[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman regarded the man carefully, moved in her heart by the despairing words he spoke. But although he spoke of his own misfortune, he was not self-pitying; and although he was drunk, his words were sober. The Innkeeper now understood, as far as one who had not experienced what he had, why Snaveling was as he seemed to others: bitter, angry, despairing.

"You said the pain you felt when I said I would send you away was...Why does the Inn mean so much to you?" she said very softly. The man simply twisted his lips bitterly and contented himself with tracing the label of the bottle with the tip of one long finger, looking away from the Innkeeper. Aman rose from her seat and turned away, absently looking into the fire, her hands behind her back, then she looked back at Snaveling.

"You know I only really fear one thing, Snaveling?" she said suddenly. He looked up at her, apparent disbelief in his eyes, but also still that hopelessness. Aman paused, then continued, looking back into the roaring fireplace. "Fire. That is really the only thing I am truly afraid of. You see, master Snaveling, I have lived 24 years, most of them in or around Rohan - I was 11 years old, nearly 12, during the War of the Ring, and, ironically, at the time I was working as a groom in Minas Tirith, in Gondor. When the Nazgul attacked, there was...fire, all around, destroying everything, killing all in its path, be they people or animals. I saw horses plummet from the sky and two of the older grooms engulfed in flames, snuffed out in a moment." The Innkeeper paused, a shudder rippling down her slim frame. The flames of the fire dancing in her green eyes as the memory of fire much worse leapt in her memory, sorrow tracing the lines of her young face, before she continued.

"Do not mistake my words, Snaveling - I am not trying to compete with you, of course - there would be no point, for you have experienced much beyond anything I have been endured, whether it was the attack on Minas Tirith or anything further than that in my travels. What...well, what I am trying to say, I suppose, is that maybe I have over-reacted-"

"You did not over react, Mistress Rohan. Not at all." Snaveling's voice was very soft and bitter. Aman smiled very slightly and gently, turning her gaze to him.

"Are you going to insist on calling me that?" she replied quietly, then shrugged. "I doubt very many people will know exactly how much you broke down there, and the bottle of brandy...it is an unnecessary detail. This Inn is stocked with decades of alcohol, and I don't think any of the previous Innkeepers, even the hobbit ones, know exactly how far back the cellar extends or just how much accumulated drink resides within it. What I am saying is that a few bottles of wine, however fine and precious, no matter who they were given by...they cannot merit the total destruction of happiness that you have described.

"You see, Snaveling, tonight three visitors will arrive at the Inn, friends of mine, probably expecting to see wreck and ruin left of the Green Dragon. Thanks to the kindness and generosity of the folk of the Shire and travellers passing by, they will find quite a different image, and will of course be delighted about it. I do not want this to be blighted by what would probably be the only ban from this Inn ever inflicted, and neither do I want my conscience to be blighted with the knowledge that I turned you out. And neither," she added. "Do I want to know that you are sleeping rough when you could be here."

Snaveling said nothing, still tracing the label of the brandy with his fingers, and Aman turned to sit slowly in the armchair again, the fire dancing on the pale skin of her side as she leant forward to meet his eyes.

"Maybe you are telling me a made up sob story, Snaveling, and maybe you are nothing more than the thief and liar that you percieve yourself to be. But I don't think so. And payment?" She smiled. "How much do you think ten days hard manual labour to rebuild an Inn would cost? Reckon it would cover the cost of half a dozen bottles of wine?"

She walked over to the door, placing one hand on the knob as she looked back over at Snaveling. "Come, Master Snaveling, the party continues. Take the brandy as...a gift."