The Golden Perch Inn

[Mänwe]

‘Heady ale’, the rough translation of the old name for the Brandywine, was an apt description for the ale he had been consuming, the pewter tankard from which he was drinking was almost empty, taller than it was broad allowed the drinker to take long draughts, flavours were more readily tasted that way than if the ale was being drunk from a smaller vessel. Not just that, but the pungent fumes given off by the yeast and hops also helped to enthuse the drinkers mind, also enhancing the taste.

It was well known that you tasted also with your nose. It was all these factors combined that had caused himself to feel slightly light headed, not one for ale often, coupled with its outlawing when in the field had meant he had gone some months without a drop passing his lips; liver and brain were not used to its effects, and the slight adrenaline he was running on was not helping.

He was glad it had not affected his speech, slurring words on the first tankard would not bode well, and the seasoned traveller he had posed himself as, would also have to act as a veteran drinker. Whether he would fare any better in stability he would find out soon, collapsing would have an even more detrimental affect to his mission success. The thought of explaining himself to his commanding officer that he had not gained an awful lot of information of worth because he had collapsed in a stupor would no doubt cost him his career and derision for the rest of division. Although most debriefings took place in secrecy somehow details of the meetings always found their way to the rest of the ranks.

Thoughts that only served to sober him, and he continued to stare at the Inn Keeper as he spoke. Seredic leaned in, as if he were going to impart something of great importance that should be for his ears only, and again Limaris worried if his “disguise” had been seen through; and as the Hobbit spoke he fought the tide of apprehension and a slight fear that had taken a loose grip on him as the words left the Hobbit’s mouth.

“Not very many outsiders wander into the Perch all that often, but sommit seemed to have happened to whatever fairies were keeping ‘em all out of the Shire. Just yesterday, when I took over the good old inn, a whole flood of these sorts came in.”

The words resounded within his head, and he immediately began going over the implications and repercussions the words the Hobbit had just uttered. If indeed they were a true expression of fear that he felt than it would have a serious effect upon the distribution of forces within the North. They had only a tenuous hold of its territories and their forces were stretched thin. He wondered if any of the combat troops from the White City would be drafted in, however that seemed unlikely, not only was the White City in its own turmoil with a Steward who had been increasingly spending time alone, but should words of trouble in the north reach his ears then the secrecy regarding the mobilisation of forces around the was likely to be revealed.

No, the troubles would be reported only to the commanding officers of the Rangers, who even kept such things out of the common knowledge of even the council in the White City. Still he wondered if the guard upon the Shire increase. It would mean less leave, perhaps even a restriction to leave altogether. For a fleeting moment he considered leaving out these words from his report. Chiding himself harshly he knew that was not the course to follow. The safety of the North was deemed grave enough to have committed such a large force there.

For although only the officers knew their companies missions, and even then they only knew their own, and only brief notes on other companies, there was a well accepted rumour throughout the entire division that there was something of grave importance in the North, worryingly, something that might aid the growing shadow should it be discovered.

While the rank and file objected to being left in the dark, it was obvious that it were for the best, the less you knew at times the better. Limaris wondered if the Hobbit realised the implications of his own words, a small smile crept over his face at the thought…This Hobbit may just have caused the total reorganisation and mobilisation of the forces in the north, perhaps even the increase in military numbers.

For the words eluded to breaches in the defence, and while orcs and wolves would stand out should they be bold enough to approach habituated areas, they may well have slipped though the Rangers nets and be lying hidden in dead ground, indeed any spies of the shadow for they were many could have slipped past preparing unseen havoc.

He immediately had another line of questioning for the Hobbit. However they would have to wait,

“Not that your so common yourself,”

A smile spread across his features, it was best he though to take a blasé attitude toward the comment. Further comments came about the dwarf, curious he was, and Seredic’s comments on his enthralling the other Hobbit were promising also. An enthralled Hobbit could mean a number of things, but usually because of a good tale told or interesting gossip.

The dwarf would at some point have to be approached and questioned carefully. Thoughts drifting back to the effects of the ale on himself he knew that it was perfect for loosening tongues, still it would be expensive to loosen that dwarf’s tongue, and he’d drunk three tankards already. Limaris just hoped that the travel had weakened his resistance to its affects somewhat.

“You must meet a great deal of people yourself on the road, you don’t need me telling you about them.”

The Hobbit was not giving an awful lot away, and was asking probing questions himself, Limaris knew he would have to begin taking more risks. It was evident that the Inn Keeper would immediately be more curious about the identity of his customer, he was sharp, not dull witted.

Limaris answered,

“Aye, that I do young sir! It is a travellers curse you might say.” He paused finishing the ale.

“Or gift, to meet folk on the road. Though I can tell you I’ve met a number of folk who better fit with the curse bit.” Chuckling softly, and hoping it was a convincing laugh, he continued,

“Still I know for a fact, and first hand now, that Hobbits are a welcoming people, so I assume that more queer folk are more likely to approach you than a wizened traveller, you see we’re more cautious as to the folk we take in company.” Pausing again, judging whether the moment was right, he asked,

“Tell me Dick, has there been any violence in the town; an attack on the Inn perhaps? I’ve known a good few Inns in my time attacked because of the occupants inside.” Heart beating hard eyes fixed on the Inn Keeper he awaited an answer with baited breath..

[Kath]

Cir stared at her brother as the last vestiges of sleep left her eyes and what he was saying finally got through to her brain.

"Wolf cubs? You found wolf cubs?"

"Yes!" Was the excited reply. "What should we do?"

"I ... well, did you see the mother?" Cir sat up slowly, trying to recall the events of the morning. Had there been a female wolf outside?

"No, but perhaps she just hasn't returned yet. I saw tracks leading away just not leading back. But the wolf that was killed this morning, someone said it was male but I am not certain - I wish I had taken a closer a look at it before I set off this morning but they have taken the body away now I think .. ."

"It may not have been the mother, but let's go take another look. If she comes back it'll be ok."

"And if she doesn't?"

"I don't know Cir. Let's just go back to where you found the cubs and hope the mother does turn up. We'll think about what to do if she doesn't if we have to."

Throwing off the bedclothes Cir shoved her brother out of the way and got to her feet. Grabbing cloak, shoes and Cir's hand she set off downstairs with her brother in tow. The two siblings made their way back into the woods, with the younger Cir now leading the way along the path he had found earlier. Crouching down just a few feet away from the little den Cir had found earlier they waited, their dark cloaks keeping them hidden from the three little wolf cubs who seemed to have no fear of playing in the small clearing in front of the den.

"Don't they look thin?" Whispered Cir, turning to his sister with a worried frown. "Maybe it was the mother. Maybe she came to the Inn to find food because she couldn't find any here. Even if the dead wolf was a male, there were others which were driven off they might have been killed too by farmers or ..rangers even - there were at least a couple of them in the inn last night I think"

Cir had to admit that it was possible, and as the morning sun reached its peak and there was still no sign of the mother she was becoming more and more convinced that her brother might be right.

"Ok, lets go back to the Inn. We -"

"What? We can't just leave them here, what if something happens?"

"Cir, let me finish alright? I know you want to take them back with us.. "

"No!" her brother cried with unusual vehemence."That is the last place I would take them...not after they killed the old wolf ... they would think like Ada, and would kill them as soon as look at them". Despite his age it seemed as if the boy might cry. The seeming plight of the cubs had struck a chord in his heart.

" And we can't take them back to Woodhall either ... but if we do nothing they will die.." he added..remembering where they were supposed to be..

His sister switched back into elder sibling mode,"They'll be ok for a few hours, and it'll give the mum more of a chance to come back if it wasn't her at the Inn this morning. Does that make sense to you? And it will give us a chance to think what to do"

Reluctantly Cir nodded, and with a wistful glance back at the cubs the two walked back again.

The twins having wasted no time in getting breakfast ate for a while in thoughtful but companionable silence. Carantilion sipped his milkless tea... an idea had formed. He leaned forward and his twin mimicked the gesture so their dark heads were close enought for him to whisper.

"What if we leave them where they are but take them food? I think they look old enough to eat proper food not just milk .... that might keep them going until their mother can get back if she has just been scared out of the way ..and maybe we can find out for certain whether it was a she-wolf they killed and what happened to the others ..there is bound to be a lot of talk about it... I shouldn't think this sort of thing happens often. Of course if their mother is dead..... I wonder how long it will be before the cubs can fend for themselves..." Having not let his sister get a word in edgeways, Cir's voice tailed off into thought once more.

A cool breeze followed as Severian turned the bend on yet another patchwork dirt road. The hill behind him descending into the distance, as if another insignificant memory, empty and meaningless. The breeze though colorful and refreshing hindered the tall Gondorians’ vision as his medium length hair wisped in front of his eyes. Removing the hand that had been secured to the strap from which hung his steel shield, Severian pushed back his matted hair with a single brush of his gloved hand.

Returning the recently used hand to its ordinary assigned position the cloaked wanderer lifted his gaze to the forefront of his view. There nestled as if by divine meaning in the distance lay a simple little inn, built humbly into the side of one of the Shire’s many hills. A smirk found its way to the stern figures’ face as he chuckled lightly at the thought of little hairy Hobbits stumbling back and forth with all many of cooking tools to prepare a proper meal. Generally Severian would not stop at such a place, especially in his travel-weary, gruff-looking state. Yet something felt different about this establishment, and his conscience rebuked otherwise.

With a quickly jerked nod and small chuckle the Son of Severius fastened his cloak’s brooch tighter and quickened his pace towards the hovel-like structure in hopes of a comfortable room, some ale, and a warm hearth. After all, his coin purse had been growing heavy as of late.

Leaning his sword hand on “Sorrow”, the large blade that lay at his side, Severian stepped towards the small oval shaped door. Extending his off-hand he pushed forth, his black Gondorian bracers, bearing the White Tree showing for only a moment as they appeared from the folds of his brown cloak for the motion’s duration. Bending his head he stepped forth through the threshold and into a lively and peaceful common room.

Snapping his head back suddenly as to let his cowl fall backwards, he scanned the room until he found the bar counter to his right. Paying no heed to the other patrons the young Gondorian sat himself at the stool nearest the corner propping his feet up against the nearest stool. He pondered for a moment if he should sharpen his skinning knife but instead stayed his hand.

Leaning back against the wall Severian sighed enjoying the atmosphere, his sword and right hand invisible to the naked eye under the folds of his cloak. Settling himself deeper into the wall Severius nodded at the rather intoxicated looking man aside him, and with a smirk turned his attention to the kitchen side of the bar, waiting for the barkeep.

[Folwren]

This apparently innocent, curious traveler was almost getting too curious, even for Dick. His pipe was just about empty know and he drew a deep breath as he knocked it gently. “I don’t see why anybody should attack this inn. We don’t have any conspicuous occupants.” He stood up abruptly. “I have a waiting customer,” he said, seeing a newcomer enter the inn. He started away, but he had only gone two paces before he turned about again.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I wouldn’t normally go talking about it, for fear of spreading discomfort among the guests, but I think you could manage not to spread the tale. This morning, we were attacked.” Limaris’ eyes became sharper and his attention more direct. “Not by hobbits or men or anything. We had a group of wolves come in. They got into the stables and took refuge there. Some of us had to go out and fight them off.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I do have to go see to this new customer.” He hurried to the counter and came around it to face the man sitting there. “Good morning to you, sir,” Dick said, putting his hands together and resting them on the counter top. “What may I get for you?"

Severian gave a gruff good-intended smile, as he looked to the humble looking Hobbit on the other side of the counter. Pushing some hair that had drifted into his eyes out of the way Severian answered. "How do you do good sir? I'd rather like some lodging for the night and perhaps an ale and some meat for now." Severian tried being more jovial but failed miserably the smile washing away from his face, as it once again became hardened and dust-covered.

Reaching within the folds of his cloak he removed a small satchel full of currency and placing it on the counter said. "I hope this will cover any costs." And with that he returned to his business of scanning the room, and as a precaution to avoid curious eyes he slide the cowl of his cloak back over his head, hiding his visage in shadow. Leaning back against the wall once more he settled into the stool and waited for his food and drink to arrive.

[mormegil]

Kuric sat listening to Tollers speak on. He had felt tired but the sustenance was beginning to take effect by working the languor out of his body. Talk of adventure and of Bilbo had erased all thoughts of sleep from his mind. Now he was simply willing to swap stories with this hobbit, of course he realized that it would be himself that would do the most talking.

He resolved that he would indeed invite Bilbo to the Perch for a visit. It wasn’t the reason he had ended up in The Shire but since he was here he couldn’t resist the prospect of properly meeting Bilbo. He also understood that Bilbo would be truly delighted to see a dwarf from Erebor again. Suddenly Kuric was startled out of his thoughts by hearing about wolves. Wolves he mused, I wonder if it could have anything to do with…Naw, it couldn’t be, well at least I hope not

Turning his attention back to Tollers, who was surprisingly becoming a friend, he heard him speaking about adventure amongst trees and advising him not to carry an axe. Upon hearing this Kuric jumped up and boisterously proclaimed, “AXE! Why I don’t have an axe! Look here you little scoundrel I carry a mace with me, I’m never without it, see.” With that Kuric promptly produced from his mace and gave it a light thud on the table. “What’s this yer saying about trees? What adventure could trees give me? Trees can’t attack or bleed, why just two days ago my mace was stained with the blood of…well, I mean.” Kuric trailed off rather stupidly. “TREES” Kuric blurted suddenly after a moments pause. “You hobbits sure are a queer folk to think that trees could give an adventure, what do I look like a danged elf?”

“Now about that Bilbo, why don’t you fetch me a piece of parchment and I’ll write him a quick invitation to come and visit us over here,” Kuric added. “Maybe the three of us can get some ideas of where some adventure and treasure lie near by these parts.

[Mithalwen]

Cir cast his gaze around the common room for any likely source of information. There didn't seem to be anyone he recognised particularly from the night before. The dwarf was not one of those they had made music with the evening before and had already cast a scornful glance in their direction, while the younger men who had been talking to Dick at the bar also seemed to be newcomers and it seemed to him that there was something rather forbidding about their appearance.

He frowned thinking that most of those they knew had likely not stayed so long abed and had breakfasted and gone about their business or their journeys earlier in the morning. Turning he saw another face, a friendly looking one that he recognised. It was the man who had arrived late the previous evening. Cir had not talked with him having been occupied with playing and singing but he fancied he had heard something him being from Rohan. If that were so he might know a bit about wolves seeing as that land had the Misty Mountains and the White about it's borders. Besides he looked as if he might appreciate some company, sitting alone lingering over his coffee.

Cir nudged his sister and having swallowed the last of the toast and honey which had completed a surprisingly large breakfast for a not particularly hungry elf, he picked up his mug of tea and tentatively approached the man who raised his head as the elf approached and looked at him with clear blue eyes.
Encouraged Cir spoke:

"Excuse me, Sir, do you mind if we join you? My name is Carantilion Laicirith and this is my sister Enpauriel Laicirith - but usually we just get called Cir" he added looking hopefully at Edric.