The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Kransha]

Osric, though he knew that the previous innkeeper who spoke now had not requested his oratory pamphlets, saw the opportunity to state his ploy and grabbed it without hesitation. He leapt to his feet, far too fast for a man with a useless leg, and managed to step into Bethberry’s scope of vision completely, raising a cupped hand with a sidling movement and began briskly. “Actually, Lady Bethberry, upon the matter of summer labor, I was hoping to speak to you about that subject briefly, for I have a more self-serving agenda this day.”

Her keen, deep eyes turned to him with moderate contentment, and she might have replied, but his quick wit and inner requirement spoke for him, forcing further words from his sore throat. He continued, constantly gesturing furiously for no apparent or sensible reason, though it seemed to be at least slightly effective.

“My nephew, Sigurd,” he rattled on, his speech droning but full, “has accompanied me from Aldburg to this city for a purpose unrelated to his or my enjoyment. As a boy who has now become a man, albeit a young one, I have been trying to seek employment for him. His mother assigned me the task, as she has seen too many years to gallivant across field and country searching for an occupation for her son, and I have been considering what manner of labor would be best for him. Then, as it happened, I was struck with the memory of this enchanting place and thought that it might be auspicious to find some enterprising activity for him in a place such as this, one where I could be sure amicable folk would be to educate him in life’s ways. I know not if the White Horse requires any laborers, but you, a woman of wisdom and knowledge of these lands that I lack, must know of some manner of charge I can give him that would be rooted here, in Edoras.”

Here, at last, the ancient Rohirrim paused, taking several sharp breaths and panting meagerly, his eyes that had been fixed on the uninteresting floor turned finally to Bethberry, seeing a look of polite understanding on her expression. He could not tell what her reply to his many queries would be, as her features portrayed no real emotion that he could detect. His dealing with her had been few indeed, and the last one he recalled was only a vaguely settled memory within him. Again, he did not wait to discern whether or not she would speak before diving back into his own words headfirst.

“He needs a teacher, Bethberry,” he said, now with weariness and overly obvious frustration, each syllable spouted to quickly to be considered by listener or speaker, “or rather, he needs teaching, for he is a brash youth, and has never been well schooled in his childhood. He is a stout lad, strong willed and otherwise, so he would serve for many purposes. If you could do so much as suggest a charge for him, I would be exceedingly, nay, eternally grateful. I can no longer teach the boy, nor can his mother and teachers have long lost hope for all save austere reprimand. He is not as unruly as he sounds, for he has matured and has a hearty, willing arm ready for whatever orders issued him.”

As he drew to a dazed close, he realized with some notion of confusion and horror that even he could not recall half of the things he’d uttered, for he had been preparing for this for such a time that every planned and contrived manner of speech had been fused unwholesomely into a singular mess. It was irrelevant now, though, since his end was complete. Now, he could only hope that Bethberry had words of wisdom in return. He had his reasons for such desperation, as deeply rooted as the gnarled digits of the tallest, greatest trees.

Meanwhile, as all this occurred, Sigurd had summoned up both courage and curiosity to pursue another course. Getting up more slowly from his own sturdy seat, the youth had made his way around the tables of the inn until he’d drawn near the young man who his uncle had singled out from the crowd earlier, the man he knew of only from his uncle’s heavily exaggerated tales, Hearpwine. He saw her, in fact, returning from some conversation with Maercwen. A very bare flicker of annoyance darted up in him as he considered what he might have been speaking of, but it concluded speedily as he found Hearpwine discoursing with another man.

“You are Hearpwine, the legendary bard, yes?” said Sigurd eagerly, his eyes twinkling with polite brightness reminiscent of the sly spark that glinted continually in the starry gaze of his uncle. He had interrupted one of them, which one he did not know, but he had severed one sentence nonetheless. Despite that, his excited gaze persisted as he looked upon the man.

“Indeed I am, though I would not say ‘legendary.’” Hearpwine laughed jovially, shooting a mildly apologetic look to his compatriot, Hanasían, as if he was able to speak on behalf of the inconsiderate Sigurd interrupting their conversation. “And you, you are he who was with Osric?” He extended a light-hearted hand. Sigurd’s hand, trembling foolishly, shot out to grasp Hearpwine’s and shook it vigorously.

“Yes.” He responded swiftly, “I am his nephew, Sigurd, son of Sigmund. It is a great pleasure to meet you.”

[Nurumaiel]

Leofan ground his teeth together in anger but remained outwardly calm as he strode to the Inn. Gomen had fetched Hearpwine's walking stick and given it to him, and then seeing that the bard was still engaged in conversation had returned to the stable. A young woman had come then, and she had struck him for no apparent reason. Leofan's blood had surged within him, but he had said nothing until the girl had left. And then he had comforted a stunned, sorrowful-looking Gomen in the best manner he could while staring at the horse the girl had brought. It was rather injured, to say the very least, and he was surprised that the girl had just left it there without speaking to him at all about it. Perhaps not everyone knew how good he was with horses, but he would expect one to have a certain amount of confidence in the knowledge of a stablemaster. She was young, however, and perhaps it could be slightly excused.

Her youth was no excuse for striking Gomen. The boy had struggled valiantly with his tears and had succeeded in keeping them back, but he had been deeply hurt. His first thought when he saw the girl was that she was very pretty. She had very large, lovely eyes. Gomen was not yet old enough to admire a girl with the intentions of perhaps courting her, but he could not help but admire beauty as he would admire the beauty of his mother or his sister, or perhaps the beauty of Aylwen or Bethberry. The girl had brown hair cut rather short, but which brought out the fair characteristics of her face and complimented her eyes. He had been standing there, admiring her with all his boyish will, when she had cursed him and struck him across the face. Leofan had seen the look of shock that swiftly spread across his son's countenance, and then change to hurt and sorrow. The girl had not given him another glance but had swept out of the stable.

She was standing at the bar now, a broken cup in her hand. Leofan did not approach her immediately but calmed himself a little more. He did not want to clearly show how uspet he was. He could not do much about the way she had treated his son, except speak to Bethberry who was temporarily serving as Innkeeper, and he was loathe to do that. He did not consider the matter great enough at the moment to cause such trouble. If it ever happened again, he would then speak, but for now he would grimly let it go by. He would not, however, allow the horse to remain unattended by its mistress in the condition it was in, and he intended to take her out even if he had to drag her. He doubted it would come to such extremes, for he had seen the look of love that passed in the girl's eyes when she looked to her steed, but he would surely show her exactly how careless she had been to merely leave as she had done.

"Excuse me, miss," he said, and as she turned he touched his forehead politely. "You came into the stable with your horse not five minutes ago, and I have not heard your name."

"Arrya," she replied briefly.

"Then, Miss Arrya, I must request you to come back to the stables," he said. "Your horse, I have noticed, is seriously injured and it was careless of you to leave him in such a condition. I am the stablemaster, Leofan, and if you need any assistance in caring for your mount you may ask me. However regardless of that, I bid you return to the stables and suitably care for your horse, with or without my aid."

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

Gomen watched his father leave the stable and then slipped up to the loft, where he buried himself in the hay and let the tears run down his cheeks. He had been a stableboy at the White Horse all his life and never before had anyone struck him. The mark on his cheek pained him but it pained him more that the action had actually been carried out. He hoped his father would not return for awhile yet; he did not want to be seen crying. He rubbed at his eyes vigorously but it was no use. Helplessly he abandoned himself to his sorrow and wept.

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

Maercwen returned to the kitchen rolling up her sleeves and looking rather mournfully at her mother. She said nothing, however, and began to wash dishes. Frodides pursed her lips and paused in her own work to study Mae carefully. Something was on the girl's mind; that much was clear. Frodides often worried about her eldest. Maercwen was old enough now to be attracting the attention of the lads and Frodides doubted the way she had raised her daughter. Suppose Mae married some wicked man who would not care for but rather cause her much pain?

"Maercwen darling, something is troubling you," she said gently. "You don't need to wash those dishes yet. Breakfast is not quite over and more dishes will be coming soon. What causes your distraction?"

The girl looked down in distaste at the rejected dishes and ceased from washing them. She glanced sternly at Motan and Mereflod who had been reaching up to steal some cakes while their mother was not looking, and they hastily withdrew their little hands. "Well, Mamma, I am merely disappointed," she said. "Hearpwine is taking Gomen out walking later, and he asked me to come along. I have already guessed what your answer will be."

"I would not refuse you for the sake of the walk itself," Frodides assured her, "but I must refuse to let you go because there is still work to be done and you are needed to do it." She gazed thoughtfully at the look of devastation that came to Maercwen's face. At times she wondered exactly how her daughter felt for Hearpwine, but always had Mae fervently denied having any feelings of love for him. She seemed to be quite in earnest, but Frodides could never tell if she were too much in earnest. "I apologize for denying you the pleasure, Mae," she said.

"Think naught of it, Mamma," said Mae, but the disappointment was still clear in her eyes. Frodides sighed and continued on with her work.

[Bêthberry]

The sound of a cup breaking drew Bethberry's attention away from the rather extraordinary disquisition of Osric. She was about to attend to this new woman, who was apparently calling to someone, when Leofan appeared, in some manner a bit disturbed about some event. She moved to excuse herself and speak to him when he raised his eye to her, nodding and shaking his head towards her before taking the young woman back to the stable. Realising she could discuss the matter later with him, she turned back to Osric, who was pulling at Sigurd's arm as if to draw attention away from Hearpwine and towards Bethberry.

"Osric, that is a mighty speech for one with a sore throat," she wryly observed.

He nodded and his face reddened, but he looked somewhat pleased.

She looked over at him without speaking for some time, waiting for him to continue. He coughed and pulled on Sigurd's sleeve some more. Hearpwine looked up and sat back in his chair, ready to observe this little drama, some of the tiredness in his body coming back into his mind. Blushing with all this attention, Sigurd finally looked up at his uncle.

Osric looked back at his nephew and with his eye winking tried to give the boy a hint to speak up to Bethberry.

The boy looked at his uncle and saw a half wink, half grimace.

"What's wrong with your eye, Uncle?" he asked, wanted to talk with the young Bard and not the older, somewhat austere woman who was observing him, who did not have the attractions to his mind of the young Mae.

"Nothing, nothing,' hastily replied Osric, who was running past all manner of idea about how to proceed, having used up all his ideas in his previous address to the woman.

Discretly hiding a smile, Bethberry turned to the boy.

"Your uncle has made a request for you. Would you like to make a similar request of your own or would you prefer to leave me in suspense about what you want?" she said, not unkindly, but clearly deciding to have a bit of fun with this situation, as a way of testing to see how the boy would react. It was the easiest way she knew to test his character in order to determine if she could use his help at The Horse, and, as the morning was somewhat idle, it was a way also for them to pass some time.

So, all four adults, Osric, Hanasian, Hearpwine and Bethberry, turned their gazes upon the hapless lad.

[Kransha]

Sigurd looked around, blinking incessantly, trying to figure out exactly why he’d been singled out. He kept feeling a tug on his elbow, but ignored it, even after he realized that the stray hand was Osric’s. He began to piece together the situation, and it all became clear. He’d been clearly prepared for this by old Osric days ago, how he was to beseech a job from Bethberry of Aylwen in the White Horse, or on its grounds. He considered, looking contemplative as Osric continued looking anxious (and continually massaging his sore throat as if it would actualy do some good, though it almost certainly wouldn't), Bethberry smiled politely, and Hearpwine and Hanasian exchanged emotionless glances and inaudible mutterings.

At first young Sigurd had been harshly opposed to the idea of being thrust into employment by his uncle, but this had been in the more tender years of his youth, and he had had other, more brash commitments. As he’d left Aldburg with his uncle, he’d been only slightly against the proposal Osric had lain so carefully before him. Now, he was unsure of where he stood on the matter, but realized that the whole idea seemed far more desirable, but for only a few reasons, which had been presented to him but recently. First, the atmosphere that his uncle had spoken of was legitimate and fair, a grand establishment compared to the stable jobs in Aldburg and the other small towns in the Wold. Secondly, the people were indeed, as he’d been told, good and true folk, as far as Sigurd could deduce. Lastly, with some relevance to the last point, being commissioned at the White Horse would allow Sigurd to receive some education in the ways of song from Hearpwine, in the ways of life from Bethberry or Aylwen, and, of course, in anything else that was required, from Maercwen.

“Yes, Bethberry,” he said at last, “I know of the request he has made, and it is a much mine as it is his.”

Osric seemed as if he’d readied himself for some horror, but now only stared at the empty space between Sigurd and Bethberry, utterly confused. Sigurd had never showed an affinity for being concise, or being helpful in any matter, as was his common attitude. It was not like him to just give in, which is what he seemed to be doing. He gawked, stupefied as he stood and heard Sigurd continue.

“I seek employment here, as my uncle has no doubt explained to you in great detail.” he began, his expression of bewilderment metamorphosing into a bizarre and reasonless glee as he recited, word for word, the speech given him by his overly oratory uncle on the eve of their departure from Aldburg. “As said, his sentiments are my own, voiced well by him, no doubt. If you could supply me with that labor that I, in my youth, so readily require, I, my uncle, and all those living who hold some bond of blood with me will be grateful. I know that here I could find an experience unlike many others, and under the tutelage of you and your most esteemed ‘colleagues,’ I would profit greatly. And, I assure you, my services would be as great as I can make them, and I would not shirk whatever duties you assign me. What say you?”

Bethberry did not respond immediately, as Sigurd knew she wouldn’t. It wasn’t a simple question, or so he thought. He now took the time to glance at his uncle, only to see his colorless face and limp lower jaw, seemingly misplaced. He stifled a laugh, knowing exactly how this sudden lack of discontentment on his part had probably affected Osric. “Uncle, is something wrong?” He murmured quietly, but just loudly and forcefully enough to stir the Rohirrim from his befuddled stupor.

Osric managed to re-adjust his hanging jaw, scratching at his neck nervously to alleviate the sudden pang that had arisen more prominently there. “No…not at all.” He murmured, still dazed, his eyes not meeting those of his nephew, who was not even trying to hide a very smug grin as he awaited Bethberry’s response hopefully, expecting a favorable response as Osric began the same.

[Orofaniel]

Aedre admitted to herself that she was weary and sad by Aylwen's absence. However, she wouldn't let anyone else know. There was certainly room for Aedre at the Inn even though Bêthberry would be the Innkeeper while Aylwen was away. Bêthberry was a kind and wise woman, and she knew of course, that the Inn would be perfectly run by her as well. It had indeed been Bêthberry who'd run the Inn before, and she was after all the owner. Aedre had naught to neither worry nor miss because Aylwen would be back soon enough.

The morning was as beautiful as can get; the flowers were blooming outside Aedre's window, and the colours were flattering bright. The morning had brought with it a few drops, so some of the leaves were still wet. Soon, however, the sun would take care of that, with its warming rays.

The colourful scenery outside encouraged Aedre; Her mood was pleasant and joyful; no worries, just joy. She figured the day at the Inn would be just as any other day, but she'd never thought ill of it. Indeed, how she liked working there. What more could one possible wish for, she did not know. Nor did she ever think she would know either, because this was absolutely the perfect place for her. As these thoughts swirled in her head she hurried into the kitchen. "Ah, good morning," she said as she saw Mae and Frodides washing the dishes. They seemed like they were in a good mood as well, but not just as happy as Aedre. She didn't know it was caused by the huge amount of dishes that were standing in front of them, or if it was caused by the thought of even more dishes to come when breakfast was finished. Maybe it was both, Aedre couldn’t tell by just looking at them.

"Good morning to you as well, Aedre," Mae said as she stopped washing for a moment. Her face was joyful and gay for a moment there, but the face expression fell steadily – and then it was gone. Frodides nodded and smiled. "It's beautiful outside today, isn't it?" Aedre said as she stabled some of the clean dishes. "Oh yes, indeed. It's very beautiful," Mae confirmed. She looked at Frodides, as if she was longing for something. Frodides looked at her a bit stern, but not as if she was angry. Aedre narrowed her eyebrows, because she knew that something was going on, but this time as well, she couldn’t tell by just looking at the two women in front of her. Aedre isn't the kind of person who doesn't ask about the things she is curious about, she is quite the opposite.

This situation was no exception, and Aedre the humble maid, couldn't hold her tongue this time either. "Now, what is going on?" she asked. Her curiosity had turned into suspicion. Who could blame her? "What do you mean?" Frodides asked her as she curled her lips. "It's nothing," Mae interrupted. But it looked as if the girl regretted what she'd just said and continued; "Hearpwine asked if Gomen would go for a walk with him, and he asked me to come along as well," she said casually as if she didn’t really care. Aedre grinned;" Oh, how lovely! You lucky girl...out on a fine day like this - with such a great lad as well," she added afterwards. She smiled, but soon noticed that Mae hadn't finished.

"No, I told her she couldn't go if there is much work here at the Inn," Frodides said and looked at Aedre. "Don't encourage her," she whispered. "I'm sorry dear," Aedre said to Mae, with great compassion, because she truly felt sorry for her. To deny a young girl outside on a day like this? That was simply not the way it was supposed to be, Aedre figured.

"How about; I'll do some extra work?" Aedre said suddenly. "I mean, no one offered me a walk, so I have nothing else to do!" Aedre laughed merrily. She looked at Mae: her eyes brightened up, but she said nothing. Then Aedre turned to Frodides. "What say you?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine turned back to Hanasían and picked up their conversation where it had been interrupted by Sigurd. He smiled at the young man’s impetuous energy and at the way he struggled to recover himself and live up to his uncle’s undoubtedly high, if oddly expressed, expectations. “Nay,” Hearpwine began again, “I did not meet Master Meriadoc, for I never came to Edoras during the War. I arrived too late for the muster and had to content myself with skirmishes upon the northern marches. When the War was over I was ordered to remain with a small band of Riders on the frontier and guard it against any incursions from the remnants of Mordor. I was only able to join the rest of the Rohirrim when they brought back Theoden to his Hall. On this journey I met many folk who have lived in my imagination since, including the Halflings. But of all the greathearts of the Shire, only Master Gamgee spoke with me at length.” They talked for a while longer about the Halflings and what they knew of their doings and ways, which was little for Hearpwine, as all he knew was from the few songs that mentioned them. Hanasían had more knowledge of the little folk, but as he had never travelled in their land much of what he reported was rumour.

As they talked, Hearpwine sensed an odd sadness, or perhaps an unfulfilled longing in the Ranger. It was strange enough indeed to see one such as him in these lands in these days, as most of the Dunedain had gone to Minas Tirith with their lord and spent their days in Gondor and to the lands south and east of their kingdom. But added to the strangeness of his mere presence was the fact that Hanasían still wore the robes of a Ranger and not the cloth of a royal retainer of Gondor, nor the sign of any other higher rank. Finally, there was the quill and parchment that was an almost constant companion to the Man, although they were not in evidence this morning. Hearpwine found him intriguing as a result of these, but knew not how to question the man about them.

Another yawn overtook him and his eyes near watered at the strength of his fatigue. He smiled in apology to his companion explaining, “I slept but three hours last night, and that was fitful enough for I was constantly being awoken by the King’s own dogs: they had taken a liking to my beard and were constantly licking at it.” He laughed at the memory. “I am too weary to be anything but abed…” He suddenly remembered what it was that had kept him from his sleep. Gomen! he thought. By Hrothgar’s mane, I forgot the lad! He looked about the Inn for a sight of the boy but he had disappeared. Hearpwine was stung with shame for having let his promise to take him walking slip his mind so easily. As luck would have it, at that moment the door to the kitchen opened and from where Hearpwine sat he could see Mae speaking with someone. He caught her eye and waved to her, indicating that he wished to have a word. She quickly looked at whomever she was speaking with and, wiping her hands on her apron, came toward him.

Hearpwine turned back to Hanasían in order to explain. “I’ve just remembered that I promised to take young Gomen with me on a walk outside Edoras this day. He seems to have grown weary of waiting and disappeared. I’ll just ask his sister where he has gone.” Mae was soon beside their table, and looking a bit uncomfortable to be there. She said that she did not know where her brother had gone, but that she would find him and say that Hearpwine was ready to go for their walk. As the lass turned away, Hearpwine asked if she had obtained permission to join them. Mae blushed, saying “I was just speaking with my mother about that when you called, Hearpwine. I do not know, but perhaps you and Gomen had best plan on going alone…” Hearpwine felt a tinge of real disappointment but did not let it show. He knew what people were beginning to think of he and Mae and he did not want to set tongues wagging any more about the girl. It was one thing to be a man and have people speaking of you – it was entirely different for a comely young lass.

Mae left them and went in search of her brother. Hearpwine turned back to his companion, and said. “We may not have long to speak, now, before I am dragged out of here by young Gomen, but I must ask to know somewhat of your story. I had thought that all the Dunedain were gathered in Gondor with the King Elessar, and that you had all been elevated to the ranks of knights and lords. How is it that you are here as a Ranger of the North, seeking to record what others have to say about their lives?”

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry caught sight of Aedre scurrying into the kitchen and thought of the errands she needed to ask the girl to do that day. She ran over the list which Aylwen had left her in her mind, trying to figure out how she could excuse herself her in order to talk with the girl without being rude.

She caught the words, "it is as much mine as it is his" and suddenly realised she was missing part of the conversation. She looked up at Sigurd as he began a long, heroic and obviously practised request. She began to stare at his mouth, which was forming words of length and eloquence far beyond that of the Rohirrim youth of the day and she found herself unconsciously searching for a metre or rhythm to their expression, silently counting the syllables of each word. Finally, Sigurd ended with the refrain,

" And, I assure you, my services would be as great as I can make them, and I would not shirk whatever duties you assign me. What say you??"

In her mind she was recalling the strangely contradictory words of his uncle just previously, something about his parents loosing hope and Osric needing to use severe reprimand on the boy. It was the strangest, most bizzare supplication she had ever heard in her life and she couldn't for a moment begin to think how she would reply.

Maybe I should let Aylwen sort this out, she idly wondered, before thinking that would be rather lazy of her to do. She watched Oscric scratch his jaw and out of the corner of her eye she caught Hearpwine desperately trying to sifle a grin by picking up a tankard and hurriedly hiding his face in the bottom of it. She found herself unaccountably needing to scratch her upper lip, as if likely to be overcome by a sneeze and she looked over towards the kitchen wondering if Frodides would appear and bring an end to this current scene with a request about the day's meal plans. But no Frodides was forthcoming, indeed Bethberry could hear murmers of words from the kitchen.

She looked Hearpwine directly in the eye and then Hanasian before raising her eyebrow at Osric. She thougth a bit and then turned to Sigurd.

"My lad," she said, "perhaps you could tell me what duties you would shirk should I assign you any."

And she attempted to make her face appear as bland as possible as she made this not quite entirely innocent request.

[Snowdog]

The talk of the Shirelands and halflings carried about some, and their habit of smiking pipeweed was seemingly slowly catching on amoonst the Rohirrim, and to a lesser extent, the Gondorians, but the high prices for the good Shire brands prevented it from being too widespread. Hanasían wondered if ol Hobs figured some good money could be made by selling some on the side. No, he didn't smoke, which was considered strange by other hobbits, and his love of brewmastering held sway over him.

Hanasían thought of the north while Hearpwine had turned his attention toward Mae and considered his impending walk, while Bêthberry was tending to Sigurd work request. Hearpwine did say to Hanasían,

“We may not have long to speak, now, before I am dragged out of here by young Gomen, but I must ask to know somewhat of your story. I had thought that all the Dunedain were gathered in Gondor with the King Elessar, and that you had all been elevated to the ranks of knights and lords. How is it that you are here as a Ranger of the North, seeking to record what others have to say about their lives?”

Hanasían thought silently for a moment at this. He could not speak of a council that King Elessar summoned three of his Dúnedain Ranger kinsmen, Haladan, Amunden, and himself. It was not spoken of by any, and to each it was unofficially known as the Council of Stealth. After a brief discussion among the four Dúnedain, they went to a small meeting chamber where Éomer Éadig, King of Rohan, and Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien were having a discussion of their own. Soon they were joined by Farasan, a renowned Ranger of Ithilien and lieutenant to Faramir, Frea, a lieutenant of Rohan, and Berogon, a trusted captain and acting emmisary for King Bard II of Dale. There were no servants about, and two of King Elessar's guard stood outside the door. The whole council lasted maybe an hour, but what was asked, said, thought about, and argued upon among these Men were enormous. Then Frea, Farasan, Amunden, Haladan, and Hanasían were dismissed for a time while the Lords of Men talked some more. When we were again summoned to the council chamber, the questions asked them were of their plans and of their families, and what was asked of them was also enormous and would be life changing. In the end, Frea opted out as did Haladan, who had a wife and had just gained word of the birth of his son in the north. So Hanasían, Amunden, Farasan, remained and Berogon then discussed what was immediatly required of them. After agreeing under oath to serve in this matter, sworn to the Kings of Dale, Rohan, and the United Dúnedain Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor, they were then only given instructions to gather at Henneth Annûn by the night of the next full moon.... Hanasían looked at Hearpwine and said,

'I had become a sort of historian in my youth in Rivendell. It grew out of my persistant enquiries about my father Halasí, of whom only a shadow of memory do I hold. The great library of Imladris also conspired to inspire me, and in learning Tengwar script, I began to write of the tales spoken of deeds uncounted. When I came with my mother Forcwyn to Rohan, I learned much of riding and warfare, and I began a book chronicling the spoken deeds of the Rohirrim. I call it the Rohirric Annals. I had also learned the speech and script of my mother's kin so that which I would write could be read by the common folk.. or at least by those who could read. But this is not what you ask. but no, not all of the Dúnedain Rangers are in Minas Tirith, though most are, and are in the King's Governing Council. But I do not go out for the pomp and celebration. The King's work goes on even now. We will have to speak more of things, and maybe you could make song to some of the deeds I record.'

Officially, after the Council of Stealth, Hanasían had asked for and was granted leave of service by King Elessar. But he still served his Chieftain. He paused and looked at Sigurd as Bêthberry spoke to him,

"My lad, perhaps you could tell me what duties you would shirk should I assign you any."

A grin came across Hanasían's face as he sipped his tea, and he watched the younsters reaction to see if he realized he could name his duty. Hanasían nodded back to Hearpwine and said,

'What do you think the lad will say?'

[Nurumaiel]

Frodides smiled in a motherly fashion at the woman. She had grown quite fond of Aedre over the years and knew her very well, more than most guests at the Inn for she did not show herself much. In truth Aedre was only a little younger than herself, though Frodides had always thought her much younger than she really was. Aedre had a very good heart. Frodides had always known this, but her offer to do extra work so Mae could go out walking only proved it further. "I thank you for your offer, Aedre," she said, "and I have no doubt that Maercwen does the same, but... You see, Mae has already been out riding this morning and I consider it now not a matter of the work that needs to be done but a lesson of responsibility and duty, whatever the disappointment." She turned to speak to her daughter, but she saw that Mae was gone. Peering around the kitchen door, she saw that Maercwen had just departed the company of Hearpwine and had turned towards the Inn door. Frodides realized that she was no doubt looking for Gomen.

Frodides turned back to Aedre and smiled again. "Once again I thank you," she said. She continued with her work but continued to steadily gaze at Aedre. "It has been long since we have spoken," she said. "I do not know why, for we are almost always together. Perhaps it is because these days have been busy and it is often difficult to work and talk at the same time. But as women we should not be denied it." She laughed lightly. "Tell me, Aedre, how have things been in your own life? You have tended well to the lives of the others in your work here, but I hope you are not ignoring yourself."

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

Maercwen had seen the look of clear disappointment on Hearpwine's face and it increased her own disappointment all the more. She pulled herself away from him as hastily as possible, wishing that she had not been riding earlier in the morning. Perhaps then her mother would be more ready to consent. She treasured the time she had spent with Gomen but she regretted she could not spend time now with Gomen and Hearpwine. He spent all his days at the Hall and would often not return until evening; it would not be a short time before he could request she walk with him again.

She went out to the stables to look for Gomen and found her father standing outside the door, talking in a low voice that was not quite stern but very authoritive. He was addressing a young woman whose face was new to Maercwen. No doubt it had to do with the horses. Her father would never speak in such a tone to a guest on any other matter. She courtesly nodded her head to both but did not speak, for this was a matter which she could not interrupt. She slipped into the stable to search for Gomen.

At first the table appeared empty, or at least Gomen was not there. The horses dozed, or pranced, or ate their breakfast as they saw fit, but Gomen was nowhere in sight. And then she heard a faint sound from the loft. She drew closer, straining her ears, and her eyes widened in shock as she realized it was her brother Gomen, and he was crying. Catching up her skirts she scrambled awkwardly up the ladder and went to the lad's side, falling to her knees beside him and stroking his gold hair. "Gomen, what has happened to you?" she cried in compassion. He made her no answer but merely sat, tears streaming down his face, clenching and unclenching his hands. Maercwen put an arm about his shoulders and helped him to his feet. "Gomen, come to Mamma," she said, gently pulling him to the ladder. "You should not be up here all alone." He obeyed her blindly.

As she hustled him past her father she saw a glimpse of his face and was surprised. It tightened in restrained anger and he looked at the young woman he was speaking with. Not with any strong emotion but a look that knew and also revealed. Maercwen realized immediately the girl had something to do without, though she did not know how she was concerned. Pushing her wonderings aside, she thrust open the door to the Inn and led the sobbing Gomen across the floor of the Common Room towards the kitchen. Bethberry had been speaking with Sigurd but when she saw Gomen she stopped, saying, "Maercwen, what has happened?"

Maercwen paused for a moment and studied Bethberry thoughtfully, then briefly cast her gaze over all gathered there. All of them were as surprised as Bethberry. Clearly it was only her father who knew what was wrong. "I don't know," she said slowly, and brought Gomen into the kitchen. Frodides let out a gasp when she saw him and knelt in front of him, catching his tears in her apron. He would not tell her what was wrong as he had not told Mae, so Frodides merely pulled him to her and held him, stroking his hair comfortingly. Maercwen stood awkwardly by until her mother spoke, saying, "Mae, would you make a cup of tea for the lad?"

Gomen spoke brokenly, his voice caught up in sobs and the breath pulled from him. "I don't want a cup of tea, Mamma."

"Just sit, darling," she said, putting him on a chair and gazing down at him. She felt her heart breaking inside her, as it had always whenever one of her children was hurt. The tear-stained little faces, the little bodies convulsed with sobs, and the weeping hearts within them. She remembered as a young girl she had once seen a boy crying with sorrow and hurt and she had wanted nothing more than to gather him in her arms and mother him. Looking down at her own son she realized there was nothing to prevent her and so she put her arms about him once more and comforted him as only a mother can.

[Witch_Queen]

He stood there with his hand across the fresh cut on his cheek. He knew that in a matter of no time it would become another scar. The elf didn't know what to think of the Inn. He had been traveling for many days and decided that for a change he actually needed to sleep on a bed. The constant change in the hardness of the ground was about to kill him. Par Ohmsford didn't know anyone yet it seemed like the room was filled with familar faces. His blonde hair hung loose around his face. He tried to make the cut stop bleeding but it seemed like it would take a little bit more than just pressure. It was a small cut but he still couldn't stand the feel of blood going down his face.

His blue eyes scanned the room to find an empty seat. It seemed like everyone got along well. After a few moments of searching he found the perfect chair. He sat down off to the side of everyone else. He didn't know whether or not he should listen to their conversation or keep his mind in his own affairs.

Par sat there and remembered his past. It only seemed like weeks since he last saw his old friend Legolas. Plus since the ending of the "secret council" meeting, he hadn't returned back home. Eryn Lasgalen was so far away and only a part of his past that he now whished to forget. The last thing he could remember of his friends was watching them sail away on the next to last ship to Valinor.

[Kransha]

Though he had not been asked to do so, Osric took Bethberry’s vaguely concealed hint, grabbed it by the horns, and ran with it before anything could be done to stop him. He was far too eager to get the irksome situation squared away to allow Sigurd the opportunity to make a mistake, so a renewed and refreshed tirade. “Well, the lad has a strong arm, for any hard labor you might charge him with, a quick wit and a head for numbers, does not tire as easily as most, has an inexhaustible nature that I’m sure would profit from, I assure you. He could help in the stables, cater to guests, tend to the grounds, see to all of the delectable victuals you provide, tend to the ale supply, hold up legless tables-”

“Osric,” Bethberry raised her hand, in effect silencing him abruptly, with a delicate and well-hidden smile crossing her face, “Sigurd is entirely capable of speaking for himself.”

Osric was about to continue, and his mouth had already opened with a new word forming on his lips, but the vague and interruptible sound duly died in his throat, as if on cue, and he nodded in defeat, realizing his own error as he spoke, much more meekly than the old Rohirrim usually did. “Yes,” he murmured dejectedly, “yes. Of course he is.” He turned, still looking defeated, but with some mild idea of hope reflected on his face as he looked at his nephew, with a expression that seemed a mix between insistence and pleading. “Sigurd,” he said, trying to fill his raspy voice with an aspect of command, but probably failing, “tell Bethberry what jobs you can do for her and how aptly.”

Again, Sigurd concealed no grin, but let it shine for his uncle to see and narrow his tired eyes at. He turned, still smiling, and clasped his hands in front of him, looking amiably at the former innkeeper. “My uncle exaggerates.” he began, words which caused Osric to visibly wince, for he no doubt thought that Sigurd was about to squander whatever chances he’d ever had. “Betberry, I am just a simple young man, but I will try my hardest to do whatever task you appoint me, as it will benefit both of us mutually no matter what. If that is not specific enough for you, forgive me, but I know not what slots are available for the filling, so I can only say that.” And he ended promptly and with fine precision, allowing Betberry and the other esteemed folk gathered to consider his words, while Osric just looked nervously back and forth and coughed.

[Orofaniel]

The poor boy, Gomen, had come into the kitchen together with Mae while tears shed down his small innocent face. The chocking sound of his voice, that swallowed the unbearable sobbing, seemed like too much for his mother; she was embracing him, hoping that it somehow would comfort him, although it did seem to be quite difficult at the time. He wept and sobbed, and Aedre couldn't do much to help him. She felt bad about it, and her happiness that she earlier had brought to the room seemed to fade away bit for bit.

"Dear Gomen, is there anything I can do for you?" Aedre asked him, as he still was weeping in his mother arms. "Thank you for the offer, Aedre. I will certainly turn to you if there is anything needed," Frodides told her, smiling weakly. "He'll be alright," she added. Aedre tried to smile back, but it ended up like an odd grimace.

"What say you Mae, should we step outside for a bit and give Gomen some room?" Aedre suggested, patting Mae on the shoulder. She nodded weakly and followed her out from the kitchen.

"Do you know what happen to your dear brother?" Aedre asked her as soon as they had slipped out the kitchen doors. Aedre seemed a bit worried when she saw that Mae had grown pale. "No, I'm afraid not," She said, looking down in the floor. "I don't like seeing my brother's tears streaming down his face," she then said looking at Aedre. "I don't like seeing tears in the faces on the people I love."

"None of us do dear," Aedre said, comforting the girl. "It's not pleasant to see them in a state like this, especially when we are close to them. Yet tears can be reliving sometimes - Take me for example, when I'm sad, upset or hurt, I sometimes feel my sorrows float away in my tears. Of course, the pain is great when you cry, but hopefully afterwards, you'll feel much better. I know I do," Aedre told Mae. “Gomen is another case though, but he’ll handle it, don’t you think? He will be just alright," she continued trying to sound both compassionate and encouraging.

[Nurumaiel]

Maercwen sighed when Aedre left and sat down outside the kitchen, listening painfully to the sobs coming from within. She felt close to tears herself, suffering accutely every particle of her brother's pain. It had always hurt her and she knew it always would. She loved all her brothers and sisters dearly, but she could not deny that Gomen had always been her special brother. She remembered as a child she had nearly died of impatience, waiting for his birth, and how from his first days she had hovered about him, assuming the role of his little mother. Gomen had been passionately attached to his mother, and when Giefu had been born he found himself suddenly ignored by her, or so he felt. Certainly she didn't pay as much attention to him. But Maercwen had come and spent all her free time with him, though she had been only a little girl herself. And so they had grown up with each other.

In the kitchen Gomen slowly ceased in his crying and put his head wearily on his mother's shoulder, letting the last few tears slide down his cheeks. Frodides continued to stroke his hair but drew him back a little so she could look into his face. "Now, darling, would you tell me what is wrong?" she questioned him. Tears began to waver on the brink of his eyelids again, but he drew his sleeve across his eyes and held them back bravely.

"Mamma," he said, letting his head fall on her shoulder again and closing his eyes, "there was a beautiful young girl who came to the stable with her horse. She was so beautiful, Mamma..." He paused, and despite his sorrow added earnestly, "Though not nearly as beautiful as you!" He fought his tears back once again as he recalled what had happened and continued in a trembling voice. "And I was going slower than I usually do because she was so beautiful; I just wanted to look at her for a moment. She grew impatient and annoyed with me and she... she struck me!" The last three words were cried out amidst the sobs that once again racked his body.

Frodides reached out and touched the red mark on her son's cheek with gentle fingers. She had wondered about that mark, and now she knew. "Gomen," she said, her voice comforting, "you mustn't hold it against this girl that she struck you. I understand your grief, and also the shock it must have been to you. And I know nothing such as this has ever happened to you. But your father will tell you often that when he was a stableboy at his father's home he was often struck by impatient ones. It never ceased to hurt him, so he told me, but he learned to bear it bravely and return the cuff with a smile." She patted his sore cheek. "At least, dearest darling, you know that your dear sister has never struck you."

His face brightened a little and with shyness he pushed his head deeper into her shoulder. "No, Mamma, nor have you," he said. "But it still hurts."

"Yes, darling," she said softly. "It does." And no more. Gomen felt peace flooding him. His mother understood. His mother didn't tell him not to cry. She did not tell him it was foolish of him to cry over such a small thing, nor that he should just bear it as a man. She told him that it did hurt but she comforted him. She was the dearest mother in the world.

In accordance with his slight brightening, she allowed a cheerful smile and took his face in both her hands. "Now, Gomen, would you keep Hearpwine waiting any longer for the walk? Run along dear, and tell him. Perhaps on this walk he will teach you another song."

Gomen's sorrow vanished and he swelled with excitement. Kissing his mother's cheek, he skipped out of the kitchen, a smile on his tear-stained face. Yet there was still a queer little ache in his heart as he came to Hearpwine. "Oh, Hearpwine sir," he said, hoping the tears on his face did not show plainly; "I am quite ready to go now, if you are. Yet I would not interrupt you if you are in the midst of a conversation."

Maercwen had seen Gomen leave the kitchen and was glad. There was at least a smile on his face. Feeling as though the world were beautiful again, which she knew it surely was, she retied her apron and returned to the kitchen to continue with her work.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Gomen’s eager face bore still the marks of the tears that had flown across it, but Hearpwine had been a lad of Gomen’s age not so long ago and knew better than to let on that he saw the marks of the boy’s woe. The lad was at that difficult age on the very cusp of manhood, in which life was a constant movement between childhood and maturity. His first response to whatever had befallen him had been to fling himself upon his sister and mother for comfort, but now that the worst of the storm was past, here he was seeking out a man with whom to forget the passion and the tears. It was natural of the boy to do this, but still Hearpwine felt a slight twinge of loss on his behalf – a quiet lament for the loss of the easy unity of the young boy who did not know that he had to behave like a man, and who still could find comfort in the soft and loving arms of his mother and sister. Hearpwine often wondered why it was so that men had to learn to cut themselves off from that kind of comfort, and why to be a man one had to learn to hide one’s feelings. It was counter intuitive for himself, for as a bard he reveled in the passionate feelings of his craft, and would frequently be moved to tears by the power of song: why, he puzzled, are such tears acceptable – even in the hall of the King – when this boy’s tears of hurt and distress were not?

He smiled at Gomen and stood immediately. “Aye lad,” he said, “I am sorry to have made you wait but my good friend Hanasián and I were deep in talk of the Halflings. I;m sure you understand hoe engrossing they can be!” Gomen’s bright eye and fiercely bobbing head told Hearpwine that he did. “Well then, come along, and let us enjoy the rest of the morning upon the hills!” He put his arm about the boy’s shoulders and walked toward the door. In that gesture he could easily feel the frame of a grown man beginning to emerge from beneath the boy’s skin – and he noted with some approval that Gomen would be both tall and strong: a proud tribute to the strength and manhood of the Rohirrim, and a credit to his family.

As they left the Inn, Hearpwine caught the eye of Bêthberry who was still talking with the youth Sigurd. In conversation though she was, still her eye held his for a moment, and in that time it was almost as though she were speaking with him. Hearpwine was shocked, for while there was no voice in his mind he felt her sense of warning and caution as clearly as if she had spoken it aloud. Perhaps sensing that he had felt her concerns, Bêthberry returned her attention to Osric and Sigurd. Hearpwine’s face became a bit graver and he said, “I need to fetch somewhat from the stables, Gomen, before we go.” But even as he spoke he saw that Gomen was not paying attention to him. Following the boy’s gaze he saw him looking at what was no doubt the cause of his upset – a very pretty young girl, both tall and stern of aspect. Hearpwine quickly hid his knowing smile so that Gomen would not be shamed by it.

Leading the boy into the stables he moved to Hrothgar’s stall. His horse snickered happily at the presence of his master and nuzzled Hearpwine. The bard stroked his friend’s mane approvingly and admired the tremendous care that he had received from the stablemaster – never before had Hrothgar looked so well. Suddenly realizing that he had not been riding in weeks, Hearpwine spoke to his mount. “My friend,” he said, “here I was planning on an outing and not taking you! And you’ve barely had a chance to stretch your legs beyond a round of daily exercise in the paddock! Come Gomen!” he cried, “Let us allow Hrothgar to take us out beyond the walls of Edoras so that we may feel the sunlight upon us in the high places of the vale!” A few minutes later Hrothgar was saddled and neighing happily as he bore his master and Gomen toward the gate of the city. Hearpwine smiled as he felt the fatigue drain from his limbs to be replaced by the vitality of his horse.

As they rode, he felt the reassuring slap of his sword against Hrothgrar’s flank, and he thought to himself how this way, he could bring his sword along without having to let Gomen know that it was his blade that he had gone into the stables to fetch. Bêthberry’s look came into his memory once more and he wondered why it had led him to ensure that he went out armed…

[Nurumaiel]

Gomen had felt Hearpwine's silence and wondered if anything were the matter. He had been delighted with the way Hearpwine had treated him, though the bard had clearly perceived that he had been crying. Gomen felt ashamed now for having wept at all, but as he reflected back on his mother's embraces he thought that it was a fine thing to have a comforting mother and he would remember that she was so for all of his life. He hoped if he was ever married he would marry a girl who would be much like his mother. And he hoped with a vengeance that she would not ever strike him as that other girl had. If he married at all, that is. He did not feel like concerning himself with such matters at the present moment.

Seeking to break the silence, he said what had been dwelling on his mind. "It is a pity that Mae couldn't come with us, isn't it?" And he felt keenly that it was a very deep pity. He didn't feel nearly so easy with himself when Maercwen wasn't around. Gomen was not sure if he were entirely correct, but he had always felt that Mae's cheery, laughing face brought kindness into the hearts of everyone else and made them friendly. It could be, he considered, that others had been kind to start with, but he liked to feel that his elder sister was in at least somewhat responsible for their cheeriness.

"It is a pity," said Hearpwine, and perhaps would have said more if Gomen had not broken in quickly, abruptly changing the subject as the wanderings of his mind drifted to another place. "Master Hearpwine, I do..." He paused and hesitated, wondering if he were not being too bold in what he was about to request. "I do wish you would teach me to sing and to play the harp. I... I rather want to be a bard myself when I'm older, but I fear I know not what I am doing. So if you would kindly teach me..." He trailed off, feeling warmth spread over his face.

Hearpwine did not laugh at him, nor did he show any signs of annoyance, but he said gravely, "I do not think, Gomen, that I am nearly skilled enough as a bard to be a suitable teacher for you."

Gomen flushed. Of course, this was true, and he should have thought of it before. "Why, yes, sir, I suppose you're right," he said weakly, but he had never been a boy to give up easily, and he spoke again, more quietly this time and with less assurance. "But at least, sir, you are better than I and perhaps you might teach me something, however simple it may be."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

A familiar face made its way up the dusty hill leading to the White Horse.

Dark hair framed a solemn and content face as Aylwen Dreamsong walked slowly towards the entrance of the Inn she had been working at for nearly fifteen years. Her deep hazel-green eyes beamed and danced like the light that quietly bounded from the sun and off down through the trees to the luscious green grass. Her set jaw and stubborn chin had softened since she had left her job for a short time, her face shone with newfound knowledge. The weather was far too nice out for a cloak or cover, and Aylwen felt comfort and resolute in the lovely sun.

Stepping lightly up to the door that she knew so well, Aylwen smiled and walked through the open doorway of the White Horse. She felt comforted at the sight of the Innkeeper’s desk. Continuing quietly past the kitchen, Aylwen entered the Mead Hall. Her smile did not fade even as she ignored all other patrons for a moment and went towards a contemplating Bethberry with Osric and his young nephew. Seeing that her companion was deep in conversation, Aylwen’s smile faltered just a bit, weakening slightly as she met Bethberry’s eyes for just a moment and nodded, wordlessly promising to speak with her later.

Aylwen went back to the front of the Inn, opening the door to the office that Bethberry still often used and Aylwen rarely entered. Aylwen sat her traveling things down in the room, and picked up a small book from the desk. Leaving the office and stepping out to her desk, Aylwen sat and opened the book to a page empty of writing.

‘As I return to where I belong, I reflect on what I have learned from my journey away from the Inn and to another destination. At this destination, I thought that I had seen things I would never see again, and if I did ever see it again I thought that it could never hold as much beauty and wonder as it had upon first arrival.

Returning home brought new meaning. While I found a different way of life waiting beyond the home I have known for nigh on fifteen years, I realized that I missed the Inn, or, my home, rather sorely. I began to wonder what I had found so wondrous about my journey’s destination. It was somewhere new that I had never been to, surely. Then I wondered why this enticing new world was interrupted by nostalgia and dreams of home. I learned that captivation and wonder at my own life only comes when I am willing to open my eyes. I can make a life at my fourteen-year home just as exciting as somewhere I have never been before, if I try.

My only regret is that I did not learn this simple lesson sooner.’

As she finished the entry, Aylwen smiled once more and went off in search of Bethberry again.

[Nurumaiel]

"Aylwen!" the little voice cried, though it sounded more like 'Al-wen.' Little Motan, who had ever adored Aylwen and had found it true that 'absence makes the heart grow fond,' hurtled herself in a very unladylike manner through the Inn door, little hands once again filled with flowers. She was too short to kiss Aylwen's cheek, so she contented herself with throwing her arms about the Innkeeper's knees and hugging her fiercely.

Aylwen laughed and nearly lost her balance, and then stooped a bit so she was at eye level with the golden-headed little thing. The little girl smiled and satisfied herself by kissing Aylwen's cheek, which she could now reach. She brushed some strands of hair out of her eyes and looked pointedly down at the flowers in her hand until Aylwen followed her gaze to look at them as well. Motan flourished the flowers in front of the Innkeeper's face, saying, "From the garden we made."

A more dignified young girl came in, and this was Mereflod. Her face was beaming with pleasure but at seven she was conscious that she was a lady and should behave as became that position. She strode gracefully across the room and kissed the stooped Aylwen's cheek. "I'm glad to see you again," she said, laughing slightly. "We missed you very much."

Motan indignantly pushed her older sister aside. She had been talking to Aylwen first. It was unfair of Mereflod to shove in so. Positive that her sister would not interfere, Motan's face broke into a smile again and she waved the flowers in Aylwen's face again, repeating, "From the garden we made." Her smile grew wider and little pearly teeth shone in her slightly freckled face. "We took care of the seeds all the time you were away, just as you showed us, and these are the summer flowers. Aren't they beautiful?" She gazed fondly at them and then buried her face into them, taking a long whiff and sighing rapturously. Then she stretched out her little hand and waved the flowers yet again and Aylwen's face, saying, "Here, Aylwen - " (once again it sounded as 'Al-wen') " - these flowers are for you."

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry had continued to ply Sigurd with questions, questions which sometimes flummoxed the lad and sometimes brought a hesitant eagerness of explanation. Out of the corner of her eye, she had watched Hearpwine be drawn away by Gomen's eagerness. Something about a ride in the foothills, she had earlier overheard and she had wanted to speak to Hearpwine about it, but the dictates of talk and work had kept them apart. It was all she could do to manage to catch his attention as he strode out with the boy. Nothing specific did she suggest by her manner and no one else caught it. But nonetheless, there was an indescribable something which her look conveyed, enough for the young musician to sense, and to take away with him a hightened awareness. She was glad that Aylwen had returned safely, and glad too that the young woman had realised they must speak soon.

For the time being, Bethberry resumed her conversation with Osric and Sigurd, over the din of the children's warm welcome of Aylwen. It was perhaps unfair of her to draw Osric out with his rather blousey, overdone eloquence, for she could see it made the young Sigurd embarassed, yet it was an opportunity to judge his character. She had a good mind where he would help at The Horse, but she wanted him to give a greater account of himself before she spoke with Aylwen.

"Sigurd, you say you will carry out whatever task I assign you."

The lad nodded soberly while Oscric nodded several times enthusiastically and prodded the boy's side.

"But what if we need help in the laundry? Will you undertake that?'

She could not be absolutely sure but Bethberry thought she heard Osric muffle a surprised intake of breathe. The lad's face faltered a little.

"I know nowt of laundry and cleaning, Mistress Bethberry, for that was my sisters' chores. But I can carry tubs of water and heat cauldrons over fires."

Bethberry weighed this answer and found it in the boy's favour.

"So would it be kitchen work you could handle?"

She thought she could detect the boy's eagerness dim and certainly the thought of his nephew doing maid's duty in the kitchen was not an especially welcome one to Oscric, who coughed a little.

"Then there's mucking about in the stable. Liofan could use help there, I'm sure, and Gomen could teach you how to handle the horses as well."

The old warrier covered his eyes at this, thinking shrewdly how to convey his thoughts to his nephew. This was begining to become uncomfortable; he had not practiced an extended interview and had not thought beyond the opening request
If the boy had chaffed with his parents, however, he would need work which gave him some freedom as well as challenge. Bethberry held out a third posibility.

"Yet I think you might prefer to make your own routines . We have need of a handyman, a carpenter to fix broken furniture and gates, repair woodwork and carry and load supplies for us. Would you prefer that, Sigurd, to be our journeyman labourer, to apply your muscle where heavy work is needed, to keep an eye on the Inn at night perhaps, when patrons might need some extra help making their way out to guard us as well as tote and carry for us?"

She sat back, waiting to see which Sigurd would choose. Once he did, she would discuss the possibility with Aylwen.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine felt bad for having misled the boy. He could easily enough begin Gomen’s training as a bard, but he lacked the energy. He barely had time to see to his own training, let alone teach another. But Hearpwine knew how Gomen would take it, were he to say that he could not spare the time – the boy would be sure that it was only an excuse to avoid teaching him. Better the lad think Hearpwine an unfit teacher than think himself an unworthy student.

“Teach you but one song, do you say? Well, that will be no easy thing – indeed, I have been tasked with many great trials that will seem light by comparison.”

“What do you mean, Master Bard?” Gomen asked.

Hearpwine laughed and said, “My name, lad, is Hearpwine. I thought you would have learned that by now. Save your ‘Master’ for Eorcyn, or for me when I do finally become Bard of the Golden Hall. But this task you put me to is hard because I must now decide what song to teach you. It is no small think being asked to select from all that I know the one that will give you the greatest pleasure. Perhaps you could tell me what kind of song you would like?”

Gomen thought for a while in studied silence as they rode. The houses of Edoras slipped past them as Hrothgar got his legs beneath him, and within minutes they were passing through the tall gates. “Hang on!” cried Hearpwine, “I think that I shall let him have a bit of a run to make up for the weeks he’s spent without real exercise.” As though he understood his master’s words, Hrothgar snorted and went instantly into a full gallop, racing right off the road and onto to soft grass that lay between the mounds of the kings. They raced into the south-east towards the skirts of the mountains, and were soon going up the long slow slope of the foothills. Gomen, who was more used to horses even than most lads of Rohan, easily rode along at Hearpwine’s back. As they crested the first line of hills he broke his silence. “I think I should like a song about a girl,” he said, as though there had been no interruption in their conversation. “A song about a pretty girl.”

Hearpwine smiled into the rushing air and sunshine. “Aye lad, and why do you want to learn a song about a pretty lass?”

He felt Gomen grow a bit uncomfortable behind him, and he regretted his teasing tone. The reply, however, was that of a young man, and not a boy. “I wish to sing it for my sister,” he said evenly, “for she I the fairest girl I know.”

“Aye, she is fair Gomen. But the day may come when you will look upon another and find your own sister but poor company. But do not reprimand me! For I know that you will say that such a day will never come!” He fell into thought for a moment. “A song about a pretty lass, you say. . .I have it!”

As I was walking one midsummer morning,
A-viewing the meadows and to take the air,
'Twas down by the banks of the sweet withywindle,
When I beheld a most lovely Fair.

With three long steps I stepp'd up to her,
Not knowing her as she pass'd me by;
I stepp'd up to her, thinking to view her,
She appear'd to me like some virgin bride.

I said: Pretty maid, how far are you going?
And what's the occasion of all your grief?
I'll make you as happy as any lady,
If you will grant me one small relief.

Stand off, stand off, you are deceitful;
You are deceitful, young man, 'tis plain -
'Tis you that have cause my poor heart to wander,
To give me comfort 'tis all in vain;

I'll take thee down to some lonesome valley,
Where no man nor mortal shall ever me tell;
Where the pretty little small birds do change their voices
And ev'ry moment their notes do swell.

Come all you young men that go a-courting,
Pray give attention to what I say,
There's many a dark and cloudy morning
Turns out to be a sunshiny day.

[Kransha]

Sigurd, who was not the most contemplative or thoughtful boy, seemed genuinely lost in thought. He raised a hand to his chin and scratched pensively, looking the part of a philosopher, which seemed to alarm Osric even more, who looked utterly confused. Sigurd, after a tranquil silence to which the area was unaccustomed descended and filled the brisk, indoor air around them, spoke, his voice firm and resolute, though wrought with hesitation. “Well, Bethberry,” he began politely, reserved in his tone of voice for care’s sake, “your suggestions are ample, and I thank you for that. There are surely enough choices mentioned for me to determine a suitable path…though some may not be as wanted as some.” The boy had a momentary, and rather disturbing thought cross his mind about the innate possibility of being cast the role of a serving maid. Yes indeed, that position was not wanted at all, a feelin mutual for both Osric and Sigurd.

Suddenly, before Sigurd could continue, Osric spurted into the conversation, lurching uncomfortably were he stood. He seemed to be making some truly grand speech, as his arms waved and made involuntary gestures of illustration, which were probably very distracting from his garbled words. “But, of course, if there is any space open indefinitely, he would gladly fill it.” His mouth was still open, ready to continue, but Sigurd began again before his uncle’s words had developed. “It is a delicate matter, but my choice is set before me.” He looked as confident as ever, a fact which should’ve made his uncle proud, or even delighted (which he probably had never been in his rowdy, often rebellious nephew), but it didn’t, for Osric was too busy interrupting again.

“And he will readily serve any other purpose if that choice is met with-”

This time, Sigurd interrupted, his voice cold but satisfied, “Uncle, do I speak in some foreign tongue that my words need translating? Pray, tell me if that is so. Otherwise, I think Bethberry can hear and understand to some extent what I say without your assistance.” He pleasant tone now died, and Osric shrunk out of Sigurd’s way, looking half dejected, while Bethberry blinked courteously. Sigurd stepped forward again, in front of his relative, and spoke again, with dramatic force, summoning a resolved strength of voice.

“Bethberry, your last offer is most desirable, in my eyes at least.” He shot a dark look at his uncle, who turned his bearded head, pretending to look away and not notice the perturbed look being directed at him. “As I have naught to do in Edoras but tote my weight around, I would be more than willing to serve as a laborer here, but in more respects. My days are empty, as are my nights, so I would carry and handle what you wished me to, but I would not be adverse to helping in the stable, or serving anywhere else when that duty was required. As my uncle has said…many times,” again he shot a venomous look, but tempered with a vague, mute grin which Osric truly did not see, as he was currently trying very hard to look as if he’d seen an troll just outside the shuttered window of the inn, and acting the part well, “…I will be happy to serve wherever I am needed, or laborers have gone missing.”

The secret was, as Osric had by now guessed, but dared not mention, was that Sigurd was simply trying to put every last one of his waking hours in the inn, and for one purpose, and that purpose was one of the establishments other employees, Maercwen. In the kitchen and doing the less manly chores, though he would be demeaned in his boyish arrogance, he would also gain more access to her and those around, to seek any quarry presented. Leofan in the stable surely had an insight or two, and Hearpwine too. Osric’s eyes dimmed grimly as he shook his head in contemplation. His nephew was a romantic, and a hopeless one, and would probably accept even the most menial, and uncharacteristic of chores to get what he desired, as he was very persistent. Osric could only hope that Sigurd would pour the same dedication into his line of work that he would into his newest contemporary quest. Now, as he stood silently, unblinking and unmoving, as Sigurd nodded meditatively to himself and continued.

“That is my answer, Bethberry.”

[Imladris]

The euphonious articulation that descended upon my ear drew me with beguiling notes. It beckoned me on, alluring me with its dulcet notes. How could I cry it nay? But I forsook my antediluvian master, whose mandibles, robed in ashen vibrissae, was resting upon his breast, and who was in somnolent repose.

How could I bar my ears from such a melodious song? I auscultated.

As I was walking one midsummer morning,
A-viewing the meadows and to take the air,
'Twas down by the banks of the sweet withywindle,
When I beheld a most lovely Fair.

Midsummer mornings, I affirm, are diurnal courses of enchantment. '

With three long steps I stepp'd up to her,
Not knowing her as she pass'd me by;
I stepp'd up to her, thinking to view her,
She appear'd to me like some virgin bride.

He must have had expansive limbs, I deduced with my cerebration prowess.

I said: Pretty maid, how far are you going?
And what's the occasion of all your grief?
I'll make you as happy as any lady,
If you will grant me one small relief.

I cogitated that it was presumptious to think that he could make her happy.

Unfortunately the canticle brought felines of the female persuasion to my mind. I had never been joined to a member of that persuasion...but, in truth, it did not trouble me. Lasses were creatures who preferred to stay at home, whilst I enjoyed life. And I never deluded myself into believing that I, because of my golden aura-tic presence that I could make them full of bliss.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen accepted the flowers, her face bright and smiling uncontrollably. She had enjoyed her little welcoming committee, her cheeks flushing violently red and her eyes lit with simple happiness. Motan scrunched her eyebrows together at Aylwen and the flowers for a moment, and the Innkeeper wondered what the girl wanted her to do. Motan sighed deeply, and Aylwen grinned her understanding. Lifting the flowers up to her face and inhaling, Aylwen smelled the scent of the colorful plants. Satisfied, Motan giggled with youthful enthusiasm. Aylwen opened her arms and hugged both the young girls.

"My, my! You both have grown so much!" Aylwen observed when she had released the little children from her embrace. "If I should ever leave again, I would come back to see you both off and married with little Motans and Mereflods of your own!"

"But Aylwen!" Mereflod protested in a dignified, but somehow angelic little voice. "You've not been gone that long! We could not get married so fast!"

"I am sure that soon enough boys around Edoras will beg to differ!" Aylwen smiled at both of the girls, thinking of Hearpwine and the local boys and their infatuation with Mae.

"Papa will scare them away," Mereflod replied with certainty in her voice.

"I do not doubt that, either, little Mereflod. Now, Have you two been keeping an eye out for the Inn while I was gone?" Aylwen asked, her voice suddenly stern as Mereflod nodded gravely and Motan stifled her fits of laughter. "Making sure the men stayed polite and held their drinks? Making certain that Goldwine and all the horses were fed? Ensuring all the patrons good food and good times?" Aylwen paused, noticing that the girls' faces had become blank during her checklist. The Innkeeper laughed and pat both girls gently on their golden heads. "It was a joke. I am proud of both of you for taking care of your flower patch! You are both learning the values of good responsibility. When you work hard, you get something lovely out of it, like these flowers. Now...how have things been in my absence?"

[Bêthberry]

Not only did Bethberry blink courteously, she blinked several times courteously. The domestic tragicomedy played on as nephew and uncle each sought his own purpose and Bethberry slowly lost interest in it. She wondered mildly if they ever resorted to silly knockabouts as some families did, but somehow she doubted it. She suspected Sigurd would storm out in a huff and protest before Osric ever got that worked up. How different they were from Frodides and Liofan's family.

She sighed. These thoughts would not get her any closer to getting a straight answer out of Sigurd. She hmmmed for a bit. And then hawed for a bit. Her fingers absent-mindedly picked at some loose threads on her apron. She looked up at the banners high above the Mead Hall, banners of heroic times, and wondered how peace managed to produce youngsters so self-interested as these were.

She looked at Osric, whose eyes were about to bulge out of their sockets over some issue or item of which she was not aware. She looked at Sigurd, whose eyes wavered when she tried to make contact with them. She could not quite catch where it was his eyes were more drawn. Hmm. He is not speaking all the truth, she decided. She looked over at Aylwen, who was lost in a happy, eager conversation with the children. She looked down at Goldwine, regally commaning passage wherever he chose.

"Well," she proclaimed, with the kind of deliberate address which really means this is all a bit of a muddle, "you have made a most interesting claim, Master Sigurd."

"I have?" he intoned, a bit surprised by this tact.

"You have," she affirmed, quite pleasantly.

He waited. His uncle waited. Bethberry waited. Somewhere out at the back came the sound of tree branches snapping back and forth in the wind, not violently, but dolorously.

Osric began to worry. He coughed. He rose and would have begun a florid statement had Bethberry not raised her hand and gently, kindly bid him stop.

"No, please, this is indeed a profound matter. You are right, worthy Osric, to take such a keen concern and deep worry in your nephew's future."

Oscric's mouth seemed to pop several times as his lips quivered in a slight imitation of the words, "Quite so." And he huffed a bit.

Sigurd, for his part, began to bounce up and down on his heels. He was no closer to getting where he really wanted to be and he was not used to having to work this hard to get there.

"Your nights are as empty as your days, you say?" The woman caught him off guard with her question.

Sigurd stammered a sort of reply and cleared his throat.

"Well, then, without further ado, shall we call Aylwen over here and see what she thinks of hiring you as the night watchman? You can sleep all day, when we have plenty of hands here at the Horse, and then take over when we are all abed for the night. Perhaps you can help Liofan to put the horses to bed for the night at the stable, check that all the doors are locked, the shutters closed, restock the firewood for the next day for the main fireplaces and for the kitchen, clean out the chamber pots, restock the barrels of ale. A good way to fill your night, no?'

Neither Osric nor Sigurd could swear afterwards that there was any trace of a smile on Bethberry's face, yet both were strangely aware that there was a sort of gleeful sheen to her eyes as she spoke.

"Aylwen! Aylwen, come! We have the possibility of some new hands here at the Horse and we need your thoughts on the matter."

Then Bethberry turned back to Sigurd with her blandly polite face, and said, "Well?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The old man burst into the Inn with more speed and energy than any who knew him could have expected. He stood stock still in the entrance for a moment, his eyes taking in the occupants of the Mead Hall, but his furrowed brow indicated that whomever he sought was not there. He turned to the Innkeeper. “Good Mistress Aylwen, where is my student Hearpwine?” he asked breathlessly.

Aylwen, who had only just that moment been addressed by Bêthberry, took a moment to collect herself. “Master Eorcyn,” she replied as courteously as she could in the face of his rather abrupt manner, “I do not know. I have myself only just now returned from a long journey. Perhaps Bêthberry, who was looking after the Inn during my absence…” but she did not get a chance to finish, for Eorcyn was already rushing to Bêthberry’s side. Paying no heed to Sigurd and Osric (whom he somewhat pointedly ignored), he asked the woman if she knew where Hearpwine had gone. Bêthberry returned his gaze coolly – she was clearly not a woman who enjoyed being interrupted but for the sake of his high place in the Hall she would overlook it. “I believe that he went out riding with young Gomen,” she said.

“Riding!” Eorcyn acted as though Hearpwine had sought to inconvenience him personally. “But I must speak with him! He said that he would come here to sleep today, and now he is out riding? Perhaps I have not been working him as hard as I thought.”

“You have been working him much harder than I think is required, Eorcyn,” came the reply. This brought the old man up short, for he was unused to people taking such a tone with him, particularly since his elevation at the Contest. He gazed at Bêthberry in amazement, but the angry retort died on his lips as he looked at her. Something in her eye seemed to forbid him his hasty words.

“I am sorry, Mistress Bêthberry,” he said, “but it is urgent that I speak with my pupil. Do you know when he will return?”

“I am afraid I do not. But perhaps Maercwen will know. I saw her speaking with Gomen about the ride.”

“Thank you, lady. Thank you very much.” Eorcyn surprised himself with the ingratiating courtesy of his response, but he did not have time to wonder on it long. With as much speed as his aged body could manage he sought out Maercwen in the kitchens, where he surprised her with her arms half immersed in the washing-up tub. As she wiped her soapy hands on her apron, she listened open mouthed to the Master Bard’s explosion of words.

“Miss Maercwen, I have been sent to find Hearpwine and bid him be ready, but I find that he is not here. He told me that he meant to seek his bed this day, so I assured them that I could deliver their message without delay, but now I have found that he is on a ride – a ride, no less! – and not here at all. Oh dear, oh dear, this is most unfortunate, most unfortunate. The party is set to depart and have demanded his presence, but if he is gone from the City how am I to bring him where he is bid to come, and I am ordered to bring him…”

“Master Eorcyn,” Maercwen cried, stopping the flood with a gesture. “Please, speak more slowly, for I cannot understand you. You say that you have been sent to bring Hearpwine somewhere, and you cannot find him. That much I can help you with, although I fear you will not like the answer. Hearpwine has taken my brother riding in the hills and they will not be back for several hours. Now, if you can take that news with some patience, please tell me what it is you need him for.”

Eorcyn sat in a small chair at the kitchen table and laid his head upon his hand. “Oh dear, it is as I feared. What shall I tell them?”

“Tell who?”

“Why, the Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn of course. They have sent me to tell Hearpwine that he must make his farewells, for they are bound for Ithilien this very day!”

[Orofaniel]

"Farewells?"

How so, Aedre wondered. But then she realised what the old bard had just said; Hearpwhine would leave for Ithilien, together with Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn. She gazed at him, but said naught, because the words wouldn't come any further than her tongue. "Will, you excuse me," Aedre muttered while shoving her hands down in her apron. She hurried out from the kitchen and out in the common room.

"Aedre, will you not tell me why Eocryn needs to speak with Hearpwine so urgently?" Mistress Bethbery cried as she saw Aedre coming out from the kitchens. Aedre eyed her, and walked towards her. Yet her legs seemed not to follow her wish, and she stumbled. Luckily she managed to stay on her feet. Aedre was very much confused as she saw that Aylwen, the Innkeeper, had returned.

"Oh dear! It's Aylwen!" Aedre exclaimed as she saw her, as she almost had forgotten about Bethberry. "You have returned!" Aedre continued now embracing Aylwen. "Indeed," Aylwen said as they let go of each other. "I wouldn't have expected you to be back this early. But please, do not misunderstand; I am delighted to see you," she said and curtsied. "Thank you Aedre," Aylwen said and smiled at her. The vague, but kind expression in her face was ever so beautiful.

"Oh, who gave you those wonderful flowers?" Aedre said, as she spotted the colourful flowers in Aylwen's hands. "Oh, these..?" Aylwen said, while looking at them. Her small nose then fell slightly down in the blossoming bloom. "Mereflod and Motan gave them to me...from the garden," she said, lifting her head up, looking at Bethberry. Aedre smiled weakly as she eyes Bethberry's expression; she had quite forgotten about Bethberry's question. Oh, how ashamed she was.

"I'm terribly sorry Bethberry," she said and blushed. "I quite forgot when I eyed Aylwen. I got carried away in my own thoughts...how foolish of me," she said and bowed her head. "Master Eorcyn rushed into the kitchen to ask Mae where to find Master Hearpwine, who is also his pupil.......but I'm sure you all knew that," Aedre said nervously looking at Bethberry once again.

“Yes indeed, he came rushing into the Inn...seeking Master Hearpwine I told him to seek the kitchens and Mae,” Bethberry nodded and narrowed her eyebrows as she was waiting for Aedre to continue. Aedre sighed deeply; ”As I said, he was looking for Hearpwine. Mae told him that Hearpwine was out taking Gomen for a ride upon the hills and that she didn't expect him to be back before several hours..." Aedre said and looked anxious.

"I do not understand Aedre," Bethberry said shaking her head. "I do tend to confuse, don't I?" Aedre said full of despair. "I'm afraid that, although, Aylwen whom all of us have missed, has returned to us, Master Hearpwine, with his merry songs, will depart to serve the Lord and the Lady in Ithilien...." Aedre then finished.

Aywlen gazed, feeling utterly confused. "But - Aedre, are you sure that was exactly what Eorcyn said?" She asked her while her eyes turned to Bethberry.

”They, Lady Eowyn and Lord Faramir, have sent me to tell Hearpwine that he must make his farewells, for they are bound for Ithilien this very day!” – “Those where his exact words, if my memory does not fail me,” Aedre said while frowning. “Although, since Master Eocryn was speaking in such a fast manner, some may have passed me unnoticed,” Aedre said hoping for the first time, that it was indeed what had happened.

[Kransha]

The interruptions were more than enough to sever Sigurd’s train of thought, as this conversation was losing interest in him, or vice versa, he wasn’t entirely sure. At the moment, he was perfectly content to chuckle smugly at the wildly moving old fellow who darted up to Bethberry, yelled something so rushed and so garbled that Sigurd caught none of the escaping words that had pried his mouth open, and rushed away in a fiery motion, though it looked very awkward from afar. Osric, though, was unimpressed and focused, while the sudden arrival of Eorcyn only caused him to shudder involuntarily. That day, in a brisker, colder season, under these very hanging banners that rippled, swaying gently in the breeze that wafted in through open windows, he’d made his manner of amends with the man, but never got over their verbal fallout. The sight of him, though, was just enough to snap him into readiness and, as one of the serving maids, or holder of some position Sigurd didn’t want, named Aerdre, arrived, he spoke abruptly.

“Will you excuse us, Bethberry?” He questioned, managing a polite smile. Bethberry was looking now at Aerdre, listening to what she had to say, but still nodded back at the two. “Yes, of course.” She murmured, obviously more engrossed in whatever Miss Aerdre was telling her. Ignoring that fact, and the perturbed air that now permeated the inn, Osric took a firm hold of Sigurd’s shoulder and spun him foolishly about until both men were hunched over with their backs to the rest of the discoursing folk. “Many thanks.” The old man shot over his shoulder before pulling Sigurd close and beginning to speak, in a voice whose volume was barely an octave above a whisper.

“Sigurd, it is a good offer,” he muttered quietly, reservedly, “and you would be hard-pressed to find another like it.” His eyes were aflame and his usually whitened pallor incendiary by either the excitement of the situation or massive frustration at it. He looked into Sigurd’s eyes as an uncle should, with vague concern for him, but Sigurd shot back with the gaze of a battle-weary serpent, too tired to do any harm, but willing to lash out if anything got too close. “Uncle, I know it is a good offer.” He snapped suddenly.

Osric stared at him, mouth agape again. Where did the willingness spring from? What was Sigurd, the lad who’d been so uncontrollable, so untamable, doing just letting this happen? Did he want truly to work at the Horse? Osric’s face, which was now colorless with a jaw flailing up and down as noiseless words ushered from above it, found a voice. “You…you do?”

“Yes, yes I do,” Sigurd shot back, with equal venom in him, “and I’m going to take it as soon as you let go of my shoulder.” Osric involuntarily yanked his complacent hand from where it had sat on Sigurd’s shoulder, unfurling around the boy’s back and coming to rest limply at his side. “Are you sure? There are other options, other paths that cannot be taken.” His voice, this whole time, was riddled with disbelief, his throat groping for more air as he felt he might choke on his own words, or have to swallow them too soon.

“You were the one most keenly set upon me being here, so do not try and discourage me now.” The boy replied harshly, again causing Osric to shrink away. He was getting older, descending into old age, and Sigurd was getting older, but ascending into an age where, in maturity and prowess, he could challenge his uncle. It was hard enough to act like a father figure, but in this circumstance, it seemed harder still. Reluctantly, Osric nodded, as if he was defeated somehow. “No…you’re right.”

And so, he turned again, looking brighter and happier, ready to reach out and grab this new quarry where it stood and waited. Osric turned with him, and the two of them looked upon those who had apparently congregated just behind them as the spoke so softly, whispering in their own conspiratorial way. Not paying attention to the finale of the currently escalating conversation, he intoned loudly, “Alright, Bethberry, my decision is made.” There was no response, for all those in the vicinity looked more befuddled, and paled by some ill happenstance which Sigurd and Osric knew not of. They looked, each individually, from Betberry, to Aerdre, to any and all others who had materialized rather unceremoniously in a counseling circle around them, which they’d both been assimilated into, unbeknownst to them. Osric, trying not to be rude, spoke up on the subject. “What? What is it?”

Aerdre responded first. “Hearpwine must depart for Ithilien this day…I think.” She added the final words as something of an afterthought, as if she knew, but wanted no one else to know that she knew. In truth, she seemed half-uncertain, but that uncertainty might be no more than hopefulness that she was uncertain. No matter what the case, the words she said caused Osric and Sigurd to lapse into the same uncomfortable silence that had enveloped everyone else.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Things had gone all to quickly from warm greetings with the children, preparing to speak with Bethberry, hasty questioning, and chaos had all too quickly taken over the Inn. The children had become lost to Aylwen in the hustle and bustle, and soon several of the patrons and employees of the Inn had gathered together to listen to what Aedre had to say, all of them hoping that the confusion would be cleared. From the split second explanations of more than one person, Aedre finally concluded that Hearpwine had been summoned to leave for Ithilien. Mae came from the kitchens, as dazed and confused as everyone else, if not more so. Eorcyn followed her out of the kitchens and to the big group. Everyone chattered and argued, making noise and giving headaches.

"Wait! Wait just a minute!" Aylwen cried, waving her hands for silence. Gradually everyone quieted, waiting for Aylwen to continue. "Thank you. Now...we need to get things straight for a moment. Most importantly, I suppose we need to find Hearpwine. This is true, Master Eorcyn? I have heard so much talk I am not certain if I have heard correctly the situation."

"Yes, yes! I need to find Hearpwine. He has been summoned to go with his Lord and Lady to Ithilien this very day," Eorcyn replied frantically, moving his hand to his forehead in despair.

"But he is out! He shall not return for several hours," Mae intervened. Aylwen sighed, and Eorcyn's face became paler by the minute. "I fear there are little means to go out and find two young men off on an afternoon ride."

"Master Eorcyn, may I enquire as to why Hearpwine was not informed of this departure?" Aylwen asked politely. On the outside she kept her face patient and her body language calm. Inwardly, Aylwen panicked at the state of chaos the White Horse had undergone.

[Nurumaiel]

When Eorcyn had run into the kitchen to say that Hearpwine would be leaving that day for Ithilien, Maercwen was at first puzzled, and then her eyes widened in horror and her heart seemed to stop. Her first thought was that Eorcyn must be mad, but as she looked into his eyes she knew he was entirely sane and that Hearpwine would indeed be leaving that day. She murmured some words of how she hoped he would be back soon to comply to the wishes of the Lord and Lady, and then sunk into the shadows when Aylwen took the situation in hand.

It was impossible that Hearpwine could be going away. When she reflected upon the months since he had arrived at the Inn, and the merry times they had had together, she could not imagine before her the Inn without Hearpwine. Who would sing them cheery songs as the sun set and the day darkened? Who would inspire Gomen to be a bard with every word of song that escaped him? Who, then, would delight the children with stories? And who would delight her? Maercwen felt she could not understand this, but she knew Hearpwine, who she had come to consider as a brother, would be leaving in a few hours. And she could not help but hope that he would not be found until the Lord and Lady returned to Ithilien after futile searches. It was selfish, she realized, for Hearpwine would be joyous over the occasion of his leaving and sorrowful if this chance were missed, but she hoped it all the same.

Leofan had wandered into the Inn to notify Bethberry that he would be absent for awhile as he attempted to find one more learned in horses than even he to set the broken leg of the horse, but when he heard Aylwen's questions and the answers of Eorcyn he took in immediately what was happening and motioned to Giefu, ordering him to ride and seek out a skilled horsemaster. He noticed the confused state the White Horse was in and sensed that Aylwen was disturbed at it. She hid it admirably, but he had seen the faint look in her eyes many times in the past fourteen years. He cleared his throat and spoke.

"Miss Aylwen, I would beg you to allow me to ride out on the stallion Mihtig to see if I can find Hearpwine," he said.

Aylwen seemed grateful for his offer, but doubtful still. "I thank you, Leofan," she said, "but as it has been pointed out, it would be no easy task to find them."

"That is why I choose Mihtig," said Leofan. "I have always found that horses have more common sense than is often said of them, but Mihtig is especially wise and sensible. Hearpwine's steed Hrothgar and my own Mihtig have become good friends in the past few months, and I would trust Mihtig to find Hrothgar in some way."

Aylwen still looked doubtful, but she nodded her assent. Leofan bowed slightly and then turned to address Maercwen and Aedre, though he spoke loud enough for all in the room to hear. "Lassies," said he, "there is still work to be done in the kitchen, I think. I would bid you worry no longer about Hearpwine. I will find him soon, and he will be brought here. In fact," he added with a smile, for he knew Hearpwine's dreams, "I do not believe I could keep him away." With another bow, he departed, and only a few minutes had passed before Mihtig with Leofan atop could be seen out the front window, cantering speedily in the direction that Hearpwine and Gomen had gone.

[Bêthberry]

It was unbelievable.

Bethberry stood in the Mead Hall, watching patrons wander at will into the kitchen, watching the kitchen staff wander into the Mead Hall in order to gossip, watching Eorcyn and Osric take offense with each other's company, watching her Stablemaster take off with the best horse and abandon his labours in the stable, watching Aylwen stare at events with horror at the flustered staff. All this over a romantic young singer who had seemingly charmed everyone in the Horse.

It was like, well, like... She struggled to find some kind of analogy. She tried various words out. Farcical. Risible. Ridiculous. Comical. Absurd. Silly. Hearpwine seemed to have made his fate and life everyone's concern. It was as if the entire Horse revolved around this young man and this young man only. It was quite extraordinary. Give a person a bit of attention, make him or her feel as if the sun shines for them alone, and they're hooked. Bethberry shook her head.

Well, not that that was particularly fair to the young minstrel. He was good hearted indeed. It was just amazing how everyone fell to his attentions. He was a pied piper, ready to grant every person his or her dreams.

That's it! Bethberry decided. Pied piper. She giggled to herself. She knew there was an old tale to be found in his character. Where would it all end, she wondered.

She bore him no grudges, of course, and rather liked him herself, but she did wish that others were not forgotten in all the uproar. What had happened to the old blind man? The sad mother with child? She looked over at Osric and Sigurd. Sigurd's face was red but his eyes were keen. He was watching the girls come and go into the kitchn.

Bethberry wondered if he felt such concern at Hearpwine's departure and, grinning to herself, decided not, most likely. Hmm. She would have to try to gain Aylwen's attentions somehow and return the conversation to the topic of his employment.

"Perhaps," she announced to every one assembled, "We should call out the cavalry in order to find our young minstrel."

The people in the Mead Hall stared at her, blinking their eyes. They weren't quite sure if she was joking or not. Bethberry rather liked it that way.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

"Master Eorcyn, may I enquire as to why Hearpwine was not informed of this departure?"

Aylwen’s question annoyed Eorcyn, for he was greatly distracted by his student's disappearance. “The decision to leave was only just made,” he snapped at her. “Early this morning a post-rider arrived from Ithilien and went immediately into council with the King, the Lord Faramir and the Lady Éowyn. They conferred for but a scant hour before the Lord and Lady emerged and ordered that their retinue make ready to leave with all possible speed. When it was found that Hearpwine was no longer at the Hall I was sent to fetch him.” He decided not to reveal that he had assured the nobles that his student was on an errand for him. He had not wanted to admit to the Lady Éowyn that Hearpwine had left to get sleep, for Eorcyn was afraid that the Lady might not approve of how hard he had been driving his pupil.

“But whatever is the matter in Ithilien?” demanded Oscric.

“Is it an orc attack?” asked Aedre, her terror palpable. “Have the monsters come out of Mordor again?”

Osric scowled both at Aedre and at Sigurd, whose face had taken on an expression of alarm at the thought of a marauding horde of orcs. “Nay, ‘tis not orcs. The last of their foul kind was driven from Mordor by the armies of Gondor and Rohan, and there is an eternal watch kept upon the Black Lands.”

“Perhaps its trolls. Or invading Haradrim,” ventured Sigurd.

It was Bêthberry who replied this time. “It is neither servant nor ally of the Nameless Enemy who threatens the fair lands of Ithilien,” she said. Those gathered about waited, expecting the woman to say more, for she seemed to have some idea of what was afoot, but she remained quiet. It was Aylwen who broke the silence, “So Hearpwine is to leave then.”

Eorcyn sighed, “Yes mistress, he is.”

It was then that Leofan entered and formulated his plan to seek out Hearpwine in the hills about Edoras, and while Eorcyn had little hope that the young man could be found, he was glad that at least some effort was being taken to find him. As soon as the stablemaster had departed, Eorcyn asked Aedre if she could bring him a small flagon of ale, and he slumped at Bêthberry’s side, awaiting the return of Hearpwine, or the inevitable summons from the Golden Hall – whichever came first.

[Bêthberry]

OOC

Writers of the Mark, in the interests of whetting your writing pleasure, I am pleased to announce that Rohan has a second Inn, The Vineyard Tavern

I would also like to welcome Imladris to the Rohan team as the Innkeeper for the new thread. Her enthusiasm and energy will make it a lively place I am sure.

This second Inn can give us a chance to write in a pace and style slightly different than what tends to happen at Inns based on LotR. Here's a chance for some Hobbit style humour! And dwarves and spiders and Men of Dale.

So, roll out the barrels and have some fun there. That's not an order--it's an invitation

Bêthberry

[Nurumaiel]

Gomen was delighted with the song and thrilled with the way they galloped swiftly over the ground, the scenery flying by in a blur and the wind seeming to increase as Hrothgar increased in speed. He reflected upon the words of the song and the tune; on how the words fell into rhyme; on how they ran together in an easy pace, flowing simply as Hrothgar, yet not becoming simple but grand, again as Hrothgar.

They rode on in silence after that. Hearpwine seemed to expect Gomen to speak, but the latter knew of nothing to say... not yet. He still thought on the song, trying to fix a firm image of it in his mind so he would remember. He knew it was rather foolish, for Hearpwine was offering to teach it to him, and would then tell him the words over and over again, and teach him in a way so he would remember. Yet still he strived to remember without hearing it again. Time seemed to press him.

And then Gomen spoke, saying, "It was a very good song, Hearpwine." He said nothing more then. He felt rather ashamed for having said it, for though it was certainly what courtesy required it could not be the most appropriate to say. A real student would never say so to his master. Yet the problem lied here. Gomen did know what a real student would say.

Another long silence fell. Hrothgar began to slow his pace to fall into a brisk, prancing trot, and Gomen grew even more uncomfortable. Now that the loud pounding of hoofs and gusts of winds hindered neither's hearing in the least, it seemed that he should say something to Hearpwine. And still he felt only utter confusion.

He turned his head slightly to see what lay behind them... grass growing here and there, mingled with summer wildflowers, and a path trampled through the grass where Hrothgar had passed. A little moving speck of black far off in the distance, and a rather wonderful tree that cast its shade upon them even now. Still Hearpwine waited for him to speak.

He realized that he had to say something, and, blushing, he spoke in a small timid voice. "It was a very good song, Hearpwine," he said again. Hearpwine nodded his thanks and waited some more. Gomen could not see his face, and it could not be said whether he would have been comforted by the small, playful smile that lingered about the young bard's mouth. "Er... Hearpwine... what do I do now?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen wondered at the state of things. Disarray had covered the inn, and in Aylwen's opinion the whole situation had gotten out of hand. What had originally just been Eorcyn looking for Hearpwine had become a great issue known by everyone inside the Inn with ears. Leofan had gone off in search of the boys, which eased Aylwen's weary mind greatly. Aedre had seemed startled at the whole situation, but as she left the room to go to the kitchen Mae followed with a look of complete despair that she tried valiantly to dispel.

Silence had taken over the remaining group, and when Aedre set down Eorcyn's tankard Aylwen took to watching the older man sit and sip his ale near Bethberry. The Innkeeper met the Owner's gaze for a moment, but Aylwen had trouble reading the emotions on her friend's face.

"If I may, Eorcyn," Aylwen started, and the bard looked up from his drink, seemingly ready to snap if Aylwen should again ask a question he had a distaste for. "What do you think should happen if we are unable to find Hearpwine in time? There is no question that we will get him back here eventually, but what if it is not soon enough for the Lord Faramir and his Lady?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine’s laugh filled the air atop the hill, and Hrothgar joined in with a merry whinny. Gomen at first thought that the bard was laughing at him, but Hearpwine was quick to dispel that fear. “What are you to do? Why sing, lad, sing! Being a bard is not about memorising songs and getting your rhymes right, any more than being a stablemaster is about mucking out the stalls and walking the horses. What matters is the purpose of the task. You’ve heard the song once, that should be enough for you to know the melody, is it not?” Gomen nodded, not fully understanding what Hearpwine was talking about. “And do you remember what the tale was about?”

“Yes,” the lad replied, more confident in this one. “It was about a man and a lady whom he loved. She was afraid he would hurt her, but he convinced her to love him anyway.”

Hearpwine smiled at the innocent interpretation the boy had given the song. He did not tell Gomen that there was one ingredient to being a bard that no amount of teaching could impart – the maturity of wider experience. And not for the first time did he lament his own shortcomings in this regard. “Well, you know the tune, and you know what the song is about – so sing it!”

Gomen looked at him wide-eyed and afraid. “But I do not remember how it began.”

“It begins however you want it to begin. Hum the tune, and when you find the words, put them in there.”

Gomen began to hum and Hearpwine noted with satisfaction that the lad could hold and keep a tune well. Soon he found confidence as the music filled him and the tune became stronger, and even began to change somewhat as the boy found his own way through the intricate notes. As the boy hummed, Hearpwine watched as the fast moving figure in the fields below became a rider in great haste. He rode about as though looking or something, but moving more or less toward the hill upon which Hrothgar stood. From the distance there came the faint sound of a horse’s neigh, and Hrothgar’s ears twitched. Gomen began singing:

As I was walking one midsummer evening,
A-viewing the fields and to see the stars,
'Twas down by the banks of the sweet Withywindle,
When I beheld a maid most Fair.

Hrothgar’s sudden whinny interrupted the lad. Hearpwine clapped him on the back saying, “That was a fine verse Gomen, a fine verse. You sing well. I think with practice you may become a mighty performer!” Once more Hrothgar called to the horse that was now clearly approaching them, and soon both Hearpwine and Gomen recognised the rider. As Leofan pulled up beside them, Hearpwine’s questions died on his lips.

“Come,” the stablemaster cried. “You are needed at the Inn. Your Lord and Lady are to leave for Ithilien within the hour and Eorcyn is sent to find you.”

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

The woman reined in her horse at the yard of the Inn and looked about for a stable-hand but saw no-one. Her brow contracted into a slight frown of curiosity. It had been years since she had been to the White Horse Inn, but she still well remembered the great care given to horses within the elaborate stables. Dismounting she led her horse to a post and hitched him to it, whispering comforting words in his ear and giving him a lump of sugar from her pocket. That being done, she entered the Inn.

The first words that greeted her ears were the Innkeeper’s, who was addressing the Bard Eorcyn: “What do you think should happen if we are unable to find Hearpwine in time? There is no question that we will get him back here eventually, but what if it is not soon enough for the Lord Faramir and his Lady?”

The woman stepped forward, pulling back her hood as she spoke. “I will answer for that,” she said. “If the young Bard be not found soon, then he shall have to follow his Lord and Lady as best he may on his own, for he is commanded to follow them.” The people of the Inn looked up in surprise at the lady. Beneath her forest green cloak she was clothed all in white and her golden hair was bound in braids about her head like a crown. There were gasps of recognition and surprise.

Eorcyn was the first to recover the use of his tongue. Rising to his feet he bowed deeply saying, “My Lady Eowyn.”

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen had already begun to lose her patience with the situation, and no one seemed quite satisfied with the progress. The upset Innkeeper reluctantly bit her tongue when her question was not answered by Eorcyn, but some stranger entering the Inn.

“I will answer for that,” the female intruder said. “If the young Bard be not found soon, then he shall have to follow his Lord and Lady as best he may on his own, for he is commanded to follow them.”

The Innkeeper, along with many other patrons and staff members, turned to see who had spoken and answered in Eorcyn's place. Aylwen's gaze hardened when she saw the face of the speaker. She listened to the gasping inhales of recognition as the Lady Eowyn had pulled back her hood and revealed her golden braids. Aylwen watched wordlessly as Eorcyn stood from his spot next to Bethberry and bowed low to say what everyone was thinking, “My Lady Eowyn.”

It is his fault, and Hearpwine's fault, that she is here now. Aylwen thought, though she would not openly speak the bitter thoughts. It has gone far out of our hands, and gone astray. It did not have to go this far. The Innkeeper looked back over her shoulder, meeting the eyes of Bethberry. Then, turning back to the prestigious lady before her, Aylwen smiled curtly before bowing as Eorcyn had, though not so low or reverently.

"Then, my lady, I fear that it appears as though your young bard shall have to follow you as best as he can. Alone, it seems," Aylwen replied in answer to the Lady's solution to the problem. "For I am loathe to inform you that he is not with us now, and although one of my workers has taken his leave to find him for you, it will take time. It will take time I am sure you will not wish to waste."

[Bêthberry]

Eorcyn's face turned whiter than the simbelmynë flowers which bloomed over the barrows of Rohan's kings. Here he was found at a common Inn by the very woman to whom he had promised his uttermost endeavours to find Hearpwine. Nay, not just any woman. The daughter of his dead Lord, the King Théoden. The wife of the Prince of Ithilien. She who had slain the Witch King. If he had bowed any lower, he would have disappeared under the table.

'My Lady," he stammered. "I have been seeking Hearpwine, as you commanded."

"You sent him here on an errand?' she queried him, her head turning towards him, slightly upraised. "And now you seek him?. Or have you returned here yourself under some pretext?" Here she looked down at the table, at his tankard of ale and then stared impassively at him.

"I bid him come... " began Eorcyn, but his words were hushed by the Horse's owner.

Bethberry rose and with a gracious movement that somehow combined both bow and curtsy, she lowered her head calmly and serenely and then spoke.

"White Lady of Rohan, Princess of Ithilien, Unflinching Shieldmaiden who stood in battle as noble as any manly warrior, your presence honours The White Horse and awes us. Great indeed must be your admiration of the minstrel Hearpwine if you come here in search of him." In Bethberry's clear eyes there was deep respect for the woman who stood proudly before her.

"Hearpwine came hither to seek friends, to keep a pledge, although he was greatly tired. He had promised a young lad here a ride out beyond the pallisades and a lesson in song. They are now, Hearpwine and Gomen, riding no doubt beside the Snowborne, but Gomen's father has in haste taken our finest horse to recall them. How may we attend you, if you can here await Hearpwine's return?"

At the conclusion of her words, Bethberry stood back and erect, her head slightly bent, and awaited the request of the Lady whom none had ever expected to follow after Hearpwine.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The Lady Éowyn smiled at Bêthberry and inclined her head as a token of respect to the former Innkeeper. “Greetings to you, my old friend,” she said. “I well remember how well you kept the Horse when Edoras was my home. My memories of those days might be dark, but they are not wholly without laughter. Many’s the time I would seek shelter here from the darkness and despair of my own home. And to answer your question, yes, I am a great admirer of the young Bard’s – who amongst us is not! – but I do not come simply to accompany him on the way. We are preparing to leave within this half hour and I feared that he might be left behind. I well know what it is to abandoned by the Lord one longs to follow – I would not have the young man forced to ride in our wake, scanning the horizon for sign of hope and friends. Besides, we long for amusement upon the Road, as we do not part from hence in joy but in great haste for there is a threat to Ithilien that must be countered.”

Osric rose to his feet, his sword hand seeking his weapon through force of habit. “What manner of threat my Lady? If it be aught that can be slain with steel, I will vouch you the aid of my sword. It is sturdy yet, though wielded by one who has perhaps see his best days.”

The Lady smiled gravely at the old warrior, not in mock of his offer but at the glorious memories of his many exploits in the defence of Rohan. “No, good Osric, your sword – though mighty yet – will not be needed. Ithilien is now well-guarded and more than able to defend itself from what besets it. We have received word that a band of freed slaves of Mordor from far to the east of that dark land have come, seeking refuge. They are armed and wild, and have caused much unrest among the people they have met, but they do not offer battle. My Lord and I have decided, that it would be best for us to return and determine how best to serve these folk. Land will be found for them, should they want it, either in Ithilien or in the empty wastes or Eriador. Many such have been housed in these years since the War, and there are many yet to provide for.”

A clatter of hooves in the yard preceded the sudden entrance of Leofan, Gomen and the erstwhile Hearpwine, all of them sweaty and dishevelled from their galloping return to the Inn. The stablemaster and his son came up short with shock to see who stood in the door of the Inn, and even Hearpwine, who had become used to the company of nobles from his time in the Hall, had to recover himself quickly. Beaming red with exertion and embarrassment, he bowed low to the Lady, saying, “I am sorry to have brought you in search of my My Lady. I had intended this day to keep my bed, but then I promised the lad Gomen…”

Éowyn held up her hand and gently interrupted the torrent of explanation. “The good Bêthberry has already explained, master Bard. I have come not to chide but only to hurry you along, for we are to gather at the gates within this half hour.”

“Indeed, my Lady,” Hearpwine said, “I saw the Lord Faramir and others at the gate as I came, and I tried to call out my explanation, but I was so hurried to return to collect my belongings and to take my farewells…”

Again the Lady stilled him with a gesture, pointing out gently that if he did not make his goodbyes now he never would. Once more Hearpwine flushed and ran off to collect his belongings. The Lady smiled at his retreating back, then, bidding farewell to Osric, Bêthberry and the others, left the Inn. Mounting her horse she cantered through the streets of Edoras.

Not long after Hearpwine returned down the stairs and stood in the middle of the mead-hall, wanting to make his goodbyes but not knowing how to do it. It was Bêthberry who spoke. “Nay, Hearpwine, we know that you would wish to speak with us all in turn, and I think I can safely say that we all know what you would tell us. But you have no time for proper farewells, so take your leave of us now and perhaps sing a final song as you ride off.” Hearpwine smiled at the woman, and at all his friends of the Inn, and for the first time since any there had known him, he was speechless. He quickly took each of them by hand, before turning to the door. He suddenly came up short, however, as though remembering one last task. Without meeting anyone’s gaze he rushed into the kitchens to say his goodbyes to the lass Maercwen.

[Nurumaiel]

Maercwen had been sitting by the kitchen window, staring listlessly up at the sky. She heard Hearpwine enter the Common Room of the Inn but she did not go out. It was odd that the sky was so blue; why was it not grey and stormy? So much would leave when Hearpwine left. The happy days they had spent with each other, the songs he would sing to cheer them when they were feeling sorrowful... and Gomen. That was the most bitter of all. Gomen had counted so much on learning the ways of a bard from Hearpwine, and now Hearpwine was leaving. And more than the loss of a teacher Gomen would lose a dear friend. She, too, would lose a friend.

She felt that she should go out to bid him farewell but she also felt she could not bear to do that. To say farewell in the Common Room with all those eyes watching her, and all those minds wondering if she were still in love with Hearpwine. She had known well the rumors that had been going about in the spring. She could not bear to say goodbye to him with such thoughts lingering in the others' minds.

The door to the kitchen opened softly and she twisted in her chair, and stood when she saw it was Hearpwine. He looked rather breathless, as if he had been confusedly running about, and she smiled faintly when she imagined him trying to prepare to leave in his excitement. He spoke slowly. "The Lady is waiting for me in the Common Room. I cannot linger long."

"No," Maercwen said, "and no again. I would not ask you to try the Lady's patience." She stepped forward to him with both hands outstretched. He took them. "We will all miss you deeply," she said, "and I not least of them, yet we will wait eagerly for your return, and we will not weep that you are fulfilling your dream." She smiled. "Do not consider yourself above a poor stablemaster and his family when you return a true bard." She hesitated slightly and glanced at the door. "I must not delay you any longer," she said, "but here where no one will see and gossip, I would ask a favor." She stood on tip-toe and kissed his cheek. "Farewell, dear brother," she said. "I will not leave this kitchen with the others, but if, when you ride out, you look to this window you will see me wave you farewell." Hearpwine smiled at her, kissed her hand, and then turned and left the kitchen.

Maercwen returned to her chair and gazed at the sky once again. No tears came to her, for she had resolved as she had said that she would not weep because of his dream.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine mounted Hrothgar and turned his head down the hill, clicking his tongue gently to urge his already tired horse toward their future. As he began to move, he caught sight of Gomen standing with his father, his face once more drawn with sorrow and threatening tears. Pulling up his horse, Hearpwine called to Gomen. “Come here lad,” he said gently, “I have something I want you to keep for me.”

Gomen came to stand at Hrothgar’s shoulder as Hearpwine rummaged through his saddlebags. In a moment he had produced his harp, which he handed down to the boy’s disbelieving fingers. “Here lad,” the Bard said through a constricted throat. “Take this and practise with it every day. When I return I expect that you will be able to play that song I taught you and many more!” The boy merely stared at Hearpwine, not knowing what to say. Leofan moved forward as though to protest the gift, but Hearpwine cried out, “Nay master Leofan, it is mine to give. It has served me well for many a year, but the time has come, I think, to leave behind the things of my youth and to forge a new life for myself in the land that I go to. I will make myself a new harp from the wood of the trees that I find there, and it will sound the sweeter for having been crafted from the land it will enliven with song!”

Without waiting for a response he spurred Hrothgar into a canter and wheeled down the road, but as he passed the kitchen window he looked up and smiled and waved to Maercwen, silently wishing her a happy and a long life.

He soon disappeared around a bend in the road, but as he did so, his voice could be heard in song.

Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcom'd it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain,
Of the few that had brighten'd his pathway of pain,
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw,
It's enchantment around him, while ling'ring with you.

And still on that evening when pleasure fills up,
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where 'ere my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night.
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me beaming, all o'er with your smiles.
Too, blest if it tells me that 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmer'd, "I wish he were here!"

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy,
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd,
Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd.
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang 'round it still.

The song faded into the sunlight, and he was gone.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

OOC: Currently at the White Horse

It is midsummer, early morn on a glorious summer day in Edoras, Rohan. It is the 4th Age, year One (1432 by Shire Reckoning) and four years after the events of the War of the Ring. Éomer Éadig sits in the Golden Hall as King of the Mark, with his queen Lothíriel, whom he wed last year.

The current Innkeeper is a Rohan woman, Aylwen Dreamsong, who has recently returned from a long journey. The previous Innkeeper and owner of the White Horse, Bethberry, a woman who was an Itinerant healer from The Old Forest, also lives in the White Horse and helps attend to duties.

Cast of characters:

(Aylwen Dreamsong) Aylwen Dreamson, Innkeeper of The White Horse

(Bêthberry) Bethberry, Owner and former Innkeeper

(Durelin) Dureline and young son Loar

(Imladris) Goldwine the cat

(Kransha) Osric, old Rohirrim soldier
Sigurd, his nephew

(Nurumaiel): Leofan, stable master and his family
Frodides (the mother)
Liorning, her brother, a musician
Maercwen (seventeen-year-old lass)
Gomen (twelve-year-old lad)
Giefu (ten-year-old lad)
Mereflod (seven-year-old lass)
Deman (six-year-old lad)
Fierlan (six-year-old lad; twin to Deman)
Motan (four-year-old lass)
Middaeg (two-year-old lass)
Beorht (two-year-old lad; twin to Beorht)
Drihten (the bonny baby laddie)Leofan, stable master and his family

(Snowdog) Hanasian, itinerant historian

--

Aylwen's Post

Aylwen watched with the rest of the staff and patrons as Hearpwine rode off into the distance. Her calmness remained just a disguise that no one could see through unless they had the eyes to see it and the heart to embrace it. No one really noticed it, so she kept on living in her dream world. No one spoke, and when Bethberry moved to interrupt the stillness, everyone began bustling about, moving but never speaking. Aedre went off to the kitchens to help Mae, Eorcyn sat and Osric sat near to him. Gomen and Leofan eyed the harp the boy had been given, and Bethberry led Sigurd to where Aylwen stood motionless.

The Innkeeper smiled at the two approached her, feeling suddenly refreshed in the change. For such were the ways of the world, for it to change and to change the people within. Similarly were the ways of Inns, for patrons to leave and for others to arrive, bringing new and joyous times to the people that would always stay. Things never stayed the same forever in the White Horse, and Aylwen only hoped that as change came, which it surely would, the good memories would remain and make everything continually better. If there had been more time before Hearpwine's departure, Aylwen was certain that there would have been talking all day with his new friends in Edoras, wishing that he could stay. Summer sunsets always looked the same, one would never be more beautiful than the next. Still, the summers were never exactly alike, and for that Aylwen was ever glad.

"Now, Sigurd," Aylwen began cheerily when he had come over with Bethberry. "The owner of this fine Inn told me before all the chaos that you have an idea for a job for you that you wish to share with me."