The Green Dragon Inn #11 - The Last Chapter

[Oddwen]

Even though it had stopped raining, Berulo Rushlight wrapped his cloak tighter about him. He had been walking for half the night, but at last he drew near to his destination.

It wasn't the approved thing in Bree for a hobbit newly out of his tweens to want to leave the confines of the community, but Berulo had always wanted to see the 'Outside World'. He had, so far, discovered that it was very wet.

"Ah," he muttered to himself, "An inn! And the famed Green Dragon no less! A pint or four would go down very well, and I wouldn't say no to a bed, neither."

For this early in the morning, there seemed to be a strange amount of activity going on. Never matter, it could wait til he had a few pints, loaves of bread, and hours of sleep behind him.

"I do hope there's a room available, seems an awful lot of folks have turned out. Perhaps there's a party going on?" He stepped inside to discover. It was at that moment that he was tripped over.

[Morgul Queen]

Post 1

Please check your PM's.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Encaitare]

Caity Brandybuck had been trudging along the road for some time. The weather had been absolutely dismal, and her green cloak hadn't really provided much protection from the persistent rain.

It was rather unusual for a hobbit to be out traveling this late at night -- although she supposed one might call it morning by now -- and Caity wondered if any of the residents of the hobbit-holes she passed, awakened by crying children or nature's call, had glanced out the window and shaken their heads at her shadow. She certainly made an unusual figure: hooded and cloaked, with various, oddly shaped bundles in her arms and making lumps in her pack.

When the rain had finally begun to let up, it had been replaced by an early-morning chill, increased in its cold feeling by the light of the quarter moon. Caity smiled up at its face -- she had always thought the moon was a beautiful sight. Then her face fell, and she resisted a few uncouth words from slipping from her lips as she realized the effect the weather might have had on the things she was carrying. She hoped she had protected them well enough.

As she grumbled to herself about how the wood had better not crack, a few friendly yellow lights appeared in the distance. Caity sighed in relief -- she had finally reached the Green Dragon. Inspired by the candles winking at her, she picked up her pace and jogged up to the entrance to the tavern. Her attention was attracted by a piece of paper nailed near the door. She tore the paper from its nail, hoping a second later that no one else would be wanting to read it. Quickly, her lips moving slightly as she read, she skimmed the notice until she found what she was looking for:

* Flute/Penny Whistle player needed, too. Ours is down with a head cold. We’re a friendly lot, willing to accommodate your style. Or if you don’t play either of those – bring what you have and join in. – Gil

She grinned to herself, momentarily forgetting the cold and the prospect of cracked wood. Please don't tell me they've already found one, she thought, turning towards the door. Taking a step inside and feeling warmth rush over her, thawing her poor toes, she suddenly realized she could go no further. A tall woman was sitting on the floor just inside the doorway, apologizing to a hobbit.

Caity didn't want to be rude, but the elf was explaining to everyone how she was a total "babbler," so she thought it might be alright to interrupt.

"Er... excuse me?" she said with urgency. "Where might I find the kitchens?"

[Morgul Queen]

Post 2

Please check your PM's.

~*~ Piosenniel, Shire Moderator

[Boromir88]

Fastrod sat up in his room, lying on his bed. He was happy they still had room available, and his only concern now was getting a peaceful night sleep. He wouldn't be able to do that, his mind kept going back to those people standing outside the inn when he came in. They were dressed rather poorly and didn't have an inviting look on their faces, especially what appeared to be their leader.

He didn't know how long he had been laying there, just trying to get a little bit of sleep before the big party tomorrow, but his mind just kept going back to those people. There was something not right about them. He noticed they were coming in as he was going up to his room. He couldn't exactly put a finger on it, but for some strange reason these travellers reminded him of the dark days in Bree, some 10 or so years ago. Strange things were happening in Bree then, and it all started with that little hobbit coming to the inn, Fastrod remembers because he was there that day, like he was everyday. Ever since those little folk came into the inn, evil things began growing in Bree, he thought. He would never forget the time when them thieves had made their way into Bree, and began to stir up trouble, and oddly enough, these travellers today reminded him of that.

Tiredness overwhelmed Fastrod, and he finally fell asleep, and not once did he stir. He was quite comfortable in the soft bed, and cozy, warm room, and slept through the rest of the night.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Hawthorne sighed wearily and lowered her body onto one of the benches that stood near the hearth fire as she stretched out her aching feet and wiggled her toes. She was definitely ready for bed. For the past three hours, the young Hobbit lass had been sprinting repeatedly from the Common Room to the bedchambers at Aman's bidding. She had made sure that each of the late arrivals had proper bed linens, a stack of fresh towels, and an ample basin of water set inside their sleeping quarters. Even in her earlier sojourn at the Inn, she could not remember a time when things were so busy in the middle of the night.

The guests had continued streaming into the Dragon well past midnight. Some of them were last minute arrivals for the handfasting that would be taking place the next day; others had encountered troubles on the road and were desperately searching for a place to sleep. Aman had even sent a few travelers down the lane to the Ivy Bush, which by now was also overflowing with bodies. They’d gotten to the point that, if additional guests came pounding at the door, they might need to ask some of the travelers to double up and share their quarters with complete strangers. Not a pleasant thought, but such things were not unheard of in a district that boasted only two Inns. She herself would need to consider the possibility of sharing a room with one of the newcomers.

Hawthorne had been so busy with her chores that she had paid little attention to the actual guests arriving. They were just an endless queue of visitors who needed linens and water as quickly as she could bring them. There seemed to be a surprising number of Elves, certainly more than were usually evident in the Shire. But it was not the Elves who stood out in her mind. It was that strange group of big folk who had come in earlier from the courtyard and been assigned a room in back of the common dining area.

What surprised her was not the guests themselves, but Huan's reaction to them. When one of the travelers had walked by the spot where Huan was supposedly sleeping, the hound had sprung up and uttered a low guttural sound from deep within his chest, far more fearsome and meaningful in intent than the sport he'd had earlier with Tevildo. A few minutes afterwards, when Hawthorne had taken a stack of towels down the hallway to the room where the strangers were staying, Huan had insisted on trailing along and standing close by her side. Hastily leaving the towels, she had latched the door and gone back into the corridor. Behind her, she could hear leering voices and comments. She couldn't make out the exact words that were being said, but the tone of the conversation made her feel nervous.

Still seated at the hearth fire and trying to collect her wits, Hawthorne found herself feeling oddly despondent, a mood that was not at all like her usual resilience. Aman walked over and gently nudged her to go to bed, saying that the worst of the inpouring of guests was surely over. With Huan sticking close to her heels, Hawthorne made her way back to her room and, with a caution that was totally unlike her normal careless behavior, placed the heavy fire poker near at hand to her bed and carefully secured the latch for the night....

[Fairleaf]

Nighttime was the best time to move about she’d found. Most of the two-legged creatures slept then, or if they did chance the darkness their eyes betrayed them and much passed unnoticed as they floundered in shadows.

With those thoughts in mind, Fairleaf had carefully removed the lanterns the Hobbit and Elf had placed in her boughs and set them gently on the ground. She’d wondered if she should take the others from the trees near her, too. Not wanting to be hasty, she’d looked the lanterns over quite carefully. The candles, she noted, were walled away from the limbs they hung on by the little glass panes. Even in a strong wind, the flames from the tapers would not reach the precious leaves and wood. The pale moonlight pushed wanly through the colored glass, throwing ghostly jewels along her leafy arms. Fairleaf smiled, patting the bark of the tall fir next to her. This will look lovely with the candle’s light leaving little gems on you she assured the tree.

Her leaves trailed along the branches of the other trees in this little stand as she moved round the edges of the yard and toward the back of the Inn. She’d been wanting to see the gardens she’d glanced. They were lovely . . . just as she thought. Vegetables in one, and herbs in another, and everywhere little patches of flowery color. And at the edges of the garden area were berry bushes and a strawberry patch, all now bare of fruit, waiting patiently for spring.

A further exploration brought her to the oak tree that stood by stable. Big and strong, it looked, and very old. I remember well a young Ent who’d be quite happy to see you prospering so well she whispered as her leaves rustled over his smooth bark. The stable, of course, was made of good sturdy wood . . . she regretted the trees who fell to the axe for this purpose, but on closer inspection she saw how well it was maintained.

Night lingered on as she moved across the Inn grounds. The scent of night-blooming flowers pulled her across the grass until she chanced on a snug little house built up against the birches and oaks and elms. It stood empty, smelling of paint and new sanded wood. Empty and waiting. She moved about the cottages’ front yard where there were large plantings of flowers of all sorts. Set out for the pleasing combination of their colors and for their scents. Someone who knew these plants well had laid them out and planted them with a deft hand a keen eye. I wonder if this someone is still staying in the Inn? Might be I would like to see what sort of creature this someone is.

Slowly, enjoying the sights and scents of the night, Fairleaf made her way back toward the back of the Inn, her rooty toed feet squishing through the mud. She’d spied a small stand of trees near the far edge of the stable where she could hide during the day. It would afford her a good view of the gardens in the sunlight and leave her a fair view of the front yard where the day’s celebration would take place. She sighed to herself, settling in next to a tall paper birch.

This is a very nice place. I think I should like to stay here for a while . . .

[Firefoot]

Willy Burrows could take it no longer. He had been waken up countless times throughout the night by the plethora of folks travelling past his farm on the way to the Green Dragon Inn, just up the road. He had to know what the big fuss was all about, and so, quiet as only a hobbit can be, he opened his window and slipped out, dropping a short way to the ground. He waited a minute to make sure his ma and pa had not heard, and then stole out to the road.

He had never been to the Inn before, though he had gone past in numerous times. His ma was deadset that he was not nearly old enough to be frequenting inns, but at eight years old Willy was fully confident that he was old enough to do as he pleased. Not that he would actually enter the Inn, not at this time of night; his ma would find out as surely as ponies eat hay. Instead, he crept along to the side of the Inn, careful not to be seen, and tried to get a look through the window. Willy found in frustration that his two-foot-four frame was slightly too short. In despair, he cast around for some way to see in. His eyes lit upon a stack of fire wood nearby. He snagged three blocks off the top and stacked them just so underneath the window. He balanced carefully and was able to get his eyes and nose over the window sill.

Willy stifled a delighted shout at the sight as his eyes went wide at what he saw. There were Big Folk in there, as he had heard from his bedroom, and some of them were Elves! For the early hour the Common Room was quite busy, from what he could see. The Inn staff was dashing about, trying to find room for the steady stream of visitors. The only bystanders appeared to be a dog (Willy liked dogs) and a pair of cats. Cats, in Willy's knowledgable opinion, were boring unless they were riled up. Then they were a good bit of fun.

Willy realized that in his excitement he had hoisted himself even higher on the window sill and was now in grave danger of being spotted. He lowered himself back down to his stool of logs, forgetting how precarious his position was. He slipped from the logs with a crash, scraping his elbow and cutting his knee. For a moment, he froze. Surely someone would have heard and would come out to investigate. Then, reguardless of his injuries, Willy darted to his feet and started sprinting pell-mell back towards his farm, though he stayed off the road in fear of being recognized. Unfortunately for him, he was watching backwards and not forwards and he ran smack into a tree just past the stables and landed flat on his back. As he rubbed his throbbing, dizzy head Willy heard a voice, strangely deep yet certainly feminine.

"And where are you so hasty to be going, little one?" Willy looked up, thinking he was hallucinating. The tree was talking to him!

"N-no where," he stuttered. "Wh-wha - who are you?"

[Fairleaf]

She’d spoken aloud, and hadn’t meant to. It was just that her attention was elsewhere when the small creature caromed into her trunk. And now her hasty reaction had made him look up at her. Fairleaf closed her eyes and stood very still, as still as the tall thin copper beech that stood beside her.

Easy does it now . . . she hummed to herself as one of her limbs reached into the branches of the elm that stood on her other side. One of the Inn’s hens had escaped being cooped up earlier in the evening, choosing instead to fluff herself out in a cozy little pile of leaves where one of the elm’s branches met the trunk. A safe, and cozy little place she was sure the hen had thought. Not to be, though. Not to be.

My apologies, little mistress . . . Fairleaf murmured, her leafy fingers insinuating themselves beneath the unsuspecting chicken. With a quick, gentle nudge, the drowsing bird was pushed from the elm limb, falling in a squawking mass of feathers and flapping wings toward the prone form of the small, fallen creature below . . .

[piosenniel]

Cook was just covering the crockery bowls filled with yeast dough with clean cloths and setting them on the hearth when the door to the kitchen inched open and a cloaked Hobbit lass poked her head in. ‘Come in, girl,’ said Cook eyeing the stranger. ‘No sense shouting across the room to each other.’ She put down the last covered bowl and motioned for the Hobbit to be seated. ‘Out late, eh? Not from round these parts, I think. Leastways, these old eyes don’t recognize you. And what be your name?’ she asked, pouring the Hobbit a cup of hot tea.

A few sips later, and she had found out several pieces of information about the girl. Her name was Caity Brandybuck; she liked to travel . . . and under the moonlight, to the surprise of Cook, who thought the night was meant for sleeping soundly in one’s own bed, though she kept her opinion to herself for the moment; she’d seen the notice for volunteers nailed near the Inn door; and well, she’d like to know if the flute/pennywhistle player was still needed.

‘Well,’ said Cook, seeing the hopeful look in the girl’s eyes. ‘I should think they will still be needing a player. Can’t have too many making music, in my opinion. Makes for better dancing, don’t you think?’ Cook sipped a bit on her own mug of tea, and brought out a small dish of thick, crisp oatmeal cookies to stave off the beginning hunger in her grumbling belly. She pushed the plate toward Caity

‘It’s young Gil you’ll want to be seeing. He’s a local lad. Won’t be in til breakfast is served. He and his friends will be playing for the party today.’ She eyed the wet, bedraggled state of the Hobbit. ‘You know, we’re putting up the volunteers while they’re here to help with the party. Let me just fetch Ruby; she’ll show you to a room. Get a good night’s sleep. Come down to the Common Room for breakfast then, later. Gil will be here, with Tomlin, Fallon, and Ferrin.’ She waved Ruby over who’d just come down from her room and was yawning. ‘Take Caity here back to one of the small rooms. She’s come to play for the party.’ Before they left she called out, as an afterthought. ‘You don’t by any chance sing do you? Be lovely to have a female voice with all those lads . . .’

[Nurumaiel]

"Ugh! Ugh, ugh, ugh!"

Falco Headstrong took three quick glances about before he spoke, and when he ascertained that no one was about to hear him, he expressed his disgust with vehemence, though not too loud. He didn't want to wake anyone... because they might look out to see who was making so much noise and see him. See him! Ugh again! They would wish they hadn't. But what did it matter what they thought? The devastating fact was that he, Falco Headstrong, was trudging along a road, muddy but not so muddy as himself, at three hours after midnight! How they would laugh if they saw him, all those lads back home. They thought he was a prissy, so they did! How could he, Falco Headstrong, be a prissy? Why, back when he was their age he spent all his time... doing... well, he didn't do things that were prissy, anyway. He had fished and climbed trees. Ha! Was that prissy?

The Green Dragon was becoming quite a famous and popular Inn. He hoped it would live up to its reputation. If it didn't... well, they'd never see him again. They'd regret that, wouldn't they? He was a very well-to-do hobbit, and the Inns were all alike. They wanted to take whatever was in their guests' pockets and put it into their own. At least, the people in the Inn did, even if the Inns didn't.

Blast the sky! Why had it taken a notion to rain when he, Falco Headstrong, was walking along the road? Oh, and blast the pony that had kicked him off and run away, too! On the way home he'd demand his money back. He'd been a fool to buy a pony from that shifty-eyed lad. He might have known he'd be given the wickedest and most brutal steed of them all. Especially when he didn't know how to ride! That boy ought to have known better than to give him a pony when he didn't even know how to ride. The young folk had no respect for their elders.

Oh, so that was the Inn? Was it lit up inside? Probably. He'd heard rumours about that Inn. Men and Elves and Dwarves took shelter there. No doubt they'd be up all night singing and dancing. No doubt! Nobody would get any sleep in that Inn. At least he wouldn't. What was wrong with Innkeepers nowadays? Not everyone was a heavy sleeper. He, Falco Headstrong, was a very light sleeper. They ought to know that there were light sleepers in the Shire, and make their guests be quiet. No matter that he didn't hear any noise. They would start shouting as soon as he, Falco Headstrong, came through the door.

Eh, what? What was this here? What was all this... this nonsense. There were... things... hanging on the trees. They were preparing for a party, were they? What, a party to celebrate the drunkeness of all the young lads at the Inn. No doubt that had worked it up because he, Falco Headstrong, was coming to the Inn, and he couldn't stand drunken parties. No doubt! They had known that. Surely they had! They had known he was coming. What wicked little creatures they were. No doubt they had all the doors locked, too. No doubt! He'd have to sit in his wet clothes the whole night through.

Eh? What was that crouched on the doorstep? Falco drew closer. It was a girl, was it? Sitting out because she couldn't get in, no doubt! Well, he'd have to sit down and wait, too. In his wet clothes... the whole night through! What kind of an Inn was it, where they locked their guests out. No doubt they'd want money the next day for the use of their doorstep. No doubt!

The girl stood when she saw him approaching. No doubt she thought he was a murderer. No doubt! But there was no fear in her bright, brown eyes. She had golden hair. That wasn't natural. She shouldn't have golden hair. So many girls were having golden hair, now. They thought too much about their looks. What was the Shire coming to?

"I'm so glad you're here," the girl said, with a little laugh, and a toss of her head. Showing off her gold curls, no doubt. No doubt! And was she expecting him? No doubt his sister had told some orphan he was going to meet them there. No doubt!

"Of course, I wasn't waiting for you," she added, hastily, "but I'm glad I have some company. I was enjoying myself at first, but I got lonely after awhile."

"You enjoyed yourself sitting out in the rain?" he said gruffly, sitting down beside her. "They've locked the doors on you, then, have they, eh?"

"Why, I don't know exactly. I didn't try the door, but I assumed it would locked at such an hour."

"No doubt you're right," he said. "No doubt!"

"I was having such fun, imagining things to myself," said the girl. "I was thinking of what this yard would look like soon. They've already hung up the lights and garlands. Soon they'll have the dancing and singing and merry-making."

"The drunken carousing," said Falco with a scowl.

"Oh no, I don't think so," said the girl. "You see, it's a hand-fasting they're celebrating. People usually don't get drunk at hand-fastings... at least I don't think... I wouldn't like to have people getting drunk at my wedding. It seems as though most brides wouldn't."

"Eh, well, if it's going to be a hand-fasting it won't be so bad," said Falco, softening a little. He'd always liked weddings. It made him think of his youth, when there were still things to look forward to. "But," he added, "they'll still be drunk, no doubt. No doubt!"

"I think we should hope for the best," said the girl. "That's what will be most likely to happen. I hear this Inn is a very good place."

"You've heard. Can you trust it?"

"I'd like to think I could," she said, her eyes very serious. "I do dislike it when people say things that are so very untrue. But at least it would be an untruth about the Inn that was good. People usually say bad things about other places and people when they're saying something untrue."

How she talked! It was giving him a headache. What a bright outlook she had on her life. Well, she was still a little girl yet. She'd soon grow out of that. She should be happy while she could. But she'd be talking all night, no doubt.

No doubt!

[Encaitare]

With cookies and hot tea in her stomach, Caity felt much better, not to mention the relief she felt with the knowledge that her trip had not been in vain. When she and Ruby reached the door to her room, she thanked her and gratefully went into the small but cozy space, shutting the door behind her. A little fireplace was lit, the flames casting a warm glow upon the walls.

Realizing that perhaps it would be best to change out of her wet clothes before doing anything else, Caity quickly took off her wet things and spread them before the fire. She then shook out her curly, sandy brown hair before putting on a comfortable cotton nightdress.

She sat down on the low bed, curling her toes into the soft rug on the floor. Slowly, she inspected her instruments for any damage. The first one she pulled out of her pack was a small tin whistle, but she quickly placed it on the bed beside her -- it was cold but otherwise unharmed. It was the wood she was worried about. A cherrywood flute seemed alright; she tentatively blew a soft note, hoping not to disturb any sleeping guests, and she nodded at the sound. Next, she slid a double pennywhistle (in essence, just two pennywhistles which had been attached together by her father, but it sounded impressive) out of a leather case. This, although a little damp at the end, met her approval, as did a little clay ocarina that she had brought just for good measure. It was a curious instrument from Dale; her father had obtained it at Mr. Bilbo Baggins' famous birthday party many years before, when he was but a lad.

The last instrument was her pride and joy: a real elvish-made flute, made of beautiful blackwood with a few metal keys in addition to the usual holes. Although she realized that anything of elvish make was likely to withstand such petty things as rain, she checked it over anyway. All was well; the keys weren't even sticky. She put her pack over by the fire to dry as well, and carefully placed her instruments on the bedside table.

A very content hobbit snuggled into bed, not minding the fact that she'd have to be up in a few hours. Caity thought of Cook's words to her -- she had asked whether she could sing.

She could sing well enough, she guessed, although she rarely sang in front of others. She loved a little song to pass the time while she was doing chores, and she certainly sang in the bath -- but then again, everyone sang in the bath.

I guess I could sing if they need someone to, Caity thought. Quite frankly, she was too tired to be think about it any more, so she curled up into a ball on her side and drifted off to sleep.

[Amanaduial the archer]

After insisting that Hawthorne was to go to bed - the poor girl had been so tired she had barely even protested - Aman promised to make the best of the remainder of the night's sleep. But she simply couldn't: no matter how she tossed and turned, the Innkeeper simply couldn't get to sleep. Rolling over onto her back, Aman crossed her arms, glared angrily at the ceiling and sighed irritably. She was going to be exhausted for the handfasting the next day...

Sliding out of bed, shivering as her bed-pan-warmed feet hit the cold boards of the floor, Aman walked over to the window and looked up at the moon, shining her cold light into the night. It had passed it's peak already, and below, looking up at the silent orb, Aman guessed it to be maybe two or three hours past midnight. But who knew? This realm of the early hours of wakefulness was timeless.

Hearing a strange shifting below, Aman paused, her head slightly on one side as she listened. There was silence for a second, then the noise came again - like a chair being scraped back, or pushed out of someone's way, maybe. She narrowed her eyes. Once - well, it could be Huan, Hawthorne's dog, or maybe that smug looking feline, Tevildo, bumping into the furniture. But twice... Was Cook still downstairs? It could just be the old hobbitwoman bustling around, but Aman doubted it: this late, even Vinca went to bed. Deciding not to risk an intruder or a burglary, especially when there were so many newcomers (had all of them even given a name to stay under?!), the Innkeeper made her way carefully across the dark room, slipping on her threadbare dressing gown over her nightdress as she did so. Turning the key in the lock and easing the door open, she made her way as quietly as possible down the hall to the stairs, avoiding the usual song the old floorboards made because of her bare feet. Coming to the top of the stairs, she walked down a few steps then paused, crouching on the top few steps, she listened carefully as a door opened below, and brisk footsteps were heard across the floor. A circle of candlelight soon came into view, and with it came a steady, content humming. Cook. Aman gave a sigh of relief and stood to go down to Vinca but, for some reason, paused, deciding against it. She waited until the footsteps had died out, then made her way down the staircase, silent as an elf through Lorien.

Sneaking about in my own Inn! Aman grinned to herself, her teeth glinting in the darkness, as she reached the kitchen door. Creeping through, she came to the door that led to the outside - experience told her that it was quieter to get out of than the main doors. A few pairs of long, watertight boots always resided there, in case there was very heavy rain and it was too muddy outside to walk in normal shoes. The weather around the Shire was not usually bad enough, so the boots were generally just left to their own devices to quietly sink into dust and disremembrance. Now, however, the Innkeeper awoke them from their pleasant reverie, as if they had been sleeping like the rest of the Inn, slipping a pair on. Luckily, it seemed that one of the hobbits past or present had had rather large feet, and Aman's, in fitting with her petite build, were small enough to fit in comfortably. Opening the door, the Innkeeper snuck out into the darkness under the moon and half ran to the stables, slowing only when she came into the courtyard.

Why she had come she wasn't at all sure, really. But underneath the ethereal light of the gentle moon above, the ordinary courtyard looked almost ghostly. Half closing her eyes, Aman turned her gaze to the gateway from the road, and could almost imagine the images of those four heroic hobbits returning from their adventures in the South - in her land - dismounting, jesting with each other, making their way into the Inn. She smiled, taking the bridle of Firefoot - and felt a strange chill as the younger Meriadoc Brandybuck, smiling and laughing with his three friends, walked through her. Opening her eyes and finding herself, of course, alone in the courtyard, Aman shivered slightly, then opened one of teh stable doors and crack.

It would be empty here now Derufin had his lovely new house to sleep in and lovely new wife to care for him. And her lovely family - Aman smiled at the thought. They were delightful. She herself had never had a chance to be close to her father, as he had ridden with King Elessar when she was twelve and hadn't returned. And as for those two brothers - why, to see them with Zimzi made Aman happy. They were a delightful pair, and certainly very courteous, gentlemanly individuals - why, opening doors for Aman, offering her a drink... she could get used to those Lindon manners!

In the long rows of stalls, there was little movement or sound, just the usual, comforting sounds of horses asleep, stirring, snorting, moving around a little. The Rohirrim woman smiled to herself, the sounds like a lullaby to her. These were sounds from the creatures that had made her life. Glancing upwards, she mused that, well, Derufin's old 'quarters' would now be empty...surely no-one would notice if she was to spend a night here maybe...

No. It would not do. Smiling and shaking her head, she cast a last look down the stable building, making sure all was in order, and slipped back out the door - unaware of the one pair of eyes that was not equine watching her from above.

Going around the back of the Inn, Aman went back through the unlocked kitchen door and up to her room once more. But as she sank into bed this time, sleep did not evade her: no sooner had she lain down, eyes closing on the image of the moon, the images of the steeds of Rohan were dancing and snorting through her mind...

[Firefoot]

Willy nearly screamed as a small, squawking monster descended upon him. Its claws scratched him and its wings beat at him in a wild fury. Brown feathers and mud were everywhere. The thing - Willy realized it had a chicken's body, whatever it was - scratched him painfully under one eye. Willy frantically pushed it off him, scrambled to his feet, and ran as fast as his short hobbit legs would carry him. The chicken, equally frightened, half-ran, half-flew in the opposite direction while making an awful racket. Willy did not make his earlier mistake and instead kept his eyes focused on his goal up the road, but because of this he thought that the chicken monster must be chasing after him.

The cut on his cheek stung as a single tear dripped down. Why had he ever gotten out of bed in the first place? His clothes were muddied, torn, and blood-stained and he was tired and sore. Oh, what would he tell his ma? He could never tell her that he had visited the Inn, at three in the morning, no less. His aching head could not even fathom a realistic tale to spin. His lungs were burning by the time he reached his home. He slipped back in through his window, getting mud all over the place, and fell into bed to dreams of Elves and rolling logs and chicken monsters.

[HerenIstarion]

Next morning, not contrary to what Old Toby had to say about the matter, dawned with the promise of a fine day. Soft south wind came to case away curtain of clouds, so menacing and heavy just the day before. It was an hour when the dark starts to give way to another day, when birds are already twittering, but men haven’t yet gathered guts enough to slip off the warmth of their beds and start another day. The dew, memory of yesterday’s rain, covered the backyard, where squatty frame of someone could have been seen, someone stealing to the stables, someone looking over his broad shoulder now and again. If the onlooker would have come closer, he would become a listener as well, as said someone was grumbling under his breath

‘They love beasts, do they? Drat, why should my horses bother them? ‘they are no less tired, Sir!’, ‘it is not trouble for the stablemaster, Sir’ ! Pshew!. To heck with both, now I’m risking be caught stealing back my own horses. And this grass is wet, drat it, and my boots warned through’.

Now, as he came nearer the stables, the grumbler slowed the pace and exhibited even more caution in his progress

‘But why am I worrying, anyways? What do they have for guards? Band of wooly-footed wossnames, I should not be scared of them, should I?. Steady now…’

The figure approached the stable door and cautiously tried it. It squeaked as it turned on it hinges, causing the whole splash of angry but muffled mutterings and turning of the head, but nothing untoward happened, and the figure slipped into the stable.

There, in the warmth that only presence of horses may cause, in the dim light of the dawn, three gaunt horses could be seen. They were huddled together, as if shying two steeds of wonderful beauty and might, which stood a little apart from Southerners starved beasts.

‘Well, well, well’ muttered the intruder. “Those two are as fine horses as king of Forgoil himself may boast of. Hmm-m, why not? The will make a fat taking at the fair in the town by Evendim. But how early does that Merry of a stablemaster get up?

He looked over his shoulder in sudden fright, than, reassured by quiet outside, looked at the horses with an eye of a jobber once again

‘Well, well, first things first, where are those fools dawdling? I need a hand with my own carts first!’

As he growled that, a somebody shoved his head into the door and called in a hushed whisper: ‘Dublong! Dublong! Are you here?”

“Where else could I be, d’ya think? Are all of you there?

“Yes, all are…’

‘Then drive those billy-goats in’. Dublong was obviously better at yelling than listening. ‘We’ll need to lead the horses out quietly’

Dublong’s nephews came in, with some rags ready. With the speed which witnessed previous experience, they wrapped horses’ hooves in the rags to mute the clatter once horses would step outside straw-covered floor of the stable. With much caution, but as much creaking, the stable door was thrust open, and horses led out in file, where men quickly harnessed them into carts, standing not far from the stable entrance.

It took less than five minutes. Dublong’s wife and daughter climbed into the trimmest of the carts, as younger men went up to their dickeys, but Dublonge tarried, as if pondering.

‘Look, lads’ his voice was unusually tense and the wording less rude than usual, as if he were worried. ‘look, I’ve got some business to settle yet’

‘What business, uncle?’ started the elder of the brothers, but was immediately hushed by Dublong’s furious glance, whom, with the resolution, regained much of his rush.

With a short ‘wait here’, he turned back to the stable, and was just pulling at the door as he nearly bumped into a sleepy hobbit coming through from the other side.

“What? Oh, sorry, sir, I haven’t noticed you’ said the hobbit, whom Dublong recognized as yesterday’s stablemaster Merry. ‘Up so early? Are you leaving already? I see you’ve led out your horses yourself. You should not have troubled yourself, I would have had them ready, you have had only to warn the innkeeper, sir. Hope we haven’t caused you any inconvenience?’

‘No, no, no inconvenience…’ Dublong, caught at unawares, once again ran out of steam

‘Fine beasts you have there, I say, a bit bony, maybe, but that’d be the long road they toiled on, I reckon.’

‘Um? Ah, yes, poor beasts pulled us all the way up from White Mountains…’ Dublong tried to play up, silently cursing under his breath. There was no more chance of stealing beautiful steeds he’s seen in the stable. Greedy as he was, he valued his own skin better, and now only wished to get rid of Merry and run for it before other Inn staff appeared and difficult questions were asked. But Merry, though untimely aroused, was in a friendly mood and kept on chattering.

‘I’m not sure how far is to those White Mountains you refer to, sir, but it’s pretty a long road, judging by those horses. I gave them extra oats yesterday…

‘If he waits for a gift for his chariness, he won’t get any’ thought Dublong

But Merry exhibited expectation to be gifted, nor inclination to pause, and went on, as if compensating himself for the lack of sleep with the chance of wagging his tongue with a foreigner, probably coming from and going to some interesting places, which he himself wished not to see in person but would be really glad to hear about.

“I heard you travel North, are you, sir? They say that’s a mighty big town the Big Folk are building by Evendim. Have you been there before? Goodly fed as the horses now are, they won’t bring you further than North Farthing Stone, I reckon, you should better let them rest than. There is good grass up the Green Fields, they say, a little bit further North from the Stone, but in between you’ll need not worry about horses – I’ve stocked some oats into your carts yesterday evening…’

‘Er… thank you.’ was all Dublong managed to force out, overwhelmed by Merry’s vigor. He pondered, if, after all, Merry needed answering or it was better to let him ran out all by himself . . .

[littlemanpoet]

Falowik swayed on Kirsúl, their stallion, but Uien held him firm. She road behind him. Kirsúl would not let him fall at any rate, not unless he really wanted to. He didn't.

"I am very tired, Uien. Are you sure we cannot rest?"

It was the deep of night and they cantered westward on the East Road.

"Nay, I have it from Elves who are there that tomorrow is the day. I would not miss it."

"From miles away?"

"'Tis the way of the art."

"Onward then. I am glad I do not share this osanwë you speak of. I would never get any rest!"

"Surely not the kind you need, my love." Uien laughed lightly. "Rest, Laurëatan. Kirsúl and I will make sure you do not fall."

On they road beneath the glittering stars, westward to the Green Dragon Inn.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Ealasaide’s post

Two young men stood outside the front door to the Green Dragon, both of them looking puzzled. One of them, the taller one with the dark brown hair, shook his head in bewilderment.

"It's true," he said earnestly to his companion. "I swear there was a notice here earlier this evening calling for musicians. It said, Flute/Penny Whistle player needed, too something-something-something or if you don't play either of those - that's us - bring what you have and join in. It was signed Bill or Gil or something like that."

The other young man looked skeptical, then sighed. "Maybe we're too late and they don't need anyone else."

The taller one, Seamus, grinned. "You can never have too many musicians at a handfasting. Everybody knows that."

The other fellow, Owen, nodded and grinned back. "True! We might as well inquire anyway. The worst that can happen is they'll send us on our way. We're already wet to the skin as it is, so I can't see any harm in it. Have you got Shimshin?"

Seamus turned and looked back toward the inn's yard. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere." He whistled sharply between his teeth and presently a small brown body hurtled out of the dim light toward them. Reaching them, the creature climbed confidently up Seamus' leg and took a seat on the man's shoulder, wrapping his long prehensile tail around loosely around Seamus' neck. The spider monkey folded his hands primly across his chest and looked expectantly from Owen to Seamus and back, waiting to see what would happen next. As if by silent decision the two men walked around the inn to the kitchen door. Owen stepped up to it and knocked.

Presently, the door cracked open and the face of an elderly woman, presumably the cook, peered cautiously out at them. Owen and Seamus both touched their forelocks respectfully and smiled.

"Good morning, ma’am," said Seamus in his most polite tone. "We’re very sorry to be knocking so early, but we understand there’s to be a handfasting here and someone by the name of Bill or, uh, Gil, or something like that, was looking for musicians. We’d like to apply, that is, if Mr. Bill is about. I play the rebec and my friend here plays a very fine bladder pipe. Shimshin -" he gave the spider monkey and affectionate pat "- is a fine dancer, too, and a great addition to any celebration."

************************************************** **************

Hilde’s post

“I should have known it’d might be musicians, coming to the kitchen rather than using the front door,” the woman said. “Come in, come in, the more the merrier!” she said waving them in. Seeing the monkey on Seamus’ shoulder as he passed by, she raised her hand to pat the small fellow. Shimshin caught her hand in his and gently brought it to his lips in a kiss. “Well. He certainly is a good mannered little creature!”

A nervousness suddenly overshadowed Owen. “Er…well, he is a good deal better than many people I’ve seen,” he said quickly removing his cap to reveal a mop of dark blonde hair. Water streamed over his fingers as he clenched the sodden felt. “But if you could just show us where we might find the author of the note, we won’t trouble you any longer ma’am.”

The woman smiled, “Oh that would be Gil, but you won’t be finding him here just yet. Not until breakfast is ready.” She looked down at the spreading puddle of water beneath the two men. “We must find you some place to wait for him, have you had anything to eat?”

“We would be much obliged,” Seamus said. “Though Owen and I are quite used to the outdoors," he explained, "our small friend is not much used to this climate.”

“Yes, he’s from the south,” Owen chimed in, brightening conciderably at the mention of food.

[Oddwen]

Berulo felt fortunate to have found room and board this late in the night. Or early in the morning, depending on how one looked at it. It was a tribute to the proprietors of this fine inn that they were so well organized, even at this hour. He looked forward to a good night's sleep and a good hearty breakfast in the morning.

Although, he had heard, there was to be a party - a wedding party on the morrow. And there was to be singing and dancing, and merrymaking until all hours. That wouldn't go amiss either. Berulo's father had taught him a bit of piping and he had a fairly good voice, but what he really had a talent for was rhythm. And everyone knows that you just can't dance without rhythm.

But that was after he woke up. Which might not be for a long while yet.

[Tevildo]

Tevildo sat watching and twitching his tail as Mistress Ellie returned to the room and began her preparations for bed. Before long, she had slipped between the covers and was snoring away. Bone tired from the heavy workload earlier that evening, Ellie had carelessly neglected to latch the door to the room. Pushing his small pink nose against the wooden panelling, Tevildo felt the door give way, opening just enough for him to slip through and escape from his prison. Slinking along the shadows of the corridor, he had run out the front entrance and made his way to the stables, hoping to catch a fat mouse.

The pickings in the stables were all too sparse. So many guests were still up and about that the mice remained hidden in holes and refused to come out where Tevildo could pounce on them. The cat poked his nose inside several crevices and crannies but was unable to discover any dinner. Resigned to the growling of his stomach, Tevildo finally made his way up into the rafters of the stables where he could look down and spy on everyone underneath.

He watched with interest as Dublong and several of his family maneuvered their way into the stalls and began to lead out the finest of the steeds. What they were doing was all too obvious to someone like Tevildo who made his living by stealth and deceit. They vaguely reminded him of some of Melko's less reputable servants. The cat was content to sit up on the rafter and lick his coat until he happened to notice that one of the horses being led outside was the one that belonged to Ellie. It was Ellie's only possession of real worth, and even Tevildo could not help but feel a little upset seeing what was happening . . .

[piosenniel]

‘Well isn’t he just something,’ Cook said, watching the monkey tuck into the little bowl of cut up apple she’d given him. His hands are so deft she thought, watching him turn the pieces round about, this way and that. And his little wizened face with its bright black eyes peered up at her now and then, looking as if he might at any moment drop a comment into the conversation. She’d never in her life seen a creature so charming or so clever. ‘Shimshin,’ she said to him, offering him a thick slice of bread, fresh from the oven, ‘you are what my old gran would call a right wonder.’

The two lads, Seamus and Owen, who had come with the monkey, had been set up with hot tea and toast with jam. Later in the morning, she’d told them, there would be eggs and fat sausages from the Chubb farm just south of Bywater. Gil and his fellows would be in by then, wanting breakfast before they helped with the taking of many of the Inn tables out to the front yard. ‘Have to dry up a bit, though, before we do that,’ Cook went on. As the three travelers tucked into their small meal, Cook bustled about the kitchen, taking out loaves of hot bread from the ovens, putting new pans of risen dough in.

The heat from the ovens was making the kitchen grow exceedingly warm. Cook opened the back door to let in a little cool air, then looked apprehensively toward Shimshin. He’d huddled up against Seamus, and she could almost hear the little fellow’s teeth chattering. ‘Oh, my! We can’t have you getting cold all over again,’ she said to him. ‘Let’s move you three to the Common Room. There aren’t many up yet; you can take a table by the warm fire and relax and dry out until Gil comes in.’ She refilled the pot of tea for them and had them fetch out their plates of toast and the pots of jam. Seeing them all settled in to her satisfaction, she returned to her kitchen.

Through the opened back door she could now hear sounds coming from the stable. Loud talking, with Merry’s voice mixed in, and the rustling about of a number of people. Checking once on her loaves just newly put in the oven, she tied her robe securely about her, and grabbing her rather formidable marble rolling pin (a present from a Dwarven traveler to the Inn long ago) she made her way to the stable . . .

[piosenniel]

HerenIstarion’s post

~*~

A bargain is struck . . . in lieu of money, a table is offered . . .

--

“Merry, I see you are helpful as usual, but would you be so kind as close the shutters of your talking shop?’ came in another, quiet but confident voice, voice of authority – the Cook was standing just behind Dublong, who quickly turned at the newcomer. ‘You’ll wake up all other guests! I heard you in the bakery! It would be even better, and very kind of you if you could just fetch me Aman”

‘Is not lady innkeeper asleep, M’am?’

‘Fetch me Aman this instant, I meant’

‘Yes, M’am! Right you are, M’am. Going, M’am!’

‘I see you are leaving already?’ the Cook turned to Dublong and wagons behind him at the ready.

‘We are. So what?’ Dublong decided that now as Merry left and he was faced by lone woman only, and undersized, it was time to rely on cheek again. It was now or never, before Merry would have time enough to ‘fetch’ Aman and who knows how many others.

‘So what?’ he repeated with more stress.

‘Nothing special, of course’ to his surprise, the Cook remained as calm as ever. ‘Just I do not recall Aman bringing in and locking payment for your supper and lodgings.

‘You’re Cook, or whatever, right? Who told you we haven’t paid? Is it your job to count the profit, or what?

Dublong came nearer and now was towering over the Cook with an air of aggrieved honesty.

‘For you, I’m M’am. I may err, of course, and would beg you to accept my apologies if I do. But we can check it this instant – you may have heard I’ve sent Merry to kindly ask Aman to come down, haven’t you. It won’t take long’

Dublong retreated. Wild thoughts danced in his mind. There were five of them and only one of her. He looked up at his nephews. They lookd scared. Well, there was one of him and one of her, but he had a club. He looked back. Well, it was in the furthest wagon, but probably he could…

The Cook seemed to read his mind as easily as she navigated the recipe book handed down for generations in her family she knew by heart now. Without changing the calmness of her tone, she went on:

’Have you liked my dinner yesterday? It is one of my best dishes, the lads from the Shirriff house down the road like it so much they even come to breakfast every morn at four, before taking over the watch’

Shirriffs? Guards? Here? In less than five minutes?. Dublong was broken.

‘Yes, M’am, I am grieved to say, but we haven’t paid’ Unctuous tone came into play once again. ‘But it is out of poverty, not cause we are dishonest. We meant to send money back as soon as we earned some in the King’s town up North. We are craftsmen, you see…’

‘I do. And what is it you do?’

‘Er… um… all kind of stuff, odds and ends, like it…’

‘Aha, I see indeed. If you tried to say you would work to pay off your debt… Dublong was not trying to say that at all, just playing on pity, but, nevertheless nodded energetically – it was vital to gain time, they may slip off later, when there was no Cook about, ‘I’m afraid we have enough of ‘odds and ends’ sort of workers of our own, thank you…’ Dublong pulled up a pitiful face.

‘But, you said you were going to send the money once you earned some in the North. I think I may accept such a deal…’

The sentence caused immediate face lightening of all Southerners visible. Passengers in the wagon must have been well pleased too, as sound strongly resembling chuckle ringed out of the covered wagon.

‘If you leave some valuables behind as a guarantee, of course. I may be gracious enough to accept one of your wagons, per instance. Merry will drive it up to Evendim as soon as we get nine copper pennies you owe us.’

‘The wagon? The whole wagon for nine pennies? Are you trying to rob us?’

‘Do I? I believe it were you who tried? I’ve seen you eyeing the stable door when Merry talked to you, even all of your horses were already outside’

“What? What? Are you driving at…’?

“I am not driving at, I know. But if you wish to drive out, you better learn your lesson well first. I suppose Sharkey’s men whom we’ve driven off before you, haven’t spread their story wide enough, or you are forgetful?

‘Sharkey? Who’s Sharkey? I never heard about such a man before’

‘Drop it – it does you no good. I know a ruffian when I see one.’

Now Dublong was really afraid. They know I was one of the Sharkey’s men. They even killed Sharkey himself!. They don’t look capable of killing, but they dealt with some of the chaps he knew, and they were tough, tougher then he was!

‘But wagon? We can’t go without the wagon’ Now he sounded sulking.

“It need not be a wagon, it was a random demand. I may accept something else of nine penny value, of course’

‘You think my wagon costs nine pennies?’

I know it does not cost more than a silver one, which is basically the same, what with all the trouble you may have caused, if I judged your stable-eyeing rightly, and I seldom err’

Dublong hesitated. He hoped to sell That Thing off to someone for a fair price, but up to now it brought more trouble than profit, not accounting for pure loss all foiled ropes and polish liquid accounted for. Why not? He’ll get out of the thing with his skin, his wagons, horses and less valuable, but somehow habitual family. Right! To heck with That Thing!

‘M’am, may I offer you the piece of furniture of most wonderful workmanship? Once again, Dublong talked in unctuous voice. ‘Snaggy!’ he yelled so suddenly even the Cook winked. ‘Bring out the Thing! Quick!’

Snaggy, reluctant as he seemed, dared not to disobey and sluggishly went round the cart, pulled off the cover and hauled some heavily roped bundle with four wooden legs sticking out.

‘Here, uncle’ wheezed Snaggy through heavily drawn breaths.

‘Unwrap it, I want to take a better look’

‘Yes, yes, o’course! Hey, Snaggy, come up here…’ But Snaggy was nowhere to be seen, as he hid himself behind one of the wagons. The second coachman – Dublong’s younger nephew, mysteriously disappeared too. He was behind the same wagon as Snaggy hid behind. ‘ Well, I’ll do it myself, of course, I’ll do it myself…’

Dublong, with due caution, but hastily, not to deepen Cook’s suspicions, cut the ropes which held it together and pulled the wrap off. In the middle of the backyard stood the table of polished dark wood Cook was not able to name the sort of, table for six on four carven legs. Dublong haven’t lied this time – the skill of its maker must have been indeed great – all of the surfaces were ideally smooth and shining, carvings represented four elements – fire, water, wind and earth in fines patterns Cook ever set her eye upon.

‘You see, M’am, it costs more than nine wretched pennies’ Dublong was now ingratiating

‘It may well be’ the Cook thought deeply. ‘Well…, well it may come in handy for the handfasting. I think I’ll accept it as ransom. You’ll get it back as soon as we get nine copper pennies. We’ll send it to address indicated with return mail. Just note that you should provide for postal charges as well.’

‘Of course M’am. Thank you, Ma’m! Er.. may we go now?

‘I suppose you may’

‘Thank you, M’am! Ride lads!’

‘Lads’, as if ready for the signal, jumped up their wagons, whipped their nags and drove out of the yeard, leaving deep gauges in the mud which, drying up by midmorn, would again resemble the road outside the in.

“I suppose they won’t ask for that table in a long while’ muttered the cook. ‘But I will write creditor’s bill nevertheless’ She sighed. not a year without scoundrels of the kind, and they say we won the war. It was better before we did it, she thought.

As wagons disappeared, Merry came up puffing, followed by the Inkeeper in her sleeping gown and a shawl on her shoulders.

‘You called for me, Vinca, dear? Something happened?’

‘Nothing of great concern, Aman. Master Dublong just left. He was very sorry he had not money about him, but He paid for his lodgings with this table.

‘Table? What table? Ah!’ Aman finally noticed it in the dim light of the dawn. ‘It looks really nice. How good of him. And just in for the handfasting, how handy.’ She stroked the surface with her hand. It was warm, as the trunk of a young tree in the midday sun. ‘It is heavy! Let it stand here for the rest of the night, we’ll ask some lads to bring it in in the morning’

‘As you say, Aman’

Thank you, Vinca. And thank you, Merry, you may go now’

With that, Merry turned to the stable to start his morning duties, as Aman and the Cook went up to the Inn

[piosenniel]

Tevildo's post

~*~

A lovely scratching post is spied . . .

Just as Tevildo was wondering if he should make the effort to jump down on Dublong's head and scratch his eyes out, he noticed that the would-be horse thieves were stopped in their tracks by the sudden appearance of Merry and then of Cook. The cat had a certain grudging respect for Cook and her rolling pin, and was not surprised when she managed to outwit the strangers, despite their larger size. After all, Tevildo reflected, size isn't everything. The cat saw the table being unloaded and, after everyone had left the stables, lept down from the rafters to have a closer look.

Tevildo approached the table cautiously, and leaned over to take a good sniff. There was a little bell ringing in the back of his head that said presents from the servants of Melko usually turned out to be bad. Still, the legs were so nice and shiny. He could not help but admire their beauty and consider what a fine scratching post the table legs would make! He ran up and stood upright on his hind legs, letting his claws slide out from beneath velvet paws, and got ready to enjoy a good scratch. But before he could begin, Merry came out of the stable and shooed him away with a broom.

To avoid the broom, Tevildo bolted beneath the table and out through its legs on the other side, racing up the front steps of the Inn. But before disappearing inside, he squatted on the porch and looked back, bellowing out a loud "MEOW!", which can loosely be translated into Westron as [i] "Tomorrow, I'll get you for sure!"

[Fairleaf]

Fairleaf watched with growing interest the encounter between the men and the two Halflings. She’d seen the men creeping to the stable, and heard their rough voices as they spoke to one another and then to the Halfling in the stable . . . Merry, that was his name. There was something about the men that made her bark prickle with alarm. The moonlight and first light of dawn threw their sallow faces into relief . . . and she could not but think they seemed rather cruel in their demeanor . . . Orcish, almost. She worried at the sight of the two Halflings towered over by the thuggish fellows, then flooded with relief as the men backed down. Cowards at heart, like all those whose spirits the shadow has muddied.

The evil men had gone off, driving their poor horses with haste from the Inn. In their wake they’d left something large, standing on four legs in the yard, not too far from her. The Halflings and the woman she’d encountered earlier near the road had stood about admiring whatever the thing was, then left it to stand by itself in the cold morning. Fairleaf had ventured a few steps toward the odd creature when a cat from out the stable came creeping out cautiously, intent on the object, too.

The Entmaiden had gotten close enough to see the thing they men had left behind was made of wood all around – top and legs. And she looked on in horror as the cat stretched itself up in an attempt to sharpen its claws on one of the legs. Only the quick action of Merry and his broom saved the poor creature from a slashing.

Daylight would be flooding the yard soon, she knew. She could feel her leaves tingle as the sunlight crept higher above the edge of the Shire. Fairleaf hurried in her own way to where the creature stood, alone, now. It was indeed wood, lovingly crafted. Beautiful in its own way. Her leafy fingers grazed the shiny surface of its top for a brief moment, before she pulled them back in surprise.

Fairleaf’s eyes glinted gold and green as she placed one hand lightly on the smooth surface. Warm it was . . . and just beneath, a faint and curious hum seemed to ripple . . .

Voices coming up the path to the Inn’s door reminded her it would be best were she back among the safety of the beeches and elms. Hmmm . . . I shall see you later, then . . . you interest me, my friend . . . Never seen one such as you . . . New you are and not among the lists I’ve sung before . . .

Her leafy fingers lingered momentarily on the creature’s top; then she withdrew a short ways away, amid the little stand of copper beech and lacy elms that stood at the far edge of the stable.

[piosenniel]

NOTICE OF TIME CHANGE:

It is now early morning in the Shire. The sun is up. The wet leavings of last night’s rains are nearly dried up and back to normal.

Breakfast is in full swing – sausage and eggs; toast and jam; pots of hot tea, laced with honey.

The last preparations for today's party are falling into place . . .

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

Only the Moderators will be moving the time along in the Inn.

Please do read the 'Inn Facts' at the top of the page and look through the Red Book of Westmarch topic to get an idea about posting in the Shire.

Feel free to PM the Moderators, also, with any questions.

Thanks!

~*~ Pio, Shire Moderator

[Arry]

‘Come on, you lot,’ cried Gil. ‘We promised we’d help drag the tables out to the front yard early on.’ He motioned for his lagging companions to catch up to him. Tomlin yawned widely at the admonition to hurry, while Ferrin and Fallon simply ignored him altogether.

‘Too wet still,’ Tomlin argued, nodding toward the grassy area.

‘Be dry enough once you laggards finish your breakfasts,’ Gil laughed, running up the steps to the Inn. ‘Hey! Someone’s taken down for volunteers that was here last night,’ he said pointing to the empty nail by the doorpost. ‘Hope somebody saw we needed another player in the band . . .’

He found he was talking to himself; when he looked back, the other three Hobbits were not to be seen. Drawn on by the scent of eggs and sausages, they had rushed through the door, leaving him, now, to trail behind. Gil hurried into the room, looking to see where they’d gone.

‘Gil!’ he heard, seeing Tomlin as he stood waving from a table near the bar. Gil! Over here!’ He smiled as he passed the other customers in the room and made his way to the benches where his friends sat.

Behind the bar, he could see Buttercup holding up a half pint mug and pointing to him as she held it up. He winked at her and nodded ‘yes’, calling her his little darling as she brought the group a round . . .

[THE Ka]

Rasputina woke to find herself as she always woke - sprawled out on the bed, with half her mass balancing with great stress on the side of the bed.

"Great... Why is it that everytime, I never fall off?!" ,she mutters.

Gathering up the blankets and what is left of the bed itself, she makes the bed and walks in front of the window. The sun peeks above the horizon, heralding a new day, the land winks and shimmers with the prosperity of a happy occasion ahead. As she dazes, she notices that someone is watching her from outside. Being terribly shy as usual, she pulls the blinds and sits in a vacant chair. oddly, she smiles with some deep knowing that today is going to be a full social event. Living in Eryn Vorn since she could remember, it had always been seculded. they didn't call it the dark wood for nothing, for it did not matter if the sun was up or not, most of the time she would have been in complete darkness. Many a time she would spend the day out by the shore line, on a patch of grassy plane that had yet not been covered by the wood. It was even more secluded but, a favorite place. The sea was far more pleasing than a dark forest...

"Hmm... It seems I can't be a reculse today... How horrible...", she sarcastically notes.

Then she remembers. her instrument, lying in its case calls to her. Still in her rain soked clothes, she begins to play. She waits for a neighbor's irritable threat on the wall, only to meet silence. On she goes with a few exercises, then a short song. The strings now hum with delight, something she has wanted to hear for so long. Finally, she puts it back into its case, and opens the dresser to find her 'handfasting' attire. A dress of simplicity but, very alien to the Shire. Made up of a blue and silver corset, cinched blue skirt and a very strange top hat, she admires herself in a small mirror. The many feathers from who knows where dance about the brim...

" I hope to the Valar that I'm not the only stranger around here..."

Searching in her trunk she finds her gloves that had disappeared since she had begun the trip. Also in it lies two presents, wrapped in green cloth. They are small but, intrigue the viewer with a sense of utter curiousity. She pokets both and closes the box and the rest of its contents inside.

As she was about to go out the door, she realized that she knew no one person within the Inn. Her eyes widened with guilt... Where would she perform at? Who was incharge? Who were the couple?

Mustering up some pitful courage, she grabbed the box and case in hurry and out the door. Closing it behind her revealed a new world. Everything had changed from the night before. The decor that had been hiding in the darkness of the night bloomed with bright colors. She silently passed into the main part of the Inn to find breakfast being assembled. Already some others have massed at the table and were satisfying their hunger. She stood in the corner, frozen to the spot. The table was mostly populated with hobbits, as she guessed but, also some of her kin and others. She left her box next to a group of supplies that were gathered for the finishing decor. Already the room seemed to herald a joyful occasion but, much more was still to be done. Tiptoeing as it seemed, she crept with her instrument to the long table and sat next to what looked like kin. Before she could remove her outragous hat, some of the hobbits from down the table pointed and smiled with awe. She feebly smiled back and quick hid the hat next to the instrument.

She then took an empty plate and filled it halfway. She then sat there, eating in silence and guilt. Her eyes scanned the table and found that many seats, some that she had not seen in her state of shock were empty, still waiting guest.

"At least I am not so late." she thought.

The woman beside her glanced at the door and went back to eating. Then her gaze flew back and rested on her neighbor's instrument. Rasputina tried not to notice but, smiled and uttered:

"It...It's for the handfasting..."

The kin smiled and presumed back to eating. Soon, a conversation crawled out between them, and soon both were discussing from where they came from, and about what further plans they were to have. Rasputina was not confortable but, at least welcomed.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Comfortably warm now, and dry. Owen and Seamus had taken the opportunity to rest propped up in their chairs, hoping all the while that the day would soon start and would prove a long, and profitable one. Shimshin too was curled up comfortably on Seamus’ thigh. True, the rascal would bear a little watching, thought Owen to himself. “Perhaps this is not a good time to have brought him,” he whispered to Seamus.

“Where would you have us keep him?” Seamus replied easily. “He has to learn to somehow. Better to get him used to his new way of life.”

“But at a handfasting? It doesn’t seem…hmm, it is asking for trouble, that’s all.”

“If we are going to take proper care of him we will have to be able to earn something.”

“That is true,” Owen said hanging his head.

“Gil!” They heard from their vantage point near the fire. ‘Gil! Over here!’ Waking abruptly, the monkey quickly scrambled onto the tall man’s shoulder. Owen and Seamus looked toward the door. A hobbit had entered the room and smiling crossed to where the calls had originated.

“There’s our man!” Seamus said, getting up from his seat. “Let’s hope that the hobbit will be willing take on a few big people, eh?”

"He's smiling. That is a good sign!" Owen said following his friend.

[Ealasaide]

“He is smiling at that!“ said Seamus as the hobbit called Gil exchanged a few words with a pretty hobbit serving girl, then took his spot amongst his companions. “Let’s hope it’s not just reserved for his friends!”

A tall fellow, even by the standards of Men, Seamus stooped a bit as he approached the hobbits’ table, so as not to seem too intimidating. After all, he never knew with the little folk how they would react to his size, although most of them were fairly used to big folk and generally paid him very little mind. Looking up curiously as the two men arrived alongside their table, the hobbits stopped their banter and lowered their pints. Their eyes moved politely from Seamus to Owen before finally settling on Shimshin, who had once again taken up his post on Seamus’ shoulder. With his long tail wrapped loosely around Seamus’ neck, he held on to a lock of the man’s long brown hair with one hand. The other hand held the last piece of apple from the dish that the Cook had prepared.

Ignoring Shimshin, Seamus smiled his wide, easy grin. “Good morning, my good fellows!” he said pleasantly to the hobbits. “Might one of you be called Gil?”

“That would be me,” said the hobbit who had been addressed by that name earlier. He tore his eyes away from the monkey and met Seamus’ gaze with a steady, bright-eyed gaze of his own. “Good morning to you as well! Might I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Well...” said Seamus slowly, his blue eyes twinkling. “That you might. My name is Seamus. My friend here is Owen. This little fellow with the apple -” he indicated the spider monkey “- is Shimshin. We - well, Owen and I - are musicians. We saw your notice yesterday and were wondering if you still needed anyone to finish out your band. For the handfasting, you know. I play the rebec and Owen plays a fine bladder pipe. Shimshin can dance a lively jig, too, if we play well enough for him.” He paused and smiled around the group. “So what do you say? We’d be happy to play a song for you, if you like. Show our chops, if you know what I mean.”

The hobbits looked up at Seamus, then at Owen, who gave them a hopeful smile and a nod. Waving his bit of apple, the monkey smiled, too.

“So what do you say?” repeated Seamus.

[Firefoot]

“So it’s not really like I told Ma,” Willy informed his younger brother Nick “Early this morning I was waked up by travellers, and I followed them here” - he gestured towards the Green Dragon, in front of which the pair was now standing - “and spied on them from the window. But I was spotted, and they sent an evil chicken monster after me, which I fought off all by myself, even though it gave me battle hurts, see?” He lightly ran his finger over the cut on his cheek. Last night’s events did not seem nearly so traumatic in the light of day, and Willy was now using the story to impress Nick, who practically idolized him already. Nick reached up to touch the cut with grubby fingers. Willy let him, and gave no sign of the sharp pain.

“Weren’t you scared?” asked Nick, gazing up adoringly. Willy shook his head. “Well, not really anyway. I was too busy escaping.”

Willy had gotten off surprisingly easy this morning after concocting a tale about how he had heard something out his window and gone out to see what it was (true). It was a chicken, escaped from the coop, and he had accidentally fallen on top of it, causing it to scratch him up (sort of true). He had returned through his window scratched and muddy and gone back to bed (also true). Willy reasoned that since none of it was actually false, it was not exactly a lie. His ma had chided him for his foolishness and doctored up his cuts with a sticky green substance, and then let him go. Pleased with his own ingenuity, Willy had taken Nick along with him to go back to the Inn.

“Now,” declared Willy. “We are going in.” He wanted a closer look at Elves, and the other interesting things he had spotted through the window. Already he had some plans for the cats...

“But Ma says...” whimpered Nick. Willy realized that he had perhaps done his job too well: Nick was afraid to go into the Inn!

“It’ll be all right,” said Willy firmly. He boldly stepped up to the door with Nick scampering after. He pushed open the door tentatively and stepped in without attracting much notice. Willy was thrilled. There was nothing particularly exciting happening, but the allure of doing something you’re not supposed to combined with the general bustle about the place exhilarated him. He waved for Nick to follow him further inside, but Nick shook his head and pointed. “Willy, look.”

Willy looked and did not understand what his brother found so interesting. It was two Big Folk, and they were talking to some Hobbits. “What?” he asked.

“That,” said Nick vaguely, as if Willy should know exactly what. Willy looked closer and saw that there was a strange furry, brown creature perched on the shoulder of the taller man. Willy had to know what it was, but he was too nervous to go up and ask. He was one of the Big Folk, after all, and nearly three times his own height. He nudged Nick, “Why don’t you go ask him about it?” Nick shook his head. “Nuh-uh.” Willy sighed. They had to get out of the doorway, at any rate.

“Come on, then. I’ll ask,” he said, and slowly made his way over, trying to look confident. The man was stooped over a bit, but still very tall and very intimidating. Willy licked his lips nervously, and finally blurted out, “Excuse me, Mister, but what’s that?”

[littlemanpoet]

Arry's post

‘Show his chops?’ Fallon looked the tall man up and down, as he nudged Ferrin. ‘What would we be wanting with chops . . . probably all nasty anyway if he’s got them hidden somewhere in his pockets. All linty and whatnot.’ Ferrin leaned as casually toward Seamus as he could, and inhaled deeply. ‘Don’t smell any chops,’ he whispered, leaning close back toward Fallon. ‘Pork, lamb, or otherwise . . .’

Gil apparently had some idea of what Seamus was saying as he was smiling and shaking his head . . . ‘no’. And the two Big Folk now had frowns on their faces. But Gil laughed all the harder. ‘Don’t need to hear you play, my friends. The more the merrier for the party, I say.’ ‘However . . . ‘ he went on, seeing the grins on the two men’s faces. ‘There is a bit of an audition you’ll have to go through. Show us your stamina, so to speak.’ Owen started to untie the bag that held his instrument. ‘Oh not that sort of audition,’ laughed Gil again. He pointed out the window across the room, then swept his arm about the room.

‘The yard is dry, I think. And we poor Hobbits have volunteered our strong arms and groaning backs to move these tables out there. Tell you what,’ he said eyeing the men. ‘Lend us your hand in this task, and we’ll see to you doing a solo.’

Tomlin had already stood up and was clearing the plates and mugs away from the table. ‘And if we get it done in good time,’ he added, ‘then the more time we’ll have for a bit of practice together.’

Ferrin leaned in toward Fallon as the group prepared to start their hauling. ‘Knew all along they were talking about playing,’ he whispered, trying to look smug. ‘Just didn’t want you to feel so bad about not knowing.’ Fallon punched him sharply on his upper arm. ‘Sure you did! You and your nose both were trying to make me feel better.’ Arguing amiably the two followed the others out to the yard to see where they should place the tables.

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littlemanpoet's post

Falowik and Uien

Kirsúl slowed as they came into Bywater. The sun was rising a good ways above the horizon. It had rained and the sun was drying the village. Uien and Falowik looked about them, their throats tightening at the onset of memories.

"See that tree by the lane?" Falowik pointed.

"Where you sat when I came to you with blankets, love."

"You changed me that night."

"As you did me. As if I became a different person altogether," Uien said.

"The roof is done."

"Little good we did about that," Uien laughed. "I cannot wait to see Derufin."

Kirsúl walked into the Inn's courtyard. Uien and Falowik dismounted and walked Kirsúl to the stables where an ostler they did not know took charge of the stallion. As they approached the Inn proper, they ran headlong into a bustle of little folk and big folk, every last one of them busy about something. All of the bustle was happy and fraught with joyful expectation. Some tables had already made it through the door and out to the courtyard.

"We are on time," Uien smiled as they made their way to the front door. They were almost run over by two hobbits carrying yet another table into the courtyard.

"Watch out, Gil! You almost runned them big folk over!"

"If you'd carry your end better, Tomlin, I wouldn't have to watch my step so careful!" He looked up at Uien and Falowik and grinned. "Excuse us!" He moved past them followed by the dragging and obviously reluctant Tomlin.

Uien and Falowik passed through the front door and their noses were smitten with the scents of breakfast. Their eyes were just as smitten with the colorful decorations for the handfasting. If there was a bustle outside, it was even more so within. There were two big folk and a monkey in one place; curious hobbits whispering about it not far away; at one large table sat hobbits devouring their breakfast as if they hadn't eaten in days, grinning and smiling at two women down the table, each with musical instruments beside them, deep in conversation between mouthfuls of delectable fare.

"I am hungry!" Falowik said. "Do you see anybody you know?"

"None yet, Laurëatan, but that will change soon enough." They made their way through the busy crowd, smiling and greeting the strangers they met until they found themselves at the bar. "The kitchen door looks so inviting!" Uien said. Many another time she had walked through and found herself companionably helping Cook or Buttercup or Ruby. It was so full of bustle now that she feared she would only be in the way, and remained with Falowik as they waited for someone they knew to come into the Common Room.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling had not slept much that night – or morning – for there had been a seemingly endless stream of activity through the stables. He had first been awoken by Aman, who had not, thankfully, seen him in the dark. For this he was grateful, for he felt that he needed the courage of food and daylight before he could face her. Just as he had been on the verge of dropping off to sleep once more there had been a clatter of feet and of muted hooves, followed by the strident voice of that Cook conversing with some strange Men. Again, Snaveling had watched but not interfered, for he knew that Cook had never fully trusted him and he did not want to burst upon her in the dark of night like some vagabond. He was very much aware that he had not formally registered at the Inn and was thus, technically, a trespasser. Things with the Men had looked to be getting serious, and Snaveling was almost at the point of overcoming his reservations and emerging from hiding when he heard the halfling send for Aman. That sent him back into the shadows, but fortunately the Men were soon on their way. He listened intently to the brief conversation between Cook the Innkeeper, and a hobbit he had never seen before, but whom he could tell from the tenor of their talk was the stablemaster. He searched his mind for the name of the previous stablemaster. . .Furlong? Durlong? Why was he no longer in charge here? It was a minor mystery, and one that could wait until morning.

Snaveling settled back into the straw when the others went their way and awaited the dawn. When it arrived, he roused himself from his rough bed and sneaked out from the stable, for he did not wish to be caught there before he’d registered as a guest.

Just as he had the last time he was here, Snaveling went to the kitchen door rather than to the main door into the Common Room. Whereas stealth had driven him on his previous visit, this time it was hunger – his stomach was roaring at him now, and he could not bear the thought of waiting much longer to fill it. He knocked on the door as he came through to the kitchen, hoping for a warm welcome. He well knew how different he was in his appearance than the last time he passed through those doors. His rich clothes were decidedly more ragged now for having passed through all weathers and lands. His hair was longer and shaggy, and he had a rough beard across his face. He looked, he realised, much more like the vagabond who had first come to the Inn than the returned King he had appeared on his last visit.

Cook and her assistants were hard at work preparing the morning meal. Putting on what he hoped was his most welcoming and charming face, Snaveling stepped forward and asked if a poor traveller could have an early bit of food…

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Owen pushed back his plate contentedly. It was good to have a full stomach again as well as the prospect of a lively group of hobbits to play among. And having learned that since the groom was employed by the inn, that at this handfasting the musicians where all volunteers, being paid as it were, with ample food and drink free of charge, he planned to make good use of the arrangement though, of course, not take advantage of the situation. He smiled to see that Seamus had not yet been able to finish his plate, so wrapped up he was with the two young hobbits and their questions. And so excusing himself politely, he left his bag on the chair and went outside to help the Gil and some of his friends who had upon finishing their pints, put off breakfast until after the heavy work was done.

It was a bit awkward, carrying tables with the hobbits. But they made good speed, and time passed quickly as they joked and hummed comparing what tunes they knew in common. Surprisingly, there were many, though titles and words varied. And Owen quipped that though the hobbits were a good deal shorter than he, they held a more than a double portion of songs in their heads. “But Seamus and I are quick to pick up. Just don’t go encouraging me to sing unless it’s at the end of the day and you want to empty out the place!”

How about monkey? I suppose you'll say he can hold a tune better than you!” Tomlin laughed.

“Not in the least,” Owen answered. “But we are trying to teach him to earn his bread by good honest work.” He turned to Gil. “You suppose it’d be alright if Shimshin was allowed to take tips for his dancing? I doubt he would grasp such a noble concept as donating work, and he does enjoy all the nice shiny coins thrown his way.”

Gil winked, “No one said anything about not collecting tips, now did they! I think it be a fine thing for Shimshin to enjoy himself. I hope that we all enjoy ourselves, not least of all the happy couple.”

[piosenniel]

It is mid-morning in the Shire. The weather is cooperating and is sunny and warm.

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About the next few days of posting:

The party proper won’t start until mid-afternoon of this game-day in the Shire. Until then, here are some of the tasks that need to be worked on to get the Inn’s front yard ready for the party:

Tables hauled out of the Common Room and arranged about the grassy lawn – leaving a big enough space in front of the Inn verandah where people can dance.

Along with the tables should go the benches and chairs.

A small raised platform should be made to set just off the verandah where the band can stand to play.

The linens for the table need to be ironed (no scorching, or Cook will have your hide!) and then got out onto the cleaned tables.

There are flower arrangements in a large flatbed wagon that have been brought in from Hobbiton. They’ll need to be placed on the tables after they’ve been cleaned and clothed.

Strong backs are needed for hauling the kegs of ale out to an area by the table where the drinks will be. And of course the ale will need to be tasted in case it’s gone sour in the move from Inn to yard . . . Or so a Hobbit would think . . .

Volunteers will be needed to bring food and drink to those doing other tasks – make sandwiches in the kitchens and carry out trays with mugs and pitchers of ale or cider

During this all, there may, of course, be music as the conglomerate band learns to play together.

And once the work is done (I’m thinking that will be a couple of days Real Time), guests will of course want to freshen up and dress for the festivities. Then either I or Child of the 7th Age will do a post to open the party.

~*~

Please note:

You needn’t get an entire task accomplished in your post. Just get it started and let others join in.

[Oddwen]

Berulo woke with a start. What was that he had smelled? Sausage, eggs, and tea! He never got dressed that fast before in his life.

And soon he was seated at the table, and it was a good while before he even looked up. There were actually few tables left in the room, as a they were being taken outside. A few hobbit and one of the Big Folk kept tramping in an out singing. Ah yes, there was to be a party today.

One of the last tables was taken up entirely by two elves and their strange-looking stringéd instruments. Berulo had never seen elves before, and he stared at them much more than was polite before turning his attention back to his food.

[Encaitare]

The sunlight was slanting through the window, warm and welcoming -- and firmly aimed at Caity's eyes. She squinted at the offending light, mumbled something to herself about being awoken at the crack of dawn, and then remembered where she was. The events of the previous evening suddenly came back to her, and she hoped she had not slept too late. She threw the bedsheets off of her and hastened to the window. Fortunately, it did not seem too early, although she could see several people outdoors, carrying tables out onto the grass.

Ah, good. Now all I've got to do is get dressed, find this Gil person, and maybe get some breakfast in along the way, thought the young hobbit, hurrying to her now dry pack and withdrawing a package wrapped in oilcloth. Inside was her best dress, green and cream with pale lacing up the sides. She put on the dress, briefly checked her hair in the looking-glass, and left her room.

In the Common Room, a few people were still eating, but many of the tables had already been carried outside. Caity wondered how exactly she was supposed to find Gil. A look around the room, however, was enough to assure her that he was not present -- the hobbit lads there did not have a musician's look. Logic told her that he would be outside with the other young men, carrying the tables and preparing for the handfasting.

So outside she went, pleased to see that the morning sun had driven away the night's chill and damp. Birds were singing in the trees, and everyone seemed excited. Yet there were so many people! How to pick a stranger out of a crowd? She weaved her way through the hobbits and furniture, scanning those she passed.

She was about to ask someone if they knew who Gil was, but then she heard a hobbit's voice:

"Gil! Where should we put this one?" Two hobbits were carrying a large table; the question was answered by another, who was speaking with two tall Men.

"Right over there should do the trick, I think," the one who was presumably Gil responded, pointing to a clear patch of grass.

Feeling rather triumphant, Caity made her way over to the hobbit lad. "Master Gil?" she asked.

"Yes, and a good morning to you, miss!"

"Thank you," she responded, glad to see him offer a friendly smile, and offering a short but polite curtsey. "My name is Caity -- well, Caterine Brandybuck."

"A pleasure to meet you, Caity. Do let me introduce you to Seamus and Owen; they've come to offer their musical services to us this afternoon."

Caity gave them a curtsey as well, although a small feeling of dread was creeping up in her stomach. She knew it was a silly thing to get worked up over, but oh! how badly she wanted to play.

Suddenly a small dark figure jumped out of nowhere and landed on her shoulder. She yelped in surprise, raising her hand to her shoulder only to have a little wiry creature scamper down onto her hand and down her arm. Seamus, Owen, and Gil all laughed, and Caity joined them as soon as she realized that the animal was rather cute, really.

"Don't mind Shimshin; he won't hurt you. Just a harmless little monkey, although he is a formidable dancer," Seamus said with a smile, taking the monkey from Caity's arm to rest upon his own shoulder.

"So what brings you to the Dragon?" Gil said, still chuckling a little at Shimshin's antics. "I trust you've heard about the handfasting?"

"Yes, and I also heard you needed someone to play flute or pennywhistle; I came from Buckland late last night to see if the position had yet been filled." She looked into Gil's eyes, hoping he wouldn't tell her that these Men were all they needed, thank you very much. "Has it?"

[Nimrodel_9]

Keleth woke with a start from a nightmare. He was sweating and his tunic was twisted around his neck. He could not remember the dream, but it had been disturbing.

Yawning he sat up. The welcoming smell of sausage and eggs floated into his room. He bent down and pulled his boots on. As he was folding the blankets on his bed, he noticed his knife. He picked it up and ran his hand along it. It was a beautiful hunting knife given to him by his friend, Damon. Carefully he wrapped it in a piece of cloth and slid it back into his pack.

Keleth went to the Common Room for breakfast. He sat down at a table and waited for Tolly, or someone to join him.

[THE Ka]

After eating, Rasputina had filled her stomach and gained a new friend, it seemed. They departed from the table with a slight bow and friendly goodbye. As she rose, Rasputina noticed that more and even more people of every race communed into the room, laughing and sharing thought and food. It had been so long since she had been around so many different people, little of her kin still lived in Eryn Vorn, many had left for the sea many years beyond reaconing. She picked up her most valued posession, and walked towards the door.

On her way, she collided slightly with a man. He was not much in height, she dwarfed him by an inch, but much more of strength and build, that she seemed to bend and buckle like an old tower. With him were more similar fellows who gave no notion to her existance. Instead of an expected forgiving plea, he gruffed and muttered something about 'aloof elves'. Rasputina had not encountered many other races in her life but, had learned more than five lifetimes worth of advice on them... They were not to be taken so easily of heart. Though she had experienced the tales many times, she wished to form her own experiences than old judgements. Instead of retorting back at him, she gave a nieve smile and carried on outside. She may not have been so mean to him but, deep down she was supicious of their doings. Something negative floated about them, in cloud of anger.

It felt so much better to be outside, with the land and sky, newly bathed in rain. She scanned the hills to see a whole new world than from the night before. The hills flowed like a green sea, scattered with little doors that bekoned to their depts. She also noticed a gathering taking place atop a closer hill, upon closer inspection it was to be the sight of the handfasting. She then saw what she had come for - a stage or performing platform, already essembled with musicians of every background. Her chest filled with sudden happiness. She scaled up a path towards the makings of the event with a new sense of courage... Maybe it wouldn't be so hard after all, these people seemed only to give and recieve happiness and tokens of friendship.

Upon arriving, others noticed her little but, once she asked if she could give help, many offers were made. She then began and set her posession next to the stage were other musical instruments were gathered. Some of those practicing noticed and gave looks of curiosity as to what it was. Before questions could be asked, she was helping lift 'mighty tables' that were to her surprise, fairly light. Oddly, it made her feel 'accepted' among these people and she soon was in conversation with one - a hobbit lad not much of age but, seemed to be interested in her home. She was glad to explain the happenings and noticable features of her wood. When she described that it was 'dark' he gave her a look of disapointment, and inquired that he had always been told that elves lived in 'golden woods', of pure light and majesty. She felt her heart sink, she knew what he was describing, a wood she had only seen once in her life before her kin fled from the servants of dark, lothlorien was but as much a reality to her as her new friend. She then explained her people's situation and how they were on their way to such a forest when, they were forced to hide from those who wished harm. He stared at her for awhile then gave an apaligetic 'I see' and went back to helping lay the table in the right order.

She then ocuppied herself with other simple tasks, such as helping with decor arrangements and moving more larger objects. As soon as a feeling of happiness settled in, it moved out of her heart as quick as it came. She kept to herself, and did not utter a sentence except for simple 'yes'es and 'no's. Soon, she was not needed for anything yet and was excused to go about her other businesses. For a moment, she just stood there wondering what to do, then if by some spontaneous will she walked off towards a nearby orchard and sat against a tree. She stared at the hills off in the distance and slowly dozed off. Soon, she was at her favorite place upon arda, the cliff near her home. The sea seemed to splash in her face and beckon her out. She wished to but, something held her back - but she knew not what it was. It won over the sea's calling and she woke to find herself curled up at the tree's roots. Getting up, and cleaning herself off, she walked towards the stage. She unpacted the instrument and gathered her playing stick. Walking up the stairs, she met other musicians. At first ahe was scared then, one beckoned for her to come and join them. Finding a chair she settled herself to play.

" Beautiful looking - um... What might it be?" asked a curious player.

"It's my families', my father thought up and designed it and my mother crafted it. It is called a Cello. It's like a large fiddle."

" It sounds as good as it looks, might we hear it?"

" Yes, but, I hope I still am able to play with full confidence on it."

Gliding the wand across the surface of the strings, the cello hummed and sang with the air. Rasputina finally felt almost at home.

[Envinyatar]

‘Shall we wake him?’ Sakal said, sitting on the edge of the bed. His brother, Azar, rocked back in the wooden chair, his feet resting on the bed near the pillow on which the still sleeping man’s head rested. ‘He’ll be up soon enough,’ Azar chuckled, wriggling his wrinkled socks quite near Derufin’s nose.

‘What died?’ rasped Derufin, cut off in mid-snore by a whiff of some foul stench. He sat up slowly, pulling his rumpled shirt into some semblance of order. Running his hands over his stubbly chin, he yawned, making a face at the taste in his mouth. Blurry memories of last night surfaced . . . Sakal, Azar, and he in his room at the back of the stable. There had been a small keg . . . or had it been two of some potent, fiery southern spirits . . . and toasts to friends old, friends new, friends gone, and friends yet to be. Merry had been wise enough to know when he’d had enough and had gone off to his own room in the stable. But the other three had gone on drinking and telling stories.

And now it was day . . . the sun streaming in through the thin curtains made Derufin’s head ache with its brightness. He shifted in the bed and laid his head back on the pillow. ‘Just a few more hours . . .’ he muttered balling the pillow up comfortably at the back of his head.

The cold water hitting his face brought him upright once again. He shook his head looking for whoever had dumped the water on him. Sakal stood laughing, the pitcher from the night stand now empty in his hand. ‘Get up!’ said Azar, hauling him up by the arm. ‘Get up, my almost brother.’ Derufin stood, swaying a little on his feet, the realization suddenly dawning that this was his and Zimzi’s day. ‘A little help, if you please,’ he said tucking his shirt hastily into his breeches. ‘Just get me to the kitchen and get some food and drink in me. I’ll be fine . . . I think . . .’

‘Food, maybe,’ said Sakal, holding Derufin up on one side as his brother took the other. ‘And maybe a cup or two of strong tea . . . but no “drink” drink.’ Azar nodded, agreeing with his brother; then, leaned in close to Derufin, whispering. ‘But once the knot is tied, there’ll be ale all around, brother mine . . .’

[Primrose Bolger]

‘Oh, my! Mister Derufin’s hurt!’ Ginger motioned frantically for Cook to hurry over to the opened back door of the kitchen. She’d just stepped out onto the top step to shake out the duster, when she saw the poor man propped up between Mistress Zimzi’s brothers. He stumbled along, and even from this distance looked a bit haggard to the Hobbit.

Cook hurried to where Ginger stood, drying her hands on her apron as she came. ‘See,’ said Ginger, pointing to the trio as they approached. ‘Oh, what will we tell poor Zimzi. And the party, there’ll be no reason for it now, with him hurt so and unable to be there for the handfasting.’ She’d gotten herself worked into a teary state, sniffling a bit as she wiped her eyes on her own apron. The low, rumbling of Cook’s chuckle broke her from her despondent state.

Hands on hips, and now laughing outright at the sight nearing her door, Cook shook her head. ‘Make up a pot of tea, girl,’ she ordered in a no nonsense tone. ‘And lace it with honey . . . plenty of honey. Fetch me my herb box from my room, too. Now hurry!’ Vinca stepped out to help the brothers get Derufin up the two short steps and to a chair at the kitchen table. He sat slumped over the table’s top, elbows resting on it, head in hands. A brief whispered conference between Cook and the brothers ensued.

Ginger walked the mug of tea carefully over to where Derufin sat. She spooned three generous dollops of honey and stirred the thick mixture. The spoon clinked against the side of the mug, and Derufin looked up at her blearily, putting his hands firmly over his ears. Cook had fetched some of the herbs from her medicine box and crumbled them into the sweet liquid. Brows raised, she tapped Derufin on the shoulder, telling him in a quiet, firm voice to ‘Drink up!’

‘Is he going to live?’ Ginger asked, crowding in close to Cook. The man looked quite green about his features and beneath the green tinge was a definite, dull and deathly pallor.

[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.

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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 (played by Envinyatar)

Meriadoc - Stablemaster

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Ongoing characters from outside the Inn:

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

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Please Note:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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About Elves in Shire RPG's:

Please use this description from Tolkien when crafting an Elf:

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

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

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