[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling noticed how Galadel managed to avoid answering his most pressing questions. What she revealed of Numénor astounded him for it gave detail and life to a land that he had been raised to believe was little more than a fairy-tale. That she had been to this land was almost beyond belief. He of course knew of the immortality of the Elder Race and he had seen enough of Galadel to know that she was an ancient being, but such age as she spoke of now he would have thought would be more clearly written on her face. Her laughter as she swept away with the glasses dashed his concerns like brittle glass, however, and he resumed his sweeping. He thought over what she had said and tried to piece out of it his own fragmentary story. The King who has assailed the West had been presented in her tale as the villain, and those who rebelled against him as the heroes. But he had ever been taught to regard the supposed Faithful as traitors to the young prince – his ancestor – who along among all Men of Middle-Earth was the rightful heir…

He paused in his work as the full import of what Galadel had told him thundered into his mind. King Elessar, the very king he had agreed to face with Roa, was the descendant of those rebels. And Snaveling, if the tale told by his amulet were to be believed, was the descendant of the true king of Numénor. He leaned lightly against a table to gain his equilibrium. No wonder Roa had reacted so strongly! He and her beloved King were competitors to the same throne, and claimants to the same royal right. He sat heavily, the broom now clutched loosely in his hand. He had no illusions about his claim: he knew that he would never be recognised as the heir by any Man in Middle-Earth, nor did he want to be! He groaned and closed his eyes. Why did I ever come to this place? he demanded of himself. All I’ve ever wanted was a lodge of my own, with a part of the world where nobody would task me or tell me how to live my life. And now I am to be called to account before a High King who will consider me a rival and enemy? Despite the gravity of his situation he could not help but smile at the irony of his situation. Two months ago he had been a lonely, pathetic and starving beggar: friendless and hopeless. Now, however, he had a home, friends and hope. But the price of these was proving to be a high one.

His thoughts flew, as always, to Roa. He must see her and explain to her that he did not wish to press any claim against anyone. The enmities of the past did not concern him, nor would he trouble any one about them. At the same time, though, if his claims were legitimate, perhaps there would be some way to negotiate with this King of Roa’s… He paused at this thought, and for a moment the idea of his hunting lodge became a wild reality in his imagination. What is a single isolated valley to the King of Gondor? he thought. Especially when it is granted in return for a competitor’s refusal to stake his claim to the throne? He looked about for Roa to see if she had descended yet, but there was no sign of her. Dropping his broom and rushing from his chair he went to Aman to seek for Roa. The Innkeeper was locked in what appeared to be an intense conversation with the same Gondorian who had been casting such odd looks at Snaveling since the party, but Snaveling was too preoccupied to notice that he was interrupting. “Aman,” he said, taking her by the hand. He had intended to ask if she knew were Roa was, and to seek her advice on how to proceed immediately, but as he saw the alert – and unfriendly – look on the face of the Gondorian (Bredan! His name is Bredan) he decided that he would rather have this conversation in private. Adopting a more calm tone and manner, Snaveling asked “I’m sorry Aman, but I have something that I must speak to you about. Could we step into your study for a moment?” He looked at Bredan pointedly and then added, "Alone?"