The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

It is noon now in the Shire. The sky is a glorious shade of blue; the sun is shining bright and warm on the Inn.

Lunch is ready for those that are hungry. Barleyed mushroom soup, platters of cheese. And baskets of fresh, crusty bread . . .

Drinks of all sorts, as usual are available.

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Just a reminder:

The storyline at the Inn must stay within the Inn or on the Inn grounds. Characters can tell others in the Inn about their adventures, but they cannot go outside the boundaries of the Inn and participate in adventures.

--- The Red Book of Westmarch/Rules for posting in the Shire

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis walked down the dirt road with a happy bounce. He had been out all day and was looking forward to seeing Ravon for lunch at the Green Dragon. Nervously he played with a small package in his right hand coat pocket.

Reaching the inn, Lewis bounded up the step and walked through the doorway. He looked around and smiled as he saw that Ravon was already here. He quickly made his way over to where the beautiful elf maiden was sitting.

[Firefoot]

When Neviel came over to tell him about the game of marbles starting up, Willy jumped up happily from his seat, stuffing the remainder of his roll (that is, most of it) into his mouth and pocketing another. He wasn't too sorry to leave a few spoonfulls of soup left in his bowl.

He dug his pouch of marbles once more from his pocket and hurried over to join a couple other lads, Woody and Hanson, he was pretty sure their names were, where they had drawn a circle in the dirt and were setting up the marbles. They were shortly joined by Neviel and Reggie.

"Are we ready to start?" Willy asked. The others agreed that they were, and so the game began. He went second, after Hanson. On his turn he took out his shooter, his blue "lucky" marble. Sure enough, on his first turn he won two marbles before missing. "Too bad," he muttered, standing back to let the next lad go.

[Tevildo]

The small side door to the Inn swung open and Camille came racing out into the garden. Most of the children were finishing their lunch. A few of the lads had pulled over to one corner and were playing marbles in a small dirt clearing.

"Miz Bella, I'm so sorry to have taken so long." Camille interjected. "I had the hardest time getting Rory back to the Dragon. I always thought my brother was just a little puff of air, and I could whisk him along in the barrow. But it took me forever. It must have been all that food Master Falco fed him last night!" Camille did not mention how the barrow had tipped over and her brother had been left sprawling in the dirt.

"Where is your brother now?" the teacher questioned.

"Inside, in the school room. It would be hard for him to come into the yard with the steps and all. He'll wait there till we go back in. I'll just get some lunch and take it to him, if you don't mind." With that, Camille snatched up a soup bowl and several pieces of cheese and disappeared back inside.

[Saelind]

As Willy finished shooting marbles, Neviel stood up and tugged impatiently on Woody's sleeve. "Did you hear that? That hobbit lass over there.....talking to Miz Bella. She said her brother was inside because he couldn't manage the steps. You know, I wouldn't like sitting inside by myself." Then he added in a softer voice, "I think I could help him with those steps...even carry him outside." Although only eight years old, Neviel stood a good foot taller than the teacher. The lad was slim but wiry and strong; he was used to bearing large bundles from his time on the road when he had carried his own belongings on his back. "Woody, I'll be back in a minute."

Before Woody or the others could say anything to stop him, Neviel ran off towards the building to see if he could help Rory. All the while he wondered: what was wrong with the young lad's legs that they wouldn't do something so simple as carry him down the steps? He remembered one time in Rivendell when there had been a young Elf who had a problem like that. The Elf had been in an accident years before. It had been his father who had taken the time to work with the Elf's legs and somehow reteach him how to walk. Neviel wondered if his father could somehow help Rory. He would have to ask him.

Bounding up the steps, Neviel pushed the door open and rushed inside the schoolroom. The hobbit lass Camille was standing protectively over her brother. She turned around to face the Elf. "Excuse me!" Neviel blurted out. "I can carry your brother down those steps. It's no trouble really. I promise not to drop him. And I thought he'd like to be outside with the rest of us. Maybe he could play marbles with us?"

[Arry]

Willy and Hanson lit out after Neviel, their shorter legs pumping fast to stay up with the Elf. Their curiosity was peaked at some new boy come to school. And why couldn’t he walk , Hanson wondered aloud as they hurried along. ‘Might be like one of Gaffer Lambswort’s sheep – the ones from last season. There were two as was born lame. Remember?’ huffed Woody.

Neviel was already speaking with the older girl, Camille, when they burst in, and crowded up behind him. Hanson recognized the posture the big girl had taken. Same’s the one Woody had when older kids had picked on him or their littler sister.

‘Don’t get too close to her. She looks like she might smack you if you do,’ Hanson whispered to Neviel. He peeked around one side of the Elf and grinned at the boy. ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘My name’s Hanson. This here is Neviel and that’s Woody. My big brother.’ He nodded to the open door to the schoolroom. ‘We’re all outdoors. Come out and play some marbles with us before the teacher gets us all back inside.’

He felt Woody nudge him to be quiet. Hanson shrugged away from his brother’s reach and stepped closer to the boy. ‘Come on! Then we can break into teams. You can be on me and . . . Neviel’s if you want.’

Hanson turned and stuck out his tongue at Woody.

[Esgallhugwen]

Uien stood up abruptly and began to walk away, "Uien!" Esgallhugwen called but to no avail. Leave her be for now, she thought turning to the others.

"I have done what I can to free her from the thoughts that doomed to trap her, but now she must be left along to sort her feelings out. She loves you Falowik, but something darker haunts her heart and she knows not who to turn to"

The familiar heat of flame subsided and Eswen sighed with relief glad that it was gone, for now. The sun was bright in the clear blue sky, she could hear children playing and turned her attention towards them.

Scurrying about, careless, free. They were playing marbles or so it seemed, but something had caught their attention and soon they were back inside talking wildly with the vigor of youth.

"A school? My dear Aman, what have you been up to?"

She managed to convince Falowik to sit beside her in the shade of the Inn, "give Uien time Falowik, don't wander into the wilds alone again, the meaning of that carven object may not be what it seems".

I come I come to hearth and home but what displeases me the most is the sight of ash and bone.

Elvish riddles

[Fairleaf]

Daisy faces off the nosy boys

‘Don’t be a pest, Reggie!’ Daisy saw her little brother get up from the marble ring and called out to him.

Reggie, however, was not about to miss out on something new and exciting. He ignored her, not even giving her the courtesy of looking her way.

‘Little snot!’ she muttered under her breath. She got up from her seat in the shade and rushed after him. ‘You just wait til I tell Ma how you been acting!’

He had a good head start on her, much to her misfortune. And he made it through the door to the schoolroom with only the barest of yanks from her grasping fingers on the tail of his tunic. He slipped away easily and went up to stand by his new friend, Hanson.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked, then saw the new boy seated in the classroom. ‘Is he gonna play . . .?’ he began to ask, but was cut off by his sister’s entrance.

Daisy, of course, was mortified. Here was here new acquaintance, soon to be friend, she hoped. And there were the other boys and Reggie annoying her. At least that’s how it looked to her.

‘Oh, Camille!’ she said going to stand by the older girl. ‘I’m so sorry my brother’s bothering you . . . and this must be your brother, right.’ She glared at the gathered boys. ‘What are you all doing in here anyway? Leave my friend and her brother alone!’

[Firefoot]

Not one to be left out, Willy had trailed after the other lads towards the school room. He was as curious as the others about this other lad, who apparently couldn't walk. He thought of how boring life would be if he couldn't walk and run and play and felt a wave of sympathy for the lad he had never seen before.

He walked in almost immediately after Reggie's sister and caught the end of the conversation: "Is he gonna play...?" Reggie was saying.

"Oh, Camille! I’m so sorry my brother’s bothering you . . . and this must be your brother, right."

"We're not bothering," interrupted Willy. What was wrong with her? Didn't she realized how lonely the boy must be? "We thought maybe-" Willy realized he didn't know the boy's name. "-he would want to play marbles with us. We thought it'd be lonely, having to sit in here while everyone else is playing outside."

[piosenniel]

Cook muses on the two firewood stackers and encounters the Elf in her garden . . .

Cook had recovered, somewhat, from her erstwhile dishwasher. Ginger had come back into the kitchen with two of the other servers and they had cleaned away the messy area surrounding the sink. The wet and dirtied tea towel, Cook had taken herself to soak in some hot sudsy water with a half cup of lemon juice stirred in to ease out the stains.

While the others mopped up the kitchen’s floor, she went out the back door to catch a breath of fresh air. The lunch cooking was done and those of her staff had the serving of it well under control. Supper was all ready to be cooked a little later. She had a few precious moments to herself.

The warm spring breeze caught a stray curl, teasing the springy grey flecked strand from behind the Hobbit’s ear. It tickled her cheek. Unthinking she made to tuck it firmly under her head band. But looking out over the pleasant, sunny day made her feel quite young again. And she took the band from her hair, letting all her curls toss in the breeze.

The old kitchen tabby had braved the day and was curled up in a patch of sun. She raised her head as Cook stood on the porch and meowed a bit. A little protest, as Cook stood blocking the sun.

‘Well, begging your pardon, Gammer,’ Cook said, leaning down to give the feline a little scratch behind the ears. The Hobbit stepped down to the first step of the porch of the sun, gathering the back of her skirt neatly beneath her. She stretched her legs out and wriggled her toes, enjoying the feel of the sun’s heat on them.

There, to her right, near the Inn woodshed were Derufin and his helper. Anyopâ, she said, thinking on the man’s name for a moment. The wagon was halfway unloaded now. The two men had taken off their tunics as the day grew warmer. Their skin glistened as the light hit it. The muscles on their arms bulged as they carried the large armfuls of wood to the shed. Hot dirty work, she thought to herself. And thank goodness they had been willing to do it for her. ‘I must remember to cook up some sweet treat for master Derufin,’ she said, making a mental note of her decision. ‘And find out what the other fellow likes, too. Small payment for a big job.’ She took a closer look at Anyopâ. ‘Hmmmph! A little too stringy! Course maybe that’s how they grow ‘em where he comes from.’ She eyed him again. ‘Needs a bit of fattening up, I think. At least while he’s under my roof.’

A short way beyond those two were the Inn’s gardens. One for vegetables and a smaller one for herbs – cooking and medicinal. Cook shaded her eyes against the sun. Hmmm . . . now there was someone walking about in her herb garden. Tall fellow, she could see. And, Land Sakes! He had his cloak all pulled up around him and his hood up, too. Every once in a while she saw him stoop down to finger a flower or a leaf. Didn’t pick any though, as far as she could see.

With the pride of all Shire gardeners rising in her, she thought perhaps he might be admiring the layout of her little bed and the healthy, hardy plants she had nurtured from seed to leaf and flower. Mayhap he was a gardener in his own right.

Cook stood up and smoothed her skirt and apron with her hands. She took the hairband from her pocket and caught back her curls. Filling the oaken bucket from the pump, she went walking toward the tall fellow and her garden. His back was to her and he was bent over, his long fingers brushing across a low growing plant with softly bristled leaves that had spread over a nearby rock.

‘Woolly thyme,’ she said, coming up to stand beside him. ‘One of my pride and joys, that is. Had to trade a number of starts to my other herbs to get that. Comes up from the south . . . far south.’ She bent over and pinched the leaves of a similar plant near it, though these were smooth and shiny. ‘This one too’s from the more southern lands. Quite tasty on Shire brook trout. They call it lemon thyme. Here, smell it . . .’ she held the crushed sprig out to him.

[Huan]

‘Who’s that? Over there. With Cook.’ Anyopâ took the handkerchief from his breeches’ pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. He nodded toward the garden area where Cook stood speaking to some cloaked man.

It was an interesting scene, the compact, tiny Hobbit and her long, tall companion. He could see her bend to pluck some bit of plant, take a deep whiff of it, and then offer it up to the other person.

‘Odd, don’t you think,’ he went on, ‘that he seems to conceal himself. The day is far too warm for that.’ He grinned at Derufin, drawing the back of his arm across his already beaded brow. ‘Or so it seems to me.’

[Envinyatar]

Derufin squinted against the sun, trying to see who Cook was with. ‘Don’t know who that is,’ he said, throwing his armful of wood onto the pile. He moved into the shade of the woodshed, letting the small shadow of the eaves cut the glare of the bright light.

‘She looks as if she has it well in hand,’ he said, taking the dipper of water Anyopâ offered him. He took a long, slow drink of the cool liquid, enjoying the feel of the water against his parched throat.

‘Let’s keep her in sight, though . . .’ He sat down on the back of the wagon, motioning for Anyopâ to sit with him. Derufin fished about in his vest and pulled out his pouch of pipeweed. He filled his own pipe; then, offered the pouch to Anyopâ.

[Kath]

Hearing the noise of chattering children Astilwen was reminded of her siblings back in the Shire, with 5 brothers the sounds were familiar! Looking around she saw a bunch of younger hobbits gathered around two girls - neither of whom looked too happy.

She got up and walked over to them.
"Excuse me." she said to the girl who had been shouting at the boys. "But is there anything I can do to help?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

A ghastly apparition entered the Inn - well, it must have entered, since it was definitely inside, but no one had seen how. Strangely, the door had remained closed. It wafted over to one of the tables and dropped a parchment onto it. Then it disappeared again, leaving only a faint wisp of pink haze and a trace of light, flowery perfume in the air.

The guests who were seated at the table stirred from their temporary immobility, thankful that the possible danger had passed. The bravest of them lifted the parchment to the light and read:

The Barrow-Wight invites you to his barrow to celebrate the Barrow-Downs' fifth birthday!

Please come as the ghost of your real life identity - we won't see you completely, only as much or as little as you want to show us. You may describe the real life clothes you are wearing; if you wish, wear a name tag that shows part of your real name. (For safety reasons, please do not reveal your full name here!) Bring your favorite real life foods and drinks; describe the journey you made from your home (again, no full address, please); bring a present for the Wight; entertain us with your real life talent(s) of poetry, music, art, etc. - in short, imagine that this is a Barrow-Downs convention and you finally get to actually meet all of your online friends!

Location: the Wight’s Barrow, temporarily located on the Novices and Newcomers forum

Time: beginning Sunday, May 1, 2005, early in the morning

Food, drinks and entertainment to be provided by all who take part.

Five years is too short a time to post among such excellent and admirable members, but it’s a long life for an internet community! Let’s celebrate the occasion with much joy and merry-making – and with sincere gratitude to The Barrow-Wight, our esteemed founder!

There was a sudden buzz of conversation as the guests pondered the significance of this strange invitation. What was the meaning of "real life"? They could only hope that someone would know...
__________________

This note was dropped off by a ghost who looked suspiciously like Estelyn Telcontar.....

[Lasbelinion]

Lithmîrë had not heard her; either because she had come on such silent feet or because his senses were dulled from the infusion he had taken to allay his pain. He looked down at her, from the shadows of his hood, his eyes narrowing, and made to step away. But she ignored his movement and continued to talk to him.

Before he could push her away with some barbed remark, the scent of the thyme assailed him. It was sharp. And clean. Inviting a deeper exploration. He took another deep whiff of it, the refreshing smell seeming to clear his mind a bit. There were other sorts of the same plant planted near each other. She spoke of them in a knowing manner, a tinge of pride edging her voice as she spoke of the nurturing of each. Lavender thyme with its rich sweet-clean smell. Caraway thyme, its dark green leaves dotted with small black spots. Another heady inviting scent greeted him as he held a few crushed leaves to his nose. Wandering about the garden’s rockery there were many others she plucked and spoke of, handing a sample of each to him.

They paused at the end of the herb's plantings. The woman was watching him. Her bright brown eyes, her stance, telling him a response was expected. As if she had spoken to a fellow gardener. Memories of long years in the fields of Lithlad sent a tremor through him.

Gardener! And what had he grown save food for the Master’s creatures? And what had he planted save for the bodies of his ragged companions from which grew bitter memories in dark abundance.

Smaller memories crept in softly from the dark edges of his thoughts. Of plants he had hidden among the long rows of those the armies needed for their sustenance. Simple herbs for easing the hard days of captivity. Tinctures to quell the pain of the lash; unguents to douse the flames that licked along the furrowed flesh.

The words falling from his twisted lips were a surprise to him. Gently spoken and ending with an expectation of further conversation.

‘Where last I put trowel to earth, Mistress, we . . . I . . . had no knowledge of thyme. It seems a hardy plant. One that would be well suited to a land of sun and thin soil. A subtle plant, too. It adds to the flavor of one’s food, I expect. Making it savory and pleasing to the tongue . . . yes?’

In the shadow of his hood, he smiled as a rare, pleasant thought assailed him. Those sun wracked, rocky fields . . . how it would please him to see them covered in thyme. All signs of their foul crops and savage harvests cleansed. The land renewed.

[Anguirel]

A cold wind would caress the hair of the Shirelings at their drinks as the door opened again. A young fellow quite tall by Hobbit standards, wearing a woolen cloak, joined the gathering. No sooner had he shut the door behind him than he tumbled over, having apparently missed the step. To those that knew Artifondo Dwellover, known by his friends and family as "Fellover", this was no very great surprise; and it did not take Artifondo himself unawares either. He lifted himself to his feet with surprising dignity. Getting up was a skill he had learned to perfect over the years. Unfortunately, remembering things was not; and he almost immediately forgot why his father had sent him here at all.

Something about the artichoke crop, perhaps? It almost always was. Pellinco Dwellover of Bywater was captivated by the peculiar plants, and could bore for the Eastfarthing on the subject of their marketing prospects.

"Mark my words, Fellover m'lad. One day there'll be wagons full of artichokes travelling all over the Shire, I tell you; to Tuckborough, Hobbiton, Michel Delving; and I don't see, when it comes down to it, why we shouldn't sell 'em to the Big Folk too. They'd go down a storm in Bree, from all I've heard tell. And as for the lordly folk in Annum...Ammun...Annam...er...that city up north, why, they'd breakfast, lunch, and sup on them. And each and every wagon of artichokes will bear the name Dwellover on its canvas. Does your heart good, eh, lad?"

It didn't do Artifondo's heart any good at all. The thought of running Dwellover Artichokes Limited one day, as his father's firstborn son, made his blood run cold. For a start, he couldn't bear the sight of them. Not only were they ugly and bitter, but they had made his early childhood unbearable. "Artichoko!" his schoolfriends had teased. "Artichoko!"

But more importantly, Artifondo had ultimately rather more noble and romantic aspirations. He had scarcely been able to walk when the Travellers had returned, but the memory was deep and indelible; the excitement and glory in the air. It was associated in his mind with a kind of elvishness that he had only seen in the Party Tree; and to this end he had tried to learn a little Sindarin; but his mind always wandered; he loved the poetry only as much as he detested the grammar.

Ah yes, now he remembered why he was here. Ask the barmaid if her employers would consider stocking artichokes to go with the famous Green Dragon stews. Artifondo gave a derisive snort. Would he ever be free of these oppressive vegetables?

[Angel_Queen]

Ravon

Ravon couldn't believe that Lewis was actually going to meet her for lunch at the Green Dragon. She had wanted for a long time to go back to the place of their first meeting. Now she was actually going to find out what the surprise was. She had been waiting for months and thought that it was about time.


"Its about time you showed up. There for a moment I thought you was never going to show up." She had a smile across her face and this time she wasn't going to let this smile go away. She sat back down at the table just as two mugs of ale was placed in front of her. "Here this is yours. Our food should be here in a moment. Now when will I find out what this surprise is. You know its killing me not knowing what it is."

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger speaks to Artifondo

‘Arty – chokes?’ said Ginger, her brow furrowed. ‘You’re wanting The Dragon to take on some arty - chokes?’ She fetched the young man a mug of ale, wiping up the surface of the table where she’d bade him sit down. The thought of eating thistles, for that is what she’d found out from one of the other servers that artichokes are, well . . . it seemed quite awful.

Still he seemed quite hopeful that she or someone would be interested in taking a load off his hands. And she didn’t want to disappoint him . . . she’d seen him fall as he fell in through the door. ‘I don’t know about how much the Inn would take on, but if you can stay a while, perhaps I can see if Cook wants to order some.’

She pointed to the pegs by the door, asking if he’d like his cloak hung up there. ‘I’ll just get you something to eat,’ she went on, thinking he looked like he could stand a bite. ‘It’s mushroom barley soup today with fresh bread and sweet cream butter. And cheese, too, if you wish it.’

[Anguirel]

Artifondo smiled wryly at the pleasant maid's reaction to his offer. Utter bemusement. He might as well have offered to sell her a young dragon. A little consultation, and confusion had become distaste, with a touch of pity. Eating thistles, forsooth...and this was what his father fondly imagined would become the King of Arnor's favourite dish...

"Thankyou," he gasped gratefully, as, without having to be asked, she produced an ale; not too large, and beautifully cold to the lips. He had to control his desire to gulp and slurp like a hog; he succeeded in this, but managed to splash some of the cooling drink down his yellow waistcoat. He watched, disinterestedly, as the pale yellow satin became a strange combination of beige, peach, and umber, the stain extending down like a malevolent claw. His formidable elder sister, Ursula Dwellover, who had run the household since Mrs Dwellover's death, would not be pleased. Wishing to hide his latest piece of clumsiness from Ginger, he quickly drew his cloak across his front, which, since it was fairly hot, he found decidedly uncomfortable.

The lass suggested that he stay and wait for the Cook, and without waiting to hear his affirmative mumble offered to take his cloak. He blushed beetroot-scarlet. Had she seen his spillage? "Ah, urm, well, no, I mean...oh, nevermind, thankyou, yes." He took off his cloak, folded it badly, and passed it over with a faintly aggrieved air.

Her offer of lunch was tempting; Artifondo, an atypical Hobbit in some ways, had a perfectly usual appetite, especially for wild mushroom soup. He thought of Ursula, who would be bustling about preparing lunch; he thought of the bizarre pasties and salads Grizel, his younger sister, liked to create with artichokes; his eyes returned finally to the stain on his waistcoat, his mind to Ursula's temper. All guilt at missing lunch at home evaporated.

"That would be wonderful, miss, and I'll take the cheese too..."

[piosenniel]

She thought she saw the hint of a fleeting smile beneath his hood as she looked up at him. And how odd that he didn’t know thyme. From his few words she guessed that perhaps he farmed on some large concern. And whoever it was who enjoyed the fruits of his labor must have a very plain and limited palate.

‘Well, yes, the flavour is very nice. Subtle, you might say. Brings out the flavour already there and sort of lights it up. And it is quite hardy. Takes a lot to kill it, I tell you!’ She chuckled, pointing to the large patch of woolly thyme. ‘See that flattened out patch, there in the middle? The old kitchen tabby likes to lay there and soak up the sun.’

In a moment of spontaneity and the chance to prolong a conversation on herbs and their uses, Cook asked if he might like to try a little tea with her . . . mint, a bit of ginger, and a pinch of the lemon thyme. ‘In my kitchen, if you wish; or out of doors, perhaps. It’s a nice day for that.’ She leaned down to pluck a weed from between the plants. ‘Oh! And by the way,’ she said, flicking the weed into the waste-pile at the end of the garden, ‘my name is Vinca Bunce . . . or just Cook, as most round here call me.’

[Arry]

Hanson speaks to Astilwen

‘Now look what you’ve done!’ said Woody in his most disgusted voice. ‘Now there’s an adult poking into this. And I suppose she’ll be ratting us out to the teacher and the teacher will be telling Uncle Gil.’

Hanson’s face fell at the thought of riding home with a steamed Uncle Gil. And then of course, there’d be their Ma to face. And hadn’t they both told the two boys not to get into any trouble.

Putting on his sweetest smile, Hanson turned his five-year old face up to the Hobbit woman. ‘She always yells; that one does,’ he explained, pointing at Daisy. ‘We’re just trying to get our friend outside. So’s we can play some marbles. Before the teacher calls us back in.’

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Well, here you go!’ said Ginger, setting her tray down carefully on Artifondo's table. ‘Mushroom barley soup, piping hot from the kettle. A small wedge of cheddar. And here’s a basket of warm bread.’ She gave the Hobbit his tableware, wrapped in a clean napkin, and set down a small crock of butter and one of savory mustard. ‘Now I’ll just top off that mug for you.’

She picked up her tray and was about to leave. ‘Oh,’ she said, turning back for a moment. ‘Cook is busy in the garden at the moment. But as soon as she’s come in, I’ll let her know you’re here.’ Ginger gave him a quick smile and returned to the kitchen.

[littlemanpoet]

Eswen invited Falowik to sit with her in the shade of the Inn.

"Give Uien time Falowik. Don't wander into the wilds alone again. The meaning of that carven object may not be what it seems."

Falowik studied Esgallhugwen. Her face was pale, even for an Elf; with striking cold grey eyes. Unlike Uien, she wore the clothes of a male Elf, and they were weather stained now from her journey, no doubt back from Eryn Lasgalen. Her boots were dark knee-high boots over dark grey slacks. She wore a forest green tunic embroidered with silver knotwork. Her wrists and upper arms are bound with silver embossed leather gauntlets. She had cast her dark green cloak over her shoulders, so Falowik could see that her dark hair was flecked with silver.

It was how she had dressed on their quest into Evendim, and Falowik had gotten used to seeing her thus, but now it occurred to Falowik how different and odd was her garb compared to other Elven women he had seen; not many, of course, but Eswen was still an exception.

The meaning of the carven object may not be what it seems. Falowik huffed a sigh and frowned.

"But the Elf maiden is her," Falowik said. "See the face? The detail? What else could it mean?"

"Have you ever seen Uien's mother?" Falowik shook his head. "Is not the child much like the mother in face?"

Falowik frowned. "You are saying that Uien could be the child."

"Aye. It could be so."

"Maybe so, but what then has come over her to make her act so?"

[Melisil]

Edan

A cheerful young Hobbit walked happily into the noise of the Green Dragon. Ah, thought he, and said aloud. "Well, it be a fine day today sirs and ladies."

With a light skip he hopped over to the counter. "Gather me a hot cup of tea if you would, and a nice bit of bacon sandwich too, if you will." He said to the lady across the counter. Turning, for a second, he looked over the current members in the crowd at the ever lovely Green Dragon. With a light nod of approval, he turned back to the lady, who was sliding over his cup of tea.

"Having a good day too? I do hope you are." He smiled genuinely, open for conversation, "Yeh know, I hear there's a new bit of people moving into this area. Is that true? I wasn't sure if I was to believe my source or not, seeing as he was twice as drunk as a twice drunk young lad."

[Anguirel]

Artifondo could not think of words suitable to express the delight the smell of the soup gave him, and confined himself to a smile. He fell to with great enthusiasm, buttering a piece of bread and dunking it deep into the grey-brown, succulent goodness before him, adding a little seeded mustard contentedly. A morning wandering round Bywater repeatedly-since he had forgotten where he was supposed to be going three times-had left him ravenous, and though he did his best to maintain his decorum, he managed to scatter quite a few crumbs. He had entirely neglected to use the napkin provided. Such banalities rarely occurred to him.

He wondered, as he finished the soup, whether the mushrooms were Cotton's or Maggot's. In either case, his father would regard it as gross treachery. Pellinco Dwellover looked down tremendously on "mushroom-peddlers". Artifondo grinned, feeling the luscious fungal fronds slide into his gullet. Traitor or not, at least he was enjoying himself. The cheddar proved just as excellent; mature and subtle, and combining perfectly with the mustard. Artifondo thought about his cousin in Michel Delving, Gustulo Dwellover, who wrote columns about the relative excellence of the city's taverns and inns. What a job; to be paid to eat and sleep and judge...though Gustulo was quite unusually corpulent now. All such things had their price...

It was as he was delivering the killing blow to the cheese, humming a traditional Shire tune, "Starlings in the Field", that the boisterous young hobbit entered, so confident as to be almost obnoxious. He was obviously trying a instigate a bit of gossiping, and talked very cavalierly of drunkenness. Still, Artifondo knew an opportunity to tell a story he'd been saving for quite a while.

"I'll tell you something," he said casually, looking up. "Do you remember the tales of old Gandalf they told you as a child? Well, a week or so back, at twilight, I'd swear I saw an old man in a brown cloak, one of the Big Folk, who fitted all the descriptions exactly...in Bywater. Talking to sparrows, as far as I could see...just think...a Wizard! In Bywater! Of course my father didn't swallow a word of it..."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling

Aman moved off to contend with one more of the Inn’s apparently never-ending crises leaving Snaveling alone with Valthalion and the young man’s difficult question. Snaveling looked at Val for a long time before speaking, turning over in his mind how he should respond. He could tell that the young Ranger had accepted his claims in form only, and that he had reserved judgement until later. Snaveling approved of this, for it reminded him of the King Elessar. These Dunadan never cease to surprise he thought to himself, and for a moment he felt a pang as his mind passed over the form of Roa.

Turning his mind back to the present he said, “You ask about a dangerous thing, my friend. Vengeance is not something that I would council any man to think about for it is more destructive of the avenger than of anyone else. There are tales enough of young men who lose their lives in quests such as the one you are on!”

“I shall not be dissuaded!” Valthalion burst forth, showing all the spirit and fire that Snaveling remembered from their first meeting. “The Warlord shall meet his doom at the edge of my sword.”

“I do not doubt it,” Snaveling replied quietly, “but I fear that you might also find your doom in that moment.” Valthalion looked displeased but Snaveling pressed ahead. “You have asked for my help, and though I do not think you will welcome it I will give it you. I have learned to value above all things the wisdom of your Lord Elessar. And while I account any enemy of his to be an enemy of mine, I would not assail your enemy alone and without the benefit of your King’s wisdom. I would bid you, then, return to Minas Tirith where you can report all that has befallen you, and seek the wisdom of the King!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hearpwine

The Bard of Rohan sat in silence for a long time, his lips moving silently through the words of the song Mithalwen had just sung, his hands slowly miming the movement his fingers would make upon the harp in accompaniment. He had understood more of the song than the Elf obviously realised, but he had not interrupted her translation for it had given him a chance to see what she made of the song. For like all Elvish music, the meaning of the lay was not in the words that it spoke, but in the experience of the music in the heart of the listener.

Rousing himself from his reverie he returned her gaze and saw in her eyes a much more tender and welcoming expression than she had greeted him with. “Thank you, lady!” he cried, and sweeping to his feet he bowed to her with all the practised courtesy of a royal attendant. “You do me an honour beyond reckoning in teaching me such a song…and in the tongue of your people, no less! My hunger for the music of the Fair Folk is insatiable – much to the distress of my former master, who would rate at me for learning the songs of an alien and distant people when the lays of my own folk were, he felt, worthy enough for the halls of the King. But unlike my master, King Eomer has a fondness for the songs of Elves, and I shall delight him with that when I return.” He laughed once more. “But to think that I was sent here to learn the songs of the Halflings so that I might bring those simple tunes to the Golden Hall in honour of those who saved Rohan! The King will wonder that I have returned from the Shire with Elvish music!”

Seating himself upon the ground once more, Hearpwine asked Mithalwen about her trade. “You said that you are a craftsman, Lady. I had thought that all the Elves made things of beauty, but you speak as one with a specific trade? What manner of things do you create?”

[Melisil]

Edan listened rather intently as the other fellow spoke, nodding at the mention of Gandalf. As the other sir trailed to a stop, Edan leaned back in his chair happily. "Imagine that! A wizard, here! Come to think, I'm not knowing how suprised I am on it. Gandalf came, why couldn't another? Still.."

He trailed off for a moment, his eyes bright. "You talked to him did you? I tell you, that would certainly be an interestin' conversation."

As Edan's words were spoken, the server behind the counter placed his bacon sandwich on the table. "Ah!" Quickly pulling out the coins for his food and drink, he handed them to the lady and wiggled his fingers gingerly as his attention returned to focus on the sandwich.

Mm, delicious it was, and an excellent amount of butter had been given on it too. Absolutly heavenly! Remembering that he had been in the middle of a conversation though, Edan swallowed the hefty bite in his mouth and looked over to the sir with a smile, "Well, sorry 'bout my momentary distractions. Where were we?"

[Anguirel]

Artifondo was taken aback with how readily the young Hobbit believed and heeded his curious story. Ursula had threatened to box his ears "to knock out the nonsense", his father had shaken his head and muttered about Elvish twaddle, and Grizel, giggling, had died Artifondo's shoelaces together as he talked. But once out of the Dwellover house and into the welcoming atmosphere of the Dragon, he was truly listened to, it seemed.

He frowned as Edan talked of the natural element to the situation.

"Gandalf came, why couldn't another?"

"Another did," he muttered under his breath. The history of Saruman the White had always been terrifying to Artifondo. The Dark Lord and his armies were nothing but standard ogres to him; but Saruman had been different, by all accounts; a Wizard who had been changed, corrupted, by a thirst for knowledge. What was so wrong with a craving for discovery, a thirst to see new facets in life?

Yet it had destroyed Saruman, and almost taken the Shire with it. It was at Bywater his thugs had been beaten; his father Pellinco had fought beside Meriadoc the Magnificent in that famous battle (though he had not distinguished himself, and had much of the fight pretending to be dead, to the extent that he had almost been given a hero's burial.)

Surely the man in the brown cloak could not be another malevolent magician? And if he was, under the rule of King Elessar he would not dare to act?

Artifondo lost himself in these troubling notions as Edan munched; only the younger Hobbit's query brought him back to the present.

"Where were we?"

"Oh...ah...you asked me if I talked to the old man. Certainly not," Artifondo laughed nervously, "I didn't dare. You'd think I'd sprouted roots. I stood and stock still and watched. But the man wasn't silent. He was making these peculiar chirrups, and tiny little sparrows hopped on and off his wrist. At last it dawned on me; he was talking to them. And that lightened my heart slightly. Surely a fellow who idles about conversing with songbirds can't mean us any harm? But I wonder...I do wonder who he was. I shall see if I can find anyone like him in the records when I have the time."

[Melisil]

Nodding, Edan replied, "Aye, it does seem a strange thing, talking to birds that. But you're a reader?" he asked with interest at his companions mention of the records. "Strangely, I've never had much of it in me, patience I mean, for readin'. Sure, I can well enough, well enough to get by anyways. But it never much occured to me to read up on things that weren't forced to a head."

Yes, that was a very truthfull comment on his part. Much more than once had his mother threaten Edan for not readin' up on what she asked him to for studies. "Edan Chubb," she warn, "You pick up that book and start your readin or so help me you'll get a lickin when your father gets in." It almost always turned out to be rot she was speaking though, it seemed, apart from the days when he had been particularily rotten.

With a slight laugh, Edan took another bite of his sandwich. "No, I'm wrong. There was one other wizard who's not Gandalf who's come to these parts. I'm sure you know of who I'm saying. But aye, ye don't think this one that you've seen could mean any harm?" Unfortunately or fortunatly, however you care to look upon it, Edan hadn't picked up on it quite when Artifondo had made slight reference to Sauroman. He continued speaking.

"Aye, I was just telling my good friend the other day 'No Bog,' I told 'im, 'I don't think there could or should be any wizards of disfortunate dispositions left wandering the hills these days. Aye?'. And that was that quite clearly you see?" The talkative young Hobbit brought his tea to his lips momentarily, to wet his throat.

[Mithalwen]

"What manner of things do you create?" Hearpwine's question once more demanded Mithalwen's attention. She had been distracted by Uien's passage for although Mithalwen had been unaware of the disturbance centred on the other elf woman, she could not fail to be aware of Uien's displeasure though she guessed wrong at the cause. She is still displeased about the braces - well she will have to get over it, I am not changing them now. Having only seen Uien seeming blissfully happy with Falowik she could not imagine the trauma that had taken place and she would have been outraged at the accusation of being ungiving. Since her arrival three days before she had given away the only jewel in her possession, emptied her purse bailing out that wastrel Snaveling and now was giving her time and skill to a virtual stranger.

Momentarily she had thought of following her but Uien's demeanour had been forbidding and Hearpwine had started up again... the moment had passed. I create discord and misunderstanding mainly she thought wryly. I am skilled in the shaping of wood and metal but though I dwell at the havens I am not a shipwright - the stature of the neri is more suited to such undertakings. My aptitude is for smaller items and I make what is required - in times of war, weapons and at all times the necessaries of life - but my greatest delight, and I hope skill, is in the making of instruments of music.

[Lasbelinion]

He was taken aback. His prickly reserve pushed against by her ordinary offer of tea and the tender of her name. He mumbled something, trying to soften the bitterness that had long been the undercurrent of his speech.

She’s only offered tea, fool. And her garden has many of the herbs you need.

‘Tea . . . that would be good. And outside . . . yes.’ He looked about the yard, wondering where they might sit away from prying eyes.

‘Lithmîrë,’ he said, turning back to her. ‘My name, Miss Bunce.’

A spiteful breeze caught the edge of his hood as he spoke, riffling it back, exposing his face. His quick hands pulled the errant hood forward. With a sharp glance from the safety of the shadows, he thought to catch her in a look of pity or disgust.

[Esgallhugwen]

"Maybe so, but what then has come over her to make her act so?"

Esgallhugwen gazed off in the distance, lost in thought. Her own mother slain, her father did nothing, lost in the dark, alone, crushed.

She couldn't allow it to happen to another, especially Uien, because of what they had faced along with Lira and the others. The bond between them had become stronger with the Osanwe Kenta, and Esgallhugwen would not let another fall to oblivion.

"Past regression perhaps. To know for sure I must make a journey, and I will need your help Falowik, I will need your help in order to come back."

Falowik looked at her distraught, "What do you speak of?", she didn't look at him at first concentrating on the distance, on the horizon. Was she looking for something?

"A journey to the shadows, which my Kin rarely undertake due to the danger of descending far enough down that we are utterly diminished and only a shell remains, a shadow of our former self".

Eswen's eyes expressed strict determination as she turned her far reaching gaze on Falowik, "Will you help me Falowik, mellon?"

I come I come to barrow mounds, white flowers bloom, war horns sound.


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Please check your PM's.

~*~ Pio

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[littlemanpoet]

"A journey to the shadows," answered Eswen to Falowik's query, "which my Kin rarely undertake due to the danger of descending far enough down that we are utterly diminished and only a shell remains, a shadow of our former self." Her eyes expressed strict determination as she turned her far reaching gaze on Falowik. "Will you help me Falowik, mellon?"

Falowik's eyes widened. Her Kin. Elvish ways, dark and strange. Falowik's skin crawled. He had seen Uien in the midst of such a moment back at Deadman's Dike, when the stones had spoken to her of death; at least, that was how Uien had put it. Falowik could not imagine what they were talking about, only that it must be darksome, thoroughly Elvish, and therefore a thing that a mere human had better stay far from. Yet Eswen asked for his help.

"How can I help you, Eswen? I am no Elf."


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~*~ Pio

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[Anguirel]

Artifondo couldn't help but laugh at Edan's turn of phrase. Disfortunate dispositions, indeed...but the essence of Edan's theory was good sense. There were now no Wizards left with the power or will to disrupt the humdrum peace of the Shire, either for better or worse.

He smiled at Edan. "I'm the opposite of you. Reading is my escape. My father and sister are always dragging me out of some history or book of poems, sending me off to harvest artichokes, or buy some twine, or deliver a letter, or collect levies from our tenantry...I can tell you, there are times when I sorely wish we Hobbits wore shoes, for my soles feel like the hide of an Oliphaunt..."

He sat back in his share, his meal finished, his belly pleasantly full. This was all very agreeable, but when was the Cook planning on turning up? Though she'd probably turf him out on his ear...if she had any sense...still, he had to make the sale, unlikely as it seemed, or he wouldn't be able to justify spending Dwellover money on lunch at the Green Dragon...

[Kath]

"I may be older than you master hobbit but I am not deaf!" Astilwen replied, spearing Woody with a look that had him squirming where he stood.

Satisfied she had made her point she turned to Hanson and smiled back. "Maybe she has reason to yell, are you really so well-behaved that you never deserve to be told off?"

Leaving him trying to work out an answer she turned towards Daisy. "Is there no chance that their friend can join them? It is a beautiful day."

Looking past Daisy she saw another hobbit girl. She could not see much of the boy that was causing all the arguments, but she could see that the girl before him cared deeply for him.

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Check your PM's, please.

~*~ Pio

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[Arry]

‘Told you off proper, didn’t she?’ Hanson smirked a bit at Woody, noting his brother had begun to turn beet red from the woman’s comment.

Woody could feel the heat rising in his face. This was just the sort of confrontation he liked to avoid. His hand snaked out and he grabbed his brother firmly by the collar. In the manner of older boys and their younger brothers he dragged Hanson from the schoolroom and back out to the yard.

‘Sit here,’ he hissed, seating himself beside Hanson on one of the benches in the shade. ‘And don’t move ‘til Miz Bella calls us in.’ He kept his hand near his brother in case he attempted to run again.

Woody was a shy lad. He hadn’t really wanted to come to school in the first place. He liked staying at home, helping out his Da when he could. Drawing pictures as he sat against his favorite sunny rock in the field near his burrow. But his mother had insisted, saying she wanted him to learn his letters and numbers. Behind her words, though, he knew her main reason was to keep Hanson in line.

Now Hanson wasn’t a bad brother. It’s just that he was only five years old, and had the attention span of a gnat. He liked to be doing things; but unfortunately those things involved a lot of moving about, not sitting still and acting properly as was required in school. And, he was a curious child; liked to poke his nose into others’ business.

Tomorrow, Woody thought, he’d beg off school. Let Uncle Gil keep his thumb on Hanson. There were some birds nesting in the beech tree near his drawing place. He wanted to draw a picture of them, maybe climb up if he could and see how the eggs were coming along.

He felt Hanson move, as if to get up. ‘Sit still, I told you!’

Hanson sat down with a sigh and glared at his brother.

‘Will this day never end?!’ grumbled Woody to himself.

[Noinkling]

Benat came whistling up the dirt path to the Inn; his long strides eating up the distance from the main road to the Dragon’s door. Cullen loped along beside him; his pace picking up as he caught the scent of the lunch meal.

It had been an enjoyable morning for the both of them. Benat had been graciously taken in by Sam and his wife, Rosie and made to feel quite at home. He chuckled as he thought of it. They had taken care to set up a little party in their back yard. Food and drink and a rather large bench for Benat to sit on. Sam had told him he’d read Master Bilbo’s account of his stay with Beorn and thought perhaps it would be less cramped for Benat if he didn’t try to squeeze into Bag End.

Cullen had been delighted to meet the Gamgee children. And Rose commented, before she left the men to talk over old stories and books, that the dog would be welcome anytime to come up and nursemaid her wee ones a bit. For his part, Cullen was as patient as he could be as they pulled his ears and poked fingers in his mouth to see his great teeth and gave him mighty hugs with sloppy kisses when he licked them.

Now it was time for food, thought Cullen as they stepped onto the porch and through the door. He could hear Benat’s stomach grumbling as they walked toward a suitable table.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger smiled to see the big man and his dog come into the Inn. She poured a pitcher of cold cider, and setting it on a tray with a large mug, went over to his table.

Cullen’s tail thumped as she approached. And she winked at him before setting the cider in front of Benat. ‘Well, did you get to see Master Samwise? And see old Mister Bilbo’s books?’ As she waited for his answer, a sudden thought struck her. Soon enough, if she kept up with her reading lessons with Miz Bella, she would be able to read the stories in those books, too.

With a little shake of her head, Ginger brought herself back to the present. ‘We’ve soup and bread and cheese, Master Benat,’ she said, ticking off the foods for lunch. She leaned down and gave Cullen a scratch between his ears. ‘And how about a nice bowl of it for Cullen, here. He looks famished!’ She laughed as the dog whined a bit at her and grinned at her suggestion.

[Fairleaf]

Reggie followed Hanson and Woody from the schoolroom. He hung back a bit, seeing Woody talking seriously to his brother. He knew all about older siblings and their serious talk – mostly it was threats about being good punctuated at times with a little pinch or two if his sister didn’t think he was paying proper attention.

He loved his sister and he was pretty sure Hanson felt the same about his brother. But boy-oh-boy, sometimes his sister sounded just like his Ma. Not that he didn’t love his Ma, either, It’s just that sometimes it felt like there were just too many rules to remember.

He sat near the two boys, on the ground, drawing little pictures in the dirt. He could see Hanson glancing his way, squirming a little. ‘Hey, Woody!’ he said quietly, in a hopeful voice. ‘You think Hanson and me could just play over there. In the corner. I promise we won’t go anywhere else.’

[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.

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

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