The Vineyard Tavern

[Nurumaiel]

Cynan Harwell walked slowly and carefully along the road, with his arm about the shoulders of a little boy, perhaps nine years old, who was trying both bravely and vainly to fight away tears. Cynan himself seemed to be like most boys of his age, one-and-ten years. He seemed to conceal an infinite store of energy and mischief, for while he walked with slow deliberate steps a little glint in his grey eyes betrayed his real personality. His hair was a sandy brown and he had a few light freckles on his slightly tanned face. He was just beginning to grow taller, though he did not look any older than his age. Thus far, the normal little boy.

His companion was much different to look at, and it cannot be doubted that he received a few stares as he walked unsteadily down the road. The right side of his face was badly burned, and his right arm fell uselessly at his side. His right leg dragged along behind him and every step seemed to cause him considerable pain. There could be no shadow of a doubt as to where he had received these burns. The left side of his face, however, showed something else. There were some burns but they were faint, not nearly as prominent as those on his right side, and if one took the time to stop staring and then averting their eyes and staring again, but looked at him with a clear steady gaze they might see that his features were fair, and kind, and also contained some nobility, but not in the sense that he was of a high rank. But this, sadly, was only for the keen observer to see, and the casual would be horrified at the burns on his face, and the way he limped, and how his right eye was squinted and narrow, causing it to be of an uneven size with the left eye.

The keen observer might also notice with what compassion and tenderness Cynan guided the little burnt fellow, moving especially slow so the burnt would not be injured, and supporting him strongly with his arm yet not causing him any pain by too firm a grip. For Cynan was a compassionate boy at heart, despite his love for causing mischief, and when he had seen the little fellow lying curled up on the street crying he had felt a surge of pity and had taken it upon himself to care for him. Yes, the keen observer would also see that Cynan had known the boy for only ten minutes.

A year ago, when the dragon Smaug had descended upon his home and devastated it, Cynan found himself left without a father, and his older sister had died, though his younger two brothers and three sisters had survived. His mother, too, had lived, but she had been sick ever since, weeping in grief, and Cynan had heard whisperings from the neighbors the she was dying of a broken heart. He felt that both were ridiculous... his mother was not, of course, dying, and nobody ever died of a broken heart. And so, ridiculous.

Cynan felt comforted when he saw the sign with the words The Vineyard Inn written upon hanging above the door. In the days before Smaug had come Cynan's father had often gone to that same Inn to meet with others and take a mug of ale after a long, weary day. Cynan himself did not know any about the Inn and had never seen the Inn before, but when he saw the name old recollections stirred in him and he remembered how his father had spoken of it. Here he would surely find a chair to set this poor little boy down in, and perhaps a bit of rag to dry his eyes. And when Cynan thought of rags he looked sorrowfully at the ragged clothes the little boy wore.

Pushing open the door, he helped the boy up the steps, and the little fellow whimpered softly under his breath. Cynan felt pity overcome him again, and then he pulled a chair out from a table and sat the boy down in it. The latter seemed relieved at this opportunity of rest and ran a dirty sleeve across his eyes, brushing the tears away. Looking up at Cynan, he said solemnly, in a voice full of gratitude, "Thank you sir. Thank you so very much."

"It is nothing at all," Cynan said lightly, sitting down himself. "Nothing at all." He did not speak for a moment but looked with friendliness into the younger boy's eyes, and then he leaned forward slightly in a comradely way. "I hope you will not resent my asking the question," he said, "but I should very much like to know how you came to be lying on the road in tears."

The boy looked confused for a moment, and then his burnt face cleared a little and he spoke, though very slowly. "Well, sir, my master grew upset with me."

"Upset?"

"Yes, sir. I had been clumsy and spilled things."

Cynan felt a sensation of horror creep over him and though he felt he knew the answer very well, he asked, "What happened then?"

"Well, sir, he... he beat me." A shudder went through the boy's body, and the tears filled in his eyes again. "And then he threw me out in the street."

"Well!" cried Cynan, indignation burning his voice. "Well! say I again! If the mean fellow threw you out of his place it seems to be a grand thing entirely. More's the pity to him, but you should be glad rid of him."

"Oh." The boy shook his head with a sad little smile. "It isn't the first time it has happened. He will want me back as he has oft before."

Cynan was startled at this, but he did not lose his power of speech. "Whatever induced you to go to work for such a horrible man?" he questioned, for he was quite certain that the man was horrible. No good man could ever beat a poor, burnt little boy and then throw him out. If the boy was clumsy, was it not natural, as he had only one hand to use and he could not walk well?

"I could go nowhere else," the boy said. "When the dragon came a year ago my mother and father were killed and also my brother. I, as you see, was rendered useless by these burns. No one would take me to work because I could not do much."

"And so," Cynan said, "the only one who would take you was a wicked man who could not find anyone prior because of his wickedness."

"Indeed, sir."

"And so you must go back later today?"

"Yes, sir."

Cynan fell silent and began to ponder this. He found it quite ridiculous that this boy should work for such a man, and he found it outrageous. Yet he himself could do nothing. He had been searching for work himself for the past few weeks. His father had owned a considerable wealth when he was killed, and the family had managed on this money for a year, but Cynan was beginning to see that it would not last forever, and he took it upon himself as the eldest to go find work, as his mother was sick in bed.

"Tell me," he said, "why do you work for this man, aside from that he was the only place of work. You have no family to provide for (more's the pity, though), and surely you could find someone who would be willing to take care of you. There are some very kindhearted people hereabouts."

"I have found no one," said the boy, "and I also wish to earn as much money as I can. I hardly spend any of it, but beg for my meals in the streets. I want to have a little bit of fortune set aside in the case that I ever find my little sister. She is only six years old, if she is alive, and she became lost when the dragon struck. I have not found her since. I... I want to have some money if I ever find her, so she might have a home and some food."

"You," said Cynan with genuine admiration, "are a very good sort of boy. I am most pleased to meet you. Please, won't you tell me your name?"

"I am called Andhun," said the boy.

Cynan took the boy's good hand in his own and held it in a gentle, friendly clasp. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance," he said, "and I hope we shall be good friends."

A little smile flickered on the boy's face and he said, "I should very much like it, sir."

"Well then, we shall." And the two settled back in their chairs in comradely silence.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

She walked with no one beside her, no one behind her, and just one companion before her down the roads and paths of Lake-Town. The young woman watched the people of the town rebuilding this and that as she passed by them, but her eyes and face remained emotionless even in the sight of destruction. She was aware of the disaster that had befallen the area a year before, but the lady had seen and heard of stranger occurances in her years of traveling. Her years did not number many, when compared to others, but years feel long when days mean nothing and only the nights matter.

Rolled pieces of parchment protruded from the flap of the pack that she had slung across her back, but she held no other belongings in her hands. Her lone companion ran up ahead, panting cheerfully before the woman. His shaggy, ebony hair gleamed in the bright sunlight and his chocolate brown eyes showed naught but happiness as he led his mistress on. The young lady looked down at her dog, her only companion, and smiled at his lively nature. The woman pushed her own raven hair back behind her ears, the loose curls twisting easily behind and out of her face, curling down to her shoulder blades. The linen skirt she wore tattered at the hem, falling near to the middle of her calves and revealing her black traveling boots. She had rolled up her tunic sleeves earlier that morning, letting her forearms take in the warmth. Her dark skin resembled the color of wet sand, and she basked in the sunlight.

“That is well, Grimm,” She murmured to her dog when he came to walk briskly at her side. She scratched behind his pointed ears as she looked back up into the sky. Her eyes squinted in the bright light. “Yes, Grimm, it will be a good night for me tonight. There is not a cloud in the sky, and I will be able to watch. First, we must find a place to stay.”

The dark dog barked in reply, running a few feet ahead of the woman. She looked at the roofs of all the houses, eyeing them carefully and taking in all the details. Many were thatched, which brought a smile to her face. Others had not been replaced and were mere holes revealing the insides of the house to the watching sky above. When she saw the sign for the Vineyard Tavern, her eyes quickly darted up to the thatched roof. The slope seemed generous enough and did not rise too terribly high, though it sloped upwards to a point. Nodding, the girl pushed the door open and walked into the tavern. Her animal companion, Grimm, followed behind her, close enough for his wet nose to touch along the hem of her skirt.

Sitting down in the first empty seat she found, the girl sighed and pulled her pack off her back. She bent down to where Grimm sat obediently, patting his head reverently. “I hope they allow dogs here,” his owner, the young lady called Kellan, muttered gently to her animal friend.

[Imladris]

Nerindel's post :

A young woman carefully cracked several large eggs into an iron cooking pot that sat over the log-burning stove in the kitchen of The Vineyard Tavern. The young woman was Ædhral, the Taverns kitchen assistant. However, at present the inn was short a cook and Ædhral was forced to assume the position until an adequate replacement could be found, but she never complained in fact she rather quite enjoyed preparing the taverns meals and as yet, there had been no complaints. Her face was red from the heat of the stove but she paid it no heed and carried on diligently, adding milk to the eggs and stirring the pots contents into a scrambled consistency. The smell of sizzling bacon wafted up from the oven, fresh bread and rolls cooled by the open window and now the eggs where almost done, she allow herself a satisfied grin as she removed the eggs from the heat and took the bacon from the oven. Setting the bacon aside, she wiped her brow with the back of her hand, tucked a loose strand of escaped dark hair behind her ear and returned to give the eggs one final stir.

A sudden clatter from behind her made her start and she turned her head to see a greasy mop of dark hair poke through the door that connected the kitchen to the common room of the Tavern. It was only Finian the young proprietor of The Vineyard Tavern, “We are having a bit of eggs and bacon this morning, Finian,” she smiled.

“We have not had bacon for a very long time” Finian grinned. She smiled back with a slight nod of her head, it had been a long time but the butcher’s young enigmatic son had offered her some at a reasonable price and she knew it would go down well.

“We do not have as many hungry guests this morning as we normally do,” Finian said, and although he did not say it, she knew that he was thinking of when his father was alive and the tavern was near bursting at the seams with guests. “But we have enough.” He nodded a half smile about his lips.

Ædhral watched him retreat into the common room, it had been a year since Aeron had been lost in a spout of Dragons fire and the original tavern crushed under the belly of the beast. But even in his grieve Finian had been determined to rebuild the Tavern, though he had not been sure how. But they all helped out where they could. Rochadan like the other able-bodied men of Esgaroth had gone with Bard and the elves to the lonely mountain and left little Sallie in her care, but on his return, he helped Finian to rebuild the Tavern. It had taken them months but she knew that if Aeron were able to see what they had accomplished he would be proud. She just wished that Finian could see it and believe a little in himself.

She had to admit that it had been strange at first thinking of Finain as the new innkeeper, he was two years younger than her and like a brother, all the staff where like family to her, even the inn’s server Kannah who’s dry humour was almost always last on her. Finian’s father Aeron had taken her in almost three years ago, when her grandfather a regular of the tavern had passed away leaving her an orphan at the age of sixteen. She was always grateful to Aeron, for the opportunity he had given her and looking up to him as a father. His passing hit her hard, but she had to be strong for the others. Giving Finian the support he looked for, comforting and consoling Ærosylle and looking after Sallie for Rochadan, Even Kannah had taken strength from her, though she knew her friends pride would never allow her to admit it. But she did not grudge any of them, they where her family and if they needed her to be strong then she would be strong, she had grown a lot in the past year they all had, but with it their bonds of friendship had also grown stronger.

“Daydreaming again, now there‘s a surprise!” The Sarcastic remark caught her of guard and she blinked as she snapped out of her thoughts. Kannah walk across the kitchen floor towards her an empty tray in her hands waiting impatiently for it to be filled. Ædhral merely smiled as she spooned the scrambled eggs on to plates and sided them with bacon, and continued to listen as Kannah went on to describe how one young man had had the audacity to ask her if she was having a nice day. She bit her bottom lip to suppress a laugh as she put the bread and rolls into baskets and heaped the orders carefully upon Kannah’s tray and as soon as she had, Kannah turned and pushed her way back into the common room.

She let a quiet laugh escape her lips as she turned back to the stove, Kannah was always amusing company, even if she was a little sarcastic and dry, but Ædhral never took any of the woman’s biting retorts to heart. It was just the way Kannah was and she had learned to accept that that was just the way it was.

The rear door to kitchen opened and in walked the Taverns Stable Master, Rochadan with little Sallie firmly attached to his hip. “Good Morning, Ada!” The little girl smiled brightly.

“And good morning to you my lady,” she grinned, wiping her hands on her apron and dipping a playful curtsy, which made the little girl giggle. “Oh my, what have you two been up too?” she laughed seeing the mud that caked Sallie’s hands and the stable master’s face.

“Making mud pies for the kitties.” Sallie laughed as she too saw the mud caked to her fathers face.

“What!” Rochadan exclaimed defensively now that the two of them were laughing at him.

“It seems the princess has bestowed a gift upon you noble knight, in fact two gifts good sir!” she laughed. Taking a cloth from the table and soaking it in the warmed water in the kitchens stone sink and wringing it out she offered it to Rochadan who had now remembered the muddy handprints on his cheeks and was playing along. She listened to father and daughter as they washed for breakfast and she set the table for the Taverns staff, several times Kannah returned to fill her tray, but then was gone again as quickly. They took meals in shifts; so that there was always someone waiting on the Taverns guests, once she had eaten, she would relieve Kannah and Finian so that they could eat.

“Did you find Ærosylle?” Rochadan asked as he and Sallie returned to sit at the table.

“No, I had hoped she would return for breakfast, but ….” her dark eyes wandered to the door as if she half expecting the troubled young girl to walk through it as if nothing was wrong.

“I will go look for her!” Rochadan said rising from his seat.

“Thank you Rochadan, I am worried about her, you know how she can get.” The Stable master nodded his understanding.

“I won’t be long, save me some bacon!” he winked to Sallie and lifted a warm roll as went out to look for Ærosylle.

Ædhral sat down to have some breakfast and to keep Sallie Company until her father returned, hopefully with Ærosylle in tow.

[Imladris]

Finian leaned his elbows on the counter, a grin upon his face as he saw three people come in the Tavern. Two boys (it was too bad that they were boys as they probably would not be too interested in the Tavern's ale, the finest there was as his sister exuberantly told all the guests who came into the Tavern) and a woman with a dog.

The two boys looked hot and tired and one of them was helping the other into a chair. Wheeling around into the kitchen he went to one of the many cupboards and rummaged around the bottles. There was some fine wine left but two boys would not be interested in that either he supposed, a bottle of stuff that smelled very nasty (which was probably a bit of Bethberry's medicine), and, oh yes, here it was. Some of last year's cider.

He took the bottle, poured the glasses full, and, with the bottle tucked under one arm, he strode towards the boy's table and set the glasses and bottle down. "A bit of cider for you boys," he said.

One of them was badly burned. A cripple no doubt. Shame. The boy could have been strong and bold. But he seemed to have a cowering look, a look of fear flitting through his eyes.

"Excuse me, sir," said the one who wasn't burned. "I have no money."

Finian rolled his eyes and said, "If you don't drink it it will languish in that old cupboard until it will be of no use to anyone. Everybody pretty much orders ale or a bit of wine. In fact, you would be doing me a great favour if you would just finish it for me." He shot a grin at them and then made his way to the table which the woman with the dog sat in the shadows.

"What can I do for you miss?" Finian asked. Gesturing towards the dog, he added, "And I am sure that Ædhral can find some scraps and a bone or two for your dog if you so desire it."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Kellan looked down at Grimm, then angled her dark gaze up to the man that had spoken to her. She smiled faintly, and winked at her dog. “Yes. I am sure that Grimm would enjoy some scraps…and perhaps a bowl of water, if it does not trouble you much? We have traveled a long, long way. He is weary.” The man nodded simply at the request.

“Anything for you then, miss?” the Innkeeper inquired, and the young woman thought for a moment.

“A cup of steaming water, and that is all. I will have proper payment,” Kellan trailed off, and the man walked away as she searched through her bag for her money. Kellan shuffled the parchments aside, searching valiantly for the last of her coins. Grimm sniffed suspiciously, his black coat twitching along his back and all the way to the tip of his tail, which smacked the ground in rhythmic thumps. Kellan sighed, pulling her papers completely out of her bag and shoving them onto the table and rummaging through her pack again. Finally, she pulled four coins from the bottom of her pack, realizing that she had very little money left.

Grimm barked, and Kellan sighed, nodding.

“I know, I know, Grimm. We do not have much left. I will find a way though, I always do,” the girl spoke to her dog but did not fret about strange glances, for there were few people in the Inn. Grimm barked again, but Kellan put a finger to her lips, wishing for him to be silent in the enclosed space. The dog quieted, and the girl went back to searching through her bag again. She soon withdrew a small sack, full of some brown powder that resembled desert sand. Smiling, she spoke once more to her companion. "I have not had a chance to use this gift from the east. It will be nice to find out what it tastes like." Kellan murmured, intending to use the powder in her boiling water. Her smile faded, however, and she began to pack her parchments back up into her pack. Then she looked to the windows of the Inn, still pouring hot sunlight onto the wood of the interior. "It is going to be a long day, Grimm. It will be a long wait for you and I."

The Innkeeper returned then, setting a mug of boiling, steaming water before Kellan. Then the man crouched down to place a bowl of cool water and a plate of different foods before Grimm. He smiled, rubbing his hand on Grimm’s head between his ears as the dog began to lap up the water. When the Innkeeper stood up, Kellan handed him the four coins. “I hope it is enough, Sir, and thank you.”

[Nurumaiel]

As the Innkeeper had approached them, Andhun had begun to tremble violently, and when the cider was placed with a little thump before them he jumped and shied back. "A bit of cider for you boys," the Innkeeper said. The fear in Andhun's eyes disappeared and was replaced with one of confusion. And then he smiled and murmured his thanks, yet he looked doubtfully at Cynan. Cynan smiled back at him in an encouraging manner before speaking to the Innkeeper, saying, "Excuse me, sir, I have no money." The Innkeeper laughed and waved this aside, and then moved away.

Andhun seemed to have recovered from his fear and was now sipping his cider slowly, following the Innkeeper with his eyes. Cynan, however, did not touch his own mug. He watched the younger boy with a musing look upon his face, and compared him to an ill-treated dog he had met once, jumping away in terror from even the kindliest caress, and simply because the dog had not known anything better. Yet it was odd that Andhun, who could not have been working for 'the master' very long and who had lived in a loving family, should be like that dog. It was possible, Cynan supposed, that Andhun had forgotten most of his life before, though he remembered vague details, such as his sister. Cynan had met a man who had been burned in the fire and had suffered through a raging fever, and when the fever subsided his memory had also flowed away and he remembered only a little before his burns and the fever. Perhaps Andhun was the same, and the only clear memories he had were the memories of being beaten, and then flung in the streets only to be dragged back again and beaten some more.

I pity him, Cynan thought, and his did with all the strength of his boyish heart. I pity him deeply. Look at the circles under his eyes, and the weary expression within them. And see how thin he is; he must be half-starved where he is. And when he does eat it cannot be anything pleasant, judging by the way he delights in a simple mug of cider. It seems that the one thing that keeps him from despairing is the hope of someday seeing his sister again. Poor little fellow, I hope he finds her.

Andhun had finished his cider and was turning the mug thoughtfully in his fingers. Cynan beamed another smile at him, saying, "I do hope, Andhun, you enjoyed your cider." When Andhun nodded, he continued on. "We really must thank the Innkeeper. There are not many who would give two dirty, hot boys a mug of cider and ask no payment for it. As I told you, Andhun, there are some very kindhearted people hereabouts."

"Yes, sir," said Andhun, and relapsed into silence. Cynan felt mild concern growing in him, but concern was vanquished and utter rebellion came to him when Andhun spoke again. "I thank you for your hospitality, sir, but now I must be returning to the master."

"No!" Cynan cried, gently stopping Andhun as he tried to rise. "No, Andhun, don't go yet. Surely your master will not be looking for you already?"

"No, sir, but I have learned from past experience that it is better for me if I return before he begins to look."

Cynan felt horror within him again, but he did not express and held Andhun down with the same strong yet gentle grip. "Andhun, you cannot leave yet," he said. "You are hungry... you are famished. You must get a square meal. I will have to run home to get some money to pay for it, but you must eat. And I have noticed you have winced whenever your back touches something. It must be sore from your master's hand. I will beg the Innkeeper give some herb to soothe it, if he has any such thing. And then I will take you back myself, if go you must, and beg excuses and pay your master for any trouble I may have caused by detaining you."

Andhun was clearly weary, and he did not insist in leaving but sank gratefully against the chair, wincing as Cynan had said when his back touched the firm wood. "I thank you, sir," he murmured. "You are very kind."

"Sit here," said Cynan, and hurried to the Innkeeper, who was with a young lady and a dog. Clearing his throat, he interrupted politely but quickly, for he realized that Andhun grew more anxious with every passing moment. "Mr. Innkeeper, sir, I beg your pardon if I interrupt," he said, "but I would very much like to get some breakfast for my friend. I have not with me the money to pay, but while he eats I will run home and fetch it. And, sir," he added, "my friend has a very sore back and, if you have any such thing, would you give him something to soothe it? I am willing to pay for this, as well."

[Ealasaide]

Slipping the hot roll into his pocket, Rochadan left the kitchen by the backdoor. There were two things he needed to do before coming back to collect Sallie from the care of Ædhral and the Cook. The first was to find the owner of the lame horse and have quick word with him about the condition of his mount. The second was to find Ærosylle. He was sure that Finian would have a better idea of where to find the girl than he would, but an extra pair of eyes looking about could do no harm. He cast a quick glance at the roofs of both the inn and the stable in case Ærosylle might have chosen one of those as a hiding place again, but, not seeing her, he circled around to the front door of the inn. With a little luck, the owner of the lame horse would be at breakfast. He pushed open the door and stepped into the common room.

His dark eyes scanning the room, he saw that a few new faces had joined the company of guests since the night before, including two young boys and a woman with her dog. His gaze hesitated for an instant over one of the boys, a sad-looking little fellow, his face and body badly disfigured from burns. "The dragon's fire," murmured Rochadan, his heart going out to the boy instantly. He let his gaze shift to the other boy and smiled. A right urchin, that one, he thought, but I'll bet he does a good job of looking out for his friend. Or he will with time," he added, noticing the slight touch of awkwardness about the two that hinted at the newness of their acquaintance. Catching the older boy's eye, he gave him a friendly wink. If they hung about for awhile and seemed willing to work, he might be able to find a few odd jobs for them to do around the stable. For the moment, though, Finian had already set them up with cider, so he left them to drink it, promising himself to keep an eye on them. The younger boy especially looked as though he could use a break in life.

Seeing Finian now absorbed in conversation with the woman with the dog, Rochadan went on about his business. He found the owner of the lame horse at a table near the bar, his attention completely focused on the substantial breakfast laid out before him. Rochadan walked over to the table and waited for the man to acknowledge him. When he did, Rochadan nodded politely.

"Good morning, sir," he said quietly. "I don't mean to disturb your breakfast -"

"Then don't," said the man brusquely.

Startled, Rochadan hesitated for an instant, then felt his usually calm temper flare. "It's about your horse," he said sharply.

"Useless nag," said the man, and tossed back a swallow of hot coffee. "What about him?"

"When I was putting him into the stable I noticed he's developed a sprain in one foreleg. It could use some attention."

The man leaned back and gave Rochadan a suspicious stare. "What sort of attention?"

"I was thinking he might benefit from having his forelegs wrapped. Just for a few days, to give that sprain time to heal," answered Rochadan, but his mind had already been made up that the horse's injury would be treated properly with the owner's permission or not. "He's not made of wood, you know. If you think he's lame now, keep riding him. You'll see." Horses had been an important part of Rochadan's life almost as long as he could remember. Selfless creatures, they would run for their riders till they dropped if they had to. To see one mistreated made the young stablemaster's blood boil.

The man belched and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. Finally, grudgingly, he nodded. "Do what you have to," he grunted, but as Rochadan turned to go, he called after him. "I don't expect to be charged anything extra for it!"

Rochadan paused with his hand on the doorknob. "With all due respect," he said calmly. "That's between you and the innkeeper. I'll see to your horse." With that, Rochadan glanced in Finian's direction, only to find him talking with the older of the two young boys that Rochadan had noticed earlier. Seeing the burned boy now alone at his table, Rochadan walked over to him and knelt down so that he was at eye level to the boy.

"Hello," he said kindly. "That's good cider, isn't it?"

[mark12_30]

Whistling softly, LinGalad entered the Tavern, ordered a glass of wine, took it to a corner by a window, and stood and watched as he sipped it. Boys, a young lady, a dog, the Innkeeper... He smiled. There was a song waiting to be written. He looked around some more; a pleasant, though mannish place.

He hummed into his wine glass, and wished that he could stay longer; but Loremaster would not be kept waiting. LinGalad drained his glass even as the Innkeeper approached, and introduced himself as Finian.

"Well met, good sir, " replied LinGalad with a bow. "Would that I might rest here, and enjoy the wine! You purchase wisely." His eyes twinkled, and he set his glass down. "But alas, duty calls, and I have little time; the King will have his shipments, and he will have them on time. Perhaps I may return again! I know so little of men, and it would be amusing to learn."

"Amusing?" replied Finian.

"So I am told, " LinGalad replied cheerily, with little tact. "Although that lad there is more worthy of weeping than laughter. Farewell! I will return when I may. May song and mirth fill your hall!"

He hummed as he hurried out the door.