"Well, that's not something you see every day," Margaretta thought to
herself as she surveyed her customers, an elf and a dwarf. Oh, the dwarf
was a common enough sight in Dale, and elves were showing up more than they
used to, but never in each other's company. The races had not been
outwardly antagonistic since the end of the War, but they seldom
interacted. When they did, it was with a certain strained undercurrent, a
sort of "let's get this over with quickly so we can go our separate ways"
feeling. So the easy camaraderie between this pair made them doubly
unusual.
They were currently bantering back and forth in front of the main wall of swords. Their attention was focused primarily on the centerpiece of the display, a Nargothondian beauty of special significance.
"I cannot imagine why this has never sold," the dwarf commented. "Such a magnificent weapon must want an owner."
"So purchase it for yourself. You have the money now," the elf suggested dryly.
The dwarf shot the elf a look that implied he was mad for suggesting such a thing. "I am quite content with my axe," he huffed. He softened as he gazed at the sword. "Though I did want this blade very badly, once," he continued.
The elf nodded. "As did I," he said. "Discussing this blade was one of the things to spark our friendship, if you remember."
"And well I do," the dwarf said. A dangerous gleam came into his eye. "Why don't you purchase this sword, Master Elf?" he asked oh-so- innocently.
"I have all the weapons I will ever need, as well you know," the elf replied.
"Perhaps for that maiden you so studiously avoid speaking of, then?" the dwarf teased.
The banter was now showing signs of going on indefinitely, as well as possibly turning nasty. While these two particular examples of their races seemed polite enough, even friendly, Margaretta's experience with bickering dwarves and elves was not good. She decided it was time to tactfully intervene.
"May I show you sirs anything? Axes? Bows? We have some lovely Haradrim scimitars, from many of the different kingdoms," she interrupted smoothly, just as the elf was opening his mouth to reply.
He closed his mouth and smiled at her. Suddenly, Margaretta understood why all the girls she knew were hopelessly elf-fixated. The beauty of this elf made her feel dumpy and self-conscious. She blushed.
The dwarf noticed her discomfort. He had come to expect this reaction from females when they met his elf. "Greetings, Mistress," he said, taking the shopkeeper's hand and kissing it. "We are looking for Masters Burleigh or Stronginthearm."
That was what Margaretta loved best about dwarves—they were so polite, especially to women. She kept designing axes and short, heavy swords primarily because of that politeness. It often occurred to her that men could stand to learn something from the dwarves.
"Greetings, Master Dwarf," Margaretta replied in his language. She did not have much more dwarvish than that, at least not the kind she could use in respectable company, but she had found that dwarves spent more if she greeted them in their own tongue. It had taken three weeks of a badly mangled throat to learn that phrase, but she considered the effort worthwhile. "Master Burleigh is vacationing," she continued, switching to Westron, "and Master Stronginthearm retired south some years ago. I am his daughter, Margaretta. I run the shop these days. How may I help you?"
The elf arched his eyebrows and looked her over. "A woman, running a weapons dealership?" he asked, sounding sarcastic to Margaretta's frustrated ears. Honestly, he should know better. The shopkeeper knew full well that elf women were considered the equal of their men, limited only by their own talents and drives. Why did he automatically assume she was not competent to run this business? Really, it was as bad as what she could expect from the males of her own species!
The dwarf shot the elf an undecipherable look. "Come, now, Master Elf. If her father deemed her worthy to run this establishment, then worthy she is. Or do you not trust Master Stronginthearm's judgment?" he asked with a grin.
The elf bristled. "I never said that," he protested, "Nor did I say that she is unqualified. I am merely surprised men have at last become so civilized toward their women."
"They haven't," Margaretta replied, unable to disguise her sourness. "But since Master Burleigh vouches for me, and because there truly is no other in town to take over the store, they tolerate me."
The dwarf nodded, and patted her arm. "Do not despair, Mistress. Some day, men will realize the wisdom of the elves," he said.
Now THAT surprised Margaretta. A dwarf, complimenting the elves on their wisdom? Unheard of! Just what sort of dwarf was she dealing with? What sort of elf?
They were currently bantering back and forth in front of the main wall of swords. Their attention was focused primarily on the centerpiece of the display, a Nargothondian beauty of special significance.
"I cannot imagine why this has never sold," the dwarf commented. "Such a magnificent weapon must want an owner."
"So purchase it for yourself. You have the money now," the elf suggested dryly.
The dwarf shot the elf a look that implied he was mad for suggesting such a thing. "I am quite content with my axe," he huffed. He softened as he gazed at the sword. "Though I did want this blade very badly, once," he continued.
The elf nodded. "As did I," he said. "Discussing this blade was one of the things to spark our friendship, if you remember."
"And well I do," the dwarf said. A dangerous gleam came into his eye. "Why don't you purchase this sword, Master Elf?" he asked oh-so- innocently.
"I have all the weapons I will ever need, as well you know," the elf replied.
"Perhaps for that maiden you so studiously avoid speaking of, then?" the dwarf teased.
The banter was now showing signs of going on indefinitely, as well as possibly turning nasty. While these two particular examples of their races seemed polite enough, even friendly, Margaretta's experience with bickering dwarves and elves was not good. She decided it was time to tactfully intervene.
"May I show you sirs anything? Axes? Bows? We have some lovely Haradrim scimitars, from many of the different kingdoms," she interrupted smoothly, just as the elf was opening his mouth to reply.
He closed his mouth and smiled at her. Suddenly, Margaretta understood why all the girls she knew were hopelessly elf-fixated. The beauty of this elf made her feel dumpy and self-conscious. She blushed.
The dwarf noticed her discomfort. He had come to expect this reaction from females when they met his elf. "Greetings, Mistress," he said, taking the shopkeeper's hand and kissing it. "We are looking for Masters Burleigh or Stronginthearm."
That was what Margaretta loved best about dwarves—they were so polite, especially to women. She kept designing axes and short, heavy swords primarily because of that politeness. It often occurred to her that men could stand to learn something from the dwarves.
"Greetings, Master Dwarf," Margaretta replied in his language. She did not have much more dwarvish than that, at least not the kind she could use in respectable company, but she had found that dwarves spent more if she greeted them in their own tongue. It had taken three weeks of a badly mangled throat to learn that phrase, but she considered the effort worthwhile. "Master Burleigh is vacationing," she continued, switching to Westron, "and Master Stronginthearm retired south some years ago. I am his daughter, Margaretta. I run the shop these days. How may I help you?"
The elf arched his eyebrows and looked her over. "A woman, running a weapons dealership?" he asked, sounding sarcastic to Margaretta's frustrated ears. Honestly, he should know better. The shopkeeper knew full well that elf women were considered the equal of their men, limited only by their own talents and drives. Why did he automatically assume she was not competent to run this business? Really, it was as bad as what she could expect from the males of her own species!
The dwarf shot the elf an undecipherable look. "Come, now, Master Elf. If her father deemed her worthy to run this establishment, then worthy she is. Or do you not trust Master Stronginthearm's judgment?" he asked with a grin.
The elf bristled. "I never said that," he protested, "Nor did I say that she is unqualified. I am merely surprised men have at last become so civilized toward their women."
"They haven't," Margaretta replied, unable to disguise her sourness. "But since Master Burleigh vouches for me, and because there truly is no other in town to take over the store, they tolerate me."
The dwarf nodded, and patted her arm. "Do not despair, Mistress. Some day, men will realize the wisdom of the elves," he said.
Now THAT surprised Margaretta. A dwarf, complimenting the elves on their wisdom? Unheard of! Just what sort of dwarf was she dealing with? What sort of elf?