[Envinyatar]

Derufin stepped out onto the back steps of the Inn, closing the door to the kitchen behind him. But not before he heard the last of the plotting duo’s comments. He shook his head and smiled indulgently at their matchmaking plans. ‘Not to be,’ he thought to himself. There was already a Lady who leaguered his heart . . .

He drew out the letter he had tucked in his breeches pocket, smoothing out the wrinkles on it as he looked again at the thick strokes of the pen she had used to write his name on it. The seal on it, unbroken, drew his fingers, and he slipped them under the sharp edge of the folder letter in anticipation of opening it.

Sounds of horses moving about restlessly in the pen near the stable broke in on his thoughts. The beasts stamped their feet and shook their manes calling him nearer. ‘What’s this?!’ he said, his brow furrowing, as he tucked the letter back in his pocket. ‘Has no one seen to you?’ He opened the gate to the pen and led them back, one by one, to the stable. The stalls, at least, had been mucked out earlier in the day, and now he filled their racks with sweet hay and alfalfa, and each horse he gave a nosebag of oats. Several trips to the pump brought fresh water for their buckets.

Falmar, the last to be seen to, dipped her head as if saying thank-you. He whispered a few words to her and she twitched her ears with the news, her bright eyes looking him up and down.

He walked back to his quarters, and lit the small lamp at the entry way to his rooms. Those who needed him would find it a sign that he was in. Stopping for a moment at the room where Eodwine had quartered briefly, he glanced in. The window was open, and the warm evening breeze blew in, riffling the curtains. One had caught on the oil lamp that stood on the makeshift nightstand by the cot. He untangled it before it could knock the lamp over and tied it back. As he leaned over the small table that served for a nightstand, he glanced down for a moment, and a small, white square of paper caught his eye.

Derufin poked his arm behind the table and drew out a much folded piece of thick vellum. Curiosity got the better of him and he opened it, smoothing it flat on the bed. The script was of Gondorian style – familiar enough, since it was what he had learned in his own little town. He gasped at the seal the missive bore at the lower right corner, near the signature of the scribe who had written it. The six-pointed star of Elendil. This came from King Elessar!

The urge to continue reading warred with his sense of right and wrong. And he argued with himself, finally acquiescing to that part of him that said here was a possibility of finding some clue to Eodwine’s disappearance.

It was a letter from Elessar to the King of Rohan, Eomer. Thanking him for the loan of his messenger for the trip to Eriador. ‘Ah,’ thought Derufin, reading further, ‘so this is why he came.’ Reports had come to Elessar that there was trouble in the old settlement of Men near Evendim. Elesar had sent scouts to that area, thinking at sometime, to rebuild the city of Annúminas. They were to bring back word of what the area was like at present, and what needed to be done. Three of them had been dispatched, two earlier in the year who had sent back two brief reports, and then one later to find them when there had been no further reports come back. Now it seemed, all three had gone missing. It was Elessar’s hope that Eomer’s messenger would simply nose about the areas near Evendim, and pick up any news of occurrences out of the ordinary. And now it seemed, in Derufin’s reckoning, that Eodwine had joined the ranks of those unfortunates who ventured to see the area for themselves.

He folded the letter, and sat on the cot thinking out what he should do. He did not know the area around Evendim; it would be of no use for him to wander up there, looking blindly for clues. But there was one who did, or at least knew someone who would.

Derufun stuck the letter into his pocket, and strode back, leaning heavily on his walking stick, to the Inn, looking about in the Common Room til he spied out the one he looked for. He shooed off the crowd of admiring females from the table with a scowl and a curt word, then sat down and handed his tablemate the letter he’d found.

‘There’s trouble, Falco, just north of the Shire,’ he said, leaning close to the Hobbit, and talking low. ‘What have you heard, and what can you find out?’

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]