[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman noticed Jinniver, the traveller, sit down beside Snaveling, and noted the sheen around the woman's eyes. Drink loosens tongues, certainly, and awakes curiousities that otherwise would have stayed quiet and humble. Now she sat beside Snaveling...why, her hair, reddish in the warm light, like even to Roa's...

Aman stopped herself immediately this time. Taking a deep breath, then walked swiftly out of the Common Room, watched with interest by a few, but not heeding their glances. Entering the heavy wooden door beside the bar, she pushed it closed behind her, slipping into the calm quiet of her office. Leaning back, she rested her head back against the cool wood of the door and sighed deeply.

The Innkeeper didn't use her bedroom that much really: sleeping was not much more than a guilty snatch in this occupation, and she had gotten used to it over the time she had been at the Green Dragon - it was like having expectant mares or training colts every day. When the Innkeeper merely wanted a few minutes to herself, it was barely worth her while to go up to her bedroom on the second floor, and at the busy times of the day around mealtimes and in the evening, it would be impractical, not to mention rather selfish, to run away to the stables every ten minutes. So her 'office' was a godsend: of course, she did occasionally use it to do work, but the Inn's accounts were usually pretty much non-existant. Besides, it would mean listing everything there: and to list presents where the peeking eyes of Ruby and Buttercup could see them...well, you may as well tell the whole world. It somewhat spoiled the surprise. Most of the time, this room was simply Aman's way of getting away, and she had used it for various purposes since she came here. Taking aside and talking to unruly customers, for example...

Opening her eyes but not lowering her head, Aman glowered underneath her eyelashes at the spot by the fireplace where two soft, slightly battered chairs slouched on the hearth. The fire hadn't yet been lit, but Aman could all too well visualise the scene of those months ago when she had taken aside a spiteful customer after he had deliberately knocked over a dozen red wine bottles, sending them crashing to the stone floor of the cellar. And she had reasoned with him. Firelight playing on noble features, dull black hair like the feathers of an injured raven, melancholy words of a harsh faraway life spilling from moody eyes and flat voice to be illuminated in the room, illuminated in the sight of the Innkeeper...

Crossing the room, she ran her hand across the softened leather of the nearest chair's back contemplatively. Yes, she had talked to Snaveling in here, several times - she had tried to understand him and had found more depth than she maybe would have liked to contemplate. But that was the blessed trouble with him! Frowning, Aman dropped into the chair and crossed her legs as she glared venemously across at the opposite chair where Snaveling had sat. Oh yes, he sat there, he recounted tales the ranger woman would never had wished to listen to, would never, because of her loyalty to Elessar, have wanted to listen to or believe, words of a land Aman knew little of - kings and traitors and the beautiful white tree of Gondor. Roa would not have had a word of it, firm and...and stubborn in her beliefs. Jealously reared up nastily in Aman again. It had been Aman who Snaveling had talked to, not Roa! But...

...but now she came to think of it, Aman realised she maybe had ignored it. The niggling doubt planted it's feet firmly in her mind and determined, with the help of Common Sense, to grow there. She pondered on the thought uneasily. Yes, Snaveling had spoken of Roa - and when he had returned, Aman had been unwilling to see what was plainly in front of her, thinking, hoping that it had been her he had returned for. And maybe...well, maybe that was a little of it: not a vain thought, merely a reasonable one - but also a slightly deflating one. Snaveling had spoken to Aman yes, but he had spoken of Roa. He had spoken to [i]Aman.

"True love has not the words." Where had Aman heard the saying? She couldn't remember, but realised now that yes, it was true. How stupid of her! She stood abruptly, turning and pacing for a few steps on the rug in front of the fire. Yes, Snaveling had spoken to Aman - because he had chosen her as a friend. Nothing more, but certainly nothing less. And that had involved the man of South giving her his trust, something which did not come easily to him. And when he had come back now, she had thrown it back in his face!

"Fool..." Aman murmured softly, throwing her head back again and wincing. Grinning to herself ruefully she gave a small shot of laughter and dropped her face forward into her heavy hands and shook her head as she realised how blind she was. Foolfoolfool...

There was not a second to lose. Crossing the room purposefully, she put a hand on the doorknob meaningfully: she had wasted time now, she had thrown back trust...but she was quite resolved that jealousy, in this ridiculous form, would not block out getting it back now. Let him have his thoughts of the ranger woman: it was not she, but Aman, who was here now.

Taking another deep breath, Aman opened the door and, stepping behind the bar, she pulled a foamy pint with practised speed, then, as an afterthought, she drew a small glass of cider from one of the barrels. As she wove her way through the crowded throng, those who observed her carefully would have noticed that the shadows of before seemed to have inexplicably melted away in the light of the Inn. Approaching Snaveling, she cleared her throat and pushed the drinks across to both Snaveling and Jinniver. Smiling slightly, she crossed behind the man and put a hand on his shoulder as she passed, whispering softly into his ear, "Welcome back, Snaveling," before she moved on through the room.

Aye, let him have his thoughts of her. It is I, not she, who is here now...