The White Horse

[Anglachel]

Anglachel took a seat next to the women, one of the Rohirrim, who had introduced herself as Ælfritha.

“Would you by any chance be a merchant of horse wares? Saddles, bits, blankets? My family runs a ranch--we are well-known horse breeders in these parts--and perhaps you have something we might be interested in?” asked Ælfritha.

“I do not deal much with horses or horse wares,” replied Anglachel. “Spending a significant portion of my youth near Esgaroth, I never became comfortable around the animals. Much of the region’s trade is based on water transit and our neighbors, the dwarves, do not care for them. Hence, there is little opportunity for any trade related to horses.”

“Actually, I do not do much physical trade myself these days,” continued Anglachel. “I direct my efforts more towards arranging trade between two parties rather than delivering the goods myself. There is far more opportunity for profit by determining where a good is in surplus, and where a good is most scarce. With the onset of the dark times in Middle Earth, lines of communications between regions are virtually non-existent. So, I travel the land to get a general impression of what each land’s economics are and then attempt to develop trade routes based on the information I collect. If I am able to convince other merchants to make the deliveries, I only have to purchase the goods myself and then allow others to do the labor for a large portion of the profits. It has been quite lucrative except it becomes harder and harder to find merchants willing to travel on these increasingly dangerous roads.”

[ December 22, 2002: Message edited by: Anglachel ]

[Estel the Descender]

‘So, Mariah, are you from around these parts?’ asked Galadel.

‘Yes I am from these parts. I've never left Rohan, in fact I've never been this far away from home and I don't believe I'll ever go back. My father disinherited my sister and I,’ answered Mariah as if what had happened was not very much a big deal.

I wish to know, as well, who you are, elf, and where you have come from. But I will leave that till later, when the girl is not around. And, then, you will drop the barriers that you have put up to stop me from seeing who you really are. For all such things are useless against me. I will find out who you are; nothing can stop me. For now, be hospitable and order a drink and meal for this poor girl, will you?

Dadrantor was very much taken aback. How did she know that I was resisting her? Silently angry with himself he thought, But of course! She IS the Lady Galadriel's daughter. It is indeed useless to hide from her who I truly am. Still, I should be grateful to her for now I know where we first met. . .

Seeing trays of food coming out of the kitchen, he gestured towards one of the servers and requested that he and his companions be given food and ‘that brew I have heard much about, this “coffee”.’

Since Galadel and Mariah were talking, Dadrantor screwed up enough courage to speak to the Dwarf he had so recently offended. Parin Stonemouth is actually comely, for a dwarf that is, and rather young. She wore her golden blond hair (dark in undertone) in two plaits and had wide, curious, brown eyes. When she wasn’t angry she would smile a shy dimpled smile. Her plump little figure was covered by a red woolen cloak (which is clasped by a silver brooch) which by now she has doffed, showing that she still wore layer upon layer of woolen articles of more muted tones and wore soft, yellow deerskin boots on her feet.

‘I am Descender,’ said the elf, introducing himself to the dwarf.

‘Parin Stonemouth,’ answered the dwarf, still a bit peeved that she was mistaken for a male.

Dadrantor saw Mariah take a sip of the coffee and make a face. Uh-oh, I don’t think she likes the taste. I think I’ll order wine later for her. . .

‘Have you ever tried coffee?’ asked Dadrantor uneasily, still shaken by Galadel’s mind search and the initial embarrassment with Parin.

‘Actually yes,’ said Parin, ‘My kinsman Dwarin Thunderhammer serves coffee at his own inn, The Green Dragon.’

‘But the The Green Dragon is in the Shire!’ exclaimed Dadrantor, ‘I thought that only halflings lived there. Did not King Elessar forbid any race save that of the halflings to set foot in that place.’

‘”Set foot without their leave,” said the King. Dwarin has leave to do business there.’

‘Oh,’ Dadrantor looked down for a while, and then facing Parin again he said, ‘I overheard a while ago that you had a quest. I know that I am asking you to repeat yourself, but,’ casting a look at Galadel (he was startled again when he saw her once again gazing intently at him, but as he looked at her she turned once again to Mariah), ‘I wasn’t paying much attention.’

‘The truth is, I had come here looking for support in a quest of vengeance, vengeance for my brother, although it is true that I do not even know if my brother IS dead,’ Parin replied softly, ‘But, talking with the two elves, (well, one of the elves said that she does not consider herself as one of the Elf kindred as of now, since her exile), I have come to rethink my motives for such a quest.’

‘One of them, Menelduliniel I think, said to me, "You wish to avenge you say? Well, be careful that you choose this revenge wisely. A similar situation put me in the circumstances you find me in. If it were not for Estelarion, I would probably be dead.”’

The timidity that Parin tried so hard to hide began to show. ‘I was just saying to the two elves a while ago that I might return to the Shire and work in the The Green Dragon once again with Dwarin.’

‘It is true, Parin, that vengeance is not always wise,’ answered Dadrantor, ‘Especially when done out of ignorance. Why not turn thy quest from one of vengeance to one that seeks knowledge. And then, if there is definite cause for vengeance,’ here Dadrantor tapped himself lightly on the chest, ‘I would be honoured to be of service.’

Dadrantor looked at Parin and said to himself, How like me when I was young! Except that my motives were not as noble as hers. . . With a start he looked at Galadel: she was looking at him again.

Forgive me for “eavesdropping” but you were thinking rather “loudly” –Galadel

Then I shall think more quietly, daughter of Galadriel. –Dadrantor- But tell me, just how many children had the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel? Last I heard, they only had two children, Amroth and Celebrían.

They had two children by birth. –answered Galadel in thought- But Amroth became my brother by, well, “adoption”. He was not my blood brother but was a brother in many ways.

Just then, Bethberry introduced a newcomer to the group, ‘This is Marco and he is a swordsmith. Maybe there are some among you who would find his services useful.’ Bethberry continued, asking the group, ‘Well? Any good stories that can lead to adventures?’

A swordsmith! thought Dadrantor, Elbereth smiles at me. I will ask this Marco later if he has a sword he can sell or make me. (Unknown to Dadrantor, Varda was at that moment smiling at him). Then looking back at Mariah, But I must have enough left to get this poor girl some new shoes at least. Tough luck on being disinherited. Then Dadrantor frowned, But why was she disinherited?

Bethberry then seated Marco nearby. He looked definitely hungry and positively tired, but Dadrantor noted the fire in his eyes all the same. This is no mere smith. His hands are the hands of a swordsman.

Galadel then stood and addressed everyone in the meadhall, ‘The innkeeper said that there are few stories being told here, especially those that would lead to adventure. I had a sort of adventure myself just lately and I shall tell a story that may be in some way related to it. If it would lead to a quest or no, my foresight fails to tell me. But come! Come and listen to my tale of Remembrance.’

Seeing that she had the attention of most of the people she began her tale.

‘Once upon a time, there was a mortal man who was nine and forty years old, who returned from the land of Mordor where he braved many perils. He was on his way to Rivendell for he was weary and he desired rest. But he also bore with him one who was once a thrall of the slave-gangs of Mordor, one who was an elf. He had hoped that the Lord Elrond could provide healing for such a one.’

At that, Galadel looked at Dadrantor, who looked quite pale and startled for the nth time that day. Good, she thought and she continued.

‘He was on his way to the high pass of Caradhras when he came to the borders of Lothlórien and was allowed to enter the hidden land by the Lady Galadriel. Then said the Lady unto the son of man, “Leave thou this erstwhile thrall into our care. For behold, he is one of our kindred. Here he shall find healing. But come! Cast away thy wayworn garment and take on fresh raiment: there is someone I desire thee to see.”’

‘Then, turning to her daughter who was beside her, Galadriel said, “I leave this elf unto thy care.”’

‘For a season, Galadriel’s daughter tended to the stricken elf, feeding him coimas steeped in miruvor so that he may gain his strength. But the elf rarely woke, and his waking moments marked by delirium. Often he would babble incoherently—’

—saying “Meldariel” over and over again— –Galadel to Dadrantor silently with a wink. Dadrantor shifted uneasily in his seat.

‘Then, one Midsummer’s Eve the lady Galadriel summoned her daughter before her. Galadriel was troubled and she spake unto her daughter, saying—‘

“Once, in the Elder Days, I and my brother Finrod were walking in a wood near the outskirts of the Girdle of Melian. For we were on our way to Doriath as guests of our kinsman Elu Thingol and his wife Melian. I begged leave from my brother to wander the woods for a while and he gave me leave, seeing no harm in it. Now, as I walked further, I came across an elf with black hair and dressed all in black.”

At that some of those present glanced at Dadrantor, but his attention was drawn Marco, to whom he had faced and asked if he could see the contents of the long bundle. Hesitantly, but with just pride, Marco unwrapped the double-edged blade and showed it to the elf. Looks like Dwarf-work, and yet there is no magic in it. Still, it is a worthy blade. Seeing Galadel’s stare, he responded, I’m still listening.

Galadel continued her tale, ‘Galadriel said that she thought that this was very strange, for Elves rarely ever wear black, so she asked him his name. He told her that his name was Morel and that he was a Dark Elf.’

‘Suddenly, Galadriel was alarmed, for she had heard whispered tales about Eöl the Dark Elf and how he hated the Noldor, blaming them for the return of Morgoth. Galadriel asked him if he knew Eöl and he said, “Yea, I know him, for we are kindred.” Then Galadriel was shocked to find evil malice in the eyes of Morel as he smiled unpleasantly at her, for she had thought that though elves may be tainted by pride they were still basically good. To find such an elf with evil in his heart was troubling unto her.’

‘Then Morel spoke once again to Galadriel and said, “Come no more unto Elu Greymantle! Live with me here in the Twilight. I see that thou art fair. Though I regard thy kindred with bitterness, I will make thee an exception.” Morel reached out to her but Galadriel ran from him and stopped not until she reached the Girdle of Melian. Unknown to her was that she had been in fact missing for quite some time. Finrod was wroth both at himself and at his sister because of her disappearance, but when he learned about the matter of Morel, he became gravely concerened.’

‘The matter was gradually forgotten, however as time passed, for Galadriel fell in love with Celeborn the Wise, kinsman to Elu Thingol. More time passed and the power of Melian was withdrawn from Doriath that it was destroyed afterward.’

‘Galadriel and her lord Celeborn survived the ruin of Doriath, but afterwards they heard news about the fall of Gondolin and the treachery of Maeglin, son of Eöl the Dark Elf. Galadriel then remembered the evil she perceived in the heart of Morel the kinsman of Eöl and feared his malice.’

‘The Lady Galadriel then said unto her daughter, “It is said by some that Morel swore death to mel and all my descendants because I would not wed with him. Ever since then the feud between the Elves of Light (that is what they call us, even the Galadhrim of Lothlórien) and the Dark Elves (that is what they call themselves) has been bitter.”

‘The Lady Galadriel then counseled her daughter to discontinue her efforts to heal the stricken elf whom the son of man brought to Lothlórien, for she saw in him a likeness to Morel the Dark Elf. She, however, did not detect any evil or malice in him, save that which he suffered as a thrall in the Black Land. Her daughter at first protested, but in the end she gave in to her mother’s pleas. For she too feared to tempt Doom. For by that Doom many of the Silvan elves who were influenced by the bitterness of Morel rejected the rule of the Eldar, even Nimrodel the beloved of Amroth. By that Doom both Amroth and Nimrodel have disappeared. And also by that Doom Celebrían was betrayed and ambushed by the pass at Caradhras.’

‘And that Doom seems to have caught up with Galadriel’s other daughter as well, for as she traveled she was ambushed by wolves and was wounded. Later, she was befriended by certain elves whom she thought to be harmless but afterwards they make an attempt on her life in front of a crowd of witnesses. Do you think then, my good people, that Doom has caught up with her?’

Galadel looked at the people crowding the meadhall: she had everyone’s attention, including the Barding who had just entered moments ago. She spoke again,

‘My tale does not end here. For though the daughter of Galadriel showed herself no more unto the stricken elf, she still kept near and would often play her harp a melody she had learned from Nariel, a Noldo who was given the name Eithne* by the Valar in a tongue unknown. The elf would hear Galadriel’s daughter play, and he composed some verses to accompany the melody. And this is what he sang.

Lórien! Ai, Lórellin!
A dor celeb a dor elei!
Tolo le na Lórellin:
Tolo le na Dol Lórellin!
A tolo le na dhor elei:
Tolo le na Dol Lórellin!

As Galadel sang, she looked at Dadrantor. “Lórellin! Oh, Lórellin! O land of silver and land of dreams! Come ye to Lórellin: come ye to the Isle of Lórellin. O come to the land of dreams: come to the Isle of Lórellin.” When she stopped singing, he continued the song,

Lórien! Ai, Lórien!
A eryn glaur a silivren!
Tolo le na Lórien,
Vi in eryn Lothlórien!
Oltho le elei Lórellin,
I main-elei Tol Lórellin!

“Lórien! Oh, Lórien! O wood of gold and glittering light! Come ye to Lórien, in the woods of Lothlórien! Dream ye dreams of Lórellin, the beautiful dreams of the Isle of Lórellin!”

Then both Galadel and Dadrantor sang,

Lórien! Ai, Lórien!
A dor celeb a dor elei!
Tolo dan na Lórien:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!
Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!

Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!
Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!

“Lórien! Oh, Lórien! O land of silver and land of dreams! Come back to Lórien: dream the dreams of Lothlórien! Come back to the land of dreams: dream the dreams of Lothlórien!

“Come back to the land of dreams: dream the dreams of Lothlórien! Come back to the land of dreams: dream the dreams of Lothlórien!”

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

*Enya. The tune is Lothlórien by Enya in her album Shepherd Moons.

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Estel the Descender ]

[Gryphon Hall]

As Marco entered the inn, he was surprised when an elf lady hurried past. He had only seen elves from a distance back in Dale, but even then he thought they were the most beautiful race in Middle-earth. This one that just swept by passed mere inches from his face! He was so tired that he didn't notice that he was gaping.

'Good sir, you look in need of a sheltering, hospitable establishment . . .' Marco was startled by a lilting female voice from behind him, though except for his gaping mouth, he showed little reaction. He turned into the face of the innkeeper this time. 'Garsh!' he thought, then realized his mouth was open. He rubbed his upper lip, hoping that she didn't notice.

'Come,' she continued. 'Let me call the cook to bring you a dinner, on the house, and introduce you to other patrons here. I believe that several here might be in need of your wares.'

'This is such a nice place!' he thought. 'With the free meal, I believe I can afford some more vittles for the journey later on. Probably even a tent, or something.' He smiled appreciatively at Bethberry, who led him to two elves (Wow! More of them!) and made some introductions before they went up to their rooms. Marco looked around, and thought that the place seemed to be stock full of elves. Master said they were dwindling, but apparently not here. Wow! Bethberry continued to introduce him, first to Parin (Now there's a pretty little dwarf lady, thought Marco who, being an apprentice from Erebor, learned how to tell the difference between dwarf men and women), then to the table Parin was headed to.

The table had another beautiful elf, a very comely human lady, and, Er, what! an old elf? He was led to a table near the wall, yet closest to the table of the Elves. 'This is Marco,' said Bethberry, 'and he is a swordsmith. Maybe there are some among you who would find his services useful.' He barely got their names, Lady Galadel of the Golden Wood, Miss Mariah and Dadrantor. . . Dadrantor intrigued him. An old elf? he wondered. I thought their kind stayed forever young. There were other guests, busy about their dinners, whom Marco also acknowledged with a weary nod of his head. Mainly he was hungry and gratefully turned to the free dinner which the old cook placed before him, but his eyes suggested he looked forward to discussion once his belly was full. Especially to that Dadrantor, he mused. How can an elf get so old?

'Well?' continued Bethberry. 'Any good stories that can lead to adventures?' Marco did not mean to eavesdrop, but a reassuring glance from Galadel and Dadrantor told him that he was not unwelcome to overhear their conversation; Mariah seemed intent to look down. The two elves kept looking at each others' eyes, and from where Marco saw things, they seemed to be playing Peekaboo; Galadel kept on startling Dadrantor with her sometimes pointed, sometimes amused looks. They might not always look young, I guess, but they certainly still behave as young children.

Marco's weariness was catching up on him, though, and as he finished the venison, he started to nod. He barely heard Galadel when she stood up and as she started to address those gathered in the inn. Her voice took on a different tone, as one who was about to tell a story. Marco struggled to keep awake and sipped at the somewhat nutty drink they called coffee. I wish there was something to keep me awake. Seems like a good ol' yarn starting.

When Galadel saw that she had the attention of most of the people she began her tale.

Somehow, Marco became more and more attentive as the tale grew on. Why, her words somehow wrench my heart and make me feel accutely, Marco thought. Then he observed Galadel give Dadrantor a look, startling the poor old guy. I can't believe it; they're still at it?

However, he forgot about the Peekaboo, as the tale wove on. It wasn't terribly long, but it seemed like he was experiencing the years and ages of the elves, so terribly sweet, so strikingly beautiful.

'Ahm, ho Marco!' said Dadrantor. Marco turned with glazed eyes at the old elf, who was now facing him; Galadel continued her tale.

'Huh?'

'I was wondering, can I look at that sword you have wrapped up there?' asked Dadrantor. Hesitantly, but with just pride, Marco unwrapped the double-edged blade and showed it to the elf. He didn't know that he was behaving out of character; he usually only showed the blade after at least nine requests. But Galadel's sweet voice was wafting through the air, like a thickness of sweet air.

Presently though, she stopped and stared at Dadrantor. It was Marco's turn to be startled, seeing his naked blade in the hands of someone else. Dadrantor looked back at her, sheathed the blade, and handed it back to Marco.

Marco was in the midst of fumbling with the blanket and the cords, when Galadel continued her tale. His hands fell limp on the sheathed blade on his lap as a dreamy look appeared on his face once again. Ahh, this is potent magic, like she is deliberately enchanting all of us!

Then suddenly, even Marco was startled to alertness. 'Where am I?' he asked aloud, but no sound came out of his lips. For all around him, he could see silver trees in a silver forest, with moonlight shining through the boughs. Moonlight? It seems too bright and clear to be moonlight. Where am I? He can still see the boards and benches and the people of the White Horse, but they seemed transparent and unreal compared to the forest all around him.

Yet the song. The song! It seemed to reverberate around him and through him. Galadel was singing.

Lórien! Ai, Lórellin!
A dor celeb a dor elei!
Tolo le na Lórellin:
Tolo le na Dol Lórellin!
A tolo le na dhor elei:
Tolo le na Dol Lórellin!

He didn't understand a word, yet he knew that he was seeing what the song spoke of. Then the scene changed, fading so gradually that it seemed like the same forest. Yet he was convinced somehow that this forest is a different one. Instead of silver trees and silver boughs, now he saw a wood with golden leaves amidst such verdant green and white star-like flowers strewn around. The quality of the light, too, had changed. Now it was golden, so soft yet clear and bright. Like a dream, yet so real, more real. He realized he heard Dadrantor singing this time.

Lórien! Ai, Lórien!
A eryn glaur a silivren!
Tolo le na Lórien,
Vi in eryn Lothlórien!
Oltho le elei Lórellin,
I main-elei Tol Lórellin!

Then he felt rather than saw both woods, the silver and the gold. He imagined that they phased in and out of each other, as day into dusk, as night into dawn. He knew rather than heard that Galadel and Dadrantor were both singing, so sad, so solemn, yet so joyful. Woe is me! Everything shall now seem less fair! I knew not what perils I put myself into when I came into this inn!

Lórien! Ai, Lórien!
A dor celeb a dor elei!
Tolo dan na Lórien:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!
Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!

Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!
Tolo le dan na dhor elei:
Oltho elei Lothlórien!

Then, the song ended, and everything was as it was. Marco was relieved to realize that he still found the aftertaste of venison pleasant, that the hearth was still cheerful, and that he was still proud of his sword.

'Ah, sir . . .' he said to Dadrantor, who took no notice of him but was instead staring at Galadel. Marco was deeply moved, and he burst into tears, but he was persistent. 'Sir, what IS going on?!'

[ December 20, 2002: Message edited by: Gryphon Hall ]

[Kiara]

Parin, too, had fallen under the enchantment of the lady's words and song; she was entranced. Eyes shining with unshed tears, the young dwarf had forgotten her own thoughts of woe to be replaced by the lovely visions of elves. How had she lived before now? Her experience of life was so dim and shallow as compared to even the briefest of stories spoken from the lips of the fair elf. What a depth of experience they had! How was it that with so much sorrow, they could still be so merry? She knew her understanding could never reach into the fathoms of that fair race, but she hoped that maybe....?

Parin's heart stirred within her with passion, and as her soul was touched, so was her little frame. She began to tremble, and as she reached out to the table to steady herself, her shudderings sent her earthenware mug to the floor---

---Thankfully she had already finished the lovely dark brew within, but this new illustration of her clumsiness sent her scurrying off to her room for the night. Perhaps she would have regained her composure enough to discuss adventures further (and not to embarass herself) upon her return to the common room....She hoped (as her life's perspective broadened and as she felt growing pains in her spirit) that wonderful adventures might be the result....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Parin Stonemouth and myself (Kiara) will be returning to the White Horse in a week's time, I hope! Here's to adventure! ---Kiara

[ December 16, 2002: Message edited by: Kiara ]

[Bêthberry]

The Innkeeper, however, did not succumb to the Elf's siren song. She strode resolutely over to Estel the Descender, who had been warned previously about monopolizing the Inn for small group interactions rather than developing a game proposal. This time he had even taken over other gamers' characters, to an excessive extent. She picked him up by his collar, walked him out the door and over to the stables.

There, she handed him a shovel and pitchfork.

"Don't come back to the Inn until the stalls are mucked out. And when you come back, have that game proposal ready."

The Innkeeper then returned to The White Horse, where the assembled guests did not appear to be too surprised at her actions, for they understood the purpose of the Inns.

"Stories need to go somewhere and so do posts at Inns; they cannot be longterm social gatherings, for two reasons. First, that becomes boring for readers, who want to see rising and falling action, plotlines, some problem and its resolution. And second, intense small group interactions tend to restrict the posting of other gamers at the Inns, and they need a place to generate their ideas, too," she announced to the patrons.


Bethberry looked around. She was sure that no other patrons wanted to join Estel in mucking out the stable. They had more important things to do, such as trying out new characters or writing their own game proposals. There was a new thread up to make the form easy to find. She was sure they could see it.

Helping herself to a pot of tea, the Innkeeper then walked back to her desk near the wordhoard, calmly, and began some new writing of her own.

Bethberry

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Rimbaud]

A knock at the door was heard. Bethberry half-smiled with some puzzlement, for The White Horse was not a place that required guests to be inspected before entry. She motioned a guest who had risen to get the door back to his seat with a wave of her hand.

Finally, the door inched open. A man of indeterminate age and height peered in, somewhat nervously. He was dressed simply, although warmly in a thick woollen tunic and cloak, both of a deep green. The Innkeeper waved him in with a smile and nodded to one of the kitchen-hands to fetch a drink for the newest guest.

************

The man sat quietly at a table near the centre of the room, where he had been led by the member of staff. He could feel eyes on him. No-one came to sit at his table. He placed his chin in his hands and gazed into the fire, far down the hall at the end.

He became aware of a presence at his elbow and started. He looked up, into the eyes of the Innkeeper. "Will you introduce yourself, Sir?" she asked softly.

"Aye, Ma'am, if you will it," he replied courteously, although in the rough voice of a man unsused to speaking in company. "My name be Guthrin, and I bear the name of my father, who was of the Mark of Rohan." The Innkeeper heard the truth of it in his voice, and smiled at his naivete and curious manner.

"I'm just passing through," he went on. "Hoping for some bread and soup. I have been labouring on a tale of Rohan for some time, with some companions. I wonder if they are here tonight." He peered about the large, bustling room as if to discern those of whom he spoke.

"I am familiar with your tale Sir," she said warmly. "And glad I am that it is told in Rohan. We have other tales here that may interest you."

"That's good news, to be sure, mi'lady," he said with a grin. "I like stories. Are all these fine folk in the business of telling tales?"

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Estelarion came down the stairs from their room, where they had been talking, to hear the sound of a mug crash on the floor. All stood spellbound, and a beautiful Elf stood, where she had just been singing.

"Hain darthar mereth gwain, thia (They have endured a new festival, it seems)," Estelarion whispered.

"Aye," Menelduliniel whispered back, "I was going to ask to sing, but I see that we are not able to compete with this beauty."

They silently made their way across the room and sat by the fire, wondering what new magic would happen while they were at this Inn...

[ December 18, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[ElentariGreenleaf]

Sofiya walked past the man, who seemed to be gaping at her, out of the Inn. Her horse, Pala, was standing near the inn eating some grass. Pala was not tied up. She didn't even have a halter or a saddle. However, their was a saddle bag near her on the ground. Sofiya rode Pala bareback as they had been friends for as long as Sofiya could remember. Sofiya actually carried the saddle back rather than making Pala wear it.

"Hello Pala." said Sofiya warmly. "I hope it's not too cold for you." Pala looked up and walked over to Sofiya. "I just came to get some money. You thought we were leaving didn't you. Not yet I'm afraid." Pala licked Sofiya on her check. "See you in the morning."

As Sofiya walked back into the Inn see heard a beautiful song. She had heard many of them when she grew up in Rivendell. It was wonderful and many of the men seemed to be crying.

"Hello." said Bethberry. "Got some money now then?"

"Yes," replied Sofiya. "I'm sorry about that. It's been so long since I've used it..."

"No matter. Would you like your horse to be put in a stable for the night?"

Sofiya seemed to get angry. "My friend, Pala, has never been in a stable in her life! I'll not force her into one now. See doesn't like tame horses."

"Oh, I see." replied Bathberry, not letting her smile leave her face. "Would you like to go to your room now?"

"No," answered Sofiya in ehr normal, kind tone of voice. "I'd like to met that elf who sung that wonderful song."

"Galadel or Dadrantor? They were both singing."

"Oh. They were singing in such harmony, I could not tell. I'd like to meet them both, I they don't mind."

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: ElentariGreenleaf ]

[Morai]

Jaellyn loved her new work. The village was north of Rohan. It remained unknown to the rest of Middle Earth. So easy it was to live there and the stories were wonderful. She found herself to be quite a storyteller, but only with total freedom upon her imagination.

The villagers were nice and hospital. They had also wandered there because of the many restrictions of their former homes. Everyone had large imaginations perfect for stories. Rarely did anyone abuse their power, if so, they were taken out of office, sometimes exile.

[Rimbaud]

Guthrin the Younger wiped his mouth with the napkin, tossed the last morsel of bread into his gullet, and leaned back in his chair, tilting contentedly. He folded his arms across his stomach and closed his eyes briefly.

He sighed deeply. The soup had been rich and nourishing and he felt well sated. He pushed forward again, allowing the chair to fall back on its front trees, with a slight crash. Somewhat nervously, he motioned to a passing server with his empty glass.

Then, as if speaking to nobody in particular, he asked, "What other tales are there in Rohan? I am familiar with our own tale, of my father Guthrin and the intrepid band he was part of, just before the War of the Ring, but what else does the White Horse have to offer?" The room had fallen a little silent as he spoke, and especially at the mention of the War, but no-one ventured a reply.

"Come!" he exclaimed. "Some must have read the stories the Inn doth hold! And," and his voice lowered, "perhaps some have thought of starting tales of their own?"

[Airerûthiel]

The door of the inn opened and a young man strode in, dressed in black with a ragged hooded cloak. He had red-gold hair that fell to his shoulders, and his cerulean eyes sparkled like sapphires when they caught the warm lights of the inn. There was a silence as the other patrons took in this new addition to the White Horse, and then the conversation broke out again in a ripple of chatter.

The new guest walked over to the bar and sat at a stool, considering his next step. He knew that his appearance gave the impression that he was a traveller, but to himself he privately swore once again the oath he had lived by for as long as he could remember: "No more will I walk freely in the wilds of Middle-earth."

"What can I get you, sir?" A voice shook him from his melancholy thoughts and he looked up to see a friendly smile. "I am Bethberry, and I am the innkeeper of the White Horse. What is your name and what would you like?"

"A pint of ale, if you would be so kind," replied the new visitor. "As for my name, I would prefer not to tell you. I keep my identity for only those that I know."

"You speak like one of Gondor. Do you come from that land?" asked the innkeeper.

"I was born there, and the blood of the Men of Gondor flows through my veins from my father's side," he replied, "but my mother was of Elven kind. She had a sister who died in the massacre of the White Horse."

"I have heard of the tragedy of the Rocconinquë," said Bethberry whilst pouring a mug of ale. There was a sense of sadness about this person that was impossible to pinpoint, as though he had lost a sibling he held dear (which was actually the truth).

"Forgive me for being so rude and outspoken, but I have been searching for decent, honest work since I arrived in this land," the figure said, his hair taking on the appearance of a waterfall of flame. "I do not suppose it would be possible to offer you my services as a worker here? I am skilled with horses and with leather, have a keen eye for archery and would be more than willing to work long hours for little or no pay."

"Well..." Bethberry tried to look serious but could not resist a small smile. There was something about this half-Elf that appealed greatly; he had a direct honesty and a tolerant spirit, as well as being instantly likeable. "I will certainly consider your offer. But first I need to know who you are - I do not like to employ people without names."

There was a silence, and then the Gondorian spoke. "My name is Maikadurion."

[ December 19, 2002: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[Bêthberry]

With some happiness, the Innkeeper noticed the slowly growing group of story-tellers who were frequenting the White Horse.

She watched as Sofiya found her way to the table of Galadel and Marco. Perhaps Sofiya would join their song? Or offer her own in support of theirs? Their interactions had already won an intrigued audience which was wanting and waiting for more.

But the Innkeeper's attention was drawn back to Maikadurion's earnest request. She was indeed drawn to something about this elf, who had a steady hand for the well-strung word.

"Well, Maikadurion, I suspect you will not want to be staying here for a great length of time, other stories calling out to you, but I could use help here in The White Horse as we become busier with seasonal travellers.

I will offer you room and board, plus a small fair rate of renumeration. But this you must accept as your primary work here, to weave tales out of customers. Good help in Inns know how to keep an ear out, listening to patrons and drawing them on. Do you accept this work?" Bethberry looked at Maikadurion, the sharp one, and waited while he contemplated a reply.

Turning then to this man called Guthrin, she acknowledge his question. "Indeed, there are several here who know of your tale. You might be meeting with Ælfritha shortly and will have something to share with her. I have heard it said she has her own stories to tell; perhaps shortly she will come forth, once this merchant here finishes speaking to her of his wares."

Bethberry looked over at Anglachal and hoped his labours would soon allow him more hospitable hours.

[ December 24, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Airerûthiel]

Maikadurion was deep in thought for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he nodded slowly. "I accept. My thanks to you, Bethberry, for your gracious offer. And as my primary job is to extract tales from patrons, may I start with my own?"

"Please do," said Bethberry, pouring herself a drink as she handed the half-Elf his pitcher. "I sensed you carried tales of this country, being dressed in the garb of a Ranger, and I would dearly like to hear your history if only for the sake of my own entertainment."

"My father was slain by wargs when I was two years old, and my mother died of a broken heart four years after that," began Maikadurion. "I remember little of them, so the fact they are dead does not sadden me. Orphaned and alone in Middle-earth, my younger twin brother Laitalathion and I went to the house of the Rocconinquë, where our mother's sister dwelt with her husband and children. Although they treated us as though we were their own, my brother and I always suspected we were seen as a burden that must be borne due to our blood and the relations between our two families.

"We dwelt in that place for four years, and then late one night just before the massacre of the White Horse, we stole away into the wilds of Gondor. Desiring to learn of our mother's people, we rode west to Lothlórien and Mirkwood, and later settled in Rivendell for some time. The Elves were hospitable and friendly, but we still did not feel as though this was the place of our destiny.

"Our desire to wander grew once more, so we took two white palfreys and rode back east until we came to the border of Rohan and Gondor. When we gave our names at the gates, they would not let us in; when we asked them why, we were told that our father had committed treason against the Steward of Gondor and as such all who followed in his bloodline would never set foot in that land again.

"Laitalathion said to me, 'Brother, let us go back to the western lands of the Elves, our mother's kind, where we might learn more of our family. I hear rumours that those in our aunt and uncle's house were slain, but my dreams tell me hope remains for the Rocconinquë.'

"I answered him, 'My younger kinsman, to do so would result in nothing save grief and despair. I am going to remain in this country of Rohan, and if you choose to go away and search for any family we may yet have, I give you only my blessing.'

"'If it is your wish to remain in this land, where we will be neither accepted nor resented by many, then I trust we will both live to see the other one day in our futures,' replied Laitalathion. 'Namarië.'

"He then rode away back in the direction we had come not long before, whilst I remained in Rohan for some time, wandering the wilds - I was forced to sell my horse to allow myself to buy food within a month, and so have spent some months wandering in this country. Eventually I decided that my days of walking in this land were over, and so I set out to search for honest work. Finding no-one willing to give me a job, I remembered I had seen this inn not long before and came here in the hope that you might give me some work.

"My thanks to you once again, good lady Bethberry." Maikadurion drained his mug and stood up. "When do you wish me to begin my duties in this inn?"

[Bêthberry]

Maikadurion had been proving himself a faithful servant, for he cheerfully had helped Bethberry dress the meadhall for the seasonal regale all were expecting.

Bethberry now stood back and cast her eyes around the hall. Larger, brighter lanterns hung from the rafters, illuminating the game banners in full splendour, for extra oil could be expended for the holidays. Cedar boughs were hung around the windows and stone chimneys, pine sprays graced the counters and buffets, holly and hypericum berries filled vase and carafe, clusters of gold candles stood sentry against the longest night and darkest cold. The aromas of cinnamon and cocoa competed with the scents of the evergreens and every table was graced with blooms potted in moss, white amaryllis or red begonia. Goose would be roasted for the dinner, stuffed with breads, chestnuts, oysters and berries, but old Fróma had not yet started the preparations. For the moment, time wafted, a snowflake drifting gently in easeful dance as a hush sustained the hall.

Bethberry had been mightily intrigued by Maikadurion's story. Why, several parts of it could be made into games in their own right. The Innkeeper wondered if he would remain long at the Inn, talking to the various patrons, or if he would venture forth to propose his own game or join another game.

"Maikadurion, what was it that compelled you to stay in Rohan despite our darkening days?" Bethberry observed the elves look on with interest, entranced with a land so unlike their own and wanting to know Maikadurion's answer.

[ December 24, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

An elf, clad in the elegant but rather worn clothes of a messenger of the Golden Wood burst through the door, causing quite alot of the customers, merry makers and storytellers to look up in surprise. He didnt close the door, but stood, panting by the door for a moment, gesturing wildly and spluttering brokenly in elvish.

Bethberry looked up, mildly surprised but not much; it took alot to startle the innkeeper. Drawing a pint herself quickly she handed it to the messenger who smiled thankfully at the gracious Bethberry before taking a few deep pulls of the drink and sitting in the seat proffered by Galadel, who recognised one of her own home.

When the messenger had recovered his breath enough to speak kissed the hand of Bethberry with thanks, then kissed Galadels as he held a murmered conversation with her during which the maidens eyes widened. Then he stood, addressing all in the inn.

"My Lords and Ladies, I come from The Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien. There is dilemma in the Wood; a band of men have wandered for some time near the wood and now their threat I fear is reaching its limit; they have stolen not only goods but also a young elf has gone missing.

I implore anyone who may be of help to find the girl, Nuhrive Fleetwood, to come with me to the Golden Wood."

Kidnapped! is the name of the game in which this tale is taking place and I invite elves and men to help. And we have not yet heard from the wrongdoers, a band of men wandering the borders of Lorien. Sign up at the Kidnapped discussion.

Stepping forward from the shadows of the corner niche, a tall wood elf emerged. The cloak and manner of dress were of the Laurelindórenan families of old. "I am here to aid you. I have been waiting for the news of this to reach Rohan whereby we may enlist the help of the brave hearts that gather here."

The elf stepped forward, and offered his arm in a salute of brotherhood that only the citizens of Lorien knew. The messenger realized at once this tall elf was from his own homeland. Relief eased the worry etched around his eyes. He drained the drink with welcome gratitude.

"I am Lilebrian (leel-EB-ree-un) Longbow and I am ready to join the archers of the Golden Wood and all who aid their fight. Long have we suffered at the hands of our 'friends'; those who would use our home for their sport. Where do we draw the line? Do we wait until our sisters and daughters are drawn away from us one by one?"

The elf scanned the faces of the patrons there. Indignation flashed in silvery eyes of cold fire. Who indeed amongst them would aid in the protection of the Lady's Wood?

Scanning the faces, one by one, others stepped forward ready to find the wronged elf female, and rise to the challenge put forth by the elf.

[Airerûthiel]

Maikadurion pondered Bethberry's question. Usually when asked questions by others, he had an answer that seemed to appear in his mind and form itself into sentences within a matter of moments - but this was because strangers generally asked him the same questions. But this was far more difficult and complicated than most of the inquiries made of - or about - him.

"It is a strange question you ask of me, Bethberry," the half-Elf said eventually, "and it carries with it a long answer. But so as not to occupy the precious time we have in this season, the reason I chose to remain in Rohan was because it seems to me that here is a country where I can remain, neither welcomed nor scorned. Gondor is my true home, but if I set food over the borders of that land I will surely be slain because my father was a traitor to the Stewards. When Laitalathion and I ran away from the house of the Rocconinquë to go and find the Elves, I thought that maybe we might be accepted by our mother's kin in Mirkwood. But there we met with the same reception we always had - that of being tolerated, neither wanted nor rejected.

"Ever since the death of our mother, there has been no place in the world for the two orphan sons left behind by Théomer of Gondor and Orowethwen of Mirkwood. Here in Rohan, none know of my family history, so I am seen as what I am - a former Ranger now working in the White Horse Inn. There is no stigma attached to me here, no pressure placed upon me to live up to the divided ideals of the two races whose blood flows in my veins. I can be the person that has been created by my world, my family - and my heart."

[Garen LiLorian]

The young man had entered some time before, unnoticed by all save the bright eyes of the innkeeper who had started forward to greet him in the customary manner, but was held back by the gentle upraising of one hand. He stood fair and tall, clothed in gray after the manner of the Elves in Lothlorien, and indeed there was an elfish air about him, as one who had spent long in the company of the Firstborn.

He moved forward with a small limp, a reminder of a battle recently fought. Girt at his side was a long sword, and a spear, used as a walking stick, helped him as he found a seat.

"I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold…"

He sang softly to himself as he waited and watched.

Not long had passed when an Elf messenger burst through the doors. As he spoke, the young man paled and leaned forward in his chair, intent upon the speech. Upon completion of his message, the Man sat back as one who hears, but cannot believe. His face was troubled as he stood.

"Know ye that I am Garen, son of Galthun, and of the house of Lorien, the Elf-friends. Long have my fathers watched and guarded the northern borders of the Golden Wood, as was our agreement with the lord Celeborn many lifetimes of Men ago. That now bandits and rogues should wander those fair lands unchecked is a mark against the honor of my household, that they attack citizens of the Wood is an offence that I cannot let sit idle. I would pledge you my spear in this task, and aid in any way that I can."

He returned to his seat, but all joy had left his expression.

[ December 26, 2002: Message edited by: Garen LiLorian ]

[piosenniel]

Pio had ridden hard on her way back to Gondor, borne swift and sure on the back of Rochfalmar, the mare gifted her by Garulf when last she had passed through the Riddermark. She had hoped to find him at The White Horse, to bring him news from Eriador and to ask of recent happenings to the south. Alas! She did not see him as she entered the door to the Inn, though she stood for some moments allowing her eyes to adjust from the bright daylight to the interior of the room.

‘Falmar she had left with the stablehand, instructing him to wipe her down well, and see her comfortable and fed in a clean stall. She flipped him a silver penny from the Shire, saying the twin would follow if she found her mount brushed well tomorrow and her mane and tail combed free of tangles. He pulled at the yellow lock of hair that peeked from out his knitted cap, saying that she would shine like the sun. ‘I shall hold you to that, good Sir.’ she returned, a smile lighting the countenance of her travel-grimed face.

She stood for a while in the entryway, taking in the sensual attractions afforded by the Inn. Lanterns and bright banners delighted her eyes, as did the vases filled with holly and hypericum. Amaryllis,the white of it in stark contrast to the red of the begonias, and the boughs of evergreens which festooned the windows and counters . . . reminders of the constancy of of life, of hope, and of beauty in the face of shadow. Pio plucked a sprig of her namesake, holly, from a nearby vase, and fastened it in her raven-black hair, laughing as the sharp leaf pricked her finger. ‘Pretty, you are.’ she said, ignoring the drop of blood that welled on her skin, as she wrapped a lock of her hair about its stem. ‘Pretty . . . and dangerous.’

The Elf shut her eyes, taking a deep breath, and reveled in the scents that assailed her. Spices, and fruits, and the deeper aroma of a holiday feast being prepared in the Inn’s generous kitchen. She could, even now, see the sure hands of Fróma, as they mixed the ingredients for the stuffing. Her mouth watered at the thought of it.

The ebb and flow of words ran over and round her, pulling her attention like an insistent wave runs over the strand and pulls the sand and pebbles along in its retreat. Bethberry was here! She heard the low, welcoming counterpoint of her voice beneath the competing talk. Opening her eyes, she saw her standing at the bar with a young man in a ragged cloak. In the light of the lanterns, his red hair glinted with gold against the somber black of his clothing.

Pio made her way to where the Innkeeper stood, waiting until she had finished speaking to her guest. Then catching her eye, the Elf motioned her to where she stood, and pointed to two small casks she had brought in with her.

‘For you, Bethberry, a present from the Shire for your celebration. Mead from the wild flowers that grow on the slopes of the Evendim. One a Cyser, made with that very honey and juice of the finest apples from the old orchards round Hobbiton. And the other, Metheglin, to cleanse the spirit, flavored with thyme, rosemary, a pinch of silver sage, and bay leaf from the Old Forest.’

Pio placed her right hand over her heart and bowed to the keeper of Rohan’s finest inn. ‘May good fortune follow the Riders of the Riddermark. May their herds prosper with all the grace and swiftness of the Mearas of old.’

[Bêthberry]

Never before in all her days could Bethberry ever remember hearing of so many elves come to Rohan. One would almost have thought a cock had crowed and that a man named Peter had reinvented The White Horse for a popular film.

Yet gathered here they were, and, sadly, for all that they were welcome and for all that their manner was courteous and civil, she knew their presence spoke of dangerous times and dark trouble ahead. No number of lanterns could dazzle the bleak recesses of the stories which had come forth in answer to Guthrin's gentle invitation. So strange that his calm and gracious manner did not meet with the sympathetic response which it deserved.


"Come, elf messenger from the Fearful Lady of Lorien, your errand and message brings little cheer, but we shall not return in kind your story. Let Fróma warm your stomach if not your heart with a full plate. And I will need you to inquire of your lady, Aman, what manner of colour and symbol she should wish for the banner of her story, Kidnapped, to hang here in the Inn." The elf gave a half-bow of courtesy to the Innkeeper, and silently took his place at the long table, where he was soon joined by Garen, son of Galthun, and Lilebrian in whispered conversation about the strange times in the Golden Wood.

Bethberry then quickly found herself in discussion with Maikadurion: "True it is that Rohan is a borderland, pulled this way and that by the shifting alliances and incursions of others. Its independence is hard-won but has taught the people of the Mark not to refuse hospitality to those who have been jostled out of their native place. Well met, half-elven, and may you find the job here you wish beyond what I might offer here at the Inn."

Just then, a familiar voice drew the Innkeeper's attention, and Bethberry rose to see a companion from old days arrive. She ran to Pio, a warm, hearty hug in open arms to greet the tired traveller. The gifts of her homeland, the mead kegs, earned Pio two kisses, one on each cheek, and the two were soon lost in conversation--so distracted that they saw not the sudden departure of Ælfritha.

==================
A muffled neigh and many whinnies caught Ælfritha's ear in the midst of all the festivities at The White Horse. Despite the inky darkness of the sky and the biting cold, she grabbed a large lantern and exited promptly to the stables, where she found the main doors swinging open, the stalls empty, the stable boy, Heórrend, unconscious.

Dropping to her knees, she held him, wiped blood from the large dark welt at the back of his head, and shook him gently. Relief softened her shock as he returned to consciousness. He was one of the few people in Edoras with whom she had forged any kind of acquaintance beyond simple formalities and her concern was honestly felt. His club foot had rendered him unfit for duty as a Rider and often shunned by other more able-bodied men, but he was one of the most knowledgable horsemen in Edoras despite his young age.

"Men," he choked, "many men, Easterlings dressed as us. They wanted the horses." Ælfritha nodded silently, her face in the lantern light an impassive stone of fury.

Woozy and unstable, he climbed to his feet but fell against her. Cradling him, one of her arms around his shoulder, one of his around hers, Ælfritha led him back to the Inn, to Bethberry's quiet alcove, where the Innkeeper immediately rang for aid and a call to arms.

Sickened and fearful, Ælfritha strode into the main hall. "Good people of Rohan and guests of the Mark, we are abused and assaulted within our very gates. Our horses have been stolen, four of them mine, those of others as well. One of our own has been wounded. Who will join me in pursuit to recover the horses?"

================

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[ December 26, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[ February 06, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Estelarion and Menelduliniel sat in a corner. They saw a small woman of slim stature wander into the Inn and sit at the bar.

"Well, that certainly does not appear to be a warrior," Menelduliniel commented, "Even the Dwarves must be heavier than she is..." she looked at the other side of the room "Is that Parin?"

Estelarion looked, "Aye, 'tis."

Menelduliniel raised one eyebrow, "It is a very small world, is it not?"

"Aye, 'tis," Estelarion said, still looking at the small woman at the bar, "She can hardly be taller than a Dwarf. But look how small she is."

Menelduliniel eyed Estelarion, "Why not go and make her acquaintence?"

Estelarion looked at Menelduliniel, startled. "What is that?"

"Well, maybe you can make history. You can be the first male of the kindred to marry a mortal woman. Instead of those who benevolently find death snatching up one of our women, and leaving us to mourn their death."

Estelarion looked at Menelduliniel again, "Now that is a pessimistic attitude."

"Well, you cannot deny that it is true," she said.

Estelarion went back to looking at the small woman, "Aye, 'tis."

Menelduliniel rolled her eyes and snorted into her ale.

After she took a drink, she stood up.

"Where are you going?" Estelarion asked.

"To speak to Desseg," Menelduliniel said, naming the woman Little Maiden.

"Wait!" Estelarion said, grabbing out for Menelduliniel's sleeve. He missed, however and, before he could stop her, she was talking to the smiling young woman.

"My friend, over there, would like to meet you," Menelduliniel said.

"Really?" the tiny woman said, her eyes glimmering and a smile on her face. She was not beautiful, but she was cute, Menelduliniel had to admit.

"I am Menelduliniel. What are you called?" Menelduliniel asked.

"Well, I cannot repeat some of the things that I have been called in polite company," the woman said, giving Menelduliniel an even broader smile, "But I am known as Izrênna to most. And your handsome companion is...?"

"He is Estelarion."

"He is of the Elves, is he not? And so are you, I guess, judging by your clothing and appearance," Izrênna said.

"You have traveled enough to know of us?" Menelduliniel asked. Most women, she found, did not travel.

"Well, I have not met many Elves," Izrênna admitted, "Although there has been a dirth as of late. But there are many tales in this land."

"Well, come meet my friend and tell us of these tales!" Menelduliniel said. She dragged the teeny woman over to her table.

"This is Izrênna," she said to Estelarion, "I have told her your name."

Estelarion shot her a small look, then smiled at the small maiden.

"Suilannad," he greeted, rising and bowing a bit, and the small woman began to laugh. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she said, "You are just so formal."

Estelarion gave a slightly confused look.

"Do not mind him," Menelduliniel said, "He is of noble birth."

"I am not," Estelarion protested.

"You are of rich birth, in any event," Menelduliniel pointed out.

"Yes, well...that has nothing to do with it," Estelarion said.

"Well," Izrênna said, "It was nice meeting you."

She extended her hand and shook Estelarion's, her small hand disappearing among his long fingers.

"And it was certainly lovely meeting you," she said to Menelduliniel, "I hope we meet again."

"We probably will," Menelduliniel said, "Most of the people that I have met in these Inns have been present at other such gathering places."

"Yes, 'tis true," Estelarion said. He got a swift smack from Menelduliniel, "What?" he found himself demanding again.

"If you say 'yes, 'tis...' one more time," she said, trailing off.

Izrênna smiled again, "I really hope I find time to travel with you two someday."

"Especially Estelarion right? Is he not the most handsome Elf?" Menelduliniel said, knowing that Estelarion would scold her later, but not really caring.

"Of course," Izrênna laughed, as she returned to the bar and ordered a bar.

"Well, what do you think?" Menelduliniel asked Estelarion, "Have I finally found you a mate?"

Estelarion smacked Menelduliniel this time. She laughed merrily and went back to her ale. She watched Izrênna at the bar every now and then...

Then, a stranger burst in. Horses had been stolen.

"Let us aid!" Menelduliniel said to Estelarion.

"Nay," he said, "We will remain here."

"Where is Izrênna?" Menelduliniel said, looking back. The small maiden was gone.

"I suppose she has left. Maybe she will aid," Estelarion said, "I swear, you are more fascinated with this maiden than I am."

"So you admit you are fascinated with her?" Menelduliniel asked.

"No," he said, and went back to his drink, indicating that the conversation was over...

[ December 27, 2002: Message edited by: VanimaEdhel ]

[Morai]

The door of the White Horse creaked open. A raven haired elf entered letting in the cold air. Her green eyes scanned the room, Aranel Nowane saw many familar faces. She stood next to the door waiting for the Inn Keeper. Aranel had just arrived from Isengard still worn and torn from battle. Remembering the adventure from "Reawakened Mordor" still weighed on her heart....

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: Morai ]

[Kiara]

After a restless dream-filled sleep, Parin awoke in her dark chamber in the inn with a fright. The wholesome slumber she had sought had eluded her, and she had been troubled in heart and mind by visions of darkness. Cold shadows where light did not dare tread cobwebbed her mind to the point of distraction and shudderings.

Well, i just need some water after all that coffee, that's all., she thought to herself; but the thought of the usually comforting ebony liquid only served to intensify her black thoughts.

Stumbling down to the tavern commons, she sought the kind innkeeper for a jar not of ale, but of clear, clean water to combat the ills that had awakened in her soul.

Mother always said water would cure what ails a body.... Perhaps Bethberry would be able to explain to her the disturbing images that had flitted through her making her heart flutter.

"Excuse me, ma'am" she stammered to the gently smiling innkeeper, "Would I be able to get a jar of water?"

[Airerûthiel]

"Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo, mellon."

Aranel turned at the sound of a greeting in the Ancient Tongue to see a half-Elf standing behind the bar. He had shoulder-length red-gold hair that looked like a waterfall of flame when it caught the soft warm haze of the lamplights' glow, and cerulean eyes where fire and ice danced. "Welcome to Rohan, to the inn of the White Horse. You seem weary and lonely. Here, drink this; it may help you," the bartender said.

Maikadurion handed the Elf-maiden a pint of ale, and she took it gratefully from him. Feeling that one of them should introduce themselves to the other, he offered his weather-worn hand to her. "My name is Maikadurion, and I come from Ithilien in the land of Gondor. As a worker for Bethberry, who is innkeeper here, I am always greatly curious to hear the stories of the travellers that come through this inn. What is your name and your tale?"

[ December 30, 2002: Message edited by: Airerûthiel ]

[*Varda*]

Varda sat in the Inn, sipping her ale, minding her business. Her eyes opened when she saw a friend she had not seen for many years enter the Inn, whereupon she swiftly got up to welcome her.

“Malienna! It has been some time!” The tired woman looked up to see Varda, and smiled.

“Varda! What brings you to Rohan?” she asked.

“Rest from my travels,” Varda sighed, “but I have not seen you in this Inn before. What brings you here now?”

“Horse thieves,” Malienna said. “I come to speak to Aelfritha, and wish to set out to help rescue these horses. Are you helping?” Varda shook her head.

“It is no business for an elf,” she answered. “In any case, I come here seeking rest, unless my services are urgently called for.”

“Then I will see you when – if – I return,” Malienna said. “Farewell, friend.” Malienna left to prepare for the journey, and Varda took up a seat near the door.

[Morai]

"I am called Aranel Nowane. I've just arrived from Isengard." She replied, sipping her ale. Looking up, Aranel saw a banner honoring her adventure.

"Many greetings Aranel, but what was an elf such as you doing in the city of Orthranc?" Maikadurion asked.

" Saving Middle Earth full of Inn's like these from traitors such as Saruman. An adventure such as that is very difficult. My companions and I did not escape without wounds." Aranel answered showing the scars surrounding her wrists.

Maikadurion gasped....

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: Morai ]

[Gryphon Hall]

Marco looked up as Dadrantor left. 'What is going on?' he thought. He can still see vestiges of the forest around him in his mind's eye, but it was rapidly fading. For some reason, he was grieved that it was ending and he wished there was more.

'Oh, well,' Marco thought, trying to be resigned. He drank some more of the coffee (Powerful nutty stuff this is! he thought), then looked up. What he saw made him clutch his head.

'Wha-?' Marco saw several superimposed images of people moving around the inn. Some, like Galadel, Bethberry and some red-haired/golden-haired guy who just came in seemed seemed solid, but others seemed to waft in and out of the air, one moment taking on solidity, the next disappearing altogether. Most of them were elves. He looked around him and saw that, except for a few chairs and benches, the inn itself looked solid and real, probably the only reality at this point from where Marco can see. He saw the banners waving among the rafters in colorful splendor, the food going around, the mead, the coffee... and Bethberry, who seems to see all and notice all.

Bethberry looked at him and smiled, and some of his confusion was allayed.

Just then, two events seemed to happen, simultaneously.


-My Lords and Ladies, I come from The Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien.-

Galadriel! thought Marco, I thought she was dead, or gone. What's she doing giving summons? He tried to pay attention to the other semi-solid talking.


-Men, many men, Easterlings dressed as us. They wanted the horses.-

-There is dilemma in the Wood; a band of men have wandered for some time-

-Good people of Rohan and guests of the Mark,-

-near the wood and now their threat I fear is reaching its limit;-

-we are abused and assaulted within our very gates.-

-they have stolen not only goods but also a young elf has gone missing.-

-Our horses have been stolen, four of them mine, those of others as well.-

-I implore anyone who may be of help to find the girl,-

-One of our own has been wounded. Who will join me in pursuit to recover the horses?"-

-Nuhrive Fleetwood, to come with me to the Golden Wood."-


'`Tis a bad thing to steal any of the horses of Rohirrim, you know,' said the dwarf beside him. Marco turned to agree, and was surprised not to see Parin, but Corrin! 'Master-?' he began. 'Yes, awful bad thing. Might as well steal one of their women or babies, it doesn't matter,' continued Corrin, a male dwarf with a long brown beard, also carrying two bundles like Marco himself was carrying. 'The Horse-lords will go after 'em like nothing and make 'em pay.'

'Maybe,' Corrin added, 'maybe I go with them and test this out.' He was fingering an axe made in the mode of Erebor. Corrin looked at the lad he was talking to, but he was gone. 'Corrin, my boy,' said the dwarf to himself, '`tis a shame that you can no longer hold your liquor, talking to thin air like that.' Still, he greedily gulped his ale. 'But where's the fun if such good drink doesn't make you imagine stuff awhiles.' He raised his tankard to Bethberry, who smiled back.

Marco saw the dwarf, his master fade away with the messenger telling of the horses just before the messenger from the Golden Wood also fade. He looked at Bethberry, who smiled and said, 'Hmmmmm... do you think he would go after the horsethieves? Will they let him?' Then she chuckled to herself, as the red-haired/golden-haired elf eyed him with interest.

That elf! Marco thought angrily. That old, bewitching elf! And, and that tall elf lady...

Galadel suddenly looked pointedly at him and said with some heat, 'We had nothing to do with what you saw. It is just the property of this inn to attract adventures and quests from all times. You saw messengers calling for adventurers to quests from before you were born.' Eeeeep! thought Marco, You really stuck your foot in this one.

Galadel softened, than added, 'Don't worry overmuch.' Then she, too, smiled.

'Might as well bring my cart into the stable,' said Marco aloud. 'Can't leave it parked out in front.' He got up and awkwardly swung his arms and stamped his feet, then resolutely marched up to the entrance.

'Your room will be ready when you get back,' called Bethberry after him.

[ December 28, 2002: Message edited by: Gryphon Hall ]

[Nurumaiel]

Culoth Luinloth Eluial Celeblhach, daughter of the Rider of Rohan Thoan, who was commonly called Rochriel, pushed open the door to the White Horse and stepped in. Many eyes turned to look at her, and she smiled cheerily at them all.

Culoth had never been to the White Horse before, but, though her name was Elvish, she had been born and raised in Rohan. She did not recognize any of those at the White Horse that night, but she rarely ever saw anyone besides her own family, seeing as they lived in an out of the way house on the plains.

As she moved towards the counter to order a drink, Culoth saw that there were many elves in the inn. Strange, she thought. Elves don't usually come to Rohan. In fact, I've never seen any elves in Rohan at all until just now. But, being that I know a little Sindarin, I'll at least be able to speak with them.

Ordering a cup of tea from the friendly-looking innkeeper, Culoth looked around the room once more. In her eyes they all looked kind enough. She was eager to meet them all, so when the innkeeper handed her the tea, she gave a quick thank you and a smile, then hurried off to sit down, hoping she hadn't sounded rude.

[Airerûthiel]

'It is not right that one so young should suffer so much for so many,' thought Maikadurion as he took in the Elf's wounds. 'Great danger is brought to Middle-earth with every day that the power of Saruman and Sauron grow stronger against the few.'

"Forgive my asking this, but you say you are one of Ithilien, yet you speak the Elven tongue as fluently as any of that race," said Aranel. "How can that be?"

"My mother was an Elf of Mirkwood," replied Maikadurion, "but my father was a Man of Rohan who settled in Gondor. Although they died when my brother and I were too young to remember them, they still affect our lives today; we cannot cross the borders of Rohan to that land because my father was a traitor to the Stewards.

"But enough of my tale - you seem like kin to me, in the sense that you appear in the guise of a Ranger, a wanderer of the countries of Middle-earth. I have not heard news outside of this land for nigh on two winters, and I greatly desire to learn of what goes on outside the land of the Horse-lords."

[Nurumaiel]

Culoth leaned back in her chair and looked around the noisy room. Many people were engaged in conversation, and she sighed. She would love to go and introduce herself to someone, but since she hardly saw anyone else besides her family, she had grown up being shy of strangers.

If only I could gather up enough courage to talk to one of the elves, thought Culoth. I've never spoken with an elf before, and many of the elves here seem so kind. I've always imagined elves being kind of like me when I'm dreaming… far off and not wanting to speak or be spoken to.

Culoth suddenly wished her father were there. He'd have no trouble introducing her to someone. He probably knew them all anyway. He had been to the capital of Rohan many times. In fact, he'd gone to just about everywhere in Rohan, and knew just about everyone. And he wasn't shy, either.

A strand of Culoth's hair fell forward and she brushed it back. Her parents had always loved her hair. It was golden, with a touch of red. That's why she had been named Culoth. Where the red in her hair came from, she did not know, but was content to look as she did. Her hair matched her fiery personality.

A loud whinny sounded outside and Culoth recognized it. It was her grey steed, Celeblhach (which was also one of her names), wanting something to eat. Standing up and going to the counter, Culoth shyly asked, "You wouldn't happen to have any sugar, would you?"

"Yes, plenty of sugar," the innkeeper Bethberry replied.

"Well, could I have a little? It's for my horse out there," said Culoth.

"Of course," said Bethberry, smiling kindly. She went and got the sugar. Culoth thanked her and hurried out the door. A stable boy was holding Celeblhach's reins.

"I'm sorry he wasn't in the stable," the boy said. "I tried to lead him but he didn't want to go. He just stood here firmly and wouldn't move."

"That's quite all right," replied Culoth. "He does that to me, sometimes, as well."

Celeblhach snorted and pawed the ground impatiently. "Sîdh, rochen. Tíra man garim," said Culoth softly, holding out her hand. Celeblhach greedily ate the sugar and then consented to go with the stable boy.

"Hannad," said Culoth as the boy led her steed off. "Thank you." Turning, she went back to the door and entered the inn once more. The peaceful quiet that was outside was not in the White Horse that night. Culoth hurried over to her table again to finish her tea, wondering if she'd be able to bring up enough courage to speak to one of the others.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry was pleased to see the young woman return from feeding her horse the sugar cube. With the adacious theft of horses and the preparations for the pursuers, Bethberry had been remiss in caring for the patrons of The Horse.

She whispered a request to old Fróma to bring two plates of dinner, one for herself and one for Culoth, and then she approached the shy young woman.

"Forgive my inattention. We have had a busy time here, with two stories being launched and a posse gathered. Now, however, I have some time, before the New Year arrives, to welcome you. Will you join me for dinner?"

The young woman smiled a shy hello and the Innkeeper sat beside her, ready for a diverting bit of pleasant conversation.

==========

Happy New Year to all the patrons of The White Horse and all the gamers at Rohan. May the new year bring us many imaginative games, truly creative role playing, and good writing.

Bethberry

[Nurumaiel]

OOC: I say the same as Bethberry… have a happy New Year, all.

================================================== =

Culoth blushed as she gave a shy hello to Bethberry. She tried to think of something to say, but found she couldn't speak. Bethberry helped her.

"Where do you live, Culoth?" she asked.

"Here in Rohan," Culoth replied, then looked up and laughed a little. "Oh," she said. "My family lives out on the plains, away from all of the other people of Rohan. And, please, don't call me Culoth. My family calls me Rochriel."

"Very well, Rochriel," said Bethberry with a smile. "Do you know anyone here at the inn?"

"No," said Culoth. "My family lives so far away from everyone else that I don't really know anyone, except when Father takes me with him when he visits people."

"What's your horse called?"

"Celeblhach. Maybe you'd like to see him later?"

"If I find some time. It's usually busy at the inn, and I wouldn't want to leave someone without a drink and a meal."

Culoth felt a slow smile spreading over her face. Now that she had spoken a little with Bethberry, she knew she would be shy no more to this kind woman.

[Yavanna Kementari]

Nibinwing slowly pranced down the dark street to The White Horse. Pennuialiel's bright green eyes searching this way and that as if looking for something she lost. Ahead she saw a girl feeding a beautiful horse and then a boy taking the steed into a stable. "Just a little a farther now Nibinwing and you will have a full stomache indeed," Pennuialiel said with a smile as she patted her horse on the flank. "And me too!"

They arrived at the Inn and Pennuialiel hopped off her horse,and tied him up. Nibinwing gave her an impatient nudge with his muzzle. "I'll be right back!", she said with a laugh.

As she walked into the Inn and headed to the bar a woman stood up from a table and rushed to the bar to greet her. "Hullo," she said in a cheery voice, "What can I get for you?" Bethberry stood there smiling as the Elf looked at her with large green eyes. Slowly Pennuialiel said, "I need some oats and some apples." As she waited for Bethberry to return, she realised she was being watched.

Bethberry returned with a small sack of oats and a few apples. "Thank you very much" She said to the Innkeeper. "I will be back to order something for my self,after I've fed my horse." She started back across the floor as she went she noticed the girl that was outside, looking at her with wonderment and intimidation. Pennuialiel smiled at the girl and crossed the floor to where the girl was sitting. "Is that your horse I saw you feeding or are you a stablehand?" Pennuialiel remained standing for fear if she sat, the girl would run like a spooked coney. Culoth sat un-answering with an expression of complete awe on her face.
" Do you have a name?" Pennuialiel asked. The girl very quietly and slowly said,"Culoth." The Elf smiled so bright that it seemed to set her green eyes a flame "Well, Culoth I would love for you to show me your horse." Pennuialiel waited for a reply but Culoth said nothing. "I have to feed my horse I'll be out there if you wish to join me." The Elf smiled and went out to feed Nibinwing.
(OOC I'm a little new how am I doing so far please let me know, and Thank you Bethberry for inviting me!)

[ January 01, 2003: Message edited by: Yavanna Kementari ]

[Nurumaiel]

Culoth watched Pennuialiel leave the inn, and she suddenly wished she had spoken up. Smiling at Bethberry and saying quickly, "I'll be back soon," she left the inn, just in time to see Pennuialiel disappear into the stable, leading her steed with her.

Culoth slipped quietly into the stable and walked to the stall where Celeblhach was being kept. Stroking the grey neck of her horse, she looked over at Pennuialiel shyly. The Elf smiled softly at her and Culoth blushed, looking down.

After Pennuialiel finished feeding her horse Nibinwing, she walked over to Culoth. "Your horse is very beautiful," she said.

"Yes," said Culoth quietly.

"What's his name?"

"Celeblhach... Silver Leaping Flame." Culoth gathered up enough courage to look up into Pennuialel's eyes.

The Elf laughed at Culoth's expression of awe. "Why do you look so stunned?" she asked.

"Well," Culoth said, looking down again, "I've always wanted to meet an Elf, and now I have." Suddenly she brought her head up and smiled widely. "I'm not shy with you anymore," she said, laughing.

[Yavanna Kementari]

"Celeblhach, thats a fitting name."
" Beautiful name for a Beautiful horse."

"Oh I am Pennuialiel, my name means Green Eyes. You can call me Pennu for short."

Nibinwing nudged Pennuialiel in the back hard enough to push her forward. Feeling as though he was being left out of the conversation,the large silver stallion winnied loudly.

"And this,is my horse Nibinwing-or Silver Wind."

Afer he was introduced he bowed his head low and then put it up high.

"He is beautiful too!!" Culoth said.

" We have something in common, we both like silver!"

Pennuialiel and Culoth laughed as Nibinwing and Celeblhach began to befriend each other.

"Well then, I think that we should take it as a sign."

Pennu looked at Culoth and she was still looking at the ground.

" Culoth, you look at me as though I were a Vala, please don't."

Pennu bent down and kind of ducked to see Culoths face, and as Pennu stood up Culoths eyes followed.
"There thats better."
"You do not need to treat me any different than a mortal."

Culoth smiled at the Elf.
" I am very hungry I haven't eaten in 4or5 days."
Culoth looked with pity at the Elf
and her jaw dropped slightly.
"Days?" She half whispered,raising one eyebrow, as Pennu was walking toward her horse.

"And you are feeding your horse first?"

"You really love your horse huh?"

"Would you like to come join me?" Pennu asked the girl.

" Sure,"said Culoth."That would be nice."

The two put the horses back into stalls side by side because Nibinwing and Celeblhach would not be separated.

" Why haven't you eaten in days?" Culoth asked Pennu.

" Umm because I had an unfortunate 'accident'
that had to do with a large rushing stream and a muddy bank," Pennu said blushing.

The two headed back to the Inn together.
" So whats good to eat?"

[ January 01, 2003: Message edited by: Yavanna Kementari ]

[Nurumaiel]

Culoth and Pennu went to the table where Bethberry had been waiting.

"Hello," said Culoth cheerily. "Pennu hasn't eaten in a long while, so I was wondering if it were possible to get something for her to eat?"

"Of course," said Bethberry, beginning to stand up.

"Oh, I'll do it," smiled Culoth. "I can cook a little and you probably need a rest from running about all the time. I'll be back soon!"

Without waiting for an answer, Culoth hurried off into the kitchen. Opening up all the cupboards, she found all the ingredients she needed and set to work on making some stew.

A few minutes later she came out of the kitchen with three bowls of steaming stew. Sitting down and handing Bethberry and Pennu each a bowl, she smiled at them both. "I've said before, but, please, call me Rochriel."

"And as I said before, very well," replied Bethberry, smiling. Pennu nodded. She was too busy eating, and Culoth smiled at her, wondering it was like to be hungry.

Picking up her spoon, Culoth began to eat.

[Galadel Vinorel]

After Estel had been escorted by Bethberry to the stable, Galadel had remained kind of quite. She rarelly spoke up to the people who sat at her table, for she was thinking over memories, some best left forgotten. Hearing the door of the Inn open again, Galadel saw an Elf and a young woman enter into the hall and sit down to eat by Bethberry. Galadel peered curiously at the elf, for she did not recognize her and could not tell where the elf came from, which Galadel could usually tell by an elf's clothing.

Looking down at her drink, the lady elf realized that it was now empty, so she excused herself and walked to the bar. THe man at the bar smiled as Galadel approached adn said, "What may I do for you, my lady?" Galadel smiled and said, "Could I please have another ale?" The man nodded and quickly refilled her glass and Galadel turned and looked around the room at who she should talk to next.

Deciding, the elf walked to the table that Bethberry, the elf, and the young woman were sitting at. "May I join you all?" asked Galadel, "Oh and by the way, my name is Galadel. Elen sila lumen ometilvo." Galadel bowed to each of them in turn and then sat down in the seat offeered by Bethberry and waited for someone to introduce themselves.

[Nurumaiel]

"I'm Culoth," said she. "But most just call me Rochriel, so I would love for you to call me that, as well."

"All right," said Galadel, smiling.

Culoth jumped up. "I just finished getting a meal for these two, so maybe I'll get you one as well. Or have you eaten?"

Without waiting for a reply, the girl rushed off into the kitchen. She soon came back, holding a plate. "I can cook all right," she said, setting it down in front of Galadel. "I hope you like it," she said with a smile.

As Galadel settled down to eat, Culoth asked, "Where do you come from?"

[Galadel Vinorel]

Looking up from her plate, Galadel looked over at the young woman who had just asked a question.

"I come from the land of Lothlorien, the Golden Wood, and the Home of Elvendome in Middle Earth. Quite a fancy title, but that is its true name, and not the Sorcerer Queen's Wood, as some have called it." said Galadel fiercly.

Then the lady elf calmed downed and asked, looking over with a smile at Rochriel, "Where do you come from, Rochriel?" Galadel began to eat her food then, while listening to the answer to her question.

[Bêthberry]

It was a sombre Innkeeper who sat down in the quiet after the unimaginable events of the last night and day. Never before had horse thieves struck so close to Edoras. Nor had they ever taken so many at once. Perhaps it was Ælfritha's horses which had attracted attention; they were the finest stock in Rohan after the mearas. It would be near financial ruin for the horsebreeder to lose all four. And it was ruin to the sense of peaceful community. Already whispers were flowing around Edoras and people were taking harsh second glances at faces which weren't immediately familiar. An edge had crept into the community on sly cat feet and it had cut into the easy familiarity which all had known.

Yet Bethberry sat eating the stew which Culoth had prepared with a calm patience. The effort and earnest desire to serve which had motivated Culoth must have touched Fróma also, for to her surprise there had been no swift quelling of the culinary insurrection. Culoth had been allowed to prepare the dish in peace. With effort, Bethberry turned her attention to the patrons sitting near her, trying to divert her mind from the troubles at hand.

[ January 13, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]