[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine was delighted by Aylwen’s songs and he paid great heed to both. I can but feel the breezes play, For all the rest is night, he sang to himself to set the lines in his memory. The Innkeeper’s voice was clear and strong and he could see that the guests of the White Horse had a rare treat in her: it was not many an innkeeper who could feed both the body and the spirit. “Wondrous” he said aloud, putting all of his enthusiasm for the music into his tone, “wondrous songs, both! You have a rare talent. Not merely My Lady of Ale, but of Merriment too! The blind bard you speak of, I have heard tell of him even in my distant land. I am too young to have heard him sing, but there are those among my household who still remember him and his golden dog coming to our vale once every few years and singing for his lodging and food. Richly was he repaid, for my people value three things above all else: the bridle, the spear and the harp.”

“Your land sounds like much the rest of Rohan,” Aylwen replied.

“Of the rest of Rohan I am greatly ignorant, for I have only traveled it here and here,” Hearpwine said, touching first his head and then his heart. “Only through music have I seen Edoras and the Golden Hall, explored the great vales and valleys of the White Mountains or ridden across the vast plains that lie between the arms of the mighty rivers. Indeed, before now the only time I have journeyed forth from my land was to do battle in the War, and for that we had to ride fast and hard, taking no time to look about us at the wonders of our beautiful land.

“But, you do me the honour of asking for another song, so I shall give it you. You try me sorely, though, by forcing me to choose between song and food! A hard choice after my long ride, but what the spirit requires the body can endure, so I shall sing first, then beg some bread and water of you.”

Hearpwine fell into a moment’s silence as he thought of an appropriate song. His eyes lit up, and he said, “As I have chosen to nourish myself with music rather than food, I think it appropriate that I sing of a meal –

“The Boar is dead,
Lo, here is his head:
What man could have done more
Than his head off to strike,
Huntsman like,
And bring it as I do before?

“He living spoiled
Where good men toiled,
Which made my mother sorry;
But now, dead and drawn
Is very good brawn,
And we have brought it for you.

“Then set down the beast,
To furnish the feast,
With which we crown his fall;
Let this boar’s-head and mustard
Stand for pig, goose, and custard,
And so you are welcome all.”

He finished with a hearty laugh and then said, “‘Tis something of a silly song, I know, but it tells the story of my first mighty battle, when, as a youth, I hunted and killed a boar of the Wild that had been devastating the fruit in my mother’s favorite orchard.” He laughed again at the memory. “But now kind Aylwen, if my song has earned me some refreshment I would gladly take whatever meat or bread you have to offer at this time of the day. Mind, I do not want any beer or ale to go with it, for my voice must be at its purest for the King tomorrow. Clear water is all that I will drink.”