[Amanaduial the archer]

Having finished the dishes and escaped from under Cook's watchful eye, Aman emerged into the Common Room in a cloud of delicious smelling steam, whistling quietly as she wiped her hands on a rag cloth, looking around the room. Catching the eye of an elf at the bar, she smiled politely, nodding amiably at him. The elf looked slightly surprised and smiled back before retreating bashfully behind the pint that Ruby had handed him. Aman grinned and passed an eye quickly over the patrons of the Inn, many of them hobbits gathered for a quiet evening drink, although the Inn's usual, more travelled customers remained, as usual. Her gaze brushed over them and, not to her surprise, she noted that Snaveling had slipped away once more. But her sigh and frown only lasted for an instant: the things he had told her...it was alot to take in, she supposed. There would be ample time to muse on all of that later - for now, she had spent enough business time on Snaveling.

But despite the notable absence of one man, the appearance of another caught Aman's attention, but for no real reason that she could determine: a man of fairly average build, seated with her back to her, but with light, blonde streaked hair that spoke of Rohan, one of Aman's own land. Something about the way he was speaking, the tilt of his head as he inclined it to the dwarf seated opposite him, seemed oddly familiar to Aman, but she couldn't quite place why. Still, the evening was young: she ws sure to be able to wangle some excuse to check over his face before the night was out. For now, there were other matters to deal with: business as usual.

Striding over to the bar, Aman smiled warmly at the elf who she had exchanged a smile with a moment earlier and slipped behind the bar, stowing her rag behind it. Taking the man's now redundant and empty glass, she re-filled it and slid it across the bar back to him. "Good evening, sir, how can I help you?"

The elf gave a quick, slightly nervous laugh, raising his glass. "You already did - thank you. Could I get a room for the night, please?"

"Of course." The Innkeeper took the logbook from underneath the bar and pointed out where the man should sign for the night, firstly in whichever language he preferred and secondly in the Common Tongue - although Aman was a dapper hand at Quenya and fairly proficient at Silvan, it was easier to keep a common denominator in which all names were signed: it became somewhat wearing trying to decipher dwarvish runes when a customer tried to duck payment.

Aman's eyes flickered once more to the blond man, biting her lip as the familiarity of his mannerisms tugged at the edge of her mind. Why was he so familiar?! The new customer cleared his throat quietly and, startled, Aman looked back down to his face, then at the logbook, trying to decipher the angular, upside down elvish runes. Isilmë. As the elf signed off his name in the Common Tongue, Aman turned the logbook back around and signed her name in the space, then grinned at Isilmë, handing him a chunky wooden key in the shape of a dragon. "Welcome to the Green Dragon, Isilmë. May I get you anything else?"