[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“Good Liornung,” Hearpwine said, “music may be as food and drink to men such as us, but it does not wholly replace the need for nourishment. And if we are to play the night through, we will need to keep up our strength!” As though waiting for her cue, the serving maid returned at that moment with a board laden with bread, cheese and cold meats. She had in her other hand three cups, one filled with golden ale for Liornung, and two with water for Hearpwine and Maercwen. She quickly placed the refreshments on the table. “Thank you my lady,” Hearpwine said courteously. “I must apologise for my behaviour in the kitchen earlier – but you can see now why I ran out so quickly. Is not my old friend Liornung a mighty…I would say bard,” but, noting the look in the older man’s eye, he added quickly, “but he has forbidden me to do so!” He laughed. “I have yet to make your acquaintance? I am Hearpwine.” The pretty maid curtsied and said that her name was Aedre. “A lovely name! Well-deserving of a song!”

Liornung laughed around his mouthful of meat. “I begin to think that you wish to compose a song about everyone and everything you meet.”

“Nay, about everything and everything there is! And is not that right? For if what the sages say is true, then the whole of Middle-Earth was wrought from song, and should it not therefore be celebrated and renewed in the same way? A song for every star, each drop of water and all Peoples – does not the glory of the world deserve such?”

“You will need many more years than you have to accomplish that, my friend. Perhaps you mistake yourself for one of the Eldar race?”

Hearpwine grew suddenly, and quite surprisingly, serious. He cast his voice lower to a pitch that none of them had yet heard. “Nay, I do not aspire to such as that.” He fetched a light sigh and thought for a moment. When he began again he spoke as one in a dream. “I saw the mightiest of the Departed, you know. When King Theoden was brought back to Edoras after the War, myself and a few others who had fought on the North Marches met him on the way and sang his praises. There were among that troop many of the Golden Wood, and I saw – and heard sing – the Golden Lady herself. Ah! There was a music above mortal ear and fancy my friend! Would you had been there…” He shook his head as though waking from a sleep. “No, I do not pretend that my music is aught compared to that. But it is, I hope, accomplished enough for the service of my King and people. Still, when I returned to my home I could not help but feel that my own world was somewhat smaller and duller than I had thought -- after seeing such greatness and beauty, how could it have appeared any other way?"

"What is your homeland?" Maerwen asked. "I do not recognise your device or apparel, and yet you are clearly of Rohan."

"My family holds a small estate on the very rim of the Westfolds. Formerly our lands bounded those of Saruman -- curse his name! -- but since the War, the King granted us new lands beyond the Gap of Rohan so that we might pacify the Wildmen of the west and bring that rich land under cultivation. It has been hard to manage those lands, so long bereft of the rule of Men, but it has been rewarded. We are not a rich or powerful family, but we are proud, and of nothing more than of our labours in fulfiling the wishes of our King! But what of yourself, fair maiden Maercwen? Have you family in Edoras or are you from some small upland vale, come to the city of the Kings to seek your fortune, as I have?"