The Vineyard Tavern

[Bêthberry]

Ladies and Gentleman of the Gaming Fora, Dwarves and Elves, Hobbits and Orcs, Creatures Fell and Angelic and All Souls in between,

Welcome to the Vineyard Tavern, the second Inn in Rohan devoted to quality improvisational gaming. The Inns are designed to provide gamers the opportunity to explore new characters and try out game ideas either in preparation for developing game proposals or when waiting for new games to appear. The Vineyard Tavern differs from The White Horse Inn in that it is set before the Lord of the Rings and outside Rohan. This setting, we hope, will give gamers a chance to explore facets of Middle-earth beyond Lord of the Rings. It is, however, in all other respects, like The White Horse.

The Programme of Entertainments

Setting: One year after the defeat of Smaug the Dragon, in the newly built town which replaced Esgaroth, a little northward from where fell the dragon. (See the chapter ?Fire and Water? in The Hobbit)

The year: 2942 T.A. (Third Age) (See Appendix B of LOTR)

The 'Regulars':
Finnian, the Innkeeper (Imladris)
Rochadan, the Stablemaster and daughter Sallie (Ealasaide)
Ædhral, serving girl (Nerindel)
Kannah, oddjobs (Orual)
Bethberry, itinerant healer and guest, Bêthberry

The plot so far: rebuilding Lake-town, aiding the dwarves to rebuild Erebor and Bard to restore Dale; learning how dwarves, elves and men can co-exist.

The Patrons: Barrow Downs gamers who wish to explore Middle earth before the War of the Ring. You can game at all the Inns--The Green Dragon, The White Horse, and the Vineyard Tavern--but feel free to create new characters for the Vineyard.

[Bêthberry]

Anyone whose posts can meet the minimum standard for gaming in The Shire may post in The Vineyard Tavern. Please make sure you are familiar with The Redbook of Westmarch (in The Shire) and The Golden Hall (here in Rohan); these treads provide valuable information about gaming at the Barrow Downs.

No SAVES are allowed in the Inn.

The Vineyard Tavern is run as an interactive, improvisational game. You can plan events via PM or email but the main point is to take your cue from the posts which precede yours. Please read them carefully so your posts reflect current events, the time, the weather, and who other characters are and what they are doing.

Only the Innkeeper or the Moderator can move the Timeframe forward.

Gaming at the Vineyard is open but playing in Rohan games is restricted to gamers who have shown they can can game responsibly and reliably, demonstrating the basic techniques of interactive role playing and writing in clean, clear, correct English. (No chatspeak is allowed.). Please see the next post for the lists of Rohan Game Players and Game Managers.

[Bêthberry]

Anyone can game at The Vineyard Tavern as long as their posts meet the minimum standard for writing as described in The Shire.

Rohan is the place where gamers build upon the skills learnt in The Shire and prepare to become fully independent gamers in Gondor. (It is still a moderated forum but gamers are expected to be more independent and responsible ) For that reason, we have two levels of gamers in Rohan, based upon the level of successful gaming experience in The Shire. People who have participated responsibly and reliably in Shire games and who have demonstrated at least the potential for creative, imaginative, excellent writing skills are Rohan Game Players.

People who have founded and run a game successfully in The Shire have full status as Game Founder (or Manager) as well as Player. These gamers have proven they can maintain a level of enthusiasm and interest over the duration of a game and can motivate their fellow game participants.

Please note that Rohan games are owned by everyone who participates in them. While the Game Founder (or Manager) has an idea of how the game is plotted and structured, all gamers participate in creating the story by writing it.

For the full list of Game Founders and Game Players, please read the thread
The Golden Hall (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showpost.php?p=313493&postcount=)

[Bêthberry]

Finian, still surrounded by lingering morning mists, drew his bow to his ear and aimed the arrow at a shaggy bale of straw. A finger of dawn dropped upon it and it shimmered, transforming into a great golden dragon with translucent wings of aurora beauty. Yellow flames, flecked with orange and streaked with crimson, burst from its fang-ridden mouth, burning the innocent town below, destroying the wooden huts. Pillars of fire erupted from the dried thatch. Children screamed. Women and men dived into the safety of the water. But a lone man -- nay, it was a young boy not yet into full manhood -- stood his ground: he alone dared face the golden wyrm. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled the bow string taut, drawing the arrow to his ear. The dragon soared through the sky as a burning star alight with dawn"s fire, radiant with brilliant liht save for a gaping hole below the heart. The arrow leaped from the bow with a shrill cry and plunged itself into the black hole. With an agonized roar, the dragon toppled from the sky to drop into the lake below. Bubbles rose to the lake"s smooth surface, the agitated water hissed and steamed, and the --

"I would think the innkeeper of the Vineyard Tavern would be behind the bar instead of staring at a bale of straw as if it meant to kill you," said Rochadan, a smile drifting about his face.

Finian jerked his head away and blinked at the stable master. Rochadan and his father had been good friends, and since his father had died in Smaug's attack, the stable master had helped him establish a new Vineyard Tavern. The boy stared at the stable master, looking into his rugged face, his deep brown eyes. Then he grinned, and said, "Then the guests are indeed foolish to stir this early about."

Rochadan flashed a grin and then said, "Ædhral was looking for your sister, Ærosylle. She is not in the Tavern."

Blast it. The girl was always disappearing. "I will find her soon," he said, rolling his eyes. Drat. Patrons came first. They always came first in the business, his father had told him. Why did she always have to disappear? Finian was sure it was because she knew he could not drop everything and rush to find her. She liked to be alone, doing her strange antics, thinking her strange thoughts.

Still pondering whether he should find her or not, Finian spared a glance at the newly built and refurnished Vineyard Tavern. He ran his fingers through his hair and nodded with a broad smile at the sturdy building. His father had been Innkeeper before him in old Esgaroth but he perished in a spout of Smaug's flame when wyrm had descended onto Lake-Town, leaving him as the new innkeeper and the sole provider for his younger sister, Ærosylle. Finian shook his head: that had been a fleeting year ago. It had been a busy time, with many maimed and injured. Bêthberry the healer had helped and then, as an old family friend, stayed on to attend to his sister, but the illness was a strange one which seemed beyond healing at times. Yet Bethberry stayed on, becoming a kindly ear for any at the Inn and offering advice and herbal remedies to those who needed it, and becoming a part of the new Vineyard Tavern.

The Vineyard Tavern was not large, but neither was it small. The wood was light pine, with a thatch roof. The Tavern's sign, with a cluster of grapes painted on the top left corner and elves rafting upon a river in the bottom right hand corner, dangled from a projecting beam of wood. His father, he hoped, would be proud of him. Forgoing for a small time the search for his sister, Finain, with another small sigh, marched into the inn, and looked about him. Not many people were gathered in the Common Room but that was to be expected. The people were busy planting for the season. Mainly the men were traders dropping by for a pint of ale or a goblet of wine before continuing their trip down the river. Then they would return for a few days, rafts laden with wealth, seeds, produce and news.

A strong smell of spice and roasted meat wafted through the common room and Finian, with a smile, dashed to the kitchen and poked his head through the door. Ædrhal was busy stirring a great iron pot. Ædrhal towered; her hair a loose braid down her back. She heard his clatter and, turning her head, said, "We are having a bit of eggs and bacon, Finian."

"We have not had bacon for a very long time," said Finian with a grin.

She merely smiled at him.

"We do not have as many hungry guests this morning as we normally do," said Finian -- not like when my father was the innkeeper -- "but we have enough." He nodded his head, a half smile about his lips.

Leaving the kitchen, he stationed himself behind the bar, talking to the occasional customer who ordered a frothing mug of ale. The thought of his sister nagged at his mind. He should go out and look for her?but the patrons of the Inn needed to be satisfied first.

[Ealasaide]

At the hitching post outside the stables, Rochadan bent down over the foreleg of a horse that had just come into his care by way of a newly arrived guest at the Vineyard Tavern. He could tell at a glance that the horse favored the leg and was not surprised to discover some swelling above the fetlock. It was probably just a slight sprain, he decided, but he would have a word with the horse's owner as soon as possible. Both forelegs would benefit from being wrapped at least for a few days. He straightened and patted the animal's neck. Looking across the inn yard, he could see the new innkeeper, Finian, standing with a bow in his hand and a look of cold determination in his eyes as he prepared to put to death a nearby hay bale. Rochadan smiled and walked in the young man's direction.

"I would think the innkeeper of the Vineyard Tavern would be behind the bar instead of staring at a bale of hay as if it meant to kill you," he said pleasantly.

Jolted out of his daydream, Finian turned quickly and blinked at the stablemaster. Then he grinned. "Then the guests are indeed foolish to stir this early about."

Rochadan laughed. It was indeed early, but the Vineyard's guests had a tendency not only to be up and about at all hours, but to expect food, drink, and service as well. It would do the young innkeeper well to bear that in mind, thought Rochadan, but he did not press the subject. Finian had proven himself quite dedicated over the past year, so a little grumbling from the young fellow was not only acceptable, but understandable. On the other hand, there was something Rochadan had been meaning to tell Finian. He paused to think what it was. He had been so absorbed in finding the cause of the lameness in the guest's horse that he had nearly forgotten the conversation he had had with Ædhral, one of the serving girls, just a short while earlier. She had been looking for Ærosylle, Finian's sister, and been unable to find her. The girl had a way of turning up missing from time to time. Usually she could be found again fairly quickly, but, with her odd ways, her wandering off was always troubling.

"Ædhral was looking for your sister, Ærosylle," he told Finian. "She is not in the Tavern."

"I will find her soon," answered Finian and, taking his bow, walked off in the direction of the door to the common room. Rochadan watched him go thinking how much the boy had matured in the year since his father, Aeron, had died. Before the coming of the dragon a year ago, Rochadan would never have believed a happy-go-lucky scamp like Finian capable of running the Vineyard, much less rebuilding it from the ground up. Having seen the innkeeper killed and the inn go up in flames, Rochadan had been certain that he would be out of a job and be forced to take his daughter and move on. To his surprise, when he had returned with the rest of the men from fighting at Bard's side in the Battle of the Five Armies, he found Finian hard at work with plans to rebuild the place. He took heart from Finian's faith and threw himself into the work of rebuilding the inn with a sort of energy that he didn't think he could muster anymore. Between the two of them, they had done an admirable job of it, too. Rochadan was as proud of - and as attached to - the inn as if it were his own.

After all, the Vineyard Tavern had been his home for three years now, ever since the death of his wife, Tristana, in childbirth. Prior to her passing, Rochadan had been a long distance messenger, carrying mail and dispatches from Esgaroth to wherever they needed to go throughout Middle Earth. When she had died, leaving him a widower at twenty-six with despair in his heart and a tiny infant on his hands, he had given up his life as a messenger and taken the job as stablemaster at the inn. Looking back, he saw Aeron's offer of the job at such a crucial moment in his life as the one thing that had saved him. Without it, he hated to think what might have become of him or his daughter. After Aeron's death, Rochadan had mourned him as if the innkeeper had been Rochadan's own father, rather than his employer. Now, as the oldest member of the staff aside from the cook, he felt a sense of responsibility toward the young people who now ran the Vineyard. He would do whatever he could to help them make a success of the place. He owed it to Aeron.

Returning to the hitching post where he had left the injured horse, he glanced toward the patch of grass just outside the stable door where his three year old daughter sat making mud pies out of a bucket. He had set her down there nearly an hour earlier and was pleased to see that she was still there, singing softly to herself as she carefully garnished each mud pat with grass and bits of loose straw. Keeping one eye on her as he worked, he groomed the injured horse and led him inside to a clean box stall. Coming back out of the stable, Rochadan leaned on the fence just over the little girl, watching her dark head as it bent over her work.

"Well, precious Sallie," he said at last. "It's nigh on breakfast time."

The little girl sighed without looking up. "It's not pre-shus Sallie," she corrected him patiently. "It's Princess Sallie. Princess Sallie Spitfire...Trouble."

Rochadan suppressed a chuckle. "Apologies, my lady." He knelt down in the grass beside her. "But I don't think folks around here will hold with much fire spitting just now, especially not in light of our recent past. What other trouble have you got?"

She looked up at her daddy and smiled radiantly. "I made mud pies. For the kitties. They're very hungry."

Rochadan smiled in return, but there was a sadness in his eyes. Since Tristana's death, Salaidhwyn, or Sallie as he had called her almost since birth, had been the light of his life. Nonetheless, it pained him sometimes to look at her as the little girl's smile carried within it the image of her mother. And then there was that dragging leg. A breech birth, her left leg had been broken by the midwife during the delivery that Tristana had not survived, and the break had not healed correctly. As a result, Sallie had been left with a severe limp. The healers all said that it would grow less noticeable as the child grew older, but Rochadan worried for her anyway. His smiled fading, he reached out and touched his daughter's cheek. In response, she stood and placed one small, muddy hand on either side of his face. Leaning forward, she gave him a kiss on the mouth.

"Don't be sad, Papa," she said softly, her lower lip beginning to tremble. "Don't be sad."

Remembering himself, Rochadan let his smile broaden again. He winked at his daughter and let one hand stray very close to the largest mud pie. "Did you save one for me? I'm very hungry, too."

The little girl shrieked and caught her father's hand. "No, Papa! Stop!" she giggled as the two of them struggled playfully over the mud pies. Finally, he swept her up into his arms and, settling her on one hip, walked toward the door to the inn's kitchen. While he needed to get some breakfast for Sallie, he also wondered if anyone had managed to find Ærosylle yet. If not, he would have a look around for her himself. He opened the door to the kitchen, completely forgetting about the muddy handprints that graced both of his cheeks.

[Nurumaiel]

Cynan Harwell walked slowly and carefully along the road, with his arm about the shoulders of a little boy, perhaps nine years old, who was trying both bravely and vainly to fight away tears. Cynan himself seemed to be like most boys of his age, one-and-ten years. He seemed to conceal an infinite store of energy and mischief, for while he walked with slow deliberate steps a little glint in his grey eyes betrayed his real personality. His hair was a sandy brown and he had a few light freckles on his slightly tanned face. He was just beginning to grow taller, though he did not look any older than his age. Thus far, the normal little boy.

His companion was much different to look at, and it cannot be doubted that he received a few stares as he walked unsteadily down the road. The right side of his face was badly burned, and his right arm fell uselessly at his side. His right leg dragged along behind him and every step seemed to cause him considerable pain. There could be no shadow of a doubt as to where he had received these burns. The left side of his face, however, showed something else. There were some burns but they were faint, not nearly as prominent as those on his right side, and if one took the time to stop staring and then averting their eyes and staring again, but looked at him with a clear steady gaze they might see that his features were fair, and kind, and also contained some nobility, but not in the sense that he was of a high rank. But this, sadly, was only for the keen observer to see, and the casual would be horrified at the burns on his face, and the way he limped, and how his right eye was squinted and narrow, causing it to be of an uneven size with the left eye.

The keen observer might also notice with what compassion and tenderness Cynan guided the little burnt fellow, moving especially slow so the burnt would not be injured, and supporting him strongly with his arm yet not causing him any pain by too firm a grip. For Cynan was a compassionate boy at heart, despite his love for causing mischief, and when he had seen the little fellow lying curled up on the street crying he had felt a surge of pity and had taken it upon himself to care for him. Yes, the keen observer would also see that Cynan had known the boy for only ten minutes.

A year ago, when the dragon Smaug had descended upon his home and devastated it, Cynan found himself left without a father, and his older sister had died, though his younger two brothers and three sisters had survived. His mother, too, had lived, but she had been sick ever since, weeping in grief, and Cynan had heard whisperings from the neighbors the she was dying of a broken heart. He felt that both were ridiculous... his mother was not, of course, dying, and nobody ever died of a broken heart. And so, ridiculous.

Cynan felt comforted when he saw the sign with the words The Vineyard Inn written upon hanging above the door. In the days before Smaug had come Cynan's father had often gone to that same Inn to meet with others and take a mug of ale after a long, weary day. Cynan himself did not know any about the Inn and had never seen the Inn before, but when he saw the name old recollections stirred in him and he remembered how his father had spoken of it. Here he would surely find a chair to set this poor little boy down in, and perhaps a bit of rag to dry his eyes. And when Cynan thought of rags he looked sorrowfully at the ragged clothes the little boy wore.

Pushing open the door, he helped the boy up the steps, and the little fellow whimpered softly under his breath. Cynan felt pity overcome him again, and then he pulled a chair out from a table and sat the boy down in it. The latter seemed relieved at this opportunity of rest and ran a dirty sleeve across his eyes, brushing the tears away. Looking up at Cynan, he said solemnly, in a voice full of gratitude, "Thank you sir. Thank you so very much."

"It is nothing at all," Cynan said lightly, sitting down himself. "Nothing at all." He did not speak for a moment but looked with friendliness into the younger boy's eyes, and then he leaned forward slightly in a comradely way. "I hope you will not resent my asking the question," he said, "but I should very much like to know how you came to be lying on the road in tears."

The boy looked confused for a moment, and then his burnt face cleared a little and he spoke, though very slowly. "Well, sir, my master grew upset with me."

"Upset?"

"Yes, sir. I had been clumsy and spilled things."

Cynan felt a sensation of horror creep over him and though he felt he knew the answer very well, he asked, "What happened then?"

"Well, sir, he... he beat me." A shudder went through the boy's body, and the tears filled in his eyes again. "And then he threw me out in the street."

"Well!" cried Cynan, indignation burning his voice. "Well! say I again! If the mean fellow threw you out of his place it seems to be a grand thing entirely. More's the pity to him, but you should be glad rid of him."

"Oh." The boy shook his head with a sad little smile. "It isn't the first time it has happened. He will want me back as he has oft before."

Cynan was startled at this, but he did not lose his power of speech. "Whatever induced you to go to work for such a horrible man?" he questioned, for he was quite certain that the man was horrible. No good man could ever beat a poor, burnt little boy and then throw him out. If the boy was clumsy, was it not natural, as he had only one hand to use and he could not walk well?

"I could go nowhere else," the boy said. "When the dragon came a year ago my mother and father were killed and also my brother. I, as you see, was rendered useless by these burns. No one would take me to work because I could not do much."

"And so," Cynan said, "the only one who would take you was a wicked man who could not find anyone prior because of his wickedness."

"Indeed, sir."

"And so you must go back later today?"

"Yes, sir."

Cynan fell silent and began to ponder this. He found it quite ridiculous that this boy should work for such a man, and he found it outrageous. Yet he himself could do nothing. He had been searching for work himself for the past few weeks. His father had owned a considerable wealth when he was killed, and the family had managed on this money for a year, but Cynan was beginning to see that it would not last forever, and he took it upon himself as the eldest to go find work, as his mother was sick in bed.

"Tell me," he said, "why do you work for this man, aside from that he was the only place of work. You have no family to provide for (more's the pity, though), and surely you could find someone who would be willing to take care of you. There are some very kindhearted people hereabouts."

"I have found no one," said the boy, "and I also wish to earn as much money as I can. I hardly spend any of it, but beg for my meals in the streets. I want to have a little bit of fortune set aside in the case that I ever find my little sister. She is only six years old, if she is alive, and she became lost when the dragon struck. I have not found her since. I... I want to have some money if I ever find her, so she might have a home and some food."

"You," said Cynan with genuine admiration, "are a very good sort of boy. I am most pleased to meet you. Please, won't you tell me your name?"

"I am called Andhun," said the boy.

Cynan took the boy's good hand in his own and held it in a gentle, friendly clasp. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, "and I hope we shall be good friends."

A little smile flickered on the boy's face and he said, "I should very much like it, sir."

"Well then, we shall." And the two settled back in their chairs in comradely silence.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

She walked with no one beside her, no one behind her, and just one companion before her down the roads and paths of Lake-Town. The young woman watched the people of the town rebuilding this and that as she passed by them, but her eyes and face remained emotionless even in the sight of destruction. She was aware of the disaster that had befallen the area a year before, but the lady had seen and heard of stranger occurances in her years of traveling. Her years did not number many, when compared to others, but years feel long when days mean nothing and only the nights matter.

Rolled pieces of parchment protruded from the flap of the pack that she had slung across her back, but she held no other belongings in her hands. Her lone companion ran up ahead, panting cheerfully before the woman. His shaggy, ebony hair gleamed in the bright sunlight and his chocolate brown eyes showed naught but happiness as he led his mistress on. The young lady looked down at her dog, her only companion, and smiled at his lively nature. The woman pushed her own raven hair back behind her ears, the loose curls twisting easily behind and out of her face, curling down to her shoulder blades. The linen skirt she wore tattered at the hem, falling near to the middle of her calves and revealing her black traveling boots. She had rolled up her tunic sleeves earlier that morning, letting her forearms take in the warmth. Her dark skin resembled the color of wet sand, and she basked in the sunlight.

“That is well, Grimm,” She murmured to her dog when he came to walk briskly at her side. She scratched behind his pointed ears as she looked back up into the sky. Her eyes squinted in the bright light. “Yes, Grimm, it will be a good night for me tonight. There is not a cloud in the sky, and I will be able to watch. First, we must find a place to stay.”

The dark dog barked in reply, running a few feet ahead of the woman. She looked at the roofs of all the houses, eyeing them carefully and taking in all the details. Many were thatched, which brought a smile to her face. Others had not been replaced and were mere holes revealing the insides of the house to the watching sky above. When she saw the sign for the Vineyard Tavern, her eyes quickly darted up to the thatched roof. The slope seemed generous enough and did not rise too terribly high, though it sloped upwards to a point. Nodding, the girl pushed the door open and walked into the tavern. Her animal companion, Grimm, followed behind her, close enough for his wet nose to touch along the hem of her skirt.

Sitting down in the first empty seat she found, the girl sighed and pulled her pack off her back. She bent down to where Grimm sat obediently, patting his head reverently. “I hope they allow dogs here,” his owner, the young lady called Kellan, muttered gently to her animal friend.

[Imladris]

Nerindel's post :

A young woman carefully cracked several large eggs into an iron cooking pot that sat over the log-burning stove in the kitchen of The Vineyard Tavern. The young woman was Ædhral, the Taverns kitchen assistant. However, at present the inn was short a cook and Ædhral was forced to assume the position until an adequate replacement could be found, but she never complained in fact she rather quite enjoyed preparing the taverns meals and as yet, there had been no complaints. Her face was red from the heat of the stove but she paid it no heed and carried on diligently, adding milk to the eggs and stirring the pots contents into a scrambled consistency. The smell of sizzling bacon wafted up from the oven, fresh bread and rolls cooled by the open window and now the eggs where almost done, she allow herself a satisfied grin as she removed the eggs from the heat and took the bacon from the oven. Setting the bacon aside, she wiped her brow with the back of her hand, tucked a loose strand of escaped dark hair behind her ear and returned to give the eggs one final stir.

A sudden clatter from behind her made her start and she turned her head to see a greasy mop of dark hair poke through the door that connected the kitchen to the common room of the Tavern. It was only Finian the young proprietor of The Vineyard Tavern, “We are having a bit of eggs and bacon this morning, Finian,” she smiled.

“We have not had bacon for a very long time” Finian grinned. She smiled back with a slight nod of her head, it had been a long time but the butcher’s young enigmatic son had offered her some at a reasonable price and she knew it would go down well.

“We do not have as many hungry guests this morning as we normally do,” Finian said, and although he did not say it, she knew that he was thinking of when his father was alive and the tavern was near bursting at the seams with guests. “But we have enough.” He nodded a half smile about his lips.

Ædhral watched him retreat into the common room, it had been a year since Aeron had been lost in a spout of Dragons fire and the original tavern crushed under the belly of the beast. But even in his grieve Finian had been determined to rebuild the Tavern, though he had not been sure how. But they all helped out where they could. Rochadan like the other able-bodied men of Esgaroth had gone with Bard and the elves to the lonely mountain and left little Sallie in her care, but on his return, he helped Finian to rebuild the Tavern. It had taken them months but she knew that if Aeron were able to see what they had accomplished he would be proud. She just wished that Finian could see it and believe a little in himself.

She had to admit that it had been strange at first thinking of Finain as the new innkeeper, he was two years younger than her and like a brother, all the staff where like family to her, even the inn’s server Kannah who’s dry humour was almost always last on her. Finian’s father Aeron had taken her in almost three years ago, when her grandfather a regular of the tavern had passed away leaving her an orphan at the age of sixteen. She was always grateful to Aeron, for the opportunity he had given her and looking up to him as a father. His passing hit her hard, but she had to be strong for the others. Giving Finian the support he looked for, comforting and consoling Ærosylle and looking after Sallie for Rochadan, Even Kannah had taken strength from her, though she knew her friends pride would never allow her to admit it. But she did not grudge any of them, they where her family and if they needed her to be strong then she would be strong, she had grown a lot in the past year they all had, but with it their bonds of friendship had also grown stronger.

“Daydreaming again, now there‘s a surprise!” The Sarcastic remark caught her of guard and she blinked as she snapped out of her thoughts. Kannah walk across the kitchen floor towards her an empty tray in her hands waiting impatiently for it to be filled. Ædhral merely smiled as she spooned the scrambled eggs on to plates and sided them with bacon, and continued to listen as Kannah went on to describe how one young man had had the audacity to ask her if she was having a nice day. She bit her bottom lip to suppress a laugh as she put the bread and rolls into baskets and heaped the orders carefully upon Kannah’s tray and as soon as she had, Kannah turned and pushed her way back into the common room.

She let a quiet laugh escape her lips as she turned back to the stove, Kannah was always amusing company, even if she was a little sarcastic and dry, but Ædhral never took any of the woman’s biting retorts to heart. It was just the way Kannah was and she had learned to accept that that was just the way it was.

The rear door to kitchen opened and in walked the Taverns Stable Master, Rochadan with little Sallie firmly attached to his hip. “Good Morning, Ada!” The little girl smiled brightly.

“And good morning to you my lady,” she grinned, wiping her hands on her apron and dipping a playful curtsy, which made the little girl giggle. “Oh my, what have you two been up too?” she laughed seeing the mud that caked Sallie’s hands and the stable master’s face.

“Making mud pies for the kitties.” Sallie laughed as she too saw the mud caked to her fathers face.

“What!” Rochadan exclaimed defensively now that the two of them were laughing at him.

“It seems the princess has bestowed a gift upon you noble knight, in fact two gifts good sir!” she laughed. Taking a cloth from the table and soaking it in the warmed water in the kitchens stone sink and wringing it out she offered it to Rochadan who had now remembered the muddy handprints on his cheeks and was playing along. She listened to father and daughter as they washed for breakfast and she set the table for the Taverns staff, several times Kannah returned to fill her tray, but then was gone again as quickly. They took meals in shifts; so that there was always someone waiting on the Taverns guests, once she had eaten, she would relieve Kannah and Finian so that they could eat.

“Did you find Ærosylle?” Rochadan asked as he and Sallie returned to sit at the table.

“No, I had hoped she would return for breakfast, but ….” her dark eyes wandered to the door as if she half expecting the troubled young girl to walk through it as if nothing was wrong.

“I will go look for her!” Rochadan said rising from his seat.

“Thank you Rochadan, I am worried about her, you know how she can get.” The Stable master nodded his understanding.

“I won’t be long, save me some bacon!” he winked to Sallie and lifted a warm roll as went out to look for Ærosylle.

Ædhral sat down to have some breakfast and to keep Sallie Company until her father returned, hopefully with Ærosylle in tow.

[Imladris]

Finian leaned his elbows on the counter, a grin upon his face as he saw three people come in the Tavern. Two boys (it was too bad that they were boys as they probably would not be too interested in the Tavern's ale, the finest there was as his sister exuberantly told all the guests who came into the Tavern) and a woman with a dog.

The two boys looked hot and tired and one of them was helping the other into a chair. Wheeling around into the kitchen he went to one of the many cupboards and rummaged around the bottles. There was some fine wine left but two boys would not be interested in that either he supposed, a bottle of stuff that smelled very nasty (which was probably a bit of Bethberry's medicine), and, oh yes, here it was. Some of last year's cider.

He took the bottle, poured the glasses full, and, with the bottle tucked under one arm, he strode towards the boy's table and set the glasses and bottle down. "A bit of cider for you boys," he said.

One of them was badly burned. A cripple no doubt. Shame. The boy could have been strong and bold. But he seemed to have a cowering look, a look of fear flitting through his eyes.

"Excuse me, sir," said the one who wasn't burned. "I have no money."

Finian rolled his eyes and said, "If you don't drink it it will languish in that old cupboard until it will be of no use to anyone. Everybody pretty much orders ale or a bit of wine. In fact, you would be doing me a great favour if you would just finish it for me." He shot a grin at them and then made his way to the table which the woman with the dog sat in the shadows.

"What can I do for you miss?" Finian asked. Gesturing towards the dog, he added, "And I am sure that Ædhral can find some scraps and a bone or two for your dog if you so desire it."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Kellan looked down at Grimm, then angled her dark gaze up to the man that had spoken to her. She smiled faintly, and winked at her dog. “Yes. I am sure that Grimm would enjoy some scraps…and perhaps a bowl of water, if it does not trouble you much? We have traveled a long, long way. He is weary.” The man nodded simply at the request.

“Anything for you then, miss?” the Innkeeper inquired, and the young woman thought for a moment.

“A cup of steaming water, and that is all. I will have proper payment,” Kellan trailed off, and the man walked away as she searched through her bag for her money. Kellan shuffled the parchments aside, searching valiantly for the last of her coins. Grimm sniffed suspiciously, his black coat twitching along his back and all the way to the tip of his tail, which smacked the ground in rhythmic thumps. Kellan sighed, pulling her papers completely out of her bag and shoving them onto the table and rummaging through her pack again. Finally, she pulled four coins from the bottom of her pack, realizing that she had very little money left.

Grimm barked, and Kellan sighed, nodding.

“I know, I know, Grimm. We do not have much left. I will find a way though, I always do,” the girl spoke to her dog but did not fret about strange glances, for there were few people in the Inn. Grimm barked again, but Kellan put a finger to her lips, wishing for him to be silent in the enclosed space. The dog quieted, and the girl went back to searching through her bag again. She soon withdrew a small sack, full of some brown powder that resembled desert sand. Smiling, she spoke once more to her companion. "I have not had a chance to use this gift from the east. It will be nice to find out what it tastes like." Kellan murmured, intending to use the powder in her boiling water. Her smile faded, however, and she began to pack her parchments back up into her pack. Then she looked to the windows of the Inn, still pouring hot sunlight onto the wood of the interior. "It is going to be a long day, Grimm. It will be a long wait for you and I."

The Innkeeper returned then, setting a mug of boiling, steaming water before Kellan. Then the man crouched down to place a bowl of cool water and a plate of different foods before Grimm. He smiled, rubbing his hand on Grimm’s head between his ears as the dog began to lap up the water. When the Innkeeper stood up, Kellan handed him the four coins. “I hope it is enough, Sir, and thank you.”

[Nurumaiel]

As the Innkeeper had approached them, Andhun had begun to tremble violently, and when the cider was placed with a little thump before them he jumped and shied back. "A bit of cider for you boys," the Innkeeper said. The fear in Andhun's eyes disappeared and was replaced with one of confusion. And then he smiled and murmured his thanks, yet he looked doubtfully at Cynan. Cynan smiled back at him in an encouraging manner before speaking to the Innkeeper, saying, "Excuse me, sir, I have no money." The Innkeeper laughed and waved this aside, and then moved away.

Andhun seemed to have recovered from his fear and was now sipping his cider slowly, following the Innkeeper with his eyes. Cynan, however, did not touch his own mug. He watched the younger boy with a musing look upon his face, and compared him to an ill-treated dog he had met once, jumping away in terror from even the kindliest caress, and simply because the dog had not known anything better. Yet it was odd that Andhun, who could not have been working for 'the master' very long and who had lived in a loving family, should be like that dog. It was possible, Cynan supposed, that Andhun had forgotten most of his life before, though he remembered vague details, such as his sister. Cynan had met a man who had been burned in the fire and had suffered through a raging fever, and when the fever subsided his memory had also flowed away and he remembered only a little before his burns and the fever. Perhaps Andhun was the same, and the only clear memories he had were the memories of being beaten, and then flung in the streets only to be dragged back again and beaten some more.

I pity him, Cynan thought, and his did with all the strength of his boyish heart. I pity him deeply. Look at the circles under his eyes, and the weary expression within them. And see how thin he is; he must be half-starved where he is. And when he does eat it cannot be anything pleasant, judging by the way he delights in a simple mug of cider. It seems that the one thing that keeps him from despairing is the hope of someday seeing his sister again. Poor little fellow, I hope he finds her.

Andhun had finished his cider and was turning the mug thoughtfully in his fingers. Cynan beamed another smile at him, saying, "I do hope, Andhun, you enjoyed your cider." When Andhun nodded, he continued on. "We really must thank the Innkeeper. There are not many who would give two dirty, hot boys a mug of cider and ask no payment for it. As I told you, Andhun, there are some very kindhearted people hereabouts."

"Yes, sir," said Andhun, and relapsed into silence. Cynan felt mild concern growing in him, but concern was vanquished and utter rebellion came to him when Andhun spoke again. "I thank you for your hospitality, sir, but now I must be returning to the master."

"No!" Cynan cried, gently stopping Andhun as he tried to rise. "No, Andhun, don't go yet. Surely your master will not be looking for you already?"

"No, sir, but I have learned from past experience that it is better for me if I return before he begins to look."

Cynan felt horror within him again, but he did not express and held Andhun down with the same strong yet gentle grip. "Andhun, you cannot leave yet," he said. "You are hungry... you are famished. You must get a square meal. I will have to run home to get some money to pay for it, but you must eat. And I have noticed you have winced whenever your back touches something. It must be sore from your master's hand. I will beg the Innkeeper give some herb to soothe it, if he has any such thing. And then I will take you back myself, if go you must, and beg excuses and pay your master for any trouble I may have caused by detaining you."

Andhun was clearly weary, and he did not insist in leaving but sank gratefully against the chair, wincing as Cynan had said when his back touched the firm wood. "I thank you, sir," he murmured. "You are very kind."

"Sit here," said Cynan, and hurried to the Innkeeper, who was with a young lady and a dog. Clearing his throat, he interrupted politely but quickly, for he realized that Andhun grew more anxious with every passing moment. "Mr. Innkeeper, sir, I beg your pardon if I interrupt," he said, "but I would very much like to get some breakfast for my friend. I have not with me the money to pay, but while he eats I will run home and fetch it. And, sir," he added, "my friend has a very sore back and, if you have any such thing, would you give him something to soothe it? I am willing to pay for this, as well."

[Ealasaide]

Slipping the hot roll into his pocket, Rochadan left the kitchen by the backdoor. There were two things he needed to do before coming back to collect Sallie from the care of Ædhral and the Cook. The first was to find the owner of the lame horse and have quick word with him about the condition of his mount. The second was to find Ærosylle. He was sure that Finian would have a better idea of where to find the girl than he would, but an extra pair of eyes looking about could do no harm. He cast a quick glance at the roofs of both the inn and the stable in case Ærosylle might have chosen one of those as a hiding place again, but, not seeing her, he circled around to the front door of the inn. With a little luck, the owner of the lame horse would be at breakfast. He pushed open the door and stepped into the common room.

His dark eyes scanning the room, he saw that a few new faces had joined the company of guests since the night before, including two young boys and a woman with her dog. His gaze hesitated for an instant over one of the boys, a sad-looking little fellow, his face and body badly disfigured from burns. "The dragon's fire," murmured Rochadan, his heart going out to the boy instantly. He let his gaze shift to the other boy and smiled. A right urchin, that one, he thought, but I'll bet he does a good job of looking out for his friend. Or he will with time," he added, noticing the slight touch of awkwardness about the two that hinted at the newness of their acquaintance. Catching the older boy's eye, he gave him a friendly wink. If they hung about for awhile and seemed willing to work, he might be able to find a few odd jobs for them to do around the stable. For the moment, though, Finian had already set them up with cider, so he left them to drink it, promising himself to keep an eye on them. The younger boy especially looked as though he could use a break in life.

Seeing Finian now absorbed in conversation with the woman with the dog, Rochadan went on about his business. He found the owner of the lame horse at a table near the bar, his attention completely focused on the substantial breakfast laid out before him. Rochadan walked over to the table and waited for the man to acknowledge him. When he did, Rochadan nodded politely.

"Good morning, sir," he said quietly. "I don't mean to disturb your breakfast -"

"Then don't," said the man brusquely.

Startled, Rochadan hesitated for an instant, then felt his usually calm temper flare. "It's about your horse," he said sharply.

"Useless nag," said the man, and tossed back a swallow of hot coffee. "What about him?"

"When I was putting him into the stable I noticed he's developed a sprain in one foreleg. It could use some attention."

The man leaned back and gave Rochadan a suspicious stare. "What sort of attention?"

"I was thinking he might benefit from having his forelegs wrapped. Just for a few days, to give that sprain time to heal," answered Rochadan, but his mind had already been made up that the horse's injury would be treated properly with the owner's permission or not. "He's not made of wood, you know. If you think he's lame now, keep riding him. You'll see." Horses had been an important part of Rochadan's life almost as long as he could remember. Selfless creatures, they would run for their riders till they dropped if they had to. To see one mistreated made the young stablemaster's blood boil.

The man belched and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. Finally, grudgingly, he nodded. "Do what you have to," he grunted, but as Rochadan turned to go, he called after him. "I don't expect to be charged anything extra for it!"

Rochadan paused with his hand on the doorknob. "With all due respect," he said calmly. "That's between you and the innkeeper. I'll see to your horse." With that, Rochadan glanced in Finian's direction, only to find him talking with the older of the two young boys that Rochadan had noticed earlier. Seeing the burned boy now alone at his table, Rochadan walked over to him and knelt down so that he was at eye level to the boy.

"Hello," he said kindly. "That's good cider, isn't it?"

[mark12_30]

Whistling softly, LinGalad entered the Tavern, ordered a glass of wine, took it to a corner by a window, and stood and watched as he sipped it. Boys, a young lady, a dog, the Innkeeper... He smiled. There was a song waiting to be written. He looked around some more; a pleasant, though mannish place.

He hummed into his wine glass, and wished that he could stay longer; but Loremaster would not be kept waiting. LinGalad drained his glass even as the Innkeeper approached, and introduced himself as Finian.

"Well met, good sir, " replied LinGalad with a bow. "Would that I might rest here, and enjoy the wine! You purchase wisely." His eyes twinkled, and he set his glass down. "But alas, duty calls, and I have little time; the King will have his shipments, and he will have them on time. Perhaps I may return again! I know so little of men, and it would be amusing to learn."

"Amusing?" replied Finian.

"So I am told, " LinGalad replied cheerily, with little tact. "Although that lad there is more worthy of weeping than laughter. Farewell! I will return when I may. May song and mirth fill your hall!"

He hummed as he hurried out the door.

[Nurumaiel]

Andhun started in the same way he had with Finian the Innkeeper when this new man introduced himself, but question that was asked was friendly, and more than that was spoken in a friendly way. The lad relaxed slightly, but his muscles were still tense as if he were waiting for an unexpected move. He nodded in assent, his voice accompanying his nod by the words, "Yes, sir, it is very good. Do you work here?"

The abrupt change of subject was a little startling to the man, but he recovered himself with grace and ease and said, "Yes, I do work here. I am the stablemaster. My name is Rochadan." He extended his right hand. Andhun looked down at it with understanding but made no move to return the courtesy. Rochadan hesitated in puzzlement, and then, starting, he hastily offered his left hand instead. Andhun smiled at this and shook hands, saying, "Pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Andhun."

"Where do you live, Andhun?" Rochadan questioned. He noticed the way Andhun hesitated and seemed slightly embarrassed, as though he would prefer not the answer the question. Andhun was, in all truth, rather ashamed to admit where he lived, for he lived with his master and he knew his master was no good. He was afraid that he would also be considered as 'no good' if Rochadan was familiar with the name of his master, but he answered with honesty.

"Sir, I live just a little ways down the road, at the home of the man Harstan. He is my master and I work for him." He did not give Rochadan a chance to speak, for he did not want to focus on the subject of his master. Yet he felt that this man would not think he was 'no good.' This man, Rochadan, seemed to be another of those kindhearted people that were hereabouts. Cynan had not been wrong in what he had said. Still, however, he did not want to speak of his master, and he continued on with great haste. "Tell me, sir, how is the work here? Are the people good and kind?"

[Imladris]

Finian looked at the coins and returned three of them to the woman with the dog. "It's just water and scraps," he said. Scraps were such nasty stuff anyway. Only fit for animals really. The only time scraps were good was when food was scarce.

His attention was diverted by one of the boys who wanted to have breakfast for his friend. Finian went to the kitchen and told Ædhral to get some food for the boy and to tell Bethberry that one of the boys was ill.

He went back to the Tavern room and looked around. Only a few people were mulling about and Finian judged that now would be a good time to look for his sister. He hoped that she had not done anything stupid. She should not be running off, Finian told himself as he strode from the Tavern meandered down the road toward the lake which was the most likely spot to find her. She delighted in water and Finian wondered if she did not wish she had been born a mermaid at times. He smiled to himself. Ærosylle a mermaid! Then he frowned. In his mind, Ærosylle was being far too happy now a days -- she had become wild, excitable. He shivered, and then pushed the thought resolutely away. Why should she not be happy? Except the last time she was this happy she believed she could fly like a little bird and had hurled herself from the top of the barn. That was why. She was dangerous when she was happy.

He neared the shore of the lake and saw her crouching in the water. Her wet green dress clung to her thin skeletal legs, and her dripping brown hair straggled down her back, like seaweed hanging from an anchor. The water whispered about her ankles, caressing the skin with its chilled touch. Finian sighed as he looked at her. She did not look her fifteen years, but like a mere child. She had not grown as other children did. “Ærosylle,” Finian shouted, trotting to her. “What are you doing in here?”

“The water is beautiful is it not?” she asked. She wringed the water from her skirt, watching the water with dancing eyes. “See the colored bridge that shimmers in the water!” She gasped, and eased herself to her knees.

“Do not touch the water,” Finian whispered, crouching beside her, oblivious that his trousers would soon be soaked through, “or else it will vanish amidst the ripples.”

“See the fish that dart there!” cried Ærosylle, the rainbow forgotten.

Finian frowned as he watched the mailed fish glint and flash in the sun as they scurried through the water. It did not bode well that she had forgotten the pretty bridge so soon. The entrancing arch had been forgotten for elusive fishes. “Busy creatures are they not?” Finian asked.

“I want to fly, Finian!” she cried, standing up and splashing the waters with her feet. “Fly away beyond the mountains!”

“Like this?” Finian said, grasping her under her arms and tossing her into the air. She screamed with laughter as he caught her. “This is as close to flying as you will get, little sister.”

“Again! Again!” she screamed.

After the second toss, she wriggled from her brother’s arms and dropped into the river. “To be able to swim like a fish,” she said. Holding her breath, she ducked under the waters.

Her hair, glinting with copper, drifted in the glimmering light of the soft blue water like spun, living gossamer web. Little bubbles floated to the surface, and then Ærosylle herself smiling and giggling. “Come on, little one,” Finian said, crouching beside her and motioning for her to climb onto his back, “the Tavern awaits us and we must not keep it waiting.”

“No, for its feelings would be hurt and we must not let that happen. Some people think that wood has no feelings but I believe otherwise.”

Finian sighed, dread beginning to creep into his heart. The day before she had thrown herself from the barn, the plates had had feelings and the reason that one had cracked was because it had been upset that it had not been washed properly. Finian wondered how one was properly to wash a plate. Washing dishes was washing dishes, was it not? A foolish thought whispered that he had best ask Ædhral the next time he saw her. Then he laughed. The whole thing was utter foolishness…utter foolishness: his thoughts were the fancies of moonstruck sisters.

Ærosylle prattled on, going into detail how the Tavern would feel if it was abandoned by its innkeeper. “You are not going to desert it like…like…the other innkeeper did, will you?” she asked, her voice faltering.

Father, you mean . “No…I will make sure it is well cared for and that its feelings are respected,” Finian said.

They reached the Tavern and Ærosylle slid from his back and clattered to the kitchen, screaming something to Ædhral. Finian smiled and made his way behind the bar, where he drank and served mugs of frothing ale with traders and other various kinds of men.

[Ealasaide]

At the mention of the name Harstan, a shadow passed over Rochadan’s features. The man was a scoundrel. Rochadan had had a few brief dealings with him over the years, and always dreaded the next one. Well known in the area of Esgaroth for his skills at treating the ills of animals, Rochadan had been called out from time to time to take a look at one or another of the man’s horses and had always found them hollow-eyed with windgalls and broken knees from hard work and harder riding, their coats rough from years of malnourishment. He always did what he could for the pitiful beasts, but every time he went away in a blind fury of helplessness and frustration that there was nothing he could do to rescue them. As bad as Harstan treated his animals, it was said around town that he treated his apprentices even worse. He only took in the lost boys that had no one else to speak or care for them and worked them within an inch of their lives. Rumor had it that he had even killed one of his clerks years ago before the dragon came. Rochadan raised a hand and pushed his thick, dark brown hair back from his face, taking the moment to study the boy’s disfigured features.

In addition to the damage done by the dragon, he could see the pale scars of more recent burns, newly healed, intermingled with the yellowish smudge of old bruises. Rochadan frowned slightly and cast a quick glance over his shoulder toward Finian, who was, at that moment, hustling off in the direction of the kitchen. It was criminal that this child should have fallen into the hands of a monster like Harstan. It would be equally criminal to send him back. Rochadan decided then and there that he would not have such a thing on his conscience. He would speak to Finian right away about taking Andhun on at the inn at least until they could find him a suitable position elsewhere. If necessary, Rochadan could pay the boy’s wages out of his own pocket. As for the other boy, he seemed to be in much less desperate straits. Rochadan would have to wait and see what to do about that one.

“Tell me, sir,” said Andhun, a touch of wistfulness creeping into his voice. “How is the work here? Are the people good and kind?”

Rochadan smiled. “Very good and very kind. I scarcely think of it as work.” He took the seat that the older boy had vacated and leaned toward Andhun, a grave look entering his dark eyes. “Tell me, Andhun,” he said gently. “Do you like your Master?”

The boy flinched slightly then shook his head. “No,” he whispered so softly that Rochadan could barely hear him over the noise of the common room.

“He beats you, doesn’t he?”

Andhun bit his lip and nodded.

Rochadan nodded his understanding. “You seem like a well-spoken and diligent little fellow,” he said after a moment. “How old are you? Nine? Ten?”

“Nine.”

“A very good age.” Rochadan smiled and tweaked the boy’s raggedy sleeve. “If I can get the innkeeper to allow it, how would you feel about staying here - at least for a time? I could always use some help around the stables.”

[Ealasaide]

Sallie watched from her seat at the table as the heavy oaken door swung shut behind the tall figure of her papa as he walked out of the kitchen. She made a little noise in her throat that caused Ædhral, or Ada, as Sallie called her, to reach out and gently tweak her nose. Sallie giggled but still did not dare tear her eyes away from the door. She hated for her papa to leave her. She was afraid that he might go away again like the time he did after their house burned down and the big, golden dragon fell into the lake. He put on his silver shirt that was made out of the little rings that clinked when he walked and put on his sword. Then he got on his horse, Alydar, and rode away, leaving her behind with Cook and Ada. She cried every night until he came home. Now, every time he walked away, she wondered if he was coming back.

Sallie listened as Cook ticked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Pity, a young man like that raising a little girl on his own,” Cook said, shaking her head. “The child needs a mother. Look at her - mud in her petticoats and straw in her hair. She’ll grow up knowing nothing of cooking or needlework. All she’ll know about is horses and swordplay.”

Ædhral laughed. “Don’t be silly. It’s just a spot of mud.” Sallie had the feeling that Ada was taking the side of her papa, so she smiled hopefully up at her.

“Horses and swordplay!” repeated Cook, still shaking her head.

Ædhral opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again as the door flew open and Finian came in. Sallie liked Finian, so she smiled up at him, too, but this time he did not seem to see her. He told Ada and Cook some things to do and walked out again. Sallie watched the door close behind him, then, as Cook and Ada rushed about to do as they had been told, Sallie clambered down out of her chair. She limped to the window with her slow, uneven gait and took hold of the window sill. Stretching up on to her tippy-toes, as tall she could, Sallie could just see out of the bottom pane of glass. She felt very big and old as, just a month ago, she had not been so tall and had needed her papa to hold her up if she wanted to look out. Now she could do it on her own.

Peering through the window glass, Sallie could see the stable yard and the stable, but her papa was nowhere to be seen. She stuck out her lower lip in a fierce, bad pout. She couldn’t see Alydar either. Maybe while she was eating her papa had put on his silver shirt and gone. “Papa!” she called out plaintively. “Papa!” Maybe, if he hadn’t gone too far, he would hear her and come back.

Behind her, the clatter of the kitchen stopped. Then, there was the gentle touch of hands as Ædhral picked Sallie up and settled her on one of her slender hips. “It‘s all right, little princess,” the serving girl cooed. “Your papa hasn’t gone far. I’m sure he’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

“Promise?” asked Sallie doubtfully, the pout still quivering on her lip.

“I promise,” answered Ædhral. “Now, why don’t you help me over here?” she added, pulling a chair up from the table to the kitchen counter. “Finian says there’s a sick little boy out in the common room who needs some breakfast. You can help me make him up a plate.”

[Bêthberry]

Ædhral, true to her worth, had indeed gone to tell the Healer of a sick boy in the Tavern. She had found the woman at her desk, pounding and grinding plants in a large marble bowl with a heavy stick. Ædhral did not know the words for these dishes, just as she did not know many of the words which the Healer used, yet she found that no barrier to understanding the woman. Each word was clearly explained, not too much, not too little.

"The bowl is a mortar," the woman said, "and this is a pestle. It is a heavy object, for it helps to turn leaves into a fine powder." She stopped and stretched her fingers, for they were stiff from the incessant pounding. "And you have come to relieve me of my task?"

"Yes, mistress, for Finian told me to tell you we have a very sick boy in the Tavern. He is ugly with burns; his skin rippled red like roast mutton. "

"Well, burns heal poorly if the body is not covered in salve; that is no fault of the boy."

"Yes, ma'am, but will you come?"

The woman nodded and rose, wrapping a large brown shawl around her shoulders, the fringes of which gently swayed back and forth over her hips as she walked.

"Can he eat?" she inquired of the girl.

"Barely, he has sipped some cider." The woman made a noncommital shake of her head and peered into the hall while Ædhral disappeared into the kitchen. Finian then met her glance and told her what he could of the lad. The boy was slumped into a chair, gingerishly leaning against the back and talking with Rochadan. She smiled to herself, for she knew Rochadan well and could imagine what the man might be attempting.

"There are stories of ill treatment, of beatings. You know what we hear of Harstan."

"Aye. And if we wish to find the boy other employ, that man will demand recompense for the loss of his labour."

Finian sighed. "First, find out how hurt the boy is, Bethberry. Then we shall see what plans we need to put into effect."

"He looks starved. I doubt he can for the moment eat much. Let me bring him some thin gruel." From Cook Bethberry got a tray with a bowl and the gruel, mixed in with some sugar and cream, but not too richly. And then she approached the lad.

"Rochadan, I'll wager you are making a proposition here," she said with a lilt to her voice. He smiled at her.

"Bethberry, meet young Andhun here. He's going to help me in the stable."

"Is he now? Don't be hasty, for perhaps he has someone else he needs to help first."

The lad looked up at her, the black rings around his eyes appearing even more quizzical than they had at first.

"Who would you send me out to work with, lady? I must get back to master."

"Nay, none other than yourself, lad. Here, tell me if Cook has made this well. And by name I am called Bethberry."

His one arm hung by his side but with his other he slowly scooped up the gruel, panting between sips. While he ate, Bethberry looked over the many miserable signs of torment and pain on his small frame. Yet in her face she held a warm smile, so that her very look seemed to banish worry and concern from his heart. When he was finished the meagre breakfast, she sat back to let him talk. She would win his trust before she attempted to see to his wounds.

[Nurumaiel]

"I thank you, ma'am," said Andhun as he set his breakfast aside. He studied her face carefully, and found warmth and compassion in it. Not pity, but compassion. Andhun was not wholly opposed to pity, but he felt he did not need it. The weak ones had ever been the ones who wanted pity, wallowing to make themselves seem worthy of pity, trying their utmost to gain it. His master was like that. He forever complained of the boys who worked for him, saying they were lazy and slow, and making it seem as though he were the one with the miserable existence rather than they. And always, always, whenever someone came to the master's home they would pity him and believe he was right, and often he, Andhun, or one of the other boys would merit an extra kick as the visitors passed by.

He passed his gaze on to Rochadan and smiled, just a little hesitatingly, for he still was not absolutely certain that Rochadan was indeed a friend. "And, sir, I thank you for your offer," he said, "and I would express how much my delight would be to work for you in the stables, but I fear I cannot. I must return to my master, for soon he will be looking for me. I feel I should leave even at this very moment, but I wait because Mister Cynan is not come back yet and I think I should wait for him to bid him goodbye, and thank him for his kindness."

"Can you not leave your master to work here?" Rochadan questioned.

"I wish it were so, sir, for I would dearly love to work here. You are all so kind..." He faltered in his speech, and felt he was speaking too warmly to them. He recalled an occasion when a young woman had come to his master's house, only three months ago, and she had been very kind to him, unlike other guests, and he had thanked her for it, and, feeling that he should make some attempt to be kind to her as she had been to him, he chanced to compliment her upon her fair face within his master's hearing. The young woman had seemed pleased at his compliment, and the master had restrained himself, but as soon as she was out the door he had sprang forward like a wild beast pouncing upon his victim. A shudder went through Andhun's body as he recalled this. He had been beaten so badly that he thought he surely must die of pain, and all the while the master had shouted into his face that he had no business speaking to the guests, let alone say anything friendly to them.

He closed his eyes and could feel keenly in his mind every pain he had endured then, and he swayed in his chair. A strong, gentle hand fell on his shoulder, so gentle that it did hurt the sores upon his back, and so strong that he was kept from falling over, and he opened his eyes. Rochadan held him steady in his chair and smiled gravely into his eyes. The stablemaster, however, wisely made no reference to Andhun's temporary faintness but continued the conversation in a level tone. "Tell me, Andhun, why you cannot leave your master."

"Because," said Andhun, wincing upon the reflection of what he was going to say, "the master owns me."

"Owns you?" Rochadan's brow furrowed. "Surely he is no relation to you?"

"No, he is not, but when he took me in nearly a year ago he gave me a paper that said I would serve him until he chose to release me from that service, and made me sign it at the bottom, though I am not good at writing." He started and suddenly stared into Rochadan's face wildly. "Oh, sir, my master will surely never release me, and what will I do for my poor little sister when I find her? What will I do for her? Will she also have to live with my master?" He looked in a panicked way from face to face, and then his pale face became grave and he closed his eyes as if weary, and put his head against the back of his chair, just barely wincing when the burns on his face met with the hard wood.

[Orual]

Bells jangling and thick layers of cheap, rustling fabric created an orchestral noise that warned all in the area of her coming. Kannah hiked up her skirts and stormed towards the door, where, unknowingly, a young man was about to face her wrath.

"Turn yourself around this instant, young master!" she shouted, and everyone in the common room except the object of her attention turned. The young man himself froze, and Kannah was fairly sure she heard him muttering prayers under his breath. Well, wise enough, she figured--he'd be getting the rough side of her tongue.

Kannah was twenty-two years old, and much fiercer than she looked. Her pretty, almond-shaped brown eyes and small stature belied her hot temper and sharp wit. She had a long, regal nose, and a full-lipped mouth that would have been pretty if she ever used it for smiling. Her dark complexion and long, raven hair told of her southern heritage, though she was a native of Dale. She draped herself in layers of fabric in rich jewel tones...but the fabric was always very cheap. For all of her show, Kannah was not a wealthy person, though she tried to pass as one.

"I believe you underpaid," she said harshly, gripping the young man by his upper arm. It was a humorous sight, as the young man was almost head and shoulders taller than Kannah.

"No, I don't think I--" the young man began, but Kannah cut him off by dragging him to the counter where he had paid.

"One, two, three gold pieces," she counted quickly. "You owed four."

"I'm sorry, I thought I'd--"

"What you thought is irrelevant," she said. "The fact remains that you didn't pay in full. Will you give me another gold piece, or would you prefer doing dishes?"

The young man fished a gold piece out of his pocket and handed it to Kannah, who accepted it without the least touch of graciousness.

She saw Finian shaking his head from the other side of the room, but paid him no heed. She had passed a difficult night--two young patrons had come down with violent chest colds, and their panic-stricken mother had come banging on Kannah's door at well past midnight but still well before dawn to have her administer appropriate treatment. She had gotten no sleep and still had some bruises on her ribs from small flailing arms. She was in no mood to be cheated out of her rightful dues. Now, she liked children--growing up with two brothers and one sister, all significantly older than Kannah, she had numerous nieces and nephews on whom to hone her maternal skills. Not that she planned on settling down any time soon...

She settled down in her office--that is, the side of her bedroom with a desk--and started going over the financial records. If they were going to drag her out of bed at ungodly hours of the morning, she was going to make sure they had enough money to pay for it!

[Ealasaide]

At the mention of Harstan’s contract with the boy, Rochadan exchanged a serious glance with Bêthberry. Then he gave the boy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, careful to avoid any of the child’s many bruises and sore spots.

“I can see you are a young man of your word, Andhun,” the stablemaster said, choosing his words carefully. “That is an admirable quality and will serve you well as you get older. But I must tell you that this paper you speak of cannot possibly be binding. People cannot own other people, particularly not on the strength of a document signed by a wounded and desperate child.”

Andhun neither answered nor opened his eyes, but Rochadan could tell by his posture that the child was listening. “I will speak to you frankly now,” he continued. “You must not go back to your master, not if you value your life or the life of your sister. I know this man Harstan. He will work you and beat you until you can no longer help yourself. And then, how will you help your sister?”

He paused as a single tear slid from the corner of one of the boy’s eyes and ran unchecked down his thin cheek. “You will stay here,” continued Rochadan. “And let Mistress Bêthberry see to your wounds. She is a good and kind woman and will take very good care of you. When you are strong enough, we will look for your sister. And I will teach you how to take care of the horses. You do like animals, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Andhun softly. “But I... my master...”

“I will deal with him.”

[Nurumaiel]

Andhun shook his head. "Sir, I promised my master," he said. "And sir, he does not own me, but he does own my services. And even if it were possible that I could leave him, I would not, for it would leave him short of hands and... I promised him, sir."

"I will speak to your master," Rochadan said gently, "and he will be compensated for his loss."

"I do not understand, sir..."

"He will lose nothing by losing you, for he will be paid in equal worth," said Rochadan. He saw Andhun still hesitated, and he took a slightly different course. "Stay, Andhun, at least for the day. You need not make any promise you will stay with us, but stay for now, and then when you see if your master will let you go or not, you may decide what you will do then."

"Very well, sir," said Andhun, and a silence fell. It seemed a very deep silence, though from outside the tavern there were shouting and scuffling noises. Andhun was considering what his position in life would be if he worked at the tavern, and he saw very clearly that Rochadan was a very good man. Andhun would be almost useless in the stables, for he could not carry anything heavy nor move very fast, and he could only use his left hand, which would in normal circumstances have been the weaker of the two. He grew tired easily, and many times when he grew too tired he would fall into fever. Here, he knew, he would not grow too tired, but Rochadan would find him not a help, but a burden. And as Andhun studied the stablemaster's face, he saw that the latter fully realized.

The door was flung open and banged against the wall with a resounding thud, and the young boy who had come running in paused and looked from Bethberry to Rochadan with a shame-filled face, and fixed his eyes on Rochadan, feeling that he as a man would be the one to deal out the punishment. Rochadan raised his eyebrows gravely and shook his head, and the boy sighed heavily, but slowly an impish twinkle came into his eyes when he saw that Rochadan was attempting not to smile. Jumping forward, the boy took Andhun's left hand and let some coins falling into it, saying something about paying for the meal. Then he turned to Rochadan and Bethberry and sweeped a courtly bow, still smiling impishly. "Cynan Harwell at your service," he said. "I was the one to find this boy you seem so interested in."

Andhun had been turning the money over in his hand and then held it out to Rochadan. "Here, sir," he said. "This is for the meal you gave me."

Rochadan opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short as the door was flung open again. It also banged against the wall, but the man who was the cause showed no remorse as his squinted eyes fell on Andhun. With his heavy build, rough large hands, and twisted lips that seemed to be in a perpetual sneer, he was very recognizable. And if he could not be recognized by these attributes it would be obvious by the way Andhun began to tremble and crouched back in his chair that this man was 'the master.' Harstan gave a growl of rage and advanced forward at a quick pace towards Andhun, then stopped and smoothed his brow with one hand, letting his face fall into a twisted, hideous smile as he addressed Rochadan.

"Good day to you sir," he said, his voice rasping. "I hope my boy has not been bothering you with his presence."

"On the contrary," said Rochadan, his words courteous but his tone stiff.

The master sensed this and tensed slightly, and when he spoke he was still smiling and his words still full of politeness, but there was a dangerous edge in both the words and his eyes. "Ah, that is a good thing to hear," said he. "Now perhaps you should not consider it too much of a trouble if I took him back to my home now, for he has been sorely missed."

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry watched the man with disguised contempt, for she did not want to anger him. Not yet.

The boy Andhun was ill, seriously ill. He was weak, almost feverish, and would soon have festering wounds on his back if the burns were not treated, for they were weeping still. He was hungry and haunted by abuse. He was not alone in this condition, for there were many orphans about these days who were at the mercy of adults, many of whom felt the only way to get work out of anyone was to threaten and beat them. And Rochadan was ready to take responsibility for the boy.

She though for a bit. What grounds did they have for refusing to allow this Harstan to take the boy? He ran a business, made trade. He could be influential in complaining that the Tavern was interferring in his business. Finian didn't need to anger the town authorities; he had enough on his hands to improve the business of his tavern. They would either have to make Harstan realise he was better off without the boy, or else make him so angry he stepped over a line, here in the Vineyard, clearly, so that everyone here would witness his transgression.

Bethberry decided to begin by making Harstan prove himself. She would quietly and calmly challenge his claims.

"Your boy, Harstan? I did not know you had a son." She looked at him with a face of mild interest, not challenge, indeed, of almost concern. Let him state what his claims are over the boy, she decided. And then she would point out how incapable Andhun was of fulfilling them in his wounded state. If he could be persuaded that he was better off without the boy, perhaps matters could be resolved without ill effects.

[Imladris]

Finian had not forgotten about the burnt boy and had been glancing to make sure he had been taken care of all the while. He grinned when he saw that Rochadan had been conversing with him. He drummed his fingers upon the counter, one eyebrow cocked upwards. The boy seemed to be rather parentless or guardianless which was a shame. He seemed to be a cute little fellow. But they could use some help around the stable and the inn proper. The boy would not have to do heavy labour.

Of course, he would have to see into the boy's true state of affairs but for now there was the brewing of an excellent plan.

Finian sauntered down the room and was about to ask the boy about his parents and all that when the door flew open and the first boy came dashing back into the inn. Shortly behind him came another man who stormed through the door.

Harstan

Finian leaned his elbow on the back of the injured boy's chair, assumed a menacing slouch, and narrowed his eyes at the slime that called itself a man. So he was the boy's master, eh? Then the boy was definately staying here.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The dark-skinned, dark-haired woman in the corner of the tavern watched half-heartedly as the Innkeeper and others clustered around the burned boy. She stirred the package of brown powder she had taken from her bag earlier into the steaming water. The young woman watched as it turned a sandy color and the steam began to smell wonderfully sweat. Hot chocolate, they said, Kellan thought happily, lifting the mug to her lips and sipping the tasty liquid. Grimm whined softly from the floor, lapping up the last of his water and moving on to finish off his plate of scraps.

Kellan did not look up from her table until she heard the door of the Vineyard Tavern swing open to reveal a newcomer. A man, middle-aged and not handsome to say the least, pounded into the Inn and caused both Grimm and Kellan to snap their gaze over to him. Kellan's dark brows knitted together in curiousity and intrigue, but Grimm growled as the man went over to the group around the boy. This should be interesting...Kellan assured herself inwardly, watching carefully as the horse-master and the newcomer began to speak.

Grimm growled, a deep, guttural hum that only Kellan could hear. When she did hear it, the woman looked over her table and squinted at her companion, watching as he pawed his way over to the group near the boy.

"Grimm! Grimm, stay! Grimm! NO!" Kellan hissed at her dog, who had begun to show his teeth in his equivalent of a displeasing sneer. Kellan certainly did not want to be booted out of the Inn for the behaviour of her companion. "Grimm! Come back here right NOW!" The girl quickly moved from her chair to get the ebony-coloured beast, but it was no use for the dog had already made it completely over to where the ugly man stood. Grimm did not bite, like Kellan had feared, but what the dog did do could have been considered just as bad for Kellan;

Grimm began to bark incessantly at the man.

[Ealasaide]

Leaving Finian at the door, Ærosylle clattered into the kitchen and shouted something at the top of her voice to Ædhral. Startled, Sallie crouched down on the chair upon which she had been standing and tried to make herself as small as possible. While Ærosylle had never hurt Sallie, the little girl was afraid of her. Ærosylle could be very noisy and tended to make lots of quick and unexpected movements, popping up at times with her face right in front of Sallie's when the little girl least expected it. Seeing that Ærosylle was busy talking to Ædhral, Sallie climbed down from the chair and went to hide under the kitchen table, well out of the way of Ærosylle. Crouching in her new hiding place, with her arms wrapped around her knees, Sallie watched the door to the common room. Every time it swung open with the passage of Cook, Finian, or one of the two serving girls, she tried to see out. Her papa had told her not to go in there without him or one of the other grownups with her, but he had not said she couldn't look. She wanted to see the little sick boy that Cook had carried a tray out to.

She had not seen much of anything when suddenly there came a bang of the front door slamming open in the common room, followed a little later by a second bang. And voices. Sallie heard her papa's voice mixed in with the voices of the other grownups. And then the loud barking of a dog.

"What on earth!" exclaimed Cook. Sallie saw her and Ada look at each other, then Cook wiped her hands on her apron and went to stand in the doorway, looking out. Ada and Ærosylle crowded into the doorway behind her. Crawling out from under the table, Sallie crept up behind them and tried to see around the skirts of Ada and Cook. Finally noticing her, Ada reached down and picked Sallie up, settling her solidly against her hip.

"What are they doing?" asked Sallie, her little voice piping above the barking of the dog. She could see a very big man standing in front of her papa, looking at him with an ugly, mean face. Her papa talked quietly to the ugly man as a big black dog that Sallie had never seen before barked at them. A pretty lady tried to stop the dog from barking but he didn't stop.

"Shhh," Ada said gently, shaking her head. "We mustn't make a sound. We must let Finian and your papa handle things."

Sallie nodded, staring into the scene with wide eyes. Then she saw the little boy at the center of the group that included her papa, Finian, and Miss Bêthberry. He was hunched over like he thought someone was going to hit him and his skin looked like raw mutton. "Is that the little sick boy?" she whispered to Ada, pointing at him with a little pink finger.

"Yes," said Ada.

"Is my papa and Miss Bêthberry trying to make him better?"

"Yes," answered Ada again in a hushed voice. "They are," she added, correcting the little girl's grammar.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Hush, Sallie."

Sallie took a big breath and closed her mouth. She wanted to ask what the ugly man was doing there, too, and why the little boy looked so scared, and why did her papa look so angry, but she knew that Ada didn't want her to talk. She wanted to please Ada, so she decided she would be quiet as a mouse. Papa would explain it later.

[Nurumaiel]

Harstan scowled at the dog that stood barking at his feet and then at its mistress. He did not mind that it barked; many dogs did so, except his own, which knew him too well to cause any trouble for him. When Harstan turned back to Bethberry he had the frightening smile on his face again, and he spoke in a mild tone. "My dear lady, the boy is not my son," said he, "but he works for me at my 'ome. To that effect, he is my boy."

"Is he able to do the work well with his burns? Are you sure he is not a burden rather than a help?"

"It's very kind of you to consider that difficulty," said Harstan, "but every little bit of 'elp is appreciated, and besides," and here he stood tall, "I would not turn down a poor little burned boy which was begging for work. You get along all right, don't you now, Andhun?" The boy hesitated slightly and glanced up at Rochadan, but Harstan narrowed his eyes and stood taller. Andhun cowered and murmured a soft 'yes.' Harstan grinned his leer again. "There, you see, ma'am?" he cried. "He's that 'appy where he is."

Cynan looked to Andhun and could see instantly that this was a lie. He looked back to Harstan and a sly little grin came to his face, and he began to walk towards the door. As he passed Harstan the ugly man gave a sharp cry and clutched at his foot. Scowling down at Cynan, he cried, "Clumsy little boy, you stepped on my foot!"

Cynan's face was the picture of shock and innocence as he laid a hand on Harstan's sleeve and said earnestly, "Sir, I apologize profusely. I did not see your feet down there." He glanced down at the boots of the man and said, "But really, sir, what big feet you have." Harstan saw that he was being watched so he contented himself with scowling at Cynan until the boy was out the door. Then he smiled at the Tavern staff. "Those boys can be so wild sometimes," said he, "and I have no doubt whatsoever it was the same wildness that which compelled my own boy 'ere to leave." He let his foot fall to the ground. "Now, ma'am, as I was getting to saying, I would like to take my boy now, for---" He did not finish but instead gave a sharp cry.

Nobody said anything, but all looked at him in a questioning manner. He rubbed his cheek. "What was that what 'it me?" he grumbled, looking about. His eyes fell on something on the floor and he stooped to pick it up. "What's 'ere this?" he muttered. "A little rock, so it is." He glanced about the room but nobody seemed to know anything about it. He frowned in puzzlement, but Andhun had looked towards the open window and seen Cynan standing, a little pile of rocks in his hand.

"So, ma'am, in conclusion," said Harstan, though it should have been more proper to say 'in repitition,' "I should like it very much if I could take this 'ere boy 'ome now, for he is sorely missed."

[Fallinel]

When the message from King Dáin Ironfoot had arrived, summoning him to Erebor, Krerin Gemfinder had cursed his evil luck. Just as he had finished delving his great workrooms and furnaces, and had found suitable apprentices in the Iron Hills, he would have to pack up the few tools with which he could not part, and move westward. Krerin was not an important or wealthy Dwarf-he was of the Blacklock tribe-but he was an immensely talented smith and engraver, and could produce fine jewelry of a type that was seldom seen these days. The black-haired, black-eyed Dwarf had worked, longer hours even than most Dwarves, to establish his business, workshop, and reputation. Now, he feared that he would have to start all over, and dreaded being assigned to some lowly mining task in Erebor.

After hiking towards the Lonely Mountain with sinking heart and sour mood, Krerin had decided to stop at the markets of the rebuilt town of Esgaroth on Long Lake, to earn a few coins by selling a trinket or two. Krerin’s temper was improved by the surprisingly quick sale of all the small jewelry pieces and chased metal boxes that he had brought with him, and the happy sound of jingling coins brought joy to his heart. “Well, I can always earn a few extra coins, and perhaps build a reputation here, by doing a bit of frivolous metalwork on the side,” thought Krerin, “and perhaps I’ll treat myself to a pint of ale now.”

The Dwarf stumped through the streets of Esgaroth on his short legs, tassel bobbing from the tip of his dark blue hood, and silver bells tinkling from the cords of his pack. As always when he visited the cities of Men, Krerin was followed by laughing children, who made a game of trying to touch the tassel or the bells. Krerin didn’t mind-in fact he encouraged the games by alternately smiling and scowling at the children, and by altering his pace unexpectedly. He had a soft spot for the children of Men in his hard dwarvish heart.

At last Krerin found what he was looking for-a tavern; the Vineyard Tavern, to be precise. The Dwarf pulled his hood back from his head, and laid his pack of tools outside the door, as some of the axes and tongs might be taken for weapons. He walked in, scanning the patrons as he entered, and stumped right up to the part of the room in which he expected to procure some refreshments. The top of Krerin’s head was even with counter of the bar, and no one on the other side noticed the Dwarf standing there, waiting rather impatiently to request a pint of ale. “Excuse me,” said Krerin to the rough wooden panel in front of his face, “but what must a thirsty Dwarf do to be served a pint of good ale in this establishment?”

Krerin waited until his gruff voice caught the attention of a tall serving girl, who peered over the top of the bar into a pair of glittering black eyes that looked upwards expectantly and with a certain amount of exasperation. “I’m very sorry, sir, but I…I didn’t see you standing there. What can I get for you?”

“Hummph,” said Krerin, “I’d like a pint of your best ale, please. Strong ale, I hope and trust.”

“Coming right up, sir, and yes, it’s quite strong.” The girl retrieved a mug of ale for the Dwarf, and offered a small dark rye loaf as recompense for having overlooked Krerin initially. Krerin paid for his ale, and stalked over to a table in the corner of the common room, from which he could watch the other patrons of the tavern. He climbed up into a chair, looking a bit ridiculous, like a child who was too small to sit at the table properly. Krerin had to reach upwards to grasp his mug of ale from the tabletop, and muttered under his breath about the lack of consideration for dwarvish patrons.

Krerin’s glittering black eyes focused on one patron of the tavern in particular-a young boy, face and body badly scarred by dragon-fire, who was receiving much kind attention. The Dwarf could see that the boy had been beaten, both recently, and repeatedly in the past. No Dwarf could ever understand the loathsome Mannish habit of keeping servants and slaves. All Dwarves, regardless of status, wealth, or birthright, worked hard at menial jobs at some point, and often throughout their long lives. Moreover, Dwarf children were rare and treasured, protected and sheltered; how could anyone put a child to hard physical labor? Krerin shook his shaggy head in disapproval.

An older boy, who looked healthy and impish, had burst in through the door of the tavern, and soon afterwards, a more ominous visitor appeared. A large, ugly, cruel-featured man, whom the Dwarf recognized instantly to be a bully of the worst sort, entered the tavern, and was immediately confronted by a few of the other patrons and a barking dog. A discussion ensued, in which Krerin could perceive that the large man was lying to gain some advantage, or to retrieve something that he felt was rightfully his. Dwarves rarely fail to see through lies and deception.

[Bêthberry]

"Wildness you say, which prompted the lad to leave? I see no wildness in him, Master Harstan," spoke the Healer quietly. 'Perhaps you are not so well acquainted with his health as a master should be"

"I know him right well enough, Mistress, not that it is any business of yours," he replied dismissively to the woman.

"I am sure you do know his true behaviour well enough, Master Harstan, but I am a practiced healer who sees great need in the boy. I speak out of concern for your need as well, for this boy is not capable of sustained work. If you wish to gain a valuable labourer, you must first see him restored to health."

Bethberry paused here, and nodded courteously at Harstan.

"His arm is too weak to lift even a spoon, he has burns which still pain him greatly and which still require gentle treatment if he is ever to be able to stretch his muscles much again, he has I suspect bones broken which require setting and swellings which must be treated."

Here Bethberry heard Rochadan cough, and she nodded her head at him, hoping he would see her short term strategy. She knew she could rely on him to help the boy find work at the Tavern, if only she could heal the boy first.

"I came to Esgaroth to help the healing after the devastation wrought by Smaug and I am here still attending to it. I have room here where I treat injuries and heal what sicknesses I can. I deem this boy needs my care. You would be foolish, my good master, to ignore my words here, for the town will hold you accountable should the boy die under your roof and hand."

She paused, looking sombrely at the man, with no trace of animosity, but with a firm presence. She would do her part to help Rochadan gave the boy from this cruel master, yet she would try hard not to make an enemy of the master.

[Nurumaiel]

A look of bafflement crossed Harstan's face at Bethberry's word, and he ran his right hand through his greasy hair while rubbing his sore cheek with his left. He looked from Bethberry to Andhun and back to Bethberry again, and scratched his head. "Now 'ere, ma'am,' he said, "I don't rightly know what you mean."

"What I am offering," said Bethberry coolly, "is to treat this boy here for a time. You cannot deny, I suppose, that his burns tamper his work?"

"They do that, ma'am."

"And that it would be a good thing if he were treated so he might work in a better way?"

"That would be a fine thing, ma'am," said Harstan. "Is this what you 'ere propose?"

"It is," said she.

Harstan's eyes wandered in a shiftless way about the room, but when they glanced upon Andhun they stayed there, and he stood there gazing upon the boy, contemplating. Andhun shrunk away from him and avoided meeting his eyes, and instead looked to Bethberry in an imploring fashion. The wierd, twisted smile had come to Harstan's face again and he said, "Well, ma'am, that which you propose is all right for me so long as it is also right by you. Yet I 'ope you won't mind if I stop in occasionally to see 'ow the boy is doing?" He did not give Bethberry a chance to answer but said, "I thank you for that. I'll bid you good day now. Let the boy cause you no trouble." And then he departed.

It happened suddenly, and Andhun felt relief and wonder surge through him. Relief, for he was glad to see the master go, and wonder for he had not been taken home and beaten. A cry sounded from outside the Tavern and Cynan ran past the window, winking at Andhun as he went by. Andhun smiled faintly, and then he started violently and caught Bethberry's hand. "Oh, Mistress, you are very kind," he said, "but I do not understand what you say. When you have taken care of me will I go back to my master? I do not want to go!" He exclaimed the last sentence passionately, and then took hold of himself and said in a calmer voice, "Yet, Mistress, if there is no other way I will resign myself to it. Only I would beg you," and here his chin began to tremble, "that if I ever find my sister she will not have to live with me at my master's home, but you kind people here will take care of her. Then I will be happy."

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan stood behind the healer, prepared to intervene if there were trouble and listening closely as she deftly maneuvered Harstan into granting the boy permission to stay - at least on temporary basis - with them at the inn. She did a masterful job of it, far better than he would have done himself had it been left up to him. He knew full well that he would have taken a far more confrontational approach to the situation. Harstan was not fit to take care of farm animals, much less a sick child. Rochadan felt quite certain that he would have told him as much. It was probably not the best approach, he knew, but the pitiable condition of poor Andhun’s body combined with the amazing strength of the boy's character had really touched Rochadan’s heart. It made Harstan, by contrast, stark in his brutality. Rcohadan would do what he could to make sure that Andhun's temporary situation at the inn became a permanent one.

He watched with a smile as the child grasped Bêthberry by the hand. “Oh, Mistress, you are very kind, but I do not understand what you say. When you have taken care of me, will I go back to my master? I do not want to go! Yet, Mistress, if there is no other way I will resign myself to it. Only I would beg you that if I ever find my sister she will not have to live with me at my master’s home, but you kind people here will take care of her. Then I will be happy.”

Rochadan reached out and touched the boy’s hair. “I give you my word,” he said softly, “That if we are able to find your sister, she will have a home with me. I have a daughter of my own. I’m sure she would delight in having a playmate. As for your own situation, resign yourself to nothing. Mistress Bêthberry has done an admirable job of buying us some time to see if we can find an honorable way out of your... your agreement with your master.”

Exchanging glances with both Bêthberry and Finian, he added, “I’m sure we can find a way out of it that will be both acceptable to Harstan and will leave your word intact.”

Rochadan reached out and took hold of the boy’s hand, gently pressing into Andhun’s palm the handful of coins that Andhun had given to him to pay for his meal just prior to the arrival of Harstan. “You keep this,” he told him with a smile. “As an official guest of Mistress Bêthberry, Finian, and myself, you mustn’t feel obliged to pay for your meals during your stay here.

[Imladris]

Ærosylle crept from the kitchen on hands and knees, looking for Finian. She must smell him out as she were a dog and he the prey....

She could see his feet through the maze of of wood and wriggled through the chairs until she was inches from her brother's feet. She heard angry voices and she peered from under the chair. The Healer woman was there, as well as Rochadan, and another boy badly burnt and her brother, of course, but there was also a great big obnoxious man. Wriggling around to get a better view, she saw that her brother's fists were clenched and that his eyes were narrowed like a cat waiting to strike.

But the big, oily, mean man left and the boy remained. Finian, touselling the boy's head, also left and went to serve a dwarf, and Rochadan looked well pleased with himself.

Clambering to her feet, Ærosylle dragged a chair to the table, climbed upon it, perched her elbows upon the wood, and stared at the boy. Her eyes wavered to his plate and she said, "If you would be so kind asto give my regards to the plate I would be greatly obliged." She nodded at him.

[Nurumaiel]

Andhun gazed up at the young girl in a bit of disbelief. Give her regards to the plate? It was sheer madness. Yet he thought her rather pretty, and her brown hair fell in shining waves over her shoulders, and he felt a smile coming to his face when he considered what the plate's answer to her well wishes might be. Still he was confused about waht to say, however, and as Cynan came walking (he had been following Harstan for quite some time, throwing rocks at him) in he gestured to him with his good hand. Cynan skipped obligingly over to the table and when he saw the girl he looked a little bit shy but not completely baffled. He touched his forelock in a polite manner, spun in a circle, and finished with a flourished bow, his head nearly touching the ground.

Andhun gazed in wondered amusement at his friend, thinking how fortunate he had been to be found by such a boy. Cynan was a sweet, friendly lad but nothing short of energy and mischief. He followed him with his eyes; Cynan had left the table and was cautiously approaching the dog called Grimm, looking very grave though his grey eyes twinkled. Grimm growled softly... not in a menacing, threatening way but in a little playful way, for he saw that Cynan was up to mischief. Cynan gave a little yelp of mock fear and danced away, and then he advanced slowly again, and when Grimm sprang forward he giggled madly and knelt down to stroke the dog, smiling in a friendly way up at his mistress.

Smiling one last time over Cynan's absurdities, Andhun turned back to the girl and saw that she had also been smiling, though he could not say if it was because of Cynan or not. Cynan felt that he should desperately like to please her, but he did not know how. In confusion he remembered that she had spoken to him, but he could not recall what she had said. As his confusion mounted he felt desperate and dropped his eyes from her gaze... they fell on the plate sitting before him, and he brightened.

"The plate accepts your regards with good will, miss, and returns them tenfold."

[Imladris]

Ærosylle smiled at the other boy's exuberant bow and courtseyed in return. But she mustn't ignore the plate, lest he think her rude.

"It is good to be on the plate's good side," Ærosylle whispered. "Or else it will throw your food at your face and it will connive with the glass to make it miss your lips, thereby making your drink dribble down your chin." She nodded at him.

The boy nodded and asked, "What is your name?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, then flashed a smile and said, "Ærosylle." She bowed her head and waited for him to reply.

"Andhun, at your service."

"I do not need any service," said Ærosylle, lifting her eyebrows. "But thank you for offering it."

The poor boy....he was bruised and battered, and he had the look of a puppy lingering about his eyes. She had seen him almost cringed when Finian had patted him on the head -- as if he had expected a cuff. The poor boy, she thought, shaking her head and heaving a sigh. If there was one thing that she did not need was his service. He seemed to have had a lot of that beat out of him.

She licked her lips and said, "Let me give you a few tips. Do not ever drum your fingers on the table for it annoys him. Don't step on the first step of the stairs for it screams in agony. I believe it is quite the wimp for the others have no qualms with human weight. Would you like more cider?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

When the ugly man left Grimm had stopped his barking, but his teeth still showed until the door had fully closed behind him. Then the black dog sauntered over to his Mistress, who looked rightly distressed and embarrassed. The swarthy skin of her cheeks had blushed crimson at her companion's behaviour, but Grimm had no regrets in his actions. When he had made it to the lady, she put her hands on her hips, tapping her toe in disapproval. "Was that really necessary, Grimm?" Though she knew no answer would come, the young, dark lady asked the dog weakly before crouching down to his level and breaking into a smile. She pat him reverently on the head and behind the ebony ears, for though her embarrassment rang true her pride in her animal companion could not be hidden behind blushed cheeks.

"Now, I have much more important questions to ask," Kellan relayed to Grimm, her smile fading as she stood up once more and looked about the common room. She searched valiantly for the Innkeeper, for it was his permission she required in a matter that involved why she had even come to the Vineyard Tavern. She saw the man, whom she had heard being called Finian, serving a short and stout man of the Dwarven kind.

"I suppose I should wait...no need to be rude and interrupt," the woman sighed as she came to her conclusion. "Besides, we have all day. Nightfall is not for several hours, and even then the best view is not until deep hours of the night arrive."

Kellan sat back down in her former seat, waiting patiently for the Innkeeper Finian to finish his service to the Dwarf.

[Nurumaiel]

"I should very much like more cider," said Andhun, "if it is no trouble, Miss Ærosylle." He turned his eyes to Rochadan, who had thus far been smiling at the interaction between the boy and Ærosylle, and said, "Sir, it is very kind of you to say I need not pay money, but do not feel obligated to do it."

"Come, come," said Rochadan, smiling kindly down at him. "When your little friend brought the money you did not push away his kind deed but accepted it with many thanks. If the Tavern offers you a kind deed will you deny us the pleasure?"

Andhun smiled. "Thank you very much, sir," he said, and turning to Ærosylle once again, "and thank you, Miss Ærosylle, for your words. I shall take much care not to step on the first stair."

"But Andhun," said Cynan, from where he had been chuckling over the way the young lady talked to Grimm, "you cannot possibly get up the stairs without walking on them all, can you?"

Andhun looked distressed. "It is true, Miss Ærosylle," he said. "I could not possibly jump the first step. I still do not want to hurt it, however, and so I will refrain from going up the stairs at all."

"No, no," said Rochadan. "You will ask me to help you."

The young boy brightened. "Thank you, sir," he said. He smiled first at Rochadan, then at Ærosylle, and then at Cynan. Cynan was still attempting to get the attention of Grimm's mistress. Andhun sank with a contented sigh back into his chair, not even noticing how it stung sore back. Things were becoming so lovely now. He had only to find his sister.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

What a funny little boy...Grimm thought, though happy to please his mistress. She was so preoccupied with getting the Innkeeper's attention that she missed the friendly, gesturing greetings of the boy. He is more playful than my lady! Grimm wagged his tail and smiled, in his own toothy way at the boy, who spoke to another lady and man for a moment. Grimm looked up at Kellan, who had propped her elbows upon her table and put her head in her hands. But she is weary. Humans get this way sometimes, when they travel for long days without rest. Not like my kin. She will be herself if she does not watch the sky tonight, as she wishes, and sleeps instead.

Grimm watched the boy come nearer to him, and the big black dog rolled over onto his back, wagging his tail and nodding his head. His tail thumped against his Mistress' leg, and she looked down at her dog and then to the boy. She smiled weakly, not sure of his intentions. She knew he was but a boy, but Kellan had learned many, many times that people were not always what they seemed, and she had made many costly mistakes in learning the lesson. The boy came forward slowly, looking tentatively up at Kellan before crouching low to rub Grimm's stomach.

"What is your name?" Kellan asked bluntly with a smile upon her face, but she spoke in a soft tone that only she, the boy, and the dog could hear. "I am sure that Grimm would like to know it."

[Bêthberry]

Once the initial unpleasantness of dealing with Harstan was over, Bethberry relaxed a bit, wanting the boy Andhun to begin to feel at home here at the Vineyard. He had a staunch and playful ally in Cynan, who would lead the lad through some reckless but not undeserved tricks no doubt, and a proud defender in Rochadan. Let them talk some more, she decided, before she would attend to the boy's hurts.

Thus, the Healer sought out Finian,

"You are in agreeement with Rochadan, that the boy should stay here and that we should do our all to ensure he remains out of Harstan's clutches?"

'Indeed, of course. How could I think otherwise?" the young Innkeeper replied indignantly.

"To be sure, we must all be of accord here, for I have misgivings about this cruel Master. I think he will be vengeful if he thinks we have out witted him or cheated him. He will not hesitate to cause us problems."

'Yes."

"Remember that the masters wield power and influence here; it is their efforts which are being praised for the rapid rebuilding of the town and not that of citizens who work here nor of the people who ply their trade."

Finain scowled impatiently at the woman.

"What room can I put Andhun in? The small one across the hall from mine, the one which was first a linen closet before we realised its warmth could make a good bedroom? You will foegoe the cost?"

Finian at that point was really becoming impatient.

'I ask simply because Harstan might be able to twist our motives, pointing out that the boy has cost you money and you will be anxious to recover it from his labour."

Finian raised an eyebrow at this. He had not considered the possibility.

"Rochadan has said he will assume the costs of feeding the boy. It is his wise to take the orphan in."

"Very well. Will you speak to Rochadan of my concerns, just so we are prepared?"

Finian nodded.

"Good then. I shall return and see what help I can give the boy."

With those words, Bethberry returned to the hall in time to watch a large black dog roll over playfully with the lads before returning to his mistress, a tired looking young woman.

"Rochadan, if you and Cynan can bear to part with our young friend for a bit, I should like to attend to his hurts. Can I, Andhun?" she asked.

The boy nodded shyly, with a small look of relief spreading over his features. "I should like to start work as soon as possible though."

Rochadan laughed. "You will, lad you will."

Nodding at the sombre woman with the dog, Bethberry gently took Andhun's hand and brought him to her small clinic beside the kitchen, a room where the warmth of the fires made treatment for the very ill more pleasant. On her way there, she passed by the room of the other healer, Kannah, and knocked, wishing to ask if she would be interested in joining with her in the boy's treatment. Hearing no reply, Bethberry and Andhun continued on their way. Bethberry rather doubted if Kannah would be willing to offer her services in this case, but it would not do to be seen to snub the young woman with the impatient temper.

[Nurumaiel]

Andhun clung to Bethberry's hand, gazing about him with wide eyes. The place looked so neat and tidy, and so very friendly. Not like Harstan's gloomy home where no light ever shone, where little boys with pale faces flitted here or there like shadowy phantoms, flinching when eyes fell upon them. In this place one could be looked at and not fear a harsh kick or a sharp word. Sunlight streamed through every window and made it seem a bright, merry place.

"Please, ma'am," he said, looking up at her with puzzled eyes, "I know you are going to do something to make me feel better, but I am very curious. I know you will not hurt me, for you are good and kind, but I do not know what you will do. If you take no offense by this, will you tell me?"

Meanwhile, in the Common Room, Cynan was beaming now that he had caught the attention of the young woman. He smiled down at Grimm, and then let his dancing eyes look back up to the young woman. "My name is Cynan Harwell," he said, "and I very much like your dog." He smiled at Grimm again. "What is your name, miss?"

"I am called Kellan," said she.

"That is an interesting name," said Cynan, "and very nice, as well, if I may say so. Do you know, I think Grimm and I will be very good friends. Clearly we both dislike Harstan. I used to have a dog, but he died in the attack of the dragon. Someday I will have a new dog, though, when my mamma is better."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"I used to have a dog, but he died in the attack of the dragon. Someday I will have a new dog, though, when my mamma is better..." The little boy, Cynan, spoke with such confidence. Kellan admired his attitude. She had seen much destruction and sorrow in her travels, but she could not imagine losing her home and having her parents and family wounded or dead. Looking down at Grimm, happy, carefree Grimm, Kellan could not imagine losing him. Their journey together was not over yet, and Kellan knew that she would not be parting with the dog for a long while, but still the woman never thought of the day when they would take separate paths.

"I am sorry for your loss. I cannot imagine," Kellan murmured, her dark eyes brimming with remorse for the young lad. "I am sure that when you have a new dog, he will be very happy and I know he will be in good company. Not like your poor friend, and his master."

Cynan nodded, preoccupied with the big black beast on the floor but listening all the same. Kellan smiled, happy that Grimm could have someone to play with while they were in Dale. Kellan felt too exhausted to put up with his antics, and all Kellan really wanted while she was in Dale was to get up on the roof of the Tavern...but she would deal with that later. Bringing her mind back to the present, she watched as Cynan got Grimm to somehow "shake hands" with him.

"If you do not mind me asking, Cynan...what ails your mother? Is it burns, like your young friend? Or have you all lost someone close to you?" Kellan asked gently, curious but not wanting to pressure her new acquaintance into answering. Kellan knew well that wounds of the heart could hurt just as badly as wounds of the body.

[Nurumaiel]

Cynan sighed deeply and gazed down at Grimm's friendly face, stroking the black head absently. "My papa is dead," said he, "and my mamma is very sick. She will not die, though," he added fiercely, clenching his fists. He looked up at Kellan and relaxed a little, smiling. "I apologize," he said. "The neighbors are always whispering that my mamma is dying of a broken heart. My mamma is not dying, though."

"Of course not," Kellan murmured.

He looked up at her, his face full of curiosity and puzzlement, yet there was the faintest twinkle in his eyes. "How can you say that when you have never seen her? How do you know she is not dying?" Then he laughed. "Again, I apologize," he said. "You should think if anything caused my mamma to die it would be my persistant teasing." And the twinkle in his eyes grew greater.

He found it easy to jest about his mother's illness, for he was more than confident that she would grow better, but deep in his heart it weighed upon him. If all the madness of the gossiping neighbors was true and his mother did die, he would be left the eldest in his family at only eleven years old. He did not see how it was possible to care for them in such a situation. But, of course, his mother would not die. The only difficulty was to find some work to support his family, for their money supply would not last forever. He glanced sideways towards Rochadan and an idea sprung into his head. Maybe the stablemaser would appreciate more than one help about the stable.

"Miss Kellan, it has been more than an honor to meet you," he said, getting to his feet, "and to be perfectly frank I should not leave your company except that I feel it might be polite not to overstay my welcome. If you would like me to stay," and here another twinkle, "I would surely be pleased to. Yet if you no longer desire my presence, I will bid you farewell with such a courtly bow as is rarely seen in a young boy like myself." He was smiling very broadly now, and his eyes were sparkling with such mischief that it was a wonder they didn't spark themselves out. "What do you say?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"I would never ask you to take your leave, for your company is too comforting and my heart is neither brave enough nor bold enough to request your departure," Kellan replied honestly, trailing off to laugh gently at the boy's gallant nature. "Still, I think I would rather enjoy such a courtly bow from you. Yet I also think that Grimm would feel rather put out if you left. In fact, I do not believe he would let you go quite yet. Then I know that you have other needs to attend to, and I understand that others might like me to share you with them," Kellan had fast broken into a smile, as Cynan had done earlier. "I will be here for a while, and I will not take Grimm away from you before you both have a chance to enjoy each other's company once more."

"Then I bid thee farewell, Miss Kellan!" Cynan cried in a stately manner, giving Kellan a courtly bow, and it was indeed unlike any other bow Kellan had ever seen in as young a boy as he. With his wondrous bow he bade the dark woman farewell, and skipped off and away from Kellan and Grimm.

"What a nice boy," Kellan murmured to Grimm, who sat once more, whined, and placed his head dejectedly upon his folded paws. His Mistress sighed wistfully and placed her chin in her cupped palms. "You know we cannot stay forever, right? We shall have to go farther north ere the month has ended? But perhaps we might return some other time. I must go speak to the Innkeeper..."

Standing, Kellan found the man Finian and politely waited for him to return. When he had and had given his attention to Kellan, she blushed faintly. "Sir, I have a rather...strange request, or, more of a question...to ask of you," she began, her dark cheeks tinted with crimson. "I wonder if you might have a means of getting up onto your roof? On top of your roof?"

[Ealasaide]

Having seen the boy, Andhun, safely delivered into Bêthberry's hands to begin the treatment of his many burns and bruises, Rochadan took a final look around the common room. The young scamp, Cynan, was busy playing with another guest's dog. Finian was at the bar with Ærosylle. The tension of the encounter with Harstan had subsided and the other guests had all returned to their own thoughts and affairs. For the moment, all was once more right with the world. Rochadan sighed and looked toward the kitchen.

During the altercation with Harstan, he had heard Sallie's voice piping above it all. She would undoubtedly be well-finished with breakfast by now. It was about time he collected her back from Ædhral and Cook and returned to the stable. He still had not done anythng about that lame horse that had brought him into the common room in the first place. Turning, he went back to the kitchen and, after a brief word with Cook, left through the back door with Sallie perched happily on his shoulder, chattering away happily about the dog, the mean ugly man, and the two new boys. Rochadan only half-listened, throwing in an occasional question or exclamation where it was needed. Having opened his big mouth and volunteered to foot the bill for the care and keeping of Andhun, he was now worrying about how he was going to pay for it. A big heart and a shallow pocket were not always the best combination, not that he had any regrets about doing it. He would just have to figure out a way to manage was all. There were plenty of folks in Esgaroth still who were in worse financial straits than himself.

He sighed again and lifted Sallie off his shoulder to set her down outside the stable. She scampered off ahead of him to look for the new litter of kittens that one of the barn cats had delivered a week earlier. It was times like this that he missed his days as a messenger. While the job had kept him away from home for long periods of time on a fairly regular basis, the pay was very good. Excellent, in fact. He had managed to save a fair amount of money over the ten years he had spent as a rider, but it was beginning to dwindle, even though he tried not to dip into those funds unless it was completely necessary. Taking on Andhun, and possibly his little sister, would put a strain on the salary he got from Finian, but he couldn't see that he had a choice in the matter. Andhun must not be allowed to return to Harstan, not if the boy wanted to live to adulthood.

"We'll manage, won't we?" he asked, stopping in front of the stall that housed his own horse, Alydar. The horse reached over the stable door and nuzzled Rochadan's shoulder.

[Imladris]

Finian blinked at the woman. The top of the roof. He shrugged. One of the joys of being an innkeeper was the fact that you met strange people. "Well, there are too ways: the first is asking Rochadan for a ladder from the stable and merely propping it up against the Tavern wall and scurrying up it and climbing onto the roof. The second is a wee bit more difficult. I can lead you up those stairs and up into a tiny attic where there is a small window. Through that window you could wriggle through like a worm and then struggle up onto the roof top." He grinned at her and added, "Though I think that way would be more suitable for a rascally young boy than for a lady like you."

A brief smile flittered across her face and she said, "The ladder will be fine."

Beckoning her to follow him, he strode out the Tavern towards the stable. Why on earth did she wish to go on top of the roof? Surely she did not mean to sleep up there in the cold and damp? He shrugged. Folks were strange. "You do not have to sleep up there," he said.

The lady laughed softly and said, "No, I wish to gaze at the stars."

Oh. That was....an interesting pasttime. Finian raised his eyebrows and shrugged once again. He never had been able to figure out why the stars interested so many people.

He dragged the ladder out of the stable, and propped up on the wall of the inn. "Just climb up it when you wish," he said, trying to make it a bit more stable. "If you are afraid that it will totter on you, call me or Rochadan and we will hold it steady while you climb it -- what's your name?" he asked suddenly, blushing that he could have forgotten it. Innkeepers always found out the name of the customers. It was a common rule that he constantly forgot.

"Kellan," she said. "And this is my dog Grimm."

Bowing, Finian said, "Pleased to meet you."

[Ealasaide]

Having at last finished wrapping the forelegs of the injured horse that had come into his care earlier in the morning, Rochadan came out of the stables just in time to see Finian and the dark woman from the common room standing alongside one wall of the inn, accompanied by the woman's large black dog. Finian leaned a ladder from the stable against the side of the building. Curious, Rochadan walked over to join them. He looked up at the awnings, worried that there might be trouble with the roof.

Nodding politely to the woman, he turned to Finian. "Is there a problem with the roof? Should I go up and take a look?"

Finian laughed, rising from where he had knelt down to speak to the dog. "No, that's all right. There's nothing wrong with the roof. It's just that Miss Kellan here likes to look at the stars. I was showing her a way to get up there."

"I see." Rochadan nodded. "Then I will be sure not to put the ladder away." He smiled at Kellan. "Please let me know if there is anything else you will be needing, Miss Kellan. My name is Rochadan. I'm usually around about the stables."

"Thank you," answered Kellan. "I will keep that in mind."

He started to go, but then turned and came back. "There's a loose rung on the ladder, third from the top. I'll try to get around to fixing it sometime today..."

"Well, that's a thought!" interupted Finian with an easy grin. "We can't have our guests toppling off the roof now, can we? Especially not because of our own rickety ladder."

Rochadan laughed. "No! I guess that wouldn't do at all." He gave Kellan a friendly smile. "I will see to it that the ladder is fixed by nightfall." Glancing down at the dog beside her, he reached out and scrunched the animal behind the ears. "That's a fine dog you've got there," he added pleasantly. "What do you call him?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"He is called Grimm," Kellan replied, smiling at the large, burly dog by her left leg. She felt surprised at the kindness of Rochadan and Finian, for there had been many Innkeepers and staff members in her days of traveling who had turned down her request of using their roof. Many times Kellan had to sneak up onto the roof, and leave Grimm to guard for anyone who could have heard her struggling. I see I have chosen the right tavern, then, Kellan thought happily. She snapped back to reality and watched with a smile as Rochadan scratched Grimm. "He remains the best companion I could ever have. He listens, and I know that it seems strange, but I know he listens. We have traveled long and far, but Grimm seems to like Dale the best. We have met many good people here already."

Rochadan smiled at Grimm, while Finian looked up at the dog's Mistress with a nod."So you are not from here. Do you watch the stars wherever you go?" Finian asked.

"Yes. Where I come from someone would always watch the stars, because they could see things in the patterns and tell the weather and things of that nature. I became fascinated with the idea. Everywhere I go, I go there to see the stars and learn what I can from them," Kellan grinned, remembering all the places she had been and all the skies she had seen. Rochadan and Finian seemed just slightly confused.

"Do not the stars look the same in every town? Surely the skies do not change from place to place!" Rochadan commented, looking from Kellan to the top of the ladder where the faulty rung was and then back again.

"It always looks different. The sky in one town may somehow appear full of mist and veil, even if there are no clouds. In another place and another season, the sky is as clear as if the stars are merely a reach away from your face. My main intrigue has been how the stars change but somehow remain the same over time," the young woman explained. "Sometimes it reminds me of people...always changing but keeping the same mystery. Still, no matter how many times I see the sky it always looks as beautiful as the first time I really looked at it. You can glance up at it, knowing it will be there the next night. I look at it and search for the differences..." Kellan paused, realizing that she was getting carried away with her explanations. She laughed. "Sorry! Sometimes I forget that not everyone sees what I see...I did not mean to bore you. Thank you very much for letting me on the roof!"

[Bêthberry]

"Will I tell you what I shall do to make you well, Andhun? Of course I shall. Not a hand shall touch your skin nor a plaster be placed on your wounds, nor a fluid touch your lips without my first explaining the purpose and effect and gaining your consent."

Andhun looked up at her with startled eyes. Never before in his recent experience, at least since the terrible fire, for he could not always remember much before that, had anyone considered his own wishes.

"What does consent mean?" he asked curiously. "Will you make me sign a paper?"

Bethberry would have laughed at the boy's earnestness had not the cruel reality of his question and her recent experience of Hastan stayed her mind. She regreted her eagerness in wanting to bring the boy to the infirmary, without waiting to see if he wanted a friend to accompany him.

"Our trust lies in our word, here at the Vineyard Tavern, Andhun," she replied. "Shall I ask for Rochadan or Cynan to come here, to witness our words, so you will be more comfortable? "

A soft breeze blew gently through the room. The infirmary was a warm and sunny room, with windows on both east and south walls, and the west wall warmed by the heat of the kitchen. In the morning sun, everything looked fresh and bright. Andhun inhaled deeply, sensing the many aromas which the room held. They comforted him, but before he could speak, the Healer herself spoke up.

"Let me call Cynan. I suspect he will be as curious to see this room as you are, and perhaps I may learn something of his mother's health, too."

With that remark, she walked to the door and quietly bid Ædhral call Cynan to the infirmary.

[Nurumaiel]

Cynan had been wandering aimlessly about the Common Room, finding himself at a loss of what to do now that he had taken leave of Kellan and Grimm. He had enjoyed the company of both, and Grimm had brought pleasant remembrances of his own dog. Cynan was not one to weep and feel bitter at memories of days and people past. No one had made a move to speak to him now, and he was restless. He would have returned to his home save that he felt he should not leave before he said a temporary farewell to Andhun.

He sat by the wall at a point where he could see most of the goings-on in the Tavern. He had not been sitting five minutes when a young serving girl came to the door and beckoned to him; she said nothing but she did not need to, for he felt certain it concerned Andhun. He followed the girl down the same path that Bethberry and Andhun had just recently trodden, until he was led to those two people. He smiled at both, and both smiled at him, and then Andhun turned his head up to Bethberry and said:

"Now that Cynan is here I feel much more at ease; yet I do assure you that even without his presence I should feel easy in my mind, and know that you would not harm me."

Cynan sat himself on a chair and gazed about. "It is very neat and tidy here, ma'am," he said. "It has been long since I have seen such a tidy place. My own house was once tidy and while my little sisters do an admirable job, they are still little and inexperienced, and my mamma cannot clean for she is sick in bed. Sometimes I do think that if the house were neater, she would be able to recover faster." He smiled ruefully. "I am not in the least talented at cleaning, so I cannot help her. I regret it."

[Imladris]

Finian thought that Kellan's star gazing could be an interesting past time if one had the eyes to see what she saw. "You did not bore us, lady," he said with a laugh. "Tomorrow you must tell us what kind of sky we have," he added. "Excuse me, but I must go see how the boy Andhun is doing."

With a bow he left her and went back into the inn, towards the infirmary. Bethberry and two boys were there, talking softly among themselves. The bright morning sunlight stained the floor, and a gentle breeze aired the room.

Finian leaned against the wall, remembering how often his own sister had come in this room. He gazed at Andhun, wishing that she as well had been maimed by the fire so that Bethberry could more easily treat her, or so that her sickness was more apparent. But Ærosylle was not plagued physically. Bethberry tried to heal her anyway and sometimes Ærosylle seemed a little better. He grinned at Bethberry and, when he heard a tenant of the Inn roar for a bit of beer, he remembered that he was not a boy, looking lislessly about for something to do. He was the Innkeeper now. With a sigh, he shot a parting grin at the boys and Bethberry and made his way behind the counter.

[Ealasaide]

As Finian made his excuses to Kellan and walked away, Rochadan gave her a pleasant smile. “I have to agree with Finian,” he said. “You didn’t bore me at all with your thoughts about the stars. Actually, I found your view quite interesting.”

He threw a glance over his shoulder toward the stable to make sure that Sallie was still in his sight and staying out of trouble. Seeing that she was on both counts, he turned back toward Kellan. “I used to do quite a lot of traveling myself, and I have to agree with you that the sky, even the air, can be very different from place to place. The moon and stars, though... silly as it may sound to you, I always took comfort in the fact that they always remained the same moon and stars regardless where I found myself when darkness fell.”

Kellan smiled. “Yes, I can see where one might take that point of view. They are the same stars and moon, after all. It’s just that where I come from, we tend to look a little deeper than that.”

Rochadan nodded. “Yes, it seems that you do. It’s like me with horses, I suppose. Some people look at them and see an animal, the whole picture. I look at a horse and I see whether they are well-cared for or not, if their limbs are sound, and so on. I can usually spot a fast horse at a glance over, say, a good cutting horse, as well.”

“Yes, that is basically what I was getting at,” said Kellan. “It’s not so much seeing things with different eyes as knowing what to look for when you open them.”

“Yes!” agreed Rochadan thoughtfully. “But you say you can tell what the weather is going to be by the patterns of the stars. Can you tell other things as well? I can’t help but wonder if you might not be a fortune teller of some kind.”

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Well, the tribe I am from was rather absorbed in the stars, I suppose you could say," Kellan began her explanation thoughtfully, slightly unsure of her own words. "Our star-gazers would use the sky as a reference of sorts, to study the patterns of the earth. Weather and changing seasons were always determined by the man who watched the skies. We believed that we could gain success in agricultural matters through the positions of the stars. There are some, I will confess, who stake their lives on the movements of the stars and other pictures in the sky, thinking that the fate could be said in these white lights in the skies."

"Are you one of those people?" Rochadan asked gently. Kellan knew he must have had more important things to attend to, but she appreciated his interest.

"I will not profess to know the future," Kellan answered truthfully, her dark eyes sparkling with inner laughter and outer exuberance. "However, with the ideas of my tribe, in the far South, I could say which days are bad and which are good. Some days, they would say, are good for starting a task; others are good for finishing. Some days were just plain bad to do anything. Different ideas were held for when children were born and how they would be when they grew up. I am certain there were more theories for the stars than there were days in a year..."

Kellan paused, and for a moment there was silence between her and Rochadan.

"What about you, sir?" She inquired politely. "If you have nothing pressing to attend to, I would like to know more about you, or if it pleases you more, about the Vineyard Tavern. Or, if you have other tasks, which I am sure you do, I would be fine with parting and going inside until the sun sets."

[Eruantalon]

Sitting quitly at a corner table. The tall man ,cloaked and hooded, sets his wears about his feet. Only a pipe is seen with glowing embers jutting out from his cloak. He pays no mind to the comming and goings around him. In the darkness of his hood burns two eyes like coals.

Yet he is not angary nor bothered. This is just his way. To be quit and to be unnoticed. So many things have happened to him. But he knows that he must now find some peace. Before the storm rises again. There are simple pleasures he can find here. Although he dosn't look it he is terribaly storng. But like all of his abbilitys this is hidden. Just as his mind and thoughts are veiled.

"The table seems to have a broken leg." He thinks to himself.

Grasping the edge of the round table. He lifts the entire table off the groud with one hand, as he sets one of his books underneath to steady it. He then realizes hes unwittingly done somthing that can draw stares. The table was not massive but it was big enough to raise attention. But for him being noticed could draw somthing out he didn't want. He hoped for the best and whent back to his thoughts.

Sitting quitly he thinks of his plans. Where will he go next? Who will he seek out? And most importently will they help?

[Esgallhugwen]

The door swung open smoothly and in stepped an Elf. But it was not how one would ordinarily see an Elf, in fact it was quite an extraordinary sight.

For he was soaked from head to foot and had a most displeased look upon his face as if someone had played a cruel joke on him, which was not far from the truth. His golden blonde hair was in disarray, and his green and gold attire dripped all over the dry wooden floor.

With a sigh he looked about the Tavern, a small puddle of water forming around where he stood. His blue eyes caught sight of a table that was bathed in the sun's light.

As he made his way towards it his boots left a wet trail and a distinguished soppy sucking noise. Though he was mindful of the eyes that began to look upon him he pulled out the chair and stretched himself out in the sun.

His hope was that the Innkeeper wouldn't kick him out for making the floor wet.

[Orual]

"...Three. Four. Five."

Checking stock, Kannah thought irritably as she counted the sacks of flour in the store-room. Working here as long as I have, I'm still stuck checking stock. This is not what I agreed on.

She hefted the final sack of flour back to where it had been, and wiped the soft, fine powder on her emerald-green skirt. She looked in dismay at the streak it left on her clothes, shaking the multilayered skirt to no avail. She looked up from it when she heard a creaking noise coming from the common room.

If nothing else, Kannah had sharp ears for anything that may cost the inn money.

She swished her way into the common room, flicking her dark hair out of her face as she walked. "Is there a prob--" she began sharply, then stopped short. A tall man, swathed in a cloak, had corrected a table's uneven leg with a book. She flushed. "My apologies, sir, I'll get that looked at right away. Is there something I can get for you in the meantime?"

[Imladris]

Finian laughed as he saw the table wobble as the man strove to correct it with a book, but saw that Kannah had come to his assistance.

The flow of customers had slowed and the only traffic the door saw were men sauntering out the door, which was, of course, entirely the wrong direction. Finian drummed his fingers and sighed. It was a pity that the Tavern wasn't a wee bit busier, but it was well off all in all. Besides, he thought with a grin, if it was busier there would be no time for fun. And what was life without a dollop (a large dollop preferably) of fun, eh?

At that moment, the door swung open and a tall elf strode into the room. His brows met in a jagged cleft, his green cloak hung limply from his tall body, and water streamed from his body. Finian's brows shot up, and he stifled a chortle. It was not every day that one saw a disgruntled elf.

Vaulting over the counter, Finian approached the man (still trying to smother the grin that would come to his face when he heard the squish of the elf's feet) and said, "May I help you, good sir?"

Behind him, he could see his sister carefully place her feet on his wet footprints and try to mimic his walk.

[Ealasaide]

"About me?" Rochadan caught the sparkle of mirth in Kellan's eyes and smiled in spite of himself. “There’s really not much to tell,” he said pleasantly, leaning on one rung of the ladder. “I used to be a long-distance messenger, delivering mail and dispatches from Esgaroth to wherever they needed to go. Now I take care of the horses here at the Vineyard. But, as far as your keeping me from my work, please don’t worry yourself. We haven’t many guests right now, so there really isn’t that much to do... other than fix this ladder.” He cast a dubious glance up at the broken rung.

“Thank you,” Kellan answered with a smile of her own. “But I hope you will tell me if that changes and you do find yourself with more pressing things to do. As I said, I would enjoy talking a bit, but am fine with parting as well.” She paused. “As far as your story goes,” she added after a few seconds of comfortable silence had passed. “I’m sure there must be more to it than that!”

“Well, yes.” Rochadan nodded. “There always is more to a story than one initially tells, isn’t there? Actually, for the moment, I am more interested in hearing the rest of your story than gabbing on about myself. I’m sure there is more to it, as well, than what you have told so far. When you say you come from a tribe in the Far South, would I be correct in guessing that you come from Far Harad? What brings you this far north? That’s a very long journey, especially to be made on foot and all alone but for the company of your dog.”

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Yes, you are correct. I do come from the lands of Far Harad," Kellan remarked, nodding slowly. "And yes, it was a very long journey, and some part of it made without Grimm. I took the Harad Road to go north, for I was meaning to meet someone in Minas Tirith...someone who also watched the stars. However, I took some sort of wrong turn, I suppose, and made it to Dol Amroth near the Bay of Belfalas. That is where I met Grimm. He, a lone hound wandering where the folk of that town buried their dead and I, a wandering girl who had taken a road that did not lead to my desitation."

"You traveled all alone before that?" Rochadan asked, bringing a smile to Kellan's face without quite meaning to.

"Nay, I walked the roads with my brother. When we got to Minas Tirith, his plan was to part with me and take up jobs and lodgings there, for his dreams were never in the heat of the south lands," Kellan replied, her smile still bright and Rochadan's eyes still questioning. "He was the one who got us lost. In any case, I stayed in Minas Tirith with Grimm for near to a month, talking and studying and watching stars with the stargazer. He was such a funny man, and rather more obsessed than I am about the stars. One day he suggested that I see the view farther north, and he gave me the name of a friend of his, a man in Dale who might take me in and speak of the stars with me. I have not found him yet, and I think that perhaps tragedy befell him in the attack last year."

"That is quite a story, Miss Kellan," Rochadan murmured, looking back now and then to check on his little girl and make certain that she did not get into mischief.

"A long one, I'm afraid, and I apologize if I took too much of your time," Kellan replied ruefully and honestly. "And I must thank you once again for offering to take your time to fix the ladder."

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan laughed rather sheepishly and cast another look at the loose rung of the ladder. "Really, it's no trouble at all about the ladder. I should have fixed it months ago." He tipped it away from the wall in preparation to take it away for the necessary repair, then stopped. "Thank you for sharing your story," he added. "And pardon me for prying. It's just that I have never gone so far south as Harad and tales of the place interest me. Now... if there is anything you would like to know of Esgaroth or the Dale, please ask. Perhaps I could help regarding this stargazer you seek."

"I'm sorry if I seemed a bit abrupt in terms of my own story," he continued after an awkward pause. "I'm just not accustomed to talking much about myself. I never know what to say exactly. If you have any questions, though, please feel free to ask. And about the inn as well. I don't know how long you plan to stay in Esgaroth, but I think you will find the people here at the inn are a good lot."

"Finian will take good care of both you and Grimm," he finished with a smile, not wishing for the conversation to end just yet, but not quite sure how to prolong it either. As it was, he felt as though he was reaching for straws. He never had been any good at talking to women, especially not pretty ones, and had a way of coming across as either awkward or aloof, depending on how much of an effort he was making at getting along. Kellan interested him with all her talk of Harad and roof-climbing and star-gazing, but he had a feeling that, if he wasn’t careful, he was soon to pass directly through awkward into stupid. Finally, he sighed. He should just give it up and fix the ladder. Let the lady go about her business.

Just then, he felt a small tug at his pants leg. “Papa, does the doggie bite?” Sallie had limped over while he was talking with Kellan and now stood beside him with one little arm wrapped tightly around his knee. The other hand pointed at Grimm.

Instinctively, Rochadan reached down with one hand and smoothed the child‘s hair. “My daughter, Salaidhwyn,” he said to Kellan by way of a quick introduction. Then, he spoke to Sallie. “This is Miss Kellan, Sallie. Grimm is her dog. Perhaps you should ask her if the doggie bites.”

Sallie slid shyly behind his leg, not taking her eyes off of the big black dog for a second. “Miska-lyn,” she said finally to Kellan, peeking around the edge of her father‘s trouser leg. “Does the doggie bite?”

[Esgallhugwen]

The blonde headed Elf looked at his wet boots then at the bag of his belongings, he opened it to be sure it was indeed waterproof and that his things were indeed dry. He nodded his head with satisfaction and closed his eyes.

"May I help you, good sir?"

The Elf cocked his head upwards with one glimmering blue eye open as he met the young man's gaze, he then opened his other eye and smiled. He stood up and greeted him nonchalantly, ignoring both the fact that he was soaking wet and that the Innkeeper was trying not to laugh because of it.

"Ah, you must be the Innkeeper, if its not at all a trouble could I bother you for a glass of wine, then perhaps a room with a hot bath if you have any available, I would prefer to get out of these wet clothes to allow them to dry properly" he said tugging on his tunic that was clinging to his chest.

It was then that he noticed an odd looking girl who was attempting to mimic his walk by following his wet bootprints. He gave her a strange look that was filled with both amusement and confusion.

She gave him a huge grin then continued to follow his footprints until she was standing next to the Innkeeper.

"They want to thank you for the water, for they were very parched except for that one", she pointed to a wet plank, "but he's always cranky, you can never satisfy him" she said with a tint of irritation and put her hands on her hips.

The Elf seemed bewildered and for a time couldn't figure if she was mad or just playing.

"Who wants to thank me?" he asked slightly puzzled.

"The wood planks of course, that one, that one, that one and that one" she pointed to each footprint, "but not that one" she shook her finger at it, "he's a grumpy one so be careful when you walk by" she cautioned then started on her way again following the bootprints back to where they started.

His brows furrowed for a few seconds then he returned his attentions to the Innkeeper who was shaking his head.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry had let the two boys, Cynan and Andhun, look around the Infirmary, curious about all the little pots and vials and scissors and tongs and how many other implements and the herbs, some hanging to dry, scenting the air with a sweetish dusty scent and others bubbling slowly in a small pan over a small burner on a shelf. They began to imagine magic potents and secret spells and were almost on the verge of asking her about some of them when Finian had briefly stopped in.

Bethberry had quietly asked him about his sister, whose mind was her illness. Most people in the town were fearful of her and avoided her. Some even said evil was in her and had whispered amongst themselves that she should be shunned or sent away for the safety of other children. Bethberry did her best, whenever word of this came her way, to counter the ignorant fear, but it would be a long, slow process to enlighten some of those who were most fearful of difference, especially unexplained differences. When Finian left to attend once more to customers, the healer turned to the two boys. If she kept Cynan talking perhaps Andhun would be less shy of showing her his wound,s and talking about his injuries.

"Well, gentlemen, are you ready to apprentice with me? I have a special on this week. Find me three giant puffballs, a handful of toadstools, one eye of newt, four tadpoles, and the foot tracks of a spriggan, and you shall earn your status as 'prentice wizards, probationary." Bethberry's eyes twinkled as she said this and guided Andhun towards a long sort of narrow table, covered with a thin straw mattress which was wrapped in white linens.

She waited to let the boys answer before she handed Andhun a sheet to hold around himself after he removed his shirt. She hoped Cynan would talk about his mother.

[Imladris]

Finian shook his head and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "She's a strange one. Ever since I tripped over it once she's gotten it into her head that he's a grumpy old chap."

The elf nodded.

Finian swallowed and glanced at him. He had never been this close to an elf before. Of course, he had seen them from afar but they were just people then....not elves. Here he could see the fair faice, the golden hair that barely glimmered, the grace that made them glide rather than walk. "This way, Sir Elf," he said, gesturing him to follow.

Finian galumphed up the stairs and, after debating whether the west room or the east room, he decided on the latter. He had rumours of the elves leaving for the west and that must be depressing. He supposed that even elves needed cheering up. "There you go, Sir Elf," he said, as he began to make a fire. "I'll send one of the serving maids up with your wine. But, tell me, what is your name and how did you become drenched, thus so obligingly quenching the floor's thirst."

[Eruantalon]

Lost in thought he realized there was a dark haired girl before him. Seeing her now he realized she must work here. Leaving his thoughts behind like mists that are driven by a breeze his face changes now.

“Yes if I could have a pint of ale and whatever is being served to eat? The table isn’t a bother but thank you still.”

Looking around the room he realized people where coming in from the storm. He saw a wet Elf and others coming in. Wondering what the maiden was thinking he soon looked to her eyes to see a smile. Smiling back he felt comfortable. Which wasn’t something he was accustomed to as of late.

Pulling his cloak back now he showed his face. Grim and gentle at the same time. His long jet hair fell about his shoulders. His dark eyes lost in concentration as he took a slow drag from his pipe.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Kellan kneeled down next to Grimm, who sat rather placidly upon his hind legs. "If this dog bites, I have yet to see it. He growled at the man that came in earlier, which was the worst I've seen him do yet," Kellan wondered if her words had become lost upon the ears of little Sallie. Smiling, the dark woman pat Grimm upon his black, shaggy head. "He will not bite you, Miss Sallie!"

Sallie would not loosen her tight grip on her father's leg, bringing Kellan's smile downward into a slight frown. Kellan looked up at Rochadan, who shrugged, unsure of what to say in addition. An idea sprung into Kellan's head as she tucked a lock of curly hair behind her ear. Smiling once more, the lady held out her arm, her hand open for Sallie to take. "Would you like a hand to hold? He will not bite you, and especially not if I am here with you. Your father will protect us..."

Sallie let go of her father's leg, no matter how reluctant, and took Kellan's hand. Standing next to the crouched woman, Sallie was only inches away from the large, dark dog. Cupping Sallie's hand in her own, Kellan guided the girl's tiny fingers over Grimm's fur. Kellan let go, and Sallie stroked Grimm all by herself. Grimm turned his head, startling Sallie, but he only turned to lick her hand. "Ewww!" Sallie giggled, and Kellan hoped her fears had subsided.

Rochadan watched, and Kellan stood as Sallie began to play with Grimm. Looking over at Rochadan, smiled and gestured to the little girl. "Does her mother work in the Inn as well?" Kellan asked, a laugh upon her voice as she watched Grimm and Sallie.

[Esgallhugwen]

"She's a strange one. Ever since I tripped over it once she's gotten it into her head that he's a grumpy old chap."

The Elf nodded with an amused but not cruel smile on his lips, he had heard of such behaviour before and in his opinion it was quite harmless as long as they didn't hurt themselves or others. The Innkeeper guided him to a room and he couldn't help but notice the slight hesitance that the young man had about which room to open.

He didn't understand why he hesitated, certainly either room was just as lovely but instead of asking he shrugged and followed the boy into the east room.

"There you go, Sir Elf," he said, tieing back the curtain with a red cord to alighten the room, he knelt down by the fireplace and began to make a fire. "I'll send one of the serving maids up with your wine. But, tell me, what is your name and how did you become drenched, thus so obligingly quenching the floor's thirst."

The Elf laughed and turned his eyes from the window, "I must apologize for my rudeness Master Innkeeper, my name is Thalinar of Mirkwood" he made a courtly gesture, "and my sodden appearance is no doubt humourous to the onlooker but more than less so for the victim. Some fellow rafters, both men, conspired against me, I know not why, and decided to launch me from my wooden raft that was laden with supplies intended for your town. Whether they are lost to the river or were stolen I cannot say. I allowed for the current to carry me to the new docks, where I surely caused a scene in the quiet dawn".

Thalinar sighed and shook his head "I am unable to put names to the faces of those men but I can put faces to the crime and if I were to see them again I would recognize them immediately".

He looked at the boy who was stoking the small fire and listening to his story, "what of you Master Innkeeper? What is your name and how did you come to own this Inn for you look to be a young lad".

[Nerindel]

With the soup on the simmer and the bread resting on the sill, Ædhral slipped out into the common room. Leaving cook to finish the preparations for Lunch, As much as she enjoyed helping cook in the kitchen the common room was by far her favourite room in the inn; here she got the chance to meet many new and interesting people and some with stories to tell. Everyone has a story to tell if one just takes the time to listen, her grandfather would often tell her. She smiled warmly as she recalled sitting on his knee as a child, listening to his stories of the dwarves in their deep halls of stone and of the elves and their enchanted forests. She laughed silently to herself as she took a damp cloth and began wiping the tables, stopping as she almost slipped on a wet puddle on the floor.

“Now how do you suppose that got there?” she whispered to herself. Then looking up she saw a whole trail of little puddles leading from the main door all the way up the stairs to the guestrooms. “Oh my that will never do.” She gasped as another guest almost slipped on one of the wet puddles. Quickly she went to the kitchen, fetched the bucket and mop, that sat inside the back door and began soaking up the wet trail before there was a serious accident. It would not do to be taking any more patients to Miss Bethberry today she thought as she tucked a stubborn stray lock of dark hair behind her left ear.

As she worked she recalled an elven tune she had heard the elves of Mirkwood sing as they passed through on their march back to their woodland realm after the victory of the five armies. She off course knew not what they sung but the tune had always stuck in her mind and she now hummed it happily as she worked her way up the stairs following the damp trail onto the next landing right up to a room on the east side. As she finished she leaned on the mop handle, still humming the lively elven tune and examined her work; “not to bad!” she grinned to herself.

Just as she was lifting mop and bucket to return down stairs the door behind her opened and her name was spoken by the familiar voice of the innkeeper. With a ready smile and a mischievous glint in her eyes she turned, “fair day master innkeeper, how may I be of ser…” she began jovially, but stopping in mid sentence as she realised that Finian was not alone. A tall fair headed elf stood behind him, his dripping wet tunic clinging tightly to his lean but muscular torso. Suddenly aware that she was staring she quickly averted her eyes, turning fully towards Finian which did not help matters as a broad knowing grin had spread across the young innkeepers face, causing her cheeks to flush a deep shade of crimson.

“You required something of me, Finian?” she asked, hoping that it was something that would require her to leave as quickly as possible so she could escape her embarrassment.

[Imladris]

Finian was sorely tempted to tell Ædhral to make sure that the elf's room was comfortable while he himself went to fetch some fresh clothes for Thalinar. However, he said, "Oh, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to fetch some fresh clothes for our Mirkwood. Some fellows played a prank --" he sniggered -- " and he fell into the river. I'm sure that we will be able to find the culprits soon enough," he went on cheerfully, "as this is the only Tavern in town. Would you like to stay for a couple of days?" He asked, turning to Thalinar.

The elf nodded and Ædhral scurried down the stairs. Finian strode toward the small empty fire place and began to build a fire for the elf to dry himself. "My name, Master Elf, is Finian. My father --" he stopped here, remembering the charred remains, and his crying sister. "My father died in the attack and left me in charge of the Inn -- or what was left of it, " he said with a feeble grin.

The elf remained silent and Finian said, "But he died nobly." He nodded and said, "He did not grow old and feeble, which was a dread of his as it is with all of us I think."

The fire blazed into life and Finian asked, "Is there anything else Master Elf?"

[Esgallhugwen]

Thalinar nodded and said nothing else. How could one comfort a stranger? And even if Thalinar had known the boy all his short years and had seen his father perish in the Dragon fire there would still be no way; comforting cannot bring a loved one back save only in memory. It was a feeling the Elves knew all too well.

Thalinar gazed out the window again, his blue orbs dancing up and down as if searching for something in the distance. He was snatched out of his reverie by the young Innkeeper.

"Is there anything else Master Elf?"

The Elf looked across at him and noticed the fire, "nothing except the wine and a hot bath", he pointed to the half sized tub in the corner, "or a basin of steaming water and two towels will also do me fine", he smiled warmly at the Innkeeper.

"I do not wish to pry Master Finian but before you go would you tell me who that young maiden was? By the way she looked at me it was as if she had never seen an Elf before".

But Thalinar had a slight glint in his eye not often seen in Elves, it showed mischieviousness. The Elf had seen the look in the girls eyes and the crimson blush of her cheeks, his curiosity certainely got the better of him and he questioned why their meeting had been so awkward and what he could do to right it.

[Nerindel]

Nodding Ædhral turned and descended the stairs as quickly as possible, her face still flush with embarrassment. Staring at a guest so, she admonished herself, but he was an elf and although she had seen them from a distance she had never seen one so close and he was handsome, no! That’s not the point, she scolded herself again. He is a guest and staring at him so was not only rude it was wrong! Shaking her head she then wondered just were on earth Finian expected her to find clothes suitable for an elf.

She then remembered that there had been an old chest that Finian’s father had kept filled with clothes that guests had carelessly left behind, she and Kannah had even mended one or two things and she was sure it was one of the things that had survived the fire. Passing through the common room she picked up another tune, this one local and less lively than the elven one, put pleasant and calming all the same.

Pushing open the door to the kitchen she called to cook. “Finian needs me to find some dry clothes for one of the guests do you need anyone to help with lunch.” Cook grumbled something that she could not quite catch then waved her away muttering that if she needed help she would get Kannah from the common room.

With a quick nod she left the kitchen and made her way down to the stables, if anyone knew what had become of the chest it would be Rochadan. As she approached she saw the stable master conversing with one of the guests, little Sallie as always was not to far away, a smile crept over her face as she realised that the little girl was playing happily with the large dog they has seen earlier.

“Ada, Ada look!” the girl cried excitedly as she saw her approach, “Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Indeed he is princess,” Ædhral smiled reaching down to gently scratch the shaggy dogs ear.

“His name is Grimm,” Sallie grinned, “and he’s my new bestest friend.”

“Is he?” she laughed, “then I had better ask cook to save the bone from the soup for your new friend’s lunch, I do not think mud pies would agree with him,” she winked.

Sallie laughed, “don’t be silly Ada only the kitties like mud pies!” the two laughed together, then remembering why she was there Ædhral turned first to the girl with whom Rachadan was speaking. “Hi, my name is Ædhral. I must apologise for interrupting, but I am in need of the stable masters ear for a moment, I will not keep him long.”

Then turning to Rochadan she asked him if he remembered the old chest, telling him about the soaking wet elf and Finian’s request that she bring him fresh clothes, but she deliberately left out how she had thoroughly embarrassed herself, by staring.

[Ealasaide]

"Does her mother work in the Inn as well?" Kellan asked, a laugh upon her voice as she watched the stablemaster's daughter, Sallie, playing happily with Grimm.

At the mention of Tristana, Rochadan felt the familiar spike of pain that appeared every time he tried to speak of her. While it had been three years since her passing, he still felt the loss with a sense of immediacy. To hide the sorrow that he knew must show in his eyes, he turned away from Kellan for a moment to watch Sallie and Grimm.

"She seems to have gotten over her fear fairly quickly, hasn't she?" he commented, more or less to buy himself a few seconds of time. "As for Sallie's mother," he continued once he had composed himself again. "No, she doesn't work in the inn, though I think she would have liked it here very much. She passed away three years ago."

"I'm so sorry," answered Kellan immediately, the laughter disappearing from her voice. She, too, glanced down at Sallie, then back again at Rochadan, piecing the story together for herself. “Was it childbirth?” she asked softly.

Rochadan nodded. “It was a difficult birth and Tristana had never been very strong.” He looked at Kellan, smiling sadly. “That’s why I came off the road. With Tristana gone, I needed to be here for Sallie.”

“She’s a lovely little girl,” answered Kellan.

Before Rochadan could respond any further, they were joined by Ædhral, who came from the direction of the kitchen. Rochadan watched as the serving girl shared a playful conversation with Sallie, then paused to introduce herself to Kellan.

“Hi, my name is Ædhral,” she said pleasantly. “I must apologize for interrupting, but I am in need of the stable masters ear for a moment, I will not keep him long.”

Kellan nodded graciously as Rochadan excused himself and retreated a few feet away with Ædhral to see what he could do to assist her. He listened as she explained about the soaking wet elf and Finian’s request for dry clothes. Then, he nodded sagely.

“Yes, I know the chest you are looking for,” he said with a smile, noticing the slight flush that rose in Ædhral’s cheeks as she described the wet elf. “It’s in the attic. I’ll bring it down for you... if you will be so kind as to keep an eye on Sallie for me.” When Ædhral gratefully agreed, he turned to Kellan. “I shouldn’t be more than a few minutes, if you care to wait. Otherwise, if you need to go on about your day, I promise you the ladder will be fixed by nightfall!”

With that, he stooped and gave Sallie a light kiss on the top of her head, leaving her to play with Grimm under the watchful eyes of the two ladies as he went to retrieve the trunk of clean clothes for the elf.

[Orual]

Kannah filled up a pint glass with ale and piled some food on a plate, glancing the whole time at the cloaked man. She wound her way through the crowds and placed the mug and plate on his table.

"Will you be staying overnight, sir?" she asked curtly. Silence greeted her query. "Sir? If you will be staying overnight...?" Still no answer. "Well." She cleared her throat, and he started, turning to her in surprise. "Simply come find me when you are ready to pay. If you are staying overnight, you may pay in the morning."

She turned to go, then stopped. She turned back to him. "What is your name, sir? And what brings you here?"

[Imladris]

With difficulty Finian hid a mischievous grin. "The girl's name is Ædhral, Thalinar. As for why she blushed it was because of your handsomeness I suppose."

The elf stared blankly back at him, causing Finian to burst into a fit of chortling. "You are obviously a stranger to the female ways," he said, gasping for breath. "Stay here, while I get some hot water, the towels, and a goblet of the finest wine," he said, turning on his heel and striding from the room.

He hurried down the stair and went into the kitchen, where he sloshed some water into a kettle and set it over the fire. Going into the cellar, he scanned the titles of the wine, deciding which would be suitable for an elf of the Woodland Realm. He finally selected a bottle of older vintage, muttering, "I had no idea we still had some of this left." He made a feeble attempt at brushing the dust off the bottle as he went back into the kitchen.

By this time the water was heartily boiling and Finian poured it into a basin, grabbed some towels, and walked as quickly as he could up the stairs back to the elf's bedroom. "Here you go, friend," he said, grinning.

[Bêthberry]

The two boys, Cynan and Andhun, had long since left the Infirmary where Bethberry was drying herbs and preparing some of her ointments and infusions. The sun had slowly moved on, changing the aura in the room from fresh early day to full heat. Suddenly, the door flew open and an excited Sallie, Rochadan's daughter, ran in, following close by Grimm, who appeared to have become her shadow.

"Bethy," the girl called breathlessly.

"Yes, Sallie, what is it?" The Healer looked up from her table with a smile at the child who she adored. For his part, Grim bounded forward and nearly succeeded in toppling a chair and a small table, but Bethberry was quick to grab them and save the coverings from a tumble. She caught Grimm and gave him some affectionate scratches as a way of calming him down. "Now, Puppy," she said with a grin. "Don't come bounding into here unless you expect some playful tussling with me." He growled happily and nearly licked her hands.

"Me too!" proclaimed Sallie as she ran into the woman's arms, who proceeded to lift her up and swing her round before placing her carefully beside the dog.

"Now, young lady, what is it?"

"We had a message left for you. One of the travellers from Dale came and said he had a message from a family there."

"Did he stay?"

"No, he said he couldn't, but he was very serious about this note. He said I had to give it to you right away or ... or... "


'Or what?"

"Well, he didn't say exactly, but he mentioned some boggans that might frighten me in the night."

"Well, you have saved yourself some fright, dear Sallie. Come, let's see what this missive is about."

Bethberry bent over the scroll in the golden sunlight and found a request to come to Dale, to tend to an ill member of a family she held dear. A very ill member. Bethberry sighed. She seemed to be making many journies this last year for illnesses beyond healing.

"Sallie, I shall have to leave Esgaroth for a bit, to journey to Dale. Can you go tell your father I must have a horse and be away within the hour?"

Sallie eyed her with worried eyes, but Bethberry tousled her hair and told her not to worry' she would return soon.

Shortly after, her bags packed and her medicines prepared, Bethberry took her leave of Finian. He was a young man, but he would have strong support from Rohadan and the others at the Tavern. She was happy to see him look so confident about his new Tavern. The past year had been hard for him, but he was a strong and courageous man who walked proudly in his father's footsteps.

Bethberry entered the stables, where Rochadan had a horse waiting for her. She said several words of good bye to him, gave Sallie a cheerful kiss, and stepped into the stirrup with a jump. She whistled twice and Wyrd appeared out of the pale blue sky. With that, she was on her way.

[Nerindel]

The two women chatted pleasantly about the inn and the town itself, but always they came back to the subject of the inn and it staff and the young southern woman soon came to realise that the inn was more to Ædhral than the mere place of her employment, it was her home and her family. As they spoke, the serving girl kept a careful eye on the stable master’s daughter, smiling warmly each time the little girl squealed with laughter and delight.

It was not long before Rochadan returned the chard chest balanced upon his broad shoulders, “I wasn’t sure if you wanted the chest taken straight to our guest or if you wish to see what we had first?” The Stable master grinned, setting the chest down before them.

“Well it hasn’t been opened in sometime perhaps it would be wise to take a look inside first,” Ædhral shrugged. Then snapping the catches back they slowly opened the lid, even little Sallie stopped her play, curious to see what was inside. To their surprise the clothing within still looked in good condition, Ædhral pulled out a bright orange shirt and wrinkled her nose in disguised at the ghastly brightness of the fabric.

“I can see why that might have been left behind!” Kellan laughed, Rochadan nodded his head in agreement and Ædhral could already hear the dry sarcastic remarks the garment would receive from Kannah if she saw it worn in public, quickly she banished it to the bottom of the pile.

“What bout dis one?” Sallie smiled brushing her little hand over the soft fabric of a forest green tunic; Ædhral carefully lifted it out of the chest.

“Oh yes, I agree that looks very fine,” Kellan smiled.

“Yes, very fitting for an elf and the right size too I think!” Ædhral winked, holding the tunic up against the stable master who was roughly the same height as the elf. “Yes very fetching indeed,” she smiled playfully.

“Well that might be so, but if our guest is not to cause a stir he will be needing pants as well,” The stable master blustered hiding the deepening of his cheeks as he delved into the chest. Ædhral suppressed a snigger as she helped to find a pair without holes or faded with age. Finally, with the help of Kellan and little Sallie they found a dark pair of pants with green stitching and a good pair of walking boots that looked like they might fit the elf.

With the garments in hand, she thanked Rochadan and Kellan for their help.

“What bout us!” Sallie pouted pulling on Ædhral's skirts.

“How could I ever forget my best helper and her friend," she grinned, "Come to the kitchen after dinner and I may have a nice surprise for you both!” she whispered with a wink as she bent down to kiss the child’s head affectionately. Then after stroking Grimm’s shaggy coat she returned to the inn.

As she ascended the stairs to the guest quarters her stomach knotted, she hoped the elf had not noticed her embarrassment and that Finian had not said anything about it, but she did hope the young innkeeper was still there so she could excuse herself promptly, before embarrassing herself more. Reaching the door she knocked politely and waited for someone to answer.

[Nurumaiel]

When Bethberry had finished treating Andhun the two boys had wandered back to the table they had been previously seated at. Cynan looked about for Rochadan, for he would have to leave soon and he did not want to leave Andhun alone. The latter boy was studying the table with deep concentration though it was plain to see that his mind was focused upon something other than the table. Cynan slid his chair sideways so he was closer to his friend and he said, "Andhun, tell me what you're thinking of."

"I was thinking of how Bethberry treated me," said Andhun. "It was so interesting the way she made up the different medicines, and so soothing to my hurts." He paused a moment to collect his thoughts, and then he cast a gentle gaze to Cynan, smiling softly. "It must be very wonderful to have the ability to comfort people so."

"There are other ways to comfort them, Andhun," said Cynan. "I was watching you the whole time and you were not comforted not only by Bethberry's treatment of your wounds, but you were also comforted in spirit. Her kind and gracious manner filled you with a peace and joy I sense you have not known for a long while, and combined with her soothing treatment to your wounds I suspect you are a little overwhelmed with all the goodness of it."

"I am, rather," Andhun admitted, "and more than a little bewildered, for I have come to grow unaccustomed to such kind treatment."

They said nothing more for awhile, but sat in silence. Andhun contemplated with increasing wonder the kindness he had known at the hands of those at the Tavern, and Cynan was filled with gratitude that he had found this lad and had been able to lead him to these good people. Perhaps not far from this day someone older and more able than he himself would find him and help him and his family. But now he must look after his family himself, and he must tend to his mother. He turned to Andhun and took his good hand, holding it tightly. "I must return home now," he said. "My family will perhaps need me now. Rochadan will take good care of you, so you need not fear in my absence. Seek out also the young woman Miss Kellan with her dog Grimm. Both are kind. The girl Ærosylle, too, will befriend you. Goodbye for now, Andhun. I will return as often as I may."

"Goodbye, dear friend," said Andhun with strong feeling, and as his good hand was clutched tight in the hold of his friend, he clumsily and weakly raised his right arm and awkwardly in manner but not in feeling embraced Cynan. "You have saved me much pain and sorrow, and I can never repay you for it, but I will do all I may. When you return to visit, bring your family with you. I am sure they will be welcome."

"You are always welcome at my home," said Cynan, and his voice was thick, for he was moved at Andhun's display of friendship. "Goodbye." He hastily and self-consciously returned the embrace, though not without genuine fondness, and then he pulled himself gently from his friend's hold and hurried out the door. Andhun limped to the window and stood there waving, and Cynan turned with a wink and a returned wave before he went skipping down the lane. Andhun returned in a lonely fashion to his table.

[Esgallhugwen]

With Finian gone to fetch the wine and hot water, Thalinar picked up the tall brown coat rack and placed it by the fire taking off his wet cloak and hanging it to dry. He couldn't but grin picturing the face of the maiden Ædhral again, he would have never expected such, even though he was a raftsman from time to time when he wasn't wondering the entanglements of Mirkwood he usually tried to keep clear of Men.

But the Inn changed his view, after all it was run my a man though he is yet very young and all other staff that he had seen were of the like. He was shown kindness that he was unaccustomed to from their race, for they had treated him with no lack of contempt, perhaps he had just been in the presence of the wrong people who hold attitudes like that about everyone; Thalinar knew Elves did the same.

Thalinar shook his head, such unpleasant thoughts on such a sunny day should not be allowed, he laughed to himself and tried to straighten his hair out in front of the mirror by the bedside. Finian walked briskly back into the room after a few moments with basin and towels in hand, balancing the wine bottle as he set these things down on the table.

"Here you go, friend," he said, grinning.

He pulled out a corkscrew from his pocket and uncorked the wine taking up the fine crystal goblet and pouring the fragrant liquid with practiced skill.

"Much thanks Master Finian, I apologize for-"

Finian held up his hand to stop him, "theres no need to apologize for anything, a little puddle on the floor can easily be wiped up without incident, though Ædhral's crimson blushing is another story".

Thalinar nodded with a parted grin on his face, "if you need anything else Master Thalinar don't hesitate to fetch either myself or Ædhral" he winked and left the room, closing the door behind him.

The tall Elf sat on a wooden stool and pulled off his boots heavy with water. A small puddle poured out of each as he set them next to the fire place, he then untied his dark green tunic and hung it on the coat hanger followed by the light shirt he wore under it.

He picked up his travel bag and rumaged through it looking for soap and a sponge, which he found much to his relief. Thalinar sipped on his wine as he washed himself of mud and silt, lastly washing his hair with the fresh foaming soap.

Thalinar quickly wrapped a dry towel over himself when he heard knocking at the door, his hair dripping in his face he grabbed his comb and ran it through his glimmering golden hair.

Then he opened the door.

"Ye-" his words caught in his throat when he saw two wide eyes peering over the top of a pair of dry boots, they were the same eyes that grew wide before with blushing cheeks. His eyes couldn't help but widen in response.

"Oh, uh hello Lady Ædhral" he said awkwardly realizing he was only in a towel, it was only fitting that he started to blush.

[Nerindel]

Ædhral’s warm brown eyes widened in astonishment as their elven guest answered the door wrapped only in a towel, her cheeks burning she lowered her gaze and awkwardly thrust out her hands, “Uh, these are the clothes, master Finian asked me to find for you. I hope they fit, we don’t oft get eh, elven guests,” she flustered, still staring at the wood grain of the dusty floor.

“Thank you, I’m sure they will,” the elf answered, awkwardly taking the clothes in one hand as he tries to maintain his modesty by clutching the towel in place with the other.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Ædhral asked, praying that there was not so she could escape this embarrassing situation. Twice in one day and the same guest, no least could this day get any worse she thought bleakly, promising herself that if she got out of this situation she would spend the rest of the day hiding in the kitchen.

As she stared at the ground waiting his reply she wondered if he was just as eager to be out of this awkward situation as she was!

[Chathol-linn]

Many folk passed by the Vineyard Tavern on the main road. But if you approached it from the back, as Seregon did, you got a different view.

Seregon picked her way around the outbuildings, some under construction, so necessary for the running of an inn – a stable, sheds, privy, and so forth. She was hungry. She and her sisters had been tramping for days, sleeping rough, making for Laketown as it rebuilt itself. Now her sisters were waiting in a likely-looking field on the outskirts of the town while Seregon had a look around.

That apple tree looks good, Seregon thought. It is rare to see one spared by the dragon fire. I hope they don’t begrudge me a few apples. And Seregon began to climb the apple tree at the back of the inn. Whoever had lived here previously had taken good care of this tree, because its limbs were shapely with shiny healthy leaves and the fruit was already ripening. Seregon’s green breeches and tunic blended in so well that no one could have told there was a young woman halfway up the tree’s trunk. She stopped there to eat an apple.

I cannot pay for these, for that costs “money” and I have none, she thought. I can work, though, and I will work the better for having eaten some lunch. Maybe the innkeep will let me work for some food for my sisters, too. And maybe, just maybe, I can find the right person to ask about … But at that moment, in mid-bite, Seregon looked through a window into a bedchamber in the inn, and she nearly dropped her apple.

She saw the backside of a tall figure. He – for it was clearly a he – was partially wrapped in a towel and was scrambling to keep it about him while with the other hand he reached to take some garments from a blushing girl. Even through the window Seregon could see that her face was bright red. As Seregon watched, smiling, the tall figure lunged for the garments and in so doing, lost his struggle with the towel. The inn girl bent to pick up the clothes, the tall figure did so too, and Seregon saw them both knock heads and fall down in a heap.

Seregon laughed. “A merry old inn!” she said aloud. “I think I’ll try my luck!” She finished the apple, being sensible above all else, and headed for the inn’s front door.

Next thing the Vineyard’s patrons knew, there was a short slender woman standing in the doorway. She had a bowl-shaped head of black hair and a single braid behind her ear that was dancing as she waved. “Greetings!” she was saying. “Greetings!”

[Imladris]

Finian strode back to the common room, wondering where his sister was. Hopefully she was only having a conversation with the plates and not under the impression that she was a bird and had the capability to fly. He ran his fingers through his hair and wished that there was some way he could keep an eye on her...she was always scurrying about, skulking about when she became this happy. Why couldn't she be ina normal mood more often.

The door bounced open and a short slender woman shouted, "Greetings," waving her hand furiously in the air.

Finian blinked. Usually guests would just slip in with the shadows, or stump in, shaking of their weariness for a good pint of ale and a good bit of news. Finian could see the other guests' heads swivel in her direction.

Vaulting over the counter, Finian darted down the room, bowed, and said, "And what may I do for you?"

[Nurumaiel]

Andhun sat uneasily at his table, unsure of what he should do now that Cynan was gone. He thought he might seek out Rochadan, but he did not know the lay of the Tavern and did not want to risk being lost, just in case his master was still about. Instead he betook himself to the window to watch for Rochadan, and at the same time he watched those who passed by the Tavern, gazing studiously into the face of each. His attention was directed especially to the face of every little girl, trying to decide if she were his sister or not. He remembered her only vaguely, for he did not remember very much from before the fire. Yet he had those vague memories.

When the door opened and a short woman with black hair came in, calling her greetings, and she temporarily caught Andhun's attention. It was drawn away very soon, however, for another woman entered the room, silent and reserved, but with a quick, bright eye and a firm bearing about her. Andhun started and blinked several times, for this woman was almost the perfect image of his mother. Indeed she was the perfect image, save that she was still very young, certainly no older than one-and-twenty. She called out no merry greetings but merriness flowed from her, just as with his mother, who had always been a quiet one but with a presence of cheer and good will. This young woman had, like his mother had, dark hair that was between black and brown, and soft, shining blue eyes that looked here and there with warmth, as if bestowing good wishes to all they rested upon. Her step was quick and lively, and she moved with confidence and grace. Her face was lightly freckled from the sun, but they were also rosy from some recent exercise. As she cast her glance across the room, taking it all in for thoughtful consideration (for it was always what Andhun's mother had done), her eyes fell upon Andhun, and she contemplated his burns and scars, and a cheery smile flashed upon her face, and she winked at him before moving on.

He watched her with emotions swelling up in his heart, and he felt the heat of tears rushing to his eyes and he tried to drive them away. He felt an intense longing to see his mother again, and to put his arms about her neck and feel her gentle kiss upon his head, and to look up at her and say, "Mamma." Was it only a year since the fire, since he had lost his home and family? Since then he had felt a harsh kick in the place of a mother's loving embrace. The tears would not be held back, and so he let his head sink to the table so no one could see that he wept. If his mother were there she would take him and hold him and say, "Hush, my little darling, and don't cry. What have you to weep for, blessed as you are?"

A gentle hand ran through his hair, a tender arm went about his shoulders, and his head was pulled from the table and he was held close to someone. "Hush there, darling, hush," a soft voice said, and as he looked up in amazement his eyes met with eyes like his mother's. The young woman sat beside him, and with her apron she dried his tears, and then held out her hand to him, which was full of little sweets. "I do not know if it will be a comfort to you to eat them," she said, "but I do not doubt it would give you great pleasure to keep them with you and give them to whomsoever you choose." Andhun smiled at this, took the sweets, and put them in his pockets, and looked up at her once again. "Now," she said with no little degree of satisfaction, seeing that she had cheered him at least a little, "what was the cause of your grief?"

"I was just being foolish," he said, "and crying for my mother, who has been dead for some time now."

"Foolish?" The young woman with no little surprise. "It's never foolish, m'dear, to weep for your mother. Isn't she the one closest to the heart of every young boy? So don't be ashamed of that, or think yourself foolish, or any other such nonsense." She smiled in a bright way at him, and then spoke again, saying, "My name is Eacwen, and I will be staying at the Tavern for a little while at least. I do hope we can be friends."

"Certainly we may!" Andhun cried with strong feeling. "And I will introduce you to all those who have been kind to me at the Tavern so they may also be kind to you. My name is Andhun."

[Esgallhugwen]

Thalinar took the clothes that Ædhral had thrust at him, he ensured her that they would fit as he fumbled with his towel. She lowered her haze trying to hide her ever reddening cheeks.

He was about to apologize for yet another embarrassing situation when the clothes slipped from his grasp, he reached out for them as did the young maiden and their heads met with a smack and a hard landing on their behinds. Thalinar's luck held out and he was able to keep the towel in check, barely.

He steadied his gaze to Ædhral who was rubbing her sore head across from him, twice in one day and with the same girl, he wished to get out of this humiliating situation.

I should have stayed in the river.

He thought to himself coldly and stood up from the wooden floor, he clutched his towel tightening it around his waist and gave Ædhral his hand and pulled her up from the floor, he then stooped down and scooped up the dry clothes.

His head started to throb from the impact. "I must say that I am truly sorry, for both incidents, I had no intention to cause you harm or discomfort. Thank you again for the clothes it was very kind of you" he smiled weakly but warmly and closed the door to his room.

He sighed deeply and began to dress himself in the dry clothes, everything was a perfect fit. Thalinar was all too thankful for that, it would mean he could avoid another potentially uneasy situation that he would rather not have.

And if it could be helped he would try to stay in his room for as long as possible. He opened up the window and sat next to it with his goblet of wine in hand.

[Nerindel]

As soon as the door closed Ædhral fled down the stairs, across the common room and into the kitchen, her cheeks still burning and breathing heavily she slumped down on the nearest chair throwing her head into her hands. “Oh! Cook I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life!” cook took her head from the oven were she was checking a batch of biscuits she was baking, to look up at her young assistant.

“Now what is this all about?” she asked closing the oven door and wiping her hands on her apron as she walk over to were Ædhral was sitting, sitting on a chair next to her she took the young woman’s hands, forcing her to look up. Ædhral told cook about the guest and the embarrassing situations she twice found herself in.

“How will I be able to face him again, I do not even know his name!” she sighed disheartedly.

“Oh my dear I am sure everything will be alright,” Cook comforted, “You will probably find that our guest is just as embarrassed as you are!”

“Perhaps your right,” Ædhral smiled weakly.

“Off course I’m right, I’m always right,” cook winked, “Just count yourself lucky that Finnian had not witnessed the whole towel slipping affair, he would be in fits all day!” the older woman laughed,

When Ædhral thought of it that way it did seem rather amusing, she could not help but laugh imagining the roaring laughter and mirthful glint in Finnian’s eyes, so like his father was he at such times that she almost forgot how very young he was and how much responsibility he had taken on rebuilding the inn. Her embarrassment now seemed such a frivolous thing in comparison.

“Now that is the Ædhral we all know and love!” Cook smiled, “Not that sad and unhappy thing who was here just a moment ago, come child there is luncheon to be served and it won‘t serve itself.” she winked jovially.

Nodding Ædhral rose, a broad smile on her lips and her embarrassment for the moment forgotten. She watched cook as they made the final preparations for lunch, for all the woman’s bluster, she was a kind-hearted soul and for that Ædhral was thankful.

Before long Ædhral was again her warm and cheerful self, floating about the inn helping Kannah to serve the soup that was that day’s lunch, the merry elven tune again on her lips as nimbly balanced the soup bowls in her arms.

[Imladris]

Ærosylle crawled under the tables, slowing making her way towards the stairs. "I am sorry for stepping on you," she whispered to the floor boards. "But you were made to be stepped on see, so you oughn't become angry that I am stepping on you. And don't you dare say that I tread heavier than I should," she added angrily.

A board creaked beneath her knee. Ærosylle froze then slowly shifted, putting her ear to the board. Her eyes flitted to the right and to the left as she listened to the plank's wooden whispers.

"Of course you didn't feel the elf," she muttered. "He is an elf and I am a human. He's a good deal lighter than I."

She tossed her head and continued her her turtlish way towards the stairs. Suddenly Ædhral flew down the stairs, her cheeks crimson, a look of mortified embarrassment on her face.

The bottom stair screeched as her foot landed on him and Ærosylle folled the maid with her eyes as she disappeared into the kitchen. "Yes, I too would give a good deal to know what her hurry is," she said vaguely, patting the stair on the back. With a slight shrug, Ærosylle crawled to the top of the stairs and said, "I wonder where the elf has gotten to...I would like to see more of him, you know. I've never seen an elf before.."

She went towards the eastern door because the floor had told her that the room facing towards the west was empty. Freezing in front of the door she listened. She could hear water splash and a soft murmuring. "He is freshening up," she whispered. "Do you mind if I lean against you?" she asked the wall, stroking the sanded wood. "Thank you."

[Chathol-linn]

The green-clad woman bowed in return to the man who approached her. She guessed at once that he was the proprietor; he had both an apron and a sense of authority, of belonging with the tavern. Seregon wished she had her own place, her own apron, and her own sense of belonging.

Oh, well. First things first. “Master Innkeeper, my name is Seregon. I would trouble you for a drink of water, if I may, and a confession. For I came over your back yards yonder and climbed your apple tree. While there I glimpsed a merry show through the chamber’s window, though I did not mean to spy. Who was that pretty maid and the half-clad stranger? And I ate one of your apples. I was so hungry it was like a feast, although a little on the green side.”

“What is my business in Laketown? Well, threefold. My sisters and I heard of the great undertaking to rebuild the town. We wished to have a part in it. With no dragon around, Laketown can be the best place to live in Middle-earth! Then, we have been followed for two days. Being weaponless, we thought we should find a haven, the sooner the better. I do not know who followed, but if it was a beast, it will run from a settlement.

“Finally, we can go no further. We used up our last provisions yesterday. But now we are here, and we have a plan to achieve our desires. Will you just direct me to your Lawspeaker or Mayor or what have you? For we wish to take up residence in one of those unused fields outside of town, with permission. We are from a farming clan and know how to produce the most delicious food.

“Now this is a lot to speak of on first acquaintance and may be you’ll want to take your measure of me. By your leave I will sit among your guests for a while.”

With that Seregon sat – collapsed, really - on the bench next to a young lad with a sad face. Poor lad, she thought, the world should be kinder to children. But then she felt only weariness. She could sleep standing up. Her head nodded. Her eyes had to close.

Just a nap, she thought. With that Seregon slipped onto the Path of Dreams. Her nap did not last long however. Just as the innkeeper was backing away from the sleeping woman, she jumped up with a yelp. “Something grabbed my leg! Something touched my boot! Does your inn have ghosts, sir?”

[Imladris]

It is now noon at the Tavern. A lunch of soup (veggies, left over meat, maybe a bit of barley) and tough wheat bread is being served along with wine or ale, depending on the customers preference.

It is sunny, with a wisps of clouds that scurry before a brisk breeze.

[Imladris]

Finian laughed and said, "No, there are no ghosts here my lady."

As she she shifted her glance around, just to make sure he was telling her the truth, Finian considered what the woman had told him.

She was in need of a job, and he surely wouldn't mind having someone keeping a closer eye on his sister. He felt his stomach squirm uncomfortably as he realized that she had disappeared yet again.

"I do not mind that you ate an apple, Seregon," said Finian, grinning. "I do not know of any lawmen about sleeping in a field, but you can either sleep in the loft of the stables or you can sleep in one of the rooms. However, would you like a job?" he asked earnestly. "I have a little sister who is not mad...but...she has queer moods. I do not have time to look after her."

[Esgallhugwen]

Thalinar sighed in relief thinking that at last he would have some peace and be able to avoid further situations involving the burning cheeked Ædhral, or any other event that would cause trouble. After all he had had enough for one day.

But just as he leaned his back up against the chair his sharp ears picks up scuffling outside the door Oh not again, I pray to Eru its not her, I think I've cause us enough mischance for today. He paused about to get up then stopped thinking that maybe if he didn't answer the door they would go away.

A few minutes passed silently but he heard the door creak slightly under the weight of a body, he turned his gaze to the door and closed his eyes in concentration please go away I want to be left alone. Thalinar's grey eyes shifted to the fire than back to the door as he heard whispering and mumbling.

He set down his wine glass and strode over to the door, he paused again, reaching out for the doorknob then turned it quickly and opened the door. Thalinar was very surprised to see a young girl sent flying forward in his direction, she was younger than Ædhral, Thalinar remembered her as the one that was discussing the emotions of the floorboards downstairs and wondered what she was doing leaning up agianst his room door.

The Elf caught her gracefully before she fell on her face, "hello, I don't believe we've been properly introduced, and what were you doing leaning on the door to my room?" he asked closing the door behind him waiting for her reply.

[Chathol-linn]

Seregon accepts a job at the Vineyard

“No ghosts? Then it must have been your cat or dog. Or even your little sister! I have sisters as well, Master Tavern Keeper, and I know what it is to be concerned for them.” Seregon gave him a grin. “They are not particularly mad either, and they sometimes have queer moods! So I will be well prepared to look after your sister. I accept your offer with gratitude, and if you like, I will stay until we are back on our feet again.

“You see, we three – Cordof, Glisi, and I, are the Bee Sisters. We grow flowers and fruit, and keep bees. That field outside of town already has a good blackberry hedge growing nicely. All we need to do is catch a swarm of bees. The next thing you know, we’ll be selling honey, mead, wax, and medicines.”

Her eyes flicked to the little lad with the burned face. She lowered her voice and said, “Honey has been known to reduce scars. Maybe Laketown has a healer who would be interested? Anyway, if there is no Lawspeaker to ask permission of, I will speed back to the field and tell my sisters to start building a lean-to. Then I will come back here and meet my new charge.”

Seregon hesitated. She could hardly believe her good fortune. "I have never stayed in a tavern before. You will give me a roof over my head? And board as well? I am in your debt, sir."

And Seregon bowed to the innkeeper and gave him a hopeful smile.

[Chathol-linn]

The Other Bee Sisters and a Watcher

The other two Bee Sisters, Cordof and Glisi, did not waste time waiting for Seregon to find any Lawspeaker.

“This field is unused. It is perfectly placed between the town and the forest,” said Cordof. “We can set up some skep hives with cones of straw if, ahem, we had any straw. And we’ll get that blackberry hedge growing all around the place. Before you know it we’ll have our own farm again.”

Cordof stood in the middle of the field, looking towards the half-built town into which Seregon had recently disappeared. Cordof looked very much like her namesake, for she was redcheeked like an apple and wore a red dress and a long white apron over top. Both were in need of a good washing, for the traveling had been hard. One could not say what color her hair was, for she wore a pretty red and white scarf around her head. To tell the truth, Cordof was vain about her appearance. She had not a line on her face and if she had even one grey hair, no one ever knew it for she never appeared in public without her scarf.

“Yes, let us start a lean-to, and get a hearth fire built. It will be good to be settled,” said Glisi. She looked nothing like Cordof or Seregon, for she was taller and had long honey-colored hair. Her breeches and shirt were like Seregon’s green attire, but Glisi’s were a warm brown, and she wore a gold-colored slash overtunic that showed the brown underneath, and a rope belt around all. She had a dreamy air about her that was a marked contrast to Cordof’s no-nonsense ways. She continued:

“We will not have to worry about falling prey to beasts of the forest – or worse – with all this bustle about." Glisi looked around, remembering the stealthy noises that had dogged them for the past two days and nights. But she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Cordof said, "The hedge will soon be better than any fence."

"And the bees themselves will be scary to many folk.” Glisi laughed aloud at the idea of fearing the honeybees.

But she was right. On the other side of the blackberry hedge there crouched a strange creature, and if there had been any bees about, he would have run from them. But not much else frightened him. And he loved the look of golden hair.

[Eruantalon]

Noticing the sweet notes that lingered once again throw the tavern he listened. He was welling up with the memories now. He had to ask her for what purpose she had sang these melodies?

Moving closer he noticed she was busy tending to her choirs for the tavern. She noticed his approach and smile. He asked her plainly as he could. “What purpose does singing this particular song have good lady?”

“If you aren’t the one I am looking for then in the end you may be of some help.’ Opening his cloak to reveal the shining on his chest. Giving her a hint at the Armour beneath. Showing her the crest of Gondor on his chest.

“I can not reveal this secret to anyone good lady. But you are singing a song I once sang myself. When I was coming back from a place, I think, that you know?”

Getting down on his knees to meet her in plain sight eye to eye now. He looked at her carefully. “You look like the daughter of some one I knew…if you are her you might be able to help me?”

Mayhap these questions can be answered when you are less busy. Pay mind that I am a patient sort. And that I can wait my turn till your work is done. I will await your answers. As you await mine.

[Imladris]

Ærosylle cocked her head at the elf and replied, "I was listening to the door." She nodded solemnly. "He was telling me you were busy...I came up here for I have never seen an elf before." Her lips curled into a grin.

The elf blinked back at her.

"Do you know why Finian put you in this room?" the girl asked her saucer eyes revolving around the walls where the noon day sun was just slipping away.

The elf shook his head.

"It is because you look so sad and solemn all the time and because he has heard rumours of your kind leaving to the western lands. The east is a new beginning. The west is an ending."

~~~~~~~~

Finian

"I have never stayed in a tavern before. You will give me a roof over my head? And board as well? I am in your debt, sir," said Seregon, bowing.

Finian blinked at her. "Well...what else would I do?" he asked, arching a brow as his face broke into a mischievous grin. "Fine Innkeeper I would make, making you sleep in some old stubby field." He winked at her. "How about a glass of the finest wine to celebrate your job? Hopefully by then my sister will have shown up somewhere..."

He led the way into the pantry and, after a minute or two of serious deliberation, selected a bottle that was relatively new, fetched a small glass, poured the red wine, gave it to Seregon, and said, "Drink up!"

[Imladris]

Let me introduce myself: I am Goldwine, Prince of cats. Some have made the opprobrious howler (http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=howler) of presuming to think that I am of the female persuasion, but let me hasten to assure you that that is definitely not the case.

Some of you may remember me as the feline of auriferous fur with bisque saucers that have the apotheosis to serve as eyes. Some may conjure anamneses of how I glided in monarchical effulgence. Those few who do remember must now be marveling at how they find me here.

Well, my vassals, you must understand that in this fascinating world, magic can and does, happen. Thus here I am, to bathe you with my ochroidness, to be a delectation to your ocular lobes.

Is that a bit succulent muscle I insufflate? And -- horrors -- as well as quiescent, cloying, macabre, repugnant, vile, vulgar sprouts that dare call themselves aliment? I wrinkle my nose at it...but, I can pick around the vulgar stuff I daresay.

What's this? A maid is taking the pot off the fire...Joys! She's serving it!

[Nerindel]

Ædhral smiled warmly as the stranger approached, He was taller than he first appeared and his dark eyes gave his grim features a gentle warmth that could easily be missed if one were not looking for it and as he spoke she was surprised, his voice was not gruff but soft and gentle. Before she could answer his first query he continued to speak revelling to her the crest of Gondor upon the shining breast armour carefully concealed beneath his dark cloak. She recognised the crest at once as her Grandfather had oft told her tales of Gondor and the Brave Roquen that protected those lands. Was this man one such knight? she wondered staring wide eyed at the stars set above the white tree.

“I can not reveal this secret to anyone good lady.” he was saying as he pulled the cloak back over again conceal the shining armour from prying eyes. “ But you are singing a song I once sang myself. When I was coming back from a place, I think, that you know?” He smiled gently

Ædhral stood confused and a little taken aback with the strangers words, it’s just a song the elves of Mirkwood sang… Isn’t it? she thought to herself, but just then the stranger sank to his knees those dark eyes now level with hers, carefully studying her face, “you look like the daughter of some one I knew… if you are her you might be able to help me?” he whispered gently.

A little startled Ædhral took a step back , He bore no recognition to her, but he may have known her father, No papa was just a farmer how would he have known a soldier of Gondor? she thought shaking the idea off as absurd, he must be mistaken! She silently concluded.

“Mayhaps these questions can be answered when you are less busy. Pay mind that I am a patient sort and that I can wait my turn till your work is done,” He said as though reading her apprehension. “I will wait your answers. As you await mine.” he smiled with a pleasant incline of his head.

Not wishing to offend Ædhral set down the dishes she had been carrying and gestured for the stranger to stand, as he did so she glanced about the inn to see if one of the others were available to cover her chores while she spoke with this stranger. She caught sight of Kannah across the room rolling her eyes and shaking her head, obviously believing the dark haired fellow was yet another young man trying to win her young friends affections, But she was also busily wiped down the taverns table and collected the empty ale jars. She looked for Finian but he was occupied with another guest. Oh why had she promised cook that she would call Rochadan to lunch! “Just then she saw the young lad who the stable master had agreed to take under his wing, the lad sat alone wistfully gazing out of the open window in the direction of the stables.

With a warm smile she turned back to her guest, “ Off course I will speak with you and help if I can, just let me rid myself of these dishes and see to one last task then I will join you.” The stranger nodded his understanding and thanks then took a seat to await her return.

Picking up the dishes Ædhral walked towards the young boy, “Andhan wasn’t it?” she asked gently as she came up beside him.

“Eh um yes!” the lad fumbled surprised by her sudden appearance.

“you should go down,” she smiled indicating the stables through the open window, “They will not get any closer be simply staring at them,” smiled gently.

“Oh no miss I would not wish to get in the Stable masters way, after him being so kind to me and all!” Andhan replied shaking his head.

“Oh I don’t think you would get in his way and I dare say he would be pleased to know that you are well, but if it would make it easier you could deliver a message to him for me,” she smiled kindly.

The young boy nodded eagerly a pleasing smile coming to his face. “You see I promised cook I would call Rochadan for lunch, he does tend to get rather wrapped up in his work and has to be reminded of time,” she winked, “But something has come up and it would really help me a lot if you could let Master Rochadan know that it is time for lunch,”

“I can do that!” the young boy grinned leaping down from his seat.

“Thank you Andhan,” she smiled ruffling his hair affectionately, “Remember to return with them, cook will give me an earful if I forgot to invite the stable master young friend to lunch,” she winked playfully.

“I will!” Andhan laughed as he hurried out the door, she stood for a moment watching out the window, as the young lad eagerly made his way to the stables, He will fit in just fine and soon find his way! she thought with a warm smile, then turning from the window she moved towards the kitchen stopping briefly to let Kannah know that she would be having lunch with one of the guests, but quickly moving on before the woman could make anything of it.

“Young Andhan has gone to let Rochadan know that lunch is ready,” she told cook as she set the dishes into the stone sink, “And he will be joining them,” she continued wiping her hands on her apron.

“Good, good cook mumbled as she set cookies and milk on the table for the two children.

“Oh and Sallie has a new friend who might appreciate the bone from the soup,” Ædhral grinned remembering the large dog that little Sallie had befriended.” Cook raised in eyebrow. “It’s a dog!” Ædhral laughed as she took two plates from the cupboard and began filling them with an assortment of meats and cheeses. Cook raised an eyebrow again this time at the second plate, “Are you hungry then?” she queried.

“Oh no!” Ædhral laughed, “one of the guests has asked to speak with me and I thought he might be hungry I know I am.”

“Another young man from town making a fool of himself, no doubt, you should tell them where to go and not entertain them my dear,” Cook sighed, exasperatedly shaking her head.

“He’s not from town and he just wants to enquire about a song I was humming,” she replied a little offended by the implication.

“Well, be careful some of these strangers have a bad air about them and could easily lead a young woman like you astray .” Cook warned gently.

“Oh, cook they are just people like you or I, if we where suspicious of every stranger we would not meet anyone,” she smiled lifting the two plates and quickly slipping out of the door before cook could say any more. Stopped at the bar she filled two mugs with sweet cider, when moved to join the stranger.

“I thought you might be hungry?” she smiled setting down the plates and handing him one of the mugs of cider.

“My name is Ædhral and the tune I was humming I heard sung by the elves of Mirkwood as they passed through here returning to their woodland realm after aiding our people in the battle of the five armies,” she said as she took the seat across from him. “My purpose for singing it… I don’t rightly know it just comes to me sometimes, mostly when I am happy,” she smiled.

The stranger nodded thoughtfully but said nothing so she continued, “You said that you thought I looked like the daughter of someone you knew, but I do not know how this could be both my parents were but simple farmers, there farm once stood west of here between the lake and the woods. They died when I was little, My mother died from some mysterious illness and it is said that my Father died in an accident, that same year.”

“Said?” the stranger asked curiously.

“After my mother died I was sent to live with my grandfather in lake town, he told me that lightening struck barn that my father had been working in and that he had perished in the flames,” she sighed sadly remembering pain that had come with that loss, but remembering her guest she smiled.

“But that was long ago, listen to me, babbling on when I have not even given you the chance to give me your name?” she laughed nervously, lifting her mug to her lips.

[Bêthberry]

OOC

A hearty welcome to Rohan goes out to new gamers who have demonstrated they can play or run games responsibly and successfully in The Shire.

The Perky Ent now joins the list of Rohan Game Managers. Perky did an especially good job of rallying the troups and covering for absent gamers in The Last Ride of the Heir for the entire duration of his game. Keep up that level of enthusiasm, Perky!

Responsible interactive gaming and good writing was demonstated in that game by astarielle, Eowyn Skywalker, and Hama of the Riddermark, who now join Rohan as Game Players. Congratulations to the three of you.

And some late summer additions come from Resettling the Lost Kingdom: Carrun, Lady Aerowen, and Osse demonstrated they can handle writing in Rohan well. Welcome!

Just a reminder: There are several gamers in The Shire who write well, with interesting characters and original ideas, but who have not stayed with a game or who posted so sporadically their absence caused great difficulties for the other gamers. Gaming in Rohan is more interactive, improvisational, and independent and so all members of a game must be reliable and knowledgable in how to keep a game going.

[The Perky Ent]

OOC:

Thank you very much Bêthberry! I thank you for bestowing with the great priviliage of owning an RPG in Rohan. I promise not to abuse my power :D Now, I'm gonna start doing what I said I've always done! I'm gonna make an RPG and make Rohan less, if you'll pardon the saying, "dead"! Well, I'm off to write!


Perky

[Ealasaide]

As Rochadan finished the needed repairs to the ladder and carried it back to its place against the inn’s wall for Kellan’s use later in the evening, he looked around for the young woman or her dog. Finding no trace of them, he shrugged ruefully. She must have collected her dog and gone on about her business elsewhere while he was pre-occupied with the ladder and seeing Mistress Bêthberry on her way.

“Too bad,” he sighed. He had enjoyed her company. Thinking of her interest in the stars and the sky, he glanced upward, noticing for the first time that the sun had made considerable progress across the sky. It was near on lunchtime and Sallie had not had her nap. Because she had slept badly the night before, he had intended to see that she had at least a brief nap before lunch. Unfortunately, he had gotten busy and forgotten about it. Now, as he turned to look at her, he could see the undeniable signs of a growing crankiness.

She was sitting in the grass nearby, trying to construct a small edifice out of twigs and dry leaves. As Rochadan watched, the breeze blew it down for the third time. Crossly, Sallie corked her thumb into her mouth and threw a little foot out to kick at the rubble.

“Uh-oh...” murmured Rochadan. That wasn’t a good sign. He walked over and knelt down in front of her. “Hey, my little princess,” he said cheerfully. “How about some lunch?”

The three-year-old clambered to her feet and leaned heavily against her papa’s knee.

“Yake,” she said around the thumb in her mouth.

“Yake?” repeated Rochadan, puzzled.

Sallie nodded. “I onna oh ooh a yake.”

Mystified, Rochadan shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t get a word of that. C’mon,” he said and reached out to tap his daughter’s little fist gently with his forefinger. “Thumb out of the mouth. What’s yake?”

Sallie stared up at him with a pair of soulful brown eyes, then took the thumb out of her mouth. “Wanna go to the lake,” she explained sullenly before popping the thumb back in again.

Rochadan laughed softly. “Oh, the lake!” He shook his head. “Maybe later, eh? It’s lunchtime now.”

Stubbornly, Sallie shook her head and stamped her foot. “No yunch! Yake!”

“Yes, lunch,” answered Rochadan sternly. “Later lake.” He reached out to pick her up, but discovered rather quickly that he had sorely misjudged the extent of the child’s crankiness. Instead of curling herself into the crook of his arm the way she usually did, Sallie let loose with a ear-splitting shriek and tried to fling herself backward out of his grasp. Startled, he nearly dropped her. Recovering quickly, he tried to settle her in against his shoulder, amazed at how quickly a missed nap could transform his usually happy child into screaming bundle of sharp knees and elbows. Still squirming mightily, Sallie pitched forward this time, her forehead connecting squarely with her father’s cheekbone. Rochadan’s teeth clicked together at the impact. Sallie howled.

“Shhh... shhh...” he whispered, trying desperately to calm her. “We’ll go to the lake a little later.”

“No!” wailed little Sallie. “Lake!” She flung herself backward again, but this time Rochadan was ready for it and caught her easily. He spun gently around with the momentum and nearly collided with Andhún, who had come up behind him from the direction of the inn.

“Missed nap,” Rochadan explained helplessly to the boy, all the while trying to maneuver his daughter into a comfortable nook along his right arm, the way he used to hold her when she was very small.

Wide-eyed, the boy nodded. “M-miss Ædhral sent me to fetch you in, s-sir, for lunch,” he stammered nervously.

“Thank you,” answered Rochadan, giving the boy a quick smile as Sallie planted one little foot in the center of his ribcage and pushed.

“LAKE!” she howled, now in the throes of a full-blown tantrum.

Cautiously, Andhún reached out a slim hand and laid it on the little girl’s back between her shoulder blades. Startled at the touch of a strange hand, Sallie stiffened, her cries stopping in an abrupt little snort. Rubbing her back, Andhún began to sing in a soft, boyish voice. It was a quaint little song with a lilting, old-fashioned melody. Listening, Sallie sniffled quietly and burrowed her face into her father’s bicep.

Rochadan stared at Andhún with a combination of amazement and relief.

Sensing Rochadan’s eyes on him, the boy blushed furiously. “M-my mother used to sing it to my l-little sister,” he whispered sheepishly as the song ended.

Rochadan smiled. “That’s not a song,” he said quietly. “It’s a magic spell. You’ll have to teach it to me sometime.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Andhún with a shy grin. He continued to stroke the child’s back soothingly with his palm. “But I think it’s less the song than... than... than me being a distraction...”

“Again,” mumbled Sallie.

Prompting the boy with an encouraging smile and a nod, Rochadan listened as the boy began the song anew.

[Nurumaiel]

Eacwen had been momentarily confused when Andhun had limped off, but after little time of reflection she realized what had happened and laughed at her own confusion. Standing up, she skipped lightly to the door, humming a little tune, her eyes dancing and full of pleasure as if some delightful thought were in her mind. She stood just outside the door, and she glanced here and there to assure herself no one was about, and then she spun in a circle, nearly losing her balance. Oh, how much like a little girl she felt this fine day!

The sound of singing reached her ears from the stable, and the voice was soft and lovely, the sweet angelic tones obviously that of a young boy's. Intrigued she daintily crossed the grounds and went to the stable door. She hesitated to open it, for fear of disturbing the singer, and she after a brief investigation of the door she found a little crack in the wood that would be just suitable for peering through. She got down on her hands and knees and squinted on eye so she could see through. The sight she saw was precious.

A man, more than likely the stablemaster, was holding a drowsy-looking little girl in his arms, and Andhun was stroking her back and singing to her. There were the stains of angry tears upon the girl's face, but now she was calm and quiet and looked peaceful. As Andhun finished, she said, 'Again,' and he began once more. It seemed likely the girl would be asleep before he finished the next round, but her eyes were still open at the end, though just barely. Andhun had wearied of standing so long on his sore legs, so he cautiously sat himself down on the ground and put his back against a stall door. The girl opened her eyes slightly. 'Again,' she mumbled, and she closed her eyes again. A few moments passed, and then her eyes opened widely and she said, 'Again!' She twisted in her father's arms and saw Andhun sitting on the floor. 'Again?' she questioned.

'I'm sorry,' said Andhun, 'but I became very tired.' The girl studied him for a moment, then struggled to free herself from her father's arms. He hesitated slightly, wondering if she were intending to run for the lake or some other such madness now that her distraction was gone, but then he released her. She went to Andhun and patted his back, and then promptly sat down in his lap, saying, 'Again.'

Andhun laughed softly, and she giggled too, and then he began stroking her back and singing again.

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan breathed a sigh of relief as Sallie settled herself into Andhun's lap and the boy began another cycle of his mother's lullaby. He watched affectionately as she slid her thumb back into her mouth and closed her eyes, lowering long eyelashes that were still wet from angry tears and leaning comfortably into the other child's chest. She was usually such a sweet-tempered little thing that these occasional tantrums took him completely by surprise. To be perfectly honest, they scared him a bit, not because he was afraid of a three-year-old's temper, but more because he always felt so helpless to soothe her. It had been so fortunate that Andhun had come upon them when he did, armed with his gentle nature and his mother's wonderful lullaby. Squatting down beside the two children, Rochadan sighed and raised a hand to massage the lines of stress out of his forehead. So fortunate.

As the song came to an end again, Sallie opened her eyes and looked soberly up into Andhun's face. After a moment, she took her thumb out of her mouth and pointed at one of the boy's many burns with a little pink forefinger.

"You got a owie," she said gravely.

Andhun nodded. "Yes," he answered with equal solemnity. "I've got lots of owies."

"Do they hurt?"

Andhun nodded again. "Yes. Sometimes," he answered softly.

Rochadan tensed as Sallie's lower lip began to tremble. He could tell that she liked Andhun a great deal and was worried that she might, in her current frame of mind, become a little too empathetic to the poor boy's many "owies." He readied himself to sweep in and take control again if the tears returned, but then relaxed as Sallie pointed calmly to her shoe.

"I got a owie, too," she said to Andhun. "On my foot."

At a concerned glance from Andhun, Rochadan gave his head a brief shake. "No, she's fine," he interjected quietly. "She just has a little limp," he added. "She's always had it."

Andhun's lips formed a silent, "oh." He looked back down at the little girl. "I limp, too," he said simply. Sallie said nothing but smiled sweetly up at her new friend with an expression of angelic adulation.

Rochadan could tell that she was pleased to have her limp in common with the boy. Oddly, it seemed to ratchet Andhun up a few notches in her eyes. He smiled. It could turn out to be a very good thing for her to have Andhun around. He was just going to comment on it when the horse housed in the stall Andhun had chosen to lean up against arched his glossy neck over the top of the stall door and began to nuzzle the top of the boy's head. Startled, Andhun pulled away and looked nervously up at the animal. It was a beautiful dark brown gelding with a black face and mane.

Sallie giggled. "That's my papa's horse," she told Andhun. "Alybar."

"Alydar," corrected Rochadan. "Don't worry. He's a friendly fellow... just wanted to say hello." Looking up at Alydar, Rochadan noticed a stray bridle hanging from a nail just to side of the stall door. Out of habit, he rose and took it back to where it belonged in the small tack room just to the right of the front entrance to the stable. On his way back to the two children, however, he happened to glance down and notice a peculiar shadow under the door that led outside to the stableyard, or rather a lack of light there, as though someone or something had been placed against the outside of the door. Curious, he pulled the door open. To his surprise, a young woman toppled in nearly on top of his feet.

He looked down at her with an expression of bemused surprise. "Well, hello there," he greeted her pleasantly. "Is there anything in particular you were looking for?"

[Nurumaiel]

Earcwen had uttered a startled cry as she fell at the man's feet, and she stood, hay clinging to her hair and dress, and a look of complete bewilderment and confusion on her face. 'Goodness gracious!' she cried. 'Sir, I am so sorry to have fallen and caused what might be some inconvenience.' She cocked her head to one side and the look of distress on her face momentarily vanished as she smiled mischievously. 'I must admit, however, that I am even more sorry at having been caught in the act of eavesdropping.' She blushed then, and ducked her head, occupying herself with the task of pulling bits of hay from her skirt. She found herself quite at a loss of what to say, and so decided it would be wiser to say nothing.

Andhun had gotten to his feet, and he approached Earcwen, laughing slightly. 'Here,' he said, 'bend down and I'll take the hay out of your hair.' Earcwen obliged, and he began the task. Sallie became intrigued and was soon pulling hay with Andhun. At one point Earcwen felt a sudden, sharp pain in her head, but though she blinked she kept her mouth firmly closed, and soon Sallie giggled a bit sheepishly. 'Oops,' she said, 'that wasn't hay, that was a hair.' And she held up a strand of, yes indeed, hair. Earcwen felt mirth bubbling up inside of her, and she laughed and tickled the little girl. Then she stood patiently until Andhun stepped back, saying, 'There, I think we've finished.'

'Thank you kindly,' said Earcwen seriously, and then with another blush she looked up at Rochadan. 'I apologize, sir, for eavesdropping,' she said. 'I was intrigued by the singing, and I could not help but look when I found that little crack in the wood.' She paused, and glanced at Andhun. Her face worked, as if she were in a study as to what she should say, and at last she spoke, saying, 'What a charming little song you sang!' She decided that while a girl might enjoy being told she had a fine singing voice, it might not mean as much to a boy.

'I thank you,' said Andhun, his voice grave. 'My mother knew many beautiful songs, and that is only one of them.'

'Sing for me a favourite of yours,' said Earcwen. 'I enjoy hearing you sing very much.'

'Very well,' said Andhun, and he began to sing:

When I was young I had no sense
I bought a fiddle for eighteen pence
The only tune that I could play
Was Over the Hills and Very Far Away
So early in the morning,
so early in the morning,
so early in the morning, before the break of day.

The song was sweet, and had a childish air about it, immediately attractive to the ears of both Earcwen and Sallie, who smiled widely and applauded generously. And Sallie said, 'Again.'

'No, no!' said Andhun. 'I will song you another song, but I won't sing you that one. Listen, Sallie, to this song.' And he began another song, which was beautiful, and while the words expressed a longing the tune was full of peace, as if the one in the song were fairly sure that he would someday have what he wished, and full of happiness as the one reflected upon what he would do for his love.

Oh, I wish I had my Sally-o,
Sally-o, Sally-o.
Oh I wish I had my Sally-o
where the wild birds sing on the mountain.

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
I'd feel no cold from the frost or snow
if I only had my Sally-o
where the wild birds sing on the mountain.

Oh, I would gather flowers so sweet,
flowers so sweet, flowers so sweet,
and pile them round my Sally's feet
where the wild birds sing on the moutain.

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
I'd feel no cold from the frost or snow
if I only had my Sally-o
where the wild birds sing on the mountain.

Oh, I'd bring salmon from the stream,
from the stream, from the stream,
and berries fit for any queen
where the wild birds sing on the mountain.

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
I'd feel no cold from the frost or snow
if I only had my Sally-o
where the wild birds sing on the mountain.

Oh, we'd have music all the day,
all the day, all the day,
and peace that drives all cares away
where the wild birds sing on the mountain.

Let the wind blow high, let the wind blow low,
I'd feel no cold from the frost or snow
if I only had my Sally-o
where the wild birds sing on the mountain.

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan listened to Andhun's songs with a look of delight on his face. He had always loved music, but between the two of them, his wife Tristana had been the musical one. He remembered the way she used sing like a nightengale as she did the chores around their little cottage in the brief time they had been together. She had had a vast treasure trove of songs at her disposal that he had never bothered himself to learn. When she died, her songs died with her. Now, when Rochadan needed to sing to Sallie, he found himself having to construct songs from whole cloth off the top of his head. Unfortunately, they usually ended up fairly repetitive, nonsensical, and liberally sprinkled with hey-nonnies and ah-di-dahs. He was much better at stories.

As Andhun finshed his song, if only I had my Sally-o, where wild birds sing on the mountain, Sallie squealed with delight and clapped her hands. "Sally-o, Sally-o," she trilled, trying to sing the song herself, but getting the tune completely wrong. She reached out and clutched at Andhun's hand. "Again? Sing it again?"

Rochadan's smiled broadened as, this time, Andhun obliged the little girl and sang it again. With a twinkle in his eye, the stablemaster looked over at the eavesdropper, who had turned out to be a very bubbly and jolly young woman. Speaking softly, so as not to disturb the singing, he said, "What a way you have with children! But, knowing your love of music, I have to ask - will you be favoring us with a song of your own?"

[Esgallhugwen]

Thalinar blinked as the young girl responded that she was listening to the door, he was also amazed that one that lived, or so he presumed, in an Inn that she had never seen an Elf before.

But mayhaps no Elves wander into this Inn, he pondered to himself and took a seat on the chair, inviting the young girl to have a seat on the bed. "Do you know why Finian put you in this room?" Thalinar shook his head, uncertain of what she was getting at.

"It is because you look so sad and solemn all the time and because he has heard rumours of your kind leaving to the western lands. The east is a new beginning. The west is an ending."

The golden hair of the Elf glistened faintly as the sun passed its zenith, "the west is my ending, and the east is your beginning" he spoke with a pang of sadness. He looked back at her paying attention to every detail, every feature of her form.

He smiled weakly, "but please let us not discuss such times, it will be many many long years before I even begin to consider sailing away into the west, so until then I plan on enjoying the company of people such as yourself", Thalinar smiled more openly at her.

"And in enjoying such company I was wondering if you would care to tell me how you acquired the gift of being able to speak with things such as the floor boards and the door, and if you can speak with other like objects" he folded his hands in front of him and gave her an amusing quizical look.

[Imladris]

Ærosylle cocked her head and chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I didn't aquire the gift, sir elf. I have always had it. You have it too."

He frowned at her thoughtfully and said, "I do not understand."

She smiled at him, plopped herself onto the floor, crossed her legs, and said, "Sometimes they decide not to talk to you. Some time ago I made them angry and they decided to ignore me for quite a while. They only just started talking to me again. I have to be very careful to keep on their good side, or else they will stop again."

She swallowed and scratched her cheek. "It gets lonely without them."

The elf eased himself to the floor and asked, "But are you the only one who can hear them?"

She smiled softly at him, her blue eyes slightly glazed. "They speak to whom they choose. If they speak to you and you do not hear them, it is no fault of their own that you did not reply."

[The Perky Ent]

At last,he made it. After countless miles of journey, he had reached his destination. Tror could see the rebuilding process starting, and couldn't wait to help. It's been a while since he had seen his brother, Bror, who had died at the Battle of Five Armies, and he was slowly getting over it. Always keeping optimistic, Tror had decided to do whatever he could to help those in need. Not since the Iron Mountains had Tror had a good ale, so he searched around Esgaroth for a good bar. He found several, but since one gathered more attention than others, Tror smiled greatly as he walked into a placed called The Vineyard Tavern

Walking through the doors, he came upon a multitude of people, all drinking and having fun. This was the place for Tror. Walking to the front desk, he noticed a man much taller than him, which wasn't saying much, as Tror was a dwarf. "Hello mr. Dwarf! My name is Finnian, Innkeeper of the Vinyard Tavern! How can I help?" the man ask without a condescending voice, as Tror had experienced so much in his life. "Ello sir! The name's Tror Stonehand. You can call me Stony! It's been a long way from the Iron Mountains. Great place! You ever been? Anyways, I need a room. Not for now, but later! After I'm done drinkin'. Just wanted to let you know there's a dwarf in the place. Hows the food here?" Tror said in a very jolly tone. "Our food is the best there is! Take a seat, and someone will serve you!" Finnian said, pointing to a collection of tables with chairs. Some man sized, some dwarf sized. "Thank you very much sir!" Tror said, walking off.

About two minutes after being seated, a serving girl walked on up to him. "Anthing I can get you?" she said. "Ah yes! I'd like some ale! A good ale, and some cheese!" Tror said, licking his lips. Showing off a small smile, the girl took his order, and then said, "Anthing else sir?" "Ah...no. That's it for now, Adaral?" he said, taking a guess at her name. "Close guess! The name's Ædhral. One moment, and I'll be back with your order!" Ædhral said, and she walked off back to the kitchen. "Ædhral eh? That's a name to remember! Very kind staff. I think I'll like it here"

[Nurumaiel]

'Oh!' said Earcwen, blushing. 'I don't know if I'm very good at singing, but if it would oblige you I could think of something.' She paused, and regarded him thoughtfully, and hopefully, for a moment, and then said, 'Sir, do you really think I have a way with children?' When he nodded, her face fell into a happy smile. 'I'm so pleased!' she cried. 'I am very glad to hear it, for... for I do love children.'

There was a silence, at least on the part of Rochadan and Earcwen, for Andhun was still singing, and Sallie was doing her best to sing with him, but she did not know the words very well. When he finished, Sallie looked up and asked him to sing it again, and he laughed, saying, 'Sallie, my voice is becoming lost from singing so much! I'm not used to it, for it was a rare time when my master wouldn't grow upset at my singing.'

'I will sing for you,' said Earcwen, 'at the request of your father. I have thought of a song.' And she began to sing a sweet little song about a lassie who sat all alone by her home every day, weeping that no young lad wanted to marry her. Earcwen's voice was by no means a beautiful voice, but she carried the tune well, and the emotion that thrilled in each note of the song was lovely to hear, and she seemed immersed in what she was singing, so much that she almost seemed to be the girl of the song herself.

'And as I sat there without joy,
sorry for my chances poor
I saw upon the road a boy
and I did not weep anymore.
For fair and noble was the lad,
as he stood there smiling on me,
and in grey-brown he was clad,
and his smile was quick, and his laugh was free.'

And her head tilted to one side, and a happy, mischievous look came to her eyes, and her right shoulder lifted to touch her cheek, as if something delightful thrilled her, something she did not want to tell anyone. She finished the song, and it ended that the noble lad married the weeping girl, and she became happy and dancing, and bore many bonny babies, and was nevermore sorrowful for all her days. And when she finished she did not look at her audience, nor did she speak, but she continued to look delighted and pleased, and then, with a little sigh, shaking herself to bring herself back to the present time, she turned to Rochadan and said, 'You asked for the favour of a song, good sir; I hope the song was pleasing enough to you and to the children.'

[Nerindel]

Before Ædhral’s companion had the opportunity to reply Finnian gently interrupted laying a hand on her shoulder, “I’m sorry to intrude,” he smiled apologetically, “But I need your assistance, I would have asked Kannah but she already seems to have her hands full” he whispered indicating a table of young farm hands who had stopped in for a quick lunch and were shouting several orders at once at the dry humoured serving women.

He then indicated a stout short fellow sitting across the way, “Our guest is hungry and I need you to take his order while I see to his room.” “A Dwarf!” Ædhral nodded grinning with the light of intrigue in her soft brown eyes, Finnian laughed as he recognised the look “Aye it tis.” Remembering her guest she turned and apologized “I just have to see to this guest then I shall be back,” she promised. The stranger nodded, “I am not going anywhere and will still be here once your chores are done,” he smiled understandingly and with an appreciative nod, she rose and went to attend the Taverns new guest.

“Anything I can get you?” she smiled pleasantly. “Ah yes! I’d like some ale! A good ale, and some cheese!” the dwarf replied licking his lips in anticipation, a small smile appearing on his bearded face. “Anything else sir?” she asked writing his order on the small note book she had taken from her apron pocket. “Ah…no. That’s it for now, Adaral?” the dwarf answered taking a guess at her name. Ædhral looked up surprised, after speaking with the dark cloaked stranger the dwarves innocent stab at her name had startled her, but seeing the dwarf’s hopeful smile she laughed. “Close guess! The name’s Ædhral. One moment, and I’ll be back with your order!” she smiled warmly, then taking her leave she headed towards the kitchen.

Pushing through the two way door, she saw cook bent over the stone sink scrubbing out the large soup pot, muttering incessantly to herself, “Why do I bother, really, I tell you I make all this lovely food and not one of them can make the effort to show up on time, I know that they are always busy and that the customers should come first. But I tell you what use will they be to anyone if they all get sick with starvation!”

“We won’t starve,” Ædhral grinned as she reached for the cheese and took a knife to cut a large slice for the dwarf. Cook jumped startled that she was not alone as she had thought. “I’m sure the others will be along just as soon as they can get away,” Ædhral smiled reassuringly. “I know,” Cook sighed, “But I promised Bethberry that I would make sure the young lad Andhan ate properly while she was away to keep up his strength you know!”

“I know,” Ædhral smiled sympathetically, “But I’m sure Rochadan will have him here soon, perhaps little Sallie is having a late nap and their just waiting for her to wake.”

“Ah, perhaps you are right, you know me no patience at all, but if he doesn’t appear soon we will be having words, mark me, it will not do to have children missing meal times.” cook sighed, taking the pot from the sink and setting it upside down on the draining board.

“Rochadan is a good father and I’m sure he has a good reason for being late,” Ædhral said in the stable masters defence. Then plating the ewes cheese that cook was famous for making she again pushed through the door to the common room.

Stopping at the bar she set down the plate only long enough to fill a tankard of their finest ale, then with plate and tankard in hand she returned to the dwarf. “I hope you enjoy” she smiled setting the cheese and ale before him. “I’m sure I will” the dwarf grinned lifting the tankard and taking a large draw. “Very fine indeed!” he laughed wiping the froth from his beard with the back of his hand. “I’m glad it is to your liking sir, will there be anything else?”

“No that will be all for now, thanks…. But perhaps you would humour me with your company for awhile if your chores will allow,” he asked indicating the empty seat across from him.

“Oh, erm…” Ædhral fumbled looking between the dwarf and the stranger who patiently waited her return, she didn’t wish to seem rude to either one.

[The Perky Ent]

"Ah, it's because I'm a dwarf, isn't it? Yep! That's the reason! It always is! Hate the dwarf!" Tror said, slamming his head on the table. He knew it would work. It always worked. Ædhral blushed, before saing in a comforting tone "No. Oh, no. I don't hate you because you're a dwarf. I don't hate you. I, eh..." but Ædhral was lost for words. She honestly had nothing against the dwarf, but one she'd never even met. One she didn't even know the name of. "So you're a good guesser with names?" Ædhral said, changing the subject quickly. Tror knew what she was doing, but went along with it anyway. "As good as they come! I've been around a lot of people, and I've sorta picked it up as a talent. How good are you at it? What's my name?"

Ædhral started feeling a tad more comfortable with Tror, but still not enough to join him. "Oh. Well, your name is. Well, it's. Don't be offended," "Of course not! I never would!" Tror said, as he stared at Ædhral, waiting for a reply. Ædhral took a deep breath. "Your name is Dorfuss Stoneyhand" Ædhral said, in a pace faster than an arrow fired from a Lorien Bow. "Ah ha!" Tror shouted, raising his ale mug into the air. "You got it! Well, you got part of it! The name's Tror, but everyone calls me Stoney!" "Stoney, eh? That was lucky. Well, stoney, it was nice talking to you, but I'm afraid I will have to go..." Ædhral got up,and began to walk away, but Stoney stopped her. "Wait. If you can't stay with me, maybe I'll stay with you. If a great cook, and server! Actually, the reason I'm here is because I wanted to help out. Do anything I can. I can cook, clean, serve, cook." Stoney said, stressing his dream of being a cook. "Well?" Stoney said, waiting for an answer.

[Imladris]

Finian clattered down the stairs and saw that the dwarf was talking to Ædhral, wiping the ale foam from his beard as he did so. As Finian drew closer he heard the dwarf say,

"Wait. If you can't stay with me, maybe I'll stay with you. If a great cook, and server! Actually, the reason I'm here is because I wanted to help out. Do anything I can. I can cook, clean, serve, cook."

"Whoever would have thought it?" Finian said jovially, winking first at the dwarf and then at Ædhral. "A dwarf wishing to cook!"

The dwarf smiled as sheepishly as he could and gulped down a sip of ale.

Finian looked at the dwarf, considerring. The already had a cook, but she was a grouchy creature and would hopefully not mind a bit of help in the kitchen. "All right then, Master Dwarf," Finian said. "You can help in the kitchen but you must also be prepared to do odd jobs and help Rochadan with the stables and things of that sort. Deal?"

He held out his hand for the dwarf to shake.

[The Perky Ent]

"Odd jobs happen to be one of my specialities! Only a fool would pass up an offer like this!" And Tror rapidly shook Finian's hand. "It's a deal. Anything to help! When can I start?" Tror said, waiting for a reply. At last, he would get some work done. After his brother's death, he felt it his duty to help out, even if it involved horses. Tror never was good with anything tall and fast, but, in order to earn his keep, he sucked it up. "It's going to be a pleasure working here. I'm fitting in already! This is great! So, when do I start, and where do I go? What duty calls me?"

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan listened to Earcwen’s singing with a distant half-smile on his face, touched by the way the girl had immersed herself so deeply into her song. He found the delight in her face infectious as she finished the song that had started out so sadly with a joyous happy ever after. As the last note faded away, he joined the children in a hearty round of applause for her. For a moment, she did not look at him or the two children, nor did she speak, but continued to look inward upon herself with an expression of delight and almost childlike rapture upon her face. Then, with a soft sigh, she gave herself a little shake and turned to Rochadan.

“You asked for the favour of a song, good sir,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I hope the song was pleasing enough to you and to the children.”

“It was wonderful!” he answered, accompanied by a chorus of agreement from Andhun and little Sallie. “You have acquitted yourself admirably! It was a lovely little song.”

Looking pleased with herself, Earcwen, clapped her hands together once and beamed like a child herself.

“Now Papa!” said Sallie, tugging at her father’s trouser leg. “Sing Sweet Sallie.”

Looking down at Sallie, Rochadan gave his daughter an affectionate smile. He had noticed over the last several minutes that her giggles, though happy, had taken on the thin, rather strained quality that told him she was still feeling tired and a bit overly-sensitive. Any small disappointment could push her back over the brink into tears. Andhun, too, despite the all merriment, was looking a bit worn-out as well. With a good-natured wink at Earcwen, Rochadan knelt down before Sallie and took one of her small hands in each of his. Swinging them playfully back and forth as though they were dancing, he said, “I’ll sing Sweet Sallie, but only two verses. Then we go eat lunch. If we don’t, I’m afraid young Andhun may swoon. Besides, I’m feeling a bit peckish myself. Agreed?”

When Sallie smiled happily and nodded, Rochadan breathed a sigh of relief. It was well past the time they should have gone in for luncheon, and he could only imagine what Cook was saying about him behind his back for being so late. Though he felt a little self-conscious about singing Sallie’s lullaby in front of Earcwen and Andhun, it being one of the songs he had made up himself to sing Sallie to sleep in front of the fire and no real ballad at all, he would be happy to oblige if two verses would be all it took to get the child inside to a bite of food and a nap. Andhun, too, for that matter. In reality, two verses amounted to but a pittance. The song itself had grown, since its first inception, to a dozen or so verses and could go on for what seemed like forever sometimes. Still swinging Sallie’s hands gently back and forth, he began to sing in a deep, pleasantly masculine voice:

My Sallie lies far beyond the Misty Mountains
She sleeps in a tow’r by the gray, rolling sea
I’d ride through the night
And through many tomorrows
To bring my sweet Sallie to me.

Sing hey-nonnie-nonnie, hey-nonnie, hey-nonnie-hey
Bring back my Sallie to me.
Sing hey-nonnie-nonnie, hey-nonnie, hey-nonnie-hey
Bring my sweet Sallie to me.

The briars grow wild around my Sallie’s tower
They bear crimson roses so fair for to see
Sword in hand, I would cut through
Great tangles of briars
To bring my sweet Sallie to me...

As he finished the last chorus of hey-nonnies he leaned slowly forward until at the final bring my sweet Sallie to me the tip of his nose came to rest against hers. For an instant, father and daughter shared a small, private smile, then Sallie threw her arms around her father’s neck and kissed his cheek. He picked her up and, rising, set her on his hip. Rochadan turned to Andhun.

“Then it’s off to our luncheon, we go.” He gave Andhun a helpful arm up from where the boy had again taken a seat on the floor. Then, turning to Earcwen, he smiled.

“I’m afraid as part of the inn’s staff, we eat in the kitchen rather than the common room with the guests. Nonetheless, we would be honored if you would join us, Miss...er...Miss...” he trailed off awkwardly, realizing that neither one of them had been properly introduced.

“Miss Earcwen,” Andhun chimed in helpfully. “Her name’s Miss Earcwen, sir.”

“...Miss Earcwen,” finished Rochadan. “My name is Rochadan. This is my daughter, sweet Sallie. It seems you and young Andhun have already met! Would you give us the pleasure of joining us for lunch?”

[Nerindel]

Ædhral clapped her hands excitedly as Finnian welcomed Tror to become a member of the Vineyards staff, her dark clad friend for the moment forgotten to her exhilaration. She knew Cook would be pleased to have extra help in the kitchen and she looked forward to seeing and tasting the culinary delights of the dwarven cook. “Then you should at least come and met Cook and see where it is you will be working I can give you a tour of the Tavern?” she grinned excitedly, throwing a askance glance to Finnian to make sure it was ok!

The young innkeeper nodded and before he could say any more she had the dwarf’s hand and was leading him tankard sloshing about in his other hand towards the kitchen, “Cooks bark is worse than her bite so you have to excuse her fiery temperament when it appears, she just likes things done on time and in order, but she has everyone’s best interests at heart really!” she smiled as she pushed open the kitchen door and quiet literally dragged the stunned dwarf inside.

“Cook, Cook!” she called elatedly, a dowdy woman with slightly greying hair tied up in a neat bun stuck her head out of the pantry, “What is it where’s the fire!” she exclaimed. “I would like you to met Tror, he has offered to help out in the kitchen and do odd jobs around the Tavern!” Ædhral grinned introducing the dwarf.

“Well I’ll be if it isn’t a dwarf and one that can cook at that!” she grinned stepping out of the pantry, wiping her hands on the corner of her apron. “Nellie Clotty, or cook as I’m commonly known here, but you may call me Nell!” she said extending her hand to him.

“A pleasure,” Tror grinned taking her hand, “I look forward to working with you, both of you,” he continued turning to smile at the still obviously thrilled Ædhral.

“It is about time that boy got a bit o help around here, he might be young but he’s got a level head like his father!” she winked to Ædhral as Finnian walked through the door to make sure the dwarf had caught cook in one of her better moods.

Come on Tror I will show you around the kitchen and get you acquainted with where everything is!” Ædhral grinned, again reaching for his hand.

“Whoa slow down there girl, he’s not going any where, there will be plenty of time for that,” cook laughed . “I bet she didn’t even give you the chance to finish your lunch,” she grinned, eyeing the half filled tankard still in the dwarf’s hand.

“No she didn’t!” Finnian laughed holding up the plate of cheese he had brought from the common room, Ædhral blushed and quickly apologised for her eagerness, But Tror merely laughed and told her not to worry herself about it.

“We are just about to eat , as you are now a member of staff you should join us,” cook said as she quickly pulled up another seat and ushered all three to the table.

[The Perky Ent]

"Of course I'd like to join you! I'm part of the group now, aren't I?" Tror said, laughing heartily. "By the way, you can call me Stoney! Tror "Stoney" Thunder Ax. I'm heir to the Thunder Ax clan of the Iron Mountains. We've been around since the dawn of time." Tror said, standing up tall (tall for a dwarf) as he said this. "Pleased to meet you, Stoney!" Nell said, a smile radiating from her face. "I've got an idea!" Tror said, as he spiritually patted himself on the back. "Now that I'm gonna cook here, would you like to see a sample of what I can cook?" "Sure!" said the group unanimously. "Well, Nell, what ingredients do we have? What do I have to work with? And if we don't have it, where can I get something?"

[mark12_30]

LinGalad entered, slipped into an out-of-the-way corner and asked for a glass of wine. It was brought to him, and he raised it quietly.

"To Ambassador Bilbo; Happy Birthday," he said, and sipped the wine. He sat for a while absorbed in his musings.

[Esgallhugwen]

Thalinar eyed her quizically, what an odd girl. "Ah yes that is true, never give a deaf ear when someone or something is trying to talk to you, but the only voices that I can follow are that of the trees, birds and other beasts".

His confusion turned to sadness when Ærosylle said she had made them angry and that it gets lonely without them. "If I'm being rude theres no need to answer but how did you make them angry? What do you mean?, surely you have others to talk to, the innkeeper seems like a nice fellow". Thalinar frowned and looked at the small fire that was beginning to die.

His stomach grumbled and Ærosylle giggled, "I would have never thought my stomach would growl while residing in an Inn", he joked, "I fear that means I will have to venture down the stairs and recieve some nourishment, I wish not to cause that girl Ædhral, any more embarrasement. Today has not been my best day".

He sighed but keeping his pride in check he stood and asked, "would you like to accompany me for lunch?".

[Nerindel]

Cook/Nell

“Well you are keen master Stony I will give you that!” Nell laughed. “The pantry is this way and is always kept well stocked,” she told the dwarf as she ushered him towards the pantry door. “both the butcher and the milk maid come each morning with fresh deliveries, but if there is anything we don’t have you’ll most likely find it in the towns marketplace.”

“Thank you, Nell!” Stony nodded as his steady gaze searched along the lines of shelves .

“This!” he questioned, reaching out to pick up a bunch of freshly pulled carrots “are these delivered fresh too?” he mused aloud.

“Oh no master Stony, we do have our own vegetable garden out back, carrots, parsnips, neeps, pea’s that kind o thing and Ædhral has planted a very lovely herb wheel so that we are never short of fresh herbs.” she grinned proudly.

“But I will leave you now to get on and look forward to tasting your culinary delight, if you need anything… well I’m here,” she laughed with a shrug as she went to re-join Finnian and Ædhral at the table.

[Imladris]

Ærosylle grinned broadly at him and slipped her hand in his. "To answer your questions, sir, I do not know why they stop speaking to me. They just do. I do not know why..."

She glanced up at the elf and smiled faintly at him. As they walked down the stairs, the delicious smell of stew wafted towards them. The elf hung his head and held to the shadows, as though ashamed of being seen. She found that very odd. "Would you like me to get you a bowl?" she asked.

At his nod, she flitted off and begged the cook, Nell, for two bowls of stew. She courtseyed to a nearby dwarf and found the elf still hovering in the shadows. "Why do you hid?" she asked.

[The Perky Ent]

"Right!" Tror said, as he glanced around at all the food at his disposal. "I can see the pots are over there! I'll get to work. You just let them know I'll be cooking my secret recipie. Family tradition! Right, well thank you. If you don't mind, I must get started!" Stoney said, as he politely ushered Nell off. Looking around at the vast kitchen, Stoney felt nervous. This could effect how they think of him. They could fire him. It had to be perfect.

"Well first, I'll need a pot!" Tror said, as he walked over to one within his reach and put a fire under it. "Now for the ingredients! First, some curry!" Tror said, opening the pantry. Inside, he found a multitude of spices. There were several shelves, with every inch packed. "Come now! You must be joking!" For Tror found the curry. It was on the very top shelf. Looking around for a stool, Stoney found none. "I know! I'll rope it down!" And Stoney, grabbing some string, tied a lasso and swung it in the air. The lasso landed on parseley, a couple bottles down from the curry. Pulling on the string, the bottle fell from the shelf and broke. "Right! Lasso's are a bad idea!" Stoney said, trying to conceal the mess.

"Is everything alright back there?" Nell shouted to Tror, as he still tried to hide the glass. "Fine! Just fine! It's all under control!" The dwarf shouted, as he pondered how to get the curry. "Ah! I'll climb up!" And slowly, Stoney started to climb. Upon reaching the fourth shelf, the dwarf almost fell off, but holding on with one hand, he continued on. Finally reaching the curry, Tror reached out for it. But as he grabbed the bottle, he slipped on the shelf, and landed flat on his back on the floor. Getting to his feet, he opened the bottle and put the spice in. For the next hour, it was the same process, but with different spices. Each time, Stoney would climb up, and each time, he would slip.

Finally, after all the ingrediants had been put in the pot, Stoney added boiling water and let it cook. Several minutes later, the soup was ready. Getting bowls for everyone, Stoney poured the soup in equel servings, and gave everyone a bowl. "Well, what do you think?"

[Bêthberry]

A familiar brown and white falcon flies into the Tavern, with a scroll in his beak, which he drops near the Innkeeper's desk before flying out into the kitchen, where he sneaks a piece of raw meat left lying on the cutting board, and then flies swiftly out an open window before he can be caught.

The scroll is dutifully tacked up on the board for all to see:

All hail New Writers of the Mark!

Here ye all Rohirrim! You are bid welcome to Rohan as Game Players Arry, CaptainofDespair, and Firefoot who have successfully played to conclusion their first game in The Shire Well done!

And please congratulate Fordim Hedgethistle on his full status as Game Founder in Rohan. He is already itching to get a sequel to Land of Darkness going here in Rohan so watch for it.

The Perky Ent and Imladris are also preparing some entertainments for your gaming enjoyment. Coming some day soon to a thread near you.

Bêthberry,

[The Perky Ent]

OCC

Congrats Arry, CaptainofDespair, and Firefoot!!! You made it! Welcome to Rohan. You now have a multitude of power in your hands. I suggest you take advantage of it. Play in some Inns, and when either mine or Imladris's game comes out, play it! If you like it, maybe you'll own a game in the Shire so you can make one in Rohan! And speaking of which, I'd also like to give a special congrats to Fordim. Well, that about covers it! Get to work, writers of the Mark!

[Nurumaiel]

Earcwen regarded Rochadan with a slightly amused eye, saying, 'Do you really desire my presence in the kitchen? Andhun, I understand, has some sort of work here at the Tavern, and so of course he is welcome to dine in the kitchen. I, on the other hand, should, by all rights, be dining in the Common Room with the guests, for I am a guest. You needn't fear of offending me by banishing me from the kitchen, though I might feel sorry for it.' She cocked her head to one side and her eyes twinkled.

'Oh, please!' cried Andhun and Sallie of one accord, and Rochadan finished for them, saying, 'I am sure you would be no bother at all, Miss Earcwen, and we would be delighted to have you.'

'Well then!' said Earcwen, and she took Sallie's hand. 'Shall we go in for our luncheon, then?' And she began to sing When I Was Young, and she made her way to the stable door, Sallie beside her and Andhun following. Rochadan could not resist a laugh at the oddity of the young woman, and at the dearness of Andhun and his daughter, and then he too followed, and together the little group made their way to the Tavern.

[Ealasaide]

Having herded his small group up the path from the stables to the back door of the kitchen, Rochadan opened the door only to find the kitchen quite crowded already. Finian, Ædhral, and Nell the Cook were all seated around the table before steaming bowls of soup. Beside them, halfway between the table and the stove stood a beaming, rather perky-looking dwarf. Surprised, Rochadan did a quick double-take, then smiled and nodded to the dwarf. Having fought at the Battle of Five Armies and acted as messenger between the various camps, Rochadan had conversed and become somewhat friendly with a number of dwarves. He just had not ever seen one quite in this context, though he supposed dwarves did cook. After all, they had seemed generally pretty fond of food in his experience.

Holding the door open for Earcwen and the two children, he stepped out of the way so that they could enter. "I hope there's room at the table for four more," he said to no one in particular. "I have two children here who could do with a hearty bowl of soup."

"Oh, of course!" exclaimed Ædhral, jumping up instantly to add four more place settings to the long table. "Allow me to introduce Stoney! He's going to be helping Nell in the kitchen."

As Rochadan introduced himself and the two children to Stoney, and Earcwen to everyone, he noticed the dwarf shifting rather uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"Is something wrong?" he asked pleasantly, meanwhile settling Sallie into her own little high chair.

"Ooh...erm," said the dwarf. "There isn't anymore soup. I served it all out into equal servings for those who were already here. I didn't know there were more coming..."

"Around here, there are always more coming!" Finian grinned.

"Never fear!" said Nell the Cook, rising quickly to her feet. "There is still a bit of stew left from lunch. I saved your share, seeing as you were late." She gave him a pointed look. "You should be more mindful of the time, Mr. Rochadan. If it weren't for those children I might not have saved you any at all. Maybe then you would learn to come to luncheon on time!"

Rochadan grinned and caught the plump older woman around the waist, giving her a playful spin around the kitchen. "Oh, you wouldn't do that to me!"

Trying very hard to maintain a frown, Nell freed herself and gave his arm a sharp slap. "I would indeed!" Then, she laughed in spite of herself. "Oh, go sit down." She disappeared into the pantry and came back out with stock pot of leftover stew from lunch, which she immediately set on the stove to reheat.

Taking a seat at the table between Sallie and Earcwen, Rochadan turned to the dwarf. "Welcome to the Vineyard," he said. "Don't mind Cook's temper if she ever has a chance to turn it on you. Her bark is much worse than her bite." He paused to wink at the cook, who was still doing her best to preserve the appearance that she was angry with him. "If you don't mind my asking," he continued. "How do you find yourself here in Esgaroth? Do you come from the Lonely Mountain?"

[Esgallhugwen]

As they walked hand in hand down the stairs to the common room Thalinar lowered his head and kept close to the shaded places, mostly corners. A single nod of his head sent the young girl off towards the kitchen to fetch some bowls of hot stew.

Thalinar shook his head, disgraced by the actions he had to take to see that he wouldn't end up confronting the maiden, Ædhral, again. Ærosylle flitted back to him as fast as she had left, like some Fairy in a children's story Thalinar thought amusingly, she seemed to have that way about her.

"Why do you hide?", the question was innocent enough, but Thalinar was bothered by it none the less. He looked at her wearily and sighed. Gratefully taking the hot bowl of stew from her, "perhaps we should sit over there first", he looked across the room at the far corner, she turned and nodded her head.

They walked casually over to the table, Thalinar keeping a look out for Ædhral, and Ærosylle tip-toeing around the 'grumpy' board. Finally when they sat down he looked at the girl and smiled weakly, "I'm afraid that its a rather embarassing story...."

[Beserker_Warrior]

Umaviel walked into the Vineyard Inn looking for a nice cool drink of wine. He had travelled a long way to get here.Umaviel was 7,000 years old, a great warrior of the Sindarin elves and he was once a lord of Gondolin. Umaviel was a tall, kingly looking elf from Rivendell with long black hair. He had come here because had heard that the Goblins of the Misty Mountains were coming this way.This strange news was told to him by Gwahir, Lord of the Eagles of the Misty Mountains.Elrond had advised that he should try to find out as much as possible about the movement of the goblins. Umaviel did not doubt Elrond and so he went.

The inn was located near Laketown. It seemed nice and joyous though not nearly as nice as Rivendell. "Innkeeper, I would like a pint of wine please," said Umaviel. He needed this because it was a chilly day outside and the wine would raise his spirits." There you go. What brings you here, we don't get many of the fair folk here anymore?" replied the innkeeper. " I am here to find out the truth in rumors that I have been hearing of about the goblins of the Misty Mountains. Supposedly they are on the move." answered Umaviel. "Thank you for the wine," with this Umaviel turned and walked to a table on the far side of the inn.

[Nerindel]

Stoney’s soup was good if not a little too spicy for Ædhral. The others seemed to enjoy it immensely, especially cook, which could only be a good sign. She let Rochadan try hers that he too could offer his opinion. “Hmm very good!” he said nodding his head in approval. A knowing smile meant only for Ædhral spread across the stable masters prominent features, he knew she had not the taste for spicy foods, but also did he know that she would not say so. Especially with the proud and elated smile of satisfaction beaming on the dwarves face and he was right! With an ever pleasant smile and a nod of her dark head she thanked Stoney for the soup and told him that she was sure the customers of the tavern would be glad of such a warm and hearty soup after a hard day’s toil.

The conversation over lunch was a mixed affair with several different discussions going on at once, beginning with Stoney relating how he came to be in Esgaroth? and that he did indeed come from the lonely mountains. Then he and Nell discussed the tavern, the town and food in particular the cooking of, with Finian and Rochadan adding their comments here and there were they saw appropriate. Ædhral however had the attention of Sallie as she told her eagerly of Andhun’s singing and the song of the young woman Rochadan had brought to their table, Earcwen had sung for them, but after a time the stable masters daughter became sleepy and nestled herself into her fathers lap leaving him to pick up a conversation with Earcwen.

Ædhral sat back and listened watching the faces of her friends as they enjoyed each others company. When living with her grandfather before the destruction of lake town she had often wondered what it was like to be part of a large family and now as she sat watching her friends she thought she knew, this was her family and she was happy to be a part of it and share in their lives. A warmth of contentment settled over her heart which showed in the warmth of her smile and the twinkle in her eye, but as she looked over her family she noted that two where missing. Kannah and Ærosylle! Suddenly awakened from her reverie she sat up straight.

“You must excuse me, for Kannah has been on her own too long and will be most aggrieved that she has yet not been introduced to our dwarven friend.” she said nodding politely as she quickly excused herself.

“Wait I will come with you!” Finian said wiping the last of his bread across the bottom of his bowl and popping it hastily into his mouth as he rose. “Excellent!” he murmured again for about the fifth time as he licked his fingers and followed her into the common room.

Reaching the bar Finian drew her a mug of cider and slide it across the counter to her a mischievous glint coming to his dark eyes, “why did you not just tell him that it was too spicy for you, you know you will have to tell him sometime if he is to know?” he grinned as she took the mug and washed away the burning still in her throat. “I know” she smiled “But he just looked so pleased, I did not have the heart to tell him.” Finian just laughed and shook his head “I do not think he would be offended you know!” he said as he picked up a cloth and wiped the top of the counter. “Ok, ok, I will tell him later!” she laughed seeing that she would not hear the end of it if she did not, then sliding the empty mug back at him with a jovial wink she turned and began collecting the empty mugs and dishes of the taverns guests, leaving the innkeeper to usher Kannah and Ærosylle if he could find her off to the kitchen.

[Imladris]

Finian hastily drowned a bit mug of water to cool the tingling burn on his tongue. If anything, Stoney would bring add an interesting and spicy flair to the food. He grinned...that was exactly what the Tavern needed. Something different to make it stand out from the other Inns along the wayside...except that there were no other Inns around...Finian sighed. He wouldn't have minded a bit of competition.

He wondered where his sister was....he hoped that she had not run off again, and was pretending that she was a bird or a fish. That would be very devastating...not good at all...He scratched his scalp...it was exceedingly itchy. He wondered why. It almost felt as if bugs were crawling over his skin. He shrugged. Too many things to worry about it now.

He caugt sight of his sister with the elf. He had dried himself off, and seemed to be shrinking in the shadows, avoiding the eyes of any maidens happening to pass by. Finian grinned, remembering Ædhral's and Thalinar's first meeting. He was probably still remembering it...Finian bit back a laugh as he leaped over the counter, grabbed two mugs of ale, and strode towards the pair.

He handed the mug to Thalinar, bowed, and said, "Hopefully my sister wasn't bothering you..." He tousled her hair, and she leaned her elbow against his waist, grinning at him. "Anyway, I hope everything was to your satisfaction?"

[Ealasaide]

The rider entered the inn's yard from the direction of the center of town, having just come from a brief meeting with Esgaroth's town managers and leading merchants. He wore the livery of Gondor and carried a messenger's satchel slung across one of his broad shoulders. A sword hung sheathed at his side. Dismounting in front of the stable, he tied his horse to a hitching rail and took a quick look around for the stablemaster. Finding no one, he turned and walked toward the front door of the inn.

There was a soft clink of mail as he patted the dust from his cloak. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, pausing a moment to allow his eyes to adjust from the brightness outside to the relative darkness of the common room. Then, seeing an empty table, he seated himself and looked around for the innkeeper. It had been over a year since his last visit to Esgaroth and he found the changes since the dragon's attack a bit disorienting, what with the entire town having up and moved off the platform over the lake on to dry ground a short distance away. He had heard talk in the south of the damage done by the dragon's fire and noticed a good many familiar faces were now missing, including, apparently, that of the innkeeper Aeron. Another much younger fellow, presumably Aeron's son, seemed to have taken over by the look of it. Catching the young innkeeper's eye where he stood conversing with an elf and a young girl, Bragorn signaled for an ale. Then, he sat back to look around the place.

Whoever had rebuilt the Vineyard Tavern had done an excellent job of it, Bragorn decided. He had been quite fond of the old inn and found that the new version offered the same comfortable, homey feeling as before. He glanced up as a serving girl with rather flashy good looks and dressed in brightly colored silk, paused by his table, a tray resting on her hip. "An ale for you, sir?" she asked.

Bragorn nodded gratefully for he was truly parched. "That would be splendid."

She nodded and turned to go, but Bragorn caught her wrist. She stopped and gave him a sharp look, which caused him to release her instantly. Once he had done so, she smiled rather brusquely. "Is there something else, then?"

"Yes," answered Bragorn, with a grin. "An old friend of mine used to work here as the stablemaster. I haven't seen him for some time and am hoping to discover what has become of him. Rochadan was his name." He leaned toward the serving girl with a roguish twinkle in his eye. "And while we are on the subject of names," he added. "What might yours be? I am Bragorn, a messenger here on behalf of the Steward of Gondor."


*****************************

Rochadan

Having found Stoney much more interested in discussing his cooking than the Lonely Mountain or matters of arms, Rochadan let the subject drop and allowed his conversation to drift elsewhere over the remainder of the lunch. Cooking had never been one of his strong points or even of particular interest to him, so it didn't leave him with much to talk about to the new fellow, although he did have to admit he found the mouthful of the dwarf's soup that Ædhral had shared with him quite tasty. He liked the spiciness, and was tickled to no small degree by Ædhral's manful attempt to eat it as well when he knew she had no fondness for spicy food. Nonetheless, he found it typically sweet of her to consume the full bowl, never letting on for an instant to the beaming dwarf that the soup was not to her taste. Someone would have to tell Stoney eventually, though, or the poor girl could be suffering through the dwarf's hot curries indefinitely. He figured it unlikely that Ædhral would say anything herself, her being the sort who would not want to hurt the dwarf's feelings.

Finally, as the luncheon wound down and Finian and Ædhral returned to the common room, Rochadan looked at the faces remaining around the table. Little Sallie had climbed into his lap and was sleeping peacefully with her cheek against his chest. Andhun, who sat across from him, was looking drowsy as well, his thin face drifting closer and closer to the tabletop as he struggled to stay awake. Earcwen, bright-eyed as ever, had joined into a lively conversation with Nell and Stoney over the relative merits of hot peppers in cooking. Rochadan listened for a moment, then rose quietly and carried Sallie off to finish her nap on the bed in Cook's room near the kitchen. Nell watched him go without comment as it was fairly common for her to lend Sallie her bed for her naps. That way, she could keep an eye on the little girl while her father went on about his work.

Returning, Rochadan dispatched Andhun to his room for a nap as well. The boy had had a difficult day so far and, if he had any hope of regaining his strength, would have to get plenty of rest. By the time he returned to the kitchen for the second time, Rochadan found that the conversation around the table had moved on from hot peppers to a rehash of the dragon's attack a year earlier that had led to the burning of the platform city of Esgaroth and the original inn. Thinking of Andhun's burns and the death of Finian's father Aeron, the innkeeper who had been so like a father to all of them, Rochadan felt a rush of sadness mixed with regret. The weeks that had followed the dragon's attack had also been the last time that Rochadan himself had put on his mail shirt and buckled on his sword to ride forth with the other men to fight on behalf of Lake Town. While it had been a time of great stress and sorrow for all of them, it had also been exhilarating to have a sword in his hand again, to be riding back and forth between the camps of the different armies, carrying messages and dispatches between the leaders. Leaning against the door frame, Rochadan sighed. He had been feeling restless of late, anyway, and all this talk of the dragon only dredged up memories that made him more conscious of it than ever.

Taking his leave of the three still seated around the table, Rochadan beat a hasty retreat to the stableyard where he found a few newly arrived horses tied and awaiting his attention. Running a hand idly down the neck of one of the waiting horses, he gazed longingly out toward the road that ran past the inn. How little it would take just to saddle his horse and go...

He shook his head, knowing he mustn't think of such things. He had Sallie's happiness and safety to consider and, now, Andhun's as well. Besides that, he also had a responsibility to Finian and the inn. Sighing again, he knew that he would not be going anywhere. Perhaps later, if he could convince Nell or Ædhral to watch Sallie for him, he would saddle Alydar and go for a long ride along the shore of the long lake. Still looking toward the open road, he raised a hand and pushed his dark hair back from his face. Perhaps he could work the restlessness out of his system that way. Turning, Rochadan led the first of the guests' horses into the stable and let the door swing shut behind him.

[Orual]

Kannah studied the newcomer briskly, her lip wrinkled somewhat in a visage of disdain. "Bragorn, is that it? Kannah."

"Cannot what?" the man asked.

"Kannah. My name. My name is Kannah," she snapped. The man irked her. Most men irked her. Most everything irked her, come to think of it. The corner of her mouth tugged up in what was almost a rueful smile as her dark eyes flashed warningly at Bragorn.

"Kannah is an unusual name. Where does it come from? Not Rohan, surely. Is it Northern?" Bragorn asked, either truly interested or faking it well.

"Southern," Kannah said shortly. Bragorn raised an eyebrow. "I am from Southern Gondor. My name comes from Harad."

"What does it mean?" Bragorn queried.

Kannah leaned in close to his face, a sickly sweet smile dancing on her lips. "What does it mean?" she echoed. Bragorn cocked his head to the side. "It means she who should not be bothered unless you actually intend to order something!" she exclaimed, snapping back up straight. "Now! That ale."

[Esgallhugwen]

Thalinar's eyes were cast downward as he spooned his meal into his mouth, he could feel the eyes of the curious Ærosylle on him as he had concluded his story, regretfully sparing no detail in his account of the events.

A shadow loomed over his shrunken figure and an ale was placed in front of his face. A familiar voice resounded in his ear, "Hopefully my sister wasn't bothering you..." He tousled her hair, and she leaned her elbow against his waist, grinning at him. "Anyway, I hope everything was to your satisfaction?".

Thalinar looked up at him, "No not at all, I didn't realize she was your sister, we were just discussing her ability to talk to certain objects", he took a sip of his ale to wash down the stew, "and yes you have been very accomodating, thank you kindly".

His smile was shy, as he put another spoon full of stew into his mouth, "can you please tell Ædhral that I am sorry for everything, I mean not now, perhaps later when I am away and not so much a nuisance".

[Ealasaide]

Bragorn hesitated for the slightest instant, surprised at his charm being rejected so firmly out of hand - for he had been making an attempt to charm the young lady -, then he roared with laughter.

"Whoo!" he gasped finally. "Hey!" he called after her, as she left to fetch the ale. "Make it a brown ale, if you can manage it! If you can-nah, let me know and I'll give you a hand!" In response, the serving girl, Kannah, looked daggers at him, which only made Bragorn burst into fresh paroxysms of laughter. As his mirth finally began to taper off, Bragorn sat back in his chair and wiped at his eyes, still chuckling softly. If you can-nah... I'll give you a hand he repeated under his breath and laughed again, infinitely tickled at himself and his own wit.

"Oh, and how about some bread and cheese with that ale, eh?" he called over his shoulder to her above the din of the other conversations in the busy common room. Once he had finished laughing, he had realized that he was also very hungry. "There's a nice girl!" he added as Kannah acknowledged his food order.

Can-nah, he repeated again and laughed. Oh, this is going to be fun... Watching as Kannah's rather glamorous figure disappeared into the kitchen, he wondered if Kannah was new to the inn or if he had just managed to miss her the last time he was there. Either way, he was happy not to have missed her this time. Her prickly manner amused him no end. As for the other serving girl, - what was her name? Eda, Ida? Something like that. He remembered her from the last time because of an unfortunate remark he had made about her in passing to Rochadan - something about her and the hayloft out in the stable. The stablemaster, his old friend no less, had nearly punched him. After that, he had left Aedhral - that was her name! - alone. But Kannah! She seemed much more his style, anyway.

"A loaf of bread, a pint of beer, and thou beside me, singing in the wilderness!" he sang in a rather tuneless baritone as Kannah reappeared beside him with his ale. "So you're from southern Gondor, are you, love?" he asked as she set the heavy glass down on the table in front of him. "Whereabouts?"

[Orual]

"So you're from southern Gondor, are you, love? Whereabouts?"

Kannah looked up, her gaze darker than the ale that she set before Bragorn. Her brown eyes studied him briefly but intensely as she decided on an answer. She turned her head a bit, and the bells that hung from her ears jangled in a merry way that contrasted with her sour expression. "My people...they are from the Ethir Anduin," she said finally, slipping a napkin underneath the mug. "I was born in Dale. Raised there." She looked up at Bragorn from the table, her eyes challenging him to say something.

"My father was a healer," she continued imperiously. "We moved to the South so that he could procure the supplies that he needed. They--my parents--started something of a medicinal business there. The South is good for business. Lots of commerce, and good products." She rustled her silk skirts. "These are from Harad." This was a lie. They were imitations from Rohan. "My parents made a good living in the South. But--"

She stopped abruptly. What was she doing? She was about to tell this rogue everything! She tossed her hair over her shoulder and rubbed her hands vigorously on her apron. "I've told you enough about myself. What of you, sir? From whence do you hail?" She endowed the sir with enough scorn to cow several grown men, but she was not surprised when Bragorn hardly seemed to notice.

[Ealasaide]

Bragorn listened to Kannah’s discourse with interest, his merry gray eyes taking in the imperiousness of her manner with something between amusement and delight. Although she seemed to be making her best effort to intimidate him, Bragorn felt anything but cowed. In fact, as far as he could see, her haughtiness was merely her way of flirting with him. He smiled as she rustled her bright silk skirts, and obligingly looked down at them in admiration. As he did so, however, he raised one dark eyebrow ever so slightly. Hadn’t he just seen some skirts remarkably similar to hers in a merchant’s stall at the market in Edoras when he had passed through Rohan on his way north? He remembered thinking at the time that it was a pity he was currently without a wife or sweetheart, as they were an excellent buy. But then, he was no judge of ladies’ clothing. Perhaps the skirts in Edoras had been merely well-executed copies of Haradrim originals such as these. After all, if lovely Kannah said that hers were the genuine article, then who was he to beg to differ? He did like those earrings, though, especially the way they tinkled when she tossed her head.

“What of you, sir? From whence do you hail?” she asked with enough scorn in her voice to wilt a full field of alfalfa.

“I?” answered Bragorn lightly. “Not from the deltas, that’s for certain. My people hail from the northern end of Gondor, near the Rohirrim border, a small village close to the Firien Wood. Horse people there. Some people think of us as being more closely akin to the folks of Rohan, than of Gondor, though we are indeed Gondorians. Your people are healers, you say?”

“We are,” answered Kannah firmly, with a slight lift of her chin.

“That’s brilliant!” He smiled and took a long gulp of his ale. Putting the glass aside - half-empty - he wiped the foam from his mouth with his hand. “Maybe you can help me. I took a bit of a tumble the other day when my horse happened to step in a gopher hole. The shoulder’s a bit stiff.” He leaned toward her with his most charming smile and, pushing his thick black hair aside with one hand, used his other to pull back the neck of his mail shirt revealing a glimpse of very brawny shoulder. “Anything you can do about that?”

He really had taken a fall from his horse a few days prior and the shoulder really was a bit sore, but it was nothing for which he would ordinarily seek the attentions of a healer. It was simply all he could think of on short notice that might capture her interest, so he waited patiently, affecting the look of a wounded martyr. In the meantime, he expected her just as likely to reach out and pinch him as anything else. The more he thought about this possibility, however, the more the shadow of a grin danced on the corners of his mouth, transforming his martyred look into a rather twisted and silly grimace.

[Ealasaide]

As Rochadan led the last of the waiting horses inside to be groomed and stabled for the night, he found himself giving the dusty animal more than a second glance. The bay gelding was very, very familiar to him, almost as familiar to him as his own horse. With a sudden and knowing smile playing on the corners of his mouth, he reached down, loosed the cinch strap, and lifted the well-worn saddle from the animal’s broad back. There, just as he had a expected, he found a large “B” embossed into the leather.

“Bragorn!” he said aloud. It had been a long time since he had seen his old friend, in fact, since before the dragon. Rochadan went about the rest of his chores quickly that he might get to the common room and find the Gondorian messenger and have a few minutes to sit down and share news with him, catch up on old times, before the dinner rush of new arrivals to the inn. He hurried also because he knew Bragorn’s character very well and was aware that the fellow would be hard at work bothering the serving girls. Rochadan knew that Bragorn never meant any harm by it, but he could be a tremendous annoyance.

Finishing with the horse and saddle at last, Rochadan jogged to the front door of the inn, and went in. Sure enough, there sat Bragorn with a goofy look on his face, showing his shoulder to Kannah. As he watched, Kannah snapped the back of the messenger’s head with her dishcloth and spun away in a rustle of cheap silk. The messenger erupted into laughter, calling after her that even if she couldn’t fix his shoulder, he still wanted his bread and cheese. Rochadan pulled out a chair and sat down opposite his old friend.

“Greetings, great messenger and terror to all unsuspecting women,” he said amiably. “You’re almost as bad as the dragon. How long have you been in Esgaroth?”

“Rochadan!” exclaimed Bragorn. He half-rose from his chair and, in his exuberance to embrace his old friend across the table, upended what remained of his beer. Not having anything with which to clean up the mess, he just let the puddle stand on the tabletop and set the heavy - but now empty tankard - upsidedown in its center, where it presided over the conversation like a moated fortress in miniature. “You are still here!” continued Bragorn without missing a beat. Grinning broadly, he flopped back down into his chair. “You know, I asked that lovely creature if you were still about somewhere, but I don’t think she ever told me. As for Esgaroth, I only arrived here this morning. Official business, you know, so I had to attend to that first, but this was my first stop afterward.”

“Did you have any trouble finding the inn?” asked Rochadan. “It’s all so different since the town was moved and rebuilt.”

“None at all,” Bragorn assured the stablemaster. “But it was a little disorienting when I first arrived...kind of like Esgaroth but not Esgaroth at the same time. I must say you’ve done an admirable job of rebuilding. Such wild stories we’ve heard in the south about your dragon and the great battle at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. I take it you were there in the middle of it?”

“Quite,” answered Rochadan with a rueful smile. “I feel almost disloyal saying it - the inn has been quite good to me - but it was nice to be in the saddle again with a sword in my hand. To be honest, while I enjoy my life here, I miss the excitement of battle.”

Bragorn’s wide, cheery face sobered. “Well, if it’s that sort of excitement you are missing, there’s plenty to go around in the south,” he said grimly. “Do you remember Bonden?”

Rochadan nodded although he hadn’t heard the name in very a long time. “Big fellow - face like a baboon? He had that roan horse that liked to bite.”

“Exactly.” Bragorn nodded. “He was slain by orcs outside of Ithilien last year. Killian, too. I’m not sure what is happening across the river in the east, but it seems that there have been more and more orcs about lately. The roads grow ever more dangerous, especially for our sort - couriers and messengers, that is. Truth be known, we could use a man like you.”

Rochadan’s expression darkened. “Killian and Bonden were both good men, good fighters. How did it happen?” Both men had been particular friends of his. He could recall in years past sharing many a meal and friendly drink with them both. Bonden, if he remembered correctly, would have left behind a wife and three children.

Bragorn shrugged. “Ambushed on the road is all I can guess. Killian was pierced with so many black arrows that he looked like a pin cushion. Nothing was ever found of Bonden but bones and his broken sword. In both cases, their message bags were gone. In fact, I‘ve had a few close calls myself. All I can say is that I thank Eru daily for my dash of good luck and a fast horse.”

“Luck and a fast horse,” echoed Rochadan quietly. “Sometimes that’s all it takes.”

Bragorn nodded. “Let’s have another round and drink to our fallen comrades.” He raised his hand and, catching the attention of the innkeeper, gestured for two more ales.

[Bêthberry]

OOC

Writers of the Mark, please take a look at Fordim Hedgethistle's new game, Shadow of the West (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=11345)

It is an excting game of intrigue set in the Second Age and exploring the creation of the Nazgul.

Come join the fun!


Bethberry

[Imladris]

Ærosylle heaved a sigh, looking around for the elf. He had disappeared...probably into the sunset like Finian was always saying. A tear pricked her eye. Why was she crying? She had seen many elves...yet she had never spoken to one. Yes...that must have been it.

Stop crying you slimy human the grumpy plank growled. Be like us wood...we who are solid and stern. We never cry...do you know why? It's because we, in the wisdom of our over long lives, know [/i] that crying will do one no good. It won't solve a thing.[/i]

Ærosylle sniffed. The Wooden Plank could be so wonderfully cheering sometimes. She blinked at it and slipped away. She would leave him to his own cynic views.

She crept outside and stared at the birds. She wished that she could turn into a bird and fly away toward Mirkwood and have adventures. She remembered that when she had been younger, she had wished that she could grow wings, but Finian had told her that it was impossible to grow wings and to stop thinking foolish thoughts.

Could a human turn into a bird?

She bit her lip and meandered into the barn. Finian had never said that it was impossible. Had he even mentioned the subject. She cocked her head, beckoning the Breeze to remind her if Finian had mentioned the subject and if he had, what he had said. The air remained still. The Breeze would have come when she had called him with her silent plea. But the Breeze was a lazy thing and would only come if he was really needed.

She nodded.

His abscense meant that Finian had remained silent upon the subject. Since Finian had not mentioned it, it must be possible.

With a deep sigh of contentment that reminded the hay of a golden ray of sun, Ærosylle reached a grubby hand for an even grubbier ladder and began to climb to the hay loft. She could hear the hay mutter accusingly as she passed. She had forgotten to visit them. She felt a pang of guilt. She was supposed to have brought tea too. She shook her head and patted the hay, hoping to pacify it. It worked as it always did. Hay didn't have the sense or inclination to be angry long.

Opening the loft door (there was a name for it but her memory quite failed her -- it was wretched at its job) she perched upon the wooden step.

How did one turn into a bird?

She closed her eyes and thought hard with all her might. Birds...feathers....soaring winds...

[Orual]

"Anything you can do about that?"

Kannah stared at Bragorn's shoulder with a mixture of seething fury and piqued interest. Who was this man? He surely had enough gall for several men his size. She almost laughed aloud: several men? More like half a village. She put her hands on her hips in what she assumed was a fetching manner, leaning into the position like she had always seen her elder sisters do. "Let me see that shoulder, sir," she said, dropping her voice down at least an octave from the shrill pitch she usually employed. "Oh, it looks bad! Luckily for you, my people have exactly the remedy for a shoulder like yours."

Bragorn looked up. "Do they?"

Kannah nodded, picked up her skirts, and went to the fire. She drew a red-hot poker from the hearth and raised it up, studying it dramatically. She delighted to see Bragorn's eyes grow wide out of her peripheral vision.

"You see," she said, approaching him with the poker, "your humours are all off. Was it a fall? If so, then you might have too much earth elemental in your shoulder now." She rattled off some more nonsense that she made up off the top of her head, hardly even listening to herself. A small smile crept onto her lips.

"If we just make a small laceration--"

She heard some dogs go wild outside. They began to bray, howl, as if the world itself was coming to an end. She sighed loudly and trudged back to the hearth, sticking the poker back in.

"I have to go see what those fool dogs are going on about," she said to a wide-eyed Bragorn, and then stormed outside.

"Beasts! What are you howling about? If you're just having at each other, I'll whip you within an inch of your miserable lives, you black holes! The amount you eat, I'm surprised this inn hasn't gone under twice over. I'll--"

She finally followed the dogs' line of sight, and gasped. Ærosylle! She ran to the edge of the barn. "Ærosylle! Stay where you are! If you jump--"

She couldn't think of a threat. Her heart was in her throat. "Ærosylle, don't move!"

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan stopped Bragorn's call for ales with a gesture, his ear cocked toward the outside. He had passed Kannah on his way in. Having finished threatening Bragorn with a poker, she had gone out the door as he had come in. For a moment after she left, he had heard her screeching something ill-tempered at a pack of dogs that had set to barking, but abruptly her tone had changed. While he had not caught her words, her voice sounded frightened, almost panicky. Thinking that she might be in danger from the dogs, he pushed his chair back and rose.

"Bring your sword," he said to Bragorn, indicating for Bragorn to accompany him. As he passed the fireplace, Rochadan picked up the poker that Kannah had so recently put down. In fending off wild dogs, it would do quite well for a weapon.

As the two men left the common room and rounded the corner of the building in the direction of Kannah's voice, they stopped short in bewilderment and lowered their weapons. Kannah stood before the barn, looking up at the roof, surrounded by a shaggy pack of dogs. The dogs danced around her skirts, all wagging tails and lolling pink tongues, seeming more excited than threatening. It was a moment before Bragorn touched Rochadan's elbow and sheathed his sword.

"Up on the roof," said Bragorn quietly. "It seems a lass has found her way on to the roof of the barn."

"Oh, no..." murmured Rochadan, his dark eyes following Bragorn's pointing finger. "Ærosylle." Still holding the hot poker, he walked over to where Kannah stood. Bragorn followed a few steps behind.

Reaching Kannah, Rochadan exchanged a quick glance with her, then looked up at Ærosylle. Shading his eyes with one hand against the bright afternoon sun, he waved the poker in his other hand in a friendly manner.

"What, ho, Ærosylle! What are you doing up there?" he called pleasantly. "Did the dogs scare you?"

[Imladris]

Ærosylle heard someone calling from far far below....dragging her from the sky and clouds. It sounded vaguely familiar....

Then there was another voice...a man's voice, saying, "What, ho, Ærosylle! What are you doing up there? Did the dogs scare you?"

The Dogs? Oh yes, the Dogs. Dogs scared birds. She had seen them yapping after little blue birds...they had gone to the treetops in a flurry of feathers. A chill pricked down her spine. Nasty dogs.

She swallowed and called down, "Yes! The dogs were after me so I scuttled up here! Dogs are always frightening birds," she said with a disdainful glance towards the dogs who were flopped in the shade. "All they care about are themselves! They are great big bullies! So I am going to fly away!"

"Fly away?" called the man -- whom Ærosylle now recognized as Rochdan. "And how are you going to do that?"

She thought that she could perceive a twinkle in his eyes.

She sighed patiently. "I'm a bird!" She spread her arms and flapped them in demonstration.

[Nurumaiel]

Andhun followed Rochadan, completely oblivious of what exactly was going on. He saw Ærosylle, and admired her courage for climbing up there. With a sigh, he looked down at his crippled foot and felt deep regret that he could never engage in such activities again. He raised his eyes to the girl again when she said she would fly away, and a deep longing came into his heart. He wished he were a bird, he wished he could fly away and find his sister. Maybe his sister would be a sweet and kind and funny as Ærosylle was.

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't fly away!" he called to Ærosylle, his voice vibrating with the notes of all the homesickness, loneliness, and longing for family in his heart. "I wish I were a bird, so I might also fly away."

And how, also, he wished he were like Ærosylle. She could find friends everywhere: in the dishware, in the tables and chairs, in the steps... especially the step that didn't like to be stepped upon. She could content herself with her imaginings that she was a bird, or a fish, or whatever she wanted to be. And he felt always the lost little boy without a mother or father, crippled and disfigured, and lonely for a friend.

He had been moving much that day, and his leg was weary, and was paining him. He gently sat upon the ground, and looked up at Ærosylle, flapping her arms, and it seemed to him that she was flying away already. He bowed his head, and at the moment he did a soft hand touched his hair, and Earcwen stood beside him. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale as she looked up at Ærosylle, but she smiled at him and sat beside him. "What troubles you, Andhun?" she asked.

"Miss Earcwen, I was just wishing I were a bird," said Andhun. "If I were a bird I would fly above the houses, and sooner or later I should find my sister."

"If you were a bird your sister would not recognize you, and would only love you as a pet, not her dear brother," Earcwen replied.

"You are right," said Andhun, "but if I were a bird I should not be lonely for my sister."

"And therefore you should be very unhappy, because you would not even love her."

"I suppose so," said Andhun.

"Don't be upset because you miss her," said Earcwen. "When I miss anyone I take it as a comfort. If I did not miss them perhaps I should feel that I did not love them. You can't want to see someone unless you want to see them, you know." Her words were sincere, but her eyes were distracted and ever drifting to the little bird Ærosylle upon the barn.

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan watched nervously as Ærosylle's shoulders dropped in a visible sigh. Then she began to flap her arms in a disturbing way. "I'm a bird!" she called down to the group on the ground. Rochadan handed his poker off to Kannah and was just opening his mouth to respond when he heard a plaintive little voice crying out behind him:

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't fly away!” Then more softly, “I wish I were a bird, so I might also fly away."

Rochadan recognized the voice instantly and turned in Andhun’s direction, but the concern that had been etched into his face by the sadness of the boy’s voice, vanished at once when he saw that the child was accompanied by Earcwen. As Rochadan watched, the young woman tenderly stroked the boy’s hair and sat down beside him, speaking to him in a soft voice. Knowing now that Andhun was in good hands, Rochadan turned his attention back to Ærosylle on the roof.

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend trying to fly, Ærosylle,” he called up to her, doing his best to maintain a pleasant and conversational tone. “You see, you haven’t got any feathers. Without them, you’ll just come plummeting down to the earth, which would be none to fun for you in the long run. How about I bring the ladder around instead?”

Behind him, Bragorn piped up. “I couldn’t recommend staying up there, either. Or flying for that matter. When I rode in this afternoon, I saw a bloody great hawk hanging about, plucking little birds right out of the air with her talons. Nothing left but a few bits of fluff floating down on the breeze. Not a happy sight, I can tell you!”

Rochadan turned around and gave Bragorn a look sharp enough to make the Gondorian fall back a step. “Well, I did see a hawk,” Bragorn muttered stubbornly. Then, thinking the better of arguing the point under the circumstances, he added: “Eh... how about I go find that ladder?”

“Yes, please,” answered Rochadan. “It’s standing against the side of the inn. I put it there this morning for a guest.”

Bragorn nodded and took off to fetch the ladder. As he did so, he gave Ærosylle a friendly wave. “Just have a seat there, love, hey? I’m going to fetch the ladder.”

“Who’s that?” Ærosylle called down as Bragorn walked away. She stopped flapping and let her thin arms fall to her sides.

“It’s Bragorn. Do you remember him? He used to come stay here from time to time when your father was alive.” Rochadan paused. Inwardly he cringed a bit, wondering if it had been so very smart to bring up Ærosylle’s father, who had been so tragically killed by the dragon, while Ærosylle was still perched on the roof. He changed tactics quickly. “Bragorn’s bringing the ladder around. Will you come down? If you like, I could even come up there for a while and keep you company. Or I’m sure Finian wouldn’t mind coming up for a spell either. We could fetch him if you like. What do you say?”

[Imladris]

"I don't need Finian coming down to fetch me," Ærosylle called pettishly.

She sniffed and stopped flapping her arms, letting them hang limply at her sides. The boy hadn't wanted her to fly away. She hated it when people left. It was so mean of them. She supposed that it would be mean of her to fly away when none of the people down there wanted her to fly away.

And that other fellow, the one who had told her about the hawk and called her love, he seemed nice enough too. According to Rochadan his name was Bragorn....a man who used to come when her father was still alive.

Ærosylle didn't remember her father that well. She remembered that he had disappeared in bright flame....and she wondered if it had hurt very much.

She heard the ladder clunk dully against the loft, heard the wood creak wearily as someone climbed up it. Turning, she saw Bragorn standing there, his arms open and his eyes twinkling.

"Now come here, there's a love!" he said.

"The ladder doesn't like you," said Ærosylle. "It creaked you know."

[Ealasaide]

Bragorn's smile faded slightly as he gazed thoughtfully down at the ladder. Then, he swung himself on to the edge of the roof, where he sat with his legs dangling over the side. "Is that what the ladder said?" he asked gravely. "Are you sure it didn't creak out of petulance for being left out in the sun all day? If so, that would be Rochadan's doing, not mine." He looked down at the ground where the stablemaster stood watching them. The lovely serving girl, Kannah, stood beside him, holding the poker she had menaced Bragorn with earlier. Rochadan must have handed it over to her at some point after the two of them had joined her outside. Behind them were the sad, scarred little boy and his companion, and beyond them, closer to the inn's front door, a small group of other onlookers who had come outside to see what the commotion was about. Bragorn gave them all a happy wave, then lay back against the warm surface of the roof, tilting his head upward to see Ærosylle, who remained perched at the roof's peak.

"Usually I have a way with ladders," he said mildly.

Ærosylle did not reply. Instead, she squatted down where she was and wrapped her thin arms around her knees, watching Bragorn with wide, interested eyes.

"Stairs, too," he continued after a moment. "Now, doors, on the other hand, doors have always had it in for me. Like the front door of my father's house in Gondor. All I have to do is crack the hinges open for it to squeal as though it's been wounded. For my sisters? - I have five of 'em, you know, a jolly bunch, every one of them - but for my sisters, the door doesn't make a sound. They can bang in and out of it all day and not a peep. I can't help but think the door doesn't like me."

"Perhaps you've done something to offend it," suggested Ærosylle.

Bragorn nodded. "Perhaps so, though I can't imagine what. After all, it was Prudence who put the big scars in the door's frame when she tried to run into the house holding a butter churn crossways across her body. Of course, it didn't fit and she flipped over the top and landed bang on to the floor. Buttermilk went everywhere." Bragorn chuckled softly at the memory. What he neglected to tell Ærosylle was that he had been chasing his sister at the time, threatening to put a field mouse down the back of her dress. He had been twelve years old and his sister had been eight at the time. "We had a jolly good laugh over it, but I'm sure the door was none too pleased. Our mother was quite angry."

Ærosylle crept a few inches down the roof toward the man. "Why was your sister running with a butter churn?"

"She was afraid something bad would happen to the butter if she left it outside, so she was trying to carry it inside." Bragorn laughed again, reliving the incident in his mind. "Honestly, though, I wouldn't have done anything to the butter."

"So you were chasing her!" cried Ærosylle triumphantly, intuiting what had truly happened. "Of course, the door is angry with you. The gashes are all your fault. I'm sure the door would forgive you if you would apologize."

Bragorn nodded solemnly. "I shall do that." After a moment, still lying flat on his back on the rooftop, Bragorn reached out and placed his booted foot idly on the top rung of the ladder. "In the meantime, love," he continued to Ærosylle. "what shall we do about the ladder?"

[Bêthberry]

OOC

Open a new keg! We have some new members of Rohan to celebrate.

Congratulations are due to Nuranar for founding and running the very successful game Wilderness, Weathertop, and Wild Things with the always-able Envinyatar. Welcome to full status in Rohan as Game Player and Game Founder, Nuranar!

From the same game we welcome Primrose Bolger and Saurreg as Game Players to Rohan. Good characterisations, cooperative work, and good ability to move the action forward, both you!

I also ought to commend current Rohan Gamers Envinyatar, Esgalhugwen, Fordim, Kransha, and Meneltarmacil for good work in this game as well.

I particularly enjoyed the very creative naming of characters in this game. Names can sometimes be difficult to create, but every one of the characters in this game was superbly named.

Come join some festivities at either of Rohan's glorious Inns!

Bêthberry,
Moderator for Rohan

[Ealasaide]

The stablemaster watched with dire misgivings as his old friend Bragorn climbed the ladder up to the roof - presumably - to rescue Ærosylle, or at least to convince her to come down. He had meant to go himself, but Bragorn had insisted that with five sisters at home, he would be well-qualified to talk to the girl. But, Rochadan thought to himself, that was precisely the problem with sending him: Bragorn, among other things, liked to hear himself talk and could go on forever if you let him. Rochadan watched as Bragorn reached the top of the ladder, waved at them all on the ground, then flopped over on to his back on the warm thatch of the barn roof. He could hear the rumble of Bragorn’s voice, talking away, as Ærosylle remained perched near the roof’s peak. As Bragorn’s dangling foot landed on the top rung of the ladder and began moving the entire ladder idly back and forth, Rochadan exchanged a glance with Kannah, who still held the poker he had given her earlier.

“Well, do something,” she said crossly, placing her hands on her hips. “If you leave it up to your friend, we’ll be out here all day.”

Rochadan laughed. “Between him and Ærosylle, we could be, at that.” He stepped closer to the base of the ladder and put out a hand to stop its restless sway.

“Ho, Bragorn!” he called up to his friend. “What’s happening up there? Are you planning to come down?”

In response, Bragorn pulled up his feet. Presently, his face appeared over the edge of the roof. “Well, yes, I am, but there’s a wee problem. You see, the ladder doesn’t like me and we haven’t figured out just yet what to do about it.”

Behind Rochadan, Kannah called out, “The ladder’s not the only one who doesn’t like you, you know!” She brandished the poker.

Bragorn laughed loudly and kissed his hand at the serving girl. “Later, my love! You may abuse me to you heart’s content, but right now it’s the ladder’s turn.”

The ladder? That sounds like a bit of Ærosylle’s nonsense, thought Rochadan to himself. He groaned inwardly. She was always telling people things like that, that the stair didn’t like you, or the door was a grump. Leave it to Bragorn to believe her.

“What do you mean the ladder doesn’t like you?” he asked. “It’s just some wood and nails.”

“Well, that’s what Ærosylle tells me.” Bragorn withdrew his face for a moment to say something to the girl at the peak of the roof. Rochadan could have sworn he heard the words: See? I told you it was Rochadan that the ladder’s angry with. Such an attitude!

Behind him, Kannah threw up her hands as Bragorn’s face reappeared at the edge of the roof. “We can’t come down until we figure out what to do about the ladder,” Bragorn said pleasantly. “Have you got another one?”

At that, Rochadan felt a flare of temper. “No, we haven’t got another one!” he shouted. “There’s nothing wrong with this one. In fact, I just mended it this afternoon.” He was just putting his foot on the lowest rung of the disputed ladder to climb up himself when a shadow passed over him. Looking up quickly, he saw the dark brown body of a large hawk with a brilliant red tail sail over the roof of the stable, barely missing Bragorn before rising upward on a fresh thermal. Out of sight of Rochadan, Ærosylle shrieked. Rochadan shot up the ladder as quickly as he could go.

[Imladris]

"The ladder is a most aggravating fellow," said Ærosylle pleasantly as she cuddled herself into the straw. "He's very straight you know -- he makes sure you know that he is upset with you. But sometimes he's a bit narrowminded too...and he doesn't forgive all at once." She nodded her head solemnly.

Oustide Rochadan was shouting words outside and she listened with interest. Silly man who didn't believe that the ladder was upset.

"It's not just wood and nails," she informed Bragorn. "It's a ladder and if Rochadan cannot see when it is upset then...." her voice trailed off delicately and she shook her head.

She heard the stablemaster shout, "No, we haven’t got another one!” he shouted. “There’s nothing wrong with this one. In fact, I just mended it this afternoon."

Sighing Ærosylle explained, "The reason we don't have another one is because this one is insanely jealous, aren't you?" she asked, patting the ladder as if it was a dog.

At that moment a monstrous bird with a crimson tail soared above, diving straight for Bragorn. Ærosylle shrieked with delight screaming, "She wants to take you with you, Bragorn!" But the bird went away, flying away into the clouds. Ærosylle sighed and said, "If I were a bird I would have taken you with me."

Below, she could here Rochadan climbing up the ladder. As his head appeared over the ladder she said, "It's a good thing the ladder has forgiven you. I would like some tea, and to see if my friend the elf has come back."

Standing, she waited for Rochadan to descend.

[Bêthberry]

Another bird appeared in the sky, not as large as the one with the crimson tail which had so intrigued Ærosylle but still a swift and mighty flyer. He flew unerrantly and directly towards the tavern, his wide wing span marking a rhythmic swoop and lift which brought him closer and closer. Yet there was no glee or joy inspired by his appearance. Rather, an aura of doom.

As the bird--bird of prey it could now be seen, a falcon--come closer there also could be seen in his beak a roll of something. It was not meat or carrion, for the bird held it without biting or chewing. And as the creature came near the Vineyard, it swooped long and low by the stablemaster, surprising him but not upsetting him from the ladder. And then swiftly the bird flew into the Tavern, depositing the scroll at the feet of Andhun. The lad picked it up, read it with dismay and melancoly sorrow and looked around for the Innkeeper. Not seeing Finian, he tacked the scrll to the large door of the Vineyard Tavern and stepped back to reread the sombre words.

Bring our your guests! Bring out your guests! The Vineyard is being sold.

By decree of the Mayor and Treasurer of this fair city, it is herebye decreed that in forfeit of taxes and other debts owing, ownership of the Vineyard Tavern has been assumed by the City, which has auctioned it off to the highest bidder. Patrons are encouraged to complete their business as soon as possible or within the next seven business days, upon which time deed of ownership will be turned over to Master Harsten, who will turn the property into a manufacturing enterprise.

Gasps of outrage and shock marked every reading of the scroll, yet none could deny that poor young master Finian and his sister had fallen indeed upon hard times.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

OOC

Sadly, Imladris has had to withdraw from most gaming enterprises on the BarrowDowns and with her departure the Vineyard Tavern will be closed. It has attracted a splendid crew of gamers with a fascinating mix of characters. Any who wish to provide some closure for their characters can write concluding posts. I will leave the thread up and open for a week to allow for imagination to percolate. And I then invite everyone to join the The White Horse Inn.

Bêthberry
Moderator for Rohan

[Nurumaiel]

Cynan came skipping up the lane, whistling cheerfully. Ah, and there was the Vineyard Tavern! He had decided to come and see how Andhun was getting along. True, it hadn't been so very long since he had left the first time, but Andhun was such a frail little fellow, and no doubt needed looking after. Up the walkway he tripped... and paused in dismay.

What was this milling about of the guests, this shock, dismay, and even despair upon their faces? What was the awful thing that had occurred? Cynan's eyes roved desperately for Andhun. There he was! He was sitting upon the grass with his head bowed and tears, which he valiantly fought against, shining in his eyes. Cynan hurried forward, knelt down beside him and awkwardly patted his shoulder. "There, there, Andhun," he said. "Whatever is bothering you, don't let it. I'll take care of you." He paused, and looked again at all the unhappy faces. "What is bothering you?" he questioned.

"The Tavern is being sold," said Andhun, gesturing despairingly towards the notice, "and now I have nowhere to go... except... except... except to my old master." He could not fight the tears any longer. They streamed down his cheeks and he tried desperately to stop the shaking of his shoulders.

"Now, that can't happen!" said Cynan, his eyes flashing. "We'll never send you back to that evil man, Andhun, never. I'll die first."

"I have nowhere to go except to him," said Andhun.

"We'll find somewhere for you to go," said Cynan. He stood, went to the notice, and glanced over it. "Why," he said, "if I were a wealthy boy I would pay of all those debts of the Innkeeper, and then you could stay here, Andhun. But that's no help at all, because I'm not wealthy." He sat down wearily. "We'll think of something," he said. "You're not going back to your master, even if I have to become wealthy in one day."

"You're so good," said Andhun, brushing at the flowing tears and attempting to smile. "I'll try to be cheerful, really I will. I know you won't let me go back there."

"You're wholly right," said Cynan. "I won't. Now smile even wider, Andhun, because you don't have anything to worry about."

So Andhun smiled wider. But whether he would allow Andhun to worry or not, Cynan could not deny that that very emotion, worry, pervaded his own heart.

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan ducked as the falcon flew low over his head and dropped the scroll at Andhun's feet. Seeing the boy pick it up and tack it to the front door of the inn, Rochadan felt a strong sinking sensation in his stomach. He exchanged a somber glance with Bragorn, then lowered his head and climbed quickly down the ladder. Forgetting the alleged crankiness of the ladder, Bragorn and Ærosylle followed. For once, Bragorn was quiet.

By the time Rochadan reached the door and the scroll, Andhun had already been joined by Cynan, Andhun’s friend of earlier in the day. Both boys seemed to be trying very hard to put a brave face on what was very bad news. Rochadan gave them each a nervous smile, then leaned forward to read the notice. As his dark eyes reached the end, the part about the property being bought out by Harsten of all people, Rochadan’s face flushed with rage. It was such an insult that this place that he and Finian had rebuilt from the ashes with their own hands should go to such a monster... and to be used as a place for manufacturing.

Behind him, Bragorn blew out a long breath. “Harsten... oy, that’s an ugly thing for sure. And the inn seemed so prosperous, too.” He shook his head.

The first flash of rage passed, Rochadan just nodded, speechless. He had known that Finian was struggling, but he had had no idea that things had come to such a point. Finian had said nothing about it, shouldering all of the worry on his own. Rochadan shook his head. “If only Finian had said something...” he said at last. “I have a bit of money saved up. I might have been able to, if not prevent this, put it off long enough for us to find a decent buyer for the place. Someone who might preserve the place and keep it open as an inn. But this!” He threw up his hand.

Bragorn again shook his head. “What will you do?” he asked quietly.

Rochadan shrugged. “Go back to riding, I suppose.” Pausing, he looked around the crowded yard. As his gaze happened upon Andhun, whom he had briefly forgotten in the wake of reading the terrible news, he forced a smile back on to his face. Walking over to the two boys, he nodded to Cynan and placed a hand on Andhun’s shoulder.

“You mustn’t be afraid, Andhun,” he said kindly. “You will always have a home with me and with Sallie. Before I took care of the stables here at the Vineyard, I was a rider and a long distance messenger, like Bragorn here. I can always go back to it.” His face softened. “In fact, the pay is much better. With the money I make, I can easily afford a little cottage here in Esgaroth for us to live in. If you would come along, it would be of tremendous help to me, too. You see, if I return to the road, I shall need someone around to play with Sallie. She is very fond of you already.”

“But, sir,” Andhun began to object softly.

Rochadan gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Of course, you would not be left alone. I shall have to find a housekeeper, too, but I have friends about town. Here at the inn, even. And your friend Cynan, here, would always be welcome to come about. It will work out. So, what do you say? Can I count on you?”

[Nurumaiel]

Andhun studied the ground, his heart throbbing with the surge of emotions that had swept over him in the space of a few minutes. Sorrow... fear... despair... relief... joy... gratefulness. He could see himself sitting with Sallie when she was lonely and singing songs to her. He saw himself helping Rochadan with those little jobs it didn't hurt him to do. He would be free to look for his sister. He looked up, his eyes shining with tears of thankfulness. "Yes, sir," he said, lifting his burned and scarred little chin. "You can count on me."

"Hurrah!" said Cynan, and he danced a little jig. Then he caught Rochadan's hand and shook it heartily. "You're a good man, such a very good man," he said. "If I had thought of it, I would have offered to take Andhun, too, you know... but since I'm already working my heart out to take care of my mother, it's a wonderful thing of you to take Andhun. I'll visit whenever I can and if I have a spare day I'll help Andhun watch over Sallie. And we'll look for your sister, Andhun, we surely will. And we'll play as long and happily as ever we want. And - " here his eyes twinkled with mischief " - we'll come here often and throw pebbles through the windows at Harsten's guests." He raised his chin in aloof dignity. "I will never come here as a guest. No really good person would ever stoop so low as to go to the Tavern when Harsten was in charge."

Andhun said nothing, but his eyes still shone, and the tears still spilled down his cheeks.... tears of happiness.

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan couldn't help but chuckle at Cynan's enthusiastic approval. While on one hand, it tickled him immensely, on the other hand, he was grateful for it. Andhun needed that extra bit of confidence and encouragement. With Cynan's companionship, Rochadan felt certain that Andhun's recovery would be that much easier, both physically and psychologically.

"Well, that's capital, then," he said to them both. "Thank you," he added. "You have both already set my mind so much more at ease."

Giving the two boys one more quick smile, he turned and ducked into the common room in search of Finian. Seeing him in a rather secluded corner attempting to console a weeping Ærosylle, Rochadan decided that he would speak to Finian later. After all, anything he had to say to Finian at this stage could wait. Ærosylle was far more important. Seeing him, Finian gave Rochadan a rather apologetic shrug, then shook his head. Rochadan shrugged, too. What else could be said? They had certainly given the inn their best.

Walking on through to the kitchen, Rochadan wondered what Finian and Ærosylle would do in order to provide for themselves once the inn had closed. Ærosylle needed someone there with her so much of the time that Finian's options were decidedly limited unless he could find someone to help keep an eye on the girl while he went about the business of earning their keep. He was concerned for Ædhral, as well, and Nell the Cook. He had no worries for Kannah, though. That young woman was strong and resourceful, despite her sharp tongue. Whatever happened, he had a feeling that she, like a cat, would land on her feet. Entering the kitchen, he found Nell standing at the sink, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with her apron.

"Oh, it's such a shame!" she said as the door to the common room fell shut behind the stablemaster. "I shall go live with my sister. She has plenty of room for me on her farm, but it's you young people that I worry about. Have you anywhere to go?"

Rochadan nodded, explaining to her his plan to take a little cottage in town and to go back to his earlier profession of messenger. Nell seemed satisfied, but did give him a solemn look. "Now, you be careful out there on the road," she said gravely. "Don't take too many chances. Those children need you, both Sallie and Andhun."

Rochadan smiled and gave Nell a hug. "Never fear, Nell," he said. "I shall be the soul of prudence." He nodded in the direction of Cook's room where his little daughter was napping. "Is Sallie awake yet?"

"No, not yet," answered Nell. "But perhaps we should let the little dear sleep a bit longer. After all, when she awakes, her whole little world will be turned upsidedown."

Rochadan nodded. "Yes, you're right. I shall let her sleep then, but please send for me as soon as she awakes."

"That I will do," said the cook. Rochadan thanked her and took his leave, departing through the back door and returning to the stable where there was already much to be done. With the inn closing so abruptly, guests already waited outside for him to bring their horses to them, while others had gone on into the stables to fetch their mounts themselves. Rochadan fell to the work of matching each guest with his or her horse with determination, but a growing sense of unreality washed over him from time to time. Yes, he was taking an active approach and doing what needed to be done, but the idea that the inn would be closing still had not fully sunk in. He still could not believe that in a matter of days, the Vineyard Tavern as he knew it would be gone.

Finally, as the last horse aside from Bragorn's and his own trotted away down the dusty lane, Rochadan leaned back against the door to one of the now empty stalls.

"Well, that's that, I guess," he sighed. Across the aisle, his horse, Alydar, whinnied softly in the silence of the otherwise empty stable. Soon they, too, would be gone. Idly, Rochadan reached out to stroke the animal's forehead, remembering how that morning he had so longed to be back on the road. Now that it was happening, he felt a tug of reluctance. Rochadan laughed ironically.

"Be careful what you wish for," he cautioned Alydar. "For surely you will get it. And sometimes sooner than you think!"

With that, Rochadan gave the horse's nose a final pat, then returned to the inn to collect his daughter and the young boy he had already begun to think of as a son, and to say good-bye to the other employees of the inn. Over the years, he had begun to think of them as family, too, but with the closing of the inn, he knew that they would all be going their separate ways. They would all pack their belongings now in readiness for a new life and new adventures somewhere in the wider world beyond the Vineyard Tavern. He hoped with all his heart that whatever paths they took, each every and one of them would find his or her own happiness.

[Bêthberry]

~~~~ Finis ~~~~