Hanasían had out an acceptable piece of parchment, and his quill, ink and powder were set by as well as he listened to the arousing bandter and celebration that had made its way in the White Horse. But in this corner of the Inn, Hanasían started to write of the dark, confusing days of the Battle of the Fords of Isen. He was hoping to meet his twin cousins Frea an Folca here, but they were obviously off celebrating. So he penned the names of men he fought beside and tried to note anything he remembered of each, and having lost himself some into that fateful day Theodred fell holding the eyot, he wrote some words they had traded before that fell battle.
"May I sit..."
Hanasían had instinctivly sensed his presence, though another may have been startled when in such deep thought. Hanasían waved his hand with the quill toward a chair in offerance to the bard before dipping the quill in the ink and continuing to capture a thought. Setting the quill down, he dusted and gently let slide the dust with a soft breath.
He set the parchment aside and lifted his tankard. He looked at the Bard and said,
'It is an honor to have a man of such high esteem to come share this table. It sounds as though you have done well this day?'
He took a drink of the ale, and leaned back. He could see the bard's eyes looking at the Elven script on the parchment in a curious way, and Hanasían went on,
'As you tell of deeds in song and word, I tell of them in writing. Too many deeds go un-sung and un-remembered, when so many fell in the struggle against the darkness. Much is worthy of word and song.
Hanasían then listened as a lady spoke of the Bardic competition, and an applause came forth at its finish. Hanasían said to the bard at his table,
'It looks like you are well rewarded sir!'
Hanasían then stood up at the approach of the woman.
'Mae govannen lady of Rohan!'
He stepped aside to make sure the remaining chair at the table was clean of boot dirt and offered her a seat.
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