[Lasbelinion]

Lithmîrë could feel himself begin to relax as the meal progressed. In part, he knew, because Mistress Bunce had given him the herbal tea concoction. But also, he thought, it was the company. They’d talked more of gardens and the herbs she’d used to flavor the stew.

The conversation had drifted into family and where she’d come from. She hadn’t pressed him for any details on his own, and he was glad of it. For what could he tell her that wouldn’t send her screaming from the room? He could barely recall the early days, before the long years of captivity and labor in the ashy plains of Mordor. And those long years were not something one could share lightly. He wouldn’t know how, anyway. Not now and possibly never.

Mistresses Bunce’s voice flowed over him, including him in her little stories, filling him in as if he were a long lost friend who needed catching up. For his part he’d managed a few sociable comments and found himself surprised at times in his interest at the details of her ordinary life.

His attention was caught by a long pause in her talking, preceded, he thought, by a rise in the tone of her voice. She had asked a question. Scrambling wildly to recall the words, he heard the music and singing come in through the partially opened kitchen door. Mistress Bunce was looking at him expectantly.

‘You’d like to go out and listen to the music?’ he asked tentatively, fishing for the source of her question.