[Imladris]

Finian looked at the coins and returned three of them to the woman with the dog. "It's just water and scraps," he said. Scraps were such nasty stuff anyway. Only fit for animals really. The only time scraps were good was when food was scarce.

His attention was diverted by one of the boys who wanted to have breakfast for his friend. Finian went to the kitchen and told Ædhral to get some food for the boy and to tell Bethberry that one of the boys was ill.

He went back to the Tavern room and looked around. Only a few people were mulling about and Finian judged that now would be a good time to look for his sister. He hoped that she had not done anything stupid. She should not be running off, Finian told himself as he strode from the Tavern meandered down the road toward the lake which was the most likely spot to find her. She delighted in water and Finian wondered if she did not wish she had been born a mermaid at times. He smiled to himself. Ærosylle a mermaid! Then he frowned. In his mind, Ærosylle was being far too happy now a days -- she had become wild, excitable. He shivered, and then pushed the thought resolutely away. Why should she not be happy? Except the last time she was this happy she believed she could fly like a little bird and had hurled herself from the top of the barn. That was why. She was dangerous when she was happy.

He neared the shore of the lake and saw her crouching in the water. Her wet green dress clung to her thin skeletal legs, and her dripping brown hair straggled down her back, like seaweed hanging from an anchor. The water whispered about her ankles, caressing the skin with its chilled touch. Finian sighed as he looked at her. She did not look her fifteen years, but like a mere child. She had not grown as other children did. “Ærosylle,” Finian shouted, trotting to her. “What are you doing in here?”

“The water is beautiful is it not?” she asked. She wringed the water from her skirt, watching the water with dancing eyes. “See the colored bridge that shimmers in the water!” She gasped, and eased herself to her knees.

“Do not touch the water,” Finian whispered, crouching beside her, oblivious that his trousers would soon be soaked through, “or else it will vanish amidst the ripples.”

“See the fish that dart there!” cried Ærosylle, the rainbow forgotten.

Finian frowned as he watched the mailed fish glint and flash in the sun as they scurried through the water. It did not bode well that she had forgotten the pretty bridge so soon. The entrancing arch had been forgotten for elusive fishes. “Busy creatures are they not?” Finian asked.

“I want to fly, Finian!” she cried, standing up and splashing the waters with her feet. “Fly away beyond the mountains!”

“Like this?” Finian said, grasping her under her arms and tossing her into the air. She screamed with laughter as he caught her. “This is as close to flying as you will get, little sister.”

“Again! Again!” she screamed.

After the second toss, she wriggled from her brother’s arms and dropped into the river. “To be able to swim like a fish,” she said. Holding her breath, she ducked under the waters.

Her hair, glinting with copper, drifted in the glimmering light of the soft blue water like spun, living gossamer web. Little bubbles floated to the surface, and then Ærosylle herself smiling and giggling. “Come on, little one,” Finian said, crouching beside her and motioning for her to climb onto his back, “the Tavern awaits us and we must not keep it waiting.”

“No, for its feelings would be hurt and we must not let that happen. Some people think that wood has no feelings but I believe otherwise.”

Finian sighed, dread beginning to creep into his heart. The day before she had thrown herself from the barn, the plates had had feelings and the reason that one had cracked was because it had been upset that it had not been washed properly. Finian wondered how one was properly to wash a plate. Washing dishes was washing dishes, was it not? A foolish thought whispered that he had best ask Ædhral the next time he saw her. Then he laughed. The whole thing was utter foolishness…utter foolishness: his thoughts were the fancies of moonstruck sisters.

Ærosylle prattled on, going into detail how the Tavern would feel if it was abandoned by its innkeeper. “You are not going to desert it like…like…the other innkeeper did, will you?” she asked, her voice faltering.

Father, you mean . “No…I will make sure it is well cared for and that its feelings are respected,” Finian said.

They reached the Tavern and Ærosylle slid from his back and clattered to the kitchen, screaming something to Ædhral. Finian smiled and made his way behind the bar, where he drank and served mugs of frothing ale with traders and other various kinds of men.