[Envinyatar]

Pushing back his chair from the table, Derufin smiled as he looked at his Hobbit companions. ‘You would think,’ he murmured to himself, watching them hail the new serving girl, Ginger, ‘that as big as I am in comparison to them, that I could out eat them.’ He chuckled as the lads hands went out for the bowls of dessert, and at their clamor for the thick sweet cream to pour atop it. ‘By the One, I’m no match even to keep up with them!’

Andwise, too, had moved his chair back from his place and waved off the offer of something sweet. Interesting, though, thought Derufin, how his voice gentled as he spoke his refusal and gave his thanks for the offer. Something was going on, he mused. Since Cook had had her private little conversation with Andwise, he seemed more thoughtful. And the man could not help but notice how his gaze often went from the girl to his son and back again, as if her were considering something in a new light.

The Hobbit pulled out his pouch of tobacco and offered the Stablemaster a pipeful. Filled, tamped, and lit, the smoke from the pipes curled upward together in lazy spirals. Derufin’s eye fell on the fellow who had spoken to Ginger, wondering what he was about – what did he want of her. His gaze lingered long on him, watching as the man’s eye swept round the room, then was cast downward as if brooding.

Derufin pulled his attention away from the man and watched the others in the Inn. There was Buttercup, flirting outrageously with some of the regulars; there was Ruby, smiling as she filled the mugs for thirsty Hobbits and Men. And there, a bit pale behind the fading red stains on her high cheekbones was Aman. She moved through the crowd as always, that certain air of self-possession evident in her actions. Or so one who hadn’t known her long would see . . . but the laughter at some Hobbit’s witticism seemed a little forced tonight; her eyes too bright . . . and he wondered if it was that she held back tears . . .