[Envinyatar]

‘You know, it would make a lot more sense, if you two loaded up the serving trays completely, instead of taking a few plates out at a time.’ Cook was busy dishing up the meal as Buttercup and Ruby fidgeted in place, grabbing the plates from her almost before she finished them.

Derufin, his apron still in place, fished the plump, fragrant dumplings from the broth, and set them on the plates two at a time. He nudged Cook in the side, causing her to nearly drop the peas and corn she was serving up beside them. ‘Never jostle the cook,’ she snapped at him, her head bent to the task. He nudged her again, and she looked up at him exasperated. His chin went up as he pointed to the two Hobbit lasses who now stood arguing over the salt cellar.

‘It’s me who heard him ask for some salt,’ hissed Ruby, her hand grasped firmly around the stoneware container with its silver spoon. ‘Well, it’s me who said I’d bring it to him,’ rejoined Buttercup, her hands fixed firmly over Ruby’s.

‘You silly geese!’ cried Cook, whacking the serving spoon down on the table. The salt cellar went flying and fell to the stone floor of the kitchen, breaking into a myriad of pieces, salt flying everywhere. Ruby glared at Buttercup, who stomped her foot and glared right back.

‘You two!’ boomed Cook over their quarrel. ‘Get this mess cleaned up. Now!’ The two faces of the serving maids fell, their lips trembling in protest. ‘But, Cook . . .,’ they protested. ‘But nothing,’ she replied, handing them the broom and dust pan. ‘Every last grain, ladies,’ she pronounced. Picking up the tray of filled plates. ‘And make sure the cracks are cleaned out, too!’

‘Come Derufin! We’ve got hungry guests to feed. I’ll pass the plates, you fill their cups.’

She sailed out the door to the common room like a great frigate, the still aproned Derufin following in her wake. A smiling, handsome face turned her way as she came through the door, then looked beyond her as if expecting someone else.

‘Falco Bobbin,’ she said shaking her head as she approached his table and stopped by his chair. ‘I might have known you would be the source of the trouble!’ She sailed on to the next table, leaving him with a perplexed look on his face and no explanation. Derufin shrugged when the Hobbit looked up at him, raising his brows in question. ‘Sorry, mate, if it was Ruby and Buttercup you were expecting, let’s just say they’re busy at the moment.’ He filled the cup to the brim and hurried after Cook.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

At the last table he served, sat a man he didn’t know. Tall, lean, raggedy clothes – though brushed clean of dust. Blues eyes stared up at him from a fair skinned face. A smile, barely hidden, played about his lips at he looked Derufin over.

Derufin filled the man’s mug, then stepped back a pace and bowed. ‘Like my apron, sir? I see you admiring it.’ He fingered the edge of the neck strap. ‘A mark of great distinction, here in the Green Dragon, to wear the livery of Herself’s Kitchen. Not many men are granted the honor.’

He heard Cook call his name, and he waved to her, indicating he would be there soon. His gaze slid back to the seated man, and he looked him over with a critical eye. ‘You’re Beren, aren’t you? The one that Aman spoke of.’ His eyes swept over the man once again. ‘We’re about the same height, I think. Though you may be a little taller. And my frame’s a little meatier than yours. Still I think I have some things that would do for you.’ Cook called for him again, a note of impatience now evident in her tone.

‘Come by my quarters, later tonight. The east end of the stable. I’ll have them ready for you.’ He bowed once again and hurried off . . .