The Vineyard Tavern

[Orual]

"Anything you can do about that?"

Kannah stared at Bragorn's shoulder with a mixture of seething fury and piqued interest. Who was this man? He surely had enough gall for several men his size. She almost laughed aloud: several men? More like half a village. She put her hands on her hips in what she assumed was a fetching manner, leaning into the position like she had always seen her elder sisters do. "Let me see that shoulder, sir," she said, dropping her voice down at least an octave from the shrill pitch she usually employed. "Oh, it looks bad! Luckily for you, my people have exactly the remedy for a shoulder like yours."

Bragorn looked up. "Do they?"

Kannah nodded, picked up her skirts, and went to the fire. She drew a red-hot poker from the hearth and raised it up, studying it dramatically. She delighted to see Bragorn's eyes grow wide out of her peripheral vision.

"You see," she said, approaching him with the poker, "your humours are all off. Was it a fall? If so, then you might have too much earth elemental in your shoulder now." She rattled off some more nonsense that she made up off the top of her head, hardly even listening to herself. A small smile crept onto her lips.

"If we just make a small laceration--"

She heard some dogs go wild outside. They began to bray, howl, as if the world itself was coming to an end. She sighed loudly and trudged back to the hearth, sticking the poker back in.

"I have to go see what those fool dogs are going on about," she said to a wide-eyed Bragorn, and then stormed outside.

"Beasts! What are you howling about? If you're just having at each other, I'll whip you within an inch of your miserable lives, you black holes! The amount you eat, I'm surprised this inn hasn't gone under twice over. I'll--"

She finally followed the dogs' line of sight, and gasped. Ærosylle! She ran to the edge of the barn. "Ærosylle! Stay where you are! If you jump--"

She couldn't think of a threat. Her heart was in her throat. "Ærosylle, don't move!"

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan stopped Bragorn's call for ales with a gesture, his ear cocked toward the outside. He had passed Kannah on his way in. Having finished threatening Bragorn with a poker, she had gone out the door as he had come in. For a moment after she left, he had heard her screeching something ill-tempered at a pack of dogs that had set to barking, but abruptly her tone had changed. While he had not caught her words, her voice sounded frightened, almost panicky. Thinking that she might be in danger from the dogs, he pushed his chair back and rose.

"Bring your sword," he said to Bragorn, indicating for Bragorn to accompany him. As he passed the fireplace, Rochadan picked up the poker that Kannah had so recently put down. In fending off wild dogs, it would do quite well for a weapon.

As the two men left the common room and rounded the corner of the building in the direction of Kannah's voice, they stopped short in bewilderment and lowered their weapons. Kannah stood before the barn, looking up at the roof, surrounded by a shaggy pack of dogs. The dogs danced around her skirts, all wagging tails and lolling pink tongues, seeming more excited than threatening. It was a moment before Bragorn touched Rochadan's elbow and sheathed his sword.

"Up on the roof," said Bragorn quietly. "It seems a lass has found her way on to the roof of the barn."

"Oh, no..." murmured Rochadan, his dark eyes following Bragorn's pointing finger. "Ærosylle." Still holding the hot poker, he walked over to where Kannah stood. Bragorn followed a few steps behind.

Reaching Kannah, Rochadan exchanged a quick glance with her, then looked up at Ærosylle. Shading his eyes with one hand against the bright afternoon sun, he waved the poker in his other hand in a friendly manner.

"What, ho, Ærosylle! What are you doing up there?" he called pleasantly. "Did the dogs scare you?"

[Imladris]

Ærosylle heard someone calling from far far below....dragging her from the sky and clouds. It sounded vaguely familiar....

Then there was another voice...a man's voice, saying, "What, ho, Ærosylle! What are you doing up there? Did the dogs scare you?"

The Dogs? Oh yes, the Dogs. Dogs scared birds. She had seen them yapping after little blue birds...they had gone to the treetops in a flurry of feathers. A chill pricked down her spine. Nasty dogs.

She swallowed and called down, "Yes! The dogs were after me so I scuttled up here! Dogs are always frightening birds," she said with a disdainful glance towards the dogs who were flopped in the shade. "All they care about are themselves! They are great big bullies! So I am going to fly away!"

"Fly away?" called the man -- whom Ærosylle now recognized as Rochdan. "And how are you going to do that?"

She thought that she could perceive a twinkle in his eyes.

She sighed patiently. "I'm a bird!" She spread her arms and flapped them in demonstration.

[Nurumaiel]

Andhun followed Rochadan, completely oblivious of what exactly was going on. He saw Ærosylle, and admired her courage for climbing up there. With a sigh, he looked down at his crippled foot and felt deep regret that he could never engage in such activities again. He raised his eyes to the girl again when she said she would fly away, and a deep longing came into his heart. He wished he were a bird, he wished he could fly away and find his sister. Maybe his sister would be a sweet and kind and funny as Ærosylle was.

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't fly away!" he called to Ærosylle, his voice vibrating with the notes of all the homesickness, loneliness, and longing for family in his heart. "I wish I were a bird, so I might also fly away."

And how, also, he wished he were like Ærosylle. She could find friends everywhere: in the dishware, in the tables and chairs, in the steps... especially the step that didn't like to be stepped upon. She could content herself with her imaginings that she was a bird, or a fish, or whatever she wanted to be. And he felt always the lost little boy without a mother or father, crippled and disfigured, and lonely for a friend.

He had been moving much that day, and his leg was weary, and was paining him. He gently sat upon the ground, and looked up at Ærosylle, flapping her arms, and it seemed to him that she was flying away already. He bowed his head, and at the moment he did a soft hand touched his hair, and Earcwen stood beside him. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale as she looked up at Ærosylle, but she smiled at him and sat beside him. "What troubles you, Andhun?" she asked.

"Miss Earcwen, I was just wishing I were a bird," said Andhun. "If I were a bird I would fly above the houses, and sooner or later I should find my sister."

"If you were a bird your sister would not recognize you, and would only love you as a pet, not her dear brother," Earcwen replied.

"You are right," said Andhun, "but if I were a bird I should not be lonely for my sister."

"And therefore you should be very unhappy, because you would not even love her."

"I suppose so," said Andhun.

"Don't be upset because you miss her," said Earcwen. "When I miss anyone I take it as a comfort. If I did not miss them perhaps I should feel that I did not love them. You can't want to see someone unless you want to see them, you know." Her words were sincere, but her eyes were distracted and ever drifting to the little bird Ærosylle upon the barn.

[Ealasaide]

Rochadan watched nervously as Ærosylle's shoulders dropped in a visible sigh. Then she began to flap her arms in a disturbing way. "I'm a bird!" she called down to the group on the ground. Rochadan handed his poker off to Kannah and was just opening his mouth to respond when he heard a plaintive little voice crying out behind him:

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't fly away!” Then more softly, “I wish I were a bird, so I might also fly away."

Rochadan recognized the voice instantly and turned in Andhun’s direction, but the concern that had been etched into his face by the sadness of the boy’s voice, vanished at once when he saw that the child was accompanied by Earcwen. As Rochadan watched, the young woman tenderly stroked the boy’s hair and sat down beside him, speaking to him in a soft voice. Knowing now that Andhun was in good hands, Rochadan turned his attention back to Ærosylle on the roof.

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend trying to fly, Ærosylle,” he called up to her, doing his best to maintain a pleasant and conversational tone. “You see, you haven’t got any feathers. Without them, you’ll just come plummeting down to the earth, which would be none to fun for you in the long run. How about I bring the ladder around instead?”

Behind him, Bragorn piped up. “I couldn’t recommend staying up there, either. Or flying for that matter. When I rode in this afternoon, I saw a bloody great hawk hanging about, plucking little birds right out of the air with her talons. Nothing left but a few bits of fluff floating down on the breeze. Not a happy sight, I can tell you!”

Rochadan turned around and gave Bragorn a look sharp enough to make the Gondorian fall back a step. “Well, I did see a hawk,” Bragorn muttered stubbornly. Then, thinking the better of arguing the point under the circumstances, he added: “Eh... how about I go find that ladder?”

“Yes, please,” answered Rochadan. “It’s standing against the side of the inn. I put it there this morning for a guest.”

Bragorn nodded and took off to fetch the ladder. As he did so, he gave Ærosylle a friendly wave. “Just have a seat there, love, hey? I’m going to fetch the ladder.”

“Who’s that?” Ærosylle called down as Bragorn walked away. She stopped flapping and let her thin arms fall to her sides.

“It’s Bragorn. Do you remember him? He used to come stay here from time to time when your father was alive.” Rochadan paused. Inwardly he cringed a bit, wondering if it had been so very smart to bring up Ærosylle’s father, who had been so tragically killed by the dragon, while Ærosylle was still perched on the roof. He changed tactics quickly. “Bragorn’s bringing the ladder around. Will you come down? If you like, I could even come up there for a while and keep you company. Or I’m sure Finian wouldn’t mind coming up for a spell either. We could fetch him if you like. What do you say?”

[Imladris]

"I don't need Finian coming down to fetch me," Ærosylle called pettishly.

She sniffed and stopped flapping her arms, letting them hang limply at her sides. The boy hadn't wanted her to fly away. She hated it when people left. It was so mean of them. She supposed that it would be mean of her to fly away when none of the people down there wanted her to fly away.

And that other fellow, the one who had told her about the hawk and called her love, he seemed nice enough too. According to Rochadan his name was Bragorn....a man who used to come when her father was still alive.

Ærosylle didn't remember her father that well. She remembered that he had disappeared in bright flame....and she wondered if it had hurt very much.

She heard the ladder clunk dully against the loft, heard the wood creak wearily as someone climbed up it. Turning, she saw Bragorn standing there, his arms open and his eyes twinkling.

"Now come here, there's a love!" he said.

"The ladder doesn't like you," said Ærosylle. "It creaked you know."

[Ealasaide]

Bragorn's smile faded slightly as he gazed thoughtfully down at the ladder. Then, he swung himself on to the edge of the roof, where he sat with his legs dangling over the side. "Is that what the ladder said?" he asked gravely. "Are you sure it didn't creak out of petulance for being left out in the sun all day? If so, that would be Rochadan's doing, not mine." He looked down at the ground where the stablemaster stood watching them. The lovely serving girl, Kannah, stood beside him, holding the poker she had menaced Bragorn with earlier. Rochadan must have handed it over to her at some point after the two of them had joined her outside. Behind them were the sad, scarred little boy and his companion, and beyond them, closer to the inn's front door, a small group of other onlookers who had come outside to see what the commotion was about. Bragorn gave them all a happy wave, then lay back against the warm surface of the roof, tilting his head upward to see Ærosylle, who remained perched at the roof's peak.

"Usually I have a way with ladders," he said mildly.

Ærosylle did not reply. Instead, she squatted down where she was and wrapped her thin arms around her knees, watching Bragorn with wide, interested eyes.

"Stairs, too," he continued after a moment. "Now, doors, on the other hand, doors have always had it in for me. Like the front door of my father's house in Gondor. All I have to do is crack the hinges open for it to squeal as though it's been wounded. For my sisters? - I have five of 'em, you know, a jolly bunch, every one of them - but for my sisters, the door doesn't make a sound. They can bang in and out of it all day and not a peep. I can't help but think the door doesn't like me."

"Perhaps you've done something to offend it," suggested Ærosylle.

Bragorn nodded. "Perhaps so, though I can't imagine what. After all, it was Prudence who put the big scars in the door's frame when she tried to run into the house holding a butter churn crossways across her body. Of course, it didn't fit and she flipped over the top and landed bang on to the floor. Buttermilk went everywhere." Bragorn chuckled softly at the memory. What he neglected to tell Ærosylle was that he had been chasing his sister at the time, threatening to put a field mouse down the back of her dress. He had been twelve years old and his sister had been eight at the time. "We had a jolly good laugh over it, but I'm sure the door was none too pleased. Our mother was quite angry."

Ærosylle crept a few inches down the roof toward the man. "Why was your sister running with a butter churn?"

"She was afraid something bad would happen to the butter if she left it outside, so she was trying to carry it inside." Bragorn laughed again, reliving the incident in his mind. "Honestly, though, I wouldn't have done anything to the butter."

"So you were chasing her!" cried Ærosylle triumphantly, intuiting what had truly happened. "Of course, the door is angry with you. The gashes are all your fault. I'm sure the door would forgive you if you would apologize."

Bragorn nodded solemnly. "I shall do that." After a moment, still lying flat on his back on the rooftop, Bragorn reached out and placed his booted foot idly on the top rung of the ladder. "In the meantime, love," he continued to Ærosylle. "what shall we do about the ladder?"