The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[piosenniel]

It is nearing noon-time at the Green Dragon Inn. Breakfast is still being served.

The day is proving to be a fair one so far . . . no clouds on the horizon as yet.

[starkat]

Gwenneth thanked him and took her seat. Before answering the man’s question, the elf maid quickly ordered her breakfast. For a moment she fiddled with the jewel that she wore around her neck. She noticed that he was trying hard not to stare at her.

“My name is Gwenneth. I hail from my family home near the Grey Havens.” The man across from her sat waiting for her to continue. “It was my turn to travel and the Shire is the first stop in my journey. My only companion is my horse, Elenath. She was a gift from my father a couple of years ago.”

Her breakfast arrived and Gwenneth spent a few moments eating. She took a sip of her tea and turned to the man. “What is your name? What brings you to these parts?”

The young ranger was silently listening and continued to eat his meal while the elf maiden spoke. He remained silent, still wondering why an elf of Grey Havens would be journeying this far. Most of his elven friends were journeying to Grey Havens.

That's when he remembered why Thanatos would be meeting him here. His friend was accompanying a small group of elves. They had agreed Thana would meet him here while their friends continued onwards to Mithlond.

He gazed around the room and saw a young female who seemed distracted and was humming to herself. The young boy he'd noticed earlier stood up with his companion and left.

"What is your name? What brings you to these parts?" The Gwenneth asked.

"My apologies. They call me Mulawin. A simple ranger journeying from the Ford of Bruinen near Rivendell. I was to meet with a friend here." He paused and smiled." Do you know then, Lord Cirdan? What news in the Grey Havens?"

[starkat]

“I am afraid that I do not know him. I have met him briefly, but have not spent much time near the shore. My interests have always lain with our horses. I have spent most of my time with them.” The elf maid smiled as an astonished look crossed the Ranger’s face for a moment. “I know what you are thinking, an elf who does not wish to cross the sea. I will one day, but not until my journey is over.”

Gwenneth fiddled with the jewel she wore on a chain before continuing. “In my family there is a tradition. Once we reach 100 years of age, we set out on a two year journey through Middle Earth. Right now my only companion is my horse, Elenath. She was a gift from my father. He brought her back from one of his trips to Rohan.”

Ruby Brown came by and asked them if the wanted refills. After their glasses were filled, Gwenneth and Mulawin sat in silence for a few moments. Gwenneth looked around at the goings on in the inn. She heard Mulawin tapping his fingers against the table and realized that he was waiting for her to continue.

The elf maid tucked a few strands of loose hair back behind her ear. “Would you tell me about some of the places you have been? As a Ranger, you must have journeyed far.” She waited for his reply.

Mulawin thought for a moment and smiled. "Where would I begin, my Lady? Across Eriador I've often wandered, where ever duty called. To the north I've been to Fornost Erain, the ancient city of the Dunedain. To the south I've journeyed along the banks of the River Isen. Of late I've come from Rivendell, one could rest awhile there, all weariness be taken from you. Great is the power of healing in the House of the Lord Elrond.

Beyond that would be the Misty Mountains then Rhovanion. Beyond those snow tipped mountains lie Eryn Lasgalen once called Mirkwood in Rhovanion, where peace again reigns. One could wander there now, never growing tired of the trees and beasts of that great forest.

I've followed the River Anduin, and seen the Gladden Fields, with the golden irises - which once was called Leog Ninglorin I believe. 'twas there I met a an elf, a good friend. Though I've not seen him for some time. I never got to ask him why he was often called a dark elf- perhaps something to do with your lore.

Though I've passed Lorien, I've never had the privilege of entering its woods. Only bidden may one enter in the Golden woods.

Rohan I've only seen from a distance, though."

He noticed she often fiddled the jewel she wore on a chain around her neck. She was listening intently to him. Her clear blue eyes shining, like a cloudless sky in the morning.

"Where are you headed? To Rivendell or beyond?" Mulawin asked as he took another sip of his drink.

[Eiz]

It was mid morning, the sky was clear and the sun shing bright. Thanatos looked around. He had just parted with his elven friends who would be heading towards the Grey havens.

He was late he knew, but Mulawin was use to it. Often times his younger companion new to give him a day or two allowance. The young ranger would probably be at the Inn by now, if he hadn't arrived last night.

Since peace had return, there would be times duty would have them both journeying from one end of Eriador to Misty Mountains. There were times now though, one could catch up with friends on news of everyday things.

Still garbed in his travelling tunic, he had not worn his cloak since it was getting warm. He brushed his golden locks back, his hair was falling just short of his shoulder. His blue eyes scanned the road ahead. Several hobbits paused to greet him with a smile and a nod, and he greeted back.

Finally arriving at the Green Dragon Inn, he opened the door and was greeted by Ruby Brown.

"Welcome to the Green Dragon Inn, good sir! Will you be breaking your fast with some bacon, eggs and hot tea? Or perhaps some ale?"

"Something to eat and drink, thank you," he replied.

There were several people, all busy with their morning meal. He saw Mulawin at a table with an elf maiden. He paused, a bit amused before walking slowly towards his friend's table.

[starkat]

Gwenneth enjoyed listening to Mulawin’s descriptions of his travels. As he listed place after place, a wistful smile crossed her face. “I wish I could see all of the places that you have been.” She looked down at the jewel around her neck. “I do not yet know where I am headed. I would hope to see Rivendell, Lorien, Rohan, and Gondor.”

“My mother’s family is in Eryn Lasgalen. She tells me stories of her youth there. My father lived in Rivendell for a time. They finally settled near the Havens.” Her companion sat there nodding at what she had said. Gwenneth pushed her glass away and leaned back. “Do you have any recommendations on where to go?”

“My mare is from Rohan and I have always wanted to see the place of her birth. To meet the horse lords and learn about their horses.” The elf maid looked into the eyes of the man across from her. She was about to continue when a man with golden hair wearing a travel stained tunic walked up to their table. The elf maid watched as Mulawin greeted the newcomer.

[Nurumaiel]

Posco had left for the Inn early that morning, and no doubt he was already out riding with Lily.

Marcho tugged at the little girl's hand, and she clung harder to it. Really, it was must unfair that he had to take care of the girl. She was such a feisty and spirited little thing, and he knew nothing about taking care of children, let alone little girls! Why couldn't it have been Bingo, who would know just what to say and just what to do? The child was odd... she was not beautiful in face but she had a trick of deluding a hobbit into thinking she was. Her brown curls were wild and unruly, though she had been sitting in front of a mirror for hours that morning trying to comb it down. It wouldn't be combed. For every curl that was put neatly in place two more would spring up to fall in her face and tumble about her eyes. Her eyes were large and brown and soft like a deer's, but not gentle and mild. They would glint with mischief, and then soften to be thoughtful, and then sparkle with anger. One eye was slightly larger than the other; something that was barely perceptible but something the girl noticed every time she looked in the mirror; something she very much regretted. Her cheeks were rosy, however, and her nose was the prettiest little thing. She was young, about ten years old perhaps, and the looks of sadness that passed over her features were a sign that even in her young age she had suffered. Marcho had felt compassion for her from the first; the little thing had lost her parents.

Akin to Blanco and Posco she was, in the most minor fact that she was a twin. When her parents had died her family had been split up, and she had gone to live with her Aunt Donnamira. She had nine brothers and sisters, and talked about them with the greatest deal of pride, especially her little sisters; Marcho never guessed that she had once sat in scorn of those little sisters and thought them very... 'wimpy' was the word this girl had used at the time, at it was beyond Marcho's vocabulary.

She was walking along now, trying her utmost to keep her back straight and her shoulders back, and trying not to muss her pretty green dress. The dress made her look like a wood creature, Blanco had said, for she was the colors of a tree... brown and green. The girl had looked quite indignant and had told Blanco in emphathetic tones that a hobbit had been saying just the other day what creamy skin she had; she was in no way brown-skinned. Her aunt had always made her wear her bonnet out of doors and she had never be exposed in such a way to the sun, thank you very much! Marcho had guessed from this that she was odd, but he would never have guessed that this prim and ladylike creature clinging to his hand had been in older days what might be classified by some as a 'tomboy.' Her Aunts Donnamira and Mirabella had known this well, and so had sent the girl to a relation of hers to be cared for, this particular relation turning out to be, in fact, the aunt of Blanco and Posco, Aunt Malva. Marcho would hav been deeply surprised if he had known how many grouchy aunts the girl had been in the care of... her Aunt Mirabella she had run away from, her Aunt Donnamira had scolded her, made her feel wretched and sent her right back, and after she had run away from her Aunt Mirabella again and had been inticed to go back, her Aunt Mirabella had sent her to Malva, who was also a grouchy aunt. If Marcho had known this, however, he would not have been surprised to hear that the girl considered all aunts grouchy and mean.

"Hurry up, Donnamira," said Marcho, his tone as kind as he could muster in his impatience.

Her lips formed into a pout and she looked up at him reproachfully. "Uncle Marcho," she said, "I am not called Donnamira. Well, I suppose I am, but nobody is to call me that. My wicked aunt is called Donnamira. You must do as I have asked you countless times... my name is Don."

"It isn't a very ladylike name," said Marcho, restraining his retort as to the reference to him as 'Uncle Marcho.' Ever since she had met him that morning she had insisted on calling him thus. He found that he did not mind it overmuch, and the girl had a way of saying it that charmed him.

"I know it isn't ladylike," said she, "but I couldn't possibly be called anything else. Donna I could not be called because it isn't me. I suppose if I consented to any other name besides Don it would have to be Mira but I would not wish that name either. I am Don," she finished, "and Don is me."

Marcho did not insist upon carrying the subject on. Let the girl call herself whatever she liked as long as she hurried. He made a gesture for her to move faster and she lifted her skirts the littlest bit to give her legs more freedom. "It is," she said, "improper for a girl to lift her skirts any farther than this. When I was little - " as if she was not now, was Marcho's thought " - I used to hitch my skirts up over my knees so I could run about with the boys. But my Aunt Mirabella told me it was most indecent. When I was little I did not care for her at all, but now that I am older I realize that while she is a sour old hobbit lady and very fat at that, she does know how a young hobbit girl should behave."

All through the day Marcho had noticed that the girl, despite her best efforts at being ladylike, had shown that she had a streak of impertinence in her. The things she had said about people and to people at times were not respectful. She spoke viciously about Aunt Malva and said very rude thing to that prominent old hobbit lady, and Marcho was surpised at times. The girl seemed to contradict herself. He could not know, of course, that it was a fault she had been struggling with for a year or more now. She realized it was not good to be impertinent and she tried not to be, but she found it difficult.

The Green Dragon was in sight now. Marcho breathed a sigh of relief but the hobbit girl's rosy cheeks paled and her large eyes filled with wistful longing, and she spoke in a voice Marcho could not here one name. "Rie," she said.

The Common Room was as bright and cheerful as it had ever been, and breakfast was being finished. To Don it seemed a dream. The person of Talmérië had become a ghost in the mist to her with all her practices at being ladylike, but now the red-headed woman came clearly to her again as the sights and smell of the Common Room filled her young eyes and nostrils. She remembered finding out that Talmérië had been much like her... a twin, with a large family, and now was far from home and had no one. The only difference had ever been that Rie had left of her own accord and Don had been pulled by force from her family. She remembered the first time Rie had called her darling, though it had been to tease her and aggravate her. It was a fond memory. She remembered when Rie had apologized to her for hurting her feelings, though had insisted angrily that her feelings had not been hurt. She remembered when Rie had hid her from her angry aunt who had been searching for her. She remembered when Rie had told her she was beautiful. She remembered introducing Rie to Bilbo Baggins...

A smile twitched on her face one moment, and the next peals of merry laughter were falling from her lips. Marcho started but did not stop her. The Common Room was already full of laughter and no one would notice; besides it would not do to become too much like Posco. Don was remembering in merriment how she, Donnamira, had met Frodo Baggins and what she had said to him. And then she sobered and dwelt on remembering his face. Gracious he had been, in a manner that suited Elves more than Hobbits, and he had been kindly as well. He had spoken to her in a friendly way and had treated all those about as if there were lords and ladies rather than simple Hobbits. Don had not known what to call his manner in those olden days, but she had heard Bingo Cotton speak a new word only that morning and she knew it was what Frodo Baggins was. Frodo Baggins was noble. She wished she knew where he was now. She felt she should like to see him again. And she missed Bilbo. Where had he gone?

Marcho once again held back impatience. Don was trying to pull away from him now, saying something vague about going into the kitchen. He gripped her hand firmly yet without hurting her. What business did she think she had in the kitchen? As far as he knew patrons of the Inn were preferred not to bother the staff by going into the kitchen. The girl was pulling, insisting, and giving way with reluctance. And now she was complaining of being hungry. Really, it was terribly difficult to watch children. It would be good when Peony arrived; she would surely not mind watching after the girl. Bingo wouldn't mind, either, but he had stayed behind to wait for Peony's arrival and then escort her to the Inn. Good of him, but he was needed most here.

"Sit down, Donnamira, and I'll get you something to eat," Marcho said, and she obeyed with a little huffy sigh. Blanco would arrive soon, looking glum that his twin was off alone with Lily, and then Bingo would arrive with Peony. What a mercy that would be! Peony wouldn't mind watching the little girl at all. Yet still it was a long wait. Marcho went to the counter to order the little hobbit girl some breakfast.

[Kitanna]

Deva woke up with the sun shining through the window. He knew it was time to get up and that no matter how he tried sleep would not return. The dwarf gathered his things and Peony's and brought them down to the common room.

Peony was sitting alone at a table in the corner. Deva figured he'd have some breakfast and then they could head off.

"Are you ready to leave soon?" He asked sitting across from his friend.

Peony nodded and smiled. "Though the Shire is a lovely and peaceful place, I feel it is time for me to return home. But I do hope to return here."

Deva ate a light breakfast, at least light to him. Once he had finished the two headed out to the stables to get Surefoot. The mare was waiting for her master and Deva. Peony sadled the horse and helped Deva up. Then they took their leave of the inn.

The ranger was listening to the elf maiden, Gwenneth. He was so intently listening to her that he hadn't noticed the man who just arrived. It was only when the stranger was striding towards their table that Mulawin realized his arrival.

His eyes widening in pleasant surprise, he stood and greeted his friend.

"Thanatos! I wasn't expecting you until perhaps late in the afternoon!"

His friend answered, his blue eyes showing his amusement, "I'm glad that you accepted my invitation to venture out to the Shire. I thought I would never get you out of the woods!"

Mulawin laughed at that, "Thank the Valars peace reigns the lands! I have been too long away from friends and family."

He realized Gwenneth was smiling politely at them. Turning to Thanatos to introduce the elf maiden, he caught the twinkle in his friend's eyes. The all too familiar slightly raised brow. He knew Thana would pester him to no end later.

"Thanatos, this is Lady Gwenneth of Grey Havens," Mulawin said, still grinning,"My Lady, this is my friend, who is more of a brother and mentor, Thanatos."

Thanatos smiled, bowing politely in greeting to the elf maiden. Mulawin then said, " Have you broken your fast?"

That was when Rosa came carrying the meal Thanatos had ordered to the table. They all sat down after the greetings and continued with their morning meal.

Fain sat at a table in the back of the inn thinking. "What's taking Maikaalph so long. He's been gone for days."

"Excuse me, Master Dwarf." a small voice behind him said.

Fain turned to find a few Hobbit children there. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"The Elf, umm, I think he said his name is Maikaalph, how did you and him become such good friends."

"Ohh!" Fain chuckled you want to know the story do ya. Well sit on down and I'll tell you." A group of others came as well intereseted in this strong friendship between Elf and Dwarf. "It was about ten years ago. I was lost in the Misty Mountains, and I happened to come upon a door. The door into Moria. I entered the Mines of Moria not thinking of the danger that might have lurked in the shadows. Little did I know that I was being followed. I entered the Tomb of Balin, and there I became trapped for a large group of orcs had come after me. I killed a few and then realized it was hopeless. Then when all hope seemed lost. An arrow whizzed by me and hit the nearest orc. Then another, and another. The orcs fell as arrows killed them. I turned to find an Elf there...

Fain's story was cut short for at that moment Maikaalph stumbled through the door, bloody, bruised, and covered in dust. "What have I unleashed upon the world?" He muttered before collapsing to the floor.

[piosenniel]

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Notice of New RPG Opening ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Regin Hardhammer invites you to play in his game:

Hunt for the Palantíri

The Discussion thread for the RPG is now open to take on players.

See you there!

[Envinyatar]

The repairs to the old caretaker’s cottage at the edge of the Inn property were moving along at a rapid pace. It was the roof for the most part that was in need of patching and mending. The interior itself was in good shape – just wanting a coat of fresh paint and the shooing out of several swallows and an owl that had take up residence in the rafters.

Derufin had gone up to the roof to patch the southern section. The sub roofing was still in good shape, but many shingles and been blown off, and the planks that held them needed a good coating of pitch and tar to seal the cracks where there edges abutted. He set to with a will and took off a number of shingles around the damaged area then began mopping on the sealant.

The four Hobbit lads had plans of their own along the southern wall of the cottage. And soon he could hear them banging with sledges on the interior wall, in the room beneath his feet. Derufin crept to the edge of the roof and lying down on his stomach saw a plaster-dusted hobbit issue out through a hole in the wall. ‘Oy!’ he shouted down to the lad, who was ripping out large sections of wall planking with his crowbar. ‘That was a perfectly good wall! Why have you knocked a hole in it?’

The Hobbit, Tomlin, squinted up at the man, and pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. ‘Right here on the plans,’ he said pointing to the drawings on the paper. ‘Got to come out if we’re to build another room.’ Tomlin motioned for one of his mates to come out and look at the size of the opening.

‘What plans? And what room?’ yelled down Derufin, as the other Hobbit, Fallon, shook his head ‘no’ indicating with his hands that the hole needed to be wider. Tomlin held up his hand, signaling to Derufin to wait a moment while he and Fallon conferred. When Fallon had disappeared inside, Tomlin cocked his head up at Derufin and grinned.

‘Cook’s plan’s, Derufin,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders as if the man should have known. ‘The old cottage has only one bedroom, you see.’

‘No, I don’t quite see,’ growled Derufin, frowning as another section of the wall came tumbling. ‘Mind you don’t knock down the structure supports,’ he called down in alarm towards the enlarging hole.’

‘Oh, they’ll be careful. They’ve done this afore for the as prefers to live in wooden dwellings.’ Tomlin stepped back as Fallon came out for another look. Hands on hips the two of them looked smugly toward their handiwork and called out the other two workers, Gil and Ferrin. ‘Right, then, lads! We’ll just start the clearing away and begin the framing.’

The sound of a sweet voice came round the edge of the cottage, accompanied by the tempting smells of fresh baked scones and a flagon of fresh brewed sweet-tea. ‘Cook’s sent a snack to hold you til breakfast,’ said Buttercup, eyeing the lads who had gathered round her like bees to a flower. ‘Now wash up a bit and help me unload the baskets. The Hobbits fell all over themselves in their rush to be the first back to assist her.

Derufin shook his head, and couldn’t help laughing at the calf-eyed fellows. He climbed over the roof to the ladder on the other side and clambered down. He was thirsty, himself, and could do with a mug of tea. Zimzi was there, smiling, as he reached the ground. ‘I’ve escaped “The List” for a few moments,’ she laughed, telling him how Cook had drawn up a great list of things to be done and was slowly working the staff and herself through it. ‘Come,’ she said, taking his hand, ‘Let’s get you a mug of tea and a scone before the Hobbits eat them all.’

Once the mugs were filled and the scones handed round, Buttercup smiled prettily at the workers and said she must be off. There were groans of disappointment and calls of ‘Can’t you stay a bit?’ But she was firm, saying there were things to be done back at the Inn – Ruby would brings them out lunch – then she would expect them washed and ready for dinner back in the Common Room in the early evening. ‘Serve you myself,’ she promised, taking Zimzi in hand and urging her back to the Inn.

The men, all five of them, looked wistfully after the women as they disappeared across the grounds. ‘Well, then – back to it, lads!’ shouted Tomlin. The sooner started, the sooner done.’ Fallon, Gil, and Ferrin began unloading the lumber from the wagon along with sawhorses and saws.

Derufin started back toward the ladder, then paused. ‘About my last question – the one about the room – you didn’t answer what it was for. Gil and Ferrin, came near, bearing the ends of a long piece of planking on their broad shoulders. They raised their brows at Tomlin on hearing the man’s question, then started chuckling. Tomlin scratched his head, and peered up at Derufin as if the man had gone quite dense. ‘It’s for the wee ones, of course,’ he said, speaking slowly in case the heat of mid-morning had dulled Derufin’s brain. ‘You’re to be wed, or so we’ve been told . . . and to that lovely creature who came with our own Buttercup just now.’ Tomlin picked up a piece of chalk and a string for measuring the lengths to be cut. ‘There’ll be plenty of little ones for Cook to fuss over . . . she’s told us so. And so we’re making the room for them – all nice and sunny, here on the south . . .’

[Eiz]

As he broke a piece of bread, Thanatos stole a glance at the elf maiden. He smiled inwardly as he looked at his friend fondly. Mulawin had grown from that young lad who trailed behind him never tiring of stories of the wilds. He considered the young man more of a younger brother than a friend.

Mulawin was saying "Thanatos has been with the rangers longer than I. He's been to places I have not reached yet. Even far down to the borders of the Harad."

"The Haradrim are a fierce people. They've often invaded Gondor's territories. The Haradrim were one of the fiercest allies of the Enemy. Its a blessing that King Elessar now rules- its been a while since Gondor had a king."

Thanatos sat back, a far away look on his face.

"Thana, you've been to Rohan. Were you able to see the Mearas?"asked Mulawin.

"Aye indeed. And magnificent is an understatement to describe them!"

He smiled at Gwenneth. "Do you ride, my Lady?"

[starkat]

Gwenneth watched as Mulawin greeted his friend. She smiled at him when he bowed. When Rose came by to take Thanatos’ order, the elf maid asked for a refill of her tea. She returned to eating and did not notice Thanatos glance at her. Gwenneth was brought to attention when she heard Mulawin say that Thanatos had traveled far in Middle Earth. She listened to his description of Harad.

When the two rangers began speaking about Rohan, she hid a smile. Thanatos spoke of seeing the Mearas. He asked her about riding and Gwenneth returned his smile.

“I enjoy riding tremendously. My mare, Elenath is from Rohan. My father gave her to me a couple of years ago. I got interested in horse training when I was younger and my parents always had a difficult time getting me out of the barn.”

Gwenneth began speaking about some of the horses that she had trained. Her brothers had both gotten horses and asked her to train them. Getting involved in her topic, the elf maid spoke of the days she spent training horses. Finally she began speaking about her mare.

“My father brought her back from Rohan along with two other horses. I went out to the pasture where they were and walked into the midst of them. The other two paid little attention to me. Elenath followed my every movement and after a few moments she came to me. I guess you could say that we chose each other.”

Realizing that she had been talking for several minutes, Gwenneth flushed with embarrassment. “Goheno nin. Forgive me for monopolizing the conversation.” She turned to Thanatos, “The Mearas. Did you ever see Shadowfax? Please tell me something of Rohan. I hope to travel there one day.”

[piosenniel]

‘Who are all these ladies?’ Zimzi whispered her question to Buttercup as they entered the kitchen through the back door. Gathered about Cook were fourteen or perhaps it was fifteen young ladies, all looking like freshly picked flowers in their bright yellows and greens and reds and blues. And every one of them had a freshly pressed apron pinned on along with a bright scarf to tie back their curls.

‘Miz Bunce has called upon their mama’s for help in getting the Inn in order for the arrival of your family and the hand-fasting. Most of them will be helping with the cleaning of rooms and the polishing of the best silver. The fancy linen tablecloths and napkins will all be washed and ironed. And at the end of the week they’ll be the ones to weave the festoons of evergreens and gather the flowers for the arrangements from the garden.’ She nudged Zimzi’s attention toward the group of four older ladies who stood apart from the group, looking on. ‘And those over there will assist cook with the making of the meal . . . Miz Bunce, of course will put the cake together herself . . .’

‘So much work! It’s wonderful! Their generosity leaves me speechless.’ Zimzi beamed at the group and at Cook.

‘Well,’ said Buttercup, ‘Cook is quite fond of Mister Derufin . . . and of you, too. And the lasses are more than willing to help, if truth be told. Tomorrow, many of the single lads will come in to help with the hauling in of the supplies that Cook has ordered and to get the yard in order for the grand party afterwards. There’ll be much eyeing of one another as the week progresses and comments traded in a flirty manner. And by the time the party and the dance is here, there’ll be pairs of dancers ready for it, if you catch my meaning.’ Buttercup nodded her head sagely. ‘Yes . . . I would bet, despite the lasses’ ages, their mothers all saw to their dresses and aprons and scarves for the head before they left the burrows. And all are hoping that in a year or perhaps less, they will be calling on other goodwives of the town to assist in their daughter’s wedding . . .’ Buttercup grinned up at Zimzi. ‘There’s far more to the whole thing than just you and Mister Derufin, you see . . .’

Zimzi laughed delightedly, thinking how much the Hobbits were like the good people of her own little town. ‘Yes,’ she said, grinning back at Buttercup. ‘I do indeed see.’

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Then you begin to see the ways of the Shire, dear Zimzi." The group in the kitchen turned to see Aman leaning in her usual position against the doorway, wearing riding gear and holding a large, serious looking wooden box tucked under. Buttercup smiled and beckoned her in before turning back to the beautiful vase of lillies in front of her, plumping them up and arranging delicately the wide, snowy bells of their blooms.

Zimzi cocked her head onto one side as Aman approached, her smile questioning. "Where was it you left to so early this morning, hmm, Aman?" she asked curiously. The Innkeeper merely smiled mysteriously at her and winked, then laid the large box flat on the table, turning to Buttercup. "Where is Cook?"

"Cook? Why, I'm not entirely sure...she went back out a while ago to talk to some more of the goodwives about..." she trailed off, waving a hand vaguely, her eyes staring into midair, then looked back at Aman. "Would you like me to call her?"

"No!" Aman started suddenly, hands up in front of her, eyes wide, before she gathered herself. "I mean...well, I don't want to bother her, you know, not when all is so busy and..." now it was the Innkeeper's turn to trail off. Buttercup raised an eyebrow and let her eyes flicker down to Aman's garb. The Rohirrim woman grinned ruefully, brushing her windswept hair back with a gloved hand and nodded. "Exactly. Cook has never really...approved of my riding clothes," she said carefully.

Ruby chuckled, shaking her head. "'Never trust a woman wearing leather', that's what she's always said," she laughed, reaching for the wooden box and opening it to reveal about a score and a half of fine, rusty red apples nestled neatly and tightly in straw nests. Smiling approvingly, she murmured something about alerting Miss Bunce and bustled off.

Zimzi stood back, arms crossed, looking skeptical. "Much as I like apples, Aman...do you mean to tell me that you have been riding since the crack of dawn merely to get some?"

Aman wagged a finger at her in mock sternness. "Ah, do not underestimate the value of a good harvest of apples, Zimzi!" She grinned teasingly then shook her head. "Alright, so maybe that wasn't exactly what I was riding for... Come, help me escape Cook before she sees me wearing my riding clothes!" She leant forward and took Zimzi's hand firmly, leading her furtively out of the kitchen. Looking back, she rolled her eyes at the other woman. "Never trust a woman in leather indeed! Come, Zimzi, I need to show you something."

As Aman led the other through the Common Room briskly, Zimzi paused, pulling back slightly although she seemed quite happy to go along with it - after all, she had been simply going along with other people's plans all morning. "Aman, you are being rather mysterious this morning, and that's saying something as you've only been here for five minutes. What is this about now?"

Aman flashed a smile back at her as they reached the bottom of the stairs, letting go of the other's hand. "A gift," she replied softly.

Zimzi hesitated at the word, her brow crinkling slightly. "A gi-...Aman, I'm not sure...I mean, before the handfasting..."

Aman shook her head impatiently. "No, no, this is...well, it is a gift more to you than to Derufin. It is not my single gift for the handfasting, of course, but is something...special..." she stopped, looking at Zimzi with troubled eyes before she clapped her hands worriedly. "Oh, come on, Zimzi, please - Miss Bunce will skin me alive!"

~*~

Zimzi having gone along with the Innkeeper's plan, Aman led her up the stairs to her own room, but when they reached their destination, she stopped the other before she went in. Biting her lip like a child about to give another her Christmas present, she beamed and bid Zimzi close her eyes. The woman looked at her incredulously, but she begged her to do so. Eventually, the other did so and Aman darted into her room.

Crossing the sparsely furnished room briskly, she stopped at the foot of her bed, where a large, deep chest sat: Aman's treasure chest. Beaming to herself, Aman knelt in front of the chest and opened it carefully. Reaching in, past the various pieces of paraphenalia which were scattered over the dark wood, the drew out a slightly battered cardboard box, about a foot long and several inches deep. She paused over it, her fingers lingering above it, before she leapt up and walked back to the door, opening it and leading in her victim. In the quiet of the room, she took of the lid of the box and guided Zimzi's fingers onto the object that laid within.

Zimzi's brow furrowed as she ran her fingers over the surface, attempting to work out what it was, before her eyes suddenly opened wide in surprise as she worked it out. Carefully and slowly, she pulled it out, standing to behold Aman's gift in it's full glory: a beautiful ivory white dress, the material soft and smooth, as finely made as any material anywhere in Middle Earth. The curved v-neck was adorned with a simple, delicate pattern of mallorn leaves, matching the pattern at the end of the wide, sloping sleeves which ended at the elbow, with the long undersleeves a slightly darker shade of dove grey. The fitted bodice gave way to a flowing, unconstricting skirt, which seemed about the right length for Zimzi.

Zimzi looked up at Aman in shock, holding the dress out from her by the shoulders, speechless. The Innkeeper smiled bashfully, and shrugged a little, looking away. "I found it among the clothes in the attic, and it seemed somewhat finer than the others. I couldn't have worn it myself - it's a little too long, see, about your length, and once I consulted a few of the hobbit goodwives, gave it a spruce up, you know, embelished the leaf patterns a little..." she trailed off, her green eyes meeting Zimzi's deep brown ones again, anxiously.

"Aman, I-" Zimzi stopped, her eyes fixed on the dress, before she turned it to hold it up to herself, measuring the length.

"It cleaned up well, and what with the light colour, and the season, and the joyfullness of the event - well, it seemed suitable, you see," Aman gushed on awkwardly, admiring the dress with her head on one side as she stepped forward nervously, taking one of the sleeves in her hands, the dark leather of her gloves a stark contrast against the soft, light material as she swung it slightly, fidgeting. "It is a fine dress, no mistake - but you don't have to wear it if you don't want to, of course, it was merely an idea, you know, a thought that-"

"Aman..."

Zimzi's voice halted Aman's onslaught and she looked back at Zimzi, biting her lip nervously. "Do you like it?" she said nervously.

Zimzi didn't reply immediately, simply laughed and came forward to embrace Aman tightly, the dress held between them. Aman returned the embrace gladly, giving a great, contented sigh of relief as they parted. Zimzi studied the dress again, running an eye over the detail and finery embedded in the elegant, simple design. Her brow crumpled slightly suddenly and Aman felt her pulse almost stop at the sight. She nodded towards the neckline of the dress and Aman scurried around to see what it was that she was looking at.

"What is that?"

Aman peered closely with her keen eyes to see what Zimzi meant, then saw the tiny, perfectly embroidered runes she referred to: two words, one on either side, each no bigger than the width of a little fingernail. She took a moment to work it out, then realisation dawned and she smiled shyly. "It's elvish..." she murmured.

"What does it say?" Zimzi was bursting with impatience and Aman stole a quick glance back at her teasingly, then grinned. "It simply says 'melde' - love, or beloved."

Zimzi looked back at Aman, then laughed delightedly, swirling around with the dress pressed against her. Aman watched, a small smile on her face as the other woman came to face her. She nodded, satisfied. "I wasn't sure what it would be like," she said, softly. "Wasn't sure whether the light colour would look well against your dark skin..." she trailed off, looking back at Zimzi and nodding slowly. "But I see that you match it just as you match Derufin: each complimenting each other, matching, counterparts...in short, perfect." She smiled widely, putting her hands on Zimzi's shoulders as her hands were full. "You and he deserve so much happiness - I am glad you have found it together."

She sighed, seeming to come out of her reverie. Opening the door, she jerked her head towards it. "Come - I need to change my clothes, and downstairs Buttercup will be wondering where you have got to."

Zimzi nodded, carefully folding over the dress as she came to the doorway. Pausing, the looked down at Aman and smiled again. "Thank you," she murmured, then left.

[piosenniel]

Buttercup had come up the stairs to the top room on the right, thinking to lend a hand to Zimzi. They were in the midst of cleaning the small pair of rooms just below the attic, in anticipation of the arrival of Zimzi’s parents. The Hobbit called out her name as she came to the landing, but heard no answer in return. Creeping to the doorway, she stood watching quietly as the woman looked at herself in the silvered mirror that hung above her dresser.

Zimzi had slipped on the dress that Aman had given her as soon as she’d gone to her room. The hem of it brushed the ground as she turned this way and that, the skirt twirling about her legs like a soft cloud of white appleblossoms.

‘Oh, that’s beautiful!’

Buttercup grinned as she wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the hem of the dress in the back. ‘Let me bear your train, m’Lady!’ Zimzi swirled about, laughing; Buttercup following in her wake.

‘I say,’ came the booming voice from the landing just outside the door. ‘What are you two doing up here?’ Cook’s eye caught the broom and dustpan leaning against the stair banister, and the mop sitting unused in its pail of soapy water in the corner. The sound of giggling met her as she neared the door to Zimzi’s room. And two grinning faces, stacked one above the other peered round the door frame.

Buttercup slipped behind Zimzi and pushed her out onto the landing. The woman came to a stop just outside the door, her cheeks reddening as Cook looked her over. The Hobbit peeked around Zimzi, whispering. ‘Doesn’t she look pretty! Miz Aman gave her the dress, she told me. Just today!’

An odd sound came from Cook, a quavery sort of ‘Oh, my!’ her eyes seemed a bit misty as she signaled for Zimzi to turn about. ‘Let me see the back, dear.’ There was silence as Zimzi twirled slowly, coming back at last to face Miz Bunce. ‘Lovely! Just lovely!’ She smiled up at Zimzi. ‘Miz Aman, you say. Well, I’ll be. Isn’t she a wonder!’ ‘And that despite her bent for those leather riding clothes,’ she muttered under her breath.

Cook shook her head, changing the mood as she pushed Zimzi back toward her room. ‘Enough of being stargazey, ladies! There’s work to be done.’ She fingered the soft material of the dress, her expression softening as she did so.’ With a sigh she pointed to the broom and mop. ‘The sooner the tasks are finished, the closer the day for wearing this will be.’ She turned back toward the steps, calling out over her shoulder as she started down them.

‘When you two are finished you can come down and help me with the apple tart. Someone’s left me a nice box of them . . . winesaps, I think. The fellows working on the cottage will be coming in for supper this evening. I was thinking a tart and custard would be nice for them . . . and ham, I think, with taters and some of those nice snap beans from the garden . . .’

Her voice trailed off as she turned down the next section of the stairs. Zimzi hurried out of her dress and hung it in the closet, a small bouquet of fragrant lavender dangling down from the hanger on a thin ribbon. Her every-day dress back on, she tied a scarf about her hair, and took the broom that Buttercup handed her. ‘You sweep,’ the Hobbit said, squishing the mop up and down in the sudsy water of the bucket. ‘I’ll follow after with the mop.’ She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out two small apples. ‘Not all of them need go in the tart,’ she said winking at Zimzi, as she threw one to her.

The swish and slosh of broom and mop were punctuated by the crunchy sounds of teeth meeting the crisp flesh of the sweet-tart apples . . .

[Saurreg]

The Silvan swung open the oaken door of the tavern and stepped in the soothing embrace of warm dry air. The establishment was crowded with members of various races and came in different shapes and sizes. All were engaged in merry banther and feasting. The aroma of fresh confectionery, scent of strong steaming beverages and musky odor of tobacco smoke lingered invitingly in the air. Ascasir Culcollo smiled wiry to himself and made his way towards the bar through occupied tables and chairs.

Ascasir sat himself on a bar stool, removed the hood of his dark grey travellers cloak and called out aloud,

"Innkeeper! I say innkeeper! Would you be so kind as to provide this wayfarer some simple sustenance so that he might be able to break his fast?"

[Aniriuq Raevla]

Anja finished her breakfast and ordered some tea. She stuck her hand into her pack and began to search for something. Where is it....

"Aha!" She pulled out a small book. Its blue cover was stained at the corners,and was falling off. She ran her fingers gently up and down the spine,smiling. It was a childrens' story book,the first book she had ever read. Her father had given it to her at the age of five,and had taught her how to read. She still took it out at times,when she was bored,and just stared at it,bringing back long lost memories....

The maid brought her the tea,and she began to drink it,laying the book on the table and letting her eyes wander around the room. A drwaf was sitting at a table,telling some story to a group of hobbit children. The elf maiden and the man had been joined by another,and they were chatting casually. She turned back to her table to see that her tea was almost finished. It would be time for her to leave soon,but not before she had read a couple of pages out of her book.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Inside her study, near the bar, Aman visibly jumped at the sound of the brash voice through the half open door, turning guiltily. Taking a deep breath and steadying herself like a guilty child. Half running to the door, Aman called through the door curtly. "One moment please, sir!"

Not waiting for the elf's response - he had sort of started about, looking for the whereabouts of the Innkeeper's mysteriously disembodied voice - she ran back over to her desk, fist tightly locked over the item in her hand. Pulling open the top drawer of her dark, oak desk, she uncurled her fingers, and the item in her palm dropped down from them, entwined on her forefinger and middle finger. As it twisted down from her fingers, swaying from her fingers, the light from her wide, study window caught the silver and the object glinted suddenly in the sun. Aman smiled, the silver gleaming in her green eyes, then came to at the sudden sound of laughter from the Common Room. Carefully depositing the object in the drawer, she closed it and proceeded back into the Common Room.

Smoothing her newly donned dress, she crossed to the bar behind the newcomer, an elf, new to the Inn. "Good day, sir - what can I get you?"

The elf looked slightly startled to see that the Innkeeper was female, and Aman smiled as she ducked under the bar and waited.

[Saurreg]

Ascasir was mildly surprised that the innkeeper was a female - and a beautiful one at that, with sparkling green eyes. Regaining his composure, he grinned at the young maiden and inquired eagerly,

"Did I do it right? Was that the way to act and say in mannish taverns? Loud and imposing, no?"

Sensing that the alluring atani was puzzled, Ascasir hastily continued in his clear but noticeably excited voice,

"Forgive me if I was wrong, for that was what the men of Ithilien taught me during my brief stay there. They said that was the way to act to be served. I even used the exact worlds!"

Ascasir beamed proudly whilst leaning fowards, staring at the innkeeper.

Such lovely green eyes...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman wrinkled her nose as she smiled, laughing at the elf's strange, small delight - a member of the race of Ancients, delighted over such a childish thing.

"May I say, sir, that you are lucky that you chanced upon an Innkeeper less, shall we say, volatile than others you might find. Besides, this is hardly a 'mannish' Inn," she laughed. The elf looked slightly confused, but didn't seem to mind, simply smiling and watching her with a half smile on her pale features. Slightly embarassed by his intent gaze, Aman looked away bashfully, a wave of brown hair falling over the side of her face as she fiddled with something beneath the bar.

"Ehm...anyway," she stammered, looking up again. There was something about the unblinking, unwavering examination of those sparkling grey eyes that made her a little nervous although she wasn't sure why. Looking directly back at the elf, she regained her composure. "You wished for some refreshments, sir? What can I get you?"

[Saurreg]

Ascasir was confused and disappointed; the maiden's response was not what he had imagined it to be. Violatile, what did she meant by that? She did not seem to be displeased and her warm voice had a tingle of kindness and playfulness in it, but why did she claim that the establishment was not a "mannish" inn? Was she not of the second-born? Westron was proving to be a peculiar tongue. And curses to those Gondorians - Ascasir was sure he would have a word or two with them should he ever head back east.

Realizing that his stare was starting to discomfort the innkeeper, Ascasir drew back abruptly, looking sheepish.

"Ehm...anyway, you wished for some refreshments, sir? What can I get you?" asked the innkeeper coolly in a professional tone,

Anger? Indignation? Disgust? Ascasir was confused and a little worried. Did the maiden really intend to serve him, or was that another bout of those westron word plays?

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Ascasir leapt off the stood and drew himself to his full height before bowing his head curtly, allowing dark locks to fall forward masking his face,

"Forgive me dear lady if my manners have been... lacking and thank you for... being not so... so violatile. I meant no insult and did not know that my words were... displeasing. I am not proficient in the tongue of man and my limited exposure outside the wood realm of Eryn Lasgalen helps not. Forgive and yes, I would like some... refreshments. Something simple would do. Thank you very much!"

[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman watched the elf's retreating back, stunned. Certainly she had offended him, but how? Puzzled and horrified at causing such effident offence, she darted into the kitchen and called out to Ruby to make something fine.

"Fine? What do you mean by that?" Came the hobbit's bemused reply.

"Use your imagination!" Aman replied frantically, her head vanishing, then reappearing as she added, "Some of that steak, you know, from last night - steak and vegetables!"

"What, just- hey, Aman!" But the Innkeeper was gone, retreating back into the Common Room, ignoring Buttercup's laughter and Ruby's indignant cry. Smoothing her skirt down habitually, Aman walked as briskly as she could across the room without causing any disturbance or attracting unnecessary attention. She could just see it in the minds and gossip of the old hobbit women who sat in one corner of the room, near to the fire, radiating disapproval and watching everything over the rims of their cider glasses. Ooh, there she goes again, chasing yet another one - another man. And this one another elf as well...They all fall into her clutches, then she drives them away...strumpet...

Coming up behind the elf where he had sat down, his back to the bar, she touched his shoulder gently. He turned, and almost leapt out of his seat as he saw that it was Aman, nearly knocking over the chair as he desperately avoided her eyes, looking to the left and down, as if something on the far side of the room was desperately interesting. "Ah, Lady, it..ehm...I was just taking a seat," he said gruffly, not looking at her.

Aman frowned, distressed. Motioning towards the chair, she indicated that he should sit. "Nin hir," she said softly in careful Sindarin. My Lord. She just hoped it was the right way to address someone: she wasn't fluent and her knowledge of elven courtesy was sketchy to say the least. The elf looked surprised and sat down, eyebrows raised. Aman perched lightly on the other chair at the table.

"Le pedo Sindarin?" he replied, his voice questioning and his smile slightly suspicious. You speak Sindarin?

Aman wrinkled her nose again, holding her forefinger and thumb up, seperated by about an inch of air. "Tithen, tithen," she admitted, grinning. A little. Her elvish finally failing, she reverted to the Common Tongue. "The last Innkeeper here was a half-elf - she is a good friend of mine, I picked up some from her and others."

The elf nodded slowly, eyeing Aman but this time not with that intent, fierce gaze, but not with the suspicion of a few minutes ago either. Ruby appeared at his side and he nearly jumped as she cleared her throat. "Steak and veg?" she asked politely. The elf blinked and glanced at Aman, who nodded. "Yours, sir."

Ruby placed the plate in front of the elf, and Aman began to make amends, this time in Westron. "Sir, I offended you - I apologise for that, I did not mean to. How...?" she couldn't help wondering why he had taken offense, but left the question hanging in case he did not want to reply.

The elf paused for a moment, his fork suspended over the steaming meal, his grey eyes watching the Innkeeper steadily as if to certify that she was not mocking him. "You said it was not a mannish Inn - yet you are one of the Second B- you are a Woman," he ammended quickly.

Aman nodded, realisation dawning. "Ah, I see. My mistake, sir: what I meant was, well - though many Men pass through - some staying, like myself - this remains the land of the Perian - the hobbits. Certainly that is all I meant..." She trailed off and stood, holding out a hand.

"To start again on a new leaf, my name is Aman, and I am the Innkeeper here," she said, looking straight at the elf, and hoping she had not offended him so much that he would not take her hand and introduce himself.

[Primrose Bolger]

A small whirlwind of dust moved up the dirt path from the road, whirring toward the Inn. From the midst of it came a chiding voice. ‘You should never have stopped to cool your feet in the stream, Ginger Gamwich! Oh! What will Mother say? And you so late!’ The whir came to a halt, the dust settled, just outside the back kitchen door.

A Hobbit lass in robin’s-egg blue stood smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt and apron in a vain effort to improve her appearance. Her face was flushed from exertion, her carrot red curls askew from the run. She dipped her hands quickly beneath the pump spout in the kitchen’s yard and flapped them hastily in the air to dry them.

‘That’s about as good as can be done for now,’ she sighed to herself. With a less than firm resolve she pulled open the screened door to the kitchen and went in. Standing nervously on the flagstone floor, she called out into the seemingly empty room. A large pot of soup was on the hob, cooking for lunch she supposed. And lined up along the counter were the day’s loaves of bread ready to be called into service. The door to the cellar, she noted, was open, and she could hear someone rustling about down the stairs.

‘Miz Bunce,’ she called out, hoping someone would hear her. ‘It’s Ginger Gamwich. Me mum’s sent me to help. Anyone here?’

[piosenniel]

~*~ NOTICE OF NEW RPG OPENING ~*~

Crystal Heart invites you to play in her new game:

Seekers of Truth

The Discussion Thread for this game will open to take on characters on 8/15.

Until then, read the proposal carefully and craft an interesting character with a First Post to submit for the game owner’s approval when the thread opens.

See you then!

~*~ Piosenniel

[Saurreg]

Ascasir was perplexed. It would would seem that his hasty attempt to apologise and explain himself has been misinterpreted. Not only had he failed to convey his friendly intends to the young maiden, he seemed to have given her the impression that he was angry and offended and that somehow it was her fault.

Placing his fork down on the plate, Ascasir looked at the innkeeper in earnest. Quzzical eyebrows raised when he saw that the latter had extended her right hand towards him and was noticibly waiting in anticipation. Deducting her intentions correctly, Ascasir reached out, gently grasped the slender but sinewly strong hand and introduced himself in westron,

"I am Ascasir of Eryn Lasgalen, dear Aman. And please forgive me if my manners have been lacking for I have not much experience with men and my ability to converse in the common tongue is limited. My peers have often pointed out that I assume a stern and forbiding mien whenever I am in deep thought or confusion. Please be assured that I was never annoyed and do not think of me arrogant or petty. This I beg of you,"

Letting go off the young maiden's hand, Ascasir continued slowly,

"I was a member of the household of Lord Carahnwë - a great captain of King Thranduil's. The master has since departed these shores for the Undying Lands but before so he discharged us, his servants from our tenure of service. Many have decided to follow him yonder but a few of us decided to stay in this land, at least for alittle while longer. I am one of those.

I have spent all my life within the confines of the forest and have never ventured beyond its borders until four full moons ago when I decided to visit a dear friend who is working on the restoration of the river city of Ithilien even as we speak now. The journey south filled me with an indescribable feeling of joy and since then wanderlust took me. I have gazed upon the high walls of the white tower, crossed the roaming plains of Rochand, forded the Isen and admired the handy work of the ents at Mount Fang. Now my journey has taken me to Eriador and right into your tavern.

During my brief stay at Ithilien, I became acquainted with the men of the Steward of Gondor's household. I enjoyed their companionship and learned much of the manners of men from them, though now after this incident I will question some of these teachings,"

As Ascasir concluded, he bowed slowly in respect.

[piosenniel]

‘Down here, dear!’ came Cook’s voice. Ginger could hear some tune being hummed in a slightly off-key manner as she walked to the head of the cellar steps and peered down into the gloom. Soon the cobwebbed curls of Vinca Bunce showed at the bottom landing, the face beneath them beaming. In one hand she held a tattered notebook, waving it triumphantly as she began to climb the steps.

Ginger had never seen Miz Bunce in quite so jolly a mood, except perhaps at the turning of the year party, when she’d tipped a few too many cups of wine punch and had several slices of Gammer Lilac’s brandied cake. But today she seemed quite steady on her feet as she advanced up the stairs.

‘I’ve found a veritable treasure, Ginger Gamwich . . . no mistaking it.’ She laid the dusty leather-bound book on the table and wiped the covers carefully with a dish towel. ‘Look here, girl,’ she said, motioning for Ginger to step nearer. ‘See here,’ she said, pointing to a faint name, neatly printed at the top of the front page. ‘Laura Grubb, it says. She’s the one that started it.’ Cook nodded her head thoughtfully. ‘Quite a good cook in her day, I heard tell from my gammer.’ Her finger moved down the long list of recipes written under Laura Grubb’s name. ‘Passed the book on to her daughter in law, Belladonna Took. She was the one married to that Bungo Baggins fellow.’

‘But there’s no name after hers and no recipes,’ remarked Ginger, who had crowded close to squint at the faded writing.

‘Sad, isn’t it,’ sighed Cook. ‘She had no daughters to pass it on to, and her son, Bilbo, never got married. I’d heard that one of the former cooks here at the Inn had gotten it as a mathom one birthday. And it’s taken me this long – but now I’ve found it!’

Cook turned the pages until she found what she was looking for. ‘Laura was well known for her tiered spice cake with sea-foam frosting . . . and all appointed with sugared violets.’ A gleam had come into Cook’s eye. No one had made such a cake since Belladonna had done so for Otho and Lobelia’s handfasting. Hers would be the first of the Fourth Age! She put the book carefully away in her locked cupboard and motioned for Ginger to follow after her.

‘First thing we’ll do,’ said Cook, striding toward the shaded flower beds, is pick a couple of bunches of violets – both, now, you hear. The lavender color and the yellow. Make sure they’re pretty, and fresh. No wilted looking ones.’ She showed Ginger where the flowers were and left her with a small basket and some snips.’

‘I’ll just start the sugar water to coat them with while you’re gathering. Bring them in once you’re done and we’ll get them set. I’ve saved a place in the cooler to store them until we place them on the cake.’

‘We?’ said Ginger, kneeling down by the little clumps of violets.

‘I hear from your mother you’ve a light hand with the batter.’ Cook nodded her head once at the lass before turning back to the kitchen. ‘You’re going to help me with the cake . . .’

[Arry]

It wasn’t difficult to find the way to where the old cottage was being renovated. Andwise Banks stopped his small cart at the entrance to the inn path and twitched his ears this way and that. From over there to his left, a fair piece behind the inn building itself, he reckoned, there came the sound of saws and hammers pounding. And the calling out of male voice, one to another, in short clipped sentences when directions were given.

‘Let’s get on then, Turnip,’ he said gently to his donkey, who stood twitching his own ears at the sounds of other horses and donkeys in the stable yard. With a clucking sound and a firm hand on the reins, Andwise directed the cart toward the construction, much to the dismay of Turnip, who had by this time caught scent of the sweet hay left for his more fortunate brethren.

A small space of time later and the cottage came into view. Four Hobbit lads were busy with the framing of an additional room, it looked. While there on the roof, stood a man spreading pitchy tar on the roof’s base structure, and shingling atop it as he went along. Andwise pulled into the cottage yard, stopping long enough to speak with one of the Hobbit lads for a moment. Tomlin shaded his eyes as he grinned up at Andwise, then pointed up to the man on the roof.

Turnip was unharnessed and tied to a tree, in the shade. Gil, always fond of animals, put down his planer and fetched a bucket of water for the donkey. Turnip eyed him expectantly, hoping for a tasty treat to follow, but made do instead with a few kind words and a scratch between the ears. Andwise made his way to a spot near the cottage, and hailed Derufin.

‘I say! Is that you, Master Derufin?’ he hollered up in a voice loud enough to be heard above the sawing and nailing. The man looked up expectantly, shading his eyes against the sun as he peered below. ‘I’m Andwise Banks, cabinet maker. From Bywater. Miz Bunce has asked me to see to the cabinets and cupboards and doors for the cottage. Says it’s a bit of a rush, but she’s assured me I’m up for it.’ He disappeared for a few moments from the man’s view, going under the eaves to peer in through a window.

‘Fair amount of work to be done. But my son’ll be here this afternoon,’ he said stepping back out to give his assessment of the job. ‘We’ll pull off the cabinet doors and drawer facings for the chests of drawers. Sand ‘em down, I expect is all they’ll need then a staining and a polishing.’ He looked at the window casings. ‘We’ll sand down the window casings – you’ll need to get them painted, though. Them and the door frames. Front door looks a bit worn – need to be replacing it, I think.’

Andwise stood nodding to himself. ‘Well, think I’ll get started. Let me know when my boy gets here – Ferdy’s his name.’ And with that he retrieved his toolbox from the back of his cart and disappeared into the cottage, whistling as he went.

[piosenniel]

~*~ NOTICE OF NEW RPG OPENING ~*~

Crystal Heart invites you to play in her new game:

Seekers of Truth

The Discussion Thread for this game will open to take on characters on 8/15.

Until then, read the proposal carefully and craft an interesting character with a First Post to submit for the game owner’s approval when the thread opens.

See you then!

~*~ Piosenniel

Isilmë was wandering along the road at the morning and his mood was on top and he whistled loudly as he walked. He stopped as his keen grey eyes noticed a sign standing by the road. 'The Green Dragon Inn' he read loudly for himself, 'It sure sounds nice to me'. He started to walk towards the quite big house that the sign pointed at, as he assumed that the house would be it.

He could see through the windows that breakfast was still getting served and he got reminded of how hungry he was, since he had not eaten any breakfast that morning. He noticed that the Inn was quite crowded and many seemed very busy about eating. The cook's must be busy today, he thought and opened the door to the Inn.

He was met by a murmur of voices and a nice, tempting smell of breakfast. Some of those who sat close to the entrance stopped eating and talking and looked up at Isilmë as he entered. He greeted them with a smile and walked over to the counter that obviously was serving breakfast, as he could see carrots and piled bowls on that counter.

A hobbit lass served him a bowl with some kind of porridge that Isilmë had never seen before. He also got a piece of bread and an apple. 'There is tea here, master elf, if you would like having it after your breakfast?' the lass said and smiled. 'Thank you' Isilmë replied and bowed.

He went over to an empty table and sat down starting eating the porridge. Isilmë thought that it must have been some kind of a domestic food, however he'd like it. The bread was delicious, and after finishing his breakfast Isilmë felt a joy and a wellbeing feeling that he had not felt for many hundred years. He almost felt young again, and he wanted the feeling to stay forever.

Isilmë rose up and walked over to the counter again and the lass now gave him a cup of tea. 'Your welcome' she said and handed the cup to Isilmë. 'Thank you most kindly, my lady.' The lass seemed to blush after Isilmë's reply and he went back to his table, now sipping on his tea and just enjoying the beautiful morning.

Isilmë could see another elf standing talking to a young woman that he assumed would be the innkeeper. It was a long time ago since he'd last talked an elf, as he tried to remember it came to him that it must have been in Eryn Lasgalen. He wanted to talk someone, but couldn't see anyone that wasn't busy with something else. He continued looking for a while, still in hope of seeing someone.

[Saurreg]

Ascasir sensed that his lengthy introduction had bored the pretty innkeeper who was now ignoring him and busying herself with petty little chores behind the bar instead. Rather than continuing to impose himself on her and feeling rather embarressed, the silvan elf resumed to consuming his meal but found the steak too rich a treat in such early hours. Ascasir's appetite waned and he took leave of Aman and wandered towards the tables and chairs, nursing a mug of delicious hot beverage whilst smiling politely at any look that came his way.

His piercing grey eyes caught sight of a newcomer in the tavern - and an elf at that. Elated by the sight of a kindred, Ascasir made his way to the lone elf's table and greeted him warmly in accented sindarin,

"Hail friend and may Elbereth keep you well! I see that you are alone and I am wondering if you would mind sharing your table with me?"

Ascasir flashed the fellow Quendi a warm smile. Placing his right hand upon the dark grey tunic above his left breast, he half-bowed to the newcomer and continued,

"Allow me to introduce myself; I am Ascasir Culcollo of Eryn Lasgalen and like you, I am also travelling alone and would most certainly enjoy any companionship,"

[starkat]

Gwenneth had enjoyed talking to the two rangers. Her companions had busied themselves with their breakfasts and the elf maid excused herself. She walked up to the counter and asked for a refill. The tea served by the Green Dragon was wonderful and she enjoyed having a full cup while she sat and talked.

The young elf woman noticed that the elf who had arrived earlier was talking to a newcomer. She smiled as she realised that the newcomer was also an elf. As Gwenneth looked at them, she wondered where they were from.

Gwenneth fiddled with the jewel that she wore on a chain. She considered going to the stable and visiting with her horse, but decided to remain. Taking a sip of her tea, she walked over to an empty table and sat down.

The elf that Isilmë had observed who was standing talking to the Innkeeper suddenly turned around and his gaze came to Isilmë's. The elf began to walk towards his table and stopped in front of him. Isilmë didn't know what to say and felt a little bit perplex, and he didn't know why.

'Hail friend and may Elbereth keep you well! I see that you are alone and I am wondering if you would mind sharing your table with me?' the elf started and gave him a smile. He even half-bowed to him.

'Allow me to introduce myself; I am Ascasir Culcollo of Eryn Lasgalen and like you, I am also travelling alone and would most certainly enjoy any companionship.' he continued smiling.

'Hail friend Ascasir from Eryn Lasgalen. It would be a pleasure sharing this table with you.' Isilmë said and smiled, he rose up and bowed and ans.

'I am Isilmë...' he started, 'I once was a captain of Lórien, but now it's abandoned by Lady Galadriel. I've lived in Eryn Lasgalen, but as you assumed, I am travelling alone, and a companionship whit you would be wonderful.'

'Ah, Caras Galadhon...' Ascasir replied and had dreaming look in his eyes.

'You want a cup of tea?' Isilmë asked and Ascasir nodded in reply. Isilmë rose and got Ascasir a cup and refilled his own.

'Thank you' Ascasir said when he returned. The tea was hot and they had to sip it to not burn their tounges. Isilmë watched Ascasir as he was drinking, and he felt really curious about this elf. 'So, have you always been staying in Eryn, what drove you off on the long road to get here?' he suddenly asked.

Isilmë awaited his reply.

[Saurreg]

Ascasir was mildy surprised to hear that the newcomer was a captain of the secretive Galadhrim - foremost of the elven warriors that remained on these shores still. He had met some elves of Celeborn's Household before his travels begun and was impressed by their dignified bearing and the manner in which they conducted themselves - proud but not arrogant and calm but not aloof. Ascasir was no less impressed by the handsome Isilmë who seemed to possess a certain charisma like that of Lord Carahnwë.

'So, have you always been staying in Eryn, what drove you off on the long road to get here?' the newcomer suddenly asked.

Ascasir took a sip of the weak but favoursome brew and held Isilmë with his gaze,

"Perhaps curiosity and idle hands, friend Isilmë. I was a servant of great Carahnwë; a champion of Taur-nu-Fuin who has departed for the undying Lands and since then, I have been free without any cares or responsibilities. And the answer to the first part of your question is yes, I have never left Eryn Lasgalen before. I never intended to travel but when a dear acquaintance invited me to visit him at the great city of stone built on the Anduin, something within my bossom stirred and I could not refuse. Since then I have not looked back and my heart beats warm at the though of further experiences to be gained and new sensations to feel,"

Ascasir concluded and waited to hear what his new friend had to say. As he placed the chipped rim of the fire-dried clay mug to his lips, his eyes caught sight of a lovely elven maiden who was sitting alone at a table not far from where he and Isilmë were. The fair quendi took notice of him, and Ascasir smiled back and dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Isilmë nodded and felt impressed as Ascasir talked. They had both been servant's but in the past few years they were free from all responsibilities.
'...Since then I have not looked back and my heart beats warm at the though of further experiences to be gained and new sensations to feel.'

'I totally agree with you, my friend.' Isilmë said and nodded.

Isilmë watched how Ascasir sipped his tea and his gaze held him. As Ascasir told him how he'd got here, he also noticed that Ascasir's gaze was drawn to another table where a young maid sat. Isilmë caught his friends gaze again and smiled, then he turned back to the maid and glanced. The maid seemed uncertain and looked down in the wooden table.

Isilmë turned back to Ascasir but noticed that he was still looking at the maid. He giggled and Ascasir turned back to him with a questioning look.

'Oh, nothing.' Isilmë answered him as the glance he got from Ascasir was saying something like; What?

'Well,' Isilmë started again and leaned over the table closer to Ascasir, 'Maybe we should invite her to our table?' His voice was almost a whisper.

'Agree' Ascasir replied.

Isilmë decided to take the initiative about inviting the young maid so he said;
'My lady' Isilmë started and rose up from his chair and bowed, 'would you like to join us here?'

Isilmë turned back to Ascasir that now smiled towards them both.

'I mean, if you want to, my Lady..?' Isilmë added and now felt a little bit dumb and pushy. Hope she won't get upset or something, he thought and blushed.

Ascasir intended to be a much more self-confident person than himself and Isilmë now hoped that he would help him out as the situation didn't look brighter when he blushed.

Ascasir now opened his mouth to say something and Isilmë quickly sat down again, he didn't know why, it was just like an instinct that he couldn't describe. Isilmë awaited him to help him out.

[Saurreg]

Now this is unexpected, mused Ascasir to himself. Elven brows rising again.

Isilmë had stopped himself abruptly without a courteous word of leave-taking to the fair quendi and dropped himself heavily onto the chair. The goodly Galadhrim had turned his back on the confused elven maiden and was facing Ascasir again, who could see clearly that his newly-acquainted friend had mysteriously (and quite suddenly) lost his nerves. A disbelieving look was on Isilmë's face and Ascasir was sure that he was breathing alittle too quickly.

I wonder if all quendi males are having difficulties interacting with members of the fairer sex today, the Silvan wanderer thought to himself as he decided to aid Isilmë in resolving the awkward dilemma.

"If you would be so kind as to allow me, friend Isilmë," offered Ascasir.

Ascasir pushed his chair away from the table effortlessly over the lacquered wooden planks of the tavern floor, got up slowly and made his way to the lovely quendi. The closer he got, the more he was able to make out of the female elf's features.

If Aman the innkeeper was pretty, then this creation of illuvatar's was breathtakingly stunning. Ascasir had seen many other attractive elven females back at Eryn Lasgalen but none could match this sight before him. She was very slender and her simple wood-green garments clinged flatteringly over her feminine body. She was sitting but even then Ascasir could tell that she was tall, statuesque even. Her long lucious dark hair was carefully braided and thus shone brightly in the sunlight with the same lustre of black pearls, like the crystal clear waters of the Enchanted River reflecting quicksilver at night. Around her thin shapely neck, she wore a fine-wought chain that housed an emerald crystal, smartly fitted.

The elven female caught Ascasir looking at her and smiled shyly back with her bright-red lips. Bright piercing eyes met and Culcollo found himself momentarily sucking in his breath and attempting to avert her gaze. Isilmë's reason for floundering could be understood, easily understood.

Regaining his composure quickly, Ascasir stood across the elven lady's table and bowed courteously in a slow delibrate manner,

"Fair maiden whose eyes shine like black fire, Arien comes forth on this day to reward me for all my praises and prayers to Elbereth. For the sun rises today only to allow me a glimpse of you. I, Ascasir Culcollo of Eryn Lasgalen have finally seen beauty and am contented. But should I be so bold and undeserving to request that you grace the table I share with friend Isilmë with your sublime presence? I shall be more than exihilarated if you would consent to my unworthy request."

[starkat]

From her table, Gwenneth watched as the two elves introduced themselves to each other and began talking. She watched them for a bit and then looked around at the other patrons. To her surprise, when her attention returned to the elves they were watching her.

Gwenneth looked down at the table in embaressment. She hoped that she had not offended the two Quendi. When she looked back up, they had leaned in close to each other and seemed to be whispering. When she realized that they were glancing at her, she giggled softly and waited for them to make the next move.

One of them rose and turned to her. "My lady" He started and rose up from his chair and bowed, 'would you like to join us here?"

The elf looked back at his companion and when he turned around, he seemed to become uncomfortable. Confused, Gwenneth watched as he sat back down and his friend stood up. As the second elf walked to her table, Gwenneth gave a cautious smile. I wonder what is going on. Both of them seem nice, but when they start talking they seem to get nervous. When the second elf bowed and began speaking, Gwenneth was impressed at his flowery speech.

"Fair maiden whose eyes shine like black fire, Arien comes forth on this day to reward me for all my praises and prayers to Elbereth. For the sun rises today only to allow me a glimpse of you. I, Ascasir Culcollo of Eryn Lasgalen have finally seen beauty and am contented. But should I be so bold and undeserving to request that you grace the table I share with friend Isilmë with your sublime presence? I shall be more than exihilarated if you would consent to my unworthy request."

Gwenneth had never thought much about her looks. Up until now she had spent more time with horses and learning from her brothers than worrying about how she appeared. She was surprised to learn that the reason both elves seemed nervous was because they found her pretty.

The young elf maid became nervous. Not one to beat around the bush, Gwenneth quickly made up her mind and smiled at both of the elves. "I would be honored to join you Ascasir Culcollo." She rose and walked over to their table. "Thank you Isilmë for your invitation. My name is Gwenneth. I hail from the Grey Havens."

[piosenniel]

GREEN DRAGON INN FACTS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other ongoing characters in the Inn:

Ruby Brown, Hobbit – not married – server and maid

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

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

Derufin, the Stablemaster (played by Envinyatar)

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

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.

_____________________________________________

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.