As the traveler's eyes fluttered open, he realized that he had the same dream again. It was broad daylight now, and he righted himself from where he'd lain against a sapling planted in the town hall courtyard. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and grasped his rucksack, just in time to shove off before an oncoming guard ordered him to.
It was the third time now, though each dream differed just slightly in minor details: one took place next to a roaring fireplace, another beneath an ornate marble gazebo, yet another just within the entryway of a small but neat house in Ered Luin.
They each featured an elf-maiden with long silken tresses the color of autumn mallorn leaves. In each, she greeted him with warmth in the language of her kind, speaking “Suilad mellon,” and motioned for him to find comfort nearby.
Again, as in all of the dreams, she recited poetry and sang songs. They differed in content each time, however, and in language spoken. In the first, she spoke plainly to him in common speech. The other times, she switched entirely to elvish tongue - which he understood only a smattering of - and occasionally slipped into one even more ancient.
The elf-maid seemed to want nothing more than to weave words, presumably for his benefit. She never shared her name nor asked for anything aside from his rapt attention. Even his profuse pipe-weed smoke did not deter her performance.
After she'd spoken as long as she wished, she offered a few words for good wishes and promptly parted, leaving him for a few moments in his cloud of dream-smoke before his mind returned to the living world.
Perhaps one day, he would come to understand how his sleeping mind wandered into such extraordinary company.
