The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen could hardly deny Mae...it was hard for the Innkeeper to deny anyone of what they truly desired. If Mae truly wished to see Hearpwine participate in the contest, Aylwen would not be the one to keep her from attending. Still, the Innkeeper sighed at the slight inconveniance, for she had already promised Aedre that the young girl could have the morning off. When Aylwen was determined to please everyone, though, inconveniances happened and Aylwen dealt with them despite.

Then the lady Ceryl requested a sort of breakfast from Aylwen, and the Innkeeper snapped from her agreements with Mae and back into the day of work. In town there would be festivities of all sorts, but Aylwen did not despair at having to be at the Inn. After fourteen years of missing this and that in town, Aylwen had become used to her duty in the Horse and resigned to her job and whatever help she needed to lend in order to fulfill said job. Providing the nice man Osric with a warm breakfast when he entered the common room and fulfilling the lady's order for her and her daughter were just a few of the tasks that Aylwen did everyday.

Soon after taking the last few orders, an elderly man wobbled into the Inn, with a cane and misty eyes to add to whatever age he actually was. Aylwen watched on as Mae pointed her out to the man, and the Innkeeper waited patiently for him to reach the desk. When he did, he wasted no time in getting to his point. “Excuse me, I do hope I am not interrupting, but I wish to rent a room, and I really must find the innkeeper.”

"You have found the Innkeeper, sir," Aylwen said, a simple smile lighting on her face. She took the man's arm gently to take the weight off his cane, leading him the short way to the ledger. "You are in perfect luck, sir. Celebrations have been occurring, and we have had few rooms. There is one open on this bottom floor, if you wish a time without stairs. However, I must know your name first..." Aylwen prompted, waiting patiently once again.

[Bêthberry]

The first timid rays of the dawn's light poked into Bethberry's room. They did not find her sleeping, but quietly poised in thought and reminiscence as she watched a spider trace a path over the wooden ceiling brace. She looked up, out her window towards the eastern sky, streaked with red and covered with grey whisps of mist. She rose and took to her desk, as she did every morn, to write in a small, leather-bound book. What she wrote no one knew, although she had once found one of the maids running a finger over the leather binding. The woman had succumbed to the temptation to open the cover and read, but she had been interrupted by the return of the former Innkeeper and had dropped the book as if it had burnt her fingers. Since that discovery, Bethberry had kept the book well hidden whenever she was absent from her room. This morning her thoughts kept her long at writing.

Still, she had finally descended to the Mead Hall, humming to herself the aire "Speed bonnie boat" and sought out Aylwen, but not before she had observed from a distance the singer Hearpwine bound into the kitchen and help himself to some food and drink. That man takes altogether too many liberties, she thought to herself. If Aylwen does not speak to him after the contest about his forwardness, then I shall. Being high strung and nervous is no excuse for impertenance, no matter what charm he has. Yet she nodded civilly to him, as to the lone woman eating breakfast and the mother and child, who looked oddly sombre. Bethberry decided to watch them discretely, should they need another voice at hand.

Oscric was not long to remain the eldest veteran at the Horse. Bethberry watched as Aylwen conversed with another old man who had with grace, precision and some slowness entered the Inn and inquired, apparently, about the Innkeeper. There was something about how he held his head, cocking his ears for sounds and noises, and something too about how the cane he held seemed an extension of himself. Bethberry poured herself a mug of hot spiced cider, took a small seed cake, and then sat to one side to watch him. In the background she could hear Frodides working in the kitchen and her daughter flirting with the patrons. That girl was coddled too much, Bethberry thought. Yet what child has not been, since the War?

[ArwenBaggins]

Reya cleared her throat and tried to sort the thoughts zipping through her head into a farely chronological order. "Delaynn... oh," She sighed and rubbed her temples. How did you explain death to a four year old, even when you found it hard to swallow yourself?

"Delaynn, your father isn't going to come back. Do you remember when he rode of to war with Uncle Elwin and the King?" Reya took her daughter's hands and nodded to Bêthberry, who she saw walk by. The girl resonded with a low, mournful whimper. "And, do you remember when we had Eariel, our kitty? Do you remember what happened to her?"

Dela bit her bottom lip, her eyes distant as she painfully remembered the death of her beloved cat. "Yeah, she got stepped on by a horsie, an' she... died," Dela puckered her lips now, looking up again at her mother.

She knows what death is... maybe it will not be so hard now. "Well, Papa... Papa died too. With... with King Thèoden. He's gone to live with Gaffer Dom and Grandma Eliza. You won't be able to see him again for a very long time," Reya quickly blinked back a tear so that her daughter would not see that she was upset as well.

"But why did Papa have ta leave us? Did he not love us?" Dela's chest was heaving and tears were streaking down her face from her bright brown eyes.

Suddenly, Reya shook her head resolutely and lifted the small girl over the table, cradling her tightly in her arms. "No, Dela. Papa left because he did love us. He wanted to protect us from the darkness- and he did! Oh, your father loved us more than you could ever know," tears now fell down her face again, drawing in a few looks from other Inn patrons. "Papa loved us, and he's looking down on us right now," Reya huggled the girl again, burying her head in Dela's thick sandy waves.

[Mad Baggins]

Ceryl sat, eating and thinking, watching the patrons of the Horse go about their daily morning rituals. Aylwen was helping an old man with a cane at her desk. As Ceryl noted how the man moved with such cautious movements, Bethberry entered the room. She nodded to Ceryl, who lifted her hand in a return gesture of greeting. Ceryl noticed the mother and her daughter talking quietly in a corner, then the mother enveloping the child in her arms. They both appeared to be crying. She began to feel uncomfortable watching the tender scene and averted her eyes.

She began to feel cooped up in the Inn, which was a strange feeling for her. She finished her meal and rose from her seat, making for the door. Stepping outside, she was embraced by the chilly morning air. Ceryl inhaled, feeling the air flow down her throat, cooling her lungs. She hummed a little tune in her head as she watched the world awaken.

She looked to the East, half expecting to see the old blackness covering the horizon like a horrible plague, but she only saw the sun poking up over the edge of the land like a bright torch. Ceryl stepped away from the door of the Inn and stood near the wall, enjoying the dewy morning.

A light breeze lifted her braid and chilled the back of her neck, causing her to shiver. There was a certain loveliness about an early morning, a beauty that you couldn't quite pin down. When the world was waking up and it was completely silent, except for a few birds twittering 'Good morning', it didn't matter where you were. It was as if you were no longer in Middle-earth but in some other world where everything was heavenly and perfect, and where there was always peace.

[alaklondewen]

“Oh dear, here I have gone and misplaced my manners. Please forgive me, Miss. My name is Ælle, and I must say it is a pleasure to be standing in this lively inn of yours.” Ælle leaned once more on his cane as he heard the innkeeper scribbling on a paper. “I am overjoyed to hear you have a room for me, and what of these celebrations?” A friendly and sincere smile flashed across his face as he leaned forward as far as could toward the innkeeper.

As the innkeeper told him of the day’s activities, Ælle thought how beautiful and soft her voice was. Once she finished, he caught himself. “That sounds just wonderful. Thank you, Miss…” Sweeping his hand toward her he signaled for her name.

“Aylwen. My name is Aylwen, sir.”

“Oh, what a beautiful name,” he replied with a chuckle. “Now, I do hate to be a burden, but would you mind showing me where I might have a seat and a bit of food to break this old man’s fast?”

“Certainly, sir. Right this way,” Aylwen took his arm, and he leaned slightly on her still letting his cane flow in front of his feet. Truthfully, he did not need to lean on her quite as much, but her frangrance was pleasant, and besides, Ælle had always enjoyed the company of young women. “Here you are.” The innkeeper helped lower Ælle into the seat.

“Oh, thank you, my dear Aylwen. You have been very kind to me.” Ælle felt around his chair looking for a place to prop his cane. Thinking he had found it, he let the cane go and it dropped loudly to the floor. “Oh dear, what have I done?” The old man bent forward to search for his cane, but was stopped by the hard wooden table that collided with his head. “Oh!” His wrinkled hand flew to his forehead to touch the wound. He felt the warmth of blood swelling from the cut. “Goodness, I have made a mess of things.”

Aylwen hurriedly brought him a towel and some salve to care for the wound. “Sir Ælle, I believe you are as good as new.” Ælle thanked her profusely, but she dismissed them with great modesty. Finally taking his order for breakfast, the innkeeper walked away and left the old man alone.

[Nurumaiel]

Mae glanced at the old man, Ælle as he had introduced himself, sitting alone, for Aylwen had just left him, and continued to gaze steadily at him until their eyes met. She gave him her warmest smile before turning back to her uncle. "Dear uncle of mine, that song you sang is highly inappropriate for the occasion," she said in a mockingly rebuking tone. "I merely wish to go with Hearpwine and see him sing; I love him, of course, but I am not in love with him."

"Don't you wish to ever be married, Mae?" Liornung questioned her, winking at Hearpwine.

"Well, perhaps, if I meet someone who loves me and I am in love with him," she replied, "but I hardly know any young lads about, so busy I am working here at the Inn. And nobody's in love with me. Besides that, I don't need to get married. My parents will take care of me forever and ever."

"You are a spoiled little thing, Mae dear."

Her mischeivous smile vanished and a solemn look came to her face. Slowly she shook her head. "No, uncle," she said. "My parents did not spoil me. It was just that they didn't ignore me ever. They always loved me and cared for me and always showed it. They did not believe that to refrain from spoiling me they had to refrain from loving me and constantly showing me thus."

Liornung laughed and patted her cheek. "Dear little Mae, I'm only teasing you. I should know that my brother wouldn't spoil you. My mother and father raised me the same way, and if I had been married I would have raised my children that way."

"Oh, uncle, you're young yet. Don't worry, you'll still be married." Mae slid off her uncle's knee and skipped over to Aylwen. "Oh, Aylwen, say you'll let me go, please do! If you don't, however, I'll endure it gracefully and work just as hard, so you needn't fear refusing. It's just that I should dearly love to go."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine’s face flushed at the mention of “love” between Liornung and his niece, and he made himself busy with his plate as they talked of marriage and young men. He was not sure why the conversation should make him self-conscious…yes, he though Mae was a bonny girl, and he enjoyed having her eyes upon him when he sang…but all bards enjoyed the attention of their audience, and she was so completely and innately moved by his music that it was impossible not to respond with warmth. His mind went back to their dancing together of the night before, and a slow smile crept across his face at the memory…

He felt Liornung’s eyes upon him and he looked up at his friend, and then away quickly. He could feel his friend’s smile grow wider, and fancied even that he could hear a chuckle. He looked about for something or someone to distract the minstrel from his teasing, but at that moment Mae commanded his attention as she skipped (ever so prettily) to Aylwen asking if she could go to the Contest. Before he could stop himself, Hearpwine spoke out. “Aye, Mistress Aylwen, she should be at the Contest. It’s clear that no lass enjoys music more than Mae, and my own performance cannot help but be improved by having here there to hear me!” As soon as he had stopped speaking, he heard what he had said and flushed even more deeply than he had before. Desperate now for something to turn Liornung’s smiling eyes away from him, he called out to the blind old man at the table near theirs, still rubbing his head from the assault practised upon it by the table. “Master Ælle, is it? I hope you are not too keenly hurt?”

The old man moved his head toward Hearpwine and assured him that he was fine. “You, sir,” he said, “have a fine voice. Are you a bard?”

Hearpwine’s face broke into a huge grin at this as he cried out, “Aye, sir, that I am! That you could tell so from simply hearing my voice, though, is a wonder to me – and a great pleasure!”

The old man smiled. “Not such a wonder, young master bard,” he replied, “when you consider that you have been talking about taking part in the Contest of the Bards before the King today. You could only be a very fine singer, or a very foolish man.”

Hearpwine burst out laughing, and was delighted to see that Mae was smiling too. Inspired by this, he turned to the old man once more. “Well said Master Ælle! Well said. I am a bard indeed, and although I should save my voice for the Contest, I stand debt of a song to a lass here” and, somehow, he found the courage to look at Mae as he said this, “so you can listen to me sing and then pass your judgement if I shall win the Contest this day or not!” He turned to Liornung to ask if he could accompany him, but his friend already had his fiddle beneath his chin and was smiling from ear to ear. Hearpwine began by humming the tune, which the fiddler soon picked up and within moments had made his own.

Let it be a dance we do.
May I have this dance with you?
For the good times, and the bad times too,
Let it be a dance.

Let a dancing song be heard.
Play the music. Say the words.
Fill the sky with sailing birds.
Let it be a dance.

Every body turn and spin.
Let your bodies learn to bend
Like a willow in the wind,
And let it be a dance.

A child is born. We all must die.
A time for joy, a time to cry –
So, take it as it passes by,
And let it be a dance.

Let it be a dance we do.
May I have this dance with you?
For the good times, and the bad times too,
Let it be a dance.

The morning star comes out at night.
Without the dark, there'd be no light.
Yet, if nothing's wrong, then nothing's right.
So, let it be a dance.

Let the sun shine. Let it rain.
Share the laughter. Bear the pain.
Round and round we go again,
And let it be a dance.

Let it be a dance we do.
May I have this dance with you?
For the good times, and the bad times too,
Let it be a dance.

Hearpwine finished the song, as he always did, with a laugh. The singing had done much to calm his mood and regain his natural good spirits and confidence. He gazed at Mae as he finished and bowed low to the room as Liornung let the melody settle and fade.