[Aylwen Dreamsong]

(Welcome, welcome! Imladris, Melisil, Nilpaurion Felagund, Pyroclastic, Saraphim, The Perky Ent, and Will Witfoot, I offer a hearty welcome to you. Your spots on the Rohan lists are well-deserved indeed!)

Aylwen stood again, moving quickly to the door while voices fought to be heard over those of other patrons. Opening the door, Aylwen smiled at the sight before her. In fourteen years as Innkeeper, Aylwen had met many folk from town and from far away places who had come to stay at the Inn. Standing before her on the night of festivities was a small troop of minstrels from a nearby village along the Snowbourne. Three of them stood before the middle-aged Innkeeper. Aylwen said naught, but stepped out of the doorway and gestured for them to enter. Into the Inn came four minstrels to join in the festivities. Three men and one lady, with their instruments and happiness.

"Friends!" Aylwen hollered above the many voices. "It is my pleasure to introduce you to friends from one river valley, who have come to celebrate, play, and sing many songs for you. I do not wish to pester young Hearpwine into singing before his big day," Aylwen paused and smiled at the young man. "And I do not want to weary good Liornung all night. And so my friends have place here and songs to sing."

"Thank you, Misstress Aylwen," said the tallest of three men, bowing low and removing his dusty and ragged old cap. He gestured to his companions and they began to unpack their intruments and tools on one of the few empty tables. The tall man, with his tousled and whispy red-gold hair and enthusiastic grey eyes turned to address the entire Inn. "Now, Misstress Aylwen has done a fine job of intruducing us so far. I am called Eadman, and these are my good friends," Eadman gestured to two other men, one of average height and rather lanky, the other short and stocky. Eadman motioned to the young lady who was quietly tuning a lyre. "And this is my sister, Eadwen. Still, there is much more to us than just music. Throughout our years and especially after the war, we've been told and explained many a tale. Music and storytelling go hand-in-hand when we are around!"

Some of the patrons laughed or started commenting on this to their neighbor. Others, full of drink already, merely grunted or raised their mugs in acknowledgement.

"Our first tale is my favorite," Eadman began, laughing to himself as he recalled what he would say next. "An old friend came home after the war, and explained to any who had stayed behind what happened to those that never came home. One of the young men had gone off to fight in the war, and his troop of soldiers had set up camp in Anorien. It became home for weeks. It was said that when the young man could not handle the anxiety and worry brought on by impending battle, he would go and sit on one large rock protruding from the ground. He would watch the sun set, revelling in the constance and strength of something as simple as a stone. But when battle did come and friends did die, the young man was lost in battle and never returned. I do not know if it is true, but I was told that when the troops were returning home they found the rock that the lad used to sit on. When they got to it, the lad's dagger was at the foot of the rock, with dry blood all over the blade."

Some listeners nodded, intrigued. Others laughed and pushed the story away, but Eadman shrugged, letting the listener decide whether it was truth or myth. Instead, Eadman picked up a drum that had been kindly set out for him by his shorter companion. Eadman smiled and began, beating the drum slowly and producing a deep, somber sound. The short bard began to play a light melody on his wooden flute, and the lanky man sang while Eadman's sister strummed her instrument softly.

"Over the stone, the old gray stone,
Let me ponder here alone,
Through all weather we go together
Ancient stone, thou good old stone.
Of the many friends I've seen,
Thou the truest friend has been,
Some forget me, some have fled,
Some are false, and some are dead,
Changing never constant ever,
Still I find thee, dear old stone.

Standing here, thou silent stone,
What a world thou must have known!
Deeds of glory, lost to story,
Hast thou witness'd ancient stone.
Here beneath the grass, 'tis said,
Many warriors bones are laid,
Fighting for their land they fell,
None but thou can truly tell.
Secrets keeping, ever sleeping,
Dream'st thou of the past, old stone?"

(Ooc: These characters can be used by anyone if they wish. You can give names to the two men, and can have them play any song or tell any story in your posts. Have fun.)