Seleven the long sighted
The cool morning breeze had been rather refreshing, and the sound of the birds singing in the trees was always a joy to any ears that had a heart to listen. Seleven, a man of Gondor, stood outside the Green Dragon Inn with his hood cast over his head and his arms folded beneath his cloak. Many walked passed not heeding him, or not noticing him. A Dwarf strode past and Seleven got some news from him.
"I don't think the gap of Rohan will be a safe road," said he, "those trees are dangerous."
"To dwarves with an axe, maybe," said Seleven, "it is said that they do not love those who hew trees. But all the same, what news from Gondor can you give to me?"
"Gondor?" the Dwarf thought for a while, "not a lot. The King rules well and what remains of the Orcs are driven away. I have not been there for many a long years, but I hear that Minas Tirith is magnificent this time of year."
"Thank'ee my good dwarf." quickly, he handed him some gold pennies and went back to standing as the Dwarf wandered off down the road on business of his own. Seleven searched inside his pack and took out a tobacco bag, but he found it was empty. He sighed and went into the Inn with some feeling of happiness, the day had seemed bright and there was no trouble to be known.
Cariâthwen was sat reading something at a table that was near to a large picture of By-water, probably painted by an old Land Lord. Seleven quietly stepped up to her as she leant back, seeming to have finished reading. "What news?" asked Seleven, but as he tried to sound cheerful, a shadow came across his heart and he perceived that it was ill news.
|