[Mithalwen]

Mithalwen had been grateful that they had found room for both her horse and herself at the inn despite the late hour of her arrival. Neither she or her horse were accommodated in normal guest quarters - Aeglos was tied in a barn and she had a tiny chamber in the attics - more a cupboard than a room but both of them were soon warm and dry. However the inn seemed disproportionately busy for the smallness of the settlement in which it stood. she had been told that there was a "handfasting" which after a little clarification she learnt was a marriage rather than a solemn betrothal. She had never witnessed such a ceremony among mortals and her curiosity was stirred - but perhaps a stranger would not be welcome at the ceremony. However weariness such as seldom affects an elf had cast out thoughts of any kind and she had fallen into sleep as soon as she had cast her self on the low bed. When she woke sunlight was, not filling the chamber for the window was tiny but illuminated a square of the floor. The weather had clearly improved. She rose carefully to avoid striking her head on the low ceiling and once she had done so there was scarce room to manoeuvre since she had rigged a clothes line with pack thread to dry her sodden garments, and her saddlebags were heaped in a corner near to the ewer and basin. there too was her sword. She did not expect to need it on her travels but it was a treasured possession - her father had wrought it for her before he had left for the war in Mordor more than an age of the world ago and he had been a fine smith. It was light and strong and had been crafted exactly to suit her stature. She had been a little disappointed that his gift had not been a necklace or some such adornment for she had no instinct to be a shield maiden ( and her father had made fair things in times of peace) but her father had said "We cannot remain to protect you, so I must leave you the means to protect yourself". Mithalwen remembered his words and his lessons in swordcraft and as she did so tears rose to her eyes for shortly after he had departed with her brothers and had never returned. Only her elder brother returned after long years of war and he had changed utterly.

Mithalwen forced herself to activity to cast out the memory. She slipped into a simple grey dress with narrow sleeves more suitable for someone who worked with their hands than the usual elvish fashion and went directly to the stable to check on Aeglos. While he semed to think being tethered was beneath his dignity he was well cared for and Mithalwen soon found out where to find the blacksmith. The ostler had told her that it was still too early, that the only fire at the forge would be the one cooking the smith's breakfast and so she had gone back to the inn in search of her own. The place really did seem extraordinarily busy with a mix of all peoples... even some of her own kind it seemed though she had not had a chance to speak with them as yet. She had seen nothing like it since the old days at Rivendell ... but there were a few here she deemed that even Elrond, that might most welcoming of hosts might have thoiled to admit.

One group in particular seemed threatening, a contrast with the many welcoming faces she had encountered from the inn staff. These had melted some of her natural reserve and had made her decide to stay for the handfasting. Once she had attended to her own task of getting her horse shod - the smith had been astonished to find an elf as his first customer of the day - she fell in to helping with the preparations.

Other than baking bread, food preparation is usually the task of elf men and in this respect, Mithalwen had followed tradition and so she offered her services to those who were moving furniture and so forth. They had looked at her a little doubtfully until they realised the strength in her lithe frame. They worked hard but in the pauses that the mortals found more necessary than she she was able to take in details of the people around her. Hobbit children, a man with a monkey, women arranging flowers which were fair even to her eyes - the Shire was fairer than she remembered from her previous journeys passing through and then she recalled hearing that the Lady of the Goldenwood had given a special gift and smiled.

As she worked she had heard various strains of music but one now caught her ear. She could not quite place the instrument which riled her sense of professional pride " not a bass viol" she thought "but what ?... it sounds like nothing I have crafted...". S he felt sure from the sound that the player was an elf and when others paused for refreshment she sought out the maker of the elusive music. It was an elf clad in blue and silver, seated on the stage amongst players of more conventional intruments. Despite the curious hat that the elf wore it was the instrument that held Mithalwen's attention. She listened rapt at the foot of the stage.