[Pitchwife]

Coldan had agreed to Amdír's invitation gratefully enough, relieved to disentangle himself for a while from the quagmire of stress and hurt feelings back at the inn; hopefully, that would help him to see things with fresh eyes on his return and maybe make some amends for the upheaval he had caused.

Only when they had passed the gates did he remember that he had been supposed to see Brinn the night before, but if she had sent for him, he had soundly slept through the summons, having fallen asleep immediately after going to bed (or rather, after luckily hitting the bed in the right moment when it happened to wheel his way). There was a small chance - well, about the chance of daisies growing in Mordor, if he knew her - that she had forgotten about it as well, but if she had not, he was in no particular hurry to face her.

His head still aching with a vengeance, he wasn't feeling very talkative, but after a while, when they were out of the city and turned south, following the gradual westward curve of the great wall, the carpenter broke the silence.

"They tell me, Coldan, that Dorwinion is a hilly land beside a great sea. Is it much like Gondor, then? You've travelled to Dol Amroth and through Emyn Arnen. Do the shores of Belegaer remind you of the shores of Rhûn?"

Blinking against the morning sun that was just climbing over the tops of Ephel Dúath, Coldan let his eyes drift over the green fields, gardens and pastures that gently rolled down towards the Great River.

"Yes - and no", he mused. "Our sea is landbound on all sides, so ze tides are veaker zan zose of ze Belegaer, zough it can still get stormy enough when the strong east vinds blow unbroken across ze plains of Rhûn. But the land is much alike, in parts at least. My family hails from Dol Bychin on ze vest coast, between ze River Celduin and ze southern mountains; it's warm and mild zere, although ve're farther north, much like your Ithilien and Belfalas viz zeir olive groves and vineyards, and zere are neat, busy ports at Nerevar and Burias - pretty towns, if nothing near as splendid as Dol Amroth and Pelargir. Ze veather is cooler up north around Celduin's mouth, vere my uncle Gwithold lives, but ze soil is dark and fat zere, and corn grows on it in abundance, and sugar-beets, even sweet galenas or pipeweed, as they call it up in Dale; ve hev learned to smoke it from zem, and grow it for trade as vell as for our own use."

He smiled at Amdír. "I hope I'm not boring you, but to tell ze truth, it gladdens my heart to speak of my home country; it vas good of you to ask me about it."

The smile vanished, overshadowed by a frown. "It's not ze land zat feels foreign to me here, it's ze people. I feel at home among ze Dale folk - zey're of a kind much alike to my own countrymen. But you Gondorians, I don't know vat's wrong viz you. 'High Men' you style yourselves and look down upon us whom you call 'Middle Men' as if heving an Elven Queen and a zree zousand year old city somehow made you better zan ze rest of ze vorld."

He blushed, suddenly remembering whom he was talking to. "Beg your pardon, Amdír, I meant no offence - I've met good, decent men among your people, men like you or Harry or zat officer at ze armoury yesterday. But most of zem seem to me more like your former boss, Lord Cirdacil - haughty and selfish; or glib and cunning like zat son of his who has moved in viz us, pursuing the Valar may know vich hidden plans. Even our own Aldarion seems to care little about anyzing other zan his art and his personal fame." He silently cursed himself for going down this particular lane of thought.

"But it's rude of me to complain to you about your compatriots. Let's speak of somezing else. Vy don't you tell me a bit about zat Lord Hallas whose estate ve're heading for?"