The White Horse Inn, Act III

[littlemanpoet]

Lianda smiled. "For that I owe you a drink."

Eodwine raised a hand. "You owe me no such thing! If I have another, I think I will drift off to sleep where I sit!"

Lianda laughed. A man was walking toward them. No, he was an Elf. Eodwine tried to make himself become more sober. He was in awe of Elves. He was friendly with a few, but he felt as if he watched them from a great distance - - below - - even if he sat right next to one.

"I-I..." the Elf seemed to be a little wary. "I would l-like to j-join you, if you don't mind?" He looked at them both. "By the way, my name is Umwë." He bowed quickly, and awaited their reply.

Eodwine stood. "Well met, Umwë. I am Eodwine."

"I am Lianda."

"She is a seeker of pleasant surprises!" Eodwine added helpfully.

"Master Eodwine! If you please, I would speak for myself."

"Most sorry I am for that unpleasant surprise." He turned to Umwë. "I hope my little ditty did not disturb you."

Umwë shook his head, and seemed a little more at ease. "Oh, n-no! I found it q-quite delightful!"

"Thank you very much! Would you like to share a drink with us?"

"But you just turned down my offer!" Lianda protested.

Eodwine nodded. "And so I did, for I did not want to be an offensive lout in your presence by falling asleep and snoring before you! But with our new friend, Umwë here, there is a chance that I may remain awake long enough for my weary legs to find their way to my rooms."

"You are saying that I am boring," Lianda said through narrowed eyes, winking at Umwë, who watched the minor row with increasing fascination.

"Oh, no! I am saying that I would become lost in the contemplation of your beauty, and contemplation always puts me to sleep!"

Umwë allowed a grin to spread on his lips, as counterpoint to the half smile on the face of Lianda, whose hands had found her lips.

Eodwine was sure as the moon that he needed to change the topic right quick before he got into real trouble. "Server! Three ales as soon as you can! The best you have!"

[Kransha]

As songs were sung, and words spoken, and acquaintances made in the White Horse Inn of Edoras, Sigurd son of Sigmund thought on his fate in the inn, and his newest assignment, the duties of which were still enigmatic to him.

The youth contemplated now, for many long moments as he began to pace aimlessly throughout the inn. He wondered now which of the two, Aylwen or Bethberry, had guessed his true motivation for seeking the post of night watchman. It was not a job he had desired so much, nor was it one that seemed to be catered to his talents in any ways. He had ulterior motives and other ideas of how his nights might be spent. True, he would not betray Aylwen’s trust, or Bethberry’s proposition, but he could not help it if he strayed from their watchful gaze just a bit. He was but a lad, after all, and young men should have the independence to follow their own devices (though his uncle had often told him otherwise). It was a good feeling, the one that stirred somewhat foolishly inside him: he was hot with lively vigor, and sought to leap about as a sudden revelation overwhelmed him. He was free of the rigorous coils of his uncle, to some degree, the bound with new ones that had not yet been fully clarified. Aimless, but merrier, he wandered, as a gentle song wafted into his ears as gentle spring mists after a night of rain.

From Osric, Sigurd had some freedom now, and this gave him a great comfort. He had been taught by many tutors in his life, all provided for by the funds Osric collected, and the dug wealth found in his elaborate warrior’s pension. Many had been stifled, conservative, and drawling, but a chosen few had been brisk, relaxed, and even enjoyable to be around. Both Aylwen and Bethberry seemed as if they were the latter, when categorized, which raised Sigurd’s expectations even further. Aylwen could not be a great deal older than himself, for she still looked to be a fair maid (Sigurd dared not ask her age forthwith, fearing that he might pry too far). Maercwen was, to be sure, younger, and fairer of face, but Sigurd did not wish to let himself get distracted before he had an objective to be distracted from, Smiling inward and out, Sigurd turned back toward the Common Room, chuckling gratuitously as the twins, Motan and Mereflod, pranced nimbly past him and out of the inn, probably to engage in some willy-nilly horticultural activities.

Not far from Sigurd, his uncle sat in the same old chair, which creaked in protest beneath the metallic bulk of the armor clad elder. Osric heard the song as well, the verse that Sigurd had heard. It was Eodwine’s. Osric lay back in his chair, scratching idly at the nested innards of his grayish beard, worming several wrinkled but strong fingers through the hairy muddle. He then put his warm palm to his brow and, with his stilled digits, massaged his temples as the rhythm of the poetic song rung in his ears, musical and sunny, a beam of light in his cobweb-encrusted head. He, like several others, was reminded fleetingly of his passed friend Hearpwine, who now frequented another court, in another land, and sung his songs for another patron, whose patronage was of far more value than Osric’s. Osric thought briefly on that, pondering the difference of status, and his memories of a powerful vision when he stood beneath the gilded rafters of Meduseld itself, gazing upon the heralds of the next generation, and withered emissaries of his own. The site of the last Rohirrim viziers and counselors, lingering like gathered dust in the Golden Hall, would’ve depressed him then, had he not been awed by the sights and sounds.

Curiously, though, Elves in general did not strike any great emotion into the aged Rohirrim. He did remember his awe, the maddening desire to learn and to hear of Elven-kind that had coursed through him after he heard Hearpwine speak and sing of the Golden Wood, and the Lady, the enchantress who dwelled there. If there was any Elf who held a meaning deeper than face or voice, it was Galadriel, who Osric had never met, nor seen, nor heard, nor even spoken of often. And yet, all that he heard captivated him. He could only imagine what she looked like. Perhaps she bore the same youthful prowess of the Lady Éowyn, combined with that regal, powerful air of Morwen Steelsheen, the grandmother of that same woman, who now sat on the wooded throne in Ithilien, a forest land - like, indeed, the Golden Wood itself – which seemed so very distant, in both geography and in spirit, from the rolling plains, grassy, green, and unstained by the barrenness of other lands, of the Riddermark. The old Rohirrim’s brow furrowed at these thoughts, as a painful weight was loaded again onto him. Sighing deeply, he eased himself forward, resting his arms on the stiff table, and peered forward, his eyes dimming as his mind drifted to thoughts of Elves, Woods, and White Ships.

[Umwë]

Lianda gave Eodwine a gloomy look and sat with a sullen expression on her face.

Umwë smiled a bit embarassed and sat down with Eodwine. Eodwine’s and Lianda’s little argue fortunately didn’t go so far, Eodwine interrupted it by ordering three ales for them.

“I don’t want to cause any trouble.” Umwë said and looked down in the wooden table.

“Don’t worry” Eodwine said and pounded him heartily in the back. “Now let us all enjoy the finest ale they can offer.”

Lianda nodded now, and seemed a lot more happy. Umwë smiled to her and took a sip the ale that the server had been coming with. It tasted delicious, he had never had any ale tasted like this.

“By Eru! This ale is the best I’ve ever tasted!” Umwë exclaimed with a quick laugther. He felt how his good mood came back, and he didn’t feel shy anymore.

“How long have you been around here?” Umwë suddenly asked and his head turned from Eodwine to Lianda constantly.

This is what living is for, he thought and felt relieved that Lianda didn’t seem so angry anymore. At least he thought so. Eodwine seemed to be in a good mood to as he swung his ale and sang a silly song that Umwë almost could understand.

[astarielle]

Lianda was laughing so hard inside she struggled to keep from falling off her stool onto the floor in a very unlady-like manner. Their little 'argument' amused her some what, probably more so than it should have done. Now joined by Umwë, Lianda tried her best not to let the ale have its way with her.

The mood in the Inn was somewhat more jovial and the sounds of conversation grew louder and the familiar clink of ale mugs more frequent.

“How long have you been around here?” Umwë suddenly asked and his head turned from Eodwine to Lianda constantly.

"Here in the Inn, or Edoras?" Lianda tried to recollect how long she had actually been in the Inn and exactly how many mugs of ale she had drunk, it had to be a lot of mugs as she could not get an answer to either. Lianda shrugged and had some more ale, prehaps that would enlighten her. "I can answer neither exactly as this fine ale has clouded my judgement, but i've been in Edoras less than a day.......i think...." Lianda continued.

Eodwine had obviously not heard the question as he was srepeating the same line to his ditty over and over again changing one or two words at a time. He had seemingly forgotten the next phrase, or was that just the ale showing through?

"May I ask you the same question? I'm pretty sure you'd be able to answer with a little more certainty!" asked Lianda smiling.

[littlemanpoet]

"I was just thinking of the moon," Eodwine said to his two drinking partners, and it has put me in mind of a song. I heard it from a fellow soldier, who insists that he had it from a halfling of the north. Quite an odd song really, and my memory may fail me. I goes like this."

"There is an inn, a merry ol' inn
'neath an ol' gray hill,
An' there they brew an ale so frothy
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one nigh' to have a swill.

"The ostler has a booted cat
that sings and combs its hair;
And up and down he squeaks and howls,
Now meowing high, now purring low,
now pawing at the chair."

"Tha' part never did make sensssse to meep!" Eodwine murmured out of the side of his mouth to Lianda, but ended on a hiccup.

"The lan'lord keeps a little hog
tha' 's mighty fond of artichokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
He cocks his ear at all the jests
and grunts until he smokes."

"A silly song, really. Who ever heard of a 'og smoking because of jokes? Or is it grunts until he chokes? Or sings to all the folks? Or snorts until he chokes?" Eodwine shrugged his shoulders and quaffed his ale.

Lianda was talking to Umwë, smiling. "May I ask you the same question? I'm pretty sure you'd be able to answer with a little more certainty!"

"Wha' ques'ion?" Eodwine asked.

"H-how long have you b-been here?" Umwë supplied.

"Jus' t'day! I came in wi' the dawn from the Gap of Rohan. An' you, Umdilay?"

"Umwë," the Elf corrected politely.

"Ssssorry."

[Alaksoron]

Korik came in from the stables and heard Eodwine's attempt at song, who was now quite drunk. Nevertheless, the song transported Korik to a time long past, when he had watched a hobbit singing that very song while standing atop a table at the Prancing Pony, in Bree. Korik made his way slowly to where Eodwine was sitting and sat down beside his friend, humming the tune to himself. It was quite a sight, the white-cloaked Elf beside the half-drunk man. Korik raise his lovely voice and sang the song, and everyone nearby stopped to hear the beautiful sound.

There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old gray hill,
and there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill.

The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays afive-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he runs his bow,
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle.

The landlord keeps a little dog
that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
He cocks an ear at all the jests
and laughs until he chokes.

They also keep a horned cow
as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her wave her tufted tail
and dance upon the green.

And O! the rows of silver dishes
and the store of silver spoons!
For Sunday there's a special pair,
and these they polish up with care
on Saturday afternoons.

The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,
and the cat began to wail;
a dish and a spoon on the table danced,
The cow in the garden madly pranced,
and the little dog chased his tail.

The Man in the Moon took another mug,
and then rolled beneath his chair;
and there he dozed and dreamed of ale,
Till in the sky the stars were pale,
and dawn was in the air.

Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:
'The white horses of the Moon,
They neigh and champ their silver bits;
But their master's been and drowned his wits,
and the Sun'll be rising soon!'

So the cat on his fiddle played hey-didle-diddle,
a jig that would rouse the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:
'It's after three!" He said.

They rolled the Man slowly up the hill,
and bundled him into the Moon,
While his horses galloped up in rear,
And the cow came capering like a deer,
and a dish ran up with the spoon.

Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;
the dog began to roar,
The cow and the horses stood on their heads;
The guests all bounded from their beds
and danced upon the floor.

With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!
the cow jumped over the Moon,
And the little dog laughed to see such fun,
And the Saturday dish went off at a run
with the silver Sunday spoon.

The round moon rolled behind the hill
as the Sun raised up her head.
She hardly believed her fiery eyes;
For though it was day, to her surprise
they all went back to bed!

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine quieted and listened to Korik sing. His head seemed to clear, and he listened with delight. When Korik finished, Eodwine joined the others in applause.

"Well sung, Korik, my friend!" Eodwine said. "And your words were much better than what I learned. Thanks for that! We must have it again!"

"Not this minute, Master Eodwine. Singing has made me thirsty, and I have not had as much to drink as you. So I would have one of these ales that are supposed to be the best in the land."