[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling fought down the sudden rush of glee that threatened to mar his features with a look of triumphant malice. Valthalion! The young Ranger who, alone among those whom he had met on his first stay at the Inn, had remained steadfastly against him. While the others had shown him grace and mercy, Val had withheld from Snaveling all but the harshest tones. And now he was back from the wilderness, clearly unaware of Snaveling’s new status, and the Black Numenorean took pleasure in how news of this would discomfit the young man. He wore a mask of indulgent friendliness as he took the younger man by the hand, noting its dirtiness and the weariness that hung about the Ranger like the rags that had been his clothes. “To tell all that has happened to me these months would be a long story, my young friend, long indeed, and I shall not bore you with an overlong recitation. Let us sit and obtain you some refreshment and I shall fill you in on what I can before the day is too far advanced!”

They found a small table and Snaveling beckoned to Ruby, who brought Valthalion a small tankard of ale and some simple food leftover from breakfast. Thanks to the generosity of Hearpwine, Snaveling had finally acquired credit at the Inn and was able to exclaim quite grandly that he would pay for the Ranger’s meal. As Val tucked into his food, Snaveling explained to him how Galadel Vinorel and Roa had uncovered Snaveling’s true heritage. He told how they had recognised his amulet as the work of vanished Numenor and the device that it bore as the sign of the King. As he proceeded in his tale Val’s eyes grew wider and wider with surprise until the young man interrupted him with a cry. “You? The heir of the last King? Impossible? The Lord Elessar is the true King!” His eyes flashed with a familiar passion. Snaveling put out his hand to quell the boy’s ire.

“I did not say that I am heir to the throne of Gondor. That belongs to the line of Elendil from which high descent I do not come. My ancestor was the nephew of the last King of Numenor, and it is from him that I claim royalty. My land is now a vanished realm, buried beneath the sea, and my throne has become the plaything of fishes of the deep. I am, however, kinsman to the Lord Elessar, and he has done me the honour of embracing me and calling me cousin. He has acknowledged my ancestry and in token of that granted me lordship of a rich vale upon the southern flanks of the White Mountains.”

“But then,” Valthalion gasped, as though he had not been listening to what Snaveling had just said, “You are a Black Numenorean! You are the King of the Black Numenoreans! You are the mortal enemy of my Lord…and you say that he has met with you and called you his kinsman? How is this possible?”

“Roa stood by me when I met with Elessar the first time, and she avouched for my claim. None of the good that has been done for me would have been possible were it not for her.” Snaveling could see the young man’s face as he spoke of Roa, and he knew that the young man remembered her well.

“Roa,” Val replied slowly, “what has happened to her? I would like to see her again, if for no other reason than to hear her account of this…transformation of a man I took for a rogue into a vanished King!”

Snaveling let Val’s less-than-flattering description of him pass without comment, saying only, “I do not know where Roa is. I had hoped that perhaps you might have news of her, for I have come North once more with the particular desire to see her again. But come, if you cannot tell me of her, perhaps you can tell me of yourself. I well remember that you and I were never on the best of terms, but perhaps we can change that now that we are both the sworn friend of the King.” Snaveling could not resist one last boast to the lad about his kinship with the King: “He and I 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.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hearpwine bowed as low as he could to the Halfling who presented herself to him as the teacher. She nodded her head in return. “Greetings my lady Hobbit,” he began in his politest terms. Uncertain yet of how to behave in the Shire he had decided to adopt the manners he had developed for the court of Edoras, confident that such courtesy would not be unwelcome, if a bit out of place. The advice of his master, Eorcyn, flashed through his mind ’Tis always better, lad, to be more courteous than less when speaking with new folk in a new place. It’s always easier to become more comfortable and easy with them as acquaintance grows than to try and make up lost ground once you’ve affronted them.

“I am Hearpwine, son of Aethelstan and bard to King Eomer of the Golden Hall and I would like to offer you my services in the education of these children. I know ballads and tales from all the lands between the mountains and the Sea and I would gladly teach them to the little ones in return for hearing from them, or yourself, or their parents, whatever songs might be known in this land but nowhere else! But before we discuss the details of my proposal, might I ask your name Lady Teacher, for I am but newly arrived at the Inn and woefully ignorant of its denizens!”