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Snaveling glared at the hobbit lass with the fiddle who had interrupted his conversation with Aman. But his rage at the Innkeeper was not any less: he had seen the look she gave him before covering it over with a lighter tone and brighter eye. I do not like you either, Mistress Rohan he sneered inwardly, and if you are too poor an Innkeeper to serve the thirsty, they will have to take care to do so themselves!. As soon as Aman was gone from sight he slunk into the back hall and headed for the cellar door. He waited by it, apparently lingering about the kitchen, for the hallway to be clear. It had been months since he had last tasted ale, but he could remember the effects of drinking too much of it too quickly – and on an empty stomach. He had been so distracted with his worries this day to take much thought for food, and had instead poured his energy into working in the garden. To then cap that off with a pint of ale taken in a few breaths. . . his head (or was it the room?) was beginning to tilt slightly to one side.
There came a break in the stream of people coming through the hall, and like a ferret he was through the cellar door and closing it behind him. He took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low light and remembered the last time he had been in the cellar of the Green Dragon Inn. It was one of the few rooms of the original Inn that had survived the blaze, but most of its contents were newly bought. He wandered through the aisles of casks and barrels looking for something appropriate to his mood. As he came to the spot where he had trapped Roa he paused and stared at the barrels that stood there. His heart was racing and his mind froze, but he forced himself to move on, shaking his head against the feelings that had threatened to overcome him.
At last! He found what he was looking for. On a high shelf near the back, dusty from years’ internment in the cellar, was a bottle of what appeared to be brandy. Taking it down he pulled the wax seal off with his teeth and then drew out the cork stopper. The vapour of the liquor entered his nose like an invitation, so without waiting for a second he swallowed a mouthful that burned his throat on the way down and started a warm fire in his belly. Smiling with self-satisfaction, he returned to the cellar stairs, carefully tucking the bottle beneath his tunic. As he was about to head up the stairs his eye fell on a stack of wine bottles left on a small table, apparently for someone to bring up for the party. The memory of Roa’s look as he sang came to him then, and for the first time he recognised in it an echo of the dislike and distrust that had been so apparent in Aman’s eye. In that moment he wanted to do something harmful to them both – but unable to strike at them, he decided on the next best thing. Without pausing to think about it for even a moment, he tilted the small table and sent the bottles of wine crashing to the floor.
He rushed up the stairs and opened the door only a crack to see if anyone had heard, but the sounds of the party had apparently drowned out the destruction of the wine. He waited for the hallway to be clear once more and then slipped out. He moved into the Common Room and sought out Toby. The old hobbit and he would have a good time tonight now that they were properly provisioned.
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