The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Nurumaiel]

Fortunately for Hearpwine he had a fellow minstrel (or singer, at least, though Liornung had found himself called bard more than once that day) near who saw the need for rest. "Good patrons of the White Horse," he laughed, "you must not beg us for more songs. Our voices fail and you would have song tonight, would you not? If you make us continue you shall have no more than feeble croakings. And consider that good Hearpwine must sing well tomorrow if he is to become Bard of the King."

"From what I have seen tonight, Uncle," Maercwen said, "'twould be more fitting to say as he is to become Bard of the King."

Hearpwine flushed under her pleasure but said, "Alas, Mae, for the first time I begin to have doubts. If any bard there is half as good as your uncle perhaps my chances shall not be as fair."

A smile flickered across the girl's face and she shook her head playfully. "Do not doubt your talents, Master Hearpwine," she said. "I must confess that I have never met a bard better than my uncle, though if it is because there is no bard better or merely because he is my uncle I do not know. I suspect the latter of being true. Yet, good sir, of all other bards you truly fall second in my heart and mind. I have no doubts that you will gain the honor." She paused a moment before continuing. "Aside from the honor which we shall all rejoice inwe might rejoice that you would then remain here in Edoras." The smile on her face grew wider and her eyes twinkled. "Call for more drinks, I beg you, and rest your voice. Apply yourself to thought, Master Hearpwine, for I expect you to sing the song I requested this night during the festivities."

[Kransha]

“You wish to rest your voice, good sirs,” said Osric to Liornung and Hearpwine, “and well you should. My voice has been found and, if you mind it not, I will take up the ears of your avid listeners while you recuperate. I do not seek to take your thrones, my friends, so I will merely see if I can recall the lore I once knew.” Osric had his chance as some words and ragged verse returned to him after a lengthy hiatus from his knowledge. He could re-learn any of his old ballads at the time he wished, but had not seen the need. The man of Aldburg, scooted his chair further, looking from person to person throughout the light-dappled room.

“An ode of my own is what I have for now. I am no minstrel, friends, but as much a poet as a fool, I assure you.” The aged man’s eyes sparkled with sunny warmth as he laughed in his throat, “When it comes to me, battle tales and feats of heroism shall be the topic of my verses, but for the moment I can only stutter about with poetry. I’ll regale you all with an old composition, a bumbling rhyme I wrote for a more human purpose than glory. So, for wont of a better name, here’s a little something I concocted an age ago, but if they desire it, Miss Maercwen may take it with her from here. I am need of a fair maid for a target, so if you would subjugate yourself to such a blow, even if my words are dire in their course?” he joked.

As Osric chuckled slightly while Maercwen, or Mae as he now knew she was known, gave a polite nod, tempered with a jovial look, “I would be honored to accept that position, sir, regardless of the dangers.” She replied gracefully, stifling a laugh of her own that prompted a smile from her uncle.

“I thank you for that, milady.” He said, still laughing more energetically than he’d thought himself capable of doing. All these young faces, less hardened and stony than the ones he was used to. It was a welcome sight for Osric. The old man, his sagged face lightening up as he reared himself back in the small, wooden chair, rested his rough hands upon his knees, and began a calm recitation. It was not somber, nor was it a happy piece, but hovering somewhere in between. There was no true tune, no notes to accompany it, but it held a meter well enough to go on steadily as a mild hush fell on this area of the room, most ears aimed respectfully at the venerable figure who had suddenly become so engrossed in his words.

“Am I well versed in verse in company?
In clever seasons need I seasoning?
‘Round thee may words make thee in ways many?
Can rhyme and reason seem more reasoning?

And even now I struggle with this line,
For I was never less witty than now.
This moment christened by all graces thine
That seemingly words seem too much to tow.

The reason of this I know not the cost.
But should I hit it right to say it’s this;
That cleverness becomes an item lost
When wits tested within such august bliss.

Given the chance thy beauty to adore,
My princely prose turns to a poem poor.”

As the hush remained upon Osric’s completion, the man brushed a strand or two of grayed hair from his face and overlooked the silent crowd, smiling. Provoked by their unusual quietness, he took the time to speak again. “Not much, I warrant, but t’will serve. If my old head can remember more, I won’t hesitate to go on, but I would have no reason if you’ve tired of these themed verses. Love is something I’ve reflected on, but I shan’t bore you with my ponderings, oh no, we should be merrier this day and eve. Though love is merry, merry is not love, unless the love of food and drink and song and dance. Then you have me, I suppose, and love is as merry as merry e’er was. But, I pray you, let me not rant on like the ancient fool I am.”

[Nurumaiel]

"Ancient fool!" Mae cried, shaking her head in a most vigorous fashion. "Sir, those words could never fit you. When does one become ancient? When one's hair begins to whiten? Nay, if you have lived many years that is one thing but you will only become old if you succumb to it in your heart. In spirit one can be as young as ever they were." She put her head to one side, her mild curls falling to one side of her face and her eyes twinkling playfully. "Come now, can you imagine me ever being old? Yet age will come to me. I hope I will remain a child in heart."

"You always will," Liornung replied. "You don't seem to me any older than when you were three years old singing I'll Tell My Ma."

She blushed and said, "I hope I am a bit older than that, uncle. But you are only teasing me, I see it in your eyes. And as for fools, Master Osric," she continued, returning her gaze to the man, "are we not all fools? Would wisemen sit as we sit now, singing and laughing and dancing? To be wise seems to me a dreary life. Would a wiseman live as my uncle, barely surviving on what money he makes in his wanders? To me it seems that one who was wise would find some work more profitable, yet..."

"Yet I work as a fool," Liornung said quite seriously. "I enjoy being a fool at times. But how did you, little Mae, know that I was as poor as I am? In truth the people of the inns are not so kind as those here and have no ears for music, or perhaps they have no money to spend and seek the fault of my song as an excuse. Yes, I am poor and often go without a meal, though how the money disappears so quickly I don't know..."

"I know," said a new voice. "You spend it all on ale for those who enjoy your music so you might all laugh and sing through the night, and if your music is ill-taken you spend your money on ale to drown your sorrows."

Liornung stood and set aside his fiddle. Striding across the room a look of boyish delight and admiration came to his features as he embraced the man who stood before him. "Dear brother Leofan," he said. "It has been many a month since I've seen you and you remind me to think not only to my nieces and nephews but my brothers and sisters, and my mother and father. Two years it has been since I have seen them. But you... ah, long was our parting in olden days until I chanced to meet your distressed wife, who was after fearing you had been killed in that stable fire. It was because of me that she found you again, for I was so successful in helping her dodge through those swarming crowds. But what a rambler I am, both on the road and in speech! Sit yourself, dear brother, and fill your glass with me." He paused, looked at Hearpwine and Osric and, a little flush coming to his cheeks, amended himself. "Us, I do mean. Fill your glass with us."

"I fear it cannot be," said Leofan, "though I would wish it. There is much work to do in the stable, as there always it, even if the work be but doing what the horses bid. I took this brief moment to come see you once again, for I heard your singing. Fine singing it was, as well."

"Yes, at that of Master Hearpwine, soon to be Bard of the King," Maercwen spoke up.

Liornung introduced Hearpwine and Leofan most properly, likewise to Osric, and Leofan addressed them, saying, "Do not believe what I say about my brother, sirs. His purse is opened more often for works of charity than to indulge in drink himself. In all truth he barely ever drinks, save grand festivities. Yet by his money many a hungry child in Rohan has been filled."

Liornung turned quite red and occupied himself with tuning his fiddle, pretending he had not heard. "Where, Leofan, is your lovely wife? I have not seen her nor heard of her."

"She is most likely in the kitchens helping to prepare for the night's fesitivites," Leofan replied. "I myself must go now, but tonight I will join in the dancing and merry-making." His eyes wandered over the room and fixed on Gomen and a little smile came to his face. "Are you enjoying yourself, lad? I thought you would. And, you, Mae, need not tell me for it is written on your face. But do not let your eager dancing get in the way of your lessons. Bethberry is waiting quite patiently for you, as are your slates. Else you shan't be able to dance with your uncle, or with me, or even with good Hearpwine. Perhaps Osric would also like to dance with. I will not deny you are quite charming, but you are your mother's daughter and so it could not be helped." He smiled fondly at her and then, with a polite nod to all in the room and a fond slap of the shoulder to his younger brother, he left the room.

[bilbo_baggins]

Oin turned to Finky and said,

"That bard is very good. I think he may even have a chance of beating the great Mearcwine if he tries hard enough, and learns some."

"True, he is good. But my eyes and ears are for Liornung. Now there is a chap with his instrument on straight!" replied Finky.

Said Oin, "And Hearpwine is a good bard, too. I near let loose a battle cry at that rousing song of his."

Said Finky, "Aye, indeed. These songs are truly wonderful."

And they both sat back and listened some more...

[Mad Baggins]

Ceryl sat, listening to the minstrel in the corner sing many songs. She spooned a bit of stew into her mouth, savouring the hot food. It was delicious. She sipped her tea and attacked her stew with vigour. When she was done, she drained the teacup and set it inside the empty bowl along with the spoon. She pushed it away and sighed contentedly, her stomach full.

Well, now that I have finished my meal, I should try to have a chat with someone, Ceryl thought. She remembered the mysterious-looking girl that had sat a few stools down and looked around for her. She saw that she was in the same place as she had been before. Ceryl slid off the stool and walked towards her. Just as she was about to touch her on the shoulder, the girl sighed and put her head in her hands.

Ceryl paused, wondering if the girl wanted some privacy. You are in an Inn, she chided herself. What privacy can you get here? She reached out her hand and tapped the girl on the shoulder. She jumped and whirled around, her brown and green eyes burning into Ceryl's own steely grays. Ceryl swallowed and said, "Pardon me for startling you, miss, but I was just wondering if you would like to have a chat with me."

[Crystal Heart]

Eowyn looked up at the woman that had ventured over to talk to her. She smiled.

"I wouldn't mind a nice chat. My name is Eowyn Lightheart. What is yours?"

She stook out her hand to shake hers and at the same time wondered how well she could hold up a conversation. She knew that there were parts of her mind that wandered when bringing back a new memory, but those memories were short and usually didn't make any sense to her.

Even in the split second of speaking to her, her memory flashed back to her accident. She remembered only the pain and the darkness, but now she remembered just one thing more. Laughter, evil laughter. The thought that whoever had abandoned her alone on the ground was terrible enough to bear, but this new fact of their laughter cut Eowyn deep. She just couldn't believe that people could be that heartless, that cruel. Then again if they hadn't been cruel she would still be with them. Sure, she would be just the same way but she would be with people that would take care of her. Maybe they had wanted to get rid of her for some sort of money reason. She didn't know if she wanted to think about that.

She turned her attention back to the woman in front of her.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen had long forgotten what she had been working on in her ledger, for she had taken up the joyous and humorous task of watching the people in the Inn. She saw old acquaintances reunite and become new friends. She saw perfect strangers become more comfortable communicating with one another. All of this and more could be observed from Aylwen’s spot behind her desk. The sun began to set, making Aylwen wonder where the day had gone. The time had come for her to begin the festivities. The Innkeeper stood from her seat and then stood on her seat.

“Oy, patrons of the White Horse!” Aylwen called. “Up with your heads and down with your mugs for just a moment, please!”

A few more calls and the Inn belonged to Aylwen’s voice. The bards (or, one bard and a wandering fiddler) and all who listened to them – including a couple of dwarves, strange newcomers, and several regular customers – turned their attention to Aylwen. So she continued her speech.

“It is high time for me to get these celebrations started. I’ve decided that the best way to do this is to begin with a very short story. Now, just four years ago there were many brave men – and even a woman, or maybe two – who fought for what they had then and what we have now. They fought in a grand war, which is now called the War of the Ring. I know that some of you,” Aylwen paused and looked at a few of the children that had finished schooling with Bethberry and smiled. “I know that some of you do not remember these events at all. I also know that many of you remember these events all too well. This night is for the remembrance of those we lost and those that we still have with us. Stories, dancing, songs, and memories in commemoration of that war belong within this night more than any other. I leave your attention to anyone that wants to share.”

Aylwen left her spot from atop her chair, and the patrons gave a light clap for her little speech.

[Mad Baggins]

Ceryl took the outstretched hand that Eowyn had offered her. Shaking it, she smiled. As she was about to comment on the girl's name, she heard a voice rise among all the others: "Oy, patrons of the White Horse! Up with your heads and down with your mugs for just a moment, please!" Ceryl turned and saw a woman standing atop a chair, shouting. She listened to the speech the woman gave and applauded along with the rest of the room when it was over.

Now Ceryl turned back to the girl and said, "Eowyn. You share a name with a great warrior; you must be proud." The girl nodded and said something that Ceryl's ears couldn't quite catch. Ceryl pulled up a stool and sat down, smoothing her cream-coloured dress as she did so. Searching for a conversation topic, Ceryl asked, "So, where are you from? I live just a little while from the Horse; my home lies in the city."

[Crystal Heart]

Eowyn looked up, fear strickened her at the woman's question.

"To be perfectly honest I have no idea where I am from. I fell off my horse with some others and hit something hard. I can't recall who they were or parts of my past. I only just realized my own name once again. I do not believe it was an accident that they left me without money, weapons, or any means of transportation," Eowyn said.

She wondered what the other woman would think of her. She probably wouldn't want to talk to someone that had no idea what was going on.

"You said I share my name with a great warrior. I know I knew about this at one time in my life, but please explain to me whom was this other Eowyn?"

Her face flushed in deep embarssement. She had no idea about anything that had happened before the fall and she knew that this was an important fact that she figured that everyone knew.

[Mad Baggins]

Ceryl's heart ached when she heard the girl say that she had no idea where she was from. It would be horrible to forget her family and friends. When the girl asked who the "other Eowyn" was, Ceryl was a bit startled, but then remembered that Eowyn had forgotten everything.

"Well, miss Eowyn, get ready for a long story, but well worth the time. Last year at this time, there was a grand war, as you heard the woman over there say. The War of the Ring. King Theoden was King of Rohan then, but he was old and frail. Then four strangers came and Theoden became strong again! He had a niece and nephew, Eowyn and Eomer. They were brother and sister..."

Eowyn listened carefully as Ceryl told of the great war, and Eowyn's heroic deeds. Her eyes widened as she heard of Eowyn helping to slay the great Witchking, and by the time Ceryl was finished her hands were clasped in front of her and her eyes were shining.

Ceryl smiled, saying, "Well, now you know who Eowyn is. You should be proud to share a name with the bravest woman in Rohan."

[Crystal Heart]

Eowyn gasped lightly. She had no idea that such a woman with such a name ever existed.

"But I am not worthy to share the same name as the most bravest woman in all of Rohan and in all of middle earth. I'm certainly nothing compared to her. I only disgrace her honorable name," Eowyn said softly in disbelief.

She hadn't realized when she had discovered her name only minutes prior that she shared a name with the most amazing woman to ever walk the lands of middle earth. She had no idea that this had happened only years before. She knew that she must have known about it when it had happened, maybe even had helped in it, but she couldn't remember a thing. The War of the Ring as Ceryl had called it wasn't ringing any such bells in her mind. There was no connection for her to make, even after the story had been told. This War now only seemed like an amazing story and nothing more. To these people in this Inn that was there life, possibly had been her life as well at one time, but she couldn't remember a thing about it. She felt ashamed of the fact that she couldn't recall a memory of the War of the Ring and the great Eowyn.

[bilbo_baggins]

Hoping that he would not get too frightened at this solemn moment, in front of these people, Oin stood up and recited a song, in memorium of the War of the Ring:

The War of the Rings was long and hard,
Telling of sadness, death and despair
To hear it well requires a bard,
Which, among Dwarves, are scarce and rare

The War of the Ring
The War of the Finding
The Dwarves do remember
And tell of the Binding

Our songs do remember
The tales of the few
Who battled and fought,
For the sake of the new.

For the sake of all people
Did our fighters prevail,
And hold up the banner
Of victory un-stale

The songs do sing
Of the Dwarf in the Keep
Who fought with the Elf
On the walls of Helm’s Deep

In the Coomb, they fought
In Rohan, Riddermark
Where many men fell,
Staving off the Dark

They fell with pride,
In what they had done,
For none could tarnish
The victory they’d won.

Though my song doth fail
To proclaim the worth and merit
Of the People who earned such
And did not live to wear it.

I sing it for those,
Who fell in the Finding,
In the battles most terrible
In the War of the Ring!!

He knew the song was poor, and ungainly, yet the words he had used brought to his mind all the battles and skirmishes in the War. Some of the people murmured and whispered to each other about the song.

"What do you think?" he asked the small crowd of the bard, the man named Liornung, and the maiden who was right fair. "My song is not as good as yon bard's but what is your opinion?"

[Bêthberry]

A brown and white falcon flew in one of the large french windows at the end of the Mead Hall. In his beak he carried a large scroll, which he dropped at Bethberry's feet. She retrived it, read it, and made the following announcement:

Writers of the Mark,

It seems we have another anniversary to celebrate as well. We are all called to the Party Field in The Shire to celebrate the fourth anniversary of the Barrow Downs forum.

How to get from here to there:

The Long Awaited Party

A large cheer went up among the patrons of The White Horse. After it had subsided, Bethberry continued:

"Unfortunately, I am called away on some urgent business at Haysend, so I shall arrive at the party ... fashionably late, as the saying goes. But enjoy. Who knows what fireworks will present themselves this year!"

A sparkle in her eye spoke of much mirth as Bethberry sat down, beside Oin, where she could quietly compliment him on his song and ask him questions about himself. She wondered if he hailed from Erebor or the Blue Mountains or if he was one of the dwarves going to join Gimli at the Glittering Caves.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine turned to his newfound friends at the announcement by Aylwen saying, “Ah! ‘Tis a pity that I have sung myself out for the moment, as there is many a song I could give of those deeds and days! But perhaps it is for the best that I can not, for the lay that I mean to sing for the King tomorrow tells the tale of the War in full and I do not want to weary my remembrance of the song overmuch tonight?”

From where she sat on the other side of the room, Bêthberry could not resist tossing a gentle barb at the young man. “A song that tells the tale of the War in full, you say? That must be a very long and remarkable song indeed, to encapsulate so much!”

Hearpwine smiled at the woman and inclined his head. “Quite right, my lady! Quite right. Perhaps I have misspoken again. I should say that the lay contains the full story of Theoden’s ride to War and his fall in battle before the Fell Beast of the Witch King.”

Now it was Osric’s turn to taunt the younger man. “Even that is a tale much longer in the telling than you will have tomorrow, my friend. For those who speak of were products of very long stories of their own!”

Hearpwine through up his hands and cried out, “I admit defeat my friends! I admit it – there is no lay that I can sing which will tell that story in full. But at the very least I can hope that I will be able to bring to mind the full meaning of that day for each who hear it!” Without waiting for a reply he rushed ahead. “Mistress Aylwen has asked for songs and stories. As I have forbidden myself the former, and I am no use at the latter, I appeal to the others here to give her as she wishes. I have already told the tale of my part in the War, small though it was – but what of the rest of you? Liornung, surely you could sing a song of what you saw in those great days of doom. And good Osric, I can tell by looking at you and at the glitter of memory in your eye that your role in those great events was far from a small one. Let us all hear and tell of what we did in the War, so that the memory of those days will be all the sweeter for having been renewed, and we shall favour the light more greatly in defiance of the darkness that is conquered!”

[Kransha]

“Though I fear my tale would bore you, it is a night for such things. I will get this started if I can.”

Osric, seeing that no one else had picked up Hearpwine’s challenge to relate a tale, pulled himself forward and reared up nobly to begin a usual oration. It had less of a literary flourish, since the events he spoke of were as real as the ground he walked upon and those he saw before him, but his gentle drone gained new energy as the almost autobiographical words began spilling out frothily.

“I, like many of my kin, was a simple man of the Folde. As many of my Rohirrim brethren will agree, life was most peaceful back then, except, perhaps, for occasional incursions by some manner of foe, which always seemed to be dispatched in a blaze of glory. Seeking this same glory, I sought out the Rider’s of Rohan, those of the Eastfold, and joined their ranks. They pronounced me their tale-teller and song-singer, even though I rarely sang, and I was thankful I could do but a little to boost their morale as the war loomed. At long last, it had begun. The world flew, as is my memory of it, and we riders under Erkenbrand and his valiant nephew, my own commander, Dunhere, rode to and fro, receiving all kinds of news that we could not make heads or tails of.

“It was at the second battle fought on the Fords of Isen where our confidence first broke. For the first time, I saw many good, brave men fall, those who I’d told stories to and talked with late into the starry nights. That, dear friends, is where I got this unfortunate degeneration from my once youthful step.”

Grinning to himself, Osric indicated his stiffened left leg, still straight as a log and immobile as it leaned on the chair he’d placed in front of him, “Many said I was a brave and courageous rider myself for fighting the battle and carrying a war wound away from it, but it is not true. Like all others, I was forced to flee from the might of wretched Saruman, limping like a cowardly elder in my way. It saddened me to look back and see the bodies of those slain, and saddened me more to see those who were lost, but still alive and clashing steel with Rohan’s foes until the moment they fell. I would’ve gone to them, but alas I had not the strength of will.”

“The battle of Isen was lost, but the war raged ever on. While the battle at Helm’s Deep raged in the west, Dunhere rallied the Rohirrim, I among their number, at Harrowdale. Those days I saw a grandness I feared lost, a vast and stretching wave of horses’ untamed manes and Rohirrim spears that glistened like sunlight itself. We rode thence to a battle grander and more terrible than what I thought I’d seen, on the fields of Pelennor with Rammas Echor’s walls. There, under the white shadow of Gondor’s city and Mount Mindolluin, its pallid shadow cast over us, we fought as if the night would bring no morn.”

His calm air, tempered with new verve, suddenly swelled as he could see it all again. The monsters and the madness, sky and earth, light and dark playing out on Pelennor Fields, all could be seen beneath the palette of his widening eyes and raised lids. His story grew and surged as his voice’s volume overwhelmed the room as much as the old and weakened drawl could.

“I fought as I could, but as far as I know all I did was witness the battle. Yes, I slew many a foul creature and wicked man, but who did not who was there? In fact, I watched more than I fought, forced to battle on foot as well as I could when my steed was shot from under me by the venomous shafts of orcs. The limp gained from Isen was still upon me, but I fought with all the others, since no man would’ve done such a shameful thing as shirking the duty to Rohan and Middle-Earth. I saw those huge, incredible things that the Little Folk call Oliphaunts, those massive, tusked creatures. At first they seemed like heartless monsters purely in the thrall of the Haradrim puppets, but I could see there was more in them, a power and nobility in their eyes as they trampled over the fields. Of course, I could not gawk for long. The black serpent that you spoke of, Hearpwine, and his shadowy master fell upon us.”

Osric halted, catching his lost breath and sucking in much needed air. He took a swift look around and noticed the faces that were protruding forward, looking at him with fixed gazes and wide eyes as they waited with something that might be called eagerness. Fair memories coming to him, the aged man of Aldburg smiled a warmer smile and leaned back, shifting his limp and useless leg to the side.

“Perhaps I should leave it at that.” He chuckled, eliciting immediate protest.

[bilbo_baggins]

Oin was leaning forward, eagerly anticipating the evening’s singings and tale-tellings, which he had so graciously started for them, when Bethberry came over and sat down.

“My friend Oin, I am pleased to meet you! I am Bethberry, and I am someone who people go to when they want questions answered and things like that. I was the Matron of the Inn, once. But tell me of yourself, I am curious. Where do you come from, and where are you going?”

Oin answered the fair Bethberry, “Well, miz. Bethberry, that is a hard question to answer. I come from both the Blue Mountains, and from the Lonely Mountain. My grandfather (or someone like that) was related to Thrain, closely somehow, I’m not really sure, though… But I am on my way (have been for some time, and am happily lazing here) to the Glittering Caves of Aglerond. My, err, um, relative Gimli is waiting for me and others to arrive and start the work there.”

Bethberry replied, “Truly interesting, Oin. I hope we do not detain you from your duties.”

“Oh nay, nay. I am happy to stay for a while and hear the songs and tales brought forth. Truly the songs I have heard so far leave my meager rhymes in the dust. I hope to compose a truly warming verse yet.”

“We are happy to have you here in the White Horse! You are welcome for as long as you may stay.”

Said Oin, “Thank ye, Miz. I’ll be happy to.”

[Nurumaiel]

A little shiver passed through Mae as Osric spoke of the black serpent and she shook her head. "I would hear no more, Master Osric," she said. "Not now. I am not a man, nor as brave a woman as the Lady of Rohan was to slay the fell creature. If men trembled in fear at the sight of it, I tremble in fear at the thought. Speak no more for the moment, not of that." She paused a moment before continuing. "And yet the rest of your story was most interesting, though it would be a lie to say pleasant. You, it seems, Master Osric, would know more than any of us that war is not a pleasant thing." Turning to her uncle, a little smile came to her face and she said, "Uncle, would you sing a song for us? I would not pester Hearpwine further; he must sing well to be Bard of the King on the morrow. Yet you...?"

"Nay, little Mae, not at the moment," Liornung laughed. "It is true I will not sing for the King tomorrow, but even so I cannot sing when my voice is weary. Give me a moment to rest, and I will continue. However..." He picked up his fiddle and looked at her with twinkling eyes. "However, I will play a tune for you so you might dance again. My voice may weary but I will never find weariness while playing my fiddle until trees grow with their heads in the ground. So, my girl, find yourself one to dance with and we can begin. And of course all others in the Inn might dance to their heart's content, Dwarf and Man alike." He flashed a smile about the room before returning his gaze to Maercwen. "Mae, you haven't found a partner yet. I am disappointed in you. What makes you hesitate?"

"Well, uncle, I had always thought it more proper that the lad ask the lassie, not the lassie the lad. And so I will dance with whoever might ask, but I shall not ask myself."

"Yes, I believe those are true words you speak," Liornung said. "Well, I will begin to play and you may begin to dance whenever some man deems it convenient." And, taking up his fiddle, he began to play a most cheery tune, though it was not over-fast. No one moved at first, perhaps because they were shy, but Liornung drew his countence into a most awful expression and cried, "I shall scowl and leer at all of you, and especially you men who should be asking fair lassies right now, until I have at least one pair of dancers. Would you insult my music thus? It will not be the first time, I admit, but I am accustomed to people dancing to my music." There were some stirrings among the guests though it could not be said for certain whether they were moving to dance or not. Liornung chuckled softly and continued his tune.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine downed the last of his water and stood, saying, “Liornung is right. A lass must not go unaccompanied on to the dance floor – and you are right, Mae, when you demand that the lad does the asking.” He bowed deeply and courteously to the maid and said through his widening smile, “May I have the pleasure of a dance with you, my lady?” Mae’s face glowed as she accepted.

Hearpwine and Mae took the floor and soon their feet took up the tune of the fiddle. They swirled about the room in time and those who looked on soon realised that Hearpwine’s talents lay more in his tongue than in his feet. His dancing was accomplished but far from effortless, and he was clearly outmatched by the easy grace and melody of Maercwen. Hearpwine though, did not seem to care and he more than made up for his lack of skill and polish with his enthusiasm.

As they danced, Hearpwine’s voice followed the music in a light hum. “Be careful Master Bard,” Mae said, somewhat breathlessly, “you sound as though you are about to burst into song once more.”

“Aye,” he replied, “I find it a sore trial to move my body to music but not my voice.” The music came to a halt and Hearpwine bowed to Mae once more, before turning to the room and crying out, “Who wishes to dance with this lass? If she will have you, I will be happy to stand aside, for I do not wish to hoard the glory all for myself this night!”

[The Perky Ent]

A smooth wind brushed across Caraedry's dirty brown hair. Rohan was beautiful this time of year. It was a perfect place to write. Caraedry took out a quil and parchment, and began to write.

Edoras, capital of Rohan. Beautiful view. Nice residence. Must investigate.

As Caraedry looked up from his parchment, he noticed an inn with a white horse. It seemed to have a good apeal to the public. A perfect place to sell his books. "But then, this is Edoras. They'll probably know these places. But then, not with my illustrations" Caraedry said as he opened one of his leather books and looked at a beatiful illustration of The Shire. "Well, i didn't come this far!" Caraedry said as he stuffed this parchment into his bag and headed for the inn.

Inside, he noticed that the Inn was packed with people. It was even hard to find a table. After a minute, Caraedry sat down at a table next to several people. Ordering a drink, he opened his bag and started to put his books on display. There were many different places. The Shire, Bree, Dale, and Orthanc were some of the many locations in the books on display. The binding and Gold Caligraphy added a nice touch to his works. As Caraedry took a sip from his drink, he mumbled, "Now, if only i could get some customers!"

[Bêthberry]

OOC

A tremendous game with great synergy and wonderful characterisation of dwarves and orcs has recently concluded in The Shire, Last Hope for Moria.

It was superbly managed by Imladris, who now joins the ranks of gamers with full status in Rohan as Game Manager as well as Game Player. Congratulations, Imladris.

The gamers who successfully completed Last Hope for Moria have also demonstrated excellent gaming habits as well as shown good promise as writers. They now have status as Game Players in Rohan. They are Melisil, Nilpaurion Felagund, Pyroclastic, Saraphim, The Perky Ent, and Will Witfoot. Well done!

Aylwen, a round of the finest ale, please, for our latest Rohirrim!

Bethberry,
Moderator for Rohan

[Imladris]

Taliesin wiped his the foam that clung to his bristly mustache and beard away, and looked about him. Due to his poor hearing, he had missed much of what had been going on in the inn, and for that he lamented. He couldn't remember where he had lost it...which rather annoyed him. He looked about for Goldwine, but he had disappeared among the frolicking, merry folk.

Then he saw a new man enter the building. He began to set up books on a nearby table and, standing with a vague waiting flair, took a sip of his drink. Taliesin, grasping his crooked cane, hobbled his way toward the man and his wares.

Books were neatly aligned on the table, some of which were open to display their elegant illustrations. The man had a fine hand as well, Taliesin noted. Gently he thumbed through the pages, gasping and mumbling words of praise as he saw each grand illustration after another.

He paused, though, at one that showed the walled fortress. He saw the words Helm's Deep in gold calligraphy. The words echoed in his mind, along with the whistle of arrows and the ping of stone upon armour. He shook his head. A black army with fluttering banners of a white hand, gathered before it, like stormy waves crashing onto a rocky harbour.

He picked up the book and, turning to the salesman, said, "What do you ask for these wares so fine, these golden characters in such delightful prime?"

[Saraphim]

The door rattled a bit as it opened again. Strenge entered quickly, then closed it to block out the wind. He stood still for a moment, attempting to gain some warmth back into his slight frame, then made his way to find some good ale.

With a mug of the best drink he had ever tasted, Strenge turned and immediatly spotted someone he knew.

As quick as he could, Strenge ran over to Caraedry, who looked up in surprise at the young dark-haired man who suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Caraerdry!" said Strenge, "Great holy eagles, I never expected to see you here. Well, then again, I never expected to be here myself. But I suppose if there is anyone I might have wanted to see here, you would be it."

Strenge could have babbled in this fashion for the remainder of the day, but on this particular one, he had beer, which he began to drink intermittently.

"Well, then, what are you doing here?" Strenge asked stupidly, then, after seeing the books out on the table, said: "Ah, yes, the old business. How's that going?"

Before Careardry could answer, Strenge had plunged on with another bout of swift conversation.

It took a quarter of an hour for Strenge to have drank enough to become less talkative.

He sat down and asked, in a much less active manner, "How is your business going, anyway?"

[The Perky Ent]

"Well," said Caraedry, "Well, business was pretty good in the shire. Everyone there likes a good story. But i had some trouble in Bree. Those people know their stuff. I'm hoping Rohirrim won't be as educated all over Middle Earth. But, business is good. As i like to say, there's no excitement in sucess! Now tell me, how are you?"

"Well, i can't complain. Just living my life." Strenge said. He had a great grin as a took a sip of his drink.

"Well, while we're here, let's get to business. I remember you bought...ah, was it Tales of Dale or Mystery of Mirkwood? Ah, now i remember! It was Magic and Mountains. That book took me 6 years to make. 2 years of research, 3 years of traveling, and 1 year of actually drawing the various places. It just so happens to be my best seller!" Caraedry said as he pulled out a heavy blue book about the size of a watermellon.

"Is it now? Well, i'm glad a made a good investment!" Strenge said. "Also, I must comment on your drawings of Erebor. Completly fascinating!"

"Thank you very much. Now, what will you be buying today?"

[Saraphim]

Strenge laughed a bit at Caraedry's question.

"Always the salesman, aren't you?"

"Of course," Caraedry said.

"Well here's to that!" Strenge said, and raised his mug in toast, "As to your question, I must say that the book intrigued me so much I've been looking forward to reading about Dwarves some more. I heard you were researching about that failed expedition to Moria, and that seemes to be quite the interesting read."

[Imladris]

Taliesin frowned as another customer approached the table after him and interrupted before the salesman had a chance to answer him. The old man's frown deepend when the salesman promptly ignored him and began to have a friendly conversation with the other customer.

Taliesin pondered about what to do. He wanted the book -- it had triggered something in his memory. But then again, he was afraid to cause a distraction. The Inn was peaceful, and he would hate to disrupt it, causing annoyance to the Innkeeper. But then again, the younger generation must be taught to respect their veteraned elders.

Clearing his throat, he tapped his cane upon the table, and said, "Young man, if I remember right, I was here before this second sight --" he pointed to the other customer -- "and I ask that you serve me first, for he came and interrupted me in friendly verbal burst." He stopped, licked his lips, and scratched his nose. "Once again I ask, What do you ask for these wares so fine, these golden characters in such delightful prime?"

[Saraphim]

Strenge looked up surprised at Taliesin.

"Oh, my. I'm terribly sorry, sir. I didn't see you in my eagerness to speak to my friend here. I'll just come back later, shall I?" the last part was said to Caraerdry, who nodded.

Strenge got up and went back to the bar. Taliesin gave him a glowering look as he passed, and Strenge twitched a bit.

Lovely, he thought, The last thing I need after coming to this new country is and enemy.

Strenge had never been a particularly brave person, and as he sat down at the bar and ordered another drink, he couldn't help but feel Taliesin's gaze bore into his neck. Logic told him that this was simply his inherent paranoia acting up. It was obvious that Taliesin was looking at Caraerdry's wares, but Strenge could not help but twitch self-conscously into his tankard.

[Crystal Heart]

Eowyn sat silently. She had no idea what to say to this woman. She had no memories to share and couldn't remember if she had ever been instructed instructed in proper speaking manners.

She sat upon that stool when something hit her. A whirlwind of memories that just came to her. There had been something in the air, a smell that she remembered. Memories of her childhood came back. Her mother's name, Eowyn as well for she had been named for her mother, her father's smile. Her father, Henry. He had had no sons, just her. She was their heir.

And then she realized why the people had left her for dead after she had fallen. She remembered who they where. They were her father's brother's children, her cousins. They had been angry at the fact that everything of the Lightheart's would go to her when her father died. That she would be the heir of their grand family. She would be the one that made decisions and would own the property that they had been blessed with.

She suddenly remembered her home, every small detail of every room. She had lived right here in Rohan.

"Please, tell me do you know Henry Lightheart or an Eowyn Lightheart, I was named for my mother. I finally remember. I remember this place. I had seen it once, I had come here with our cooks son against our parents permission. I use to drink this ale. I remember this room. I remember it all. I had only come in here for shelter and have received all of my memories. I do not remember the War of the Ring, but it will only be a matter of time. Please tell me if you know if they are alive and well. I must know," Eowyn said quickly, urgently. She had no idea what her cousins would do to her parents if they would leave a young woman out in the wilderness far away from her home to die.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

(Welcome, welcome! Imladris, Melisil, Nilpaurion Felagund, Pyroclastic, Saraphim, The Perky Ent, and Will Witfoot, I offer a hearty welcome to you. Your spots on the Rohan lists are well-deserved indeed!)

Aylwen stood again, moving quickly to the door while voices fought to be heard over those of other patrons. Opening the door, Aylwen smiled at the sight before her. In fourteen years as Innkeeper, Aylwen had met many folk from town and from far away places who had come to stay at the Inn. Standing before her on the night of festivities was a small troop of minstrels from a nearby village along the Snowbourne. Three of them stood before the middle-aged Innkeeper. Aylwen said naught, but stepped out of the doorway and gestured for them to enter. Into the Inn came four minstrels to join in the festivities. Three men and one lady, with their instruments and happiness.

"Friends!" Aylwen hollered above the many voices. "It is my pleasure to introduce you to friends from one river valley, who have come to celebrate, play, and sing many songs for you. I do not wish to pester young Hearpwine into singing before his big day," Aylwen paused and smiled at the young man. "And I do not want to weary good Liornung all night. And so my friends have place here and songs to sing."

"Thank you, Misstress Aylwen," said the tallest of three men, bowing low and removing his dusty and ragged old cap. He gestured to his companions and they began to unpack their intruments and tools on one of the few empty tables. The tall man, with his tousled and whispy red-gold hair and enthusiastic grey eyes turned to address the entire Inn. "Now, Misstress Aylwen has done a fine job of intruducing us so far. I am called Eadman, and these are my good friends," Eadman gestured to two other men, one of average height and rather lanky, the other short and stocky. Eadman motioned to the young lady who was quietly tuning a lyre. "And this is my sister, Eadwen. Still, there is much more to us than just music. Throughout our years and especially after the war, we've been told and explained many a tale. Music and storytelling go hand-in-hand when we are around!"

Some of the patrons laughed or started commenting on this to their neighbor. Others, full of drink already, merely grunted or raised their mugs in acknowledgement.

"Our first tale is my favorite," Eadman began, laughing to himself as he recalled what he would say next. "An old friend came home after the war, and explained to any who had stayed behind what happened to those that never came home. One of the young men had gone off to fight in the war, and his troop of soldiers had set up camp in Anorien. It became home for weeks. It was said that when the young man could not handle the anxiety and worry brought on by impending battle, he would go and sit on one large rock protruding from the ground. He would watch the sun set, revelling in the constance and strength of something as simple as a stone. But when battle did come and friends did die, the young man was lost in battle and never returned. I do not know if it is true, but I was told that when the troops were returning home they found the rock that the lad used to sit on. When they got to it, the lad's dagger was at the foot of the rock, with dry blood all over the blade."

Some listeners nodded, intrigued. Others laughed and pushed the story away, but Eadman shrugged, letting the listener decide whether it was truth or myth. Instead, Eadman picked up a drum that had been kindly set out for him by his shorter companion. Eadman smiled and began, beating the drum slowly and producing a deep, somber sound. The short bard began to play a light melody on his wooden flute, and the lanky man sang while Eadman's sister strummed her instrument softly.

"Over the stone, the old gray stone,
Let me ponder here alone,
Through all weather we go together
Ancient stone, thou good old stone.
Of the many friends I've seen,
Thou the truest friend has been,
Some forget me, some have fled,
Some are false, and some are dead,
Changing never constant ever,
Still I find thee, dear old stone.

Standing here, thou silent stone,
What a world thou must have known!
Deeds of glory, lost to story,
Hast thou witness'd ancient stone.
Here beneath the grass, 'tis said,
Many warriors bones are laid,
Fighting for their land they fell,
None but thou can truly tell.
Secrets keeping, ever sleeping,
Dream'st thou of the past, old stone?"

(Ooc: These characters can be used by anyone if they wish. You can give names to the two men, and can have them play any song or tell any story in your posts. Have fun.)

[The Perky Ent]

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry!" Caraedry said as he looked at the man yelling at him. "Well, this one, Runes and Ruins, is fairly cheap. But this one, my bestseller, Magic and Mountains, is fairly expensive. But then, it is the best!"

"Well, let me see. Wow!" the man known as Taliesin said. "Is that...is that Moria?" Taliesin said. Moria was a rare sight these days, and Caraedry's issultrations were very real.

"Yes it is! It took 3 months to arrange a party to go through. Well, not really through, since the wizard, Gandalf the Grey as he was at the time, broke the bridge fighting the demon balrog." Caraedry said as he flipped a couple of pages to a beautiful picture of Gandalf raising his staff against the Balrog of Morgoth.

There was silence. Clearly, Taliesin was impressed. "I had to go to the shire for details. I arranged a meeting with Sam Gangee, a member of the fellowship of the ring.


"I'll take it!" Taliesin said as he grabbed the large book and tucked it under his arm. Strenge gave a huge sigh and then said, "Now that we've got that out of the way, let us all have a sit and let us make talk." Strenge said as he took a sip of his drink and sat down. "Well, actually, I reckon I'll need to find the Innkeeper for permission to sell my books here, so i better find him...her...whoever it happens to be."

"Ah don't worry about it Caraedry!" Strenge said as he patted Caraedry on the back. "No one notices!" As Caraedry continued to organize his books, he couldn't help but think what would happen if he got in trouble with the Innkeeper!

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry had nodded and clapped in time to the music as Hearpwine had danced with Mae and then she had had been deep in conversation with Osric when Aylwen's friends had begun to play. She had been readied, in part, for his story by Oin's effort to honour his people's contribution. She could see why Ruthven enjoyed this dwarf's company.

And then Osric's story had set her nerves aflame, for she had tred some of the game ground he had, not as fighter but as a healer. She had walked the battle site after the noise and fury and battle, amongst the moaning and crying and twitching bodies, holding hands with those who she could not help until they had passed beyond the circles of this world. Others she had seen removed from the filth and stench and bloody earth of the battlefield to the slow torment of the invalid's bed. Her hands, her aprons, her leggings and shoes had been stained as red as the angriest clouds at sunset after Helm's Deep and for many days. Many of those who had not died in battle succumbed in the after days to blood loss, fever, the swelling and pain of putrefaction. Some, some few, she had been able to help, like Osric, not to repair the damage of wound but to limit its effect. Yes, she understood very well the stiffness in his leg.

The close of Eadman's song brought her back to thoughts of the Inn, now so ably run by Aylwen. She looked around and noticed for the first time Taliesin and Strenge deep in conversation with one whose face was not known to her, an itinerant trader it seemed. A seller of wares, here in the Horse! She excused herself from Kransha's company, promising to return, and hastened over to the pedlar. His table was strewn with books, books the like of which was rarely seen in Edoras.

"We are crowded tonight, traveller, and there are many who would appreciate the rest of table and chair which your books cannot appreciate. How came you here to ply your trade in the Mead Hall? " Her words and her look were not unfriendly but not by any means were they soft. This trader would have some fast talking to do.

[The Perky Ent]

"I am very sorry...Bethberry? You see, my profession is...well...take a look" Caraedry said as he pulled out a book. "Ah, now those are mighty fine, but for tonight, could you put them away?" Bethberry said as Caraedry put back the books into his bag and left his bag on the table. "It's not forever. Just for tonight. If it clears up, feel free to display your wonderful books." Bethberry said, giving a cold yet comforting look. After a moment of silence, Bethberry left.

Caraedry could not have another drink. When he was offered on, his responce was always, "No, I can't. I must work!" So, after talking a little bit with Strenge and Taliesin. Caraedry left the Inn to get some fresh air. He took a walk all across Edoras, and as he was walking, he noticed a small girl brushing a pony. Caraedry felt a warmth in his heart as he asked, "Is this your horse?" The girl smiled and said, "It's mine. When I get older, my brother will teach me how to ride it!" Caraedry smiled, remembering a picture in one of his books, Hordes and Horses. It was a very small book, but in it, was a beautiful picture of Eowyn on a horse. The girl looked just like her.

As Caraedry continued his walk, he eventually left Edoras, and sat down on a field fairly close to it. The field was fresh and had a good view of the city, so Caraedry began to draw. First an outline, then detail, and then he shaded it in.

When Caraedry returned to the bar, he noticed that all his book were where they were, along with Strenge and Taliesin. "So, what have you two been up to?" Caraedry said with a grin. "Doing some background checking." Taliesin said. "How did these books come back?" Caraedry said with some suprise. "I talked to Bethberry!" Taliesin said. "Don't worry. You're now free to sell your books." Caraedry gave a great smile and then bought both Taliesin and Strenge another drink.

[ArwenBaggins]

Reya smiled half-heartedly and clapped as the minstrels danced in circles and played merry music. Her husband had died at the Battle of Pellenor Fields a countless number of days ago, yet her heart had never fully healed. Selinn was half of Reya's life, and once he was parted from her, she was not truly whole.

Her thoughts drifted back four years, to the day the men of Rohan left to discover their inevitable doom. Delaynn was just shy of her first birthday, but as talkitive a baby could be. As Selinn stood in the doorway of their modest home, Reya forced herself to keep a smile on her face. "I will return, anyway I can. We will rid this Middle-Earth of the Darkness. I love you Reya... and you Dela!" He kissed them both one last time, and then mounted his giant steed. As the caravan of warriors rode past, he held up his hand in farewell and disapeared in the mass of large horse bodies.

Word was sent after the gruesome battle that Selinn and dozens of others from Rohan had died in the battle- including the King. "Where is his body?" Reya choked that misty morning, to the guard at her door. The tall blonde man told her that a number of valiant soldiers could not be found admist all of the other rotting carcasses and torn flesh.

Delaynn, her young daughter, twirled and threw petals of flowers at her feet, snapping her back to reality. "Mama, I'm gonna go look at Mister Caraedry's books, okay? Maybe I'll find one dat Papa will read to me when he gets home," The girl was completely oblivious to the fact that her father was never going to come home. She jingled the few coins her mother had gave her and hopped over toward the book-seller.

"Mister, do you have any books that I could read? I'm almost five!" Her dark golden waves bounced in the thick air as she looked up at the brown-haired man. Reya smiled from the booth and scooted toward the edge of her seat, watching her daughter intently. After Selinn died, Delaynn was all she had left.

[The Perky Ent]

In the middle of his conversation with Taliesin and Strenge, Caraedry noticed a cute, little girl walk up to him. "Mr., do you have any books that I could read? I'm almost five!" the girl said, hopping up and down. "Well hello. What's your name?" Caraedry said as he got on his knees to level with her. "Delaynn" the girl said in a tender voice. "Well Delaynn, as a matter of fact, I think I have an excellent book for you!"Caraedry said as he pulled his bag off the table and grabbed a small book. On the cover of the book said, A Child's Guide to Middle Earth. "Thank you Mr. Caraedry! Thank you thank you thank you!" Delaynn said as she paid Caraedry and hopped off.

As the noise of the Inn returned to a jubilant hum, Bethberry spied the book seller, returnd to hawk his wares once again. Bethberry was rather taken aback at his audacity; she knew Aylwen was busy elsewhere, so she addressed the fellow once again.

"I suppose you are accustomed to stealing market stalls, Mr Caraedy?" she observed.

"Well, um, I .... " stammered the man, frowning and making questioning looks towards Taliesin.

Bethberry waited patiently, watching the man's face intently until a slow red spread up his cheeks.

"There are good folk here who are in need of food and rest and relaxation. They aren't keen to be inveigled or dunned out of their money. Perhaps you did not understand this point earlier."

"Um, well, ma'am, um perhaps not. But I do now!" he recovered with an attempt at a grin and charming way.

"Good, then we can strike a bargain. There's room over in the word hoard, an extra table. Three silver pieces will give you use of it for tonight and tomorrow."

She held her hand out to him in a way that made clear he should accept or else find himself and his books out on the street.

"Could I offer you goods in exchange in place of coin? I've just the very book which would suit such a distinquished ..." his voice trailed off as he watched her raise an eyebrow and lower her smile into a firmer, determined pose.

He quickly mulled over his options and then ...

[ArwenBaggins]

OoC:
Bêthberry, I am extremely sorry. Seeing that this was sort of a long-term 'argument', I thought that maybe Perky had your permission to do the whole rant thing. I am willing to edit this post as you see fit.

IC:

Dela smiled and hugged the book close to her chest, jumping into the booth and swinging her legs beneath the table. She smiled to her mother and started fingering through pages, looking at all of the pictures and maps. "But where are we suppost to sit? You can't just let people take up space with books!" Suddenly, a scream was heard and the Inn door slammed.

Reya felt her daughter scrambling at the foot of her brown skirt beneath the table, and then all of a sudden had a girl sitting in her lap. "Mommy, why's ever'one gotta be so mean ta Mister Caraedry? He gave me this purty book, an' he's really nice!" Dela ran her pudgy fingers absent-mindedly through her mother's dishwater blonde hair. "I dunno why people don' like books!" Reya shrugged and watched sadly as Caraedry stomped out of the door.

The young girl had an utter fascination toward books. No, she could not read the History of Middle-Earth (or anything with more than five words on a page, for that matter), but she loved to sit near the fire or under a tree and look at the pictures and practice new words. "Mommy? Can I go outside and see what's the matter with Mister Caraedry? I promise I'll be real quick an' I won't let anyone 'nap me," she looked to Reya with bright brown eyes, which painfully reminded her of Selinor. "Please? Please Mommy? Or... you could come too if'n ya want to..." The girl hopped from her mother's lap and kept begging to find the bookseller.

"All right. Come on Delaynn. I'll stand inside and make sure everything's okay from the window," Reya stood as well and lead her daughter to the window.

Dela grinned wide and pushed the large door with all of her might. She saw Caraedy standing a few feet from the Inn, muttering angrily to himself. She had never seen the usually-friendly man so angry. "Mis... Mister Caraedry? Is everything... okay? I'm really sorry that Bêthberry won' letcha put your books on the table...," She stood behind the man, waiting for a hopefully-calm answer.

[bilbo_baggins]

Oin saw the confrontation between Caraedry and Bethberry. Rather effective, that Bethberry. He stepped over to where Bethberry stood, watching Caraedry put his wares out of the way.

"Bethberry, marm. I'm Oin, remember? I saw what happened, and am happy to say that you are definitely a mover. You certainly showed him who runs this Inn. Hehehe." Oin chortled at the sight of poor Caraedry, stooping over and picking up some books that had fallen over, glancing ever at Bethberry standing not far away, like a careful watcher, waiting to make sure he would take care of this incident she had warned him about already.

"Oin, I just don't understand people like that; people that will do anything to sell something. I understand, it's an honest occupation and all, but there are extremes in everything. Caraedry definitely stepped over the line. I don't want to be severe with him, but he is pushing me, oh so close to being rather angry." Bethberry frowned at this and turned to Oin. With a small smile, she said, "Don't worry, Oin. I can handle him. Go and sit, have another ale. Enjoy yourself."

Oin, happy to oblige, walked back to Finky, who was eating some bread quietly. "Finky, I think that we shall see little of that peddler again. I didn't quite like the look of him, too honest a face, as if that could be."

"Aye, Oin. I know right well what you mean." Swallowing his bread, Finky continued, "I hope the Inn returns to normal. I rather liked the tale-telling. Perhaps someone will cheer the place up."

Oin replied, "Aye, that would be good. A little cheer would be appreciated. As my relative would say, 'You'ld find more cheer in a graveyard!'"

Thus, the floor was set for any who would cheer the place.

[Bêthberry]

OOC

Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Let's step back a bit here. The Perky Ent has put words in my character's mouth that are at odds with how Bethberry has handled events and situations in the past at The White Horse. They are, to my mind, completely at odds with her character and manner. Bethberry does not react with anger or haste; nor would she ever dismiss the value of books; nor would she ever condone heavy drinking. (Bartenders have legal obligations not to send characters out drunk and disorderly. ) And now others have picked up on that and are continuing the situation, although I thank bilbo for attempting to restore peace and order. However, as a gamer, I would appreciate the chance to have my character react to this situation in her own words.

Please read the discussion of 'bunnying' in the thread The Redbook of Westmarch in The Shire. There is a lesson for all there about interactive gaming.

The Perky Ent, please see your PM (again!). bilbo_baggins and ArwenBaggins, please be prepared to edit your posts after you see my post about the book uproar.

Thanks muchly everyone. Gamers can post stories about the war, just please do not refer to Bethberry storming and stomping. She's not a bouncer!

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The night went on, full of songs and stories about the War. No physical brawls, though, and for that Aylwen was glad. She missed Talan, the sturdy young man who used to help if any such problems did occur. Strangers had become friends, and friends learned about each other. Still, the hour had grown late, children had grown grouchy, and adults grew equally weary. Aylwen decided that the night had gone on long enough, and a final song was due to float upon the air.

“Patrons, friends, visitors!” Aylwen cried, catching the crowd’s attention. “One last song, and then it will be high time for everyone to march on home or up to their rooms and get some sweet rest. Especially Hearpwine, and any others participating in the faire and competitions tomorrow,” Aylwen smiled. “Yes, the night has been full and I think the time has come to wrap things up.” The Innkeeper went to Eadman and whispered something in his ear. When she’d finished, Eadman nodded with a low chuckle. He picked up the flute that belonged to one of his companions, and whispered something to his sister. When Eadman and Eadwen were ready and had a slow, sad tune flowing, Aylwen sung the final song herself.

“Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
Onward, the sailors cry
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to skye

Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunder clouds rend the air;
Baffled our foe's stand on the shore
Follow they will not dare

Speed bonnie boat....

Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep
Ocean's a royal bed
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
Watch by your weary head

Speed bonnie boat....

Many's the lad fought on that day
Well the rapier could wield
When the night came, silently lay
Dead on Pelennor field

Speed bonnie boat...

Burned are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men
Yet, e'er the sword cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again.

Speed bonnie boat...”

When Aylwen finished the song, some clapped, others said naught and merely began to pack up their things. Many went upstairs, others were heralded out by a tired Aedre. Aylwen went to the door as well, wishing all who had visited a cheerful (but exhausted) good-night. When all but Eadman and his friends had left the Mead Hall, Aylwen gave a sigh of relief and smiled to Aedre.

"Aedre, you've done very well today. Rest, sleep well. I'll wake up to open tomorrow," Aylwen assured the girl, who smiled briefly before leaving the room. Then Aylwen went to Eadman and thanked him with an embrace. "Will you be staying with us?" Aylwen asked, and Eadman nodded, handing Aylwen coins enough to pay for rooms. Aylwen thanked him again and showed him the open rooms. When it seemed all was finally done, Aylwen took her leave as well...

The next morning dawned bright and chill, and Aylwen rose with the sun. She had a steaming drink on her desk as she waited for the first customers to wake on that fest-filled morning.

[Nurumaiel]

"Good morning, Miss Aylwen." The voice was unmistakable in its cheeriness. Liornung was sitting in a dark corner of the Inn, his fiddle in his hand and his feet on the table. "It's lovely to see that I'm not the only one awake. I have a sorry habit of getting up very early. I'll be gone today, for I wish to see my friend Hearpwine win the honor of Bard of the King, so I decided I should go exploring a little before daybreak." He put his fiddle up. "It was a lovely song you sang last night, and one that is quite familiar to my ears." Softly he played the tune, the gentle waves of music rolling over the room like the waves of the sea. And the music seemed to be the sea, and the thunder, and the cries of the sailors, and a memory of dead men, and a white sail unfurling in the wind. As the tune finished Leofan and his wife Frodides entered the room, and Liornung sprang to his feet.

"My dear Frodides!" he said, taking her and kissing her cheek. "I did not see you yesterday and it grieved me sore. You did not even come to dance. How sweet it is to see your fair face now!"

"And your face is fair as it ever was." Still she stood tall, and though grey was mid the gold her hair still shone bright, and her eyes were as tender and motherly as ever they had been. Youth's face had left her but her spirit was still young and she delighted in everything yet, most in the sight of her children going here and there and the touch of their little hand's on her own, and their faces upturned to hers, pleading help and vowing love. A smile lit her face now, and she spoke again. "Sad though it be that I must depart from you so soon, it is so. Aylwen will need help with hungry guests clamoring for the breakfast, you not the least of them, brother."

Liornung glanced at Aylwen and, smiling mischievously, nodded. "Oh, yes, in all truth hunger plagues me now and I would desire at least a hot drink to warm my shivering bones. Good Leofan, poor Leofan, you must go out through the cold to the stables and tend the horses. I'll sit and make people warm as I make them dance."

"Gomen shall be joining me shortly," Leofan said, "though I would not keep him from spending time with you. If he so desires he will go with you and Hearpwine today to watch the contest of bards. Alas that little Mae cannot go, for she would, but she is needed to help her mother in the kitchen and with the small children. Bring word to her of how Hearpwine has fared."

"The good man should soon show his face, if I am not mistaken," said Liornung. "If he is as any other bard competing for such an honor he will not have slept at all but merely wondered if he had forgotten any words to his song, or if he would on the morrow. Ah, I see you must go to the stables now. Good luck on your work, and you, dear sister, in the kitchen. I would help you, but I'm too cheerful today for such dismal work." He winked at each in turn as they left before returning to his conversing with the Innkeeper. "Miss Aylwen, might I have that hot drink?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine took the stairs down to the Common Room two at a time. He had lain awake a long time last night, imagining what it would be like to receive the mantle and harp of the King’s Bard, and humming the tune to his lay over and over again. He had finally fallen asleep only as the first signs of dawn lit the sky, but he was not tired for his brief rest, so excited was he by the day’s adventure before him.

He cried aloud for joy when he saw that both Aylwen and Liornung were in the room ahead of him, but he could not deny the slight disappointment he felt that Mae was not in sight. The last thing he had said to her last night was that he hoped she could come to the competition this day, but she had declined sadly, saying that she had to work in the kitchens. Hearpwine had promised to speak with the Innkeeper about that. He moved to the table where Liornung sat and heard him asking for hot drink. Heedless and excited as he was, Hearpwine rushed at them with his words, “Master Fiddler, and my good lady Aylwen! Good morning – the best morning! My fate is decided this day!” He gave Aylwen a tremendous hug at this that lifted her clear off her feet. Setting her down he clapped Liornung on the back so hard that his friend was nearly thrown from his chair. Hearpwine fell into a chair saying, “Could I also have something to drink? Water, of course!” But before Aylwen could answer he was on his feet again. “Perhaps I shall fetch it myself. I have been abed all this night and my limbs could use the stretching if I am to be at my best flight this morning!”

He went into the kitchen hoping to find Mae but she was nowhere in sight. He quickly got the water that he wanted, as well as a loaf of bread and a large pat of butter with honey and some cheese. By the time he got back to the Common Room he was feeling much more at ease, but still he talked and moved quickly. He sat down by Liornung and pulled the loaf apart with his hands, passing the larger half to his friend while he said to Aylwen, “You know, it’s a shame that…all those who wish to come to the contest are not able. Surely you can spare some help from the kitchen today and let the interested parties come and here me sing?” He cut a huge wedge of cheese and passed that to the minstrel. “Did I not hear your niece saying, my friend, how much she would enjoy listening to the bards? We should try to convince Aylwen to spare her at least!” Quickly, he buried his face in his tankard and guzzled the water, trying to cool his fierce mood.

[Mad Baggins]

Ceryl awoke, the early sunlight falling through the window glass and shining upon the wooden floors. She arose out of the bed and stepped toward the window, watching the sleepy town of Edoras awaken in the dewy morning. Ceryl opened the window and inhaled the chilly air, feeling it nip at her cheeks and nose. She closed the window and stepped over to the mirror on her wall. She fixed her tangled hair and left the room, meaning to go to her house for a change of clothes and a comb.

A few minutes later, she arrived back at the Horse in a pretty green dress, with a green ribbon in her hair to match. She stepped back into the Common Room and saw only a few people. It is early, she thought. Most people were still asleep at such an early hour. She scanned the room and saw Aylwen at her desk. Deciding to eat in a few moments, Ceryl found a seat at the bar and hopped up onto a stool, smoothing her dress. She watched the early sun fall through the windows and splash upon the walls, turning them a beautiful gold.