[Elora]

Was Benia looking at her closely? And where had Derufin sprung from? Vanwe narrowly averted choking on her sweetened tea and tightened her grip around the warm cup as Cook chided Aman about teasing Derufin. Vanwe was not quite sure which way was up or down. Why, for example, would anyone court fate by provoking a man sorely affected by ale? Vanwe badly missed her scrap of paper which was still in Silvanis' possession. So many questions, she was sure to forget them.

She had sipped at her tea, savouring the honey and rolling her seemingly unending list of queries around in her mind when Benia had descended for the morning. Vanwe had cause to be grateful that she was holding onto her cup with both hands and had a mouthful of tea so as to prevent her from uttering the exclaimation of dismay that sounded over the questions in her mind.

Aman, who had not missed Vanwe's jittery manner all morning, blinked in open question at what precisely had disturbed her this time. Vanwe noticed none of that. She was too busy trying desperately to determine why Benia was looking so closely at her. Behind the woman's cloak, it was difficult to see more of her cloathing but her face reminded her of the Southern woman Vanwe had fleeting observed two or so nights ago. So much had happened it was hard for her to keep accurate track of time.

A warrior, keen to make some gold in fetching back a runaway? They sometimes did that. Vanwe well remembered the downtrodden and miserable youth who passed through her village with a warrior who was on his way to return him. Knowing what he would face upon his return had given her cause to still what she had been in the midst of. It was a sight that was not easy to forget. The child could not have been older than 14 or 15 years, she guessed, and had been dusty, thirsty and marked with a hard trail as he slumped behind his captor's horse. His hands had been tied to the pommel, and he'd been left in the sun whilst the mercenary had bought more water.

There was a deadness in the boy's eyes that had remained with her long after he had stumbled out of town later that day. The close stare of Benia, and Vanwe's suspicion about her origins made it hard to keep her cup from shaking. Vanwe tried to disengage her smile or her gaze, but seemed oddly frozen to where she sat.

Aman, who knew what an attic was and could reckon that they would need all the time they could get to clear it decided there was no time for Vanwe to dive under a table, leap out a window nor fall to her knees and beg for mercy.

She mustered Cami, called Vanwe and headed off in the direction that the attic in question was located. Vanwe rose, still staring at Benia. Almost unthinking, she fell into obesience, sweeping an elegant bow that marked her all the more clearly as hailing from Harad.

"I wish you a fair journey. May the Sun be kind to your path, Mistress," Vanwe said upon rising. Again, a more distinctive declaration of Harad she could not make, other than to fly about the room in dancing silks. Benia cocked her head as she studied Vanwe.

"Vanwe," called Aman. Vanwe can't recall being quite so pleased to be summonsed before.

"Your pardon, Mistress, but I have duties I am bound to perform," she said. With a last earnest, almost pleading smile, Vanwe hurried up the stairs after Aman and Cami. She glanced over her shoulder as she ascended, and saw Benia staring after her in mystification, before a turn in the stairs carried Vanwe from view of the commonroom.

Vanwe arrived in the attic with a sigh of relief that was at odds with Aman's reaction to Cami's announcement. Oblivious Vanwe stood listening for the sound of another climbing the stairs. If Benia was what she thought she might be, she'd have to resort to something else. Vanwe peered out the window at the distant ground and wondered if she'd be able to make the drop.

All Vanwe heard, though, was Aman. "Well... let's get started then," the Inkeeper said.

Vanwe looked about the room more carefully now. It was a myserious place. The morning sunlight caught motes of dust golden and they glimmered as they floated around strange piles of unidentified objects.

"Perhaps I should open the window," said Vanwe. "Yes, help us breathe in all this dust," replied Aman. Vanwe promptly saw to it, adding her mind that removing the necessity to jump through glass or tarry to open it in haste should Benia appear in pursuit would further improve her slim chance of freedom.

Vanwe turned back from the now opened window and pushed up the sleeves on her periwinkle blue dress. On the floor, their skirts had traced large swathes in the dust and already held the disarray of the attic upon their dresses.

"Oh no, Aman, your lovely dress," Vanwe exclaimed as she noticed the dirt that had attached itself to the hems of their skirts.

"My lovely dress," Aman chuckled, "will take more of a beating than this before we are done." Vanwe thought that was a shame, for Aman's dress did not have patches and or signs of hard wear. It was a nice dress, she thought. One more question to add to her list.

Aman turned to where she had carried up cloths and some old, threadbare blankets from the night before.

"We need to sort out this junk," she said, "I'm sure there's no need for this."

Aman reached to the nearest pile and held up an object by way of example. Vanwe studied it.

"Aman, is that a squirrel?"

Aman looked at what she held. In her grasp was indeed a dust ridden grey squirrle that had been expertly stuffed and then stowed to moulder with the rest of the unwanted things in the attic. It stood on a wooden plith, tail all stiff and bushy, reared on it's two hind legs, large white teeth bared for all hazelnuts to quiver in fear from beyond the squirrel's grave. Aman suppressed a slight shudder at the hideous example of taxidermy she held aloft.

"Yes, yes it is Vanwe. This is why the attic simply must be cleaned."

Aman set the stuffed squirrel down, spread out an old blanket and placed the squirrel in the centre of the blanket.

"Any serviceable furniture or supplies for the inn we can set in that corner, the rest we can place here for removal," Aman said, scowling at the still defiantly rearing squirrel. Vanwe looked around the attic again.

"We may not have enough blankets... but I can rig up a pulley such as the one in the stable to get the junk down, Aman," Vanwe offered as she stepped closer to inspect another pile.

"We can arrange for Derufin to cart it down the stairs, Vanwe," Aman said as she added more to the squirrel's blanket. Vanwe straightened in surprise as Aman started to laugh and Vanwe felt her shoulders relax a little. Soon enough the blankets started to fill with all sorts of oddities, imaginable and otherwise.

"Aman, what is this" Vanwe asked more than once. Often, Aman would name it a mathom and roll her eyes. She had asked what a mathom is, to which Aman replied with habitual humour, "Noone knows, not even the hobbits who keep mathoms."

Before long, Vanwe had neatly distracted herself in all the fantastic new things she found in the attic. She found an irridescent green feather boa, which she had promptly tossed around her neck in a spontaneous show of her own humour. Aman looked up in surprise at the Elf woman, who sat covered in dust, face smudged, dust cloth tucked in her belt, worn blue dress with a trail of garrish feathers trailing around her neck and down her back.

"I like attics, Aman," Vanwe declared with a rare easy smile that cast her features into a new light. She twirled the end of her boa in emphasis.

"A little too much, perhaps," Aman retorted, which only caused Vanwe to smile all the more as she unwound the boa and added it to the growing pile of mathoms to be discarded. Vanwe turned back to the pile she was presently sorting through and started to hum once more, softly and gently as she explored the ordinary and extraordinary tableau of life in the Shire that had been gathered into the attic of the Green Dragon Inn.

[ June 12, 2003: Message edited by: Elora ]