[Amanaduial the archer]

"Oh aye, dogs, cats, ravens, horses - the whole merry lot of them." Aman grinned at Hawthorne as she turned, her foot in midstride on the stairs. The hobbit's face broke into a wide smile, but Aman saw the anxious undertones in it, and the way the girl hesitated rather than rushing straight forward.

"Aman! It is good to see you again!"

Aman smiled widely and stepped forward from the shadows of the corridor under the stairs where she had been standing, and embraced Hawthorne warmly. For all the trouble the hobbit had caused last time she had come - namely inadvertently destroying the Innkeeper's home, residence and livelihood - Aman did not wish her any ill, and indeed, after her first few meetings with the Brandybuck lass, she remembered only the girl's keeness to help. Stepping back she winked and motioned a finger to her lips, still wearing her riding gloves. “Shh, I think Cook thinks I’m up with Derufin helping him out. We’ll just let her keep a-thinking that until I’ve got a dress on – she doesn’t approve of my wearing trousers, even if it is somewhat easier to ride in them –”

Hawthorne laughed, but there was still a touch of uneasiness about it, and she seemed to be hesitating on the verge of saying something. Aman smiled warmly at her, tipping her head onto one side as she began to pull off one of her gloves. She hesitated herself, then leant forward. “Don’t mind about Cook or Ruby and Buttercup if they’re a little funny with you, Ms Brandybuck,” she said softly. “No hard feelings, my dear, I hold to that, and so will Derufin and everyone else who helped rebuild the Inn.”

Hawthorne went bright red at the Innkeeper’s words and began to speak. “Oh, Aman, I –”

“Aman! Aman!”

The Innkeeper’s countenance took on a hunted expression as she heard the voice calling her name from outside and she ducked her head slightly, freezing, one glove half on and half off her hand. “Hide me!” she said hoarsely. But it was too late – the Inn door opened and in came a breathless Ferdy, looking around for her. He spied her and came towards her quickly. “Aman! They’re –”

“Keep it down!” Aman flapped her hands frantically at the hobbit. “Cook will kill me!”

The hobbit looked slightly puzzled, then shrugged and continued, his voice slightly lower this time. “Aman, it’s Zimzi’s family – they’re here! They’ve arrived!”

The Innkeeper paled quickly, then she broke out into a wide grin, clapping her hands together with a muffled thump. The sound seemed to remind the Rohirrim woman of her current get-up and she glanced down at her riding clothes – doe-skin riding breeches and knee-high boots, topped by a fitted leather jerkin over a loose white shirt, it’s sleeves rolled up to her elbows revealing that she actually had both elbows and legs, things which Vinca seemed to thoroughly disapprove of. She winced, then shrugged resignedly. “’Not much I can do about it now – I’ll not keep them waiting by changing. Where are they, Ferdy?”

“They’re up with Master Derufin, at the house – but, wait, Aman,” the hobbit caught Aman by the elbow as she started forward. “You haven’t seen Miss Bunce or Zimzi herself, have you?”

Aman shook her head. “Zimzi is helping Cook in the kitchen I think – but wait, wait,” here it was Aman’s turn to stop Ferdy as he made to rush for the kitchen. “Look, tell Zimzi first then…then could you hang on for a moment before telling Cook? I need to get there before she can send me back. She disapproves of my having legs, you see,” she added, as a way of explanation, even if it was a rather opaque one. Ferdy looked hard to the Innkeeper, then nodded. “If you say so, Aman.”

“Good ma- er, hobbit!” Aman clapped Ferdy on the shoulder then, after fiddling momentarily with her haphazardly rolled-up sleeves and the two plaits which her hair was rapidly escaping from, she finally pulled out the ribbons in her hair to let it loose and looked hopelessly at Hawthorne. “How do I look?”

“Like yourself, Miss Aman,” Hawthorne replied with a smile. Aman shot her a quick smile, then almost ran outside, mounting Felarof in an instant. As she was turning him to go out of the yard, she saw Zimzi run out of the kitchen and waited until the woman came to be even with her. “Zimzi, can you ride?”

Zimzi nodded, flushed and eager at the prospect of seeing her family. Aman helped her up – it was made more difficult by Zimzi’s skirt, but she managed perfectly – and they started off at the fast trot towards the house, Zimzi seated behind Aman. The Innkeeper glanced back at the other woman’s face just behind her shoulder. “I finally get to meet your family! Sorry I held up Miss Bunce there, by the way: your parents won’t mind my being dressed like this, will they?”

Zimzi grinned and gave a merry, musical laugh. “I couldn’t care less if you were dressed like a fig pudding, Amanaduial – I am so looking forward to seeing them – to having them meet my friends, and my Derufin!”

Aman smiled. “Aye – well, no point in hanging around then, is there?” Tightening her grip on Felarof’s mane, she clicked her tongue and they sped forward into an easy canter, coming in sight of the house and the little crowd around it. Zimzi gave a whoop and waved, clinging on with her other hand to Aman’s waist – where the Rohirrim woman was surprised to be experiencing butterflies. Ah well, if I’m going to make the wrong impression, I may as well go the whole hog and come in riding a horse... I look like a flamin' ranger!