"Allen, what do you think of this war between Mordor and Gondor?"
Thorin had barely sat down in the tent before he asked the question, unable to contain his impatience.
Allen, who was preparing drinks for his guests, glanced back in surprise at Thorin's solemn face, puzzled.
As far as he knew, the Durin Dwarves had always been on good terms with the Northern Men, but had little connection with Gondor. Why were they interested in this war?
Of course, that puzzlement did not stop him from answering his friend's question.
"I can't work out why this war started. We simply have too little information. But I do have some thoughts on Gondor's current situation."
As he spoke, Allen took an exquisitely decorated Elven waterskin from his belt. It was actually a magical item, and the golden liquid he poured from it gave off wisps of steam even in this cold weather.
The liquid was Miruvor, a specialty of Rivendell: a cordial blended with precious medicinal herbs that could effectively restore vigor and hope.
Allen had once owned a small pouch of it, but during the battle to slay the dragon at Lake-town, he had given all of it to Hollimion, who had been gravely wounded by Smaug.
What he held now had been set aside especially for him by Lindir, as a precaution after learning about the wounded.
If wounded soldiers could still retain vigor and hope while on the verge of death, they would naturally be better able to withstand their injuries and survive a critical moment.
Allen had already used almost all of it while treating the wounded. There would be no further need for the little that remained, so he intended to serve it to his two friends.
There really was very little left, barely enough