The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Memory of Trees]

Emerisse wouldn't have stood out in a crowd: dark hair and a smooth, heartshaped face are typical in Gondor, are accepted everywhere. Even in fair-haired Rohan, she could be passed over and unremembered like the fallen leaves in winter, one among a hundred thousand. Then why was it that people turned and stared as she passed? Perhaps it was the fierce glint in her blue eyes and the no-nonsense way she carried her sword. Perhaps it was simply the dark, boyish clothing or wind-blown hair. Or perhaps it was the deep pride that her father and grandfather had taught her shining from within that made heads turn. Either way, there was no getting round the fact that Risse was different.

She pulled Windfire to a halt before the building marked White Horse Inn. Leaning forward, Risse traced the gentle curve of the horse's glossy neck lovingly. "Enough, sweet ," she whispered, making Windfire's ears flick back towards her, "You've done your day's work. Go now and rest." Risse slid lightly to the hard-packed ground and took Windfire by the haltar. "C'mon now."

She left the horse with the stablemaster and whickering softly after her. Risse was exhausted and ravenous after the long ride across the mountains and plains that had brough her here. "I only hope," she pleaded, in a sort of prayer, "they have room. It's y cold out here!"

[Carrûn]

A sultry dusk was falling across the plains when the weathered stranger strode into view of the Inn. He came from the Far East this time, skirting through the brown lands from the Sea of Rhûn. Word had reached him that the one who he had simply called "the boy" had been traveling through those largely unknown regions. His reputation with both the pen and song had grown. Awyrgan found him, but the boy was now a man though his age should suggest otherwise. The impish sparkle in his eye had been replaced with a solemn stare and his songs and sketches were of innocence lost.

The man sighed. Why do the young pass so quickly into the old?. He could not help but feel a slight twinge of guilt. The boy was never his by name, but he had always felt a sense of responsibility since he found him curled in a butcher's wagon near Bree. The last time the two had met the child had playfully kicked him in the shins. Now there was a firm handshake in its place. Still, the past was already written and all one could do was move on. So Awyrgan had, just like he always did.

From a distance there was not much to notice about him. Shorter than many of his race, he walked with the stride of a man who could travel at a great pace but was content to lazily stroll. There was evidence of a former spring in his step but it had faded into a steady and persistent plod. His broad frame was covered almost completely in a black cloak that weather had slowly faded into a murky grey. The years had been hard on his face, and scars melded with wrinkles that should be years in the distance. He paused to tighten the laces on a boot and as he bent the gleam of dark, tightly bound chain mail was briefly visible.

As he walked through the darkening streets he hummed softly to himself in ominous tones. The tune had no meter or melody other than the steady, pained beating inside his chest. He chuckled softly as he thought of the tales and titles that followed and preceded him. Awyrgan, the lost Ranger. Unmatched tracker and teller of tales which you would not believe except for the man who was telling them. A swordsman who was just as content to stab his enemies in the back as he was to take them on in direct combat. Others it seems, know me better than I do myself he thought with a bit of irony. Dark, yellow-green eyes shone brightly from beneath his hood, both frightening and alluring as was the wizened smirk on his face. Reaching the door he paused and straightened his back. Well-worn bones and self-treated ligaments popped with solemn satisfaction. Knocking mud off his boots as almost an afterthought he opened the door and glided in with the evening breeze.

The scene that greeted him was a typical bustle of longtime patrons and newcomers. Avoiding the crowd he moved quickly to a corner by the fire. Undoubtedly some marked his movements, but many missed. Seating himself, he straightened his legs and retrieved his pipe. After working the stem over in his mouth for a time he lit it, and leaned back against the wall. Some of the smoke caught in his hood, and his eyes stung. Ignoring the involuntary tear he sat quietly and observed the proceedings.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Faint voices penetrated the heavy fog that was Saeryn's thoughts. She struggled against the phantom enemies invading her vision. She could not escape. Saeryn trembled beneath her covers, shuddering.

"Gudryn, hold her hand. Let her know that she is safe." Saeryn's hand was taken by the girl and she calmed. Waking instantly, she remained still, eyes closed. A door opened smoothly, closing swiftly. A kind but firm voice spoke. "Eodwine, where did you find her?"

"Not far from here, Bethberry. Her horse stood guard. Falco's tending the mare."

"We must keep watch on her. Inn of Lost Lasses we seem indeed to be..."

Saeryn's eyes flicked open, glancing up at the worried faces looking down at her. A mist seemed to cloud them, keeping them from focusing. Her temples throbbing, Saeryn closed her eyes.

"Lass, you must open your eyes for a moment... can you hear me? Come now, it'll be all right..." Gentle fingers felt her head, checking for bruising. A particularly tender spot caused Saeryn's eyes to jet open, a cry passing her lips. As the girl looked at the Innkeeper, she whispered, afraid. "Who are you?"

[Memory of Trees]

Risse pushed forward through the inn door. She gave an involuntary sigh of relief as the warm air reached out to greet her, wrapping around her cloak and hair. I'll begin to thaw in a moment, she thought ruefully. No more cold for me!

The inn was crowded and dim after the white light of the outdoors. When her eyes had adjusted, Risse glanced around the room. Everything seemed right, in place and cheerful. "How lovely here," she murmured, eyes half closed. "I might even get used to Rohan after all." Images of the forests and mountains of her own country flashed across her mind, startlingly clear. A wave of homesickness swept over Risse. No. Don't think of that.

Risse was stirred from her reverie by a cold blast of air as the door opened once more. In a flurry of activity as a group of people entered, she glimpsed a , pale and limp; she heard the voices, low and concerned. Shadowing them, Risse waited until they had the laid out on the floor.

She reached out and touched the sleeve of a young woman bending over the 's still form. "Excuse me," Risse said softly. "But I have some skill at healing. Can I help?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Who are you?" Saeryn whispered fearfully, looking into Bêthberry's face. Gudryn's small hand went to her mouth, her eyes widening. Saeryn's eyes closed and she drifted into an uneasy slumber.

"Lost her memory? Not good," Eodwine said.

"Excuse me, but I have some skill at healing. Can I help?" A lass with dark hair and a smooth, heartshaped face, touched Saeryn's sleeve.

"Only with her bruise, unless you can bring her memory back," Eodwine replied. "Your offer is welcome, I deem. I am Eodwine of the Gap."

"I am Risse. Emerisse. Of Gondor."

Bêthberry said, "Your skills are welcome, Risse of Gondor. Eodwine, bring her to her room."

Eodwine picked her up and followed Bêthberry's lead, Risse of Gondor and Gudryn walking side by side behind Eodwine. When Saeryn had been laid abed, Bêthberry shooed Eodwine out of the room; Gudryn stayed close beside him.

"Lady Bêthberry, I would that you knew somewhat of what I have learned today regarding Gudryn's ruffian."

"My patience has been tried this day, waiting for you to come back and tell me what you have learned. Out with it, man of the Gap!"

Eodwine smiled at the rough speech that covered the look of deep concern on the Innkeeper's face. "This Rand is known by some of the scouts at Meduseld. He lives in the northeastern edge of Rohan, a leader of brigands by all accounts, nigh to the wold. He is a land holder there and is jealous of all his possessions. If any are taken from him, he brooks no quarter in chasing down the thief. I have it from these scouts that we can trust he is on his way to Edoras to retrieve Gudryn." At that, Eodwine put a protective hand around Gudryn's shoulder.

"No wonder the lass is staying so close to you."

"Aye," Eodwine nodded. "I hope Harreld and Garreth return soon. What have you heard of Hama? Has he returned? Do you expect him back?"

[Bêthberry]

Evening always brought greater activity to the Horse, and today was clearly no exception. Yet events were more serious and sombre than they had been for quite some time.

Bethberry had been talking with the blind man, Erik, whom she had calmly escorted to a table, discovering that he had returned to Edoras in hopes of finding work as an apothecary.

"An apothecary," she echoed, wondering if his skills and sense of smell and touch were developed enough to compensate for his blindness. "You might be needing to prove your abilities to those about, before they might trust you. But let us not worry about that now. You will be wanted some warm vittles in your stomach." With that, the Innkeeper had called upon Maercwen to take his order for dinner, but while she was calling to the young girl, a second stranger strode into the Horse, one far less social than the blind apothecary.

Bethberry watched as the wizened man sought out a quiet, warm corner and lit his pipe. She would have gone to him to converse, but her first thoughts had been for the shocking news of the return of Eodwine with Saeryn and Gudryn. Seeing that Saeryn was first taken to a warm room, and watched over by the other orphan warrior lass who had shown up at the door of the Horse, She had listened to Eodwine's news of the brigand Rand.

"I have heard nothing of Hama since this morning, Eodwine. Nor of Saeryn's twin. And have no knowledge of when they were to return. We seem to have come upon some dark deeds here. Please, will you return to the Great Hall, and wait for me? I would wish you to stay, at least until Frodides' husband and son can join us to discuss safety. "But first let me return to the girl. Given these events, I am loathe to leave her with a stranger, even one as willing to help as this young girl. Gudryn, will you wish to talk more with Eodwine?"

With those remarks, Bethberry re-entered Saeryn's room.

"Emerisse of Gondor, I thank you for your offer of help in attending to Saeryn, but I will now watch over her. I am, from old days, myself a healer and can perhaps do something for her. It might as well be best if those faces she had most recently seen were those nearest her."

With that request, Emerisse bowed and withdrew, returning to the Great Hall to seek out Eodwine for what great news he had brought. For her part, Bethberry checked over Saeryn's face, poking gently into bruises, lifting her eyelids to see for bleeding around the eyes, and then softly testing limbs for breaks and swellings. There were none. She then moved swiftly to the kitchen, whispering with Frodides, and bringing back with her the two youngest, who she wished to attend to Saeryn. At this time, what was needed was someone trustworthy who would keep her from falling into a deeper unconsciousness. And someone not frightful to the girl. What peril would the children suggest to an injured memory? None, Bethberry hoped.

The three of them gently roused Saeryn to sitting position, talking her into a dizzy consciousness. "Children," spoke Bethberry, "I charge you with a most important task, as important as any hero knew in our tales of eld."

Wide eyes stared at the Innkeeper clamourously and she hid a smile.

"You must keep Saeryn awake, but by quiet means. You must talk with her and get her to talk with you. She is conscious enough now to attend to you. Do not let her fall back into sleep. Should you hear any disturbances, one of you come to the Great Hall immediately and request Eodwine's presence. There are trolls about, but the fey people will watch over you as you keep your duty, so fear not."

With that, Bethberry slipped out of the room. She would soon join the group in the Great Hall, but for now she matters to attend to herself, and would be curious then to know what talk went round the Great Hall without her present.

~~~

OOC: I would like to remind everyone to read over the rules in The Golden Hall about character types and actitivities that are best suited to Rohan. Remember that the keynote to Tolkien's success in fantasy is plausibility and specific detail. The more specific, unique and original your character is, the better will be the events and activities you can join in as a character with something to offer. Citizens of Edoras can work in many ways, and still be able to visit The White Horse. It need not be limited to serving travellers only and there are many more roles than shieldmaiden that a young woman can play.

Bêthberry
Moderator for Rohan

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Her head pounding, Saeryn listened to the sounds of where she lay. The same gentle voice as before spoke. The door opened and closed softly once more. A delicate touch sent spasms of pain through her. Saeryn flinched, but did not resist the careful inspection. Footsteps grew fainter as the woman left again. On the other side of the wall, the wind picked up. Time? she wondered groggily. She felt the world slip slowly away.

The door opened once more and Bethberry, accompanied by two wide-eyed youngsters, returned. With the children's help, she shifted Saeryn upright.

"You must keep Saeryn awake," she told the children softly, "but by quiet means. You must talk with her and get her to talk with you. She is conscious enough now to attend to you. Do not let her fall back into sleep. Should you hear any disturbances, one of you come to the Great Hall immediately and request Eodwine's presence. There are trolls about, but the fey people will watch over you as you keep your duty, so fear not." Turning, Bethberry slid out of the room.

The children watched the girl, impressed. "Heros..." one whispered to the other in awe. Saeryn groaned as she tried to look about. Her eyes fell on her small companions. "Halflings?" she murmered to herself.

"Halflings?!" responded the older of the two. "No, lady... we are Rohirrim. You are too. Bethberry says we are to stay here with you."

Saeryn grimaced, cradling her face in her hands. "Why are you here?"

The younger one spoke. "Bethberry says there's trolls around." Startled, Saeryn made to move. The sudden motion sent a searing blast behind her eyes; she cried out and fell back against her pillows. Rolling to her side, she vomited over the edge of her bed.

[Memory of Trees]

"Emerisse of Gondor, I thank you for your offer of help in attending to Saeryn, but I will now watch over her. I am, from old days, myself a healer and can perhaps do something for her. It might as well be best if those faces she had most recently seen were those nearest her," the innkeep - Bethberry, the called her - said gently. Nodding, Risse bowed and withdrew to the Great Hall, where she was served dinner and weak ale.

But Risse found it hard to eat. Seeing the hurt and confusion in the young woman's face had stirred the healer in her, a part of herself Risse hadn't thought of in a long time. Again, the voice spoke sharply in her mind, No. Don't think of that. It was too long ago. Finding it easier to listen to the whispers in her head than face the memories, Risse tried to concentrate on the plate of steaming food before her.

As she ate, her attention strayed around the room, studying one stranger and then the next. As her eyes wandered, Risse's gaze was arrested by the old man sitting at the table next to hers. He was turned away from her, and seemed to be searching the floor for something. She watched him as he slowly turned, his fingers brushing every inch of the floor around him without success. As he turned, Risse met his eyes.

Deep, deep blue, the color of sea, the color of sky. Sightless, unfocused eyes of flaming indigo burned into her skull, pulling out the memories she had tried for so long to repress. They came unbidden, ly and painfully clear. So long. So long since I saw eyes that stopped me in my tracks. Blue eyes. Indigo.

The panic rose in her throat to find the memory as raw and fresh and painful as the day it had happened. You would think time would heal, she thought bitterly. Why can't I let go? She closed her eyes until the tears and the roaring in her ears receded.

Risse stood and faced the man, who was still searching the bare floorboards. Gently, she placed a smooth white hand on the old man's shoulder. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked Erik.

[Esgallhugwen]

Oh, he's going to get you good now!

A loathing voice sounded within Gudryn's head, she clenched her eyes shut.

Silence!

She pressed it violently until it fizzled and popped, hissing into nothingness. She opened her eyes to find Saeryn's hand clasped in hers, hoping that she had not been the cause of this mishap.

Gudryn along with Eodwine were shooed out of Saeryn's room after Eodwine related the news to the Innkeeper of Rand. She coughed and followed Eodwine to the Great Hall.

"What am I to do my Lord Eodwine if Rand finds me here?"

He looked down at her and put his arms on both her shoulders, "do not fret, the scouts now know he may show his face to find you, they will keep a look out and alert us of any comings and goings".

She cleared her throat as if to speak but only nodded her head, they walked over to an unoccupied table and ordered some drinks, Gudryn only wanted cider. She coughed a little bit amd took a sip of the hot drink.

Her thin arms set the drink down steadily, she was glad to be gaining her strength so quickly. "M'lord, thank you for your kindness as well as the kindness of your comrades, if there is anything at all that I can do to repay you and your friends, any errands that are in need of doing, I'll see that there done".

[Bêthberry]

Limping a bit on a sore hip and stopping to catch her breath, Ruthven trundled up to the Horse, catching first a glimpse of Falco in the stables.

"Halfling, what be ye doing here? Are ye thinking of helping to train the horses in steeplechase, seeing as your head's about as high as a decent hurdle?" There was a wry wrinkling around her eyes, but her face itself carried narry a grin.

The hobbit bristled as best he could as he pulled himself up to his tallest height.

"Madam," said he, with a solemness that befitted the seriousness of the situation, "it appears you are unacquainted with the ferocious attack on the Lady Saeryn and the worrisome news of ruffians in the neighbourhood and the even more foreboding news that Edoras herself may shortly be under attack from roving bands of briggands." He paused to let the full import of his words sink in to the woman's head.

Ruthven looked at him aghast. "What, has the lass been hurt?"

"I am caring for her mare right now on her behalf as you might have plainly seen had you not been so eager to crack a joke at my noble race's stature." It cannot be said that Folco did not just huff at little at saying this.

"Where is she? Has she been brought to the Horse?" Ruthven did not avail herself of the opportunity to apologise, for all joking was lost with the news of Saeryn's assault.

"Aye, and there's a right passel of strangers there now. We're none of us too safe. But Master Eodwine and I have matters well in hand."

Ruthven stopped herself. The hobbit's last line would, in happier times, have inspired a further round of teasing or at least an earthy insinutation or two, but she thought she'd best allow the little man his self-importance while she went to seek Bethberry.

"Well, I'm not helping chattering here with the likes of you. Are ye finished your work and will ye join me now at the Horse? We'd likely best be rousing the entire community if what ye say is true."

[Nurumaiel]

Motan watched Saeryn with the look of disgust ill-concealed on her face, but Mereflod, giving a gallant little smile, went and patted the young woman on the back until, with a cough and a gasp, she sank back on her pillow. Then Mereflod got down on her hands and knees and began to clean up the mess on the floor, with hardly a blink. She was aware of the importance of the task her mother and Mistress Bethberry had appointed to her, and she was resolved to do her task as well as her mother herself.

"Don't be 'fraid of the trolls," said Motan softly, recovering from her disgust and laying a little hand on Saeryn's arm. "My papa will never let 'em get you. 'E's very big and strong, and 'e's not 'fraid of the trolls. 'E'll make 'is big stallion bite the troll, so 'e will!"

She grasped the blankets and carefully pulled herself on the bed and sat there, looking down at Saeryn with wide eyes. She continued to stare for some time, and then, when Mereflod finished her unpleasant task and came around to the other side of the bed, Motan looked up at her older sister and murmured in a rather loud undertone: "I think this girl been bitten by a mad dog." And then she turned to Saeryn with a very wise face. "There are mad dogs about, and when they bite you they make you get mad, too. They make you very sick."

"Hush, Motan!" said Mereflod. "She hasn't been bitten by a mad dog. She's just sick. And if she had been bitten by a mad dog, you wouldn't tell her all the bad things that would happen to her. That wouldn't keep her quiet, and Mistress Bethberry wants us to keep her quiet."

"Oh," said Motan, and she looked at Saeryn with mournful eyes. "You haven't been bitten by a mad dog?" she inquired dolefully.

"Do you like music?" Mereflod questioned, casting her sister a slightly annoyed look. "I like music. My sister Maercwen knew a man called Hearpwine, and he played a harp and sang. And my uncle Liornung knows how to play the fiddle so beautifully, and he knows the most beautiful songs. My brother Gomen wants to learn how to play music and sing, too. And I think - " and here she lowered her voice to a whisper of conspiracy " - that Maercwen was in love with Hearpwine."

Motan put her hands over her mouth and giggled.

"Mamma says that she wasn't," Mereflod went on, forgetting to whisper, "but that they were just good friends. But I think Mamma was wrong. Maercwen was very sad when Hearpwine left and they were always singing and laughing and talking together. Once they went out of the Inn to go to a singing contest and when they left they were holding hands!"

Though Mereflod and Motan had discussed this in secret with many giggles in the past, that did not keep Motan from gasping with wide, horrified eyes at this truly sinister secret.

"But," said Mereflod, lowering her voice again, "don't tell Mamma I said that." She put her hand in her face and struggled to stifle giggles for some time, and at last she had composed herself, her eyes once again earnest. "Do you like music, Miss Saeryn?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Do you like music, Miss Saeryn?" The question came from the small girl who had unflinchingly cleaned Saeryn's mess. Saeryn looked toward her, eyes focusing on a point an arm's length or so in front of her face. A bitter taste left by the bile filled Saeryn's mouth. As she coughed, the girl brought her some water and helped her to hold it steady.

Music... she thought, taking a deep breath. A faint melody wove through her mind, catching her thoughts and taking her to another world.

A tall man, dark but with a brilliant smile, held a small child aloft. As he sang, the notes slipped from his tongue with ease of practice and grace of talent. He spun the pretty red-headed child through the air, singing her her favorite song. The little girl giggled as the man held her close and whispered, "Little one, not a thing in the world could take you from me."

Mereflod and Motan watched as their charge slipped away. Her eyes remained open, staring well past the contents of the room. The young woman closed her eyes and hummed a few notes. Mereflod called to her.

"Mistress Saeryn, can you hear me? I asked, do you like music."

Saeryn's attention came slowly back to the children. "Music..." she whispered with an out-going breath. She spoke softly, leaning into her pillows. "I..." She trailed off, looking confused.

Seeing her charge's discomfort, Mereflod came to the rescue. "Never mind music. Do you like horses? My papa's got a big stallion that he likes a lot. Do you have a horse?"

Grimacing with pain, Saeryn closed her eyes. She felt sick. Her breath came heavy with each new throb. She could hear her heart beating in her ears. Motan, exasperated, spoke softly to her sister. "Doesn't she know anything?"

[Nurumaiel]

"Hush, now, Motan!" said Mereflod. "I'm sure Miss Saeryn knows many things, but... she's sick right now and can't answer all our questions. Remember that Mistress Bethberry sent us here to watch out after her, not so she will have to answer any questions we put to her."

Mereflod, secretly, was also disappointed about Saeryn's silence, for she had hoped to hear many interesting stories about different people and places, and at any other time she, like Motan, would have been exasperated. But at the moment her feeling of duty lay heavily on her mind, and she kept before her in her mind the ultimate goal... to have Mistress Bethberry kiss her and thank her for all her help. And Mistress Bethberry would do no such thing if they made Miss Saeryn even worse.

"I think," said Motan, in another loud whisper, "that Miss Saeryn is getting sicker."

Mereflod saw that it was true. Miss Saeryn was lacking all colour, and her eyes, when they were open, looked very strange. Her hands were clenched at her sides and her body was slightly contorted, as if she were twisted with pain. Mereflod clambered up onto the bed and sat alongside Motan, and the two of them stared at the young woman for a little while, Motan in a rather awed horror, and Mereflod in deep thought. At last the latter moved up the bed until she was sitting by Saeryn's head, and she began to run her hand gently through the ill girl's hair, remembering how her mother often did the same to her.

Motan, apparently inspired by Mereflod's gentle touch, picked up one of Saeryn's hands and began to pat it, singing in a wee soft voice, high pitched and rather out of tune, but all the more dear for that.

"Hush, my little dearie-o,
fret not in thy sleep.
In thine eye a tear-i-o,
and thou should not weep.
Hush, hush, my own little dear,
hush, hush, for I am here."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn tried desperately to keep hold on reality. As the vibrant colors of her room swirled softly into shades of undefined grey, she strove to keep sight of the two little girls who watched over her. Their shimmering blonde hair turned dull as Saeryn's vision clouded. She felt weak. As her body trembled faintly, Saeryn thanked the Valar that she was not standing, or she would have fallen. She grasped her blankets, sweating. As Mereflod's eyes, the last glimpse Saeryn caught before everything went black, turned panicky, Saeryn whispered. "I... can't see.." She went limp.

Mereflod cried out, heedless of the rule of silence. "Motan, get Master Eodwine!" As her younger sister pelted through the door, Mereflod held Saeryn's hands in her own much smaller ones. "Help is on its way," she crooned, much as her mother did for her when she was ill. "Motan went for help..."

--------------------------------

Eodwine sat with Gudryn at his side. Across the wide table stood Ruthven, a demanding look on her face. Falco stood beside her, as the Innkeeper walked toward them.

"Thrown from her horse, no doubt." thought Eodwine aloud. "But why alone? Where was that scoundrel of a brother I left her in the protection of?"

Ruthven spoke hastily. "Who waits beside the girl? A head wound, you say, and that oughtn't be left alone." Bethberry spoke.

"I know as well as you, Ruthven, that bruised heads should not be unaccompanied. I have left her with Mereflod and Motan. They will alert us if any change shows. What most worries me is not the bruise... that will heal. Her memory, however... she does not recognize us."

Eodwine fell into silence, pondering. He had not much liked the lady's twin, but Saeryn had insisted that family was family, and their business must be dealt with in a timely fashion. He had been loathe to part with the girl, leaving her in the company of the prideful young man, but she had assured him she would return within days. She had been so sure that all would go well and swiftly. "Swiftly," he muttered, "but not at all well."

"What do you mean?" asked Gudryn softly. Eodwine explained his last conversation with the Lady Saeryn. Gudryn trembled. "You do not think that Degas would harm her?"

"I do not know, but she lays now unremembering, and her brother is nowhere to be found. But conclusions should not be drawn lightly..." Eodwine trailed off once again.

[Nurumaiel]

Motan ran on her pattering little feet as fast as she could go, and made straight for the kitchen, wear she flung herself into her mother's skirts and breathed hard for a moment. Frodides looked down in some surprise, but said nothing until she recalled, with a start, that Motan was one of the children Bethberry had sent to watch over a sick girl. She pulled the girl away from her skirts and looked down into the round little face.

"Oh, Mamma, I'm so tirsty," said Motan, in a little gasping voice. "I 'ad to run so 'ard and now I 'ave to go find Mistress Bethberry and tell her someting but I can 'ardly talk 'cause I ran so 'ard to you. Mamma, can I 'ave a glass of water?"

"Did something happen to the girl?" Frodides demanded.

"She's very sick," said Motan, shaking her head solemnly. "I tink she fainted, Mamma."

"Run and tell Bethberry, then, lassie, don't stand here talking to me!" Frodides cried.

"But, Mamma, I'm so tirsty!" Motan wailed, putting her hands to her throat.

"Now, look here," said Frodides, putting a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Go tell Mistress Bethberry right away, and when you've done that you can come back, and I'll have a beautiful glass of cool water waiting for you. But you must hurry."

Motan exaggerated her breathing so she sounded as if she were dying of thirst and exhaustion, but she turned and hurried from the kitchen to the Common Room, where Bethberry sat talking with some other guests. Motan flung herself into Bethberry's skirts much the same way she had done with her mother, and looked up with tragic eyes.

"Mistress... Bethberry," she said, loudly panting between each word, "Mereflod.... wants me... to come... tell... you... Miss.... Saeryn.... fainted!... I tink she fainted."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine rose from his chair and excused himself, asking for Gudryn to come with him. Bêthberry began to protest, but Eodwine said with a will that he would go see the girl.

"You're not excusing yourself from me,' Falco yelled at Eodwine's receding back as he hopped off his chair and gave chase, his pipe puffing smoke so that, if there had been any in that time and place, those who looked on would have said the hobbit looked like a little steam engine. But there weren't any such things in that time and place, so nobody thought it; but it looked like it anyway.

By the time Falco got to the door of Saeryn's room, Eodwine was sitting on the edge of the bed as Gudryn looked on; a little girl looked up at Eodwine with big eyes sand said,

"She is very ill."

Falco approached the bed. Saeryn looked very, very pale. "The girl could use some compotes or something."

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry had caught the dramatic little Moton in her arms as the youngster delivered her message.

"What's this, lass, you're almost ready to tumble me over, so eager are you to advise me of your message!"

Moton had gulped and put on the widest eyes.

"It is very terrible. She's very sick. She emptied her stomach all over ta floor and now she's white like Katy Goblin in the stories."

Bethberry had supressed a smile, for this news was serious, despite the dramatics of the rendition.

"Here, lass, stay with Ruthven if you will, and have a glass of cider for all your trouble, or ask your Ma for some water. Eodwine..."

But he would have none of her reminders about his place. All raced upstairs to the girl's room, a pack of rabbits looking steadier and more organised than this group.

"Falco, you might be thinking of your stomach all the time, but if she is vomitting, I doubt adding more fuel to the combustion will help."

There they were, arranged around the poor girl's bed, Mereflod by her head on the right, Eodwine on the left, Falco at the foot of her bed, and Bethberry on the right by her hand.

"And did she speak at all?"

Mereflod spoke up proudly, recalling all the little bits of detail and information, and even the nature of the contents which the poor girl threw upon the floor and the smells.

"Yes, yes, and thankful we are for yours and Moton's great skill at tidying up. But has she said anything?"

"I tink she said she couldn't see."

"She couldn't see?" repeated the Innkeeper.

Eodwine broke forth. "Oh worse, and worse! The villain! I shall seek him out and demand justice!"

"Let us determine if we can what the girl has gone through, first," counselled Bethberry. "Let us not be too hasty in our deductions."

Falco moaned! "Hasty! Hasty! What is there not to know! She's lying there dying I say! And not even a last supper will you allow her!"

The Innkeeper sighed. "They are most curious, her symptoms. Vomiting indeed is likely with a head wound, which would impair memory, but blindness too? Let us see if we can rouse the lass." With those words, the Innkeeper dipped a cloth in the basin of water that fortuitously had been placed on the table by Saeryn's bed some posts ago and began gently to wipe the girl's face, her brow, her cheeks, her jaw, her mouth, around her ears, and under her chin, refreshing the cloth every now and then. Saeryn moaned as if being brought out of a deep sleep rather than in pain.

"Saeryn, lass, speak to us. Shake off this enchantment and help us understand how hurt you are. Will there be any end of your injuries? We do not wish to see you lurch from worse to worse to ever more serious."

Bethberry would have preferred not to be so firm, but if her healer's skills were to be of any value, she would have to know just where to start.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

It was raining. The gentle drops wet Saeryn's upturned face. She opened her eyes, blinking at the light and the faces. There were no clouds. What she had temporarily taken for wind was the breathing of a small man. A damp cloth washed her cheeks. A small hand ran its fingers through her hair gently.

"Saeryn, lass, speak to us." Saeryn looked up, wondering. This woman... she had seen her before... and not only at this time... but who was she? "Shake off this enchantment and help us understand how hurt you are. Will there be any end of your injuries? We do not wish to see you lurch from worse to worse to ever more serious."

Saeryn looked from face to face. She spoke hesitantly, but not from pain. She tried to remember why she lay here with such a skull-splitting headache. "I... was dizzy. The world... it seemed to spin away. I thought it was night... I could see and then it turned... the colors went away."

Eodwine spoke up. "She fainted, I shouldn't wonder. Perhaps she moved too fast. Or perhaps that knock on her head gave her a bit of a problem again. She was under when I found her, after all."

Saeryn looked at the man. Who was he? He looked so familiar... like a childhood friend long unseen. Bethberry spoke again. "Saeryn, look at me, dear. Saeryn, can you tell me where it hurts?"

Saeryn shifted, struggling against the veil that clouded her thoughts. It hurt all over! What was this woman asking for? She had fallen... yes! That was it... she could remember the feeling... the incredible rush of air as the ground flew toward her. She could remember her hand... her hand had hurt... it had been caught in something when she fell. She looked down. Her left hand was swollen, slightly bruised. She tried to bend her fingers... it hurt. The room waited in silence. Saeryn silently inspected every limb. She could feel everything. She bent her toes. Her legs were fine. She bent her thoughts on her torso. Her ribs ached. Her chest felt tight, as though she had been kicked. Her shoulder hurt. Yes, she had fallen all right. She could feel air stinging a large scrape on her shoulder... her shirt must have ripped. Her head... that was where it hurt most. A dull ache punctuated every thought. She could feel a throb in her temple each time her heart beat.

"It... I think... I fell... somewhere." A sigh of relief came from Bethberry. "My hand... it hurts. And my chest. And my head... it hurts."

Bethberry looked around, weighing her choices. The girl had been found by her horse. It sounded as though she had suffered a good tossing. She needed to check for more wounds. "Lads, out with you."

"What!?" cried Falco. Saeryn grimaced at the noice. Bethberry spoke patiently.

"The girl hurts. I need to check her for broken bones and that is particularly difficult to do with her laying before us in breeches, boots, shirt, tunic and belt. Out with you, so we can get her more comfortable now that she is awake."

Hurrumphing all the way, Eodwine and Falco left the room to wait outside the door. Carefully, Bethberry removed Saeryn dirt-stained tunic. She instructed Mereflod to pull off her boots. Unlacing Saeryn's torn white shirt, Bethberry marveled at the spreading purple bruise on her left side. Delicately feeling for breaks, Bethberry inspected each rib. Two left Saeryn wincing. "Not broken, lucky for you, m'dear. Bruised though. Small wonder they hurt." She spoke as she would to a younger girl. "And your shoulder... You've torn that up nicely. Come now, we'll need to get that cleaned out or risk infection."

Mereflod watched in awe as Bethberry calmly cleaned and bandaged Saeryn's wounds, talking her through each new prod. Saeryn stared stoically at the ceiling through it all, occasionally speaking. Suddenly she turned her head to face the Innkeeper.

"Bethberry... your name is Bethberry. But... why am I here?"

[Bêthberry]

"You are here, my dear, because two noble fellows found you wounded, hurt and unconscious under your horse. They could not leave you lying where you were; their conscious would not allow it." As Bethberry spoke, she continued to clean and bandage the wounds, swaddling them with soft linens.

Saeryn grimaced slightly as the healer moved her limbs and then grunted in reply to the statement. She had not really meant why was she here, but something more metaphysical. Not what had created her current condition, but what was she doing there in the first place.

Saeryn lay quietly for a bit, listening to the quiet movements of Bethberry's hands and the children's occasional murmers. Behind the door, they could hear humming and hawing from our two heroes. And from the Great Hall rose sounds of laughter, the clinking of cups, the rattling of cutlery, the bustle of evening dinner.

The Saeryn rose up slightly and asked her question again, rephrased this time.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"M'lady... I remember the fall. I could see the ground rushing toward me. But I remember nothing else." Saeryn looked around the room, trying to take everything in through blurry eyes. Her vision was not yet as clear as was normal. She looked down at her dirty black breeches. Her whole left side was caked with mud. Her white shirt was speckled with dirt and blood. She imagined her face was not much better, save where Bethberry had wiped it clean. She wiggled her fingers, grimacing at the tenderness.

"I remember the fall... but there my mind hits a wall. There is nothing before it. What is this place, Bethberry? Why am I here? Why do I know you?" She winced as her sore ribs told her in no uncertain terms to lay back down. Following their impolite command, she relaxed against the extra pillows Bethberry thoughtfully placed behind her. A tear coming to her eye, Saeryn spoke again, bitterly. "I do not know even who I am..."

[Esgallhugwen]

Gudryn could not help but be upset with herself, she could not mend tattered memories or ailing hearts. Her own heart felt empty and cold while her memories were bitter and haunted, she could do nothing to help anybody.

There was a void in her darker then pitch, she could see no hope for light. Gudryn was an empty shell, she breathed and walked but not much else was in her, she knew this now.

After years of being pushed aside, belted and beaten, she had become invisible a life spent in forfeit for servitude to others. Gudryn had known no other path, fear and loathing had kept her going.

What would sustain her now?

Love and trust were as foreign to her as flowers in winter. Her reaction to them was stilted and uncertain and as much as she wanted to know and feel these things the void pulled her further into shadow.

She had followed Eodwine and Falco out of Saeryn's room they hummed and hawed to one another trying to catch snatches of conversation from behind the closed door, strangers sidled past casting an odd or welcoming glance at the forlorn girl, she licked a dry corner of her lip. She had to speak to him.

"My Lord", she called to get Eodwine's attention, he turned to her and she quickly knelt on one knee. Eodwine's mouth parted in question as she began to speak.

"My Lord, you and your comrades have done much for me although you put your life in danger, perhaps the goodness of your heart drives you to good deeds. So I ask again if I can serve you in any way, set me to a task and I shall see it done to the best of my abilities" Her voice bore no emotion as if she spoke from far away.

Falco's pipe hung from his open mouth in surprise, Eodwine stepped forward and lifted Gudryn to her feet a look of bewilderment masking his face. "Why, why would you make such an oath?"

Gudryn looked up to him, "because you have shown me something unknown to me and through your mercy and kindness I have been found wanting. Please Lord Eodwine I know of no other way to repay you", her voice cracked with raw emotion, "please, there is nothing for me here but to serve others!"

I have no other path, all ways seem barred to me.

[littlemanpoet]

Gudryn looked up to Eodwine. "Because you have shown me something unknown to me and through your mercy and kindness I have been found wanting. Please Lord Eodwine I know of no other way to repay you." Her voice cracked with raw emotion. "Please, there is nothing for me here but to serve others!"

Eodwine looked upon Gudryn with pity. He glanced once at Falco, whose brows were raised high; his serious demeanor gave him a comical look; Eodwine smiled. Then he returned his gaze to Gudryn. If this was how she thought, her life until now must have been very dreary and loveless. Eodwine's heart melted.

"Gudryn, I am no lord, just a servant of the king." Her brow furrowed briefly, but she seemed to quickly school herself from showing such sign of her own hidden thought, and her face went blank except for the pleading in her eyes. Eodwine sighed. "Nor can I take you as a servant."

Gudryn's face fell and her large eyes filled with tears.

"Such a thing is not in me," Eodwine continued. "Gudryn, look at me and listen." Her eyes met his and her sorrowful face was plain to see. "Gudryn, child, I used to have a wife and a son and a daughter. We were happy. Then the war came. I left my wife and children and we won the war. But when I returned, I found my home in ruins and my wife and children murdered. Since then I have had no family. I have ridden for the king on endless errands, wandering near and far to escape from the loss of my home and family. I have had no family since, and have sought no wife, for none can replace she whom I loved." He stopped and shook his head ruefully. "I am mad to say what I will say next, but it is in me to say it."

"Lord?" Gudryn asked.

"Gudryn, child," Eodwine said in a voice of mild reproval, "do not call me lord. There is another thing you may call me though. Maybe it is time for me to have a family again. If .... if you will be my adopted daughter, you may call me father."

Gudryn gasped suddenly and her eyes went wide, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Yes, Gudryn, child, I am being rash, but I do not unsay it. Think on it, for it means that you must travel with me on all my errands. And maybe we need to take time to try this thing, if you wish to, and see how well it works. What think you, Gudryn?"

[Esgallhugwen]

These emotional peaks and dives left Gudryn's heart pounding within her chest like a war drum. She was ready to pick up her skirts and fly out of the Inn back into the wild.

But then Eodwine spilled his heart out to her, and she stood dumbstruck for a while her heart pounding within her till it began to ache. She choked back her salty tears and nodded her head at his request to consider this new path.

A Father!

More then she could have ever hoped for in her life, a chance to live a life, a loved girl's life!

She took her hand from her mouth and a small genuine smile played on her lips, she wiped the tears away slightly blushing at the thought of so many people who might be looking at her.

"Yes, I think we should try, I'd love to see the world, I'd love to be your adopted daughter"

Eodwine smiled at her, blushing despite himself. "And don't worry, I know how to ride a horse" she smiled and had an overwhelming urge to hug him.

She gave in and nearly knocked Eodwine off his feet with her frail frame, "thank you" she whispered.

Falco's face broadened into a wide grin "I reckon this calls for a drink!"

[littlemanpoet]

Gudryn nearly knocked Eodwine off his feet with her frail frame. "Thank you," she whispered.

Falco's face broadened into a wide grin "I reckon this calls for a drink!"

Rash, rash, rash. He had never done anything so rash; and at the same time so right. Eodwine's heart swelled, and he returned Gudryn's embrace, kissing her forehead.

"And I thank you, my child," and he noted with pleasure how his name for her had become fact instead of merely friendly. "It has been too long since I had a family." He held her at arm's length, looking into her bashful, giddy, happy face. "Come! Let us eat and drink and give out the news." They began walking down the hall toward the Common room. "And call me Father," Eodwine threw in.

"And call me Uncle Falco!" The hobbit said. "Not that we're any relation, mind you, but we're brothers in battle and that counts for something."

"That it does!" Eodwine crowed. Heads turned as the three came loudly into the Common room, arm in arm. Eyebrows rose.

Just then the door flew open and two big, burly men shouldered in both at the same time, which was quite difficult seeing as they had to fight each other's bulk to manage it. It was, of course, Harreld and Garreth, who saw Eodwine and then Falco right away.

"Have we missed anything?" Garreth asked.

"What's for supper?" Harreld queried.

"Now there's a man after my own heart," Falco grinned at Harreld. "He has his priorities straight."

"We have news, my friends," Eodwine said, and invited the two blacksmiths to sit with them.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I do not know even who I am..." Bethberry was filled with compassion as tears filled the girl's eyes. How was she to help this girl when she knew so little of her? Saeryn tensed, shifting to lay slightly curled on her side. Injuries are bad enough, she thought, but to not even know where they are from? Why... anything could have happened. Tears slid down her cheeks as Mereflod patted her back. An image appeared before Saeryn's eyes.

A small girl stood at the top of a hill, a little boy beside her with her hand clasped in his. Silently they had watched the storm move in, the tall clouds moving unhurriedly across the plains. The shadows had intrigued them, for whenever a cloud passed under the high sun, it left darkness in its path.

The wind played against their faces, caressing red into their cheeks, tugging loose locks of hair about them. The girl's hair was unbound, falling near to her waist, while the boy's was cut short, skimming his ears. Their features matched. Dressed alike, they would have been hard to tell apart. "It's coming!" she cried, delighted. With a happy laugh, the children tilted their faces to the sky, catching the first rain drops with their tongues.

"Children!" called a tender voice. "It is time to come in. The storm will be on us in a moment." Moving as slowly as would be tolerated, the brother and sister walked down the small path, returning to the warmth of the home at the base of the hill.

Saeryn blinked, wiping the tears away. What in the... she asked herself, trailing mentally into silence. "Bethberry... who... are you? If I cannot know who I am... at least I can know who cares so well for me."

[Bêthberry]

"You have refuge here in The White Horse Inn, young lady. You had visited here and left to do a family errand. Our noble heroes found you injured by your horse. We know not what happened." Bethberry continued to wipe the mud away from Saeryn's face as they talked.

"You, you, you know my name then?" The girl leaned back into the pillows, dizzy.

"You told us it is Saeryn, and so Saeryn we shall call you. I am the innkeeper here."

The young girl tried to mouth the name, but the word failed her as a lump came up in her throat.

"We will get the other young girl, Gudryn, to help your recovery as she says she has some skill also with healing. Perhaps she can get you talking so you recover your memory."

"she,she is here?"

"No, unfortunately the heroes have gathered her to a feast, but she will return. For now you are stuck with my poltices and pills."

Saeryn made a face.

"Tut! You won't heal if you don't take your medicine!" Bethberry deftly applied some ungent to the girl's bruises and cuts and tucked her into clean sheets.

"I'll find some clean clothes for you, while the twins clean your boots. Gudryn will bring them back to you, likely, if she will take on the task of helping me."

With that, Bethberry quietly left the room to seek the Great Hall. The aromas of Frodides' cooking were wafting through the inn and the sound of conversation was rising to meet her. Tragedy and violence and great harm, it seemed, did little to lessen certain appetites.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld and Garreth beamed at Eodwine. Garreth spoke first, as was his wont. "The both of you are lucky, I say! The one has a daughter at long last, the other a father for maybe the first time!"

"'Tis a trial time first," Eodwine hedged, though grinning. "I would not bind Gudryn to me too tightly against her will for the long run, so we shall see."

"Hah!" laughed Garreth. "I see it in the girl's eyes, Master Eodwine, as far as it goes with her, she has a father she'll never let go."

"And an uncle too," Falco reminded the others.

Harreld squinted at Falco skeptically. "You are related to him, Master Falco?" He eyed Eodwine dubiously. "I did not think it possible. How is it, Eodwine, that you haven't pointed ears?"

Falco stood up on his seat. "You big lout! Mine ears ain't as pointed as all that! And I'm only uncle in name, not in blood. For the girl's sake, you ninny!" He sat back down and took a swig from his pint of ale.

"Ninny, is it?" Harreld said in mock indignation. "'Too bad this stout costs a pretty coin, or you'd be wearing it, Master Falco."

"I am too quick for you, you lumbering chunk of big trouble. You'd only get my chair wet." Eodwine giggled in his cup. Gudryn watched the others bicker back and forth, her face alight and her eyes sparkling, but suddenly her face fell.

"I am so happy, my lords, and uncle, and father;" she paused and looked at Eodwine in a mix of amazement and joy and sweet warmth; "but I fear for each of you, for Rand will surely come and do his worst to you, and take me back with him."

"'Tis time to clean the rust off of our swords, Harreld," said Garreth meaningfully, then pulled on his double pint stout.

Harreld wiped the foam from his mustache and set down his own double stout with a thud. "Aye. Maybe this Rand is as big as a cave troll, but if the King has given his blessing to Master Eodwine, he can be counted on to give more aid. He has a good heart and is wise, and will uphold the right."

Garreth looked at Harreld, amazed. "I have never heard you string together so many words at once, save in cursing."

"I do not curse, ever!" Harreld protested. Garreth grinned and slapped Harreld on the shoulder. Then Harreld laughed uproariously with Garreth until they had both their noses buried deep again in their stouts, quaffing largely. Gudryn was mesmerized, watching their gullets rise and fall with their copious quaffing.

Finally, Garreth put his emptied mug down and asked, "What of the young lass whose father lies invalid at home? Has anyone heard from her? Or what of the Lady Saeryn and her brother?"

"I have not heard from the girl," Eodwine replied, "but Saeryn lies abed, injured. We found her not far from the inn, wounded in the head. She does not remember who she is."

"I would see her!" Garreth rose from his chair, ready to launch himself down the hallway toward the girl's room, when Bethberry came through the self same door.

"You shall do no such thing, blacksmith! The girl needs rest. Sit down and I'll see that you have some supper with that drink."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Silver clouds wisped their way across a bright moon as a young man gave a bored sigh. They should have reached the Inn hours ago, but then Odessa had seen something off in the distance and, as usual, insisted upon investigating. Now, as Faleron wanted nothing more than to be home in the White City with his beloved Maerlyn, or to at least be asleep in a warm bed with a high, crackling, and warm fire beside him... he was riding through Rohan upon a finicky mare, with an even more finicky 15-year-old beside him chattering happily. He hid a yawn, nodding occasionally when it seemed that the girl spoke directly to him. Mostly, she was content with his occasional nod and "mhm", but now she seemed to want an actual response.

"Are you listening, Faleron?" she asked, suddenly serious. His eyes were closing. He hoped he would not fall from his horse... Odessa would never let him live it down. He'd known her since she was born, becoming her brother in everything but blood when her own siblings died. He knew that if he fell, she would be certain to relive the moment before his betrothed. He could not wait to return to his pretty young love, but with Desi bringing stories with her, he thought he could dally awhile longer.

"Faleron, I asked if you knew the healing properties of evermind." He looked blankly at her. The stars reflected in the girl's honey brown eyes as they rode on lazily.

"Desi, I do not know a blasted thing about plants, nor do I care to learn. That's your dream, not mine." He regretted the words as soon as they emerged, seeing the hurt look in his charge's eyes. Tears welled as he tried to make it right. "Desi, I'm sorry. I did not mean for it to sound... I... I'm just exhausted, Desi. We've been travelling for weeks, from inn to inn, inquiring everywhere for a healer, a midwife, or even a lame begger whose great grandmother, once removed and twice forgotten, once knew the use of roses in spring-time!"

The pretty young girl looked at her brother with wide eyes. Once she saw that Faleron wasn't truly angry, she smiled her charming little smile at him and began chattering away again. He sank back into his waking dreams, picturing his joyful reunion with Maerlyn. He pictured her flushed cheeks, her blue eyes. Her waves of sandy colored hair. She was beautiful, and he hadn't seen her since they had left.

"Faleron, do you think there will be a healer here? I do so wish that I could heal... it would be just like King Aragorn in the stories." Faleron sighed as Odessa's voice took on a dreamy quality. If he could get her mind away from unobtainable men for a fraction of a second, the long trip would be worth it. It was his greatest desire to see Odessa happy and prosperous, so when she expressed interest in healing and herblore, he'd packed his saddlebags and rode off without question. Now, he regretted not taking a moment to pack cotten for his ears. Odessa's boy-crazy nature was enough to drive a man to drink.

"Faleron... Do you think there will be any handsome men at this inn? Aunt Ioreth says that I should never close my mind to the thought of a good husband." He groaned, closing his eyes. He put all of his faith in the fact that his mare was inclined to stay near Odessa's placid gelding. Finally, she yelled. "Faleron! That's it! It's The White Horse!"

He opened his eyes to see the lamp-lit sign swaying in the breeze. Finally, he thought. Please, Eru, let there be a healer?

Leaving their mounts with the stable-master, Faleron led Odessa into the Inn. Taking a deep breath and praying, he swung the door open, taking a moment to adjust to the light and noise. Odessa pushed past him as he tried to regain his reflexes in time to stop her. Most rudely, he thought, she cried out.

"Is there a healer in the house?"

[Bêthberry]

Despite the worries of the day, Ruthven lost not a moment in cackling at the brave words of the great would-be heroes, Harreld and Garreth, Falco and Eodwine. She laughed so hard that Gudryn gave her the strangest look, for the old woman had not seemed to take fear and concern at her mention of Rand, but had doubled the intensity of her laughter.

"Sooth, Gudryn, you are a clever wench. You know how to wind these lads up."

"What, I? Pray tell what do you mean?" inquired the lass indignitly.

Luckly all were saved from Harreld's and Falco's rising to the defense of the dear newly adopted lass by Garreth's question about Saeryn and the sudden arrival of the Innkeeper, sailing through the same door as he was meaning to exit. Not for the first time was Bethberry thankful she had got rid of the swinging door.

"A meal we must have! Let Frodides prepare stews and ragouts and pies and pastries enough to ward against the imbibing of any amount of ale!" Garreth sputtered but she shoved another tankard in his hand and foam slopped against him, provoking a lonely cry from him at the loss of even a small amount of the golden brew.

"Gudryn, who was it who claimed some skill in healing? Was it you or the other lass? It would appear we shall be busy tonight."

Ruthven interjected, "Of the many means of memory loss, some might be less objectionable than others. And more treatable."

Bethberry looked with some exasperation at her friend. "At a time like this, do we need a comedienne?

"Am I the party to whom you are addressing?" replied Ruthven, her eyes twinkling as she took a sip herself from her tankard.

Bethberry thought it best to ignore her friend in this state and turned to Gudryn. "Lass, can you take time out from celebrating your recent discovery of family to take some clothes to Saeryn?"

Four noble young lads immediately stood up and volunteered in the place of Gudryn, but this only caused Ruthven to hoot and hollar louder and slap her thighs.

At this point, a voice could be heard crying from the front door: "Is there a healer in the house?"

Ruthven could not contain herself. She yelled back, "Nobody here but us chickens." She collapsed in a pile of giddy laughter while black clouds of indignation swept over the twins' faces.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Nobody here but us chickens!" cried the old woman merrily. Odessa looked blankly around before turning to Faleron.

"Faleron..." she whispered. "I don't see any chickens."

At that, he burst out laughing, pulling his companion into a tight hug. "You know that I love you, right Desi?" Confused she assented. He released her as two identical men came over and fought to be the first to bow. As one bowed rather stiffly, and without much bend, the other jabbed him in the stomach.

"Waddaya call that, Garreth? Not a bow, that's for sure. Why ye didn't even bend right!"

Flushing with not particularly hurt pride, Harrold responded. "Quiet you uncultured dolt! That there's an Entish Bow, and a pretty young lass as this deserves one! Is there a problem, m'lady? We've healers a'plenty, although you may not," he shot a glance at the still giggling Ruthven, "want her."

As Odessa eyed the two curiously, Faleron cried out in relief. "'A'plenty', you say? Did you hear that, Desi! They've healers!" He pulled her close and began a bright jig, tugging her until she laughed with him.

Bethberry stepped forward, concerned. "I am a healer. Tell me child, is there a patient to be seen?"

"A patient?" She looked confused again. "Nooo... I just want to learn to heal. Faleron says it's a good idea, and King Elessar is a healer, and Aunt Ioreth speaks most highly of him."

"Highly and at great length," muttered Faleron. Odessa glared at him, prodding the floor blindly with her foot before successfully stamping on his. She continued happily.

"Like I was saying, Faleron..." she glared at him before turning a sweet pout on the Innkeeper. "Aunt Ioreth says she could teach me, but that it would be better to travel. So here I am. Can anybody teach me? I only have a few days before Faleron decides to go back to his looooover." She stuck her tongue out as he elbowed her in the side.

[Esgallhugwen]

Gudryn stared in awe at the people about her, never before had she been in such company as this. She was beginning to feel whole, it made her both terrified and too happy to care surrounded by merry smiles and open hearts.

Not to mention the loose mouths of ones who have drunk too much ale, she thought with a flicker of mirth and shock as Ruthven addressed her as a wench, though clever at that.

But still her stomach turned when the laughter died on the air and the slightest hint of silence crept in, only to her relief was it replaced with more heart felt laughter.

Rand. The seething voice hissed in her ear. You know he's getting closer, you know by the pain in your stomach, each time he's kicked you and beaten you to the ground.

Another roar of laughter as Falco stands upon his seat.

Truly they wont stand long against him, and soon you'll be back at his side. Of course more the likely bleeding at his feet once he's had his way with you.

A wave of nausea slithered up her throat, her stomach convulsed, but she swallowed down hard, her eyes beginning to water.

No. Not now. Not after I've seen this light, this hope. Not after I've found a Father, to call me daughter and love me and above all protect me.

Her hand went to her stomach whilst the other clutched at the seat, her finger nails digging into the wood grain. Bethberry was asking her about healing.

Yes. Now is the time. Back to the shadows with you now, back to the hate. He'll find you, nothing will stop him, not your adopted Father or his comrades, and certainly not your will to live this life.

A tear threatened to leave her eye, and her heart began to pound menacingly within her chest. Is he really close?

The Inn door swung open abruptly, and Gudryn jumped, about to stifle a scream. "Is there a healer in the house?" A young girl, younger then Gudryn called out above the din.

She began to converse with Bethberry about the art of healing with a man standing at her side, he, thank Eru looked nothing like Rand. Gudryn wondered where they hailed from, they looked wealthy and had the same air about them as Saeryn did.

"Father?", Gudryn touched Eodwine's shoulder tentatively and he answered with a smile, "I wish to go see Lady Saeryn now", he nodded and she stood making her way to Saeryn's room.

She knocked on the door first, when there was no reply she entered. The woman on the bed looked like Saeryn, but something different was in her eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked with a hint of apprehension.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry stood for some time peering at the newcomers, this lad Faleron and the lass Odessa. Like all pampered and wealthy youth, they were shallow and headstrong, somewhat thoughtless and giddy in their immaturity. Now wonder Ioreth had sent them on a journey rather than sit them down in her House of Healing.

"It's healing you want, you're sure now? No other talent or skill or occupation?" Bethberry made a solemn face, one more suited to the depths of profound metaphysics than that of romantic enthusiasm.

"Oh yes," replied Odessa with nary a glance to the Innkeeper's face. "I mean, it is so interesting, gathering all those sweet smelling herbs and flowers and making lovely oils."

"It is a time-consuming occupation, and one which requires a steady head and good memory and patience."

"yes, yes, but it must be so much fun to gather all the things you need."

"Nettles, do you know how to gather nettles? And deadly nightshade? and foxglove and monkshood? So the sting and the poisons affect you not?"

"er, no," replied the lass. "But she is very eager to learn," interjected the boy. She thinks it is preferable to being cooped up all day in a small room."

Bethberry gave in to a silent reflection upon the woman Ioreth, who she knew well. She believed she was beginning to understand the true nature of the matter.

"There are indeed many aspects of the art. And much to learn about the frailties and disabilities and humble qualities of the human body. And yet you are keen? So keen you can learn it all in four days?" Bethberry kept her face at a grave demeanour, full of solemn earnestness.

Odessa nodded yes to every thing, several times over. The Innkeeper turned to the boy.

"And what are you to do while your sister takes up the art of healing? Will you become her apprentice, working at her side?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. I did promise to watch over her." He elbowed her back and gave a distained grimace at her tongue.

"Very well then. I can put you to your first lesson immediately."

"Immediately? No time to eat after a long journey?" questioned the girl.

"yes, some things cannot wait."

"In the back kitchen there hangs some long overalls. Frodides will show you where they are and help you put them on if you require help."

The girl's eyes widened with excitement.

"This is the first step, but one of the most important steps, in ensuring that the healer's herbs and plants grow strong and well."

The boy nodded, a little less enthusiastically than his sister, but still with cheerfulness.

"There is a pile of compost at the back. It must be turned, over and over, to ensure that the slops and vegetable matter decays properly. And, even more important, it must be mixed with nightsoil. Not a large proportion of nightsoil, for too much will risk the spread of illnesses and disease. But you must mix in with fork and shovel the nightsoil, at the proportion of one part nightsoil to nine parts compost. And turn it over and over, to get a good mix in. If you can smell the nightsoil when you are finished, you haven't mixed it thoroughly enough. "

"N-n-nightsoil?" asked Odessa. "What pray tell is that?"

The Innkeeper looked hard at the girl. And then at her brother.

"You get it from the bedpans that the maids have collected from all the rooms. They throw it in a heap at the back of the yard, and it must be dug under. That will be your job, Faleron, after you have carted the right amount to the compost for your sister to add to the heep. Nightsoil is the secret runes of the healer's art, for it tells us many things about the health of humans. Better than reading entrails."

Bethberry stood with nary a smile on her face, but a solemn mask as if she were initiating the two into some arcane secret society.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld snickered into his hand while Garreth grinned and said, "Hear that? Old Bethberry's pulling one over on the lad and lass."

"Shush, you two," said Eodwine, smiling into his mug, "let her have her fun. It looks like they need a lesson and why not the innkeeper be the one to give it to her?"

"Better her than that rag lady Ruthven," Falco murmured, then quaffed loudly from his pint of bitter.

"How can you drink that stuff, Master Falco?" Garreth said. "It would make my tongue lame."

"There'd be no hurt in that," Falco shot back, "seeing as you're so loose with it otherwise."

"And you ain't with yours?" Garreth said, frowning a little.

"Men! Men!" Eodwine waved his free hand to calm the rising ire at the table. "Maybe there is no lassy here for you to impress with your high flown courtesy, but be sure you all could stand to practice it while they're gone."

Harreld gave Eodwine a searing look. "Sounds to me as if the sword is telling the hammer how to smelt."

"No such thing," Eodwine replied. "Friendly advice, that's all."

Eodwine tipped up his mug of golden brown and said no more. Being a father had already changed his thought. He felt protective. He'd already started to, just from seeing Gudryn's weak condition when she had first arrived; but now he was calling himself her adoptive father, and it changed things. In a way it was like stepping out of his riding clothes into something more fitting for around the house. It fit comfortably, more so than he had expected or hoped. Maybe more changes were in order. Maybe it was time to slow down his pace, stop playing King's Messenger, and settle down to something else, be it farming or horse care or even guardship at Meduseld, if there were openings. There were not as many as just after the War, when many who had died in battle needed replacement. Still, he was experienced, and leaders were not as easy to come by as raw recruits. Eodwine sipped his drink again, considering. It would be foolish to make a quick, rash decision twice in one day. There was time before he needed to make such a decision. He sipped again.

And a new thought arose. If his adoption of Gudryn held firm over time, yes, the lass was old enough to be able to make do with just a father; on the other hand, he could see how she could blossom under the care of a mother. No. He did not want to marry again. Maybe a grandmother then. Well, a grandmother was well enough, but there were things only mothers bring to daughters. Maybe he could find an adoptive mother for the lass; it did not mean that he must marry the woman.

"What're you thinking about, so suddenly all quiet?" Falco asked.

"Oh, being a father."

Falco's brow rose. He put down his pint of bitter and lit his pipe, watching Eodwine and considering.

"You need a wife, if you're a father now!" Garreld said.

Eodwine frowned. "Keep your mind to your smelting pit, Garreth Smith. The raising of the lass is my concern, as long as she'll have me as father."

Garreth frowned, but Harreld's eyes closed half way and a grin spread across his face. He whispered something into Garreth's ear; Garreth's expression began to match Harreld''s, and he said, "So who are you thinking about making her mother?"

"Your company is becoming less welcome by the second," Eodwine retorted. He looked over his shoulder. "I wonder what's keeping the lass?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As the Innkeeper spoke, Faleron became less and less enthused. Quite the opposite of his companion.

"Faleron, do you hear? She'll really teach me to be a healer!" Reading his foster sister's face, Faleron sighed. For as flighty and young as she was, he could tell that she really did want to learn. Even if she had only come by the profession because of her infatuation for the king. Much like she had come by the idea of becoming a rider from her infatuation of that young lord from Rohan who played the flute so well. He sighed again.

"Odessa, lass," he spoke, feeling his money in his pocket. "I think I've left my purse in my saddlebags. Would you go get it for me?"

She looked at him with a cute pout. "Do I have to? Bethberry wants me to go shovel compost."

He held back a smile and a grimace both to once as he shooed her out the door. "Please, Desi. It's important." As she skipped happily back to the stables, Faleron turned to the Innkeeper.

"M'lady," he bowed. "I know what you must be thinking. Spoiled brats from The White City, the both of us. And... chances are you're right, and we've not given you much to go on to think otherwise. But m'lady, I love the girl as my sister, and I can see it in her eyes that this is something that she truly wishes to do, as much as she'll complain when she realizes what you have in store for her." He shared a grin with the woman. "Her aunt knows her as well as any, and would teach her herself, but..." He paused, not sure if he should continue. "Well, m'lady, Ioreth brought up your name and requested, saving your presence, that I should bring Odessa to you, by the longest road. Her thoughts were that if, after you're through with her, beggin' your pardon, Odessa still wants to heal, that her intentions are true."

He pulled his purse from his pockets. "I am prepared to pay a great deal for your tutelage. Although I hadn't exactly planned on... well... joining in." He looked down at his finely woven shirt and breeches. "Perhaps, I ought to change into something more appropriate for your lessons?" Yet again, he sighed. What in the world has she gotten me into now?

[Bêthberry]

"And just what might be so wrong with the rag lady giving lessons here, you half pint of mainly beer?" demanded Ruthven of the halfling.

"Why, what lessons might you be sharin' save the drivin' of a hard bargain?" he retorted with passion as he wiped foam from his upper lip and struck a particularly cantankerous pose.

"The only thing hard about my bargains might be the ground with which your posterioria might be coming face to face," rejoined Ruthven.

"Oh, now you're becoming a knockabout," Falco tittered.

"I'd knock you down if you weren't already so wobbly and about to fall down," sallied the old woman, getting into the spirit of the argument.

"Ruthven! Falco! What time do I have for the likes of you two getting into a bragging match, what with brigands on the lose, ill patrons needing care, orphans come begging for jobs, fatherhood become a popular act, and the general run of the Inn?" With these words of admonision, Bethberry turned back to the earnest young lad.

"So Ioreth thought to pass on the labour to me, did she?"

"Aye, she did, but with the sincerest intent and greatest respect. She knows of your ways with errant lasses, for she heard one minstrel tell of you one night in a song, of how you tried to dissuade a lass in her love for him, when she wasn't even aware 'twas love."

Bethberry laughed at this. "What, has that minstrel Hearpwine been fabling us into tales for the merriment of the White City?"

"You know of him, Innkeeper?"

'Aye, we are well acquainted with him here, aren't we lads and lasses?" With that remark Bethberry smiled teasingly at Maercwen, who blushed furiously and flounced off to the kitchen.

"But, let us return to the difficulty at hand, young man. What on earth can a lass expect to learn in four days? If she is indeed that flighty, she shall need a steadying hand to settle her down, for apprenticing to a healer is a long process, and I've hardly the time for it now, with running the Horse."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"She is flighty, m'lady, but she settles under a firm hand, and she is stubborn as a Dwarf, in her own way. She's decided that this is her dream, and so she will stick with it, if not just to show she can." He glanced around, smelling the late dinner. "Either way, m'am, we do wish for a pair of rooms, adjacent if you have them, and a meal. If that isn't too much?" He looked straight into Bethberry's eyes, pleading. She took pity on him and led him by the elbow to the growing group at the nearby table.

"Eodwine, would you kindly take pity on this poor boy and allow for his company? I must see to these rooms." Smiling, she left, pausing to leave word in the kitchen of another two stomachs to fill.

Faleron looked at the group nervously. "Um... Hello." He said politely. "Would you mind if my sister and I join you?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Eodwine, would you kindly take pity on this poor boy and allow for his company? I must see to these rooms."

"Of course!" he replied. "While you're going that way, could you check on Gudryn if you please? And see how Saeryn is faring?"

Bethberry raised a brow and gave him a meaningful look. "Playing the father to the hilt already? Fear not! I shall see how they fare, as I was about to do that anyway!" She flounced off in high dudgeon.

Harreld and Garreth sniggered in their stouts at Eodwine. "She gave you as good as she gives!" Garreth said.

"Um... Hello," said the new lad. "Would you mind if my sister and I join you?"

"Not at all!" said Falco. "Drinks around the table!"

"Do you not think this here boy's a bit young for a pint?" Harreld asked, peering at the boy doubtfully from underneath one of his hands, which he held floating palm-down over his stout, as if trying to see if the boy stood taller than a pint or not.

The boy didn't notice, for his eyes were glued to the hobbit.

"What's your name again?" Garreth asked.

The boy looked at him in surprise. "Faleron, sir!"

"Never seen a hobbit before?" Falco asked, and stood on his chair. "Well, have yourself a look, then, all three feet and six inches of me!"

"Someone tell that little hobnob to sit down!" cried Ruthven from her table. "Standing on chairs! I never!"

"Sit down yourself!" Falco roared, and sat back down.

"I am, you little varmint, but your ale soused wits are too addled to notice!"

Maercwen brought a tray bearing food and a pint for the boy. "Now now, Lady Ruthven, your tongue is a little bit too loosened as well. Please keep it down a bit."

"You go and cook, and leave the talkin' to me, Maercwen! And keep that Hearpwine off your mind!" Maercwen blushed deeply and scurried back to the kitchen. Harreld and Garreth were sniggering into each other's shoulders by this time. Eodwine took out his pipe and lit it, blowing poor imitations of smoke rings. "No lack of entertainment this night," he commented. "So, Faleron, tell us about yourself, and we'll all take a turn. Maybe my new daughter will be back by the time we've finished our tales."

[Esgallhugwen]

"Who are you?" she asked with a hint of apprehension.

"I am Gudryn, Lady Saeryn, and we've only had the rare chance to meet before your accident", Gudryn sat next to Saeryn, "I've brought you some fresh clothes and another blanket in case you get cold, it is most strange but Bethberry the healer thinks I may be able to help you with your memories".

Saeryn looked up at the girl, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "But we know so little about one another, it may prove difficult", Saeryn looked back down at the ground. Gudryn caught her change in temperment and she stood up to face her.

"I wouldn't worry, I will help you if you like, anything you need ask for me and I'll come straight away"

At this they heard a knock on the door which caused Gudryn to start depsite herself. Bethberry entered in a flurry of skirts, "Eodwine, your father", she looked kindly upon Gudryn, "is asking for you my dear, he also wishes to know how Lady Saeryn is faring"

The healer walked to the far end of the room to retrieve some books piled neatly on an fine oak table, one volume in particular caught Gudryn's eye. In silver pen was scrawled Herblore and the book though bound in fine leather looked exaustingly heavy.

"A new girl here wishes to learn the art of healing" Bethberry answered as if reading her thoughts and turned back around exiting the room. The young lass smiled "If you'd like you can get dressed into these fresh clothes and meet me at the table with my Father, it may be good for you to be among friendly faces with food and refreshing drink in front of you".

Searyn looked at her questioningly "I'll let you think it over", she smiled again and left Saeryn to her own thoughts. She returned to her adoptive Father's side with a new face seated at the table.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Watching the retreating back of she who called herself Gudryn, Saeryn sat up with a wince and looked at the pile of clothing. From this angle, should could not tell what they were, but, she thought, I do like the color. She smiled, pushing back her covers daintily. It would not do to muss the fine bandage-work Bethberry has done on my hand. Slowly, to avoid unnecessary pangs, Saeryn slid her legs out and pivited on her hip, sliding carefully into a seated position with her unshod feet on the floor. She paused, holding her aching head in her hands. For a pretty room, this certainly does feel like a cage. Perhaps Gudryn is right... perhaps once familiar faces will help.

Reaching to the clothes on the table beside her, Saeryn shook out the pretty crimson fabric. A gown, she noticed. She glanced down at her breeches in slight surprise. Why in the world am I wearing men's garb? She thought, although she found no upset with the notion. Pulling off her soiled breeches and unlacing her blouse, Saeryn found a bowl with a soft cloth and some water. Carefully avoiding the bandanges, she cleaned herself slowly, finding every dirt mark and spot of dried blood. Feeling refreshed and ready for adventure, she pulled on the gown. How did they find one to fit so perfectly? she wondered, unaware that it had come from her own bags. Tying the long ribbon that hugged the soft cloth to her waist, Saeryn tried to catch a glimpse of herself in the window. Cringing at the foolish contortion of her aching ribs, she told herself that vanity was wrong anyhow. Leaving the soft slippers on her bed, she walked to the door with a tender limp. Her feet held no injury, but still, it hurt to walk.

As she made her way down the hall, Saeryn took in her views of everything. She walked carefully to avoid splinters. A picture came to her of a small girl playing.

In her left hand was a well-worn stuffed horse. In her right was a doll. She sang tunelessly but sweetly as the two traversed merrily through a world that only she could see. Loud song interrupted her play, making her turn quickly on her bare feet. She cried out, feeling a small splinter enter into the soft part of her toe. She ran softly to the door, seeing it open before her. "Mama," she cried. "I've a spwinter in my toe. Mama it hurts vewy much." Tears ran down her cheeks as the most beautiful woman she had ever seen swept her into her arms.

------------------------

The common room had fallen silent as the soft sounds of unshod running feet met their ears. A communal breath was drawn as the door flew open, revealing Saeryn with her long curls falling beyond her shoulders and her skirts swishing beneath her. Unseeing eyes released silent tears as she stood alone in the doorway.

[littlemanpoet]

Gudryn returned from the hallway and sat down next to Eodwine. He smiled to her and winked.

"You look well and happy." She nodded and smiled back at him. "How is Saeryn?"

Gudryn frowned. "Her memory has not returned." Then her face cleared. "But she is better."

Eodwine nodded. "That is good."

Falco was turning around in his chair, peering at the kitchen door. "What is keeping that Maercwen? I would have another ale! And food!"

"I will go see, if you like, Master Falco," Gudryn offered.

Falco turned to her and his face opened in a big smile. "Uncle Falco to you."

She grinned and flushed. "I will go see, Uncle Falco."

"Thank you very much, niece Gudryn!" He stood on his chair again and bowed deeply. Gudryn giggled as she rose and heard "A seat's for sitting, not standing and bowing on, you preening hobbit!" from Ruthven.

"Haven't you drowned your wits in your ale yet, Ruthven of the rags?" Falco cried.

"I'll rag you!"

Gudryn opened the door to the kitchen, her words lost in the bustle within.

Just then the hall doorway opened. Falco let a retort to Ruthven stall on his lips as his jaw dropped and he stared. Eodwine lifted a brow and followed his gaze. Harreld and Garreth stared dumbly, mouths hanging open, mustaches and beards stained brown with stout. Eodwine rose and faced Lady Saeryn. Gudryn, her message delivered, turned and saw the lass and the attention she was receiving. The reaction of the men caused her to see Saeryn with new eyes; a small half smile came to Gudryn's lips. Saeryn was beautiful, though hampered by bandages and a limp. Eodwine found his voice first.

"'Tis good to see you up and about, Saeryn. Come sit with us."