[Galadel Vinorel]

Soon we shall play, thought Galadel, oh how my hands long to play. Her hand once again ran the length of her flute as Aman began to move the tables around for them to play, sing and dance.

Beside the elf she heard one of the hobbit lasses, Lily say, "Why don't we all go help Aman push the table over? Those are pretty big tables, and Aman looks like she could use some help." Lily stood up and began to walk towards Aman. Galadel stood up at well, looking over at the other hobbit girls.

"Do not worry about playing in front of the crowd. I am sure that you all will do well," Galadel said to them, smiley reassuringly down at them. Then she added softly, as if to herself,"It will be good to play here again, after so many years." Shaking herself as if from a dream, Galadel reached down a hand to help Mira stand up. "Come my fellow flute player. Let us help Aman move those tables so that those butterflies in your stomach may calm down a bit," said Galadel, winking at the hobbit, "By the way, I believe that I forgot my manners and did not tell you all my name. I am Galadel of the Lothlorien, and I am pleased to meet all of you." The elf bowed her head cordially as she said this.

She then straightened and moved towards Aman and Lily to help move the tables. Out of the corner of her eye the elf saw Roa and Tobias sitting with a transformed Snaveling in their midst. In Roa's hand she held Snaveling's amulet, now throughly polished and shining like new. Even from afar Galadel could feel the air of fear and mystery that was surrounding the three at the moment. Something is terribly wrong, I must go over there when I am finished playing, thought Galadel.

But suddenly Galadel stopped in midstride. She began to shake. Someone was calling to her through the mind. Turning, she faced Roa, who was staring directly at her. Silently Roa was screaming at her, for something was very wrong. Entering Roa's mind, with her permission, the elf searched through her last few memories and thoughts.

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.”

Oh no, thought Galadel, how can this be? Could Snaveling be the heir of Ar-Pharazon? No, no, he does not seem noble enough...but, yet...the amulet

Galadel starred hard at Roa and the woman returned her stare. "What should we do," said Roa into the elf's mind. "Nothing," returned Galadel, "Not until we know more. Do nothing, Roa, until I return to you after playing the song." Roa nodded, and turned back to Tobia and Snaveling.

Galadel sighed and moved once again towards Aman and the others, to move the tables for the singing, playing, and dancing that would soon begin.