The Golden Perch Inn

[Folwren]

The young hobbit lass clearly had been on the road for some while. Her order was long and she looked like she meant every word of it. “And,” she said in finishing, “perhaps a piece of apple pie for dessert?”

“Yes, yes,” Dick muttered, repeating her entire order in his head. “Yes, we have pie. She makes it fresh every day. He turned to go on, but she quickly touched his sleeve and he turned towards her again at once.

“I’m so sorry, I nearly forgot to ask! I’ll need a room for five days. Who should I talk to about getting one?”

“That’ll be me, Miss,” Dick said with a smile. “As soon as you’ve eaten dinner, catch my attention again, and I’ll show you to a room.” He nodded and passed onto meet other customer’s needs. . .

[Elfchick7]

After having told Vehil and Fain all that she could remember, Luriniel wished them good fortune in their search. There was nothing more that she could say, so she excused herself and left to check in on her sister.

Seeing that Nienna was still asleep, Luriniel took the chair opposite the bed and reflectively thought on the events of the day. How many things have happened today. Nienna's injury, out meeting Maikaalph's brother...many things. It has been so long since our familiy was stained with the crimes of our father. When shall we find peace? As her mind dwelt on these thoughts, the exhausted Luriniel slowly drifted off to sleep.

[Gwathagor]

As the sun burnt low in the west and was finally extinguished in the sea, the habitual activities of a tired village occupied the inhabitants of Stock. Doors were shut, fires were put out, shutters were closed. The forest dwellers sensed it too, the slowing down of the day, the gentle weariness that follows a long summer day. Nobody saw the elf.

He stood atop the hill that overlooked Stock in the north. Tall, dark, and lonely he stood, surveying the land before him, taking in the village through every sense and faculty.

So this is where we are, he thought.

[Gwathagor]

His cloak was long, and though it was now tattered and stained, it had probably been of a deep royal blue. Blood soaked the hem of his garment and had dried down the side of his right boot. He stood very still, with his sword unsheathed. The only movement in the stillness was the warm wind, which gently blew his long dark hair about his face. He was tense and alert, but as the wind began to blow, he let down his guard. He took a deep breath of the clean Shire air, sighed, and began to sheath his sword.

I am very tired.

The sword was long and scarred, attesting to the ferocity of its bearer and to the many battles it had seen. It was an old weapon, outdated by many standards, but clean and well-cared for despite its nicks and battle-wounds. Though simple, the symmetry of the craftsmanship, the quality of the metal, and the natural curve and balance of the blade spoke of many long hours in the forge. It was kingly, but in no way pretentious or ceremonial, clearly designed for one purpose alone: to kill, swiftly and well. The sword was unadorned save for a thick strand of pure silver that traced its way through the working of the hilt, and about the leather-bound handle of the ancient longsword. The elf carefully and lovingly returned it to its simple leather scabbard, which bore upon it a device of a single white rose, set amidst a field of fiery stars.

Then he knew that he was watched. The slightest breath, the brief minor note in a birdsong, a change in the wind; nothing escaped his trained, wild-wary senses. His instincts told him that there was something behind him in the trees. He turned, swiftly and calmly to face his watcher. The royal sword leapt from its scabbard. At the same moment the moon rolled from behind a cloud, casting silver-blue beams upon the green sward. The sword caught the light of the full moon as a large wolf emerged from the pine grove. Its fangs and its glittering eyes also reflected the moonlight and its black mane rippled in the wind.

"Begone, creature of the cold north! This is not your realm, you may not trouble these little people." There was menace in the elf's voice, menace which the wolf returned with an almost imperceptibly deep growl.

Suddenly, in a single natural, quick motion, the wolf sprang forward, as a mighty howl tore from its throat. The elf's blade flashed up and forward in a similar a movement; an arc: calm, natural, and sure. Cold hate was in his eyes. Time seemed to slow, nearly to a standstill, as the clash of the two wild creatures loomed, and as the quiet moonlit village slept. The two killers from the wild stood locked in a deep and terrible combat upon the brink of humanity and civilization, where neither was accustomed to tred.

Then the clouds drifted back across the moon and the elf's longsword finished its arc, its blade coming to rest buried deep in the grass and soil of the hilltop. The wolf-creature had vanished, and the elf was alone, head down, bent double, both hands upon the grip of his sword. The monster's cry reverberated over all, then abruptly drifted away on the gentle summer wind.

The elf collapsed unconscious upon the green turf beside his sword. He was very tired.

[Dunwen]

In the Golden Perch’s common room, Peri’s order had arrived. After taking a moment to inhale the assorted scents from the meal in front of her, Peri added some sugar to the warm tea. Lifting it to her lips, she sipped blissfully and savored the feel of the liquid heat flowing down her throat. After a few more mouthfuls, she turned her attention to her food.

She had seldom enjoyed a meal more. After a long day traveling from the Tookland, everything tasted delicious. First, she steadily devoured a small plate of fresh-baked biscuits slathered with butter and strawberry jam. She inhaled the accompanying portion of stew. Turning at last to the piquantly spiced slice of apple pie, she happily ate every crumb from tip to flaky crust.

Full for the first time all day, she pushed back from the table, and as Dick had instructed her, found him and paid her dinner and a room for the next few days. An unexpected wave of tiredness overcame her. The idea of curling up in a soft bed sounded extremely attractive, so she picked up her saddlebags and made her way out of the common room. Clutching the key she’d been given, she found her room and unlocked the door.

And found that pesky younger sister of Lily’s inside. Annoyed, Peri snapped, “And just what do you think you’re doing here, miss?” She fixed the younger hobbit with a glare that would have stopped an Orc in its tracks.

[Gwathagor]

The door to the Golden Perch swung open with a bang. A tall, dark elf staggered through the door, stooping low to avoid the low lintel.

"Ale! Quick!", he said, as he stumbled into a chair which was a bit too small for him.

He had regained consciousness only moments before, as the first rays of dawn had crept over the mountains. His battle with the wolf-fiend the night before had left him weak. Indeed, he could not even pull his sword from where he had found it, embedded hilt deep in the ground beside him. Exhausted, he had just enough strength to make his way as quickly as he could down the hill to the inn.

There was something very dark working in the East Farthing.

The warrior elf had followed the trail of the wolves from far in the northern wastelands, traveling with all speed he could muster. And all along the way, he had been hindered by nearly every monster native to those lands, and some that were not. He was returning from a fruitless journey to find the nomadic Lossoth people, whence had come rumors of extraordinary numbers of marauding wolves, when he had come upon the south-bound wolf-trail. These were not ordinary wolves. These were draugring, relatives of the fierce wargs. They dwelt in the north, seldom passing the southern borders of ancient Angmar, and of old their king had been Tugaurath, a maia spirit.

While tracking the wolves, he had guessed that the forces of darkness were being gathered by some evil spirit because of the resistance to his approach. Now his worst fears were confirmed. Surely Tugaurath, the last of the great werewolves had come forth once more at the behest of the Power of the East. All across Middle-earth, monsters and dark creatures were crawling forth from their exiles in deep caverns or distant lands, perceiving that Sauron's power waxed strong.

He leaned heavily upon the thick table-top as a hobbit brought him a beaker of ale. He drained it in a single, long gulp, set it down hard upon the table. Immediately, he felt his strength and clarity of mind returning. The tall elf with the bloodstained cloak looked upon the obliging hobbit who had supplied the ale.

"Blessed hobbit, I am in your debt", he sighed and paused a moment before continuing. "In all Middle-earth, there is nothing quite like the ale brewed by the Shire-folk. Would that I had come on any other errand than that which now drives me; perhaps when this terrible day is done, I will sit and enjoy your ale at my leisure and to my heart's content. But now there is need of haste: your land is in grave danger. Tell me, as quickly as you can, all that you know about the wolves..."

[Forest Elf]

Gable was amazed that she hadn't fallen out of the tree at all that night. And the hobbit seemed to be in a possition that would make it hard to fall out of the tree, considering the way the branches were about him. She looked down, the wolves were still there. She sighed and wondered why no one had come yesternight. She sighed and closed her eyes, the sun had just barely come up. The wolves had to rest sooner or later, or even give up. She was surprised that they were still there and that they were still awake. How can they not rest? Perhaps they were sleeping while I was too.. come to think of it, I don't even remember falling asleep.

Gable carefully stood up on her branch, using the branches above her to keep her balance. The wolves stood also, their tails wagging behind them. They looked up at her with large eyes and they seemed to be smiling. One of the growled deeply in it's throat, just waiting for Gable to slip and land upon the ground. But Gable knew better than to let that happen, despite what the wolves did.

She sat back down after a few minutes and waited until the sun was higher up in the sky, a time when the Inn would surely have some folk awake. She threw back her head and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath of cool morning air and shouted, "Help!" in a single, long, cry. After that the wolves tried leaping up at her, to no use. Then they backed up and ran and then leapt up into the air. They flew higher and were only inches away from the branch, almost catching her feet in their jaws. She screamed and started shouting, "Help!" loud enough to be heard, but also fast enough to get the message along.

She grabbed a branch; still shouting; and began to swing it down at the wolves. She hit a couple of the beasts, but it did nothing to stop then, it only slowed them down a little. She just hoped the hobbit didn't make any sudden movements out of his place in his tree. If he moved down just a few inches, the wolves would get him for sure. She sent up a silent prayer for help while her shouts rang out across the land to the Inn.