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) - AWAY AT PRESENT

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

Meri - Stablemaster

Tim Woodlock - Stableboy; Wren - his younger sister: humans, originally from Breeland (characters played by Folwren)

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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]

Time of Day

It's nearing noon in the Shire.

Second breakfast is being served. Lunch is being cooked - savory mutton stew with vegetables, taters, and barley; warm rolls straight from the oven with sweet cream butter, jams, honey, cheeses; and baskets of big, nut & spice cookies to fill in any of the hollow spaces. Drinks of all sorts are of course available.

The weather is pleasant - sunny with a clear sky.

[Huan]

Rowan looked out the window, her attention drawn by the rising sounds of male voices. She stood up from her chair and crossed the short space to the window for a better view. ‘Look here!’ she said, motioning for Gil and the others to follow. ‘Looks to me as if we’re missing out on some sort of a party.’ She pointed to the casks and the fellows with mugs in their fists. ‘And isn’t that Emlin out there, tasting the wares himself.’

She laughed seeing him take a mouthful of beer. She knew he thought he might enjoy it – after all, all those others seemed to be. Fool Elf!!! Now, there he stood his cheeks bulging; his eyes, nearly bugged out. She could see the dilemma in his mind almost. Shall I be polite and swallow it? Or rid myself of the foul brew with one good spit. He was spared the decision as a Hobbit bearing an armful of mugs bumped into him, causing him to splutter and lose his mouthful.

The Hobbit was most apologetic, Rowan could see. And offered the Elf a hand up. He walked away shaking his head as the Elf, laughing loudly, waved him off.

‘C’mon, fellas!’ Rowan urged the others as she stepped quickly to the door. ‘Let’s go out and join the fun!’

[Celuien]

Robin Sandheaver came strolling down the East-West Road, whistling a tune. Morning's work was done and it was a fine day for a walk - and an even finer day for a mug of ale at the Green Dragon. Truth be told, it was the Green Dragon's fine ale that had brought Robin on his walk as much as the beautiful weather. He ambled up to the Inn's door and pushed it open.

What a scene met his eyes! Rather than the Inn's usual calm, there were folk scurrying about here, there and everywhere, stacking endless piles of mugs on the bar. Shouts and laughter filled the air along with the aromas of food cooking in the kitchen. That, at least, was expected.

"Good morning!" he called out.

"Morning!" came the breathless reply from another Hobbit in the Inn, who was hurrying past with a tray full of mugs. He grabbed Robin's arm. "Quick, join in the game. Free beer from Fordogrim to anyone who helps with the cleaning. You can't let that chance slip, can you?" The hobbit scurried off, mugs in hand.

"Free beer?" thought Robin. "This day is certainly going from good to better, and no mistake." And without further ado, he went to work gathering all of the mugs within his reach.

[piosenniel]

Cook shaded her eyes against the noonish sun and peered at the spectacle taking place in the Inn’s yard. ‘’My stars, Violet,’ she murmured, amazed at the activity taking place. ‘What’s got into them?’

She hooked her arm through Violet’s and the two of them walked cautiously toward the scurrying men. She paused for a moment, a frown on her face at the figure she saw coming toward them. ‘And look there!’ Cook said, pointing her finger at the lass with the basket perched on her hip. ‘It’s Lilly, isn’t it?

[Folwren]

“Come along Master Tim,” Fordogrim Chubb said, “lend a hand with the mess and then we can see about speaking with that girl as you were tussling with about making things up between you.”

“Yes, sir,” Tim replied quickly. “I’m very sorry, sir. That was my sister. . .” He turned his head away briefly. Glancing over the place, it appeared that most of the work had been done. Several people were busy setting the casks of ale back in their place on the re-erected table. Great stacks of mugs were already piled up on it. It flashed briefly through his mind to wonder who had won, and how they were even going to decide that. But the next instant, he didn’t care. “It looks like the job is done, sir,” he said, turning back to Fordogrim. “I’m really sorry. I can help, like I was before the accident, if that would help.”

The hobbit smiled up at him, his offer accepted, it seemed, before he turned to address the group of people who had helped clean up and set to rights the mess that Tim and his sister had caused. Tim stepped back and turned away. His face was hot, and his heart still beat high with the excitement and anger. Make things up, did the hobbit say? Not any time soon that Tim could see! What had Wren meant by barging in there like that? He couldn’t shake the thought that it had, after all, been her fault and he had been the one left to suffer the shame and embarrassment of it all.

As for Wren, she had run off as quickly as her feet could carry her, if only to hide her tears. She had wanted to dodge Cook’s presence in the kitchen and so passed the door, but almost immediately realized that Cook and her friend had left the indoors and gone out to the garden. The girl doubled back on her path and returned, all at the same, fast speed of a run. Without pausing to wait, she darted in through the kitchen door, and there her flight was stopped as she bowled right into no other than Ginger.

The hobbit stumbled back and Wren stood for a moment in shocked surprise. How utterly clumsy, she thought. Fresh tears promptly replaced the old. She looked around her helplessly a moment, struggling with a sob, and then she looked straight at Ginger. Not understanding why in the least, she walked to the hobbit quickly, put her arms about her, and letting the dam break, the flood of tears came.

[Pivli]

Violet squinted, trying to take the distant figure in. The bright sun backlit the lass’s golden hair, throwing her face into shadow. She couldn’t be sure if it were her great grand niece. She held her walking stick up in the air and motioned for the girl to come nearer.

She leaned back on her walking stick as Lilly came closer. Her gaze turned back to the fellows hurrying about like ants in the front yard. ‘Now about your question, Vinca,’ she said, nodding her chin toward the lads. ‘The one about what’s got into them.’ She chuckled, stamping her stick on the ground for emphasis. ‘Ale, I think . . . that’s what’s got into them . . . and plenty of it.’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger had just put her hand to knob on the kitchen’s door when Wren came barreling through. Seeming dazed, the girl stumbled back and looked about through tear-swollen eyes. With a sob, Wren hurtled again toward Ginger and clasped her arms about the Hobbit tightly. For her part, the twice-surprised Hobbit clasped the girl’s now sobbing form to her in as comforting a way as she might.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Ginger said, laying head close against Wren’s as she patted her softly on the back. ‘What’s all this?’ She stepped back, holding the girl at arms’ length as she searched her face for answers. ‘It’s not that old nosey-parker, Miz Rosebank, is it? Her and her wanting to tell your old landlord where you and Tim have got off to . . . is that what’s got you bothered? You know we won’t let anyone bother you two, if that’s what’s got you worried.’ It was a big thing to promise, she thought, but Cook would take care of it, she was sure.

She led Wren over to the table and sat her down in one of the chairs. Ginger fetched her a clean, wet washrag and linen dishtowel for her face; then, brought a small pitcher of cold cider and two mugs back to the table. Sitting down near the girl, she took the towel and wiped away the rest of the wetness.

‘There now – that’s my bright eyed beauty,’ she said, using a phrase her Gammer had used on her when she was little and the tears had taken her. She put the first two fingers of her right hand beneath the girl’s chin and lifted her face up for a smiling inspection. Offering Wren a small mug of cider, Ginger picked up her own cup and took a swallow. ‘Or is there something else has put a burr under your blanket. Someone else as has upset you?’ She sat back a little, giving Wren some space to in which to answer.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim was overwhelmed by the enthusiastic response of the Inn’s patrons to his proposed contest. A flurry of feet carried an army of hands out into the yard and the mugs were soon being piled up upon the restored bar with such rapidity that he had no hope of keeping score. Oh dear, he began to worry, however am I going to decide who the winner is? Will I have to give a cask to each of the helpers? A quick count showed him that even this would be impossible.

A silence fell on the yard as the last of the mugs were placed upon the bar and all eyes turned to Fordogrim for his decision. A bird called in the distance and the sun shone down upon the crowd as though she too were expecting a free cask of ale. Fordogrim put on a brave face and stepped forward to meet the crowd. He held his chin up (the better to look into their faces) and with practised nonchalance began to address them. “My friends and customers!” he said. “There’s not words enough as can express my gratitude for your help, so as I like to say, when words fail let the beer do the speaking! Step up for your free sample of my wares!” But there was a chorus of voices from those who wanted to know who had won the mug stacking contest, and thus the free cask of beer. Fordogrim smacked his forehead with an apparent display of absent-mindedness. “Why, yes, of course the winner of the contest. Why it was a well-fought battle, and there’s no mistake – there wasn’t but a few of you who stacked a right amount of mugs. And to tell the truth, but it was such a race that I found it that hard to keep track of who it was who stacked the most.” A ripple of unhappy surprise – even some anger – went through the crowd, but Fordogrim pressed ahead as though nothing were wrong. “Have no fear, no fear, we can determine a winner yet. Most of you had the good sense to stack your mugs together, so if we can rest upon the honesty of the good folk gathered here we can lay this to rest right fair and square. Now, as far as I can tell there’s three stacks as are the tallest – who is it as made them up?”

It was quickly determined that the three stacks in question were the work of a Dwarf named Ibun, the hobbit Robin Sandheaver and a lass named Rowan. At Fordogrim’s rather dramatic insistence the three finalists stood forth. “Now,” he cried “we shall a-count the number of mugs in each stack to determine the day’s winner!” But at this there was an outcry from some of the crowd that Ibun and Rowan had been helped in their stacks by other folk, while Robin had made his on his own. Fordogrim saw which way the wind was blowing and raised his hands. “My friends, my friends, please…PLEASE! This is a friendly Inn, known throughout the Shire for its conviviality” (he threw that word in to slow the crowd down, most of whom would have to work it out for themselves) “let’s not a-ruin that reputation with harsh words. My beer is back for your drinking pleasure so help yourselves to it – drink up! In the meantime these three champion stackers and I will step aside and settle amongst ourselves who the winner may be!”

[Koobdooga]

‘No harsh words here, Master Fordogrim,’ said Ibun. ‘Seeing as how you’re so generous with your fine brew . . .’ He raised the mug that had been thrust upon him and took a long pull on the fresh and foaming beer. With an economy of motion he sucked the skiff of foam that rimed the edges of his mustache into his waiting mouth. ‘Yes . . . very fine brew, a right treasure! So much so, that I am carried away by its essence.’

A rumble began deep in his chest, and what sounded at first to be a hive of angry bees droning grew into a song:

So my friends, Mahal be with you,
And watch o’er you until
We can a' meet here together,
And our mugs we then refill.
We'll drink a health t’ absent friends
And make the beer and whisky flow,

So button up and aye be cheery
Take a dram afore ye go.
Button up and aye be cheery,
Drink a pint afore ye go.

He raised his mug again, and finding it empty looked round for another. Ibun chuckled as he grasped the handle of a full one a friendly hand had passed him. ‘The sort of treasure in fact that need be shared and not horded. I’ll drink my fill of your good beer, if you will; my belly will be all the cask I’ll need. Let one of the others take the barreled prize.’

Ibun nodded toward Robin and Rowan, and stepped back beside Frór. ‘If they argue long over this,’ he said in a low voice to his friend, ‘we Dwarves will have drunk the casks dry anyway. ‘Twill all be moot!’ He cast an interested eye back on the proceedings and accepted another refill.

[Celuien]

"What a pretty pickle you've gotten yourself into now, Robin Sandheaver!" the hobbit thought to himself. "You should've listened to your old Gaffer warning you against contests and such nonsense."

Aloud, Robin said, "No harsh words here either, Master Fordogrim. 'Twas quite a confusion in all the rush to help. And what else could be expected, seeing as how your beer is most excellent. I can't say as I rightly know who stacked the most mugs myself. But should I be chosen the winner..." Robin paused. He wanted the cask. But most of the hobbits in the room were his friends, and he didn't want to anger them either. He cleared his throat. "Should I be chosen the winner," he started again, "I'll share the cask with everyone here. They all had a helping hand in the business too."

Mourning the loss of a full cask of beer to himself, Robin withdrew and stepped inside the Inn to order a plate of warm rolls and honey. Stacking the mugs had been quite a job, and he was hungry.

[Folwren]

Wren looked down at the cold cider that Ginger had served her, shrugging one shoulder up as she prepared to make her answer. The hobbit’s guesses had been almost right all the way. “I wanted to tell Tim that that Mrs. Rosebank was here from Bree and had worked for that fellow-” she didn’t know their old landlord’s name nor what to call him- “because I don’t want to have to go back there, and I thought that she would want us to, even if she did say that we wouldn’t have to. But Tim didn’t listen to me and when I tried to get his attention. . .” her eyes wandered the kitchen briefly. “When I tried to pull him away, see - he was out helping with the drinks of some sort, and he didn’t want to stop, and when I wanted to tell him, he didn’t want to listen, so he pulled away and we fell over into the table and everything fell down and it all got ruined.”

She looked up at Ginger. “Will we have to go away now that we’ve done that and have been bad?” she asked in a small voice. “We didn’t mean to knock it over and make that mess. It was an accident, honest!”

[Huan]

From where she stood, Rowan could see her two friends, Talan and her twin, Gwyn, looking on from the edge of the crowd. Gwyn’s eyes were narrowed as he surveyed the still muttering group. The Hobbits who were not up for consideration for the cask were standing about in small groups, their glances resting on the three champions. Mugs of beer fueled their curiosity and the range of their opinion. Rowan saw Gwyn give her a quick shake of his head.

From behind her she could hear the voices of Gil and his mates egging her on to graciously accept the cask. Their thoughts were bent on a day off work and day of drinking and making music. She glanced up quickly again to where Gwynn stood, his brow cocked at her expectantly.

These fine folk . . . the mutterers . . . she could almost hear him say they will be our bread and butter tonight for our little show. Best we keep them on our good side, Rowan Foxburr . . . and the assurance of their pennies in our pockets.

‘Ah, my dear sweet darlin’ Gil,’ she said turning quickly as she made up her mind what to do. Much to his surprise, she planted a kiss on his one cheek, and a pat of her hand on the other. ‘Twould be best, I’m thinking,’ Rowan said, turning from Gil toward Fordogrim, ‘if we were to share the bounty of this cask with all our friends here . . .’ ‘Later, that is,’ she went on her voice growing louder at the groans of disappointment. ‘There’s enough to be had all around from the generous Master Fordogrim for now. And later, when my friends and I perform our little show in the Inn yard here, we can tap the cask and all have another mug or two.’ She smiled saucily out toward the gathered Hobbits. ‘You’re all invited, of course. And Gil and his group will surely be joining us to play and sing.’

Over the heads of the crowd she could see the glint of sunlight off Gwyn’s earring as he nodded his head and smiled at her.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Fordogrim hid the sigh of relief that swelled his bosom at such a happy conclusion to what had appeared to be a disaster in the making, but at the same time he little liked the idea of being upstaged by these others. If there was to be a song made of this day he wanted to ensure that it would be a song about his own generosity and the glories of his beer. He snuck a quick peak at the casks remaining in the wagon and after a swift calculation decided that he could pull it off...just.

The crowd was beginning to move off, distracted by the apparent close of the display so he had to leap upon the wood pile and raise his hands above his head to gain their attention. "Why," he cried, "I have heard many fine things about the folk of this here Inn, but I must say that this display of gallantry and civility is well beyond what I could have expected. Handsome, I say it is, most handsome. And it seems only right to me that I reward all those whose handsomeness has done us credit. Miz Rowan, you and your friends here shall have a cask of my best stout -- dark it is, like the coming of night in summer; heavy with the promise of a relaxed evening with friends. You, my friend Dwarf, shall have to your own a cask of hearty ale -- drink it with but a cracker or two and it shall be like a full meal. And to the hobbit Robin (someone fetch him out and let him know) shall go a cask of my very best Gold: a lager so light and so crisp that it passes over the tongue like liquid gold and leaves the mouth as clean as water!" A general cheer went round the yard at his generosity. But Fordogrim was determined to make it one better yet. "And if I might second the opinion of Miz Rowan, might I suggest to all our winners that they set aside their casks for tonight so they can share them round with everyone -- for I propose that we declare tonight to be a Party Night, at which we celebrate the spirit of fair-play and friendliness that is so much part of this here Shire!"

[Arry]

‘Well, well, Gil Tussock,’ said Tomlin nudging his red cheeked friend with a sharp elbow to the ribs. ‘Looks as if this one has gone and kissed you first.’ ‘And isn’t that a first all round?’ he went on, winking at the Muddyfoot brothers.

Fallon and Ferrin, for their part, had their thoughts on the cask of stout that Fordogrim had mentioned. Ferrin, in fact, was licking his lips in anticipation of the dark, hoppy liquid. ‘Do y’think he might give us a taste now?’ he asked his brother, ignorant of the fact that Tomlin had spoken to him. ‘Just a wee tot . . . for comparison . . . to the Dragon’s stout.’

‘Don’t know about that,’ returned Fallon, watching Fordogrim balance himself on the loosely stacked woodpile. ‘Can tell you this, for sure, the man’s a right showman himself, now, isn’t he? Knows how to sell himself . . . and his beer. You know, he reminds me of . . .’

Further comments on the subject were interrupted by Tomlin, clearing his throat quite loudly. ‘Perhaps you two could help me get our . . . leader, here . . . moving?’ He nodded to where Gil still stood dumbstruck. ‘Our talents have been called on for tonight. We should pull ourselves together for a bit of practice . . . don’t you think?’

‘Pardon us, Miz Foxburr,’ Tomlin offered in apology for leaving her standing alone in they yard. ‘But best we’d warm up if we’re to join you tonight.’ Ferrin and Fallon stood to each side of Gil and had him securely by the arms. They were just leading him down the path to the Great Road when Ferdy and his Da pulled in at the gate with their cart.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Ferdy asked, jumping down from the seat. He waved his Da on, saying he would catch up to him in a few moments.

‘Whipped with a rowan switch,’ Tomlin quipped. ‘Fair bewitched,’ threw in Fallon. ‘Muddle-headed,’ laughed his brother. ‘We’re going down to The Pool to put together a playlist for tonight,’ Ferrin continued. ‘There’s to be a big party in the Inn yard. Come on along and join us, why don’t you? We’ll wait for you down the road a bit. Go tell your Da.’

Ferdy hurried on down the path and up the stairs to the Inn’s door. ‘A rowan switch,’ he muttered, puzzling over Tomlin’s comment. ‘Now what in blue blazes is that all about?’

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Of course it was an accident!’ Ginger looked as kindly at Wren as she could. ‘Now it’s true I haven’t know you or your brother for long, but from what I’ve seen, neither of you have a mean bone in your body. Things just got out of hand a bit. I’ll bet if we took a look out the front window, we’d see they’d already been put to right. No one’s going to make you and your brother go away. And we certainly aren’t going to let anyone take you from here.’

There was a commotion in the common room, and Ginger got up to peek through the kitchen door to see what was going on. The room was all abuzz with the news of the party. ‘What party?’ she asked, stopping Ruby as she took a pitcher of ale to some waiting customers. Ruby stopped for a moment and told her the details of the mug stacking contest and what had been offered by the beerseller, Fordogrim Chubb. And how the players who come to the Inn last night, or rather the Hobbit lass with them, had announced they would be putting on a show this very evening . . . in the Inn’s front yard. ‘To be joined by Gil and his friends, too,’ she said winking at Ginger. ‘Ferdy, I’m sure, will be there.’

Ginger hurried back to the kitchen, her cheeks red, her eyes sparkling. ‘Oh, Wren! I’ve just heard the best news! The mugs and such have all been set in order and there’s to be a party this evening. No time for gloomy faces and worrying . . .’ She looked about the kitchen. The mutton stew was simmering on the hob, the rolls were rising nicely – almost ready for the oven. ‘We’ve got us some time before we have to start serving lunch. What say we run up to the attic and look through the old trunks that travelers left and never came back for? We’ll find us some pretty things to wear to the party.’

She grabbed Wren’s hand and hurried her up the back kitchen stairs to her room. There was a long corridor that connected to the attic on the other side of the Inn where the forgotten trunks and mathoms were stored. The sun poured in weakly through the dusty window. ‘You look through that one over there,’ she said, pointing to a battered basswood trunk. ‘I’ll give a look through this one.’

[Lilly]

‘Yes, Auntie, it’s me!’ Lilly called out as she closed the distance between herself and the two older ladies. She could see her Auntie Violet squinting against the sun and knew she was only guessing who it was that approached when she waved her hand.

‘Gran sent me,’ she went on as she stopped in front of Cook and Auntie Violet. Lilly set her basket down gently at her feet and drew off the checkered tea towel covering its contents. ‘We finished the plum preserves yesterday. And she wanted to wait til the wax set hard atop them before she’d let me load them up and bring them in.’

‘And don’t worry,’ she said, laughing at the disappointed face her aunt had put on since there was no mention the precious plum concoction coming her way. ‘Tomorrow, I’m to bring a little basket of plum preserves, and apple butter, and just for you one of Gran’s tasty pots of lemon curd. Da was able to pick up a few of those tart fruits. When he was at the High Hay market. A trader had a small sack of them brought up from round where the High King lives, a way down south there.’ Lilly grinned as Violet’s eyes glinted at the prospect of such tasty treats.

‘Mayhap we can go into the kitchen, Miz Bunce,’ Lilly said, picking up her basket once again and settling it against her. ‘My poor hip seems as if it has a groove cut into it from the basket. I’ll be glad enough to set this on your table!

‘Who up, there, Taffy! I believe we’ll be turning in here.’ There was hardly a need for Barnaby Stonecrop to urge his little dun colored mule to slow down. Taffy ambled in a decidedly unhurried manner toward the path leading to the Inn. Any slower, in fact, and the Hobbit and his cart would have stood stock still.

And no need to urge the mule to turn off the main road toward the Green Dragon. At the smell of oats and hay borne on the noon breezes from the stable, Taffy’s ears had twitched and none could have turned him from his target destination.

Barnaby, though, liked to feel he was in control. And so he continued to call out direction to his four legged companion. He had learned at least to save himself from too much frustration, by anticipating what Taffy was going to do and then telling him he must. It was a workable relationship.

When they’d neared the Inn proper, Barnaby called a halt and hopping down from the seat, handed the reins to one of the stableboys. ‘Some nice sweet hay,’ he instructed the lad. ‘And a little oat mash, if you will.’ Taffy nodded his head as if to agree with his master. ‘And if you’ve time could you comb and brush the old fellow. We picked up a few burrs along one of the narrower paths we took.’

Barnaby trudged up the few stairs to the Inn’s porch and pushed open the door to the Common Room. The dimmer interior of the Inn was an abrupt change from the bright noon light, and he stood for a few moments, blinking, as his eyes adjusted. His belly grumbled low in anticipation of the good food he could smell cooking in the kitchen. And his mouth watered at the sight of mugs of foaming ale being tipped up and drained by Hobbits and others as they sat relaxing at their tables.

He made his way straight to the bar and soon was wrapping his own fists round a mug of pale golden ale. He leaned his back comfortably against the bar top, and looked about as he sipped the gratifying brew. News of a party to be held that evening buzzed about the room.

Barnaby saw a fellow he thought he knew, just tucking into a plate of rolls smeared with honey. Not wanting to intrude on the Hobbit's meal, he smiled and nodded in greeting.

[Celuien]

Robin finished the last of his rolls and pushed the empty plate aside with a sigh of contentment. The cook certainly did have a knack for baking. He must remember to send his compliments.

A cheer went up in the Inn yard. "Fordogrim must have chosen a winner," Robin thought. "Best go and see what's happening." Even as he moved to open the door, it flew ajar with the suddenness of a summer thunderstorm, nearly colliding with Robin's nose!

"Careful now!" cried Robin. "No need to go about in a rush, knocking folk off their feet." For he had needed to step back when the door opened and almost fell over a chair close behind him. "What's all the excitement?"

"Goodness, but I'm sorry, Robin. You're not hurt?" came the breathless reply. Robin shook his head. Before he had a chance to answer, the words went on, "What a generous one that Fordogrim is! A right fine sort. I came to tell you. He gave a cask to all three champions. Stout for the lass, ale for the dwarf, and Gold for you. And, what's more, there's going to be a party tonight!"

Robin could hardly believe his good fortune. He lept into the air in delight. "Hurray for Fordogrim!" he shouted. "Hurray for the Green Dragon! Hurray!" And out to the yard he went to see about helping with preparations for the upcoming festivities.

[the guy who be short]

Éodear looked around with increasing panic. This didn't look like Bree. This didn't look like Bree at all.

Why oh why hadn't he stuck to the North-South road?

Infact, why hadn't he taken a map?

Or, for that matter, provisions. He hadn't dined properly for days, and had only been discouraged from eating his horse, Lassemista, by the realisation that this would somewhat hinder his pace.

Well, he thought, at least it's civilisation. That means food.

Thus, Éodear found himself at the entrance to the Green Dragon Inn in Bywater, as the stableboy had placed it. Not wishing to appear a complete imbecile, Éodear had smiled politely, nodded, and wandered to the door.

As he opened the door, the smell of freshly baked bread invaded his nostrils. He almost broke down into tears. Food! Shelter! Ale! Food! And was that a fellow countrywoman at the bar? He took a seat near the door, and started emptying his pockets in search of anything that could pass as currency.

[Dunwen]

Still shaking her head in amazement at finding the Woodlock children safe and sound at the Green Dragon, Widow Rosebank went downstairs and into the Common Room. It was shortly before lunch, and the room was filling up with hungry customers, while a combination of delicious odors permeated the air. They leaked out through a door to one side; somewhere behind it was undoubtedly the kitchen. And in the kitchen would be the inn's Cook, one Miz Bunce, whom Widow Rosebank had been directed to speak to.

Focusing her mind on her main goal, business, the Widow barely registered the happy chattering around her about "a party tonight" and "free ale". Ebba Rosebank regarded her drygoods business not only as a livlihood for herself and her family, but as a challenge and a pleasure. Nothing made her happier than to present her customers with just the right cloth for their needs, or to see someone's face light up at the sight of a perfect gift for a loved one. She enjoyed the chance to handle the few luxury materials her customers required, too. She believed in dealing fair with folks, and the Bree-folk, Big and Little, knew that they could get good value for their silver at Rosebank's Drygoods.

Lately, however, Ebba had started listening to the tales of the travelers who came through Bree and wondering what it would be like to see a Real Mountain or the Great River away in Gondor. She was sure she was too settled to travel far, but if she could do a bit of business in the Shire once or twice a year, that might get her out her rut. This Fair at the Green Dragon sounded like a fine way to introduce her wares. She hoped it would all work out, but first she must talk to the Cook.

While most Big People would have found the idea of getting permission for something from a Cook to be laughable or insulting, Ebba Rosebank was Bree-born and bred, and knew perfectly well the high regard Hobbitry had for good Cooks. Miz Bunce would take careful handling, especially right before a meal, but she had come prepared. She patted the pocket of her skirt, wherein rested a few items she thought might be useful to a skilled cook.

[piosenniel]

Lilly, Violet, and Cook

‘Here, lass! Let me open the door for you!’ Cook hurried up the single step and onto the small back stoop. Pushing open the kitchen’s back door she ushered the other two women in. Lilly, first, who made quickly for the table to deposit her basket and then Violet who walked more slowly, the tip of her blackthorn cane tap-tapping across the floor.

‘Go ahead and sit down,’ Cook said, motioning toward the table’s chairs. ‘I’ll just pop these pans of rolls into the oven so they’ll be fresh and hot for lunch.’ Vinca whisked the clean towels off the rolls and inspected the plump rounds of dough. Satisfied that they had risen to her satisfaction, she brushed their tops with melted butter and placed them on the oven racks.

She turned over the sand filled timer, then, and walked over to where the two women were talking. ‘Let’s see what you and your Gran have accomplished with this year’s plums, Lilly,’ she said, taking one of the wax sealed pots from the basket.

Lilly fetched a knife warmed in hot water for her to loosen the seal, and a spoon for the contents. Cook placed the big basket on the floor and had Lilly fetch a plate of scones left over from the breakfast meal.

Miz Violet, for her part, had her dark eyes fixed on Cook’s hand as she prised up the wax and then dipped the spoon into the thick, purple red concoction. ‘Oh my!’ Cook exclaimed, heaping a bit of preserves on a wedge of scone. ‘You’ve outdone yourselves this year! There are bits of toasted walnut in here, aren’t there? And isn’t that just the faintest hint of lemon I’m tasting against the sweet?’

She passed the scones to Violet and Lilly, sliding the pot of plum preserves across after she’d added just a wee bit more to her own flaky morsel.

[Folwren]

Tim was busy in the stables. Two new horses to be put up had arrived almost at the same time, and one of the riders had asked him to groom his mule. The animal needed it, too. He was hot and sweaty, particular where the harnesses of the cart had been. He had taken him to water first and had been just about to lead him into the stables when another horse trotted up. He tied the mule up quickly to the ring on the barn’s wall and hurried forward to take the horse’s rein’s.

Being thus occupied with them, he found himself unable to held Fordogrim Chubb with the ale as he had promised. Tim certainly intended on rushing back out there just as soon as he’d finished up in the stables and washed his hands. And in little time at all, he finished the job with the horse and mule, and headed back out. He took his place beside Fatty and began again to fill mugs.

---------------------------------------------------------

Wren, kneeling beside a large chest (compared to her), dug through the contents thereof. Her eyes were bright and she’d practically forgotten the trouble of a few minutes ago. There were other things to occupy her mind now.

“What sort of party is it, Ginger?” she asked. “Will there be dancing as well as music? There used to be dances in Bree that we would all go to. Tim and I would play with the other kids around there, who would all come. Do you think that Hanson and Woody who were here last night will come again?”

Ginger laughed at Wren’s excited chatter and pulled out a lovely looking dress that she had just dug out. “What do you think of this one, Wren?” Wren lifted her head.

“It’s pretty!” she said, smiling broadly. “I think you should wear it.” Ginger chuckled again and Wren turned back to her searching. A moment later, she bounded up to her feet, holding out a little, blue dress in front of her. “Look, look!” she cried, skipping excitedly to Ginger’s side. “This one might fit me perfectly!” It certainly did appear to be a well made, human child’s dress, and one that may fit Wren’s slight figure.

[Rose]

Rose paused for a moment at the rise in the road. She loosened the clasp of her russet colored cloak, pushing the hood back from her flushed face. It had grown warmer as she’d trudged along; the noontime sun was generous with its warmth and growing more giving with each step. Her short dark curls were in disarray from the hood and several stray ringlets lay plastered against her brow. She brushed them back with a hurried gesture and shrugged the front sections of her cloak behind her shoulders. Her worn leather pack lay snug against her back, another source of uncomfortable warmth.

The Green Dragon was very near. Just a very short distance and she would be turning up the path to the inn proper. And what was that happening in the front yard, she wondered. There were a goodly number of Hobbits with mugs in their hands and a number of casks round which they were gathered. Her deep blue eyes lit up at the sight. She was thirsty after her long morning's hike.

A short time later, the Hobbit lass had crossed the yard and climbed the steps to the little verandah. Two Dwarves sat in wooden chairs a little to her left. There were mugs in their hands she could see, and their beards wagged up and down as they spoke with one another. It was a funny sort of sight and she bit her bottom lip, holding back a laugh that threatened to escape. One of the Dwarves glanced her way and she looked away guiltily, hoping he had not taken her stare as rudeness on her part.

[Koobdooga]

‘Your pardon, Miss,’ said Ibun, rocking his chair back down so that it now stood on all its legs. He sat his mug down on the flat top of the porch railing and stood up. ‘Is there something we can help you with?’

The Hobbit lass’ stare and the blossoming stain of red on her cheeks as she turned quickly away made him curious. That and the hint of a smile she had smoothed from her lips.

[the phantom]

As Meri emerged from the stable, a small coin purse thudded into the dust between his feet.

"Be sure and keep my horse well, Stablemaster."

Meri looked up at the speaker. He was wrapped completely in a black cloak. All that showed were his fine black riding boots and his face. His eyes were grey, and a lock of black hair trailed down just to the left of his eyes and then curved back to disappear into his hood. He was fair of face, and tall, and the hilt of a sword showed above his right shoulder.

He dismounted with ease, and began walking with firm steps towards the door to the inn. Meri opened the coin purse and his eyes grew wide. "I promise I'll take excellent care of your horse!" he called after the stranger. The stranger turned, nodded, opened the door and disappeared into the inn.

----------

Ruby Brown ran straight into the stranger as he entered, spilling the two drinks she was carrying onto the bottom of his cloak.

"Oh, goodness, I'm sorry! Oh sir, just-"

"If you wish to atone for your mistake just toddle off and get me a mug of whatever you spilled on me. It smells quite good."

Ruby nodded in agreement. "Aye- it does. It's fine ale, the best in the Shire if I may say so," she said as she produced a towel from the back of her belt and began mopping up the spill. "What's your name, sir?"

"Belegund," he answered as he removed his hood. "I come from Minas Tirith."

As he surveyed the room, he saw a man of Rohan seated by himself at a table nearby. "I'll be sitting at this table here near the door," said Belegund. "When you're done cleaning that up, bring me my mug of ale." As he spoke, he noticed that the man from Rohan seemed to be searching for currency. "On second thought, bring two mugs."

[Rose]

Well, here she was . . . caught out! Rose pushed down the urge to simply turn and flee. Taking a deep breath she faced toward the Dwarf who had addressed her.

‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ she began, her cheeks now thoroughly reddened. ‘My name is Rose. Rose Woolcomb of Bindbale Wood.’ She stepped nearer the two Dwarves. It was rude of me, I know to stare at you, but I saw you talking to one another . . . your beards wagging up and down as you did so. And it was such a familiar sight to me, or so it seemed, that I could not help but stare and wonder at it.’

Rose took a deep breath. ‘Oh dear, I’m not explaining myself very well. You see, my two grandfathers live with my family. And often at the end of a long day, they like to sit in front of the door to our burrow, in their sturdy wooden chairs, feet propped up on an overturned bucket or low oak round. They fill their pipes and smoke and drink their mugs of hard cider and talk til my mother calls them in for supper. Their beards, though, not as full and fine as yours, wag up and down in the same manner.’ She looked down at her feet, wondering if she had blathered on too much. ‘I’ve not been away from them often. I was missing them, I suppose. and seeing you two engaged in a familiar activity made me smile and think of them.’

[piosenniel]

The drinks are delivered to Master Belegund

Ruby hurriedly cleaned the ale from the floor and made her back to the bar. Buttercup was there, filling mugs for customers. ‘Two mugs of the stout, if you will,’ said Ruby, throwing her sodden towel in the basket beneath the bar. ‘For the gentlemen over there, who’ve just come in.’ She leaned on the edge of the bar as Buttercup filled the mugs.

Buttercup looked the two up and down, assessing them as possible good tippers. At least the one looked the part, the dark haired fellow dressed all in black with the sword at his back. The other one she noted was seated already and turning out his pockets, looking for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to be having much success and a closer inspection showed her no coins in evidence. ‘Looks like the dark dressed fellow is standing a mug of ale for the other.’

Ruby loaded the mugs onto a tray along with a basket of bread with a wedge of Shire cheddar on a small plate tucked into it. ‘Compliments of the Green Dragon, Master Belegund. Don’t often get visitors from the High King’s city.’ She looked expectantly at the second mug of ale. ‘And will someone be joining you?’

[the guy who be short]

"That would be me, my dear!" Éodear replied to the hobbit lass. He smiled at her so jovially that she could do little but smile back, make a quick reply and leave him to talk to the mysterious stranger who was buying him a drink.

"I do thank you, sir," Éodear said. "I'm sure I had some silver pieces somewhere... oh, I don't know. Very good ale though, eh?"

The stranger, who named himself as Belegund of Gondor, replied that it was the best he had had in an age. For a short while, they sat together in silent contemplation of one another, sipping.

A few minutes later, Éodear broke the silence. "This is the first ale I've had in weeks, would you believe? It's most welcome." Belegund smiled. "Infact," Éodear continued, lowering his voice to a whisper, "I must say I've gotten myself a little lost. Was heading to Bree, you understand. Would you happen to know whereabouts this Bywater place is?"

"The Shire?!" he had cried incredulously, turning a few heads in the public house. "But then I'm far off course!"

[the phantom]

Belegund immediately took a sip and agreed with Éodear that the ale was of the highest quality. He made a mental note to leave a substantial tip for not only the quality of the ale but also for the speed with which it arrived. In the meantime, he flipped Ruby a silver coin.

"To King Eomer!" said Belegund, raising his mug.

"To King Elessar!" returned Éodear, clinking his glass against Belegund's.

After a long swallow, Belegund turned to Éodear. "Looking for Bree? Well, just follow the main road east out of the Shire and you will be there before you know it. In the meantime, just sit back and enjoy your stay here. The Shire is a wonderful place." Belegund took another drink and sighed. "Very peaceful... I wish I could stay a bit longer- but duty calls, and so I must leave in the morning. It's a pity. I would've liked to spend some time getting to know that angel behind the bar over there. I believe I heard someone call her 'Aman'."

Aman caught her name and looked up from the drink she was pouring. Belegund bowed his head slightly and smiled at her.

[Koobdooga]

Ibun chuckled at the girl’s words. “Having a chin-wag” was what his grandmother called it when his grandpa and his friends would sit about and talk and drink. ‘No offense taken, Miss Woolcomb!’ Grinning, he looked toward Frór. ‘We’re certainly guilty of what you’ve described. And if we brought good thoughts to mind of your family, then all the better!’

His pipe had gone out, and he tapped it on the railing of the porch, letting the ashes fall into the flowerbed below. ‘Well, best you get on about your business and not let us hold you up. Perhaps we’ll see you at the party this evening. We’ll stand you to a cup of cider or of ale.’ He smiled and nodded at her. ‘Oh, here I go forgetting my manners. I’m Ibun Lodestone come from the Misty Mountains as you call them here, I think. And this is my friend, Frór, from the Iron Hills.’

[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger took the little blue dress from Wren and looked at it with a practiced eye. There was a tear where the lace about the collar had come loose, and a small jagged rip near the back hem where it had probably been caught on something and yanked loose hurriedly. Neither of which problems could not easily be fixed, she told Wren. They’d also need to heat the irons and give it a good pressing to smooth away the wrinkles.

The girl took back the dress and holding it against herself was dancing about the room. It was then that Ginger noticed the state of her shoes. Now, were she a Hobbit girl, there would not need to be any consideration for this part of the dressing up. But the Big Folk liked to have something on their feet at all times . . . except in bed, she supposed, but then she had not the opportunity to have checked on that bit of information. And oh yes, the girl would need some tights of some sort; that seemed the Big Folk standard for wearing a pretty dress and nice shoes.

‘See that wardrobe over there,’ she said, drawing Wren’s attention to a tall sort of cupboard that stood in the corner. ‘That’s where we keep shoes and boots and such that the Big Folk have left behind. Why don’t you see if you can find a pair of party shoes to go with your dress?’

She watched as the girl climbed on a stool and opened the tall doors. ‘I think I’ve got a ribbon that will just match this blue color, down in my room. Open those drawers there at the bottom and see if there’s a pair of tights that can go along with everything. Or do you have a pair in your pack?’

Ginger started toward the door. ‘Come down to the kitchen when you’ve found what you need. I’ll just mend the dress real quick and get it pressed. After we serve lunch and clean up, then I’ll help you polish up the shoes you’ve found.’ She nodded at Rose, motioning for her to continue the search. Then down the stairs she went to ask Cook for the loan of her sewing basket.

[piosenniel]

The bright coin tumbled end over end in the air, catching the light as it arced upward, winking at Buttercup as she watched it descend and fall easily into Ruby’s ready hand. ‘I did pour the ale for those two,’ she said, her eye on Ruby’s closed fist as she walked back to the bar where Buttercup stood.

Ruby laughed at her friend, standing there hands on hips, and expectant look on her face. ‘Aww! You know I’ll share with you, dear heart! But isn’t it nice to have a bit of silver of my own in my fist!’ She gave the coin to Buttercup who turned it over to have a look at both sides.

‘Must be one of those new ones the High King’s put out,’ Buttercup said, looking closely at the side view of some man’s face on the one side and a tree with stars on the other. ‘Pretty, it is.’ She hefted the coin in her hand, feeling the slight weight of it. ‘Wonder how many silver Shire pennies it’s worth?’

The needs of the customers in the inn were at a lull for the moment. The two Hobbits leaned their elbows on the bar top and surveyed the room. ‘Think he’s some sort of noble fellow,’ Ruby asked, nodding slightly at the man all in black. ‘Dunno,’ said Buttercup, giving him a critical look. ‘Could well be. Looks more than those errand-riders we get in here once in a while. You suppose he knows the King?’

Several moments passed as they eyed Belegund. ‘And what about that other fellow? Did you catch his name,’ asked Buttercup.

‘It’s Eo- something or other. I couldn’t quite hear it all. One of those Rohan names, like Miz Aman’s friends, I’m sure.’ Ruby grinned at Buttercup as she continued. ‘That Belegund, now he seems seems smooth as silk in his manners, doesn’t he. But look at the Rohan fellow, he’s a bit twitchy, don’t you think?’

Further consideration of the two Big Folk gentlemen was forestalled as Cook called firmly from the kitchen door that it was time to get lunch ready to serve . . .

[Lilly]

Lilly and her Aunt help out

‘Can Auntie and I lend you a hand,’ Lilly asked, watching Cook bustle about the kitchen. Ruby and Buttercup had come in from the Common Room and were now going about the tasks Cook had assigned them.

Lilly washed up her hands and plucked an apron from the pegs by the door. ‘I noticed you had a batch of cookie dough setting here on the counter in that big blue bowl.’ She picked up the bowl and brought it over to the table. ‘Auntie Violet and I can spoon these out onto the cookie pans if you’ll just show me where they are.’

Buttercup pointed to the bottom cupboard where the pans were stacked and Ruby fetched them each a couple of spoons. ‘They’re spice drops,’ she told them, as Lilly tied an apron on her aunt. ‘Make them about walnut size and roll them in this pan of chopped nuts and sugar.’ She was about to give further instruction when Lilly smiled and said she thought Aunt Violet and she could figure out what needed to be done. Buttercup came over and led Ruby away. ‘Thanks for the help. And don’t mind her,’ she said, nodding at Ruby. ‘Sometimes she gets carried away with her instructions.’

Lilly put the bowl of dough and the bowl of sugary nut bits near her aunt. She gave them each a pan to fill and started spooning the balls of dough into the nut mixture and then onto the pan.

[Rose]

‘Pleased to meet you. The both of you,’ Rose said, a smile of relief on her face. Her apology, it seemed, had been accepted. ‘I’d be more than happy to share a mug of cider with you this evening. A party you say? Oh, that should be fun!’

A few moments of conversation passed in which Ibun explained what had gone on earlier in the Inn’s front yard – the ale from a Master Fordogrim, the accident, the contest, and the group of players who said they were going to entertain.

Rose excused herself once he'd finished talking, saying she had some business to conduct within. ‘I’ll see you both later, then,’ she said, giving the two a smile and a wave of her hand as she entered the Inn.

[Noinkling]

Notch views the room

The small brown, notch-eared mouse poked his head out from the hole. The Green Dragon seemed busier, noisier than on previous days. The great oaken door banged open and another two-legged entered the Inn. Another of the littler ones, the barefooted ones that lived around here. At least in comparison to some of the others who now sat at the tables, the female in the reddish cloak was one of the smaller people. But she looked a giant to Notch as he stared at her with his glittering black eyes.

Two men were sitting together now at one of the tables, sharing ale he thought and a basket of fresh bread (he could tell by the smell of it even from a distance) and that good, sharp cheese the cook kept locked away in her pantry. He watched them carefully looking for any crumbs that might fall to the floor as they talked and waved their hands about for emphasis.

One of the men, the darker one, had flipped something shiny and small into the air to the girl that worked here. It was pretty as it tumbled in the light. He knew where the girl’s bedroom was and pondered how he might snatch the glittery thing for his own nest.

News from the kitchen traveled on the air each time one of the busy servers went in or out. Notch twitched his whiskers as he took in the savory aromas of lunch. Stew with rich gravy and chunks of vegetables and meats. Warm bread, cheeses, and what was that tantalizing smell that drifted out just now. Sweet and spicy! He nearly fainted from anticipation. Spice and nut cookies, to be sure.

Notched pushed himself back into his little burrow at the base of the common room’s hearth and rooted about in his little larder. An apple core, still fairly fresh, caught his attention. Holding it between his paws he began to nibble on it in earnest. His tiny belly was making its demands known with its grumblings, and he thought perhaps a bit of apple as a snack would tide him over til he could make the rounds of the room later, unseen and unhindered.

[piosenniel]

Notice of time moving ahead in the Inn

It's now noon or a little after in the Shire. Lunch is being served:

Savory mutton stew with vegetables, taters, and barley; warm rolls straight from the oven with sweet cream butter, jams, honey, cheeses; and baskets of big, nut & spice cookies to fill in any of the hollow spaces. Drinks of all sorts are of course available.

~*~

It would be nice to have some volunteers to take tables and chairs out to the front yard to set up for the party later this evening . . .

[piosenniel]

Cook speaks with Ginger

‘Now what were you wanting, Ginger?’ asked Cook, as she dropped in a last pinch of salt and added a grind or two of pepper to the mutton stew. ‘’Hand me that bowl of steamed peas, won’t you.’ She stirred them into the stew, saying how she preferred her peas a bit on the crisper side, not mushy.

Cook wiped her hands on the towel tucked into the apron strings that wrapped about her waist and tied in front. She took the blue dress from Ginger’s hands and took a good look at it. ‘Won’t take long at all to get this mended.’ Her eyes lit up as she handed it back to Ginger. ‘And won’t little Wren look lovely in it!’

She opened the heavy door to the oven and pulled out the last pan of rolls. ‘Here, now,’ she went on, placing the pan on a rack to cool. ‘You go ahead and lay the dress out on my bed. I’ll get the sewing basket for you once lunch is done and you can get it mended. The kitchen’ll be quieted down by then and we can heat up the irons.’

Cook looked closely at Ginger. ‘And have you given a thought yet as to what you’ll be wearing to the festivities? Will it need a bit of pressing, too?’

[Undómë]

Teluyaviel turned back to Illidan with a smile on her face. ‘We’re not so far from our home. At least our new home.’ She turned to her brother, Tindomion, and smiled again. ‘Our parents moved us to Mithlond. They’re bound for the West. I wanted one last visit to these fair lands. To the new Ithilien, where I’ve heard many of our people have gone to settle.’

Outside the window, near where they sat, Telu saw a number of Hobbits and Men arranging tables on the lawn. ‘Look!’ She put her hand on Tindo’s arm, drawing his attention to the scene outdoors. ‘What are they doing?’

A voice from behind , one of the servers who’d brought a refill for their mugs, spoke up. ‘It’s a party, Miss. This evening. With music and singing and dancing. And plenty of ale, of course.’

‘Oh! We’ll go of course. Won’t we, Tindo?’

Tindomion, for his part, sighed and waved his hand at her in a manner indicating they would.

[Pivli]

The cookie dough was soon all made into cookies and had been put in the oven to bake. Violet took Lilly out into the common room, saying that it might be best if they left the kitchen to Cook and the servers until after lunch was done.

They found a table near the fireplace. Violet enjoyed the heat of the flames; they warmed her aging joints and kept the chill from her spare frame. Buttercup came over to take their orders. ‘A small bowl of stew for me, dearie,’ Violet told her. ‘And what about you, Lilly? My treat.’