[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman felt as if Snaveling had slapped her across the face, but managed to conceal most of the pain from her face, expression numbed by the dull throbbing in her temples. Licking her lips nervously, she replied quietly, "No deeper bond between us?" Confused, she looked questioningly at Snaveling. When he did not reply, apparently not judging it to be a question, Aman stumbled on awkwardly. "No...no deeper bond. Right, I-I think I understand," she rushed on falteringly, looking away from Snaveling. She smiled uncertainly, staring at her hands as she blinked rapidly, trying to make light. “I…I understand, Snaveling. What a foolish thing for a Marigold- well, for anyone to get into their heads. A foreign admirer for me…no, he could not possibly be real, of course not – what silly ideas little hobbits get into their heads!” She laughed rather too quickly, a fluttering, almost desperate sound like a moth trying to touch the candle. “Silly ideas…” she repeated softly, her tone almost regretful this time as she looked back to her hands, examining closely as if for the first time every millimetre of her cuticles, every line of her palm – these lines, what did they mean? Fate lines, all scattering off into a million pieces, shattering. Breaking.

Snaveling was still watching her, she knew, she could feel those dark eyes on her face. Looking up, she tried to keep her breathing calm and regular as she smiled brightly at him. “I understand, Snaveling. Truly.”

“I do not think, perhaps, that you do…” He replied slowly, frowning slightly. Aman smiled gently but this time did not look up, not trusting herself to meet his eyes. She could feel tears coming and felt them betray her as surely as the man opposite her had done. Angrily, she avoided Snaveling's eye and blinked them away: twice betrayed in an instant!

Rising abruptly and ignoring the wooziness that accompanied the motion, Aman stepped around the table, heading for the kitchen without a word. Snaveling, evidently misinterpreting the act as an attempt to get away from him, caught her wrist as she turned away, holding her back. Aman whirled around, knocking the chair over as she did so, suddenly furious. Wrenching her arm from his grasp in a sudden, vicious motion, the Innkeeper glared angrily at Snaveling, the bright afternoon light from the window spotlighting her gold-tinted hair, sharp, elfin features and green eyes as of some scorned nymph of lore. Snaveling frowned, holding up his hands as if trying to calm an angry horse or dog. He was actually confused! The thought came to Aman with bitter amusement. He honestly didn't appear to know what he had done wrong!

"Aman, wait-"

"No deeper bond?" Aman hissed furiously. "What, no deeper bond when I took you in here? You come here with your fine tales of the King’s court, with riches, with, apparently ‘misleading’ gifts, but think back, if you can bear to stoop so low. When you came to the Inn so many months ago, who took you in? Who trusted you, Snaveling, what one person in this place could you name, besides yourself and your crony, T-" Common sense caused Aman to lower her voice her as she hissed, "Tobias!"

Snaveling glanced around anxiously, painfully aware of the customers who were now staring. Aman felt a stab of self-conciousness, but it was barely noticable, but whether due to the party of last night or the trials of this morning she wasn't sure. Clenching her jaw tightly, Aman forced herself to lower her voice, leaning forward and whispering angrily at the man. “There is not one who would have stood behind you and backed you, Snaveling. Not one. Except me.”

Snaveling looked like he would have said something, then, trying to maintain his composure, he motioned for Aman to sit down. When she remained unmoved, he stood slowly, raising his hands once more in a gesture that tried to be both imploring and soothing. “Aman, I understand why you are angry. But…there are other factors to take into account here and you must understand, I never made any attempt to lead you on –”

“The ranger woman, you mean!” Aman burst out, her voice a furious, whispered explosion. “She was certainly a factor, methinks – the woman who distrusted you and pulled you up in front of the King in the hopes that you would have your come-uppance, you mean! And as for not ‘leading me on’…” she spat. “You made a horse-breeder a gift of the most beautiful horse in Middle Earth, Snaveling. In what way exactly did…did you…” she trailed off, looking away and biting her lip. Closing her eyes for a second, she took a deep breath, then looked sidelong at Snaveling, this time looking simply sad rather than angry as her fury died away to leave only hurt. Without another word, the Innkeeper turned away and headed up the stairs, not waiting to see if he followed her – and she doubted he did, unless he could move even more silently than the elves. As she reached the top of the stairs, she glanced behind her and, checking that the staircase was empty, then broke into a run, her skirts whirling behind her as she made for the attic. Having climbed the ladder up to the cosy room, her expression wild as she continued to blink the tears from her vision, she headed for the window, which was slightly ajar to keep the room from becoming musty for the Inn’s more personal guests. Looking out of the window to the peaceful scene below, she pulled it further open and swung her legs out.

But fear not, for such desperate things as a swift jump were not in the mind of one so down to earth as the Innkeeper. A swift jump for the sake of a misunderstanding? Poppycock and romantic nonsense! Aman smiled slightly despite herself as the words that Cook would use sprang to mind. Standing precariously, Aman reached up for the familiar ledge that her fingers had often found in times of confusion, and, with the help of several handily premeditated footholds, she eased herself up onto the actual roof of the Inn.

Above the world she knew, the breeze was stronger, but its matronly buffeting reminded Aman of who she was, wafting her back to her senses, back to the calm, reasonable person she was – even if she did seem to be looking at that person from afar at the moment. Scrambling a few feet up the gently sloping tiles, the woman came to the chimney pot and, with a ragged sigh, rested her back against it, closing her eyes and tilting her chin up into the wind. The cool slate through the soft material of the dress had the effect on her tears of cold metal against the back of the neck of on with a nose-bleed: within a few seconds, it stopped the flow. Folding her arms across her lap, Aman opened her eyes and looked out on a scene she knew well: rolling fields stretched way into the distance, bordered to the North and South by the almost equidistant forests and, further away to the East, out of sight, was the mysterious mass of trees that made up the Old Forest. Across the idyll of green fields were paths and hedges, roads and fences, criss-crosses on the fields like to the scrawls of children’s’ games across a notepad, the most notable being the path Aman had taken from Rohan, the Greenway, which stretched for untold miles both North and South. Far North to where Zimzaran had come to take poor Derufin by storm! And South…to Rohan, where a young woman came to take the Green Dragon by storm. Aman smiled slightly to herself as she looked into the distance to the South. She could see nothing much really: grassy hills stretching prosperous and peaceful as far as the eye could see. But beyond that…beyond, she knew where home was, her first home: Rohan, the land of the horselords.

But Rohan was no longer her home: the Shire, the Shire called to her, with all its curious customers and ‘curiouser’ people! One day, Aman vowed, one day, I will ride those hobbit-ways and see all these places I have heard talk off – I shall ride all over the Shire before I am done! Maybe even further than that one day, further North where, Piosenniel said, the elves once came from... But first, travel South, West, East or North from the sleepy Inn to discover the rustic boroughs of the Peredhil, flourishing, hidden from the sight of Man. And lucky them!

The thought brought Aman out of her reverie and her brow creased slightly. Giving a long, shaky sigh, she leant back against the chimney pot and looked into the sky. The rainclouds were clearing now, shards of duck-egg blue peering hopefully from behind them, giving promise of a clearer afternoon that the turbulent, stormy morning. Closing her eyes, she dug her shoulderblades into the hard slate fruitlessly and settled there.

“I thought I would find you here.”

Aman almost smiled at Snaveling’s familiar words, the words he had spoken when he had discovered her secret hiding place before. Cook and the hobbits would from floor to ceiling and in every cupboard and cranny in between to find Aman at times, but rarely did any ever think to look up. Her smile soon took on a sad edge though, and faded from her face as if a shadow had fallen over its sun.

“Roa,” she murmured quietly. “It is her that you love. You never loved me.”

There was a pause from Snaveling, and Aman did not have to open her eyes to know his discomfort, both with the statement and with his precarious perch – she had found before that the Black Numenorian was none too comfortable with Aman’s eyrie. “Yes,” he replied. “Yes, I love Roa. I…I care for you Aman. But you must be able to understand…”

“I see your point of view, Snaveling,” Aman replied sharply, looking up and fixing him with sky-dazzled eyes. “Asking for understanding is a little much, but yes, I can see your point of view.”

Snaveling did not reply, resorting to his habitual silence. Aman sighed and reached forward, holding out a hand to pull him forwards so that he would not have to cling on quite so tight to the slates so as not to fall off. He looked at her hand for a second, surprised, and Aman nearly withdrew it, biting back the bitter urge to snap that she wouldn’t bite. But after a moments shock, Snaveling accepted her peace offering and she pulled him up to settle on the flat area of the roof on which the chimney’s perched. Settling himself but still looking uncomfortable, Snaveling followed Aman’s gaze into the distance as she drew it to the South. They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the Inn below them and birds and the rustling of trees around them, soft, gentle noises that filled the breeze and calmed the Innkeeper’s thoughts. Nodding into the distance at some invisible goal, Aman said softly, “It is where we come from, Snaveling, both you and I. Rohan lies that way and so does Gondor – your goal, I think.”

Snaveling nodded silently, his elbows rested casually on his drawn up knees as he looked sidelong at Aman with those dark, enigmatic eyes. “It is where I have to go.”

“I know,” Aman replied simply. Tearing her eyes away, she looked at Snaveling and chanced a somewhat rueful smile, brushing one hand through her wind-strewn hair. “It is where you were always meant to go. I’m just…I’m just glad you decided to stop by on the way.” She grinned and Snaveling, after a seconds hesitation, returned the expression. Aman sighed quietly, glad of the peaceful surroundings – it was here that she felt at peace. Her eyrie. But one thing bothered her still: she understood that Snaveling could only feel the way he did, and that his heart lay elsewhere, in the South with the rangers, but a piece of the puzzle seemed to be missing. Figuring that she could hardly waste time on worrying about causing offence after her scene in the Inn, Aman came straight out with her query, fixing Snaveling once more with her bright green-eyed gaze. “Snaveling, I must ask – you love Roa and had wealth and a place in the court of Elessar. Why, then, did you leave? And why the sudden poverty? You came to the Inn a rich man this time…”