They knew him well on Rath Tirin, on Southron Street. Every morn, when fog lay still on Pelargir's wharf, he came clinking by - the Bottle Boy, Audaliufs.
For sandy Harad sold ale in glass that nightly broke. Audaliufs would fetch it, turn a coin from the glass-smith.
All hands and face, Audaliufs, and wordless sound. He'd the heavy tongue, Haradrim said. But a happy child – when day broke bright, he clapped and capered before his 'treasure' all alight.
Poor sunless lad, they thought, and 'paid' a bite of first-bread, honoring ancient duty: Burn with kindness for the Gentled Ones.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.