It was Dana's birthday not so long ago! Here's a little something I baked for the occasion:

For Dana. Belated birthday greetings. Thanks to Dreamflower for the beta of chapters 1 and 2.

This story is set about four months after A Comedy of Merrys finishes. (Four months after Frodo Gardner's wedding, that is.) Faramir Took is 26, Goldilocks Gamgee is 25.

Bound for Gondor

'You're not going to Gondor!'

Goldi stood with her hands on her hips, glaring just as hard as she knew how. Faramir stared at her incredulously, and then gave an irritating laugh.

'I'm not? Who's going to stop me, then--you? You still want to tell me what to do, when you've refused even to consider handfasting...? Well, I'm not your brother, and I certainly will never become your husband, and so, my lass, I'm afraid you've no voice in the matter.'

'I mean, you're not going without me,' Goldi amended, only to see the grin brighten on Farry's face. Really, sometimes she wondered how she could ever have feelings for such an aggravating hobbit.

'I beg your pardon?' Farry said in his best imitation of Ferdibrand squelching a wild idea, raising his eyebrows.

'Mum and Dad took Ellie along with them, and left me home, and I've always wanted to see Gondor...' It poured out, and she hated herself at sounding so breathless and eager when he was acting so superior... and he had no reason, and no right, to be acting that way about running away to Gondor, which he had no business doing!

...which she had no business doing, come to think of it, but...

...but Farry was smiling now, contrary fit faded away, and his smile was real and so full of sympathy that Goldi was completely deflated. He put out a conciliatory hand. 'I'm sorry, Goldi,' he said. 'I know how you've longed to go, and surely your Dad will take you the next time...'

'But Mum won't go,' Goldi said, miserable. 'And he won't go on without her, and... and...' She turned away to hide the threatening shower, but her shoulders slumped.

Faramir's arms stole around her, and she stiffened, but he simply rested his chin on her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her waist, and sighed. 'I'm sorry, Goldi,' he said, none of his romantic fancies like “dearest” or “sweetheart” --that made her hope she'd truly nipped his nonsense in the bud. Friends, she'd said she wanted to be, and friends only, and he seemed to have got it through his thick skull at last.

'I'm sorry, too,' she said, and gave an experimental forward pull. It was gratifying that Farry's arms did not tighten, but released her at once. He really did understand this business of being “just friends”! She followed this expression of shared sympathy with a taunt. 'Bet I can climb higher than you can!' And in the twinkling of an eye the two of them were launching themselves into the two nearest trees, there in the Old Orchard, and climbing at top speed.

They were a pair of unlikely songbirds, singing away from the treetops, and then they had a race down again, and a grand chase around the orchard, after which they collapsed, laughing and panting for breath, and the warm sun smiled upon them so sweetly, and sent her gentlest breezes, that they were soon soothed to sleep.

Goldi wakened with a start. The Sun was halfway down the sky, and it would be teatime in an hour or so. This would have been the perfect time for Farry to slip away, whilst his parents were at tea with her parents and the children were thought to be all together, having a picnic on the Party Field.

Well, she wouldn't let him! And that was all! He'd asked her to come out to the Old Orchard with him, for he had something important to tell her, he'd said. She almost hadn't gone, fearing more of his sweet-talking, but he'd taken her hand with an earnest look, and a whispered, “Just friends, as you wanted”.

So she'd gone with him, and he'd told her he was going to Gondor, and that was the start of it. She couldn't let the son of the Thain run off to Gondor! Think of the scandal! Think of the heartbreak to his mother! Think of his father's disappointment and anger!

No, she decided. She wasn't going to stand for it. She was going to save him from himself.

She rose carefully, so as not to wake him, and crept away to the shed, where plenty of rope was hanging on the hooks there. Her uncle was a roper, and kept the family in good supply, and her father seemed to think that one could never have too much rope handy, for whatever need.

She took down a coil, and sawing against the sharp edge of a pruning saw she measured off some convenient lengths. She carried the lengths and looped the coil over her arm. She'd find good use for it all, she vowed.

She didn't want to waken Farry by touching his skin, and so she stood a moment looking at him, sitting so comfortable against the thick bole of an aged apple tree. Yes, she thought with a nod. She could manage it. Carefully, O so carefully, she wound the rope around the tree and Farry too, round and round, using the entire coil to fasten him to the tree, coil upon coil, and she tied up the ends in hard knots on the far side of the tree. He'd never be able to reach them there!

She took one of the short lengths and eased it under his heels, to his ankles, and then brought the ends up, tying a good knot and leaving the ends loose. She'd finish later.

Farry's arms were bound to his sides and to the tree, but his hands rested in his lap. It was a little tricky to ease a loop of rope around one of his wrists, but she managed, and then she drew his hands together and was throwing quick loops to bind his wrists together when he awakened. 'Goldi? What in the--what are you doing??'

'You won't be running off to Gondor this day,' she said, and when he opened his mouth to yell she was ready for him, stuffing her bundled apron into his mouth and drawing the strings around his head and to the front again, tying a good knot for an effective gag. He reached to pull it loose, but his arms were pinned down.

Farry goggled at the binding on his wrists, taking in the coils of rope pinning him to the tree, and he tried to kick his legs in protest, but Goldi had seized the ends of the ankle bindings and with all the dexterity of a gardener's daughter tying up tomatoes she drew more loops around his ankles and ended with a neat knot.

She stepped back to admire the effect. 'There,' she said in satisfaction, wiping her hands together. 'You won't be running off to Gondor, not if I have anything to say about it!'

He tried to speak through the gag, but only muffled sounds came out.

'Your da, and mine, are off to Overhill for something-or-other, and our mums are down at the market in Hobbiton,' she said. 'You'll just have to stay here until I can get someone or other to come and talk some sense into you.'

Her head jerked up then, at the sound of her name floating on the breeze. 'I've got to go,' she said a little breathlessly. 'Now, you stay right here, Farry...' and she smirked a little before forcing a serious expression and wagging a finger at him, 'and don't get any ideas about waltzing off to Gondor or anywhere else, for that matter!'

Picking up her skirts, she scurried away, Farry's muffled shouts rapidly fading in her ears as she left his vicinity.

She was wanted, as Ellie said, and where had she been? And what had she been doing, to put her frock in such a state? And her feet, and... Well, never mind. They were to take tea with the Cottons, and Ellie had come to fetch her, and all the rest of the family were already on their way and Ellie and Goldi would have to run to catch them up.

(Elanor was not her usual cheerful self, what with four-month-old Primula having kept her up all the night with colic. The long coach ride from Undertowers had upset the bairn’s sunny nature, and they’d all suffered for it, Elanor the most, walking and jiggling little Prim all the night that the others might sleep.)

...and where was her apron? And look at the state of her hair, one would think her a little lass of five instead of five-and-twenty. Honestly, Mum let her run wild, she did, and Goldi was in grave danger of being mistaken for a Took if she weren't careful...

Goldi opened her mouth to tell about Farry, at that reminder, but Elanor was plying a flannel at the time, effectively gagging her. And then the older sister handed the flannel to Goldi with strict instructions to wash her arms, and Ellie was rapidly undoing the buttons on Goldi's dress and even as it fell to the floor she was throwing a fresh garment over Goldi's head, and then Goldi was busy trying to get the buttons into the right holes while Ellie threw a fresh apron around her and tied the knot tight.

And before Goldi could speak, Ellie had seized her by the hand, and picked up a basket full of sleeping baby with her free hand, and they were running at top speed down the lane (even though it wasn't all that proper, to be running that is), and then down the Hill, catching the gaggle of Gamgees nearly at the bottom where Goldi received a scolding from her mum for her breathless, dishevelled state. (Ellie, as a married hobbit, escaped scolding, though her mum did look a bit askance at her, and the state of her hat.)

'You ought to have seen her before,' Ellie said darkly. 'I'm sorry, Mum, but I had to change her clothes completely and of course that took some time, and I didn't want to come belated or worry you...'

'Very well, Ellie, dear, and Goldi, do you think that clothing grows on trees, that you mistreat it so?' Rose said, eyebrows raised in a way that made Goldi furious all over again. It wasn't Ferdi that Farry had been imitating, but her mother!!!

'No harm done,' Farry's mum said with her usual smile. Nothing seemed to ruffle Mistress Diamond. Of course, with a son like Farry, perhaps she'd had lots of practice in not getting ruffled.

Diamond's daughters walked with them, and the rest of Goldi's sisters, but the lads were nowhere to be seen. 'They've run ahead to Cottons',' Ellie said in explanation. 'I sent them off, and they thought they'd have a race to see who could be first.'

'Well, then, they'll have a good appetite when they arrive,' Rose said, and Diamond laughed. 'It's a good thing Marigold knows tweens' and teens' appetites! She'll have the table groaning...'

'And will have put back a seedcake or two for the Thain, and berry tarts for the Mayor, so that the children don't devour all, I'm sure,' Diamond said with an approving nod.

'I left a note for your dad,' Rose said, in answer to Goldi's inquiring look. 'He and the Thain will join us at Cottons' for tea, and then I do believe they'll depart from there back to the Smials when it's time to go.'

Tea at the Cottons, what a treat! Her aunt Marigold was a fine hand at baking, and Goldi's mouth was watering at the thought of ginger biscuits and tarts and cake. She only hoped the lads wouldn't eat all before they arrived...

Not to worry. Marigold had outdone herself, and there was plenty for all, even the fathers who came halfway through the meal to take up their plates and cups. Tea was a casual affair, with the family spread out all over. The lads raided the table and took their spoils to the haybarn, and the lasses reclined on old bedcovers on the grassy meadow, and the parents took their tea in the parlour without worry of having to remind youngsters not to drop crumbs or mind their teacups.

And after tea the lasses had a wonderful time weaving crowns and garlands from the wildflowers, and the lads played games of chase and “I hide and you seek me”, and were in general agreement that Faramir Took found the best hiding places of all, for no one had been able to find him!

Goldi was a little disappointed to hear that he’d won free, somehow, and made his way to the farm. Perhaps her dad had found him, or his da, and she had some punishment coming to her later, when it would not mar the pleasant day. She was also not a little dismayed to hear the Thain say that his cousin Everard Took would be escorting Faramir to the Sunlands, leaving in a fortnight to join the King and Queen on their way southwards from the Lake.

The gentle dusk was settling upon the land when the mother hens began to round up their chicks. The young Tooks would be climbing into the back of a waggon, snuggling into a load of soft hay, to snooze their way home as their father drove them, singing duets on the driver's seat with their mum. It was ever so much more diverting than riding in the fine coach that they had to ride in, when visiting anyone other than the unpretentious Mayor.

Diamond came up short, however, in counting heads as one after another climbed into the waggon, and she raised her voice to shout. 'Faramir! Faramir Took! Game's done, and it's time to go ho-o-ome!'

'What seems to be the trouble, my dear?' Pippin said, coming up to the waggon with his pipe in his hand. He knocked the pipe out against the fence and tucked it away in his pocket, ready to help his wife up into her seat before claiming his, and the reins.

'Faramir's not to be found,' Diamond said. 'He takes these games of “Seek” much too seriously for a lad of his age, if you ask me! Why, he played as hard as his little brothers and sisters today, great tween that he is!'

Pippin raised his voice to shout, Farry's name booming across the fields, such that the ponies started and tossed their heads. Jolly, holding them, offered hasty soothing.

'Well,' Pippin said, when no Faramir appeared. 'If he likes it at the Cottons' so much, perhaps we ought to leave him here and reclaim him on our next trip.'

Diamond shot him an astonished look, and he laughed. 'Or perhaps on the Mayor's,' he said. 'The Gamgees are stopping over here at the Cottons' tonight, and then they'll be coming on to the Smials for Ferdi's birthday, had you forgotten?'

'O yes, of course,' Diamond said. It would be no inconvenience, then, for Farry to stay over, no inconvenience for him to be returned to his home. She allowed her husband to help her up into the waggon, and Pippin jumped up and took the reins. 'Farewell, until the morrow!' he sang, and the air was filled with waving hands.

The Tooks took their leave, though it was difficult to see the youngsters half-buried in the hay, and the Gamgees and Cottons waved them on their way.

Goldi hurried up a little belatedly, for she'd been playing with the new kittens with one of the young Cottons. She couldn't see Farry in the waggon, though she was sure he was there, for she'd heard his brothers boasting of his prowess at “I hide and you seek me”. She'd realised at once what had happened. He'd somehow worked his way free, or someone had come upon him, and to aggravate her (or perhaps because he was still angry at her!) he'd avoided her the entire afternoon. The latter thought gave her a pang, the former made her laugh as they readied themselves to sleep in borrowed beds.

'What's so funny?' Ellie wanted to know.

'Naught,' Goldi said. 'I mean, I was wondering what sort of birthday presents Uncle Ferdi will have for us, this year.'

'Ah,' was Ellie's response, which turned into a yawn, and soon Goldi was the only one awake, and soon she wasn't awake anymore.

The full moon rode high over the flying clouds, and the lonely figure, bound to the old apple tree, shivered in the night breeze.

It Never Rains, But It Pours

‘Goldi!’

Goldi yawned and turned over, blinking sleepily. ‘’s not time yet,’ she protested. ‘Sun’s still abed...’ And so am I, she grumbled to herself. Little sisters might be warm and snuggly, rolled together in the blankets of the cosy guest bed in the Cottons’ third-best guestroom, but they could also be annoyingly cheerful and giggly all too early in the morning, having kept her awake with their whispering halfway into the night.

‘Sun’s awake, but she’s pulled the coverlet over her head,’ little Ruby chortled, ‘just like you!’ ...as Daisy and Primrose combined forces to pull the covers from Goldi’s grasp, unearthing her tousled golden curls.

‘Aargh,’ Goldi groaned, trying in vain to win the covers back from her determined sisters. ‘Go back to sleep! Or go away! It’s not time to get up yet!’

‘O yes, it is!’ Primrose was saying, just as their mother’s voice broke in.

‘Girls! I’ve called you twicet, already, and here you are, still lie-abed! We’ve a way to go, and it’ll be slower with this rain, I warrant...’

Uncle Tom was heard then, calling from the kitchen. ‘I’ve put the cover on the waggon, to keep you all snug and dry, Rosie! Wouldn’t want the Mayor to melt away, after all!’

‘Yea and verily!’ Sam called back from the bath room, where he was splashing with vigour. ‘Forsooth,’ he added, affecting the language the Thain used to bewilder recalcitrant Tooks into agreeing with him.

‘Forsooth what?’ Uncle Jolly was heard to say, as Goldi reluctantly rose from the bed and began to dress.

‘Forsooth, ah... I forget what it was he said after that,’ Sam said, after a pause for thought, and Goldi could just picture him scratching his dampened head.

‘Methinks thou dost protest too much,’ she said, raising her voice, for she and Farry had laughed over Pippin’s dramatic air (despite the twinkle in his eye) and the befoozlement of the Tookish farmer he was trying to argue out of something or other.

‘It sounds like something from a play!’ Jolly said in delight.

‘Ah, that was it,’ Sam said, satisfaction in his tone. ‘Your daughter may be lie-abed, Rose, but she’s no slacker* when it comes to wits.’

‘I’m not lie-abed,’ Goldi said with dignity, emerging from the bedroom, but the effect was rather spoilt as her mother pounced upon her with gentle chiding and by contrast rough brushing of her curls.

‘Ouch!’ Goldi protested, reaching back to take the brush from Rose’s hand. ‘Let me...!’

How yesterday’s bright sunshine could have changed in the night to dismal rain, Goldi could scarcely fathom. Dismal... pounding, rather, and she shivered at the thought of riding in the waggon, covered or not. A nice coach now, like the gentry used, snug and tight against the gusts of wind that blew spatters of rain against the windows, that would be the thing.

...Or to stop at home, or rather here at Cottons’, warm and dry by the fireside, sipping hot drinks, telling stories and singing, now that would be the proper response to this weather. Just as Rose was saying to Sam at that moment, as a matter of fact...

‘Oh no!’ Goldi yelped, in spite of herself, and it wasn’t wholly the tangle in her curls that made her do so. ‘Uncle Ferdi would be so disappointed! We cannot forego his birthday tea!’

Sam shook his head with a grave look and said, ‘We’ll have to be leaving directly after breakfast, to be there in time. ‘Tis only thirteen miles across the fields, but a sight longer along the New Road, and it’ll be muddy and miserable even with the new gravel laid down last month.’

And it was, muddy and miserable that is, even with the snugged-down waggon cover, for the wind would find its way in through every opening. Still, the hobbits were more comfortable than the ponies, who slogged head-down through the worsening storm.

Rose bravely sat on the seat next to Sam, her arm twined in his elbow, huddling close for warmth though he said fairly often along the way that she’d be warmer and drier in the waggon bed, snuggled with the children and baggage. ‘There’ll be baths at the Great Smials,’ she answered each time. ‘Knowing Diamond, she’ll have them keeping the water hot for us, even now.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ Goldi muttered, shivering as she pulled Tolman into her lap with a, ‘Come here, laddie-mine!’ and wrapped him with herself in warm covers. Truly, holding a sleepy little brother in your lap, wrapped up together in woollen blankets, was almost as good as tucking up with a hot water bottle.

The slow, painful journey seemed to go on forever. The earlier steady rain increased until it sounded a cacophony against the canvas. At more than one point, Sam shoved the reins into Rose’s hands and jumped down, to splash to the ponies’ heads, to take hold of their bridles and urge them forward as the waggon wheels threatened to sink into the growing mud.

None of the children was sleepy as they finally reached Tuckborough, where shutters were locked tight over windows and signboards swung in the rising wind.

‘It’s a good thing we started out early, or we wouldn’t have started at all,’ Goldie heard her father shout to her mother.

If it had been up to her, they’d still be snug at Cottons’--but her conscience gave her a pang. It was Uncle Ferdi’s birthday. Still, she argued with herself, he’d be the first to say they ought not to have come out in such weather, and he’d be happy to have his birthday on another day, or even miss one altogether and remain the same age for another year, if need be.

She and all the rest winced at a sudden bright flash. They’d heard rumour of thunder’s grumbling along the way, but this was the first of the lightning they’d seen through the canvas, though they didn’t know the wary eye their father had kept on the sky, the last hour or two, and how he’d calculated distance to the nearest shelter as they drove by one farm after another, should the black clouds heralding the worst of the storm seem to be overtaking them.

And now the storm was upon them, it seemed, for with the boom of answering thunder a great gust of wind swooped under the waggon cover and, incredibly, the waggon seemed to lift from its wheels for a moment. The children shrieked, clinging together in sudden fear, and Rose threw her arms around Sam as the ponies began to rear and plunge in their traces.

Sam hauled back on the reins and laid on with the whip at the same time, calling the ponies to order with the sharp snap, and seeking to soothe them with a firm hand.

With her husband’s hands full it was up to Rose to set the brake, and set the brake she did, pulling up sharp and holding the handle with white-knuckled fists even after she felt the click that meant the brake was fully engaged. A runaway... in this weather... sure and certain disaster.

Not for the first time, Goldi wished they’d stayed in Bywater this day.

***

*slacker - not necessarily a modern word. According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the meaning "person who shirks work" dates back to 1898, and “slack” derives from Old English for “loose or careless.”

Chapter 3. Weather Fit for a Duck

The deluge let up suddenly, and the wind dropped to nothing in the same moment, leaving an eerie stillness that was somehow worse than the rain had been. Sam lifted his head to gaze at the blackening sky, more like dusk than not quite noontide. The odd greenish hue to the swirling clouds decided him, and all at once he was pounding his hand against the waggon and shouting. 'Out! Everybody out! Now!'

Bodies poured out from under the canvas cover, brothers jumping down and reaching up to help down their sisters, even as Sam grabbed at Rose's hand to urge her down.

'Sam? What in the world...?' Rose was saying, but he shoved her towards the Spotted Duck, just ahead.

'Get inside!' he cried, his sense of dread rising as the hair prickled on the back of his neck.

'But...' she protested, turning back to him.

He was too busy with the harness—difficult enough when the ponies stood calmly, and near impossible now as they fought him—to deal with her, so not taking his eyes from his furiously working fingers he shouted, 'Go! Get the children inside!'

He'd hoped that would take her to safety, but no, she merely made a shooing motion at the children, huddled staring in the doorway of the public house, and stumbled to the ponies' heads, grabbing at their reins and pulling their noses down by virtue of hanging her full weight upon her hands.

With the ponies stilled, or at least quieter than they'd been, Sam was able to unbuckle the harness, and by the time the first of the large hailstones began to fall, he'd joined Rose. Together they pulled the ponies free of the waggon.

Rose was rather at a loss, but Sam knew exactly what he was about, dragging the frightened beasts straight to the Duck's door, and—despite the proprietor's protests—straight through into the common room.

'What'cher doin', bringin' ponies in here?' ...but the outraged bellow was nearly drowned in the thunder of hailstones bouncing on the street outside, against the shutters, and then the rain poured down once again, and lightning flashed outside.

Sam was breathing hard, and Rose was soothing the younger children, who were crying in confusion, and the hobbits huddled in the common room stared at the enormous white hailstones pummelling the street and lonely waggon, larger than golf balls (perhaps nearly so large as orc heads, as one of the gaffers would venture later over a brimming mug, as in the battle where the game of golf was invented). The proprietor's protest died away in the face of the wild weather, but Sam felt obliged to answer him anyhow.

'I'm that sorry,' he said, stroking the nearest trembling pony. 'I never would have... I hope you know I wouldn't, but...'

'No, no,' said the blinking hobbit, reluctant to take his eyes from the amazing sight outside his door, hailstones bouncing with skull-cracking force, mounting up in the street until all was white and cold. 'It's no trouble at all...' he said, in complete reversal of his mood but a moment earlier, but then he was bewildered by all the sudden developments.

His more practical wife, however, shoved the door closed against the rising wind, and they were left there in the common room, in semi-darkness with the light of the fire on the great stone hearth and half the lamps lit, though the room brightened as the serving lasses got around to light the rest.

An old gaffer moved slowly over to Sam, patting each of the ponies in turn and talking soothing nonsense. 'Well, Mr. Mayor,' he said at last. 'Perhaps I can stand you to a beer? Mighty fine beer they have here at the Duck, I'll say.' He waved a hand to the proprietor. 'Wink! Two beers!'

'Thankee,' Sam said faintly. 'Don't mind if I do.' He was rather half bewildered himself, now that he'd got his family and the two ponies safe under cover. He could scarcely believe he'd had the nerve to bring ponies into the Duck, but then what else could he have done?

The proprietor's wife was fussing around the children, muttering about “wet to the skin” and “chilled to the bone” and raising her voice to order hot drinks for the Mayor's family.

'We'll be going on to the Smials, just as soon as this lets up,' Rose said, trying to forestall her. She was heartily embarrassed at their situation. Ponies in the Duck! 'Wouldn't want to put you out...'

The proprietor's wife laughed heartily. 'Put us out!' she said. 'Wouldn't want to put anyone out in this! It's not fit weather for hobbit nor beast!'

'You can say that again, Lila!' the gaffer agreed, slapping Sam on the back. 'Trust our Mayor to be one for quick thinking... '

'I can see why we made you Mayor,' Wink agreed, with an appropriate grimace, before putting a mug into Sam's hand.

***

It was all greatly unreal, Hodge Sandyman thought, as he and the miller stared at the rain and hail, and the racing, rapidly rising Water. They'd hurried to disengage the mill wheel, and just in time, before serious damage was done.

A gust of wind rattled hail against the shutters, and Hodge started. 'Bag End!' he exclaimed. 'The windows!' He was responsible for the smial, with the Gamgees away on a visit to the Thain.

The miller grabbed him by his braces before he could dart out the door. 'Close that door, lad,' he said. 'You're going nowhere, not so long as that hail's pouring down.'

'But Master Bankstone,' Hodge said, 'the Mayor left me in charge...!'

'Ah, and he left you in my charge, in the absence o' your father, young Sandyman, and I mean to uphold my duty, and not let you go out to be pounded to pulp! If any windows is going to break, I'd say they're broke already, and no use going and putting the shutters on now...'

And so the two stared glumly out the door, while Hodge hoped desperately that perhaps the weather wasn't quite so dramatic up the Hill, at Bag End and its environs. If only he'd known, he would have fastened the shutters before coming down the Hill to begin the morning's milling.

'Not the usual weather for this time o' year, praise be,' said the miller. 'Most unusual, I'd say. Why, I'd almost think that dratted wizard had some hand in it, if he hadn't sailed away all those years back. Unusual, wouldn't you say?'

'Unusual,' Hodge agreed, and sighed. He didn't look forward to the clearing up he'd be doing, that was for sure.

***

'Unusual weather we're having,' the gaffer said, sipping at his beer. 'Now go on, drink up! Don't let that beer go flat.'

It was all greatly unreal, Sam thought, with the pounding outside, nearly as loud as the falls of Rauros, and the ponies standing quiet now, steaming in the warmth of the common room, hobbits toasting their four-footed health and a serving maid feeding them handfuls of carrots she'd hurried to bring from the kitchen.

But the beer was certainly good.