The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Saraphim]

Strenge shivered as he looked around from his seat in one corner of the common room. He was wrapped tightly in a thick cloak, and had a steaming cup of tea in his hand, but that barely stymied the cold air from seeping into his skin. His headache had mostly vanished, but his eyes would swim if he looked around too quickly.

At long last, someone brough him a warm plate piled full of delicious amenities. Strenge dug in quickly, trying to soak in as much heat from the warm food as he could.

Over his spoon, he watched the customers meander about on thier early-morning chores. He would have liked to strike up converstion with one of them, but Strenge was much too shy to introduce himself.

He wondered where Careardry was again, but decided that he must still have been sleeping.

He finished his meal and leaned back with his tea, finally beginning to warm up.

[Nurumaiel]

Frodides saw the tear but said nothing. She felt the way her children did; she would not make the woman obligated to tell the cause of her sorrow. Rather, she replied to the compliment with a face full of pride. "Indeed, aren't they lovely?" she said. "Oh, I suppose you think it is awful of me to say thus... a mother should not accept praise to her children without making some attempt at modesty, but I would rather appear proud and vain than tell a lie. I am proud of my children and I do think they're lovely. I tell them so often... but never in a fashion that would make them vain." She let her eyes wander to her children, and she gazed at them contentedly for a moment before speaking again. "Your daughter is also lovely. What is her name?"

Over in the group of children, Motan and Mereflod were delighting over the flowers and helping each other to place them in their long golden hair. When both were satisfied, Mereflod turned to Delaynn, saying, "Your Papa has a garden?" She spoke in an entirely oblivious way; she didn't know what Dela had just learned about her father. "My Papa doesn't have a garden because he works in the stable. I would like to have a garden, though."

Motan put another delicious sweet in her mouth, her round face very thoughtful. "Well, Mereflod, maybe you should ask Miss Aylwen if we can have our own garden. Maybe Delaynn will help us with it. Maybe I should ask Miss Bethberry if we're going to have lessons today." She ceased to speak her wandering thoughts full of 'maybe's', but did not cease to think them. She hoped they would have lessons that day, because she dearly loved lessons. Standing up, she put the remainder of her candy in her pocket and pattered over to Bethberry, tugging her sleeve. The woman looked down, and a kind light kindled in her eye as she surveyed the innocent little girl. "Miss Bethberry, are we to have lessons today?"

Mereflod had also slid off her chair and had gone to Aylwen, who had been speaking with that old man that had been talking with her uncle the day before. Now, however, Aylwen was not occupied and Mereflod did not have to fear of interrupting any conversation. "Aylwen," she said with complete and trusting confidence, "might Motan and I have a little garden to plant flowers in? Dela over there gave us these flowers - " she touched the flower in her hair " - and said they were out of her Papa's garden. Our Papa doesn't have a garden, but maybe we could have one. Would it be all right?"

Gomen was watching Dela with a friendly smile as the little girl tickled Drihten's toes, delighting in his hearty chuckles. He held the baby out to her. "Would you like to hold him, Dela?" he questioned.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine’s attention was wrenched from the Golden Hall of Meduseld by a sudden clamour that rose up the hill like a slow tide. Mae was already looking down from the base of the steps where they stood, her eyes bright with excitement. “Elves!” she said gaily, pointing toward the retinue of Fair Folk who came toward them, as though Hearpwine could miss them. There were about a dozen Elves, all of them mounted on the swift-footed horses of their kind. They were all of them dressed in the green and brown hues of the folk of Mirkwood – Eryn Lasgalen, as it was to be called now, Hearpwine reminded himself – and they bore upon their brows circlets of silver. They sang as they rode, and as is the way with Elvish music it seemed to whisper to the very hearts of those who heard it, wiping from before their eyes the sights of the waking world and giving rise to fair visions of green lands now long gone under the waters. Hearpwine gasped at the beauty of their singing, and he felt tears upon his face as the music cut him to his very soul.

Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O Light to us that wander here
Amid the world of woven trees!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee
In a far land beyond the Sea.

O stars that in the Sunless Year
With shining hand by her were sown,
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas.

Liornung could see how the music affected the younger man so he moved closer in order to lay a steadying hand on his shoulder. Hearpwine turned a face to him that was torn between joy and sorrow. Liornung smiled, knowing already what Hearpwine would say, but knowing as well that the younger man would have to say it or break his heart. “Such singing, my friend! I, who have heard the timeless voice of the Lady Galadriel, had thought that I would never be seized by such wonder again. But I was foolish to think so! Yes, this music is naught compared to the lay She sang for me beneath the moon, but it is still as the sound of running water compared to the beast-like roars of my harp!”

Liornung laughed. “Nay, do not doubt your skill my friend. You have not heard much Elvish music in your brief life. Like a man used only to water, you cannot be expected to withstand the sudden onslaught of wine!”

Hearpwine was about to respond when Mae commanded their attention once more. She was pointing into the group of Elves and crying out wildly, “Look! There’s a Dwarf! A Dwarf rides with the Elves!”

Liornung and Hearpwine stared at this strange sight, wondering what to make of it, but the rumour that passed through the crowd soon resolved their questions. “‘Tis Gimli and his companion Legolas, the Prince of Mirkwood” they heard from one quarter. “Nay,” replied a voice somewhere near at hand, “What are they doing here? I heard that they were to keep the day at Helm’s Deep.” “And that they did,” replied a third voice, “but now they are on their way to Minas Tirith to see the King and pay their respects. They are all great friends still you know…” The voices continued, but the three friends paid them no heed as they strained to catch a glimpse of the two heroes of the War. Gimli the Dwarf rode behind his friend Legolas on Arod, the horse who had borne them both through the horrors of the Paths of the Dead, and to Glory in the East. Hearpwine could, without thinking, recall at least a dozen of the songs that had been made in praise of them, and as they passed he could not help but cry out,

Swiftly the friends with oaths at their heels,
Pursued their foul foes across Rohan’s fields,
Never forsaking the friends that they loved,
They hunted the monsters who fled them like dogs!

At the sound of his clear voice rising above the cries of the crowd, the Prince Legolas turned to find the singer and smiled upon him as they passed. As the Elf’s eyes took in Hearpwine’s companions, he heard Mae sigh beside him in a way that made him feel, if he had to put a word to it, jealous.

The retinue stopped at the base of the short flight of stairs that led to the Hall, Gimli the Dwarf muttering to himself as he clambered down from Arod’s back, and they went up to the porch. There was a brief and undoubtedly very formal ceremony as they asked for admittance, but Hearpwine was too far to hear what they said. The doors swung open and they disappeared inside to be greeted by the clear ringing of trumpets and the delicate airs of harps played by skilful hands.

As the last member of the party disappeared and the door closed, the crowd that had gathered to watch the Heroes moved away to take in the other entertainment of the day. Mae was pulling on Hearpwine’s and Liornung’s hands insistently, reminding them of their promise that they should watch the contest of horsemanship. Liornung laughed and encouraged Mae to lead the way, but Hearpwine followed along behind in subdued manner. Who else from among the great would be in the Hall this day to hear his singing!

[ArwenBaggins]

Dela's mouth opened slightly. Gomen asked if I wanna hold da baby! She nodded politely and giggled as the boy put the young one in her own still-small hands. "He's so cute! I wish I had brothers an' sisters..." Gomen nodded slightly and Dela reluctantly gave the baby back after one last caress. "I gonna go see watcha sisters are doin', okay?" Without waiting an answer, she skipped over to where Mereflod was standing near Alwyn.

Just as Mereflod finished asking her question, Dela approached. "Good Mornin' Miss Alwyn," all sadness had left the little girl for at least a little while. Deciding that she didn't want to be left out of the conversation, Dela stood as straight as possible, flattened the creased hem of her skirt, and said in an airy tone, "My Daddy's garden is tended real nice- I go out ever'day and water all his pretty flowers for him," Dela paused for a moment and tears welled once more in her eyes. "'cause he can't do it no more."

She lowered her head and kicked her feet around. A tear dropped onto the dusty floor. Can't let'm think I'm a cry-baby! I'm a big girl! An' Daddy's here right now, anyways. He's not really gone. Straightening up again, Dela looked at Alwyn, and then at Mereflod, as if nothing was wrong. Maybe they would not catch what she said... or maybe they could help her not hurt inside anymore.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen looked down to Mereflod and little Dela, a smile lighting her face as she thought about the wonderful things the children could plant and grow. Bethberry would not mind, and even if she did Aylwen had already decided on a good spot for the children to plant their flowers.

"Of course you can have your own garden!" Mereflod and Dela cheered at Aylwen's decision, jumping up and down together. They stopped when they saw Aylwen's face, seeing that she had more to say. "There are a few conditions though. You must take care of your plants, and not make the responsibility become someone else's. Though, Dela has said that she waters her father's plants every day. Anyway, if you do let the plants die and do not take care of them, this fall or next spring you will have to dig up any weeds and clean up the plot I give you. Promise?"

"Yes, yes!" the two chorused, and Aylwen led them outside. Turning a corner, Aylwen showed the two children a little plot of slightly dried dirt on the east side of the Inn. Just across from it were the stables, though the plot was far enough away to prevent any horse-trampling.

"It is not very big, but if you prove you will take care of your current plants, soon you may have more dirt to plant in!" Aylwen said, smiling as the Mereflod and Dela examined the plot.

[Nurumaiel]

"Oh, Miss Aylwen, thank you so much!" Mereflod cried, gazing in rapture at the little plot of ground. And then an odd look came to her face and she shook her head sadly. "But I'm afraid I have no seeds to plant," she said.

Dela giggled a little. "I have some seeds back at home," she said. "When my Mamma and I go home today I'll get them and bring them back tomorrow, if she takes me here again." Mereflod's face glowed with delight and she thanked Dela, as well as Aylwen again, and then she turned back to the Inn, saying that she was going to fetch Motan and Gomen.

Inside the Inn Motan was still questioning Bethberry about lessons, and Gomen was sitting at the same table holding the baby. He expressed delight when he heard about their little plot of dirt for their garden, but politely denied their offer to go see it, telling them he had someone he had to meet. He gave them both a handful of candy and begged them to go out to the stables and make sure the twins were causing their papa no trouble.

"The twins are my brothers," Mereflod explained to Dela. "They're very wild and get into a lot of trouble. Ask your mamma if you can go out to the stables with me to see what they're doing. You can meet my papa, too, and my sister's horse called Mihtig."

Gomen eased himself closer to the old man called Ælle, gazing wistfully at him and wishing the man could see back. He had hoped the noise of the children talking would have drawn his attention, but Ælle had not seemed to pay any attention. He was finishing his breakfast now, obviously enjoying it by the look on his face. There was the other old man, Osric, but Gomen had already met him. He would talk to him later. Now he wanted to meet Ælle.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“I can make it seem bigger and better, if you wish it, lad,” A woman in a booth nearby called for the young man’s attention. With him was a young lady, and beside her was a man that didn’t look too much older than the boy that had spoken. The three companions looked to where the voice came from, and their brows furrowed when they saw who had spoken.

The woman looked far older than she had sounded, with bags beneath her black eyes and grey streaks flowing through her waves of black, curly hair. A colorful cloth pulled back the long black and grey locks, showing more of her golden-brown skin and keeping hair out of her mysterious black eyes. Several golden hoops hung from each ear, and jewels lit up her calloused hands and thin wrists. Her hunched, small body was covered with a red dress made of some strange fabric that could make cotton feel hard to the touch.

“I do not know what you mean,” the younger man spoke, his voice never quavering. The woman laughed.

“What is your name, boy?” she asked, her dark lips lifting into a smile.

“Hearpwine,” he replied, gaze stony and unwelcoming. “And yours, miss?”

“Jesia, I am called. Hearpwine, I can see in your eyes that there is much that you desire,” Jesia looked around the market and then back to Hearpwine and the girl. “What are your companion’s names?”

“This is Mae,” He motioned to the girl. “This is Liornung.”

“I see…” Jesia mused. She took Hearpwine’s hand, fiddling with his calloused fingers. Hearpwine tugged away at one point, but Jesia kept a firm grip on the young man’s hand. “Now, why are you wandering around Edoras, when you have a performance for the King to get to?”

“How did you know that I am performing for the King?” Hearpwine asked warily, and Liornung furrowed his brows. They looked ready to desert the old woman. Jesia smiled, letting Hearpwine have his hand free of her grasp.

“There are some things that your eyes cannot hide, and your nervousness is easily detected by one that knows what to look for.” Jesia explained. She continued quickly so as not to lose their attention. “Now, I might have something that could help you for your performance. Something for your throat and voice.”

“I do not think I know you well enough to trust you to give me something for my throat. I do not know you well enough to be certain that you will not give me poison or something that will make me croak like a toad before the King,” Hearpwine explained flatly.

“Well, then a good luck charm could not hurt!” Jesia growled, pulling something from behind her booth. When Jesia reached over her booth this time, though, she took Mae’s hand in her own, placing the object she had withdrawn in the palm of her hand and closing the girl’s fingers over the object. In Mae’s hand was a small silver circlet, meant for a wrist. Scribed into the innards of the bracelet was a blessing in a language unknown to young Hearpwine or Mae, but Jesia could not say whether Liornung could read it or not.

“Thank you, we better be going,” Hearpwine murmured, turning away from the booth and leading Mae and Liornung away. Jesia chuckled.

“Enjoy your competition…” Jesia whispered, watching as they left and then turning around in her small booth. On the other side of the booth stood a young boy, not yet ten and seven years of age. His skin glowed a dark bronze color, and his unruly black curls blew in the breeze as he tried to sell trinkets to other customers. When the boy was finished selling, Jesia called the boy.

“Asad, you should warm up and prepare for your song. You have some decent competition for the spot as bard. I could see it in his eyes…” Jesia warned the boy, who nodded respectively to his grandmother and left the booth to find a place to prepare.

Exeunt...