[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman finally excused herself from Cook's company, promising to hear all of their tales later when the stream of customers died down for the night. Cook, for her part, was uncharacteristically unwilling to let Aman go, but eventually let her back to the Common Room to continue with the night's serving.

Seeing a awkward, exotic looking character enter the Inn - a dark woman, her eyes deep blue and almost furtive as she glanced around the Inn, a hand reaching self-conciously to the headscarf wrapped around her hair and face, pulling it down a little so Aman could see her proud, angular features. Haradrim. Aman smiled politely at the woman, making sure several of the hobbits saw as she did so: there was still sometimes uneasiness and even unfriendliness when the Southrons came to the Shire, but Aman would have no violence here - no matter where the woman came from, she knew as well as any that the hobbits were quite able to accept strangers if only they gave them a chance. The woman smiled back nervously, obviously aware of the sharp glances from around the room, stepping further in.

She did not approach the Innkeeper immediately, but something else made Aman pause in her work, her cheerful whistling halting, and she straightened up. The sound of wolves seemed to suddenly get louder outside, even over the noise of the Green Dragon customers. Eerie, unearthly wails, like none Aman had heard for years, filtered in distantly, and the noise in the Inn momentarily hushed, as many of the customers strained to hear it. Aman shivered, unable to help herself, then with practised nonchalance, she continued wiping down the table in front of her.

But the respite was only momentary, as only a few minutes later, the clattering of heavy shod hooves filled the courtyard outside, accompanied by the sound of mens' voices and laughter, muffled jokes and incomprehensible words, feet hitting the floor with light thuds. A jolly sound indeed, but Aman still straightened up again, waiting for the group to enter: there was something familiar about one voice, a particularly loud one that seemed to reach over the others without straining itself - defined and quietly powerful even from outside. Aman heard them approaching and counted down mentally. Five...four...three...two...

"Korik!"

Aman gasped with surprise as the leader of the group swung open the door, his long, silvery hair hardly ruffled by the wind, flowing as one with his cloak. Behind him crowded others, and even though she couldn't see them, Aman knew there would be exactly twelve others. The leader smiled and bowed lightly, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt. "Good evening, Miss Aman."

The Innkeeper smiled, coming towards them and gesturing them inside. The group crowded in good-naturedly, talking and joking merrily among themselves as Ruby and Buttercup scurried up to take their orders, notepads at the ready. Aman pulled back a chair for Korik and inquired as to what he would have. "We're still serving food as well - mealtime in the Shire doesn't ever really stop," she added with a smile. Hesitating, she then approached the subject she needed to mention. "Korik...you know the rules of most of the Inns around this side of Middle Earth," she said gently. He looked at her inquiringly and she lightly touched a hand to his sword hilt. No weapons. "Please? I can't take any chances."