[Envinyatar]

Late Autumn/Lindon – SA 1695

It was early afternoon, and the two friends were sitting in a small drinking establishment near the quay in Mithlond. The Belaying Pin or simply The Pin as it was more commonly called. There was a crackling blaze in the fireplace, and the welcome heat from it drove the increasing cold of the northern autumn from the room.

The man from Númenor stifled a smile as Ondomirë shifted again on the booth’s hard, oaken bench. Alcarfalon, as he was called, folded his thick woolen cape into the rude semblance of a thick cushion and passed it across the table to his friend. ‘Here,’ he said in a low voice, ‘try this.’

With a grateful nod, Ondomirë slid the padding between the unforgiving wood and his bruised hindquarters. A barely stifled gasp preceded his whispered, ‘Thanks!’ as he eased himself onto the makeshift buffer. He smoothed the grimace from his face and fixed a barely less than miserable smile on his face.

Alcarfalon could not hold back his laughter. It rang in the booth between the man and Elf, causing many to turn their way. ‘Why do you always think you need to manage everything yourself, my friend?’ he asked, pouring the pale honeyed wine into both their cups. The light from the small lamp above their table caught the golden liquid as it eddied against the metal sides, making it glint from within. ‘If I were you, I’d have me an assistant. You know . . . one who’d do the more dangerous work.’ He swallowed another grin. ‘Saving you the possibility of injury . . .’ He ducked, barely in time, as Ondomirë threw his leather riding gloves at him.

‘I acquiesce to your superior management skills, my friend,’ Ondomirë said, turning his cup in circles on the table. He took a drink, appreciating the light, sweet taste of the wine. It teased his tongue, relaxed him, and left the promise of ease for his aching joints if he drank a large enough dose. ‘But seriously, who knew the accursed beast would take such a dislike to me and throw me to the ground. He was certainly mild enough with you aback.’

Ondomirë took another drink and sighed, in a rather melodramatic fashion. ‘Of course, it has always been my lot to have those four-legged demons hate me. And the King, of course, is an excellent horseman as is the Elf he chose to lead this expedition. Elrond . . . do you know him?’ Alcarfalon shook his head ‘no’ to the question.’

‘Anyway, we are going east, overland, and in some haste once the troops are made ready and the snows have ended. By foot is out of the question . . . too slow, it was decided. So, I am cursed with having to ride those many miles on a creature who will surely detest my very presence.’ He leaned across the table and looked Alcarfalon in the eye. Tell me you didn’t pick the most ill-tempered of the herds just because I ordered them.’

‘It was Minastir who chose those horses for you,’ Alcarfalon protested. ‘The Queen’s nephew. He assured me they were the gentlest of beasts. He holds Gil-galad in high esteem, I assure you, and would do nothing to jeopardize whatever this expedition is he’s planned.’ Alcarfalon knew better than to inquire too deeply into Elvish plans. ‘I’ve brought you one hundred of our finest from the Mittalmar. With those you said you could muster here you should have plenty.’

‘Ah, you know I really am grateful!’ returned Ondomirë, grinning. He refilled the man’s cup and topped off his own. ‘I thank you for your haste in bringing them across the sea and Minastir for his generosity.’

The door to The Pin opened and a tall, slender figure stood outlined in the entryway, blinking as his eyes grew accustomed to the level of light in the room. Cries of ‘Close the door, Elf! You’re letting in the cold!’ greeted the newcomer.

‘Over here, Geldion!’ said Ondomirë, waving to the Elf. ‘Come and meet Alcarfalon. He captains the Lintaramë out of Numenor. An old friend of mine.’ With a grimace, Ondmirë scooted himself over in the booth. ‘He’s brought us the last of the . . . horses,’ he said in a lower voice.

All respect to the Vala Yavanna! he thought to himself as Geldion took off his cape and slipped into the booth. But what was she thinking when she fashioned those impious creatures?

‘Some wine?’ Ondomirë offered, pushing a cup toward Geldion