Derufin laughed out loud, a low rumble that started deep within and burst out in pure delight. ‘I’m sorry to frighten you, m’lady,’ he said, seeing her step back from him. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hand across his still grinning mouth. ‘Your eagerness caught me by surprise!’
‘Come. I’ve had naught for breakfast yet. And you’ve not eaten all the loaf I left you.’ He turned slightly and motioned with a sweep of his hand toward the stable door. ‘Cook will have made eggs and a stack of thick, crisp toast. There’ll be sweet cream butter and gooseberry jam, thick with fat, sweet berries. And cups of hot, sweet tea to wash it all down.’ She stood there an indecisive look on her face.
He cocked one eyebrow at her. ‘At least come have a cup of tea while I eat. It’s the kitchen where we’re starting today, the pantry to be exact. Needs new shelving put in – the boards are old and bowed from the long years of foods stacked on them. Cook has been at me for weeks to get it done.’ Derufin smiled warmly at the still hesitant Elf, beckoning her toward the door with a nod of his head.
He started toward the door. ‘It shouldn’t take long,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘if we work together. And after that, there are the cedar shingles to replace on the roof. That should fill the rest of the afternoon.’
His voice grew fainter as he walked away from her. He turned back once to look at her. The sun, behind him, lit his dark tousled hair with its brightness, framing the now shadowed features of his face with light . . .
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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