The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

~*~ GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS ~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Derufin, General handyman/jack-of-all-trades round the Inn; Man from southwestern Gondor (played by Envinyatar)

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

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

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Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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

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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

[piosenniel]

It is late afternoon now in the Shire. The sky is a glorious shade of blue; the sun is shining bright and warm on the Inn., though the shadows are lengthening.

Lunch is done. Most of those in the Common Room are relaxing with a mug of their favorite brew and a good smoke. Snacks are available.

Supper is being prepared and will be available later.

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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

[piosenniel]

NOTICE OF TIME MOVING FORWARD IN THE INN

Please try to wrap up any of your late after scenarios by 24 hours from now. I'd like to move the time in the Inn to suppertime at that time.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio

[Noinkling]

Benat cast a knowing glance at Hob. ‘We’ve been had, you know.’ Cullen raised his head as his master gave out a deep rumbling laugh.

Pushing his damp hair back from his face, Benat shook a finger at the two men. ‘Best you bring a large stack of coin! I’m feeling might thirsty!’ Cullen punctuated the declaration with a loud Woof!.

'I'll meet you three later in the common room,' he called out as he started round the side of the Inn toward the front door. 'Need to wash up a bit and find a fresh shirt.' He waved at the three as he disappeared around the corner.

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"Don't worry yourself over an Outsider," Thistle advised. "More trouble than they're worth, usually; don't recognize decent folk when they see them. Don't understand us Shirefolk. And those who them folk do understand tend to be a bit queer in the head. At any rate, I'm sure 'twas nothing you did, lass."

Peony smiled at that. "I'm glad you think so! I just couldn't think of anything that I'd done to upset him so." Now that someone was talking with her, she didn't feel at all sad and out-of-place. She tried to convince herself that the Outsider was the last thing on her mind, and succeeded in pushing her worry about him to the very back of her mind.

She looked at the half-finished order of mushrooms, then nudged the plate towards Thistle. "There's plenty left if you want some," Peony offered. "Though I'm afraid they've gone rather cold..."

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien listened as Ginger spokeof the Elves, those who she once thought of as her people. She pondered how she was going to answer the question she knew would escape her friend's lips next. If I tell her, what would she think of me, an orphan, an outcast and a disgrace? She thought, rubbing even harder at the pan.

‘What were you doing there, living in Rivendell, and all?’ Larien almost jumped as the question she feared most passed Ginger's lips. Ginger saw her rubbing hard at the pan and laughed. ‘Rub a hole in that poor old pan, if you keep at it like that!’

'Sorry.' Larien muttered, laying the pan down and swatting away a wisp of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. She looked guiltily at Ginger, knowing she could not hide from herself forever.

'I lived in Rivendell my whole life, with the exception of a few months or years in Mirkwood or Lothlorien.' She fingered her apron and bit her lip. 'My parents were travelers, while alive. I was only a few months old when my parents were killed. We were traveling through the misty mountains, when they were attacked by Orcs. My mother had the presence of mind to hide me before they killed her. A passing Elf found me, and brought me to Imladris, where I was nursed by Lord Elrond. He raised me as his own daughter, which is why I grew up there. It's really an amazing place.' She smiled wistfully and handed her pan to Ginger.


You didn't tell her the whole story, A little voice in her whispered. She hung her head in shame.

'I have no memory of my parents.' She whispered.

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik stood. "Uien!" he called. She ignored him. He touched the gem hanging on his necklace; it was cold: Uien's mind was elsewhere, though he thought of her. Falowik looked to Eswen nervously.

The Elf's brow was furrowed. "She is following the Elf. Come!" Eswen led Falowik into the bower, stopped, and glanced around. "There has been a brief exchange of words here," Eswen said absently, still sensing in whatever way Elves sensed. "She is giving chase! This is worse than I thought, Falowik. We must stop her!"

"What is going on with her?" Falowik asked as he trailed Eswen through a narrow gap in the brush.

"Something in the other Elf has invaded her mind and cast her into darkness deeper than she has ever withstood. It is as if she is under a spell. She is not herself."

As dark as it sounded to Falowik, that was hopeful. If Uien was not herself in ignoring him, speaking harshly, acting in ways that he had never seen from her, then perhaps she could be cured. He stayed close on Eswen's heels.

They did not have to go far. Uien lay senseless on the ground. Falowik thought it odd, for Uien was ever light of foot and had little need for care where here feet landed. He looked down and saw that she had tripped on a root of a nearby tree. He raised a brow, looking at the tree once, and shrugged. It must be the effect of the spell she was under, he thought.

"Uien!" Falowik cried, rushing to her. He touched her shoulder. She raised her head with a look of sudden fury and shook him off, and rose to her feet.

"Uien Inglorion!" came a voice from behind them, ringing with eldritch power. It was Eswen, suddenly grown tall and dark. Her eyes glinted with a strange light. Uien turned. "Come to me, Uien!" Uien watched Eswen as if in a trance, and slowly walked toward Eswen.

Falowik frowned. Was this any better? What strange figure was this? Was it Eswen at all? He followed Uien. As they approached, Eswen diminished, and Uien laid a hand in hers.

"Come, Uien," she said, "you have been through great turmoil. 'Tis time to return home to Falowik and the life you have chosen with him."

[Undómë]

Hob got up from where he was sitting and rubbed his back. 'That Benat can sure split firewood fast,' he said, trying the ease the muscles he could feel tightening in the small of his back and across his shoulders. His had been the job to pick up the pieces of wood and stacking them in his arms, carry them to the woodshed to be laid there neatly.

He pulled a handkerchief from his breeches' pocket and wiped his still damp brow. 'think I'll go to my room, too. A nice soak in a tub of steamy water will do me good. I'll meet you two for supper . . . and if you don't mind, a mug or two of the Inn's stout will stand me as well as some of those Dwarvish spirits.' He also gave them a wave and disappeared into the Inn.

[Huan]

‘Perhaps I should go and clean up, also,’ Anyopâ commented, watching as the Hobbit disappeared from view. ‘Although,’ he went on, lifting his head to where the faint breeze ruffled his hair, ‘it feels nice just sitting out here.’

He grinned at Derufin. ‘What say we get a pitcher of ale and sit there beneath the oak tree by the stable.’ He picked up his vest from the ground beside him and fished through the pocket. I’ve got my pouch of pipeweed here. We can sit and talk and smoke and relax.’

[Envinyatar]

‘Better yet,’ offered Derufin, ‘let’s get a pitcher and take it to my cottage. There’s a nice wide porch with comfortable chairs. We can put our heels up on the porch railing and enjoy ourselves. Mayhap we can also entice Zimzi out for a cup of ale.’

This latter plan was agreed upon. And Derufin was appointed to fetch the ale, while Anyopâ started for the groundskeeper’s cottage. ‘Tell Zimzi I’ll be there shortly. And please, make yourself comfortable until I return.'

[Firefoot]

Thistle hesitated, then reached out for some mushrooms. Mushrooms were good almost no matter their state: cold, hot, fresh, cooked, or otherwise. "Don't mind if I do."

As if by chance she looked around the room and happened to see a young lad waving - at her? He was standing atop the hearth (climbing all over the furniture. Hmph.) and flushed as from exertion (lads these days have far too much energy). She squinted, trying to remember if she knew him. Ah, yes, that was right! He was one of the young lads last night so intent on going to that school. Hmph. He hadn't paid her any attention last night, either, not like that nice Willi chap. She gave Reggie a withering glance and turned back around.

She noticed that Peony was watching curiously. Thistle, misinterpreting the look, said, "Don't mind 'im. 'E's just one of them rambunctious lads, too full of 'imself to be polite. And a student at that school, at that."

[Strider]

“Enchanted,” the newcomer replied to Miss Brown’s cordial welcome, “It would please me greatly if you would bring me a bit of hot water.” He was soft-spoken, his voice low, melodious, and laden with a faint lilt which suggested that Westron was not his first spoken tongue. His eyes were bright, almost excited as they scrutinized the hobbit lass, for it had been some time since the ellon had rested his gaze upon one of her kind for long years had passed since he had ridden this far north or indeed so far from home.

Smiling earnestly at Ruby, he paused before turning his attention towards pulling his cloak over a lithe shoulder and loosening the laces of his tall leather boots. Fingers worked deftly and languidly, gray gaze wandering across the colorful medley of the inn’s guests. When he happened upon a pair of curious eyes, he offered an urbane smile. To those of his kind he nodded in silent greeting, a truer, less reserved grin raising the corners of his mouth.

[piosenniel]

It is now early evening at the Inn.

Supper is being served: Conies stewed with taters and carrots. Fresh peas from the garden, glistening with butter. Big, fluffy biscuits with jam and honey and sweet cream butter.

Ales, wines, teas, cider, and other beverages are available at your request.

[piosenniel]

‘Does the new fellow want some supper,’ asked Buttercup dishing up big bowls of stew and littler ones of peas for the servers trays. Larien and Ginger had been set to loading up small baskets for the tables with their biscuits and the pots of jam, honey, and butter.

Cook had been quite pleased with the efforts of the two younger girls at the baking. ‘Nicely done, ladies,’ she told them. ‘Light, flaky, melts in the mouth. Worthy to be served at the Dragon!’

Ruby poured a potful of hot water and set it and a cup on a small tray. ‘Can’t say as he’s hungry, the new Elf. He ordered hot water, that’s all.’ She hurried out the kitchen door, saying she’d be right back to help with the serving.

Buttercup picked up her tray of stew and peas and hoisting it up on her shoulder made for the door. ‘Larien, Ginger! You follow after me and leave a basket with biscuits and the pots of toppings for them on the tables after I’ve served them.’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger hefted a tray of biscuit baskets to her shoulder, in imitation of Buttercup, and went through the kitchen door. She held it open as she did so for Larien to follow after.

‘Soon’s were done helping out here, we can get us some bowls of stew and such and find a little table for our own supper,’ Ginger said as Larien came through. ‘I really want to hear the rest of your story.’ she spoke in a lower voice. ‘Never saw too many of the Fair Folk before I started working here. They seem so grand and beautiful. I’d love to hear what that Rivendell place is like.’

She bit her lip, wondering if it would be taken well if she asked about Larien’s parents. ‘Sorry to hear about your Ma and Da,’ she blurted out. ‘I can’t imagine what it would be like not to have mine. Much less not to remember them at all.’ Ginger blushed at her little outburst and hurried after Buttercup.

[Envinyatar]

Anyopa had left a short while ago, saying he would meet them in the Common Room. Zimzi heated some water and set Derufin to washing up. He raised his brows at her and laughed, saying didn’t she enjoy the smell of a hard-working man?

Her emphatic answer was ‘no’. And would he please be sure he scrubbed the pitchy spots off his arms and hands. ‘I’d like to take your arm as we walk over to the Inn. And I’d like not to find myself glued to you by the time we get there.’

He pulled his sad, hound face at her, saying how quickly the romance had fled. Her only reply was to snap his bare midriff with a towel she had fetched him. Thereon ensued a friendly scuffle, and the transfer of a small smudge of pitch from his cheek to hers as he attempted to steal a kiss.

In the end, they were both cleaned up, walking arm in arm into the Inn. Zimzi was the first to spot Benat and the others already gathered at a table in the center of the room. Derufin steered her toward them, and once they were seated, the companions fell to talking.

[Larien Telemnar]

Larien followed Ginger and Buttercup into the larger room with her load. She nodded her thanks as Ginger held the door open for her.

She smiled as Ginger chattered happily about the Fair Folk, and noticed one such person in the room sitting at a table. She wondered what he was doing so far away from... Wherever it was he came from.

Perhaps he is going across the sea soon. She thought. 'Or he may be here for a reason similar to my own.' She jumped at her own voice and realized she had muttered that last thought aloud. She looked around sheepishly and hoped Ginger hadn't hear her. If anyone finds me talking to myself they're liable to think I've cracked.

[Kath]

Astilwen had been sitting quietly in a corner of the inn since the school had ended and the children had left. She had been reading over the new version of the song that had come about and had heard a voice singing the words. She had turned to find that it was Master Hearpwine. She considered going to join him as he was sitting alone, but he looked deep in thought so she stayed put.

Instead she reached into her pocket and pulled out the little bag her mother had given her when she left home. Being with the children in the schoolroom had reminded her of her own siblings, and it had made her a little homesick. She took a quill, ink and paper from the bag and set about writing home, in the hope it would help her feel better. She did not notice that she was crying as she wrote until teardrops hit the paper. She quickly wiped them away and continued.

As she finished she saw that a hobbit girl had stopped next to her table carrying a tray of food. The smell of the stew made her stomach rumble and she blushed in embarrassment.

[littlemanpoet]

In the time between Uien's confrontation with the burned elf (whose name according to Falowik was Lithmirë) and supper, Eswen had with Falowik's assistance sat with Uien and "gone into her darkness". So Eswen had called it. Falowik had many questions about what had happened, but they could wait. He had become very hungry and suggested food to the two Elven women. Neither had eaten in many hours, so the three went into the common room.

Uien sipped at tea, her favorite, nibbling on jam covered biscuits. Falowik helped himself to a full serving of stewed cony, and meant to offer his compliments to the cook at first opportunity. He had skipped lunch, and everything tasted that much the better. Eswen helped herself to the peas, taters, and carrots, supplemented with strong tea.

"Are you sure you won't have some coney?" Falowik asked Eswen.

"Maybe later."

"There may not be any left, later. It is quite good!" Eswen smiled.

Uien looked at Falowik. "You say I tripped over a root of a tree?" He nodded. She shook her head. "That cannot be. What can have been wrong with me?"

"You were overwhelmed by the painful memories of another," Eswen reminded her.

Uien smiled. "You have my thanks, dear Eswen, for coming to my aid, but even so, I cannot imagine that I merely tripped over a root! I must see this tree."

"At least finish your tiny supper," Falowik said. "How do you stay alive on mere biscuits and tea?"

They finished their suppers with much talk about the day. Then Uien rose from her table which Falowik went to pay for their meals, intending to go have a look at this tree root.

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

"Don't mind 'im. 'E's just one of them rambunctious lads, too full of 'imself to be polite. And a student at that school, at that."

Peony smiled. Hobbit lads would be hobbit lads. Rambunctions, annoying, but funny and endearing despite that. "Well, I'm sure that he'll learn better manners someday..." she looked over at the lad who hadn't moved from his position on top of the hearth. " Maybe... " she she muttered quietly.

Suddenly peony's stomach rumbled, and she laughed, slightly embarrassed. She looked over her shoulder and made a small signal to the waitress. "I think I'll order some supper. Care to join me for the evening meal?" she asked Thistle.

[Fairleaf]

Fairleaf had watched as the man and the other of the Elves took the pursuing Elf away. Uien, she’d heard them call her. A small shudder ran through her, as if some breeze had trembled her leaves. The dark shadow that had crept over her own beloved lands had also scarred Lithmire and Uien. Though, Lithmire bore his scars in body and spirit; while Uien, as fair as a new leaf catching the Spring sun, bore hers within. The scars run deep, regardless of where they are, she thought to herself. As deep as those memories of death and cuttings and burnings in those gardens of long ago. A single drop of evening dew slipped from her leafy fingers, falling on the ground below. Through the tangle of her branches a long, sad sigh soughed.

She shook off her sorrow, focusing on where Lithmire had gone. He was out of sight now, too far away for her to follow after. She could not follow him in this light without causing undue attention to herself. She would see to him later . . . that is, if he came back at all . . .

Looking about the patch of dirt where she stood, Fairleaf saw no one about. Behind her grew the small stand of hawthorn and beech that bordered on the groundskeeper’s cottage. She edged her way back among them, throwing her fair limbs upwards as did they. She would wait here until nightfall, then make her way to the Inn.

[littlemanpoet]

Uien and Falowik left Eswen at table, and left the common room, returning to the bower. Falowik pointed out where the tree root .....

"Well, I am quite sure that was where it was. I guess I was wrong."

Uien tipped her head to Falowik, eyeing him sidewise. "You are ever quick to claim yourself in the wrong, my love."

He shrugged. "It's not like tree roots move."

Uien knelt. "Show me the very place where the root was. Or, where you supposed it to be."

Falowik knelt beside her and tried to show her, but his faith in his memory was wavering, since the root was quite obviously not where he had thought he had seen it. He rose back to his feet, waiting while Uien bent over the earth.

Uien studied the ground in the the shadowy light of the bower, for the sun was fast approaching the horizon. She did not speak her thought to Falowik, but the earth was churned and scuffed, as if a root had been there and was no longer. The same mark could have been made by a garter snake or any number of crawling beasts, but she wondered. She rose.

"Show me the tree to which this root belonged, Lauréatan."

Falowik looked around. "Um, I think that's it there."

Uien followed his pointing finger and led him to the tree, whole limbs rose high into the air. "I am going to sit before this tree and watch it for a while," she said, and sat on the ground before it.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "It's an Elvish thing, I suppose.

He sighed and shook his head. "I am no Elf, and confess that I will grow easily bored with this game. If you don't mind, I will go back inside and have an ale or two."

"I will be here."

With that, Falowik left her. She gazed at the tree for a long while, keeping her thoughts to herself, but a small smile was on her face. At length, when the sun was almost set, she sang an Elvish twilight song. It seemed to her that the tree's leaves turned to her attentively, with help from no wind.

When she had finished, she said, "I wonder, tree, if you understood my song? Are you listening to me now? It is said that the Elves of long ago taught speech to the trees. Are you such a one, I wonder?" Uien lapsed into silence and gazed at the tree, admiring all its fair leaves.

[Envinyatar]

Derufin excused himself from the table and making his way back to the kitchen peeked in through the door. ‘Cook?’ he called, waiting to hear her familiar voice. She was in the pantry, emptying a sack of flour into the bin, a white cloud floating round her for her efforts.

‘I thought I’d just save the lasses some trouble,’ he said as she looked up at him. ‘Benat and Hob and Anyopa and Zimzi and I are here for a meal and a round of drinks. If you don’t mind I’ll just load up a tray with bowls of stew and biscuits and such and take it on out to our table.’

[piosenniel]

Cook stepped out from the pantry and wiped off her face with a clean towel. Once Derufin had gone, she would step outside and give her self a more thorough brushing off.

She helped him load up his tray, making sure there was plenty of food for the crew who had filled the Inn’s woodshed. She piled up a sizable plate of tarts, knowing the groundskeeper had a mighty sweet tooth. ‘Oh, and here’s a little pot of vegetable stew I’d set aside for Master Benat, seeing as how he would probably not be wanting to eat the conies. Delicious as they are,’ she said as an aside. ‘And take this bowl of stew out for the nice doggie.’ She glanced up at Derufin as he gave a laugh at this expression of her acceptance of Cullen as a suitable canine. ‘Well, he’s left my old tabby alone. And the little ones like him, I’ve noticed. Can’t be all that bad, can he?’ And that was about as much praise as she had ever heaped on the head of a canine.

Her last favor was to trundle downstairs to retrieve a bottle of Dwarven spirits. She came back with a dust, dark brown bottle with some unreadable runes on it, not to mention a few trailing wisps of cobweb. ‘Don’t get much call for this,’ she said putting it on the heavily laden tray. ‘Most people just don’t have a taste for it. Quite a kick to it, if I do say so myself.’ Derufin raised a brow at her. ‘Tried to use it in a cake I was making . . . had to give it a taste, see if it was alright, now didn’t I?’

Cook held the door open for him and ushered him out before he could make a suitable reply.

[Noinkling]

Benat’s eyes gleamed as Derufin approached, the tray of food balanced on his hands and one shoulder. Cullen stood, too, his nose sniffing the air appreciatively. Rumbly sounds came from one or the other’s stomach, or perhaps both.

Derufin passed out the bowls of stew, telling Benat that Cook had made his without meat. ‘Bless her!’ cried the man, his nose taking in the savory aroma. ‘She is a sure treasure you’ve got here, Master Derufin. A kind heart for all her gruff at times exterior.’ Cullen echoed the sentiment with an anticipatory Woof! as his bowl was placed on the floor.

Taking the bottle of Dwarven spirits, Benat eased the cork from it and poured each of them a small tot of it in the little silvered glasses Cook had sent with it. He held his up with a grin on his face, saying, ‘Here’s to the Shire and here’s to The Green Dragon! Long may they prosper!’

[Undómë]

Hob raised his little glass with the others. Truth be told, he’d never had Dwarven spirits, his preference being for good ale. ‘May our gardens bloom with flowers and vegetables and our burrows with little ones!’ he said, adding his own toast.

He brought the little cup tentatively to his nose and sniffed it. A strong scent, though not unpleasant. It spoke of solidness and fire’s heat and brightness he thought, though he could not tell why. Tipping the glass back as he touched it to his lips, he let a small amount seep onto his tongue. Fiery, indeed! It brought tears to his eyes and a bout of coughing as it ran down his throat.

‘Good!’ he rasped, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his tunic. ‘Surprisingly good.’

[Fairleaf]

Long had it been since one of Firstborn had sung to her. Often the fair folk of Lorien would cross over from Parth Celebrant and into the once green fields where Fairleaf and her sisters and friends had nurtured their gardens. Or in turn, the Entwives and maidens would cross into the Naith to admire the gardens there. The Elves had sung to them and walked with them talking of plants and growing and other things.

There was more light then and Fairleaf’s lands were green. Then the darkness had come and the lands turned sere and brown was their color. She and her kin that remained had fled east, seeking refuge.

Fairleaf rustled her leaves, a song in return for that of the Elf. A turning song as listing trees make whispering in the wind. She loosed some of the pink and white hawthorn flowers that graced her branches a t this time of year. They fell, fluttering in the air, to dot the bright gold of Uien’s hair.

But she would speak no words. Long had she kept her secret and even now, despite the fair song and fairer face, caution urged her to be silent. She was patient; she could wait until the Elf grew tired of her vigil. Neither was she sorry she had tripped Uien in her pursuit of Lithmire.

Poor, sad creatures. she thought to herself. Curse the Dark One for bringing this upon them and my kin!

She chastened herself for this last harsh remark. Better the cursing be done by those who can assure the bane be carried through.

[littlemanpoet]

In the windless, growing twilight, the pink and white flowers of the hawthorn tree fell fluttering onto Uien’s hair. Her smile grew. She could not be completely sure, but the signs were there. A root tripping a fleet footed Elf maiden, leaves whispering in no breeze, a very bouquet of flowers falling all at once.

Uien loved all trees above all growing things, for they graced the land with beauty and were for the Elves a remembrance of Fair Yavanna. Uien had never been to Valinor, and now would never go, but she had received the fair memory of that holy one from Lady Galadriel, and could not forget, nor would she. Above all trees, even the mallorns of Cerin Amroth, the Elves loved the shepherds of trees, who from them had learned speech and much lore.

So Uien was not sure, but she guessed, and so she smiled as she had not done in many a day or year. She could feel and smell this tree's way, and it was that of gardens rather than woods, and it - no - she, was a Lady tree. Uien chose not to even think the name that this one's fair kind went by, for she felt the secretiveness of this one.

"I shall not betray your secret, fair hawthorn maiden," she said, and smiled. "Twilight is above all times most precious to me, and I will remain here to share it with you. Then I shall dream sleeplessly through the night, as is the way of Elves. I shall not be watchful. If you are not here in the morning, I will not give chase, and will carry your secret in my heart for all time that is given to me in Arda, and tell no one unless you say otherwise."

Uien touched the bark of the hawthorn, feeling the slow rhythm of the life within, and she was glad. Even if her guess was wrong.

[Strider]

The golden afternoon had quickly faded into the kind of night eternalized in poems and ballads--the air was warm and sweeter smelling that it had been earlier, and the indigo sky seemed to chime with the twinkling timbre of hundreds of thousands of stars. Inside the Green Dragon, the ellon sat upright and poised upon his rather uncomfortable wooden stool, lithe fingers splayed over the severe drop of his knees.

Grey gaze lay quiescent, yet not altogether heedless or unobservant, upon a freshly doled out bowl of Cook’s stew currently being emptied at an ungodly rate by a random regular. His first thought was disgust, regrettably as is with all the conscious living, for the ways that were not his own. The wisdom he happened to acquire over the better part of the Third Age and then some, however, allowed him to set aside such feelings of revulsion and replace them with an almost childlike fascination for the quaint mannerisms of the Shirefolk.

After watching the same inn guest wash down his supper with a healthy swig from his pint, the elf began to wonder what was keeping his own order from arriving. Lifting an imperial brow in an expression of query, he allowed his eyes to drift across the common room in search of the barmaid who had so warmly welcomed him. It was at this time that he briefly met the gaze of the elf-maiden Larien, awkwardly trailing behind a stout company of kitchen volunteers with a serving dish hanging loosely between her sinuous fingers.

She intrigued, baffled, and disheartened him all at once. The elves were known for the way their pride shone through their every movement, their very presence. The autumn years had induced a certain bittersweet air about their existence, but always was their dignity preserved. Yet this elleth moved without said bearing, though there was some remnant of grace that whispered dark riddles about the past, about what had once been. His curiosity piqued, the elf reallocated his eyes to remove the impression that he was staring (for he was), and made a note to speak to Larien after his hot water came.

[Arry]

It was Tomlin on the porch of the Inn, waving to him, that Gil had seen as he turned into the little dirt lane leading up to the Dragon. ‘Come down and help me with the cart and pony,’ Gil cried as his friend grinned down at him. ‘I’ve got Ferrin and Fallon with me. We could use a hand unloading the instruments.’

‘And we’re here, too, with Uncle Gil!’ piped a small voice from the recesses of the back of the cart. Willy and Hanson poked out their faces over the top of the seat and waved at Tomlin.

‘They heard in their class that the players from Pincup were passing through.’ Gil nodded at the two boys, giving them a raised brow and then a smile. ‘Pestered me something awful and their Ma until she let them go.’ The two little brothers grinned wickedly at each other, then shrugged their shoulders as if it really wasn’t any of their doing.

‘I’m hungry!’ Hanson called up to his uncle who now stood on the top step of the Inn. Gil looked down at them and sighed. ‘And didn’t you just eat before we left?’ he asked, shaking his head. Willy spoke up in defense of his littler brother. ‘But that was a while ago. And really we were too excited to eat . . . well as much as we usually do . . . and besides it was stewed eel with onions, our Da’s favorite . . . and well, we just don’t like it all that much.’ ‘Too bouncy on our teeth,’ Hanson confirmed. ‘And those onions always get so slimy!’ He shuddered, as if to emphasize his distaste.

‘Right then,’ Gil said, motioning for the two to come on up the stairs. He held the door open for them, telling them to go on in and find a good table for the six of them. ‘And don’t be flirting with Buttercup,’ he called after them as they disappeared into the common room. ‘Or you’ll have to square it with Tomlin, here.’

[Esgallhugwen]

It grew utterly dark before her, the fading blue of the sky pulled back to reveal a void adorned with the silver of stars, who in their cold silent vigil were witness to the history of Middle Earth throughout its ages. She looked across the expanse of sky naming constellations and seeing some whose names she could not recall, for they seemed foreign to her.

The celestial beings glowed with unnatural light, brighter and brighter, blinding Esgallhugwen until the lights extinguished leaving her in a starless abyss. She dare not call out into the darkness, thus she searched with her mind.

A faint whispering came to her sharp Elven hearing. Dare she take a step?

She reached out farther with her mind, groping in the dark for a sign of the sound.

Silence.

"Tread softly Dark One, you may wake the light", Esgallhugwen's breathing stopped, her heart slowing to that deadly rythm she knew too well, pounding hard and ready.

"What do you speak of? I am no Dark One"

A penetrating gaze seared through her and the voice scoffed, she could feel it's hot breath on her face. "What is it then that is inside of you Firstborn? Or do you know yourself?".

Esgallhugwen stepped back unnerved by the voice's knowledge, she quickly set up a barricade for her mind. None shall enter.

"I am not here for me, I come searching for a friend, an unearned evil has been wrought upon her, I seek to right it"

"Very well. Perhaps another time you will care to be enlightened, and perhaps then it will be too late, you have yet to see your full purpose".

Walls of razor ice began to descend from above, hitting the floor only to leap up as flame. Eswen's pale face glowed red against the fire's light. She heard crying.

The flames were climbing fast and on the other side of the blazing wall she could make out the trembling form of Uien.

So hot yet it freezes.

"Uien!", Esgallhugwen called, "come to me, leave this darkness that another has cast upon you", Uien looked to her with livid fury burning in her bright eyes, she seemed to shake something off continueing along the black path.

"Uien Inglorion", Esgallhugwen seemed to grow in height, shadows clinging to her form, drawn to her by something within. Uien turned to face her the fire diminishing, "come to me, Uien".

Eswen heard the familiar foot fall of Falowik walking back into the Common Room with an ale in hand. "Where is Uien?", Eswen asked sipping on a small glass of miruvor to recover her strength.

Falowik sat across from her and smiled, "sitting by that hawthorn tree, waiting for it to do something I reckon", Eswen nodded. "You're not suprised by this?", Falowik inquired taking a healthy sip of ale.

The Elf shook her head with a faint smile, "that tree is more than a tree, mellon, speak no word of this to another. Her secret must remain as such".

[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen's swift long steps soon brought her back to the inn. Her hours at the forge had been well spent and her tasks had been accomplished. Now it was time to go. She wondered whether she would b e able to slip away without fuss. She shrank from another encounter with Uien after her strange behaviour and she did not wish to tarry to hear Hearpwine laud his own prowess as a musician. Her decision had been made during the afternoon. She would not continue her journey immediately but go home ot the havens. Some instinct called her and besides there was another reason.... a possibility she had not made up her mind about, something that Toby Flaxman the had suggested, but it would do no harm to delay her journey to Rivendell a little.

She slipped round the back of the building to the stables and the paddock where her grey horse Aeglos grazed she summoned him with her mind. He was dusty and grass stained but Meriadoc the stableman appeared and offered to groom him. and so Mithalwen passed in to the shadows of the common room for what she expected to be the last time. Getting paper & pen and ink from her luggage and scraping together enough pennies for a tankard of cider, she found a private corner and started to write.

[Noinkling]

Benat clapped Hob on the back, nearly sending the Hobbit flying from his seat. ‘Dwarven spirits get that same reaction from every first time drinker,’ he laughed. ‘And, sorry for nearly knocking you down. Just wanted to get you breathing again, Master Hob.’ The big man smiled so ingratiatingly that it was impossible not to forgive him his hasty actions.

Another tot of the fiery drink was poured, then Benat stoppered the bottle and set it to one side. His gaze was caught by Gil and his friends as they came in the door, their instruments in hand. ‘Music!’ he cried with delight, nodding to where the fellows were just making their way to a large table guarded by two young children. He drank down his drink and grinned as he placed the small glass carefully on the table. ‘You know, I am feeling so good this evening, having had such a wonderful day and now finding myself in the company of good friends, that I might just stir my bones a bit this evening and show you how some real dancing is done.’

He looked about the ring of his companions, many of whose brows were raised as the image of Benat and most likely Cullen, too, rose dancing in their minds. ‘Bears are often seen dancing in the moonlight in my lands,’ he said putting on a serious face. ‘And in a very tasteful manner, I might add. Light on their feet, too.’ He glanced about the room his eyes coming to rest at the rather small dance area. ‘Though I hope my exuberance does not cause much damage to the nearby chairs and tables.’

His companions sat in a somewhat uncomfortable silence, not know ing exactly what to say. He laughed aloud, breaking the tension. ‘Only joking, my friends!’ he said, slapping his thigh to emphasise the point.

[Tevildo]

Padding forward on dainty velvet pads, Tifil (Bridhon) Miaugion, otherwise known as Tevildo (Vaardo) Meoita, slipped underneath two of the long-leggeds and gently squeezed inside the door. The place did not look much different than it had before. He could smell the enticing odors that were coming from the kitchen, and a hound or two was hanging around the Common Room along with the tabby that belonged to Cook.

Having no wish to tangle with Cook, Tevildo cut a wide path around the dozing cat that was curled up contentedly before the hearth. Another dog was halfway through a bowl of stew. The cat flung the canine a contemptuous look, but was careful not to interfere or cause any further trouble. He could not see his friend Mushroom anywhere. The grey tabby was undoubtedly home at Bag-end. And the offending table, which he was still certain had once spoken to him, had been unceremoniously removed from the entry hall and placed in an unknown location.

His own circumstances had altered. As he had done a dozen times before, Tevildo had elected to shift "owners". He had dumped Allie and Heather Brandybuck, two hobbits from Buckland with whom he had lived for some time, and instead exchanged them for an Elf, a road wanderer and scout from Lindon who went by the name of Turon. Tevildo had hurried ahead of his master, but he expected that the latter should be coming along the road and arriving at the Inn sometime before the next morning. Both he and the Elf had encountered a run of bad luck in the depths of the great forest far to the east.

His own reason for rushing ahead on the road was the stable of the Dragon. Cook and the Innkeeper kept the inside of the Inn immaculate, free of all mice and other vermin. Outside, however, was different. Tevildo had found many a fat mouse sneaking inside the stable through the chinks in the boards. These would be his for the taking later tonight.

Meanwhile, perhaps he would try to panhandle a bowl of milk. If that hound had managed to beg a bowl of stew off of Cook, surely he could turn up a bit of milk either from the Inn staff or one of the patrons sitting and having their dinner. Tevildo began to make the rounds of the Common Room, going from table to table while looking as appealing as he could. In view of his silky long white coat and soft little purr, this was not too difficult. For all his normal fierceness, he now looked exactly like a puffy furball who was used to spending his afternoons on the lap of a fine lady.

[littlemanpoet]

As twilight slowly gave way to dusk, to dark of night, Uien sat before the Hawthorn tree, allowing herself to dream, and the tree to be free from her observance. Eyes unclosed, she dreamed from memory.

She was one of Galadriel's maidens, sewing the cloaks the eight remaining members of the Fellowship would wear. Lorien was home, Caras Galadon her beloved city in those many years leading to the War of the Ring. She had been stricken with grief at the news that the grey pilgrim had fallen in Moria.

As they sewed, she looked to the Lady of Lorien. She was herself a young elf lass of a mere two hundred or so years, the last babe of Lorien. To sit with She who had been in Valimar, who had crossed wills with Féanor, sat at the feet of Melian of Doriath, had known Luthien the fair, and had seen the dimming of the Light across three Ages, was like a being a seedling beside the eldest mallorn, a puddle beside an ancient fountain. And these thoughts did little to express the greatness of the Lady.

Galadriel looked at her maidens with eyes that knew all their thought with but a glance, for she could read the hearts of anyone, and her maidens had no secrets from her. Yet this was no troubling thought, for the Lady's wisdom taught her maidens much, and never betrayed their thought to others. It was like sitting at the feet of the very gods of Valimar.

Uien had been amongst those in the house of Lord Celeborn when the Fellowship had first come to them. She remembered the Ringbearer, whose grief at the loss of the Grey Pilgrim was plain for all to see. She remembered how the Lady had looked into the hearts of each of the Fellowship, and how the servant of the Ringbearer had blushed so quickly. She and many others had smiled, for he had been thus revealed as true to his master. She had been struck with wonder at the words of the Dwarf, who had become famous already in the brief span of years that had passed since the end of the War, for his wealth and unselfishness; the Lady's word had proved true, as well it might. Then there was the man of Minas Tirith, whose hard eyes quickly looked away from the Lady. Many in that chamber frowned and boded it ill. Then there was their kin...

Someone tapped her shoulder. She withdrew from her memory and looked up and behind. It was Falowik. She smiled. The memories would always be there.

"Yes, my love?"

"It is getting late. Is this where you wish to spend the night?"

"Aye, Lauréatan. Come rest your head upon my lap and sleep well this night."

He knelt beside her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. His voice was gruff. "It has been a long, hard day, my fair one. It is good to see you whole again." She smiled. He lay down in the bower, resting his head on her lap. She caressed his brow, and soon he was asleep.

Then there was their kin, Legolas from the court of Thranduil....

[Lasbelinion]

The lights from the kitchen windows shone like beacons in the falling dark. On silent feet Lithmîrë made his way toward them from his hiding place. Wary of any that might see him, he crept from pooling shadow to shadow, stopping often to sense any who might be near.

His head ached with a fierce, sharp pain, made more insistent by the burning torment of his face and arm. They throbbed increasingly, the damaged nerves raw. His little supply of herbs to quell the agony was depleted, and the dose he’d had in his morning tea had been too long ago. He focused on Mistress Bunce’s promise of helping him to replenish his stock as he made his way back to the Inn.

Lithmîrë’s breath caught in his throat as he noted the two figures near the hawthorn tree. The Elf who had chased him and someone who lay sleeping on her lap. He pulled up his hood and gave the two a wide berth, closing his mind hard against any intrusion from her.

Long it seemed until his steps brought him to the kitchen door. He hesitated as his hand reached for the knob, thinking perhaps he should not barge in. Raising his fist, he gave three soft knocks, then stepped to the side of the little stoop to wait in the darkness for someone to answer.

[Gwydion]

The door to the inn opened and the dark of the night was briefly peirced by the light inside the Green Dragon. A tall rugged-looking man strode in through the door and quietly closed it. The stranger had dark, wild looking hair that reached to his shoulders and bloodshot, indigo eyes. His clothes were worn from use and the wear and tear of life outdoors.

His leather boots silently padded across the floor. "Innkeeper", he asked in a surprisingly gentle voice, " may I have a pint of ale and some supper?" The innkeeper nodded approval and gave the stranger supper,a stewed brace of conies, peas and two large biscuits which he covered in a generous heap of butter. As soon as the man finished buttering his bread and readying himself to eat he dove into his food like a man who has not eaten in a few days. The innkeeper gave a small chuckle and slowly walked away. During the course of the meal a man asked the stranger some questions, was he passing through, and other such things. These questions he answered with one or two words. Eventually the stranger revealed his name.

" I am Alastair son of Aronwÿ, a ranger from the north if you must know." As he spoke he had been slowly raising his voice and by the time he had finished evryone in the inn was staring at him, but they quickly looked away. "Forgive me for my actions," he asked of the innkeeper and said nothing else for the remainder of his meal.

After he had finished his meal he pulled out a simple pipe of willow and began to smoke. He began to look around the room, scanning each person before flicking his eyes to the next person. Alastair noted that the inn was very diverse and how the occupants got a long. Alastair leaned back against the counter and as he did he winced and gasped as the floor began to sway in front of him. He knew he should have waited longer before journeying again. Silently he cursed hiomself before sliding into darkness.

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger and the stricken man

‘My stars!’ thought Ginger, setting her tray down at a nearby table. ‘What’s wrong with that poor man?’

The Innkeeper had asked her to go about with a pitcher of ale and refresh the mugs of those sitting at the tables. Just as she’d finished pouring a round for Gil and his companions, she noted the dark haired man at the next table looking rather ill. His eyes looked unfocused, his face blanched, and of a sudden, he gasped aloud and toppled from his chair.

‘Need some help here!’ she called running quickly to where he lay crumpled on the floor.’ She laid his hand on his chest to see if he were still breathing, and let out her own breath when she found he was.

‘Someone bring me a cold wet cloth!’ she yelled.

[Arry]

Moving Alistair to the kitchen

Gil came running after Ginger, motioning for his friends to follow. They knelt down by the man and looked him over. ‘Doesn’t look too good, does he?’ said Tomlin, as they rolled him over slightly looking for blood.

‘Name’s Alastair’ the Innkeeper said. ‘Says he’s a Ranger from up north.’ The Innkeeper had brought over a clean, wet bar rag and handed it to Ginger, who’d begun wiping the man’s face with it.

‘Let’s take him to the kitchen,’ said Gil, indicating his friends should each take a limb and help hoist the fellow. ‘Cook’s got some medicines I’m sure can bring him round.’

[Envinyatar]

Lending a hand

Derufin saw the flurry of activity as he made his way to the bar to get another pitcher of ale. Calling out to the Hobbits, he told them to take the Ranger's legs while he carried the man's upper body. Zimzi held the kitchen door open for the little band and their burden, then followed them through.

She went to the cupboard where Cook stored her medicines and got out the vial of smelling salts. Directing them to lay the Ranger on the long table, she uncorked the bottle and held it beneath his nose, waving it back and forth.

'Alistair!' she spoke softly to him. 'Wake up!'