"This spoon is having an existential crisis," she announced. "It's thrilled that I'm going to Egypt because it's always dreamed of stirring ancient cocktails. It wants me to find a recipe for Cleopatra's favorite drink and bring it back. It has aspirations, people. Don't let its humble appearance fool you."
The crowd laughed and applauded. More objects appeared—a bottle opener that apparently yearned to free ancient wine fromarchaeological sites, a cocktail shaker that claimed past lives as various vessels throughout history.
"Your turn!" Fenella called out. "Who wants to try reading me?"
What followed was a hilarious reversal. Her regulars took turns 'reading' various bar tools, each interpretation more ridiculous than the last. Graham insisted a corkscrew was writing her memoirs. Someone else claimed a jigger had commitment issues because it could never hold on to liquid for long.
They were terrible at it, but that was the point. Their attempts were filled with inside jokes and references to past nights, a greatest hits compilation of her time at the Hobbit.
"Alright, alright!" Atzil called out eventually. "Enough amateur hour. Let's have a proper toast. Whiskey for everyone, on the house!"
The front door opened right as a cheer went up, and Fenella's jaw dropped as Kyra entered, followed by her sisters. All of them. Even Soraya, who looked extremely uncomfortable but determined.
"I can't believe you came to my bar."
"We had to come," Soraya said, chin lifted. "We couldn't miss your send-off."
Rana leaned to whisper loudly in her ear, "We were curious about this den of iniquity you work in."
"It's cozy," Yasmin offered diplomatically.
"I can see why you love it," Parisa said.
Behind them, Arezoo slipped in, looking radiant in a way Fenella hadn't seen before. She'd done something with her hair, and was that lip gloss?
"You look amazing," Fenella told her.
Arezoo blushed. "It's Laleh's doing. She said I couldn't come to a party looking like I was going to clean houses."
"Everyone!" Atzil called out, raising his glass. "A toast to Fenella, who has brought magic to the Hobbit. May your journey be safe, may your discoveries be plentiful, and may you come back soon because I can't handle these drunken idiots alone!"
"Hey!" several people protested, but they were laughing.
"To Fenella!" the crowd chorused, and drinks were raised and downed.
"I believe this calls for entertainment of a different kind," someone said—MacGregor, one of the Guardians. "We can't send our lass off without a few songs."
What happened next would be burned into Fenella's memory forever.
Three Guardians began singing in harmony, their voices filling the bar with Scottish ballads. She vaguely recognized the songs from her youth.
The crowd swayed along, and Fenella was swept up in the sounds of those deep voices that reminded her of home.
"Clear the floor!" Tavish called out suddenly. "We need space!"
People pushed tables and chairs back, creating a clear space in the center of the bar. Fenella's eyes widened as two Guardians produced swords and laid them crossed on the floor.
"Seriously? You are going to do the Highland sword dance for me?"
The guys grinned and assumed their places.
The three who had sung before started singing again, and the dancers began their performance, their feet moving in intricate patterns between and over the blades. The crowd clapped in rhythm, and Fenella noticed Kyra's sisters joining in, their faces smiling and alight with joy.
This was what she'd always wanted without realizing it. Not just safety, not just a place she could hide in, but a community, belonging, the freedom to celebrate and make as much noise as she pleased without fear.
When her eyes misted with tears, Din wrapped his arm around her middle. "You okay?"
"Perfect," she said, and meant it.
