The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Nurumaiel]

"Oh, good Hearpwine, that was one of the loveliest songs that has graced my ear in many a day," Maercwen cried, looking up from her slate. "Indeed every song that has been sung this night is delightful and full of brave deeds and love." She turned coaxing eyes to her uncle. "Wouldn't you, Uncle Liornung, sing the rather amusing song of the laddie who went courting a lass for the first and the last time due to the events that came of it?"

Liornung couldn't resist laughing. "That was a highly amusing song, I'll admit," he said, and spoke next to Hearpwine. "She speaks of a song I was taught by a Gondorian bard when I was just a lad. 'Twas he who gave me this fiddle. Shall I sing you the song?"

"I daresay I could manage to laugh at anything amusing," Hearpwine said. "If it would please Miss Maercwen..." He looked in her direction, and she spoke quickly, saying, "It would indeed."

"Then," Liornung said, catching up his fiddle, "I shall sing it."

Whack-fo-the-diddle-di-dum-day!

When I was but a lad of twenty years or so
there was a maid who down the streets would go
every morning early, every evening dark
singing like the high-soaring, bonnie, bonnie lark.

She sang,
Whack-fo-the-diddle-di-dum-day!
Singing like the high-soaring, bonnie, bonnie lark.

She was fair to look at, her manners did charm
to call on her a day I thought it wouldn't harm
but little, little did I know the heart of this maid
so did I love all she did and all she said.

She said,
Whack-fo-the-diddle-di-dum-day!
So did I love all she did and all she said.

I called on her one day early in the spring.
She asked me to sit down, treated me like a king
but when I chanced to ask if she'd marry me
I sorely regretted it and felt as though to flee.

She said,
Whack-fo-the-diddle-di-dum-day!
I sorely regretted it and felt as though to flee.

She flew up from her chair, caught me by the hair
and gave me a beating that I could hardly bear.
Then she took me up and in the fire threw me
and I was drove half mad till I hardly knew me.

She said,
Whack-fo-the-diddle-di-dum-day!
And I was drove half mad till I hardly knew me.

Then out of the fire and out of the door
and she took it to beat me a little bit more.
And there was a pond and in it she tossed
me and all my love dreams that were past.

She said,
Whack-fo-the-diddle-di-dum-day!
Me and all my love dreams that were past.

I'll never again go courting lassies fair,
not here in Rohan, or Gondor, nor anywhere.
I value my life, if I court she will kill
and of courting the lassies I've had my fill.

I sing,
Whack-fo-the-diddle-di-dum-day!
Of courting the lassies I've had my fill.

Liornung finished his song but not his tune. He appeared to be madly excited over his song and began to work his fiddle at a rapid pace. A merry tune, similiar to the tune of the song yet different, was brought forth from his old instrument and after listening a little while Hearpwine took up his harp and began to play along with him. Gomen jumped to his feet and extended a hand to Maercwen, who took it gleefully, and soon they were dancing about the common room, twirling and spinning, laughing heartily. Liornung brought his tune out harder and faster, Hearpwine followed, and the two children danced harder. For a full two minutes it went on before Liornung brought the melody to a satisfying conclusion. Gomen and Maercwen collapsed by their slates, breathing hard but laughing still. Liornung smiled fondly at them.

"You dance as lovely as you did when you were a baby," he said. "I fancy tonight there will be much dancing, but I'll be so busy playing my fiddle that I shan't be able to."

"Never think that, good Liornung," Hearpwine spoke up quickly. "I will play music on my harp and you shall dance with your niece at least once."

"What about her mother?"

"Her as well."

"And all her sisters?"

"Oh, my dear Uncle Liornung," Maercwen laughed, "you mustn't demand too much of Master Hearpwine. Next you'll want to dance with Bethberry and Aylwen and all the women in the inn, and then not satisfied you'll begin requesting dances of Gomen and my father!"

"Your father," Liornung said gravely, "is the worst dancer I have ever seen, and his singing is worse. He always did spend too much time with those horses." Hearpwine's eyebrows raised sightly and Liornung laughed. "Nay, Good Hearpwine, do not let my teasing fool you. My brother is a fair singer and an excellent dancer. He can't help it with a little brother like me."

"Rest your voice a little now, good uncle," Maercwen said. "Let Master Hearpwine take a turn. Will you," she added, turning to the future Bard of the King, "sing any song I request of you?"

"Any, Miss Maercwen."

A little smile flickered across her face. "You needn't call me that," she said. "My uncle and family always refer to me as Mae. In truth it is a rather charming name. But come, sing to me a song about a dance so we may anticipate tonight's festivities. Create in song a room lit by a fire, a fiddler sitting by that fire playing merry and delightful tunes, and people dancing about together in complete happiness and fun."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

For the first time since he’d arrived, Hearpwine’s natural good humour seemed to fail him utterly. “Alas!” he sighed with true sadness, “I’m afraid Mae” and he flushed a little as he called the lass by this name, “that I do not know of any song that will match your desires. With an hour or two of thought I could write one, but you ask for something to dance to now…” He fell into a thoughtful pose for a moment, but then his eyes brightened and he sat up in his chair. He seized his harp. “This is not, perhaps, what you need, Mae, and for that I’m truly sorry. But perhaps it will do until I can think on your request a bit longer and craft a song for you myself.” And with that, his hands flew to the strings of his harp and the room was soon filled with a rousing tune. Mae and Gomen were soon dancing once more. As Hearpwine began to sing, Liornung stood up and, taking his niece in his arms, they danced together.

“Oh once upon a time on West border,
An old man sat in his little cabin door,
And fiddled at a tune that he liked to hear,
A jolly old tune that he played by ear.
It was raining hard but the fiddler didn't care
He sawed away at the popular air,
Though his roof tree leaked like a water fall
That didn't seem to bother the man at all.

“A traveler was riding by that day,
And stopped to hear him a-practicing away
The cabin was afloat and his feet were wet,
But still the old man didn't seem to fret.
So the stranger said: “Now the way it seems to me,
You'd better mend your roof,” said he.
But the old man said, as he played away:
”I couldn't mend it now, it's a rainy day.”

“The traveler replied: “That's all quite true,
But this, I think, is the thing for you to do;
Get busy on a day that is fair and bright,
Then pitch the old roof till it's good and tight.”
But the old man kept on a-playing at his reel,
And tapped the ground with his leathery heel:
”Get along,” said he, “for you give me a pain;
My cabin never leaks when it doesn't rain.”

“My cabin never leaks when it doesn't rain!” Hearpwine sang once more and then brought the music to a halt. Once more there was applause which he acknowledged with a slight bow. He was enjoying himself as he had not in many a year, but at the back of his mind there was a nagging worry. Hearpwine had ridden for days through the raw air of spring, and he had now been singing and talking for hours, almost without break. His throat, strong as it was, could not keep going much longer. He thought about the Contest tomorrow and decided that it was time to beg off singing any more – he could play his harp, but his voice must not be over-exerted.

Just as he was to explain to the room that he dare not sing any more, Mae turned to him and her face was flushed with joy. He eyes were blazing and there were a few strands of hair clinging to the light sweat on her forehead that Hearpwine – strangely enough – found himself wishing he could brush back from her eyes with his own fingers. As though sensing his thoughts, the girl ran her hand across her hair to smooth it out as best she could. “That was wonderful!” she said. “But it was far too short. Sing us another song, with a fit tune for dancing. But perhaps one a bit slower this time, so that my uncle and I might dance something a bit more gentle.” Hearpwine bowed his head to her and made no complaint.

He began a slow tune then, one that moved along the limbs of the dancers and urged them to sway along with it like boats that rocked gently with the incoming tide. He watched as Liornung and Mae danced together for the first recital of the tune, and so engrossed did he become with the sight that he missed his entrance. He had to play the tune through again before he could begin the song. Bêthberry, he saw, noticed his slip, and she smiled at him in a manner that made him blush and look to his harp as though he were checking his fingering. When the entrance came round again, he rushed into it.

“I see her in my dreams, she trips to me lightly,
With joy on her lips she whispers my name.
Her eyes look in mine, so fondly so brightly,
I wake and 'tis then no longer the same.
Her glance then is chilly, her step seems to shun me,
The lips that have smiled wear the curl of disdain;
Oh! Rohan’s fair child my love hath undone me,
But yet in my dreams I'd see thee again.

“Oh, Rohan's fair child, in sleep thou art with me,
Wherever we walk, you go by my side;
Thou hear'st with delight the words I am saying,
I read thy young heart, I read it with pride.
But ah, when awake if I vow I adore thee,
Thy look ever tells me I woo thee in vain;
I'll trouble thee not, no more plead before thee;
I know in my dreams, thou'lt love me again.”

He felt it the instant he finished the song, unmistakably. He had reached the limit of his voice for that day. He smiled at the applause and hoped that he could find a way to rest his throat before the Contest tomorrow…

[Nurumaiel]

Fortunately for Hearpwine he had a fellow minstrel (or singer, at least, though Liornung had found himself called bard more than once that day) near who saw the need for rest. "Good patrons of the White Horse," he laughed, "you must not beg us for more songs. Our voices fail and you would have song tonight, would you not? If you make us continue you shall have no more than feeble croakings. And consider that good Hearpwine must sing well tomorrow if he is to become Bard of the King."

"From what I have seen tonight, Uncle," Maercwen said, "'twould be more fitting to say as he is to become Bard of the King."

Hearpwine flushed under her pleasure but said, "Alas, Mae, for the first time I begin to have doubts. If any bard there is half as good as your uncle perhaps my chances shall not be as fair."

A smile flickered across the girl's face and she shook her head playfully. "Do not doubt your talents, Master Hearpwine," she said. "I must confess that I have never met a bard better than my uncle, though if it is because there is no bard better or merely because he is my uncle I do not know. I suspect the latter of being true. Yet, good sir, of all other bards you truly fall second in my heart and mind. I have no doubts that you will gain the honor." She paused a moment before continuing. "Aside from the honor which we shall all rejoice inwe might rejoice that you would then remain here in Edoras." The smile on her face grew wider and her eyes twinkled. "Call for more drinks, I beg you, and rest your voice. Apply yourself to thought, Master Hearpwine, for I expect you to sing the song I requested this night during the festivities."

[Kransha]

“You wish to rest your voice, good sirs,” said Osric to Liornung and Hearpwine, “and well you should. My voice has been found and, if you mind it not, I will take up the ears of your avid listeners while you recuperate. I do not seek to take your thrones, my friends, so I will merely see if I can recall the lore I once knew.” Osric had his chance as some words and ragged verse returned to him after a lengthy hiatus from his knowledge. He could re-learn any of his old ballads at the time he wished, but had not seen the need. The man of Aldburg, scooted his chair further, looking from person to person throughout the light-dappled room.

“An ode of my own is what I have for now. I am no minstrel, friends, but as much a poet as a fool, I assure you.” The aged man’s eyes sparkled with sunny warmth as he laughed in his throat, “When it comes to me, battle tales and feats of heroism shall be the topic of my verses, but for the moment I can only stutter about with poetry. I’ll regale you all with an old composition, a bumbling rhyme I wrote for a more human purpose than glory. So, for wont of a better name, here’s a little something I concocted an age ago, but if they desire it, Miss Maercwen may take it with her from here. I am need of a fair maid for a target, so if you would subjugate yourself to such a blow, even if my words are dire in their course?” he joked.

As Osric chuckled slightly while Maercwen, or Mae as he now knew she was known, gave a polite nod, tempered with a jovial look, “I would be honored to accept that position, sir, regardless of the dangers.” She replied gracefully, stifling a laugh of her own that prompted a smile from her uncle.

“I thank you for that, milady.” He said, still laughing more energetically than he’d thought himself capable of doing. All these young faces, less hardened and stony than the ones he was used to. It was a welcome sight for Osric. The old man, his sagged face lightening up as he reared himself back in the small, wooden chair, rested his rough hands upon his knees, and began a calm recitation. It was not somber, nor was it a happy piece, but hovering somewhere in between. There was no true tune, no notes to accompany it, but it held a meter well enough to go on steadily as a mild hush fell on this area of the room, most ears aimed respectfully at the venerable figure who had suddenly become so engrossed in his words.

“Am I well versed in verse in company?
In clever seasons need I seasoning?
‘Round thee may words make thee in ways many?
Can rhyme and reason seem more reasoning?

And even now I struggle with this line,
For I was never less witty than now.
This moment christened by all graces thine
That seemingly words seem too much to tow.

The reason of this I know not the cost.
But should I hit it right to say it’s this;
That cleverness becomes an item lost
When wits tested within such august bliss.

Given the chance thy beauty to adore,
My princely prose turns to a poem poor.”

As the hush remained upon Osric’s completion, the man brushed a strand or two of grayed hair from his face and overlooked the silent crowd, smiling. Provoked by their unusual quietness, he took the time to speak again. “Not much, I warrant, but t’will serve. If my old head can remember more, I won’t hesitate to go on, but I would have no reason if you’ve tired of these themed verses. Love is something I’ve reflected on, but I shan’t bore you with my ponderings, oh no, we should be merrier this day and eve. Though love is merry, merry is not love, unless the love of food and drink and song and dance. Then you have me, I suppose, and love is as merry as merry e’er was. But, I pray you, let me not rant on like the ancient fool I am.”

[Nurumaiel]

"Ancient fool!" Mae cried, shaking her head in a most vigorous fashion. "Sir, those words could never fit you. When does one become ancient? When one's hair begins to whiten? Nay, if you have lived many years that is one thing but you will only become old if you succumb to it in your heart. In spirit one can be as young as ever they were." She put her head to one side, her mild curls falling to one side of her face and her eyes twinkling playfully. "Come now, can you imagine me ever being old? Yet age will come to me. I hope I will remain a child in heart."

"You always will," Liornung replied. "You don't seem to me any older than when you were three years old singing I'll Tell My Ma."

She blushed and said, "I hope I am a bit older than that, uncle. But you are only teasing me, I see it in your eyes. And as for fools, Master Osric," she continued, returning her gaze to the man, "are we not all fools? Would wisemen sit as we sit now, singing and laughing and dancing? To be wise seems to me a dreary life. Would a wiseman live as my uncle, barely surviving on what money he makes in his wanders? To me it seems that one who was wise would find some work more profitable, yet..."

"Yet I work as a fool," Liornung said quite seriously. "I enjoy being a fool at times. But how did you, little Mae, know that I was as poor as I am? In truth the people of the inns are not so kind as those here and have no ears for music, or perhaps they have no money to spend and seek the fault of my song as an excuse. Yes, I am poor and often go without a meal, though how the money disappears so quickly I don't know..."

"I know," said a new voice. "You spend it all on ale for those who enjoy your music so you might all laugh and sing through the night, and if your music is ill-taken you spend your money on ale to drown your sorrows."

Liornung stood and set aside his fiddle. Striding across the room a look of boyish delight and admiration came to his features as he embraced the man who stood before him. "Dear brother Leofan," he said. "It has been many a month since I've seen you and you remind me to think not only to my nieces and nephews but my brothers and sisters, and my mother and father. Two years it has been since I have seen them. But you... ah, long was our parting in olden days until I chanced to meet your distressed wife, who was after fearing you had been killed in that stable fire. It was because of me that she found you again, for I was so successful in helping her dodge through those swarming crowds. But what a rambler I am, both on the road and in speech! Sit yourself, dear brother, and fill your glass with me." He paused, looked at Hearpwine and Osric and, a little flush coming to his cheeks, amended himself. "Us, I do mean. Fill your glass with us."

"I fear it cannot be," said Leofan, "though I would wish it. There is much work to do in the stable, as there always it, even if the work be but doing what the horses bid. I took this brief moment to come see you once again, for I heard your singing. Fine singing it was, as well."

"Yes, at that of Master Hearpwine, soon to be Bard of the King," Maercwen spoke up.

Liornung introduced Hearpwine and Leofan most properly, likewise to Osric, and Leofan addressed them, saying, "Do not believe what I say about my brother, sirs. His purse is opened more often for works of charity than to indulge in drink himself. In all truth he barely ever drinks, save grand festivities. Yet by his money many a hungry child in Rohan has been filled."

Liornung turned quite red and occupied himself with tuning his fiddle, pretending he had not heard. "Where, Leofan, is your lovely wife? I have not seen her nor heard of her."

"She is most likely in the kitchens helping to prepare for the night's fesitivites," Leofan replied. "I myself must go now, but tonight I will join in the dancing and merry-making." His eyes wandered over the room and fixed on Gomen and a little smile came to his face. "Are you enjoying yourself, lad? I thought you would. And, you, Mae, need not tell me for it is written on your face. But do not let your eager dancing get in the way of your lessons. Bethberry is waiting quite patiently for you, as are your slates. Else you shan't be able to dance with your uncle, or with me, or even with good Hearpwine. Perhaps Osric would also like to dance with. I will not deny you are quite charming, but you are your mother's daughter and so it could not be helped." He smiled fondly at her and then, with a polite nod to all in the room and a fond slap of the shoulder to his younger brother, he left the room.

[bilbo_baggins]

Oin turned to Finky and said,

"That bard is very good. I think he may even have a chance of beating the great Mearcwine if he tries hard enough, and learns some."

"True, he is good. But my eyes and ears are for Liornung. Now there is a chap with his instrument on straight!" replied Finky.

Said Oin, "And Hearpwine is a good bard, too. I near let loose a battle cry at that rousing song of his."

Said Finky, "Aye, indeed. These songs are truly wonderful."

And they both sat back and listened some more...

[Mad Baggins]

Ceryl sat, listening to the minstrel in the corner sing many songs. She spooned a bit of stew into her mouth, savouring the hot food. It was delicious. She sipped her tea and attacked her stew with vigour. When she was done, she drained the teacup and set it inside the empty bowl along with the spoon. She pushed it away and sighed contentedly, her stomach full.

Well, now that I have finished my meal, I should try to have a chat with someone, Ceryl thought. She remembered the mysterious-looking girl that had sat a few stools down and looked around for her. She saw that she was in the same place as she had been before. Ceryl slid off the stool and walked towards her. Just as she was about to touch her on the shoulder, the girl sighed and put her head in her hands.

Ceryl paused, wondering if the girl wanted some privacy. You are in an Inn, she chided herself. What privacy can you get here? She reached out her hand and tapped the girl on the shoulder. She jumped and whirled around, her brown and green eyes burning into Ceryl's own steely grays. Ceryl swallowed and said, "Pardon me for startling you, miss, but I was just wondering if you would like to have a chat with me."