Eodwine berated himself as he passed through the doors. I should have asked the stableman for his name. I'll have to remedy that. He had a good face. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the interior light. It smelled homey and comfortable, like great food and drink, and good talk. He breathed it in with a smile. Hobbitish, he said to himself. Looking around, he saw a fair share of hobbits - a weathered man with a mail bag and a few hobbit lasses who obviously worked the place. A human woman stood behind the bar, her face reminding him of women in Edoras, though her hair was brown.
There were Elves, too, much to Eodwine's surprise. He was in awe of Elves. Call it New Rivendell instead, he murmured. He hugged his satchel and sat at a table, feeling small and very young in the presence of fair folk. Even though most of them appeared to be far younger than himself. He had seen Legolas of the Fellowship at a distance, and had known him to be hundreds of years old, looking no older than he himself had looked back during the War.
The woman came over to him and smiled. "Good day sir, can I get you a drink?"
"Yes, please! The darkest ale you have, please." He smiled. She did not move away but studied his face. He seized the moment and rose, bowing his head and setting his satchel carefully on his seat. "I am called Eodwine, of Rohan. You are from Rohan, maybe?"
[ June 01, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]
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