He walked into the hallway of the mansion like a rather soggy, grumpy ghost. Tall...for a Haradrim, only his elegant, swooping nose showing from the depths of his hood as a raindrop formed on the tip, dangling a few seconds and threatening to fall until finally blown free to splatter on the floor in a fit of sneezing.
“Achoo! Achoo!” More drops followed the first, the man standing now in a quite muddy puddle, wiping an arm across his nose and only smearing more dampness across it, glancing back at his well trodden in prints with a slight tinge of guilt. He wasn't used to living in such fine houses, nor houses at all. Not used to the act of wiping his feet on the mat before entering and crossing the tiles and rugs. His mind flickering a moment to the storage cupboard where he had been shown such strange articles as brooms and mops and he resolved to go and delve into their unexplored depths before his husband returned and frowned at the mess.
Crossing to fireplace he shook himself, small hisses of displeasure from the flames as rain splattered down, then a hearty thump as a sack of supplies landed besides the grate. A small groan sounded from his lips as he straightened, hands in the small of his back as he stretched out, cursing in his own tongue the inconvenience of having to carry his own supplies now his steed was too elderly....and pudgy...to do so. Maybe a little savings was in order, holding back from spending all his copper on new ingredients to distribute his cooking between his friends. A new horse though...a real expense to a simple man, especially one that could stand carrying his frame and bags of healing and baking goods. No lean and speedy racer for him, born of desert winds and bred for battle. Instead a larger, more sedate steed who would understand a slower pace of life and the need to avoid galloping for fear of sending muffins flying to the four points of the road.
“Maybe in time...” He murmured under his breath, about to turn towards the cleaning cupboard and the task of mopping the floor, when something caught his eyes, something bright and colourful peeking out among the iron and steel pots and bowls that littered the table.
His curiosity aroused he reached, wincing as a stack of cookie cutters clattered to the rug, flushing at his clumsiness and lifting the colourful item from the wreckage, turning it over and over in his hands as he frowned.
Quite different it was to his normal belongings, so brightly decorated and painted, the colours fresh and contrasting to the grey inside. His long fingers traced the lines and swirls that someone had obviously spent time and love on, his lips curving in a gentle smile that someone would go to all the trouble to decorate the slightly battered and elderly pan. Something fluttered on the handle, his eyes straying to it and picking up the note, reading it quickly as he gaze brightened even more. A chuckle escaped his lips as he now fully realised what this gesture meant, sighing and then turning, reaching up to the high shelf that held the finest Gondorian mugs and silver tankards that were never used.
The painted pot sat there among the most expensive things he could think of, the most treasured things. No more would porridge or gruel stain it's surface, threatening to chip the carefully applied patterns to dust. Instead it would sit in pride of place, visible always to his own eyes and those of any passing. A symbol that sometimes he could actually get things right and make a difference, no matter how small.
He regarded his prize a few moments longer before lacing his fingers together, cracking his knuckles loudly in the stillness of the hall. The muddy tracks and soggy puddle well pushed from his mind now he set about baking a selection of treats and sweets to repay the kindness of someone who had nothing but love to gift.
