The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Nurumaiel]

Maercwen had been sitting by the kitchen window, staring listlessly up at the sky. She heard Hearpwine enter the Common Room of the Inn but she did not go out. It was odd that the sky was so blue; why was it not grey and stormy? So much would leave when Hearpwine left. The happy days they had spent with each other, the songs he would sing to cheer them when they were feeling sorrowful... and Gomen. That was the most bitter of all. Gomen had counted so much on learning the ways of a bard from Hearpwine, and now Hearpwine was leaving. And more than the loss of a teacher Gomen would lose a dear friend. She, too, would lose a friend.

She felt that she should go out to bid him farewell but she also felt she could not bear to do that. To say farewell in the Common Room with all those eyes watching her, and all those minds wondering if she were still in love with Hearpwine. She had known well the rumors that had been going about in the spring. She could not bear to say goodbye to him with such thoughts lingering in the others' minds.

The door to the kitchen opened softly and she twisted in her chair, and stood when she saw it was Hearpwine. He looked rather breathless, as if he had been confusedly running about, and she smiled faintly when she imagined him trying to prepare to leave in his excitement. He spoke slowly. "The Lady is waiting for me in the Common Room. I cannot linger long."

"No," Maercwen said, "and no again. I would not ask you to try the Lady's patience." She stepped forward to him with both hands outstretched. He took them. "We will all miss you deeply," she said, "and I not least of them, yet we will wait eagerly for your return, and we will not weep that you are fulfilling your dream." She smiled. "Do not consider yourself above a poor stablemaster and his family when you return a true bard." She hesitated slightly and glanced at the door. "I must not delay you any longer," she said, "but here where no one will see and gossip, I would ask a favor." She stood on tip-toe and kissed his cheek. "Farewell, dear brother," she said. "I will not leave this kitchen with the others, but if, when you ride out, you look to this window you will see me wave you farewell." Hearpwine smiled at her, kissed her hand, and then turned and left the kitchen.

Maercwen returned to her chair and gazed at the sky once again. No tears came to her, for she had resolved as she had said that she would not weep because of his dream.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine mounted Hrothgar and turned his head down the hill, clicking his tongue gently to urge his already tired horse toward their future. As he began to move, he caught sight of Gomen standing with his father, his face once more drawn with sorrow and threatening tears. Pulling up his horse, Hearpwine called to Gomen. “Come here lad,” he said gently, “I have something I want you to keep for me.”

Gomen came to stand at Hrothgar’s shoulder as Hearpwine rummaged through his saddlebags. In a moment he had produced his harp, which he handed down to the boy’s disbelieving fingers. “Here lad,” the Bard said through a constricted throat. “Take this and practise with it every day. When I return I expect that you will be able to play that song I taught you and many more!” The boy merely stared at Hearpwine, not knowing what to say. Leofan moved forward as though to protest the gift, but Hearpwine cried out, “Nay master Leofan, it is mine to give. It has served me well for many a year, but the time has come, I think, to leave behind the things of my youth and to forge a new life for myself in the land that I go to. I will make myself a new harp from the wood of the trees that I find there, and it will sound the sweeter for having been crafted from the land it will enliven with song!”

Without waiting for a response he spurred Hrothgar into a canter and wheeled down the road, but as he passed the kitchen window he looked up and smiled and waved to Maercwen, silently wishing her a happy and a long life.

He soon disappeared around a bend in the road, but as he did so, his voice could be heard in song.

Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcom'd it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return, not a hope may remain,
Of the few that had brighten'd his pathway of pain,
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw,
It's enchantment around him, while ling'ring with you.

And still on that evening when pleasure fills up,
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where 'ere my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends, shall be with you that night.
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me beaming, all o'er with your smiles.
Too, blest if it tells me that 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmer'd, "I wish he were here!"

Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy,
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care,
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd,
Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd.
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang 'round it still.

The song faded into the sunlight, and he was gone.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

OOC: Currently at the White Horse

It is midsummer, early morn on a glorious summer day in Edoras, Rohan. It is the 4th Age, year One (1432 by Shire Reckoning) and four years after the events of the War of the Ring. Éomer Éadig sits in the Golden Hall as King of the Mark, with his queen Lothíriel, whom he wed last year.

The current Innkeeper is a Rohan woman, Aylwen Dreamsong, who has recently returned from a long journey. The previous Innkeeper and owner of the White Horse, Bethberry, a woman who was an Itinerant healer from The Old Forest, also lives in the White Horse and helps attend to duties.

Cast of characters:

(Aylwen Dreamsong) Aylwen Dreamson, Innkeeper of The White Horse

(Bêthberry) Bethberry, Owner and former Innkeeper

(Durelin) Dureline and young son Loar

(Imladris) Goldwine the cat

(Kransha) Osric, old Rohirrim soldier
Sigurd, his nephew

(Nurumaiel): Leofan, stable master and his family
Frodides (the mother)
Liorning, her brother, a musician
Maercwen (seventeen-year-old lass)
Gomen (twelve-year-old lad)
Giefu (ten-year-old lad)
Mereflod (seven-year-old lass)
Deman (six-year-old lad)
Fierlan (six-year-old lad; twin to Deman)
Motan (four-year-old lass)
Middaeg (two-year-old lass)
Beorht (two-year-old lad; twin to Beorht)
Drihten (the bonny baby laddie)Leofan, stable master and his family

(Snowdog) Hanasian, itinerant historian

--

Aylwen's Post

Aylwen watched with the rest of the staff and patrons as Hearpwine rode off into the distance. Her calmness remained just a disguise that no one could see through unless they had the eyes to see it and the heart to embrace it. No one really noticed it, so she kept on living in her dream world. No one spoke, and when Bethberry moved to interrupt the stillness, everyone began bustling about, moving but never speaking. Aedre went off to the kitchens to help Mae, Eorcyn sat and Osric sat near to him. Gomen and Leofan eyed the harp the boy had been given, and Bethberry led Sigurd to where Aylwen stood motionless.

The Innkeeper smiled at the two approached her, feeling suddenly refreshed in the change. For such were the ways of the world, for it to change and to change the people within. Similarly were the ways of Inns, for patrons to leave and for others to arrive, bringing new and joyous times to the people that would always stay. Things never stayed the same forever in the White Horse, and Aylwen only hoped that as change came, which it surely would, the good memories would remain and make everything continually better. If there had been more time before Hearpwine's departure, Aylwen was certain that there would have been talking all day with his new friends in Edoras, wishing that he could stay. Summer sunsets always looked the same, one would never be more beautiful than the next. Still, the summers were never exactly alike, and for that Aylwen was ever glad.

"Now, Sigurd," Aylwen began cheerily when he had come over with Bethberry. "The owner of this fine Inn told me before all the chaos that you have an idea for a job for you that you wish to share with me."

[Kransha]

The sight of the Lady Eowyn was, without explanation, a great shock, and an uplifting experience for some. Sigurd, though, had not realized the identity of this regal presence, and now scolded himself for it. But, he had no time for self-reprimand, for he had become awestruck by her as he was pulled into the present, into the moving reality around him, and lost sight of his other daily goals. For a time, albeit brief, he had stood in the company of Theoden’s daughter, Lady of Ithilien, and more titles that escaped him in his sudden, passive reverie. He stared rather blankly, but managed to whisk his gaze as line of vision aside to take in other ‘sights’ as he could, and was, in some small way, successful. The sight and appearance of Eowyn, though, stirred him deeply, and his eyes followed her rather than Hearpwine into the distance.

Osric, on the other hand, bore a look more blunt and expressionless, though his heart pounded mightily, waddling up his throat and beating ceaselessly in his ears, to further his discomfort. This was the second time he’d seen her, the last time being in the shimmering golden hall of Meduself, beneath a roof of sunlit thatch and flanked by pillars of ebony that glistened as they would if stars shone down upon them. The experience was different, certainly, for the White Horse was not Meduseld, but Eowyn carried with her a gentle, calming air and a fiery but serene aura that hovered over her regal visage and lingered, skulking about, behind when she departed. It was all the old Rohirrim could do not to stare longingly back as she took her leave, not noting that Sigurd, his jaw still slack and immoveable, had turned his head to others, and no longer let his gaze be affixed to one maiden. Now, though all this commotion had come to a too abrupt end and the inn’s society began, slowly, to move and resemble a chorus of living, breathing beings again. Heaving a deep sigh, Osric turned his glinting eyes to his nephew.

“Uncle,” he murmured foolishly, stuttering as he silently spoke, “…was that…the Lady Eowyn?” The shroud of her presence could still be seen reflected in the youth’s face, Osric, sour and distempered now, turned and vigorously nodded, clapping his hand upon Sigurd’s shoulder and turning him towards Aylwen and Bethberry promptly, saying, only fleetingly, “Yes, Sigurd, it was indeed.”

Sigurd looked back at him, twisting so that Osric could not turn him, an expression of mighty aw plastered to his boyish features as his mouth moved silently, at last forming the vain illusion of words. “You…spoke to her.” Osric’s left eye gave an irritated little blink of a fashion as he nodded again, more vigorously, trying most heartily to pull and push young, confused Sigurd backward and around towards the innkeeper and owner. He continually nodded as Sigurd stood, unconsciously resisting. Finally, he said aloud, and loud enough it was to jog Sigurd from his waking slumber. “It would not be the first time, lad. Now, tell Miss Aylwen of your idea.” At last he had Sigurd turned, but the boy continued to look upon his dreary uncle, stupefied by the various happenings. “What?”

“Aylwen asked you a question, and a simple one at that. Perhaps you would be wise and answer it.”

Finally, Sigurd understood what Osric wished of him. He must resume the conversation that had been severed minutes prior and, perhaps, salvage it from the depths. Old Osric, cranky and cantankerous for a reason that Sigurd could not fathom, did not seem to be in a helpful mood anymore, so Sigurd began, looking at Aywlen. “Well, it was not my idea as much as it was that of Bethberry, for her ample suggestions made my choice all the easier.” He cast a curt glance at the owner of the White Horse, who looked back pointedly and acted her part well, never showing even the slightest hint of amusement at the young man and his uncle’s befuddling plight. “My choice is a broad one, and I can only hope that you accept it, if it makes, hopefully, more sense to you than it did to me. If you will have me, Aylwen, I will serve wherever I am needed and whenever as well. But, the position that seemed most apt was that of Night Watchman for this noble establishment, which I would tend to the inn as its resident in the absence of the sun. As far as I have been told, the Horse has no such fellow, and I would be willing,” Osric jabbed him sharply in the rib cage with his armored elbow, which was actually a much more painful endeavor than the old man had thought it would be, “more than willing to oblige.”

[Bêthberry]

Aedre had watched the Lady Eowyn withdraw from the White Horse with a look of awe and surprise on her face and a shade of disappointment as Hearpwine had followed after her. She stood awhile trying to get a sense of things and then watched the conversation between Aylwen and the old warrior and his nephew.

For her part, Bethberry took a deep sigh of relief after all the unexpected bustle and commotion of the morning. She remembered well the visits of the very young Lady to the Horse in days gone bye but had not been sure the Princess of Ithithlien would have remembered them. She should have thought better of Eowyn, for here was honest, true breeding, grace and courtesy rather than hauteur and condecension. Bethberry smiled at the remembrance and then turned her thoughts to the conversation in front of her.

Oscric and Sigurd certainly could extend a conversation and make the simplest request a long endeavour indeed. She watched quietly for a bit, to ensure that Aylwen would not be completely surprised by the request for employment. The two of them had had not a moment to chat so Bethberry could bring her up to date on events, but as usual the young woman was taking everything in her stride. Sigurd finished his rather long speech, punctuated as it was by his uncle's elbow and Bethberry spoke up.

"Osric, Sigurd, and I had mentioned several possible jobs here at The Horse, Aylwen, but the final decision of what to offer, or, indeed, to offer any position at all, is yours as Inkeeper of course. Frodides could use a strong arm to help her load and unload the heavy items for the kitchen and we could also use someone of sharp eye, keen attitude, and faithful committment as a night watchman. With peace and slowly returning prosperity, there is much more travel and many more strangers appearing in Edoras. The gates to the city are no longer closed and so we must make our own arrangements. I will withdraw from these deliberations, however, to let you make your own minds."

With that, Bethberry turned her attention to the old Bard who had remained stiffly uneasy at the recent events. He had spoken rather peremptorily about Hearpwine's absence--a tone and attitude which intrigued her. He clearly was an astute, even wily man, well versed in the ways of court and power and influence. Yet why was he so flustered by Hearpwine's disappearance? Bethberry decided that the morning might yet hold more interest for her, she who found people endlessly fascinating.
"Eorcyn, can you enjoy that tankard now, or are you still bothered that Hearpwine was absent when you sent for him? Had our favourite young minstrel disappointed you? Or had he exceeded expectations?'

It cannot be denied that, had anyone looked closely, there could be found the slightest flicker of challenge in her eyes.