[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman, hovering at the edge of the dance floor in a lull in activities from the kitchen, watched the dancers with a half smile on her lips, her eyes scanning the various couples. She laughed to see some, and was just plain surprised to see others. One particular couple caught her eye, their dancing smooth and fluent, an elf dancing with a tall, dark haired man: Snaveling. Aman raised an eyebrow, and as Snaveling spun Mithalwen out, she caught his eye. She smiled openly at him, and the expression seemed to catch him off his guard, and a momentary frown settled, darkening his face. Then, surprised but enigmatically pleased, the Numenorian smiled back.

Aman sighed and scanned the dance floor. The day was fine and bright, a perfect day for the celebrations, and everyone at the party seemed as bright as the weather; the Innkeeper couldn't help a small, pleased smile with the satisfaction of taking part in organising the succesful event. A shout went up from one side of the dancefloor and Aman looked around sharply, alert for any disturbances. But no, a much more pleasing greeted her eyes: borne by no fewer than five small hobbits, all puffed up with the responsibility of their important task, came the magnificent, three tier cake prepared by Cook. Miss Bunce gave a surprisingly girlish squeal of delight and Aman saw her rush forward, grinning all over her face and bustling about, making sure the little convoy of hobbits didn't drop the cake. Taking the utmost care with their precious load, the quintet staggered over to the trestle tables, and one was hastily pulled forward so that the guests could gather around it rather than just watching from one side.

A clamour went up, calling for the happy couple to cut the cake ("No sense in a-wastin' time where good food is concerned, that's what I always say," announced one of the hobbit wives behind Aman), but Derufin and Zimzi needed no extra bidding. They came forward through the crowd, hand in hand, Derufin striding proudly ahead of his new wife as he led her through the party guests, amid light hearted cheers and pats on the back. Aman, pushing her way carefully through the crowd, found herself standing near the front, with Zimzi's mother and one of her brothers, Sakal, standing to her right. Sakal smiled down at her, then mutely exaggerated the action by looking further down at the little tribe of Gamgee children who had gathered somewhere around his ankles. Aman grinned back at him, then they both turned their attention to where Derufin and Zimzi prepared to cut the cake. As they plunged the knife slowly through the soft, snowy white icing and sponge, the delicious sound of breaking icing was covered by a spontaneous round of applause that rose up for the crowd. Aman clapped enthusiastically, then called out, "Three cheers for Derufin and Zimzi! Hip hip-" the crowd of guests responded with an enthusiastic "Hooray!"

"Hip hip-!" Sakal led it this time.

"Hooray!"

"Hip hip-!" Both he and Aman shouted this time.

"Hooray!" The most enthusiastic cheer yet lingered for a moment and was engulfed once more in applause. Derufin and Zimzi turned to look at each other and, in an instant framed in Aman's mind as a moment of pure perfection, the sun shining reflecting off Zimzi's cascading curtain of black hair, the sound of happy guests and music floating gently on the soft afternoon breeze, the couple leant in to kiss, and the party exploded in cheering - with tears gracing the eyes of several guests, and not just the women!