The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

Time in the Shire

It is now later in the evening; the sky has grown darker; the moon is just over the trees to the east; the stars are hazy behind the clouds that have sailed in from the northwest..

Supper is being served:

Stewed chicken with taters and carrots; mushroom pie; fresh garden peas with mint and butter; big fluffy biscuits with plenty of butter and honey and jam.

Spice cake full of plump sweet raisins iced with thick vanilla frosting.

And numerous beverages to suit anyone's needs.

There is music in the common room from a little local band. And, of course, the swell of conversation as neighbors and new acquaintances tell the news, swap tales, and call out their orders as the servers pass among the tables.

---

It is chilly with the promise of a spring storm later in the night . . . the wind has picked up . . .

[Envinyatar]

Derufin savored the last bite of his spice cake, then washed the last of the thick, sticky sweet frosting down with a large gulp of cider. He set his fork down with a satisfied clink and pushed the vacant plate away. To his left sat a table of the local folk . . . no, not sat, but stood about the table cheering on one of their mates. Derufin stood and looked over at the source of merriment and groans.

They’d cleared half the table of mugs and plates and had laid a modest piece of thin slate on it; one edge of the slate on the very edge of the tabletop. The rectangular board had lines painted across it and spaces along the edge for scoring. One of the Hobbits, the broadest and beefiest at the table stood at one end of the slate, concentrating hard on the ha’penny cushioned against his calloused palm. There was a hushed cheering as he pushed the penny and it slid across the lines. ‘Stop! Stop!’ he muttered through clenched teeth, then groaned audibly as the ha’penny skidded all the way to the end of the slate. ‘Have a drink!’ his friend standing next to him said sympathetically. ‘It’ll go better next time.’ Another of the men at the table stepped up, trying his luck at the challenge.

‘What are we playing for?’ Derufin asked, edging up to the table as looked on. One of the Hobbits looked up at him, his brow raised. ‘Ever played afore?’ he asked the man casually. ‘Well, no,’ admitted Derufin, watching as the challenger fared a little better than his friend. ‘But it doesn’t seem too hard, now does it?’

The Hobbits suppressed a chuckle and motioned for Derufin to try his hand at it. ‘Loser stands the table to drinks. And no . . . not too hard . . .’ He grinned at his companions. ‘Should be no trouble at all for a fine strapping man such as yourself . . .’

[Encaitare]

Tommy munched on the spice cake Caity had ordered for their dessert, as much of the creamy frosting getting on his face as in his mouth. She was telling him about the previous day's events -- about the ceremony and the dancing and the music and the people. She could tell he wasn't very interested in hearing her talk about such things as dancing, but he was getting free cake out of it, and so was willing to sit it out. His attention became distracted, however, when his gaze wandered to a certain giant and his pet.

"Wow, Caity, look!" he said, his eyes huge and a forkful of cake half-lifted to his mouth. "Did you ever see a dog that big?" Immediately he was bouncing up out of his chair and dashing towards the dog to get a better look.

"Tommy-- stop-- wait-- Tommy!" She shouted the last word, but he still ignored her. Ugh! Little brothers! She snatched a napkin off the table -- the boy was a mess -- and followed him as quickly as she could without knocking anyone down.

By the time she reached him, he was already tugging on the dog's ear. Fearing for his safety, Caity snatched the boy up and found herself looking into the face of the giant man.

"I am so sorry, sir," she apologized, holding the wriggling boy and wiping off his frosting-covered face. Luckily, the man did not look like he was getting angry over Tommy's intrusion, and neither did the dog, which was wagging his tail so hard that he threatened to overturn some of the hobbit-sized furniture.

[Tevildo]

Lilly glanced at Miz Bella and smiled, "What a wonderful idea! I think that would work just fine. I'll be glad to collect your things and launder them. I should have them back the very next morning. And I know how much Rory wants to learn to read. This will make him very happy." Lilly glanced affectionately towards her younger son who was now beaming broadly from ear to ear. The two women shook hands and Miz Bella left to go speak to Marigold about the new school.

After Bella's departure, Lilly glanced over at her older daughter Camille but was met with only a scowl and a curt response, "Mum, this is all well and good. But I have work to do for Cook and will have no time for such nonsense." Camille picked up a piece of cake from the platter and began to stuff it into her mouth in a determined manner.

Inside, however, she was seething. This Miz Bella must be the person that Cook wanted her to help. Camille wanted nothing to do with it. For one moment, she considered storming into Cook's presence and refusing to help the woman set up her school. But that would only hurt herself and her mum. She needed the money too badly.

Still, schools and letters made Camille uneasy. Let them all prattle on about how they wanted to hear grand stories of dragons and Elves. She did not mind listening to stories. The problem was that, once you'd heard a tale or two, the teacher always insisted that you try and untangle the letters and words on a page, or write them out on a slate. As hard as Camille tried, the letters made no sense. And her words usually ended up looking very odd with some of the letters mixed up, not at all in the proper order in which they belonged. Once before as a young child, she had gone to a dame school that was kept by one of her aunties. Three days later, her auntie had begged Lilly to withdraw her daughter from the school because Camille had intentionally hurled her slate against the wall and shattered it into a dozen pieces.

Her mother's words cut into these unpleasant reveries. "Don't worry, Camille. I've already spoken with Cook. She wants you to help out in the Inn in the late afternoon and evening. That will leave plenty of time in the morning to attend Miz Bella's school."

"But, Ma. Please. I don't..."

"Not another word, Camille. You need to know your letters and numbers. This is an excellent opportunity, and I insist you take advantage of it. Now, it's getting late for tonight. Let's say our goodbyes to Master Falco and get some help taking back Rory. Camille, you can stay behind a minute. Tell Cook you'll be leaving now, but will be back in the morning to help Miz Bella."

Camille slipped off for one minute and found Cook. Barging into the kitchen, she spoke testily, "Mum says I'll be back early to help Miz Bella. I assume that is who you were talking about. A school! That seems like a silly thing to have in an Inn. You'd think that people could find better ways to use their time. But I do promise you that I'll do the best job I can. You just can't account for other people's tastes."

[Noinkling]

Cullen cleans up Tommy

Luckily, the girl was paying more attention to speaking with his master than she was to wiping the frosting off the littler one’s face. Much of the sticky white frosting was still evident as were a few crumbs of cake on the boy’s tunic. Cullen rose up with a muffled little woof of greeting and curled up his lips in a smile. Drawing near, he sniffed Tommy in the ear, then proceeded to clean him off with very efficient swipes of his tongue. The boy’s face was small and it took only a couple of swipes before the dog’s keen nose sought out the crumbs and whisked them up, too.

‘No need for the napkin, Miss,’ Benat said, chuckling a bit at the sight of the wriggling boy and the persistent dog. Cullen had often made himself useful among the little ones at home. ‘I see that “Clean-up Cullen” has found himself a task to accomplish.’

The Hobbit men at the table laughed at the sight of the nursemaiding dog and Anyopâ pulled out a chair, offering it to Caity. ‘You’ve come just in time,’ he said, brushing the dirt from the seat – one of the Hobbits had been resting his feet there previously. ‘Benat is about to tell us of a very interesting battle his Grandfather was in. You’re more than welcome to join us.’

Benat nodded and spoke to Tommy. ‘And would you like to join us up here . . . or perhaps be the guest of Cullen, there, and sit with him on the floor?’

[piosenniel]

Cook and Camille

Cook was sitting at her little desk in the kitchen, a stack of papers to her left and her bottle of ink to the right. She was writing names of items and sums of money into the kitchen’s account ledger when Camille burst through the door with her little rant. Vinca sat back in her chair and fixed the girl with a non-committal stare.

‘Not thinking straight, Camille,’ she commented once the girl had run out of steam. Cook laid the quill to one side and seeing the ink was dry on the page she’d been working on, closed the ledger. It had been a long tiring day and she was in no mood to deal with one more outburst from anyone. But Camille was new, she cautioned herself, and a good worker. She looked her up and down wondering what had brought on such strong feelings. In a matter of fact voice she addressed the lass’ points.

‘The Inn is a perfect place to have the school. First, we’ve the room for it and second folks are familiar with us and will be more likely to send their children here to be taught than to some strange, new place set up by someone they don’t know.

‘And as for Miz Bella, she’s a treasure-mine of learning from books and her travels. We haven’t had a real teacher about for a good long time, Too many young folk have not had the benefit of broadening their minds a bit. She’s a kind, lovely lady; it was more than generous of her to offer her services.

‘Now as for you, no one’s asking you to account for my tastes or any others. And there’s none can teach you if you’ve set your mind against it. But I can tell you that if you expect to take on any more responsibilities than moving crates and barrels and scraping dishes and washing them around here – And I hope you would think beyond that, because you seem bright and able enough – then you’ll need to know at least some basic reading and numbers and some arithmetic.’

Cook patted the ledger and pointed to the stack of papers. ‘We’ve got tradesmen and people from round about that bring us the things we need or do for us what we can’t do ourselves. If I send you to the miller I’ll be expecting you to read the paper he gives you that says what he’s done for us so you’ll know it was what I sent you after. You’ll need to bring it back and put it in the right little cubbyhole here in my desk – see they’re all labeled – so I can pay him the end of each month. Anyways, that’s just one thing to think about for yourself.’

She turned back to the desk, picked up her quill and dipped it into the inkwell. ‘Got a letter here I’ve got to answer . . . from a dear friend down south, where the King lives.’ Cook opened the vellum and smoothed it out on the desk. Whoever had written the letter had a bold hand and here and there among the words were little drawings – childrens’ faces and a house and a ship docked at the quay. ‘Can’t be there to watch her raise her little chicks but this is the next best thing.’ Cook pulled out the return letter she was working on and printed out Camille’s name. ‘And look here . . . I’ve put you in as one of the new faces working here . . . she always likes to know who’s helping to run The Dragon.’

‘Well . . . see you tomorrow, then, Camille,’ Cook said, reading through again the last part of the letter she’d received, chuckling to herself at some joke the writer had made. ‘And I know you’ll do the best you can, dear . . . you don’t seem the kind to do any less.’

[Fairleaf]

‘Ma! Ma!’ cried Reggie running pell mell between tables, his sister following after.

Wilfrid reached out from his chair and scooped the boy up, setting him firmly on his knee. ‘Now what’s all this that you’re yelling for your Ma and running like a wild man through the Inn?’ Daisy had sidled up to her mother, nestling in against her. ‘And what’s this?’ said Mari, putting her arm about her daughter’s shoulders. ‘I can see those big eyes of yours, Daisy, just wanting to put a question to me.’ She laughed, a pretty sound in the loudness of the Inn. ‘And I can just tell you’re hoping the answer is yes.’

Reggie tried to talk, but his words and thoughts were all jumbled up. So it was Daisy who pointed out where Miz Bella was sitting and told her Ma all about the lessons she was offering.

Mari looked worriedly at Wilfrid. ‘Sounds like a nice idea. But we really don’t know her, do we. And I’ve no idea where she lives.’ It was Reggie then who grinned and blurted out that Mz Bella was going to be right here at the Inn. ‘Oh please, please, please can . . . no, MAY we?’

Wilfrid nodded his head yes, saying that they’d have to wait for a final answer ‘til their Ma found out more about it.

‘Well, alright,’ grumbled Reggie, then brightened. ‘Though you know she gave us our first lesson to try out . . . so we shouldn’t take too long.’

The riddle was told and puzzled over by parent and child alike. ‘Beats me what it’s aiming at,’ Wilfrid said. ‘What do you think son?’

Reggie’s little face screwed up with concentrated thought. ‘Don’t know, Papa. But it must be something secret and magical.’ He leaned forward and whispered in Wilfrid’s ear. ‘You don’t suppose it’s dragons, do you?’

Wilfrid smiled at Mari. ‘Dragons? Well I don’t know about that. Best if we get you signed up with Miz Bella, Reggie. Then you can tell me.’

[Firefoot]

Thistle paused with a spoonful of chicken stew halfway to her mouth, then put the spoon back down. A curious look on her face, she turned to face the boy. The cane was nothing but a necessary nuisance, though sometimes helpful for emphasis, but even she did not have the heart to dampen the lad’s enthusiasm.

“We all resisted the ruffians in what ways we could, lad,” she said, her voice strangely soft. “They dragged my husband off to the lockholes, you see. He got sick there, never recovered.” Thistle wondered why she was telling him this. He was naught but a boy. “But yes, Masters Merry and Pippin were something else.” Could have used their help a lot sooner, though, she couldn’t help adding to herself.

“I’m sorry, Miz Bracegirdle,” said the lad. “About your husband and all.” Thistle was touched by his sincerity. It was probably the most sincere condolence she had ever received - behind her back, and once even to her face, Thistle knew they had said he was better off without her, even if it meant being dead.

“Don’t be,” she told him. “He was a brave sort, like I imagine you’d be, and he was getting old.”

The lad could not keep the comment from slipping out: “Like you, Miz Bracegirdle?” The shocked chides of “Willi!” from Ginger and the other, her sweetheart, no doubt, were in stark contrast to Thistle’s own reaction. She smiled for the first time in a long time, accenting the wrinkles of her aged face. “Yes, Willi, like me.” I like this one, decided Thistle. Too bad all the young’uns aren’t polite like him. He’s enthusiastic, but then that’s healthy in a lad, but not so rambunctious. Yes, I like this one.

[Tevildo]

Camille tramped out of the Dragon and cut across the back courtyard of the Inn, heading for the path that led down to The Water. She carried a large bag with Master Falco's dirty clothing that her mum had promised to launder and then return to the Inn.

Despite all the good things that had happened to her that day, Camille was not feeling happy at the moment. Something inside whispered that Cook was right to speak sternly to her. She would be in a big pickle if Cook or anyone else gave her a list of items to purchase at the market and then wrote down how much she was supposed to spend on each. She would have no idea what was on the list or how much money everything should cost. And if Cook ever told her to get down the large book of recipes that was stored in the larder and pick one of those to prepare, she would be in an equally difficult quandry. Perhaps a nearby friend would help her muddle through, but it was more likely that she would be on her own and would fail miserably at the task that she was supposed to do.

Still, Camille pondered, wanting to learn to read and actually managing to do it were two very different things. Maybe she did want to learn, at least a little. But when she looked at a page of letters, everything seemed to swim up and down, and she had trouble remembering her 'b's' from 'd's' since they all looked the same. When the letters were actually strung together in words, things got even worse. And no one, not Cook or her mother, seemed to understand or appreciate that.

Camille thought how disappointed Miz Bella would be to discover that the lass she had hired was singularly dense, although perhaps not as disappointed as her own mother when she learned what a terrible student her daughter was. Camille hesitated for a moment beside the gate, turning around to glance back at the Inn and wondering what she should do. For an instant, she actually thought of running away and going somewhere where no one expected anyone to learn to read, somewhere where there was no Miz Bella. But that would be cowardly, and she was not a coward. With a sigh of resignation, Camille promised herself that she would get a good night's sleep, return the next morning bright and early, and try to do what folk expected her to do.

[Primrose Bolger]

Willi makes a proposition to Miz Bracegirdle

Ginger bent down and whispered something in Willi’s ear. He nodded his head solemnly, then grinned at Miz Bracegirdle. ‘Ginger says I should ‘scuse me and let you eat your supper.’ He leaned against the edge of the table and took a long look at the plate of spice cake he’d brought out to her. ‘I spose though I could come back and sit with you while you have your dessert.’ He looked up at Ginger, then back to the elderly Hobbit. ‘You could tell me a little more about your Mister if you wanted. I could add his name in to the list my Da has when he tells me about the battle.’

He looked hopefully at Miz Thistle as she took another bite of stew. ‘We could share the cake if you wanted . . . “blessings shared with a friend are always best” is what my Ma says. And that cake is so good it surely must be a blessing.’

‘Well, I got to go for now,’ he said waving as Ferdy grabbed his little hand and urged him toward where the band was setting up once again to play. Ginger smiled as Willi pulled on Ferdy’s sleeve and whispered something up at him. ‘He’s a bold one, little Willi is. Got a good heart. Hope he didn’t bother you too much with his prattling.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Will there be anything else I can get for you, Miz Bracegirdle?’

[Arry]

The fiddles were just tuning up for another round of song as Ferdy and little Willi approached. ‘The lad’s got a request for you,’ Ferdy said bringing Willi forward. Gil crouched down to look the boy in the eye and asked what he might play for him.

‘Oh, it’s not for me,’ chirped Willi. ‘It’s for my friend . . . over there,’ he said, pointing to where Miz Bracegirdle sat enjoying her mushroom pie. ‘I think she needs a pretty song. A happy one.’ He looked back squarely at Gil. ‘You do an awful good job. Do you think you can find one to sing for her?’

Gil looked toward where the old gammer sat alone. Miz Thistle - she had a prickly temper and a sharp tongue at times, he knew from his own experience. Still, little Willi had seen past the bristly exterior it appeared. And she’d been wed, too. Lost him in the bad times, as Gil recalled. ‘Well, then, Master Willi, I think I can find a little something. Something light and fun to dance to if you wish. And I’ll put her name in it.

He stood up and played a few bars for the others. ‘Hob y derry dando,’ he said. ‘But I’m going to change the names a bit for Willi’s friend.’ The fiddles started out the song then as the drum kept the lively beat.

‘Here’s an old song,’ Gil called out as he stepped to the front of the little stage. ‘We’re singing it for a friend of little Willi’s here. Come up and dance if you’ve a mind to.’ He stepped back and played one verse through with the others then began to sing:

Low the hills in the Shire lie
Hob y derry dando
That hide the old mill from my eye
Hob y derry dando
One fond view, oh let me take
Down derry down
Ere my longing heart will break
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown.

O'er the fields hath flown my heart
Hob y derry dando
O'er the fields my sighs depart
Hob y derry dando
O'er the fields must she be sought
Down derry down
Who lives always in my thought
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown.

A comely lass I once caressed
Hob y derry dando
Another fair, her heart possessed
Hob y derry dando
But his, already given, he lost
Down derry down
Were ever three so sadly crossed
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown.

They played a quick refrain and then sang the first verse once again.

Low the hills in the Shire lie
Hob y derry dando
That hide the old mill from my eye
Hob y derry dando
One fond view, oh let me take
Down derry down
Ere my longing heart will break
Down, down, hie derry down
My darling Thistle do not frown

‘Oh that was a good one!’ cried Willi, clapping his hands as he hopped about in rhythm to the last notes. Gil sneaked a quick glance to where Mis Bracegirdle sat, hoping she had liked it.

[Encaitare]

Relieved that Tommy hadn't caused any trouble, Caity took the chair that was offered. "That's very kind of you," she said, interested in hearing Benat's tale. "Do you want to come up here, Tommy?" she asked her brother.

"I'll stay with Cullen," said the young hobbit, who had clearly just made a new friend. "I can hear fine from down here." To emphasize his point, he sat down right on the lounging dog's back, so that it looked as if he were riding a pony.

"Benat here's got an interesting story, it seems," one of the listeners told Tommy. "Says his grandfather went into battle -- as a bear."

His eyes grew wider than when he had seen Cullen, and even Caity leaned in to listen closely as Benat began his tale.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

They heard his song through the open windows, long before he appeared in the doorway, beaming with good health and the open miles he had travelled:

Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcom'd it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain,
Of the few that had brighten'd his pathway of pain,
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw,
It's enchantment around him, while ling'ring with you.

And still on that evening when pleasure fills up,
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where 'ere my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night.
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me beaming, all o'er with your smiles.
Too, blest if it tells me that 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmer'd, "I wish he were here!"

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy,
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd,
Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd.
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang 'round it still.

Upon the last words of the song a tall, blond man, broad shouldered and handsome, entered the Inn, smiling at the many open faces that stared at him in amazement, for as accomplished as the music had been that night his voice was as the sound of clear trumpets, and the effect of it was almost like that of Elvish music. The notes ran and flowed through the night like the living water, leaping down mountainsides, and those who hearkened to it were refreshed. At first, they were amazed to see so young a man enter, but a quick second look revealed upon his face the mark of years. He was yet hale and in the prime of life, but the blush of youth was gone from his cheeks.

He laughed at his own music and spoke loudly to those who had been singing, but not minding if others heard. “I am sorry to have interrupted your music, friends, but I cannot bear to withhold my voice from song when I hear a melody! I have been upon the road from Rohan for many days, and in all that time the only music I’ve heard has been that of birds, and what I could bring with me!” And again he laughed – an infectious sound that ran about the walls of the room. If there had been any doubt before it was now dispelled: he was indeed a man of Rohan.

Ignoring the bar and the counter he strode directly to where the musicians had been playing and stood before them, looming above the heads of the Halflings. He put his hands upon his hips and beamed at them. “I have had naught but dried meat and water for days, and I have had little precious of that! I’ve not slept in a bed for more than a month, my joints ache from long miles in the saddle, and I’m not so sure that at this moment I wouldn’t sell my mother for a cup of ale…but I can wait for all that if you will but let me join you in some music first!”

One of the Halflings, looking at the Man suspiciously, inquired if he were a musician himself. The man threw back his head and roared with laughter. “A musician, my little friend? No, indeed I am not – I am but a simple bard of Rohan. A simple bard, who has come to this land in search of new music and fresh tunes, and I would be obliged if you would teach me some!”

The same suspicious Halfling informed the Man that before they sang with him, they would appreciate knowing his name. Again he smiled and laughed, and seizing the little fellow’s hand he shook it – and the Halfling – vigorously. “My name, little friend, is Hearpwine, Bard of the Golden Hall, and the servant of King Eomer! And who,” he said, letting the halfling’s hand go, “are you all! Whom do I have the pleasure of singing with this night?”

[Firefoot]

"No, no, I'm fine," said Thistle, shooing Ginger away.

"Let me know if you need something, then," said Ginger. So Thistle was left to enjoy her meal alone. Alone and in peace, she thought, but only half-heartedly. With a glance around to make sure no one was watching, she took the raisin cake and set it aside for when Willi came back. More rasins than an anthill has ants, he'd said. Hardly a proper way to describe food, but it did get the message across. She found a smile tugging at her lips in spite of herself.

Presently she became aware that the band had begun playing again. My darling Thistle do not frown. And then she did frown. Were the band members trying to tell her something? She began listening attentively as she ate, wondering if that might be the case.

She realized as she listened that it was an old, familiar song, albeit one she hadn't heard in a while, with the words just altered a bit. A upbeat song, though the undertones were sad. She noticed that Willi, dancing about up near the band, seemed to be taking a special interest in the song. It clicked in Thistle's mind as she realized that it was the little rascal who had put them up to this song. As the last verse rolled around, she found herself tapping her foot and almost wishing she might be young enough to dance again. It was the type of song her Moro would have liked. A wave of regret washed over her. She wished she might have made their married years happier, instead of letting that single chain of events that ended with her marrying Moro instead of the other lad rule the rest of her life. It had all been a misunderstanding, really... but she had not let herself make the best of it. Ah, well, done is done. And she shoved the thoughts out of her mind in annoyance.

As the final chords of the song drew to a close, Thistle caught sight of Willi and found herself touched by his obvious approval of the song. She wondered why Willi liked her so much; most youngsters stayed far away when they saw her coming. How funny, she mused, that the first friend that she should have in such a long time would be eighty-odd years younger than herself. She looked over at the band again, and if she didn't quite smile at least she nodded her approval.

[Arry]

Introductions are made and a song is sung for the bard

‘Hearpwine, is it?’ Gil said withdrawing his hand from that of the man. ‘And from Rohan, you say.’ Now where was Aman when she was needed, the Hobbit wondered. Tomlin and Fallon plucked at the strings of their fiddles, putting them in tune as Falco sounded a note on his pipe for them. They had withdrawn a little from where Gil stood, though they kept an eye on the man who had announced himself as a bard from Rohan.

‘No, not ‘a’ bard,’ THE bard,’ whispered Tomlin as he leaned in toward Fallon. Ferrin gave his drum a ba-dump-bump-bump as if to punctuate the statement. ‘And he’s come to sing with his “little friends”,’ Fallon added. ‘Perhaps we should stand on a table.’ The two fiddlers played a few fast bars from ‘Hare in the Corn’ and hopped on and off a nearby bench.

Gil by this time had brought Hearpwine to where the others were ‘tuning up’. ‘And these are my mates – Tomlin there on that wreck of a fiddle from which he draws the sweetest notes. And Fallon with his little rosewood fiddle; I swear he has the fastest fingers – nearly sets the bridge on fire. Ferrin there is breaking in his new hand drum. He’s the heartbeat behind our wandering notes.’ Falco hung back a little, fingering the holes on the tin whistle as if the jig were still playing. Gil, however, was not going to overlook him, and introduced him as a newcomer to the band. ‘Though truth be told, he’s most likely been playing much longer than any of us. Lovely piper!’

‘We don’t really know any songs from Rohan. Just a few snatches of tunes the Innkeeper hums now and then. And I don’t know what songs you might know in our slim catalog of tunes. But please,’ he said, ‘sit down here near us and listen a bit. Join in if you wish.’ He motioned for Ruby to bring a pitcher of ale and one of the larger mugs for Hearpwine. A chair was pulled up for him and a table of Hobbits nearby made room for him at the end of their table, for him to set his drink.

Picking up his concertina, Gil stepped back to his companions and held a whispered conference. ‘We’ve got a guest from fair Aman’s home country with us tonight,’ Gil announced, turning back to those in the room. ‘His name is Hearpwine of Rohan. He’s one of those traveling poets, minstrels, bards. Come to collect a few poor tunes from the Green Dragon. We’ll dig deep and see what we can find of interest for him.’ A round of clapping and shouts of encouragement went round. ‘And then perhaps he’ll share a few with us.’

He picked up the mug on the stool near him and sipped a bit to wet his mouth. ‘We’ve come up with an old, old song that Fallon learned from his Da’s gaffer and him from his gaffer’s gaffer. Story is he had it from a raggedy man who came west from beyond the Tower Hills. There are some words in it we don’t quite know nor where it was the battle was fought. But it’s much the same as any battle . . . light and good fight on against shadow and evil. And oh yes, there’s a bard in the song . . .’

There was a short stanza recited with which Gil said the raggedy man had introduced the song:

“Great were their deeds, their passions, and their sports;
With clay and stone
They piled on strath and shore those mystic forts,
Not yet over thrown
On cairn-crowned hills they held their council courts
While youths alone,
With giant dogs, explored the stags’ resorts,
And brought them down . . .”

Then the companions struck up the tune and Gil sang with Fallon; their fair voices twining in harmony:

Long long ago in this ancient land
A battle took place where two hills now stand
And on the plain there lay the slain
For neither the battle was won.

So the bard did sing of these faerie hills
Where bloom the white flowers and daffodils
One big one small Si Bheag Si Mhor
And never the battle is won.

Beneath these hills great heroes lie
Of the Red Branch Knights and their ancient foe
In still of night the immortals fight
But never the battle is won.

And so the harper was told these faerie tales
Of these faerie hills of the ancient Gaels
One big one small Si Bheag Si Mhor
And never the battle is won.

Twas after the battle the prophet foretold
No rest would be found for these warriors bold
Till they unite and fight one common foe
And then would the battle be won.

The instruments dropped out and just the two voices wove together the last verse:

So then the harper wrote of these faerie hills
Where bloom the white flowers and daffodils
One big one small Si Bheag Si Mhor
And never the battle is won.

. . . and never the battle is won . . .

[Primrose Bolger]

Willi comes back for a visit

‘Wasn’t that grand?’ piped Willi as he stood at Miz Bracegirdle’s elbow. She startled a bit at the sound of his voice. She had been listening to the song just sung for Hearpwine and he’d come up quietly behind her. His eyes were shining at the thought of Red Branch Knights and conjuring images of them in his mind. Tall, tall they would be; as tall as his Da . . . with great swords . . . or maybe sharp spears . . .

He shifted one of the chairs away from the table and climbed up on it. Ginger standing a little ways away saw him and fetched a cup for him and a small pitcher of cold cider for the table. ‘You be good now,’ she whispered to him as she bent to fill his cup. ‘And mind your manners.’ He nodded solemnly, taking a big drink of the sweet, cold liquid. ‘Boy, that’s good,’ he declared setting his cup firmly on the table.

Willi stood up on his chair and hefted the small pitcher in his hands. ‘Would you like some, Miz Braceirdle?’ he asked, teetering dangerously on the edge of his seat.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine pounded the table with his open palm and cried out with childlike glee at the conclusion of the song. “Wonderful! Wonderful! You do an ancient lay great credit!” he said.

Gil’s face fell somewhat. “You know it then?” he asked.

“Aye, indeed I do, very well, for it is ancient, sad, and concerned with matters of war – all things which recommend it to the tastes of my master and those who serve him. I am surprised to find you folk of the Shire singing of such things. In my land, you are spoken of as a people who delight not in battle, but in things of mirth.”

Falco drew himself up to his full height and replied with an edge to his voice. “We’re not the comical folk as we’re thought of elsewhere,” he said. “We’ve been known to put up a fight when needed.”

Hearpwine smiled broadly at the piper. “Indeed you have, and many the song there is in my land about your people’s bravery and indomitable spirit. My own King has bid me take his greetings to Master Meriadoc Brandybuck, man at arms of Rohan, and further to this, King Eomer has expressed a desire for a lay that celebrates the great victory of your people in the Battle of Bywater! If you have any such songs as these I would beg you to sing them for me.”

“Nay, master bard,” Gil said. “We’ve already sung one for you, and now it is your turn to do the same for us.”

Hearpwine laughed. “Very well – I have contested with others in song, but never until this moment have I traded in music. A sensible way to proceed it is! As you have sung to me of war and loss, I shall return the favour and sing to you of things that I deem are more fitting to the lives of the Shirefolk…notwithstanding your undoubted and remarkable courage and fortitude when in need!” He stood up and produced from beneath his cloak a small harp. He stroked it gently and a low music filled the room with a familiar melody. The bard continued in this way for a few minutes until the others, unable to resist the lure of his music, joined in and the melody swelled into a rollicking tune that set many a foot at the Inn to tapping.

As I was going to Banbury
Ri fol latitee O
As I was going to Banbury
I saw a line coddlin apple tree
With a ri fol latitee O

And when the coddlins began to fall
Ri fol latitee O
And when the coddlins began to fall
I found five hundred men in all
With a ri fol latitee O

And one of the men I saw was dead
Ri fol latitee O
And one of the men I saw was dead
So I sent for a hatchet to open his head
With a ri fol latitee O

And in his head I found a spring
Ri fol latitee O
And in his head I found a spring
And seven young salmon a learning to sing
With a ri fol latitee O

And one of the salmon as big as I
Ri fol latitee O
And one of the salmon as big as I
Now do you not think I am telling a lie?
With a ri fol latitee O

And one of the salmon as big as an Elf
Ri fol latitee O
And one of the salmon as big as an Elf -
If you want any more you must sing it yourself
With a ri fol latitee O

His voice as he sang was a near perfect mixture of vibrant talent and hard training. There was energy and youthfulness in his tone, but it was moderated with wisdom and tuned to catch the ear of those who heard it. By the end of the song there was no doubt amongst any who hearkened to it that here indeed was a singer who belonged in the courts of Kings. The music fell into silence and Hearpwine lowered his harp. “Well?” he cried “What think you of the song?”

[Arry]

Home before the rain begins . . .

The door swung open at the back of the room, pushed open even further by the quick gust of wind that thrust itself against it. Curls of cold air swept into the entryway, heavy scented with the promise of rain. Andwise leaned back on the door and closed it quickly as the disgruntled calls from those tables nearest the door grew in number. He looked about for Ferdy and the lads, his eyes squinting in the brightness of the room. Ah! There they were. And it looked as if Gil and the others had spent the evening playing and singing for the crowd. Some tall, light haired man stood with them, a smile on his face.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Andwise, flagging down Buttercup as she passed. ‘Man from Rohan,’ she answered. ‘From where Aman hails,’ she went on seeing the blank look on his face. ‘Ah! Horse country!’ returned Andwise, who had consigned that far off and foreign land to a picture of long rolling plains and herds of great horses such as the two Miz Aman had now in the stable. ‘Sings, does he,’ he asked hanging his cloak on a peg by the door.

‘Yes, and quite well too,’ she answered walking with him to where the fellows were talking with the bard. She leaned in close to Andwise, her voice low. ‘Though not as well as Tomlin, I’m thinking.’

Andwise laughed and clucked his tongue at her. ‘Now you be careful of those music makers . . . break a girl’s heart, or so I’ve been told.’

Buttercup sniffed and put on a disbelieving face. ‘Well, we’ll just see about that now, won’t we?’ She grinned, putting her arm through the elder Hobbit’s arm and brought him up to the little group.

‘Twas a lovely song, Hearpwine,’ Gil was saying, breaking the silence that had fallen over the little group. ‘And better yet, we’ve not heard it here before. Makes my cheeks burn to even think we sang for you. Our voices are untrained and rough, as are many of our songs. Nothing fit for great halls such as your King might have. Lucky to have you making his music for him and not us.’

‘Interesting instrument you have there,’ remarked Tomlin, eyeing the man’s harp. ‘I can recall only one or two others who traveled through with one. Though none of them played anywhere near your level. Would you mind if I . . .’

The last of his request was not made, as Andwise approached saying he had brought the cart, and perhaps they had better be going home soon. ‘Going to rain soon,’ he said by way of explanation, and the boys have a ways to go home, as do I.’ He nodded in greeting to the Man. ‘Perhaps they can see you tomorrow, Master Hearpwine . . . though, first off, we’ve a need to finish that shed for Miz Peony as promised.’

‘I’ll just be a moment, Da,’ said Ferdy, heading off in the general direction of the kitchen. ‘Aye,’ Andwise laughed. ‘You’ll be needing to see to Ginger. A moment, no more, if you will. I really am tired this evening.’

The lads packed up their instruments, and gave farewells to their new acquaintance, Hearpwine, and to others of their friends and neighbors at the Inn. Ferdy was back quickly, waving a last good-bye to Ginger. He stopped briefly at Miz Bracegirdle’s table, taking leave of her and Willi, and saying he hoped she had enjoyed the song. To Willi he said he would look for him tomorrow in the late afternoon. ‘You can help us with the puppets,’ he reminded him.

There were grumbles again as the Inn door was open and the chilly wind blew in. Gil was the last one out the door, the worn leather sack that held his concertina slung over his shoulder as he headed to the cart and to home.

[Firefoot]

Having been distracted by Ferdy's farewell, Thistle did not notice Willi's precarious position, and neither did Ferdy, apparently in some hurry to leave. She allowed that his song had been "fine, fine," with a nod of her head.

She turned back to Willi once Ferdy had left. She wasn't particularly thirsty, but how could she refuse the lad after he had so politely asked? He was right; the cider was quite tasty. So she replied, "Yes, some cider would be right nice... can you reach, or do you need help?"

"I've got it," he assured her, leaning a little bit further so as to reach her nearly empty glass.

The next events happened too quick for Thistle to process immediately. Willi had started to tip the pitcher to pour when it seemed that he had finally leaned across the table too much. The chair on which he was standing slid backwards and Willi fell, dropping the pitcher. The pitcher shattered and sticky cider spilled everywhere, including on Thistle and Willi. Upon first instinct, Thistle grabbed a napkin, which already had some cider on it, off the table and almost began attempting to dry herself. The full comprehension of what had happened dawned on her a moment later and she dropped the napkin, pushing herself up from her seat. She could hear the thump of Willi hitting the ground resounding in her head. Was the lad all right? Had he broken anything, or hit his head?

She hobbled around to the side of the table as fast as her cane and old legs would permit. By the time she reached his side, Ginger had already knelt down beside the lad.

Genuine concern filling her voice, Thistle asked, "Is he all right?"

[Nurumaiel]

Marigold was curled up on the window-seat, and she watched the departure of the boys through bleary eyes, drowsily waving and blowing kisses. Then she sighed, folded her arms, and dropped her head, staring absently across the room. Occasionally she would reach up and brush a lock of hair out of her eyes, and soon those very eyes began to close, as she wondered if the tall man would sing any songs.

Falco bent over her and saw that she had fallen asleep. And he couldn't blame her. He himself was more than ready for bed, after the song-playing with the lads. He remembered Uien's kind words, but all the same he could not help but feel relief that Mithalwen was not there to carry Marigold off to bed. He put her arms about her and lifted her up. She started, and clutched frantically at him, and then she went limp again. "It's just you Mr. Headstrong," she murmured. And then, without opening her eyes, she turned her head and called: "Good night, Rory!"

Falco carried her to her room and tucked her into bed. She lifted her head for a moment to tell him good night, and then fell aganist the pillows and began to breathe softly and steadily. Falco softly crept to his own room.

He could hear the wind rustling through the trees, and as he looked out the window he saw the lantern on Gil's cart as it disappeared around the bend. He reflected for a moment on Camille, Rory, and their mother; on the musicians; and on the man from Rohan. And then he thought of Marigold, with her sweet little ways, and her shining eyes that recalled to him the days of his youth. He turned and went to his bed.

"At least," he said, after opening one of the drawers to make sure the tin whistle that had belonged to Marigold's father was still safe, "there are lads like Gil and Tomlin and the other boys who can keep on singing the old songs, when I'm growing as old as the songs myself."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Miz Bella sat by herself at a small table in the corner reflecting on everything that had happened earlier in the evening. The night had been a busy one. She had managed to slip in a word to Reggie and Daisy's parents that they were welcome to come to her room in the morning and make arrangements for the children to attend school. She had also talked briefly with Marigold and reminded the little lass to speak with Master Headstrong if he wished to have her join the other children in the classroom.

Before leaving the Inn with Rory, Lily had promised that her daughter would return to help Bella clean the schoolroom and set out the tables and chairs along with all the other supplies that the young hobbits would need. Despite Lilly's assurance that Camille would be happy to help, Bella suspected otherwise. A look of profound annoyance had flashed over Camille's face and was just as quickly masked when she was speaking with her mother. Then the lass had abruptly stood up and stomped off towards the kitchen. Bella wondered if she had unknowingly said or done something to offend the young lass. She could not think of anything, but some hobbits were more sensitive than others and could take umbrage at even the smallest thing. She resolved to be more careful and try to mend fences when Camille showed up to work.

Overhearing some conversation at the next table that centered on puppets, Bella made a mental note to try and run down those fellows the next day and find out what they had meant. Perhaps there was a group of puppeteers who would be putting on a show at the Inn. Or, even better, perhaps the puppets could be used by the children to help put on a show themselves. She had never tried her hand at making a puppet, but how different could it be from the dozens of items that she had carved over the years?

The Elders in the New Lands had taught her how to use sandstone and wood and skillfully carve these materials to create a hundred different birds and beasts. She was not especially good at singing or dancing as so many hobbits seemed to be, but she could craft images of living things that looked so real it was easy to forget they were only copies. This was the main reason that she had spent time with the Dwarves in the region of Dale, hoping to study some of the handiwork that they had produced. Their work was clever but quite different from what she had learned over the seas. The people of the northern islands brought a certain reverence and seriousness even to the smallest of their creations that was simply lacking in the toys that she had seen in Dale. Camelia Goodchild had once told Bella she should look for such purity in the work of the Elves, particularly in those things crafted by the Noldor, but she had no idea how or where to find such Elves, and many of them had already left Arda.

There was something sad about that. With a sigh Bella stood up, intending to head to her room when she saw a young lad take a tumble off a chair. She thought of running over to help, but there were a number of others crowded about the lad, and they seemed to have the situation under control. Still tired from her adventures of the day before, Bella slipped out into the corridor and wearily headed back to her room for the night.

[piosenniel]

Willi is brought into the kitchen

kachink!

The sound of the ha’penny hitting the backboard was accompanied by wry expressions of sympathy and a muttered ‘Blast this deuced game!’ ‘Better luck next time, Derufin!’ came the call from the Hobbit who had won the game. ‘We’ll call this a practice game . . . you can buy us each a tot of brandy and we’ll be even. Next time, though, better you fill your pockets with ha’pennies!’ There was laughter and the clapping on the back of the poor man as he made his way to the bar.

On a shelf behind the bar was the brandy that had come in from The Golden Perch. Stout stuff, though smooth as silk to the tongue. Derufin grabbed the bottle in one hand and a wooden tray he loaded with small glasses in the other. With a grin, he poured each of them a drink, then knocked it back as they did, in an appreciative silence.

‘Lost, eh?’ Zimzi had come up quietly behind him as he gathered the glasses back onto tray. Her eyes sparkled, with no hint of sympathy for his plight in them. She put her arm about his waist, walking back to the bar and then into the kitchen with him.

Cook gave him an appraising look as he set the tray of glasses down. ‘Not going to just leave them there, are you? There’s soapy water there in the sink and you can just leave them on the drainboard.’ ‘Though, she said, turning back to her letter writing, ‘it might be nice for the girls if they didn’t have to wipe and polish them and set them back on the bar rack.’

‘I’ll dry, you wash,’ offered Zimzi, nudging him toward the soapy water. ‘Then grab my cloak, if you will, and we’ll make a dash for home.’ She nodded toward the kitchen’s window where the wind rattled at the shutters. ‘Sounds as if it might be starting to rain.’ She frowned as a thought occurred to her. ‘Have you see Falowik and Uien? Perhaps they should stay the night with us.’ Derufin handed her a rinsed glass saying he would look for them before they left for the cottage.

They were nearly done, when Ginger burst through the door from the Common Room, a pale looking little fellow in her arms. And thumping in a few seconds behind her came Thistle Bracegirdle.

[Primrose Bolger]

Willi is patched up

‘I think he’s alright, Miss Bracegirdle,’ said Ginger gathering Willi up in her arms. ‘He’s groaning, at least, and I think his eyes are just closed because he’s hurting.’ She brushed the curls back from his forehead. ‘He did get a little gash here.’ Willi winced as she brushed over the cut. ‘Let’s take him into the kitchen and get him cleaned and bandaged.’

Cook brought out her box of herbs and unguents from one of the cabinets while Zimzi spread a big towel on the table. It was only a small cut, though it had bled freely and looked much worse. It was cleaned and a dab of unguent applied. Willi whimpered only a little as Cook looked him over and fixed him up. ‘Brave lad!’ said Ginger taking him up once again. ‘Let’s find you some dry clothes and then your parents.’

Willi smiled wanly at Cook and thanked her, then waved to Miz Bracegirdle as Ginger carried him back to the Common Room. ‘Sorry I ruined your cake!’ he called out.

[piosenniel]

Thistle is offered a ride home

‘Looks as if you could use a wash up and a change, too,’ Cook said, handing Thistle a clean, dry towel. ‘Little fellow got you both pretty good, I see.’ She made an offer of a dry gown from her room.

Zimzi came forward, with Derufin close by her side. ‘It’s raining now. Let us offer you a ride home. It will be no trouble for us.’ She turned to Derufin and nudged him toward the kitchen’s back door. ‘Go harness the ponies to the covered cart, dear. And fetch us a thick wool blanket from the stable.’

[Noinkling]

Plans are made to tell the tale of the battle tomorrow

The hubbub of the fallen Hobbit child had shifted the focus from Benat and his story. Details of what had just happened were discussed as was the location of the child’s’ parents. Benat stood up, his height an advantage, and reported that the lad had been delivered into the arms of his mother and father, and the three were now heading off, he supposed, to home.

‘It is getting rather late,’ the big man said as he sat himself back down. ‘I hadn’t realized it had gotten dark already.’ He looked about at his companions at the table. ‘Can we meet again tomorrow? It will give me more time for the telling.’ The face on the lad sitting with Cullen fell, but Benat offered to buy both he and his sister an early supper. And yes, Cullen would be in attendance, he laughed.

‘By then, too, I should be able to fill some other gaps in my story. Miz Bunce has promised to introduce me to your Mayor Sam. If he gives me leave to see the book Mister Bilbo kept, then I’ll know what befell him and his companions when they left my Granda’s house.’

Maddy and the other men at the table agreed to meet again tomorrow evening. Even Minto was growing less wary of Benat’s claims and looked forward to hearing the story. They all gathered up their cloaks from the pegs by the door and headed for home, their hoods pulled up as proof against the rain. ‘Early evening, then,’ cried Maddy, waving to Benat and the few others left at the table, before he left for his snug burrow.

‘You should be heading home, too,’ Benat said to Caity and Tommy. ‘Cullen and I are bound for our soft bed in the hayloft.’ Cullen stood up, thumping his tail as if to say he hoped Tommy would come back tomorrow. Benat and his furry companion made their way to the door. Taking his great cape from the highest peg, Benat pulled it securely about him. He shouldered his pack and exited the Inn, moving toward the stable at a fast clip.

[piosenniel]

Notice of time moving forward in the Inn

Later today (about 3 p.m. Pacific time, U.S.), time in the Shire will move forward to morning. I'll put up a notice of the Time Change at that time.

Until then, please finish up any evening/night posts you need to get in.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, Shire moderator

[Firefoot]

"Ah, thank you," said Thistle, unsure of quite how to respond. Thistle made a mental note to herself. Never let it be said that all Big Folk are rude. She was getting uncomfortable in her damp clothes, and now that she was fair certain that Willi was fine, she was free to concentrate on such things. "I'll be ready in a moment." She turned and made her way over to Ginger and Willi.

"Don't you worry about the cake, lad," Thistle told him. "I expect you to share cake with me some other time, though. Got that?"

He smiled happily. "Okay."

"You take care of yourself," she told him. Looking at Ginger, she added, "You too." She glanced around and saw that the Man had brought the wagon around. They said their good-bye's and Thistle thumped out to meet the wagon. She got a bit wet, but not as much as she would have had she needed to walk the whole way back. She was also very grateful for the heavy blanket. The night was chilly.

As the wagon pulled away from the Inn, Thistle decided that all told the Green Dragon was indeed a fine inn, despite her earlier misgivings. Perhaps she would have to stop in more often. It was not good to be lonely all the time. Then she smiled.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon looked around. By now it was already getting late and he figured that he needed to find himself a room for the night. "Its getting late Dwaline, perhaps we could continue our conversation in the morning? After all by the look of Avalon I can tell that at least two of us need some sleep." The dwarf nodded his head and Jon stood up from the table and walked over to the bar.

As he approached the bar he suddenly wondered where Aman had gone off to. He remembered that earlier in their meeting she had almost slipped up and spoken his real name. No! He didn't need to be thinking of that again. He was here to speak with Aman he wasn't here to destroy the lives of those around him. That past is behind me. For once I need to be honest and actually live a life I know I can be proud of when I leave this place. "Excuse me miss.... Can I get a room for the night." The woman in front of his caught his eyes. The past ws behind him and needed not to be brought up again. He signed his name in the book she placed in front of him. The name read Jon of Rohan. The Jonathan Annatar, Aman knows will have to remain secret at this time. I can't go around letting people know how I am. Jon turned and headed towards where his room was.

Jon turned back to where he had been sitting and caught a glimpse of the white crow looking at him. "Ahhhhhh! Dear Avalon we will talk some other time. For I have so many things to ask of you." He bent his head down and went on to his room. A few minutes had passed when he was finally able to climb in his bed for the night. "Good night world. May tomorrows light shine forever in the Golden Hall." The last words that came out of his mouth for the night took him back home.

That night Jon dreamed of his childhood and how he use to play wih Aman. Back then he had no worries and more than anything he wished to serve Theoden one day. But the came the war and his childhood dreams were shattered in only seconds. Suddenly he sat up in bed. The last thing he remembered seeing in his dreams was the white crow. Something inside him had changed and he knew that it was all because of Avalon. He tossed the dream out of his thoughts. "I must get some sleep." Jon closed his eyes only to be swept away into a world he could only remember in his dreams. His childhood was wonderful.

He was walking into his home when he saw her. She was beautiful to him. The wind blew through the window carrying her hair. She was everything to him when he was young and now all he had was his memories. The sun dissapeared and everything went black. All Jon could see was her face calling his name. But he couldn't move from his spot. It was as if he had suddenly been paralyzed. Before he knew it she was gone. Once again leaving only the white crow in his thoughts. The rest of Jon's dream was black. He could only remember the white crow and his home, his life. All he had was memories and nothing else. I'm never drinking ale before bed ever again.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The parlour was beginning to clear; hobbits and other folk were making their ways home, or to a room. Dwaline took one last puff on his pipe and then packed it away. He offered Avalon one more piece of cram, which she ate merrily.

"Have you a place to rest?" Dwaline asked quietly, getting to his feet. Avalon nodded and hopped out of the window. Dwaline gathered his things and placed them into his pack. He went back to the bar and returned his mug, handing the cook several gold coins with the words "Lassie, that was the best food I've had in a long while." and with that, he was made his way to the door.

A couple of hobbits stumbled on in front of him; they were more drunk than some one dropped in a vat of alcohol. They mumbled and burped before one nearly collapse just in front of the door. Dwaline helped the hobbit to his feet, but he fell back down again. a couple of other hobbits came to give aid, and once the hobbit was safely back in his room, Dwaline left the inn and made his way to his little cottage.

[Saelind]

With a weary sigh, Thalion adjusted the heavy burden in his arms, mounted the steps of the Inn, and slowly pushed open the door. It was late: many of the dinner guests or those who had stopped in for an ale had already retired for the night or headed home. Glancing across the mostly empty tables where visitors normally gathered to eat, Thalion searched for the Innkeeper or any of the staff who could rent him a room. He would be staying only one night. The next morning, he planned to rise before sunset and slip away unnoticed while everyone else was still in their beds.

Over the past few years, the Dragon had seen its share of Elven travellers. In the bad old days when Sauron's shadow fell over the land, the Elves from Lorien and Rivendell had chosen to travel through the sheltered woods of the Green Hill Country, a secret trek witnessed by very few, heading straight to the Havens where they would board Cirdan's ship. Now that times were better and Elves could walk safely among men and hobbits, many of these travellers took a more northerly route that led through small towns like Frogmorton and Bywater. Their final destination, however, remained the same: to board a ship at the Grey Havens that would carry them to Tol Eressea or Aman, a journey from which there was no return.

Thalion had been over the problem a hundred times in his head. His beloved Lorien was now an empty outpost. The only sign of the vibrant community that had once dwelled there were a few tattered flets dangling from the treetops. The Elves had long since departed. The utter loneliness of the place had almost driven Thalion mad. What good was a healer when there was no one to heal?

In desperation, Thalion had fled to Rivendell where a number of his kind remained. Here he had plenty of patients needing his services: a few Elves who had suffered physical injuries and numerous travellers of every race who had made their way for a visit to the once secret city in the mountains. But even this lovely place had not made him happy. Rivendell was a sanctuary for Elves who preferred to live inside and delve into the mysteries of lore. Despite the hauntingly beautiful dwellings and the richness of Rivendell's scrolls, Thalion never felt he belonged there. Although he appreciated the fine feasts and the wealth of stories and song, he did not like spending so much time indoors.

He needed folk who loved the earth, the wind, and the sky as much as he did. He needed a land that still had a tiny touch of faerie about it. He did not insist on a large contingent of Elves--that would be impossible to find--but there had to be an occasional Elf or two dropping by for him to be happy. Sadly, he had not found such a place in all his travels through the east, certainly not anywhere where he would want to bring Nevelin.

If only Anoriel was here! She would know what to do. But that was the heart of his problem. The war had wrenched his wife away and left him with a huge responsibility for which he felt totally unprepared. Thalion's musings were interrupted by the appearance of a hobbit who worked at the Inn, "Excuse me," he spoke up, "Could I have a room for two?"

"Two?," she queried. "Is your friend outside?"

"No, right here." Gently, Thalion held out the bundle in his arms, pushing back the blanket to reveal the fine features of a young Elf, sound asleep and curled up in a ball. "This is my son Neviel." The boy looked to be no more than nine years in human terms, though what that might be in Elvish years was not clear to the hobbit.

"A room, please, just for tonight. We'll be leaving for the Havens tomorrow." Thalion's voice sounded old and defeated.

The hobbit nodded and said nothing but led him over to the register. The Elf wrote out his name in neat, tidy runes and then leafed haphazardly through the guestbook. His eyes lit up in surprize at the number of Elves he recognized, some boarding for a night or two, others staying much longer. Finally, he glimpsed a familiar name on the first page of the book, one that was emblazoned in a bright, bold script: Piosenniel .

Piosenniel? Memories flooded back over time. That rascal of a young woman who strode about with sword on hip, yet the old stories whispered that she was beloved of Idril. He could recall a time or two before his marriage when she had cleverly bested him in games of chance. Always the restless one, Piosenniel had gone her own way, and Thalion had often wondered what had happened to her.

He looked questioningly over at the hobbit, "You wouldn't know anything of this Piosenniel....how long she was here or when she sailed to the Havens? But 'tis late. Perhaps you'd prefer to speak tomorrow?"

[piosenniel]

Cook encounters the Elf and his son . . .

‘Land sakes! Who’s this?’ the heart shaped faced of the Elven child peeked out from his blanket, asleep still despite the voices and the lights in the Common Room. Cook had come out from the kitchen to announce ‘Last Round!’ and send the stragglers off to burrow and bed.

‘It’s Neviel, Miz Bunce,’ returned Ruby. ‘He’s Master Thalion’s son, here. They’re here to spend the night and then it’s over the Tower Hills and to the Havens.’ Ruby took the key off the hook-board and laid it on the counter for Thalion.

‘Go on and take them up,’ Cook said to Ruby. ‘I’ll watch the bar and pour the last drinks.’ She looked fondly at the child, thinking about the little faces her old friend had drawn for her of her own wee ones. ‘The little one is fair done in, and if you don’t mind my saying so, you look dead on your feet yourself.’ She looked him up and down. Elves always looked a bit underfed, she had always thought. ‘We’ll send up some stew for you and a plate of bread and cheese and apples. Some cider, too, I think. Sleep better, you know, with a nice full belly.’

‘He was asking about Mistress Piosenniel, Cook,’ said Ruby, as she went round the bar in preparation to take the Elf and his son upstairs. ‘Knew her a while ago it seems and was asking after her. Wanted to know when she had left for the Havens.’ Ruby smiled, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

‘The Havens! My stars!’ Cook laughed, now there’s a thought. ‘She did travel to the Havens while she was here . . . but that was only to bring back her friend Miz Zimzi from Lindon. Mistress Pio was the Innkeeper here for near a year. Came to help out another old friend.’ Cook chuckled at the memory of the Elf as Innkeeper, then her face softened. ‘Nay, she’s not gone to the Havens to sail West . . . though she sails on her own ship I’ve heard with her Mister and their three wee ones.’

Neviel stirred in his father’s arms. ‘Ah, but that’s enough of old times and old stories for now. Take your little one up to his rest. I’ll be here in the kitchen tomorrow as same as ever. Come and see me then. We can share our stories, if you wish.’

Ruby had moved to the staircase and was beckoning to Thalion to follow. ‘I’ve put you in one of our top rooms, a nice big one with two beds. Has a window with a fair view across The Road of the fields and trees. And if you lean out and look to your left you can see the little stream . . . The Water. Mistress Pio liked to walk there and feed the ducks . . .’ Ruby chattered on in a friendly manner as she showed the Elf up to his room . . .

[Noinkling]

‘Come, Cullen,’ called Benat as he stepped outside the stable’s doors. Cullen drew himself up from the straw in the empty stall and stretched, yawning widely. Several of the equine residents, looked over the side of the stall at him and nickered a bit, then turned away when they realized his presence did not mean that the breakfast bag of oats was near. With a snort at the dust from the hay, Cullen trotted toward the doors and took his place at Benat’s side.

Benat had spent his night on a pallet of soft, sweet smelling hay in the loft. The small window beneath the eaves had been left open and he woke up as soon as the first light of morning poked through it. He had lain for a short while propped on his right side as he stared out the window. There were a couple of things he wanted to accomplish this morning. He’d promised Derufin he would help finish the task of splitting the wood they’d sawn into workable rounds yesterday. And then Cook had promised him in return she would see to it that he got to see Master Samwise about Bilbo’s old book.

But first, something substantial to break his fast.

From the Inn’s kitchen came the savory scent of toasting bread and frying bacon. As he came closer he could pick out the potatoes and onions and the eggs. Cullen ran round about Benat’s legs and yipped at the savoury smells.

‘Ah!’ smiled Benat as he sat at one of the tables. ‘Tea, yes and a sweet roll or two to start out with,’ he told the sleepy eyed server who’d come up to take his order. ‘And if it’s all ready, a plate full of everything I can smell cooking behind those doors. No bacon though, if you please.'

Cullen leaned against his master’s knees and whined just a bit. ‘And a plate for my companion here. But no onions . . . they make his presence quite unbearable.’

Across the room, just coming down the stairs, Benat spied the man who’d come to listen to his story last night. He nodded at him, catching his attention, and pointed to an empty chair. ‘You’re welcome to join us,’ he mouthed to Anyopâ.

[Witch_Queen]

Jon looked out of the window in his room. The sun was already coming up and he was now wide awake. He didn't get any sleep last night for he was tossing and turning, constantly having nightmares about his childhood. Jon walked over to pack sitting in the corner. He knew he had some different clothes for the ones he was wearing was in dire need of a cleaning. After changing Jon decided to place his dreams in the back of his mind and try to forget even having them. Jon walked to the common room only to see that Dwaline had yet to return. "Hmmmmmmmmm!" Jon shrugged his shoulders and walked to the door of the inn. He decided that his horse needed to be checked. The horse had come along way from Rohan to the Shire. Many times he had thought that taking his brother's horse wasn't a good idea.

He walked to the stables only to see that his horse was doing good. Laying beside the animal was its breakfast. "Eat up my friend, I don't know how long we'll be here. After all, I'm here to talk with Aman." With the mentioning of her name the horse nudged Jon's shoulder. "Yes I know you remember her." Jon turned to go back towards the inn only to see a bird perched on one of the many beams supporting the roof of the building.

The bird looked familar to Jon but for some reason it was as if Jon knew that deep down inside he had a connection with Avalon and now was the time to find out. "Good morning Avalon." Jon's voice had no sound of excitement or merriment. He was tired of having no sleep and Avalon had something to do with that. Jon stared into the bird's eyes only to see nothing. "I guess I was hoping that if I saw you some of my problems and questions will be solved. But I was wrong. Perhaps some day I will understand why you have haunted my dreams and made my father think me mad." Jon knew he was rambling on and on. "But of course you know what I'm talking about. Yet what does it matter what I people think."

Jon was tired of the one sided conversation. He left the stables and went back to the inn for a mug of something. He didn't care as long as it woke him up.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Dwaline did not notice John outside the inn, attending to his horse. His head was hung and his eyes transfixed in deep thought. His pack was laden with many things and he had a small piece of paper in his hand. He pushed open the door to the inn and stepped inside. Silently he stepped over to the bar and asked for the strongest drink they had, yet again.

"This early?" asked the barmaid, "Surly sir, it cannot be good you.
"Still, I wish for the strongest stuff you can give Me." he replied placing a small bag of monies on the table, the barmaid shrugged and pored him the drink.
"Then would you care for some breakfast?" asked the barmaid.
"No, thank you" replied the dwarf solemnly, "I do not think I could keep it down."

With that, he trotted off towards the parlour, walking right past john and sat next to the fireside and placed his hands over his face. Avalon flew in though an open window and perched besides Dwaline, but kept an eye on John. Dwaline took his hands from his face and sniffed deeply. He took a large gulp of the ale and then collected his pipe. But he then placed it back on his lap and placed a hand over his eyes.

[Saelind]

Neviel waited in silence, watching the rainy night give way to a clear morning. From his window, he saw the clouds disappear and the darkly shadowed sky slowly change to a bright bluish hue as the first rays of sunshine spilled over the hills. The land was green, fair and well formed: not the wild forest vistas he loved so much but a softer landscape shaped and tended by loving hands.

Despite the comfortable room and the cool breeze that blew through the open window, Thalion had not slept. There was too much weighing on his mind. Should he stay or leave? He had no clear answers. The boy should be with his mother, and surely she had left the Halls of Mandos and now awaited them on the shores of Aman. Still, he hesitated. She had been so insistent on that final night, so certain that if anything came between them that the other should remain in Middle-earth for a considerable spell. Let the boy have his time on Arda. Let him grow up there and understand the ways of Men, or he will regret it all the days of his life. For somehow, at the end, the fates of our two races will be bound together. Meanwhile, we two have eternity over the sea. There is no great rush to get there.

He had agreed with her, but it was not meant to turn out this way. It was he who was marching off to Dol Guldur, with the threat of injury or death hanging over his head. His wife would remain safely behind with their son. That was what was supposed to happen. Only this time "supposed to " never came about. Even before he could answer the summons of Galadriel and Celeborn and join the others in their fight against Sauron, Anoriel had met an early death at the hands of a band of roving orcs. Left alone with the boy, prostrate with grief, he was unable to rouse and join the battle.

Thalion walked over to Neviel's bed. The boy was sleeping, his head resting lightly on the the pillow as his chest rhythmically rose and fell. Thalion put his hand on Neviel's shoulder and gently squeezed, but the lad only burrowed deeper in the covers. He decided not to wake his son and gave up his earlier resolve to get an early start. He still wanted to speak with Cook and find out what had happened to Piosenniel.

Suddenly, he felt immensely tired. He slipped back under the blanket and instantly fell asleep.

[Huan]

Anyopâ padded his way across the wooden floor. He yawned his thanks to Benat and gratefully accepted the mug of hot tea the server brought round.

‘And I suppose you’ll be wanting the same as Master Benat here,’ she said, ticking off the items the big man had ordered. ‘And Master Cullen, too,’ she laughed as the dog mad a friendly growl from beneath the table.

‘Ah! I would burst at the seams were I to attempt that,’ Anyopâ said grinning at the server. ‘Something more my size,’ he continued. ‘A plate of toast with your good Shire berry jam and a helping of eggs.’

The server clucked at the both of them. ‘Master Harfoot will be quite put off to hear that you have shunned his sugar cured bacon. No accounting for the Big Folks’ taste he’ll say.’ Anyopâ relented at this chiding, saying he would be happy to have a rasher of the crisp offering, but Benat was firm in his order.

‘Pardon my asking,’ said Anyopâ once the server had gone, ‘but do you not eat meats?’ He had noticed last night that the big man had avoided ordering any. ‘And please, if I am prying, just tell me so.’ He picked up his mug, clasping it with both hands, enjoying the warmth that seeped from the sides against his chilly fingers.

[Tevildo]

Camille sat quietly in the corner wolfing down her second bowl of porridge. She had already been up and about several hours, helping her mother clean and air out the burrow and wash the clothes that Master Headstrong had sent. She had pinned up the pants and breeches on a laundry line that was strung between two trees in their yard. There was a nice, crisp breeze and the clothes should be dry by lunch so that she could deliver them back in the afternoon.

Rory had cried piteously at breakfast begging to come with Camille to the Inn. Although usually placid and uncomplaining, he had carried on so that Camille had almost felt guilty to leave. She promised to try and borrow a wheelbarrow from the Inn and bring it back at lunchtime. That way, she could pop both the laundrybag and her brother in the barrow and wheel it up the path to the Inn. It was an uphill trek and would not be easy to do by herself, but Camille was strong and determined. She would certainly not leave her brother behind.

Finishing the last of the porridge and putting down the spoon, she gathered up her dishes and went to check with Cook. Cook urged her to go over and begin helping Miz Bella get the classroom in order. Her services in the kitchen wouldn't be needed till late that afternoon when preparations for dinner began. She could take the barrow to fetch her brother as long as she had it back quickly, since the gardeners would be needing it for their work on the side flower beds.

With this assurance, Camille set off for Miz Bella's chambers. Her heart pounded furiously against her chest. Let this be alright, she whispered to herself. Don't disappoint Miz Bella or Cook. Still, she was nervous. Camille pounded on the door and waited for Miz Bella to answer.

[Undómë]

The door to the Inn swung open just a little ways as the Hobbit entered. He stomped his feet on the rushy strewn entry way, knocking off the mud he couldn’t avoid on his early morning trek. Hob had been out at first light to the stable to see to Strawberry. She liked her mash a certain way on chilly mornings and he wanted her in a good mood. Soon as the sun was up a bit more he’d be harnessing her to the cart and going into the market place to see what goods he could get sold.

Hob shrugged his cape from is shoulders and hung it on one of the low pegs on the wall near the entry. Not many were up he saw, glancing about the room. A disgruntled looking Dwarf sat near the fire, nursing an ale. A white crow perched near him. And there was one of the Inn workers closing a window against the early day chill. The bird kept a beady eye on one of the other men in the room.

At another table were two of the Big Folk he recognized. Master Benat and the fellow who had joined their table last night to hear Benat’s story. Hob reminded himself he must be back in time for supper as Benat would be telling his story then.

Catching the eye of one of the roving servers, Hob motioned her over to the table he’d taken near the fireplace. He’d have a warmed cider and a sweetroll, and a plate of eggs and potatoes and bacon he told her. ‘Got to stave off the hunger for a long time this morning,’ he said. ‘Long day seeing merchants and setting up in the marketplace.’ She asked what he was in to sell, her face falling when she learned he had no pretties for her to buy. ‘Nay! No ribbons, lass.’ But he smiled kindly at her as he asked her name. ‘But next time, I’ll be sure to have some. And you’ll get the first pick.’

He watched her go smiling to the kitchen; then, he settled back, his feet on the raised hearth, enjoying the warmth.

[Mithalwen]

Morning came but it's light did not waken Mithalwen for she had sat up most of the night, by candlelight in the tiny chamber planning the work she needed to do. She had thought long and hard about the braces Rory would require and had decided they would have to be made adjustible, For the child would grow - maybe very quickly and it would be cruel to provide support that would have been of short term use.

She sighed - the business with Aman and Snaveling had distracted her and alhtoughshe had obtained measurements she had not had the opportunity to fully discuss the situation with Uien. Falco's open hostility had not been conducive to helpful discussion. She needed to know howm much Rory was likely to grow and how swiftly.

However no matter how much range was needed, making adjustible calipers would be much more time consuming than fixed. Simple welds would have to be replaced by screws and thejoins would have to be strong even though the hobbit child was light. Time... and therefore money. She did not dare hope that Falco would help ... so she must also make things to sell to fund her unexpectedly long stay, nothing too complex and therefore expensive simple trinkets as she used to make to amuse the elflings, swift to make but which might earn enough pennies to keep her as long as the main work would take. She hoped the village smith would be as helpful as he had been about Aeglos's shoe two days before. She washed, dressed and slipped down to the stable to see her beloved grey horse.

She whispered to him ... we will be staying a while longer, so I will take you out for a ride now, and if the weather holds I will see if you can be turned out in a paddock. She did not bother with her saddle and slipped on to his back as soon as they were out of hte stable. As they passed the noble Felarof, she thought momentarily of the chain of events that the horse had catalysed, before dismissing it from her mind. Time enough for that later. she would enjoy this hour of freedom from the cares of others and the near silent companionship of her horse.

She trotted along the deserted lanes until she came some open, uncultivated land where she gave Aeglos his head, her silver hair flowing in the wind of their speed. It was good to be outside again and away from all the concerns and strangeness of the past few days she started to think more clearly. She stopped thinking of the task as a inconvenient duty and started to relish the challenge. Seldom did the chance come to make something completely new.

At last she slowed the pace and headed for the inn. Both horse and rider were mud spattered but Mithalwen was happy and sang for joy in her sweet elvish voice as they walked the last mile home. Once back in the yard, she started to tend to Aeglos herself but the stable-man took over and promised to let Aeglos out to graze as soon as he had been rubbed down and fed. " You will need a tidy up yourself miss"
- and catching sight of her reflection in a full pail of water the Elf was forced to agree. She removed her muddied boots and cloak, and carried them up to her room. She washed her face and hands and plaited her hair for loose hair and smithying don't mix. Then the Noldo picked up her notebook and descended for breakfast, choosing a window seat where she had good light to study her designs.

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

The Green Dragon Inn is located in Bywater, just off the Great East-West Road.

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; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar)

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

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.

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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.

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EVERYONE

Please be familiar with The Red Book of Westmarch which gives the rules for posting in the Shire RPG's and in The Green Dragon Inn.

Thanks!

Piosenniel, Shire Moderator