3. Native Pride
It's the one thing they've taught the Westmen, or so the Vale-folk claim. And there're worse things to teach, not that you'd know it – not much love for what weren't off their drowned isle. But in The Bottle, on the wharf, it'll sing out evenings.
"Poor man's harp," Westmen say. Ha! Adris'll shame the calluses off any harper thinks to stroke his Glinda. Fingers flying, bow afire, he'll jig the tavern down.
"Ge, what it is?" one Northern newcomer asks, staring at the curves – like a man in love. Adris grins.
"Got different names, but it 't'ent some Westman's `vi-o-lin'…"
Author's Note: The "Vale-folk" are an invention from A Very Rain of Sparrows: they're the native population of non-Dúnedain in Gondor and have their own distinct dialect that shows in the last sentence.
Prompt: bottle, wharf, violin
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.
