The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Hookbill the Goomba]

As the merriment continued, a strange figure came walking up the road to the Green Dragon. He was walking slowly and leaned on a large staff. He was a dwarf, his beard was grey and tattered and he seemed very old. His face, (What could be seen of it under his immense beard) was withered and his hands were bony and both were needed to keep him up right on the staff. He had large boots that were dark blue in colour, he also wore a green hooded clock and brown gloves. He had a brown top and black trousers. He had a large pack laden with many things, but one thing that stood out was a long wooden pipe that pocked out of the back.

The Dwarf stopped just out side the front yard and lent against a fence. A small smile rose on his withered face. He placed his pack down on the floor and took from it his pipe and filled it with old Toby. He took a few puffs and then leant back on the fence with a wider smile. He blew a ring of unbroken smoke, which floated, over the inn and into the air. He thought he had hearted the squawk of a crow near by, but he could not see one. He thought it his imagination.

"Ah, Dwaline," he said to himself, "you have missed them already." he scanned the surroundings for somewhere to sit. But he then decided to merely stay where he was. He took another puff on his pipe and then coughed and wheezed. Looking at the party scene he wondered what was going on.

[Nurumaiel]

The handsome couple was wed. Falco Headstrong was silent throughout, dwelling in the present and once every so often thinking of the past. Did he have any regrets that there had been no such hand-fasting for him? Yes... he did... but she had married one of the best hobbits in the world. Why had she loved him? Because he was a good, noble lad. Perhaps she also loved his poetical ability, though she would never marry him because of it. Falco would not have thought to marry her under a bower of lilacs.

When Derufin bent and kissed his bride, Falco pulled himself wholly from his musings and took up the whistle of little Marigold's father. He wished for a moment that Fosco were with him. Fosco had also played the whistle, and they had made such a combination of ringing music with it when they played together. But, ah well. He had these talented lads with him. They surely knew the song. No need to break the moment by telling them. And the last line would be cut out... it was too sad.

He played the intro... soft, sweet, and melodious. It was a beautiful and fitting song for the couple just wed.

Oh, the summertime is coming,
and the trees are sweetly blooming
where the wild mountain thyme
grows around the blooming heather.

Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?
And we'll all go together to pick wild mountain thyme
all around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?

I will build my love a bower
near yon pure crystal fountain
and on it I will pile
all the flowers of the mountain.

Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?
And we'll all go together to pick wild mountain thyme
all around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?

The lads joined him with instrument and voice, singing soft in the verses and rising slightly during the chorus. When their voices faded their music went on, playing sweet and low.

This was the happy tale beginning. When he had asked her, "Will ye go?" she had said: "I will."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Hazel Longholes trudged along the road leading into Bywater. Her feet and the hem of her skirt were dusty and her arms ached from the several awkwardly shaped and bulky bundles she was carrying. She stared steadily at the road as it passed by under her bare feet, pausing only to look up and note that her three children were still grouped around her. Yes, there they were: Mari the oldest holding little Yarrow's hand, and eight year old Bryony trotting ahead like an eager puppy.

You got yourself into this, Hazel Smallburrow, she scolded herself, when you married that Merlo Longholes from so far off. You always knew no good would come of all this moving about, and look at you now. A simple visit to your old mother's house turns into a four day journey. And those children, always into something or other, they are.

"Amaranthis Longholes!" She paused in her internal grumbling to reprimand Mari. "You keep hold of Yarrow's hand, now. Wouldn't have liked it if I'd lost you when you were his age, now would you?" Mari, looking properly chagrined, clutched her little brother's hand and pulled him along behind her. Yarrow's red-brown hair stuck up erratically as his little feet scurried to force his chubby body to travel at his big sister's pace. "We'll stop up here at the Green Dragon." Hazel informed whichever of her children were listening. "Tis a respectable place, and comfortable enough, from what I've heard."

Sounds of music and laughter drifted down the path toward Hazel and Bryony turned around and bounded back toward her mother, looking excited. "Mama, they're having a party at the inn, I saw all the ladies dressed up fancy and dancing!" Her round face was flushed from all her bouncing and her short golden hair flew out around it in haphazard wisps.

A party at the Inn? Well that might be nice Hazel mused, the lure of a hot cup of tea and a comfortable chair overcoming her sense that it might be impolite to drop in on a celebration. I surely wouldn't mind a rest and some civilised conversation. Perhaps we'll even stay a day or two. Handing off the bundles to Mari, she swung Yarrow up onto her hip and forced herself to a slightly faster pace. "Well if you want to see the pretty ladies at the party, Bryony, we'd best be getting over there."

[Mithalwen]

The handfasting ceremony had interrupted the conversation with Snaveling but Mithalwen continued wondering about the dunadan. Unwittingly he had stirred age old memories in the Elf. As a child she had watched the Numenoreans arrive and although Snaveling cut a sorry figure in comparison with his ancestors he was still of that people, distinctive even now among the men of Middle Earth. He came from Minas Tirith; when she had been there it was named Minas Anor, the first White Tree of that city had been new planted by Isildur and she had stood in in its courtyard and watched the sun set with ... but she stopped her train of thought ... she had surpressed those memories for a long time and today was a day for celebration.

Her ear caught a familiar tune; the words she knew for it were a song of men she had learnt sometime. The melody was haunting and sweet and she sang, her voice rich and resonant.

The water is wide, I cannot get o'er,
And neither have I wings to fly.
Give me a boat that will carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I.

O, down in the meadows the other day,
A-gath'ring flowers both fine and gay,
A-gath'ring flowers both red and blue,
I little thought what love can do.


I leaned my back up against some oak
Thinking that he was a trusty tree;
But first he bended, and then he broke,
And so did my false love to me.


A ship there is, and she sails the sea,
She's loaded deep as deep can be,
But not so deep as the love I'm in;
I know not if I sink or swim.


O, love is handsome and love is fine,
And love's a jewel while it is new,
But when it is old......

Mithalwen's voice tailed off realising that these lyrics were also not fitting for the day and was glad to hear the music turn to a dance tune ... she wondered if she could persuade Snaveling to dance with her - he at least was tall enough not to make her look ridiculous and he too looked in need of distraction from his thoughts..

[Envinyatar]

‘Look,’ said Derufin, stopping in midstep as he noted a familiar mop of grey curls a few couples away. ‘It’s Cook! And she’s dancing with the spice tradesman from Tuckburrough, isn’t she?’

Zimzi craned her neck, laughing as she spotted Cook’s smiling face. ‘I think perhaps Aman had better keep any eye on that. Otherwise she’ll be cooking the meals for the Inn!’

‘You know,’ continued Derufin, maneuvering Zimzi toward the dessert table, ‘it’s been a long time since breakfast. And look, there’s our cake all sort of waiting for someone to take a slice out of it.’ He gave her a quick squeeze about the waist, 'What do you say?’

[piosenniel]

‘I declare, Miz Bunce,’ said Otho Bracegirdle, grinning at his dance partner, ‘you are as light on your feet as a down feather in a spring breeze.’ He twirled her about as they sashayed together and then stepped away in the pattern of the dance. Back together again, their arms linked they stepped forward three steps and then back again two.

Cook’s eyes twinkled. The meals all done, the rest of the day off, and a suitable partner to dance with. She glanced from the corner of her eye at Otho. She’d always found him a welcome visitor when he’d bring his wares through Bywater. How delightful to find him such an agreeable dance partner, too. She’d have to keep an eye on him, though, she thought. She’d caught him looking at her in a way that . . . well . . . she found a bit too overfond. A diversion was needed.

She saw Derufin and Zimzi making a beeline for the cake table. ‘Oh, I say, my dear Mister Bracegirdle, it looks as if the happy couple is going to cut the cake. Wouldn’t want to miss out on it, now would we? Especially since I made it.’ She motioned for him to follow.

Otho stood for a moment with a pleased look on his face at her departing form. He straightened his vest, grinning, and followed after . . .

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling had never been happier for a marriage ceremony to begin for it interrupted the conversation and obviated the necessity of either answering or avoiding the hobbit lass’s question about Aman. As the ceremony went forward, Snaveling noticed the Innkeeper but she was too involved with the proceedings to notice him. All for the good he thought. A presence behind him made him turn and he saw Mithalwen looking at him contemplatively. She smiled and he knew that she had been attempting to sound the hidden depths of his conscience. But he had learned much from the King, including how to keep is thoughts shrouded from those who would seek them. He had always been able to hide himself in this manner, but the King had taught him ways of more effectively preventing unwanted intrusions.

At last the ceremony was over and the couple moved aside, happily beaming at all those about them. The groom, whom Snaveling finally, and for the first time, recognised as Derufin, passed within a few arms’ lengths of him, but the former stablemaster clearly did not recognise Snaveling, so distracted by joy was the newly married man. The crowd became noisy and animated once more, and soon there was singing and dancing. Snaveling was just about to seek the solace of his stall in the stable – for he still had not paid for a room – when he once more caught sight of Mithalwen looking at him. She advanced with her hand out and had she struck him a blow she could not have surprised him more than when she asked if he could dance. So thunderstruck was he by the request that the truth slipped out of him before he could prevent it. “Indeed, after a fashion. I learned a few dances before I came away from Minas Tirith.”

“Good!” the Elf said happily, “then let us take a turn together!” and before he knew it, Snaveling was dancing upon the green grass with a tall Elven lady whose grace surpassed his own as a beech tree does a humble stalk of straw. At first they attempted a simple country quickstep like that being traced out by most of the others, but Mithalwen quickly saw that Snaveling was hopelessly lost. She asked him what dances did he know and Snaveling, somewhat embarrassed, suggested that they attempt a formal waltz. “I know how out of place such a dance may seem here,” he explained, “but I learned only courtly dances in Minas Tirith. There are no country balls in the court of Elessar!” The Elf assented gaily and taking her hand he led her about the field in a dance that he had learned from one of the Queen’s waiting women. The memory led him back to the last time he had danced this very pattern and he soon found himself lost in memory.

“You dance well. For a Man that is,” Mithalwen said somewhat teasingly.

“I was taught well,” he replied.

“You are remembering having danced this step before.”

Snaveling was not surprised by her statement. “Indeed I am. But do not be offended for the last time I followed this pattern it was with the Queen herself. In token of her Lord’s friendship with me she deigned take a turn about the floor at the Midsummer’s ball.”

Mithalwen’s eyes widened slightly. “A high honour indeed, and a rare one. Although not, I think, so unusual. I hear that the Lady Arwen has ever been courteous to the Dúnedain.”

“That she has, but I must tell you that I am not of the Dúnedain myself. That is an honour I cannot claim.”

“But you said that you are kin to the Lord Elessar. I had thought that all such relations were descendants of Númenor that is lost.”

Snaveling was quiet for a moment before answering. “I am of Númenor, lady, but I cannot count among my ancestry either Elendil or any that fled the wreck of that city with him. There are other men of Númenorian blood in Middle-earth and from them have I sprung.”

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen and Seamus had relaxed considerably after finding their little charge in the hands of Seamus’ young acquaintances. Of course it was only to be expected of the spider monkey that in such boisterous company, and given the fine music and food, the poor soul was bound to become a bit lively and hard to manage. It must be forgiven him, really…not held against him by any means. Otherwise, they’d not be any better than that loutish man, Shimshin’s former master, who had kept him imprisoned in a stout birdcage stationed in the most remote corner of a dark and uninteresting cobbler’s shop, now would they? It had seemed at the time rather providential that they should be thrown into the company of this rather disagreeable man, given that not only Owen’s boots developed a hole in while he and Seamus had been in that particular town, but Seamus’ footwear also required immediate professional attention. Yes, they had been right in to freeing the little captive.

“This has gone off far better than I had hoped,” Owen whispered to Seamus, as band paused in their playing to watch the couple slice a beautiful and quite bountiful cake. “No incident to speak of. It seems our little Shimshin is learning how to behave like a proper guest after all!”

Seamus tucked his rebec under his arm “Not quite,” the tall man said patting his pocket and pulling out a beautifully crafted brooch. As he rolled the ornament face up in his palm, both his and Owen’s eyes widened considerably. “The scamp dropped this in my pocket earlier, and I had not the heart to see what was until now. I suppose I was hoping it might be something a little less valuable, like a piece of toffee. It is heavy though!” he said putting it in Owen’s open palm.

“The little imp’s got first rate taste, doesn’t he?” Owen said shaking his head sadly. “What are we to do Seamus? We can simply pretend this hasn’t happened.” He handed the brooch back to his fellow musician.

“Of course not,” Seamus said. “It’s elven, by the look of it. But elven made doesn’t mean elven owned, does it?”

“It would narrow the crowd down a bit if it did.” Owen said looking around. “Do you think we should give it to the proprietor of the place, or just pin it on and wait for someone to claim it? And how do we explain with out getting ourselves or Shimshin in trouble. It’s all very well to say we found it, but what if he turns up with another?”

[Encaitare]

Caity's new elven friends and even the mysterious Snaveling left to take full advantage of the festivities after the ceremony was over. She watched the dancing couples for a few minutes while Falco and the rest of the band finished their song.

Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?
And we'll all go together to pick wild mountain thyme
all around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, will ye go?

When they finished the romantic song, she climbed up to the stage and picked up her whistle. Moistening her lips, she blew a note through it, then approached Falco.

"Might I suggest a song, Mr. Headstrong?" she asked the older hobbit.

"But of course! What have you got in mind?"

"Well, er... do you know the Ivory Tower?"

He scratched his head thoughtfully. "I think so... is that the one about the maid locked away in that tower?" Caity nodded. "I believe I know the tune for it, but I don't know the words." He turned to Gil and the others. "How about you lads?"

"I think I know just about as much as you do," Gil said. "But not to worry, we'll be fine."

"There's a lovely whistle duet in the middle of it; do you think you remember that?"

Falco grinned. "Lass, I never forget anything I've ever played. It's not in your head; it's in these." He wiggled his fingers mischievously. "Nothing to fear -- although seeing as no one else knows the words, perhaps you'd better. This song could use a girl's voice -- I'm sure I couldn't convince any of these good people that I'm a maiden locked in a tower!"

The band and those close enough to the stage all laughed. Caity joined them, but was a little nervous. "I suppose I could sing it, although I don't think I'm that good," she said tentatively. Then she realized she was silly to be worried about her vocal skills. "Oh, never mind. Let's play it!"

She played the opening notes, and the others soon joined in as though they had known the song their whole lives. Caity then began to sing, while Falco carried on the whistle part.

I stood upon the Ivory Tower
As far as I could see
The winds that grew from out of the trees were calling out to me
Curtains blew in the Ivory Tower
Willows start to bend
The ravens flew to escape the fury as the storm descends...

I followed fortune 'round the tower
Searching in vain
For through the mist 'round the old stone tower I only found rain
And though the cold, cold Ivory Tower was stony through and through
I laid and dreamed on a featherbed, my dream was of you
My dream was of you...

The whistle duet was perfect. Caity almost faltered, for she was watching Falco play. Just as he had said, his fingers moved deftly, like they were completely separate from his mind. Yet she caught herself in time, and came back with the rest of the song with confidence.

All time waiting
As the sun doth set in the haze
All time waiting
Every hour feels like a day

I feared not in the Ivory Tower
Imprisonment you'll find
Lies within your heart your soul, your spirit and your mind
It lies within your heart, your soul , your spirit and your mind...

They finished the song, and Caity grinned widely, happy she hadn't made a complete fool of herself.

"Not bad for a band who knows half the music and a girl who can't sing, eh?" Falco said merrily, clapping her on the shoulder.

"No... not bad at all," she responded.

[Witch_Queen]

Avalon gave up on the cats. Nothing could change their mind now that they were scratching on the table leg. Looking around Avalon noticed an all to familar face. Being that she hadn't talked to some one in a long time, Avalon decided that perhaps the dwarf could help her a bit. Flying over to where the dwarf stood Avalon landed on a near-by tree and began squawking. "Hello, can you hear me?" The dwarf turned around. " I guess you can hear me. And evidently you can understand me. I am Avalon, probably the only white crow you will ever meet. And you are?" Avalon moved her white wing gently extending her white feathers out to show proper respect.

"I am Dwaline, nice to meet you Avalon." The dwarf's voice almost caused the bird to fall off the branch. After repositioning herself on the branch Avalon decided to tell the dwarf what was going on. "Dwaline, this is a celebration of Derufin and the lady Zimzi joining their lives together and the decision to put up with each other for all eternity." It was weird, Avalon being a crow was able to place a smile across her beak. "So happy they seem together. At least someone can be happy."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

"Ah," exhaled Dwaline, "It has oft been said in my home land that Hobbits praise good food and celebration over the treasures of all the world. I see that it is indeed true."

Examining Avalon, Dwaline smiled under his large beard. His bushy eyebrows and white hair had a familiar look to Avalon. Dwaline, however, did not seemed surprised by Avalon's words of being the only white crow he was ever likely to see.

"I once knew a very good white crow," he said with a slight chuckle in his voice, "Rark his name was. A faithful friend in my youth, he and his family were reliable bringers of news to the Dwarves of the mountain." his eyes seemed to stare off into the distance with happy memories, "Tell me Avalon, have you ever heard the name of a crow named Nelek?" Avalon was silent, "If you have, I would not be surprised. He was the great grandson of Rark. Nelek, son of Felm, son of Rark. He was the last white crow I saw, and that was a little over 70 years ago. So if he were alive, He would be old even by the count of Crows."

Dwaline had intrigued Avalon, he began a tale that he had heard and fitted together from many accounts. He fist asked her how well she knew the lands between the shire and the Lonely Mountain. She nodded and said it was good enough.

"Well," he began, "When he was but 10 years old, Nelek grew to a mighty crow, and was respected about his family and friends. He soon, however, grew tired of the mountain and so announced one day that he would leave. I begged him to stay as he was a good friend and reminded me of Rark. Still he decided to leave and never return. I know that he met with some unfriendly Spiders in Mirkwood and stayed a while in Thranduil's halls.

"Through many miss adventures over the misty mountains he came to the shire and was among the first of his kind to see the western sea. Desire grew hot in him to see where it ended. He flew out one day over the sea. Companions he had acquired on his journey watched him as he flew far into the sunset. They say he came to the undying lands. Some say Earendill found him near death and so he keeps a keen eye from his ship. Some say, rather that he died in the sea.

"But he was so strong in his spirit. he had flown so far, I believe that he did not die in the sea. I feel rather that he lives yet. It is a good story, no?" Avalon looked slightly impressed with the dwarf's tale.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman, hovering at the edge of the dance floor in a lull in activities from the kitchen, watched the dancers with a half smile on her lips, her eyes scanning the various couples. She laughed to see some, and was just plain surprised to see others. One particular couple caught her eye, their dancing smooth and fluent, an elf dancing with a tall, dark haired man: Snaveling. Aman raised an eyebrow, and as Snaveling spun Mithalwen out, she caught his eye. She smiled openly at him, and the expression seemed to catch him off his guard, and a momentary frown settled, darkening his face. Then, surprised but enigmatically pleased, the Numenorian smiled back.

Aman sighed and scanned the dance floor. The day was fine and bright, a perfect day for the celebrations, and everyone at the party seemed as bright as the weather; the Innkeeper couldn't help a small, pleased smile with the satisfaction of taking part in organising the succesful event. A shout went up from one side of the dancefloor and Aman looked around sharply, alert for any disturbances. But no, a much more pleasing greeted her eyes: borne by no fewer than five small hobbits, all puffed up with the responsibility of their important task, came the magnificent, three tier cake prepared by Cook. Miss Bunce gave a surprisingly girlish squeal of delight and Aman saw her rush forward, grinning all over her face and bustling about, making sure the little convoy of hobbits didn't drop the cake. Taking the utmost care with their precious load, the quintet staggered over to the trestle tables, and one was hastily pulled forward so that the guests could gather around it rather than just watching from one side.

A clamour went up, calling for the happy couple to cut the cake ("No sense in a-wastin' time where good food is concerned, that's what I always say," announced one of the hobbit wives behind Aman), but Derufin and Zimzi needed no extra bidding. They came forward through the crowd, hand in hand, Derufin striding proudly ahead of his new wife as he led her through the party guests, amid light hearted cheers and pats on the back. Aman, pushing her way carefully through the crowd, found herself standing near the front, with Zimzi's mother and one of her brothers, Sakal, standing to her right. Sakal smiled down at her, then mutely exaggerated the action by looking further down at the little tribe of Gamgee children who had gathered somewhere around his ankles. Aman grinned back at him, then they both turned their attention to where Derufin and Zimzi prepared to cut the cake. As they plunged the knife slowly through the soft, snowy white icing and sponge, the delicious sound of breaking icing was covered by a spontaneous round of applause that rose up for the crowd. Aman clapped enthusiastically, then called out, "Three cheers for Derufin and Zimzi! Hip hip-" the crowd of guests responded with an enthusiastic "Hooray!"

"Hip hip-!" Sakal led it this time.

"Hooray!"

"Hip hip-!" Both he and Aman shouted this time.

"Hooray!" The most enthusiastic cheer yet lingered for a moment and was engulfed once more in applause. Derufin and Zimzi turned to look at each other and, in an instant framed in Aman's mind as a moment of pure perfection, the sun shining reflecting off Zimzi's cascading curtain of black hair, the sound of happy guests and music floating gently on the soft afternoon breeze, the couple leant in to kiss, and the party exploded in cheering - with tears gracing the eyes of several guests, and not just the women!

[THE Ka]

Rasputina sat there at the table listening to Caity playing her flute, and picturing the song the band played. It spoke of a woman enclosed in a tower, and although it seemed outplaced but, it was beautiful as it floated through the air. Rasputina felt compelled for a song, and for this one she needed a drummer. No longer as shy as before, she stepped up to the stage and asked a hobbit lad if he wished to accompany her on a song. After helping him with the harmony, they were ready to perform the song. She had heard this song on her travels by a fisherman, whom she had asked for shelter. The fisherman noticed that she was a musician and told her songs that were ancient, bold and wispered by the mighty sea. She loved them for they held both majesty and simple meaning. One of them, would seem silly to outsiders but, if you knew the history of the ballad, it was a song of courage and surviving. Picking up her cello and tuneing it, she had it ready. Nodding to begin to the drummer, the song began with a bold and fastpaced upbeat, with the cello in hot persute:

Very many years ago, the people were starving so.
They had rats as big as ponies there. They asked the King
To declare them fish.

We thank the King for granting us this wish.
When Friday comes, we'll all call rats fish.
We catch them with a net, kill with the drum.
We'll call it all forgotten when we're done.

They didn't look like rats at all, but like some horrendous horse doll.
Still they had to eat this thing.
In gratitude, the King-they kissed his ring.

We thank the King for granting us this wish.
When Friday comes, we'll all call rats fish.
We catch them with a net, kill with the drum.
We'll call it all forgotten when we're done.

We'll call it all forgotten when we're done...

When they ended, Rasputina thanked the lad for his help. He gave her a smile and complemented on the song saying it was creative and new. She expected this, for on those nights she spent with the fisherman, next to his small fire, she learned the long and windeling history of every ballad. None the less, she was greatful for his help, she could have not told the tale without him. She then decended from the stage, passing another group of musicians ready to play. She walked over to where the others were sitting and talking. Quietly she found a spot, ready for the next performance. The thought of the stolen gift floated through her mind. Who should she ask? She didn't know who was around her room this late morning. Rasputina was desperate for some hope.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen was a little bewildered by Snaveling's claim; "but if you are of Numenore you must be of the dunedain - at least in my tongue - men of the west and so Numenorean. Besides your face betrays you Dunadan. I know others came before Elendil although I remember his arrival ... and I daresay he remembered me for a little while" She laughed and laughed more to see the expression on her dance partner's face as she guided him subtly through a sarabande. "for I am older even than your queen Tar-Corondir - though not by much as we elves account such things though by a fair Numenorean span in the time of men. ... And the tall lord of men from across the sea needed a smith and he went to the finest Noldorin smith, then dwelling in Lindon. This smith had an curious daughter, scarce out of babyhood, who on being presented to the great man pulled his beard for she had never seen such a strange thing. " She looked at Snaveling with a grin. "Elendil laughed but my mother did not.."

Snaveling looked dumbstruck and at that moment the music stopped while the bride and groom cut the cake. Mithalwen felt a pang as she regarded the mortal couple ..... the lives of men had always seemed so fleeting but the joy of these twain made her think that a brief time shared might be better than an eternity alone..... but then she thought, it seemed mortals did not always find love...

[Arry]

‘You’ll break your neck if you crane it any farther,’ Gil said grinning at Ferdy. He buckled the straps to his concertina and stowed it out of the way, intent on getting over to the cake before it had all disappeared.

Ferdy waved off his comments as he stood on tiptoe and watched Ginger as she brought the children back to Miz Rose and Sam. He saw her look around a little as if searching for someone.

‘G’wan, Ferdy,’ Gil urged him. ‘Get her a piece of cake and a cup of cider. The boys and I will play a nice tune for you in a little while . . . you can ask her to dance . . . Shoo!’ He gave Ferdy a little nudge in the direction of the desserts . . .

[Ealasaide]

"It’s all very well to say we found it, but what if he turns up with another?" asked Owen, looking worried.

Seamus grimaced. "Ah, yikes. That wouldn't do at all. How about if we just sort of tiptoe around and ask some of the elves around if they know anything about it? Not that I've dealt much with elves, but I hear they are not generally the sort to go about laying claim to things that don't belong to them."

Owen's expression still looked doubtful, so Seamus shrugged. "Well, have you got a better idea?" he asked. "I'd hate to bother the innkeeper with this, what with so much else going on and all. Besides, she might think we stole it and ask us to leave. Or, worse, call the shirriff on us."

"Well, in a sense, we did steal it, didn't we?" sighed Owen. "We just didn't mean to do it."

"So we had better get right on about giving it back." Seamus looked around the gathering to see where the elves were congregating, and found that it was not anywhere in particular. He could see one or two of them dancing, while several others lounged about on blankets on the lawn or in chairs. Seamus' eye landed on the elf who had been playing the oversized fiddle that was so big she had had to hold it on the ground between her knees when she played. He nudged Owen.

"She looks kind of worried about something," he said, indicating her with the bow to his rebec. "Do you suppose it might be hers?"

"It could well be at that," said Owen. "I think she is staying here. Shimshin probably lifted it right out of her room, if I know him. Why don't you go ask her?"

Seamus nodded and took a step in the elven woman's direction. Then he hesitated and turned back. "What if she thinks I stole it?"

"We tell her what really happened and hope she believes us, I guess," answered Owen. "We can always get the little hobbit boys who are watching Shimshin to tell her they saw him with it."

"If they saw him with it..." muttered Seamus. "You know how Shimshin likes to hide things in his mouth."

"Oh...oh, yeah."

A long moment of indecision ticked by before finally Seamus squared his shoulders. He closed the beautiful elven brooch in his large fist and gave Owen a resolute look. "Well, my friend... we can't just keep it, so we have no choice but to try to find out who it belongs to." He winked at his friend. "Wish me luck!"

With that, Seamus turned, tucked his rebec and bow under his arm, and strode across the lawn to where Rasputina sat with a few other guests. Owen trailed a few steps behind, holding his bladder pipe nervously in front of him. Reaching the group on the lawn, Seamus smiled broadly and plopped down on the grass beside the lovely elf. He nodded greetings to all of them, then turned to Rasputina.

"I say, that's a lovely great fiddle you've got there," he said pleasantly. "It's got an absolutely stunning voice to it. I've never heard anything quite like it and, now that I've heard it, I don't think I will ever forget it."

The elven woman smiled graciously. "It's a cello."

"A cello!" repeated Seamus. "I shall have to remember that. I used to have a lovely old fiddle myself - used to belong to my grandfather before me. It had such a beautiful old voice - clear as a bell. I was heartbroken when it got crushed in a carting accident. Since I couldn't do without music, though, I made myself this little rebec, but it's hardly a replacement if you know what I mean."

"Oh, I do," answered Rasputina. "I should be very distressed if anything happened to my cello."

Standing behind him, Owen gave Seamus a nudge with his knee. Seamus elbowed Owen's shin in response, but then leaned toward the elven lady, holding out his closed fist. "Ummm..." he began cautiously. "Er... you're an elf, begging your pardon, I, that is, we - my friend and I - were wondering if you might have seen this before. It kind of came into our hands by accident and we were looking to return it to its rightful owner. It being elven-made and all..." Seamus trailed off helplessly.

Rasputina held out her hand to receive whatever it was. For the barest instant, Seamus hesitated. Then he opened his hand, dropping the brooch on to the elven lady's palm.

[Firefoot]

"Where were you?" asked Nick frowning. Willy had only just returned after slipping off again just before the handfasting had begun, and Nick was not pleased at being left again, even though he now had Shimshin to keep him company.

Willy dodged the immediate question and answered instead, "Wanna see what I got?" So eager was he to show off his ill-gotten prize that he did not wait for Nick's response and fished the small toy out of his breeches pocket. Indeed, it was one of the toys which the Dwarf Fazi had brought along for the children. Willy had heard about the toys being stashed inside the wagon to be handed out later, and the allure of getting ahold of one before hand had been irresistable to a young hobbit who delighted in all things challengingly mischievous. He had taken full advantage of the brief time in which everyone's attention had been held during the handfasting and had successfully filched a small toy from the wagon while avoiding notice. This was the first time that Willy himself had a good chance to look at it; he had grabbed something that seemed to have a use which small enough to fit in his pocket. In appearance, it was a handheld instrument of some kind - a type of whistle. Silver had been laid into it, which glinted in the sunlight.

"You stole it?" accused Nick.

"They were going to be handed out later anyway," answered Willy. "It's a whistle, I think. Listen." He put it to his lips and blew softly so as not to draw attention with the inevitable sound. However, no sound came out. Willy's brow furrowed in puzzlement and he tried again, a little harder. Still nothing. He blew as hard as he could, but the supposed instrument made no sound. He tried puckering his lips differently to no effect.

"What kind of dumb instrument is this?" muttered Willy. "Worthless." He was about to shove it into his pocket again when Shimshin, who had been watching with interest, leapt from Nick's shoulder to Willy's. The monkey reached out and took hold of the instrument in Willy's hand, tugging softly. In surprise, Willy let go. "Sure, you can have it. I don't have any use for it," Willy informed Shimshin. He figured Shimshin would probably drop it in a bush or something and thereby remove all evidence that he took the useless toy in the first place. The monkey happily took it and inspected it carefully. He bit it, and then stuck it into his mouth. Shimshin shifted it around a little, since the "instrument" was a little too large to fit easily, but apparently found a comfortable position.

Willy laughed. "Now I really don't want it!" Nick was more concerned. "Do you think he'll choke?"

"Nah. I bet he does that all the time," said Willy. As if to confirm this, Shimshin now seemed to be completely ignoring the small object in his mouth as he returned to Nick's small shoulder. He looked between to the two boys as if to ask "What next?"

As all little boys, especially hobbits, Willy and Nick seemed to have a radar for available sweets. The minute the cake was cut they were aware of it, though neither quite understood the cheering, or the general emotion. (Willy's reaction had been, "Kissing? Yuck," while Nick's had been, "Why is everyone crying? It's cake.") They were among the first in line to get a piece. They enjoyed their cake along the sidelines of the party and settled in to watch the festivities while they ate.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

At first Snaveling was content to let Mithalwen continue in her misapprehension, but he had learned the dangers of secret knowledge and hidden truths…particularly when it involved Elves. But for the moment all conversation was stilled by an odd ceremony that seemed to consist simply of the newly married couple cutting the large (and delicious looking) cake that had been brought out to them. It suddenly occurred to Snaveling that he was hungry, and the Elf turned and suggested that they go eat. Snaveling’s look of surprise made Mithalwen laugh, and she explained, “Nay, it is not your mind that I read, but your stomach. Or, rather, it is your stomach that I hear.” As if on cue, the Man’s stomach growled once more and he agreed that it would be a good idea.

They moved over to the trestle tables that had been set up near the trees and Snaveling was suddenly reminded of how good, and of how plentiful, the food was in this land. It was as he remembered it: hearty fare made simply, but with skill and love. He soon had a plate with bread and cheese upon it, accompanied by a large slice of cold meat pie. In his free hand he clutched a tall tankard of ale, and his pockets bulged with apples. They moved off to one side where they ate in relative silence, for they were each taken up with their own thoughts. Mithalwen seemed to concentrate upon the doings of the mortal beings before her, and as Snaveling had often seen with Elves, she was soon lost in the memories that were as real for her kind as the waking world. Snaveling, for his part, was content to enjoy the food and listen to the music. Again, he caught sight of the Innkeeper, but he had been careful to seat himself where she would be unlike to notice him. With a start he realized just where he had settled – it was just beside the very copse of trees that he had set alight that first day he had arrived at the Inn to find it burning to the ground. The memory of that day was one that contained many different kinds of pain for him, for it was upon that day that he had first met Roa…and had tried to kill her. His face went red with shame as he remembered that and the other crimes he had committed that day. But he came back to the present for the crowd was not to be ignored in its happiness.

Mithalwen stood and beckoned for Snaveling to follow her through the crowd. “I believe that it is customary for the guests at such gatherings to wish the couple well,” she explained. He had little desire to approach the couple for he well remembered the suspicious looks he had received from that same Derufin the last time Snaveling had been through the Inn, but the thought of shaming his King with his own discourtesy drove him forward. There was a press of people about the married couple now, primarily Halflings (and most of them looking for a slice of cake), but they were soon beside the bride. Her head was turned away from them as they approached, for she was busily trying to meet the flood of requests for the treat. Mithalwen seemed quite content to wait, but Snaveling began to grow impatient – and, if the truth be told, the sight of the cake so quickly disappearing into the eager mouths of the Hobbits spurred him on as well. He stepped forward to catch the attention of the bride, but at that precise moment a small hobbit lass tugged at her sleeve squealing out, “Puhleeeeaaaaze miz Zimzi, please, can I have some cake!” The bride turned to address the lass, holding in her hand a plate with a large piece of cake upon it. She was looking down toward the distress of the little hobbit and did not notice the tall, dark Man striding toward her. It all happened so fast that Snaveling only had time to register the fact that the plate with the cake upon it was headed directly for him before it pressed deep into his chest, flipping in the girl’s hand and smearing the frothy mass of icing and cake all over his tunic. There was a gasp from the onlookers and the bride’s eyes met Snaveling’s and widened in horror over what had happened, for it was clear that his clothes, as worn as they might be, were richly woven and expensive. A slight lull fell on the crowd in which the only sound that could be clearly heard was the plaintive cries of the hobbit lass: “Awww! Now my cake’s gone and been ruined by that terrible Man!”

But then a laugh rang out into the silence, like a bell and full of joy. It soon set the others to smiling and they rapidly joined in. The bride tried to look apologetic but her eyes were bright as she dabbed at the mess upon Snaveling’s chest and she could not long contain her mirth before it escaped from her lips in the form of a hearty chuckle. Snaveling’s vanity was mortified, and the look of insulted dignity that he bore only drove the crowd into greater laughter, and it was not long before a softer look took hold of his features. Behind him the clear laughter of Mithalwen filled the air and Snaveling wondered if it was her who had rescued the situation by responding with mirth. But the memory of the laugh which had started it all was too fresh in his memory to be confused with that of the Elf, and even as he remembered, he recognized it. As though led by an instinct like that which drives the Elves, Snaveling’s eyes turned to where she stood upon the edge of the crowd, laughing and looking at him with unalloyed glee. Meeting Aman’s eyes, he laughed as well, and pounded Derufin’s back with breathless hilarity.

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen felt a little unkind since this man was clearly so sensitive about his reduced circumstances but really it was impossible not to. She hoped he would forgive her for what she was about to do. But he too was know so helpless with mirth to object.

"Stop rubbing at it you will make it " she commanded, and quicker than mortals could register she had swept away the remains of the cake with a clean knife "forgive me Tar-Corondir" she said and threw her own glass of white wine over the stain. This stopped Snaveling's laughter but did not restore speech. She handed him a table napkin "soak up the wine with this and it should lift the mark - if not we will try steam later" .

Mithalwen then turned to the bride. "Mistress Zimzaran, my attendance at you wedding was as unexpected for me as it is no doubt for you, and I have no gift to give you but this - it is of my own making". Mithalwen pressed in to Zimzi's hand the necklace of a single pearl set in finely wrought gold, " May every day of your lives be blessed". Mithalwen withdrew asquick as she had moved forward , as she passed Snaveling he heard - or did the words arrive in his mind silently " I would hear your tale when you have time, Tar Corondir - it seems more intriguing by the moment."

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis was so surprised that his brother had showed up that he did not have any response for a while. Quite a while. But when he came to his senses, he introduced Jonathan to Ravon, the elf maiden that had captured his heart.

Lewis watched as Ravon and Jonathan aquainted themselves with each other. He was still very surprised, but he was also in a very happy state. Here he was in one of his favorite places with the two people that were most dear to his heart.

[piosenniel]

Zimzi

‘Shush now, Marigold,’ said Zimzi, picking up the Hobbit in her arms. Fat tears slid down the girl’s cheeks, and Zimzi caught them with her finger. Her tongue flicked out to take them in, and she smiled at Marigold. ‘You taste just like the sea, you know.’ Marigold’s tears and sniffles stopped as she regarded Zimzi closely. ‘That’s where I grew up,’ continued the woman. ‘Near the salty sea. I thought that only my brothers and I tasted so . . . but now I have found a Hobbit with the sea’s spirit in her!’

Marigold’s hand went down to a spattering of frosting that had fallen on her pretty skirt, and the stormclouds began once more to form behind the girl’s eyes. ‘Tis naught but a little sweetness for one so sweet herself,’ said Zimzi, setting the girl down on the ground. She crouched down beside Marigold and dabbed away the frosting. ‘All pretty again for the party,’ she laughed, twirling the girl about. ‘Oh, but look here. Here’s something to make you even prettier.’ Zimzi took the necklace the kind Elf had just given her and fastened it about Marigold’s neck, looping the fine gold chain twice about the little girl’s neck, so that the pearl hung in the hollow of her throat. Zimzi held up one of the bright, shiny silver platters for her to look in and was rewarded as a bright grin of delight pinned itself on Marigold’s face. Crisis averted, Zimzi cut another good-sized slice of cake for the girl and sent her on her careful way to sit down on the soft grass with it.

[Envinyatar]

The gift . . .

Derufin watched as his wife . . . yes, he could say that now, he thought, with a certain sense of swelling gladness in his chest . . . he watched as she spoke with the little girl. His mind slipped back for a brief moment, recalling his other family. A scene much like this one . . . when they were still alive, just before he had gone off with his townsmen to answer Minas Tirith’s call. His wife had crouched down beside his daughter salving some little hurt with words and soft touches. He steeled himself against the sudden pain he knew would come from the memory . . . only to find it did not surface. There was an aching tug, no more than that. Then the memory retreated, and there was Zimzi, her hand in his, leaning against his arm. ‘Are you alright?’ she asked in a soft voice as she waved and nodded to those who wished them well as they passed by. ‘Never better,’ he murmured back.

Cook had taken over the duty of slicing the cake, he saw, And looked quite happy to be greeting the guests and prompting them for a compliment on ‘the finest specimen of a wedding cake made to date’, as she so modestly referred to it. He laughed as she buttonholed one sour looking old biddy and gave her a piece with extra frosting to sweeten her up.

Zimzi’s eye had been caught by the mathom table. She drew him along with her toward it, wanting to look at all the lovely presents. ‘Are we allowed to open them now?’ she whispered, fingering a soft leather pouch that she’d spied tucked under one side of a good sized iron kettle replete with lid that had obviously been well used before. Before he could answer, she untied the little thong that bound it, and fished out the contents. ‘How beautiful!’ she said, gasping at the clear gem stone hung on a simple leather cord. She placed one in Derufin’s outstretched palm, and he touched the stone gently with his finger. ‘There’s light within, isn’t there,’ he asked. ‘Like a star,’ Zimzi said. ‘Here, lean down a little and I’ll put it on you.’ He did the same for her, watching as she picked up her long hair so that the necklace rested against her neck, the stone lying just over her heart. She danced about in front of him. ‘Who gave them to us, do you think,’ she asked, coming to a stop.

Derufin looked about the crowded yard for a moment, then took her hand. ‘It was Uien, I’m sure who made them and with Falowik, gave them to us.’ The two walked over to where the man and Elf stood watching the dancers and the band. They smiled as they approached, and Zimzi put her arms about the Elf, startling her a bit as she gave her a hug. ‘They’re lovely gifts . . . the both of you . . . thank you,’ Zimzi said letting go of Uien and taking Falowik’s hand to give it a squeeze.

Derufin reached out his hand to clasp Falowik’s, intending to say thanks when a gleam against the man’s shirt caught his eye. ‘Aah! You have one, too . . .’

[THE Ka]

Rasputina was sitting on the lawn when two of the hobbit musicians - Owen and Seamus came over and sat beside her. She could sense that Seamus was tense about something, but what?

As they seated themselves, Seamus stroke up a conversation to make an apperiance that seemed to cloak his tension. Then, without apparent notice, Seamus pulled an object out of his hand and let it fall into her palm. What lay there was the answer to a question of guilt. It seemed as the sun glint off the broach, it seem to dispell the darkness that she placed on herself.

Although it was returned - the gift was back - a slight suspicion arose. How did he get this? Where? Seamus had been out before she left her room that morning but... How? Suddenly, as if a fleeting messenger on wings, an idea or suggestion came into her mind. Was it his pet monkey? She had had an inccident with this creature earlier, whom had taken a liking to her hat. She did not know the mind of this creature, and she wondered how it could have unlucked her door, and known how exactly to open her box. Her box wasn't a simple device to open, and did cause some frustration with Rasputina, especially when she was in a hurry. The box took much patience, and consentraition to open properly. This was because of its mechanical makings. It was made to be difficult - for any one. You had to count the number of turns as a sequence of clicks emitted by the internals, and after counting them carefully you would have to put pressure at certain areas of the keylocks face.

If that monkey had opened it ( Raspurtina wondered how in Arda it had ), it would had had to listen sometime in on her to find the number of clicks. How thick were those walls? Then it struck her - What if the monkey had slipped in? She would have sensed it right away but, she was so jittered and confused that morning that a herd of cows could have stampeeded by...

Placing the words carefully, she asked Seamus about this speculation. Seamus was startled and jumped alittle. He soon regain some courage and replied that he was thinking the same thing as well, and it could have happened. Apparently, from what she soon learned about this creature, this monkey was clever as ever and curious as well.

"Great", she thought, then he must had found a way to open that box! But, how? That would have to wait until further inspection. She thanked Seamus greatly, and Owen as well, for their recovery of the gift. She felt they needed a reward but, what did she have to give? There had to be something in her Trunk or something else that was hiding (hopefully still) in her box.

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold sat in the grass, taking bites of her cake in between her adoring glances at Zimzi. What a kind, beautiful, sweet, lovely bride she was! If the perfect truth must be told, Marigold had felt a twinge of disappointment when she saw who was to be married. She had expected some blushing hobbit lass, but there was a tall Big Folk woman instead. The disappointment had been diminished somewhat when she had realised what a pretty woman she was, and it was banished to dark depths of nothingness when she was taken into those slender arms and comforted in those tender tones. Marigold smiled. Miss Zimzi was sweet, sweet, sweet! Never had anyone been so affectionate to her since her mother clasped her and kissed her for the last time.

But...

Marigold recalled something else that had happened in those few moments when the world seemed at an end because of the ruined cake and spattered dress. She had called that tall one who caused all the trouble an 'awful Man.' She blushed at the recollection. If only she had merely thought it. That wouldn't have been so bad. It was humiliating to have said it so everyone could hear, and... they had laughed. She blushed deeper. Oh, thank goodness Zimzi had come and comforted her. Marigold was firmly convinced she would have died of shame and sorrow if it hadn't happened so.

She would have to apologise to that Man, she supposed. Of course, by all rights, he should apologise to her because he had ruined her cake and spattered icing on her dress (were all Big Folk so clumsy?). But she had called him awful, right out loud. Why, oh why, couldn't she have just thought it? Then everything would be all right. The guilt would be all on his side. But she had opened her mouth, and she would have to open it again in apology. She could see him from the corner of her eye. Well, she couldn't apologise yet. She had to finish her cake, and wait until he wasn't busy talking to someone else. Maybe he would always be busy. Frankly, she didn't want to apologise. Why should she? She had called him awful because he was awful. She hadn't done anything very wrong.

Well, that was easily solved. She wouldn't seek him out to apologise. She would only apologise (very casually, as if it didn't matter) if she ran into him again. Not that that could possibly happen. He would be the one to run into her, so clumsy was he. He would probably run over her, he was that clumsy. Why had she called him awful? He was clumsy, clumsy, clumsy.

Marigold giggled a little. He had looked funny with the cake all over him. His tunic had been spattered worse than her pretty skirt. And she mustn't call him clumsy anymore. It might make her mean-minded and depressing like Mr. Headstrong.

As if that could ever happen!

[littlemanpoet]

Zimzi put her arms about the Uien, startling her a bit as she gave her a hug. "They’re lovely gifts . . . the both of you . . . thank you," Zimzi said letting go of Uien and taking Falowik’s hand to give it a squeeze.

Derufin reached out his hand to clasp Falowik’s, intending to say thanks when a gleam against the man’s shirt caught his eye. "Aah! You have one, too . . ."

"Aye," Falowik smiled. "I-" he paused, blushing "-hope we did not overreach-" he glanced at Uien. "My Lady insisted that you would not mind."

Derufin's eyebrows rose at the strange response from Falowik. "Mind? Hardly!"

Falowik smiled. "That is because you do not yet know the virtues of the gifts. My part was merely to braid the five strands of leather for each necklace. Five strands give greater strength than three, you see, while not over large."

"Virtues?" Zimzi asked, holding the clear gleaming stone in her hand.

Uien smiled. "Look in the orb. The light within has formed the runes of your name, Zimzi. See you the áze nuquerna?"

"Oh! I see!"

"Now think upon your mate." Zimzi's eyes widened as the runes changed their shape. "The ando, for Derufin," Uien said.

"It warms in my hand as it changes!" Zimzi cried.

"And Derufin," Uien said, "look upon yours."

"I see it, the ... áze nu-" he paused in confusion.

"The áze nuquerna, for Zimzi. She thinks of you, and so her rune appears in your orb. Now look upon mine, Derufin. What do you see?"

"The ando."

"Now look upon yours again," Uien grinned.

"Why, it is different! What rune is this?"

"The úre, after my name," Uien said, "for you are thinking of me. When you think of Falowik, the formen will appear."

"Yes! I see it!" cried Zimzi. "These are wonderful! But ... how?"

"'Tis the art of my kindred," Uien said, "helped by the gift of your hair. 'Twas needed to aid the linkage between us. One hair from my head, and one from Falowik's are in your necklaces, and four each from your own heads. You wear twins, as do Falowik and I. But all four are sisters."

"What do you call the gem?" asked Zimzi with eyes alight.

"They are called Tinumir in my speech, the Sindarin of the Elves, which in the Common tongue means 'star jewel'."

"The orbs," said Falowik, "hold starlight that Uien has caught in them by the art of her folk, and she embedded the strands of hair in the leather. I watched her do it, and still do not know how it was done!"

"These are rare gifts!" Zimzi said.

"Let them become heirlooms among your many children," Uien smiled. When you are far from us and we think of you, you will know that we think of you, and when it warms against your heart, you will know that you are thought of. As will we."

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen’s brain ground to a halt as Rasputina mentioned that the brooch Shimshin had taken had lain in a box of some sort. And a locked box at that. Surely the dear little monkey’s escapade purely on impluse! In the few months Owen had known him, Shimshin had never been know to scheme so. Owen felt crushed.

“Oh Miss,” he blurted out, snatching his cap from off his head, squashing it and the bladder pipe together with a muffled crinkling. “Thank you for taking this so well! And try not to think too badly of the little fellow. He is clever, but has a heart of gold, he does. He’d never take nothing if he thought it would hurt someone. It’s just a bit of fun for him, and his mind runs too quick, just as those small feet of his. That is my friend Seamus and my trouble, you see? But no harm done now, is there!”

Rasputina smiled benevolently at the nervous man. “No harm done, but maybe I should meet this Shimshin again so that I might advise him not to seek after such ornaments.”

“The counsel of elves is as good as gold, they say,” Seamus said, trying to smooth things over before Owen said too much. “Now if we can only convince the monkey of it!”

“If you’ll forgive me for saying it,” Owen continued with his train of thought. “I can understand him running off with your jewelry – he’s an eye on anything as sparkles. In fact, he’s a right magpie that one! But it’s the box as has me stumped, unless of course it was shiny too. He never done that a fore. Are you quite sure Miss, that no one else could have removed it?”

Rasputina fixed him with a thoughtful stare. “I am sorry that I can not answer your concerns, for I am doubtful whether anyone could have taken the brooch from this particular box.”

Owen tilted his head slightly, as if by doing so he could better line up his opinion of Shimshin with Rasputina’s revelations. Glancing blankly at the people milling about with their cake, and at the newly married couple chatting with their guests, his mind grappled with this puzzle in it’s typical herky-jerky fashion.

Suddenly he heard Seamus whistling a rollicking tune through his teeth. It was a good song, First rate for rebec, or bladder pipe for that matter. It was all about a young yeoman taken captive by raiding corsairs. Turning Owen noticed that Seamus was now standing and was nodding to the elf as though he was ready to leave. But Owen was not ready to go. He was just opening his mouth to explain the theory he and Seamus had developed, that Shimshin must have, at some point in his life, lived among pirates, when he felt the toe of Seamus’ boot strike his thigh rather sharply.

“Thank you for understanding,” the tall man was saying to the graceful elf as he towered over Owen. Then reaching down, Seamus offered him his hand. “I think we had better check on Shimshin before we get back to playing, don’t you?” he said pulling Owen to his increasingly unsteady feet.

“Aye, I do,” Owen replied. “Looks like he may’ve more talents than just his dancing. Though it break my heart to find it true.”

[THE Ka]

After his explanation, Rasputina felt relieve but, still curious that Seamus's monkey could have opened that box.

"Oh, Well" , she thought. As long as she had the gifts back was all that mattered right now. After thanking Owen and Seamus for their help and recovery of the item, she rose and strode over to the party. She had seen the wedding of the couple and the incident with the cake - somewhat, she still didn't know who caused the comotion. Whatever it was, it had blown over and a natural calm ebbed into the crowd. One thing she must do, was to find the couple.

This was not as easy as she thought. Once she sought them out with her sharp glance, they would have moved on to another call. Rasputina felt like a stalker without a match. Or a very slick one at that. She always hated crowds, even though it had been so long since she was around so many people. The cake distribution had been granted by the couple to a good judge as they went from gift-giver to gift-giver. Then she noticed something run past through the corner of her eye. It was small of stature and it was not an 'it', but a flock. A flock of hobbit children had passed her by and she was suddenly caught in a state of fasination. They seemed like an ethreal bunch, zipping from here to there completely consumed in their own atmophereric world of games and laughter. She watched as they conjurgated in one area to play a strange game. Their movements worked so fast and joinly that she wondered if they thought one thought all together. They were now playing a game that involved something of a judge and group. All but one child formed a row, while the one separate stood alone at a distance. The lone player then began to sing a ryme addressing the other players. In a question and answer sing-song they played the game out, all the while some of the once tightly knit group now dispersing in different directions.

As Rasputina watched she noticed the wedded couple finally resting at one of the tables. Rasputina saw her chance to finally give her gifts, which had gone through so many tasks and travels, finally to be given to those who were meant for them. She then strode comfident and filled with happiness over to the couple. Finally to recieve the gifts of Eryn Vorn...

[Mithalwen]

Now that Snaveling had joined his own people, Mithalwen suddenly felt very alone in the crowd. Rasputina had been deep in conversation with the people with the monkey and she could not see the diminutive Caity in the throng. She decided to seek her faithful companion. She slipped away from the party, without seeing that her gift had been passed on so quickly, and to the stable yard. Mithalwen did not bother to go and change but lited her skirt hem to avoid harming her dress.

Aeglos whickered as she entered the barn which was serving as overspill stabling for him and the horses of other latecomers. For a moment Mithalwen resolved to leave that evening. She longed for the company of her own kind - the company of many mortals made her a little melancholy. There was no point in getting interested in them she thought ... they passed so quickly ... like a spring growth of bluebells in a beech wood.. She thought of Snaveling's words about the hidden paths of her people, and while the open ways were safer since the return of the King, she would be more likely to find her kindred on the ancient routes.

But Snaveling was also a reason to stay - his story had sparked her curiousity and she wished she knew the whole tale .. perhaps it was some silly misunderstanding that had separated them and which could easily be put right. She hoped, for the man's sake that Roa had not been so superficial that she was dismayed by his reversal in fortune.

She led Aeglos from the barn so he might graze a little, and feel the late afternoon sun on his back. " Pehaps one day longer.." she whispered to the grey horse , " There would be little enough comfort or companionship on the journey ahead and she need not rush on to Rivendell. She watched the party continue from a distance until she settled Aeglos back in the barn. On her return to the gathering she rejoined Snaveling.

[Envinyatar]

The áze nuquerna burned bright in the three other gems as Zimzi looked fondly at the trio, her faced wreathed in smiles. Derufin shook his head in wonder and bowed slightly toward the Elf. ‘Thank you, little one,’ he murmured, picturing the first time he’d met the bedraggled waif. He too, smiled as the image changed to this graceful lady who now stood before him. With a wink, he took her hand and cupped it to his cheek. ‘May your journey be light from now until the end is reached, the One willing. And yours, also,
Falowik,’ he said, clapping the man, then, on the shoulder. ‘These are rare gifts, my friends,’ he continued, ‘but precious beyond all gifts is that of the bond of friendship given and received today.’

He pulled Zimzi close to him, his arm about her waist. The brief moment of grace resolved itself into the ordinary flow of life. The world, which had narrowed for a space of time, to just these four, now flooded in. Sights and sounds of the party flooded back in. Derufin and Zimzi stepped back to the mathoms’ table with a promise from the man and Elf that they would see them later for a meal and perhaps share a dance.

Zimzi curtsied to Falowik with a grin on her face. ‘I shall, of course, expect a dance with you,’ she said. Derufin raised his brows at her. ‘It is my right as the bride, to do so,’ she instructed him, citing one of the many ‘rules’ her mother had gone over with her. ‘The last dance is saved for you, alone, my dear,’ she assured him.

‘Well, then,’ responded Derufin, looking at Uien with a pitying sigh. ‘You shall have to put up with a large footed, rather clumsy person for a dance.’ He looked down at her dainty feet and shook his head. ‘Thick boots, my dear,’ he laughed. ‘That’s what I require in a dance partner.’ Zimzi, standing behind him, nodded her head ‘yes’, quite emphatically, to his statement.

The woman and horse were both limping as they approached the Green Dragon Inn. As the Inn's sign came into view, the human sighed with relief and exhaustion. She tenderly patted her horse's mud-spattered face, whispering words of encouragement as they headed for the barn. Once her restless black mare was safely placed in a stall, the woman moved slowly toward the inn.

It was difficult to tell the woman's age as she shed the grimy hooded cloak and tossed it on the nearest bench. Her huge green eyes held a haunted look, pasted on pale skin. Wearily she deposited her bony frame upon the seat, and asked for water. As she lifted her booted foot to rub her leg, an embroidered name could be see on the footwear and it read: Shaeowyn.

[THE Ka]

As she walked over, the couple had arisen again, now off to dance. Rasputina felt frustraited. Finding nothing better to pass the time she sat at the table the couple had been recently using. She went over what she would say, and tried from her memory, to get their names down. Zimzi and Derufin, those were their names, now nothing left but to present the gifts.

She watched the couple dance gracefully with the others who twirled next to the stage. When it looked like they were to return to the table, Zimzi was asked by another to dance, and Rasputina, once again, sat there to wait.

Finally, the musicians rested for awhile, and the dancers sat at tables to rest and have refreshments. As the couple walked back and sat at the table, Rasputina turned slowly as to not seem like a haunt and introduced herself to the couple.

" I have something to give you both, that is from my people as much as myself, I hope you will enjoy these..."

And Rasputina drew out from her pocket four small but, brilliant gifts. Two, were broaches, shaped in a tree and wave form. The other two, were different. They were not items that were meant to be worn or displayed upon a mantel piece, but for travel of any kind. They were two small orbs, and silver shown in the sunlight as they gentley rolled in her palms. They were a sort of compass and among her kin were a favorite to construct. They were meant to help you find any location, as long as you truely felt you needed to go there. Rasputina had one of these, that she was given on the day of her birth, and every child among her people carried everywhere. There was also an interesting thing about these compasses. They were meant for only that person and no one else. So was the case with these two, which had the couples' individual names written upon them.

"These last two, I must tell you how to use, but you must remember this or they will not work. These are compasses, and my people love to make them. Now, both have your individual names upon them, and are meant only for you to use. They will help no one except yourselves, so you have no need to worry if they are used by someone else without your knowing. if someone tries to find a location, the arrow will disappear and the orb will not spin. Also, that perosn's hands will be left a noticeable red. Now, to find your way somewhere, there is a dial on the side of each of them. All you must do is spell out where you wish to go. If you don't know the spelling of the location you don't need to give up because, they will only answer to their owners. Then, you must place them on the ground for them to direct you. Do not worry if they begin to spin, they are only trying to meet your request. When they stop, an arrow that is on top will be pointing to your location. After that, as you travel, watch the arrow. All you must do is follow the arrow and you are at your destination."

[TomBrady12]

Bingo Boffin was having a bad day. He'd lost a lamb in the woods and spent half the day trying to find it. Finally, after hours of searching he managed to find the lamb and get it back with the rest of his small heard, but it had made him terribly late for dinner. His wife would be in an uproar, he well knew, and he had no desire to see her just yet. The only thing that could save the day for poor old Bingo was a mug of his favorite beer at the Green Dragon. He quietly slipped his sheep into their paddock for the night and snuck away to the south without his wife's knowledge.

The walk was not terribly long, but Bingo was out of shape. He came puffing down the road as fast as his short legs would bring him. He spotted the inn from a distance and noticed a large crowd inside. The sounds of laughing and singing reached his ears, even from that distance. "Well then," Bingo exclaimed, "looks to be a party of the big people in there. It would be just plain rude to burst into their party uninvited and dirty from my day." Bingo pouted and spun on his heels to leave. The prospect of facing his wife, without even a drink of ale in his stomach, made his brief walk home seem like an eternity.

[piosenniel]

THE SCENE IN THE GREEN DRAGON INN'S FRONT YARD AT PRESENT . . .

It's a warm, sunny day in the Shire – late-afternoon.

All have gathered outdoors where the party is taking place.

The tables are groaning with the plenitude of food brought out to stave off hunger . . . most of the local Hobbit families have arrived, and all of them have brought a special dish or two to share at the party. The staff from the Inn has already brought out great platters of meats and cheeses and baskets of bread for sandwiches along with mustards of all sorts and pickles. Mushroom pasties, jam tarts, and cookies of all sorts.

The big cake that Cook has made for Derufin and Zimzi is now on the dessert table. It's four layers high, frosted in white, light frosting, with candied violets of all colors all over it. There is a line-up as guests come for a slice of it.

A number of the kegs have been tapped and tried, much to the satisfaction the thirsty crowds. For those who don't care for ale at the moment, there are pitchers of cold cider, tea, wine of all sorts, and of course, sweet, cold well water.

The three local grannies - Granny Chubb, Granny Oldbuck, and Granny Heathertoes have made their special punch – only for the women at the party. They are fending off, with their stout wooden stirring paddles, those bold lads who try to slip in and steal a taste.

Mayor Samwise and his wife, Rose, and a number of their brood (up to baby Daisy) are at the party. Ginger has most of the young ones in tow while Same conducts the handfasting ceremony. Rose is seated with a group of ladies and is delighted to have only the baby to look after.

Gil and his friends, Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin are playing and singing on the raised stage near the front of the Inn. They are intermittently joined by Falco Headstrong, Rasputina, Caity, Seamus, and Owen.

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The handfasting ceremony is now done.

Derufin and Zimzi are a proper couple.

They are at the mathom table at present, looking over the gifts they’ve been given. The band is playing and any number of couples are dancing. Later, when it's dark, the little lights in the branches of the trees will be lit and there will be fireworks.

And there is food and drink, of course, flowing in abundance from the good folk of the Shire . . .

[Witch_Queen]

Avalon
"Nelek? Nelek was my grandfather. Well atleast thats what my mother said. I have heard of Rark, my father told me stories about him. They were once friends. Both of them traveled together. To me Rark was the uncle I never knew." Avalon looked down at the dwarf. She couldn't believe that Dwaline had known her grandfather. She had rarely ever talked about her parents after all both of them had been black as the night sky. "My parents didn't want me to be white. They figured that if I was the way I am then perhaps some of my grandfather is actually in me. Perhaps I am suppose to meet you."

Avalon went on to talk about how she had met one human that treated her with respect. Cree had been the only one that listened to her when she needed someone. It was Cree that showed Avalon that not all humans are mean and cruel. "Cree was the only elf that ever showed me that I was not different. But she left me. I needed her and she needed me even more. Now she's gone and I am once again left to wander this world alone."

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline looked up at Avalon is slight astonishment; he did not expect to meet a relative of Nelek. Or even more so, a relative of Rark.

"This would make you Rarks great grand daughter," he said, "Now this is an odd occurrence. Tell me, where did 'Cree' go? Perhaps I can find her and bring news to you. I may be old, even by the count of my people, but I have a reputation for news gathering."

He went on to tell her of his adventures as a young dwarf, how he and Rark would find out secrets and how he had had a way with words to get news from even the most suborn and tight-lipped dwarf masters. Avalon listened to the tales with a reassurance about this strange old Dwarf.

"And so," he concluded, "I met an odd Elf at the lonely mountain. We became friends and used each other’s services. He told me of his wishes for revenge on a Dragon who is thankfully now dead. However, Not many days ago now, I met with him and told him tidings of a most unsavoury nature. Of a Fire breathing terror in the northern mountains. I have come here to find him and tell him of the lords of Rivendel and their orders."

He looked up at Avalon, expecting her to have fallen asleep with his tale telling, but she had not. She stood perched on the fence next to him and peered into his eyes. A few reckless Hobbits who had enjoyed the party a little too much laughed at Dwaline for talking to a bird, he smiled and bowed to them as they stumbled around in search of more ale.

[piosenniel]

Ruby spies Shaeowyn . . .

Ruby spied the bedraggled looking woman as she made her way to one of the tables. ‘Land’s sake!’ she murmured to herself. ‘Poor thing looks like she could use a bit of drink and a bit of food.’ She fixed a small plate of savories and bread, meat, and good Shire ham, placed it on her serving tray, then fetched a cup of cider.

‘Sorry,’ she said as she placed the plate in front of the woman. ‘I didn’t hear that you wanted water.’ Ruby pushed the cider in front of the woman. ‘Ruby’s my name. Work here at the Dragon,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘Drink this. It’ll fortify you til I can bring back a cup of water. And go ahead and eat. There’s more on the tables over there.’ She waved away the woman’s offer to pay. ‘Party, you know,’ said Ruby, nodding her head. ‘Handfasting. No one pays when there’s a party!’

Ruby turned to fetch the woman a glass of water and noticed the embroidery on the boots. ‘Shaeowyn . . . pretty name,’ she said. ‘Is it yours, Miz?’

[Encaitare]

The episode with Snaveling, the little girl, and the cake had attracted much attention and laughter from the guests, and a look towards the towering cake made Caity realize how very hungry she was. Gently setting her whistle down on the stage where it wasn't likely to get stepped upon, she descended the stairs and made her way over to the table. It took several minutes for her to manage to get to the table, but soon a plate with thick slice of cake on it was passed to her.

There were several empty tables, but she was perfectly content to sit on the grass, so she found a nice lush spot and plopped down contentedly with her cake. She lifted a forkful to her mouth and tasted the cake. It was absolutely delicious.

I must remember to present my compliments to the cook, she thought. Everything is going so well today.

The band played on as she ate, and the lively tune they played made her wiggle her big toe in time. When she was finished, she bounded up, barely remembering to take the empty plate with her. She put it on a table which was full of used dishes. Yet the rich cake had left her throat feeling somewhat dry.

Nearby, the three old grannies were still tending their vat of punch, stirring it every so often between handing out cups to the ladies. Caity decided she wouldn't mind a taste. She politely asked one of the gammers for some, and the elderly hobbit gave her a knowing wink as she handed her a cup. It was a curious-looking drink, golden and yet ruby red at the same time. Glad for something to moisten her dry throat, Caity took a sip and found it to her liking. Soon the cup was empty.

The band struck up another fast song, quite fit for dancing. The guests were coupling off in front of the stage. Caity suddenly felt like dancing, too. Her foot was tapping to the music, and had she turned around, she would have seen the three grannies chuckling to themselves. She looked about the crowd of people, wondering if maybe there was a nice hobbit lad about her age who she might dance with.

The woman looked at Ruby with a faint smile. "Yes, it is customary to have one's name displayed thusly upon demonstrating a certain level of horsemanship - where I come from. Thank you for noticing!" As Ruby turned to go Shaeowyn called after her, "and the comfort of food and drink is much appreciated."

The lines around her eyes and mouth seemed to soften as she began to observe the happy bustling of life within the Inn. Her thoughts strayed to happier times long past, and she felt herself relaxing in the party atmosphere. After a bit she stretched and moved in the direction of the food Ruby had pointed out. Even her limp seemed improved.

[Envinyatar]

The gifts from Rasputina . . .

‘Do sit down with us, if you will,’ said Derufin, rising from his seat as the Elf stood at the table, gifts in hand. One of the servers brought them a small flagon of chilled Dorwinion wine at his request and a plate of mushroom tarts.

‘Oh, look at these,’ Zimzi said with delight, turning the brooches over in her hands. ‘My mother has woven us new cloaks.’ She grinned, ‘Ah, she will roast me over the coals for telling you that; it was to be a surprise.’ She held one of the tree and wave pins up near her left shoulder. ‘See how pretty that will be . . . and handsome for you, of course, my dear . . . when they are clasped on the dark blue cloaks she has made us.’

Derufin admired the brooches, they were simple, yet elegant in their artistry. But more so was he interested in the compasses she had given them. They were of a unique sort, one he’d not encountered before on his travels. ‘A wondrous gift,’ he exclaimed, trying his out. He leaned down from his seat and placed it on the ground. Thinking of Bree, he spelt it out, using the orb’s dial and watched as the compass spun a little before orienting in an eastward direction. ‘Excellent!’ he murmured, picking the orb up and placing it handily in one of his vest pockets.

Zimzi turned hers over in her hand as she wondered aloud. ‘Will the power to use it die with us,’ she asked the Elf. ‘Is there any way our children could use it after us?’ She put the ball on the table top in front of her and rolled it slowly back and forth beneath her index finger. ‘You said that the gifts were as much from your people as from you.’ She tapped the wave form on the brooch. ‘Are you and they from somewhere near the sea, then?’

Derufin poured the Elf another small glass of wine. ‘Yes, where do your people live, Rasputina? Have you traveled far?’

[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.

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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)

Zimzi (Zimziran), wife to Derufin; a skilled potter from Lindon(played by Pio)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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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.

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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.