[Imladris]

This beggar maid shall be my queen the euphonious utterance rang like a silver bell within the my cranium-imprisoned mind. The minstrel of words began to cantillate yet another pulchritudinous composition that revealed a maid of so cavalier an air that she seemed like a caustic elixir burning the torn, throbbing heart of star-struck lover.

My buckram muscles, with great demurral, untwined themselves from their twisted seated position, and I, with inbred feline lissomeness, leaped to the wooden floor of the Inn. Ochroid insignia lifted high, I trotted to where the master of words resided.

“So what make you of my music Bethberry? To make amends for my song of the Lady Departed I give you two songs of women who are all too real in Rohan. Which of these two women do we,” with a sweeping gesture of his hand he indicated all who sat and listened, “which of these women do we prefer? The beautiful wretch who must wait upon her lord? Or the proud maid who will wait for no man?”

Bethberry…the lady was like a returning ghost of memory. Had she really fondled me so many years ago? The thread of memory had grown ragged indeed.

Diverting the powers of cogitation to the balladist, I considered it. Having a resplendent damsel drinking your grandiose aura was rather alluring. I purred, and rubbed myself against Bethberry’s leg.