[Envinyatar]

Derufin was working his way through a third pint of the dark liquid treasure of Suza when he felt a tug at his shirtsleeve. He turned on his stool, and there, looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face, was Cook.

‘Oh, I am for it now!’ he groaned to himself. ‘She has seen the melee of food and diners in her kitchen and I am about to be brought down to size with one of her verbal onslaughts.’

To borrow a little time for himself, give an opportunity for him to collect his ale-soaked thoughts, he sucked in the fringe of his mustache, drawing in the line of creamy, tan foam from it, followed up by a general swipe at his face with the edge of his apron. Perhaps the best defense would be to head off the assault with an explanation of how this turn of events had all come to be, and how he, Derufin, had taken it upon himself to salvage what he could of the fine meal Cook had intended to offer the guests at the Inn.

The stout ale had loosened his tongue, and the gates of his charming self opened fully to take in the Hobbit standing before him. He prattled on with witty comments interspersed amid detailed analysis of the events leading up to this ‘situation’ as he termed it, and all this punctuated with the occasional wink and roguish grin at the now flustered woman.

He had just come to a discussion of his lamentable lack of knowledge concerning the intricacies of biscuits, when she reached out a hand to grasp his wrist.

‘Derufin, darling boyo, I’ve not a clue what you are going on about!’ He looked her in the face, focusing his somewhat blood-shot eyes on Cook’s mystified face. ‘You’re not angry then about the line-up in your kitchen?’

‘Not yet!’ she said slowly and clearly to him, wondering what mayhem had occurred in her domain. Cook took a deep breath and went on. ‘What I wanted to ask you is if that gentleman over there, the one from Rohan could bunk in your sitting room. We’ve run short of accommodations, what with all the traffic moving through the Shire, and we can’t have King Eomer’s Messenger sleeping in the hayloft. It simply wouldn’t be proper.’

Derufin was about to retort that his stable’s hayloft was quite well-kept, when he remembered he already had someone sleeping there – the Elven woman, his new assistant, Vanwe. He glanced down the bar to where the man sat eating with another Elf and her hawk. He seemed a pleasant enough person when he’d first met him, and the condition of his horse certainly spoke well for him in the stable master’s mind.

‘My belongings are few, and can all be put in my bedroom. I’ll see about finding a spare bedframe and mattress for him. The room’s tidy enough, I rarely use it. Just send Ruby over to dust and sweep up a bit, and bring the linens he’ll need.’ He grinned again and bowed tipsily to her. ‘I’ll just go now and look for that bed.’

She shook her head at him and called out as he walked away from her. ‘Best you come see me later for a dose of willow bark powder. Before the pounding in your head reminds you of the rhythms of an autumn springle-ring!’

He laughed and waved his hand at her as if this would never come to pass. Taking off his apron, he threw it with a wink to a passing server and went out the door in pursuit of his quarry.