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Snaveling’s own head was aching far more than the Innkeeper’s. The day’s seemingly endless string of disasters had finally reached what could only be its masterpiece. Aman sat nursing her hangover and eyeing him in a way that she had not done since their first acquaintance. He was grateful to Mithalwen for having given him the chance to explain to Aman, but he hardly knew were to begin. The silence grew and became something plump and unnecessary, like an overripe fruit that has lost its flavour and gone to bitterness, but still he did not speak. Usually, it was Aman who would break these uncomfortable silences and find just the words they needed, but this time she sat in her chair, hurt and betrayed. Snaveling knew he could explain the truth to her, and expose the root of Marigold’s error, but he knew as well that it was probably too late to still the wagging tongues of the Shire. If one little Halfling lass had leapt to the conclusion that Snaveling was a romantic figure in the Innkeeper’s heart, then how many others had already done so? How many were doing so now, seeing them together and behaving in the manner that they were? It would be common knowledge that Felarof had been his gift to Aman, as the magnificent stallion had drawn a lot of attention when it had arrived, and none could have failed to note that while Snaveling had come with the horse, it was Aman who now rode him.
Snaveling realized that Aman’s hurt and anger had given her the strength she needed to remain quiet for as long as it would take for him to finally begin. Taking a deep breath, he began by quietly explaining the source of Marigold’s error. He related the events in the stable and his conversation with Mithalwen, dwelling at length on his reasons for telling the Elf the truth about Felarof. “No-one knows better than you, my old friend, what a liar and a deceiver I have been in my life, and I am determined now that I shall speak only truth. I could see that Mithalwen suspected the truth, and I could see no reason for concealing it from her. That Felarof was my gift to you is no shameful deed, but testimony to our friendship. I should have taken more care before the lass, though, for I was already aware that she had been listening to the gossip in these lands about your ‘foreign admirer’, and I should have seen how she would misinterpret Felarof as confirmation that I am this imaginary person.” He saw her wince somewhat at this, but whether it was in response to his words or from the pain in her head he did not know. He dreaded what he had to say next, but said it anyway. “You need not worry, my friend, I will be sure to correct Marigold on the nature of our friendship. I shall tell her that you and I are friends of old, and that I owe you a great debt of gratitude, but that there is not now, nor has there even been, a deeper bond than that between us.”
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