[Amanaduial the archer]

After insisting that Hawthorne was to go to bed - the poor girl had been so tired she had barely even protested - Aman promised to make the best of the remainder of the night's sleep. But she simply couldn't: no matter how she tossed and turned, the Innkeeper simply couldn't get to sleep. Rolling over onto her back, Aman crossed her arms, glared angrily at the ceiling and sighed irritably. She was going to be exhausted for the handfasting the next day...

Sliding out of bed, shivering as her bed-pan-warmed feet hit the cold boards of the floor, Aman walked over to the window and looked up at the moon, shining her cold light into the night. It had passed it's peak already, and below, looking up at the silent orb, Aman guessed it to be maybe two or three hours past midnight. But who knew? This realm of the early hours of wakefulness was timeless.

Hearing a strange shifting below, Aman paused, her head slightly on one side as she listened. There was silence for a second, then the noise came again - like a chair being scraped back, or pushed out of someone's way, maybe. She narrowed her eyes. Once - well, it could be Huan, Hawthorne's dog, or maybe that smug looking feline, Tevildo, bumping into the furniture. But twice... Was Cook still downstairs? It could just be the old hobbitwoman bustling around, but Aman doubted it: this late, even Vinca went to bed. Deciding not to risk an intruder or a burglary, especially when there were so many newcomers (had all of them even given a name to stay under?!), the Innkeeper made her way carefully across the dark room, slipping on her threadbare dressing gown over her nightdress as she did so. Turning the key in the lock and easing the door open, she made her way as quietly as possible down the hall to the stairs, avoiding the usual song the old floorboards made because of her bare feet. Coming to the top of the stairs, she walked down a few steps then paused, crouching on the top few steps, she listened carefully as a door opened below, and brisk footsteps were heard across the floor. A circle of candlelight soon came into view, and with it came a steady, content humming. Cook. Aman gave a sigh of relief and stood to go down to Vinca but, for some reason, paused, deciding against it. She waited until the footsteps had died out, then made her way down the staircase, silent as an elf through Lorien.

Sneaking about in my own Inn! Aman grinned to herself, her teeth glinting in the darkness, as she reached the kitchen door. Creeping through, she came to the door that led to the outside - experience told her that it was quieter to get out of than the main doors. A few pairs of long, watertight boots always resided there, in case there was very heavy rain and it was too muddy outside to walk in normal shoes. The weather around the Shire was not usually bad enough, so the boots were generally just left to their own devices to quietly sink into dust and disremembrance. Now, however, the Innkeeper awoke them from their pleasant reverie, as if they had been sleeping like the rest of the Inn, slipping a pair on. Luckily, it seemed that one of the hobbits past or present had had rather large feet, and Aman's, in fitting with her petite build, were small enough to fit in comfortably. Opening the door, the Innkeeper snuck out into the darkness under the moon and half ran to the stables, slowing only when she came into the courtyard.

Why she had come she wasn't at all sure, really. But underneath the ethereal light of the gentle moon above, the ordinary courtyard looked almost ghostly. Half closing her eyes, Aman turned her gaze to the gateway from the road, and could almost imagine the images of those four heroic hobbits returning from their adventures in the South - in her land - dismounting, jesting with each other, making their way into the Inn. She smiled, taking the bridle of Firefoot - and felt a strange chill as the younger Meriadoc Brandybuck, smiling and laughing with his three friends, walked through her. Opening her eyes and finding herself, of course, alone in the courtyard, Aman shivered slightly, then opened one of teh stable doors and crack.

It would be empty here now Derufin had his lovely new house to sleep in and lovely new wife to care for him. And her lovely family - Aman smiled at the thought. They were delightful. She herself had never had a chance to be close to her father, as he had ridden with King Elessar when she was twelve and hadn't returned. And as for those two brothers - why, to see them with Zimzi made Aman happy. They were a delightful pair, and certainly very courteous, gentlemanly individuals - why, opening doors for Aman, offering her a drink... she could get used to those Lindon manners!

In the long rows of stalls, there was little movement or sound, just the usual, comforting sounds of horses asleep, stirring, snorting, moving around a little. The Rohirrim woman smiled to herself, the sounds like a lullaby to her. These were sounds from the creatures that had made her life. Glancing upwards, she mused that, well, Derufin's old 'quarters' would now be empty...surely no-one would notice if she was to spend a night here maybe...

No. It would not do. Smiling and shaking her head, she cast a last look down the stable building, making sure all was in order, and slipped back out the door - unaware of the one pair of eyes that was not equine watching her from above.

Going around the back of the Inn, Aman went back through the unlocked kitchen door and up to her room once more. But as she sank into bed this time, sleep did not evade her: no sooner had she lain down, eyes closing on the image of the moon, the images of the steeds of Rohan were dancing and snorting through her mind...