[Bêthberry]

Maikadurion had been proving himself a faithful servant, for he cheerfully had helped Bethberry dress the meadhall for the seasonal regale all were expecting.

Bethberry now stood back and cast her eyes around the hall. Larger, brighter lanterns hung from the rafters, illuminating the game banners in full splendour, for extra oil could be expended for the holidays. Cedar boughs were hung around the windows and stone chimneys, pine sprays graced the counters and buffets, holly and hypericum berries filled vase and carafe, clusters of gold candles stood sentry against the longest night and darkest cold. The aromas of cinnamon and cocoa competed with the scents of the evergreens and every table was graced with blooms potted in moss, white amaryllis or red begonia. Goose would be roasted for the dinner, stuffed with breads, chestnuts, oysters and berries, but old Fróma had not yet started the preparations. For the moment, time wafted, a snowflake drifting gently in easeful dance as a hush sustained the hall.

Bethberry had been mightily intrigued by Maikadurion's story. Why, several parts of it could be made into games in their own right. The Innkeeper wondered if he would remain long at the Inn, talking to the various patrons, or if he would venture forth to propose his own game or join another game.

"Maikadurion, what was it that compelled you to stay in Rohan despite our darkening days?" Bethberry observed the elves look on with interest, entranced with a land so unlike their own and wanting to know Maikadurion's answer.

[ December 24, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]