Some of my most pleasant memories are of inns where I've spent a quiet evening after a hard day of travelling. Most of the time when I'm sitting in the common room of an inn, I do not even feel pressed to binge voraciously on whatever drugs I may have on my person. A pipe of fine tobacco and an excess of cheap wine are all I require.
The Slumber of the Gods was a particularly fine place to pass the time. It was not as glitzy or glamorous as its name suggested. Instead, it was simply comfortable and warm. After a hearty meal, I took up a seat in front of the fire, and started to tell stories to children.
"You see that little man sitting over there?" I whispered to the children conspiratorially, while indicating Mr. Baggins. "That's Old Bilbo, the Half-Man. See how short he is?"
The children turned to look at my companion.
"No! Don't look at him!" I said urgently. "It might make him mad. Have you ever heard of him? Do you know why he's so short?"
The children, wide-eyed, shook their heads.
"He's so short because a mad old goblin once cut off his legs at the knees and ate them! But that was a long time ago. Old Bilbo eventually learned to walk again, although he never got over the nightmares that plagued him. His fellow villagers also made it difficult for him to resume his normal life afterward. The children in his village used to taunt him mercilessly. 'Hey! Old Man Bilbo! Catch me if you can!' 'Half-man! Bet you can't run as fast as I can!' It was terrible for Old Bilbo. Some say it drove him mad, and that he grew to HATE little children.
"One dark night, the children of his village started to disappear. One by one, parents would wake up in the morning to find their little boys and girls gone! Everyone thought it might be crazy old Bilbo, but they couldn't prove it. Eventually, some of the parents, insane with grief, formed a mob and ran Old Bilbo out of the village. He's wandered the land far and wide ever since. Mostly he keeps to himself. But evey once in a while, and child will vanish from a village where he stays the night."
"Wotcha doin'?" slurred Mr. Baggins, who was now standing behind the children.
Startled, the children lept up and ran off screaming.
"Shame on you, Mr. Baggins, frightening the children like that!" I chided.
"They always do that..." he murmured.
Mr. Baggins frowned, then shook his head.
"Come, Mr. Baggins, let us sit at the bar. Perhaps we can talk to some of the locals and find out what has happened to the once-glorious Everhome."
I rose from my chair and crossed the room. Perching on a bar stool, I ordered an ale for myself and one for Mr. Baggins. On my left were sitting two men. The first was stocky, with a dark complection and short dark hair. His apparent companion was about the same height, but much thinner, with long stringy hair.
"Excuse me, sir," I addressed the fellow next to me.
"Hey, what's new, pussycat?" he said, smiling at me.
I was momentarily taken aback by his strange manner of speech. I quickly checked to make sure I hadn't sprouted any wiskers. Then I chuckled, pretending to get his apparent joke. It seemed to work; the man laughed with me.
"So, are you from around here?" I inquired.
"Naw, just passing through. Me and Davey here move around a lot," he said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. Davey barely flinched; he just continued to stare ahead with a vacant look in his eyes.
"Oh, really. Is this your first visit to Everhome?"
"Too weird," he replied with a look of amazement on his face. "How did you know that we're going to Everhome?"
I looked blankly at the man, inwardly cursing. There exists a major problem with having conversations with stranger in a bar. If reality suddenly becomes discontinuous, it is difficult to tell whether I'm right and my newly acquired friend is muttering drunken utterances or whether he's right and I've gone a bit too far into the drink. I decided to re-evaluate my present position to check for flaws in my thinking, which always takes so long. I learned long ago that if I really wanted to figure out what was happening, backing up only a day or so in my memory was woefully inadequate. So I usually started with my childhood and went on from there. Growing up, learning magic, blah blah blah. Early adventures, political intrigue, sex. Oh, and here comes the bit about the rings, which I can never quite sort out because I was on some SERIOUS magic back then.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and was startled back to the present.
"Hey, are you okay there?" The man was looking at me with concern.
"What? Oh. Yes," I said. "I was just evaluating my life. Figuring out where I've come from, where I am, and where I'm going. That sort of thing."
"Oh," he said. "Are you going to Everhome, too?"
"What do you mean?" I asked. "We're already in Everhome."
Then I reflected for a moment.
"Aren't we?" I asked, afraid that I already knew the answer, whatever it may be.
"Oh, no, man. Everhome is about fifty miles north of here."
I thought about this, then slapped the bar in astonishment. I turned to Mr. Baggins who was holding a tankard in each hand and attempting to empty both containers into his mouth at the same time. I shook his shoulder, causing him to spill more ale down his shirt than he was managing on his own.
"That's it!" I exclaimed. "That's why there are no elves here! This isn't Everhome!"
I turned back to the man. "Thank you, sir. I was so worried, but everything seems to be allright now. Here, let me buy a pint of ale for you and your friend."
I was suddenly feeling much better. Realizing that the run-down, ramshackle town we were in was not the decaying remains of Everhome lightened my heart, and I single-handedly went about funding some two-dozen intense hangovers spread over probably a dozen people. Because you should always celebrate your victories, no matter how small.
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