[Ealasaide]

The rider entered the inn's yard from the direction of the center of town, having just come from a brief meeting with Esgaroth's town managers and leading merchants. He wore the livery of Gondor and carried a messenger's satchel slung across one of his broad shoulders. A sword hung sheathed at his side. Dismounting in front of the stable, he tied his horse to a hitching rail and took a quick look around for the stablemaster. Finding no one, he turned and walked toward the front door of the inn.

There was a soft clink of mail as he patted the dust from his cloak. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, pausing a moment to allow his eyes to adjust from the brightness outside to the relative darkness of the common room. Then, seeing an empty table, he seated himself and looked around for the innkeeper. It had been over a year since his last visit to Esgaroth and he found the changes since the dragon's attack a bit disorienting, what with the entire town having up and moved off the platform over the lake on to dry ground a short distance away. He had heard talk in the south of the damage done by the dragon's fire and noticed a good many familiar faces were now missing, including, apparently, that of the innkeeper Aeron. Another much younger fellow, presumably Aeron's son, seemed to have taken over by the look of it. Catching the young innkeeper's eye where he stood conversing with an elf and a young girl, Bragorn signaled for an ale. Then, he sat back to look around the place.

Whoever had rebuilt the Vineyard Tavern had done an excellent job of it, Bragorn decided. He had been quite fond of the old inn and found that the new version offered the same comfortable, homey feeling as before. He glanced up as a serving girl with rather flashy good looks and dressed in brightly colored silk, paused by his table, a tray resting on her hip. "An ale for you, sir?" she asked.

Bragorn nodded gratefully for he was truly parched. "That would be splendid."

She nodded and turned to go, but Bragorn caught her wrist. She stopped and gave him a sharp look, which caused him to release her instantly. Once he had done so, she smiled rather brusquely. "Is there something else, then?"

"Yes," answered Bragorn, with a grin. "An old friend of mine used to work here as the stablemaster. I haven't seen him for some time and am hoping to discover what has become of him. Rochadan was his name." He leaned toward the serving girl with a roguish twinkle in his eye. "And while we are on the subject of names," he added. "What might yours be? I am Bragorn, a messenger here on behalf of the Steward of Gondor."


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Rochadan

Having found Stoney much more interested in discussing his cooking than the Lonely Mountain or matters of arms, Rochadan let the subject drop and allowed his conversation to drift elsewhere over the remainder of the lunch. Cooking had never been one of his strong points or even of particular interest to him, so it didn't leave him with much to talk about to the new fellow, although he did have to admit he found the mouthful of the dwarf's soup that Ædhral had shared with him quite tasty. He liked the spiciness, and was tickled to no small degree by Ædhral's manful attempt to eat it as well when he knew she had no fondness for spicy food. Nonetheless, he found it typically sweet of her to consume the full bowl, never letting on for an instant to the beaming dwarf that the soup was not to her taste. Someone would have to tell Stoney eventually, though, or the poor girl could be suffering through the dwarf's hot curries indefinitely. He figured it unlikely that Ædhral would say anything herself, her being the sort who would not want to hurt the dwarf's feelings.

Finally, as the luncheon wound down and Finian and Ædhral returned to the common room, Rochadan looked at the faces remaining around the table. Little Sallie had climbed into his lap and was sleeping peacefully with her cheek against his chest. Andhun, who sat across from him, was looking drowsy as well, his thin face drifting closer and closer to the tabletop as he struggled to stay awake. Earcwen, bright-eyed as ever, had joined into a lively conversation with Nell and Stoney over the relative merits of hot peppers in cooking. Rochadan listened for a moment, then rose quietly and carried Sallie off to finish her nap on the bed in Cook's room near the kitchen. Nell watched him go without comment as it was fairly common for her to lend Sallie her bed for her naps. That way, she could keep an eye on the little girl while her father went on about his work.

Returning, Rochadan dispatched Andhun to his room for a nap as well. The boy had had a difficult day so far and, if he had any hope of regaining his strength, would have to get plenty of rest. By the time he returned to the kitchen for the second time, Rochadan found that the conversation around the table had moved on from hot peppers to a rehash of the dragon's attack a year earlier that had led to the burning of the platform city of Esgaroth and the original inn. Thinking of Andhun's burns and the death of Finian's father Aeron, the innkeeper who had been so like a father to all of them, Rochadan felt a rush of sadness mixed with regret. The weeks that had followed the dragon's attack had also been the last time that Rochadan himself had put on his mail shirt and buckled on his sword to ride forth with the other men to fight on behalf of Lake Town. While it had been a time of great stress and sorrow for all of them, it had also been exhilarating to have a sword in his hand again, to be riding back and forth between the camps of the different armies, carrying messages and dispatches between the leaders. Leaning against the door frame, Rochadan sighed. He had been feeling restless of late, anyway, and all this talk of the dragon only dredged up memories that made him more conscious of it than ever.

Taking his leave of the three still seated around the table, Rochadan beat a hasty retreat to the stableyard where he found a few newly arrived horses tied and awaiting his attention. Running a hand idly down the neck of one of the waiting horses, he gazed longingly out toward the road that ran past the inn. How little it would take just to saddle his horse and go...

He shook his head, knowing he mustn't think of such things. He had Sallie's happiness and safety to consider and, now, Andhun's as well. Besides that, he also had a responsibility to Finian and the inn. Sighing again, he knew that he would not be going anywhere. Perhaps later, if he could convince Nell or Ædhral to watch Sallie for him, he would saddle Alydar and go for a long ride along the shore of the long lake. Still looking toward the open road, he raised a hand and pushed his dark hair back from his face. Perhaps he could work the restlessness out of his system that way. Turning, Rochadan led the first of the guests' horses into the stable and let the door swing shut behind him.