[Amanaduial the archer]

At the moment the door of the Common Room closed behind Snaveling, the sidedoor of the kitchen opened, releasing the fragrant smells of Cook's work into the pleasant night air. The Innkeeper, now clad in a dress, stepped out onto the step, breathing in the still air happily, her eyes closed as she took a moment to enjoy the peace and coolness. The soft green material of the dress's skirts lapped lazily around her legs and feet and the breeze gently stroked her half-exposed arms as she stood suspended on the step; after the constricting leathers, especially after several hours hard riding, the dress seemed ridiculously airy and light, and besides, Cook had made it quite clear that she would 'much prefer it' if Aman changed - the hobbit woman's glares of disapproval would send a weaker woman cowering beneath the bar.

Breathing deeply, Aman shrugged her shoulders lightly and began to walk briskly towards the stables: having changed now, she intended to check on her horses, especially Taydoch, before she went back in for the evening. Reaching the courtyard, something immediately struck her as odd, something which maybe would not have seemed so odd to newcomers to the Inn who did not know it quite as well as the Rohirrim Innkeeper.

The door was closed.

Likesay, this would not seem so strange had it not been for the fact that it was always open - both Derufin and Merrimac had a habit of leaving it open so that the warm, comforting light spilled onto the cobbles of the courtyard, giving a pre-taste of the Inn, the bright windows of which you saw when you fully rounded the corner into the courtyard. But to see it so conscientiously and carefully closed...

Approaching and lifting the latch, Aman gave an experimental push and was relieved when the door swung open with a soft creak - that meant at least that it was locked only from the outside, and that there was no one inside. Still, with horses from every race and calibre of peoples from ever inch of Middle Earth stored under one roof, it didn't pay for the owner of said roof to be at all careless. Closing the door almost entirely behind her, Aman turned to lift the lantern from behind her...and leapt as a thump punctuated the silence.

Whirling around with the lamp held high, the oil light flaring into the uncertainty of the shadows, Aman glared around wildly...and grinned in relief, feeling foolish, as she realised it was merely the sound of one of her own horses shifting. Lowering the threatening lantern and turning the little stick carefully so that the light softened, she approached them with a smile. Taydoch and Rochfalmar stood with their heads close over the half-doors of their stalls and the mare nuzzled her nose against the black stallions gently as Aman came towards them, and he reciprocated gingerly. They were getting on well then. Aman held out a hand to stroke Taydoch's nose - and stopped as she noticed the second thing that was amiss: that the ever-absent stall beside Taydoch's was no longer absent. The Innkeeper cocked her head on one side and looked speculatively at the new occupant of the stall: a huge, dark beast like Taydoch but more stockily built, it's eyes glinting with some inner fire, it's coat melding into the darkness as if woven of the night itself.

This was a horse that meant business.

Aman held out a hand to the horse and it pushed firmly at her sleeve in the search for oats - so it was obviously animal not immortal beast. She frowned slightly beneath her smile though - there was a certain something about this horse, an essence that spoke of something else...someone else... The memories stirred confidently and Aman blinked: could it be...? No, don't be silly, just because the horse happens to be the sort of steed you could imagine him riding...it doesn't mean he has returned...not when you never really expected to see him again...

Picking up her skirts and half-running out of the stables, Aman deposited the lantern hastily and made her way quickly into the Inn, pausing only to look hopefully at the window of the Inn, where the bright lights of the fire and the joy of the customers shone brightly. Was that a tall figure she saw there, wearing dark riding clothes? Or was it simply imagination...

Making her way up the steps at what Cook would have called an 'indecent pace' for a young lady, the Rohirrim woman took a deep breath as if plunging underwater and opened the door. Looking around, her eyes settled as if drawn magnetically on the figure warming his hands in front of the fire, his back turned to her, dark hair falling down his neck, the profile of his pale face familiar as he turned his head...

"Snaveling..." Aman breathed softly. The man couldn't have heard, but he turned anyway, and a dry smile broke out on his noble features as he caught Aman's eye and nodded, moving towards her without a word. Aman broke out in a bashful grin that would have set every old gossip in Hobbiton gleefully muttering to each other, but this time with reason - maybe. Holding out her hands to Snaveling's, she grasped them tightly and smiled up at the Numenorean.

"Welcome back, Snaveling - come, I see by your face that we have plenty to discuss..."