[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!” Eorcyn shook his grizzled head and gently removed the harp from his student’s fingers. “You must stroke the middle high string here,” he said demonstrating as he spoke. “And you must stroke it, not pluck at it like you are trying to remove a rotten tooth.” He sighed and handed back the instrument to the young man, his face showing the disappointment that he felt. “Now, try it again. We’ll begin at the chorus – and remember, listen for my falling tone, and then come in with the harmony.” The old man touched his own instrument with his weathered fingers that had come to their second life in the last months. The good food and comfortable rooms that he enjoyed at the Hall had done wonders to restore his youthful vitality, and the constant attention (and adulation) of so many people had given him a great store of self-confidence. He played the tune with an energy that he had not known for many a year, and as he played he hummed the tune beneath his breath. He did not know he did this, and his student dared not tell him for fear his own tone would reveal how much it annoyed him.

If the months since the Contest had restored Eorcyn to his younger days, they had had the opposite effect on Hearpwine. His joy at the decision of the King had quickly given way to the sober realisation that his new role in life was one destined to be full of unrewarding labour. Day after day he sat at the knee of his master, honing his craft and learning all the songs that he could. But try as he might, he was never able to satisfy the old man. He knew that Eorcyn was demanding only that which he believed the younger man could provide, but there were days – more and more lately – that Hearpwine began to wonder at his naïve joy on that morning he was made apprentice to the Bard. Eorcyn frowned at him, sensing that his pupil’s attention was once again wandering, so Hearpwine dragged his attention back to his harp.

They were sitting together upon the porch of the Golden Hall with the whole of Edoras laid out beneath them, glowing warm and joyfully beneath the rising sun of midsummer. Try as he might, Hearpwine could not concentrate upon his lessons this day, and his eye kept wandering out over the roofs of Edoras and toward the high gables of the White Horse Inn. The Inn had become his home, but he spent little time there. Every morning he spent with his master learning his craft, and in the afternoons he worked either with Eorcyn or any of the wandering minstrels or bards who came to Edoras learning all the songs and tunes that he could. One of the first lessons that Eorcyn had given him was that a Bard could never know too many songs and had enjoined him to learn more. To that moment Hearpwine had been inordinately proud of his storehouse of music, but Eorcyn had been unimpressed. “Why my lad,” he had said that first day after the Contest, “until you know twenty score songs as well as your own name, and at least ten score tunes, you will not be fit to sing before the King and his courtiers. You must be able to find a song for every occasion and every mood, and you must not repeat a song above once a season, unless specifically requested to do so. I will teach you all the songs that I can, but you must look to the wandering musicians to know what is current and popular.” And so he spent endless hours, every afternoon, combing the market places, taverns and wayhouses of the city, looking for anyone who could teach him their songs. He very soon matched the totals given him by his master, but Eorcyn only smiled at this, saying “Well, lad, why stop at that? The more you learn in your youth, the more you will have to forget in your age, which should slow the process of forgetting down a bit!”

When his duties during the day were over, he was called upon most nights to accompany his master as he sang before the court. Hearpwine himself was never asked to sing as nobody wished to offend the protocol of the Court by having the Bard’s apprentice perform, but Hearpwine was allowed to play his harp in support of his master. Occasionally, if the gathering was going very late and Eorcyn became fatigued he would be allowed to retire and Hearpwine would take his place. When this happened, though, it was with little joy that the young man took the floor, for he would have been awake since dawn, and playing his harp most of that entire evening. The party from Ithilien had decided to remain in Edoras after the celebrations, which meant that most nights the King would stay up well after the sun had gone, deep in discussion with his sister and Lord Faramir. Just last night, Hearpwine had been asked to sing when Eorcyn retired, and he had been forced to continue until the first cock crow. He had curled up on a bench in the corner of the Hall for but three hours sleep before his master had called him to his lessons.

At the memory of his awakening, Hearpwine could not stifle a mighty yawn. His eyes closed and his hands became tense, forcing him off the tune, which then stumbled to a halt. Eorcyn frowned lightly but was not angry. He was demanding but not harsh and he could see that the lad was exhausted. He smiled at Hearpwine, saying, “The King keeps the night does he not? When did he retire last night? Had you much sleep?”

Hearpwine yawned again and mumbled, “I slept for three hours, I think.”

Eorcyn laid his harp upon the porch and placed his hand upon Hearpwine’s shoulder. “You have been working very hard for me and for your King these three months now. I believe that you deserve a break. Take up your harp my lad, and enjoy this day as you see fit!”

Hearpwine leapt to his feet with the eagerness of a child, a smile of relief on his face. “Thank you master! Thank you, I will see you tomorrow!” And with that, he raced down the hill toward the White Horse, and the comfortable bed in the small back room that Aylwen had set aside as his own.