The Vineyard Tavern

[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.

[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.”