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Snaveling declined the wine – the memories of what drink had led him to the night before too fresh in his mind. He was surprised and a bit confused by Aman’s manner. She was regarding him as she had not before…in fact, she was regarding him as no one ever had before. He did not know what to make of it, but decided that she was still made uncomfortable by what Bredan had said to her. He had seen the threat in the young man’s eyes, and the too easy twitching of his fist, but he had been unafraid. Snaveling had been a man alone not to have learned how to care for himself, even if it had come to that, and somehow he doubted that anything like the sort that Aman had feared would happen at the Green Dragon. Still, he made a mental note to be cautious around the young Gondorian.
Aman’s attention to his clothes made him suddenly self conscious and he half wished that he could be back in his robes…but then again, the thought of appearing before Aman in those rags seemed wrong now, in a way that he could not identify. He pulled himself upright in his chair and absentmindedly brushed a lock of hair from his face. He then placed his hand on his chin with one finger draped loosely across his lips. It was an old habit that he took on when thinking of something elusive. He had no idea how regal it made him appear. “Aman,” he began slowly, dropping his hands and clasping them between his knees as he leaned forward slightly. “I need your advice.” The Innkeeper seemed surprised by this but remained silent. Made suddenly bold, Snaveling pressed ahead. “I have recently found out some interesting things about myself that have come, well, as something of a shock to me. I rather suspect that you might find it hard to believe – in fact, I’m not sure that I believe it myself yet – but according to My Lady Galadel, I would appear to be descended from royalty!” He told Aman about his amulet and about the tales of his people that claimed he was descended from the young prince of now vanished Númenór. Her eyes grew wider and wider as he spoke, and when he finished there was a long silence.
“In truth, my friend,” she began carefully, “I do not know what to make of your story. If you are indeed the lost descendant of Ar-Pharazôn then you are a mighty figure indeed!”
Snaveling winced at this. “Please!” he interrupted, but then dropping his tone he said with an apologetic smile, “I do not wish to be mighty. All I wish in the world is…a place…a special place to call my own. A place where I can” and in his mind he saw Roa’s hair streaming out from them both in the wind of morning, “where I can be alone and live my life as I see fit” he concluded lamely, and he could see in Aman’s eyes that she knew he had held something back. “You know the people of Gondor far better than I. I am bound by Roa to appear before her King Elessar where I am to face his justice for my crimes. When he finds out who I am supposed to be, is there any hope that I will receive justice? Will he not rather have me killed on the spot rather than risk that I might make a claim on his throne, no matter how hopeless and dream-like that claim might be?”
Aman gazed at him and asked, “If you fear for your life at the hands of the King, why have you agreed to go before him?”
Snaveling looked away, suddenly self-conscious once more. “I am bound by a promise,” he said quietly. “A very important promise to one whom I dare not betray again – even if I had the heart to do anything against her.” And as he spoke, he could not meet Aman’s eyes for fear that she would read there what he was feeling.
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