The White Horse Inn, Act III

[astarielle]

Currently at The White Horse Inn

It is late evening and a crowd has gathered. There is music and fellowship but melancoly as well as, fueled by sad memories of loss.

The old warrier Osric will seek a chair in the Great Hall, where the bards Eodwine and Korik compare notes on songs and tinker with their instruments. Maercwen helps her mother in the Kitchen while her younger siblings dance to the music with children's obliviousness to the memories of adults. A new comer, Lianda, joins the song while the nightwatchman Osric makes his rounds. Aylwen the Innkeeper is hidden away for the moment, doing an audit of the Inn's books for the day. They will soon be joined by the former Innkeeper, Bethberry

~~~~~
astarielle's post:

For a long time Lianda remained silent, musing over the words of Eodwine's song. She felt transported into a forest of green were shafts of shimmering light filtered throught the treetops, casting mosiacs on the floor of heather. Birds sung in the trees above, their voices rising and falling in time with the lilting of the harp. The breeze drifted into the grove, the leaves protesting all the way. The leaves turned a golden brown, shimmering in the light before gracefully falling to the ground; creating a carpet of gold. It wasn't long until the sweet voices faded to be replaced by the falling of snow, the bear branches offering little protection. Yet the heather, hardened by the years, clung stronly to the ground until the last of the snow had fallen and Lianda felt the warm sun on her back once more.

The fire was warm on her back as she awoke from her vision. People were talking and the dim light cast shadows on the ground. "That is my song, my surprise. I hope you liked it," said Eodwine, a tilted smile on his face. It was few seconds later that Lianda realised that someone was talking to her.

"Liking it is more of an understatement than ever," Lianda smiled, the warmth of happiness surrounding her, "for that I owe you a drink."

[Umwë]

The song that came from Eodwine made Umwë paralyzed. He sat, practically staring at Eodwine with and his eyes were filled with amusement. He felt how the happy atmosphere in the room rose to a level far beyond that he had ever felt, even back in his happy days in the golden forests of Lórien.

The song ended and Umwë smiled to Eodwine and he bowed towards him with honor and respect. He saw how Eodwine sat down again beside a woman again and they began talking again.

The hot midsommer air came flowing to Umwë and he really enjoyed his stay at the Inn. He sighed deeply of enjoyment and noticed how much people talked all around him and everybody seemed to have a good time.

Maybe I should take the initiative and join them, he thought and glanced over his shoulder at Eodwine and the woman beside him. He felt lonely and at this point when he was so happy and was in such a good mood, a bit of company wouldn't be wrong.

He sat and felt how he started to sweat. He was shy and didn't want to interrupt them both. He swallowed and stood up, but tottered a bit. He took a deep breathe and started walk towards them.

Here it goes, he thought, and when he stood in front of Eodwine and the woman he felt how he blushed.

"I-I..." he started. Oh no, come on Umwë, don't be so shy! "I would l-like to j-join you, if you don't mind?" he said and looked at them both. "By the way, my name is Umwë" he added and bowed quickly. He stood picking on his nails while awaited their reply.

[Nurumaiel]

The words of the song drifted into the kitchen where Maercwen still sat. She straightened in her chair, and then she stood. Slowly she went to the door, and she looked into the common room at the singer. Her eyes dimmed with tears, and she withdrew. The song made her think of the recently-departed Hearpwine, and also of her uncle Liornung. A sad little smile flitted across her face. She could imagine her uncle there, listening to the first verse of the song and then, with his skill, beginning to play it with his fiddle, adding harmonies of both low and high natures. She could not hope to see him again until spring, unless he desired to spend the winter within the warmth of the Inn. She would hope for that.

Within the common room, Deman and Fierlan, the twins of six years, stood, their faces bored and idle, but their eyes brightened at the song. Deman cast a scornful look at Mereflod and little Motan, who had begun to dance and laugh softly. They always danced when someone sang, even if the song were slow and sad. They spent their whole lives dancing, so it seemed. They stopped to eat occasionally, and to sleep, it was true, but mostly they danced, unless they were picking little flowers from their garden. Deman gave them one more look of scorn, and then he went with his twin to the stable.

When the song ended, little Motan gazed with wide eyes at the one who had performed. "Misser Hearpwine 'ooks odd," she said to her sister.

"That's not Hearpwine," said Mereflod, with a little titter. "That's someone else."

"No," little Motan insisted. "'E sings, just 'ike Misser Hearpwine, and 'e 'as a harp, too."

"Hearpwine isn't the only one who plays a harp," said Mereflod. "I tell you, Motan, that is someone else."

"Mayee," said Motan, "but 'e usn't pay the harp as 'ood as Misser Hearpwine."

"Maybe not," said Mereflod, "but neither does our uncle."

"Oh," said Motan, tossing her hair airily, "but no one plays the diddle as 'ood as Uncle 'Iornung."

"No," said Mereflod, "but Hearpwine doesn't play the fiddle very well, either."

They seemed to sense then that their conversation was just a little bit senseless, though at the same time they were unaware of the fact, and they left the building to make sure their garden was all right.

[littlemanpoet]

Lianda smiled. "For that I owe you a drink."

Eodwine raised a hand. "You owe me no such thing! If I have another, I think I will drift off to sleep where I sit!"

Lianda laughed. A man was walking toward them. No, he was an Elf. Eodwine tried to make himself become more sober. He was in awe of Elves. He was friendly with a few, but he felt as if he watched them from a great distance - - below - - even if he sat right next to one.

"I-I..." the Elf seemed to be a little wary. "I would l-like to j-join you, if you don't mind?" He looked at them both. "By the way, my name is Umwë." He bowed quickly, and awaited their reply.

Eodwine stood. "Well met, Umwë. I am Eodwine."

"I am Lianda."

"She is a seeker of pleasant surprises!" Eodwine added helpfully.

"Master Eodwine! If you please, I would speak for myself."

"Most sorry I am for that unpleasant surprise." He turned to Umwë. "I hope my little ditty did not disturb you."

Umwë shook his head, and seemed a little more at ease. "Oh, n-no! I found it q-quite delightful!"

"Thank you very much! Would you like to share a drink with us?"

"But you just turned down my offer!" Lianda protested.

Eodwine nodded. "And so I did, for I did not want to be an offensive lout in your presence by falling asleep and snoring before you! But with our new friend, Umwë here, there is a chance that I may remain awake long enough for my weary legs to find their way to my rooms."

"You are saying that I am boring," Lianda said through narrowed eyes, winking at Umwë, who watched the minor row with increasing fascination.

"Oh, no! I am saying that I would become lost in the contemplation of your beauty, and contemplation always puts me to sleep!"

Umwë allowed a grin to spread on his lips, as counterpoint to the half smile on the face of Lianda, whose hands had found her lips.

Eodwine was sure as the moon that he needed to change the topic right quick before he got into real trouble. "Server! Three ales as soon as you can! The best you have!"

[Kransha]

As songs were sung, and words spoken, and acquaintances made in the White Horse Inn of Edoras, Sigurd son of Sigmund thought on his fate in the inn, and his newest assignment, the duties of which were still enigmatic to him.

The youth contemplated now, for many long moments as he began to pace aimlessly throughout the inn. He wondered now which of the two, Aylwen or Bethberry, had guessed his true motivation for seeking the post of night watchman. It was not a job he had desired so much, nor was it one that seemed to be catered to his talents in any ways. He had ulterior motives and other ideas of how his nights might be spent. True, he would not betray Aylwen’s trust, or Bethberry’s proposition, but he could not help it if he strayed from their watchful gaze just a bit. He was but a lad, after all, and young men should have the independence to follow their own devices (though his uncle had often told him otherwise). It was a good feeling, the one that stirred somewhat foolishly inside him: he was hot with lively vigor, and sought to leap about as a sudden revelation overwhelmed him. He was free of the rigorous coils of his uncle, to some degree, the bound with new ones that had not yet been fully clarified. Aimless, but merrier, he wandered, as a gentle song wafted into his ears as gentle spring mists after a night of rain.

From Osric, Sigurd had some freedom now, and this gave him a great comfort. He had been taught by many tutors in his life, all provided for by the funds Osric collected, and the dug wealth found in his elaborate warrior’s pension. Many had been stifled, conservative, and drawling, but a chosen few had been brisk, relaxed, and even enjoyable to be around. Both Aylwen and Bethberry seemed as if they were the latter, when categorized, which raised Sigurd’s expectations even further. Aylwen could not be a great deal older than himself, for she still looked to be a fair maid (Sigurd dared not ask her age forthwith, fearing that he might pry too far). Maercwen was, to be sure, younger, and fairer of face, but Sigurd did not wish to let himself get distracted before he had an objective to be distracted from, Smiling inward and out, Sigurd turned back toward the Common Room, chuckling gratuitously as the twins, Motan and Mereflod, pranced nimbly past him and out of the inn, probably to engage in some willy-nilly horticultural activities.

Not far from Sigurd, his uncle sat in the same old chair, which creaked in protest beneath the metallic bulk of the armor clad elder. Osric heard the song as well, the verse that Sigurd had heard. It was Eodwine’s. Osric lay back in his chair, scratching idly at the nested innards of his grayish beard, worming several wrinkled but strong fingers through the hairy muddle. He then put his warm palm to his brow and, with his stilled digits, massaged his temples as the rhythm of the poetic song rung in his ears, musical and sunny, a beam of light in his cobweb-encrusted head. He, like several others, was reminded fleetingly of his passed friend Hearpwine, who now frequented another court, in another land, and sung his songs for another patron, whose patronage was of far more value than Osric’s. Osric thought briefly on that, pondering the difference of status, and his memories of a powerful vision when he stood beneath the gilded rafters of Meduseld itself, gazing upon the heralds of the next generation, and withered emissaries of his own. The site of the last Rohirrim viziers and counselors, lingering like gathered dust in the Golden Hall, would’ve depressed him then, had he not been awed by the sights and sounds.

Curiously, though, Elves in general did not strike any great emotion into the aged Rohirrim. He did remember his awe, the maddening desire to learn and to hear of Elven-kind that had coursed through him after he heard Hearpwine speak and sing of the Golden Wood, and the Lady, the enchantress who dwelled there. If there was any Elf who held a meaning deeper than face or voice, it was Galadriel, who Osric had never met, nor seen, nor heard, nor even spoken of often. And yet, all that he heard captivated him. He could only imagine what she looked like. Perhaps she bore the same youthful prowess of the Lady Éowyn, combined with that regal, powerful air of Morwen Steelsheen, the grandmother of that same woman, who now sat on the wooded throne in Ithilien, a forest land - like, indeed, the Golden Wood itself – which seemed so very distant, in both geography and in spirit, from the rolling plains, grassy, green, and unstained by the barrenness of other lands, of the Riddermark. The old Rohirrim’s brow furrowed at these thoughts, as a painful weight was loaded again onto him. Sighing deeply, he eased himself forward, resting his arms on the stiff table, and peered forward, his eyes dimming as his mind drifted to thoughts of Elves, Woods, and White Ships.

[Umwë]

Lianda gave Eodwine a gloomy look and sat with a sullen expression on her face.

Umwë smiled a bit embarassed and sat down with Eodwine. Eodwine’s and Lianda’s little argue fortunately didn’t go so far, Eodwine interrupted it by ordering three ales for them.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble.” Umwë said and looked down in the wooden table.

“Don’t worry” Eodwine said and pounded him heartily in the back. “Now let us all enjoy the finest ale they can offer.”

Lianda nodded now, and seemed a lot more happy. Umwë smiled to her and took a sip the ale that the server had been coming with. It tasted delicious, he had never had any ale tasted like this.

“By Eru! This ale is the best I’ve ever tasted!” Umwë exclaimed with a quick laugther. He felt how his good mood came back, and he didn’t feel shy anymore.

“How long have you been around here?” Umwë suddenly asked and his head turned from Eodwine to Lianda constantly.

This is what living is for, he thought and felt relieved that Lianda didn’t seem so angry anymore. At least he thought so. Eodwine seemed to be in a good mood to as he swung his ale and sang a silly song that Umwë almost could understand.

[astarielle]

Lianda was laughing so hard inside she struggled to keep from falling off her stool onto the floor in a very unlady-like manner. Their little 'argument' amused her some what, probably more so than it should have done. Now joined by Umwë, Lianda tried her best not to let the ale have its way with her.

The mood in the Inn was somewhat more jovial and the sounds of conversation grew louder and the familiar clink of ale mugs more frequent.

“How long have you been around here?” Umwë suddenly asked and his head turned from Eodwine to Lianda constantly.

"Here in the Inn, or Edoras?" Lianda tried to recollect how long she had actually been in the Inn and exactly how many mugs of ale she had drunk, it had to be a lot of mugs as she could not get an answer to either. Lianda shrugged and had some more ale, prehaps that would enlighten her. "I can answer neither exactly as this fine ale has clouded my judgement, but i've been in Edoras less than a day.......i think...." Lianda continued.

Eodwine had obviously not heard the question as he was srepeating the same line to his ditty over and over again changing one or two words at a time. He had seemingly forgotten the next phrase, or was that just the ale showing through?

"May I ask you the same question? I'm pretty sure you'd be able to answer with a little more certainty!" asked Lianda smiling.

[littlemanpoet]

"I was just thinking of the moon," Eodwine said to his two drinking partners, and it has put me in mind of a song. I heard it from a fellow soldier, who insists that he had it from a halfling of the north. Quite an odd song really, and my memory may fail me. I goes like this."

"There is an inn, a merry ol' inn
'neath an ol' gray hill,
An' there they brew an ale so frothy
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one nigh' to have a swill.

"The ostler has a booted cat
that sings and combs its hair;
And up and down he squeaks and howls,
Now meowing high, now purring low,
now pawing at the chair."

"Tha' part never did make sensssse to meep!" Eodwine murmured out of the side of his mouth to Lianda, but ended on a hiccup.

"The lan'lord keeps a little hog
tha' 's mighty fond of artichokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
He cocks his ear at all the jests
and grunts until he smokes."

"A silly song, really. Who ever heard of a 'og smoking because of jokes? Or is it grunts until he chokes? Or sings to all the folks? Or snorts until he chokes?" Eodwine shrugged his shoulders and quaffed his ale.

Lianda was talking to Umwë, smiling. "May I ask you the same question? I'm pretty sure you'd be able to answer with a little more certainty!"

"Wha' ques'ion?" Eodwine asked.

"H-how long have you b-been here?" Umwë supplied.

"Jus' t'day! I came in wi' the dawn from the Gap of Rohan. An' you, Umdilay?"

"Umwë," the Elf corrected politely.

"Ssssorry."

[Alaksoron]

Korik came in from the stables and heard Eodwine's attempt at song, who was now quite drunk. Nevertheless, the song transported Korik to a time long past, when he had watched a hobbit singing that very song while standing atop a table at the Prancing Pony, in Bree. Korik made his way slowly to where Eodwine was sitting and sat down beside his friend, humming the tune to himself. It was quite a sight, the white-cloaked Elf beside the half-drunk man. Korik raise his lovely voice and sang the song, and everyone nearby stopped to hear the beautiful sound.

There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old gray hill,
and there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill.

The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays afive-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he runs his bow,
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle.

The landlord keeps a little dog
that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
He cocks an ear at all the jests
and laughs until he chokes.

They also keep a horned cow
as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her wave her tufted tail
and dance upon the green.

And O! the rows of silver dishes
and the store of silver spoons!
For Sunday there's a special pair,
and these they polish up with care
on Saturday afternoons.

The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,
and the cat began to wail;
a dish and a spoon on the table danced,
The cow in the garden madly pranced,
and the little dog chased his tail.

The Man in the Moon took another mug,
and then rolled beneath his chair;
and there he dozed and dreamed of ale,
Till in the sky the stars were pale,
and dawn was in the air.

Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:
'The white horses of the Moon,
They neigh and champ their silver bits;
But their master's been and drowned his wits,
and the Sun'll be rising soon!'

So the cat on his fiddle played hey-didle-diddle,
a jig that would rouse the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:
'It's after three!" He said.

They rolled the Man slowly up the hill,
and bundled him into the Moon,
While his horses galloped up in rear,
And the cow came capering like a deer,
and a dish ran up with the spoon.

Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;
the dog began to roar,
The cow and the horses stood on their heads;
The guests all bounded from their beds
and danced upon the floor.

With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!
the cow jumped over the Moon,
And the little dog laughed to see such fun,
And the Saturday dish went off at a run
with the silver Sunday spoon.

The round moon rolled behind the hill
as the Sun raised up her head.
She hardly believed her fiery eyes;
For though it was day, to her surprise
they all went back to bed!

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine quieted and listened to Korik sing. His head seemed to clear, and he listened with delight. When Korik finished, Eodwine joined the others in applause.

"Well sung, Korik, my friend!" Eodwine said. "And your words were much better than what I learned. Thanks for that! We must have it again!"

"Not this minute, Master Eodwine. Singing has made me thirsty, and I have not had as much to drink as you. So I would have one of these ales that are supposed to be the best in the land."

[Umwë]

"Wha' ques'ion?" Eodwine asked.

"H-how long have you b-been here?" Umwë supplied.

"Jus' t'day! I came in wi' the dawn from the Gap of Rohan. An' you, Umdilay?"

"Umwë," the Elf corrected politely.

"Ssssorry."

"No problem." Umwë said and bowed. He took another gulp of his ale. Eodwine seemed fuzzy and quite drunk. Umwë glanced at Eodwine's ale. I wonder how many he has been drinking today, he thought and his gaze turned to a person, who he believed was a man, that entered and sat down beside them.

Suddenly he started to sing, and Umwë sat as he was enchanted by the song. His eyes became glassy and he drew a deep sigh.

There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old gray hill,
and there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill.

The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays afive-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he runs his bow,
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle.

The landlord keeps a little dog
that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
He cocks an ear at all the jests
and laughs until he chokes.

They also keep a horned cow
as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her wave her tufted tail
and dance upon the green.

And O! the rows of silver dishes
and the store of silver spoons!
For Sunday there's a special pair,
and these they polish up with care
on Saturday afternoons.

The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,
and the cat began to wail;
a dish and a spoon on the table danced,
The cow in the garden madly pranced,
and the little dog chased his tail.

The Man in the Moon took another mug,
and then rolled beneath his chair;
and there he dozed and dreamed of ale,
Till in the sky the stars were pale,
and dawn was in the air.

Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:
'The white horses of the Moon,
They neigh and champ their silver bits;
But their master's been and drowned his wits,
and the Sun'll be rising soon!'

So the cat on his fiddle played hey-didle-diddle,
a jig that would rouse the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:
'It's after three!" He said.

They rolled the Man slowly up the hill,
and bundled him into the Moon,
While his horses galloped up in rear,
And the cow came capering like a deer,
and a dish ran up with the spoon.

Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;
the dog began to roar,
The cow and the horses stood on their heads;
The guests all bounded from their beds
and danced upon the floor.

With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!
the cow jumped over the Moon,
And the little dog laughed to see such fun,
And the Saturday dish went off at a run
with the silver Sunday spoon.

The round moon rolled behind the hill
as the Sun raised up her head.
She hardly believed her fiery eyes;
For though it was day, to her surprise
they all went back to bed!

"Bravo!" Umwë exclaimed and clapped his hands. He felt even more joy now and the ale tasted really good.

"I am Umwë" Umwë said to the man and bowed with a smile.

"Korik is my name!" Korik replied with a smile.

"The song was beautiful! It reminds of the glorious days I have been spending in Lórien." Umwë said.

"It glads me that you enjoyed it." Korik said softly.

All the happy memories came back to Umwë. and for once, it wasn't sadness that he felt when he got reminded of Lórien. He actually felt happy and thankful for all the good days.

"By the way Eodwine. I came this morning, so not even a day have I spent here yet. But I look forward at a long and happy stay, as my company so far has been most pleasant!" He grinned to them all and raised his mug of ale and said with a smile "Cheers for all the happy moments life has to offer!"

"Cheers!" the others said in agreement and raised their mugs of ale.

Umwë now turned to the new person that had joined them, Korik. "So you have just arrived, friend Korik?" Umwë asked and awaited his reply.

[Bêthberry]

Light from lanterns and candles and fireplaces flickered out from the latticed windows of The White Horse and illuminated patches of the ground almost in time to the music that emanated from the Horse. Cheers and voices and laughter competed with the sounds of flute and harp as well. Bethberry could almost imagine the sign of the Horse swaying in time with the entertainment. She could not see any sign of the nightwatchman she and Aylwen had hired, but for the time being she satisfied herself with the thought that Osric could well be making his rounds on the other side of the Inn. She stabled her horse quickly and quietly, the ostler himself likely having dinner with his family or seeing the bairns to bed.

Lifting the heavy iron latch, Bethberry swung the front door open and stepped inside, her eyes temporarily blinded by the light and her senses overcome by the heady aromas and warm air of the inn. No one had as yet caught sight of her, so she quietly strode in, leaving her bags near the front desk, by her old room which now was Aywlen's room. Maercwen caught sight of her and nearly called aloud, but Bethberry, with a grin, but her finger to her lips and cautioned silence. She gave the girl a hug and whispered to her that it was good to be back and then walked calmly into the Great Hall with a tankard in her hand.

"What's this covering of the same song over and over?" she asked with mock sterness, as she caught the eye of new bards. The older children ran to her, crying out her name and jumping up on her nearly as if she was a tree to climb.

"Hold your horse, Deman and Fierlan," she laughed as she gave each a tight hug and a ruffling of their hair. "It's a good thing I at least am still steady on my feet."

Osric the old warrior harrumped at this and attempted to rise to welcome her whereas Lianda, Umwë, Eodwine and Korik seemed to reel around each other and stared at her blinkingly. It could not be denied that the sound of a belch or two punctuated the welcome.

[littlemanpoet]

"'Tis time I got these sodden legs into a bed. I think that they will not prop me up long enough to find my rooms."

As if to prove himself right, Eodwine rose from his stool and immediately slid to the floor, bumping his ale cup on the counter, its contents sloshing out and giving him a much needed shower, albeit of a too sticky liquid for proper cleansing.

"Ah me, maybe I should just sleep here."

"Nonsense," Korik said. "Umwë, please give me a hand with Master Eodwine."

"I bid you all a good night, my friends, and may the morrow find you in fine fettle and good spirits under a shining sun."

Korik and Umwë each took Eodwine by an arm, and hobbled him to his rooms. When they came back Korik said that the poor man was snoring between them before they laid him down.

[Bêthberry]

OOC

Writers of the Mark, please take a look at Fordim Hedgethistle's new game, Shadow of the West.

It is a game of intrigue set in the Second Age and exploring the creation of the Nazgul.

Come join the fun!

Bethberry

[Bêthberry]

It was a chilly and grey day, the sky full of scudding clouds that looked blue with cold. The ground was crisp and frozen, even now, in mid-afternoon. Edoras was settling into an early winter.

The White Horse Inn creaked and groaned as its timbers rocked to the wind and the shutters bumbled up against the window frames. Mid-afternoon was always quiet at the Inn, for its patrons and guests were usually all busy completing their daily chores and tasks, but today especially people seemed to have chosen to stay indoors and not risk the inclement weather. For now the Horse was empty save for the staff.

Both fireplaces were lit, casting wide heat into the Great Hall and the smaller room, the word hoard. Candles and lanterns were not yet lit, although the darkening sky suggested they soon would be. Instead of summer flowers, the scent of pine and cedar boughs wafted through the main floor, followed by the rich aromas of stews and fresh breads in the kitchen. The only colour in the assorted bouquets came from the brilliant red stalks of sumach flowers and the intense red of hyerpicum and holly berries and rosehips.

The Innkeeper walked down the main stairwell into the main hall, having checked that all rooms were cleaned and had fires prepared should guests wish a warm room that night. She stopped by her desk near the huge oak front doors, checked her quill pens and sharpened some. She peeked quickly into the kitchen, but wished not to disturb the staff, so she did not stay to talk. Wrapping her old somewhat worn brown shawl around her shoulders, she picked up a book and carried it to the book hoard, where she curled up in a chair by the fire.

Would she nod off as the warmth spread through her bones or would she stay alert as the sounds of patrons soon came to be heard? Time would tell...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As she rode in sight of the Inn, Saeryn sighed quietly. The damp wind picked its way about the young woman as her hood fought in vain to stay put. Tendrils of auburn hair escaped their pins to dance before her tired eyes. Impatiently she brushed them aside and rode on, her usually feisty mare as exhausted as Saeryn herself.

"Almost, Dawndancer, just some further..." she crooned to her companion. At the sound of her mistress's voice, the mare perked up. Food and drink awaited them both; the finest in Rohan by all accounts. Saeryn allowed herself to melt away into dreams of hearty stews and mugs of something hot and spiced before dismounting and leading her horse to the stables.

With a generous tip to the stablehands as well as a final caress of her horse, Saeryn entered the Inn. Finding the room deserted, but for a drowsy face near the fire, she made her way over, leaving the threshold behind. "Madam," she spoke tiredly, "Could you please help me? I would be forever in your debt if you could help me find a room for the night, a hot bath, and something generally nourishing for me to eat." Saeryn pulled off her travel-stained cloak, revealing equally functional breeches and a man's shirt beneath. It is good, she thought, to have finally made it to The White Horse.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry had been drawn out of her revery by the tread of light feet upon the long pine planks of the Horse's flooring. And what to her surprise did she see but a young woman, travel-weary but most sensible, asking for warmth of room and food. Her large cloak was muddied and spoke of many days of travel. I wonder what brings her here, thought Bethberry to herself.

"Welcome, stranger. I am the Innkeeper, Bethberry, so you've made your request to the right person. I can indeed offer you a cosy room with bath and a feather bed if you want more than a straw mattress and a dinner that will warm you where the water won't reach. I've just seen to the rooms and know we have logs prepared; a fire can be lit at a time of your choosing, now or after you have eaten."

"I'll eat first, if I may," the woman replied, without giving her name.

"As you wish," replied the older woman, somewhat intrigued that the younger had withheld her name. "Do you have any particular preferences or shall I simply ask the cook to prepare a tray of hot ragout and steaming vegetables, with hearty tart to finish it off?"

"That will do. And do you have hot cider?"

"Now, would we be a respectable Inn if we didn't?" retorted Bethberry, but with a gleem in her eye.

"Somehow I doubted The White Horse would have a limited choice of beverage or food."

"Did you now? And how pray tell do you know of the Horse?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"How I know of The Horse, you ask? Apart from rumours, (how I hope they are right!), of the legendary hospitality... my brother Fenrir stopped here some years back as he was passing through on his way to--" she suddenly broke off, her face flushing. "He stopped and gave a glowing recommendation." she finished rather lamely.

I cannot believe I almost told a complete stranger about Fenrir! Saeryn silently berated herself. I never even told Degas about that adventure... What the Innkeeper would think if she knew of that. I'll tell you what she would think, Saeri, she would think "Let's just ship this girl right back out the door!". Be. More. Careful.

Bethberry watched in fascination as the mysterious woman fell silent. First this woman, not long out of girlhood, had appeared, alone but for a horse, in the middle of the afternoon, on a day that any sane soul would stay indoors. She had then began to answer a simple question, only to stop dead when she uttered the name 'Fenrir'. Just who is this girl? wondered Bethberry.

"Strange chap, my brother." Saeryn added unblushingly as she sipped her cider a few moments later. "Red hair... rather quiet." She trailed into silence as she began her meal, blowing carefully on each well-seasoned spoonful of stew before placing it in her mouth.

On his way to where, I wonder, thought the Innkeeper. And I still don't know her name or her business... Not, of course, that I must know everything, Bethberry quickly corrected herself with a grin.

Finishing her ragout, Saeryn arose at last, weary legs soon to give out beneath her. Wrinkles creased her brown breeches. Her hairpins had long since lost their battle, leaving the mass of loosely curled tresses to cascade down her back. "My room?" she asked.

"Ah, yes." smiled Bethberry. Beckoning, she led Saeryn away from the tables and through another door. "This way, m'dear. We'll get you fixed right up. Would you like to be awoken in the morning? Perhaps a breakfast brought to your room? Will you be staying long?" she added, perhaps as an afterthought, as she unfastened the heavy lock on an altogether heavier wooden door near the end of the hall.

"I thank you, but I shall simply invade the kitchens when I awaken." Saeryn answered with an impish gleam in her eye. "As for the length of my visit... I had hoped to stay for some time... I plan to journey north come spring, and I had counted on remaining in this area until then; that will not be a problem, I hope?"

[littlemanpoet]

Loud voices could be heard through the front door of the inn.

"Now don't be thinking that your long legs are going to take you beyond the reach of my voice that easily, Master Big Trouble of the Gap!"

"I would not think it possible that I could be so easily rid of you, Master Falco!"

The door opened. A tall, blonde Rohirrim walked in, followed by one of the Holbitla, who had a pipe in his mouth, which did not keep him from saying aplenty. The Holbitlan looked around as they walked in.

"Is this the best you've got, Master Eodwine? Why, seven out of ten inns in the Shire would put this place to shame for warmth and comfort! Where is everybody?"

"I know not. But it is warm enough compared to outside, and soon enough we shall have bellies full of hot food and good beer."

"Ah! That's more like it! But all the tables and chairs are too high!"

"I am sorry, Master Falco, but the Holbitla pass this way seldom enough that Rohan does not cater to the odd chance that one might appear any day of the week."

"You must quiet calling me a whole bit, see, or I'll give you something to curl your tongue around. I'm a Hobbit, not a whole bit!"

Though the halfling's words were sharp, his tone was playful, and Master Eodwine grinned. "Hobbit it is then. Would you like me to lift you into a chair, my friendly unfriend?"

"Keep your oversized hands off of me! I'll scramble up myself before I'll let some Big Trouble handle me like one of their toddlers! Ah well. If I have to stand on this chair, then I must."

"Perhaps we can convince the barkeep to find a few tomes for you to sit on."

Eodwine and Falco waited for service, having noticed that the only two other people in the great room were busy in conversation. Eodwine knew one of them for the innkeeper, Bêtheberry, but the other he did not know. He intended to greet them both as soon as they finished their talk.

[Bêthberry]

There had been a problem with the chimney in the room which Bethberry had shown Saeryn. Perhaps the wood was damp, or the wind particularly strong blowing down the flue, but at first neither Aedre the maid nor Bethberry had been able to get the fire roaring. Each had taken turns stoking and poking the fire and each in turn became wreathed with the aroma of wood smoke. It was not an unpleasant smell, but the air did become thick. Saeryn was beginning to wonder if this really was the fabled White Horse Inn, but, finally, with much use of tinder and the bellows, the fire caught. Bethberry opened the shutters slightly to allow the sooty air to waft out, taken in violent gusts by the early winter wind, and so soon the room was returned to a respectable level of clean air. Bethberry threw in a handful of herbs and soon their aroma replaced that of cinders.

"Well now," she said to her guest. "Are you sure you will want to stay? Such an ornery fire might prove troublesome."

Saeryn laughed and coughed a bit to clear her throat of the final bit of smokey ash and assured Bethberry she would stay and so the Innkeeper left Aerdre with the responsibility of preparing the hot water for the bath. This was one bath that would not inspire a song unless it be an ironic one.

With that, Bethberry returned to the Great Hall, anxious as the closer she approached to the Great Hall, the louder could voices be heard. Indeed, The Horse had new guests! Well, not new. She knew one of them as an old acquaintance but the other, well. Clearly she was going to have to do something to make him more comfortable with the Horse.

"Eodwine, greetings on a blustery day! And you have brought company I see."

"Uncomfortable company, Madam," retorted the smaller one, standing tall in the chair with a haughty regard.

"Oh, yes, I see. You do appear to have the wrong aspect of your anatomy upon the chair."

Eodwine gave a chortle and Bethberry called for Maercwen to bring some ale, cheese and bread for the guests.

"Are you having a fling abusing guests?" retorted the halfling.

"I bet your pardon?" queried Bethberry.

"You appear to have just returned from burning that nice young girl at the stake." The halfling fluttered his hand towards Bethberry's hair, which indeed still did carry the aroma of smoke and ash.

Bethberry choked back a noise something between a chortle, grin and gasp. Perhaps she still had some dust or ash caught in her throat.

"No, I was able to sacrifice an oak instead," retorted the Innkeeper with mock seriousness.

"Master Falco, I must remind you to keep a civil tongue in your cheek," interjected Eodwine.

"My tongue is firmly where it belongs, thank you very much. But the other parts of me are not."

"Allow me, then," said Bethberry with a flourish, skipping quickly off to the Word Hoard and returning with several stuffed pillows, "to relieve you. We certainly don't intend to make it a habit to give hobbits standing orders."

Falco snorted his clear sense of impropriety in the matter but accepted the pillows without much futher loss to his dignity.

"Eodwine, what else would you and your friend like to order? Some hot food?" queried Bethberry, deciding that the best way to placate the hobbit was to put food in his belly, quickly.

[littlemanpoet]

"I shall leave that to you, Bethberry. I am sure you know best," said Eodwine.

"Master Eodwine, I'd think you were running for mayor!" said Falco. "Make a choice unless saying you've been here before was a fib to get me through the doors!"

"Nay, 'twas no fib my unfriendly friend. Bethberry herself can tell you I have been this way before."

"Aye, 'tis so," said Bethberry. "I would not go so far as to say he's a regular, but he's been through a time or two."

"There you have it, Master Falco!" Eodwine gestured broadly.

"Not a regular, eh? What ha' you been up to afore I rescued you from that mud hole?"

Eodwine's eyes went wide and his head came back in disbelief. "You rescued me? Not so! 'Twas I who rescued you!"

"Have it your way! What are we ordering, longshanks?"

"What is the best tonight, Bethberry?" Eodwine queried.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

With a final assurance to the maid, Aedre, of her satisfaction, Saeryn was allowed to close the door to her newest home. Tears of mirth lit her eyes as they rested on the dancing fire.

Piling her smoky clothing and boots neatly on the floor, Saeryn climbed into her bath, savouring the feel of the hot water on her skin. Several times she dozed until she finally, clean and content, gave up on soaking and redressed with the idea of a post dinner snack.

Her clean clothes flattered Saeryn as her others had not. As she padded back to the Great Hall, the black breeches, equally functional, but of better make than the brown, worked with her soft crimson tunic to hug the girl's slender figure. Her long, damp tresses were currently held the unwilling hostages of a well-meaning braid.

Her exhausted body ordering her to bed, Searyn walked in the opposite direction of her room. Seeing two men beside Bethberry, Saeryn made to sneak away, not desiring to interrupt, but the Innkeeper beckoned her forward.

"I hope your bath suited you? I fear I must plead forgetfulness, m'dear, but what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't.... I am called Saeryn."

[Bêthberry]

OOC

Open a new keg! We have some new members of Rohan to celebrate.

Congratulations are due to Nuranar for founding and running the very successful game Wilderness, Weathertop, and Wild Things with the always-able Envinyatar. Welcome to full status in Rohan as Game Player and Game Founder, Nuranar!

From the same game we welcome Primrose Bolger and Saurreg as Game Players to Rohan. Good characterisations, cooperative work, and good ability to move the action forward, both you!

I also ought to commend current Rohan Gamers Envinyatar, Esgalhugwen, Fordim, Kransha, and Meneltarmacil for good work in this game as well.

I particularly enjoyed the very creative naming of characters in this game. Names can sometimes be difficult to create, but every one of the characters in this game was superbly named.

Come join some festivities at either of Rohan's glorious Inns!

Bêthberry,
Moderator for Rohan

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine rose. "Hail and well met, Saeryn. I am Eodwine of the Gap, one of King Eomer's messengers." He looked down at the still sitting Falco, then back to Saeryn. My friend here would rise from his table also, but his is the unhappy lot of being a Holbitla with legs too short to stand up on."

"Unhappy lot! Legs too short!" Falco stood on his pillows. "You're an overgrown dandy with a tongue so silver it gives you a bad after taste! At my expense no less!" He turned to the maiden and bowed. Master Falco Boffin of the Shire at your service, my fair lass. Won't you join us? We'd love to share board with you, soon as we get some vittles and beer for our empty stomachs." He glanced meaningfully at Bêthberry.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry peered over at Master Falco's tankard. It was none too full.

"It would seem you already have a leg up on the one item," she observed with every effort at a straight face.

"Aye, and not a short one either," replied Eodwine, with just as straight a face.

"Well, the long and the short of it is," interjected Saeryn. " that some throats need a clear rinse to remove any smokey particles that might have lodged therein."

Bethberry coughed at this. And then coughed again.

"May I be of service?" inquired Eodwine. He leaned over the table and with aplomb and a flourish produced a napkin with which he began to rub a sooty black mark off the Innkeeper's cheek.

"Well I say, there's a cheeky rub," observed Master Falco. "You intend to work for your dinner, do you?"

Whereupon the Innkeeper coughed harder, this time with a laugh to cover the event, as she took up the napkin herself.

"It's all a matter of timing," replied Master Eodwine with an arched frown at the halfling.

"Time I called Maercwen out here to tend to your dinner." replied the Innkeeper, attempting to restore some dignity to the occasion.

"Master Eodwine and Master Falco, and Mistress Saeryn, what say you to these comestibles and potables?

"Leek and chicken pie, in cream sauce."
"Rabbit ragout with raisins and neeps."
"Braised mushrooms with onions and wine."
"Rohan pudding with beef drippings."
"Black rye bread to be dipped in oil."

"Oh, I say yes," replied Folco, somewhat glassy eyed at the thought.

"Very well then. Frodides will prepare that for tomorrow's dinner."

An appreciable loss of enthusiasm seemed voiced on the air as three people attempted to hide their frustrated appetites by swalowing air.

"Tonight it shall be bean and spinach soup, with stuffed salmon and corn pudding, followed by apple cobbler. I believe that is what Frodides has prepared."

"And I suppose you will serve that with coffee," murmered a disgruntled Falco.

"Only if you insist. The Big Folk are free to have dark stout or lager," intoned the Innkeeper. "Or perhaps you would prefer carrot juice?"

Certain faces turned livid with this while others broke out into broad grins.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Masters Falco and Eodwine, I am honored to join you, but I must warn: I have already dined on a sumptuous meal under the watchful eye of the Innkeeper. However... I would be ingratiated to you once again, Bethberry, if you could provide me with another flagon of cider? Spirits tend to leave me rather ill."

Saeryn sunk into the beginnings of a curtsy before remembering that her only gown was packed away in her bags. She stumbled before catching herself and sweeping into a dramatic bow. She grinned, unabashed, at the two males in front of her. She hesitated to think 'men', even to herself, for fear of accidentally insulting her new holbytla companion. Her desire for bed had completely evaporated at these friendly faces.

An expression of youthful curiousity played in the light against Saeryn's eyes. A hobbit? Here in Rohan?

"Master Folco, if you'll allow for a girl's curiosity, how came you to Rohan? I must admit to surprise... I have never before seen a halfling." At least not in these parts. Saeryn added silently. Stop thinking of that! She reminded herself. The past is the past.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco grinned with delight.

"Oh no, now you have done it," said Eodwine, "asking Falco for a story. We'll be here all night."

Falco scowled at him. "You, my lanky lout, have no appreciation for a good story, even when you're in it!"

Saeryn couldn't help a grin of amusement spreading on her face, and covering her mouth with her hand, made as if to cough.

"Oh no," Eodwine rolled his eyes, "not that one."

"Of course, that one! It's the one that answers the lady Saeryn's question!"

Eodwine raised a hand in mock surrender and sighed hugely. "All right, all right. Just let me drown my wits first."

"Your wits have been drownded since before I ever met you," Falco retorted. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes! In answer to your question, lady Saeryn-" the hobbit stopped to take a long pull from his ale, and then took a deep breath.

"Here we go again," Eodwine mumbled.

"I saved this poor wretch's life."

"Oh! Did you!" Saeryn exclaimed.

"That he did," Eodwine said. "And he will never let me forget it. I have heard him tell the tale more times than I can count."

"It's a good tale!" Falco insisted.

"And grows with each telling," Eodwine commented into his mug.

"It does no such thing! Now, before my ungrateful cohort interrupts yet again, it all began one fair summer day back in the Shire...."

[littlemanpoet]

"...and the foul villain turned out to be none other than the Mouth of Sauron, trying to set himself up as a new dark lord in the north, if you will believe me."

"She'll believe you all right," Eodwine said over the last bits of his third helping of apple cobbler. "Quite good this repast!"

"So there we were in the farthest reaches of the Hills of Evendim, and this poor lout was tied down to the fiend's altar, and there I was, sneaking on my quiet Hobbit feet, knife in hand, and I leapt over the altar and fell upon the fiend from above!"

"You did no such thing," Eodwine smirked.

"Now don't go messing up the tale," Falco scolded.

"I needn't try, you do quite well on your own." Eodwine brought his fourth mug of ale to his lips to hide his grin.

"Don't listen to him, Lady Saeryn," Falco said, he's just sour grapes that he had to be rescued instead of the other way abouts. So long story short-"

"As if that were possible any longer," Eodwine interrupted.

"Long story short," Falco enunciated broadly, staring narrowly at Eodwine, I cut down the fiend, then cut the Big Lout loose. He proceeded to trip into the fiend as he tried to get off the altar, and knocked him into the evil spirit the fiend had trapped, and both flew into the east together, never to bother the West again."

"At least as far as we know," Eodwine commented.

"Master Eodwine! Do not scare the young lady!"

"I am sure she is quite in a state of abject terror from the frightening way you relate the tale."

"Speak Common, you Big Lout! I can't understand you when you throw all those Elvish borrowings in! Too much schooling! Nothing's worse for a body, I say."

"And what of you, Saeryn?" asked Eodwine, "What tales have you to share tonight?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Not quite managing to hide her smile behind ivory fingers, Saeryn giggled.

"Abject terror indeed!" she murmered laughingly. "A tale, you ask for... let me rummage through the corridors of my mind and see if I can dig up a good one."

Saeryn's pretty face disappeared behind her mug. "Ah yes..." she began, setting her drink on the table with a light clink. "Not so very long ago, there was an incredibly beautiful young lady, who looked not unlike me." Here she gave a conspiritorial wink to her companions. "She went on many adventures with her eldest brother, although he was rarely informed of her presence, him having a rather over-protective constitution toward her... On the last such adventure, they both got into all sorts of mischief, with the end result of several tavern bans, a badly ripped pair of breeches, and a very angry hobbit."

At those words, Falco leaned forward, intent. At the very first, Eodwine had sat back in his chair so as not to be unnecessarily burdened with the effort of sitting up when he could be instead listening to a good yarn.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Looking thoughtfully at her audience, Saeryn contemplated fiction. To tell the whole truth, or to tell slightly less than it? Ah... they can guess for themselves.

"And so, my friends, the girl's brother set out one night into the fiery red dusk in search of a good time. Not wishing to stay home and... dare I say it... clean... the girl set off at a quiet trot some distance behind him. Dressed in greys and greens, she and her brown mare faded into the high grasses. He never once suspected what trouble they would cause."

Time passed as Saeryn spun out her tale. The food was temporarily forgotten as she told of their arrival to the tavern and subsequent challenge at the door. By then, the girl's brother had discovered and regretfully accepted her presence.

"A challenge!?" cried out Falco jumping to his feet. "They dared challenge a lady? Her brother solved the problem, I hope." he said with indignation on the girl's behalf.

"Sit, Master Halfling, and let the lady finish her tale, or did you want to finish it for her?" Falco sat grudgingly, shooting Eodwine a look that would kill.

"And so then, if you'll believe it," Saeryn laughed, "They pulled their instruments from beneath their cloaks and outplayed every musician in the tavern!"

"They didn't..."

[littlemanpoet]

"They didn't!" Eodwine said.

"Well they should!" Falco retorted. "A perfect way to set up the tale. I'm wanting to know how playing better than anybody else gets you banned from a tavern, though."

"Mind you, Lady Saeryn," Eodwine interrupted conspiratorially but too loudly for the hobbit to miss, "Master Falco's a lawman. He'll suspect greater foul play than just playing better than everybody else."

"That's lawhobbit, if you please!" Falco retorted, then turned to Saeryn. "But I'm only a shirriff of the Shire." His chest puffed out noticeably, despite his humble words. "But I admit I'm curious about your crime, if that's what it was. Say away, and I'll ask you to forgive Master Eodwine's rude interruption seeing as he hasn't the sense to ask hisself."

"I beg your-!" Eodwine began, and stopped short, his eyes narrowing and a grin spreading. "Tut tut! You almost had it out of me, but I'll not beg your pardon for anything, Master Falco, at least not until I'm properly thanked for saving your hairy feet from that mud hole west of here. But since that's as like to happen as you telling a story straight and true, we might as well ask the fair lady Saeryn for the rest of her tale."

"Windbag," Falco declaimed, waiting intently for the young maid to continue.

"Twisty tongue," Eodwine returned out of the side of his mouth, nodding to Saeryn, who opened her mouth to continue her tale.

"Overgrown lummox," Falco said.

"Half sized showoff."

"Enough, you two!" Saeryn laughed, having tried thrice to restart her tale. "Take a draught of your ale to keep your mouths busy so I can finish my story!"

"Right you are, lady" they said as one, and lifted their ale cups.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Banned, Master Falco, because three of the outplayed were the Owner, his wife, and their son! You see, the challenge was this: the presense of a lady was frowned upon mightily in this tavern... fools that they were... and so in order to get in, the girl had to prove her worth. First she proved her riding skills in a race with the owner's boy... winning so very easily on her spritely little mare. That horse's feet danced like raindrops on a stone walkway."

Saeryn paused again for another swallow of her drink.

"Then, if you don't mind my saying, the girl and her brother beat the Owner and his wife in a dancing competition! Oh, but to see her feet flutter... and her brother; what a trick it had been for her to calm his outrage at the challenges. But the next tavern was another hour's ride away!"

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry's sides hurt and she had to wipe her eyes dry. She couldn't remember when she had laughed so hard. In fact, she couldn't stop laughing.

"T-t-twisty tongue," she blurted out, between bouts of laughter. "H-h-h-h-halfsized s-s-s-showoff." She laughed so hard her chair was creaking and she nearly rolled off one side.

Her laughter wasn't infectious, however, for it had intruded upon Saeryn's story. And it mightily offended Master Falco, who had no desire to hear "Halfsize" reiterated. Eodwine was himself insensed that someone else had the audacity to take over his words. Both of them nearly sputtered calumnations upon the Innkeeper.

"Oh dear," giggled the Innkeeper, trying hard to gain control of a sombre demeanour, but failing completely. This time she nearly tipped into the table. "Whoops," she chortled. "Ahem," she coughed.

"My good lady, be so kind"--a sputter of suppressed mirth here--"as to repeat your story. I am afraid I missed almost all of it." Bethberry cleared her throat and pulled her tunic down, sitting up straight in her chair. "What sort of dance was it, you say?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"That was the beauty of it, Mistress Bethberry; it was no set dance!" said Saeryn as she demonstrated the feat. With her thick braid twisting through the air behind her like a snake, Saeryn twirled about the room happily. "With feet flying this way and that, barely treading the floor, we flew about the room. I am not sure how precisely we won that competition, as neither--"

"We?" quietly interrupted Eodwine. "I thought this story was about a girl and her brother."

Colliding loudly with a table, Saeryn turned a vivid shade of crimson and sputtered. "I... uh... Well it um..."

"Do I detect some underhanded covering up of the truth?!" cried Falco with an amused smile.

"Now you wait just one moment, Master Falco!" cried Saeryn, only half offended. "The story is about a girl and her brother, but that girl just happens to be me, and the brother happens to be my own."

"No need for raised voices." interceded Bethberry. "It's a lovely story. Please continue..."

"Well anyhow... Fenrir and I beat the tavern-goers at their own game... I assure you, they did not much like that, nor the idea that I should be allowed to stay. I assure you, I never would have tolerated the race or the dance-off had I not been in the mood for the games."

"Of course not."

"And so then the men of the place decided that fairly or not, I was not to stay in that building. The oafs impolitely asked that I remain outside while Fenrir had a drink to celebrate his victory, which, I might add, was mine!"

"He did not agree to it!?"

"He did indeed. For all that I love my brother dearly, he is a fool. And so I slapped him across the face."

"Good for you! Three cheers for the Lady Saeryn! Hip hip--"

"Be silent, half-pint, and let the lady finish."

"Half-pint! Why you--"

"Gentlemen."

Saeryn offered no attempt to cover the smile that now broadly adorned her face. Her amusement was evident in the lilt in her voice.

[Nurumaiel]

Gomen lingered about the table where the tales were being told, listening with wide eyes, full to the brim with wonder and excitement. His heart, keen to feel adventure and song, beat quicker, and he drew nearer and nearer to the table, hoping to catch the words better. The tale-telling company seemed such a jolly one, and he supposed they were all friends. Maybe Bethberry, too, was very familiar with these people. He rather wished he could make friends with them, too. He took another step closer, and he was almost to the table.

"Gomen, dearie!" came the call from the kitchen, and he sprang away, trying not to laugh at himself. He was like a little moth, drawn to the candle, except his heart and mind were caught by the story-telling. Of course he should have been quite awkward in their company, knowing none of them but Bethberry. He preferred more than anything to just sit near a table and listen, but he did not like to partake in the conversation, unless it was with his Uncle Liornung or Hearpwine.

Frodides was in the kitchen, where she usually was, and while she looked older, she was just as beautiful. That fleeting beauty of youth was gone, true, but it was replaced with the beauty that comes to a woman's face when she devotes her life to the little people, that special beauty can only be seen in a mother. Many strands of grey were in the golden hair tied at her neck, and there were lines of care on her face, but also lines of laughter and joy, and her eyes shone with maternal fondness as she looked at her eldest son.

"Gomen, love, go to the stable and tell your father to come in soon, for dinner is almost ready, and it is growing dark."

"Yes, Mamma," said Gomen, and out he went, into that fine evening air of the summer. Deman and Fierlan were just outside the stable, playing with their make-believe swords, and when they heard dinner was almost ready, they gave cries of delight and pattered away on their little feet, anxious not to miss anything. Mereflod and Motan were in the garden, picking a few flowers and kissing the rest. Gomen paused to listen to them for a moment, for their sweet little minds had decided that they were the mother flowers and those dwelling in the garden were their children, and they were tucking them into bed. Gomen thought it was beautiful, and wondered if it could ever be put into verse.

Leofan apparently knew that dinnertime was drawing nigh, for he was just finishing up his work, and he called upon Gomen's assistance. In silence they gave the horses their second feed of the day and prepared things for the night, but when they were finished Leofan did not leave. Rather, he put his shoulder to one of the walls and leaned against it, thoughtfully looking at his son. And after a pause, he spoke, saying: "You're a very good help in the stable, son. It is very fine for a man growing old to have a little assistance so he will not break his back."

"It was naught by my pleasure," said Gomen.

Leofan was silent for a moment more, but before he spoke again he sighed a little. "You're quite interested in the trade of your uncle, aren't you? Music and singing, and story-telling?"

"Yes," said Gomen, with a little nod of assent.

"I thought as much." He sighed again, and folded his arms. "I've been trying to work it out in my mind. I don't want to hinder you in doing what you will, saving that it is not a wrong choice of life, but I do need help in the stable. I'm getting older, and it becomes harder to work. I don't want to fail Bethberry and Aylwen in my task, but I can't do it alone."

Gomen bowed his head and said, very lowly, "You know I'll help you, Father."

"Yes, I do know," said Leofan, "but that doesn't mean I want you to. I don't want you to if it will make trouble for you, but I do need you to. So, listen, this is what I've thought of: you will stay and help me in the stable, but at the same time you will learn what you need to know to become a minstrel. Your uncle will be back for the winter, I think. He says he needs some place to stay while the weather is cold and ill for travelling about. He'd be more than happy to instruct you, I think, and at the same time you can help me with my work. I think you will learn better if you have to do something not particularly pleasing to you, and when you are at last on the path of life you have chosen it will seem sweeter because of what you had to do for it. It will strengthen you in selflessness too, and when you are old you can recall how you made your training to be a minstrel something very worthwhile, because you gave up some of your pleasures of it to help your aged father and your family."

What Gomen was thinking could not be said, but his eyes were twinkling when he looked up again. "You aren't so old yet, Papa," he said. "But I'll break my back if it will spare yours."

"Good lad that you are," said Leofan, and together they went from the stable. Motan was in her father's arms in a moment, saying: "Ah you done 'orkin' in the sta'le, Papa?"

"Yes, darling, so come back to the Inn and have dinner with me," said Leofan, and he kissed her bonny gold hair.

[littlemanpoet]

"Gentlemen."

Eodwine caught the amusement in the lady Saeryn's voice, evident also in her twinkling eye. Ah, if only he were young again. Like that boy who had stepped closer and closer to their table as the three of them talked. Eodwine had smiled at the boy, and had been getting ready to speak to him when he had been called away. Ah, to be a boy again, with all the dreams and joys still lying ahead of you. Sorrow was all in the future. He sighed and turned his thought to the present.

"Lady," Eodwine bowed, "we dishonor you with our bickering. Forgive us."

"I am curious," Falco Boffin said to Eodwine, standing on his chair to get a better look at the lady's garb, "is it common for Rohirric women to wear breeches?" He spoke a little too loudly and was overheard by Saeryn, who colored slightly.

"Fairly," Eodwine said. "Rohirric women who ride horses wear them. And our shieldmaidens do as well. The Lady Eowyn is somewhat responsible for it, I daresay."

"What? How's that?" Falco asked.

"Have you not heard the tale of how the Lady Eowyn defeated the Dark Lord's Lieutenant during the War?"

"Yes, I heard it, from the Master of Buckland hisself, who had a part in the deed too, I ask you to remember. But women's wearing of breeches started with that?"

"I do not think so, but it gained acceptance at court and in town; that much I can say."

"I for one am glad of it," Saeryn announced with enthusiasm.

"I am curious about another thing," Eodwine said. "Your brother is not with you. What has become of him?"

[Bêthberry]

Despite her tears of laugher, Bethberry caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She watched Gomen return to the kitchen to answer his mother's call and wished she had seen his stealthy, quiet approach rather than his departure, for she would have introduced him to the table. He was an old enough lad to begin to be able to converse with the patrons of the Inn and she knew he harboured wishes for learning how to develope storey himself.

But Saeryn's demonstration of the shahallion-like dance fired her interest, as did the confession of who the story referred to. Every storey tells a life, as she recalled an old staying, although who's life is not always clear.

"A brother and a sister do not always get along so well," Bethberry observed, hoping to prod Saeryn to tell more about the fate of the brother.

Saeryn, catching her breath from the wild dance, nodded her head with an agreement to continue, but before she could, a voice hailed everyone from the door.

"Bethberry, it's a chill day out. Have you got any hot cider for old bone?" It was Ruthven, the rag lady, come to visit a friend. Without waiting upon an answer, she hobbled as fast as those old bones would allow her into the Great Hall, where she took a seat beside the Innkeeper. "Have you been riding a broom, mistress? There's the scent of cinder about you." Yet her eyes sparkled as she spoke and she nodded towards the young woman, the tail end of whose dance she had just witnessed.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Where is Fenrir? Why do I travel alone? How the bloody well do I answer that question? Saeryn trembled.

"I travel alone, Masters, for lack of suitable companion. My parents were killed when I was young, and my siblings have all parted ways. The last that I knew, my twin brother Degas was in Gondor, performing ballads for the King." Eodwine studied the girl... a twin? And what was that look in her eye... perhaps fond memories.

"Caelwyn, my sister, was travelling toward the Shire on personal business." Vengeance, she thought. "And as for Fenrir... I haven't the slightest, nor do I care where the fool ends up. I have not seen him in a year."

"Beg pardon, Lady Saeryn. I meant no--"

"Do not beg of me, Master Eodwine, for my pardon is hard to come by, and you have yet to need it. I miss Degas and Caeli dearly, but to be done with Fenrir is no sad loss. However, you make appease me," she said, spirits high again, "with another tale of your own. Or perhaps Bethberry has one?"

[Esgallhugwen]

Though the first of winter is a welcomed reprieve from field work, it is a burden to a sore traveler. Especially for a young wounded one.

How long have I been walking?

A voice rattled in the young woman's head, she squinted her eyes against the chill wind and looked down at her feet that were barely covered by her tattered skirt, no shoes the rattled thought spoke, no, not for a long time.

A horrible cough breached her lips as she staggered forward on numb feet, falling to her knees small pebbles and rocks bit into her frozen skin. She cursed hoarsely under her breath and picked herself up, almost falling again.

Her body was riddled with bruises, old and new, scratches and scrapes, old and new, and a few scares. But nothing marred her face save for a cut on her lip and smears of dirt. The cold seemed to be eating away at her and the grey rag that was once called a cloak provided no comfort.

But still she clung to her frail consciousness despite the numb sinking feeling that was swimming before her. She could feel the cooling blood trickling down her legs, hot tears burned her frosted cheeks and her teeth began to chatter visciously inside her skull.

How long have I been walking?

She followed the road upward knowing not where it led, knowing little other then that she would probably die in the street and be covered up by the impending snow. Another cough racked her body and she held back the urge to vomit.

Turning a corner a sign caught her vague attention.

The White Horse Inn

She would have laughed had she the strength, she clambered up the steps with aching toes, and attempted to push back the door. No she couldn't, as if someone had pushed it against her, she had no strength to open a simple door.

You can stop now Gudryn, he won't find you.

Darkness overwhelmed her and she hit the door with a muffled thump before falling to the ground. He won't find you.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was about to start his tale of the "Bumptious Barkeep of Belfalas" when he heard a thump at the door. He looked but no one came through. It sounded like someone had dropped a sack at the steps.

"What do you suppose that was?" he asked the others.

They offered various guesses, but something niggled at Eodwine, and though he was on his third stiff one - he had lost count - he felt sobred somehow, enough anyway to have an ill feeling about the noise. He got up, went to the door, and opened it. Lying on the front step was a waif of a girl, her hair bedraggled, cuts and bruises all over her limbs, blood clotting on her legs, bare of feet, and her cloak not worth calling one.

"Falco! Bethberry!"

Falco knew that tone. It was no joke. He hastened to Eodwine's side and saw the girl. "Bring 'er inside!" he said.

Eodwine lifted the girl in his arms. She felt as light as a bird, and seemed as broken as one too.

Bethberry saw his burden. "Bring her to the hearth! I'll get some water to heat and some blankets. Saeryn, can you help, please?"