There had been a problem with the chimney in the room which Bethberry had shown Saeryn. Perhaps the wood was damp, or the wind particularly strong blowing down the flue, but at first neither Aedre the maid nor Bethberry had been able to get the fire roaring. Each had taken turns stoking and poking the fire and each in turn became wreathed with the aroma of wood smoke. It was not an unpleasant smell, but the air did become thick. Saeryn was beginning to wonder if this really was the fabled White Horse Inn, but, finally, with much use of tinder and the bellows, the fire caught. Bethberry opened the shutters slightly to allow the sooty air to waft out, taken in violent gusts by the early winter wind, and so soon the room was returned to a respectable level of clean air. Bethberry threw in a handful of herbs and soon their aroma replaced that of cinders.
"Well now," she said to her guest. "Are you sure you will want to stay? Such an ornery fire might prove troublesome."
Saeryn laughed and coughed a bit to clear her throat of the final bit of smokey ash and assured Bethberry she would stay and so the Innkeeper left Aerdre with the responsibility of preparing the hot water for the bath. This was one bath that would not inspire a song unless it be an ironic one.
With that, Bethberry returned to the Great Hall, anxious as the closer she approached to the Great Hall, the louder could voices be heard. Indeed, The Horse had new guests! Well, not new. She knew one of them as an old acquaintance but the other, well. Clearly she was going to have to do something to make him more comfortable with the Horse.
"Eodwine, greetings on a blustery day! And you have brought company I see."
"Uncomfortable company, Madam," retorted the smaller one, standing tall in the chair with a haughty regard.
"Oh, yes, I see. You do appear to have the wrong aspect of your anatomy upon the chair."
Eodwine gave a chortle and Bethberry called for Maercwen to bring some ale, cheese and bread for the guests.
"Are you having a fling abusing guests?" retorted the halfling.
"I bet your pardon?" queried Bethberry.
"You appear to have just returned from burning that nice young girl at the stake." The halfling fluttered his hand towards Bethberry's hair, which indeed still did carry the aroma of smoke and ash.
Bethberry choked back a noise something between a chortle, grin and gasp. Perhaps she still had some dust or ash caught in her throat.
"No, I was able to sacrifice an oak instead," retorted the Innkeeper with mock seriousness.
"Master Falco, I must remind you to keep a civil tongue in your cheek," interjected Eodwine.
"My tongue is firmly where it belongs, thank you very much. But the other parts of me are not."
"Allow me, then," said Bethberry with a flourish, skipping quickly off to the Word Hoard and returning with several stuffed pillows, "to relieve you. We certainly don't intend to make it a habit to give hobbits standing orders."
Falco snorted his clear sense of impropriety in the matter but accepted the pillows without much futher loss to his dignity.
"Eodwine, what else would you and your friend like to order? Some hot food?" queried Bethberry, deciding that the best way to placate the hobbit was to put food in his belly, quickly.
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