The pins flashed before Val, the innkeeper. They flashed half due to the fires burning in the fireplaces and chandeliers hanging above them from the roof, and half due to some source alien to him. The smell of beer, mead, sausages, and fresh bread mixed with the smell of pipes suddenly felt new to him, as if though he hadn't been the owner of the inn for decades. This strange feeling passed quickly, and he stopped polishing the jar in his hand as soon as he realized the symbols were there again, and left it shining on the wooden shelf behind him. ''Nora!'' he shouted, and from the kitchen walked in a young girl, red cheeks, dark-eyed and dark-haired.
''Yes, papa?'' she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
''Lead our guests... to him.'' he said with a look that says 'hurry up!'
The girl's eyes widened and she suddenly seemed more lively, which her father noticed, and sighing said: ''Children... Impressed by simple tricks.''
''Follow me!'' the girl said and hurried on light feet towards the flight of stairs leading to what looked like a cloud come through the windows to spend the night on the second floor of the inn.

But then she stopped. Before she could lead them, the banter talk of rude content subsided and all eyes turned towards the elven minstrel. It had been a long time since the inn had last been graced by a proper song, and all those who had lodged in it before looked in disbelief as the woeful tune rose from the chords, some of them even moved to tears, perhaps reminded by the song of a summer romance of their childhood, or a good friend lost in battle or time. A tall, huge red-bearded man slammed his hand on his table, spilling some ale, and called for the innkeeper to give the singer and his friends a drink of their choice; and then wiped off a tear running down his cheek. What better proof of the potency of a good tune than the tears of the hardest of men?

The innkeeper heard the man and saw a few other frozen visitors raising their cups -- and to be fair enough, he himself was touched by the instrument, for his own father used to play such a one a long time ago. He nods with a friendly, nostalgic smile, looking at the playing elf, as if asking with the bob of his head ''What would you like tonight, my friend?''

"Well that was...rushed." thought Ellaryn, it was not the fact that the innkeeper seemed to know all about them, but more the fact of the pleaasant amoras drifting about the inn, and they were being ushered upstairs. She couldn't remember the last time she had a decent meal. Her stomach growled in protest and she tightened her belt a notch, hoping noone else noticed.

"Guess that drink is out of the question then." she started to follow the others after the girl Nora. Until the music started, then Ellaryn stopped, captivated by the lonely sounds. Even after the first few notes, tears welled up as she began to remember her past in The Shire. The song continued and her tears flowed freely, she thought of all the pranks she pulled on those that didn't deserve such pain, she shook and whispered "Please no more..." Her head was hanging low as her tears dripped to the floor.

Finally the song endedand Ellaryn took a breath and wiped her tears on her sleeve. She was fully prepared to continue upstairs again when the giant of a man, with a beard adwarf could be proud off, offered all the newcomers drinks. Her included, she stood in amazement and wlaked upto the man.

She stared at his face, it seemed that both of them had tears they were fighting again. She pulled a stool over and climbed on it, facing him. "I thank you for your offer, Ellaryn Bracegirdle at your service." and then she buried herself in his beard and hugged him. Her hands almost went straight to his pockets but it was with a conscious effort that she moved them to his back (or as near to it as she could reach) and with a muffled voice in his red hair said "Your kindness in this cold climates is very much apprecaited, thank you."

Now the song had ended she didn't really feel like drinking, she went over to the innkeeper and just asked for "A small mug of milk if it's not too much trouble, I don't have it in me for beer." Thanking the innkeeper for the milk she once again stood on a stool facing the minstrel.

"Allow me to introduce to you all, Aelintaur the mistrel, who can make anyone homesick even in their own town." She raised her mug high "thank you Aelintaur." Ellaryn took a gulp of milk (finally getting some sustenance in belly) and giving the minstrel a big wink siad "...and I am Lady Ellaryn. thank you all for your kindness."

Ellaryn really was moved my the villagers, it had been a long time since she had been welcomed like that.

She hoped she wouldn't ruin it.

---

Aelin was slightly surprised by the people's reactions. Sure, he had seen something like this a few times before, but it always felt rewarding to have someone tear up and offer you a drink.

"Just.. Give me wine if you have any."

As the innkeeper walked off, Aelin stood up and stretched his limbs. He had another look around the room, and felt the sudden dream-like calmness that had filled it.

"Allow me to introduce to you all, Aelintaur the mistrel, who can make anyone homesick even in their own town."

And she was again, the girl from before.

"Thank you Aelintaur. And I am Lady Ellaryn. thank you all for your kindness."

"Thank you for your words!"

The elf gave everyone a theatrical bow and walked over to the halfling and the bearded one. He offered to shake the man's hand before sitting down and waiting for the innkeeper to come back.

---

Calariel was fond of the warmth inside, and loosened the cloak around her neck enough to let it breathe a bit better. Apparently they were expected in here as well, or at least by the innkeeper, considering how they were immediately directed upstairs. Calariel had just been about to head up the stairs, heedless of any sight of mysterious fog or whatever it was that had occupied the upstairs floor, when the music began, and she turned.

The song did not move her to tears as it had many of the others, but it was quite pleasant to listen to, soothing even. Her nerves had been jumping at being in such an unfamiliar place full of men rather than elves. During the course of the song Calariel made her way to the innkeeper.

"Just water, please?" she asked, voice little more than a whisper for fear of disturbing the song. The innkeep obliged, after the brief pause to take in her appearance, so obviously different from the rest, and her eyes. Alcohol was largely wasted on her, and she wasn't fond of the taste, besides. She grabbed the cup and thanked the man once she heard it slide towards her across the counter top, and retreated back towards the stairs. She came to a stop at the base of them, with just enough distance between her and the patrons and Aelin to make out their rough shapes with her glassy eyes.

Part of her thought to speak up after the conclusion of the song, but her boots remained rooted to the spot, quietly waiting for the others, and enjoying the warm scene from afar.

As much as Thurin hated to admit it, the Elf could play a tune. If there was one thing his hardy folk enjoyed more than good beer or fine craftsmanship, it was song and music. Thurin himself began to hum with the tune, taking a seat next to the Elf as he did so, giving a surprisingly apt addition to the music (for those who heard) with his low voice thrumming along. He found he had gained a small amount of respect for the Elf. One could tell a lot about someone by what they played.

The Dwarf hopped up, and stepped back as the crowd applauded Aelin for his endearing melody. The Dwarf nodded solemnly, knowing that if anyone deserved cheers it would be that one. Suddenly he thought he saw his cousin Fwalin in the crowd, but no. For the man stood up, half again as tall as a Dwarf. Must have been the great red beard he had hanging down to his chest.

The call for drinks was a welcome one, and despite his impatience at speaking to this wizard waiting on them, he couldn't refuse hospitality. He knew his kindred would expect the same courtesy as accepting it. Thurin took a stout pint of Ale for himself, and began to walk over to join the rest. He stopped once he saw the Elven lass standing there alone to the side, and he called her over with a wave of his hand. "Come lass. There is cheer and song here. There will time for woe soon enough. For now let us be merry!"

---

Vamyr listened, but he didn’t look at the elf. The music was well played, and foreshadowed what lay ahead of them, if the fall of Osgiliath was any indication. He clenched his jaw and turned away, only pausing to receive a mug of warm mead before quietly heading to the stairs. He needed to see what this business was about so that he would have enough time to take care of his horse, and set up camp. It would be a pity to do it in the dark.

The girl had already indicated where they were headed, so he slipped past both her and the elvish woman that blocked the stairs. With the scent of war on the winds, he didn’t have time for merry making. If this was a wizard, then it was best to see what business was to be had. If this was just some foolery. Then it was best that he go back to his people- and prepare for the worst.

---

Calariel was not really surprised to be called upon to join the others, but still she handled it poorly, as was her habit. Her eyes darted about a bit, not really seeing much, and finally her legs propelled her slowly forward, narrowly avoiding the human man of their party as he passed on his way to the stairs. Calariel couldn't remember if he'd introduced himself or not.

She came to a stop beside the dwarf, her fingers intertwined with each other so that she would have something to do with them. As ever, she didn't know where exactly to look, so she didn't bother, staring more or less straight ahead. She'd actually found it odd that no one had yet commented on the strangeness of her eyes, and her apparent blindness. Normally it was the first thing she needed to explain.

"Forgive me, master Dwarf, I... am usually more comfortable from afar, is all." In battle and polite conversation both, it seemed. She waited uncomfortably for a moment, before she turned to look and listen in the direction the human man had gone.

"I think I should follow him," she said, tentatively. "The wizard implied we should arrive with haste. I don't wish to delay him any further." With that, she awkwardly turned and made to follow the man up the stairs.

”Well I be cursed!” roars the generous gentleman with a magnificent beard after the hobbit had given him a hug. ”A bloody halfling up here in Angfort! And an good one, too! This has got to be a sign! Val, hey Val! I'm in the good mood, so why don't you give this little one a piece of that cake Lurwen made this morning. That chocolate one! She deserves it. A little kindness will take ya long way, ya bastards,” he says and gives everyone in the room a tipsy look that could have meant anything, ”Little, but full of spirit!”

”That's what your wife said about you, Farathorn,” says a grey-bearded old man from the back of the room and laughter follows.

”Had your wife teeth she'd have sung more pleasantries than our elven friend here last night, retaliates Farathorn immediately, spilling the last bits of his drink onto his trousers and even his banter partner laughs with the others.

”I like him when he's drunk! Give 'im another round, or he'll become boring again, the savage.”

The innkeeper, glad to have such a company, gets to work: takes the cake from under the bell jar, fills the fresh tankards and mugs, adds the numbers to the price list and serves the guests with the routine ease of movement between the table as the banter continues once more.



The floor above shared nothing with the merry floor below. The austerest of hallways with blandest of wooden doors on each side, oppressively suffocating, with a single lantern on the right hand side wall whose flame is desperately battling the miasma of grey smoke creeping around the ankles and nostrils, leading to and at the same time coming from the door at the end of the hall. The door at first sight just as dull as the others; but an eye close by or an eye keen will see an inscription carved upon it by a skilled hand:

It was a real struggle for Ellaryn when the chocolate cake was placed in front of her. Never had she felt so welcome in her travels, and almost a dark thought crossed her mind that perhaps she hadn't done anything to deserve such a gift. She cast her eyes around the room and saw that only Aelin and the friendly Dwarf remained. The second Elf in their little group just disappearing up the stairs moving slowly and carefully. "She must be royalty to move with such grace," she thought. She turned back to the innkeeper.

"Two more forks if you would be so kind, Mr Innkeeper." Ellaryn gave her cheery smile to him and then divided the cake into three. Her mouth was starting to water and her eyes kept twitching towards to delicious looking cake, as she approached Aelin and then the Dwarf. Before she reached either, one slice became slightly smaller than the others.

"Mmmpfff....aster Aelin, for you." Els swallowed and offered a fork and a slice of (uneaten) cake the Elven minstrel. She then turned and made her way to the Dwarf. The untouched slice had somehow become a bit smaller and was now the same size as it's small companion. Els wondered how that was possible as she slowly chewed.

"Mmmpff...ster Dwarf." She swallowed the sweet tasting cake and carefully curtsied to him. "Ellaryn Bracegirdle at you service, and a slice of home in this delicious chocolate cake is yours as well." She looked long and hard at the two remaining small slices, then offered a fork and the larger of the two to the Dwarf.

It took two more bites before Els finished the cake and downed the last of her milk. She thanked the innkeeper again, thanked the gathered folks and especially the giant red bearded man. "Your welcome is much appreciated and went straight to this hobbit's stomach, if only you were one-eighth the size and I would make you the happiest person in Middle-Earth."

Once more she stood on a stool to address the inn as a whole. "Hopefully we will meet again, but we have to meet someone," She cast her eyes towards the ceiling, "Thank you all for your warm welcome" She curtsied and got down from the stool and went to the staircase where Nora had offered to show the way.

She couldn't help herself and belched as she past the innkeeper.

The Dwarf listened to Calariel's explaination, and nodded. "Aye, tis a good idea to find out just what is going on around her-"
"Mmmpff...ster Dwarf." he heard from behind him, and turned to see the comely Halfling lass approaching him, chewing heartily upon some cake. She didn't seem to notice that she was taking a nibble even as she walked. "Ellaryn Bracegirdle at you service, and a slice of home in this delicious chocolate cake is yours as well."

Thurin licked his lips and took the plate, giving her a nod. "My thanks! Thurin Stoutarm at yours! I haven't had good cake in years." he exclaimed, and then began to eat his fill with naught but his big hands, devouring the delicious treat in two bites, before wiping his beard upon his mouth. "A fine meal!" he said. He gave a bow to the people of the Inn, and then followed the Hobbit up the stairs, his footsteps more like stomps compared to her quiet footfalls.

---

Smoke shaded the hall, and almost seemed to muffle the sound of the crowd downstairs. Despite what he had thought, there was some apprehension to meeting with a possible wizard. He glanced down and noticed that the smoke seemed to almost flow forth from a single source; the last door in the hall. If Vamyr had much more experience in matters, he would have said it was halfling’s leaf, or some variation.

His footsteps grew a bit softer as he approached, and when he raised his hand to knock he noticed the carving. He wasn’t particularly educated, but the writing was clearly elvish, or somewhat related. Runes were far easier to read in his opinion. If the Wizard had intended anyone to read the text, it clearly wasn’t the Gondoran in the group. Vamyr hesitated, and then raised a hand and knocked three times before attempting to raise the latch and enter.

---

Most of the people wearing pins had already left the room and Aelin was about to join them. He stopped when he realized he'd been given a slice of cake.

"Oh, why thank you."

He wasn't really a fan of chocolate, but didn't want to seem rude and refuse the halfling's offer. He gave her a faint smile and ate the cake with elven elegance.

Its not actually that bad.

After finishing his meal Aelin realized he was the last party member left in the room - The dwarf had already followed Ellaryn upstairs, and Aelin decided to do so as well.

"Thank you, once again."

He said to everybody before climbing the stairs.

The air here was thick with anticipation, and Aelin got a good look at the others' faces for the first time. He was surprised to see another elf among them, and just stared at her for a moment.

After Vamyr's knock, the inscription burned away with a hiss of a silent firework. Suddenly: silence. The flames of the lantern turn as still as stone, and the smoke ceases to swirl. Not a living breath is heard. Then, from within the marked room, there comes a tap of wood hitting wood, and the stillness is broken in a second by a bang of a muffled thunder that clears the hallway air and leaves it with a faint scent of whetstone shards which disappears almost as fast as it came.

The door slowly opens, and from the small gap appears a serious face, old, wrinkled, and grey-bearded, with a pipe between the lips. The body which bears it is tall, despite the age, and clad in long dark blue garments under a dark grey cloak damaged on the edges by the elements. The body rests on a dark wooden staff the top of which is as white as a birch tree, and branched like one, too. The grey eyes shine curiously. After at least a whole minute of motionlessness, he blinks, says:

''I am already liking you, Vamyr Turambar. You did knock. Just as I have instructed you. Albeit in an ancient mode of elvish. Why, I am a what they call a wizard! And a wizard must be mysterious, must he not?!'' His lips then twist into what under the long beard seemed a smile. '' Aelin, Thurin, Ellaryn, Calariel, and of course, Vamyr... '' He squints, as if counting their heads; but soon his face morphs into a brooding expression, and in sudden haste, as if they were to blame for his inaction, he says: ''Come, now! All of you! No more claptrap! There is no time!'' The wizard bites his white pipe and starts hurriedly ushering everyone into the room with his free hand and tapping on the floor with the staff in the other.

"He really is a Wizard?" thought Ellaryn, she looked at him impressed and whispered under her breath "_{Gandalf Firecracker.}" Every hobbit in the shire had heard of him, even Ellaryn had fallen in bliss to the stories of his fireworks, and he was here now and had asked her aid.

He fit everything she knew about wizards (and all she knew was that he looked the part,) so she meekly took his directions and entered the room with the others. Els went and sat on a small stool with an almost childlike grace. Her eyes wide with wonder and her demeanor decidedly in awe of reputation.

Despite her hardships, her youth shone through at that moment (she had only come of age in the last year) and sitting on the stool, facing the blue wizard, she drank in his image and awaited every word he had in utter respect.

---

Calariel smiled shyly in greeting as the wizard spoke her name, and she filed into the room, taking a place near the back of the group with her back to a wall. She crossed one leg over the other, folding her hands in her lap, and listened intently to the goings-on in the room, as she couldn't make out much with her sight. Her ears picked up the hobbit whispering of Gandalf, but Calariel very much doubted that. She'd heard of Gandalf being in Rivendell near the time she left, and he wouldn't have come north like this. No, this must be another.

The spectacle of the wizard's mystery was largely lost on her, though she could imagine it. The thumping on the floor from his staff, the burning away of the inscription before that, the muffled thunder, the clearing of the smoke. She felt like she was in one of the stories she'd heard as a child, tales that kept her awake long into the night with thoughts of adventure and great deeds.

"What are we to call you, if I may ask?" the elf ventured carefully. They were at a disadvantage, name-wise. And Calariel had to admit a great deal of curiosity, as to who had summoned her by name, and why her, among these others.

---

Aelin followed the others to the room, and listened to the conversation for a moment. He had heard many stories of the Istari, and even met one of them years ago - Radagast, the Brown. He knew there were four of them in total.. Or was it five?

"You're the blue one.. Or.. One of them, at least. Am I right?"

The elf walked right next to the man's face and examined him with great curiosity. What would an elvish musician have that a wizard would want? And was he actually going to go on some brave, and adventurous quest?

Perhaps.. Others will sing about me in the future?

This was truly a momentous occasion indeed! Two Elves whom he did not mind the company of, a halfling as likeable as Bilbo Baggins, and a bloody wizard appearing out of the blue! HA! Blue Wizard! He cracked himself up sometimes. The monologue was in his head, and outside he appeared to be nothing less than the grumbling Dwarf he was. Much like a grumbling old wizard, he noted. "Me thanks, and happy I am to be seeing one of Gandalf's kin. But aye, I must ask your name, master Wizard." Thurin said, crossing his arms and standing beside Ellaryn.

”Gandalf...Firecracker?” said the wizard, turning towards the hobbit, bearing a serious inqusitive look of a general scolding a disobedient footman. ”They call him Gandalf the Firecracker now?!” He then laughed heartily until he choked, then coughed to clear his throat. ”Oh, Mithrandir, what else should we expect of you... He does make 'em good, doesn't he?” he asked the hobbit, locking his eyes with hers, remembering how Gandalf spoke well of the little folk. He would have his opinion on his mind. Of course, he had seen Ellaryn before, 'spied' on her, and he knew her to be one of a kind -- the kind that every company needs. He sat his old bones down on a chair, slowly, laying his staff onto his lap. The pipe was fuming again.

”See, they have sharp ears,” he says in a voice suddenly clear, or too clear one might say, for a mortal. Poitning the head of the staff at Calariel, he says: ”I can see Rivendell on your cheek, Calariel. I have many names, but your folk call me Ofnir, which is the name you might prefer over all the others. And as for you, master dwarf,” he adds, ”we will have to allow some creativity, for no dwarf has yet given me a nickname in their tongue. I am looking forward to hearing one you might come up with, though!”

”And you, Aelin,” he says through a circle of smoke, ”have a keen eye as well as ear. Yes, I am one of the blue.” He pulls his cloak aside revealing a bit more of his tattered blue robes underneath. ”And don't ask... I don't know where the other one may be.” Ofnir looks at the floor. For a moment, the dust underneath their feet seems to him at once the burning sand and green vast steppe of the east, where he once travelled, but the vision passes, and he returns to his addiction -- the puffing of weed -- with an obvious sadness in his eye.

Ellaryn went bright red, she looked at the wizard and quickly lowered her eyes and then glanced over to Aelin and then the Dwarf. they both knew he wasn't Gandalf. At least the wizard seemed to take it in good stride, she nodded to him silently as he asked about the fireworks, but Els was worried about the cough as he laughed goodnaturedly. No one should fall ill in happy situations.

Ofnir, so that was his name. Els mentally slapped herself, of course the "O" signed in the letter, and he knew all about them. She glanced back up when his voice stopped and she caught his forlorn look at the floorboards. It was just like how she felt sometimes when she realised how far away she was from The Shire. She drew her knees up to her chin and also stared at the floor feeling melancholy.

"It is at times like these that I could really use some more of that cake."

---

The hiss and blast of air that briefly vacated the smoke was almost enough to make him turn around, but the door opened before Vamyr could decide the appropriate reaction. Instead, the man raised an eyebrow at the wizened wizard’s greeting coming through the door. Surely he hadn’t expected anyone to actually read such a cryptic engraving? And a man of all people. That the wizard had known to match his face to his name was a shock that struck as he was considering leaning on the wall versus sitting down. He chose the wall a few paces away from the female elf, closer to the door. This was a room full of strangers, and at least two of them looked like they could use weapons. He wasn't nervous, but only a fool didn't take precaution. The others had questions enough, so he quietly waited, trying to pick names from the conversations to match with faces. As things quieted, he spoke up.

”It wouldn’t be wise to rush a wizard,” Vamyr began carefully, ”but my horse is hitched out in the cold, and I rather not leave him to suffer longer than necessary.” To the others it might be silly, but that horse was a great investment of both wealth and emotion. It was cruel to make it sit out in the cold any longer than necessary. Besides which, he was now certain that it would be dark before he could pitch camp tonight. Maybe if he raised one side of the tent and had Fred lay down, they could huddle up for warmth and use the snow as insulation. He sighed in resignation.