The Vineyard Tavern

[Nurumaiel]

Andhun shook his head. "Sir, I promised my master," he said. "And sir, he does not own me, but he does own my services. And even if it were possible that I could leave him, I would not, for it would leave him short of hands and... I promised him, sir."

"I will speak to your master," Rochadan said gently, "and he will be compensated for his loss."

"I do not understand, sir..."

"He will lose nothing by losing you, for he will be paid in equal worth," said Rochadan. He saw Andhun still hesitated, and he took a slightly different course. "Stay, Andhun, at least for the day. You need not make any promise you will stay with us, but stay for now, and then when you see if your master will let you go or not, you may decide what you will do then."

"Very well, sir," said Andhun, and a silence fell. It seemed a very deep silence, though from outside the tavern there were shouting and scuffling noises. Andhun was considering what his position in life would be if he worked at the tavern, and he saw very clearly that Rochadan was a very good man. Andhun would be almost useless in the stables, for he could not carry anything heavy nor move very fast, and he could only use his left hand, which would in normal circumstances have been the weaker of the two. He grew tired easily, and many times when he grew too tired he would fall into fever. Here, he knew, he would not grow too tired, but Rochadan would find him not a help, but a burden. And as Andhun studied the stablemaster's face, he saw that the latter fully realized.

The door was flung open and banged against the wall with a resounding thud, and the young boy who had come running in paused and looked from Bethberry to Rochadan with a shame-filled face, and fixed his eyes on Rochadan, feeling that he as a man would be the one to deal out the punishment. Rochadan raised his eyebrows gravely and shook his head, and the boy sighed heavily, but slowly an impish twinkle came into his eyes when he saw that Rochadan was attempting not to smile. Jumping forward, the boy took Andhun's left hand and let some coins falling into it, saying something about paying for the meal. Then he turned to Rochadan and Bethberry and sweeped a courtly bow, still smiling impishly. "Cynan Harwell at your service," he said. "I was the one to find this boy you seem so interested in."

Andhun had been turning the money over in his hand and then held it out to Rochadan. "Here, sir," he said. "This is for the meal you gave me."

Rochadan opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short as the door was flung open again. It also banged against the wall, but the man who was the cause showed no remorse as his squinted eyes fell on Andhun. With his heavy build, rough large hands, and twisted lips that seemed to be in a perpetual sneer, he was very recognizable. And if he could not be recognized by these attributes it would be obvious by the way Andhun began to tremble and crouched back in his chair that this man was 'the master.' Harstan gave a growl of rage and advanced forward at a quick pace towards Andhun, then stopped and smoothed his brow with one hand, letting his face fall into a twisted, hideous smile as he addressed Rochadan.

"Good day to you sir," he said, his voice rasping. "I hope my boy has not been bothering you with his presence."

"On the contrary," said Rochadan, his words courteous but his tone stiff.

The master sensed this and tensed slightly, and when he spoke he was still smiling and his words still full of politeness, but there was a dangerous edge in both the words and his eyes. "Ah, that is a good thing to hear," said he. "Now perhaps you should not consider it too much of a trouble if I took him back to my home now, for he has been sorely missed."

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry watched the man with disguised contempt, for she did not want to anger him. Not yet.

The boy Andhun was ill, seriously ill. He was weak, almost feverish, and would soon have festering wounds on his back if the burns were not treated, for they were weeping still. He was hungry and haunted by abuse. He was not alone in this condition, for there were many orphans about these days who were at the mercy of adults, many of whom felt the only way to get work out of anyone was to threaten and beat them. And Rochadan was ready to take responsibility for the boy.

She though for a bit. What grounds did they have for refusing to allow this Harstan to take the boy? He ran a business, made trade. He could be influential in complaining that the Tavern was interferring in his business. Finian didn't need to anger the town authorities; he had enough on his hands to improve the business of his tavern. They would either have to make Harstan realise he was better off without the boy, or else make him so angry he stepped over a line, here in the Vineyard, clearly, so that everyone here would witness his transgression.

Bethberry decided to begin by making Harstan prove himself. She would quietly and calmly challenge his claims.

"Your boy, Harstan? I did not know you had a son." She looked at him with a face of mild interest, not challenge, indeed, of almost concern. Let him state what his claims are over the boy, she decided. And then she would point out how incapable Andhun was of fulfilling them in his wounded state. If he could be persuaded that he was better off without the boy, perhaps matters could be resolved without ill effects.

[Imladris]

Finian had not forgotten about the burnt boy and had been glancing to make sure he had been taken care of all the while. He grinned when he saw that Rochadan had been conversing with him. He drummed his fingers upon the counter, one eyebrow cocked upwards. The boy seemed to be rather parentless or guardianless which was a shame. He seemed to be a cute little fellow. But they could use some help around the stable and the inn proper. The boy would not have to do heavy labour.

Of course, he would have to see into the boy's true state of affairs but for now there was the brewing of an excellent plan.

Finian sauntered down the room and was about to ask the boy about his parents and all that when the door flew open and the first boy came dashing back into the inn. Shortly behind him came another man who stormed through the door.

Harstan

Finian leaned his elbow on the back of the injured boy's chair, assumed a menacing slouch, and narrowed his eyes at the slime that called itself a man. So he was the boy's master, eh? Then the boy was definately staying here.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The dark-skinned, dark-haired woman in the corner of the tavern watched half-heartedly as the Innkeeper and others clustered around the burned boy. She stirred the package of brown powder she had taken from her bag earlier into the steaming water. The young woman watched as it turned a sandy color and the steam began to smell wonderfully sweat. Hot chocolate, they said, Kellan thought happily, lifting the mug to her lips and sipping the tasty liquid. Grimm whined softly from the floor, lapping up the last of his water and moving on to finish off his plate of scraps.

Kellan did not look up from her table until she heard the door of the Vineyard Tavern swing open to reveal a newcomer. A man, middle-aged and not handsome to say the least, pounded into the Inn and caused both Grimm and Kellan to snap their gaze over to him. Kellan's dark brows knitted together in curiousity and intrigue, but Grimm growled as the man went over to the group around the boy. This should be interesting...Kellan assured herself inwardly, watching carefully as the horse-master and the newcomer began to speak.

Grimm growled, a deep, guttural hum that only Kellan could hear. When she did hear it, the woman looked over her table and squinted at her companion, watching as he pawed his way over to the group near the boy.

"Grimm! Grimm, stay! Grimm! NO!" Kellan hissed at her dog, who had begun to show his teeth in his equivalent of a displeasing sneer. Kellan certainly did not want to be booted out of the Inn for the behaviour of her companion. "Grimm! Come back here right NOW!" The girl quickly moved from her chair to get the ebony-coloured beast, but it was no use for the dog had already made it completely over to where the ugly man stood. Grimm did not bite, like Kellan had feared, but what the dog did do could have been considered just as bad for Kellan;

Grimm began to bark incessantly at the man.

[Ealasaide]

Leaving Finian at the door, Ærosylle clattered into the kitchen and shouted something at the top of her voice to Ædhral. Startled, Sallie crouched down on the chair upon which she had been standing and tried to make herself as small as possible. While Ærosylle had never hurt Sallie, the little girl was afraid of her. Ærosylle could be very noisy and tended to make lots of quick and unexpected movements, popping up at times with her face right in front of Sallie's when the little girl least expected it. Seeing that Ærosylle was busy talking to Ædhral, Sallie climbed down from the chair and went to hide under the kitchen table, well out of the way of Ærosylle. Crouching in her new hiding place, with her arms wrapped around her knees, Sallie watched the door to the common room. Every time it swung open with the passage of Cook, Finian, or one of the two serving girls, she tried to see out. Her papa had told her not to go in there without him or one of the other grownups with her, but he had not said she couldn't look. She wanted to see the little sick boy that Cook had carried a tray out to.

She had not seen much of anything when suddenly there came a bang of the front door slamming open in the common room, followed a little later by a second bang. And voices. Sallie heard her papa's voice mixed in with the voices of the other grownups. And then the loud barking of a dog.

"What on earth!" exclaimed Cook. Sallie saw her and Ada look at each other, then Cook wiped her hands on her apron and went to stand in the doorway, looking out. Ada and Ærosylle crowded into the doorway behind her. Crawling out from under the table, Sallie crept up behind them and tried to see around the skirts of Ada and Cook. Finally noticing her, Ada reached down and picked Sallie up, settling her solidly against her hip.

"What are they doing?" asked Sallie, her little voice piping above the barking of the dog. She could see a very big man standing in front of her papa, looking at him with an ugly, mean face. Her papa talked quietly to the ugly man as a big black dog that Sallie had never seen before barked at them. A pretty lady tried to stop the dog from barking but he didn't stop.

"Shhh," Ada said gently, shaking her head. "We mustn't make a sound. We must let Finian and your papa handle things."

Sallie nodded, staring into the scene with wide eyes. Then she saw the little boy at the center of the group that included her papa, Finian, and Miss Bêthberry. He was hunched over like he thought someone was going to hit him and his skin looked like raw mutton. "Is that the little sick boy?" she whispered to Ada, pointing at him with a little pink finger.

"Yes," said Ada.

"Is my papa and Miss Bêthberry trying to make him better?"

"Yes," answered Ada again in a hushed voice. "They are," she added, correcting the little girl's grammar.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Hush, Sallie."

Sallie took a big breath and closed her mouth. She wanted to ask what the ugly man was doing there, too, and why the little boy looked so scared, and why did her papa look so angry, but she knew that Ada didn't want her to talk. She wanted to please Ada, so she decided she would be quiet as a mouse. Papa would explain it later.

[Nurumaiel]

Harstan scowled at the dog that stood barking at his feet and then at its mistress. He did not mind that it barked; many dogs did so, except his own, which knew him too well to cause any trouble for him. When Harstan turned back to Bethberry he had the frightening smile on his face again, and he spoke in a mild tone. "My dear lady, the boy is not my son," said he, "but he works for me at my 'ome. To that effect, he is my boy."

"Is he able to do the work well with his burns? Are you sure he is not a burden rather than a help?"

"It's very kind of you to consider that difficulty," said Harstan, "but every little bit of 'elp is appreciated, and besides," and here he stood tall, "I would not turn down a poor little burned boy which was begging for work. You get along all right, don't you now, Andhun?" The boy hesitated slightly and glanced up at Rochadan, but Harstan narrowed his eyes and stood taller. Andhun cowered and murmured a soft 'yes.' Harstan grinned his leer again. "There, you see, ma'am?" he cried. "He's that 'appy where he is."

Cynan looked to Andhun and could see instantly that this was a lie. He looked back to Harstan and a sly little grin came to his face, and he began to walk towards the door. As he passed Harstan the ugly man gave a sharp cry and clutched at his foot. Scowling down at Cynan, he cried, "Clumsy little boy, you stepped on my foot!"

Cynan's face was the picture of shock and innocence as he laid a hand on Harstan's sleeve and said earnestly, "Sir, I apologize profusely. I did not see your feet down there." He glanced down at the boots of the man and said, "But really, sir, what big feet you have." Harstan saw that he was being watched so he contented himself with scowling at Cynan until the boy was out the door. Then he smiled at the Tavern staff. "Those boys can be so wild sometimes," said he, "and I have no doubt whatsoever it was the same wildness that which compelled my own boy 'ere to leave." He let his foot fall to the ground. "Now, ma'am, as I was getting to saying, I would like to take my boy now, for---" He did not finish but instead gave a sharp cry.

Nobody said anything, but all looked at him in a questioning manner. He rubbed his cheek. "What was that what 'it me?" he grumbled, looking about. His eyes fell on something on the floor and he stooped to pick it up. "What's 'ere this?" he muttered. "A little rock, so it is." He glanced about the room but nobody seemed to know anything about it. He frowned in puzzlement, but Andhun had looked towards the open window and seen Cynan standing, a little pile of rocks in his hand.

"So, ma'am, in conclusion," said Harstan, though it should have been more proper to say 'in repitition,' "I should like it very much if I could take this 'ere boy 'ome now, for he is sorely missed."

[Fallinel]

When the message from King Dáin Ironfoot had arrived, summoning him to Erebor, Krerin Gemfinder had cursed his evil luck. Just as he had finished delving his great workrooms and furnaces, and had found suitable apprentices in the Iron Hills, he would have to pack up the few tools with which he could not part, and move westward. Krerin was not an important or wealthy Dwarf-he was of the Blacklock tribe-but he was an immensely talented smith and engraver, and could produce fine jewelry of a type that was seldom seen these days. The black-haired, black-eyed Dwarf had worked, longer hours even than most Dwarves, to establish his business, workshop, and reputation. Now, he feared that he would have to start all over, and dreaded being assigned to some lowly mining task in Erebor.

After hiking towards the Lonely Mountain with sinking heart and sour mood, Krerin had decided to stop at the markets of the rebuilt town of Esgaroth on Long Lake, to earn a few coins by selling a trinket or two. Krerin’s temper was improved by the surprisingly quick sale of all the small jewelry pieces and chased metal boxes that he had brought with him, and the happy sound of jingling coins brought joy to his heart. “Well, I can always earn a few extra coins, and perhaps build a reputation here, by doing a bit of frivolous metalwork on the side,” thought Krerin, “and perhaps I’ll treat myself to a pint of ale now.”

The Dwarf stumped through the streets of Esgaroth on his short legs, tassel bobbing from the tip of his dark blue hood, and silver bells tinkling from the cords of his pack. As always when he visited the cities of Men, Krerin was followed by laughing children, who made a game of trying to touch the tassel or the bells. Krerin didn’t mind-in fact he encouraged the games by alternately smiling and scowling at the children, and by altering his pace unexpectedly. He had a soft spot for the children of Men in his hard dwarvish heart.

At last Krerin found what he was looking for-a tavern; the Vineyard Tavern, to be precise. The Dwarf pulled his hood back from his head, and laid his pack of tools outside the door, as some of the axes and tongs might be taken for weapons. He walked in, scanning the patrons as he entered, and stumped right up to the part of the room in which he expected to procure some refreshments. The top of Krerin’s head was even with counter of the bar, and no one on the other side noticed the Dwarf standing there, waiting rather impatiently to request a pint of ale. “Excuse me,” said Krerin to the rough wooden panel in front of his face, “but what must a thirsty Dwarf do to be served a pint of good ale in this establishment?”

Krerin waited until his gruff voice caught the attention of a tall serving girl, who peered over the top of the bar into a pair of glittering black eyes that looked upwards expectantly and with a certain amount of exasperation. “I’m very sorry, sir, but I…I didn’t see you standing there. What can I get for you?”

“Hummph,” said Krerin, “I’d like a pint of your best ale, please. Strong ale, I hope and trust.”

“Coming right up, sir, and yes, it’s quite strong.” The girl retrieved a mug of ale for the Dwarf, and offered a small dark rye loaf as recompense for having overlooked Krerin initially. Krerin paid for his ale, and stalked over to a table in the corner of the common room, from which he could watch the other patrons of the tavern. He climbed up into a chair, looking a bit ridiculous, like a child who was too small to sit at the table properly. Krerin had to reach upwards to grasp his mug of ale from the tabletop, and muttered under his breath about the lack of consideration for dwarvish patrons.

Krerin’s glittering black eyes focused on one patron of the tavern in particular-a young boy, face and body badly scarred by dragon-fire, who was receiving much kind attention. The Dwarf could see that the boy had been beaten, both recently, and repeatedly in the past. No Dwarf could ever understand the loathsome Mannish habit of keeping servants and slaves. All Dwarves, regardless of status, wealth, or birthright, worked hard at menial jobs at some point, and often throughout their long lives. Moreover, Dwarf children were rare and treasured, protected and sheltered; how could anyone put a child to hard physical labor? Krerin shook his shaggy head in disapproval.

An older boy, who looked healthy and impish, had burst in through the door of the tavern, and soon afterwards, a more ominous visitor appeared. A large, ugly, cruel-featured man, whom the Dwarf recognized instantly to be a bully of the worst sort, entered the tavern, and was immediately confronted by a few of the other patrons and a barking dog. A discussion ensued, in which Krerin could perceive that the large man was lying to gain some advantage, or to retrieve something that he felt was rightfully his. Dwarves rarely fail to see through lies and deception.