The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

The rainstorm is clearing away; the the evening skies remain overcast.

'Tis a bit chilly with the breeze blowing from the west. It whistles down the Inn chimneys, making the flames in the fireplace dance and waver wildly.

There's a good crowd in the Common Room and the tasty scent of chicken stew and fresh bread coming from the kitchen.

Supper will soon be served.

[starkat]

Gwenneth caught a glimpse of Aman out of the corner of her eye and walked up to her. She set the small boquet next to the innkeeper and headed off to meat Ginger.

I hope I am not too late. I would really like to help. Not seeing her Hobbit firend anywhere, the young elf maid headed for the kitchen. I hope Cook does not get mad at me. Gwenneth knocked on the door and peeked inside.

[Lalwendë]

Jinniver, whose face had softened into tears when Pegram made his cutting speech, began to smile when the two Hobbit lads knocked the contents of the pitcher onto him. She hid her face as best she could beneath her old shawl, her cheeks reddening with suppressed mirth.

Pegram, who had been studiously ignoring the two lads until he got his early, and rather sticky, bath, now pushed his chair back in horror. He drew himself up to his full height but the lads were gone before he could get to them. “Why”, he thought. “I ought to wring their impudent necks for this.” But no words of anger came from his mouth, as he caught sight of his sister, obviously trying to hide her mirth. He was, in quick succession, angry, embarrassed, and finally, hurt.

He made an attempt to brush the dark glutinous ale from his breeches; there was little he could do about the shirt, so he pulled his cloak across the stained area. Feeling the eyes of the other man watching him, he sat back down quietly and attempted a forced smile.

“Of course,” he said, after clearing his throat. “It is to be remembered that Jinniver is a fine nursery woman. A fine woman. And I find it fitting that she has been taken to the hearts of the folk around here.” His words were addressed to the wall, as he could not and would not look anyone in the eye. His nose twitched with hurt pride.

Jinniver felt a little worried after what had happened. Much as she hated her brother’s high handed way with her, she did not like to see anyone’s feelings hurt, not even his. But she was grateful for the moment of peace which the mishap had brought to her. Finally gathering her thoughts after his surprise arrival, she wondered whether he would insist that she come home again, and what she would say to that. This was something she would never consent to, and as she knew it might involve something of a fight, she determined to construct her words carefully.

She kept the shawl over her face and watched him over the top of it, her pale eyes bright, yet a little misty as she thought of the fight she felt sure would be coming. Why her brother could not simply let her be was beyond her. So she may have been foolish when she was young; this she knew all too well, but wasn’t she grown since then? And the world changed?

Pegram’s irritation with his sister’s behaviour began to grow again, and he glowered as he sat facing the wall, thinking about how she was behaving. She was not even dressed appropriately, and was even drinking, in the common room of a tavern. The least she could do was seek a private parlour where a woman might sit respectably.

He had suspected this from the moment he received the letter that very morning. He had been at the farm, arranging an early morning delivery for their father, and had intercepted the messenger. As soon as he noticed her lodgings were in a tavern, he had saddled up his horse and ridden off as fast as he could go, dropping the letter into his father’s surprised hands. There was no way Pegram would even contemplate any risk to his sister, not since what had happened to her. Unable to articulate what he felt, he turned his head towards her, with a look of contempt.

[Envinyatar]

The man was angry and indignant, Derufin could see. But not just from the foolish antics of the two Hobbits. Though, he has every right to be thought Derufin, shaking his head in disapproval of Ferrin and Fallon’s handling of Pegram’s comments. Most of the man’s resentments seemed to focus on his sister. Derufin, having listened to him and watched his actions, did not feel her to be in physical danger. And she seemed capable enough, resolved enough, to take care of the verbal assaults herself.

‘Glad to have met a member of Jinniver’s family,’ Derufin said, rising from his chair and nodding courteously at both of them. ‘I’ll take my leave of you good folk, if I may.’ Both pairs of eyes were on him, and Jinniver nodded back. ‘I’ll see you, then, tomorrow, Jinniver. And I’ll have the lads rounded up to help you.’

He hurried to the kitchen, calling out for Cook. She and Ginger stood near the stove looking down at something – a cat. The feline had apparently finished eating and now rubbed itself against Cook’s ankles as she stirred the stew pot. He grinned seeing her smile of pleasure at a meal well appreciated. Derufin watched as the cat exited the kitchen, soft paws padding across the floor in a determined manner.

‘New mouser?’ he asked, sidling up to Cook and looking longingly at the rich concoction of chicken and taters and vegetables. Cook hmmmmphd in mock irritation and gave him a generous taste from the stirring spoon. He winked at Ginger who was just starting to slice up the bread in thick chunks for the baskets on the table. ‘I was just wondering,’ he began. ‘No, hoping, really, that you could see your way to filling a small crock with some of the stew and letting me have a loaf of bread to go with it.’

‘A whole crock?’ asked Cook, eyeing Derufin’s tall, lithe frame. She poked him in the side, cocking an eyebrow up at him. ‘You intend to eat this all yourself,’ she went on. ‘Wouldn’t want to see it go to waste.’ She fetched a small pot with a tight fitting lid and began ladling the stew into it. Ginger, at a nod from Cook, wrapped one of the crusty, whole loaves in a clean towel to go with it. Derufin had opened one of the cupboards and found the plates of cookies put away for dessert. ‘How about a few of these?’ he asked. ‘Best spice and raising cookies in the Shire,’ he added, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek as a large handful found its way onto a clean napkin for transport.

‘Now, none of that buttering me up,’ sputtered Cook, adding a small jar of strawberry jam into the lidded basket she had gotten out to put the pot, bread, and cookies in. ‘Mind you don’t get that bread wet if the rain starts up. Put it under your cloak.’ He gave her another peck on the opposite cheek and fairly ran out the back door.

‘Where’s he going off to,’ asked Ginger as Cook closed the door behind him. Cook shook her head, chuckling as she walked back to the table to help with the bread. ‘Gone off to see his lady love . . . Mistress Zimzi. Going to bribe old Amaranthas into letting him spend some time with her, I reckon. Lucky for him the old lady is quite fond of my chicken stew.’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger laughed at the man’s antics. There were few who could ‘get round’ Cook she thought, but he seemed to be one of them. The two of them were just finishing up the baskets of bread when Gwenneth peeked in through the kitchen doors. Ginger’s eyes brightened and she smiled at her friend, motioning for her to come in.

‘Here’s the one who made you that pretty bouquet, Cook,’ she chirped, pushing Gwenneth forward. Cook thanked the Elven maid and offered her a chair while they worked.

‘Oh, I don’t think she’ll be needing a chair, Miz Bunce,’ laughed Ginger. Cook looked at the two of them, awaiting an explanation.

‘Gwenneth wants to help out. She’s already helped in the gardens, and I thought maybe she could help me with serving the meal tonight.’ The Elf nodded her head ‘yes’ at her friend’s explanation.

Buttercup and Ruby had come in and begun setting out bowls on the large serving platters. ‘We’ll take all the help we can get,’ they laughed. ‘Why don’t you two take a couple of serving trays and hand round the baskets of bread and butter and jam? Along with the spoons. We’ll bring out the bowls of stew and the mugs. Then you can go round with us and pour out teas or cider or ale . . . whatever is needed to wash down the meal.’

Ginger handed Gwenneth a serving tray. ‘Well, shall we get started, then . . .?’

[Noinkling]

Talk rose and fell in the common room, the rhythm of it comforting him as he leaned forward toward the fireplace, warming his chilled hands. Tolly was from a large family and suppers were much like this at the big burrow in Greenholm – the sharp voices arguing their points blended with others at the table chuckling over some small jest. And still others, talking in low persistent whisperings of their problems. Beneath it all the sounds of mugs meeting the wooden table top as they were set down and the clatter of spoons against their sides as honey was stirred into the tea. Soon he knew, there would be the clack and scrape of cutlery against plates and bowls when the food arrived. And the satisfied noises of those enjoying their meal.

‘And what a meal that will be,’ he thought, sniffing the air appreciatively.

Something savory assailed his nose as did the hearty scent of fresh baking. His stomach growled as one of the lasses set down a basket of bread at his table along with a crock of butter and a small pot of blackberry jam. It was all he could do not to pounce on it. But, remembering his manners, he grinned at the server as he sat back in his chair, waiting for the main course to arrive.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman made the announcement that supper was soon to be served and began taking orders from those around her who called for them, including a comfortable looking gentlehobbit nearby who smiled benignly around him happily. She grinned at the way he seemed generally happy with everything. Tobias was suddenly brought sharply to her mind, and she snapped her fingers at her forgetfulness. She needed to inquire as to what decision Tobias had come to and, more importantly of course for any in the Shire, what he would like for supper.

Making her way discreetly to the study, Aman slipped in through the unlocked door, the question of supper on her lips...before she stopped dead. It was empty. The Innkeeper stood with her mouth wide open in the study door, her hand frozen on the doorknob as she dumbly tried to comprehend exactly where Tobias and Snaveling had gone. She wrung her hands worriedly and desperately checked behind the door. Nope: they were definitely gone. "This is bad..." Aman murmured quietly to herself as she remembered what Snaveling had suggested: that he and Toby take flight from the Shire and from Toby's plight, flying South to the lands of Rohan or Gondor. If Toby had gone with this idea, had gone into self-inflicted exile from his own people...Aman closed her eyes and shot a quick prayer to whatever deities might be listening. Please let him not have taken up this foolish idea with Snaveling...

Closing the door, Aman glanced furtively around the Inn to where the Thain's men had gone back on their pledge and were steadily drinking toasts to just about everyone and everything in the immediate vicinity. She raised an eyebrow. It was unlikely, then, that the trio had noticed the man and the hobbit depart. But by the gods, they had done it quietly!

Trying to put these thoughts to the side, reasoning logically that she could not do anything about it now, Aman made her way into the kitchen as Derufin was leaving, conveying a handful of stew-covered bread to his mouth. As she passed, Aman leant forward and snatched the mouthful before it could reach the stablemaster's mouth, and he gave an indignant cry as Aman ducked past him into the kitchen, laughing and blowing him a meat-and-potato kiss as she door swung shut behind her. Finishing the mouthful hastily, Aman took out her notebook and began to relay the meals to Cook and Ruby. "The Inn is quite busy tonight, quite a fair amount of meals: there are-" She paused, stopping dead for the second time in as many minutes, as a distantly familiar smell assaulted her nostrils over the familiar cooking smells of the kitchen. She twisted in a slow pirouette towards the fireplace and jerked backwards slightly as she saw it's smug occupant. She raised an accusatory finger to point like a bringer of doom towards the mat in front of the fireplace where a cat sat purring smugly.

For a moment, she didn't speak, then she raised her eyebrows and said slowly, "Cook, are you aware that your cat appears to have gone back in time several years and...changed it's coat?"

Cook laughed, half in relief that Aman had not been more annoyed at the cat's appearance, and she turned back to serving out stew from the cast-iron, military-size cauldron. "Ah Miz Aman - no, this is a newcomer. You're all in for taking in waifs and strays, so I took in one of my own. And he seems to appreciate my cooking very well, unlike some," she added, winking conspiratorially at the cat.

"Miz Bunce, there is not man, hobbit, elf or any other manner of being within a hundred acres of the 'Dragon who does not appreciate you cooking." She paused and frowned, giving Cook a puzzled, questioning look. "And as for taking in waifs and strays, what is that supposed to mean?!"

Cook bustled busily, smiling to herself. "Oh well, you know how it is Aman...that nice elven boy some time ago; Snaveling, before he was all spruced up from the West-"

"On second thoughts, no, don't change the subject!" Aman interrupted indignantly, although she was half smiling. She looked back at the cat. "That is not your cat. Yet it is sitting on that rug as if it owns it and everything within a hundred miles of it. There is definitely a more than proportionate share of smugness around that feline..."

Ginger, who had just returned from the Common Room bearing a now empty tray, laughed at Aman's tone. "Oh come on, Aman, what have you got against that cat?" She stooped to scratch the cat's head as she passed, and it's purring increased to such a level of smugness that Aman half-expected it to produce a pipe and sit back comfortably, one paw against the mantlepiece. "Aren't you exaggerating a little?"

"I am not," Aman replied darkly, "a cat person."

There was a moment's pause, then all three of the servers burst out laughing before they went back to their tasks. Aman and the cat eyed each other warily, at a stalemate, before Cook sent Aman on her way laden with trenchers of mouth-wateringly delicious smelling stew. The Innkeeper glared at the cat grudgingly one last time. In reply, the feline simply gave a smile, settled back down on the rug and purred smugly once more. With a cry of exasperation and 'they'll take us over!', Aman swept once more into the Common Room in disgust.

[Arry]

Ferdy hurried across the yard from the cottage to the Inn’s stable. He’d gone back to the worksite to make sure the tools were out of the rain. Most of them had been secured just inside the front door, but a few of the larger ones had been left out. Those he’d piled on the cottage’s porch, snug against the wall, and covered them with a small tarp. Dashing through the sprinkles of rain, he regretted leaving his cloak in the common room. The already cold wind seemed chillier as it blew against his damp shirt.

He paused at the back door into the kitchen. On its little porch was a stiff, bristly mat, placed their by Cook for the wiping of feet. Ferdy dutifully scraped the mud from each of his then opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the kitchen.

Cook eyed him as he stood near the entrance, the door still ajar, blinking in the light. ‘Close the door, lad!’ came the firm words of Cook. ‘And come over by the fire before you catch your death of cold.’ He took the towel she handed him and dried his hair with it. Then held out his arms, turning this way and that to dry his shirt. Cook clucked at him, and fetched a spare tunic she’d just finished darning earlier in the day for the stableboy. ‘Here, now,’ she chided him, motioning for him to take off the wet shirt and put on the new. ‘Hang that on one of the pegs near the fire to dry. You can pick it up when you leave,’ she instructed him.

Ferdy looked around the kitchen, hoping for a glimpse of Ginger. ‘Not here,’ Cook chuckled at his disappointment. ‘Back in a minute, though. Sent her out to help with the serving.’ She looked him up and down, her lips pursing to one side in a thoughtful manner. ‘Come to speak with her, I take it,’ she went on. He mumbled a ‘yes’, his cheeks turning red. ‘Naught to be shy of, lad,’ she said. ‘Mind you might want to get the shirt tucked in. And your hair . . .’ She mimicked a smoothing motion at him. The brass bottomed skillet that hung near on the wall gave a fair view of himself. He tucked the tunic in neatly, then ran his fingers through his mop of curls, pushing them into some semblance of order.

He looked round to find Buttercup grinning at him. She had a pitcher of cold cider in hand which she now passed to him. ‘She’ll be done much quicker with her supper duties if you lend a hand, Master Ferdy!’ She winked at him and gave him a push out through the door to the common room.

[Kransha]

Please do not remove this post space - thanks!

~*~ Pio

[starkat]

Gwenneth smiled her thanks and quickly gathered a basket full of bread and followed Ginger out into the dining room. With a smile the elf maid began making her way around the tables.

Stopping to say hi to several of the patrons had put her a few minutes behind Ginger. Deciding to pick up the pace a little, the young elf almost ran into Ruby. “I am sorry Ruby!”

Ruby waved the apology off with a smile and Gwenneth sighed happily. She returned to the kitchen and set down her empty basket. “What is next?”

“Why don’t you help pour,” Cook said.

Gwenneth nodded. As she did so, loose hair fell into her eyes. “Oh bother.” It only took her a few moments to tuck the loose strands behind her ears and she picked up a pitcher of cider and returned to the dining room.

[Noinkling]

Tolly tied his napkin round his neck, in an effort to keep the new green vest made by his wife clean. Blossom . . . Her sweet face with its dimpled smile floated into his attention followed closely on by that of his little pudgy-faced son and his one-toothed grin. “Home soon,” he thought to himself. “Just a day or two to see to my business here. Then Benny and I will fly home.” The thought of his sturdy, well-fed little pony ‘flying’ made him chuckle. Top pace for the stubborn beast was the quickened trot from path to stable when the promise of a warm stall and a nosebag of oats was the end prize.

The stew was delivered, and set carefully before him. Tolly smiled up at the serving lass, nodding appreciatively to her as he picked up his spoon. He tucked into the rich concoction of chicken, vegetable, and fat chunks of tater all in a savory broth. Mouthfuls of stew alternated with chunks of bread, spread thick with butter and jam.

Another lass came round with a pitcher of cold cider, and Tolly, his mouth full, signaled for a refill. She had just finished topping off his mug, when he’d managed to swallow his rather large bite. “My compliments to the Cook, if you will, lass,’ he said beaming at her. “Good fare, it is!” He leaned closer to the lass as if sharing a confidence. “And just as tasty as any my old Mam served in her day!”

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger bobbed a small curtsy to the Hobbit. ‘Oh, my pleasure, sir! Cook will be happy, I’m sure, to know her stew stands in the company of your Ma’s. But who shall I say has given his compliments?’ The Hobbit wiped a trace of jam from his chin and laughed. ‘Tolly,’ he said in reply to her question. ‘Tolly Greenhand of Greenholm, lass.’ She left him to the rest of his meal, saying in parting that if he really wanted to give his compliments he would call for another bowl of stew. ‘Oh, and don’t forget, there’s apple cobbler to think on for dessert. Made by my own hand,’ she added blushing a bit at her boldness. ‘And clotted cream to go with it.’

She hurried off, then, leaving the happy fellow to consider how he might work in both her suggestions. Hands raised and fingers crooked at her as she passed among the tables. Both her pitchers of cider were soon down to the dregs. She was just making her way back to the bar for a refill, when a large table of local lads called her over, clanking their mugs together as they called for another round. Ginger held up her pitchers, shrugging her shoulders as she mouthed to the noisy crowd that they were empty. They hooted and laughed saying she’d best get back to them soon. ‘Cold cider and a pretty face to serve it!’ called out one of them, causing her cheeks to color at the cheeky words, and the bold looks of the others.

From behind her, came a familiar voice, a welcome voice. ‘Here, now, lads! I’ve plenty of cider to fill your mugs!’ The faces of the Hobbits fell as Ferdy stepped up to the table, then one by one cracked into grins and laughter as one of the lads called out in a resigned manner. ‘You’re no beauty, though. Ah, well, the drink will have to do.’

Ginger stammered out a whispered thanks as Ferdy passed near her, filling mugs . . .

[Nurumaiel]

The fragrant scent of supper drifted to the table where Posco and Lily sat, and both drew in the beautiful smell with peaceful smiles. Posco did not take his eyes off her, for he thought she was too sweet for words, and he wanted to remember any and every moment they spent together, in the case that he would see her again as Mrs. Tommy Banks. He studied her hair, her eyes, her cheeks, her little nose, her smiling lips, and he didn't realise that the supper was being served, until she asked him, with a laugh, if he were at all hungry, and if he would like something to eat. And then he sprang to his feet, bidding her stay where she was, and he was not gone long before two bowls of chicken stew were placed on their little table.

"Is it anything like your mother's food?" Lily asked.

"I have to say it isn't," said Posco, with a regretful smile. "It's very good, and I'm very hungry, but my mother is, after all, my mother, and I can't say that anyone cooks better than she does." He paused in his eating, and watched Lily daintily sip at her stew, and he wondered if someday he would sit across from her every day, or if Tommy Banks would be the happy hobbit who enjoyed such.

"Yes," said Posco, hurrying on, for he did not want to dwell in despondent thoughts about Tommy Banks, and he recalled to himself that he was the one who had asked Lily to give that lad a chance, for it was the best thing to do. "My mother is a splendid cook, like most hobbit mothers are. Perhaps you'd like to stay for a day or two at my family's home? It might be a wise thing to have them meet you."

[piosenniel]

‘Tolly Greenhand, you say? And from Greenholm.’ Cook nodded her head at the name. ‘Didn’t by chance mention why he’s come to Bywater, has he?’ Ginger shook her head ‘no’, saying she hadn’t thought to ask. ‘Well, now, that’s alright; you’re new at this serving business.’ She grinned at the lass and chuckled. ‘You’ll learn, though, if you mean to stay on here, that a wealth of information can be gathered in drips and drabs with quick, friendly little questions as you’re slipping a plate of food or a full mug of drink before a patron. I like to keep a thumb on what’s happening, so I depend on you all to be my eyes and ears.’ She handed Ginger a tray filled with more baskets of bread and sent her out the door.

‘Tolly Greenhand,’ she said quietly into the empty kitchen . . . save for the old tabby who raised one eyelid for a second, then drifted off again. ‘I wonder if he’s come to see the mayor on some business. Distant cousins of a sort if he’s from Greenholm,’ she mumbled, turning the thoughts in her head. Cook pulled one of the big pans of apple cobbler from the warming oven and began cutting it into generous portions. Her curiosity got the better of her and she dished out a bowlful, then filled a small pitcher with clotted cream.

‘Well, now, I guess I’ll just deliver dessert myself to the fellow who likes my cooking so much . . .’

[Arry]

He liked the way she’d slipped him a shy smile as she whispered her thanks. Her nose crinkled at the bridge as she did so and her eyes crinkled up, too at the outer edges. What a sweet face she has he thought to himself, watching her walk back toward the kitchen.

Two or three of the thirstier lads at the table cleared their throats and scraped their empty mugs along the surface of the oak table. One of them, following along with Ferdy’s gaze, was about to comment on what a pretty thing she was to look at, when he saw the look in the Ferdy’s eye as he turned back to pour the cider. Others round the table raised their brows and nodded their heads knowingly. ‘See you at the dance, then, shall we, Ferdy?’ winking at him as the golden stream flowed into his mug.

‘Well, I believe you will,’ returned Ferdy, topping the last lad’s mug.

‘And not with a pitcher in your hand, either, if I have the right of it,’ the other continued. He raised his mug to Ferdy, who acknowledged the truth of the Hobbit’s statement with a grin. The others at the table cried out in a merry manner, ‘Hear! Hear!’ and drank deep to their fortunate fellow.

Ferdy laughed outright and making a mock bow, went back to the bar to refill his pitchers.

[Nimrodel_9]

The door swung open. Keleth, son of Damon, of Gondor stepped inside the inn. He took off his hood, shaking the water from his shoulder length, light brown hair that had soaked through. Slowly he closed the door, then made his way to the bar to ask for a room to stay in. Then he went to the corner and sat by himself.

Keleth had traveled long and far from Gondor, his home. Though he had lived there all his life, he had never felt like he belonged. So, he resolved to traveling alone in the wild. Now, far from his home, he still felt like a black sheep among the white.

Anunsew was drenched when he came in the inn.
It's warmer here, he thought, I should stay here for the night.
He went to a corner and slung his leather coat over a seat and rested. He wore a tarnished mail and a tunic underneath it. The mail obviously had seen better days. He wore a scabbard at his belt with an unsheathed sword.
I'm so tired, he thought to himself, if I were an elf, I wouldn't be worrying much about tiredness.

Anunsew is a hermit, a wandering human without any home or shelter. He came from indefinite places and have seen sunsets across many plains. He came from somewhere in Gondor, in an insignificant village where he left his home to see things his people won't see int their lifetimes. In other words, he was an adventurous person.

He thought about where will he go next next day, but he decided that it will be decided later. Now, he should rest.

After awhile, he decided to have a tankard of ale. He slung his coat over his shoulder and went from his place to the bar and asked with a rough voice, "What are we having tonight?"

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis leaned back in his chair, but still never took his eyes off of Ravon. "Smells like supper's about ready," Lewis commented. "Smells great!" Ravon nodded and the two continued talking.

They had been chatting for a couple of minutes now, but Lewis hadn't let Ravon in on the secret. He insisted that they eat first. They had however, touched upon a part of a suprise, unbeknownst to Ravon. It came up when Lewis was retelling a story of childhood days, when he mentioned a name he had been called as a young boy. "Lewie".

[Primrose Bolger]

Anunsew & Keleth

‘Look what the wind blew in,’ said Buttercup, nudging Ginger on the arm. ‘Two of the Big Folk have come in from rain it looks like. And just in time for supper.’

The Innkeeper, Aman, was busy with other customers as one of the men came up to the bar and asked, in a rough voice, ‘What are we having tonight?’ Ginger smiled up at him prettily a she listed off what was for supper. ‘There’s chicken stew, sir,’ she said. ‘And fresh bread with butter and jam. Cider or ale or both if you’re thirsty. Then warm apple crisp to fill in what holes are left in your appetite.’

She topped off his mug of ale, then showed him to a table. His name was Anunsew, he told her as they walked along, a lonely traveler from Gondor. Now Ginger had heard of Gondor. Some large, Big Folk city in the south, she thought. And she seemed to remember the King, himself, lived there. Once Anunsew had seated himself, Ginger fetched him a basket filled with hot bread, a small crock of butter, and a pot of strawberry jam. A generous bowl of good smelling chicken stew came next for the hungry looking man. ‘Now will there be anything else?’ she asked him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Buttercup made for the table where the other man had seated himself. Keleth he called himself, she found out. A wanderer it seemed and from far away Gondor. ‘Can I fetch you something to drink, sir?’ she asked, saying there was cider, and ale, wine, and water, and tea of course for those who fancied something hot. She rattled off the supper menu to him, saying she would be glad to fetch him some. ‘You look half drowned, poor man,’ she said eyeing him. ‘Something hot would make you warmer . . . pick up your spirits. What do you say to a bowl of stew hot bread to go with it?’

[Witch_Queen]

Airequarë

Airequarë led his black horse into the stables before going towards the Green Dragon Inn. It had been awhile since he had heard about the new splendour of teh Inn. The tall ranger walked into the inn. He figured his brother was there somewhere. After all it had only been a few months ago that he had recieved a note from his brother. Airequarë hadn't seen his brother since the young man was four and Airequarë went to live in Lothlorien for better training in the weapon of his choice, the bow.

All of his life he never could find love for the cold metal of a sword. He liked the bow cause it made him feel closer to nature. Airequarë refused to go by his human name, since he was more of a free spirit beyond control. His green eyes glanced around the room scanning for any sign of his younger sibling. His beard was trimmed short and in the hair on his chin was a small patch of grey color. His shoulder length hiar was still wet from the rain storm he rode throug. The rain couldn't darken the light brown color of his hair.

Airequarë walked up to the bar and asked about his brother. The waitress pointed him in the direction of a table with a man and a woman seated at it. As he got closer Airequarë realized that his baby brother was sitting with an elf maiden. The sight of his brother all grown up had shocked him after all he pictured Lewis always as the little boy he left behind, but now Lewis was all grown up. He placed his overly large hand on the man's shoulder almost making Lewis jump clear out of his seat. "Lewie, my baby brother." Lewis looked at the towering figure before standing up. "My you have grown up already. Why I remember you last as a little boy who refused to leave his mothers side." He pulled his brother close and almost smothered the man in a big hug. He turned loose of Lewis and pulled up a seat beside his younger half.

"Jonathan, you look just the way I pictured you." Airequarë gave his brother a scornful look. "Lewis, no one has called me that name since I left home. Mother doesn't even think of me as the son she let leave home. I go by what Galadriel called me the first time she saw me, Airequarë." The look on Lewis' face when Airequarë told him not to address him by his human name was a look of death. "But if you feel better calling by what you know me as then go ahead, for I am way to tired to argue with you."

Airequarë found himself a mug of ale and set back down with his brother to find out why he was beckoned to come to the Shire. "Now Lewie, why did you send for me? You know the wife needs me. Oh yes I forgot I hadn't told you yet. Well she's going to be having a baby here in a few months. I can't wait for you to meet her. Mother is happy because she is going to finally be a grandmother. After all she swears up and down that you will never find a woman that will put up with you all her life." Airequarë had forgotten about the elf Lewis was setting with. "Oh I'm sorry. Who is this?" He picked up the elf's hand and gently placed a kiss on the soft peace of flesh covering the hard bones.

[Noinkling]

Tolly’s head was bent well over his bowl as he sopped the last bit of gravy from it with a chunk of bread. So intent was he on getting the final splotch of savory stew cleaned up that he did not notice the approach of another server. The shadow of an arm fell across his vision and a hand holding a bowl of sweet and cinnamon delight placed the tasty offering before him. ‘Ah!’ he said, glancing up with a toothy grin. ‘Dessert!’

He rubbed his hands together in happy anticipation and drew the bowl toward him, glancing up expectantly at the pitcher of clotted cream the server held in her hands. A new server, he noted. Bit long in the tooth for this sort of work, he thought, wondering what circumstances had brought her to work at the Inn. He smiled again at her. ‘Might I have a measure of cream, miss?’ he asked, pushing the bowl toward her.

The server poured a generous dollop onto the flaky, sugared crust of the apple cobbler. Tolly tucked into it with his spoon, shoveling a large bite into his mouth. He nodded at the taste and texture of the concoction, grinning widely around it as he chewed and swallowed. ‘Oh my, this is wonderful! My compliments to your cook, once again, miss!’ he said, looking up into the amused face of the server.

[Arry]

Two voices warred in Ferdy’s head as he moved about the tables pouring cider for the Inn’s thirsty guests. He’d seen Ginger talking to one of the Big Folk who’d come into the common room and now stood at the bar. She looked so small in comparison to the rough-voiced man, he thought. He wanted to interrupt them . . . to shield her from the stranger. About to step toward them, his other voice halted the forward progress of his foot, chiding him.

‘Interrupt’! Pah, you dunderhead! Barge in’s more like it, isn’t it? His cheeks crimsoned slightly at the admonition he’d given himself. And besides, she’s no wilting flower to need you standing over her night and day. She’ll think you a great ninny for butting in while she’s about her job.

‘Watch it, lad!’ came the loud voice of one of the Hobbits who’d held out his mug to be filled. Lost in thought, his eyes on Ginger and not on his own task, Ferdy had filled the fellow’s cup to the brim and now it poured over and onto the table. ‘You’ve got my breeches wet!’ cried the Hobbit, taking the pitcher from Ferdy’s hands. He stood up from his chair, knocking it over in his haste and began blotting at the sticky cider with his napkin.

Ferdy stood gawping at the now angry Hobbit, his ears burning a bright red as all in the Inn turned to look at the hubbub.

[Firefoot]

Lily tried not to appear too elated at Posco's invitation. She would like to meet his parents, of course, but more than that, it would be extra time to spend with him. She knew that she had been procrastinating her inevitable return to Bree throughout the afternoon bit by little bit, but she didn't care.

"I would like to visit your home very much," she replied. "I can't wait to see it, and to meet your parents." Exciting as it was, the prospect of meeting his parents so soon made her a tad nervous - what if they didn't like her, or approve? Nothing that Posco had said led her to believe that they wouldn't, but there was still a possibility. Perhaps the only reason she entertained the thought was her recent doubt that her own aunt and uncle might wish for her to marry Tommy Banks and thereby not approve of Posco. She kept telling herself they wouldn't mind, but in truth she was still trying to persuade herself.

"I'm sure my parents will be happy to meet you," said Posco, as if sensing her doubts.

"I hope so..." she trailed off. Of course they would.

She took another sip of her stew, watching him from under her eyelashes. He was not so surreptitious, openly watching her with tenderness in his eyes. She could not help but treasure the look, and everything about him. What more could she hope for?

Something occurred to her. "Posco, is there anything in particular that I should know before I meet your parents? Anything I should do?" she queried. It certainly wouldn't do for her to get into their bad graces from the start from ignorance.

Anunsew seated comfortably on his chair as Ginger brought him food. He tore a large piece of bread, dipped it on his stew and ate. He was busy munching by himself that he didn't hear what Ginger was asking. When he saw her waiting, he waved her off and said, "No, I don't need anything else, thanks ma'am"

When he finished his meal, a maid took it to the kitchen for washing and mumbled something to herself which Anunsew didn't catch.

Anunsew again fell to his habit of thinking to himself. Come to think of it, he thought, I seldom talk to any body. He sighed and mumbled to himself "I think I'll stay for a few days."

[Primrose Bolger]

‘My goodness!’ thought Ginger, shaking her head in wonder at the man she’d just brought supper to. ‘He’s a bit rough-hewn!’ The only big Folk she’d really gotten to know were Miz Aman and Mister Derufin. Now Miz Aman was quite friendly, really, and easy to be with. And Mister Derufin, well, he was more like a long legged Hobbit. She tucked away her encounter with the fellow for future reference.

She had just stopped to clean off a vacated table when a loud voice caught her attention. Her head turned round in time to see an angry Hobbit, chair tipped over on the floor, glaring at Ferdy across the room. Grabbing some dry towels from the bar, she ran to see how she could help.

‘Here, now,’ she said, running to stand between Ferdy and the red-faced customer. ‘Dry yourself up a bit,’ she said, handing the wet Hobbit a towel. ‘Then come with me, sir. Cook’ll get you fixed up right quick, I’m sure. Go on, now. I’ll follow right after,’ she urged him.

Ginger handed Ferdy the rest of the towels. ‘Best clean up here, before Cook wonders why you’re wasting her good cider,’ she said. ‘The mop’s just inside the kitchen door.’ She tapped her toe on the floor where the cider had splattered. ‘Bit sticky!’ She gave him a little smile before turning to follow the wet Hobbit into the kitchen.

[piosenniel]

Tolly’s expression changed from one of delighted thanks to one of confusion. Cook had begun to laugh, first at his mistaking her for one of the servers, and second for calling her ‘Miss’. ‘I’d be delighted,’ she said stifling back another chortle, ‘to extend your compliments to the cook.’ She poured him a bit more cream for his cobbler. ‘Enjoy your dessert, lad. And there’s plenty more where that came from.’

She walked slowly back to the kitchen, her shoulders shaking with quiet laughter at the situation. Pausing to take a critical look at herself as she passed the shiny bottomed baking pan hung on a peg on the kitchen’s wall, Cook turned her head this way and that. She pushed pack a few stray curls, a bit of grey threading through them, and smiled widely, noting now the collection of crinkles at the corners of her eyes had gotten more pronounced. Cook polished the erstwhile mirror with the elbow of her sweater, and peered in once more.

‘Not bad, Miz Bunce,’ she said in approval. ‘The years have been generous. There’s an adventure or two left in you!’

The cat on the hearth winked up in agreement before settling back to sleep.

~*~

Ruby came by with a pitcher of cider to top off Tolly’s mug. ‘Now isn’t that something,’ she mentioned in passing, as Cook passed through the kitchen’s doors, laughing still. ‘You must have told her some funny joke to set her off like that.’ He raised his brows at her comment. Ruby pointed toward Cook’s retreating back. ‘Her,’ she confirmed. ‘Cook.’

[Lalwendë]

He had done it to her again, driven everyone away. Jinniver felt hot tears rise up in her eyes; she could hold them back no longer. She put the corner of her shawl to her face to catch the tears as they started to run down her nose. Hunched up, she tried to avoid the angry stare of her brother.

Pegram softened as soon as he saw his sister’s tears. He had won. He reached for the jug of stout and poured himself a large tankard full. He did not pass it down the table towards her.

She didn’t want it anyway. “Why do you do it?” she said in a quiet voice, not looking at him, but studying the wall instead. “These are my friends. They are good people. Why do you have to be so…horrible?” She finally turned to face him, her face red with tears of frustration.

He did not answer straight away. He was choosing his words carefully; now he had won, he didn‘t want to set himself back again. “You know why,” he said, softly, with a small and hopeful smile. “I care for my sister. After. You know what after. There are still bad people out there, Jinniver. Bad creatures.“ He emphasised this last word. “You can only trust your own people, you know this.”

She may have finally burst into the tears which had threatened, but inside, Jinniver was not beaten, not this time. The tears were for the thought of the upset her brother had caused to her new friends. She felt their hurt, and what was more, she felt ashamed of her own brother. Coming to The Shire had helped her lose all her nervousness, and she found herself laughing more than dwelling on the long distant past. She no longer felt like the awkward young woman she had felt a few days ago. Here, she didn’t feel sad about the past that had caused her whole future to be cast into shadow. It didn’t matter any more.

Feeling a little braver, she moved closer to her brother, and snatched up the jug of stout, pouring herself a full pint. Savouring the scent, she drank deeply before wiping her mouth with satisfaction. Then she took up her pipe and began to pack it full of tobacco. Pegram watched her with his mouth open, aghast. “What are you doing?” he said in a shocked whisper.

“What does it look like?” she said, bitterly. Then, forcing a smile, she lit up her pipe, puffing out a great quantity of rich, earthy smoke right into the face of her brother, who coughed and had to move his head out of the way.

“I…” he did not know what to say. This was shocking behaviour, a well brought up woman to drink pints of stout and make a show of smoking her pipe. In public. In an inn. He grunted and stood up. He felt as though he needed some air.

[Nurumaiel]

"Be yourself, Lily," said Posco. "They'll love you more if you are presented to them as your honest self, not as a shadow trying to conform to what it thinks they would like best." Her face seemed a little cleared of worries at this, and she smiled at him as she put aside her plate. She had finished her supper, and so had he. The evening shadows were beginning to fall, and each moment brought morning closer. Was it not wonderful that he would escort her to his home, and bid farewell to her only when she went on from Buckland! Morning was not a dreaded thing now, for it did not bring their separation closer.

He stood, and went to her to pull her chair out from the table. Gallantly, and with a smile, he offered her his arm, and she took it, her smiled pleased but her face wondering, for this was not at all like the shy hobbit lad of only several days previous. He felt as though he would always be shy, but in her presence he could not be anything but open and honest, for he had no fear of speaking in her presence. He led her to the door, his face calm, but his heart in turmoil, for he wondered if Tommy Banks would be the hobbit to always have her upon his arm, smiling up at him with love and tenderness. Posco hoped with all his heart that she would come back to him, but he would not say anything, for he did not want to influence her, but let her choose honestly.

They went out into the cool evening air, and Lily's face fell when she saw they were going to the stable. Posco saddled his pony and led him out, and they stood in the fast-fading light, both unheeding of the chill wind that swept over the rolling hills. "I must return to my aunt now, Lily," said Posco, simply, "but I will be here in the morning to bring you home." He bent, and he kissed her hand, hoping it was not too bold a thing to do. "Good-night, my Lily of the valley."

[Rochelle]

The grey mare trodded into town, stopping at the stable opposite the inn. Her head drooped from exhaustion, mimicking the posture of the cloaked figure on her back. A gentle whicker caused the form to awaken, casting brown eyes around before offering the mare a pat of thanks. Dismounting, the figure threw back the hood of her cloak, revealing a cascade of red-blonde locks. Her fairness gave little doubt that she was from anywhere but the Mark, the faraway lands of Rohan.

She tied her mare to the post before stepping into the dimness of the inn. As her eyes adjusted, she quickly moved to a vacant table, slumping into the chair. Her fingers danced around the leather bag tied to her waist, a collection of coins, stones and artifacts she'd found along the way. Looking around, she noticed many happy faces and fervent conversations...

[Arry]

Ferdy found the mop and began cleaning up the spilled cider. The momentary scrutiny of the patrons in the Inn had died away, and most had gone back to conversations with their tablemates. The cider splattered Hobbit, a Master Rowley Chubb of Girdley Island, had come back out, dressed in a clean dry outfit. Ferdy ducked his head down to avoid the fellow’s glance toward him. He was surprised when the Hobbit came over to him, saying that now as he considered it, he saw it was just a foolish accident on Ferdy’s part . . . ‘and haven’t we all done foolish things,lad,’ he said with a good-natured wink, ‘when we first start courtin’, eh?’

Again, Ferdy stood gawping at the man, wondering what sort of wizardry this fellow had to have sussed out the particulars of the situation. But Rowley simply clapped him on the shoulder and nodded toward the kitchen’s door, where Cook’s face could just be seen withdrawing . . .

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Three pints of black stout and a tea with milk, Innkeeper!"

Aman took down the order with a flourish and grinned at the good looking hobbit lad - Andwie Greenhand, a popular chap and always very polite to Aman, although his friends could be quite rowdy when they stormed the Inn at every possible occasion - and winked at him as she raised her eyebrows in the direction of the delicate looking girl beside him. Andwise winked back saucily and, at some comment from one of his friends, laughed loudly and turned back to conversation. Aman grinned and turned around again - only to be nearly knocked over by a young man as he pushed aggresively past her. Rather than turning to apologise, he simply ignored the Innkeeper as she staggered, and kept on walking, heading for the Inn door.

Aman raised her eyebrows but contented herself with glaring at his back venemously then righting herself. As she looked around the Inn, momentarily flustered, she caught sight of a the peddler-woman turned gardener, sitting on her own, her scarf over her face, her eyes following the young man with a look quite as hostile as Aman's own. Catching the Innkeeper watching her, Jinniver looked down, embarassed, her pale cheeks flushing, but even from where she stood several tables away, Aman could see that the other woman had been crying. Pursing her lips, she turned away towards the bar and made up the order for Andwise and his friends, adding to the tray two individual pots of rose tea along with two extar cups and saucers. As a grudging afterthought, she pulled out a pint of ale, then wove through the Common Room back to the young hobbit party table of four and, depositing their drinks with a few jovial comments to Andwise and his friends, she changed course towards Jinniver.

Smiling anxiously as she approached, Aman tipped her head onto one side questioningly. "Tea, Jinniver? And if you don't mind my joining you, I need a break as well - I've been on my feet since lunchtime!"

Jinniver gave Aman and watery smile and gestured for her to sit, hurriedly pulling out a chair and muttering her acceptance of the tea and the company. Aman smiled gratefully and sat, placing the tray on the table. As she poured herself a cup of tea and added the milk, she saw Jinniver glance at the ale and shrugged lightly, her eyes returning to her cup. "I figured your hostile friend might like something to cool him down. If all else fails, I can always just throw it at him." Jinniver gave a sniff of laughter at the comment and grinned gratefully at Aman, before the Innkeeper, after a strategic pause, continued. "May I ask what his business here is, Jinniver? I cannot help noticing that he has hardly been particularly friendly towards any here so far - your own self included. Is he upsetting you? I will not stand anyone to upset one of my staff..."

[Witch_Queen]

Cree

Cree looked around she didn't know now what to do. She was going to be leaving the next day. Should she find Avalon and let the bird know or just go on through-out the night and not tell Avalon. Cree couldn't force herself not to tell the friend she let go. The day had been good to her so far. Now it was time for her to move on with her life and not let the days linger in her mind. "Fáinu, should we tell Avalon that we are leaving? Perhaps she would like to know that we are leaving." She turned her gaze back on Fáinu. The elf's expression was blank. Cree could tell nothing about the elf setting across from her.

It was still a few days until Cree would end another year of her life. She couldn't wait until she was roaming the wild with Fáinu. The last adventure Cree had been on ended up with only failure. She sat there thinking about what the future may have in plan for her. The next day she would help Fáinu end his curse. Perhaps she would find a end to her curse as well.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Looking up, as if awoken from a deep sleep, Fáinu forced a smile. "Do what you feel is right by your friend," he said, "I shall not hinder it." Cree thanked Fáinu but felt it best to await a later time. Cree seemed to see some foreboding in Fáinu's eyes, as if he knew that some horrid thing were to happen.

Fáinu shook the terrible images from his mind, and looked back at Cree. She seemed to be stareing into his eyes, so he closed them. When he looked again she was peering into her mug, though it was empty. Fáinu tried to break the silence,

"I think I should find some new bandages in rivendell," he began, "This one has served me well, but I feel it is time I had a new one." He smiled at Cree, she did not return it, "Something troubles you?" Cree looked up, Fáinu could not quite put his finger on what it was in her that he saw, fear, love, or anger. She seemed to show all trades.

[Witch_Queen]

Cree
Cree's mind was resting on one thing. The last journey she had took. She was with Grimm and he ended up abandoning her when she needed him the most. "Fáinu, the last person I left the Shire with ended up leaving me to the life I know now. I trust you and I know you will not abuse the trust I have for you." She had once loved Grimm but now she feared him and hated him.

She sat back and placed the empty mug on the table. Nothing matter now. Tomorrow she would leave and start a new life.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Fáinu, the last person I left the Shire with ended up leaving me to the life I know now. I trust you and I know you will not abuse the trust I have for you."

"I will try not to," He joked, she was not impressed. He stopped smiling and looked away, "I'm sorry Cree, that was harsh." Cree smiled at him and he Felt relief. Two hobbits hobbled past on their way to the bar, they were arguing over who had drunk more, they had no idea what was to come. Neither did Fáinu, he had no idea what troubles lay ahead, how much anguish he and Cree would have to suffer.

"Cree," Fáinu began "earlier you said you would not leave my side. Let me make a similar pledge." Cree leaned froward to listen, "I shall not let you leave me. What ever may befall. Though the fires of Hell burn my flesh, I shalln’t let you go." He hoped beyond hope, that Cree would never have to remind him if his heart became hot with rage. He saw that this journey might lead him thither. He only wished that he could keep his cool.

[Primrose Bolger]

Cook had been most helpful with the calming down of the cider drenched Hobbit. She’d seen to him getting cleaned up and into some suitable dry garments that had once belonged to her late husband. His own, she’d had Ginger rinse out and hang over the backs of some chairs she’d set near the fire. A fresh mug of cider and a whispered conversation between Cook and Master Rowley, with several nods her way, and Ginger could see the fellow had quite come round in his anger toward Ferdy.

Once he was out the door, Cook called the lass to her, handing her a small bucket of hot soapy water and a couple of rags. ‘Might want to get the sticky mess well off the table’s top and the chair.’ Ginger hurried out the door to do as bid.

‘And after that,’ she could just hear the last of Cook’s instructions before the door swung closed behind her, ‘then take Master Ferdy out for a breath of fresh air. I don’t think he’s cut out to be a server . . .’

Ginger’s feet fairly flew over the polished boards of the Inn’s floor. With an economy of motion she soon had the table and chair back to their more welcoming condition. Ferdy had his head hung down as he mopped the floor in a rather ineffectual way. ‘Oh, here,’ she said, plopping her rags in the bucket and taking the mop from him. A few practiced swipes and the floor was also back to its original shape, if a bit damp. She thrust the mop back at Ferdy, motioning for him to bring it and his bucket back to the kitchen.

Cook was nowhere to be seen when they entered. Ginger grabbed the lad by his hand and hauled him toward the back door. She fetched her own cloak from the peg there, and handed him one the other servers used as they ran errands for Cook. Ferdy balked a bit as she opened the door and stepped out, pulling him along.

‘Come on, now,’ she chided him. ‘Cook says we’re to take a walk after our evening duties. Get a breath of fresh air. Then come back for a nice cup of tea.’ They could just hear someone coming up the stairs and into the kitchen from the cellar. ‘That’s her now. We’d best go.’ She pulled her hood up over her curls. ‘Race you to the old cottage!’ she grinned, taking off at a run down the dirt path.

[piosenniel]

NOTE

Time will be moving ahead in the Shire by late tomorrow, Pacific Time, U.S..

So, please try to get your posts for this evening wrapped up.

Thanks!

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[starkat]

Tired but happy, Gwenneth decided to retire early. She quietly entered the kitchen and bid Cook good night. The young elf looked around for Ginger, but did not see her.

I guess I will see her in the morning. I have a letter to write to my brother. When she reached her room, she pulled out a piece of parchment and began to write.

Gwenneth wrote of her experiences in the Shire and of the people she had met. As she came to the close of her letter, Gwenneth realized that she would be moving on soon and sighed. I will stay through the handfasting. She signed her letter and set it aside. On her nightstand was a book. She opened it to the marker and settled into read.

[Firefoot]

The corners of Lily's mouth turned upward at Posco's play on her name. Could Tommy Banks ever be so sweet? She wished Posco was not leaving so soon, even though she would be spending much more time with him in the coming days. "Good night, Posco," she answered simply. "I will see you tomorrow, then." With that, Posco swung up onto his pony, his gaze lingering on her as he began to ride off. Lily waited there, not quite ready to return inside. When he reached a bend in the road that would take him out of sight, he turned and gave a final wave. Lily waved back, and then he was gone.

Lily took her time going back to the Inn, detouring through the stable and wandering up to the door. She did not know anyone in the Common Room, and did not feel up to meeting new people this night, though it was her last night there. It was starting to get late, at any rate, and she would go to sleep soon - there was a long day travelling ahead of her.

Upon reaching her room, Lily realized how tired she was. She had been through several emotional ups and downs throughout the day, which had taken their toll. Nevertheless, her thoughts were pleasant when she finally fell into her bed. Good-night, my Lily of the valley.

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

It is the 4th Age, year 12. By the Shire Calendar it is year 1433 S.R. (Shire Reckoning).

King Elessar is on the throne of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor.

Mirkwood has been reclaimed by the Elves and is now called Eryn Lasgalen.

Paladdin Took, Pippin’s father, is Thain of the Shire. (Thain is an honorary title for the military leader of the Shire. The title has been held in the Took Family since the position was first established in 3rd Age 1979 with Bucca of the Marish as First Thain.) Paladdin Took dies in year 13, and will be succeeded by his son, Peregrin, ‘Pippin’, Took.

Samwise Gamgee is Mayor of the Shire, having succeeded Will Whitfoot in 1427 S.R.

The Innkeeper, in the Green Dragon Inn of this forum, is: Aman – a young woman from Rohan.

Before her, the Innkeeper was Piosenniel, and before her it was Dwarin, the Dwarf.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

Buttercup Brownlock, Hobbit – not married – kitchen assistant and maid

Vinca Bunce, widowed, Inn Cook (character played by Piosenniel)

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn (played by Envinyatar)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

Halfred Whitfoot – local Shiriff from Bywater and Postmaster for this area of the Shire; his pony’s name is Dumpling.

_____________________________________________

Please Note:

No 'SAVES' are allowed in the Inn (except for modifications needed to be made by the Moderators or Innkeeper).

With the exception of the Innkeeper and the Moderators, no OOC (Out Of Character) comments are allowed in the Inn.

Only the Innkeeper, Amanaduial, or the Moderators move the timeline for the Inn forward.

Visitors to the Inn will need to read the posts that come before theirs to get an idea of what time it is in the Shire, what the weather is like, and what is happening.

No violence is allowed in the Inn or on Inn grounds.

Please be familiar with the rules for the Inn and Games in The Red Book of Westmarch, the first topic in the Shire.

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

Return of the King – Appendix F: Tolkien’s description for the Quendi (The Speakers) – the name given to the Elves by themselves after they first awoke in Middle-earth.

“They were a race high and beautiful, the older Children of the world, and among them the Eldar were as Kings, who now are gone: the People of the Great Journey, the People of the Stars. They were tall, fair of skin and grey-eyed, though their locks were dark, save in the golden house of Finrod; and their voices had more melodies than any mortal voice that is now heard . . .”

Please use this as a guideline for describing your Elven character’s appearance.