The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Kransha]

The interruptions were more than enough to sever Sigurd’s train of thought, as this conversation was losing interest in him, or vice versa, he wasn’t entirely sure. At the moment, he was perfectly content to chuckle smugly at the wildly moving old fellow who darted up to Bethberry, yelled something so rushed and so garbled that Sigurd caught none of the escaping words that had pried his mouth open, and rushed away in a fiery motion, though it looked very awkward from afar. Osric, though, was unimpressed and focused, while the sudden arrival of Eorcyn only caused him to shudder involuntarily. That day, in a brisker, colder season, under these very hanging banners that rippled, swaying gently in the breeze that wafted in through open windows, he’d made his manner of amends with the man, but never got over their verbal fallout. The sight of him, though, was just enough to snap him into readiness and, as one of the serving maids, or holder of some position Sigurd didn’t want, named Aerdre, arrived, he spoke abruptly.

“Will you excuse us, Bethberry?” He questioned, managing a polite smile. Bethberry was looking now at Aerdre, listening to what she had to say, but still nodded back at the two. “Yes, of course.” She murmured, obviously more engrossed in whatever Miss Aerdre was telling her. Ignoring that fact, and the perturbed air that now permeated the inn, Osric took a firm hold of Sigurd’s shoulder and spun him foolishly about until both men were hunched over with their backs to the rest of the discoursing folk. “Many thanks.” The old man shot over his shoulder before pulling Sigurd close and beginning to speak, in a voice whose volume was barely an octave above a whisper.

“Sigurd, it is a good offer,” he muttered quietly, reservedly, “and you would be hard-pressed to find another like it.” His eyes were aflame and his usually whitened pallor incendiary by either the excitement of the situation or massive frustration at it. He looked into Sigurd’s eyes as an uncle should, with vague concern for him, but Sigurd shot back with the gaze of a battle-weary serpent, too tired to do any harm, but willing to lash out if anything got too close. “Uncle, I know it is a good offer.” He snapped suddenly.

Osric stared at him, mouth agape again. Where did the willingness spring from? What was Sigurd, the lad who’d been so uncontrollable, so untamable, doing just letting this happen? Did he want truly to work at the Horse? Osric’s face, which was now colorless with a jaw flailing up and down as noiseless words ushered from above it, found a voice. “You…you do?”

“Yes, yes I do,” Sigurd shot back, with equal venom in him, “and I’m going to take it as soon as you let go of my shoulder.” Osric involuntarily yanked his complacent hand from where it had sat on Sigurd’s shoulder, unfurling around the boy’s back and coming to rest limply at his side. “Are you sure? There are other options, other paths that cannot be taken.” His voice, this whole time, was riddled with disbelief, his throat groping for more air as he felt he might choke on his own words, or have to swallow them too soon.

“You were the one most keenly set upon me being here, so do not try and discourage me now.” The boy replied harshly, again causing Osric to shrink away. He was getting older, descending into old age, and Sigurd was getting older, but ascending into an age where, in maturity and prowess, he could challenge his uncle. It was hard enough to act like a father figure, but in this circumstance, it seemed harder still. Reluctantly, Osric nodded, as if he was defeated somehow. “No…you’re right.”

And so, he turned again, looking brighter and happier, ready to reach out and grab this new quarry where it stood and waited. Osric turned with him, and the two of them looked upon those who had apparently congregated just behind them as the spoke so softly, whispering in their own conspiratorial way. Not paying attention to the finale of the currently escalating conversation, he intoned loudly, “Alright, Bethberry, my decision is made.” There was no response, for all those in the vicinity looked more befuddled, and paled by some ill happenstance which Sigurd and Osric knew not of. They looked, each individually, from Betberry, to Aerdre, to any and all others who had materialized rather unceremoniously in a counseling circle around them, which they’d both been assimilated into, unbeknownst to them. Osric, trying not to be rude, spoke up on the subject. “What? What is it?”

Aerdre responded first. “Hearpwine must depart for Ithilien this day…I think.” She added the final words as something of an afterthought, as if she knew, but wanted no one else to know that she knew. In truth, she seemed half-uncertain, but that uncertainty might be no more than hopefulness that she was uncertain. No matter what the case, the words she said caused Osric and Sigurd to lapse into the same uncomfortable silence that had enveloped everyone else.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Things had gone all to quickly from warm greetings with the children, preparing to speak with Bethberry, hasty questioning, and chaos had all too quickly taken over the Inn. The children had become lost to Aylwen in the hustle and bustle, and soon several of the patrons and employees of the Inn had gathered together to listen to what Aedre had to say, all of them hoping that the confusion would be cleared. From the split second explanations of more than one person, Aedre finally concluded that Hearpwine had been summoned to leave for Ithilien. Mae came from the kitchens, as dazed and confused as everyone else, if not more so. Eorcyn followed her out of the kitchens and to the big group. Everyone chattered and argued, making noise and giving headaches.

"Wait! Wait just a minute!" Aylwen cried, waving her hands for silence. Gradually everyone quieted, waiting for Aylwen to continue. "Thank you. Now...we need to get things straight for a moment. Most importantly, I suppose we need to find Hearpwine. This is true, Master Eorcyn? I have heard so much talk I am not certain if I have heard correctly the situation."

"Yes, yes! I need to find Hearpwine. He has been summoned to go with his Lord and Lady to Ithilien this very day," Eorcyn replied frantically, moving his hand to his forehead in despair.

"But he is out! He shall not return for several hours," Mae intervened. Aylwen sighed, and Eorcyn's face became paler by the minute. "I fear there are little means to go out and find two young men off on an afternoon ride."

"Master Eorcyn, may I enquire as to why Hearpwine was not informed of this departure?" Aylwen asked politely. On the outside she kept her face patient and her body language calm. Inwardly, Aylwen panicked at the state of chaos the White Horse had undergone.

[Nurumaiel]

When Eorcyn had run into the kitchen to say that Hearpwine would be leaving that day for Ithilien, Maercwen was at first puzzled, and then her eyes widened in horror and her heart seemed to stop. Her first thought was that Eorcyn must be mad, but as she looked into his eyes she knew he was entirely sane and that Hearpwine would indeed be leaving that day. She murmured some words of how she hoped he would be back soon to comply to the wishes of the Lord and Lady, and then sunk into the shadows when Aylwen took the situation in hand.

It was impossible that Hearpwine could be going away. When she reflected upon the months since he had arrived at the Inn, and the merry times they had had together, she could not imagine before her the Inn without Hearpwine. Who would sing them cheery songs as the sun set and the day darkened? Who would inspire Gomen to be a bard with every word of song that escaped him? Who, then, would delight the children with stories? And who would delight her? Maercwen felt she could not understand this, but she knew Hearpwine, who she had come to consider as a brother, would be leaving in a few hours. And she could not help but hope that he would not be found until the Lord and Lady returned to Ithilien after futile searches. It was selfish, she realized, for Hearpwine would be joyous over the occasion of his leaving and sorrowful if this chance were missed, but she hoped it all the same.

Leofan had wandered into the Inn to notify Bethberry that he would be absent for awhile as he attempted to find one more learned in horses than even he to set the broken leg of the horse, but when he heard Aylwen's questions and the answers of Eorcyn he took in immediately what was happening and motioned to Giefu, ordering him to ride and seek out a skilled horsemaster. He noticed the confused state the White Horse was in and sensed that Aylwen was disturbed at it. She hid it admirably, but he had seen the faint look in her eyes many times in the past fourteen years. He cleared his throat and spoke.

"Miss Aylwen, I would beg you to allow me to ride out on the stallion Mihtig to see if I can find Hearpwine," he said.

Aylwen seemed grateful for his offer, but doubtful still. "I thank you, Leofan," she said, "but as it has been pointed out, it would be no easy task to find them."

"That is why I choose Mihtig," said Leofan. "I have always found that horses have more common sense than is often said of them, but Mihtig is especially wise and sensible. Hearpwine's steed Hrothgar and my own Mihtig have become good friends in the past few months, and I would trust Mihtig to find Hrothgar in some way."

Aylwen still looked doubtful, but she nodded her assent. Leofan bowed slightly and then turned to address Maercwen and Aedre, though he spoke loud enough for all in the room to hear. "Lassies," said he, "there is still work to be done in the kitchen, I think. I would bid you worry no longer about Hearpwine. I will find him soon, and he will be brought here. In fact," he added with a smile, for he knew Hearpwine's dreams, "I do not believe I could keep him away." With another bow, he departed, and only a few minutes had passed before Mihtig with Leofan atop could be seen out the front window, cantering speedily in the direction that Hearpwine and Gomen had gone.

[Bêthberry]

It was unbelievable.

Bethberry stood in the Mead Hall, watching patrons wander at will into the kitchen, watching the kitchen staff wander into the Mead Hall in order to gossip, watching Eorcyn and Osric take offense with each other's company, watching her Stablemaster take off with the best horse and abandon his labours in the stable, watching Aylwen stare at events with horror at the flustered staff. All this over a romantic young singer who had seemingly charmed everyone in the Horse.

It was like, well, like... She struggled to find some kind of analogy. She tried various words out. Farcical. Risible. Ridiculous. Comical. Absurd. Silly. Hearpwine seemed to have made his fate and life everyone's concern. It was as if the entire Horse revolved around this young man and this young man only. It was quite extraordinary. Give a person a bit of attention, make him or her feel as if the sun shines for them alone, and they're hooked. Bethberry shook her head.

Well, not that that was particularly fair to the young minstrel. He was good hearted indeed. It was just amazing how everyone fell to his attentions. He was a pied piper, ready to grant every person his or her dreams.

That's it! Bethberry decided. Pied piper. She giggled to herself. She knew there was an old tale to be found in his character. Where would it all end, she wondered.

She bore him no grudges, of course, and rather liked him herself, but she did wish that others were not forgotten in all the uproar. What had happened to the old blind man? The sad mother with child? She looked over at Osric and Sigurd. Sigurd's face was red but his eyes were keen. He was watching the girls come and go into the kitchn.

Bethberry wondered if he felt such concern at Hearpwine's departure and, grinning to herself, decided not, most likely. Hmm. She would have to try to gain Aylwen's attentions somehow and return the conversation to the topic of his employment.

"Perhaps," she announced to every one assembled, "We should call out the cavalry in order to find our young minstrel."

The people in the Mead Hall stared at her, blinking their eyes. They weren't quite sure if she was joking or not. Bethberry rather liked it that way.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

"Master Eorcyn, may I enquire as to why Hearpwine was not informed of this departure?"

Aylwen’s question annoyed Eorcyn, for he was greatly distracted by his student's disappearance. “The decision to leave was only just made,” he snapped at her. “Early this morning a post-rider arrived from Ithilien and went immediately into council with the King, the Lord Faramir and the Lady Éowyn. They conferred for but a scant hour before the Lord and Lady emerged and ordered that their retinue make ready to leave with all possible speed. When it was found that Hearpwine was no longer at the Hall I was sent to fetch him.” He decided not to reveal that he had assured the nobles that his student was on an errand for him. He had not wanted to admit to the Lady Éowyn that Hearpwine had left to get sleep, for Eorcyn was afraid that the Lady might not approve of how hard he had been driving his pupil.

“But whatever is the matter in Ithilien?” demanded Oscric.

“Is it an orc attack?” asked Aedre, her terror palpable. “Have the monsters come out of Mordor again?”

Osric scowled both at Aedre and at Sigurd, whose face had taken on an expression of alarm at the thought of a marauding horde of orcs. “Nay, ‘tis not orcs. The last of their foul kind was driven from Mordor by the armies of Gondor and Rohan, and there is an eternal watch kept upon the Black Lands.”

“Perhaps its trolls. Or invading Haradrim,” ventured Sigurd.

It was Bêthberry who replied this time. “It is neither servant nor ally of the Nameless Enemy who threatens the fair lands of Ithilien,” she said. Those gathered about waited, expecting the woman to say more, for she seemed to have some idea of what was afoot, but she remained quiet. It was Aylwen who broke the silence, “So Hearpwine is to leave then.”

Eorcyn sighed, “Yes mistress, he is.”

It was then that Leofan entered and formulated his plan to seek out Hearpwine in the hills about Edoras, and while Eorcyn had little hope that the young man could be found, he was glad that at least some effort was being taken to find him. As soon as the stablemaster had departed, Eorcyn asked Aedre if she could bring him a small flagon of ale, and he slumped at Bêthberry’s side, awaiting the return of Hearpwine, or the inevitable summons from the Golden Hall – whichever came first.

[Bêthberry]

OOC

Writers of the Mark, in the interests of whetting your writing pleasure, I am pleased to announce that Rohan has a second Inn, The Vineyard Tavern

I would also like to welcome Imladris to the Rohan team as the Innkeeper for the new thread. Her enthusiasm and energy will make it a lively place I am sure.

This second Inn can give us a chance to write in a pace and style slightly different than what tends to happen at Inns based on LotR. Here's a chance for some Hobbit style humour! And dwarves and spiders and Men of Dale.

So, roll out the barrels and have some fun there. That's not an order--it's an invitation

Bêthberry

[Nurumaiel]

Gomen was delighted with the song and thrilled with the way they galloped swiftly over the ground, the scenery flying by in a blur and the wind seeming to increase as Hrothgar increased in speed. He reflected upon the words of the song and the tune; on how the words fell into rhyme; on how they ran together in an easy pace, flowing simply as Hrothgar, yet not becoming simple but grand, again as Hrothgar.

They rode on in silence after that. Hearpwine seemed to expect Gomen to speak, but the latter knew of nothing to say... not yet. He still thought on the song, trying to fix a firm image of it in his mind so he would remember. He knew it was rather foolish, for Hearpwine was offering to teach it to him, and would then tell him the words over and over again, and teach him in a way so he would remember. Yet still he strived to remember without hearing it again. Time seemed to press him.

And then Gomen spoke, saying, "It was a very good song, Hearpwine." He said nothing more then. He felt rather ashamed for having said it, for though it was certainly what courtesy required it could not be the most appropriate to say. A real student would never say so to his master. Yet the problem lied here. Gomen did know what a real student would say.

Another long silence fell. Hrothgar began to slow his pace to fall into a brisk, prancing trot, and Gomen grew even more uncomfortable. Now that the loud pounding of hoofs and gusts of winds hindered neither's hearing in the least, it seemed that he should say something to Hearpwine. And still he felt only utter confusion.

He turned his head slightly to see what lay behind them... grass growing here and there, mingled with summer wildflowers, and a path trampled through the grass where Hrothgar had passed. A little moving speck of black far off in the distance, and a rather wonderful tree that cast its shade upon them even now. Still Hearpwine waited for him to speak.

He realized that he had to say something, and, blushing, he spoke in a small timid voice. "It was a very good song, Hearpwine," he said again. Hearpwine nodded his thanks and waited some more. Gomen could not see his face, and it could not be said whether he would have been comforted by the small, playful smile that lingered about the young bard's mouth. "Er... Hearpwine... what do I do now?"