When Bëthberry returned from above, Ædegard looked up at her. "You call me his friend? I barely know him."
"He needs a friend."
Ædegard regarded Bëthberry ruefully. "I take your meaning, innkeeper. I'll stay a while."
Bëthberry smiled. "Heed his words, Ædegard. More is afoot here than simple fever, I deem."
Ædegard shook his head. "You mean that he is also Amroth? He is no elf, this Mellon, just a sick young man in a strange fever."
"No," Bëthberry answered, "there is a doom playing out in this. I feel it. Be his friend, Ædegard. He will need a sturdy friend where he is going."
Ædegard frowned. "Where he is going? I cannot leave my father all the wheelwrighting. He is lame."
"You are not the only wheelwright in Edoras, Ædegard."
He glowered at her. "I could use another spiked cider, madam innkeeper. I've some brooding to do."
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