The White Horse Inn, Act II

[Ealasaide]

Looking up, Sigrid could see the polished boots of the dark-haired young man hanging over the side of the roof. He had worked like a madman, hauling the buckets hand over hand up to the roof, one after the other until the inn's roof had stopped smoking. Then, he had dropped the rope and, now, didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to come down. She noticed one foot swung idly back and forth. Following her eyes, the blond young man laughed and took the empty bucket she still held out of her hands.

"Oh, he's done, that one," he said pleasantly. "What's yer name, lass?"

"Sigrid Ivarsdottir," she said and dropped a polite curtsy. The blond man grinned and nodded in return. He had a pleasant face that reminded her much of the farm boys back home. Instantly, she felt comfortable with him. The other one, though, the dark one, she wasn't too sure about. He had strikingly beautiful eyes, but there was a volatile quality about him that set her somewhat on edge. She smiled at the blond man, but cut her eyes again toward the roof. Again, the blond man's eyes followed her gaze.

"I'm Olav," he said suddenly, drawing her attention away from the roof. “That one's my cousin, Ragnar." He tucked two of the three buckets under one arm and picked up the third in his free hand. He gestured toward the still smoldering stable with a nod. “I guess they’ll still be needing these over there. How are your arms holding up? I think they‘ll be needing us, as well.”

“Oh, fine,” answered Sigrid with a laugh even though her arms were beginning to feel like limp straw. Olav began walking back in the direction of the water brigade by the stable. Sigrid had to jog a little catch up.

“Do you live in Edoras?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Oh, no. Passing through. You?”

Sigrid shrugged. “I hope to stay. I guess it depends on whether or not I can find work.”

“What do you do?” asked Olav.

Once more, Sigrid shrugged. “I’m hoping to find a place as a weaver, but I suppose I could do most anything. You know, cook, clean, sew.”

Inexplicably, Olav stopped and winked at her. “I guess you could.”

Puzzled, Sigrid stared at his back as he rejoined the water brigade. What the dickens was that supposed to mean? She glanced quickly in the direction of where she had left her dog and small bundle of belongings and was relieved to see that both were still there. Kajsa, the dog, had shifted so that she now lay with one paw resting on Sigrid’s bundle. Her bright eyes watched the activity in the inn yard with interest. Seeing that all was all right over there, Sigrid returned to the bucket line, inserting herself between Olav and a blond haired boy of about sixteen. Handing her a bucket, the boy smiled and nodded politely. Sigrid smiled back. She could see a hammer and a pouch of what looked like nails hanging from his belt. He’s come at the right time, she thought to herself. Too bad I’m a weaver and not a carpenter myself.

Turning her attention again to Olav, Sigrid pushed a bucket into his hands. “What did you mean by that?” she asked, referring to Olav’s comment of a few seconds earlier.

“Only that you’re a pretty girl and I’m sure you can find work,” he answered with a far greater degree of solemnity than the situation called for. Then, he winked again.

Sigrid flushed hotly. Oh, my goodness, he’s flirting with me! She wasn’t entirely sure what to do, whether to continue talking to him or to run away. Usually she could hide behind her father or one of her brothers if one of the boys at market got too fresh, but now she was on her own. Not knowing what else to do, she turned to the boy on her other side.

“They’ll probably need some good carpenters to rebuild the stable,” she said pleasantly and handed him a bucket.

[Imladris]

Forty-one...forty-two...forty-three...forty-four… Faran counted. Only forty-four buckets since he had arrived and it seemed as if he had been passing buckets his entire life. Amazing. Sweat streamed from his brow, and his skin tightened as it was dried by the scorching heat of the fire. He sniffed deeply, appreciating the rustic scent of the smoke that spewed like a dragon from the stables. Fire: what a beautiful thing it was and thrilling to the last. “Forty --” he said absently aloud. Bother. He had lost count in his musings. He shrugged: One…two…three…

A slim girl inserted herself between himself and another man. Forgetting to keep count, Faran studied her out of the corner of his eye: she had a single plait of hair falling down her back with little wisps fluttering from the main braid: the results of a hard day’s work. Her delicate face was smudged with black soot, marring her pale features. Her blue eyes looked a trifle nervous. Leaning back, he scrutinized the man beside her and heard him say, “Only that you’re a pretty girl and I’m sure you could find work.” He also saw the wink.
She was pretty…he got that right. Faran looked again: the guy was actually flirting with her…he shook his head. He saw the girl flush crimson as he handed her a bucket full of sloshing water and was surprised when she said, “They’ll probably need some good carpenters to rebuild the stable.”

He stared at the smoldering mass with the flames still leaping out of it and said, “I think that they’ll need some good carpenters to build a completely new, refinished and better stable.”

The girl smiled and he said, “What’s your name, girl? Mine is Faran.”

“Sigrid.”

“So, what do you do?” he asked. As he handed her another bucket he said, “Careful on the handle there…there’s a stray nail that could poke you.”

“I’m a weaver,” she replied. “Too bad I’m not a carpenter.”

“My mother could spin and weave,” he said softly. “She was kept busy always making new clothes for us. I remember her spinning the sheep’s wool into fine thread. I can almost hear the purr of the wheel as it spun and see the spokes blur together as it whirled and whirled.” To demonstrate, he rolled his eyes violently and grinned at her. “I would make myself dizzy watching it. As for not being a carpenter,” he added casually. “I’m sure I could teach you, if you wanted.”

[Ealasaide]

Sigrid took the bucket from Faran's hands and passed it back to Olav, being careful not to make eye contact with the man. Faran was saying something about his mother and spinning that made Sigrid think of her own mother at home.

“As for not being a carpenter,” he added casually. “I’m sure I could teach you, if you wanted.”

Sigrid smiled warmly. “Maybe you could teach me for a bit. At least until I can find a job spinning or weaving. I’d like to help out.”

Faran turned and squinted into the smoke. “I’m sure they can use the extra hands.”

“I can do a bit of carpentry,” came Olav’s voice from behind her. “I’ll teach you as well.”

Sigrid turned to face him. “I thought you were just passing by.”

Olav grinned. “I am, but I’ll be around the inn for a while yet. Might as well make myself useful while Ragnar takes care of his business in town.”

Instinctively, Sigrid glanced toward the roof of the inn where Olav’s cousin still sat, dangling his feet and watching the flames engulf what remained of the stable. “Why isn’t he helping?” she asked.

“He did help. Now, I guess, he figures he’s done his bit. It’s about to burn out anyway.”

She turned and looked past Faran into the billowing smoke. It did look as though the fire had just about run its course. Even the pace of the bucket brigade had slowed. She could see a man, presumably the stable master, step forward into the smoking ruin. She didn’t think she would ever forget the expression on his soot-blackened face as he surveyed the wreckage. Self-consciously, she looked away. It felt wrong to intrude on his private grief.

Faran had apparently had the same thought and also turned away from the sad ruin of the stable. As his eyes lit on the face of Olav, though, she noticed a change come over his features. Faran’s previously carefree expression took on a narrow, almost hooded look. Clearly, he did not care much for the other man. Olav, on the other hand, paid the boy almost no mind at all. He caught Sigrid’s hand in his as she passed him the next bucket.

“Let me buy you dinner tonight,” Olav said quietly, his dark blue eyes sparkling mischievously. Unseen by anyone else, his fingers tickled her palm.

Shocked, Sigrid blushed furiously and withdrew her hand. “I-I have to go,” she stammered and quickly backed out of the bucket line. Casting one regretful look over her shoulder at Faran, she ran back to the place by the fence where she had left her belongings. Once she got there, she looked nervously in the direction of the bucket line, watching Olav’s rolling muscles as he handed bucket after bucket off to the slimmer, more wiry figure of Faran. As much as she hated to admit it, she found Olav intriguing. He was dreadfully cheeky, but he and his cousin were unlike anyone she had ever met before. Their worldliness with that touch of wildness fascinated her. She would just have to be careful of herself when she was around them. That was all.

If she wasn’t, she might find herself in a whole pile of trouble.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Thanks to the help of all the townsfolk and Inn patrons, the stable fire had begun to die down. Braver men began to walk into the stables and stamp out small fires, while women continued to toss small pails of water onto smoldering embers. The stables were nothing more than a few ashy framing and ceiling beams, ashes, and horse remains. A good number of horses had been saved by devoted owners and, not quite to Aylwen's surprise, the thief Anwir.

"It's almost all out, Aylwen!" Leofan shouted over the chaos, and Aylwen waved a thank you as he continued to help put out the last of the flames. The Assistant Innkeeper had swallowed her original and quite uncalled-for self-pity, opting for the point of view that the burning stable had affected more people than just her. Aylwen had quickly remembered that feeling sorry for herself did nothing to solve the situation. All sorts of townsfolk had come to help Aylwen save the horses and get the fire put out.

Aylwen had worked carrying pails and blankets back and forth from the fence nearby and the Inn itself, running back and forth at others' need. If blankets were needed to put out smoldering embers, Aylwen had been there to hand out more blankets. Pails were relayed back and forth more than enough times to almost make Aylwen dizzy. But never once did Aylwen feel alone, or feel as though she were the only one working. Somehow, a feeling of unity had snuck up on her sometime during the incident; a welcomed surprise.

On one trip down to the fence, Aylwen ran into a young girl about her age, who was also on her way to the fence. The girl was small and fragile, with wispy blond hair tied back in a braid. Aylwen had never seen the girl before, but then, Aylwen was not from Rohan and she had not met most of the people helping her with the fire. I'll have to think of some way to thank them...Aylwen thought to herself just as he knocked into the smaller woman.

"Forgive me!" Aylwen apologized, smiling and giving the girl a gentle pat on the shoulder. "I'm Aylwen, the Assistant Innkeeper of the White Horse," Aylwen introduced herself, pulling a soot-streaked hand from out of her sleeve and shaking the young woman's hand. "I've not met you yet..."

"Oh, I'm Sigrid," the girl replied confidently, taking Aylwen's hand and almost surprising the Innkeeper with her firmness and assuredness. Aylwen nodded and put the pails she had been holding in her left hand next to the fence before turning back to speak to Sigrid again.

"Would you mind helping me tend to the horses?" Aylwen asked, not wanting to make the girl feel left out or unwelcome. Aylwen picked up a load of blankets and continued, "They're plenty scared, and some of them could use tending and comforting."

"I don't mind at all," Sigrid said eagerly, picking up a bundle of her own and proceeding to lead Aylwen to the first group of skittish horses she saw. They reached two lovely brown mares first, and Sigrid and Aylwen got straight to grooming them and blanketing them. Aylwen was not skilled with horses at all, and was a bit nervous herself coming up to a stranger's horse. Sigrid's confidence leaked over to Aylwen, and with her help Aylwen was finished grooming the horse in no time.

"You've no fear around horses," Aylwen intoned as she and Sigrid brushed the mane of a stocky little pony. The Assistant Innkeeper knew that in Rohan it might not have been any big feat to be easy around horses, but Aylwen could never take the smallest achievement for granted. Aylwen looked over the horse's whithers at Sigrid. "Are you from Rohan, then? Around here?"

"Yes, from Rohan, but not here in Edoras. I am from the highlands; my family had a sheep farm there," Sigrid replied, and Aylwen nodded as the two girls finished calming the pony. Aylwen draped a blanket over the pony's back and went to pat the horse once on its forehead.

"Thank you for helping me with the horses," Aylwen continued gratefully. "I'm so thankful for everyone's help, and I'm trying to think of a way to show them how much I appreciate this. That can come later, though. Let's go see where we are now, and everyone can give their input as to where we go from here."

[Bêthberry]

With a quiet, knowing gaze, Ruthven had surveyed the imperious manner of the father and watched the look on the young girl's face, a corner of her mouth turned down, eyes cowering but frustrated. It was one thing to be protective of a young child's incautious behaviour, thought Ruthven, but another thing to bully without explanation and use the force of anger to demand submission. Ruthven wondered if there were any mother in the girl's life to teach her how to negotiate the stoney path of the powerless amidst the peremtory.

That thought brought back concern for another who seemed powerless. Ruthven turned to look at the flames, saw the lines and lines of children running with buckets from Edoras's central stream, saw the strangers who were protecting the Horse's roof from the swirling embers and sparks, saw other young girls with sure hands with horses. Then, with fear in her heart, the old junk peddler wondered how she could try to stop the flames from spreading to the back of the stable.

"Are you here to help as the others are?" she queried the father. "Show your strength in action and contribution."

"Do old women order men around these days in Edoras?" he retorted, but Ruthven had turned and left him behind as she sought to find if Madi was trapped in the flames. She called out to him repeatedly but no reply answered her calls.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ruthven stared at the smoldering ruins while she complimented Aywlen on her thoughtful marshalling of forces to combat the fire. The Assistant Innkeeper had wisely seen that the children could lend a hand. Indeed, it had been their energetic racing back and forth which had brought the much needed water to the Horse, to supplement the Inn's own well. And strangers, so many strangers. The Inn was lucky indeed to have new guests who did not shirk to participate. Enough! Ruthven said to herself. It must be done. She walked over to a despondent Leofan.

"You did your best, man. Many horses were saved."

"Aye," he responded, with a resigned discouragement. "But not enough."

"Have you checked the ruins yet? Were many lost? Were there just horses?"

Leofan looked up at her, curiously. "I saw only charred animals. What do you mean?"

Ruthven shook her head. "I was worried," she murmured, as she wandered towards the smoldering ruins herself, looking for something she dared hope not to find. The stench of burnt horseflesh assaulted her nose but she could not sense that of human flesh. Her hopes rose.

[ November 19, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Ealasaide]

"Thank you for helping me with the horses," said Aylwen gratefully. “I’m so thankful for everyone’s help, and I’m trying to think of a way to show them how much I appreciate this. That can come later, though. Let’s go see where we are now, and everyone can give their input as to where we go from here.”

With a quick smile at Sigrid, the assistant Innkeeper took off at a rapid pace in the direction of the charred remains of the stable. Picking up her little bundle and with a quick chirp to the dog, Sigrid fell into step behind the young woman. Ahead of her, she could see the fire had nearly gone out. Some of the men, including Faran and Olav, were now walking into the ruins stamping out small fires with their boots. Women continued tossing water on the embers. With a glance at the Inn, Sigrid noticed that nothing was visible of Ragnar except his legs hanging over the side of the roof, one foot still swinging lazily. He had apparently lain back on his back to look at the sky.

“Peculiar,” murmured Sigrid, shading her eyes with her hand for a closer look.

“What’s that?” asked Aylwen over her shoulder.

“Nothing!” called Sigrid. But, then she added, pointing in Ragnar’s direction. “The young man on the roof seems to be taking a nap.”

Aylwen stopped and also shaded her eyes to look in the direction of the inn’s roof. “Hmm,” she said finally. “I hope he’s not ill. We’ll have a dickens of a time getting him down from there if he is.”

“Oh!” Sigrid covered her mouth with her hand. It had never occurred to her that Ragnar might be ill, perhaps from the smoke. After all, he had worked awfully hard up there all by himself to prevent the roof from alighting. But then her eyes returned to the languidly swinging foot. No, she decided, he’s actually loafing. Looking around at the distress and confusion that still filled the inn yard, she felt a surge of irritation. There was still so much to be done in the aftermath of the fire. He had quite a nerve to be loafing. And not just loafing. Conspicuously loafing. Especially after the way he had glared at her for breaking the pace for just a few seconds on the bucket line.

Frowning, Sigrid turned and jogged a few steps to catch up with Aylwen, who, by then, had nearly reached the charred remains of the stable. Just then, the wind changed direction and the stench of burned horseflesh struck her nostrils full force. Sigrid stopped in her tracks. Instinctively, she dropped a hand toward the dog, who stuck her cold nose into Sigrid’s palm. She couldn’t go any farther. The place smelled like death. Feeling suddenly light-headed, Sigrid dropped her little bundle of clothes and sat down on it, wrapping one arm around the shaggy black and white shoulders of her dog. She had been to the site of another fire, years ago when she was just a little girl. It had been her uncle’s place. The smell had been the same...she didn’t want to think about it...

Sigrid thought she was going to be sick. Lowering her head, she tried not to breathe the foul air. She would breathe again when the wind shifted.

[Imladris]

Faran arched his back and stretched, listening with unconcealed pleasure to the resounding pops of his back. Looking around to see if he could find someone in charge, he saw that Sigrid was crouched over her dog -- it looked as if she was trying not to breathe. Making his way over to her, he squatted beside her, scuffed the dogs ears, and said, “You alright, Sigrid?”

“I’m just remembering something that happened years ago,” she said. “My uncle’s place burned down…” her voice trailed off and, after a pause, said, “And the stench --”

She didn’t go farther and he knew what she was going to say. It was awful and overpowering. Instead, he breathed deeply, gagged, and said, “It’s not so bad, once you get used to it.” It actually did seem to be diminishing, but a breath of wind redoubled its force.

Sigrid smiled with amusement at Faran and said, “You get used to it?”

“Well, some people get used to it and others don’t,” Faran replied knowingly. “Fortunately, I am one of those people,” he added, somewhat loftily.

She raised an eyebrow and said, “Really?”

“Really. Do you know who the innkeeper is?”

“That woman over there,” Sigrid said, pointing Aylwen, “she seems to have some authority here.”

“Thanks. Uh, Sigrid, I’m sorry,” he said, somewhat uncomfortably. Then, turning swiftly, he found the woman, who was standing beside the charred remains of the stable. Approaching her, Faran said, “I have skill as a carpenter and I would like to offer my services to help the Inn build a new barn.”

[ November 20, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Writer of The Mark]

Linnea and Madi sat quietly, watching the stable and crowd of people who had gathered around it, to get a better view. Linnea watched her father, giving a short comment to Ruthven through clenched teeth. Ruthven left suddenly, as if the girl's father had offended her. Linnea shook her head, bending over to get a better look at where her father turned.

He walked slowly towards the crowd, where they were eagerly collecting buckets. He made his way through, and started filling some buckets as well.

"Is you father down there, also?" Linnea asked the boy. At first Madi didn't reply. The expression in his face told the girl that this was private business. She muttered, before she turned her head out the window again. Where are his parents?" she thought, meanwhile trying to figure it out, even though it was nothing which concerned her.

Linnea glanced downwards, seeing Ruthven one last time before the old woman was out of Linnea's reach. Of course! Ruthven! The girl took Madi's hand. "She is looking for you!" she burst out. Linnea sprang up from her chair, smiling. "Ruthven is looking for me?" The boy asked, being very surprised, but yet totally calm about what the girl was saying.

"Yes, yes!" Linnea reassured him. Madi seemed pleased with this answer, and followed the girl who was springing towards the staircases. They rushed downwards, Madi following the girl closely behind. They only halted as they passed an old man, who waved his hand towards them and muttered grumpily. Madi and Linnea stopped. The old man however, didn’t seem to be in interested in stopping himself, to have a word with the children, who according to him, surly seemed to be out of character for their age; running about at an Inn.

Linnea and Madi looked strangely at each other, not knowing what to say. They trudged on, feeling no awkwardness towards the old man’s sudden ‘attack’. They passed the reception desk, which to Linnea’s annoyance was way too tall for her. She gazed up on a woman, who probably didn’t see the children, but this was probably for the best. Madi rushed towards the door, taking his hand around the door handle. “Wait,” Linnea said, thinking about her father and his words which he had expressed so angrily. "Up now, your room!" he hadn’t even formed a real sentence. It was just an angry voice, coming from a frustrated man, who was apparently , her father.

Did she dare break the rules; to cross her father’s words?

Madi waited, standing unsympathetically to the girl’s sudden caution. “I am not really allowed to go outside again,” she muttered, being frustrated and annoyed.

“Umm… Well then,” Madi said, as if this was a goodbye for now. “Ah, it doesn’t matter,” Linnea said, taking a large step towards the door, and opening it. Her father would not stand in the way for her, Linnea thought. This was her mission, to take Madi to Ruthven. “Let’s go,” Linnea said, taking the boy’s hand. She ducked, as she got a glimpse of her father about hundred paces away.

We must not be seen……

[Ealasaide]

Ragnar lay on his back on the roof gazing up at the fluffy white clouds that floated by overhead against the backdrop of azure sky. His arms ached pleasantly from the hard work of hauling the water buckets up to the roof, but not so that he couldn't do it all again should the necessity arise. Since the fire seemed virtually extinguished along with the threat it offered, however, he felt no urgency to get moving again. It was pleasant up on the roof. The sun was warm, the smoke smell not too bad, although he knew his own clothes were laced with it. He sighed and laced his fingers behind his head. It seemed ironic that something so tragic as the fire should happen on such a lovely day.

Finally, he sat up again and looked down at the activity still taking place in the inn yard. He could see Olav along with some of the other men and women still working at putting out the last smoking embers of the fire. The blond girl who had helped at hauling buckets over to him was huddled on the ground some distance away, hugging a sheepdog. He watched as she raised her head and pointed a blond kid in the direction of the assistant innkeeper, then dropped her head again. Something about her didn't look quite right. Since Olav seemed busy and Ragnar didn't really know anyone else, he decided he would check on the girl. Pulling his feet up, he walked over to the tree and, with the grace of a cat, swung himself down through the branches to the ground.

When he reached the girl, he knelt down beside her and, to be on the safe side, held out a loose fist to the dog. "Hey," he said to the girl. The dog gave his fingers a suspicious sniff.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She raised her head and he was instantly struck by the paleness of her skin. She nodded. "The smell got to me."

He nodded. "Yeah. It's pretty nasty. Nothing like roast horsehair."

The girl blanched and lowered her forehead into the crook of her elbow.

"Sorry," he added.

"No, it's not that." The girl's muffled voice answered. "It's just...it's just the other fire."

Startled, Ragnar looked around. "What other fire?" The fire was out. What other fire? He glanced toward the roof of the inn, but it yielded no evidence of smoke or fire. In fact, nothing except the charred rubble of the stable showed any hint of fire. The girl shook her head.

"At my uncle's place when I was seven. It smelled just like this. I had forgotten until the wind turned..." she paused and swallowed hard. Ragnar watched as her shoulders contracted in a dry heave. He reached out a hand to touch her back, but withdrew it abruptly as the dog growled deep in its throat. He noticed then that the dog had mismatched eyes, one blue and one brown, both of which watched him with threatening intensity. Very slowly, he lowered his hand.

"They lost horses?" he asked gently.

The girl shook her head. "Just a sweet old plow horse named Daisy," she answered to the contrary of her gesture.

"Well, that's not too bad."

"And two of my cousins." Her shoulders shook again with another dry heave. "Ingmar and Ilsa. Ilsa was just three. My uncle never got over it.”

“Oh...” Ragnar answered helplessly. He didn’t know what to say to that. He had never been good at comforting people. For lack of any other ideas, he started to raise his hand to make another attempt at touching her back, but lowered it again at the sight of the dog’s curling lip and white canines. The dog growled again, but this time the girl gave her a quick squeeze.

“Hush, Kajsa.” The girl swallowed again, obviously trying hard not to breathe.

The dog stopped growling, but, unseen by the girl, continued to bare her teeth in Ragnar‘s direction. Ragnar sat back on his heels.

“You’re not sick,” the girl said suddenly.

“What?”

“I saw you up on the roof swinging your feet. The innkeeper thought you might be ill.”

“Oh,” Ragnar grinned. “Nah. Not sick.”

“Why aren’t you helping with the fire, then?”

Ragnar shrugged. “I will. I did. But right now, I’m helping you.” He stood up. “If your dog would let me, I’d get you out of the main draught of the wind. You’d feel better.”

With her face still buried in the crook of her arm, the girl nodded. Carefully, she let go of the dog and pushed herself to her feet, picking up the little bundle she had been using as a hassock. She leaned heavily on Ragnar’s arm when he offered it and, slowly the two of them made their way out of the portion of the yard that was directly downwind from the stable. Instantly, the girl began to breathe easier. The dog, however, continued to regard Ragnar with narrowed eyes. It began to strike Ragnar as comical.

Still helping the girl along, he threw a glance over his shoulder to see what Olav was up to, only to find him standing still in the smoking ruins of the stable, watching him, his feet planted firmly in the ashes and a dark scowl on his face. Ragnar grinned and dropped him a wink.

[ElentariGreenleaf]

Findur leaned against the side of the inn away from where the fire had now been extinguished. His horse, Braelin, grazed not far away, though he was unaware of his master’s gaze upon him. How many horses had died in the terrible fire? Findur hoped that Byrn had survived. Aldor had loved that horse. As if to answer the Rohirrim’s question, a man with a blackened face and a large patch of singed hair walked aimlessly past. It took Findur several moments to recognise his dear friend Aldor. He noticed that Aldor’s eyes were half closed with little light being reflected. Findur was saddened to realise Aldor’s expression of misery was due to the death of Byrn.

“Aldor, I’m sorry,” said Findur, not knowing what else to say. He friend merely looked at him expressionlessly. “Your face, it needs to been seen to. It’s burnt,” he added, as Aldor gave him a confused look and touched his face. Aldor’s hand drew back quickly as pain shot through his face, as though it had only just appeared, though in truth he had been too much in shock to notice before now.

“You should have searched for him,” said Aldor monotonously. “You could have saved him, but instead you chose to be satisfied with saving your own horse.”

Findur was not surprised that Aldor was acting like this, but it still affected him deeply. “You know it wasn’t like that Aldor. I would have gone back in, by the flames were too fierce.”

“Oh really?” said Aldor angrily. “You didn’t see me cower away from the flames did you? I would have gone back in if it had been the other way around!”

“But it wasn’t the other way around, Aldor. Calm down.”

“Calm down?” roared Aldor. “I’ll give you ‘calm down’!” Without warning Aldor swung at Findur, landing a blow square on his chin. There was a loud crack and Findur spat out a broken tooth in the midst of some blood. He looked up at Aldor, but quickly ducked as he saw another blow come his way, though he couldn’t avoid the third and was hit hard in the ribs. He felt one crack, but he was little concerned about himself. He had to stop Aldor before someone with a sword did.

“Aldor, you’re being foolhardy!” As Aldor took another swing at him, Findur grabbed his arm with his left hand and punched him between the ribs with his right. Aldor staggered backwards, gasping for breath. He recovered quickly, and ran at Findur, knocking him painfully into the corner of the Inn. His head crashed against it, causing Findur to go extremely dizzy. Blood poured from a wound on the back of his head and he found it difficult to avoid Aldor’s blows. Now nearly every rage-driven punch was hitting Findur, with extreme force. He swung at Aldor, but Aldor dodged and used the opportunity to pummel Findur has hard as he could in the ribs. Another one broke.

[ November 22, 2003: Message edited by: ElentariGreenleaf ]

[Imladris]

I licked my golden fur as my master, Faran, dashed boldly into the two-legged fray to put out that dastardly fire. I, most sensibly I might add, hid in the bushes. Fire was a devouring monster and would not hesitate at the chance to gobble down a princely cat as myself.

Let me introduce myself: I am Goldwine and accompanied Faran to this inn. I don’t really know what our previous destination was or if we even had one so I suppose this inn is as good as any. I frowned: we were wanderers, he and I: Faran by choice, I by loyalty imposed duty. I wanted a haunt, I wanted a place that could be called my own, but was I granted it: certainly not. My only haunt was Faran’s shoulders. That, at least, was not denied me.

The wind brought forth a stench so pungent that it made me gag. I could feel the mephitis fume travel through my twitching nostril and pass over my tongue. My stomach heaved wretchedly and I wanted to throw up, which I couldn’t: dignity would not allowed that. I observed Faran speak with a woman with a border collie and I could tell that he didn’t care for the redolence of death that floated by him either. I watched him breathe deeply and I was proud of him: I, at the very least, had taught him to be impervious to such a minor thing as this.

I did feel sorry for the poor horses, though, and I wondered if any had died. I shrugged. What were horses to me? The only thing we had in common was that we ate grass - and that we had four legs - and that we had the same organs - and that we would both suffer the same fate in the end. I sighed. We weren’t so different, the labouring brutes and I.

I still noticed that Faran and the girl were still speaking to each other, and that the border collie as weakly hiding her sense of smell in the girl’s hand. I snorted disdainfully: stupid dogs. Emerging from the bushes, I minced towards the canine, my gold eyes glittering. I tried to decide how to best annoy the creature: most dogs enjoyed it when we felines teased them, scratched them, hissed at them. I tended to avoid hissing because my relatively small fangs drew unwanted attention from the dogs who had substantially larger ones. The dog did seemed to be much attached to her mistress, the girl, and therein, I deemed, was her weakness.

Subtly changing course, I neared the girl, but -- what’s this? She was leaving upon the arms of another man! My ploy was failing! I gasped and trotted quickly after all, and studied him. Drat him! Foiling me and all my well laid plans! I wouldn’t let her go and the chance to annoy such a dog as that collie go by so easily. With a mighty leap I flung myself onto her shoulders and steadied myself, letting my tail curl about her chin. Humans have a weakness for that: it nearly always makes them like me.

[ November 23, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Bêthberry]

OOC Game players and Game Managers of Rohan, please welcome Elentari Greenleaf to Rohan as not only a Game Player but Game Manager as well.

Good work in The Shire last summer on the game Hunt for the Dragon and tremendous posts here in The White Horse, Elentari. I look forward to gaming with you in Rohan.

Bêthberry,
Moderator for Rohan

[ November 24, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Writer of The Mark]

The two children realised soon enough that they would never be able to find Ruthven from here. Linnea's father was too close. They decided to go inside again, and find their way to the backdoor. This would be a much better starting point for the two of them, in hope not to be caught by Linnea's strict father. They hurried to slide through the door again, running through the common room.

"Here," Madi said, and pointed. Linnea followed. This boy clearly knew the Inn very well. Linnea wondered why.

Soon they were outside again, after using the back door. They were now standing behind the Inn, at the back entrance. This meant that the stable was well and 'far' away. Linnea could nevertheless hear voices from the people who were trying to put out the fire, and water which was thrown at the flames and made this hissing sound. She shuddered, looking up at Madi, who was standing looking out in the blue. "What are you looking at?" Linnea asked, when getting no response of any form, whatsoever. He hushed at her, again pointing.

"Do you see that tree?" he asked the girl, as she went forwards to have a better look. “Yes,” she answered. Madi hurried after her, but stopped however, when they reached the wall’s end. If they went around the corner now, someone might spot them. “We should get over there, and hide behind that tree!” Madi said, having a certain excitement in his voice. Linnea hesitated, while thinking of this. “We will be able to spot Ruthven then, without getting seen ourselves,” Madi continued, now overjoyed. Linnea agreed, this was indeed a brilliant plan.

They decided to halfway crawl and halfway bend down, to make themselves as small as possible. This was an excellent way to get unnoticed from the back of the Inn to the tree, standing some fifty paces away from the stable. Linnea halted;” It looks like someone is already sitting there,” she said nervously. Madi stopped crawling as well, and tried to get a better view, by stretching his neck for all it was worth. “Yes, you’re right,” he added. “But I don’t think that person will be a threat to our mission. If the person was, then he or she might as well…” he stopped. “Um, now I see, it’s a woman,” he said interrupting himself. He started again, meanwhile starting to crawl. Linnea followed. “You see, if that woman was a threat, she would likely not have been sitting by a tree when the stable is burning,” he said convincingly. Linnea agreed to this too, but added that the fire looked as if it was under control. “Only smoke,” she muttered merrily. Still, if there was no fire anymore, then her father had to be heading towards the room again, at the Inn. What would he do, when he couldn’t find his daughter there? He, was indeed a threat.

They sprang the last paces, hopefully not being seen my any adults, especially not by certain fathers...

"Children, I am delighted that you are here. Do you mind taking this to the Innkeeper?" she started, and continued before neither Linnea nor Madi could say anything: "Bethberry, I believe her name is." She looked at them, handing Madi a drawing. Linnea suddenly became aware of the danger they had put themselves in.

"Quickly, behind the tree," she urged Madi while running there herself. The woman looked oddly at them, but followed. She sat comfortably down with the children, giving a short laugh. None of them said anything, Linnea just tried to avoid the woman's eyes, which so eagerly stared at her and Madi.

"Bethberry is not here," Madi said, excusing himself. "She'll be back later though," he added as soon as he saw the disappointed expression in the woman's face. "Will you give it to the assistant Innkeeper then?" the woman asked, after while. Madi nodded. Meanwhile Linnea felt frightened by this woman's straight forwardness, about getting her own urgent errands done.

"Alywen, you mean?" Madi asked, even though he knew the answer. "What is this then?" he asked, while looking at the piece of paper. It appeared to be a drawing of a building; a one floor building, which had several small doors, odd doors, if Linnea could add. This could not be an ordinary building, or rather, it didn't look like it. Linnea snorted, making the lady move a bit to the left so Linnea could have a better look.

"Here," the woman said, having the brown hair in her eyes. "Now run my children, and please give this to Alywen, so she can give it to Bethberry when she returns. I must attend a birthday party, so you'll be my errand bearers today."

She gave a smile, before leaving them, hurrying away from the tree. Madi and Linnea could get a few glimpses of the woman, before she disappeared in the ocean of people, who had gathered around the Inn’s stable.

The children looked at the note, which the woman had slid down in Madi's hand. Linnea was only able to catch a name, before Madi closed his hand and raised:

Idona....

[ 10:24 AM December 02, 2003: Message edited by: Writer of The Mark ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Castar sat on the cold ground, wiping the sweat off of his face with the wrinkled shirt he had hurriedly put on when he heard the shouts through the window of his room. When the calls of alarm at the fire began, he and Windheneb were in their room, asleep for what they thought would be the whole night. Castar had finally managed to pry his attractive young friend away from the women and they turned in about an hour before the fire started. When the cries started, Castar awoke first. He shook his friend, and the two ran down to help. They found most of the inhabitants of the Inn and many from the town already their, aiding in the disaster that befell the Inn. Castar sought Aylwen as soon as he could, checking on her well-being. Windheneb wandered, and could now be seen flirting with a young maiden from the town that he obviously knew.

Castar coughed a bit in reaction to the smoke that still plagued his lungs. He rose to his feet and looked around at the remains of the stable. At least Tinu was alive. That had been another thing that Castar checked when the fire subsided. The poor bay horse was a bit frightened, but he would survive.

The potter absently brushed some hair out of his face, only to find it more difficult, as the hair was plastered to his face with sweat. Castar sighed and longed for a bath to wash the dirt and sweat off of himself.

Windheneb approached Castar after he finished his consultation with his young female acquaintance. He smiled brightly as he stood with his friend.

“Why such a dour expression, my friend?” he asked, “We are safe. The fire is no longer a threat. And,” he added, nodding towards the poor horse, “You still have your traveling companion. That is more than many here can say.”

Castar nodded. “I suppose,” he said, “I should feel lucky. But I still feel sorry for those others that will have no means of returning home from the fair.”

“Ah, my noble chum, they will find aid in this town. We are generous when it comes to those in need. Speaking of aid,” Windheneb said, changing topic, “As I passed some of those that work in this good Inn, I heard them discuss the necessity of reconstructing the barn. I hoped you might have the ability to remain here and aid in the project. I intend to lend my own abilities to this undertaking.”

Castar looked at Windheneb. He truly wanted to stay a bit with the good Lady Aylwen. Windheneb was also a pleasant companion, even if he did have a more than healthy interest in the opposite sex. But his parents did expect him to head back home the following day. Castar explained this lamentable circumstance to Windheneb, who merely smiled.

“I knew you would say something along those lines. Hence why I had Bea fetch Zîra. And here she comes now!”

Castar was about to ask who Bea was, but thought better of it. It was most likely the pretty young lady Windheneb was chatting with a few minutes ago. A girl came around handing water to the men that had aided with the extinguishing of the fire. Castar took the mug and took a drink, looking in the direction Castar had looked in when he claimed to see his sister, Zîra coming with another girl that had to be another of Windheneb’s relatives by her appearance. In his haste to drink the water and his surprise at his rediscovery of the beauty of Windheneb’s family, Castar nearly choked on the water, spraying it at Windheneb a bit.

“Calm, friend! You act as though you did not meet Zîra already,” Windheneb said, laughing heartily.

“Who is the other girl?” Castar asked as they approached. His face, already a little red from a fire, was now redder still both from his choking and his embarrassment.

“Wait for them to come and maybe you shall find out,” Windheneb said, still chuckling. “And I think I will take this before you do any more harm.” He took the mug of water from Castar and drank the rest. He placed the mug on the ground and smiled at his approaching sisters.

“Zîra, you brought Kalia,” Windheneb said merrily. “That is well, for I do not believe that she met our good friend, Castar.”

“Luthur, we meet again, I see,” Zîra said, smiling at Castar, who, in his staring, nearly forgot that Luthur was, in fact, his given name. “I trust all is well? You did not lose anything in the fire, did you?”

“I – erm…no. Tinu is well. Tinu is my horse. He is over there. He is a bay,” Castar said, losing his tongue.

“I am familiar with horse colors, yes,” Zîra said, smiling. “This is Kalia, my cousin. Oh, and, Windheneb, Bea told me what you wanted me to do, hence why I brought Kalia. I believe she will be able to do what you ask. I, as you seem to have forgotten, do have mouths to feed at home.”

“It is just as well, Sister,” Windheneb said, smiling.

Kalia finally spoke. Her voice was merry, although still a bit naïve in its nature. “What do you need, Winny?” She ruffled his hair as she asked. Windheneb flinched both at the gesture and the comment.

Windheneb explained that Castar desired to stay in the town, but his parents expected him home. He wanted Kalia to take Tinu to Castar’s home to tell Battir and Phâryn of Castar’s decision to stay in the town for a time. Kalia nodded and smiled. Castar noted that she already had on a riding skirt, with slits in the front and back. She obviously already knew what Windheneb would ask her. Kalia agreed to make the trip to Eodrath, provided Castar gave her directions.

As Castar saddled Tinu, he told Kalia how to get to Eodrath. One basically just had to follow the road. Since she was riding without many supplies, it should take no more than two or three days to get there and back. Castar cautioned Kalia about robbers and potholes and the like. He began to tell her how to ride a horse when Kalia grabbed his hand. This touch stopped his talking immediately.

“I have ridden before,” she said, smiling, “In fact, it is far from my first time. I am perhaps the second best female rider in the family, second only to Zîra. I will get Tinu to your home and back safely. I promise that I will not get into trouble.”

Castar smiled and blushed as the girl let go of his hand and swung up onto the sixteen-hand bay as easily as if he were a pony. Castar watched as she galloped into the dark.

“Will she be safe?” Castar asked Windheneb as he rejoined his friend beside Zîra.

“There is no better person to undertake that chore,” Zîra said comfortingly, “Kalia knows how to take care of herself. She is more of a tomboy than she seems.”

“And she’s gone, you can put your tongue back in your mouth,” Windheneb teased. He flinched as Zîra smacked him on the back of the head for the comment.

Castar smiled at the two siblings. He scanned the crowd for Aylwen. She was speaking with some of the other villagers and seemed to be busying herself with tending to those that needed aid of any sort.

“M’Lady Aylwen,” Castar said as he crossed over to her. She looked at him and smiled briefly. “I just wanted to tell you that I will stay and aid in the rebuilding of the barn…as long as it takes. Windheneb sent his cousin to tell my parents.”

“That is good,” Aylwen said, “We can use all the help we can muster.”

“Windheneb will be helping too,” Castar said, helpfully. It was obvious that Aylwen was occupied, so Caster politely took his leave of her and returned to Windheneb and his sister. When Castar returned, Zîra took her leave and wished both men a good night.

Windheneb and Castar stood among the people, looking for a sign of what needed to be done in the hopes of assisting any that needed attention.

“I wonder if there will be anything done this evening,” Windheneb mused out loud. “I doubt it. They shall probably want a fresh start in the morning. There is no harm in waiting. I could not sleep if I desired, I do not believe.”

“Nor could I,” Castar admitted, watching Aylwen be useful, running errands and the like. She made him feel so useless. He wished he knew what he could do to be of service to the good people of the town. Well, he was going to aid with the rebuilding of the barn.

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

OOC: Welcome Elentari Greenleaf!

[The X Phial]

Lathyn found Deol stalking back toward the mill. She matched his pace and tugged on his sleeve impatiently.

"What do you want, girl? Unlike you, I have things to do. I don't have time to be pushed around by a child all day."

The girl stopped, hurt, and watched as her 'betrothed' stomped on toward the clanging mill. She considered running past him and into the mill herself. She could get her Papa to tell Deol to go himself. Then he'd learn not to ignore her!

Then again, last time she had gone into the mill by herself she had been punished and told it was too dangerous for her. Sighing, she tried again.

"Deol, my Mama needs Lairwyn. You need to go to Edoras right away!"

He stopped and turned. "What did she say?"

"That her water was cracked and that you need to tell Papa and then hurry to the city and tell Lairwyn to come back."

Deol looked into her face and saw real concern there. He pushed down his annoyance with the girl and concentrated on what she was saying. He didn't know what cracked water was, but it sounded bad.

"Go back inside, Lathyn, and help your mother. I will ride as soon as I have told your father," he said, and watched her run back up the path.

He, in turn, sprinted to the mill and found Aldhelm overseeing the grinding.

"The stones need oiling, Deol," was his greeting.

"I will do it when I return from Edoras, sir, but just now your wife needs a midwife. I am riding to find Lairwyn."

Aldhelm turned to his apprentice, excited. "It is time now, is it?" He beamed and then a look of worry settled unto his features.

He took Deol by the arm and led him out into the sunshine where the grinding of the giant stone would not interrupt their conversation.

"How close is she?"

"I don't really know, sir. Lathyn said something about cracked water."

The miller chuckled. "I think she meant broke. The water has broken. Ah, then it is soon indeed. Take Leothal, then. He is fast and will not tire on the trip to town. I hope the midwife does not mind riding without a cart."

He handed Deol a bag of coins and patted him on the back.

"Take these coins to her, and tell her the babe is on its way."

They strode up the path together, Deol stopping at the stable and Aldhelm making his way to the house.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Deol found Lairwyn's house without difficulty, and soon they were on their way back to the mill. Lairwyn eschewed a cart in favor of her own steed since that would bring them back to the river more quickly.

"I am only glad she was not stabbled at the Horse," she said as she saddled her mare.

"Why not?" Deol inquired.

"Did you not see the smoke? The White Horse's stable was aflame earlier. The horses bolted. Thank goodness no one was seriously hurt, at least not that I have heard."

"Bethberry will not be happy to hear of this fire, I shouldn't think. She was supposed to stay at the mill tonight."

Lairwyn frowned to herself. "I will have to serve as both midwife and friend in her stead. Bethberry is needed in Edoras."

They passed the gate guards easily, as Deol was well-known to them, and were soon hurrying back to the mill. Haste was needed, for there was both news and an infant that needed delivery.

[Ealasaide]

Olav walked through the smoldering ruins of the stables stamping out small fires as he came to them, or pointing out hot spots to the women and children who followed with buckets. As he went, he noticed the burnt corpses of several horses who had perished in the fire and felt a stab of pain at the sight of each one of them. Poor creatures! All they did was serve, selflessly carrying their riders until they dropped if that was what was asked of them. He wondered what could be done about burying them. They deserved better than to lie there in the ashes. He had a strong back. He could help.

Sighing, he turned to look for the little farm girl, Sigrid. He knew he probably should not have been quite so forward with her right away, but something about her wide-eyed country girl charm had filled him with the urge to tease her just a little bit. He could always make amends later. When he finally located her, though, he stopped short in his tracks. Leaning heavily on Ragnar's arm, she was heading for the front door of the inn. Olav felt a flash of fury as just at that moment Ragnar chose to throw him a grin over his shoulder and a sly wink. Olav scowled darkly in response.

It wasn't that Sigrid was the prettiest girl in town. She wasn't. A real beauty had just galloped out of the yard on the back of a bay horse. So, why was he so angry? Well, for one thing, he liked her. He liked the way the corners of her lips turned up when she smiled. He liked the way she tilted her head when she asked him a question. And, he liked the way she threw herself into the hard work of the bucket line without hesitation even though she was just a skinny little thing. She would be nothing to Ragnar, just a moment's fun before he was off to something else. Olav decided right then that he wouldn't allow it to happen this time. He was tired of Ragnar, with his striking good looks and slick charm, moving in on every girl Olav had ever taken a liking to.

As he started in the direction of Ragnar and Sigrid, he stopped short as a yellow tabby cat appeared out of nowhere and leaped up on to the shoulders of the girl, wrapping its fluffy tail around her neck. She straightened abruptly, letting go of Ragnar's arm, and reached back to touch the cat. He watched as Ragnar reached for the cat, as well, but she waved him off. It was then that Olav caught sight of the dog at Sigrid's knee. Caught up in the surprise of the cat, neither Sigrid or Ragnar noticed as the dog crouched behind them, gazing fixedly up at the cat. Then, with a single high-pitched bark, the dog launched herself at the cat.

Yowling, the cat puffed himself up to what Olav thought was roughly twice his previous size, and arched his back, digging his claws into Sigrid's shoulders. She screeched and tried to grab the cat, which only made the cat panic and try climbing from her shoulders to the top of her head. The dog jumped again and the cat, seeking higher ground, leaped from the girl's shoulders straight at Ragnar's face. He tried to block it with his arm, but the desperate cat caught hold of his sleeve with all four paws and climbed up his arm to his shoulders. Then, with a mighty spring, the cat launched himself from Ragnar's shoulders into space, landing a good eight feet away with the black and white border collie close on his heels. The two animals bolted from the yard and around the corner of the inn.

"Kajsa!" the girl shouted and took off running after the dog. Olav, then, broke out of the freeze he had been in and took off running as well. He passed Ragnar, who joined the chase after him at a jog, laughing hard.

Olav rounded the corner just in time to see the cat, followed closely by the dog, charge nearly under the feet of two men, who from all appearances looked like they were trying to kill each other. Both had bloodied faces and one doubled over slightly to one side as though his ribs had been injured. Ahead of Olav, Sigrid stopped short at the sight of them. Olav slowed his pace slightly, but jogged past her in the direction of the two combatants.

In the distance, the cat scrambled up into the branches of a tree. The dog danced and leaped around the foot of the tree, barking furiously.

"Hey!" Olav called in a friendly tone to the men who had been fighting. "What's going on? Is everything all right?" He continued moving slowly toward them. Looking at their faces, he could see that this was more than just a bar brawl carried over to the outside. Something else was happening, and judging by the burns on the face and head of the one man, he had a strong feeling that it had something to do with the fire. "Maybe I can help, eh?"

Behind him, he could sense Ragnar stepping into place behind his shoulder. If the two strangers decided to stop pounding each other and try to pound him, at least Olav knew he would not be alone in the fight. For all his faults, Ragnar was worth twice his own weight in a brawl.

[ November 25, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[alaklondewen]

Lairwyn placed the leather reigns into Deol’s hands as she slid off the back of her tan mare. She stood still for one moment and collected her thoughts as the boy led the horses to the stables. Maedlyn would surely be nervous about this birth, and Lairwyn would have to work with precision, strength, and care. The breaking of the woman’s water concerned her slightly. If the child did not come soon, they might face the possibility of infection.

When she reached the house, the door was open and held by Bethberry who greeted Lairwyn enthusiastically. “Thank you, Bethberry. Deol and I rode as quickly as we could. I’m afraid I have to be the bearer of some disturbing news.”

“Please, come in, Lairwyn. Have a seat and tell us the news.” Maedlyn called from the small, sunlit kitchen. The woman had remained out of Lairwyn’s sight until this point, and the midwife looked deeply into Meadlyn’s eyes. The pregnant woman wore a strong face, but fear was behind her gaze. With a slight nod of understanding, Lairwyn lowered herself into the offered chair.

“Bethberry, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the barn at the White Horse was ablaze this morning…I’m sorry.” Lairwyn reached across the table and gently touched the innkeepers arm.

Bethberry remained silent for a moment or two before she turned to Maedlyn and took the woman’s hand. “I must go and tend to the inn. Will you be alright?”

“Of course, I will…go. You have work to do.”

“Don’t worry…she’s in good hands,” Lairwyn said confidently.

With that, Bethberry nodded and strode from the room and the house. As soon as she was gone, Lairwyn turned again to Maedlyn. “How are you feeling? Do you feel any pressure?”

Maedlyn nodded. “They’re coming closer together now.”

“Good, the time is coming then. Here let me help you into the bedroom.” As Lairwyn offered her hand to Maedlyn, she glanced up and caught a glimpse of Maedlyn and Aldhelm’s daughter peeking around the door. She pretended not to notice her. “Is Lathyn about? I could use her help.”

“I’m here, Miss Lairwyn!” Lathyn spoke up slowly as she revealed herself.

“Oh good, I’m glad. Do you think you could help me today getting your mother ready for the new baby?” Wide-eyed, the girl nodded. “Good. First help me take her into the bedroom. Then, you need to put a pot of water on to boil, and I’ll need any extra sheets you can bring to me. Okay?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Lairwyn smiled warmly at the girl before turning her attention back to Maedlyn who was now on her feet and, with a little help, making her way to her bed for a long, hard, and joyous event.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:13 PM December 05, 2003: Message edited by: alaklondewen ]

[dragoneyes]

"Hey! What's going on? Is everything all right?" A man's voice reached Aldors ears. Was he being addressed? Why wouldn't everything be all right? He'd only lost his bird and his horse, why wouldn't he be fine? The tortured form of his beloved steed's body flashed before his eyes and he clenched his fist again, he must help, what could he do? "Maybe I can help, eh?" Aldor's fist relaxed again. Why would he be the one that needed help? Surely the stable was still flaming. The flames flickering around his Byrn's body floated before his eyes and he stepped back from it, he couldn't do anything.

He sensed another being approaching his side and his head snapped towards the movement. The movement stopped. The blinding rage that had consumed him began to melt away and dissipate. He could see a man's form through a mist of tears, he looked to be tense and ready for any sudden move. Why? What would harm him here? Another image came to him, a fist connecting with a chest with a satisfying crack. The fist drew back and flew forward again towards a face, a face he knew.

"Findur." he mumbled and took another step backwards. What had he done? He couldn't have, could he? He forced eyes to look upon his friend. Findur was clutching at his ribs as he hobbled towards Aldor. Findur could see the rage had gone and was trying to help, but Aldor wouldn't let him. Aldor put his hand up to Findur. "No, stay away." He rasped.

Aldor stepped backwards once more, he wanted to be away from this place, he didn't deserve to be here, he didn't deserve to be surrounded by such caring and helpful folk. He could hear someone talking, but he couldn't comprehend it, he was locked firmly in his own world. He fell to his knees, unwanted scenes playing over and over before his eyes. He shut them tight but the visions remained. He raised his eyes upward to the sun struggling to show herself through the remaining smoke.

Someone was approaching him, he couldn't tell who but he knew he didn't want them to come near. He ripped his leather glove from his belt where it still faithfully hung and threw it wildly away from him, releasing the last of his anger with an animalistic cry of rage. Then the tears came and Aldor let them fall unashamedly. He buried his face in his hands despite the pain and let his grief fly freely.

[ 4:20 PM November 26, 2003: Message edited by: dragoneyes ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The process of putting the fire out had been successfully completed, just before noontime and much to Aylwen’s relief. Pails had been neatly stacked away by the Inn door, and fire-stampers began to exit what remained of the stable. While no fire remained alight, no wood had been left whole and the dirt was sprinkled with dark ashes of both wood and horseflesh. Aylwen began to thank Leofan and the other people who had help end the chaotic fire.

“I have skill as a carpenter and I would like to offer my services to help the Inn build a new barn,” someone’s voice sounded behind the Assistant Innkeeper, catching her off-guard. Turning around, Aylwen came face-to-face with a tall, frail-looking young man with golden hair and slightly mournful blue eyes. Aylwen smiled kindly and put a hand on his shoulder before replying.

“And do you happen to have a name?” Aylwen asked, looking into the man’s deep blue eyes. Upon closer examination Aylwen noticed that the young man was not as frail as he seemed. He was stronger than Aylwen first thought. The man couldn’t have been much older than she was, but Aylwen could not be sure and decided to settle with first impressions as the man answered her.

“Faran, miss,” the man replied, and Aylwen nodded.

“Faran, I want to thank you for your offer,” Aylwen began, choosing her words carefully. “And if it really is no inconvenience to you, I would appreciate all the help you decide to give. I’m sure everyone else here appreciates it too. You won’t be alone, and perhaps I can give you room here while you help. Does that sound good to you?”

Before Faran could answer, a little hand began tugging on the back of Aylwen’s skirt. Aylwen turned and looked down to see Madi and a little girl she hadn’t seen before looking up at her. Aylwen turned back to Faran and grinned sheepishly, excusing herself and assuring Faran that she would speak with him again soon. As Faran nodded and walked off, Aylwen turned back to Madi and the little girl.

“Hello, Madi. Who is your friend? Can I help you with something?” Aylwen asked, surprised that the little man would be coming to her for something. Probably just because Bethberry isn’t here right now, Aylwen told herself as Madi opened his mouth to speak.

“Map for Berry,” Madi grunted, handing Aylwen a slip of paper. Before Aylwen could say anything else, Madi and his friend began sneaking off towards the brush as if on some covert operation. Aylwen sighed and put the piece of paper in her apron pocket before going back to her original task. She continued inviting people into the Inn for lunch and thanking people for their generous help that day.

“M’Lady Aylwen,” Aylwen turned at the call, and smiled warmly as Castar stood near her. “I just wanted to tell you that I will stay and aid in the rebuilding of the barn…as long as it takes. Windheneb sent his cousin to tell my parents.”

“That is good,” Aylwen replied softly. “We can use all the help we can muster.”

“Windheneb will be helping too,” Castar added, but his voice faded as he excused himself politely. Aylwen remembered something as he left and went off to find him again. When she did find him he was speaking to Windheneb and another woman (apparently another friend of Windheneb’s).

“Castar, Windy,” Aylwen said, catching their attention. “Why don’t you come in for lunch while we see who we’ve got for help? You can take your friend too.”

Castar nodded, smiled at Aylwen, and led Windheneb and the woman to the door of the Inn. Aylwen moved on, and before long she was able to go into the Inn and get things ready for repairs. Aylwen decided that they would probably start the next day, depending on how much help they had.

Oh, won’t Bethberry be surprised when she gets home, Aylwen thought glumly.

[Bêthberry]

Relief and Aftermath

Ruthven had been more than a little relieved to find her fears proven groundless: Madi's liveless body had not been found among the charred and fallen timbers. She had stomped through the last flickering embers and smouldering timbers with this new fellow Olav, who was a capble and reliable hand. Animals they had lost, yes, but there was no loss of human life. Ruthven had ultimately shrugged to herself and recognized with a silly, silent grin that she should have known Madi could play more tricks on her than she had assumed. What would become of him she did not know but at least he had not been lost to the flames.

After clapping the fellow Olav on the back for his final efforts at stomping out the last remaining embers, and stepping over charred timbers and around puddles, Ruthven had left the ruined stable and walked away from the commotion. It was a costly tragedy even without loss of human life. Several horses, all tack, saddles, reins, supplied, the stable itself were all lost. She was sure this would create hardships for Bethberry, since rebuilding would be costly. Yet there were eager hands about to rebuild. Edoras still had a community. Then Ruthven spied Aylwen having her hands full with those flirts, Windheneb and Castar. Heh, she thought to herself, Community might not be the motivation here.


Rounding the corner of the Inn, Ruthven came upon two bedraggled men who were being stared down by Olav and Ragnar. More trouble for The White Horse? she wondered. Bethberry would not be pleased to have it said that The Horse had become a place for common brawls. Yet all of these men had been instrumental in helping to put out the fire.

A quick survey of the scene convinced Ruthven that Olav and Ragnar were not ready to extend the fisticuffs. They looked cheerful and accommodating and for that she was thankful.

"Olav, again my thanks for your quick attention and that of your friend. The Inn itself was likely saved by your thoughtful efforts."

Olav turned to the old woman and smiled. "It was nothing. Just something which needed to be done."

"Are you looking for work in these parts?"

"Maybe."

"I heard the Assistant Innkeeper, the young woman Aylwen, say that she would be needing carpenters and builders. Would you and your friend be able to spare a hand and some time?"

"Likely," Olav replied. "Ragnor, what say we saunter over to the other young lass and see what her plans are?" In all this, Olav of course had Sigrid on his mind.

Ragnor grinned. "Sure," he said, knowing very well what was prompting Olav's desire to get him away from Sigrid. "Let's see what the three of us can offer Miss Aylwen."

As they moved off, Ruthven turned her attention to the other men. About them hung the air of tragic loss; she suspected they had lost horses in the fire.

"You've paid a harsh price for the fire?"

"Aye," answered Findur, slowly and painfully. "That we have. Aldor has lost his Byrn. I have my Braelin, though."

"It appears you two have nearly lost your heads as well. You are a sorry looking lot, you are, bloodied and beaten like wild men or Dunlanders."

Aldor looked up at her out of his misery; he could hear her better than he could see her. He went to open his mouth, but the burns about his face cracked and pulled and he winced with pain. Findur leaned over, favouring his side and breathing with difficulty.

"A horse is a valuable thing, and dear companion," whispered Findur with regret tinged with shame. "I could not save Byrn."

"So is a peaceable community. And your friend has lost a goodly amount of skin and hair as well. Come, it won't do to be found here in a cheap brawl. You're likely to be removed from Edoras for it and your aid with the fire ignored. I'll find you a place where you can recover with few questions asked."

Ruthven was hoping that Bethberry would return soon. That woman could set bones and mend burns without having to report them. It would do the men no good to be sent away without aid or healing; it might even lead to their death, although Ruthven knew from sombre experience that such a concern would matter little to some of the powers these days in Edoras.

[ 11:54 AM November 28, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

"Through Rohan over fen and field,
Where the long grass grows.
Land of those who breed fine steeds,
The best that Arda knows..."

The voice that sang the song paused occasionally as the owner made it up, but it nonetheless flowed, the melancholy tune in a minor key fitting the simple words that were fitted to it on the spur of the moment. Changing to whistling jauntily, as there didn't seem to be much point in continuing with the words - he could do words and he could do tunes, but a creator of words to songs straight of he was not - the rider turned the corner from the narrow street of high houses, simultaneously letting out a sigh of relief that once more light could fully reach him, and a gasp as he saw the plume of smoke reaching high into the clouds. Tipping his head back, his jaw-length sandy-blonde hair falling back out of the way of a smooth, sophisticated face, Hisimé stopped whistling, staring up at the flames, his animated dark blue eyes, so dark they were almost navy, wide in surprise, before he urged on Sentinel, digging in his heels gently and clicking in his throat. It looked like the fire must mostly be out, for there were no high flames greedily licking at the sky, but that was not to saw it was fully out, and a putrid stench hung in the streets of Edoras, and the folk there might need help. Coming at a careful, practised canter down the narrowd streets, Hisimé made his way as best he could down the unknown streets towards the smoke's origin, wondering what had caused the blaze.

Dismounting quickly as he reached it, the young man took in the startling scene - smoke still coming from the stable which had apparently been the centre of the blaze, people running to and fro, horses tied up willy nilly outside, stamping their feet nervously despite some folk's efforts to calm them. Catching onto their mood, Sentinal shifted uneasily, his nostrils flaring as the scent disturbed him, although he restrained his panic as a military horse is trained to, and now Hisimé took it in more carefully, he too recognised the stench: horseflesh and horsehair.

"I heard the Assistant Innkeeper, the young woman Aylwen, say that she would be needing carpenters and builders..."

A snatch of a conversation floated by and Hisimé relaxed slightly: if they were looking already for repairs to be made, the fire must indeed be out. A makeshift place to leave horses had apparently been rigged up a safe distance away, and uncertainly, the young man led Sentinel towards them. A capable looking young women came towards him, half frowning, and Hisimé held back slightly. She smiled in a business-like fashion. "I have experience with them, and say that in Rohan."

Understanding her meaning, Hisimé grinned sheepishly and reached into a pocket of his brown tunic, under which was a white shirt and over which was a dark riding cloak. As he offered her a few silver coins for her trouble, the woman ignored his hand. Puzzled, but pleased, the Gondorian left his thanks with her and went towards the Inn, his straight, disciplined way of holding himself speaking accurately of a soldier, taking the few steps as one and opening the door quickly before he stepped into the rather chaotic room where a young woman with an air of respected authority over the chaos was apparently preparing to make an announcement. The Innkeeper, maybe?

[Writer of The Mark]

“Map for Berry,” Madi had grunted. Shortly after, they sneaked off and left the assistant Innkeeper, still looking for the old crooked lady named Ruthven. Linnea stopped for a while and gave thought to what Madi had just said.

"It wasn't a map, you know," she said.

They hid behind something which looked very much like a brush, only it wasn't. Linnea knew that much. Madi hadn't answered; he was just staring into the air, probably trying to spot Ruthven anywhere near. The little girl beside him went quiet as well, and was more concerned whether her father knew she wasn't in her room like she was supposed to be.

"I know that," Madi said. Linnea looked at him, examining the reaction in his face before drawing the conclusion that he was probably lying. She grinned, but said nothing. "I read the note," he said, turning his head towards the girl, who had been watching him for a while now. He told Linnea about the woman named Idona, and how she had expressed that she was willing to help construct a new possible stable. The drawing was of course only a draft.

"A new stable?" Linnea wondered.

"Yeah, we probably need a new one after this," Madi said and pointed towards the stable, which was now only ashes. The Stable had burnt to the ground.

Linnea nodded. She wondered if her horse was safe, but didn't dare express her concerns now. The only thing Madi and Linnea would have to worry about now, was to find Ruthven and that quickly! Soon, Linnea urged Madi to come forwards; they couldn't sit behind this brush all day. "Come on, we must take the risk," she repeated, taking Madi's arm, trying to drag him up. Madi did as told, even though it was a request from a seven years old determined girl.

She hushed at him, as they approaced the crowd, the commotion and the stable which was no more. Linnea gazed around, not only looking for Ruthven but also her father. After all, she had been very unlucky with this choice; 'picking' a father, her father...

The crowd had thinned out by the time Linnea got tired. Already she had pointed out a number of old ladies, which apparently hadn't been Ruthven. Every time Linnea had pointed at different women, Madi had answered silently: "Ruthven has greyer hair. Ruthven is slimmer. Ruthven is taller," and so on. This is hopeless, Linnea thought, shrugging as Madi asked her something about her father. "No, I haven't seen him either," she muttered.

"Now, let's go back into the Inn again through the backdoor," Linnea said with determination. "Ruthven is obviously not outside," she added, springing away. She stopped only to stare into one of the dark windows, eyeing Madi, springing after. He had caught up with her by the time they rounded the inn.

"Come on," Madi urged the young girl. She ran as fast as she could, looking down into the ground.

"Ouch!!"

Linnea stopped, but couldn't help to run into a woman who stood talking with two middle-aged men.

"Sorry," she stammered and tried to get away from the woman's grim face. "I am really sorry," she added, now staring into the ground.

"Ruthven!" Madi cried suddenly. Linnea didn't say anything, just looked up and examined the woman's face, it was indeed Ruthven, whom they had been looking for.

[ 10:36 AM December 02, 2003: Message edited by: Writer of The Mark ]

[Daniel Telcontar]

Talan rose from his bed, and laid his hand upon his brow; it wasn't warm anymore. A bucket of fresh water stood upon the floor, and he drank some of it before splashing another part into his face. The water freshened him, and he felt it was time to leave the little room where he had been for several weeks, struggling against the fever.

He made his way through the inn, nodding and smiling to those few he met, who expressed their relief that he was now doing better. He searched for Bethberry until he remembered the last time she had seen him, she had said something about leaving; he shrugged and guessed he had to go find Aylwen instead.

When he finally found her, he muttered a greeting before speaking: "As you can see for yerself, I am doin' better now; ready to do me job again. I don't know much about timber and carpenter and that sort o' thing, but me guess is, an extra pair of hands are always needed for such work. So you don't be afraid to call me if them workers need me, I sure could use to do a bit of work after being in that room for so long a time."

[Orual]

Tamurilo winced as a sharp rock cut into his foot, nearly causing him to stumble. His little daughter, Eruvalde, was asleep in his arms, her golden hair cascading down his back. Her fingers twitched from some impulse in the depth of her slumber, and her father smiled sadly.

Their home was in the south, southwest of Gondor. Tamurilo was a farmer by trade, tall and broad, with the dark skin of a southerner and a keen mind. He would ship his goods to Gondor, where he never had trouble making a living. He lived there with his wife, Losse, and their daughter, Eruvalde. Losse was a daughter of Rohan, which was where Eruvalde received her waves of blonde hair. Certainly not from Tamurilo, whose hair was straight and dark brown.

Eruvalde shifted in her sleep, and Tamurilo paused for a moment. She turned her head toward her father, her hot breath on his neck, then did not move again. Tamurilo sighed and started on his way again.

Being an ally of Gondor since his birth, Tamurilo was not popular among the men of the south, his kin. He tried to live his life normally, for his family's sake, despite this animosity, but it proved a mistake.

In the dark of the night, some more bitter cousins of his stole into his home and started to destroy the place. Losse had woken up and grabbed Eruvalde out of her room, then run into the main room, where she was met by the intruders. Tamurilo ran behind her, and she shoved Eruvalde into his arms. Her words rang in his head still:

Take her and run. I'll meet you in Rohan! I love you!

Dazed by all of the activity, he could hardly think twice about his wife's order, so he obeyed her. He took Eruvalde and ran. The last he saw of his house, it was going up in flames.

Eruvalde stirred again, and sat up. "Are we at Momma's house yet?" she asked, her voice hoarse with sleep. She rubbed her eyes, which were the same dark redwood colour as her father's, and tilted her head back onto Tamurilo's shoulder.

Her father shook his head. "We are not, little one," he said, stroking her hair, "but we'll be there soon, I warrant. Would you like to walk?" Eruvalde nodded, and he set her down on the ground. "Take hold of my hand, and don't let go, mind. I don't want to lose you, Ru."

Eruvalde gripped onto her father's hand tightly. "You won't lose me, Papa," she said. She rested her head against Tamurilo's big hand. "Don't worry."

Tamurilo squeezed her hand and led her on down the road.

He caught a whiff of charred wood, and quickened his pace. He felt a little guilty about it, but the sight of a burned building gladdened him. He had some skill as an architect, and more as a carpenter. Perhaps he could find some work here, and a place for Eruvalde and him to sleep.

Picking up his daughter again, he walked up to a young woman who seemed to be in charge of the situation. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said, nodding his head respectfully, "but I can't help but notice that you might need a few hands around here. I have a set myself that are fairly capable, and a little girl who needs a room for the night. Might you be able to give me some work?"

[Bêthberry]

"Ruthven!" Madi cried suddenly.

Surprised, the old pedlar looked up.

"Madi Codex! And here I was worried you had been trapped in the fire. What mischief are you up to now, dragging a young girl around who ought to be in her room?"

"I dragged him out," spoke up Linnea proudly. "You had said you were looking for him and I was the one who found him."

"So it seems, my child. Yet you haven't found your clothes or shoes, have you?" replied Ruthven, her brusqueness not discounting her concern.

"Oh, hmm," was all the girl responded, becoming self-conscious about her bare feet and her nightdress, which was stained now with grass and some mud.

"Here," announced the old woman, as she took off her old brown woolen shawl and wrapped it around the girl. "This will help you look like a grand adventurer from Gondor, a cloak of mystery and intrigue it is."

Madi rolled his eyes and snorted. "That doesn't look like any clothes I saw in Minky Ting."

Ruthven shot Madi a look of reproof. "And I suppose we are all to be enthralled by your imagination, are we?"

Madi ran towards Ruthven, lowering his head and actually trying to head butt her. "Yes," he retorted, smugly, with a great deal of self-satisfaction, before she caught him and held him off.

"Madi, I've not such a soft heart as Bethberry has. Your stories won't work on me, not when you have to resort to lies to make them work, for I see through your lies faster than she does. "

"Lies! What lies have I told!" he responded indignantly.

Linnea spoke up at this point. "You did, you did. You called the drawing a map." She squirmed under the shawl, the wool tickling her but not in an uncomfortable way. "And I like my magic cloak. It will make me invisible."

"I hope it will, child, for I fear what your father will say or do if he catches you here instead of in your room. Off with you now. The excitement here is over."

"But I brought your boy to you."

"He's not my boy, Linnea. We don't know who he belongs to. Perhaps he can tell you that as the two of you return to The Horse. Now, go, so your father won't be worried and become angry." And with that, Ruthven playfully shoved Madi off towards the Inn and turned to the two men who had started to wander off.

She whispered confidentially to them. "There's a small shed built onto the back of the bakery, on the next street over. It is used for storing flours and sugars. And it is warm. It will be a good place for you to stay, at least until you can clean yourselves up so you don't look like ruffians and draw the wrong attention."

With that, the three of them, Ruthven, Aldor and Findur, began to walk away from the Inn.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Writers of the Mark! A reminder:

It is currently the 3rd Age, about ten years prior to the War of the Ring in the White Horse. It is late morning, close to noon time, and the season is early summer. The Innkeeper, Bêthberry, is currently away from the White Horse. Aylwen the Assistant Innkeeper and many townsfolk and White Horse staff just put out a fire which has left the stable in ashes.

Ongoing Characters:

Inn Staff:
Bêthberry, the Innkeeper
Aywlen Dreamsong, the Assistant Innkeeper
Froma, the cook
Leofa, (Nurumaiel) stablehand, and his entire family
Talan (Daniel Telcontar), handyman and bouncer
Iona (Varda), scullery maid and serving girl


Visitors/Friends to the Inn:
Aldhelm, Deol, Maedlyn, Lathyn (The X Phial)
Aleia, Anwir,(Horse Maiden of the Shire)
Lairwyn, (alaklondewen)
Aldor, (dragoneyes)
Findur, (ElantariGreenleaf)
Ruthven (Bethberry)
Madi (Idgian & Others), little man from Minas Tirith (Minky Ting) staying at the Inn
Sigrid, Ragnar, and Olav (Ealasaide)
Linnea (small child), Idona (local resident) (Writer of the Mark)
Faran, Goldwine (Imladris)
Ælfritha, (Bêthberry) a horse mistres
Castar, Windheneb and his many lady friends (VanimaEdhel)
Hisimé, (Amanaduial the Archer)
Tamurilo, Eruvalde, (Orual)

Forth Eorlingas!

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:07 PM December 07, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Nurumaiel]

Frodides searches for Leofan

Frodides stood just outside the main crowd, clutching Mærcwen's hand tightly. The people were still rushing about, putting out the last of the flames and calming the frightened horses. Frodides stood on tiptoe and tried to find Leofan in the great mass of people that swarmed about, but she could not see him no matter how she tried. Mærcwen was crouching down and playing with some blades of grass and gazing up at Mihtig, who had pulled himself away from whoever had been watching him and found his way to the two. The little girl seemed completely lost as to what had just happened. "Mærcwen, please don't play with the dirt," Frodides murmured.

"I've not playing with the dirt, Mamma," the girl protested, turning her head upwards. "I'm playing with the grass." Frodides gave her a faint smile and gently picked her up, placing her on Mihtig's back. After instructing both horse and girl to be good and not to wander off, Frodides slipped into the crowd, doing her best to avoid the people who still ran back and forth with buckets of water, not quite sure if the fire had been put out or not. Despite her best efforts, however, she was shoved against a man who was watching the going-ons with great curiosity. She would have surely fallen if she had not had the crowds about her to support her.

"Oh, I do apologize!" the man said, turning to her, his eyes tragic. "Up 'till now I have been quite successful in dodging through this crowd, but I see I have made my first mistake." He gave a little bow and was turning to go when he saw her face. More sorrow welled up in his eyes. "You appear to be greatly troubled," he said.

"If I am to tell the truth, I am greatly troubled," Frodides replied. "My husband, the stablemaster... well, I cannot find him. And I am simply afraid. He was in the midst of everything, going into the stable to rescue the horses and other such things... I have some fears that he might have been killed."

The man folded his arms, dropped his head, and took a step back, trodding on someone's foot. An annoyed cry behind him made him jump, and turning, he gave another little bow and apologized. Turning back to Frodides he winked and said, "Impossible to think around here." His face become serious again. "Now, about your husband... I once had a brother who was lost in a fire, and I was the one who found him. Maybe I could do it again. But first-" he bent down and peered in between people, frustration building in his face "-we must find a way to get through this crowd without any of us getting hurt."

Frodides attempted to keep silent, but despite her best efforts she could not help correcting the stranger. "Either of us, sir," she said.

The man glanced quickly at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He put one hand behind his back and studied her carefully. "Why, I'm afraid I don't quite know what you mean. There aren't just two of us. We mustn't forget my faithful companion." He smiled at her confusion and unslung a fiddle from his back very gently. "Many a lonely hour I've passed with this friend here." Replacing it, he took her hand. "I've fought my way through tougher crowds," he said. "Follow me and we should be through to the stable soon enough."

"I cannot thank you enough for your kindness, sir," Frodides said, stooping over as he did. He smiled at her and said, "No need to thank me. For me, rescuing young ladies in distress has become as much of a trade as my fiddle playing. I shall be thanked enough when I see her smiling happily at the sight of her husband."

He began to move lightly forward and Frodides followed. She was amazed at his agility and his great talent for slipping through the tightest spaces, and she found that he had been correct in what he said. As long as she kept after him exactly, she found no trouble in dodging in between the people, and scarcely a minute had past before they were through the thick of the crowd and standing in front of what was left of the stable.

"There," the stranger said, brushing his clothes off. "Dear me, but some of those people were dirty. I shouldn't wonder, though, if they've been running back and forth and rescuing horses and whatever else they do in fires. I must admit, my dear, that crowd was much tougher than they looked. Now that we are through I think you will able to take in this news without terror striking your heart... I wasn't sure if we'd make it through."

Frodides bit her lip to keep from laughing, for the stranger's wide eyes showed he was quite serious. He frowned back at the crowd, then began scanning the stable before them, concern flickering in his eyes. "Now, my dear, I hope you find your husband, for I'm quite afraid to go back through that crowd."

"If he's here I'll find him," Frodides replied.

The stranger turned to go, but as the first time he turned back, sorrow greater than previously flooding his eyes. "Ah, I do hope you find your husband," he said. "I was mortally afraid for my brother. I sympathize so very much with you." He hesitated. "Er... would you like me to assist you in finding him? I told you before I would, but I don't recall your having answered."

"It would comfort me much if you were searching as well, sir."

"Yes, very good." He stepped forward and began peering under the charred boards the of the stable. "You mustn't thinking I'm looking for him down here, me dear," he said. "I have no doubts that he's alive. I'm just thinking of making a song about it. You and your husband will be in it, too." He dropped the board and began to walk in circles around the stable, looking right and left.

Frodides also began to search. "Sir, I would very much like to know your name."

"Name? Why does it matter? I shall disappear as soon as your husband is found." He glanced over at her. "However, my dear, if you insist, you may call me Liornung. I shall be truthful and tell you that isn't my real name, but it is what I call myself. Don't bother to ask why, for I intend to tell you without prompting. As you most likely know, it means 'learning' and I, my dear, am ever learning the songs, stories, and tunes I don't know."

"Are you a bard?"

"Oh dear, no." The man shook his head wildly. "I'm a rambling fiddler. Bards are so very learned and wise, and I am so very simple. Most bards are sons or daughters of bards, as well, or so I've heard. I'm the son of a stablemaster." He looked rather downcast. "I wish I was a bard... or, on the other hand, I don't. I am content to be a rambling fiddler." He nodded firmly. "Yes, that's what I am." He looked under another board, then crouched down and remained that way for awhile. "Thinking of verses," he murmured. At last with a great sigh he stood and straightened himself up. "No good, I'm afraid. It wouldn't work. Now, where could your-" His voice stopped abruptly as his eyes fastened on something. His face lit up and he scrambled around the stable, laughing heartily. "Ah, what good fortune comes my way," he said as he ran past Frodides. She turned to watch what he did.

Approaching one of the men who were holding the horses, he enfolded him in a great hug. The man started and stared for a few moments, then with a broad smile returned the hug. "My dear Sarig, is it really yourself?" Frodides jumped up from where she had been kneeling and followed the same path that Liornung had taken as she recognized the voice.

"Ah, my dear brother, this is not Sarig. Such a woeful name that is. I've called myself Liornung."

"Leofan?" Frodides said, her voice low and hesitant. When she saw it was indeed her husband, she smiled and embraced him warmly. Liornung stood in a bit of bewilderment, then laughed. "Oh, so this is your husband, eh? Ho, ho! That means you're my sister. Ha, ha, no wonder I felt so compelled to help you. How could I refuse to help my own brother's wife?"

"Besides that you have a naturally sympathetic nature," Leofan said. "You've always been helping people since you could shout sternly at the bullies and talk sweetly to those who had need of rescue." He turned to Frodides. "Where is Mærcwen?" he asked.

"No need to fear. She's with Mihtig."

Liornung beamed. "My brother has a daughter," he cried. "Shall she be as enchanted by the stories I tell as the other children I have met, I wonder? Ah yes, I must meet my little niece."

"You shall meet her, and many others, brother, as soon as this mess is cleaned up. How sorrowful I was feeling! My dear brother, how you have cheered my heart. What joy to see you again. Come now, let's clear this slight confusion and get some strong men to help us, and women too, if we can find any who are willing to encounter the dead bodies of horses." A shadow passed over his face. "Thank goodness nobody was hurt, even if we did lose many horses."

Seeing his brother's face, Liornung quickly attempted to cheer him. "And you shall tell me what you have been doing these years, and I shall tell you what I have been doing, though there is not much to tell. But first we must clean this up."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen watched grimly as Sigrid entered the Inn, a few men following behind her. The Assistant Innkeeper did not say anything, but found seats amongst the crowd for the blond youth and her company. Looking on the crowd, Aylwen sighed and considered what she would tell the people gathered. It was chaos in the main room of the Inn, and the room was thick with anxiety and anticipation.

Before Aylwen addressed the people she let the last of the folk outside squeeze their way into the crowded room. The last person to walk into the Inn was a young, blond haired man with dark blue eyes who looked intrigued more than anything else. He did not seem anxious or impatient like some of the other patrons of the Inn. The traveler merely seemed curious, in a way.

“Hear now! Oy, listen up!” Aylwen hollered, getting everyone’s attention and standing up on a stool above the rest of the crowd. “First, I owe much gratitude to everyone who helped us put out the stable fire in one way or another. Every person counted, and I appreciated your kindness and generosity. I’m sure Bêthberry will be grateful as well. Not all the horses survived and our stable is completely destroyed, but many horses were rescued and no people were lost.

“Furthermore,” Aylwen continued, a grim smile on her face. “We can rebuild. None of you are obligated to stay and help build a new stable, but I’ve already had many offers from people lending their skills in carpentry, or just help in general. The staff of the White Horse Inn is very thankful to have people like yourselves to help us, because I don’t think we’d get very far building a stable without help. It is much needed and much appreciated. Arrangements can be made for those who wish to help but don’t live in Edoras. We will begin rebuilding the stables tomorrow morning, and we advise the owners of horses to take their beasts home for the night, but we will keep a watchful eye over the remaining horses for the night. Thank you.”

With that, Aylwen hopped off her stool and was greeted with several shouts of ‘Here, here,’ and grunts of agreement. Some left the Inn, promising to return the next day to help rebuild. Others remained in the Inn, seeking refreshment after a long morning. Lunch was served immediately, and rooms were taken care of as food was being served. Aylwen had just said good-bye to another customer when Talan came down from upstairs. He walked right over to Aylwen, and asked to speak with her.

"As you can see for yerself, I am doin' better now; ready to do me job again. I don't know much about timber and carpenter and that sort o' thing, but me guess is, an extra pair of hands are always needed for such work. So you don't be afraid to call me if them workers need me, I sure could use to do a bit of work after being in that room for so long a time."

“Your willingness to work is one of the honorable traits in you, Talan,” Aylwen replied, smiling. “I never want anyone to feel that they have to stay here and be our crutch to lean on, so to speak. But I am glad that you are here to help, Talan, and I am glad that you are feeling well again.”

Talan murmured a polite thank-you and farewell, and Aylwen watched as he went off to bring a load of dirty glasses into the kitchen. She was just about to walk away from the front door when it bumped open to reveal a middle-aged man and a little girl holding his hand. The man had swarthy-dark skin and matching hair, but the little girl was olive-skinned and had lovely blond hair. Aylwen looked questioningly upon them, and the man bowed his head in her presence before speaking.

“Excuse me, ma'am, but I can't help but notice that you might need a few hands around here. I have a set myself that are fairly capable, and a little girl who needs a room for the night. Might you be able to give me some work?” The man looked sad as he spoke, and Aylwen smiled kindly and led the man to an empty seat. When Aylwen offered the stool for the little girl, she shook her head politely and climbed up onto her father’s lap.

“My name is Aylwen, I’m the Assistant Innkeeper her. You are correct, sir, when you say that we need a few hands,” Aylwen murmured. “We’ve had several townsfolk offer their services, but more help is always appreciated. So long as you desire to help, I’ll keep a room available for you and your daughter. I’m not entirely sure what Bêthberry would say to this, but I’m sure I can help you get back on your feet, if that’s what you need.”

“Many thanks, ma’am,” the man murmured. “I am Tamurilo, and this is my daughter Eruvalde.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Aylwen replied, giving a warm smile to the little girl and ordering hot chocolate for her and cider for her father. “If you need anything else, just ask.”

[Bêthberry]

With concern at being called away and unable to attend to Maedlyn, Bethberry had saddled Cailleach up and ridden swiftly back to Edoras. Lairwyn's news about the stable fire was disturbing, particularly after last year's theft from the stable. If I lose the Inn as well as the stable,, thought the Innkeeper, I will likely have to leave. I don't have enough money to rebuild both. Then, forcing herself to think more positively, she had made plans about how to proceed. By the time she entered Edoras, and passed through the gates after hearing the guards' reports of the blaze, she was prepared.

She rode up the back path to the Horse in order to avoid the gossiping attentions of the crowd, and left Cailleach tethered in the small leanto behind the Inn. Here, she hoped, there would be enough room to stable all the horses that had survived the fire. She looked over towards the garden, where the mounds of Madi's apple pips could still be seen amid the light green spring growth of vegetables. She looked up at the three stories of The Horse, each room having a small latticed window looking out onto the outskirts of the town. She looked to her right, at the blackened ruins of the stable. The air was thick still with smoke and stench. She knew immediately that there had been losses, hard, terrible losses, and her heart went heavy with regret and sadness.

Yet there was much work to do before she could allow herself the luxury of tears or grief. Spying a large dog sniffing through the ruins, and a strange cat wandering around the leanto, Bethberry put out some bones with meat and a dish of milk--as far apart as seemed necessary--and then entered through the kitchen, seeking out Aylwen, to confer with her before making a public appearance.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lunch had been cleared away by the time the Innkeeper strode into the main hall. She was thankful for Aywlen's quick thinking in providing a rich, substantial meal for all those who had helped put out the fire. Let it never be said that the White Horse was a stingy establishment!

Then, resolutely but with a brave face, she posted the following notice on the chalk board:

Wanted: Many Hands

To rebuild the stable:
Foresters and lumberers (to provide lumber)
Architects and artists (to design plans)
Carpenters
Roofers

To serve in The Horse:
Cook (Froma is leaving)
Scullery maids (two likely)
Wait Staff
Maids and launderers

To work in Edoras:
bowyer
bricklayer and stoneworkers
apothecarist
candlemaker

Please apply to the Innkeeper, Bethberry, stating experience. Wages: Room and Board, with additional sums as befits level of work and skill.

~ ~ ~

Bethberry stepped back and observed the notice. It would do, she decided. Froma came up behind her.

"I won't leave 'til you've found a replacement," he told her. "I've saved enough to leave off working, and as my gout is bad, I'll take my health."

Bethberry nodded at him. "Many told Aywlen they wish to help rebuild the stable. I'm expecting them to come forward here and present themselves to me, so I know what's about. I will be seeing to getting a large wagon this afternoon, so we can haul in lumber from outside Edoras. We'll need straw for tonight in the leanto at back. Can you arrange that?"

Froma nodded. He hesitated a moment, and then spoke up again, more quietly this time. "Ruthven will be wanting to see you. She's needing someone with your skills, at the bakery."

Bethberry caught the look in his eyes and nodded her understanding. First she would see if any were about who wised to speak with her about the positions.

[ 2:47 PM December 01, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Writer of The Mark]

Linnea grinned at Madi before they left Ruthven and the two men, who in Linnea's eyes seemed to be in major trouble - more trouble than herself perhaps. Madi looked hopelessly at the girl and muttered:" I don’t lie," he said, protecting himself. Linnea grinned again, but then something made her wipe her little smile off her face. Her father was standing right by the entrance of the Inn, having his hands firmly placed on his hips.

Linnea made a jump, still watching him. Her father was looking around with eyes which could pierce through any crowd. "U-oh," Linnea said silently and uncomfortably. Her heavy breathing got Madi's attention, who understood that this was the girl's father. He started looking desperately in another direction, and luckily both Linnea and Madi could still glimpse Ruthven, only some fifty paces away.

"Come!" Madi bent down and whispered in Linnea's ears. Linnea gave a last look towards her father, who apparently had started looking for someone, someone who was currently 'lost'....

******

"Ruthven, hide us!" Madi demanded, looking nervously over his shoulder.

The old woman turned around and stared oddly at the children, who had followed her, even though she had nicely requested them to go back inside.

"But, Madi," Ruthven started, but was interrupted by the boy, who eagerly continued: "Her father," he exclaimed. Linnea stopped the boy from saying anything more stupid, with a warning look.

Ruthven waited a moment, and sighed before she excused herself, and told the two men to wait for a few moments. She turned her full attention to the children and stared at them strictly. "Unlike you," she said, taking her eyes off Linnea and glancing over at Madi instead. "Children have fathers who care about them and worry when they can't find them," she said with a certain pity in her voice.

Madi too sighed, before Linnea burst out: "But I don't like my father," she said innocently. "Mam" she added. A fierce look appeared in Madi's eyes before he warned the young lady that she was out of character now. Surely, everyone loved their parents, just a bit at least. "Be thankful," he said. Linnea grew red and blushed. "I like my uncle though," she said, feeling a bit better about herself after the strict, but true words from Madi. However, Madi had no idea, what it was like; having a father who was constantly angry.

They heard Aldor and Findur starting a serious discussion, and Ruthven turned to them and muttered:" Children are listening."

The two men nodded, and waited for Ruthven to turn to them and leave the children. "Now, Madi take this girl to her room. Her father is...."

"Linnea!"

Without further notice, a man, who had come out of 'nowhere', grabbed the girl's arm and made her walk. "Whose coat is this?" he asked, taking it roughly off and casting it to the ground. Ruthven bent down and held it up. "This coat is mine," Ruthven said. "I gave it to Linnea, when she was looking for your horses," she added with sympathy in her voice. Madi went over to Ruthven, trying to be invisible from the father's rage.

The words from Ruthven didn't matter obviously, because the father was just about to have another outbreak: "I have had enough of this. All of this! First you take my daughter to watch the fire, which you afterwards cover up with a hopeless and intolerant excuse, and now I catch you and this... this... boy, accompanied by two ruffians, who I saw fighting earlier today!"

Linnea tried to resist her father's firm grip of her arm, but she couldn't help being almost dragged toward the Inn again. Madi and Ruthven watched the girl, having no power at all, over what was happening. Linnea managed to get loose for a moment, and used that moment to wave at Madi and Ruthven. Shortly after, Linnea disappeared around the corner with her father, who was filled with anger.

******

Linnea's horse wasn't found. But her father was indeed tired of this girl and what he believed, was inappropriate behaviour. He decided to leave the Inn immediately after this event, even though this meant leaving without one of the horses.

[ 4:25 PM December 03, 2003: Message edited by: Writer of The Mark ]

[Ealasaide]

Having finally caught and retrieved her dog from the inn's back yard, Sigrid was relieved to follow Aylwen into the White Horse common room, where the assistant innkeeper addressed all the assembled guests and townspeople. Having left Kajsa outside under a sit-stay command, which she hoped would keep the dog out of trouble, she found a seat on a bench, where she was joined by her new acquaintances, the cousins, Olav and Ragnar. She was still feeling a bit breathless from the fire and all the running about. Also, she couldn't quite shake the haunted feeling she had that came from remembering the long ago fire that had killed two of her cousins. Altogether, it left her feeling a bit light-headed. She put her head down on her arms on the table, listening quietly as Aylwen spoke, thanking all who had helped extinguish the fire in the stable.

After Aylwen finished speaking, a bounteous luncheon was served, which Sigrid tucked into gratefully. She not eaten much in the last several days as she had been trying to stretch what little money and food she carried with her. She felt a little guilty, eating for free, when all she had done was what any citizen with a half of a conscience should do under the circumstances. She only wished she could have done more. To her right along the bench, however, Olav and Ragnar did not seem to be suffering any pangs of conscience. Taking what was offered to them with wide good-natured smiles, they dug into the food with relish. Watching them, Sigrid smiled gently to herself.

Once she finished eating, Sigrid looked idly around the room at the other diners. It was a varied bunch. If the Innkeeper needed people to help rebuild the barn, she had a feeling that plenty of volunteers would be available. Suddenly remembering her other new friend of the morning, Sigrid looked around for Faran. Finding him on another bench nearby, she smiled and nodded encouragingly.

"Carpenters!" she mouthed the word to him as soon as she caught his eye. When he grinned and nodded in return, she pointed toward the assistant innkeeper. "Talk to her!"

Faran nodded again and turned his attention back to his plate.

Olav and Ragnar, in the meantime, had risen to their feet and gone over to a far corner of the room where they could speak together privately. While she could hear nothing they said to one another, Sigrid could tell by their body language that some kind of argument was taking place. Each of them looked as equally peeved and impatient as the other. She couldn't help but wonder what the discussion was about, but, since they had gone to the trouble to move out of her earshot, she would have to let it go. She watched as another woman came into the common room by way of the kitchen and posted a notice on the chalkboard. Her eyes widened slightly with hope.

Jobs!

Eagerly, Sigrid waited as the new woman - the innkeeper, perhaps? - finished posting the notice, then spoke quietly for a moment with an older man who had also come in by way of the kitchen. When they were finished, Sigrid tiptoed nervously over.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she said softly to the woman who had posted the notice. "I'd very much like to apply."

The Innkeeper turned to her and gave her a friendly, though appraising look. After a moment, she smiled warmly at Sigrid, which gave the girl additional courage.

"I'm Bethberry, the innkeeper of the White Horse," the woman said pleasantly. "I don't believe I've seen you here before."

"Oh, no, ma'am," Sigrid flushed and bobbed a nervous curtsy. "I've only arrived this morning. Just in time for the fire, I'm afraid." She paused in a fluster, then remembering herself, continued. "My name's Sigrid, Ivar's daughter. My father runs a sheep farm in the highlands. I-I was hoping for work."

"What do you do?" asked Bethberry kindly.

Sigrid shrugged. "Most anything, I suppose. I can do all manner of cleaning and chores. I'll work hard for whatever you'd be willing to pay me - laundry, wait tables, scrub floors. I don't have any experience other than what I used to do at home taking care of my little brothers and sisters, but I don't mind a bit of hard work." She smiled hopefully. "I'm even willing to learn a bit of carpentry, if it's called for."

[ 9:29 PM December 01, 2003: Message edited by: Ealasaide ]

[Imladris]

Faran

Faran chewed his meat vigorously, silencing the growls that occasionally erupted from his stomach. The food was delicious and, taking a goblet of ale in his hand, he did a silent toast to the cook of the White Horse. Looking around, he caught sight of Sigrid and flashed a smile to her. She told him to ask about carpentry and such and he nodded. “But foods comes first,” he muttered.

Looking at Sigrid, he remembered the man with her -- Olav he thought his name was. He glowered at Olav and his friend as he ate. Olav had offered to teach her carpentry when he had volunteered to do it first. It irked him really -- it was almost like thievery if you came right down to it. He shrugged. It wasn’t as if the girl was his sister. If he had a sister (which he didn’t) and if he had offered to teach her something and another man had volunteered to teach the same thing, then he would have a right to be annoyed. Anyway, the man himself was somewhat untrustworthy, Faran decided. Just something about him and his friend didn‘t feel right, like the way the two of them were arguing just now and how they had both come after Sigrid. It was as if they were vying with each other to see who would receive her as the final prize.

A purring bag of gold rubbed softly against his leg and Faran absently gave Goldwine a piece of meat. Seeing Sigrid rise and go to a notice of jobs, Faran hastily gobbled down a warm biscuit and followed her, wiping his mouth upon his sleeve. Goldwine hastened after him, at last climbing to his accustomed perch upon Faran’s shoulders.

“I'm even willing to learn a bit of carpentry, if it's called for," Sigrid was saying brightly to a woman.

“And I’d be more than willing to teach her,” Faran said with a warm smile as he glanced casually over the list of jobs. Architects and artists (to design plans) A dreamy smile softened his face as he hastily designed the perfect stable in his head: roomy stalls for the horses, a good plentiful manger treated so it wouldn’t splinter easily, a metal water pail. The gates to the stalls would be studded with iron so that angry stallions would not splinter with their hooves of fury. There would be a huge loft that could hold plenty of hay that would be pushed down to the waiting mangers. He sighed. It would be much too expensive and too much man labour probably to build such a beauty. Turning back to the woman, he said, “I was trained as a carpenter. I can also wield an axe fairly well…” he shrugged as he waited for her to answer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Goldwine, Prince of the Golden Fur

I grinned as I watched the men dual below. I wondered what their brannigan was that had caused such a show of fists. I shrugged. Peonic humans and their peeves. Curling my tail about my paws, I contemplated again the dignity that accompanied a feline contest, whether it be over a morsel of the finest sinuous brawn or over the passionate adulation of a member of the female persuasion.

A stream of the two legged folk flowed into the Inn proper (or so I assumed the building was) and I followed in their wake: a golden prince padding with noble mien amongst the lay people of the greensward. Turning, I eyed the smoldering rubble of what had once been the stable. There it lay in its smoking ruin: the cremated ashes fluttered listlessly around me, the wood, crumbling, the grain still faintly lit with the iridescent glow of the asphyxiated fire. I sighed: all things must meet their doom, even they who do not live nor breathe the free air of our Middle-earth.

I realized that I was left quite alone, but quickly amended that by bounding lightly into the building. It was a swarming muddle there, and I gazed anxiously for Faran. I spotted him, a dark glower upon his face. Hastening to him to comfort, I rubbed myself against his steely leg, purring softly. He, naturally, interrupted this as a plea for food -- which I suppose it was also, in a round about subconscious way.

I sniffed it eagerly, and bit it with slow relish. The herb flavored serum that filled my mouth and gushed over my tongue and flowed around my fangs. My golden pools of ochroid eyes narrowed to mere slits. This, indeed, would be a morsel worth fighting over. Fortunately, there were no other claimants to my prize. I sniffed hungrily for more, but Faran decided to put me on ignore. He was a good learner, but he learned a wee bit too much sometimes from me, I thought with chagrin.

There he was rising from his plank of wood and crossing to the room. Leaping to my accustomed spot upon his bony shoulders, I latched my claws gently onto his woven shirt. Glancing down, I saw that a white spot was appearing: a sign of worn upon my linen voided cushion. A sigh escaped me: such was the life of a prince willingly degrading himself out of love and duty to a ragged boy who had the altitudinous honor to have rescued me from an early -- but that is another story.

I saw that he neared the lass whom he had spoken with prior to my affair with the canine. Dropping to the floor, I entwined myself around both their legs: first Faran‘s, then the girl‘s. It pleased me that he liked her, for I fancied her as well: she had very comfortable shoulders.

“I can also wield an axe fairly well…” he was saying as his voice trailed off. But I saw him flex his iron muscles. He was too modest to say that he was strong -- a lay person’s characteristic. I shrugged. Faran, nearly perfect as he was, had his faults.

[ 10:27 PM December 01, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Orual]

Eruvalde's feet kicked close to Tamurilo's shins as she drank her hot chocolate, sipping it carefully so as not to burn her tongue. Tamurilo sipped at his cider, which warmed his body and his heart. They could at least move on from the attack here, wait for Losse here. If she came at all.

Tamurilo felt a pang as he thought of his beautiful wife, her white-blonde hair for which she was named and her sky blue eyes, her laugh like bells and her smile like spring after winter. He missed her terribly, but what could he have done? He had to take Eruvalde away from the attackers, and Losse would not have moved. He did what he had to. He did the only thing he could have done.

"Oops." Tamurilo looked down and saw Eruvalde looking up sheepishly, a little puddle of hot chocolate on the table. He took his handkerchief and wiped it up, ruffling her hair with his free hand.

"Be careful with that, Ru, it's still hot," he admonished, and Eruvalde nodded, pushing her hair away from her face. Tamurilo twirled a lock of it around his finger, and finished his cider. When Eruvalde was done with her hot chocolate, he patted her shoulders and took her off his lap. "All right, love, you go look around while I see what's to be done." Eruvalde grinned and took off, and Tamurilo took a deep breath. He'd have to start a new life, and it would begin here. He'd better get started.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Scanning the crowded room quickly, Hisimé saw nowhere he could sit, and the woman he had guessed to be the Innkeeper was now readying herself to speak anyway - it would be impolite to start moving around when she was making an announcement, and impolite the soldier certainly was not. So, leaning against the wall, a look of mild interest on his features, he crossed his arms and waited.

"Hear now! Oi, listen up!" The young woman's shout as she got onto a stool to address the whole room eventually caused the chatter around the room to stop, although a few murmuring voices continued stubbornly. Hisimé glared at the back of a particularly rowdy man's head - from the way he was speaking as if his ears were plugged with cotton wool and his mouth was half full of honey, the Gondorian guessed he had had a drink too many. A fight he was not afraid of, but neither was he searching for one, and it was probably best that the man's companions, embarrassed, managed to shush him before Hisimé did it for them.

Looking back up to the woman, he listened to her announcement with even more interest and, as she finished, the chatter began once more, much louder in volume, and food began to get served from in the kitchen, the tantalising whiffs catching Hisimé's nose and stomach. Certainly if the food tasted half as good as it smelt...

The woman who had made the announcement was now talking to a crowd gathered around her, and before Hisimé got close enough to talk to her, she disappeared into the kitchen. The man sighed, but shrugged - no matter, it was doubtful he would miss anything until after lunch, and she would still be here. So, ordering himself a meal, he found himself a seat by the wall, he looked in on the room, content after his journey to eat and do a spot of 'poppling'.

~*~

The meal proved to taste every bit as good as the smell had promised, and, with his plates cleared away, Hisimé stood once more as he saw the woman who had made the announcement - he needed to find out her name! - come back out. Starting towards her, the Gondorian caught her eye halfway across the room and smiled politely, inclining his head, and as he reached her he touched his forehead couteously.

"Good day to you, ma'am," he started, then faltered slightly, realising that after the Inn's recent disaster, these may not have been the best words to use. Apparently sensing his slight stop, the woman grinned, shaking her head to clear any embarrassment.

"Good day. I am Aylwen, the assistant Innkeeper. May I help you?"

Ah ha! I have a name for her now! "My name is Hisimé, I am a soldier from Gondor, but I believe I can help you - I have the some experience in carpentry, and I gather that would not go amiss around here, as well as some experience with horses, if it would be useful. And as to how you can help me - I don't suppose there is a room free?"

[Nurumaiel]

Leofan and family

As the majority of the people left the burned-down stable for lunch, Frodides followed them while Leofan and Liornung stayed behind. Leofan had refused to go have lunch, saying he needed to tend to the horses still and make sure none of them were hurt, and Liornung had decided to stay with him. As the crowd thinned, Mærcwen was visible sitting on Mihtig's back, stroking his neck and watching the goings-on with wide eyes. "That's a lovely girl," said Liornung, gesturing towards Mærcwen. "I wonder who she is? I don't see her parents anywhere."

Leofan smiled. "Look at me and you'll see her father," he said, and Liornung gaped, saying, "Why, goodness me, I wouldn't expect a child of yours to be so handsome! She must have got it from her mother, for your as ugly as a man can get. Now as for me... I was always the most handsome in the family. Pity all my wanderings have changed that."

Leofan glanced towards Mærcwen again, and saw that she atop Mihtig was coming towards them, led by Frodides, who was holding a plate of food. Mærcwen was carefully balancing two more plates. Liornung sat up straight, closing his eyes. "I think the women have brought us lunch," he said. "And I cannot tell you how hungry I am." He looked ruefully at his brother with a little sigh. "That is the bad thing about being a rambling fiddler. If people don't like your music you don't get a meal."

"Well, why don't you stay here for awhile?" Leofan asked. "The food here is excellent, and I'm sure Aylwen will be more than happy to give you a room."

"Is Aylwen the Innkeeper?" Liornung did not wait for an answer to his question. "She shan't give me a room, I'll pay for one. The people here in Edoras seem very appreciative of my music, you see. I have money in great store, and I shan't let her give me one." Taking his plate from Frodides outstretched hand with a delighted smile, he added, "I don't know how long I shall stay, though. Sooner or later the road will call and I'll be off."

Leofan stood and helped M³rcwen dismount Mihtig and set her down in front of Liornung. "Here, Mærcwen, this is your uncle." Mærcwen studied her newly-found uncle critically, and then gave a small curtsy with a little murmur of greeting.

"You needn't be polite to me," Liornung said. "After all, I'm your uncle." Then, smiling slyly, he took his fiddle in his hands and held it out so Mærcwen could see. Her eyes widened a little and she looked up at her mother. "Would you like me to a play a song?" M³rcwen did not answer, but Leofan assured his brother that she would, for he knew very well how much his daughter enjoyed music and song.

"So she wants me to play a song, eh?" Liornung pondered the demand for a few moments. "Much more difficult to play a song than a tune. Tunes are so easily changed. I could start one and end with another, but a song it is so difficult to choose... You see, M³rcwen, when one could play all the tunes they knew without a notable change if they only knew how to let one tune flow into the other. But a song, now! Hmm.... Well, what about something lively for a change? Everything is so dismal around here, and the people need cheering up. I hope however," he added in a low murmur to Leofan, "that I don't attract too much attention."

"Do you know any hobbit songs?" Mærcwen asked.

"Hobbit songs?" Liornung gasped. "Well, I know many tales about the Little Folk, but as for songs... dear me, lassie, do Hobbits even exist?"

"Yes."

"Oh ho, so certain, are you? Well, I thought the same when I was a child, and I still do. All the tales I can tell about them seem to ring with truth. I've never seen one, mind you, but I hear tell they're very good at hiding from us Big Folk." He played around with his fiddle for a little while, eyebrows drawn together in deep thought. "I don't know any real songs of the Little Folk, I'm afraid. Not any pure songs. But I know a song that is said to be a song of the Little Folk, regardless of whether it really is or not. Would you like me to play it?"

"Yes."

So Liornung struck up the tune, and to Mærcwen's delight she realized it was the very same song she had sung with the other children not too long ago. Without the least bit of hesitation or shyness she began to sing, and with a little light stealing to Liornung's face he began to play harder, for if truth must be told none of his audiences had ever sung his tunes before. And Mærcwen saw the challenge being presented to her. No pause hindered her song. She sang louder and harder as he played.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

The day had seemed so long, and it was only early afternoon. The sunlight was streaming through the windows in soft rays of gold. Aylwen was quite relieved when Bethberry returned from her trip, and when the Innkeeper posted her list and call for workers Aylwen watched as most of the people willing to help shifted their attention from Aylwen to Bethberry.

On a trip walking back and forth from the kitchen to the main hall one man beckoned Aylwen with his navy blue eyes, and when she had crossed the crowded room to help him he greeted her politely with a tap to his forehead.

“Good day. I am Aylwen, the assistant innkeeper. May I help you?”

"My name is Hisimé, I am a soldier from Gondor, but I believe I can help you - I have the some experience in carpentry, and I gather that would not go amiss around here, as well as some experience with horses, if it would be useful. And as to how you can help me - I don't suppose there is a room free?"

Aylwen looked over Hisimé, recalling him from earlier before she had given her speech. Someone from home, Aylwen thought at first. Then she considered what he was telling her and she looked over to where Bethberry was busy speaking to others offering their services. Then she turned back to Hisimé to answer his request.

“I’ll have to make certain that Bethberry is fine with it, since there seems to be a lot of people asking for a roof in exchange for helping to rebuild one,” Aylwen admitted. “Certainly someone with your skills in carpentry would be quite useful in rebuilding the stable. And we could use some help taking care of the remaining horses overnight until the stable is rebuilt. In any case, I see no problem with you staying here in exchange for your help and hard work.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hisimé murmured, giving a short bow. Aylwen grinned and made a quick curtsy in return. The man walked off to go find an empty seat again, but Aylwen wanted to ask him something before she lost him to the crowd.

“Hisimé, sir?” Aylwen called, and Hisimé turned and walked back toward her at the sound of his name.

“Yes, miss Aylwen?”

“I don’t mean to pry, but I’m curious: What is a Gondorian soldier doing here in Rohan, asking for a place to stay?” Aylwen asked, hoping Hisimé would not be upset with the question.

[Daniel Telcontar]

Talan entered the hall and saw Faran eating. Himself he was not hungry, and he had indeed been searching for Faran, hoping to find him where the food was. Talan nodded a greeting to the craftsman as the latter raised his head and looked at him, before Talan sat down next to him.

"I s'pose you'll have yer hands full with buildin' up the stables again, aye?" The lad asked and looked at Faran who didn't stop eating but merely made a confirming sound.

"Well, I've been thinking. I think it is good for everyone to know some sort of skill, ye see, and I ain't know such a thing. Now, my hands are smarter than me head, if you get me meaning. I want to learn how to make something useful with them, besides movin' around with things, or people for that matter."

Still Faran did not reply, merely continued eating as he waited until Talan got to the point. A bit nervous because of Faran's silence, Talan spoke again:
"And then I thought: people are always gonna need houses. And chairs, and tables, and that sort o' thing; And I like wood, I like it alot. So what I have been thinking, is that I wanna be a carpenter perhaps. With the building of the stables and all, I was wonderin' if perhaps you can help me with learning that." Talan finally finished, and looked anxiously at Faran.

[Bêthberry]

As the crowd mulled around the notice, Bethberry moved away, wanting to give each applicant some privacy of thought and perhaps whispered confidences. She walked the Mead Hall and crinkled her nose at the tincture of ash and smoke in the air. We need to air out the Inn, she said to herself, deciding then to open each large shuttered window, except for those which gave out onto the ruined stable, creating a small breeze which blew fresh air into the Hall. She then conferred with the serving maids, asking them to bring in large bouguets of blooms from the garden and set them around the tables and at the windows. The hyacinth, beebalm and phlox, combined with heliotrope and sweet peas would, she hoped, chase away the lingering odour of fire. Then she returned to the front where several had gathered, waiting, it appeared, to apply for the jobs.

The Innkeeper smiled at the eager, fresh-faced young woman who was the first to speak up. It was Sigrid, Ivar's daughter. "If you are from a sheep farm, you likely know how to card and spin wool. There might be work for you with the weaver, if you have an interest."

"Please, ma'am, for now I would prefer to work here, to get to know people and Edoras."

Bethberry nodded. Aylwen had given her a rundown of who had helped with the fire and this girl had eagerly played her part.

"Have you ever seen an Inn before?"

Sigrid shook her head, no.

"Well, then, let's find work for you which will make you acquainted with how an Inn works. For room and board, and five coins a week, I'll ask you to scrub the floors, clean the walls and windows--general cleaning--and help with the laundry. If you can keep your eyes and wits about you and learn how to take orders, perhaps soon you can wait on tables. Agreed?"

Sigrid could not believe her luck. A job. A real job. "And Kajsa, my dog?"

"Is he any good as watchdog? It would appear we need to improve our security around here."

"I could train him to recognize all who belong and watch out for strangers."

"Then I'll hire him as well," said the Innkeeper with a smile. Aylwen will help you find your room and give you a tour of the Inn. I'll see you later tonight or tomorrow."

Sigrid skipped away with a grin, winking at Faran and looking at Olav and Ragnor arguing in the corner. She had found a place.

Bethberry noticed that the skipping was in time to the music which wafted gently throughout the Inn. She smiled. Leofan's family continued to grow, but a musician would be a welcome addition to the Inn. Entertainment would attract more customers, and more customers would help pay for the new stable.

She turned then to Faran, a quiet, serene young man. "Your head seems full of ideas if I read the eagerness in your eyes right, young man."

"Aye, I've a few ideas about how to plan the stable. I've built three so far, and know how to build a strong thatched roof." He spoke rapidly, urgently, his words brimming with suggestions and ideas and enthusiasm.

"Oh!" spoke up Aylwen. "I forgot. Madi gave me this map to give to you. From the artist Idona." With those words, she handed the slip of paper to Bethberry, who unfurled it. She looked up at the man.

"Your name?"

"Faran."

"Well, Faran, I'll say you're hired to design the stable, but I want you to work with Idona. The girl has a good head for space and she knows the Horse and our clientele. She can give you practical advice on what we need, and she will share your love of drawing. Room and board, plus ten coin a week. And you're to help with the building, too."

Faran beamed. Aylwen mentally began planning how many rooms would not be bringing in any money. There were back rooms which had not been used in some time. Perhaps she could prepare them for all these new hands, and the Inn would not lose any paying rooms. She made a note to remind Bethberry of this need later.

Finally, Bethberry turned to the man with dark, shadowed eyes and a brow creased with frowns. He had been attentive, kindly attentive, to his daughter and so unlike that other father Aywlen had mentioned, the one who had stormed out, dragging his little girl with him like a piece oi chattel or a slave. She raised her eyebrow at this father. they were a strange pair, the father dark as the southerners were; the daughter fair as any child of Rohan.

"I can work. I've strong arms and a steady eye. I know farming and how to trade. And I need to feed my daughter."

"You've the look of a refugee about you," the Innkeeper observed. "And your name is?"

"Tamurilo, Innkeeper," he replied, and explained his presence in Edoras to her. His frown seemed to have travelled over to the Innkeeper, for Bethberry's face grew dark.

"We'll need all the hands we can find. There's work for you here. Perhaps you can confer with Leofan on how much timber we need, and with him supervise the buying of lumber and thatch and nails. If you talk with the wife of the stable master, Frodides is her name, you will find a good women to watch over your daughter while you work."

By the time Bethberry had finished talking with everyone, she was ready for an ale herself to dry her throat. She noticed the two men still arguing in the corner. She looked around, and raised her voice.

"We still have need of strong arms who will journey to the forests to fell timber for us. I'll borrow the smith's wagon, but this will be an opportunity for stout young men to prove their strength. It will be a job for brawn and brain and I'm sure many a lass will be impressed with those who assume it." She walked over to the front desk, looking at the papers there. She hoped soon to be able to leave to seek out Ruthven.

[ 5:16 PM December 03, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

She seemed pleased at his courteousy, dropping a quick curtsy in reply to his equally short bow. With a slight smile, Hisimé began to move through to crowd to find a seat to watch from again and sit, before hearing her call and turning back. "Yes, miss Aylwen?"

"I don’t mean to pry, but I’m curious: What is a Gondorian soldier doing here in Rohan, asking for a place to stay?" She watched him carefully, perhaps worried it might be an offensive situation, but the soldier shrugged lightly. His eyes flicking back quickly to where his seat had been and winced as he saw it swiped by a pair of avidly talking young men, unwrapping an armful of scrolls on the table and tipping a pocketful of charcoal pencils on after it. Scanning the more immediate area, the soldier settled his navy gaze on a seat at the bar, only about a metre from where he stood, about an equal distance between both him and the assistant Innkeeper, and moved towards her and it casually, not wanting to lose a second seat.

"I have some leave, a fair bit" he shrugged the comment off. "And....well, I have only once been to Edoras in more than passing. And now..."

He stopped, unsure of how to go on. The young man had made captain the year before, now in his late twenties, and he had friends further on as well - he had heard the whispers. Uneasy murmurings and unspoken words visits from strange, cloaked figures riding their steeds so hard the steam and foam poured from them...because I wasn't sure how much longer I would easily be able to see it.

"...well, now I have some time, and the Mark seemed as fair a place as any to visit in my time," he continued after a slight pause. "I have always been fond of horses, and Minas Tirith is not a city for steeds so much. I have no family tying me down either further than a sister younger by a few years, and..." he became aware he may seem to be flirting if he continued down the path his sister had indeed urged him to come and stopped with another shrug, hoping his skin wasn't reddening. Looking back at Aylwen, he returned the question, to an extent. "I guess that you are not from around here either, miss - your looks speak of Gondor also. May I ask how you came to be able to command such a rowdy lot from your throne of a bar stool?" he grinned, referring to when she had made her announcement in such a striking way.

[*Varda*]

Iona surveyed the dark and scattered ashes of the stables of the White Horse inn, before re-entering. The inn had regained its usual bustle, and most people were chatting quite contentedly again, pleased at the prospect of more work rebuilding the stable, one bright spot in a bad event. It was mostly those who had lost horses in the fire that were still grumbling and sad.

While serving some customers, and commiserating over the losses the fire had caused, Iona glanced around the room, and spotted a girl who looked not entirely unlike her, scrubbing one of the windows. The soot was very hard to get off, and the windows still had a dusty tinge. Iona hadn’t met this girl yet, and wiping her hands on her skirt, went over, held out her hand, and introduced herself.

“Hello..I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Iona, one of the serving maids. Are you new here?”