[Amanaduial the archer]

"More water, girl!"

Aman bit back an immediate retort to the man's rude call after her. Turning slowly to face him, she was about to speak, then saw Falowik approaching the man's table, a friendly, amiable expression on his handsome features. He caught Aman's eye and gave her a small, enigmatic grin and shrugged. Aman raised an eyebrow but obligingly left Falowik to talk talk to the man and went to fulfill his request.

Bringing back a mug of hot water a few moments later (a strange requestm she had thought when she first arrived at the 'Dragon, but one that she found was quite common among travellers from afar), Aman placed it in front of the man, hearing him reply to Falowik's gently probing question.

"Lithmîrë. Lithmîrë . . . late of Lithlad." He began to cough, choking off the last of word of the sentence as his whole body was racked by a harsh cough, and, naturally concerned, Aman pushed the drink forward across the table to him. Without looking at her, he lifted it and drank deeply, his cough eventually residing. Aman pursed her lips but the man's violent coughing fit had softened her despite his rudeness and besides, it was such a beautiful day. Taking the coin and murmering something insignificant about the man needing to see a healer about that cough. "And my name is Aman, sir, not 'girl'; I am the Innkeeper of this establishment."

The man looked up, a sneer almost appearing on his scarred face, before he simply nodded mutely. Aman smiled, nodding back briskly. "Aye, well, a very good morning to you, Lithmîrë of Lithlad," she continued, then bustled away.

The day was fine and bright, all trace of the rainclouds that had hovered ominously over the Inn over the past few days having vanished now to leave the sky a clear, glorious shade of sapphire, the sun reflecting off the distant streams and rivers like gems. Looking up from a table she had bent over to clear of glasses and second breakfast dishes, Aman looked out of the window into the halflings' green and pleasant land, and smiled to herself as the sun beat warmly on her pale face: she looked tired from a night of thoughts and fitful dreams rather than sleep, but her smile was as energetic as ever, and her hair, unusually, was not pulled back from her face but instead hung in thick brown waves around her slim features. Sighing contentedly, Aman finished clearing the table and took them back to the bar, where Ruby was playing her favourite sport: poppling.

The sport of poppling is an ancient skill - a very art - that has been perfected unwittingly by those who were bored or simply in places of many people, over generations, in all the areas of Middle Earth. Ruby herself was a veteran, as was Buttercup, and the two hobbit waitresses often indulged themselves in a little light poppling - which was shortened, in some twisted way from 'people watching' - whenever they were able. Originally, the game had been called 'hobbling' - hobbit watching - but, as well as the rather strange connotations this word would have ("What are you doing, Ruby?" "Oh, just hobbling."), the Green Dragon's wide repetoire of customers meant that the term had had to be widely extended to a general 'people watching'. But enough on the history and finer details of Ruby's special brand of poppling, dear reader, for it is more in exactly who Ruby was watching, that sun-drenched morning, that brings us back to our story.

"May I ask who you're poppling upon this morning, Ruby?" Aman inquired in a murmur, her back still to the common room as she began to unload the tray of its glasses so they could be cleaned. Ruby looked sidelong at the Innkeeper then turned her attention back to the Common Room, never pausing in innocently wiping the beer glass in her hands. "I'm not sure I like the way you use that, Aman. 'Say it like it's peeking or somethin', rather than just poppling."

"Indeed, gods forbid that poppling be mistaken as peeking," Aman replied ironically, grinning slightly at the beer glasses as Ruby snorted derisively. "Anyway, excuse my misuse of the verb 'to popple', Ms. Brown," the woman continued, leaning on the counter. "I repeat, who are you watching?"

Now it was Ruby's turn to give the Innkeeper a sly grin as she turned her full attention back on her subjects, speaking with an air of studious authority. "Today's subjects, dear pupil, are a pair of men, thought, in my studied opinion, to be of Southern descent. One would appear to wear clothes of fine and splendid materials, and a medallion emblazoned with some odd and rather bizarre symbol - lord only knows what for, despite the finery this man wears, he is not exactly what one would call a gentleman: a strange and paradoxical being indeed, he does not actually appear to have shaved this morning - and nor has he actually paid for his own bleedin' tab, he's relying on that bard-y man who came in yesterday-"

"Who is Snaveling speaking to?" Aman suddenly became alert, interrupting what was turning into a muttered rant. Ruby grinned and stuck her tongue out a small way mischieviously. "Well now, that would be telling-"

"Ruby-!"

"Hey, hey, keep your hair on, just 'cos lover boy's talking to someone without your permission..." Ruby replied jokingly.

Aman raised an eyebrow. She could have laughed aloud at the hobbit girl's mockery - how surprised she would be to hear what had passed last night between Aman and Snaveling! No act of romantic love, that was certain, and there never would be either. Well, probably not anyway: it wasn't a regular occurence for granddaughters to sneak around mooning after their grandfathers...

The Innkeeper nearly laughed to herself at the image this conjured up in her mind, but simply contented herself with treating Ruby to an enigmatic smile without teeth. Sweeping away, Aman turned and quickly scanned the Common Room as she did so, focusing on Snaveling and his companion: a young man in the garb of one of the Southern Rangers, who weren't especially uncommon in the Green Dragon, considering their relative rarity. Deciding there was no time like the present, Aman braced herself and started over to them, notepad determinedly at the ready - she would have to talk to Snaveling this morning, she supposed, and there was no time like the present.

"...spoke of you once or twice when I was in Minas Tirith, and he asked that if I heard word of you or your companions that I would tell you from him that your efforts are noted by him with appreciation and love."

The end of Snaveling's words were caught by Aman as she approached silentlyt from behind the Black Numenorean. Guessing who he was speaking about, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes and leant down behind Snaveling, her hair slipping from behind her ear to fall in a brown-blonde curtain beside his face as she whispered, "Show-off."

Snaveling turned with a smile to Aman, his eyebrows raised, apparently surprised at how she had crept up on him. She smiled and bid both gentlemen a good morning before inquiring if they would like anything for lunch, which was to start in about half an hour, or whether they would like anything else. The ranger replied brusquely, "Indeed, a pint of ale please, barkeep; I would not like anything to eat as yet - I appear to have lost my appetite." The last part was accompanied by a meaningful glower at Snaveling. The latter grinned and glanced up at Aman before gesturing towards his companion with one hand and introducing him. "Aman, this is Valthalion, a ranger I had the pleasure to meet in Minas Tirith. Val, this is Amanaduial...the formidable Innkeeper of the Green Dragon."

The pause before Aman's position was almost unnoticeable and indeed, Val seemed far too preoccupied to notice it. Before Snaveling could ask for anything, the incensed ranger burst out again. "A Black Numenorian? I cannot believe it, Snaveling, that you could... And to think, that King Elessar himself claimed you as kin!"

"Maybe the king has learnt to forgive the differences of the past and does not see me as a threat," Snaveling replied softly, reclining comfortably in his chair as he ran his finger absent-mindedly around the rim of his beer glass.

Valthalion almost laughed aloud. "A threat? Well, why would you be to the king of the United Kingdoms?" he scoffed. "Why, at least you are basically the only Black Numenorian left alive - and if you have no children, maybe that is where the line will end!"

Snaveling stiffened slightly by Aman's side, but the Innkeeper merely gave one of her small, secretive half smiles. Now...now was the perfect moment. Was she really ready to reveal her secret, and Snaveling's? It was nothing to be ashamed off, not now that she had a past and life of her own, a family even, back in Rohan; she was not a Black Numenorian in the sense that those who had forced Elessar's ancestors into hiding were, but nonetheless Valthalion was rather mistaken in his prediction. Taking a deep breath, she reached out a hand and laid it hesitantly on Snaveling's shoulder.

"Not...not the last, I think Valthalion."