"People in Rohan are not accustomed to seeing elves in Edoras," spoke Bethberry to the muddy, crumpy, tired looking rider who had objected rather vociferously to having ale spilt on him.
"They are obviously not accustomed to 'holding their ale' either," he retorted, his surliness giving way slightly to wit.
Bethberry nodded curtly and called for Aedre to bring a cloth and some ale and then returned to her new study. The morning wore on and, after all the hustle and bustle of the early activity, she was loathe to leave to her own work. Or perhaps it was that her work concerned the various people who visited The White Horse and their infinite variations. For whateve reason, she decided to stay and ply this new arrival with questions.
"Elves of Eryn Lasgalen are nearby, helping dwarves with the Glittering Caves."
"What business is that of mine?" replied the elv, whose eye showed some interest in persuing conversation for the mere sake of entertainment.
"I would not have any way of knowing whether it is your business or not," Bethberry replied. "It was a simple observation, slightly more detailed than a formal statement about the condition of the weather today."
"I see," replied the laconic elf.
"Do you now? And is there anything in my demeanour which draws you into such loquacious speech?"
'Nothing more than an interest in making you work for your interest."
"Work? You call word play work? An elf tired and mud-covered, down at the heels and apparently a bit worse for the ride, can still engage wit and mind rather than complain surily of bodily discomfort?"
Bethberry sat back, regarding the elf with a pleasant look of cordial amusement. What would he say next?
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