[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“But enough of the past,” he said. “For my mind is full of tomorrow and the glory that awaits me in the Golden Hall! I am always looking for songs to learn, and for people to teach me them. You are, I know, a busy woman, but if you could vouchsafe me an hour or so of your time I believe I could learn somewhat from you. If you are restless about your duties, however, I shall seek amongst the others gathered here.” Hearpwine looked around at the strange mixture of peoples at the Inn. “I daresay there are many here with songs I’ve not heard, and tales yet untold that need setting to music.”

Aylwen laughed at Hearpwine’s undimmed spirit and confidence. His seemingly frank and honest persona lit his already beaming eyes. “Of course I could spare time for a fellow musician. Though I am sure that you know more songs than you think yourself to. There are so many! Songs of battle and war, songs of love and songs of hate, there are so many different songs!” Aylwen raised her hands in emphasis. Smiling, she continued her speech. “There was one old man that my mother told me about; he was blind from an old war wound. He sang my mother a song and story that she taught me years ago…” Aylwen stood and withdrew her mother’s old set of panpipes from her belt-purse. Piping the notes she remembered then clearing her throat, Aylwen sang in a clear alto voice the song that she had learned to Hearpwine.

“Though better minstrels far than I
May strike the quiv'ring string;
and bards more worthy of the theme
Thy praises loud shall sing.
Yet I, a wand'ring harper blind,
With sightless, up-turned eye,
By harp and voice to honor Rohan,
My feeble strains to try.

My voice upraised to wild swept chords
I sing thy fertile dales;
Thy frowning mountains, rushing streams,
And all that makes thy wondrous tales.
All these I love and all have seen
Though gone now is my sight,
I can but feel the breezes play
For all the rest is night.

But even yet, it ye'll but list,
To my old harp's best note,
I'll sing to you your country's deeds,
To them my songs devote.
Now guided by my faithful hound
I stray from door to door,
And tell how Rohan has fought and bled,
And tales of old time lore."

After the last note had faded, Aylwen explained the song. "The old man was blind and his back was bent over like this," Aylwen made a ninety degree angle with her forearm and hand by bending her wrist. "And he was led by a faithful young pup with shining, golden hair. The old man stayed in the same in as my mother once, and they spent long hours trading stories and songs. He had a rusty old harp with two of the strings broken. However,” Aylwen continued, her smile becoming a little grin as she tried to mask the fun she was having singing songs to Hearpwine. “If it is a war-time song you long to hear, there are much more suitable songs than the song of that little, frail old man;


Forth to the battle!
Onward the fight,
Swift as the eagle in his flight!
Let not the sunlight o'er our pathway close,
Till we o'erthrow our evil foes.
Strong as yonder foaming tide,
Rushing down the mountainside;
Be ye ready, sword and spear,
Pour upon the spoiler near.

Winds! that float o'er us,
Bid the tyrant quail,
Ne'er shall his ruffian bands prevail!
Morning shall view us fetterless and free,
Slaves ne'er shall Rohan's children be.
Heaven our arms with conquest bless,
All our bitter wrongs redress;
Strike the harp! Awake the cry!
Valour's sons fear not to die.

So what say thee, Hearpwine?” Aylwen finished, sitting back down at her desk. She had work to do to help lighten Aedre’s load, and there were still celebration orders to be filled, but Aylwen was having a good time remembering old songs that she had thought were long forgotten. “What say thee to one last song before I go back to my work? One last song and if you wish I will take your order as well. You must be wanting refreshment after arriving in fair Edoras.”