[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

At Vinaigrettiel's simple grave, Earnur and Merisuwyniel had spoken much of her mother (although if you expect any explanation of how he never found out she had a daughter don't hold your breath). Mainly he spoke of her beauty, her kindness and her fondness for cats and trifle. He had told the daughter of his beloved of how her mother had destroyed his foul-mouthed blade and redeemed him from its irritating and disloyal companionship. He also told of how they were reconciled at the end, and of his own undyingly manly love.

"Your mother was not a dark Queen at heart," he had said quietly. "That she became one is part of the long and sad history of the Black Sword Wylkynsion, whose mindless thuggery is now at an end." (from down the slope came a thin voice, as of a wasp in a tin box, saying I 'eard that, yer ponce! You'll get yours! but he ignored it). "We were never blessed with children, lady," he continued. "But I see in you that they would have been strong and fine. An ye need it, I vow you my protection. For now there is none in the world with more right to claim it."

Looking up wistfully from her mother's resting place (as is so sickeningly usual with Elves, she looked perfect in this as every other emotion), she had made reply:

"Leave thy vows for the breaking of our It-ship, Lord. For then there will be need of them."

And they had stood long in silence by the grave of Vinaigrettiel; fairest of the children of Elbow Thingy, sharing in silence their grief, and interrupted only by thin and muffled curses from a forsaken bag that only Lord Etceteron could hear.

*********

So it was that the former Black Sword of Dun Sóbrin pledged his manly companionship to the fair Merisuwyniel, and chose to take the road with her to the Wight City with Ten-Thousand Names...

[Editor's note: this catalogue of generic sobriquets would make the Greater London telephone directory look like Sheridan if either existed. It proved too boring even for one of Entish sap.]

... there to find healing for his wounds at the Houses of Bettifordeth, and so to take up once more his manly if random wanderings. There was also a chance that he could get a good deal on a second-hand war-horse in the Motorless City. When later his manly decision became known at large a thousand distillers wept.

"I shall fare with you as far as Minus Teeth, Lady," he said quietly. "And as far on your road thence as I am needed."