitement. For a place exclusive to elves there wasn’t much light-hearted singing or dancing going on, and the twins had even been frowned on for making their own music.

The journey from Rivendell had been spent in a similar quiet, subdued state, unsurprising since they’d been stuck with this group of pilgrims travelling to the palantir of the Emyn Beraid. She could only assume that her parents had thought the experience might calm the two siblings down a little before they reached their aunt’s house in Mithlond. Enhiriel especially had not been pleased when the twins had taken it upon themselves to reorganise the library to what they thought was a better system. It seemed that neither Erestor nor Elrond had not been quite so appreciative of their efforts, and it had been quietly but firmly suggested that perhaps they go out to see the world a little. Their father, Gilthalion had been the one to decide that they should go to visit Mithalwen, certain that she would be able to cope with their boisterous nature.

Cir was beginning to think that their reputation had preceded them, and possibly one that was undeserved, as the pilgrims were keeping such a close eye on them that she wondered if they’d been told that their activities might lead to genuine harm rather than simple annoyance. Their few nights in Bree had been spent under the watchful gaze of at least 4 of the pilgrims at any one time, so they’d had no chance to go and explore, and both were feeling frustrated with the restrictions being placed on them.

Now at least they were being allowed time on their own, but the delights of the Woodhall had faded once every tree and bower had been explored. They had heard from the hobbit Bilbo of his adventures in the halls of King Thranduil in Mirkwood, but to their disappointment the woodland halls of their own people were little more than a glorified campsite, and music or noise of any kind were discouraged during the day when they might be a disturbance to the local inhabitants out and about their business. Only when the stars rose did the music start and might pass as an echo into hobbit dreams.

A sigh from Cir caught her attention.

“Bored?” She asked, knowing the answer, and his nod confirming it. “So let’s get out of here!”

Cir looked at her, a grin slowly appearing on his face.

“Got a plan?” He asked.

“Of course.”

Half an hour later the twins were up a tree, watching the comings and goings at a place called “The Golden Perch”. They had come out of the woods and had simply started walking across the fields in the general direction of the building in the near distance, Cir complimenting her brother on his excellent distraction skills. She never could work out how he got even much older and wiser people to fall for his tales, but she was very appreciative of his talents none the less.

“What do you think?” Asked Cir, ready to go inside and explore but, for once, waiting for his sister to give her opinion.

He had done his part by technically informing one of the older elves that they were going without them fully realising the significance of his words. The secret, he found, was to find someone who was so much more interested in something else and give them a rambling explanation which contained vague references to something worthwhile such as collecting firewood until they said "Yes?” The enquiry was taken as permission and the pair disappeared before their hapless victim could quite work out what they had been thanked for. It had been easier than expected, and now they had reached Woodhall, which pilgrims regarded as home territory. He knew his sister would insist on the final decision, using the prerogative of her extra 20 minutes of age. He also knew she was just as curious as he and was sure she would want to go in. Might as well let her think she has her own way, he thought, easier for me to win next time.

Able to see through the windows, Cir had seen the warm welcome given to every person who had entered since the two of them had hopped up the tree. The hobbit at the bar looked to have an easy-going and kind nature, even seeming comfortable chatting to the elf they had observed sitting at one of the tables. She had also seen what looked very much like a ranger being almost interviewed by two members of the race of Men, and she was itching to get inside and find out what was going on. Cir’s comment in her ear had startled her, not least because it seemed that he was actually going to listen to her opinion.

“I think it looks good.” She replied, lithely dropping from the branch she’d been perched on, closely followed by Cir. When they were full grown the boy would surely be a little taller and broader than his sister and his features a little stronger but for now, clad in similar clothes they were as alike a pair of bookends at first glance certainly - and at second and third too for all but the most observant.

Pausing only to check on the safety of the purse of coins their parents had given them "for emergencies", the two made their way inside carefully, ducking to get through the door with heads still intact. Once in they were able to straighten up again, and took a few moments to just look around. Their experience of hobbits was limited to the brief exposure they’d had to Bilbo, and they’d been told that he was a great exception to normal hobbit behaviour. Those seated round the tables stared at them as they entered, but Cir felt no ill will directed at her or her brother, and smiled at the frank curiosity on many of the faces turned toward them.

Nodding politely to those they passed, the twins made their way up to the counter Cir had seen what appeared to be the Innkeeper standing behind, and waited for him to reappear.

[Folwren]

“What are you whittling?”

The question came from Dorlind. He cocked his head sideways to see over Taffy’s shoulder when he wasn’t exactly standing behind him. Taffy looked up briefly. “A bird?” Without asking permission or if he was invited, he sat down on the step beside him. “How’d you learn how to whittle? Does your Dad let you play with knives? Mine don’t. Mami and Papi think I’d chop of my finger.” He made the motion of whittling, but his pretend knife went to far and sliced his finger. “Augh!” he cried in mock horror. “See?” he went on, becoming serious again. “I keep telling them I wouldn’t, but they don’t believe me. My big brother is allowed to whittle. He makes whistles. Can you make whistles?”

--
Dick

Dick was relived when Primrose finally gave in to resting. He wasn’t so sure of her being able to rest better outside in the sun without anything really comfortable to sit or lay on, but he figured he would press his luck and make her change her mind. He agreed to let her go outside and sit on a bench and straight away set around to helping her.

“I’ll help you now, lassie, but later we’ll get you some right proper crutches that you can hop around on. Lilly, dear, grab a stool, please, and we’ll prop up your foot. Someone should find a pillow, too, or something to cushion it.”

In just a few minutes, they had Primrose situated outside. The bench sat near the kitchen door in the shade of a large tree and surrounded by sweet herbs and some brilliant flowers. Her leg and foot was propped up by a stool with a cushion on it and Dick even went so far as to fetch a blanket in case she got cold.

“Now, don’t hesitate to holler if you need something,” he said as he stepped away. “Cela will hear you, or someone will, I’m sure. Understand?”

Primrose nodded and thanked him and Dick hurried back into the inn. “Keep your ears sharp, Cella, in case she calls,” Dick said as he passed through the kitchen. “Lilly, you don’t mind staying around, do you? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, Dick. I’ve got it under control.” Lilly smiled at him from where she sat, chopping vegetables. “I’ll help Cela here. What about Will, here?” She nodded towards the young hobbit. Dick blinked at him.

“Oh! Will! My word, in my worry about poor Primrose. . .hold on a might, Will. I’ve got to go back out, I think someone else has come in, but if you need to go rest, then go right ahead. You’ve got my permission.”

He hurried out into the common room and sure enough, two newcomers had come in. Elves, no less, Dick noted with surprise. There hadn’t been elves around for some time. Gable was about constantly, yes, but she lived there and had become a part of life.

“Good afternoon!” he said, smiling his broadest. “How can I help you?”

[Envinyatar]

‘The Stock Brook, is it?’ Jack took the pole Tollers offered him and looked it over. ‘Yep, this’ll do just fine. Did you make it yourself, Tollers?’ he asked as the two waded out a little into the water and climbed into the boat.

He let Tollers take the oars as he knew the river and Jack didn’t. On the way home, he promised to himself, I’ll do the rowing. It was a generous thought on his part; the sort he was unaccustomed to thinking. Jack reached up and scratched his head. Just what was going on here?

They soon arrived at one of Toller's favorite pools. Jack helped throw out the little anchor – a rope and a heavy stone. Baiting his hook, he threw it out a little away from Toller’s own line.

‘By my old man’s whiskers!’ he cried, seeing the bobber begin to bob up and down with a vigor almost right away. ‘You were right, my friend! Great place to fish!’

He hauled in the first of his catch with a laugh. ‘You know, Tollers, you’re an easy man to be around,’ he said stringing his catch on a rope line and lowering it back into the water to keep fresh. ‘You ever get a mind to…you have time, that is, we could see some of those sights you heard about…

Though not right away, I hope.. he thought to himself. I kinda like it here…

[Mithalwen]

Carantilion realised that his sister, having led the way into the inn was going to let him do the talking... which was a little unfortunate because the hobbit landlord's friendly greeting had reminded him that he would have to use the Westron for the first time in some while. He had not been the most attentive student and in recent years, since the twins misadventures had started to be regarded as borderline delinquency rather than youthful high spirits, they had been given little chance to mingle with the non-elvish visitors to Rivendell.

The boy was slightly mesmerised by the sight of the hobbit. He looked rather like the Mr Baggins he remembered with his merry round face and brown curly hair but he seemed much shorter (Cir had forgotten that he had grown well over a foot since Bilbo's visit ).

After a slightly too long pause as he gathered his thoughts and words and spoke at last "I would like something to drink, please". The Landlord chuckled to himself, told the young elf he was in the right place and asked him to be more specific, what did he normally drink?

Encouraged , the boy became more verbose - "water, wine, sometimes mead, perry or ale " he said hoping he had got the words right. "We had miruvor once but I don't want anything like that again" he added making a face and remembering a disatrous raid on the Rivendell stills.

"Mirrorwater ?, what is that? ", asked Dick puzzled.

"I don't know the word in your tongue but it burns the throat and gives a headache" answered the elf ruefully.

The hobbit chuckled again - "Ah firewater... well we have that and most of the other things you named but what we are known for is our beer - but not all ladies care for it" he added with a glance at the elfmaid.

"That isn't a lady - that's my sister" said Cir cheerfully " and if you tell her she won't like something because she is a girl, she will want it - so two beers please as long as we have enough money?" he finished anxiously showing the hobbit the assortment of coins from the little leather pouch.

[Folwren]

“That isn’t a lady - that’s my sister,” the elf said. Dick’s eyes glowed with humor. A young pair of siblings, no doubt. “. . .So two beers please as long as we have enough money?” Dick looked at the coins that the elf presented and his face that had clouded slightly, cleared instantly.

“Enough? Why that’s far more than enough! You could buy yourselves dinner and still have left over! I’ll get the beers. Where’re you two from?” He asked the question as he half turned to fill the mugs. He watched the ale foaming up in them with half his eye as the elf responded.

[Lilly]

‘I can make whistles, Dorlind.’ Taffy paused for a moment and looked at the younger boy. ‘In fact, if you fetch me a nice thick twig, say one about as thick as your daddy’s little finger…and about as long, too, then I’ll make one for you.’ He looked over to where Seren and Daisy were chasing a grasshopper. ‘Best you get one for your sister, too. If she’s anything like mine, then she’ll whine until she gets one.’

Taffy went back to his whittling. He stopped again and showed Dorlind the roughed out form. ‘It’s not a bird. Though it does have wings.’ He leaned close to Dorlind as if sharing a secret. ‘It’s going to be a dragon.’

[piosenniel]

‘I’ll meet you out front,’ Rhys called to his sister as she stood in front of the little polished mirror that hung on the wall. They’d excused themselves earlier from Hithadan’s company, saying that they had some business to attend to.

Tanni smiled at her brother as she fastened back her thick red hair with a beaded clasp her mother had made for her. ‘Go on, now. Let me just change my blouse and I’ll be ready to go.’ She shooed him out the door, promising she would hurry.

Rhys nodded to the two young fellows sitting on the porch and smiled at the picture of the little girls engaged in their giggling pursuit of the grasshopper. The ostler was nowhere to be found when he got to the stable, which was of no concern really. Nia and Olwen nickered softly as Rhys whistled. ‘Come on girls!’ he called to them, opening the doors to the stalls. The familiar routine of harnessing them to the cart took little time, and soon he had pulled up in front of the inn.

‘See, I told you I’d be ready!’ laughed Tanni, running down the stairs. She climbed into the cart and sat down. The warm afternoon breeze tousled her hair; she pushed back a stray strand, hooking it behind her ear. ‘I hope it’s as Rowan said…that Granny Greenhill won’t mind if we just drop in on her.’ Tanni untied her cloak and slipped it from her shoulders, letting it fall over the back of the cart seat. ‘How long do you think we’ll be gone on our errand?’ she asked in an offhand manner, flicking her eyes toward him and then away.

He raised an eyebrow at her, his mouth curving up in an impious grin. ‘Well, I’m thinking we’ll be back in time for the evening meal. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, no reason, really. Just making conversation.’

‘Mmhmm…’ he murmured, flicking the reins lightly against the mares’ haunches. And noting, as he did so, she had begun to sing softly to herself.