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The handfasting ceremony had interrupted the conversation with Snaveling but Mithalwen continued wondering about the dunadan. Unwittingly he had stirred age old memories in the Elf. As a child she had watched the Numenoreans arrive and although Snaveling cut a sorry figure in comparison with his ancestors he was still of that people, distinctive even now among the men of Middle Earth. He came from Minas Tirith; when she had been there it was named Minas Anor, the first White Tree of that city had been new planted by Isildur and she had stood in in its courtyard and watched the sun set with ... but she stopped her train of thought ... she had surpressed those memories for a long time and today was a day for celebration.
Her ear caught a familiar tune; the words she knew for it were a song of men she had learnt sometime. The melody was haunting and sweet and she sang, her voice rich and resonant.
The water is wide, I cannot get o'er,
And neither have I wings to fly.
Give me a boat that will carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I.
O, down in the meadows the other day,
A-gath'ring flowers both fine and gay,
A-gath'ring flowers both red and blue,
I little thought what love can do.
I leaned my back up against some oak
Thinking that he was a trusty tree;
But first he bended, and then he broke,
And so did my false love to me.
A ship there is, and she sails the sea,
She's loaded deep as deep can be,
But not so deep as the love I'm in;
I know not if I sink or swim.
O, love is handsome and love is fine,
And love's a jewel while it is new,
But when it is old......
Mithalwen's voice tailed off realising that these lyrics were also not fitting for the day and was glad to hear the music turn to a dance tune ... she wondered if she could persuade Snaveling to dance with her - he at least was tall enough not to make her look ridiculous and he too looked in need of distraction from his thoughts..
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