[Airerûthiel]

The door of the inn opened and a young man strode in, dressed in black with a ragged hooded cloak. He had red-gold hair that fell to his shoulders, and his cerulean eyes sparkled like sapphires when they caught the warm lights of the inn. There was a silence as the other patrons took in this new addition to the White Horse, and then the conversation broke out again in a ripple of chatter.

The new guest walked over to the bar and sat at a stool, considering his next step. He knew that his appearance gave the impression that he was a traveller, but to himself he privately swore once again the oath he had lived by for as long as he could remember: "No more will I walk freely in the wilds of Middle-earth."

"What can I get you, sir?" A voice shook him from his melancholy thoughts and he looked up to see a friendly smile. "I am Bethberry, and I am the innkeeper of the White Horse. What is your name and what would you like?"

"A pint of ale, if you would be so kind," replied the new visitor. "As for my name, I would prefer not to tell you. I keep my identity for only those that I know."

"You speak like one of Gondor. Do you come from that land?" asked the innkeeper.

"I was born there, and the blood of the Men of Gondor flows through my veins from my father's side," he replied, "but my mother was of Elven kind. She had a sister who died in the massacre of the White Horse."

"I have heard of the tragedy of the Rocconinquë," said Bethberry whilst pouring a mug of ale. There was a sense of sadness about this person that was impossible to pinpoint, as though he had lost a sibling he held dear (which was actually the truth).

"Forgive me for being so rude and outspoken, but I have been searching for decent, honest work since I arrived in this land," the figure said, his hair taking on the appearance of a waterfall of flame. "I do not suppose it would be possible to offer you my services as a worker here? I am skilled with horses and with leather, have a keen eye for archery and would be more than willing to work long hours for little or no pay."

"Well..." Bethberry tried to look serious but could not resist a small smile. There was something about this half-Elf that appealed greatly; he had a direct honesty and a tolerant spirit, as well as being instantly likeable. "I will certainly consider your offer. But first I need to know who you are - I do not like to employ people without names."

There was a silence, and then the Gondorian spoke. "My name is Maikadurion."

[ December 19, 2002: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]