The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

Making plans for the Spring Faire . . .

‘Vinca Bunce! Where are you, you old trout?!’

There were two young women stuffing their mouths with artichoke as Granny Oldbuck entered the Inn kitchen. Buttercup Brownlock and Ginger Gamwich – both their chins shiny with butter. They dropped the leaves in their fingers and hurriedly wiped their faces.

‘Down there, Granny,’ said Buttercup coming round the table to point downstairs. ‘I’ll just go down and get her for you. Could I tell her what it is you want her for?’

Granny nodded and began to explain about the booth for herbs and medicinals. She and Granny Chubb and Granny Heathertoes were looking to manage it again this year. “But this year we want a better spot to put up our booth . . . and a bigger one . . .’

Ginger cleared away the last of the artichoke and wiped up the table top as she motioned for Granny Oldbuck to take a seat. She was just about to ask if Granny wanted a cup of tea, when the old woman’s yew wood cane pointed toward the door to the common room. Granny chuckled and waved for the Hobbit who’d been peeking in at the door to come in.

‘Ferdibrand Banks,’ she said as he entered, his eyes glued on Ginger. ‘And with a fistful of lupines.’ Granny Oldbuck motioned for Ginger to see to the visitor. ‘And mind you, get those flowers into some water afore they droop.’

[Saelind]

Before the Bard could respond to Reggie or answer Woody and Hanson's concerns, a slender Elf lad had leapt to his feet, nervously eyed his companions who sat near by, and blurted out a plea, "Please, Master Hearpwine, let the rest of us sing the song. I was born in Lórien and spent my earliest years there until it got so lonely and we had to leave. I have forgotten too many things, but what I remember best is the trees. Father has explained to me that other folk have other ways, but I could never put an axe to living wood. And your song says that so well. My father would weep with joy, for your voice is as sweet as any Elvish loremaster that I have heard."

"Perhaps," he added, "the lads who don't want to sing that tune could help get things ready for the puppets, the ones Miz Bella mentioned, and then join the rest of us for a second round of song. Indeed, could we make up our own song, one that's about something everyone likes? Perhaps about games or food or running across a field on a bright day, maybe even an anthem of praise to Cook who gave us such a fine lunch?"

"And I have a little harp of my own, not so great and grand as a true Bard, but still it plays sweet and true."

[Firefoot]

Willy had watched in silence thus far, scoffing of all the fuss over a tree. It was just a tree! He liked trees all right; they were fun to climb (if they weren't too tall), and their shade was nice on a hot summer day, but if one needed to be cut down, well, he really didn't care, so long as there weren't more than necessary cut down. There were always other trees.

Then Neviel stood up and said his piece about the song. I wonder if all Elves are this queer, thought Willy. He wondered if they would really have to learn many songs so high and fine as this. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with the good old Shire songs, easy to remember yet with wonderful beats for singing and dancing. They seemed much more appropriate to Willy for the Spring Faire. If they sang some fine songs, that would be okay, because new things could be fun, but he really would just prefer the types of songs he knew. He wasn't very musical, and disliked complicated songs.

As Neviel finished, Willy stood up since that seemed to be the thing to do. "I'm Willy, sir, Willy Burrows. I don't play any instruments or anything. I just thought I'd say, though, that your song was right nice, but I guess I don't see what the big deal about a tree is. And the song seems kinda hard. Not all of our songs will be so hard, will they? We'll get to sing some Shire songs, too, right?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The sudden chorus of small voices was a bit bewildering to the Bard, who was more used to hearing calls for another song than suggestions that he not sing again – or, worse, that his song had not been the right one for the occasion. He turned to the Boffin boys first. “I’m sure your Da would never punish you for simply singing a song, lads! He may make his living by harvesting the trees of the forest, but sure there are trees that he holds dear and would be loath to see felled. I have heard that there is one tree in the Shire of some magnificence, brought here by the Adventurers, and I am sure that none would dare lay their axe to it!”

Hanson’s eyes grew wide at the very idea. “Sure, there isn’t a hobbit anywhere who would cut down the Party Tree!”

Hearpwine grinned, believing he had scored a point. “Well, then, you see – your Da will understand the song.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Reggie said, “but your song wasn’t about the Party Tree, it was about an oak that you loved. I don’t think Mister Boffin and his brothers would care about that!”

Hearpwine opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Willy. “Well who cares about any old tree! I still say as we should sing a song about food and drink. And hobbits!”

“Well,” Hearpwine began again, “as it happens, I don’t know any songs of the Shire. That is why I am here. You see, my King…” but once again he was interrupted, this time by all the boys at once. At first he tried calling for them to attend to him, but their excited voices drowned him out. He thought back rapidly to his own school days, trying to remember what his master would do when he did not attend to his lessons, but the memory of the switch was a painful one, and he could not imagine inflicting anything like that on a child – let alone a hobbit child, not one of whom was any higher than his knee. Not knowing what else to do, then, he played upon his harp: but it was no tune or melody that filled the room. Instead, it was a jarring and ugly sound that he drew from the strings, discordant and unordered. It pained him deeply to assault his instrument in such a fashion, but it worked for the children fell silent and gazed at him in awe of how terrible a sound he was making.

“Thank you,” he said when they had fallen silent once more. “I am sorry that some of you are not overly fond of the song, but I cannot think of a better!”

“Master Hearpwine, can I say something?” The Bard looked at the speaker and for the first time noticed that it was an Elven child. His face registered shock, for never had he beheld an Elf younger than himself. So surprised was he that he made no answer, so the little fellow continued on his own. “If it’s true that no-one in the Shire would object to a song telling the woodsman not to chop down the Party Tree, then maybe we could change your song a bit and make it about that. I know that I would be happy to sing such a song, for the new Party Tree is a mallyrn and much beloved of my people.”

Hearpwine smiled at the lad and then turned to the others. “Well, children? What do you think?” there was a general mood of assent in the room, with many bright hobbit faces nodding in agreement. “Very well then,” he continued, “let us work on altering the lyrics so that it is a song about the Party Tree!”

[Tevildo]

Camille glanced over at Neviel, her eyes glowing with surprise and approval. Elf or not, the lad had a good idea. Surely, none of the parents would complain about a ballad that spoke of protecting the marvellous mallorn tree. In the short time that she had been in the Shire, Camille had heard of the events that had led to the felling of the old tree and the planting of the new one. Still, she had questions still unanswered.

Raising her hand wildly in the air to get the Bard's attention, the hobbit lass blurted out, "Tis a good idea. But there's one thing I don't understand. Will you be writing the song for us? Or are you saying we should do it? And how could we ever write a song? None of us have ever done that before....or at least I don't think so."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine smiled at the lass. "That's a good question, Mistress...?"

"Camille," the girl supplied.

"Camille," he echoed confused by the strange name. "I think it best if you all try to rewrite the words together, as the version I sang is the one I know and enjoy, but this Party Tree is wholly new to me! Who better to make a song of the Shire than yourselves! I will of course be here to help with my harp!" And with that he began playing a simple country tune to inspire them.

[WarBringer]

Valthalion lowered his head and sighed. How could he tell Snaveling the full truth? He had built his life around honor and bravery, and for anyone to think otherwise, especially Snaveling, would be horrible. He would do anything to avenge his friend, but would anything restore his honor? Valthalion gripped his sword and drew it, showing it to Snaveling.

"This is Raukorist, Demon Cleaver, a gift of the Lord Elessar. I have born it through many dangers, and it has cloven many foes. And yet, I feel unworthy to bear such a weapon, for I have shamed myself beyond all reckoning. You must understand, I cannot return to Gondor until I have avenged myself, until my deeds measure up to the majesty of my lord, I WILL NOT RETURN! Long i have thought of the War of the Ring and the valor of Aragorn, now known as Elessar. He faced his test and passed, to his great reward. I was faced with an easier test, and failed to measure up.", said Valthalion.

Snaveling placed his hand upon his chin, and spoke "Val, few can measure up to the one who restored the lordship of man. It is not up to you to accomplish this deed."

Val's eyes shone like the fiery sun, and he spoke "You have gained much wisdom, and yet still you do not know how to read the hearts of men! I will not simply act as one who is nothing, a mere ranger in a world of heroes. I will rise to meet them, nay, rise ABOVE them! I know not who this warlord is, nor what his origins, nor how he came to survive the hunts of Gondor. I tell you, a great power is within this man, and though I have seen it not (and do not wish to, for that matter), this man's eyes burn with the fury of the Great Eye. In all the tales I have heard I have never learned of such a man. Now my heart tells me I must meet this man in battle ere my end, and yet there is a shadow before me and behind me, for reasons that I cannot tell you. Let it suffice to say that I cannot return to Gondor before i do this, I will not, not until I can count myself among the heroes of the North. It may be beyond my power to defeat this man, I just a simple Ranger, and yet this will not stop me. Tell me what you know, o Black Numenorean, for I value your wisdom!

[Firefoot]

Willy sighed in resignation, still unsure of how well he would be able to learn such a song. Master Hearpwine's song, between the beautiful harp and the rich melodies, had played a song far fairer than any he had heard before. Maybe it would be easier if it were about the Party Tree, though.

"...I think it best if you all try to rewrite the words together, as the version I sang is the one I know and enjoy, but this Party Tree is wholly new to me! Who better to make a song of the Shire than yourselves! I will of course be here to help with my harp!" Willy glanced around and saw some discomfort on some other's faces. Of course Master Hearpwine wouldn't know that they had only barely learned their first four letters this morning.

He raised his hand, "Um, Master Hearpwine?"

Hearpwine looked up from his music. "Yes, Master... Willy, correct?"

"Uh-huh. But what you said about writing the words, we only just started learning our letters this morning. We know four: B, E, A, and, um..."

"R," someone prompted.

"Yes, R," Willy repeated. "So you see, if there are a few here who know their letters, that's fine, but those four letters are the only ones most of us know so far. We can't write the words 'cause we don't know how."

[Kath]

Astilwen had remained at the back of the classroom, enchanted by the music and the vioce of Master Hearpwine. Now seeing the discomfitted looks on the faces of the younger hobbits she felt moved to offer a solution.

"Willy, maybe you children could think of the words you want to put in the song and I can help you write them down. Then, if it is agreeable to Master Hearpwine, he could sing them so you can learn them that way."

Turning to the bard in question she aksed.
"Is that acceptable?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine bowed to the hobbit lass loudly proclaiming his assent to the plan. He did not feel it necessary to say how relieved he was that she had come forward with her offer -- the Bard was himself unable to read and was full of wonderment that these mere babes would know some letters already! "We shall rely upon the powers of your quill my lady! But if I might know your name?"

"Astilwen," she said, rising and then dropping a very pretty little curtsey. "And it would be my pleasure."

"Very well then, it is agreed is it not children? I shall play upon my harp while you rewrite the lyrics to the song, with our fair lady Astilwen here to keep notes of the changes. Now to it, my pretty little Shirelings, let us soon hear The Party Tree!!"

Valin Stormfist had been roaming the lands for years. He stopped only for rest, as his explorers heart leapt at the chance to see distant lands. His explorations of the vast world he inhabited had brought him to joyous place. It seemed that there was some indeed a place known as the Green Dragon Inn.

He was in much need of some rest and a good drink, so he then decided to go to the inn even though it spoke against his life of solitude. As he opened the door he saw that there was much dancing and mirth. The sight actually made a grin come across his face, something that indeed did not happen often anymore.

He strode through the door, his long brown hair flowing down as he removed his helmet. It did not take too long for him to find the drink he so longed for, and with all the dancing a seat was easier to find. He sat down and stretched out his tired legs. As he drank he watched them dance and his heart did not seem as heavy as before.

The Shire it seemed, was not an unhappy place. It was good to see that not everything was as bleak as it sometimes seemed. Maybe there was something to being around others. Maybe solitude was not his answer. His thoughts soon left him as he finished his drink and closed his eyes. Relaxation was quick to call.

[Arry]

Woody’s features lightened at the suggestion that the class could rewrite the words to the song. He was sure his Da would not mind something that had to do with taking care of the Party Tree. As he thought, his chalk moved quickly over his slate, drawing the mallorn tree as it would be all flowered out at the Spring Faire. Drawing, he found, always helped him to concentrate.



He stood up once he was done and cleared his throat a bit. Before he could lose his nerve, he recited his reworking of the first verse:

Ruffian, spare our Party Tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas Samwise Gamgee’s able hand
That placed it near his cot:
There, ruffian, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!

He sat down quickly, the tips of his ears burning, hoping no one would laugh at his try.

[Kath]

As Woody began to recite his version of the poem, Astilwen grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper from the back of the classroom and scribbled down the words as he spoke them. Once he had finished she read over the words and was impressed at the young hobbits ability with the difficult words of the song.

"That was really good Woody!" she called out. "Do you have any more ideas? Or would someone else like to take a turn?"

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

Suddenly, the door to the Inn opened again. A youngish hobbit girl stood in the entryway, and looked around. Her green eyes took in the crowded room, and looked with shy curiosity at the traveler with long brown hair who was seated with a drink at a table near the door.

Absentmindedly, she brushed a flyaway blond curl behind her ear. Her hair had never been particularly neat, so she had become so used to simple gestures such as that particular one, that she now did them without thinking.

[Fairleaf]

Daisy had a good memory for song and rhyme. She loved to listen to her mother singing as she spun the wool from their sheep.

She raised her hand tentatively, then stood at her table when Master Hearpwine and Astilwen glanced her way. In a clear, piping voice she sang out her idea for the second verse:

That graceful mallorn tree
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o’er land and sea,
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Ruffian, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh spare it for us Hobbit folk
Heed our warning cries!

‘I wasn’t sure about that land and sea stuff, but I figured if Mister Frodo and Mister Bilbo had gone over the sea to visit the Elves, then they surely must have told them all about the Party Tree. Especially since it was right near Mister Bilbo’s place.’ She blushed as the string of words came to and end. ‘And I’ll bet they told them about both of the trees – the one that used to be here. Before I was born. And the pretty one Mayor Sam planted.’

[Tevildo]

"Ah, that's so wonderful, Woody and Daisy!" Camille blurted out, interrupting Astilwen before she could even answer. "I'm nowhere near as good with rhymes. But, if we're going to talk about the Party Tree, shouldn't we say something about the Party?" At the first mention of the Spring Faire and the Party Tree, Camille's mind had immediately conjured up an image of the vast spread of food she would likely find sitting on the tables directly underneath the tree. She wondered if the words were too commonplace for such a fine song.

"Would something like this do?" she tentatively queried.

Join me then dear friend,
Underneath its silvery bark.
Golden hours we shall spend
Till morn gives way to dark,
Sampling platters sure to delight
The hungriest in the Shire.
As hobbits marvel at the sight
Of a fat pig o'er an open fire.

[Arry]

Hanson’s eyes shone with delight at Camille’s verse to the song. He hadn’t had much to eat at lunch, being too concerned with playing a game of marbles with his friends.

His stomach grumbled at it’s nearly empty state, and his mouth watered at the mention of roasted pig. ‘Oh, my gosh!’ he said aloud, without thinking. ‘I hope there will be corn on the cob with that. And some of my ma’s nice, big biscuits, with butter and blackberry jam.’

He looked about, realizing he had spoken out loud . . .

[Atarah]

Some may have heard of an elf from Eryn Lasgalen, though her long golden hair tells that she was born in Lorien. She was an adventurer by nature and had once travelled to Cirith Ungol, but was more likely to have been known for her hunt for the dragon Glawr. But now there was little in the ways of adventuring in Middle Earth. The Dark Lord had been vanquished by the brave hobbit Frodo and his loyal companion Sam, whom Elentari had once seen gardening in Hobbiton. A garden anyone would be craving to call their own.

Elentari had stayed in the Green Dragon once before, but as her grey eyes searched the building that had once been familiar to her, she realised much had changed in the time she had spent away. She wondered if Aman and Pio where still here. In fact, Pio had justed announced she was pregnant last time Elentari was here. She hoped she might get to see what Pio's little ones were like, but from the conversations she could hear Elentari guessed Pio may not be here at the moment.

The door felt warm from the sunlight as Elentari pushed it open. She stepped quietly inside and walked to the counter where some other people sat. She ordered a mug of ale and sat down to drink. A strange thing for an elf to do she was sure, but the dwarves who had accompanied her to slay Glawr dared her to drink some, and she'd grown quite accustomed to it. She wondered if she'd met anyone here before.

[Fairleaf]

Reggie reached under table and fished blindly about with his hand. Somewhere near his feet he had put the little lunchpail his Ma had sent to school with him. 'Ah,there you are,' he said to it, bending his head down for a look. He pulled it out and gave a quick tug to the hem of Hanson's tunic.

'Hey,' he whispered, scooting closer to his friend. 'I still have the honeyed corn fritters my Ma sent. You want one? I'm kind of hungry after all that talk about the Party Tree and food.'

[Amanaduial the archer]

As a chorus of juvenile voices broke into song, Aman nearly leapt out of her skin. Feeling a little foolish, Aman smiled sheepishly at Bella. "You are a braver woman than I, Bella," she said with a wink. "And of course it is a pleasure to let you use the Inn - why, I can't think of a better use for the room than as a schoolroom; 's not like the Dragon is a particularly unsuitable environment." Although the irony of an Inn doubling as a schoolroom for young children has not escaped me, she added mentally, but deemed that maybe the teacher would not appreciate this comment.

She continued, "It is more about the subjects that are being taught than the place in which they are taught. I'm not criticising, Bella, and I don't mean to interfere, you're doing a cracking job," she added hastily. "It's more about a possible...expansion of subjects."

Bella cocked her head to one side, her eyes bright as she folded her arms, apparently interested. "Go ahead, Aman?"

Relieved that she hadn't managed to offend the schoolteacher (yet), Aman continued, outlining the general idea. "Bella, it seems to me that the Inn is a perfect environment for learning not just because of the location or the general atmosphere, but...well, because of the very customers themselves!" Warming to her subject, Aman became more animated. "Think, Bella; where else in Middle Earth will you find met together and with free time on their hands such characters as are here? Consider the wealth of knowledge and the skills that they possess: Uien, a talented sculptor and herbalist; Mithalwen, a musician and maker of all manner of things, I understand, including instruments; Vinca Bunce, the very gem of the Green Dragon with her cooking, if I may say so; Snaveling, a first-hand witness of the history of the Dunedain and a member of Elessar's court... the list goes on! Artists, musicians, craftsmen, historians, speakers of a whole range of different languages...!"

Catching herself in her enthusiasm, Aman tried to bring together the strings of her plan. "My idea, Bella, is that maybe, if you approve, you could bring these things into the schoolroom. Why, the onset has already begun: Hearpwine the Bard has already shown himself to be a useful, if unusual, addition to the classroom. The basic necessaries would, of course, remain, as they have done and no doubt will do until the kingdom falls; but to add to Reading, Writing and Arithmatic the likes of history, geography, languages, crafts, cookery, even etiquette for the lasses... why, such a school, with such a wealth of teachers, would be unmatched in all of Middle Earth!"

Caught once more of anticipation in a whirl, her green eyes glinting with excitement, Aman took a breath, her eyes searching Bella's face. "What do you think, Bella? Hearpwine, I hope, has shown you that it would not be a complete waste of energy, and to give the children such a range of skills... The Shire remains unchanged as the years roll by, no matter how many young bucks follow the ways of 'mad baggins', but outside it the world is always changing. What do you say, Bella? Worth a try, or should this Innkeeper just stick with pulling pints?" She grinned, almost shyly despite her excitement, hoping the teacher might give her a go.

[piosenniel]

Tea with the Elf

The problems with the booth for the Spring Faire had been sorted out to Granny Oldbuck’s satisfaction. A nice large spot, beneath one of the large oak trees would be roped off for the herbs and medicinals tables. And not too far from the path up to the Inn. They’d be better seen there, Cook had told her. And it would be a shorter walk to the Common Room if they wanted to rest up a bit and have a smoke by the fire. She’d left Granny to supervise the two ‘lovebirds’ as she termed them who were sitting at the smaller table in the kitchen talking quietly. Granny’s attention, though, she noted as she picked up her basket and headed for the door was focused more on the warm plum tarts and mug of sweetspice tea in front of her than on Ginger and Ferdy.

Cook stopped at the door and put her basket down for a moment. She grabbed her cloak from the peg and fastened it round her shoulders with an economy of motion. Her bonnet she clasped on her head, tucking a few stray curls beneath it. ‘Just going out to have tea with a friend,’ she called out to no one in particular as she opened the door. ‘Help yourself to a few more tarts is you will, Miz Oldbuck. And Ginger, you make sure she has plenty of hot tea if she wants it.’

The sun was bright as she stepped out from the kitchen. Shading her eyes against it, Cook took stock of the back yard. All seemed in order. She stepped off the porch and headed toward the edge of the Inn yard, toward the bower of trees near the groundskeeper’s cottage.

‘Are you there, Master Lithmîrë?’ she called out. ‘It’s just me, Vinca Bunce. I’ve brought some refreshments.’

[Lasbelinion]

In hiding . . .

The sound of wheels coming along the gravelly path that ran by the bower startled him. Surely Mistress Bunce would not be coming such a short distance in a cart. He stepped back behind the cover of the trees and leaves, watching warily. In a short time, a cart did pass by, pulled by a single pony. It went on up the path toward the cottage, coming to stop at the steps up to the small verandah.

A tall, slender woman, dark haired, stepped down from the cart and began unloading cloth covered buckets from the back of it. The contents of the buckets was covered by cloth. Lithmîrë frowned, wondering what she was doing.

As he stood there, a familiar voice called out. Mistress Bunce! He hesitated in reply, not wanting to draw the attention of the other woman.

[Noinkling]

The visit to Sam and Rose’s place recounted

Benat sopped up the last of his soup and sat back satisfied in his chair. He’d told Derufin and Anyopa a little of his visit as they sat eating, too. But mostly just the details of the Gamgee hospitality. Mistress Rose had set up a place beneath the big Elm tree in their back yard, with a table that held a large pitcher of cider and a number of platters of tempting sweets.

The children had been all agog at the big man who’d come striding up the path to their burrow. And despite the chiding of their father, one of the younger ones had managed to ask if he were indeed a giant. Rose had diverted their attentions be giving them each a mug of cider and a sweet and sent them off to play. Benat in like manner, and much to the delight of the children, sent Cullen off to play with them.

It was then, he told the two men, that Master Sam had brought out a large book, bound in Red Leather. Accompanying it had been some other slender volumes, three of them to be exact, also in red leather.

Dipping into The Red Book had been a wonder, he told Derufin and Anyopa. In it had been the story of Master Bilbo’s travels with Gandalf and the Dwarves. Benat wiped his hands clean on the legs of his breeches and turned eagerly to the story of the journey. Sure enough, there was the visit to his Granda’s house and after that the travels east under the dark eaves of Mirkwood and then to The Lonely Mountain. There were wolves and goblins and great eagles and the creature in the cave.

And the dragon! What a foe that would have been to face. Benat chuckled, ‘Imagine facing such a fierce being with only one’s wits as a weapon! That Master Bilbo must have had quite a large spirit to have done so.’ A little sparrow, he told them, in the end brought the bowman’s arrow to bear on the one chink in the dragon’s armor. ‘A little sparrow, mind you!’ he said again. ‘The small creatures are something one should not dismiss. My father taught me this as did his father before him. By such oversight are the mighty brought low.’

After that had come the great battle over the rights to the dragon’s treasure. Wood Elves and Men of the Lake on the one side. The Dwarves of Thorin and Dain on the other. Then had come, too, the Orc armies of Bolg. ‘My Granda came then to the battle, slashing the Orcs with his great paws, crushing Bolg in his mighty grasp. And the eagles, too had come to lend aid.

After this had come the return home for Master Bilbo and then in a second section of the Red Book was how he had traveled to Rivendell to live with the Elves. ‘But, oh what a story his nephew, young Master Frodo, had!’ Benat went on. ‘Sam promised that before I left I could look through that part also.’ Benat shook his head, remembering the short telling of it Sam had given him. ‘Went all the way to Mordor, that one did. And Sam by his side. Seems it was he, and not the new King and his armies, that brought down the foul shadow that dwelt there. Though I’m not saying the High King didn’t lend a hand as needed.’

On impulse, Benat called one of the servers over, and fishing in his pouch for some silver coin, said he was buying a round for the house. Questioning looks were cast at the servers as ale was poured all around followed by looks and nods of thanks to Benat. He raised his mug to those in the room saying in a great voice, ‘To the Shire Folk!’

[Arry]

Gil and friends

Along with Tomlin, Gil had come in early to the Inn. His reason being to pick up Woody and Hanson from class; Tomlin’s to flirt a bit with Buttercup. ‘Chat her up some,’ he’d told Gil. ‘Make sure we’re on for the Faire.’ Gil had laughed at his friend, chiding Tomlin for being tied to her apron-strings.

Tomlin grinned and gave Gil a knowing look. ‘Can’t wait til some lass snares you, Master Play-the-field.’ He laughed aloud at Gil’s raised brows and his snort of disbelief. ‘Twil be a quick hard fall for you. And we’ll be there to clap as you hit the ground!’

Fallon and Ferrin had joined them just as Tomlin nodded their way. ‘What are we clapping for?’ Ferrin asked, sliding into his chair. ‘Ah,’ he said as Tomlin explained.

‘We should put a wager on it,’ Fallon interrupted, before his brother could say more. ‘I’ll say a week would do it, once he’s met the right one.’ ‘Oh, a month at least,’ offered Ferrin. ‘Our Gil’s a cool one, he is.’ ‘What do you say, Tomlin?’ Fallon asked. ‘Being the one who brought this all up and such.’

‘Can’t say about the actual time it’ll take. But I know the sort it’ll be. None of the lasses we know . . . they’re too easily taken in by his quick smiles and silvered tongue. She’ll be the sort to ward off his charm. Pierce him with her bright, sharp eyes . . . straight to the heart of him.’

Gil laughed and was about to respond when a server came round with a pitcher of ale to fill up their mugs. ‘From the big fellow, over there,’ the server had said, pointing toward Benat.

Benat’s toast had rung out loud and clear through the Common Room. Gil and his fellows raised their mugs to him. Fallon, a grin on his face for the free drink, shouted back. ‘May the hair on your toes grow long, good Sir!’

They took a long drink and raised their mugs again in acknowledgement. Then Gil turned back to his companions, a twinkle in his eye. ‘And would any of you grand wizards watching over my poor life care to put a few coins in the pot to back up your predictions?’

[Undómë]

Hob noticed his companions from the previous evening were seated at a table not far from his. Benat, the tall fellow, was quite animated and appeared to be telling them a story. Picking his mug up, Hob made it to the table for the last of the story and joined in on the toast.

He settled back in his chair and waited for the hubbub of thanks and return toasts to settle down, then asked Benat to recount some of his story. It was a condensed version, but still exciting, nonetheless.

Talk came round to Hob and had he had a successful morning. ‘One of my best,’ he said, setting his mug down on the table. ‘Seemed as if whatever I had to sell was exactly what the merchants were needing. Can’t say as things have ever gone so smoothly before. I only wished I’d had more stock with me.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘Ah well! Next time.’

He looked at Derufin and Anyopâ. ‘And how about you two? You look as if you’d put in a hard day’s work already.’

[Fairleaf]

The song continues

'Me and Hanson have worked up a verse, too!' said Reggie, nudging his friend to stand up with him.

Hanson reluctantly put down the last of the corn fritters he'd taked from Reggie's lunch pail and licked the honey from his fingers. 'Maybe we should just say it,' he whispered to Reggie. 'Cause I can't remember the tune that goes to it.'

The words came out hesitantly, and with much prompting of each other:

And when we’ve said good-bye
And when the party’s done
Then to our little beds we’ll go
To dream of all the fun
The friends we saw, the games we played
The food and dance and song
Oh, Party Tree, we love you so,
We’ll see you soon ‘for long!

'Well that's it for us.' Reggie looked hopefully at Master Hearpwine. 'Is that enough for the song. Can we go home now?'

[Huan]

‘A hard day’s work, and not yet done!’ laughed Anyopâ, rubbing the muscles on his arms as if to emphasize the point. ‘In my family’s metalwork shop I had not put these to such strenuous work and for so long.’ He gave Hob a considering look, as well as Benat.

‘You know,’ he said, looking toward Derufin with a smile. ‘We could cut what work remains us were we to recruit these two.’

[Witch_Queen]

Jonathan

Jonthan walked inside the inn. "Baby brother I'm proud of you. Take good care of him Ravon." He took his eyes off the happy couple. "Lewis I've got to get back home. Seems like my wife's father isn't doing to good. Sorry but I'm afraid I may not be here for the wedding. I'm leaving in a few days."

Jonathan was so happy that his brother had actually found someone that made him happy. "Hey did you hear that everyone, my little brother's going to get married to this fine female." The inn suddenly went silent. "Sorry little brother had to do that."

Valin was completely relaxed here. The shire was more wondeful than even the stories had said. Many tales had been spun about the place but Valin was not one to believe anything he heard unless from friend or family. He stayed altogether to himself and was quite content.

After some time he opened his eyes and drained his mug. he was just about to fetch another when he noticed a hobbit girl looking at him. He would guess she was young but so child like the hobbits seemd to Valin, that determining age seemed quite difficult to him. He approached her slowly not quite sure of any customs of the Shire.

"Care for a drink, lass? The table's plenty big for two."

[Noinkling]

Benat’s laugh startled those about him and Cullen, who had been drowsing beneath the table, raised his head and looked about. ‘Well, I’m game for it if Master Hob is,’ the big man said.

‘What say you, Hob? Shall we show these two puny specimens of Men what a Hobbit and Beorning can accomplish?’

Cullen, drawn into the spirit of the statement by the tenor of his master’s voice, gave voice to his own opinion with a loud Woof!

[Undómë]

‘I’m for it, my good sir,’ Hob replied, rolling up his sleeves. ‘One question, though. What exactly are we supposed to best them at?’

Derufin explained that they had cut up some downed logs at the edge of the Inn property and had split most of them for the Inn’s woodshed. There still some to be split and then those and what was left in the wagon out back of the Inn needed to be stacked away.

Hob had plenty of experience splitting firewood. Being the oldest son of the family that job had fallen to him. He sized up Benat and grinned. ‘You split ‘em. I’ll stack ‘em.’ He grinned at Derufin and Anyopa. Losers buy us a round of Dwarven spirits after supper. Agreed?!’

[piosenniel]

Cook called out to Lithmîrë. She didn’t see him, but she supposed he could be in the bower already and hidden from view. She was going to call out again, but to her right a familiar face popped up from the opening to the root cellar at the side of the groundskeeper’s cottage.

‘Is that you Miz Bunce?’ said Zimzi climbing the last of the steps. She stepped out and pushed a stray hair behind her ear with the back of her hand. ‘I’m just bringing the last of my clay down to the cellar to stay cool and damp.’ She looked curiously at Cook, noting her bonnet was on her head and a laden basket in her hands. ‘Is there something I might do for you?’ She dipped her hands in a bucket of water she’d been using to wet the cloths to go over the buckets of clay. Wiping her hands on her homespun apron she came walking toward the Hobbit with a smile of welcome on her face.

‘Well, dear Zimzi, I’m very glad to see you’ve had a successful day,’ Cook said nodding to the last two buckets of clay waiting to be stored below. ‘I’m just going to meet a new friend . . . an Elvish gardener who’s come to the Inn.’ She nodded toward the bower. ‘We were going to have tea and talk plants and such. Have you seen him by chance?’

Zimzi shook her head ‘no’, saying she had been so intent on getting her clay below that she’d really not paid any attention. ‘And you know Elves,’ the woman chuckled. ‘A troop of them might have traipsed past the cellar as I busied myself, and been so quiet I’d not hear a single footfall.’

‘I’ll just go in and check then,’ said Cook, laughing also. She paused before turning toward the entrance to the leafy bower. ‘There’s plenty to eat and drink here,’ she went on, holding up the basket. ‘Would you like to join us?’

‘Oh, another time I think,’ said Zimzi, brushing at a smear of dirt on her skirt. ‘I’m not really dressed for meeting company and I’ve got supper to get on before Derufin returns from his task you’ve set him to.’ She held up a hand before Cook could invite the couple to a meal at the Inn proper. ‘No, don’t tempt me! I’ve made up my mind to fix a meal here and hopefully he’ll bring his friends, too.’ She turned to pick up the last of the buckets and head for the cellar steps. Calling out over her shoulder she told Cook to feel free to walk about the lovely plantings round the cottage.

[Lasbelinion]

With a sudden exhalation, Lithmîrë let go his breath. He’d been holding it in, keeping quiet as possible as Mistress Bunce spoke with the dark haired woman. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Watching the woman pick up the last two buckets of clay, he forced himself to see beyond his remembrances of encounters with females of the Man races who served the Dark Lord, and who could be as cruel as their male counterparts. There was nothing about this woman that spoke of the myriad of cold and calculated ways that pain could be inflicted. Her voice held no mean, sadistic undertones nor did the way she held her body show the savage ferocity that had often lurked behind a fair face.

But reasoning could only go so far. There had been that definite visceral reaction to the sight of her, and deep within his gut it still lay, a small hard kernel of fear and hatred and paralyzing despair.

‘Will I never be free?’ he asked in a whisper, his voice ragged with weary hopelessness.

Perhaps it is folly for me to stay here any longer, he thought to himself, beginning to feel the panic still eddying about within himself. Perhaps I should just go; gather the herbs I need as I can. The sooner I reach the Havens, the sooner I will be on my way to safety and to healing.

He was still considering his options when Mistress Bunce peeked her head through the entry way to the bower and smiled at him.

[SonOfBombadil]

Lewis looked at Jonathan, "I understand, you should go." Looking at Ravon he continued, "I'm not sure that we'll marry here as neither of us have family nearby. Although the shire has become our home in the last few months." He paused, thinking and, looking at nothing in particular.

Snapping out of his momentary trance, Lewis looked at his brother once again. "Well, while you're here, let me buy you a drink!" Ravon, Lewis and Jonathan all sat back down and ordered some drinks.

[bilbo_baggins]

Ponto Smallburrow came bumbling over the hearth into the warm and cozy Inn, basking in the presence of other people and relishing the thought of getting drunk in the next few hours. Boy had it been a while since he had been in here.

He sat down and saw familiar faces smiling at new faces never seen before. And all around him were merry-makers and laughing people, grunts of contentment, and sighs of pleasure. Ah, but living in the Shire was the life, was it not? How carefree, how joyously relaxing it was!

Getting a cup of mead, he started lacing his mind with fanciful thoughts and daydreams of feasts without end. How incomparable was the feeling of being back home!

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"Care for a drink, lass? The table's plenty big for two."
The young hobbit was startled to hear the traveler speaking to her. In fact, she visibly jumped. Torn between her curiosity and her in-born fear of things new and strange, she wavered.

Eventually her curious side won out. She slid into a seat and looked half-warily, half-interestedly at the stranger. "As for the drink," she said softly, in an accent that might have been unfamiliar to the person across from her, "I wouldn't dare! My mum would kill me if she knew I was drinking: she says I'm too young. But I wouldn't say no to a plate of mushrooms..."

Suddenly, she seemed to come to herself. "Well! That was rather rude of me! I...well, I don't know who you are! What is your name?"

Valin was shocked to hear that the hobbit he had approached was too young to drink. But he was not about to argue the importance of beginning young to someone who was simply following the rules.

"My name is Valin Stormfist. And as for the mushrooms, I could go for some as well. Eh, what's your name lass? And what's a young hobbit doing her by herself?"

The mushrooms came quickly to the table and Valin wasted no time in helping himself. He made sure to leave what he considered a good amount for the hobbit.

[Atarah]

Elentari sighed as she leaned her head on her clenched fist. Had people really forgotten who she was. She guessed mortal's didn't have as good a memory for remembering faces as elves did. Oh well, she thought. I'm sure someone will talk to me eventually.

She sighed again as she moved from the bar to a table tucked away in a fairly dark corner. She pulled her hood over her eyes, something she had heard King Elessar used to do at the Prancing Pony when he was a ranger of the northern lands. She wondered if any of the people in the Green Dragon would rise to be a great hero. She smiled as she remembered why she was here - there was little left in the way of adventures in Middle Earth.

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"My name is Valin Stormfist. And as for the mushrooms, I could go for some as well. Eh, what's your name lass? And what's a young hobbit doing her by herself?"

The girl hesitantly said, "I am Peony Underhill...And as for what I'm doing here, well, I live here in Bywater, so it is not far to walk. The Green Dragon has some of the best food in all of the Shire! It's also a great place to watch people, there's always so many different people here!"

As she was talking, the mushrooms had arrived. She watched Valin take a few, but decided she was not going to let him get away with eating the whole plate, so she dug in, remembering to eat somewhat politely in front of the stranger.

[Larien Telemnar]

A Hobbit walks quietly into the inn, her dark blue cloak covering her body, which was short for even her race.

She surveryed the roomed quickly, and after a moment, settled at a table in a dark corner. She lit a pipe, then quietly watched the patrons of the Green Dragon. She absently fingered the hem of her cloak as she watched the merrymaking taking place around her. Secretly, she felt jealous, wishing to join in. No, I can't. I know nothing of the people here. What if I offend them.... She thought.

Unbeknownst to her she had withdrawn further into the corner.