It had been a very long day - so long, in fact, that Bainith felt as if it had been more like three or four days jumbled together. The farming he had done early in the morning seemed so long ago; his muscles still ached faintly from it. This was followed by some light cooking, mostly prep work for one hundred and seventy-five yet to be made pies. Every task was followed by a swift ride from Michel Delving back to the Malenhir neighborhood in Falathlorn. At noon he ate his lunch on the lawn, under the large tree in the front. When a couple out for a stroll gave him an odd look yet said nothing, he gathered the rest of his meal and went inside, where he stood at the table and finished the last piece of bread and jam. With one hand he ate, the other turning pages of the books; unable to read anything, but taking in every picture and the thousand words that went with it.

Later when he ran out of dough to knead and grew tired of seeing tin after tin of pie crust, he gathered his things and left a note on the table with a small gift he had made a few days earlier but just had not had the time to give to his beloved. He had yet to find anything that resembled a leaf of the fabled trees in Lothlorien, so he wrapped the lembas in a piece of green fabric leftover from his last tailoring project, wrote a little note to go with it, and journeyed back to the Forsaken Inn.

It was one of his least favorite places to be. He could not imagine how anyone could go for so long without repairing a roof. The gaping hole let in the starlight and sunshine, but it let in the rain as well. Straw was scattered over the floor to soak up the water, but it also provided many small creatures the ability to sneak in and out. Bainith was very careful not to step on the straw, for fear of stepping on one of the creatures. He thought back to the shrew stomping he and Yucca had participated in and how terrible he felt when he learned that the shrews were not being stomped back into the ground, but stomped to death.

As he adjusted his heavy gauntlets, he surveyed the barren land before him. He did not feel the same remorse for the creatures he killed here. The wolves and boar were mad and rabid, the wargs bloodthirsty, and the orcs and goblins required no excuse. Bainith pulled the intricately carved stones from his satchel, and looked them over for chips or cracks. A final gift from Gwyndir he noted as he looked upon the maker's mark. While Bainith had learned early that while any rocks would do to channel energy (it was even possible without, but with extremely mixed results), jewelers were able to craft stones with gems or precious metals in the core that could heighten the use of a particular elemental force.

Hours passed as minutes as Bainith's focus was kept upon his task. Straying orcs were his favorite. He would wait for them to come boldly marching from their encampment, their jerky movements lacking all grace of their former race. From the earth, he would pull a hollow stalagmite, made of small rocks or packed dirt, filled with rejuvenating energies. As it pulsed; the power flooding the air, absorbed into those near to it, it began to break apart and crumble, so the next moments were crucial.

Bainith almost always began by setting the orc on fire. The burns would cause the horrible thing to run blindly towards him, and he would next use quick bursts of energy in an attempt to slow it down. Only when the orc was nearly next to him did he unleash the full extend of his abilities, pulling the energy from the clouds and focusing it onto the vile creature, which would hopefully then drop dead before him. A few times, there would be a particularly strong orc, and in a final panicked moment Bainith would draw the energy right from himself to take the foul thing down. Whenever that happened, Bainith usually called for his horse, following at a safe distance, and rode back home.

Today, the hunt had gone rather well, and he had even managed to aid a few of the regulars at the inn by providing them with feathers, skins, or broken weaponry taken from his kills. As he rode back into Bree, he slowed his mount before the gates of the Goldvale neighborhood. Eledu was no longer there, having traveled back to Mirkwood a few days prior. That meant there was no chance that Gwyndir would show up, creating an awkward span where they tried to politely converse while Eledu kicked enough of his things back into the room so that he could pull Gwyndir in and shut the door.

It did mean that at the moment, the house would be empty -- unless of course Zhie has managed to find another boarder to replace Eledu. Bainith's horse, used to the same path, was already approaching the archway. Slowly, they made their way through the neighborhood, up onto the hill where the house was. He stopped his mount and stared at the cottage for some time, then turned around without entering and rode swiftly out of Bree, almost flying down the paths and through the forest to reach the Falathlorn homesteads before dark.

He could see the glorious oak tree as he entered the Malenhir neighborhood, and kept his eyes on it as he guided his horse. A gentle tug on the reigns slowed the grey steed, and something white fluttering in the breeze, attached to the door, attracted Bainith's attention.

It was a note, addressed to him, and momentarily he was dismayed. It meant that he had missed Valanyonnen's return, and he took the note from the door, in a melancholy mood. Upon reading it, however, he found himself smiling again, and curious as to what was to be found inside the house, for one line read:

I felt I should get you something in return for the lembas, but ended up with something that might as well be seen as a gift to myself ... Check upstairs if you are curious.

After tending to his horse and allowing the creature to wander the lawn behind the house, Bainith retrieved the key that he presumed had been left for him on the table and let himself into the house. The lembas, as expected, was gone; the note, too, either with Valanyonnen or locked away in the trunk by the door. At least, that was what Bainith liked to pretend, that the notes were not simply discarded with the morning trash or used for kindling. He now added the note from the door to his own collection, kept safely in the same satchel as his rune-stones.

He climbed the stairs, his heart fluttering a bit. For a moment, he hoped that perhaps it meant Valanyonnen was still upstairs, waiting for him, but there were no other horses in the yard, no other signs or sounds that anyone else was present. Bainith peeked around the curve of the wall and blinked in awe upon seeing the surprise.

Instead of the small but adequate off-white wooden bed and its single pillow, there was a beautifully crafted piece of furniture centered in the room. The wood was stained a warm reddish brown, matching the single chair that was at the bedside. It was crafted with a tall post at each corner, and the branches that were used around the top were curved to match the details within the house. A canopy covered the top, and gossamer curtains had been tied back, but could easily have been released to enclose the bed in a dreamlike haze.

Bainith walked slowly to the side of the bed, his hand dropping down upon the sheets. They were sewn by hand, a brilliant color of blue, and Bainith wondered if Valanyonnen had realized by this point what he favorite color was. The fabric was soft and sleek, the same sort of silk that his robes would be for Yucca's wedding. He found himself stroking the covers, and then he noticed at the last that this bed, not only a little larger, had pillows enough for two occupants. That was all the invitation needed.

Shoes were slipped off and discarded against the wall; the sack of stones and letters were set on the chair, followed by his clothing. He still had to meet with Yucca and Bandoras later to write and send the wedding invitations, but for now a nap sounded ideal.

As he slid between the sheets and settled on the comfortable mattress, he had the feeling without looking for a mark on the bed that it had been made by Valanyonnen, sheets and all. He could imagine, as he closed his eyes, that the warmth of the sheets around him was really his lover's embrace, and he drifted into the land of dreams with a smile upon his lips.