[Envinyatar]

Derufin leaned back in his chair and took a sip of ale. Best not to drink too much of it, he reminded himself. There’s need to keep a clear head. Soon, Ruby brought round a platter with bowls of chicken stew thick with carrots and potatoes, and a small basket filled with fresh whole grain bread and a crock of butter and another of honey.

Falowik asked her how much he owed for this meal, counting the pennies in his head, but she waved him off saying Miz Aman would have her hide for collecting money from him. She leaned in closer to him to whisper something, then thinking better of it – He really does need a bath!, she stood near Derufin and pitched her voice low.

‘She’s from Rohan, you know,’ she said, nodding her head at the Innkeeper. ‘She thought it an honor to have poor Mister Eodwine at the Inn. What with him being from the Kings and all . . .’ She noted Miz Aman had glanced her way, and raised her voice as if finishing with their orders. ‘And will there be anything else?’ she said, curtsying to both of them. Derufin smiled, and glanced to the table where Vanwe sat.

‘Give me that that last bowl of stew, Ruby,’ he said, plucking a napkin from her and carefully draping it over his arm. A spoon followed, and he placed it securely in his upper vest pocket. Grabbing two pieces of bread, he spread them thinly with butter and thickly with honey and laid them on one of the small plates Ruby had brought out for the meal. The bowl held securely in one hand, the plate of bread in the other, he crossed the short distance to the Elf, winking at her as she watched him approach.

‘Your meal, m’lady,’ said with a slight bow, as he placed the stew in front of her accompanied by the plate of honeyed bread. With a flourish, he presented her the spoon, then deftly placed the napkin on her lap. ‘Eat a little,’ he whispered to her as he leaned in near to pour her a cool cup of water. ‘It will lessen the effects of the wine you’ve drunk.’ He pushed the cup toward her on the table, his fingers touching hers lightly as she reached for it.

‘Come and get me when you’ve finished, if you will. It’s a fair evening, promising to be a fairer night. We’ll walk a little in the Inn yard. Should clear our heads of wine and pipeweed smoke.’ He saluted her and returned to his table.

‘Well, Master Stonewort,’ said Derufin, settling back in to his chair. ‘Eodwine – the man whose satchel and harp you found, was my roommate for the short time he was here. A pleasant man, and not one it seemed to go looking for trouble.’ He paused for a moment, absent mindedly stirring his stew with his spoon. ‘But trouble it seemed went looking for him and found the poor sod.’ He looked up into the blue eyes of his dinner companion. ‘Where exactly did you find the satchel, Falowik? And what did it look like had happened - that it should be left there in that state.’ He poured his companion another cup of ale from the pitcher Buttercup had brought by, then topped off his own scantly drunk cup as he awaited the man’s story.

His mind drifted to the note he had found in Eodwine’s room when he cleaned it up for Beren. A scrap of paper, really, not a full fledged note. Bearing two hastily scrawled words. A reminder, of sorts, tucked away in the drawer of the small night table next to his bed. Scrawled on the torn off corner of a crudely drawn map of the northwestern section of Eriador. The sort of map one might draw for oneself of an interesting place one intended to visit . . .