The Golden Perch Inn

[Elfchick7]

After eating her fill, Luriniel returned to her sister's room and found, in the closet, several heavy blankets, which she used to make a place to sleep on the floor next to Nienna's bed. Then, she went over to her pack and pulled out a leather bound book, a quill, and a bottle of ink. After marking the date, she wrote:

Second day at the Golden Perch Inn. Nienna still sleeps, but her wounds seem to be healing. We are both receiving long needed rest. It has been many years since we could go a full day without constantly glancing about to guard against trouble. Still, no sign of Melinor. Wherever he is, I wish him well. I will rest again, while I may.

She closed the book and returned it to her belongings. Having checked Nienna once again for fever and finding her temperature to be a bit low, Luriniel took a couple of the blankets and tucked them warmly around her sister. She worried that Nienna was sleeping so deeply, but she could not think on it for much longer as her eyes were growing heavy with sleepiness. She laid down on her makeshift bed and gave in to the weariness that was overwhelming her travel worn body. As she drifted out of consciousness she whispered in her heart a soft prayer that the dream might not come to her on this night.

[Arry]

Will followed in Rowan’s wake. Behind him he could hear the happy chatter of those now digging into their meals; before him, he caught Rowan’s question about dessert. He saw Cook wave vaguely in the direction of the pantry. ‘I’ll see to it,’ he called out to Rowan who was seeing to a cup of tea for the Ranger, in addition to the mug of ale she’d already brought him.

‘Let’s see,’ he said, pulling back the pantry door. He walked quickly past the bins of flour and sugar, past the tins of tea, and boxes of peppercorns and paprika. Though it was dim in the pantry and he hadn’t brought a candle in with him, he knew just where to look, not because he helped out with the cooking, but because he had a sweet tooth. And since he’d been taken on at the Inn he’d manage to ferret out the various hiding places Cook had for her pastries and other baked goods.

As he recollected, there had been spice cookies left over from day before yesterday’s lunch. And they would only have improved with a few days’ aging. Now where had the old gal put them?

He checked all the usual places and found nothing save for a half a treacle tart left from yesterday. ‘Ah hah!’ he said aloud, reaching his hand behind the crockery jar filled with raisins. There was the large wooden chest Cook often stored away her extra cookies. He hauled it off the deep pantry shelf and brought it out to the kitchen.

‘Well, that’s taken care of, then,’ he said as he sat the chest down near the kitchen table. He fetched himself a plate piled high with chicken and all the trimmings and sat down opposite Hithadan. If you’re not going to drink that ale, man, maybe I could take care of it for you, eh?’ He glanced at the Ranger’s leg as it rested on the kitchen chair. ‘What ever happened to you?’

[Envinyatar]

Hithadan shifted his weight a little on the chair and eased his left leg into a more comfortable position. ‘Go ahead, my thirsty friend, and take the ale. I think I’ll stick with good, strong tea for the while.’

‘What ever happened to you?’ Will asked, reaching for the mug.

Between the chicken and the taters and the gravy and the peas, Hithadan wove his story, embroidering on it a little here and there to draw away his listener’s attention from his real business in Bree.....

‘.....and that’s what happened to my leg. Not all that exciting or thrilling really. Mostly a tale of overindulgence and sheer clumsiness on my part.’

As he finished his story, he found he’d also managed to finish his meal. With a satisfied sigh, Hithadan pushed the plate away from him and took out his pipe and pouch of pipeweed. ‘I think I’ll pass on the cookies. Just another mug of tea, I think.’

He rose carefully from his chair and limped over to the hearth. Snatching a straw from the broom by the stove, he lit it in the fire and then let his now filled pipe from it.’ A stream of fragrant white smoke curled up from the bowl as he made his way back to the table. ‘Care to fill your pipe, Master Will?’ he asked offering the pouch.

It was a one pipe evening for the Ranger. He was tired from his travels, and made more so by his painful leg. With a nod to Cook and a thank-you to Rowan, Prim, and Will for a tasty meal and good company, he made his way to his usual room for the night.

[Tiffany Aching]

Dessert was spice cookies. Two, in fact, washed down with one last cup of tea. By the time she’d taken her last swallow of the sweet liquid she was beginning to feel the tiredness from the long day begin to set in. She stifled a yawn behind her hand and begged the Elf’s pardon.

‘My goodness!’ she said. ‘It seems my day is catching up with me. Sorry to be yawning, Master Tavaro. It’s certainly not your good company and conversation that’s making me do so.’ She crumpled her napkin and put it alongside her now empty mug. ‘And gracious, it’s grown quite dark out,’ she went on, reaching down to get her bag. ‘I think I’d better get my cart and see about getting home.’

Miribelle stood up, looking around to see if Will were somewhere about. She called Prim over and asked her to let Will know that she needed her cart.

‘How kind of you,’ she said as Tavaro offered to walk her out to the stable. She declined to take his arm, but walked close by him as they crossed the yard. It was a bright moon above which lit their way.

Will had harnessed Cookie to the cart and brought it out to meet her just as she reached the stable doors. He held the reins as she climbed up to her seat. She gave him her thanks and waved good-bye to Tavaro, saying in parting that she hoped he would not be leaving soon and that they’d meet again before he did. ‘We still have springle-rings to talk about. And I’d very much like to have you come to my little shop to see what I do.’

Miribelle waved once more to Tavaro and Will. She flicked the reins lightly against Cookie’s back and set out for home and her snug little bed.

[Arry]

Will stood in the dark inn yard as Miz Rushybanks drove off. He looked longingly back toward the stable and his rooms there. He’d left the door open and the soft light from the lantern he’d hung from the post as he’d got out Cookie beckoned. His generous side got the better of him, though, and he returned to the kitchen.

Cook was busy stowing away the few leftovers from supper; Rowan and Prim were up to their elbows in soapy water as they attacked the piles of mugs and plates and cutlery. The door to the common room was open and beyond it he could hear Master Boffin sweeping the floor as he tidied up for another day yet to come.

Prim cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to the happenings in the kitchen. And with a meaningful look at the pegs where the dishtowels hung urged him to pick one up.

By the time they’d finished and Cook had swept the floor all of the Hobbits were yawning. Will waved off an offer of a last mug of tea and made his good-byes. ‘See you all in the morning,’ he called to them as he made for the door. ‘Crispy bacon, is it, tomorrow?’ he asked as he passed Cook.

‘Might be just that,’ she said, a more than tired look on her face. And he thought he heard her mumble after, ‘If there’s any breakfast at all . . .’

He shook his head, thinking in his own weariness, he had misheard.

[Undómë]

Rowan pulled the quilt up over her face, groaning at the bright, sharp light that flooded against her closed eye lids. ‘Prim!’ she growled from beneath her dark warm cave of covers. ‘Turn down that lantern! You want to blind me?!’

‘Oh, Rowan! ‘S’not me! Quick get up! Something’s happened!’ Prim’s voice had a disconcerted, nearly frightened tone to it.

With a groan, Rowan threw back her blankets and sat up in bed. What’s this? she thought, taking a quick look about her room. The sun was well up and the full morning’s light shown through her thin, cotton curtains. ‘Goblins take me!’ she muttered clambering quickly to her feet. ‘And they might as well as Cook’ll have my hide for laying abed so long.’

The late Spring air was still a bit brisk she thought as she reached for her robe to pull over her nightgown. She hurried toward the door intending to make her way to the kitchen when the strangeness of the whole situation made her pause. She listened carefully, cocking her ear toward where the kitchen was. No pots banging about, no chop-chop as knife struck cutting board, no scrape of spatula against iron skillet as potatoes or eggs or pancakes were turned. She raised her nose, sniffing the air. No bacon frying!!

‘What’s happened?’ she called out, running down the hall. Prim, she could see, had just gone into the kitchen a few steps ahead of her.

‘She’s just not here!’ Prim cried. ‘I’ve looked in the garden, the common room, and even her bedroom . . . just in case . . . you know, something “happened”.’

Rowan shook her head, trying to take in what Prim had said. ‘How about the pantry, or the root cellar,’ Rowan offered, grasping for some answer to this disturbing event.

‘No,’ Prim said shaking her head for emphasis. ‘Not there either.’ Her face had gone pale. ‘Cook’s gone . . . missing . . . maybe even . . . kidnapped . . .’ And with that pronouncement, Prim sank to the floor in a dead faint.

[Arry]

Will pushed open the outside door to the kitchen just as Prim fell to the floor. He pushed back his cap and scratched his head as he took in the scene. His early morning chores were just done; the stalls had all been mucked out, the horses fed and watered and new straw forked in on their stall floors. There were two of them he’d brushed and combed in anticipation of their owners leaving early. And as a last task, he’d turned all of them out to the great corral near the stable.

‘What’s this about “kidnapped”?’ he asked, fetching a glass of cold water to bring over to the prostrate lass. It was one of his mother’s cure-alls for a faint. And the one who’d gone limp could either sit up and sip at it as they came round, or, more drastically, they were drenched with it so that the chill of the water might shock them back to their surroundings.

Prim lay limp as an old bunch of lettuce as Will knelt down beside her. No amount of patting her hand or calling her name seemed to be bringing her round. Will looked from her to Rowan and shrugged his shoulders as if to apologize in advance. With a quick flick of his wrist, he splashed the glass of water full in her face.