The Lavender Tavern

If you venture far enough to the west, the world comes to an end...

On the edge of an endless fog, a lonely bartender welcomes a weary traveler. They've each got a tale to tell the other, but who's really telling the truth?

Written by: Jonathan Cohen

Narrated by: Joe Cruz

A Faustian Nonsense production.

To read the full transcript of this episode, go to https://thelavendertavern.captivate.fm/episode/the-tavern-at-the-edge-of-the-world

Content warnings: homophobia, sexism

Transcript

[Intro: This story is called “The Tavern at the End of the World.” It does not take place in the Lavender Tavern...but somewhere where men and women come together to eat, drink and tell each other stories. You might call it a tavern...or you might call it home.]

If you venture far enough to the west, the world comes to an end.

Leave your town, forsake your village, abandon your hamlet and wander the land, always facing the sunset. After the last few settlements have faded, and the cobblestone road has become a dirt path, and then a mere hint of wheel tracks in the grass, you will come to a single, low-slung building at the end of the world.

It has no name; it needs no name. There is a sign outside that reads “LAST CHANCE FOR SUPPLIES.” The lettering of the sign has faded. Worse, the lettering has been eaten away, like everything else, by the fog.

For beyond the building, there is a line of rolling fog that never moves eastward and never recedes westward. It stands guard in a long straight line that stretches past where the eye can see. There is no further going west unless you step into the cold, unknowable fog.

And if you are standing at the Edge of that fog, trying to peer into what lies beyond, and thinking about those who have already come this way, it may occur to you to pause, for just a moment. To turn and look at the low stone building with the thatched roof and smoke coming from a chimney at one end. To walk away from the mist – even five feet away from it is a relief – and put a hand on the stone next to the building’s door, where a bronze plate has also been worn down by time and the fog.

The bronze plate, if you pass your fingers over it, will tell you that the name of the building is The Tavern. But anyone who has heard of it from travelers and explorers knows it as the Tavern at the End of the World.

Inside, there is a giant burly man tending bar. He has long blond-red hair in braids down his back, and his beard is also braided. He conceals his belly, unsuccessfully, under a large leather apron.

On this night, the man, Chaol, is polishing mugs. There are no guests at the Tavern tonight. A willowy black woman named Bellona is straightening the tables and chairs. They are both quiet, listening to the wind and the snow howl outside.

It is an hour before closing, and Chaol is contemplating closing up early.

He walks to the front door and pushes it open a crack to look out, shivering at the frosty winter air. The fog has caused the stones in the wall to settle, and Chaol is the only one who can fully close the door.

The night is a sliver of black. Before Chaol can use his meaty hands to slam the door shut, he sees the traveler.

The person is struggling through the wind, staggering from step to step but clearly moving towards the Tavern. Chaol calls back to Bellona, “A guest!” and steps out into the storm, heedless of the driving snow.

The traveler is heavily bundled up in furs and leathers, and only once Chaol has brought him inside and the traveler has peeled the outside clothes away that he is revealed: a young man of no more than twenty-and-five. Standing by the fire, he warms himself and Chaol notes the man’s lean, muscular body and piercing blue eyes.

The young man turns, and seeing Chaol’s glance, smiles. His gaze passes to a deck of cards strewn on one of the tables. “Do you play Hearts?” the young man asks in a soft tenor voice.

“No,” Chaol replies, and hears the deep rumbling in his own voice for what seems like the first time. “That deck is for customers.”

The young man pulls his arms around himself as if for warmth, but Chaol senses disappointment. “I am Akain,” he says after a time.

A silence. “You must be hungry,” Chaol offers, shyly. “Can we get you some dinner?”

“Is it good?” Akain asks, then shakes his head. “It is the only meal available within a day’s walk. Of course it is good. Please.”

Bellona, who has been watching this interplay, moves towards the kitchen but Chaol stops her with a paw. She raises an eyebrow, then goes over to Akain.

“You are quite brave to come out all this way,” Bellona says. This is what she usually says to travelers, the male, handsome ones, and often it works. When it does not, sometimes it works if Chaol says i...

Welcome to the Lavender Tavern Podcast.

Come join us by the fire for original gay fairytales.

In Season One...

• A man struggles against fate in a world where every child is born with a pair of dice that determines their success (or lack of it) at life...
• A demon who has been trapped in a lamp for nearly 1,000 years tells his side of the story...
• In a land where magic has been extinct for a hundred years, a student tries to convince his old professor that he has rediscovered it...
• On the edge of an endless fog, a lonely bartender and his barmaid swap tales - and romance - with a weary traveler.
• A chef extraordinaire can go through any door in the town where he lives, except the secret golden door at the back of the temple - because he's too fat to fit through it...
• An absent-minded mage in a time of magic gives humanity the ability to search for anything, at any time...
• ...and many more stories!

Written by: Jonathan Cohen

Stories Narrated by: Joe Cruz and Trevor Schechter

A Faustian Nonsense production.

Gallants in Distress: Just as there are damsels in distress, there are gallants in distress. Hamlyn the street-ale vendor is about to find out how knights track down these distressed men.

The Next Town Over: The Collective has forsworn violence. But how then to deal with the People, who have not?

Written by: Jonathan Cohen for the Lavender Tavern.

Narrated by: Ben Meredith

A Faustian Nonsense production.

Auerbach's Destiny: Some people are born to greatness, destined to be saviors of their land. Others...not so much.

Memorial: A cottage in the woods built for two. Three perfect coneflowers. And a single, fresh grave.

Written by: Jonathan Cohen for the Lavender Tavern.

Narrated by: Ben Meredith

A Faustian Nonsense production.

In the small town of Wolfwater, every door was always open to Finn, except for one...

Finn can go through any door in the town of Wolfwater except one...because he's too fat to fit through it. But Finn is determined to find out what's behind the golden door. No matter what.

Part 2 of 2.

Written by: Jonathan Cohen

Narrated by: Joe Cruz

A Faustian Nonsense production.

Content warning: disordered eating, body image

To read the full transcript of this episode, go to https://thelavendertavern.captivate.fm/episode/the-golden-door-part-2

Transcript

Finn got little sleep that night as he paced the kitchen, taking notes and writing down ideas, and cooking and tasting bits and samples of food. Eating the food helped him to think, to sharpen his mind.

He missed Celine, missed her laughing, dancing conversation and how she challenged him to be better than he was. She was ambition personified, unusual for an inhabitant of Wolfwater. Celine had been a singer since she was a child, but now she was famous in the town, and fame meant performances and planning and trips to other towns and villages.

He took one night off from planning his feast and went to hear her perform at an alehouse in the center of town. It was a shabby, disreputable place propped up by drunkards and slatterns, and Finn was surprised that his childhood friend should sing at such a venue.

But when Celine came out from behind the curtains onto the small raised stage, he forgot about the stale smell of ale and the acrid tobacco haze that hung in the air. She wore a simple black shift as if it was a grand dress from a distant city. Her hair was done up in curls, and gleamed in the lights of the stage. She elevated the alehouse and those who were in it, and Finn was glad to have come.

Celine spotted him as she took her place; he saw the smile of recognition, the little nod. And then he forgot everything, and listened to her song.

Finn wondered later if she had decided to sing that song once she had seen him: it was a song of being different, of not belonging, a black swan among a bevy of white ones.

But no, Finn realized, that song was not for him alone. It was for Celine as well. She was as much an outsider to the town of Wolfwater as he was. His difference was obvious to all who saw him, but hers lay hidden on the inside. She could pass as one of them on the street, but when she opened her mouth to sing...

“It was wonderful,” Finn told her afterwards, as the bartender stood protective guard over Celine while she drank water to refresh herself. “I heard the message in your words.” Then he added, “We do not belong here in Wolfwater.”

Her smile was as sad as always. “Oh Finn,” she said. “We belong wherever we go. It is not for others to accept us, but for us to accept them.”

He slept and dreamed of song and meals, and come dawn, he tied his apron and walked to Finn’s Inn to continue planning his feast.

Valery was waiting at the door. Somehow, he had persuaded Abriel to let him go out, or so Finn thought. He clearly was not a prisoner of the temple. Finn stood back and let him into Finn’s Inn, which Valery looked over with great interest.

Part of Finn’s mind cringed, seeing the tall, elegant Valery stooped under the low roof of the Inn. “What do you think?” Finn asked at last. He wished he had not asked it, but he had seen Valery’s anticipation when Finn had been about to eat his food behind the golden door, and he knew the desire to be judged by another.

“It reminds me of you,” Valery said. His smile was warm and genuine. He is the enemy, Finn thought. A man who serves terrible food and sees more patrons in a day than I do in a month.

“Wide and squat?” Finn laughed, and then wished he hadn’t said that, either.

Valery shook his head. “You are not wide,” he said, passing his left hand just over the space where Finn’s belly had once been.

“Let me show you what I’ve been up to,” Finn said, guiding Valery over into the kitchen. “I’m planning a feast.”

Now he saw the difference in Valery’s eyes; where they were curious and challenging before, now they were cool and analytical. Finn made no secret of his menu. He knew that Valery would not copy him. It was not within Valery’s power to cook like Finn, just as it was not possible for Finn to construct meals shaped like baskets and towers and children’s blocks.

“Here, try this mutton,” Finn said, lifting a large chunk to Valery’s mouth. Valery took the tiniest bite, frowned, then nodded, wiping his lips.

“A strong gamey taste underneath,” Valery said. “And the sauce?”

“If you took a larger bite, I imagine you would be able to identify the ingredients yourself,” Finn said with a smile.

Valery looked down at his slim body with a glance that Finn took as uncertai...