[mark12_30]

A young, teenage hobbit stepped up to the wine barrel, poured himself a glass, poured two more to the surprise and suspicion of several people around the table, and without waiting to be questioned, and slipped sideways around the table to Bethberry. "Pardon me, " the hobbit said to the dreamy-eyed man standing beside her, "but I believe I owe Bethberry a glass. And if I may make so bold, " he continued, "I hear rumor that there is a latter-day hero-- or is it two?-- who deserves our accolades on this particular day. Please, tell me more about them, so that we may make our toast in a fitting manner."

Bethberry loked down at Gamba with astonishment. "Why, that was quite sophisticated, " she crowed. "Well done."

Gamba grinned, immensely pleased. "Thanks. I had Phura coach me, and I've been practicing for days. So what are their names again?"

"Bilbo, and Frodo Baggins. Two very great heroes. Their daring exploits and profound self-sacrifice are matched only by their literary capabilities, and their writing and poetic skills." She shot a dripping glance at the man beside her, who raised an eyebrow.

Gamba shot the poet a sympathetic look. "I get the same reaction from people, mister, " Gamba said. "Nobody thinks much of what I write, either. Maybe in another age we'd get along. In the meantime-- To Bilbo, and Frodo Bag Ins. May their songs never be forgotten. And may their memories be celebrated, and their heroism remembered as long as heroism is held dear."

Bethberry joined Gamba in the toast, and the poet hurriedly helped himself to a glass in time to join in.

Bethberry turned to Gamba, impressed again. "That was beautiful!" she said.

"Thanks, " replied Gamba. "It's what they say about the Battle for Taur-Na-Fuin every year at the memorial. I adjusted it a little. I'd better go and find Birdland. " And with a friendly nod to the poet, Gamba wandered off, carrying the third glass, and looking for one opalescent lock among the tangled raven tresses.