[Garen LiLorian]

Derek slammed down the coins, his expression so fierce that the jovial trader in front of him blanched visibly. Reaching out fat, trembling fingers he collected the small pile of assorted metal, and counted them.

"There are 8. It is all you're getting." Derek's voice was flat, expressionless. The man before him rallied, and drew himself up. "Mr. Dondarrion. Market price on Umbarian silk is fif- uh, twenty. Here we are in the back end of nowhere. Do you know how long it has taken me to bring you this stuff? When I think of all the trade I've lost for these silks, I couldn't possibly consider going lower than fifteen. Any less than that, and I won't even be turning a profit!" Derek said nothing, merely collected his coins and turned away from the table. "Wait!" The merchant looked desperate. "For you, I could see... maybe... thirteen. Come on, now. I'm cutting my own throat." Derek allowed himself a tight smile.

He knew very well that no-one else in the vicinity of Laketown was in the market for silk. To tell the truth, he didn't particularly know what he was going to do with it once he got it, but a deal was a deal, and Derek wasn't one to pass up opportunities.

His voice was soft and silky-smooth when he spoke again. "I understand your difficulty. Unfortunately, my employers have only authorized me to spend ten silvers." He shrugged his shoulders, for all the world like a sympathizing friend. "Look. No-one wants your product. The year is too far gone, you'll never make it to another market before the first frost. Cut your losses. I'll buy everything you have for nine goldens. That's more than fair. What am I going to do with Umbarian silk?" He laughed a self-deprecating laugh. "Wear it?"

The trader shrugged. "I can make it to Thranduil's halls before the snows," he said with an air of unconcern, "Derek, my good friend, I'll give them to you for 11. It's the best I can do."

Derek's practised mask slipped at the mention of Thranduil and his Sylvan Elves, and the slightest hint of rage flashed across his features. Those blasted Elves! Where were they? What was taking them so long? Derek knew full well that Elves had no more use for silk than he did, but he couldn't call the man's bluff. Not when he was this close to a sale.

"ten." He snapped, forgoing all semblance of friendship. "Done!" The trader beamed broadly, pleased to have gotten rid of his product in time to be home before the winter. Derek scowled, and whipped his little book out. 'ten goldbacks for one cartload, Umbarian silk. Need buyer. Elves?' he scribbled hastily. "Bring the lot of it by the manor tonight. You'll be paid the rest then," He said briskly, dumping a small pile of gold into the merchant's waiting hand. It wasn't until he was halfway down the row that he allowed himself a smile. It was a good trade, for all concerned. The best kind. "Done! Done!" Malbeth croaked excitedly on his shoulder, hopping from one foot to the other. Deals always excited the bird.