"No matter," Margaretta thought to herself, surveying her odd customers.
"So long as they buy something, I care not if they share each other's bed,
let alone camaraderie. Still, 'tis an odd thing, this dwarf and this elf.
Perhaps it's a symptom of the new Age. No matter, so long as their gold is
good and they spend it here."
The shopkeeper's thoughts did not show on her face. She'd learned through hard experience that the sword-buying public had no interested at all in her opinion. Her regular clientele valued her expertise on weaponry, of course, but naught beyond. And browsers, as a rule, did not even grant her that much.
"May I show you good sirs anything?" Margaretta asked again. She wanted very much to turn the conversation toward business. If she did not sell something today, she felt she would explode. She had had the care of her drunkard brother's son ever since the Dale authorities caught him trying to trade the child for drink. A growing boy ate an astonishing amount. Worse, this morning she discovered he needed new shoes, and they would not pay for themselves. Margaretta simply had to get the dwarf, the elf, or both, preferably both, to buy something. Anything except the Nargothondian.
"My companion would like to see this blade, m'lady," the dwarf replied in his wonderful brogue, gesturing toward the Nargothondian. "He would like it for his lady friend." The elf shot his partner a look, but did not deny it.
The one item in the shop Margaretta would not part with, and of course that was what they wanted. Customers! "I am terribly sorry, but that is not for sale, good sirs. Perhaps something else? Axes? Arrows? I have just received a shipment from the Eastern lands, very rare," she said, attempting to redirect their interest.
The elf's eyebrows shot up. "Not for sale? Why ever would such a magnificent weapon be unavailable?" he asked, turning his full attention on the shopkeeper. She blushed right to her hairline, but did not back down.
"It is for display only, Master Elf," she muttered, pulling her gaze from his with effort. Elves truly were too beautiful for the good of mere mortals.
"That does not answer my question, Mistress Stronginthearm," he countered. He was nothing if not persistent.
"Surely such a beauty would fetch a splendid price," the dwarf chimed in. It was all Margaretta could do not to growl at him. Why were they fixated on this blade? It was lovely, yes, but she did have others just as impressive.
Still, confrontation did not move merchandise. Even if the customers today were determined to drive her crazy, she would NOT lose her patience. "It would indeed, Master Dwarf, if it were for sale. As it is not, that is a moot point. May I show you something else?"
"I would prefer to know why the Nargothondian is not for sale," the elf insisted. Honestly, were any of these people going to do anything other than waste her time? She had better things to do than tell the tale of that sword. In truth, it was not a period of her life she enjoyed revisiting, for all the display was a constant reminder.
"Master Elf, that is not a tale for strangers nor customers. Are you certain I cannot show you anything?" Margaretta said.
The elf did not reply right away. He stared at her, taking her measure and bringing another blush. The dwarf glanced up at him, plainly wondering what he was up to. "Mistress Stronginthearm," he said at last, "I am Legolas, and my friend is Gimli. There, we are strangers no longer. Now will you tell us your tale?"
Margaretta's eyes popped. "Legolas?" she squeaked. "Gimli? Of the Fellowship?" The story of the Fellowship of the Ring was a complete secret, so of course tales of their exploits had spread the length and breadth of Middle Earth. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect two of them to appear in her humble shop. As well to expect the King himself, or his Lady Queen in here as these two! Then again, this pair were said to be compatriots of King Elessar, so perhaps that was no longer so far-fetched a thought. Just wait until her friends heard this! No more would the men of Dale whisper that she had no business running a weapons shop. If only she could persuade them to purchase something. Then she could claim their patronage. Never again would Halorec lack for shoes. It seemed she would not get out of telling her tale after all.
The shopkeeper's thoughts did not show on her face. She'd learned through hard experience that the sword-buying public had no interested at all in her opinion. Her regular clientele valued her expertise on weaponry, of course, but naught beyond. And browsers, as a rule, did not even grant her that much.
"May I show you good sirs anything?" Margaretta asked again. She wanted very much to turn the conversation toward business. If she did not sell something today, she felt she would explode. She had had the care of her drunkard brother's son ever since the Dale authorities caught him trying to trade the child for drink. A growing boy ate an astonishing amount. Worse, this morning she discovered he needed new shoes, and they would not pay for themselves. Margaretta simply had to get the dwarf, the elf, or both, preferably both, to buy something. Anything except the Nargothondian.
"My companion would like to see this blade, m'lady," the dwarf replied in his wonderful brogue, gesturing toward the Nargothondian. "He would like it for his lady friend." The elf shot his partner a look, but did not deny it.
The one item in the shop Margaretta would not part with, and of course that was what they wanted. Customers! "I am terribly sorry, but that is not for sale, good sirs. Perhaps something else? Axes? Arrows? I have just received a shipment from the Eastern lands, very rare," she said, attempting to redirect their interest.
The elf's eyebrows shot up. "Not for sale? Why ever would such a magnificent weapon be unavailable?" he asked, turning his full attention on the shopkeeper. She blushed right to her hairline, but did not back down.
"It is for display only, Master Elf," she muttered, pulling her gaze from his with effort. Elves truly were too beautiful for the good of mere mortals.
"That does not answer my question, Mistress Stronginthearm," he countered. He was nothing if not persistent.
"Surely such a beauty would fetch a splendid price," the dwarf chimed in. It was all Margaretta could do not to growl at him. Why were they fixated on this blade? It was lovely, yes, but she did have others just as impressive.
Still, confrontation did not move merchandise. Even if the customers today were determined to drive her crazy, she would NOT lose her patience. "It would indeed, Master Dwarf, if it were for sale. As it is not, that is a moot point. May I show you something else?"
"I would prefer to know why the Nargothondian is not for sale," the elf insisted. Honestly, were any of these people going to do anything other than waste her time? She had better things to do than tell the tale of that sword. In truth, it was not a period of her life she enjoyed revisiting, for all the display was a constant reminder.
"Master Elf, that is not a tale for strangers nor customers. Are you certain I cannot show you anything?" Margaretta said.
The elf did not reply right away. He stared at her, taking her measure and bringing another blush. The dwarf glanced up at him, plainly wondering what he was up to. "Mistress Stronginthearm," he said at last, "I am Legolas, and my friend is Gimli. There, we are strangers no longer. Now will you tell us your tale?"
Margaretta's eyes popped. "Legolas?" she squeaked. "Gimli? Of the Fellowship?" The story of the Fellowship of the Ring was a complete secret, so of course tales of their exploits had spread the length and breadth of Middle Earth. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect two of them to appear in her humble shop. As well to expect the King himself, or his Lady Queen in here as these two! Then again, this pair were said to be compatriots of King Elessar, so perhaps that was no longer so far-fetched a thought. Just wait until her friends heard this! No more would the men of Dale whisper that she had no business running a weapons shop. If only she could persuade them to purchase something. Then she could claim their patronage. Never again would Halorec lack for shoes. It seemed she would not get out of telling her tale after all.