The Vineyard Tavern

[Nurumaiel]

Andhun started in the same way he had with Finian the Innkeeper when this new man introduced himself, but question that was asked was friendly, and more than that was spoken in a friendly way. The lad relaxed slightly, but his muscles were still tense as if he were waiting for an unexpected move. He nodded in assent, his voice accompanying his nod by the words, "Yes, sir, it is very good. Do you work here?"

The abrupt change of subject was a little startling to the man, but he recovered himself with grace and ease and said, "Yes, I do work here. I am the stablemaster. My name is Rochadan." He extended his right hand. Andhun looked down at it with understanding but made no move to return the courtesy. Rochadan hesitated in puzzlement, and then, starting, he hastily offered his left hand instead. Andhun smiled at this and shook hands, saying, "Pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Andhun."

"Where do you live, Andhun?" Rochadan questioned. He noticed the way Andhun hesitated and seemed slightly embarrassed, as though he would prefer not the answer the question. Andhun was, in all truth, rather ashamed to admit where he lived, for he lived with his master and he knew his master was no good. He was afraid that he would also be considered as 'no good' if Rochadan was familiar with the name of his master, but he answered with honesty.

"Sir, I live just a little ways down the road, at the home of the man Harstan. He is my master and I work for him." He did not give Rochadan a chance to speak, for he did not want to focus on the subject of his master. Yet he felt that this man would not think he was 'no good.' This man, Rochadan, seemed to be another of those kindhearted people that were hereabouts. Cynan had not been wrong in what he had said. Still, however, he did not want to speak of his master, and he continued on with great haste. "Tell me, sir, how is the work here? Are the people good and kind?"

[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.

[Ealasaide]

At the mention of the name Harstan, a shadow passed over Rochadan’s features. The man was a scoundrel. Rochadan had had a few brief dealings with him over the years, and always dreaded the next one. Well known in the area of Esgaroth for his skills at treating the ills of animals, Rochadan had been called out from time to time to take a look at one or another of the man’s horses and had always found them hollow-eyed with windgalls and broken knees from hard work and harder riding, their coats rough from years of malnourishment. He always did what he could for the pitiful beasts, but every time he went away in a blind fury of helplessness and frustration that there was nothing he could do to rescue them. As bad as Harstan treated his animals, it was said around town that he treated his apprentices even worse. He only took in the lost boys that had no one else to speak or care for them and worked them within an inch of their lives. Rumor had it that he had even killed one of his clerks years ago before the dragon came. Rochadan raised a hand and pushed his thick, dark brown hair back from his face, taking the moment to study the boy’s disfigured features.

In addition to the damage done by the dragon, he could see the pale scars of more recent burns, newly healed, intermingled with the yellowish smudge of old bruises. Rochadan frowned slightly and cast a quick glance over his shoulder toward Finian, who was, at that moment, hustling off in the direction of the kitchen. It was criminal that this child should have fallen into the hands of a monster like Harstan. It would be equally criminal to send him back. Rochadan decided then and there that he would not have such a thing on his conscience. He would speak to Finian right away about taking Andhun on at the inn at least until they could find him a suitable position elsewhere. If necessary, Rochadan could pay the boy’s wages out of his own pocket. As for the other boy, he seemed to be in much less desperate straits. Rochadan would have to wait and see what to do about that one.

“Tell me, sir,” said Andhun, a touch of wistfulness creeping into his voice. “How is the work here? Are the people good and kind?”

Rochadan smiled. “Very good and very kind. I scarcely think of it as work.” He took the seat that the older boy had vacated and leaned toward Andhun, a grave look entering his dark eyes. “Tell me, Andhun,” he said gently. “Do you like your Master?”

The boy flinched slightly then shook his head. “No,” he whispered so softly that Rochadan could barely hear him over the noise of the common room.

“He beats you, doesn’t he?”

Andhun bit his lip and nodded.

Rochadan nodded his understanding. “You seem like a well-spoken and diligent little fellow,” he said after a moment. “How old are you? Nine? Ten?”

“Nine.”

“A very good age.” Rochadan smiled and tweaked the boy’s raggedy sleeve. “If I can get the innkeeper to allow it, how would you feel about staying here - at least for a time? I could always use some help around the stables.”

[Ealasaide]

Sallie watched from her seat at the table as the heavy oaken door swung shut behind the tall figure of her papa as he walked out of the kitchen. She made a little noise in her throat that caused Ædhral, or Ada, as Sallie called her, to reach out and gently tweak her nose. Sallie giggled but still did not dare tear her eyes away from the door. She hated for her papa to leave her. She was afraid that he might go away again like the time he did after their house burned down and the big, golden dragon fell into the lake. He put on his silver shirt that was made out of the little rings that clinked when he walked and put on his sword. Then he got on his horse, Alydar, and rode away, leaving her behind with Cook and Ada. She cried every night until he came home. Now, every time he walked away, she wondered if he was coming back.

Sallie listened as Cook ticked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Pity, a young man like that raising a little girl on his own,” Cook said, shaking her head. “The child needs a mother. Look at her - mud in her petticoats and straw in her hair. She’ll grow up knowing nothing of cooking or needlework. All she’ll know about is horses and swordplay.”

Ædhral laughed. “Don’t be silly. It’s just a spot of mud.” Sallie had the feeling that Ada was taking the side of her papa, so she smiled hopefully up at her.

“Horses and swordplay!” repeated Cook, still shaking her head.

Ædhral opened her mouth to reply, but closed it again as the door flew open and Finian came in. Sallie liked Finian, so she smiled up at him, too, but this time he did not seem to see her. He told Ada and Cook some things to do and walked out again. Sallie watched the door close behind him, then, as Cook and Ada rushed about to do as they had been told, Sallie clambered down out of her chair. She limped to the window with her slow, uneven gait and took hold of the window sill. Stretching up on to her tippy-toes, as tall she could, Sallie could just see out of the bottom pane of glass. She felt very big and old as, just a month ago, she had not been so tall and had needed her papa to hold her up if she wanted to look out. Now she could do it on her own.

Peering through the window glass, Sallie could see the stable yard and the stable, but her papa was nowhere to be seen. She stuck out her lower lip in a fierce, bad pout. She couldn’t see Alydar either. Maybe while she was eating her papa had put on his silver shirt and gone. “Papa!” she called out plaintively. “Papa!” Maybe, if he hadn’t gone too far, he would hear her and come back.

Behind her, the clatter of the kitchen stopped. Then, there was the gentle touch of hands as Ædhral picked Sallie up and settled her on one of her slender hips. “It‘s all right, little princess,” the serving girl cooed. “Your papa hasn’t gone far. I’m sure he’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

“Promise?” asked Sallie doubtfully, the pout still quivering on her lip.

“I promise,” answered Ædhral. “Now, why don’t you help me over here?” she added, pulling a chair up from the table to the kitchen counter. “Finian says there’s a sick little boy out in the common room who needs some breakfast. You can help me make him up a plate.”

[Bêthberry]

Ædhral, true to her worth, had indeed gone to tell the Healer of a sick boy in the Tavern. She had found the woman at her desk, pounding and grinding plants in a large marble bowl with a heavy stick. Ædhral did not know the words for these dishes, just as she did not know many of the words which the Healer used, yet she found that no barrier to understanding the woman. Each word was clearly explained, not too much, not too little.

"The bowl is a mortar," the woman said, "and this is a pestle. It is a heavy object, for it helps to turn leaves into a fine powder." She stopped and stretched her fingers, for they were stiff from the incessant pounding. "And you have come to relieve me of my task?"

"Yes, mistress, for Finian told me to tell you we have a very sick boy in the Tavern. He is ugly with burns; his skin rippled red like roast mutton. "

"Well, burns heal poorly if the body is not covered in salve; that is no fault of the boy."

"Yes, ma'am, but will you come?"

The woman nodded and rose, wrapping a large brown shawl around her shoulders, the fringes of which gently swayed back and forth over her hips as she walked.

"Can he eat?" she inquired of the girl.

"Barely, he has sipped some cider." The woman made a noncommital shake of her head and peered into the hall while Ædhral disappeared into the kitchen. Finian then met her glance and told her what he could of the lad. The boy was slumped into a chair, gingerishly leaning against the back and talking with Rochadan. She smiled to herself, for she knew Rochadan well and could imagine what the man might be attempting.

"There are stories of ill treatment, of beatings. You know what we hear of Harstan."

"Aye. And if we wish to find the boy other employ, that man will demand recompense for the loss of his labour."

Finian sighed. "First, find out how hurt the boy is, Bethberry. Then we shall see what plans we need to put into effect."

"He looks starved. I doubt he can for the moment eat much. Let me bring him some thin gruel." From Cook Bethberry got a tray with a bowl and the gruel, mixed in with some sugar and cream, but not too richly. And then she approached the lad.

"Rochadan, I'll wager you are making a proposition here," she said with a lilt to her voice. He smiled at her.

"Bethberry, meet young Andhun here. He's going to help me in the stable."

"Is he now? Don't be hasty, for perhaps he has someone else he needs to help first."

The lad looked up at her, the black rings around his eyes appearing even more quizzical than they had at first.

"Who would you send me out to work with, lady? I must get back to master."

"Nay, none other than yourself, lad. Here, tell me if Cook has made this well. And by name I am called Bethberry."

His one arm hung by his side but with his other he slowly scooped up the gruel, panting between sips. While he ate, Bethberry looked over the many miserable signs of torment and pain on his small frame. Yet in her face she held a warm smile, so that her very look seemed to banish worry and concern from his heart. When he was finished the meagre breakfast, she sat back to let him talk. She would win his trust before she attempted to see to his wounds.

[Nurumaiel]

"I thank you, ma'am," said Andhun as he set his breakfast aside. He studied her face carefully, and found warmth and compassion in it. Not pity, but compassion. Andhun was not wholly opposed to pity, but he felt he did not need it. The weak ones had ever been the ones who wanted pity, wallowing to make themselves seem worthy of pity, trying their utmost to gain it. His master was like that. He forever complained of the boys who worked for him, saying they were lazy and slow, and making it seem as though he were the one with the miserable existence rather than they. And always, always, whenever someone came to the master's home they would pity him and believe he was right, and often he, Andhun, or one of the other boys would merit an extra kick as the visitors passed by.

He passed his gaze on to Rochadan and smiled, just a little hesitatingly, for he still was not absolutely certain that Rochadan was indeed a friend. "And, sir, I thank you for your offer," he said, "and I would express how much my delight would be to work for you in the stables, but I fear I cannot. I must return to my master, for soon he will be looking for me. I feel I should leave even at this very moment, but I wait because Mister Cynan is not come back yet and I think I should wait for him to bid him goodbye, and thank him for his kindness."

"Can you not leave your master to work here?" Rochadan questioned.

"I wish it were so, sir, for I would dearly love to work here. You are all so kind..." He faltered in his speech, and felt he was speaking too warmly to them. He recalled an occasion when a young woman had come to his master's house, only three months ago, and she had been very kind to him, unlike other guests, and he had thanked her for it, and, feeling that he should make some attempt to be kind to her as she had been to him, he chanced to compliment her upon her fair face within his master's hearing. The young woman had seemed pleased at his compliment, and the master had restrained himself, but as soon as she was out the door he had sprang forward like a wild beast pouncing upon his victim. A shudder went through Andhun's body as he recalled this. He had been beaten so badly that he thought he surely must die of pain, and all the while the master had shouted into his face that he had no business speaking to the guests, let alone say anything friendly to them.

He closed his eyes and could feel keenly in his mind every pain he had endured then, and he swayed in his chair. A strong, gentle hand fell on his shoulder, so gentle that it did hurt the sores upon his back, and so strong that he was kept from falling over, and he opened his eyes. Rochadan held him steady in his chair and smiled gravely into his eyes. The stablemaster, however, wisely made no reference to Andhun's temporary faintness but continued the conversation in a level tone. "Tell me, Andhun, why you cannot leave your master."

"Because," said Andhun, wincing upon the reflection of what he was going to say, "the master owns me."

"Owns you?" Rochadan's brow furrowed. "Surely he is no relation to you?"

"No, he is not, but when he took me in nearly a year ago he gave me a paper that said I would serve him until he chose to release me from that service, and made me sign it at the bottom, though I am not good at writing." He started and suddenly stared into Rochadan's face wildly. "Oh, sir, my master will surely never release me, and what will I do for my poor little sister when I find her? What will I do for her? Will she also have to live with my master?" He looked in a panicked way from face to face, and then his pale face became grave and he closed his eyes as if weary, and put his head against the back of his chair, just barely wincing when the burns on his face met with the hard wood.

[Orual]

Bells jangling and thick layers of cheap, rustling fabric created an orchestral noise that warned all in the area of her coming. Kannah hiked up her skirts and stormed towards the door, where, unknowingly, a young man was about to face her wrath.

"Turn yourself around this instant, young master!" she shouted, and everyone in the common room except the object of her attention turned. The young man himself froze, and Kannah was fairly sure she heard him muttering prayers under his breath. Well, wise enough, she figured--he'd be getting the rough side of her tongue.

Kannah was twenty-two years old, and much fiercer than she looked. Her pretty, almond-shaped brown eyes and small stature belied her hot temper and sharp wit. She had a long, regal nose, and a full-lipped mouth that would have been pretty if she ever used it for smiling. Her dark complexion and long, raven hair told of her southern heritage, though she was a native of Dale. She draped herself in layers of fabric in rich jewel tones...but the fabric was always very cheap. For all of her show, Kannah was not a wealthy person, though she tried to pass as one.

"I believe you underpaid," she said harshly, gripping the young man by his upper arm. It was a humorous sight, as the young man was almost head and shoulders taller than Kannah.

"No, I don't think I--" the young man began, but Kannah cut him off by dragging him to the counter where he had paid.

"One, two, three gold pieces," she counted quickly. "You owed four."

"I'm sorry, I thought I'd--"

"What you thought is irrelevant," she said. "The fact remains that you didn't pay in full. Will you give me another gold piece, or would you prefer doing dishes?"

The young man fished a gold piece out of his pocket and handed it to Kannah, who accepted it without the least touch of graciousness.

She saw Finian shaking his head from the other side of the room, but paid him no heed. She had passed a difficult night--two young patrons had come down with violent chest colds, and their panic-stricken mother had come banging on Kannah's door at well past midnight but still well before dawn to have her administer appropriate treatment. She had gotten no sleep and still had some bruises on her ribs from small flailing arms. She was in no mood to be cheated out of her rightful dues. Now, she liked children--growing up with two brothers and one sister, all significantly older than Kannah, she had numerous nieces and nephews on whom to hone her maternal skills. Not that she planned on settling down any time soon...

She settled down in her office--that is, the side of her bedroom with a desk--and started going over the financial records. If they were going to drag her out of bed at ungodly hours of the morning, she was going to make sure they had enough money to pay for it!