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Snaveling
Aman moved off to contend with one more of the Inn’s apparently never-ending crises leaving Snaveling alone with Valthalion and the young man’s difficult question. Snaveling looked at Val for a long time before speaking, turning over in his mind how he should respond. He could tell that the young Ranger had accepted his claims in form only, and that he had reserved judgement until later. Snaveling approved of this, for it reminded him of the King Elessar. These Dunadan never cease to surprise he thought to himself, and for a moment he felt a pang as his mind passed over the form of Roa.
Turning his mind back to the present he said, “You ask about a dangerous thing, my friend. Vengeance is not something that I would council any man to think about for it is more destructive of the avenger than of anyone else. There are tales enough of young men who lose their lives in quests such as the one you are on!”
“I shall not be dissuaded!” Valthalion burst forth, showing all the spirit and fire that Snaveling remembered from their first meeting. “The Warlord shall meet his doom at the edge of my sword.”
“I do not doubt it,” Snaveling replied quietly, “but I fear that you might also find your doom in that moment.” Valthalion looked displeased but Snaveling pressed ahead. “You have asked for my help, and though I do not think you will welcome it I will give it you. I have learned to value above all things the wisdom of your Lord Elessar. And while I account any enemy of his to be an enemy of mine, I would not assail your enemy alone and without the benefit of your King’s wisdom. I would bid you, then, return to Minas Tirith where you can report all that has befallen you, and seek the wisdom of the King!”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hearpwine
The Bard of Rohan sat in silence for a long time, his lips moving silently through the words of the song Mithalwen had just sung, his hands slowly miming the movement his fingers would make upon the harp in accompaniment. He had understood more of the song than the Elf obviously realised, but he had not interrupted her translation for it had given him a chance to see what she made of the song. For like all Elvish music, the meaning of the lay was not in the words that it spoke, but in the experience of the music in the heart of the listener.
Rousing himself from his reverie he returned her gaze and saw in her eyes a much more tender and welcoming expression than she had greeted him with. “Thank you, lady!” he cried, and sweeping to his feet he bowed to her with all the practised courtesy of a royal attendant. “You do me an honour beyond reckoning in teaching me such a song…and in the tongue of your people, no less! My hunger for the music of the Fair Folk is insatiable – much to the distress of my former master, who would rate at me for learning the songs of an alien and distant people when the lays of my own folk were, he felt, worthy enough for the halls of the King. But unlike my master, King Eomer has a fondness for the songs of Elves, and I shall delight him with that when I return.” He laughed once more. “But to think that I was sent here to learn the songs of the Halflings so that I might bring those simple tunes to the Golden Hall in honour of those who saved Rohan! The King will wonder that I have returned from the Shire with Elvish music!”
Seating himself upon the ground once more, Hearpwine asked Mithalwen about her trade. “You said that you are a craftsman, Lady. I had thought that all the Elves made things of beauty, but you speak as one with a specific trade? What manner of things do you create?”
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