Shouts, laughs, and horns’ blats drifted upwards on the light evening breeze with the scent of beer and frying sweets. The gathering shadows concealed no fear. From his high place, Aragorn saw mothers shooing children indoors away from the whirling skirts of dancers filling the streets. Nine times he had watched his people celebrate more raucously than was deemed seemly at the formal New Year’s court. He longed to roam the streets, swilling bitter beer on every level and learning new tales of that day of joy.

Arwen took pity on him at last. “Go. I will make your excuses.”

A speed drabble
Words: Gathering, skirt, bitters, mother –
Themes: New Year and alcohol