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The morning passed in conversation between Mithalwen and Marigold, and while the lass would occasionally turn her attention to him, Snaveling was content for the most part to sit and listen. Though he had lived for a time at the court of the King he had yet much to learn about the history of the lands and peoples beyond the borders of his own homeland and there was much to the Elf’s tales that was new to him. He marvelled that he could have spent so many years wandering the lands and not know anything about them. But then, he reflected, there were many people in the world who knew little about the deeds and trials of the Elder race. Indeed, if the Lord Elessar were to be believed, there were few now who even knew the full tale of the houses of Men.
Perhaps sensing his thoughts the Elf turned toward him and asked, “Is there anything that I can tell you of the past, Man of Numenor?” Snaveling started at the question, and Mithalwen smiled. “Hobbit lasses, I see, are not the only ones who are interested in my stories, Tar-Corondir.”
Snaveling’s embarrassment at having been caught listening to the stories told the child was relieved when Marigold interrupted by asking, “Why does she call you Tar… Tar-Colander?”
“Tar-Corondir,” Snaveling corrected her gently. “The Lady Mithalwen does me an honour by calling me by my right name, for ‘Snaveling’ is but a mangled form of my proper name.”
“But then why don’t you call yourself Tar-Coriander? Why did you introduce yourself as Snaveling?”
“Because I did not know until I was very old that the proper form of my name is Tar-Corondir. I had been raised to call myself Snaveling, and so Snaveling I was when I first came to the Green Dragon Inn.”
“Well,” Marigold said slowly, “it seems a bit confusing to me: to have one name but to use another.”
Mithalwen said, “Ah, but your own history is full of such things, young Miss Marigold. Is not the proper name of your Thain’s son, Peregrin? And is not his companion through many dangers not properly known as Meriadoc? And yet in the tales told of them by many, they are immortalised as Pippin and Merry.” The lass seemed to accept this for the good hobbit sense that it was, but the conversation was momentarily interrupted by the surprising arrival of lunch. Snaveling could not believe that half the day had gone already, and still he had not spoken with Aman. This was becoming awkward – for how much longer could he see her from across the room but avoid her eye?
He was called back to the conversation by Marigold. “Mister Snaveling, Mithalwen has invited me to have a look at her horse after lunch? Do you want to come with us?” Snaveling, having no other response, agreed. “Good!” the hobbit beamed triumphantly. “And I can show you the Innkeeper’s new horse. They say that he was a gift from a secret admirer of Aman’s. A Man who appears and disappears from the Shire bearing her gifts and forever yearning for her hand in marriage. I’m not sure I believe those stories, but you should see the horse he brought her!”
Snaveling’s heart fell at the hobbit’s enthusiastic descriptions of Aman’s imaginary lover, and decided that it might be best if he did not reveal who was the real giver of that particular gift…
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