[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The smell of fresh hay and sunshine awoke Snaveling like an old friend, and for a moment he lay in the stable wondering where his rich clothes had come from. It was as though time had gone backward and he was once more the bedraggled wanderer, unable to afford a room and forced to sleep with the horses and do small chores to earn his keep. He rolled onto his back and looked up through the dancing motes that shone in the shafts of light that came through the chinks in the stable wall. The press of hay beneath him was a welcome relief from the beds he had slept in for so many months. He spoke to the empty air, “A bed is all right for sleeping, but for a really good night’s rest, only a nice pile of fresh hay can satisfy.” He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes.

Toby’s snoring brought him back to reality. Rolling onto one elbow he looked at where his friend lay, and once more was struck by the profound ironies of their situation. The last time they had shared this stall, Snaveling had been the threadbare beggar on the run from his past and Toby is odd rescuer. Now, it would appear, the situation was exactly reversed! The old hobbit had remained close lipped about his troubles last night, but he had let enough slip that Snaveling knew something was terribly wrong, and that his friend was on the run. The Halfling’s manner with Aman, odd as it was, clearly bespoke his desire to fade into obscurity and anonymity. Snaveling knew the agony of such an existence and was determined that if there were anything he could do to save his friend from such a fate, he would. If money were a problem, then he could help his friend for sure, for the King had been generous to Snaveling, giving to him what wealth and status remained in Gondor that had belonged by rights to the Kings of Numenór. It all amounted to a sum much less than many of the richest landholders and merchants in Gondor held, but it was a fortune beyond the reckoning of most. From what he knew of such matters, Snaveling was sure that by Shire standards he would be considered wealthy beyond all belief.

He winced slightly at the memory of his blunder last night with Jinniver. He was not used to money, or to paying for things, and there were times when his naïveté with such matters were painfully clear. He was afraid that his insistence upon paying for the pipeweed had been such an occurrence. He would have to find a way to make it up to Jinniver, that is what King Elessar would want…on the other hand, if she were so foolish as to take money and then offence for having it offered her, then why should he bother? Snaveling felt his eyes harden and narrow, but he shook away the expression, reminding himself that his old way of life was now over. He was a new man, and fit to act like one.

Stirring from his bed so as not to wake his friend, he stole from the stall. He smiled at the memory of Aman’s face when she had offered him a room and he had insisted on sleeping in his old quarters instead. “They feel more like home to me than anywhere else in Middle-Earth” he had explained, and it had been enough. She had understood instantly. He greatly loved that capacity she had; of all the people he had met since he came in from the wild, she was the one who seemed most capable of understanding. Her and Roa…but the comparison brought him up short. They both understood him, but where Aman’s understanding felt like forgiveness, the understanding of the Ranger woman was of a more stern nature. It was as though Aman did not mind that he could not live up to the standard set for him by Roa. Strange that he should feel the way he did then…but there was nothing he could do to change that.

He went first to check in with his mount. The great black stallion was housed very well, and had already been thoroughly brushed, fed and watered. His stall was filled with fresh hay and the doors of the stable had been thrown wide open to give the animal a bright wash of fresh air to bathe in. Whatever else Snaveling might think of the stablemaster Derufin, he was good at his trade and careful in the fulfilment of his duties. Snaveling stroked the horse’s mane and nickered at him silently. He passed his hands over the horse’s neck and shoulders, moving them down the sides and then up again to the high, powerful haunches, simply for the pleasure of feeling the life and strength of the creature. He was indeed a wonderful horse, one of the finest ever to come from the westfold. He had been a gift to the King by a nobleman of Rohan, and the King Elessar had given him to Snaveling. Every time the man beheld the horse he was moved by the beauty and grace of the being. It was indeed a royal horse, and a mighty gift…

Leaving the stables and passing through the Inn’s garden door he went into the kitchen and found it in its usual state of morning chaos. Cook and her helpers were hard at it making the piles of food demanded by the patrons. He was given sour looks by most of the kitchen’s occupants, for he was a pair of hands that seemed not to be wanting to help. Snaveling quickly ducked his head and slid from the room, as he had come in search of the Innkeeper, not breakfast. He tried the Common Room next but once more it was blank of the person he sought. Finally, he tried knocking on the door of Aman’s private room but there was no answer. It was as he heard the empty echo of his knock coming back to him that he suddenly remembered where she would be. With a slight smile on his face, Snaveling sprang up the stairs, and made for the high roofbeams of the Green Dragon Inn.