The following depicts Gusgo Berrybell’s coming to the town of Fullbridge and Od’s Alehouse.
The overhead skies were dull, peppered with thick, grey clouds. Gusgo trotted along the old road which led through the thick forest of Chetwood. It was late afternoon, for sure; the light to the west was becoming less and less apparent through the covering of the trees. Soon the sun would be gone, which meant that Gusgo had missed his usual dinnertime. He drifted from one side of the road to the other, becoming rather agitated as his stomach rumbled aggressively. It was no more than two hours ago that he had set out from the sleepy town of Staddle to pick fresh mushrooms that grow under the shade of the oak trees. Upon placing one into his little rucksack, another seemed to appear under another tree. This trail had kept him trekking eagerly until his pack became too heavy and full to host any more. Down he looked to his large, hairy feet that were becoming dusty from the road, and achy from the long walk. Gusgo craved to turn back home, but his mouth was far too dry to even consider turning into the eastward wind, as all manner of dust and grit would surely find its way into his quenched throat. Big Folk on bigger horses passed him several times, kicking up stones and leaves in the Hobbit’s face. Now he began to stomp, feeling hungry, thirsty, tired and cold. Yet now the once single road split in two: one way continuing the East Road, and another turning westwards and down into a small valley. Gusgo chose the latter, hoping to find a place to rest his feet and fill his mouth. Along this sloping road he went, almost wishing to get down on his knees and approach like an exhausted fox. At the opening of the valley, a ruined structure stood with an arched opening. Upon it were crumbled stars and other unfamiliar crests. On either side of this arch stood a guard, whom Gusgo recognized as the Bree Watchmen. They bid him inside, giving the Halfling brief counsel to make his way to the first house on the right. He knew not of what they meant by this, but he was willing to take any advice if it would quench his now dire thirst.
As he walked down the path that continued to slope, as he did so his sight crossed a large signpost to the left, reading: “Fullbridge”. Now Gusgo knew where he was, the small, out of sight village that he had visited as a child. This place was apparently named for its bridge; which in truth was nothing special. A quiet, rustic town made up of homes made from wood and stone. In the distance, the Hobbit could see smoke rising from the many chimneys, rising a couple of metres before being blown eastwards. The smell of cooked meat and vegetables travelled upon the grey clouds, right into Gusgo’s nose. Now he felt envious of these folk in their warm homes, with open hearths and simple, tasty foods. He had now reached the first house on the right. Its large yard was surrounded by a stone wall that would come to the chest of any Man, yet was far taller than the Hobbit. Within the green yard there were four tables with benches spread out, though not in a particular manner. Rising far above the house was a windmill that would normally be found within the Shire, its fans catching the breeze that was escaping through the opening of the valley. The slight creaking sound that it created was complemented by the smell that Gusgo recognized as Barley, which he presumed was being grinded down within. On the other side of the yard a small stage had been erected, the surface of which was clearly marked by shoes. A small scene was set up on the background, and after sometime of studying it, Gusgo came to the conclusion that it must be used for entertainment.
Now his sights turned to the house itself. Sitting on a stone foundation of some height, it was made from beams of solid wood that formed the structure whilst the walls were made up of smaller pieces of wood place upon each other. It reminded the Hobbit of the houses of Bree, and after taking a quick glance across the road, he noticed that all the houses were of similar architecture. “A smaller, more peaceful Bree.” He thought to himself. Small windows were placed at the front of the building, yet no light could be seen through them. At the left side a large door towered the Hobbit as he walked up several steps. To Gusgo’s surprise and delight, it had two handles on it, one in the reach of an average Man and another for a Hobbit. Just beside the door was a large sign, with the words:
Od’s Alehouse
Beneath it in smaller text it said:
Odvil Appleark, Proprietor
After a short moment where he looked up at the sky to notice that the dark clouds were beginning to release rain upon the village, Gusgo grasped the Hobbit-handle with a twist and pulled it towards him. The frame was lighter than it seemed, so it was opened with relative ease. Turning towards the door as he entered and pulling it shut, his temperature went from cool to pleasantly cosy in an instant. Now spinning on the spot, seemingly no longer exhausted from his walk, Gusgo was met by a rectangular room, filled with candle and firelight. In front of him a large table was set with many jugs, plates and mugs. Beneath it was a large, thick read rug that had clear black stitching across it. The walls were a dark brown colour with a high stone border, the floor matched the walls in style. The room was almost silent, with only the sound of a crackling fire and slight snoring. Gusgo turned his head left, seeing some seating in the corner of the room. Now he noticed that upon the walls were local maps, of Bree-land and Eriador. As he passed the large table, he found a high, solid counter with a balding man behind it. His arm was rested upon it with his round head perched on his upright hand. Snoring gently, and murmuring indistinctively. Gusgo stood, facing the man for some moments before releasing a subtle “Ahem!” At once the man sprang up, grumbling loudly to himself as he straightened his clothing out and crackling his stiff back. He was short for a man, even those of Bree, with a short beard and balding, grey hair. His attire consisted of a plain, grey shirt with an apron that Gusgo presumed was once white, though now it was stained with what looked like ale. After a short moment of self-adjustment, he turned to the Hobbit and gave him a wide, kind grin.
‘Welcome to Od's! Take a seat and I'll come get yer' drink order. On the special tap today is a fresh cider imported from the Shire for just one seventy bronze bits per flagon!’ He spoke in a loud voice, the words seemed rather rehearsed.
With that, Gusgo politely ordered the ‘fresh cider’ and trotted over to the seating in the corner of the room. After crawling up on the high wooden armchair in a rather embarrassing way, he quickly turned towards the counter to see if the barkeeper had just witnessed it. But he was not there, but the to the left of the room he could hear loud clashing of bottles, the opening and closing of drawers and the grumbles of a loud voice. But Gusgo sat quietly on the chair, his suspended legs swinging back and forth in excitement. Even for a Hobbit of his sort, cider was reasonably new to him. Some moments later the man came back into the room with a red face. In his hand there was a large flagon filled to the brim with a pale liquid complimented by a thin layer of white froth. Once taking the flagon from the barkeeper, he placed it on his lap and felt around his pockets, returning with a shiny silver coin.
‘One silver, keep the change, sir.’ Gusgo giggled as he handed over the single coin. ‘I assume that you are mister Appleark, sir?’
The man grinned broadly as he slipped the coin into his apron. ‘Thank ye’, kind master. All this talk of “misters” and “sirs” don’t suit this place, lad. Ye’ve got the right place, but ye’ can jus’ call me Od.’
‘Certainly, mister Od. I mean, Od. Wasn’t sure what sort of place this would be. You have a nice tavern, here.’
‘Ah, thank ye’ again, laddie. I ain’t the Pony but it does good trade.’ Od replied, although Gusgo looked around the building to see that he was the only one in there.
‘This is good cider, mister Od. Can’t get it much better than the Shire, they say.’ Gusgo went on, not wishing to offend the friendly man by bringing up the absence of customers.
‘Aye. Get a few kegs delivered every week. Nice folk, those ones from across the Brandywine. But from yer’ accent I’d say that ye’ ain’t from there.’
Gusgo nodded, impressed by the man’s recognition. ‘You are right, mister Od. I’m not far from here, just in Staddle, in fact.’
Od now sat on the chair opposite Gusgo’s. ‘Staddle, eh? Got some nice taters growin’ there!’
The two continued to chat about farming and the goings on in Bree, of strange folk passing through the busy town. It seemed like they spoke for hours on end. Od had served several more drinks up to the Hobbit over the evening. After finishing a long conversation about local fishing spots, the man was beckoned outside to deal with an ale order. But Gusgo was not yet ready to go home, despite being rather unsteady from the amount of cider he consumed. For a while he remained on the large seat, but then he became inquisitive and decided to explore the small establishment. Hopping off the seat his and trotting in the room to the right of the main bar, there was a square room with the same wall and flooring. Another rug similar to that of the other room was laid across, next to another hearth that was not yet lit. A small, dusty painting and a map were loosely hung on the walls along with some new candles. Beside wooden chairs a light green table was set so two of its legs touched the red rug whilst the others were placed on the bare floor. This table was at a good height for Gusgo, coming up to his chest. After clambering on one of the chairs, he sat silently for a while before unknowingly falling asleep.
Sometime later, he was roused by the noise of something being pushed against the outside wall of the tavern. It caused him such surprise that he slipped from the chair onto the floor.
‘Must be a tankard coming in.’ He assured himself, realising how dry his mouth was.
The Inn was now completely silent, no crackling of flames or the somewhat comforting snoring of Od. Gusgo slowly waddled into the bar, expecting the innkeeper to come through the door at any moment to offer him another drink. He was certainly not heading home this late, what with the talk of wolves in Chetwood. There was no indication of what the time was, though he presumed that it was very late or very early. The only thing that was truly on his mind was how to quench his thirst. Much more time passed an Od had still not returned. Gusgo was become a little agitated now, his dry throat was causing him much discomfort. Jumping up from his chair swiftly, he pulled a silver coin out from his pocket and placed it upon the counter. Then he stomped into the room to the left, where Od had disappeared to when getting Gusgo his drinks.
This part of the tavern was different to the rest. The walls were similar but the floor was made from stone, which was cold on the Hobbit’s leathery feet. The kitchen was an overall cool place, despite there being a fireplace in there. Across the floor there was another red rug with clear stitching, the likes of which Gusgo leaped on to warm his feet. Along the walls there was another picture and map, similar to that of the small sitting room across the bar. Along the floor, there were many full bottles stacked up against the stone border, each of them labelled with the brand and expiry date. The most obvious feature of the room was the single keg that was pushed towards the window at the back, surrounded by wooden drawers that Gusgo believed to be filled with cutlery and flagons. On the other side of the cold room there was a bucket filled with soapy water, used for washing any used mugs and plates. Upon one of the wooden drawers, Gusgo’s eye caught a bottle which was half filled. He knew instantly that this was the source of his fresh cider, so therefore quickly opened the bottom shelf out fully and the top one halfway. Thus, he had created a walkway to the cider.
‘Ma always said I had Took blood in me.’ He muttered to himself as he began to ascend towards the prize. His large feet balancing on flagons that filled the drawers; which were rather unsteady. At last, he grabbed the bottle and jumped down, landing perfectly on his feet.
Gusgo whipped out a clean flagon from the bottom drawer and pushed it shut, followed by the top shelf. He then trotted across the room, rather pleased with his little ‘adventure’. Removing the cork of the bottle with his teeth, he faced the wall and began to pour the pale contents into the flagon. But he was apprehended, as he heard a quiet ‘Ahem!’ behind him. Turning on the spot, there he was. Od had returned, he was leaning on the doorway between the kitchen and bar, his arms crossed and head shaking.
‘Helpin’ yerself, I see.’ He grumbled quietly.
‘I have paid, mister Od!’ Gusgo whimpered, his hand unknowingly continuing to pour the drink from the bottle straight into the flagon. Od’s face turned from a somewhat angered impression to one of surprise.
‘Yer’ pourin’ that without lookin’?’ Exclaimed Appleark, rubbing his bearded chin with one hand.
Gusgo looked from Od down to the flagon. Now he noticed that the flagon was filled to the brim with cider, but the bottle still had plenty of liquid left inside. He shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of whether the man was angry or pleased with what he has done. Gusgo was a good host back in Staddle, serving up generous feasts; with plenty of drinks. The Hobbit shuddered slightly, figuring that Odvil Appleark was capable of defending his business as well as himself. Now Gusgo felt even smaller beneath the man, so much so that he was shaking. ‘Mister Od, I have paid, mister. I was just a little thirsty, is all.’ He begged.
But Odvil continued to lean gently in the doorway. Noticing the Hobbit’s fear he dashed forward and slowly got onto his knees, as to descend to Gusgo’s height. The Hobbit cringed slightly at the noise of the man’s joints crackling. His fear was thrown aside when the man placed his right hand gently upon Gusgo’s shoulder. ‘What are ye’ worried ‘bout? Plenty of folk jus’ ‘elp themselves an’ don’t pay!’ He chuckled. ‘But y’are a natural with drinks, where’d y’learn to do that?’
The Hobbit took a deep breath inwards, smiling with a childlike expression. ‘At home sir, at home! I like nothing more than to invite my good friends and family over for feasts.’ He exclaimed excitedly. ‘I never noticed I could do that before, mister, are you just pulling my leg?’
But Odvil shook his head, letting out an almighty chuckle. ‘I ‘ave plenty of names ‘ere, friend. But I ain’t a liar or a trickster.’ The man explained, not breaking eye contact with the Hobbit. ‘Y’ave a steady hand an’ good timin’.’
Now Gusgo jumped, rather excitedly. ‘You are serious, mister Od! I am most glad at your kind words!’
Odvil now stood up, his knees cracking. Looking down at the grinning Hobbit, he proposed. ‘How’d ye like to pick up some shifts in this place, eh? Honest work for honest coin.’
Without letting the man finish Gusgo leaped around the room, giggling and whooping. ‘I would love to, mister Od! I’ve always wanted to work in a tavern! You are most kind, mister Od.’
With that, the two discussed the intended hours of work along with the pay. Gusgo was not all that fussed by what coin he would receive from this, he was simply excited by being able to chat with new folk from the local area as well as from abroad. His wages were reasonable, and he did not expect all that much. In the cold kitchen all the bottles were explained to him by Od, and after he was able to memorize them up to a point, the man took out a small apron from the padlocked chest. Gusgo slipped this over his head and tied it up with a bow. Much like that of Od’s apron, Gusgo presumed that this was once white, but had become stained by ale and vomit. The Hobbit now hopped up onto the large wooden chair in the bar and finally drank his much deserved cider. His throat was instantly replenished, the croaky voice was gone. Odvil briefly opened the wooden door to brush a large pile of dust outside with his old broom. Gusgo observed how there was now some sunlight on his wrinkled face, and concluded that the sun was rising over the valley. After an almighty yawn, Gusgo blacked out and was gone
He awoke. His eyes opened slowly, and he noticed that he was in the same chair as before, but the room was sideways. Gusgo sat up slowly, stretching his arms high and yawning loudly. Upon him he noticed a thick, patched blanket and some old cushions were placed where his head was. Despite their apparent age and use, he was certainly as warm as he would be at home. Lowering himself down to the wooden floor, his eye caught a figure sitting in the small side room. As he rubbed his eyes, his sight became clearer. There were two figures, with hoods covering their faces and strange pipes in their hands. In the candlelight he saw that they wore almost all green, perhaps eve grey. Next to their chairs a unstrung bow and sheathed swords sat, in reaching distance of them. From the bar, Gusgo could only make out little murmurs that were exchanged between the two. Feeling inquisitive, he put one foot forward, knowing that he could walk with a certain degree of stealth. But as soon as his large foot met the floor, the two hooded figures turned their heads swiftly in the Hobbit’s direction. Faces hidden by masks, Gusgo felt as though he could not move, fearing that if he did they would harm him. After a short moment of the Hobbit and the two men staring at each other, a sound of clanging bounced around the tavern, coming from the kitchen. In an instant, Gusgo leaped across the room into the sanctuary of the cold kitchen. There Od stood, in the same clothes as before. The noise must have been a keg tipping over, considering that one rolled back and forth in front of the man, who had his arms on his thighs, shaking his head.
‘Darn thing!’ He grumbled, picking up two full flagons from beside him and turning to Gusgo. ‘Ah, y’are awake. Pleasant sleep, eh? ‘Ere, take these to them folk in the sitting room, will ye?’
Gusgo nodded quickly, trying to put a smile on his face. ‘Excuse me, mister Od. But who are they?’
‘Best not to ask, if ye don’t know.’ He muttered. ‘Rangers, we call ‘em. Most of ‘em stop off at Bree to get any news from there. Beats me why they’d want t’come ‘ere. Perhaps they want some peace, which they wouldn’t get there.’
The Hobbit took the two flagons from Od and trotted with them into the side room. He tried to remain calm and keep a wide smile on his face, but his approach was executed gingerly. The two hooded men stopped their murmuring as the Hobbit entered, their heads following his movements. Gusgo placed the drinks upon the low green table with a sincere grin.
‘That will be one silver, good sirs.’ He stammered, looking from man to man.
After a short moment of silence, one of the Rangers opened his fist and revealed a shiny silver coin. Gusgo took the coin rather swiftly from the palm, expecting that it would snap shut.
‘Thank you, Halfling. You are most kind.’ One of them spoke, in a fair voice. Not at all coinciding with his appearance, rather the speech of a noble or a king, Gusgo thought.
‘Oh – er, not at all.’ Gusgo stuttered, rather taken aback by them. ‘Enjoy your ales!’ He then shouted, before dashing out the room and leaning against the large table, panting loudly.
‘Well… Let’s get to work, Gusgo.’ The Hobbit said to himself, noticing his bag of mushrooms by the door before returning to the kitchen to find some work to do.
