The Tavern was filled with at least thirty hobbits all singing old folk songs and dancing the jig with jugs of ale clasped tightly in their fists. A rather fat musician stood on a table, gladly playing the fiddle while trying to eat a large piece of creme pie. The Tavern itself was built of oaken wood. Small lights hung over each table while a large chandelier dangled in the center, dazzling guests as they entered; some of these guests happened to be Everard and Tim.
"See, wouldn't you rather be here than plowing fields Tim?" Everard turned towards his friend, "Tim?" He asked again.
Tim didn't answer as he was imbedded in his own thoughts at the moment; he wasn't sure whether he wanted to sit down at a table and hide his face or chug a pitcher of ale.
"Well lets see now," Tim mumbled, "Sit down and hide my face or chug a pitcher of ale..."
Tim stuck out his hands and began weighing the two thoughts on an imaginary scale; chugging a pitcher of ale beat hiding his face by one point: if he got drunk, he wouldn't remember anything.
"Tim!" Everard shouted for the third and last time.
"I'm going to drink ale!" Tim shouted with triumph.
Everard put his hands on his hips and shook his head.
"What else would you do at a tavern?"
Everard took Tim by the wrist and shoved his way through the merry dancing hobbits.
"Hey John!" Everard called to a bartender behind the counter.
"Evie," the young hobbit laughed, "jolly to see you here today!"
He took out two glasses from the shelf and filled them to the top with golden, foaming ale.
Tim turned toward Everard, a bit shocked, "you come here often?"
Everard swiped one of the glasses from the counter, "only as often as you think I come here," he said, gulping down the drink in a matter of seconds.
"Johnny boy, get me another!" Everard commanded, wiping his face.
"Right away Evie," Johnny laughed.
Tim just stood there, eying the pitcher of that golden, sparking ale like it was his own treasure yet a curse.
"Well, come on then!" Everard spoke, "if you won't drink it than I will."
"No!" Tim yelled, protecting the glass, "I'll do it."
Slowly but surely, Tim placed the mug to his mouth and began sipping the sweet liquid.
Everard clasped a hand around Tim's shoulder nearly making him spill his drink.
"What was that for?" He asked angrily.
"You drink like a lady," Everard burst out laughing, having to put his hands on his knees in order to stay upright.
"I most certainly do not!" Tim roared, holding the glass to the air.
"You even sound like one," Everard choked, wiping a tear from his face.
"I'm as man as you are!" Tim scoffed, staring Everard straight in the eyes.
"Well then," Everard said, "if you think your man enough, than I challenge you to a drinking contest!"
At this the entire tavern stopped. The hobbits stopped dancing, the fiddler stopped fiddling and even the guests entering the tavern stopped at the sound of these words.
Everard looked around at the hobbits, young and old, eying him and his friend.
"That's right," Everard said, hopping onto a nearby table, "I challenge you to a drinking contest!"
All of a sudden every hobbit began cheering and banging their glasses of ale on the wooden tables.
"Johnny, get the ale ready, I'm goin to take this lady down," Everard grinned, kneeling on the table to meet Tim's embarrassed gaze.
"You didn't just do that Everard, tell me you didn't just do that," Tim whispered, grabbing Everard's shirt collar.
Everard smirked, "time to have a bit O' fun friend."