A fire crackles in the hearth, it's light reflected on the golden walls of Meduseld. Children squirm excitedly as the Storyteller comes in the hall, his bright eyes gleaming. His wizened face breaks into a smile as he looks down at their eager faces.
         "A story, a story!" they cry. "Eoward, tell us a story!"
         "A story, eh? And what shall this story be about, my young riders?"
         Shouts ring out from every corner. "Horses! Nazgul and the black breath! Elves!Minas Tirith! The Shieldmaiden! Eomer King!" A small girl tugs on Eoward's sleeve. "Please, Master Storyteller, can there be an empath?" He smiles and ruffles her hair with a gentle hand.
Then, with a chuckle, he calms the children and sits in his customary place by the fire. He clears his throat and an expectant hush falls over the group.
         "My story today will have Minas Tirith, an elf, black breath for the lads, a bit of romance for the young ladies, and of course, horses." He looked down into the wide green eyes of the little girl, and said with a smile, "And an empath for little Jenna."