[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Snaveling suddenly felt a bit foolish in his clothes, for it was clear that Roa did not find them as impressive as he had hoped. At first, he looked about the room, as though for an answer, but when he turned his eyes back to the Woman he saw that while she was unimpressed with the clothes, she had noted the change in him. That made him proud, in an odd way, and the feeling showed on his face. “You are right, Roa – it is foolish of me to take such pride in finery like this. But is has been so long since I had new clothes upon me…I had almost forgotten the feel of it. And new clothes do help a Man feel like a new person. Have you never felt a change of heart with a change of clothes?” He looked at her dress. Privately, he noted how well it brought out the colour of her eyes…

Roa flushed and looked down at her dress, as though seeing it for the first time. “This?” she said, then she laughed with that infectious mirth and Snaveling smiled in return. It was a healthy smile and a sincere one. Toby chortled deep in his throat and listed a bit to one side, Snaveling had to catch him lightly and right him. Roa held out the edge of her cloak and looked back at Snaveling. “I borrowed this for the party. It would not do for me to have come in my travelling garb. Do you like it?”

Something caught in Snaveling’s throat. “Yes,” he muttered past the thickness, “I do.” He cleared his throat and then said, a bit teasingly, “So you too felt the need to appear in better cloth for this party? And you question me wanting new clothes? You saw the rags I arrived in. Were they worthy of this?” and he swept his hand about, indicating the room. Roa laughed once more and agreed that they were not. She looked back at the Man and examined his clothes again, but something caught her eye: the amulet that he wore about his neck. She had seen it before, but always it had been sullied and half hidden by the ragged ends of his tunic and cloak. Now that it was polished and lay open in the centre of his chest, backed only by the rich black of his clothes, she could see it clearly. Roa leaned in a bit closer to see it, and Snaveling recoiled, clasping it in his hand. Roa looked up at him, and Snaveling could not understand why he had reacted as he did. He felt a dread of her looking at the amulet, and he did not know why.

Roa held out her hand, her eyes moving ever so slowly from curiosity to command. “May I see that, Snaveling. Please?” For a moment Snaveling considered refusing, but he remembered that he was still bound to her for justice, and as he looked at her eyes he realised that he could refuse nothing she commanded. He lifted the amulet from about his neck and handed it to her. It felt as heavy as lead.

Roa took it in her hands and turned it over in the light. It was ancient and made of an odd metal that shone like silver… Roa gasped. “Mithril!” she said. “Why this amulet is made of pure mithril! Where did you get it?”

Snaveling paused before answering, the unexplainable dread growing in his mind like panic. “It has always been mine. I did not steal it, if that is what you mean!” He could have bitten his tongue out for such an answer, and to make amends he answered more civilly. “It is an heirloom. My uncle gave it to me before I left home. It’s supposed to be from the First Days – when our people first returned to Middle-Earth from across the Sea.”

“You say ‘returned’” Roa replied slowly, her eyes growing hard. “You said once before that your people were related to the Black Numenoreans. Is it of them that you speak?” Snaveling shrugged. In truth, he knew little about his heritage, for his people were hunters and not loremasters. Roa looked back at the amulet and peered at it as closely as she could. “There is a device engraved on it,” she said, almost to herself. “It looks like…” She dropped it to the table as though it were a burning coal. “I know that device!” she said like iron. “Seven stars above a crown: the device of Ar-Pharazôn, last king of the Numenoreans; the Golden King who lead the Men of the West to their destruction and who lies now in the Caves of the Forgotten until the breaking of the world!”

Snaveling stared at Roa, shocked by her rage. Toby opened his eyes and looked back and forth between Man and Woman. “Is that bad?” he asked in a small voice.

Roa’s eyes blazed. “Ar-Pharazôn was the fool and lapdog of Sauron. It was he who destroyed the glory of Numenor and lead her to ruin. And you, Snaveling, bear his device and claim it as an heirloom. How did your family come by it, and what manner of people are you…” Her eyes grew wide at the suddenness of a horrible idea. She leaned forward and glared at Snaveling with all the intensity of her people’s will. “Tell me Man of the South. You’ve said many times that you’ve wandered the wastes of Middle-Earth for years uncounted. But you do not appear so old. I would deem you a man in his early forties.” She paused again and fixed Snaveling with her eyes. “How old are you Snaveling?”

The Man felt suddenly hot and confused. What did that matter? He cast about again but Roa’s eyes drew him back to her. He struggled to resist them, but it was pointless. Imperceptibly, his shoulders sagged. “Seventy-eight,” he whispered. “I am seventy-eight.”