[Arestevana]

It was a fine horse, as befit a lady of the Mark. Of course, the rider was not truly of the Mark, but it does not do to dwell on such things. She was certainly taller than could be expected, and her hair was dark, not the golden color of the Rohirrim. Her eyes were dark as well, hinting at elven heritage. Her garb was not elven, though: a plain grey skirt, slit up the side to show a hint of the muslin beneath, and a simple white blouse. Swinging down from her saddle, the woman gave her horse an affectionate pat and turned it loose, pulling one saddlebag over her shoulder before the animal ran off. She turned and made her way up the path, toward the sounds of festivities further on. Arestevana shifted the saddle bag to her other hand, looking around and enjoying the bright colors of the pavilions and banners. She caught sight of the party tree over the heads of the jubilant crowd, and made her way toward it. She saw that people seemed to be keeping their distance, and the reason soon became apparent. The sinister shadow of a barrow created an ominous tone in the surrounding area.

Deciding it would be wise to keep her distance as well, Arestevana set her burden down several yards from the barrow. She reached into the saddle bag and pulled out the gift she had brought. A traveler chance-met on the road had told her what it was. She rolled the name in her mind. Mathom. Edging around the barrow, Arestevana set the gift on a table which held many such items. She crept slightly closer, mustered her courage, and yelled, “Happy Birthday!” before darting away again. Returning to the place where she had set her bag, she noted with relief that no one had bothered it. She picked it up and moved farther from the barrow, trying not to notice the small noises that hinted at a presence inside. An especially loud rumble sounded behind her and she risked a backward glance. Something caught her eye, and turning, she was shocked to see a hobbit woman and two young girls lying in the shadow of the barrow, pale and unmoving. Walking quickly away, she listened to conversations around her, gleaning information. Suddenly she remembered that she had not yet given a greeting.

There were stages set up all around the party field. Arestevana crossed to one of these and hoisted her bag up on the platform, climbing up after it. For a moment she wondered if her performance would be permitted, but at that moment a child with bright green hair raced by, and her doubts were assuaged. She reached into her bag and pulled out a large wooden instrument, which she rested on her lap. Then she pulled out two delicate wooden hammers wrapped in cloth. Taking loosely hold of a hammer in each hand, she gently struck several the strings that crisscrossed the wooden surface of the instrument. A sustained, harp-like note sounded from each one, blending into a gentle melody as more strings were played. Soon the woman’s voice merged with the music, flowing smoothly in several languages. She began in the rich language of the Rohirrim, followed by a more halting verse in Quenya interspersed with the Common speech.

Yéni avánier, lissi yéni,
Utúlie’n aurë, mi oro-mardi,
This is the day when we gather together,
In the spring’s forgiving weather,
To celebrate this land we love,
Watched by sun and stars above,
To bring our gifts with deep respect,
As memories we recollect,
Of another year gone by,
Yéni avánier, forever doomed to die.
Still we linger, still we laugh,
With good nature dealing chaff,
In the company of dearest friends,
Which fate in gentle kindness sends
Hurry! We come to celebrate,
Fearing justly to be late,
On the road we mustn’t stall,
Sí vanwa tenn’lumbulë ná i kal.
Yes, lost to shadow is the light,
We wish you well, great Barrow-Wight.

There was a scattering of applause as she finished her song. A crowd had gathered while she played. Rising, she returned her instrument to the saddle bag as the crowd dispersed itself. Picking up the bag, she jumped neatly down from the elevated stage and wandered off toward a pavilion, looking for a familiar face.