“M’lady Eowyn?”
It was one of the holbytla. Not a ring-bearer, he wore the livery of a Citadel guard.
“You must be Pippin,” she whispered. “Merry often spoke of you.”
The hobbit nodded, smiling. “I came to snitch a bite since the coronation feast isn’t for some hours yet.”
“Me too. I've attended many formal dinners and there’s never enough to eat or drink.”
“Shall we sup together then? I’d like to hear about Merry and your adventures.”
“Let’s. Here carry the wine.”