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"From time to time, the tried-in-battle
their grey steeds set to gallop amain,
and ran a race when the road seemed fair.
From time to time, a thane of the king,
who had made many vaunts, and was mindful of verses,
stored with sagas and songs of old,
bound word to word in well-knit rime,
welded his lay; this warrior soon
of Theoden’s fall right cleverly sang,
and artfully added an excellent tale,
in well-ranged words, of the warlike deeds
done that day, to the doom of many."
Hearpwine’s voice filled the meadhall and once again the room fell silent to listen. After the first few lines Liornung took out his fiddle and began to play along, adding to the strength of the young man’s song a mournful tune of honour remembered. Even as he sang, Hearpwine was ravished by his old friend’s skill with his instrument, and he marvelled at the speed with which Liornung took up and improved the melody. The enchantment of the music seized all who heard it, and for a moment the very sight of those days of doom and death became as though there were real. They heard the far cry of the Men of Minas Tirith as they called in joy from their walls at the sight of the Rohirrim’s charge onto the Pelennor Fields, and they felt the touch of sun and fresh wind that heralded the arrival of the King of Gondor at the very turning of the tide.
“Famed was this Theoden: far flew the boast of him,
son of Thengel, leader of thanes.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall a king have honour in every land.”
Hearpwine’s voice fell silent before the last quavering note of Liornung’s fiddle. It hung about them like a lament, stilling the very air of the Inn and reaching out into the busy streets of Edoras so that for a second it seemed as though that whole city grew silent with the lament for their lost King. Then there was a moment’s silence in which one could hear the sound of a breaking heart. Liornung was the first to speak, but his voice was soft and thick with emotion. “You sing well indeed, my old friend. The King will be fortunate to have a bard such as yourself.”
Hearpwine looked up at the older man, and there were tears in his eyes. “Your mastery of your instrument has grown with the years, or I have done you a terrible disservice in my memory of it. You are indeed the greatest of bards. I know! You would not claim that title for yourself, but I hereby give it you!” At that he stood and bowed deeply to Liornung, who flushed deeply and bid the younger man sit again.
“What song is that?” he asked when Hearpwine was once more at the table.
“In your honour, I have sung but a small piece of the lay that I have composed for the Contest tomorrow. It tells of the King’s riding forth to the succour of Gondor, and of his fall beneath the Fell Beast. It is a sad tale, but one – I hope! – that will do Theoden king the honour he deserves. But now, you promised me one of your own songs, let us hear that and I will ask the good Aylwen to fetch you some meat and drink.”
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