[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman wrinkled her nose pleasantly at the particularly open nature of the question. "News, you say? Well, sir, that depends on exactly how long you've been away..."

"Excuse me..." A voice interrupted Aman and she turned, eyebrows raised, to the man who had interrupted. As she recognised him, her eyes widened in surprise. The blond haired man gave a cheeky smile, winked, and continued, "I really do hate to barge in on your conversation...But could I get a refill."

"Good lord, what on earth are you doing here, To-"

"Well, you know, just in passing, just in passing," John cut her off before she said his name, and the suddeness of his reply seemed rather incongruent with his casual manner. She narrowed her eyes slightly, but didn't think anything of it. Excusing herself from Isilme's company - the elf seemed a little bemused but didn't appear to mind the interruption - Aman darted out from behind the bar and took John's hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "Just in passing? Scoundrel, this is the Shire, to just be passing from Rohan - psh!" Aman snorted derisively. The man grinned at her. "Well, maybe a little twist of the truth there." He displayed his teeth widely in a good natured grin as he returned Aman's handshake, his pleasant, solid features still the same as Aman had ever remembered them. He shrugged enigmatically. "But what the hey - ol' John is here now, to see his brother's favourite horsewhisperer!"

Aman hesitated for a moment, and a flicker of confusion shivered across her features as she noted the second, rather startling inconsistency in what John had said: the very fact of his name. "'John'? What do you-"

John laughed, still beaming easily, but his eyes darted quickly away from her, as if worried someone else might have heard then he opened his arms and Aman, pushing her concerns to one side, embraced her old friend. For she and 'John' went back a long way - as the man had said, Aman had worked for some time as a horse trainer for Elisar, John’s eldest brother, during which time she had made a select group of fine friends – John being one of them. But the Rohirrim man had never been desperately secretive – here, he hadn’t given a straight answer to a single thing Aman had said. Breaking the embrace and looking at it, Aman gave John a curious smile, as if about to question him, when the conversation was broken into by the gruff voice of a dwarf. “Ask for the strongest stuff they’ve got,” he called over jokingly. John turned and raised an eyebrow at the dwarf, then turned back to Aman, who nodded and returned behind the bar to pour two glasses, one of the finest ale, the other of a rich dark beer which in the past had been a favourite of Dwarin, a previous Innkeeper. Handing the two glasses to John, Aman excused herself and began her round about the room, saying she would speak with him later and catch up.

But having gone all around the room and visited nearly every nook and cranny, Aman could not avoid it any more: she felt strangely drawn towards the table at which Snaveling sat. With an empty glass. That's obviously what I feel drawn to. Professional duty and all... Aman smiled wryly to herself, rolling her eyes at the thought, but nonetheless she straightened up, collected various glasses together, and made for Snaveling. But even eavesdropping without meaning to can have rather intriguing results...

"...This might end well ... Aman has a brave spirit and a generous heart. Trust her."

"Complimentary words, Mithalwen, what did I do to deserve such an honour?"

Both Snaveling and Mithalwen leapt around like guilty children when Aman spoke, like rabbits caught in a sudden burst of torchlight. She laughed at their shock, but inside felt unease stir - a feeling that was becoming familiar where Snaveling was concerned. She creased her eyebrows slightly, still half smiling as she looked from one guilty face to the other. "What is it...?"