Taliesin wiped his the foam that clung to his bristly mustache and beard away, and looked about him. Due to his poor hearing, he had missed much of what had been going on in the inn, and for that he lamented. He couldn't remember where he had lost it...which rather annoyed him. He looked about for Goldwine, but he had disappeared among the frolicking, merry folk.
Then he saw a new man enter the building. He began to set up books on a nearby table and, standing with a vague waiting flair, took a sip of his drink. Taliesin, grasping his crooked cane, hobbled his way toward the man and his wares.
Books were neatly aligned on the table, some of which were open to display their elegant illustrations. The man had a fine hand as well, Taliesin noted. Gently he thumbed through the pages, gasping and mumbling words of praise as he saw each grand illustration after another.
He paused, though, at one that showed the walled fortress. He saw the words Helm's Deep in gold calligraphy. The words echoed in his mind, along with the whistle of arrows and the ping of stone upon armour. He shook his head. A black army with fluttering banners of a white hand, gathered before it, like stormy waves crashing onto a rocky harbour.
He picked up the book and, turning to the salesman, said, "What do you ask for these wares so fine, these golden characters in such delightful prime?"
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