Waldera

On a bright day, Waldera wore her shoes and climbed up the slope which went up the Windview Estate, over to the town square, where the Inn of the Prancing Pony was. The slope lead to an area where ruins stood. She knew this place from her childhood when she used to play children's games around this area. Even in those days she had felt a strange vibration around these ruins, a potent feeling: perhaps a mixture of awe and wonder.

This is a story about love, or call it a love story if you like. 

Waldera walked into the Inn of the Prancing Pony in her usual manner, craving for a warm cup of tea. She had had a day full of readings and was a bit weary of the shallow small talks of the small minded patrons of the inn. She waved kindly at the barmaid and gestured for a cup of tea in the white tea cup which she always prefers.

Her.

A droplet of water in the morning,

Hanging from a cool leaf,

After reading the hobbit's letter, Waldera laughed airily and left the paper aside. Her sweet  laughter echoed through the stairs and the corridor as she walked out of the room. 

((A letter written with a neat handwriting, on a page stripped from a notebook.))

Dear Miss Waldera,

Today I came across a most unusual event. A creepy, dangerously thin and very sulky man called Favarth -or this is how he himself anyway- claimed to have your very hand in marriage! Could you believe that! Of course I did not believe in such a tale. This queer man, goodness knows where he finds such courage, is telling lies to everyone about you, thus lowering your esteemed reputation amongst the highest value maidens in Bree!

I have been a fool.