The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Kransha]

The sight of the Lady Eowyn was, without explanation, a great shock, and an uplifting experience for some. Sigurd, though, had not realized the identity of this regal presence, and now scolded himself for it. But, he had no time for self-reprimand, for he had become awestruck by her as he was pulled into the present, into the moving reality around him, and lost sight of his other daily goals. For a time, albeit brief, he had stood in the company of Theoden’s daughter, Lady of Ithilien, and more titles that escaped him in his sudden, passive reverie. He stared rather blankly, but managed to whisk his gaze as line of vision aside to take in other ‘sights’ as he could, and was, in some small way, successful. The sight and appearance of Eowyn, though, stirred him deeply, and his eyes followed her rather than Hearpwine into the distance.

Osric, on the other hand, bore a look more blunt and expressionless, though his heart pounded mightily, waddling up his throat and beating ceaselessly in his ears, to further his discomfort. This was the second time he’d seen her, the last time being in the shimmering golden hall of Meduself, beneath a roof of sunlit thatch and flanked by pillars of ebony that glistened as they would if stars shone down upon them. The experience was different, certainly, for the White Horse was not Meduseld, but Eowyn carried with her a gentle, calming air and a fiery but serene aura that hovered over her regal visage and lingered, skulking about, behind when she departed. It was all the old Rohirrim could do not to stare longingly back as she took her leave, not noting that Sigurd, his jaw still slack and immoveable, had turned his head to others, and no longer let his gaze be affixed to one maiden. Now, though all this commotion had come to a too abrupt end and the inn’s society began, slowly, to move and resemble a chorus of living, breathing beings again. Heaving a deep sigh, Osric turned his glinting eyes to his nephew.

“Uncle,” he murmured foolishly, stuttering as he silently spoke, “…was that…the Lady Eowyn?” The shroud of her presence could still be seen reflected in the youth’s face, Osric, sour and distempered now, turned and vigorously nodded, clapping his hand upon Sigurd’s shoulder and turning him towards Aylwen and Bethberry promptly, saying, only fleetingly, “Yes, Sigurd, it was indeed.”

Sigurd looked back at him, twisting so that Osric could not turn him, an expression of mighty aw plastered to his boyish features as his mouth moved silently, at last forming the vain illusion of words. “You…spoke to her.” Osric’s left eye gave an irritated little blink of a fashion as he nodded again, more vigorously, trying most heartily to pull and push young, confused Sigurd backward and around towards the innkeeper and owner. He continually nodded as Sigurd stood, unconsciously resisting. Finally, he said aloud, and loud enough it was to jog Sigurd from his waking slumber. “It would not be the first time, lad. Now, tell Miss Aylwen of your idea.” At last he had Sigurd turned, but the boy continued to look upon his dreary uncle, stupefied by the various happenings. “What?”

“Aylwen asked you a question, and a simple one at that. Perhaps you would be wise and answer it.”

Finally, Sigurd understood what Osric wished of him. He must resume the conversation that had been severed minutes prior and, perhaps, salvage it from the depths. Old Osric, cranky and cantankerous for a reason that Sigurd could not fathom, did not seem to be in a helpful mood anymore, so Sigurd began, looking at Aywlen. “Well, it was not my idea as much as it was that of Bethberry, for her ample suggestions made my choice all the easier.” He cast a curt glance at the owner of the White Horse, who looked back pointedly and acted her part well, never showing even the slightest hint of amusement at the young man and his uncle’s befuddling plight. “My choice is a broad one, and I can only hope that you accept it, if it makes, hopefully, more sense to you than it did to me. If you will have me, Aylwen, I will serve wherever I am needed and whenever as well. But, the position that seemed most apt was that of Night Watchman for this noble establishment, which I would tend to the inn as its resident in the absence of the sun. As far as I have been told, the Horse has no such fellow, and I would be willing,” Osric jabbed him sharply in the rib cage with his armored elbow, which was actually a much more painful endeavor than the old man had thought it would be, “more than willing to oblige.”

[Bêthberry]

Aedre had watched the Lady Eowyn withdraw from the White Horse with a look of awe and surprise on her face and a shade of disappointment as Hearpwine had followed after her. She stood awhile trying to get a sense of things and then watched the conversation between Aylwen and the old warrior and his nephew.

For her part, Bethberry took a deep sigh of relief after all the unexpected bustle and commotion of the morning. She remembered well the visits of the very young Lady to the Horse in days gone bye but had not been sure the Princess of Ithithlien would have remembered them. She should have thought better of Eowyn, for here was honest, true breeding, grace and courtesy rather than hauteur and condecension. Bethberry smiled at the remembrance and then turned her thoughts to the conversation in front of her.

Oscric and Sigurd certainly could extend a conversation and make the simplest request a long endeavour indeed. She watched quietly for a bit, to ensure that Aylwen would not be completely surprised by the request for employment. The two of them had had not a moment to chat so Bethberry could bring her up to date on events, but as usual the young woman was taking everything in her stride. Sigurd finished his rather long speech, punctuated as it was by his uncle's elbow and Bethberry spoke up.

"Osric, Sigurd, and I had mentioned several possible jobs here at The Horse, Aylwen, but the final decision of what to offer, or, indeed, to offer any position at all, is yours as Inkeeper of course. Frodides could use a strong arm to help her load and unload the heavy items for the kitchen and we could also use someone of sharp eye, keen attitude, and faithful committment as a night watchman. With peace and slowly returning prosperity, there is much more travel and many more strangers appearing in Edoras. The gates to the city are no longer closed and so we must make our own arrangements. I will withdraw from these deliberations, however, to let you make your own minds."

With that, Bethberry turned her attention to the old Bard who had remained stiffly uneasy at the recent events. He had spoken rather peremptorily about Hearpwine's absence--a tone and attitude which intrigued her. He clearly was an astute, even wily man, well versed in the ways of court and power and influence. Yet why was he so flustered by Hearpwine's disappearance? Bethberry decided that the morning might yet hold more interest for her, she who found people endlessly fascinating.
"Eorcyn, can you enjoy that tankard now, or are you still bothered that Hearpwine was absent when you sent for him? Had our favourite young minstrel disappointed you? Or had he exceeded expectations?'

It cannot be denied that, had anyone looked closely, there could be found the slightest flicker of challenge in her eyes.

[Umwë]

As Umwë entered the Inn this early midsommer morning he felt very relieved, but yet quite tired. He had traveled the whole night on his white stallion, Roman. He had left Roman in the stable outside and had fed him with an apple that was the only food he had left in his backpack. His brown leatherboots were quite worn by now as it had been raining the most of the part on his way to Rohan from Rivendell and the road had got really muddy and wet. But now the weather was wonderful and the sun shone and warmed him up. His shoulderlong brown hair were muddy and his mantle had a big tear as he had got stuck in a tree branch with it, so his trip to Rohan wasn’t too good and his mood wasn’t either. He pulled his hand through it and tried to clear away the worst part. His sharp eyes scouted the Inn and he saw an empty table. He walked over to it and looked outside the window, many peoples were looking at something.

Umwë tried to see what it was then he heard a hoarse voice behind him saying; “It’s Lady Eowyn they say...” Umwë turned around swiftly and saw an old man with quite long beard and with a scar on his cheek sitting and look at him with a big grin. Umwë didn’t answer the old man, as he didn’t know what to say, so he looked outside again. He heard the man mumble something about “Elves today have no manners...”. Umwë just ignored the man and rose up from his chair and soflty walked over to the bar to order some wine. He fell into thoughts about people in Rohan maybe expected good manners from an elf.

“A glass of wine, please.” He said to the bartender. He glanced over to a stranger that sat a few bar stools away from him. Actually he didn’t feel for talking right now, he was so tired that all he wanted right now was to sleep in a warm bed, but first he wanted to calm down after his trip and relax.

He finished of his wine quite quickly, paid the bartender and rose up from his stool and took a walk into the common room. He decided that he maybe should try to talk to someone after all, as he didn’t want to intend to be asocial. The common room was already crowded and it took a while for him to find a seat. He fell into his thoughts and memories of Rivendell came back to him. Maybe I’ll never go back... he thought and hummed loudly, but blushed as he saw two dwarves staring at him. What a perfect day, he thought ironic and raised an eyebrow to the dwarves that now ignored him. His mood didn’t get better when a tall clumsy man spilled his ale over Umwë.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen watched as Bethberry took her leave of the conversation, then looked back at the young man before her and his uncle close by him. Aylwen never felt short of employment proposals, yet she always found it difficult to turn someone down. Even in the simplest of requests, Aylwen found herself giving in and agreeing. The sudden visit of Eowyn had left many issues in disarray, and Aylwen felt as though she was forgetting something important.

"Well, we have never required a night watchman before," The Innkeeper murmured, her consideration becoming a private conversation for her, Sigurd, and Oscric only. Sigurd's shoulders dropped when he heard her words, but her face brightened as she opened her mouth to continue. "However, there are new things to consider. As Bethberry has said, things change and the gates are ever open to new surprises and strange things. The new Age brings many changes, and we must change with it. If that is your final proposal, I do accept and you shall be the White Horse's night watchman. You can sleep during the day and keep us safe at night. It will be a noble task, if you decide to make it such. Maybe one day it shall pay off, and we will all be grateful that you took the job this day."

The Innkeeper chose her words carefully, her mind raging about how Sigurd felt about the task and how he was being influenced by his uncle Osric. Would he perform the job differently if Osric were not behind him to push his performance? Would he soon realize that the job he so hastily wanted was nothing more than a desire and wish made by his mother and uncle? Aylwen did not know the answer to either question, but she did not see much harm in finding out the answers. Surely if Sigurd had second thoughts there would be no rush to find a replacement...after all, they had never required a night watchman.

Aylwen remained uncertain in the matter of Sigurd's employment.

[Bêthberry]

"People in Rohan are not accustomed to seeing elves in Edoras," spoke Bethberry to the muddy, crumpy, tired looking rider who had objected rather vociferously to having ale spilt on him.

"They are obviously not accustomed to 'holding their ale' either," he retorted, his surliness giving way slightly to wit.

Bethberry nodded curtly and called for Aedre to bring a cloth and some ale and then returned to her new study. The morning wore on and, after all the hustle and bustle of the early activity, she was loathe to leave to her own work. Or perhaps it was that her work concerned the various people who visited The White Horse and their infinite variations. For whateve reason, she decided to stay and ply this new arrival with questions.

"Elves of Eryn Lasgalen are nearby, helping dwarves with the Glittering Caves."

"What business is that of mine?" replied the elv, whose eye showed some interest in persuing conversation for the mere sake of entertainment.

"I would not have any way of knowing whether it is your business or not," Bethberry replied. "It was a simple observation, slightly more detailed than a formal statement about the condition of the weather today."

"I see," replied the laconic elf.

"Do you now? And is there anything in my demeanour which draws you into such loquacious speech?"

'Nothing more than an interest in making you work for your interest."

"Work? You call word play work? An elf tired and mud-covered, down at the heels and apparently a bit worse for the ride, can still engage wit and mind rather than complain surily of bodily discomfort?"

Bethberry sat back, regarding the elf with a pleasant look of cordial amusement. What would he say next?

[Umwë]

Umwë muttered and leaned back and looked at Bethberry. He sighed and finally said
“I am sorry for my bad manners, it’s just that this appears to not be my day.” He swiftly wiped his hands on a small piece of not so muddy material and reached it for Bethberrys. She looked at his hand and grabbed it. “Umwë, from Rivendell actually. You are from here?”

Bethberry seemed looking a little bit confused over his rapid moodswing, but Umwë could understand, so he said “I hope you understand, I’m very hungry and tired. Forgive me.” He said with a smile.

Bethberry still looked uncertain, but she shook his hand and replied with a smile “Bethberry.”

“Pleased to meet you Bethberry, I just need something to eat and I promise I won’t be so whiny.”

“Aye, just order what you want! Are you from Rivendell, haven’t they all departed to the West?”

“Well, actually everyone of my family have, my parents and my two brothers. I want to have a look around in Middle-Earth before I leave. I want to stay here as long as possible, I’ve got too attached to Middle-Earth, so it feels hard to leave it.”

Umwë’s head sank and he looked down on his feets. “But where are you from then? Are you from Rohan?” he exclaimed and looked up at Bethberry. Umwë thought it felt like she tried to avoid that question, but he was too curious about it to not ask her.

Bethberry seemed a bit troubled whit that question but suddenly opened her mouth to reply “Well...” she started, and Umwë awaited her reply.

[Bêthberry]

"How long does it take someone to be from somewhere?" Bethberry asked this muddy elf from Rivendell.

He was taken aback by this question and hummed and mumbled for a bit. Once Aedre came to take his request for food, however, he found his conversational tone once more and looked back up at the woman.

"No hard and fast rule to that, to be sure," he replied. "Except that people who don't answer straight or directly or evade answers with more questions often have motives for hiding their true natures."

Bethberry laughed, a throaty laugh which shook her shoulders and shook her thoughts out of the complacent and comfortable ease she had fallen into here in Edoras. It was true she was short tempered with those who were forgetting the War of the Ring but it was also true that she had been here at The White Horse so long she had forgotten her years and years of wandering Middle earth. It had been a long while since she had been questioned about herself, for people had come to accept her status here as if she had belonged; she had forgotten what it was like to have to be wary and cautious about being a strange traveller in lands where strangers were uncommon, despite the elf's claim of suberfuge to her question.

"I ask merely out of the desire for conversation, Umwë of Rivendell, and not to hide anything of my past. Indeed, I have been here long years in Rohan and can barely remember when I first learnt the language of the People of the Mark." At this she glanced over at Aylwen, who seemed to have successfully concluded her conversation with Sigurd and Ossric. Bethberry was keen to know how that had gone and hoped old Ossric might join them here, to extend the conversation, but she was too polite to interrupt the elf at this point.

'I came in part to answer to need of a friend and her family, Ælfritha, whose home towards the Westfold was facing troubled times. The family was famous as one particularly skilled in the breeding and breaking and training of hourses, yet horses were becoming wild and skittish and unmanageable. It was a dire time and strange, before people knew what the White Wizard was doing in Isengard."

She sat back in her chair and waited for the elf to consider that, while trying to catch Ossric's eye.

[Kransha]

Kransha's post

At last, the strenuous conversation had been drawn to a feeble close. Aylwen, much to Osric's happy satisfaction, had agreed to employ young Sigurd as night watchman. She did not seem entirely content for some unknown reason, but that fact did not cling to Osric remotely, for he had succeeded. He felt no swell in optimism or hope, but was at least satisfied by the happenings. He turned, letting Sigurd do the same and looked across the room, scanning it contently from his standing perch. He took several reserved steps, moving around the room as clumps of people began to spring up, swarming over tables, materializing in chairs or on stools, eating, humming, talking, and the like, leaving Osric and Sigurd to their own agendas which they could at last pursue. The old man, muttering inconsequentially to himself, pushed himself tiredly across the room, now turning his eyes down until another's gaze caught him.

It was Bethberry's light glance from the corner of her eye that managed to hook onto Osric as he looked about. She sat comfortably, reclining in a chair across from another man, who looked shadier, more reserved in the way he sat than she. This was dismissible, since Osric already knew Bethberry to be a person with whom reservation was not customary, though she was adept at concealing her nature. For this, Osric thought both less and better of her, but more he thought better, for he had always had a clear spot in him for those who possessed both wit and tact, tempered each with good humor. Osric had known those who possessed such qualities and were sour instead, very dislikable folk. Despite that, the aged Rohirrim could tell from the glances being shot at him every moment or so that Bethberry either desired his company, or was desperately trying to get him to move to one side so she could see something behind him. He decided that, whatever purpose she had in mind, he would proceed with the former. A minute grin peeling over his equally minute frown, he headed over to the table in question.

?Ah, Lady Bethberry,? he said, his voice gentle but with a bite at its back, ?I see you?ve found another newcomer to beleaguer with your wit.? His brightened eyes turned to the other man, looking to him wistfully, but suddenly focused on him, flitting away from his face to look him over swiftly. He was no man, as he?d assumed, but an elf. It had been so long, perhaps too long, since old Osric had taken in the sight of an elf of any sort, as he?d only seen three in his long life. As his feeble memory served, the last had been years ago. The sight of this fellow struck him as a sliver of brilliant golden light in murky shadow. But, before he could drift in meditative reverie, Bethberry?s challenging voice jarred his thoughts.

?Beleaguer with my wit?? she said, still friendly like Osric, but the same air of subtle sarcasm about her, ?You do me wrong, Osric. This ?newcomer? and I both have enough wit about us to talk, rather than besiege each other without need. Perhaps, after your many hardships, you would not mind a conversation.? Osric winced when she emphasized the word ?hardships,? but shrugged it off, knowing her to be toying with his uncharacteristic attitude only in fun. ?Many hardship indeed.? He turned, looking to the elf-man sitting across from him. ?So, who is it that you talk with, hmm??

?He is Umwë, an elf of Rivendell.? Bethberry said politely as the elf nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Osric breathed deeply as he pulled up a chair and fell awkwardly into it. ?I gathered that he was an elf. Such things are not hard to tell.? The elf looked at him, with an expression that might have portrayed offense, but Osric could not tell from the elf?s features. ?For some, it might be, sir.? Umwë said delicately. The Rohirrim realized that, while he thought of tact, he was not being tactful making such statements. He hastily made up for his response and tried to change the conversation?s subject.

?Yes, for some. Hopefully you have not found the people of Rohan to be in that respect.?

?As you said, sir, some are, some are not. But tell me, who are you that has such a knowledge of what folk are Elves and what folk are not? What vast archive do you hail from??

Now it was Osric?s turn to feign offense, as he wasn?t sure whether the elf was being witty, hostile, or completely impartial. He leaned forward in his chair, laying his hand and arm upon another table. His wrinkled fingers rapped energetically on its surface as he introduced himself with less of a flourish than usual. ?I am Osric, son of Oswulf, from the town of Aldburg, a place where Elves are about as common as wingless dragons. What business has an elf in Edoras. Ought you to be at Helm?s Deep??

He was still tactless in his words, and the Elf responded accordingly. ?Not all Elves have their tasks in life appointed them by men, Osric of Aldburg.?

The Rohirrim glared with one eye, but again settled himself and leaned back, his fingers tapping faster, forming an indistinct rhythm. ?Something else I gathered, Master Umwë. What, then, is your reason for being in Edoras. Of all places on this Middle-Earth, Elves frequent the Mark least of all. I had heard your kind fled these shores, so why do you come further in. What do you seek in the Rohan??

~ ~ ~ ~

Bethberry's post

Bethberry could barely suppress a hearty guffaw at Osric's question about Helm's Deep, but somehow she managed to maintain an air of interested reserve rather than slapstick humour. She turned from the old Rohirrim towards the elf far from home.

For his part, Umwë sat staring at the old warrior, not sure whether to tighten up the tension a knot or two, or to respond civilly. As he sat, he could hear the bustle of the Great Hall ebb and flow around him and watched the sunbeams skirt around the dust motes in the air. He decided he liked the Inn enough to reply civilly.

"Must one always seek something, of an ulterior motive?" he questioned, looking at Ossric but wishing that Bethberry would enter the discussion.

"It is a long journey from Rivendell to here. Not the kind of ride to be taken lightly, nor without planning and provisions. Unless one were of the frivolous kind, much given to flitting around the land and avoiding honest work."

Umwë would have risen in anger at that, putting aside all thoughts of civility, had a hand not restrained his arm.

"You must make allowances for us, Master Elf. We have had an abundance of worry and excitement this morning, mush rushing and worrying over regal matters and romantic bards, and then anxiety over employment. Our noble warrior Osric is thus inclined at the moment to direct his excess of tension towards the sparing of noble words. Once a warrior, always a warrior."

Osric half snorted at this comment and his lips began to quiver as he exuded little puffs of air, as if this would calm matters somewhat . Bethberry serenely changed the topic of conversation.

"Has Mistress Aylwen decided to hire Sigurd? Has he chosen the role of Night Watchman?"

Osric sat more firmly in his chair, his sense of responsibility now relieved while his sense of honour rose. With a slight bow, he gave an affirmation to the woman?s question.

"And has he made plans for how he should proceed? Will he establish a a regular routine and marching pattern around the Inn? Shall he march with lantern swinging or be guided by moonlight merely?"

Osric looked closely at her eyes as she spoke and thought he could discern an improper hint which lacked decorum, but he decided to dismiss the thought. No sense angering his nephews new employer.

"He shall move swiftly to enforce a healthy surveillance of the Inn and a necessary security of its perimetres," he replied somewhat stiffly.

And so the two, for the elf had lapsed into sullen quietness, passed away the morn in banter.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine rode up to the White Horse Inn and dismounted from Flíthaf, his chestnut stallion. He walked Flíthaf to the ostler, who gave him good morning. Eodwine returned the good word and removed his prized satchel from its place by the saddle at Flíthaf's side. He made for the front doors of the Inn. He was tall and blonde, a veteran of the War, and now King's Messenger, dressed in the colors and markings of the King of Rohan.

He was looking forward to a few days' well earned rest. In just the last few months there had been an urgent message from King Eomer to King Elessar, followed by an equally urgent errand to Steward Faramir in Ithilien. This much was no surprise. The usual course of events would have sent him back to King Eomer once again, but Faramir had had a surprise for him. And so he had made off for Dol Amroth and Prince Imrahil. He had been looking forward to it, for he had not been down that way while a soldier in the war, nor on his errands since then as King's Messenger. Having delivered his message to Prince Imrahil, Eodwine had expected to travel back to Minas Tirith, and thence to Edoras to report to his king. But it had not been so, which at the time had dumbfounded him. But Prince Imrahil had used the courtesy that passed between these noble leaders, and sent Eomer's Messenger on yet another errand! So Eodwine had ridden west, bringing word from Prince Imrahil to a land holder in Anfalas, along the western most reaches of the hills called Pinnath Gelin. This landholder, one Irmandil, had immediately set out for Dol Amroth, as Eodwine knew he would. And Irmandil had had no duty, nor the right, to send Eodwine anywhere. Of course, if Irmandil had had an errand for him that would have been on his way back to Edoras, Eodwine would of course have seen to it. As it was, Eodwine crossed the lonely Lethnui river, passed through the forest between the mountains and skirted the western flank of Ered Nimrais, entering Rohan only days ago, and having reported to the King just yesterday.

At least all the riding had kept him happy with new places to see, if not old bad memories away.

He passed through the door. It was quiet inside, which made sense, it being morning. Well, he had gold to spend and had every intention of doing just that. It was darker than he remembered in the Common Room, and it took him a moment standing in the doorway before he made out Bethberry, the owner of the inn, and a woman whom he did not know, speaking with an old man, a young one who must be his son, and an elf. An elf! Eodwine had never gotten used to Elves, especially since before the war, they had been beings of mystery and stayed hidden. By now he had met a few, and befriended one or two, but still remained in awe of them. He walked forward and greeted Bethberry.

"I give you good morning!"

"Good morning to you!" she replied.

"How do you fare, Bethberry?"

"Well as always. And you? Where have you been these last few months?"

He gave her the rundown of his recent errands, then asked, "Who is Innkeeper now? I recognize no one besides you."

"Aylwen is my inkeeper. She will be happy to make your acquaintance. Go greet her."

"I will, at that!" Eodwine smiled and went over to the four. "I give you good morning! I am Eodwine of the Gap, just back from errands far and wide with days to myself and gold to spend, first on a hearty breakfast if that may be had, and then we shall see. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting this fine morning?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen's post:

Aylwen sighed, tired and tried through the day with many things though the hours had scarcely met noon. Early morning and midmorning had quickly faded silently into noon?s harsh sunlight. The sun would soon begin to sink slowly and gracefully down from its perch directly above, causing the ground and air to become slightly cooler with each passing moment?a relief from the heat of the summer sunshine. Aylwen waited ever patiently for the cooling air and the darkening of the sky, for she felt desperate need for rest from her previous journey and the day?s trials. Not only that, the Innkeeper felt particularly anxious for the first night of Sigurd?s duties as night watch.

After employing Sigurd, Aylwen had taken to a quiet and short conversation with Asad and his grandmother. They had much to say about the sudden disappearance and departure of Hearpwine. Asad mostly felt optimism and hope for the young man whom he had earlier competed with for the very spot that called Hearpwine. However, the aging Jesia had only riddles and prophesies about the leaving Hearpwine, most of which Aylwen dismissed in her own mind. Aylwen soon dismissed herself to go and join the group containing Osric, Sigurd, Bethberry, and an Elven patron unknown to Aylwen.

Before Aylwen could introduce herself into conversation and to the newly arrived Elf, a man entered through the doorway of the inn. The man walked towards the group, proving to Aylwen?s eyes to be a new patron, and one that the current Innkeeper did not recognize, or at least remember from her years as Innkeeper. His hair glowed blond in color, the locks shining from the rays of the setting sun. He stood taller than many, especially taller than the already slightly stunted Aylwen. At first, he spoke graciously to Bethberry, whom he seemed to know well, or at least was in some way familiar with. When Bethberry bade him speak with her, he turned and addressed Aylwen and the others she stood with.

"I give you good morning! I am Eodwine of the Gap, just back from errands far and wide with days to myself and gold to spend, first on a hearty breakfast if that may be had, and then we shall see. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting this fine morning?"

?I am Aylwen, the Innkeeper here at the White Horse,? Aylwen greeted kindly, her smile warm and betraying her weary dark eyes. ?And I will go get your meal while these three introduce themselves. I would call it more of a luncheon, good Eodwine, for the day wears on ever quickly in its own way, and noon is fast upon our heals! I shall return in a moment.?

With that, Aylwen left Osric, Sigurd, and the Elven man to speak their greetings to the cheerful Eodwine.

---
Bethberry's post

Bethberry had spent some time in whispered greetings with Eodwine, ascertaining his state of health and what industries he had pursued since last he visited the White Horse, but then she had been called away by a child with an urgent message for her. She read the missive the child thrust into her hands and then asked hurried questions, but the child could add little to the message, which had been delivered at the gate of Edoras.

A summon it was, to come quickly to the home of her old friend Ælfritha, where an ailing family member urgently required her help. It was unlike Ælfritha to call for her over a matter slight. This must be of no small need.

Bethberry packed a small satchel of clothes, carefully checked her bags of herbs and oils and emuluments, and prepared to be off. She returned to the Great Hall, and spoke quietly with Aylwen.

"Ælfritha bids me come to attend to and elder of her family. She does not make such requests lightly and I must respect it."

Aylwen nodded. "Know you how long you will be gone?"

"Perhaps a fortnight, it is difficult to tell. I will send a message should I be gone longer. You have all you need here for the Inn? Do you lack anything?"

The younger woman shook her head. "We are well stocked, even given the influx of patrons occasioned by our bards and our singing competitions. Rest easily. Naught shall happen in your absence."

"I did not think any harm would, Aylwen. I chose an able Innkeeper who knows a thing or two about managing an Inn. My only regret is that I should miss the good fellowship here. Give my greetings to Frodides and Leofan and Aedre. Tell them whence I go." With that, Bethberry gave Aylwen an affectionate, parting hug and spoke a few words of good-bye to Osric and Eodwine before leaving. She had a long journey ahead of her, across a sea of waving grassland, to the farthest reaches of old Rohan.

---
Aylwen's post:

It could smell the flesh.

The flesh appealed to Its hungry stomach.

It had not eaten in long days. Too long. The flesh and the opportunity of a meal were too great to pass, especially for Its growling stomach. It made Its way over a small stream, sniffing the ever-present smell of nutrition and sustenance. It could sense from afar the indifference and unknowing nature of those It intended to prey upon.

Crawling in the quietest manner possible for such a large stature, It howled as loud as it could, calling for companionship and partnership to aid and share in the feast It would have later. When others had joined It, they trod the area silently and swiftly. Soon It could see the object of Its thought and senses.

The people of the little inn would not have time to react. They would wait until the sun sank beneath the hills that they had so often wandered.

Then they would eat.

And Its stomach would be filled.

[Alaksoron]

Korik reined in his gray stallion before the stately Inn. The sign above the door, swinging slightly in the breeze, read 'The White Horse'. A good name, he thought idly as he walked his horse toward the stables. A stableboy stepped forward to take the reins, but Korik waved him away. 'Storm would likely trample the scrawny creature' Korik thought wistfully.

Korik stalled the prancing stallion himself, after curtly informing a farrier and a stablegroom he would care for his own horse tonight. Strange, after riding hard nearly all day, Storm still seemed eager to run. Sometimes the gray's stamina really did astound him.

Gently Korik removed Storm's saddle, draping a fresh blanket over his back. Then he drew a smooth horse brush from his saddlebags and set to sheening Storm's glossy coat, paying careful attention to the contours of his body. A good horse, deep chested, with powerful hindlegs. Next Korik massaged around the stallion's forelocks and ankles like a true expert equestrian. Straightening, he stroked Storm's neck to calm him and fed him an apple, murmuring softly to him all the time.

Finally, Korik made his way to the inn, thinking how much he needed a washing himself. A good bath, an ale, and a warm bed. He opened the door.

The smell of food wafted from the kitchens and smacked him in the face, enticing his nose. His mouth very nearly watered. Perhaps he could add a meal to that short list. There was no manservant to take his cloak, so he just held on to it. Few gave the sword at his hip a second glance. He wore it well. It looked as if it belonged there.

He made his way to the apparent innkeeper, very obviously in charge. A very capable woman, it seemed. He introduced himself and emptied a small leather purse into her hand. Two dozen gold coins spilled into her palm, each as thick as your palm. Then he gave her her instructions. Warm water in a copper tub for a bath, with plenty of privacy. A room reserved for the night. A glass of ale and some roast chicken when he came down from his bath. With that, he took his bag to his room and went to bathe.

[Alaksoron]

Korik felt considerably refreshed after his bath. He drug a comb through his shoulder length hair and donned a black silk coat, buttoned to the throat and neatly pressed. Buckling his swordbelt over his coat, he went downstairs.

He had a seat at a corner table. Once he sat down, his dinner was promptly brought him. 'Still warm', he exulted wryly. He finished quickly, but he refrained from getting seconds. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he ordered another ale. That he drained at one gulp.

He strode to the innkeeper and smiled "Would you kindly allow me too play my flute in your Common Room?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen smiled warmly to the newcomer, and the prospect of new entertainment pleased her. "You are quite welcome to play whatever you wish in this inn, sir. It would be refreshing to hear new music and the sounds of a flute." Aylwen replied, gesturing with a sweep of her right arm to the entire Common Room. Politely excusing herself with a silent nod she proceeded to remove his cleaned plate and his two emptied mugs.

Morning had long gone, and noon quickly passed into late afternoon. The shadows changed directions, lengthened, and stretched to fit the needs of the bright sunlight. Aylwen set the dirty dishes down in the kitchen, looking out on the horizon in the window for a moment before turning away and returning to the Common Room.

-

Waiting did not come easy for It. On several occasions It had to keep Its companions from moving in haste or becoming impatient. They would eat, and it would be very soon.

Shaggy hair covered a strong, muscular body. A nose perfect for smelling prey was set about constantly barred teeth. Eyes meant for seeing in the darkness of night twinkled in the swiftly fading light. When they could sense the coming of night, It took the first daring step over a rushing creek, and the first step towards the quaint Inn that housed so many patrons and innocents.

Darkness would fall, and then they would have their meal.

[littlemanpoet]

After Eodwine had made the acquaintances of elf, old man and young man, he excused himself for food and drink. How had the day already worn to noontime? Apparently, his report at Meduseld had taken longer than he had thought!

He was served porridge and good East Emnet Ale, and made quick work of both. Ready to ask for seconds, he noticed a young man come in from an inside door, from the guest rooms, which Eodwine knew from memory. The man sat down at a corner table and enjoyed his meal in silence. Eodwine let the man finish and was about to go and offer greeting when he he overheard the man's conversation with Aylwen.

The man's name was Korik and he could play the flute! The flute was a Gondorian musical instrument known mostly among the nobility, a rather fancy piece of equipment held to the side. Eodwine was more familiar with the wood pipe and other such countrified instruments, played out in front. He walked over to the man named Korik.

"I greet you, Korik. I am Master Eodwine of the Gap." Eodwine offered his hand.

Korik stood and amiably returned his hand and greeting.

"Pardon me for eavesdropping, but I overheard that you play the flute. I play the lyre. Perhaps we could match tune to tune at whiles this day."

[Alaksoron]

Korik smiled at Eodwine. "My wife also plays the lyre. The lyre and flute sound truly lovely in harmony." Still talking, he made his way to the front of the common room. Eodwine exscused himself to retrieve his lyre.

When he returned, Korik raised the flute to his lips and told Eodwine to just follow along. He embarked on a merry tune, and some of the men began to sing along. People from different nations sang it different ways, but the tune remained the same.

[littlemanpoet]

The music was good. Korik was a skilled player! Between the neverending supply of good ale (Eodwine was careful not to over do it - he could not have numb fingers!) and the music, he was having as good a day as any he could remember; save before the War when his family still lived. Rather than banishing the thought, he allowed it to remain with him, their memory adding a bittersweetness to the playing.

When they took a break, Eodwine said, "Korik you are as fine a flute player as ever I have heard! Where do you hail from? What news comes with you?"

[Alaksoron]

When they took a break, Eodwine said, "Korik you are as fine a flute player as ever I have heard! Where do you hail from? What news comes with you?"

"Oh, you might say I hail from many places. I am a nomad, traveling with the wind, never able to satisfy my wanderlust for strange places and people. I carry little news that you have probably not already heard. As for the flute, my uncle taught me to play. It is a fine instrument, when properly handled. And where did you learn to play the harp? Where are you from?"

[littlemanpoet]

"The harp has been in my family, passed from father to son for years beyond reckoning, so my father told me. He taught me as a child, and I took to it. I am from the Gap of Rohan, though I have not lived there since the War. These last few yearas I have been in the service of King Eomer, as messenger. Just yesterday I completed a circuit of the White Mountains. It took months!"

"What messages sent you so far? Or is that king's secret?"

"King's secret, yes, then Steward's, and Prince's. But the final message that sent me for afield, to Anfalas and Pinnath Gelin, was no secret. A landholder was summoned to Dol Amroth. Once I was that far west, it seemed ill to me to wend through all of Gondor and Anorien in a vast return trip, so I passed through the wilds in the west until the Gap of Rohan came in sight. But I did not tarry there."

Korik noticed the shadow that came over the messenger's face at mention of the Gap; Eodwine had been bright and eager and friendly in the rest of his telling.

"Something keeps you from your former home," Korik said.

"Aye. I lost my wife, son, and daughter at the hands of the Dunlendings while I was at the battle before the gates of the Morannon."

"That is ill. I am sorry."

"As am I," Eodwine nodded, and sighed. "So now I go where the king needs me, wandering myself, but happily according to the wishes of another. It is what I need, or there is no telling where I might find myself!" Eodwine grinned. "So where has the wind blown you of late?"

[Alaksoron]

"Where has the wind blown you of late?"

"Back and forth across the earth, Eodwine. Nearly everyplace you can think of, and some you cannot. I have even been to the home shores of Harad, once, a long time ago.

"I am in Rohan because I have heard the Rohirrim have excellent horses. I am an avid equestrian myself, and am purchasing many of the finest horses I can find. I may build a ranch and breed them.

"And what are your aspirations, Eodwine? Are you married?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Nay, I have no wife. I had one, whose memory I cherish. I wish for no other. As to my dreams for the road that lies ahead, I have none like yours. I love the lore of the War. Wherever I go I seek out the stories of all who are willing to share them, and I turn them into song if I can, or at least tell them to the loremasters in Edoras and Minas Tirith. But enough! Shall we make more music? And drink more ale?"

"Aye, let us do that."

Eodwine smiled and played along with Korik's tunes, nodding his head every time the ale came around again. Korik's questions had been fair, but they had stirred memories of a hearth and home that were gone forever. Ygirda lay beneath the ground, Eadbold and Ylena to her side. He knew the ground where they lay as if it were part of his skin. On his way back from Pinnath Gelin he had stopped at their mounds and planted new Evermind there. This day the sorrow grew beyond what it had been in recent months, and Eodwine did not know why. He sought the balm of drink to take away the sting.

They played all afternoon and into supper time, and after food, Eodwine felt his head swoon. He was sick. His head clearer, the ache of loss returned, all the worse for having been blotted out for a while. He returned to the Great room and picked up his lyre again. It was then that he remembered why the pain was stronger. It was on this day that he had crested the final rolling hill and saw not his beloved homestead, but a ruin. Eodwine ordered another ale.

[Alaksoron]

Korik cased his flute. There would be no more music tonight. Some of the men groaned, those who were not too drunk, but Korik just ignored them. He could tell Eodwine was troubled. He also felt a prickling between his shoulders he had come to realize meant imminent danger, an uncanny sixth sense he had developed as a Ranger in the borderlands of western Gondor. He carried the flute case to his room and slipped it under his bed. Something told him to lock the door on his way back out. He did.

When Korik reappeared downstairs there was a wide quiver full of arrows on his back beside a yew short bow slung over his shoulder. The bowstring was taut and waxed. His swordbelt was still around his waist, the scabbarded long sword on his left hip.

With a stiff-collared white cloak draped over his forearm he walked over to Eodwine and clapped him on the back. "How about taking a look at my horse now?" Korik himself had drank sparingly; Eodwine..... "Are you alright?"

[littlemanpoet]

"How about taking a look at my horse now?" Korik asked, then looked at Eodwine more closely. "Are you all right?"

"I am well enough. I have been sad today and only lately recall that it is the anniversary of my family's murder. That is why I have been drowning in drink." He rose, tilting off balance a little. "But I will come with you to the stables to check on Flithaf. I am sure the ostler here has done a fine job, but I would bid my steed goodnight."

Eodwine set down his lyre beside his satchel and walked next to Korik, who reached out an arm now and then to steady him as they made their way into the night. Korik passed into the stable ahead of him, and only then did Eodwine notice the quiver of arrows on his shoulder, and the sword at his belt.

"You are armed. Do you expect trouble in the stables? Or later tonight? The King's men have Edoras well guarded, though a sly thief or murderer could get through, no doubt. But all has been at peace lately."

Korik put his finger to his lips. Eodwine realized that he had been talking far too much, and closed his mouth. His head felt thick as soaked leather.

[Bêthberry]

OOC

A hearty welcome to Rohan goes out to new gamers who have demonstrated they can play or run games responsibly and successfully in The Shire.

The Perky Ent now joins the list of Rohan Game Managers. Perky did an especially good job of rallying the troups and covering for absent gamers in The Last Ride of the Heir for the entire duration of his game. Keep up that level of enthusiasm, Perky!

Responsible interactive gaming and good writing was demonstated in that game by astarielle, Eowyn Skywalker, and Hama of the Riddermark, who now join Rohan as Game Players. Congratulations to the three of you.

And some late summer additions come from Resettling the Lost Kingdom: Carrun, Lady Aerowen, and Osse demonstrated they can handle writing in Rohan well. Welcome!

Just a reminder: There are several gamers in The Shire who write well, with interesting characters and original ideas, but who have not stayed with a game or who posted so sporadically their absence caused great difficulties for the other gamers. Gaming in Rohan is more interactive, improvisational, and independent and so all members of a game must be reliable and knowledgable in how to keep a game going.

[The Perky Ent]

OOC:

Thank you very much Bêthberry! I thank you for bestowing with the great priviliage of owning an RPG in Rohan. I promise not to abuse my power Now, I'm gonna start doing what I said I've always done! I'm gonna make an RPG and make Rohan less, if you'll pardon the saying, "dead"! Well, I'm off to write!


Perky

[The Perky Ent]

As Eric road up the hill, he finally saw at long last what he'd been wanting to see for the last ten years. The way the light cascaded on the fair city was poetry, and as luck would have it, Eric was, in fact, a poet. For the last ten years, Eric had wondered through the many mysteries that Minas Tirith hid, but in the end, he could not want anything more but to see him home. Taking a last look at the land behind him, Eric summoned his horse over the hill to Edoras. It was beautiful.

Getting off his horse right before the fair city, Eric took out a pad and a quill, and began to write.

The people fresh, the stone runs deep,
yet after ten years I can't help but weep
for there is a missing piece to it all
but it's not an item, a brick or ball
A freshness is missing from the colossus


Eric paused for a minute, trying to discover an ending. Then, after giving up, he took his quill back in his hand, and wrote

and without it, Rohan is dead

Eric sighed, but then grabbed the reigns of his horse, and marched into Edoras. Of the several fine Inns, there was only one that drawed so much customers. Eric quickly infered it was the best, and walked in. The White Horse, it was called. Stepping through the doors, Eric took a seet and waited for someone to serve him.

[The Perky Ent]

Well, I might as well find a room." Eric said, getting up and looking for a owner. Finding nobody, Eric began to wander around the establishment, which was rich in architecture. The detailing in the tables, walls, ceilings, and chairs was amazing. "Only in Rohan" muttered Eric, as he past by several merry customers of the Inn. After about five minutes of wandering, Eric came at last to someone that could help him. "A new face! And who might you be?" said the cherry woman. "Uh...Eric. Hey, do you happen to know who runs this place? I need a room and I need to find the," the woman laughed hartily, because saying, "The Innkeeper? Why, you want Aylwen! Aylwen Dreamsong! She's the one who runs the place. Got it from me, you know. Pleased to meet you, Eric! You can call me Bêthberry. I used to run the place. Are you new around here?" the woman called Bêthberry said, her smile shining like a star.

"No, I'm not. Well, I'm new here, but not to Edoras. I finally came home. It feels great! The air is so fresh!" Eric said, gazing at Bêthbery. Looking at her, he saw something. Something that reminded him of someone, a long time ago. "Well, welcome back! Aylwen! We have a new customer! His name is Eric, and he'd like a room!" A woman came from out of the crowd to meet him. "Hello there. You want a room? Sure, I can get you a room! Come with me" Aylwen said, drawing Eric to another part of the Inn. Eric still didn't remember what it was about Bêthberry, but he knew he wouldn't leave until he found out.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen began to lead the new patron through the halls of the White Horse, taking the man called Eric to the front of the Inn. Taking a sharp turn Aylwen lead him up the stairwell to the rooms on the upper levels. When they had gotten to the top of the stairs the Innkeeper turned down the hallway of the second floor, stopping in front of the third door on the right. She opened the door for Eric, gesturing with a gentle sweep of her arm for him to enter the room. He took a step into the room, and Aylwen winced when he just so happened to step on a squeaky floorboard.

"Is the room to your liking, Master Eric?" Aylwen asked, hoping that he might ignore the occasional squeal of a floorboard. He surveyed the room, his hand rubbing his chin for a moment before shaking his head in approval. Aylwen smiled when he nodded his acceptance. "Meals will always be available, and if you have any other needs or wishes, just call for me or ask one of the maids..."

The Innkeeper paused for a moment, thinking about this new arrival.

"Master Eric? Do you know how long you might be staying in Edoras?"

[The Perky Ent]

"Until the end of my days, God willing! After ten years of being homesick, I can't bear to do it to myself again! No, I'm here for good. Well, maybe not in this room for good. I'll find a home...eventualy, but for now" Eric said, sitting on his bed, and putting his things down on the floor, which gave a loud squeak. "Ah yes! Stay as long as you want! That room isn't reserved for anyone. No one, that is, but you. Well, if you don't mind, I'll be off!" And Aylwen walked down the stairs back into the fray. Changing his shirt, Eric gave a sigh, and lay on his bed.

After a breif nap, Eric woke up and picked up his quill. He always recorded his dreams. He never knew when he'd forget them, and each was intricate and detailed.

Fire, fire, everywhere.
Not a place to stand.
Stop, drop, and roll.
Nothing works.
Burn.

"Well that was a strange one" Eric said, staring at his dream again, and laughing for quite a while. After washing his face, Eric went down to the lower levels, and ordered some bread. He needed food, but even more, he needed a friend.

[astarielle]

Lianda wandered through the streets not caring where she was going for the weight of all the worries she had carried all her life had finally be lifted from her tired shoulders, for she was home. Familiar smells wafted along the dark streets reminding her of her childhood. She saw herself running through the alley ways chasing after her friends and hiding in doorways waiting to be found. How much had changed since those brief days. Since the fateful day when her parent's had died, things were never the same. Her life had become full of worry and hardship, gone were the days of freedom. But Lianda had survived, she was here after all, back in the Edoras where some brief but happy memories remained.

In the cool hours before dawn she had entered the city with the dew still on the grass. She waited by the gates for what seemed like hours mustering her thoughts and recollections priming herself to face her fears. But she need not have been worried, some how by returning to her home city, the grief that had followed her for all these years disappeared leaving Lianda with a sense of fufillment. Even after all the troubles and challenges she had faced since leaving, none was so great as returning here.

Retracing the steps she knew so very well, she found herself standing by the door of the White Horse Inn. She could hear muffled voices and laughter eminating from the inn. The sign was creaking in the wind and the warm light called her in.

She scanned the faces for anyone she may recognise, knowing full well that she wouldn't. Quietly she made her way to bar and sat down, overcome with a sense of happiness and joy.

[The Perky Ent]

After Eric's seventh serving of bread, he began to feel very bloated. Though he had travelled long distance, and exercised much, he was still very overweight. Eric's thought on the matter was "One more won't kill me, and if it does, I'm going to a place where it won't! What's the harm!" This attitude was often people's opinion of him, which gave him very weird nicknames. Some even went so far as to call him Eric of the Shire, due to his hobbitish behavior of eating. Some thought he had more than one stomach. Eric truly was an interesting person.

After taking a moment to digest the massive amount of carbohydrates going into his body, Eric became parched, and got up for the bar. "Alright!" Eric said, as he placed his hands on the table and put pressure on them. "Off the table, in three, two, one!" and using a false strength. Even if no one was looking, Eric often acted as if he was viewed by an audience at all times, his table routine being one of his most frequent acts. Walking over to the bar, he ordered a fine ale, and began to drink. Joining the bread, the ale gave Eric a soothing feeling, as it to became digested. Just then, Eric heard the door open. The woman went to the bar, ordered a drink, and sat down. Eric had the impression that she too was a person comming home.

"Excuse me miss" Eric said, looking at the woman. "Are you new here?" The woman seemed a little shocked at the question, but then answered "Yes, well, I'm comming back home" At once Eric showed off a great smile. "Me too! Just got here! Great place! It's good to be back. I was in Minas Tirith. Where have you been?"

[astarielle]

After entering the Inn Lianda mae her way to the bar and ordered and ale. To her surprise a man, whom she hadn't noticed before, came up beside her and ordered a drink.

"Excuse me miss" the man said, looking at the her. "Are you new here?" Lianda was a little shocked and was thrown from her thoughts back into present times.

"Yes, well, I'm comming back home" The man smiled at her, (which Lianda had to admit was rather appealing).

"Me too! Just got here! Great place! It's good to be back. I was in Minas Tirith. Where have you been?"

"Where haven't I been would be a more apt question i believe!" said Lianda after the preivous shock of being asked a question. "I've wandered far and wide but my heart remainded here, so here i return." Liana thought for a while before continuing; "To be exact i've been as far north as Bree and as far east as Osgiliath since i left this far city many mooons ago. Yet now i return, and i see nothing much has changed. The smells are the same...." she took a gulp of her ale, "....and the ale is the same if i do recall correctly." Lianda laughed and drank some more.

She ordered another two ales, one for herself and another for her acquaintance. "So what brings you here then?"

[The Perky Ent]

"You know, Gondor is a great place, but nothing is as good as Rohan. I come back because nothing beats home. I'm back, at last. Now, I'm at peace. No more worries." Eric said, closing his eyes. Picturing Minas Tirith, and then a boat, he saw himself sailing from the white city to Edoras. And then, after taking a breath, Eric passed out, his body motionless on the bar. "No! What's happening!" "What's going on?" "Who did this" everyone was screaming, but Eric couldn't hear any of it. He was at peace. Eric knew he wasn't dying, but he knew he'd never been alive again. But, if he was home, it didn't matter.

Later, everyone had found that Eric had had a tragic heart disease, which had been eating up his body. Although he was never technically pronounced dead, his body was set in a small bed on the outskirts of Edoras. After several days of bedrest, Eric died. It was very poignant to see someone like him die, but, life went on. Though he would be remember for quite some time, he would eventually be forgotten. He would pass away.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine came back from the stables, leaving Korik behind. He had given Flithaf a good rub down, and his head felt less addled with ale. Though not altogether. He felt quite satisfied with a good day of food and music and ale, but wanted one more before going down for the night. He stepped up to the bar and discovered two new patrons, a woman and a man, making light conversation.

He ordered one for himself, and while watching the other two, saw the man pass out. Eodwine almost fell over in sympathy, but regained his balance and knelt down beside the prone man.

"I was just talking to him!" cried the woman. "Is he dead?"

Eodwine put his ear to the man's chest, and could hear his labored breathing.

"No, he lives. But he needs a healer. Aylwen! Bêthberry! Man down!"

Aylwen came quickest, having just taken Eodwine's order for ale, and sent the cook's help off at a run to get help.

Before long, the healer came and had the man placed on his bed in the front room. Eodwine found himself dismissed. The woman followed him out of the room.

"I could use that ale!" Eodwine said.

"As could I!" the woman said.

"I didn't catch your name."

"I am Lianda."

"Well met, Lianda."

[astarielle]

Lianda felt a sense of calm, listening to Eric tell her about Gondor but that calmness sonn ended as he slumped onto the bar knocking over his pint glass. She was stunned and could not think what to do. Thankfully she didn't need to as someone came and knelt beside him. It took a while for any words to form in her mouth. "I was just talking to him! Is he dead?" she managed to blurt out after what seemed to be an age. The kneeling man checked he was breathing and, much to Lianda's relief ,announced that he lived. A herbalist came and went, and soon enough the Inn returned to its peaceful serenity from whence it was torn by a man and his ale.

After making sure Eric was in sfae hands Lianda followed Eodwine back to the bar where she ordered two more ales. Lianda introduced herself while taking a long gulp of the much needed ale.

"Nothing ever goes to plan does it?" she asked Eodwine who seemed perplexed by the question.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I came in here expected a nice relaxing and quiet drink only for it to turn into one of the most stressful situations I've experianced in a while," Lianda said " And as for Eric, i don't think he intended that to happen", she continued.

"I'm sure he didn't!" replied Eodwine with a hint of humour in his voice

Lianda smiled and drank some more.

[littlemanpoet]

Lianda was a little blurry to Eodwine's vision, but fair enough he was sure. He barely stopped himself from asking her right off if she was wed. Funny how loose one's tongue - and brain - could get with too much ale.

So she wished for more surety in life. She had a good enough sense of humor, at least. She had said wistfully that nothing ever goes to plan. She seemed to like her drink as well as he did, too.

Stop, my friend, before you get yourself in trouble.

It was a bad sign..... the part of him was talking to him that he usually did not need.

I'll be fine, he told himself.

Eodwine introduced himself to Lianna, then realized, as her grin spread, that he had already done so. He apologized heartily and said, "So, Lianna, what other plans of yours have gone awry?"

[Bêthberry]

A familiar brown and white falcon flies into the Tavern, with a scroll in his beak, which he drops near the Innkeeper's desk before flying out into the kitchen, where he sneaks a piece of raw meat left lying on the cutting board, and then flies swiftly out an open window before he can be caught.

The scroll is dutifully tacked up on the board for all to see:

All hail New Writers of the Mark!

Here ye all Rohirrim! You are bid welcome to Rohan as Game Players Arry, CaptainofDespair, and Firefoot who have successfully played to conclusion their first game in The Shire Well done!

And please congratulate Fordim Hedgethistle on his full status as Game Founder in Rohan. He is already itching to get a sequel to Land of Darkness going here in Rohan so watch for it.

The Perky Ent and Imladris are also preparing some entertainments for your gaming enjoyment. Coming some day soon to a thread near you.

Bêthberry,

[astarielle]

After being woken from a train of deep thought by a falcon flying in, Lianda realised she was meant to be answering a question. "Sorry, what did you say" she said hurridly and feeling rather embarassed.

Eodwine chuckled to himself, "I asked what other plans of yours have gone wrong"

"Ohhh, sorry, I went of into my own little world then. Well, when i was little i did intend to be a princess and live in a pink castle, but that obviouly hasn't worked out!"

They both laughed and after regaining her composure Lianda continued, "I planned to stay here forever, unless a chance to marry a prince came along of course, and live a trouble free life and marry a handsome man, nonef which has come to pass. Not saying they never will mind!"

She took a sip of her ale which mysteriously, in her opinion, had become less full than the last time she looked. She shrugged her shoulders and thought nothing of it, pints always have a habit of doing that when you least expect it.

[littlemanpoet]

"When I was a lad I dreamed of being a great warrior, a captain in the army of Prince Theodred." He shook his head. "I did not make captain, for which I am forever grateful to the rulers of fate, for then I would have been killed along with him early in the War." He shrugged and shook his head. "But enough somber talk! Do you like music? Or do you sing?"

"I would not boast of it, but I know a few tunes. Why? Do you play?"

"A harp! Which I handle almost as well as my ale!" Eodwine grinned and took a draught, half of which he spilled down his chin and neck, staining his shirt.

"Better, I hope!"

Eodwine wiped his mouth and chin on his sleeve, suddenly serious. "Forgive me, my head is addled. I am not given to such slovenliness. Would you hear my harp?"

[astarielle]

"I am of the opinion that this room needs a little livening up, wouldn't you agree?" Lianda asked cheerfully as the inn had become rather lifeless since the commotion with Eric.

"I'd have to agree with you on that one!" said Eodwine standing up and from, to Lianda, apparently nowhere revealing his harp. "Any requests, my lady?" He said coming over all gentlemanly, quite the contrary to what the ale was telling him to do, as ale has a habit of doing when you have drunk a fair amount.

Quite confidently Lianda replied "Surprise me, just as long as you make it a nice surprise, I don't care much for bad surprises but i do like surprises generally." Lianda was quite shocked she managed to string more than four words together, use more than monosyllabic words and not make it sound disjointed because of the ale, although she did admit there were a few too many 'surprises'. However, stopping herself thinking even more and therefore run the risk of confusing herself even more so, she took another swig of ale and left it at that.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine carefully set down his ale mug, and it still almost spilled, his hand was so clumsy, and he wondered how he could manage the harp's strings.

"I call this 'Heather'." His sang his simple song, his voice high and clear, and was surprised that his fingers seemed to know their way despite his muddled senses.

"Summer's heather warm and sweet,
Sun of Arda lights thee bright,
Lifted heads all do me greet,
Lilt thy voice in song so light.

"Fair in Autumn, heather small,
Faintly do I hear thee call;
Feel thee how thy blossoms fall?
Fail not during winter's pall.

"Lowly heather hid from sight,
Lay in shielding snowy white,
Safe from winter's shiv'ring bite,
Silent bide till warm spring bright.

"Field of heather growing green,
Filled with scent of rain in spring,
Washed with colors cool and clean,
Whispered words I hear thee sing.

"Sing! For winter fell has ended,
Call of heather comes once more!
Spring has come and wrong is mended!
Chilling death shall be no more!"

"That is my song, my surprise. I hope you liked it," said Eodwine, a tilted smile on his face.