Adab Gelir II (Pub) - Summer!

[Moriel]

They saw a valley far below. They could hear the voice of hurrying water in a rocky bed at the bottom; the scent of trees was in the air; and there was a light on the valley-side across the water… The trees changed to beech and oak, and there was a comfortable feeling in the twilight. The last green had almost faded out of the grass, when they came at length to an open glade not far above the banks of the stream. “Hmmm! It smells like elves!” though Bilbo, and he looked up at the stars. They were burning bright and blue. Just then there came a burst of song like laughter in the trees:

O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The river is flowing!
O! tra-la-la-lally
Here down in the valley!

O! What are you seeking,
And where are you making?
The faggots are reeking,
The bannocks are baking!
O! Tril-lil-lil-lolly
The valley is jolly,
Ha! Ha!

O! Will you be staying,
Or will you be flying?
Your ponies are straying!
The daylight is dying!

To fly would be folly,
To stay would be jolly
And listen and hark
Til the end of the dark
To our tune
Ha! Ha!

So they laughed and sang in the trees; and pretty fair nonsense, I daresay you think it. Not that they would care; they would only laugh all the more if you told them so. They were elves of course…. Then off they went into another song as ridiculous as the one I have written down in full. At last one, a tall young fellow, came out from the trees and bowed to Gandalf and Thorin. “Welcome to the valley!” he said.

The Hobbit, A Short Rest


In the vale of Rivendell, where the Last Homely House lies safely nestled, dwell not only its noble inhabitants but the many common residents of the valley, a curious and carefree people. They dance, sing and laugh amongst the trees and by the river, coming together from their secret dwellings to make merry from dusk ‘til dawn. While bands of elves no doubt roam the vale and do their merry-making in the open air, others prefer to gather in the comfortable arms of Adab Gelir, the House of Merriment. This rustic tavern sits in the embrace of an enormous beech tree, built up beneath the hanging boughs to wrap halfway around the tree, so that the trunk itself forms the back wall. The thatch-roofed building thrusts out from the tree in a broad semicircle, with plenty of room inside the hidden pub for the inhabitants of the valley to crowd in of an evening.

Within the tavern itself, the ceilings are low and broad-beamed, making the interior seems somewhat smaller than it is, but cozy and warm. In the center of the long, curved room, opposite the door, is the bar. It is a carved structure of beech with a long flat surface that extends just to where the room begins to curve, with plenty of stools for those who wish to sit at the bar. For those who prefer a different setting, there are chairs and tables scattered about the length of the tavern’s rush-strewn floor. None of them are fixed in place, so that patrons of the Adab Gelir can rearrange them as their mood suits, often changing configuration several times in one night. At each end of the semicircular tavern is a roaring fireplace, where groups can gather for quiet conversation or bards may take up a position of prominence.

Behind the bar is Alagon (played by Moriel), the jovial Sinda who runs the tavern. He is a not overtall, a middle-sized ellon with a solid frame, wild reddish hair, a ruddy complexion and bright blue eyes. He is always cheerful and ready with as joke or a song, keeping the Adab Gelir open to all hours for the inhabitants of the vale. All are treated equally by Alagon, from the youngest child to Lord Elrond himself. Always close by is his pet robin, Gliri.


Drinks
Dorwinion Red Wine – Fine imported red, the same variety that the Elvenking favors for his table. Quite strong!
Greenwood Burgundy – A dark red wine from Mirkwood, rich and bold.
Northern White Wine – Delicate white, from a small vineyard at the northernmost edge of the valley.
Blackberry Wine – Created by Alagon himself, this wine made from plump blackberries is extremely strong and sold only in very small glasses, as it is deceptively sweet and fruity.
Mead – Also called honey wine, a powerful drink made by Alagon from sweet clover honey. Available plain, or in varieties flavored by raspberry and rosehips.
Dry Stout – An almost black beer, characterized by a toast or coffee-like taste.
Old Ale – A dark malty beer, fairly bitter
Brown Ale – Dark amber beer, sweet and smooth, with a hint of chocolate.
Tea – Black, Mint, Ginger or Cinnamon.


Food
Bannocks – Flat, dense oatmeal cakes, made with salt and sugar. Very good plain or dipped in tea or honey.
Fruit – A dish of fresh fruit, sliced or chopped, varieties dependent on the season. Also available dribbled with honey!
Bread – Baked fresh, light and crusty or thick and solid. Served with butter or/and fruit preserves.
Stew – Rich, filling venison stew with barley and good root vegetables
Fish – Catch of the day from the Bruinen, grilled and flaky.
Potted Hare – Rabbit stewed in red wine, shredded, mixed with lemon and thyme, then packed into a terrine and covered with broth and butter and left to cool until the mixture has saturated.
Fruitcake – Not your grandma’s Yuletide brick, this cake is thick, stodgy and filled with plums.
Pie – Apple, Cherry, Blueberry


Rules
1. Please avoid #008040, as that is the publician (Alagon) color
2. Posts 200+ characters (approx. 2 full lines of text)
3. Publican reserves godmoding rights as needed
4. Have fun!


If you are interested in working at the Adab Gelir as a baker, cook, server, assistant bartender, or other position you might have an idea for, feel free to approach Alagon IC! Or talk to Moriel in the Imladris OOC/on discord.

***

Summer has come to Imladris, hot and high, and all the windows of Adab Gelir are thrown open to allow streams of sunshine and fresh breezes into the tavern! The fireplaces lies empty and clean, and instead before them stand tubs of icy lemonade beside cups and ladles, free for all to cool themselves with. All are welcome in Adab Gelir, the House of Merriment!

[Moriel]

Alagon wiped the sweat from his brow with a cloth, running it under his fiery hair to wipe the back of his neck as well as he strode through the door of Adab Gelir and back to long, curving bar. The day was hot and his work had been hotter, finishing the repairs to his storehouse. A large quantity of fine wine had gone missing recently, and the thief had been particularly careless, almost as if a bear had torn the place up! But that couldn't be, could it? Regardless, the repairs were complete now, and just in time for today's special opening of Gelir. Summer had really come to imladris now, and Alagon had decided to celebrate by giving his establishment an extra thorough cleaning, and offering cool refreshments to all who came by that day! The windows and doors all stood wide open to allow the air to flow through, and he had it on the highest authority (that is, his nephew's) that the lemonade he had prepared was the perfect balance of sharp and sweet. As Alagon rounded the bar, a chirping announced Gliri's arrival. Smiling, the ruddy-cheeked Sinda lifted a hand and the robin alighted upon his finger."Well, what do you think? Are we ready?" Gliri's song was affirmative, and Alagon laughed. "I appreciate your confidence!" He transferred the bird to his shoulder and, taking up a clean cloth, gave the surface of the bar a final wipe. It was superfluous, given the deep cleaning he had already performed, but the publican never felt right unless he did it before opening. He tucked the cloth into his pocket, and wandered back across the room, more slowly now, his heat and heart rate both reduced. Stepping out the front door, Alagon looked up at the mural he had painted above the door: a rainbow, a bit wavy due to the texture of the wood beneath, but as he saw it it gave it character! And it was not at all unlike the real one he had seen that morning which had inspired the mural, glistening and shifting in the water droplets that refracted the light and gave it form. No doubt the wind and rain would weather this one away before long, but he would enjoy it while it lasted. "Not bad, eh?" Gliri chirped skeptically, and Alagon snorted. "I'd like to see you do better, mister fussy-feathers!" he chided, as they made their way back inside, to await the day's first guest.

[Baphởmet]

Númenyraumion awoke with the warm sun on his face. He blinked wearily, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared up at the sun with a bright, somewhat foppish grin. He inhaled the bright smells of summer. This was the reason he loved sleeping under the stars with naught but the earth beneath him. It was not always this pleasant, oft times it was wet, cold, or uncomfortable, but then there were days like this one. Gellam and Tavari both seemed to think it the strangest thing that he preferred to sleep outside rather than in a simple bed, one of a hundred within a five-minute walk from his current location under a sycamore tree. In truth, he almost never considered sleeping in a bed anymore. If any of the old stories his mother had told him had been true about her early life, they all slept under the stars. It was a way to connect to her still, after all these years, looking up at the same stars she saw when she first awoke. Also, after doing it for the better part of three thousand years he was just used to it.

The nimir watched the sun climb in the sky, growing warmer and warmer. Insects and birds came to life, flittering about his face, just out of his periphery. A few rabbits hopped up beside him, looked expectantly at him, and when he revealed he had no food for them, hopped off into the underbrush. A light morning shower, appearing in a flash then disappearing just as quickly. He saw the most beautiful rainbow appear in the sky, a hundred colors all wrapped up and swirling together. It was beautiful. He looked back to the sun, shielding his eyes. “Thank you for that,” he mumbled. He still said that every time he saw a rainbow. He had been doing so for more than three thousand years. He missed Anárion and felt his absence just as keenly and painfully as he had when he lost him. Yet, when he saw a rainbow he knew, he knew it was a gift from the man he’d loved with all his heart. It was one of the things that kept him moving.

His stomach growled and complained. That was another thing that kept him moving. He stood up and immediately felt his spine decompress and pop in at least five spots. He let out a very satisfied, feline purr. His stomach growled again, an insistent, petulant sound. “Alright, alright.” He laughed. He was rather hungry. Númenyraumion had done nothing, but he felt as famished as though he’d build a shed. He wiped his brow, he was a sweaty as if he’d done the same. It only took a moment for him to decide where he was going to break his fast. Even if he were thirty leagues away, there was really only one answer. Adeb Gelir! His mouth immediately began to water at the thought of a glass of Old Dorwinion and some blackberry pie. Some friendly conversation was in order too. It had been days since he’d talked to anyone. He had such stories to tell! As he began his journey, fairly skipping like a young lad about to meet his lover in a grove of hemlock. It was then he saw another rainbow. It was odd, the colors were different, but no less lovely. Three beams of color and a shadow underneath, a beam of purest, bright white, one almost of grey, and one of purple. He’d never seen a rainbow like that before. Still, instinctively he knew it was one. He tipped his head to the rainbow and, as he passed, it melted away into the light. Out of the shimmering remnants another rainbow formed. This one had five stripes of color, one the ends were a sweet baby blow, next to them were pink ribbons of light and finally that same bright white light in the center. “You’re spoiling me today, my Sun.” he said as he looked up, transfixed by the display.

Soon though, his stomach growled again and reminded him what he was doing. “Right,” he said with a laugh, “I’m hungry.”

He made it to the pub’s door and swung it open with a dramatic, overly flamboyant flourish. “Alagon! It has been a moment. How are you?” he entered and instinctively looked up to see the rainbow painted on the door. “You know, that’s the fourth rainbow I’ve seen this morning. Lovely things, rainbows. They’re wonderful signs of love and memory. They always make me smile. Say, do you have some Old Dorwinion on tap? And maybe some blackberry pie?”

[Moriel]

"Ah, welcome back!" Alagon cried in greeting as Númenyraumion burst through the door, a far cry from the melancholy soul he had been on his first coming to Gelir. Since then he had presented a lively face at each occasion, and Alagon enjoyed his company- and his willingness to go toe to toe with Gellam when it came to song, drinks, and hijinks. "Quite so, I saw an absolutely glorious one this morning that inspired that," he nodded toward the door, "They seem to be everywhere lately! Something to do with the season, perhaps? In any case, a blessing on all who see them!" The publican turned, catching up a pewter goblet, to one of the large wine-barrels behind the bar. Twisting the spigot, he dispensed a generous measure of Dorwinion red wine into the vessel. Facing Númenyraumion again, he placed the goblet on the bar before him with a smile. "Early bird gets the full glass! As for the pie, you're in luck, I have exactly one blackberry pie left in the larder." The publican retrieved the pie in question from a cool cabinet below the bar, and laid it along with a plate on the beechen surface. He took up a pie knife and hovered it over the latticework crust. "Just how hungry are you? Better get it while the getting's good- that is, before Gellam shows up."

[Baphởmet]

“Without a doubt!” Númenyraumion beamed to Alagon’s comment about the rainbows. “You know, I once met a little girl that thought that was were butterfly came from. She was convinced that all the colors of the rainbow and all the variations in the butterflies must be connected. She made such a persuasive argument that I am now a believer in the same theory. And with all the different colors of rainbow I’ve seen today, I can imagine we’ll be seeing some wild butterflies before the day is through! ‘Tis the season for rainbows. I bet we’ll be seeing them so much in the next month our eyes will go cross!” The nimir, with a dramatic flourish, a foppish grin, and a merry laugh, sat down on the seat in front of the bar and stretched his legs out underneath. The trip had not been long, but every footstep counts as double when you’re walking hungry. He accepted the goblet of Old Dorwinion and looked deep into its purple depths. He had been coming here for some time now (not as much as he’d like) and each time he dueled the strong drink. He was still what a human would call a lightweight (not much call for spirits when wandering the wilds all alone after all) but he believed he was getting more and more accustomed to the drink. “We meet again, shall we have another go? En garde!” he smirked at the goblet and drained half of it in a single draught. The wine went straight to his head. Numey, for all his wisdom about folklore, old wives’ tales, and urban legends, had forgotten the first rule of drinking: don’t do it on an empty stomach. He swayed back and forth for a moment, his balance and equilibrium suddenly trying to turn themselves inside out. Grinning the whole time, he grabbed the edge of the bar to steady himself. When the feeling of weightlessness passed, he looked back at the publican holding a knife above the most beautiful blackberry pie he’d ever seen. “One left, eh? What do you say we split it before Gellam gets here?”

[Moriel]

Alagon chuckled, watching Númenyraumion's joust with the wine- he was quite what one might call a lightweight, though his tolerance seemed to be improving a bit. Still, it was clear he had made the novice's mistake of not fortifying prior to drink, and the publican sank his knife decisively into the pie. "A capital idea! Can't let that rascal be thieving it all for himself, can we?" Alagon carved a large wedge from the pie, just about a quarter of the whole, and dropped it onto the plate. This he pushed to his guest with a nod. "Get round that, then we'll finish it off!" He carved a similar wedge for himself and with practiced ease took it in one hand without benefit of plate or fork, and began to eat as if it were a pastie. Lounging against the bar, Alagon with his free hand reached down to fill a tankard with water from a barrel below the bar, turning its spigot with forefinger and thumb. It was cold, clear and sharp with a hint of lemon; not lemonade like that which he had prepared for the evening, but the refreshing crispness of fresh lemon slices dropped in the barrel with the ice. He took a long pull from the tankard and another bite of the pie, reflecting that next time he might put a bit more lemon zest into the pie, they went so well together. "What brings you in this time? Apart from my pie and wine, of course. Just passing through, or have we convinced you of the valley's charms? I hear you've acquitted yourself well with the guard."

[Marceline]

Erniel

Round and round and round the little elf went, rolling merrily down the hillside. The grass was long, the trees in full green bloom, and the sun shone warmly from a cloudless sky. It was the perfect sort of day, and Erniel found it especially momentous because it was his first chance to explore the Valley of Rivendell. A coastal elf of Lindon, he had never made the journey this far east - until now. He had arrived the previous night and was immediately provided with every creature comfort he could imagine. “How nice!” he’d piped each time the porter had made mention of yet another amenity. There had been a fair few “Wow!”s and “Oh my!”s, too. On his way to break his fast this morning, he’d noticed a merrily trickling stream and followed it to this hill, where he found that the slope was just right for a good roll.

Once he had reached an appropriate level of dizziness (the silly kind, not the sick kind), he flopped breathless amid the flowers at the foot of the hill. As his breathing slowed, he found he was more able to savor the fragrant air. The whole place smelled simply wonderful. He sat up and found he had stumbled upon a sea of flowers flourishing in this hidden place: red and green zinnias, orange poppies, yellow pansies, forget-me-nots of the brightest sky blue, and violets - so many, many violets. Their scent filled his heart to bursting with wonder and joy.

“Yes, this is a lovely place!” he said aloud. “Yes, yes indeed.” He got to his feet (swaying only slightly with residual dizziness) and brushed the grass from his shirt and trousers. Unbeknownst to him, several twigs and blades of grass stuck out at odd angles from his bright white hair.

Given that Erniel was a happy-go-lucky sort of fellow, this would not have bothered him even if he’d known. As it was, he proceeded to wander aimlessly about, examining a tree here or a rock there, stopping regularly to sniff at the air and marvel at how lovely summer smelled. In all his many years alive on this green earth, he had never failed to appreciate how summer burst with life and love.

Before long, he found he had a thirst. And while he did not regret rolling down the hill on an empty stomach, he did find he was ready for something to eat, too. Exploring and rolling down hills was hungry work! As if he’d wished it into existence, he soon came upon a massive tree wrapped with what appeared to be a building. “How quaint!” he thought. He strode into the tree’s shade and felt the cool air on his skin. He hadn’t realized how warm he’d become, and it was a welcome change. Above the door, he espied a rainbow in all the shades he’d seen in the field of flowers.

“It must be a sign! And, well, a sign,” he remarked. He peered into an open window and, seeing two elves (Alagon and Númenyraumion) gathered round a pie, decided to investigate. He stepped in through the open door and smelled many more wonderful smells. The air inside was even cooler than the shade he stood in.

“Very sorry to intrude,” he began, “but is this the sort of place where I can get something to eat and drink?”

[Nessa Saelind]

Seregloth and Dúathel

Rosy-fingered dawn gently departed, her soft pastel-coloured raiments fading into the brightness of the sun’s shimmering golden rays. The Sun Maiden burned fiercely and brightly, for the morning air was already hot, a sure sign that a sweltering summer day would follow. Soft and gentle Zephyr, his sweet breath caressing the air, stirred the hot air and brought some respite from the heat. Two travellers, who appeared to be in no hurry to reach their destination, slowly rode their horses through the cloven-dell. A pack mule carrying oddly-shaped baggage trotted lazily behind them, completing A Portrait of the Minstrels as “Young” Elves.

Despite the light material and the loose cut of her garments, a blue-grey linen tunic and bistre coloured trousers, Seregloth was glad for the light touches of the western wind. Her long hair was gathered up in a messy bun, leaving her long neck bare and showing the sextant tattoo on the left side of her neck. A few stray onyx locks fell out of her messy hairdo, fanning her face and sticking to her neck. She did not bother tucking the stray strands of hair behind her ears, they would just as swiftly return to where they previously were. In contrast, Dúathel chose to ride shirtless and leave his long hair unbound. His hair, as dark as the starless night, swayed gently on the breeze, dancing around his shoulders, its gentle ticklish touches on his neck… It did not bother him the slightest. He rode with eyes closed, head turned to the wind and hummed contently. Seregloth tilted her head toward him, her malachite green eyes alight with amusement, as she listened to the tune he was humming. Soon the trobairitz ethereal voice filled the air of the cloven-dell, joining verse with the troubadour’s melody.

Bel m’es q’ieu chant e coindei
pois l’aur’es dous’e·l temps gais,
e per vergiers e per plais
aug lo retint e·l gabei
que fant l’auzeillet menut
entrel vert e·l blanc e·l vaire;
adoncs se deuri’atraire
cel qe vol c’amors l’ajut
vas chaptenenssa de drut.

Eu non sui drutz mas dompnei,
ni non tem pena ni fais,
ni·m rancur leu ni m’irais,
ni per orguoill no m’esfrei;
pero temenssa·m fai mut,
c’a la bella de bon aire
non aus mostrar ni retraire
mon cor qu’ill tenc rescondut,
pois aic son pretz conogut.*

Seregloth sang the old canso as a greeting to the deep ravine, the Loudwater running through it, the pine trees on the top of the valley, to the beeches and oaks at its bottom. To the meadow filled with flowers, crimson poppies, gentle camomile, bright-blue cornflowers, yarrow and tansy… She sang it in greeting to the nature surrounding her and to the inhabitants living here. Chansons were the way ashiks, bards, minstrels and troubadours announced their arrival and presence, to show they are passing through…

Halfway through the old canso Dúathel smiled mischievously and as he opened his eyes he changed the tune, humming a new melody. She paused in her singing, listening to the tune her friend hummed and upon recognition she laughed gayly.

“I will not be singing Us fotaires** this early, Dúath!” she exclaimed after she caught her breath.
“Implying that you will be singing it later,” he teased his companion.
“Perhaps,” she replied with an enigmatic smile. “If I am hydrated enough.”
Her remark drew a bark of boisterous laughter out of him and she could not help but to join in.
“Lucky for me then that this road leads to the tavern,” he said mirthfully. “Where I shall make sure you are well hydrated. With beers.”

She laughed and they continued their unhurried ride through the vale, occasionally jesting, or testing each other’s memory by humming a tune and singing a verse in response. After a while, the minstrels, their horses and the stoic long-suffering pack-mule arrived in front of a rustic, thatch-roofed building. As they dismounted their keen ears heard other elven voices coming from the inside of the pub. It helped that the doors and windows were opened to let in the summer breeze. Making sure their horses were settled they turned their attention to the pack-mule, taking their baggage from the animal that was looking forward to not ferrying other people’s belongings around Arda. For a time at least. One takes what one can get.

Slinging her pack on her shoulders Seregloth took the carefully wrapped and packed harp from the mule, watching Dúathel do the same with his pack and the saz, the long-necked lute, his current instrument of choice.

“Shirt?” she asked gesturing towards the entrance of the Gelir.
“I think I’ll be fine,” he replied with a smirk and she shrugged her shoulders.

Dúathel walking shirtless into an establishment was certainly not the most scandalous thing the ellon did in his long life. Besides, Seregloth mused as they reached the door hot on the heels of a cheerful fellow (Erniel), it would be interesting to see how the inhabitants of the valley would react to outsiders. Even if the outsiders were very distant elven kin. The freshly painted mural of a rainbow above the door boded well.

“Greetings,” Dúathel spoke inclining his head to the elf he assumed to be the publican (Alagon) and the other patrons (Númenyraumion and Erniel). “Might we,” he said gesturing to Seregloth. “Trouble you for some refreshments? Some bread and stew, and a tankard of your finest ale for my delightful friend. She keeps hinting she will amuse me with a bawdy song if I keep her hydrated.”

* Bel m'es q'ieu chant e coinde is a canso by Raimon de Miraval.
** Us fotaires is a very bawdy canso by Tribolet. You click at your own risk

[Baphởmet]

Having a companion (friends were still a concept Númenyraumion was unsure of, having been a traveling hermit for so much of his life) like Alagon had benefits. Many benefits. Generous (to say the least) portions of blackberry pie was among the best benefits. The nimir was not famished in the strictest of definitions, except for the definitions of a six-year-old Hobbit with a sweet tooth, but as soon as the pie was placed in front of him he realized he was starving, practically naught but skin and bones. To his credit, Numey did not devour the entire quarter in a single bite. As he took a massive bite though, he realized that if Gellam were here, nothing would have stopped him from shoving the entire thing in is face, enough to give him a deep purple smile. That image made him smile. The berries tasted sweeter here in Gelir. They were cooler and crisper and felt more inviting. Clearly there was something Alagon was doing do his berries. Numey had been eating wild blackberries for three thousand years, one could say he had developed quite a taste for them. “Mmmmmmmm, Alagon this pie is to die for.” He finished chewing the bite he’d taken and continued. “Truly, wars could be fought over this pie! You must tell me though, what do you do to your blackberries? I swear there’s more than a bit of magic involved in their upbringing.” He gave the publican a quick faux suspicious looking then broke into a wide smile and shoveled more of the delicious pie into his mouth.

He was just finishing his quarter when newcomers began to arrive. The first to arrive was an elf that looked like he might be the most positive elf ever born (Erniel) with a bright pearlescent smile and rainbows in his eyes. He was quickly followed by a pair of elves (Seregloth and Dúathel) requesting refreshment and said something about a bawdy song or two. Númenyraumion raised his goblet. “Hail and well met! If it’s refreshments you require, then you have come to the right place.” He then put the goblet to his lips and drained the rest of the Old Dorwinion. The second draught did not hit quick as hard as the first (blackberries are an excellent shield against the wiles of strong wine) but he could still feel his head swimming a bit. The day was young though! He had all day to attempt to down an entire bottle of the stuff. “I think…” he turned back to Alagon, swirling back in his seat and going a little too far, “that you have the right of it,” he pointed to the water. “Would it be too much trouble if I had a glass of water as well?” he leaned in with a somewhat soused grin on his face. “I think if you give out some water we can get some bawdy songs going. I’m sure that will draw Gellam out from wherever he’s hiding.”

He turned again, giving the publican a slightly drunken but friendly wink, and stood from his seat. The floor felt a little shaky but that was more than likely just his legs. “Greetings travelers! My name is Númenyraumion. I am, well I am already a full goblet ahead of you but,” he puffed his chest out and grinned mischievously, “but, if you don’t mind. I will contribute to your offer of slightly risqué songs: for every one you give, I will give one in return!” Behind his mismatched eyes, his mind began to race through the massive mental archive of songs he’d heard, written, or played. Surely there would be more than enough to contribute today. He smiled and wiped his chin of the stray bit of blackberry juice that was trying to escape.

[Moriel]

“No, no!” Alagon protested, waving his own slice of pie, “No wars! I can always make more and keep the peace!” He pushed the last (large) mouthful into his mouth and chewed with relish. There was a twinkle in his eye as Númenyraumion posited that there mus be magic involved in the pie, and he swallowed his bite. “Well now, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? Can’t be letting anyone copy my pie- or my wine!” He cut the remaining half of the pie into quarters, just as another figure entered Gelir, this one unfamiliar (Erniel). The publican was struck at once by the air of cheer that seemed to surround the elloon, and waved him over to the bar. “It certainly is, come and have a seat! Would you care for some blackberry pie? We were disposing of it before my pastry-thieving nephew arrives, but I’m certain we can spare a slice for a new friend.” Alagon poised his knife over the second quarter of the pie he had intended to eat, but before he could make his cut, the was darkened again to admit a pair of elves. The ellon (Dúathel) was shirtless and there was a brazen tilt to his smile, while the elleth (Seregloth), dressed slightly more conservatively, seemed to be deeply amused about something or other. “Welcome, welcome!” Alagon cried, “Singers, eh? You’ve come to the right place. A good bawdy song can often be heard here of an evening. We’d better keep your friend well hydrated!” Alagon laid down his knife and turned to fill a tankard of ale, depositing it before the elleth, and then collected two bowls of stew from the pot keeping warm at his hearth behind the bar, and two small loaves of crusty bread. These he set before the pair, before taking in all three newcomers together. “Well now! I am Alagon, publican and vintner of Adab Gelir. Who might you all be, and what brings you to this neck of the valley?”

[Marceline]

Erniel

“Hello!” Erniel chirped in all directions, both in response to the warm greetings from the two (Alagon and Númenyraumion) gathered around the pie and as he noted the pair (Dúathel and Seregloth) who had entered in his wake. “How do you do!” He smiled his most winning smile and, in a few quick strides, brought himself to the bar. He hopped lightly into a seat and inhaled deeply. The scent of the baked blackberries and the flaky crust made his mouth water. Eyes wide, he nodded his enthusiasm for the publican’s suggestion that he partake of that heavenly pie.

“I would be most grateful for a morsel!” he replied. He leaned over to peer into Númenyraumion’s glass and asked, “And might I have a glass of whatever this fine fellow has to drink? But no water just yet! I refreshed myself not long ago from a babbling stream, you see, and I now find myself in need of something rather stronger.”

At the word “song” from one of the elves who’d entered just after him, Erniel brightened noticeably (which was saying something, given how cheery he was by default). “Oh! A song!” he gushed. “My mother was the most wonderful singer - she could turn any tune into a jolly song about me.” He laughed at the fond memories which had come surging forward. “I should love to hear the two of you play!” Realizing how he’d burst in, he blushed, then responded to Alagon’s query about his name and how he’d gotten here. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “my name is Erniel! I am of Lindon, and I am not sure how I happened upon this particular establishment. But I am here in the valley as a guest, simply for the purpose of exploring!” He grinned and sniffed at the pie once more.

[Baphởmet]

He felt like he was back on Anadûnê as he ate the pie. There was something in the air that brought him back to his childhood. Maybe it was the way the sun was streaking through the windows, the way the motes of dust danced, the streaks of rainbow light that spilled across the floor of the pub, maybe it was the way the air felt, warm but still with the morning dew clinging to it. Maybe it was the company, the troupe of jovial visitors. He remembered time after time when his mother entertained guests both noble and otherwise. He had snuck down more than once to peak on their conversations. After a sneak well achieved, he would reward himself by raiding the kitchen of meat pies and fruit juice. He would then go back to his room, all whilst being a sneaky youngster, and try to recount all the things he’d heard to his stuffed dragon (his mother had been surprisingly happy to oblige her son such a strange imaginary friend). Waves of nostalgia hit Númenyraumion as he ate the second slice of blackberry pie. There something of his mother in that pie. He licked the fork in very undignified way and observed Alagon through the tines. They had known each other in the elder days before, before the island. There were so many things he wanted to ask the publican, so many stories he wanted confirmed, so many things he wanted to know about his mother and her time in the elysian world of Noonvale. Can one feel nostalgia for a time or place that one has never experienced firsthand? Numey felt a strange sensation in his chest when he thought of that place, even though he’d never seen it, and heard barely anything, his heart ached that it had been wiped from the world, like an old illustration on a page.

He blinked himself out of his reverie and took another bite of the pie. Stars above this was amazing! There really had to be magic involved in the making of this pie. There was no other logical explanation. Blackberries weren’t supposed to be this flavorful and sweet. “One day, I will the story out of you,” he waggled his cleaned fork at Alagon. “I will hear of the sorcery you use and the deal you had to make with the fae sprites to learn it!” He laughed and took another bite. The pie was disappearing far too quickly but what was he supposed to do, not eat it?

The newcomer, the one that announced himself as Erniel, was as full of bright cheer and joviality as the nimir was, more in fact. There was an exuberance and effervescence to him that reminded Númenyraumion of his own youth. Which had come first, the nostalgia for his youth or his recognition of it in the young lad? He blinked heavily. When did he start thinking of someone as “young lad”? He chuckled. Apparently being forty-five hundred years old was the threshold to really push him into “adulthood”. He considered the implications as he finished off the sugar ensorcelled crust of his pie. He didn’t own a home, didn’t own a horse (he used one when with the Halcyon Guard but that could hardly be called his), owned just four shirts and three pairs of pants. All the coin he ever earned from the various endeavors he undertook went to paper, ink, and ale (and pie). He’d managed to spend the last three thousand years being a roving ball of irresponsibility. He liked that.

“From one explorer to another,” he picked some of the crumbs off his plate and drank deeply from the draught of water. “What would you say your favorite place to steal berries is?”

[Moriel]

“Erniel!” Alagon repeated the cheerful ellon’s name in a voice full of mirth- not because he thought it was a funny name (though it was a bit unusual), nor because he was laughing at disgust, but because his bright good humor was simply infectious. At last he brought his knife to bear upon the pie and cut a generous slice, dropping it onto a plate and sliding it and a fork across the bar to Erniel. “You are most welcome, and I hope your exploring will bring you here often! We’re always happy to see a new face become an old friend here at Gelir- and of course, there’s always pie aplenty.” He took the remaining full quarter of the pie and set it on Númenyraumion’s plate, before picking up the remaining small piece in his own hand and taking a bite off the end. “There, mission accomplished,” he said around the sweet mouthful, winking at the bard, “and Gellam none the wiser.” Mid-chew, he shook his head in mocking caution, and wagged a finger, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Be careful, Erniel- if you tell him where your favorite berrying patch is, it’ll no doubt be picked clean tomorrow!”

[Marceline]

Erniel

Erniel smacked his lips. Alagon quickly dispensed ale and stew and bread for the other two newcomers, and finally (after Erniel had nearly begun to drool from sheer anticipation) slid a plate and a slice of the blackberry-filled crusty pastry to him.

“Thank you!” he replied to Alagon, both in acknowledgement of the food and the warm welcome. He lifted the fork and speared the tiniest triangle from the tip of the pie. He lifted it to his nose, sniffed it, and smiled. Above all else - even above the distinctive scent of the berries - he smelled sugar. Erniel loved sugar! Sugar was the stuff that lit up his eyes and fired his enthusiasm into overdrive. Back home, he had a notorious sweet tooth. It had even gotten him into trouble from time to time! There was that one day when he’d jumped onto his grandmother’s table and stolen her chocolate muffins, and the other time he’d eaten a whole slab of caramel-infused chocolate. He’d given himself away each time with the smears of chocolate on his cheeks. He laughed to himself. He had only been a small lad at the time! These days, he was far better at concealing his chocolate binges.

He tasted the pie and was instantly transported to a mountainside grove where the juiciest, sweetest blackberries grew in the late, cicada-droning days of summer. Coincidentally, Númenyraumion asked just then about his favorite place to steal berries. Erniel chewed another bite of pie (this one much larger) and began to reminisce. “Oh, there’s a beautiful little place in the Ered Luin where I found the most peaceful little place to pick blackberries - I’d say at the height of summer, those fruits might be even better than the ones in this pie! And the grove is well worth the journey. The trees are all ancient and shady, and the blackberry plants are quite wild and tangly. There are plenty of places to lay down in the shade and snack to your heart’s content! Maybe I can show you one day since you’re an explorer, after all! Do you often explore here in Imladris?”

Erniel’s next bite of the pie included about half of what remained on his plate. It was amazing how much you could scoop up with just a fork! He’d long ago made a study of how to maximize his per-bite intake of food. He stretched his mouth wide and chomped down happily on the pie, and the fruits within burst their delightful, summery juices on his tongue.

[Baphởmet]

It was difficult task, that was a certainty. There were those who chose to eat pie, and those chosen to eat pie. A lesser ellon might have cracked under the strain of so arduous and confectionary a task, crumbling under the weight of blackberries so sweet they made one want to weep and a pie crust so perfect it ought to replace the art in Elrond’s Great Hall. Númenyraumion, however, was a nimir up to the task. It would be the most difficult of his career no doubt. He’d faced down wargs and giant vultures, he’d escaped a horde of goblins with naught but some tree bark, he’d even escaped the clutches of a dark sorceress nís bent on using his blood for a terrible ritual, but he’d never come up against a slice of blackberry pie he could say no to whilst simultaneously feeling as he were about to burst. Would songs be sung of this glorious duel of fates? He looked around at those gathered. Probably not. He laughed and licked his lips. Song or no song, this battle would be epic. The duels of Ecthelion and Gothmog, Fingolfin and Morgoth, Lúthien and Sauron were as nothing compared to this. Never had the stakes been higher, never the consequences more dire. The fate of the very world could depend on this outcome. Okay, that might have been stretching it a little. Still, the task another slice of pie when he was already full to bursting was going to be a feat of willpower. Thankfully, Númenyraumion had rediscovered the sweet tooth he had a child, running and sneaking about the gardens of Númenórean nobles at night and thieving the best strawberries, blueberries, and pears that could be found anywhere. He was going to need the strength of his younger self to accomplish this task. He cut off a piece with this fork, a sizeable, respectable portion, took a deep breath, and took the plunge. “Holy stars!” he said through a mouthful of dark berries and crisp crust. “Every single bite seems to get better. Alagon, how!?” He swallowed, savoring every possible angle of sweetness. Another bite, still sweeter and more delicious. What sort of sorcery was this! “Another bite. He liked to die of sugar overload. He put down his fork. The pie had come out swinging. He’d managed to deflect the blows so far, but that last one was nearly a haymaker. He was going to have to rethink and regroup.

“As it happens,” the nimir said to Erniel (such an odd but wonderful name) as he swallowed that last bite of pie, “I don’t do a lot of exploring around the Vale of Imladris. It’s been one of those places that just keeps getting pushed further down the list. I’ll admit, even as an explorer and bearer of old lore, I get very sidetracked by the proposition of a new place to explore and new sights to see.” He shifted in his seat, turning so he didn’t have to keep straining his neck to see the young elleth (he kept thinking of him as young despite there being no evidence aside from a delightfully bubbly attitude). “But I am infinitely fascinated by this blackberry patch you speak of. The Ered Luin you say?” he touched his index finger to his lip. There Blue Mountains were full of mystery and explored niches, hidden cities in the clouds, and unexplored forests; at least that was what all the stories told him. “You know, Erniel, if you don’t mind, I would love to take you up on that offer. I’m sure there are hundreds of stories to tell about the Blue Mountains.”

[Moriel]

This appreciation of his pie was starting to get out of hand! Alagon was a superb vintner, and willing to admit it when pressed, but baking had always been more of a casual thing for him, a relaxing activity that also happened to supply his pub with sweet treats. However, it seemed that a few thousand years of practice had paid off, if the faces of Erniel and Númenyraumion (and the latter’s effusive verbal praise) were anything to judge by. Alagon beamed at the ellon with the mismatched eyes, but stopped his own mouth from protest at the praise by taking another large bite of pie. Erniel stepped in to save him (whether he meant to or not), but having an answer to Númenyraumion’s question, and the publican smiled through his chewing at the cheerful ellon’s description of his berry patch in the Ered Luin. It sounded perfectly idyllic- as well as full of blackberries. Finally, Alagon swallowed, clearing his mouth of the last of the pie, and took a swallow from his mug.

“That sounds absolutely glorious, Erniel! Isn’t it wonderful when you find places like that? I don’t suppose,” Alagon hesitated briefly, taking another drink of his water, then went on, “I don’t suppose you might consider showing me as well? Or perhaps bringing me back a sample of the fine berries you find there? I haven’t been out exploring in a long time- apart from the occasional trip back to Mirkwood, I’m an Imladris homebody, really. And I have my own secret berrying places of course, so I understand the value of keeping a prime one to yourself! But I am always on the lookout for ways to make my pie even better,” he grinned, recognizing the hint of coercion even as he said it, “And I should love to experiment with berries of the Ered Luin!”

[Marceline]

Erniel

“Old lore!” Erniel exclaimed excitedly through his final mouthful of pie. He quickly raised his hands to cover his mouth, both in a gesture of apology for interrupting his new acquaintance and to keep too many crumbs from spilling out onto his shirt. He loved old stories! He especially liked the stories of his people before the world had changed, the ones his mother and grandmother had told with a pale, sad light in their eyes. He wasn’t sure why. He was a cheerful soul, but something about the melancholy weight of the years as they trudged on made him sit up straight and listen.

Hands still over his mouth, he nodded when Númenyraumion asked if it was indeed the Ered Luin he’d spoken of. The great blue mountains loomed large in his mind’s eye at the mention of the name. He loved climbing and hiking and wandering along both well-trodden and hitherto-unexplored pathways in those mountains - in fact, he had been at it for much of the Third Age. He had a trip coming up into those mountains with his friend Yoshiyo that he was especially looking forward to, not least for all the snowball fights they might get into.

He swallowed the last of his pie and lowered his hands, the better to speak and be heard. “I don’t do much exploring here either! As I said, this is my first trip to Imladris! Perhaps someday I’ll get to know it better . . .,” his voice trailed off as he imagined the many opportunities for adventure hidden around various corners and waterfalls here in the valley. “But I’m still not done with the Ered Luin! There are hundreds of stories and more to tell about those mountains, and not all of them have been uncovered yet. That’s one of the reasons I want to keep exploring there,” he concluded. He grinned at both Númenyraumion and Alagon. “I think you both would love the berries from my special blackberry patch!” To Alagon he said with a wink, “Perhaps I’ll tell you where it is in exchange for that glass of wine I asked about? And I find this flaky crust has made me ready for some water once more!” He giggled and used his forefinger to pick up the few crumbs remaining on his plate, then licked the finger clean.