The White Horse Inn, Act III

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine leaped to his feet, sending his chair careening to the floor behind him. The lady Giedd was staring, dumbfounded, at her ale-sopped dress. "Lady, I do apologize for my part in your predicament. Is there anything I can do?"

She stammered, "Get Bêthberry."

"Of course." He turned to Bêthberry, who was sitting next to Ruthven, both of whom were shaking their heads (although Ruthven's frame was bouncing with laughter). "Lady Innkeeper, the Lady Giedd has asked for your assistance," he grinned in embarrassment, "for obvious reasons." He then turned his eyes, glowering, at the threesome who had caused the unfortunate chain of events. "'Tis no wonder women stay far from the three of you. You've yet to leave your boyhoods behind!"

"Now Master Eodwine," Garreth remonstrated, "we're most sorry for the plight the fair lady finds herself in, and 'tis true we had a part in it, but you've no business calling us mere boys!"

"Yes you are!" Harreld said loudly. "If I'm not here to watch you, there's no knowing what trouble you'll find for yourself! And worse, somehow you always manage to pull me into the soup with you! It ain't right." Harreld crossed his arms and frowned mightily.

Falco guffawed.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn glanced uncaringly at her clothing. Surprisingly, her breeches and blouse had entirely avoided the mess. She wiped a splash of something unidentifiable off of her hand and grinned.

"M'lady Giedd, I think I have some dry clothing that would fit you, at least until your own are no longer playing host to breakfast." She smiled the question.

"My apoligies, young miss, but I'm afraid I missed your name. Who might you be?" Saeryn froze, thinking quickly. Though her recollection was nearly what it had been before the fall, she most certainly preferred that her identity remain safely inconspicuous. Where was Degas when she needed his quick wits? He was the morning person, not her, and yet she'd seen him not even when she infiltrated his room in the early hours to borrow a shirt.

"My name is Saeryn." she replied with a friendly smile. "I have been travelling and this seemed as good a place as any to stop for a time."

"As good a place as any," Falco repeated. "Why you said that you'd been here with--" Saeryn glared with a look that could cut glass.

"I said that my brother had been, and that I'd had word of the Inn's quality through him. In my travels, I came across The White Horse, and decided to stay for awhile. Might I find you something dry, m'lady?"

[VanimaEdhel]

“I daresay you might,” Giedd said, a note of relief in her voice. On a normal day, Giedd would most likely have enjoyed the predicament of such a lady from afar. She probably would have laughed at the poor young woman, but been the one to offer the clothing, as this new girl – Saeryn, she said her name was – did. She looked down at her clothing again as she followed Saeryn back to her accommodations. Giedd had noticed the brief exchange between Saeryn and Falco, but decided not to press anything – it seemed as though all of these people had their secrets, and Giedd was not about to be the one to try to force them to relive their histories, as they did not seem to contain entirely pleasant recollections.

Giedd followed the girl into her room. The rooms in the White Horse were always pleasant, Giedd thought. Bêthberry certainly did a good job seeing that even those who had the least to contribute to secure a room had a comfortable experience. Giedd smiled again as she looked around. Saeryn soon handed Giedd some clean attire, then excusing herself to allow Giedd some privacy to change.

After she donned the dry clothing, Giedd paused, mildly wondering whether she dared request that Bêthberry take charge of cleaning the old frock. Giedd was perfectly capable of doing such things on her own, but it had been such an…odd day thus far. Nothing was normal – the least of which involved meeting this man Eodwine, and becoming so immersed in the conversations and arguments of complete strangers. Giedd had never found herself to be an interesting person – her most recent occupation before she took up that of a seamstress had been the care of her parents.

Giedd paused before surrendering Saeryn’s room back to the rightful occupant. She looked around once again at the room. Never had she stayed in a hotel, for she had never traveled outside of the walls of her own city. To be quite honest with herself, Giedd had never seen a reason to do so. Her brother Rynan came to visit her if he wished, and his company, along with that of his wife, was plenty.

Meanwhile, it seems that the people she had now taken up conversation with traveled regularly. Giedd wondered idly if now was not the time to venture out into the world? She was not young and had no knowledge of what lay outside Rohan, but these people seemed to have more adventure in their lives than she did. Certainly, adventure was not everything: look at how so many of them responded to personal questions with silence and sorrow! They all seemed to have dark pasts – darker than Giedd’s certainly. Did she really want to introduce such things into her life right now?

Giedd forced herself out of her reverie without answering the last question she posed for herself. After gathering her soiled clothing in her arms, she turned and left the room, where she found Saeryn awaiting her.

“Everything fits sufficiently?” Saeryn verified, smiling at Giedd.

“Yes. And thank you ever so much,” Giedd said, smiling back warmly. “I think I am also fully prepared to venture back out into the rowdiness, if it has not subsided.”

“I doubt it has,” Saeryn said, shrugging slightly, although she led the way back. “Unless Bêthberry has put her foot down.”

Giedd followed Saeryn back out to the waiting group. Though there seemed to now be a semblance of order, Giedd was not prepared to bet any of her earnings that it would last for long. She had a feeling that trouble followed many of the men involved in the soiling of her clothing – an innocent sort of trouble, more along the lines of mischief, but nonetheless, a trouble she would have to ready herself for if she planned on spending too much more time with them.

Bêthberry intercepted Giedd almost immediately, a rather grim look on her face, though she still demonstrated the greatest civility.

“I do apologize, Giedd,” she said. “I hope that, as the intrusion occurred here, you will allow me to see to it that these,” she indicated to Giedd’s folded clothes, “are sufficiently cleaned for you?”

“Thank you!” Giedd exclaimed, surprised despite her inner hope that this would be Bêthberry’s offer. “I mean, yes, that – that would be lovely, in fact.” She handed over the clothing to Bêthberry, who in turn handed them to a girl and gave her brief instructions.

Second to greet her was Eodwine. Initially, he greeted her with the deepest concern, but, upon finding her once again in good spirits, he smiled.

Giedd looked at this smile as she rejoined the table, where all of the ruffians simultaneously apologized and accused one another of causing the disturbance. Looking at Eodwine, Giedd decided that it would be worth the danger of reliving such a disaster to converse with such a smile. She found herself, in fact, smiling back at Eodwine while she contemplated this notion.

[Nerindel]

As the delicious smells of breakfast wafted through the open kitchen window of the white horse inn, a young girl who had stopped only to rest her wary cracked, bare feet, sat on the low wall to rear of the inn hungrily breathing in the mouth-watering smells. A decision she regretted instantly as her stomach tightened in pain, protesting at it’s long emptiness. It had been several days now since she had last managed to salvage something half edible and it was beginning to tell on her, the rags she wore now practically hung off her skinny malnourished frame that only the tatty brown shawl that she wrapped so tightly around herself seemed to keep them in place.

Fat wet tears streaked her dusty face as she looked longingly at the inn she was so tired and hungry but what little money she had once owned had long gone, but she could not go back not after … she swallowed hard not wishing to relive that night , the night she had been forced to leave her home and her country. Hugging tight the long heavy object hidden beneath her shawl she sobbed quietly wondering what her father if he where still alive would think of what she had done and what she had become.

The sound of a door opening and voices floating on the morning air startled her out of her shame and self pity she quickly hid behind the wall not wishing to be noticed and watch as someone she thought must be the inns cook carry a large pot of scrap food across the yard . ‘oh no a compost heap!’ she sighed disappointedly, watching as the woman heaped the contents of the pot onto the already rotting vegetation. She did not relishing the thought of raking through decomposed vegetables searching for something half edible. But as she watched and as luck would have it the woman returned across the yard with something tucked under her arm, bread by the looks of it and sure enough putting down the pot the woman from the inn began to tear off strips and throw them to the waiting birds, but before she could finish a call from within the inn disturbed her and putting down the bread she turned and re-entered the inn.

Seeing her chance the young girl scrambled over the wall, snatched up the bread and ran hoping to find somewhere quiet to enjoy this chance meal. But weakened with hunger and lack of sleep she only made it as far as the inn’s stables, However finding it quiet she carefully snuck inside and finding an empty stall at the far end of the row she collapsed on the straw and began eating hungrily at the day old bread.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn smiled to see the happy faces on Eodwine and Giedd. She excused herself politely and, taking a pair of apples, headed to the stables.

Surely my dearest is well cared for, but there's no thing better than to cosset her every so often. And after she guarded me after the fall...

Saeryn entered the stables silently to the calming sounds of horses. Though it was still quite early, these were mounts of Rohan, and as such, had the love of cantering through the tall grasses as a born trait. She wanted to take out her mare for a brisk morning run, but after the head injury... she fingered the bruise, all but disappeared, yet still tender. T'was not such a good idea. She entered the stall and ran her fingers along her horse's jaw line, caressing her silky fur. The mare butted her playfully, smelling the apples that Saeryn held hidden behind her back. She gave in easily and handed the mare one, finger combing imaginary snarls in her mane.

A quiet sound interrupted her.

"Hello?" she called. "Is there anybody in here?"

[littlemanpoet]

"I am glad to see that my offensive cup has done you no more damage than a stain soon gone," Eodwine greeted the lady Giedd with a smile as she returned from Saeryn's room in a new dress. The dress was such that a young woman might wear. Eodwine took note that though Giedd was doubtless ten, maybe even twenty years Saeryn's senior, the dress became her. An enchantment, after a fashion, for dress and wearer seemed one, so well it fit her. In fact, Eodwine saw that she was fair to look upon, which her own day-clothes had hidden.

Eodwine held out her chair for her and she sat, giving him another smile of thanks.

"What a pretty dress!" Gudryn exclaimed. Giedd thanked the girl.

Eodwine sat down and still smiling, looked at the lady Giedd. It was not as if he had been dead to the world, but he suddenly felt as if he had woken up, for here sitting near him was a woman who was the wife of no man, was not too young nor too old, and she was not ugly - far from it - and he had just been talking earlier of how he needed a mother for his foster-daughter, a wife for himself. And here was this woman. She looked his way and flushed at the attention, and looked at the table before her. Eodwine did not look away.

"Tell me, lady Giedd, where do you live in Edoras? May I hear of your family?"

"Aye, Lady," said Garreth loudly, "tell us somewhat about yourself!"

Eodwine glanced at Garreth briefly, then looked back at Giedd. Gudryn's eyes were wide, darting back and forth between the woman and her foster-father. Yes, she had woken to the same thought as had see, it seemed. He winked at her and was rewarded with a big grin. Gudryn then turned to the lady Giedd.

"Yes, Lady, please do tell us all about yourself!"

[VanimaEdhel]

Giedd felt all eyes fall upon her as Gudryn too insisted that she relate her history.

“Well,” she faltered at first, “There is not much to tell about myself. But I will tell what little there is.”

When she started speaking, Giedd found herself halting every few moments, as though afraid she would spoil the tale. A few minutes into her tale, however, she found her voice growing stronger – the rest of the table seemed to melt away. She found that her voice came louder if she looked at Gudryn and, to her surprise, at Eodwine during the fairly unexciting recount of her life until this point.

“I’ve lived my entire life here,” Giedd started, “I do have an older brother – Rynan. He is five years older than I. He has a wife and two children. I do not see him as much as I did years ago – he is busy with his new life. He lives in a town not too far from Edoras, but far enough that it is a hassle to visit regularly. The two of us were raised within the walls of this city. My father worked at odd jobs all his life. We weren’t rich, but I guess you could say we were comfortable enough – we certainly were never in want of food or shelter. My mother took good enough care of us, and we played with the other children in the town.

“Fifteen years ago, when I was only twenty-three, Rynan met his wife. She was the daughter of a neighbor of ours. After her parents died, she and Rynan decided to move out of the city. That left me alone with my parents. They started growing older, and they looked to me to take care of them. My father had a little put away, so I did not have to struggle to find serious work while I cared for them.

“I spent most of my time caring for my parents – up until five years ago. Hyldo, my mother, died then – it was of old age, and she went gracefully. However, that killed what was left of the spark in Frécne, my father. He lived for his wife. Three years ago, he too passed away. It was not particularly traumatizing,” she paused and scratched her nose absently, then resumed her story, “I had been expecting their deaths for a while. To me, they were, in fact, rather like corpses to care for. Though they avoided illness in old age, it did not treat them well.

“We buried Frécne next to Hyldo – Rynan came back into town with his wife and children. He stayed with me for a bit, but then he had to return to his own business. That was when I realized I would have to start caring for myself. I was able to stay in my parents’ house, so I did not have to look for an abode of my own.

“I suppose I kind of fell into sewing. I know I am no master at it, but it supplements what little I make caring for children while their mothers are away.”

“You care for children?” Garreth interrupted. He received a sharp look from Eodwine, and he quickly fell quiet.

“Yes – mothers pay me to watch their children while they go to market and the like,” Giedd smiled at Gudryn. The girl returned the smile brightly. “I guess I just spent so much of my life caring for others, that it’s kind of what I know how to do. It is nice, though, caring for children rather than the aged and dying. Watching people in the spring of their lives is far preferable to watching autumn move to winter. Both ages have their glory, but death still always has a melancholy ring to it.”

Giedd paused for a moment, frowning now. Her life really did seem like a pattern, caring for others.

“But you never married?” Giedd found herself shaken out of her reverie.

“No, I did not,” she said, still frowning slightly.

“Was it by choice?” Garreth obviously did not intend any rudeness in his curiosity – rather like a child in his frankness, Giedd thought. This led her to smile at him as well.

“Well, I always intended on marrying when I was younger. When my brother got married, I figured it would soon be my turn. I problem was that – I don’t know. I suppose I assumed that a husband would find me. Now I know it does not work that way. Not only because of my own experience, but because I have seen young ladies that have offered their services, helping care for children with me to make an extra bit of money for their families. They never really just ‘fell into marriage,’ the way I always assumed it would be. They actually went out looking – searching for a husband, and trying until they found one. I was just never that aggressive. Now, I suppose, it’s too late.

“The thought of being alone does not depress me, necessarily,” Giedd found herself continuing, “It would be nice to have someone, but, if that is not what is to be, then there are worse things in life. Though I may come home to an empty house at night, I am not strictly alone during the day. I enjoy caring for children, and I have friends in the mothers that leave their young ones with me. Many of the women,” she mused, “Were playmates of mine when we were younger.”

Giedd trailed off again, thinking about the women she knew that had families – sometimes children preparing to be married themselves – and the times they had when they were children. The table fell silent. Garreth looked like he might want to say something again, but seemed to be wary in pushing his luck with Eodwine.

“Well,” Giedd said, smiling. The silence had become unbearable to her. “That is my story. There is far less mystery to it than many – there are no portions of my life I am ashamed of, I regret to say, so I have no need to hide any part of it. Does that sate your curiosity, Gudryn, or is there more you desire to know? And I do not mean that as any sort of reprimand: I suppose, now that I am finished with my tale, I leave myself open to further questioning from anyone.” Giedd looked around the table at the men and especially Garreth, who still looked as though he was struggling with himself – wondering whether it was safe to comment.

[Nerindel]

The young girl ate hungrily ripping great chunks off with her teeth and barely chewing before swallowing the stale bread, which rasped at the back of her dry throat as it went down. But she did not care, she was just so grateful to be at last filling at least a little of the gapping hole that sat painfully in her stomach. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a fair sized wooden watering bucket nestled amongst the straw next to the stall door, barely able to contain herself she scrambled forwards on her hands and knees and peered over the rim. Unable to believe her luck she stared for a moment at her grimy reflection in the still clear water, then plunging her hands in the cold water she eagerly brought some up to her dry, cracked lips. The water had barely passed her lips when an enquiring voice startled her.

“Hello? Is there anybody in here?”

Æòelhild froze like a frightened deer wide eyed with fear. So eager had she been to stave her hunger and quench her thirst that she had not heard anyone enter the stable. what if it was the owner of the bread she had just eaten come to find what had become of if …..what if someone had seen her enter the stable…..or the stable mistress…or… or ? As these thoughts and more filled her mind she panicked, her dark frightened eyes desperately searching for a means of escape. However without moving and giving herself away she could not see anything passed the walls of the stall she had chosen to hide in.

Silently wishing she had had sense to chose a better hiding place, she simply closed her eyes and held her breath shrinking as small as she could hoping beyond hope that whoever it was would simply think they had imagined her rustlings or even better attribute it to one of the horses currently inhabiting the stables.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

At the sound of her voice, the sounds had all but disappeared. Saeryn stepped from Dawndancer's stall and looked toward the direction of the conspicuously absent noise.

Perhaps a horse? she thought. Or did I not hear mention of a litter of kittens?

She moved down the line of stalls, stopping to caress each horse and to look in the stall. If there were kittens in there, she would move them. Accidents happened with horses' hooves, and she did not desire to find the younglings too late.

She stroked the nose of a handsome gelding. His fur gleamed golden in the morning light. A slight rustle sounded from the stall opposite. Saeryn turned, crossing the aisle in a few short steps. A small girl knelt huddled in a corner. If will could make one invisible, she surely wouldn't have been there.

"Here little girl," said Saeryn softly. "what's wrong? I thought you were a kitten." She smiled, offering the second apple to the terrified child.

[Imladris]

I licked my pink nose as I contemplated the White Horse Inn. Long had it been since I had stayed here, and, if truth be revealed, I could not remember if it had changed much. We felines care little for remembering that which is nostalgic in nature -- we care about the breeze upon a warm sunny day, or recalling a particular patch of dirt which is perfect for a lovely roll (though I usually deferred such pleasure in the company of humans, for the dirt tends to tarnish my auriferous coat), and, of course, we care mostly about ourselves. But that is niether here nor there...

The first thing to do now that I had arrived was to groom away all signs of travel and once more allow my glorious fur to glisten and shine in the bright sun. (You will not imagine how thankful I am that I was not arrayed in a sable coat, which the sun tends to dull and fade. But with my own golden fur, the sun seems to compliment it instead of destroying its beauty.) Grooming one's self is pure pleasure...I still cannot fathom why some of my human acquaintances are reluctant to take baths (which is their coarse version of grooming).

Once done with this, I sauntered towards a building that seemed to be some sort of stable. I sniffed the air delicately...ah yes, there it was. The distinct emanation of horse. My lips curled in distaste, and I wrapped my slender golden tail about my paws. Horses are -- ah how to put it in a way which does not violate my dignity -- bereft of all sort of eloquence and grace. Of course, what could one expect with such clumsy lumps of wood that served as feet. Why, they even had to suffer the indignity of wearing shoes. I could not help but laugh at the thought. Of course there were some horses that were distinguished from their common fellows, such as the Mearas, but they did not count in my general assessment of horses in general.

I yawned mightily. I was weary with my travels, and a warm puddle of sunlight beckoned to me. I licked my paws, layed down right down in the middle of it and gave myself up to sleep.

[Nerindel]

As Æòelhild slowly uncurled herself to face the voice addressing her Saeryn stepped back slightly surprise, for this was no mere child as first appeared but a girl of nearly 15 yrs. However Æòelhild neither noticed the surprised look or the warm smile that followed, she was staring hungrily at the delicious red apple in the woman’s outstretched hand, debating whether or not to take it. However her stomach decided for her as it let out another pained rumble, quickly snatching the fruit before the owner had chance to changed her mind she lowered her eyes and mumbled a quick thanks before biting into it’s crisp red skin. Within seconds only the core of the apple remained , wiping her mouth with the back of her grimy hand Æòelhild again thanked the stranger.

“your quite welcome” the young woman smiled and this time Æòelhild looked up to see bright auburn curls framing the woman’s friendly face and to her relief the woman’s eyes mirrored her smile with no hidden suspicion but a slight gleam of curiosity.

“What are you doing in here?” the auburn haired woman asked softly.

“I…I..I only wanted to rest a while,” Æòelhild stammered defensively pulling back as the stranger came to kneel beside her.

“it’s ok , my name is Saeryn, what’s yours?” the young woman asked still smiling pleasantly.

“Æò…” she began encouraged by the woman’s friendly manner and genuine interest, but stopped remembering her plight and weighing the danger of her name being overheard by others who would carry it back to…. Oh she could not even bare to think of it. “Æòel, my name is Æòel,” she quickly replied with a weak uncertain smile of her own.

“Your not the stable master are you?” she asked nervously biting her lower lip as she regarded at the woman‘s almost masculine attire, “I wasn’t going to stay long, I swear I wasn’t, I am just so tired.” she quickly explained, choosing not to rely the tale of the stolen bread. “But I will go if you tell me too.” she said, again lowering her eyes to stare at the golden straw beneath her tired aching bones.

[Bêthberry]

Ruthven spoke up for Giedd.

"It's a fair life and not much different from that of many other women here. I'll tell you, Giedd, that I've heard from the mothers of the bairns you watch for that they are thankful for your services. It takes a village to raise young 'uns these days."

Giedd looked up at the rag lady, sitting nearby with Bethberry. She blushed at the woman's words.

Then the old woman turned to Garreth. "You're mighty interested in the lady, lad. Are you not much aware of how the town runs itself, of how the womenfolk organise their lives?" Ruthven knew she was cutting Eodwine off from a chance to speak more, but she thought he might in fact relish a little competition for the woman's attention, given the look she saw in his eye. She nudged Bethberry, who pretended to look away and, doing so, saw something out the window, through the stable door.

[littlemanpoet]

Ruthven said, "You're mighty interested in the lady, lad. Are you not much aware of how the town runs itself, of how the womenfolk organise their lives?"

Garreth put down his mug. "Well now that you speak of it, Harreld and me, we're both in our smithy when we're not in our beds or supping. The men what come to us for their needs don't much talk about what the womenfolk do. Seems they prefer to chew on their own cud 'stead of some other, if you take my meaning."

"Garreth," Falco Boffin said, making a face, "that was such a disgusting example that it turned my stomach. Now I don't know if I'll be able to handle second breakfast."

Garreth rolled his eyes at Falco and looked down his intellectual nose at him. "It was an ana- um an anal- um. What do you call them things?"

"Oh, go now," Harreld said, shoving his brother by the shoulder. "You never used such big words afore. What're you up to? Trying to impress the lady?" At that Harreld gave Giedd a wink.

Garreth slapped Harreld upside the head. "'Twas a figger of speech, you useless append- um - rat's tail!"

"Who're you calling a rat's tail? You ninny!" said Harreld.

"Why, I'll ninny you!" Garreth retorted.

"Men, men!" cried Eodwine, waving his hands to calm them. "There's a lady present!"

"And I would be observing it," cried Harreld, "if my twin here didn't stick both feet in his mouth every other minute!" Harreld's eyes were as fierce as his words, but his smirk gave him away.

"And you thought my figger o' speech was a problem! Both feet in my mouth," grumbled Garreth. Then he looked at Giedd square in the face. "You see, lady, it's this way. Harreld and me, we're not wed, an' we're halfway through our thirties. We need us a wife." Harreld held up two fingers in front of Garreth's face. "Well, right. Two wives. One for each of us, to be exact. So it is that whenever we see a lady here at the inn, whether young or not so young, we take notice."

"You should do less taking notice," said Falco drily, "and do more learning how to behave with a lady. Might take the edge off all that womanless smithying way of yours."

"There, you see?" Harreld pointed to Falco. "Isna' that just what I've been saying to you all along? But nooooo! You keep on saying if'n a lady won't take us as is, she ain't worth takin'. Well, mebbe a woman can't see through all the smith to see us as is. Ever think of that!"

Garreth stared at Harreld wide eyed. "Lor', man, you've gone an' found your tongue!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"The stable master?" Saeryn repeated, baffled. She caught the slight diversion of the girl's eyes and looked to her own attire. She laughed, smiling. "The breeches I wear to ride, or, if you'll believe it," she whispered carefully, trying to gain the girl's trust, "when I do not wish to be well-noticed. A girl in man's attire tends to give others food for thought, but as they may be uncomfortable thoughts, they are quickly forsaken. The shirt... I was recently hurt. I borrowed the shirt from my brother... it is looser and does not press against my shoulder."

The girl watched her, wide-eyed.

"I will not ask you to leave." Saeryn was kneeling before the girl. "Æòel, if you would not mind, I would like you to be my guest for breakfast. I am lonely amongst these brawny lads, and it seems that Eodwine, whose friendship and protection I treasure, has his thoughts elsewhere. I would appreciate the company. Surely you would wish to clean up. You could borrow some of my belongings until you have a chance to find your other clothes." she added tactfully, though perhaps foolishly so.

She looked carefully at the girl, sure that any quick movement would spook her more quickly than a deer in the twilight.

[Nerindel]

“Breakfast” Æòelhild nervously repeated, slightly surprised and a little weary of the woman’s offer. In her experience nothing was ever free and she could not help but wonder if a little company would be the only payment the woman would exact from her. But the smells of the inn still sat fresh in her mind, and she found herself thinking how nice it would be to eat something proper, something hot and to wash she thought looking down at her dirt covered hands and remembering the almost unrecognisable reflection in the water. She grimaced as her eyes fell on the tattered skirts that she had long ago given up trying to repair, then slowly she looked up at the woman’s warm eyes and expectant smile and nodded.

“I..I should like that very much, but I have no way to repay you and these are the only clothes that I own,” she replied sadly again lowering her eyes.

“That it is alright I think your company should be payment enough,” Saeryn answered softly offering a friendly hand to help her up. Æòelhild stared at it for a moment, then hesitantly putting out her own hand she let the woman help her to her feet.

But just as they turned to leave the stall Æòelhild stopped , “oh wait!” she exclaimed turning back and dropping to her knees in the straw. She searched for something, something she had put down as she ate the stale bread. Hastily pushing the straw away she lifted a long bulky object wrapped clumsily in what looked like an old rag, gold peeped through here and there where the material was worn or ripped but quickly she hid it under her shawl, hugging it almost lovingly as she rose to rejoined Saeryn.

“All I have left of my fathers!” she muttered in quick explanation, averting her eyes as she walked a few steps ahead to avoid any further questions on the matter.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As Saeryn led the girl to the Inn's back doors, she chatted with her quietly. "Do not worry about any payment, dear... All I ask for is what I did before... a small bit of company that isn't worried about marriage." She rolled her eyes in an obviously friendly way and continued. "As for the clothes... if you do not object, you may take something of mine. You may not believe me, but I daresay I have too many clothes for my own good. After all, you can only wear one dress at a time, and I rarely wear them at all." The girl's eyes widened, not sure if she should laugh. Saeryn gestured to her garb, the breeches knicked as she left her home, the blouse borrowed unknowingly from her brother.

"Come, this way." Saeryn had taken the quiet route intentionally, ignoring the loud voices from the great hall. The girls padded through the halls making as much noise as so many ghosts. They reached her door and she pushed it open, beckoning the girl forward. She motioned toward an already open bag with its contents slightly strewn laying upon her bed. A beautifully embroidered gown lay at the bottom, but Saeryn hoped the girl would not reach far enough to discover it. Though she was as welcome to wear that, should she choose, as anything else, it spoke of nobility and gold, and that was not particularly the introduction that Saeryn desired of herself. She would have to find a way to discreetly discard anything that spoke of her parentage. She scolded herself briefly for coming so very close again to a stranger discovering her identity. She much preferred the role of mysterious peasant girl than run-away noble.

"Anything you like from there. I'll wait for you outside."
She closed the door behind her and closed her eyes. Please, she thought, if the lass has the wit to learn my secrets, let her keep them close.

[Nerindel]

As the door closed behind her Æòelhild’s rich brown eyes swept around the modest room, finally returning to the very inviting looking bed upon which Saeryn’s possessions where partially strewn. She dare not touch anything for fear of soiling them with her dirt covered hands, so turning slightly she walked over to a rather ordinary looking dressing table upon which sat a very large and very flowery basin with matching pitcher. Thankfully the pitcher was still full of fresh clear water, So carefully putting down the object cradled under her shawl against the side of the dresser, she slowly lifted it. It felt unordinary heavy to her thin weak arms, but she managed to pour the water into the basin without much difficulty. Returning the pitcher she then unravelled herself from her shawl and removed what was left of her dress, so that she stood only in a very grey looking petticoat.

She washed hurriedly, the water cold against her pale white skin. Catching her reflection in a large dressing mirror to her right she gasped and stared in disbelief at the face looking back at her. Thin and drawn, pale like snow she barely believed it was her own reflection. Nothing like the vibrant young girl who had once skipped gaily through Gondor’s city streets, carefree and oblivious to the horrors in the world, a world she had once thought would never touch her. Believing Her father a captain of Gondor would always be there to keep her and Gondor safe from such evils. With a pained sigh at the memory of her father she purposely turned away and moved towards the bed and the assortment of clothes Saeryn had kindly said that she could choose from.

Remembering what Saeryn had said in the stables about her rather manly appearance and her own need to remain unnoticed Æòelhild rummaged though the garments and the bag looking to see if the woman owned a second pair of breeches that she could borrow. But alas none could be found only an assortment of simple every day dresses and skirts and a few brightly coloured blouses. Slightly disappointed Æòelhild let the bag slip from her hands to the floor, but as it did she thought she saw something, a glint of light. Reaching into the bottom of the bag she pulled out the most beautiful dress she had ever seen, light and soft like gossamer it almost shone in the sparse sunlight that filtered in through the open window. Holding it carefully against her body she looked again in the mirror it was beautiful and the fine gold embroidery told her that it belonged to someone of some importance or wealth. But again remembering Saeryn’s odd appearance she looked to the closed door with a puzzled frown. She did not look like any noble woman that she had ever met and she had met a fair few, vain creatures concerned with beauty and wealth and always looking to snare a wealthy husband or so her father had always described them. “Never allow yourself my little Æòel to fall into the deceitful webs of court with all it‘s trappings, always be yourself my little one” her eyes closed as she remembered her fathers words, his wide loving grin and the way he would playfully press her nose when giving good advice. Opening her eyes and shaking her head she turned back to the mirror. “I guess we all have our secrets” she sighed deciding not to dwell on how the woman came to have such a fine garment, instead opting with care to return it to the bottom of the bag where she found it. She wished to avoid any talk of nobility or court that could eventually lead to her dark secret being discovered.

Hearing the shifting of feet outside the door and realising how much time had already passed she picked out a clean petticoat and the first dress that came to hand and hurriedly dressed . It was a simple garment and plain to the eye which suited Æòelhild just fine, It fitted well and the rich brown of the fabric seemed to match her eyes beautifully. It felt good to be clean again and even though her hair was still a tangled mess Æòelhild did not care it had been nearly a year since she had left with nothing but the dress that now lay heaped on the floor, what little gold was in her pocket and her fathers swor…. Suddenly as if only remembering that she had put it down, she crossed the room to where she had set it down . A little of the wrapping had slipped to reveal a ornately engraved pommel at the centre of which sat a beautiful white stag, quickly she covered it, before calling in her small voice that she ready.

As the door opened and Saeryn walked in ,she stood nervously chewing on her lower lip and hugging her fathers sword in her arms. “well, what do you think?” she whispered hoping for the woman’s approval.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn smiled to see the girl clean and dressed. Her eyes carried a question and unwittingly, Saeryn answered it. "You look very pretty. The color becomes you." She glanced inside for a moment, eyes sweeping the room undetectably. She sighed with relief that her revealing gown was not in sight. The girl had not detected it. It had been foolish to allow a stranger, no matter how much she trusted the mysterious girl, to come so close to her. Though those who had been at the Inn when she arrived tired and hungry some days before had found out her story... or at least parts, she interrupted herself... it would not do to leave a clear and public trail for anyone to follow who would. Especially this half-forgotten brother that Degas insisted was of importance. Where was Degas anyhow?

Saeryn looked at the girl who stood patiently before her. Her fingers itched to style her hair but she was afraid that the suggestion, though entirely selfish, would be taken as an insult rather than a request. As children, Saeryn and Caeli never grew tired of elaborately braiding each other's tresses into styles that served no point or purpose besides looking pretty. It had been years since Saeryn had seen her only sister. Her eyes grew wet at the thought that she would never see her again. Ignoring her own emotions as well as she could, she spoke again.

"Would you like to join those barbarions" she smiled, indicating the jest, "in the hall? Or would you like to head to the kitchens? I dare say it would be quieter in the kitchens, but I'm sure it would be far more interesting that way." She cocked her head toward the great hall in a way entirely reminiscent of a dog who's just caught the quiet scratching gate of a cat on the winds. Æòelhild giggled and Saeryn smiled.

[Bêthberry]

The Innkeeper stood at the door, listening to murmur of conversation that the door muffled. She waited until the moment when she would not be interrupting the girls in any state that might embarass them and then placed her hand on the door.

Before Æòelhild could do more than giggle and answer Saeryn, the door to the room creaked open and in walked Bethberry, surprising both young girls.

"Saeryn, I caught sight of you two leaving the stable and was expecting to see you in the Great Hall, or at least be called to your service. That you would sneak behind my back, even with good intentions, is very disappointing to me.

Saeryn looked up at the woman and blushed, unaware of how her actions would have been seen.

"I am not a parent who objects to a child's wishes and who then incurs the child's deceitful misrepresentations. I am an Innkeeper who runs a decent, honest establishment--one which provides sanctuary when needed and fellowship and mirth and good company. How am I to protect my patrons if people think they can sneak into the rooms of my inn without my knowledge? "

Then, seeing the face of the strange young girl turn frightful, Bethberry spoke to her: "Be not afraid of my words to one who broke my trust. If you need food and shelter speak up honestly to me of your need. If you lack coin to pay, you can earn your food by helping out with some labour about the place. But do not play the shifty sneak with me, however much you might be fearful. The town has too many villains and briggands for me to look the other way. I must know who walks about my Inn."

"Well, Saeryn, what do you have to say for yourself?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

At the Innkeeper's reprimand, Saeryn's face grew hot. Quick tears sprang to her eyes at the insinuation that she had anything less than honorable intentions. All she had meant was to spare the hungry girl public attention that she may not be comfortable in...

Her mouth worked fruitlessly for a moment before the tears let loose. "Mistress Bethberry, I am so sorry. I did not mean for it to look... however it looked." Saeryn looked terrified, Æòelhild even more so. "I just... I found her... in the stable. And thought she might like to join me for breakfast. And then... I thought she might like something else to wear maybe... so I brought her to my room. I didn't mean to seem deceitful, ma'am." Her lower lip trembled as she tried to hastily blink away the tears that she had not known she had.

She felt like she had been caught in the midst of a terrible crime, and had not expected it in the least. All she wanted was for Bethberry to say that all was well, but how could she be sure all was when the Innkeeper who had so swiftly earned her respect was looking at her in such a disappointed way.

"I'm sorry ma'am... I... didn't think. Please don't think it was Æòel's fault... I invited her. If there is blame..." more tears leaked. After all, Saeryn was just a girl, though just barely... she was nearly alone in the world and was still very confused as to just where her place in it was. "Blame me."

[Bêthberry]

"My goodness, don't the tears flow! Quick, quick, take my hankie. Oh, wait, it will be drenched and fail to stop the torrent. Here, take up the bedsheets quickly before we all are drowned."

Despite herself, Saeryn's mouth turned up slightly with grins at this remark, which she desperately attempted to hide.

"I hadn't realised what girlish practices you maintained, despite your eagerness to wear those breeches, Saeryn," said Bethberry with a melodious timbre to her voice which considerably lightened the bathetic tone which Saeryn had struck. "If you wish to climb out of the gilded cage, leave the gilded behaviours behind as well, and think more seriously about the consequences of your behaviour."

Saeryn looked at Bethberry inquisitively, as if asking for clarification.

"You had implored us to harbour you safely from strangers and intruders yet here you have brought a stranger to your room yourself without anyone's knowledge. I'm sure your intentions were kindly and well meant--here Bethberry smiled at the forelorn younger girl who seemed rooted to the spot--but you need to think more circumspectly as well."

Saeryn said nothing, chestfallen as she was that her heroic ideals of her actions were dashed.

"Come now," said the Innkeeper, " is this small, wee girl Æòel? How do you do, young miss? And you were hiding in the stable? I'll warrent it wasn't warm enough for you, for you are shivering and look very pale and wan. I am Bethberry, the Innkeeper here at The White Horse."

She put out her hand to shake with Æòel, an action the young girl could barely believe. Never before had anyone respected her well enough to shake her hand, except for her father and family. It was a timid shake, yet the touch cleared the air of any hard feelings and fears.

"You have dressed yourself sensibly, however, and look more than presentable to any group of people, either here or at the Golden Hall."

Here, Æòel's eyes widened with fearful thought of powerful groups of people and fancy lords and ladies. Bethberry noted the sign and responded accordingly.

"Nay, be not so afraid. We are but common folk here, minding our own ways and seeking some bit of cheer at times to lighten our days. We turn no deserving soul away, unless it is by the eagerness of our young lads to speak of marriage."

Bethberry winked at Saeryn and then turned back to young Æòel.

"Come, I think the kitchen has finished serving the meal, but I'm sure I can find something for you, if you wish to a quiet spot by the warmth of the fire and away from prying eyes." The smile on the Innkeeper's face fell warmly upon Æòel's heart as she prepared to reply.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn was glad to see that Bethberry did not mean to turn the girl away, or to subject her to company she was uncomfortable with. She should have guessed as much, but the circumstances hadn't seemed to warrant any actions other than finding the girl clothes and getting her food. Any cost would have been attributed to Saeryn, and with luck, nobody would think enough to ask where the girl had come from. Surely it was frowned upon to hide in a stable... She hastily wiped her tears and scolded herself for her maidenly display. Tripping slightly over her own feet, she caught up with the Innkeeper and the girl. She caught Bethberry lightly by the arm and the older woman stopped, looking down slightly to meet her eyes.
"I'm very sorry, ma'am. I wasn't thinking. She seemed to offer no harm and I thought I could help her." She spoke more to the Innkeeper's chin than her eyes, but it was a brave effort when she had so unexpectedly suffered the woman's disappointment. "And..." she fell silent. Bethberry afforded her a kind gaze.

"And?" she prodded gently.

"Could... could Eodwine and Gudryn and the twins and... and everyone... and especially Degas... could they not know..." she paused again. "Could we not let them know I acted so... could we not tell them that I cried?"

At this, the woman and the girl both smiled. Saeryn looked up beseechingly.

"I just... when someone cries... everyone thinks they're weak. And it's bad enough to be alone," she spoke quickly, nervous. "but to be alone and perceived as unable... I know my brother is here somewhere... but I would much rather not be seen as... well... as a helpless girl." She finished lamely, sure that this request would be met with another rebuke. It seemed that nothing she said or did, no matter how noble or honorable she thought it, would sit right today.

[Bêthberry]

"Saeryn, my dear, if you wish others not to know, then be the first to act with discretion and I certainly will follow."

Saeryn looked quizzically at the Innkeeper, sniffing a bit and biting her lip and seemingly too all at sorts to be able to follow.

Bethberry smiled. "If you appear in the Great Hall, before all the gallant lads, with red-ringed eyes, tears teetering on your lashes, cheeks moist with lachrymose charm, then, you will give all away. " Bethberry picked up a corner of her apron and gently wiped away the residue of glistening emotion on Saeryn's cheek.

"There, slightly more in control of ourselves now."

For her part, Æòel seemed even more timorous for all this demonstration and pushed herself towards the wall, where a lantern hanging from a dark oak beam nearly beaned her.

"Lass," said Bethberry, "there are better ways to become enlightened than afixing onself to a lantern. Come, don't mind us, as we know one another, which you shall soon too. Let's get some warmth in your belly and colour in your cheek before those lads set their eyes upon you. Fearsome creatures they are, and you will need all your strength to combat them."

A giggle from Saeryn was enough to help Æòe understand how to take all this, and slowly a small, hesitant smile creased her face.

What were the lads to do, thought the Innkeeper, with another lass? Bethberry almost thought she caught sight of at least one of the twins--Garreth?-- wandering the hall, looking towards the kitchen wondering where Saeryn had gone. She herself also wondered how Eodwine was doing with Giedd and allowed herself a slow inward smile.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn smiled again, relieved to be back in Bethberry's good graces. She politely excused herself back into her room to clean herself up a bit. Splashing her face with water, she washed away the tear stains. Inspecting herself in a small mirror, she noted that her damp hair would be a dead give-away to an impromptu washing and pulled her tresses into a braid. A few stubborn pieces fell away into her face, but she had learned to live with such inconveniences. Her blouse wet, she exchanges that and her now horse-scented breeches for a clean gown. The dark grey fabric paled her cheeks, making her look remarkably more delicate than she had in mine. She pulled the damp shirt and the breeches back on and reappeared in the hall.

"Excuse me one more moment." she muttered, making her way to the next door. She would simply borrow another of Degas' shirts. Upon opening the door, she noted that he was not in the room. Where in the world was he? He tended to rise earlier than she, but she had not seen hide nor hair of him since last night. Disregarding the thought, she raided his bags, pulling a crimson blouse from the depths. She laced it swiftly and left the previously borrowed white one on his bed. It would dry before he knew it.

Slipping back into the hall way, Saeryn looked as refreshed as though she'd never lost control of her emotions. "Shall we eat?" she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye. "All of this activity has made me rather hungry."

[littlemanpoet]

"Ah, there you are, lassy!" cried Garreth. Saeryn had just entered the hall. He bent at the waist to bring his eyes down to the level of the girls. "And who might this pretty young friend of yours be, Saeryn lass?"

"Garreth," said Bêthberry with authority, "since you haven't reserved a room as well as board, I'll not have you dallying about in my hallways. Back to the Common room with you! You can greet the lasses in the better light out there."

"But-" Garreth started.

"Get!" Bêthberry pointed back down the hall.

"Yes'm." Garreth turned, shamefaced, and loped back down the hallway to the common room.

"He and his twin brother Harreld are smiths of Edoras. They eat here often, seeing as many lasses have been known to come and go. Those two are ready to marry the next thing in a skirt that comes through a door. So be on your guard, my sweets."

Saeryn winked to Bêthberry as Æòel nodded her head slowly and earnestly.

[Nerindel]

Even as Saeryn and the innkeeper gently lead her towards the inns kitchens she could not help but look back over her shoulder to the door the young man had hastily retreated through, his easily smile and knavish glint had remained her of another, a wane smile pursed her lips as she was reminded of the dark haired lad who’s boyish laughter and mischievous wink almost always meant trouble even if it wasn’t his intent. But all to quickly the memories of sneaking cookies as they passed through the kitchens to the yard and balancing half full water buckets above stable doors and climbing the bell tower to watch their latest victim enjoy a cold shower vanished and where replaced with the last time she had seen her dearest friend. He was no longer a boy but a young man and apprentice in his fathers accounting business, he had not recognised her at first
thinking her but only a servant of the house until she had spoken. Three years had passed since her uncle had taken over and fired her fathers staff of which His father had been part, Sadly she recalled his anger at the mistreatment she had received all these years an anger that had forced him to confronted her uncle vowing to take her away and promising to make sure he paid for what he had done. But that was to be her last memory of him as after that things went dreadfully wrong and she would likely never see him again…how could she even face him after what she had done! She blinked back the tears fearing they would lead to questions she was not yet willing to answer and turned back to the two women as they pushed open the kitchen door and lead her through.

“I could swear that I left it outside,” a young woman was saying as she shook her head bemusedly, a guilty uneasiness struck Æòelhild as she recognised the woman as the one who had been feeding the birds outside when she had first encountered the inn.

“Well you do insist on feeding those damned ungrateful squawking pests, it was only a matter of time before the greedy things started taking without your leave !” another woman some what older and elbow deep in soapy bubbles answered shaking her head. “ I’m telling you if I catch em at my pies while they’re cooling they’ll feel the bristle end o’ my brush I tell ye they will!” she went on grabbing a nearby broom with a dripping hand and shaking it at the open window.

“Well if you don’t drown us all first, perhaps well get to those pies?” the younger woman laughed lifting a mop and cleaning up the older woman’s soapy trail.

“Soap and feathers a messy combination I’ll warrant!” Bethberry grinned causing both women to stop and turn .

“Ah miz Bethberry what can we do you for, your not here to clean pots I’ll warrant and miz Saeryn I don’t recall seeing you at breakfast this morning and ….ah who is this young thing!” the older woman asked circling Æòelhild appraising her up and down. “Oh my miz Bethberry, who is this child she looks like she hasn’t eaten in months all skin and bones I’m surprised she can support what little weight she has!” the woman remarked astounded.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I ate, ma'am," said Saeryn quietly, and nearly ever truthful, "but not much, and early. I was not at breakfast though."

She could still feel the soft bandages, already lighter and looser than before, to remind her of the accident. What on earth had spooked her fearless mare into throwing her? She could not remember. The things that alluded her thought bore into her, dancing on the edges of clarity and driving her impatient with wonder. She loved to know things, and to have jostled memories of her own life from her head was not something she liked much. She had avoided breakfast to sit alone and try to remember more before spending time with men who seemed to know more of her lineage than she. She could remember quite clearly vowing to keep it as secret as were possible, to give the impression of a common lass out for adventure, and yet they seemed to know more than she would have liked. A runaway noble with what family left trailing behind like so many uninvited ducklings. Such thoughts wore her out and made her hungry.

"And yes," she added as an after thought. "I met up with this friend of mine outside a bit ago when I was visiting my mare. I thought it would be nice to share breakfast. Is there anything left?" As was before said, Saeryn was nearly always truthful, and most nearly always for a good cause. Surely in time the girl could be considered a friend, if she stayed, so that was not bending the truth much. She qualified her lie by telling herself that she befriended all in need. After all... there was no need to tell the world that the poor girl had been hiding in the stables. If she wanted the Inn to know, she would tell them. A small lie was rather better than betraying a secret that was not yours.

"Bethberry, would you like to join us?"

[littlemanpoet]

While Garreth is gone up the hallway...

"Found your tongue," grumbled Harreld to Garreth's departing back, "I never lost it, brother o' mine, 'tisn't pointed enough to stick in edgewise between all your blathering." He glanced at the Lady Giedd. "Your pardon, please," he said, nodding, "for my grumbling words, lady. 'Tis just that compared to my brother, a jester would seem shy."

Eodwine smiled. "Harreld, I deem you a good man, and deserving of a good wife. Maybe you need to spend more of your time away from your brother, for the good of both of you."

Harreld looked at Eodwine as if struck with an unheard of notion; then he tilted his head. "Why have I never thought of that?"

"Twins will twine in thought and deed, as the saying goes," said Falco.

"Aye," Harreld replied, "'tis true enough what you say, Master Falco. I think I will do as you suggest, Eodwine, my friend, starting right this moment. I've finished breaking my fast at any rate. Tell my brother that he will find me at the smithy, for I mean to work ahead and have some extra time come evening." He stood and bowed to the lady. "Good day to you." Harreld left the inn.

"Well there's a wonder and no mistake," said Falco. "Let's see what Garreth thinks, eh?"

Eodwine laughed, then turned to Gudryn. "What would you say, my daughter, to giving the good lady company on the way back to her fair home, if she does not mind?"

Gudryn nodded her head with delight. "I would like that!"

Both daughter and father looked to Giedd to see what she would say to his offer.

[VanimaEdhel]

Giedd felt Gudryn and Eodwine’s eyes turn in her direction. She looked briefly out the window – at the sun growing steadily higher in the heavens. Giedd still had not rinsed her cup – and it should soon be time for her to engage in her other chores. At the same time, Giedd wished she would not have to leave this man and the dear girl. His words made it evident that some sort of parting was to some degree necessary, however. She paused a moment before voicing her opinion.

“Well,” she began, “You have made the morning more enjoyable than many I have endured as of late, if I may speak candidly. But, I should be getting back to my house. And,” she added, “I would very much delight in having both of you accompany me back.”

A voice in the back of Giedd’s head whispered, mentioning how very small her house was, and how little it appeared to be from the outside, cozy though it was once one entered the door. Giedd pushed that voice even farther back, until it was unintelligible, reminding herself what a kind man this Eodwine was. He would not take offense at her modest living style. It struck Giedd as rather odd that she would even think to care what he thought of her abode. Much of the town – man, woman and child – knew exactly where to find Giedd should her presence be necessary.

Trying to disguise her thoughts, Giedd rose and put on what she hoped was a sincere smile. Gudryn returned with the smile that only a child – no matter how jaded the child – can give. Giedd felt her heart lift again within her chest.

Graciously, the trio bid Falco farewell and moved towards the door of the Inn. Once out in the fresh air, Giedd once again examined the position of the sun.

“It is not so late as I thought,” she said with surprise. “The sun indicated that it was later when we were inside the Inn.”

“That is good, then,” Eodwine said, smiling, “We don’t have to run through the streets to get you home.”

Giedd laughed a little, imagining the three of them sprinting through the streets, upending carts and knocking into people. As the day had worn on a bit since she entered the Inn, there were more people in the avenues now – a few even greeted Giedd as they walked by and looked curiously at her escorts. Giedd smiled and wondered if Eodwine would notice the extra attention he was getting as he walked with her. It was so rare that a man would walk with Giedd, she realized, that it must certainly be a novelty to the people of the town. If Giedd were ever accompanied by another on her walks, it was almost certainly a woman in most cases, especially if they had a child with them. She kept one eye on Eodwine, waiting to see if he questioned or even mentioned his curious treatment.

[Nerindel]

Æòelhild stared uncomfortably at her feet as deep dark careworn eyes studied her malnourished appearance, she almost let out a sigh of relief as Saeryn’s voice suddenly drew the woman’s attention away. The woman’s general assessment had been more right than she cared to admit infact if it hadn’t been for the stale bread she had denied the birds and the apple Saeryn had kindly offered her in the stables she probably would not be able to hold herself up especially with the weight of her fathers sword adding to her own. She hugged the weapon tightly as she looked gratefully over in the young woman direction, in her mind she knew she would have to find some way to thank her properly but at the moment she could not think how. It was then that she noticed the loose bandaging around the young woman’s head, “A riding accident” Bethberry whispered next to her as if reading her thoughts. “nothing too serious” the innkeeper smiled assuredly as her mild curiosity turned to sudden concern, “A little memory loss, but nothing that should not return with time” the woman went on her eyes now looking past her to the young red head, giving Æòelhild the impression that she was not entirely sure in that assessment, but she did not press that matter after all it was not her place to interfere in the affairs of others.

Just then the young woman turned and asked the innkeeper if she would be joining them, the innkeeper inclined her head thoughtfully, “I have already eaten but another cup of tea would not go amiss” she winked in cooks direction. Then she directed then to a large wooden table where they sat as the cook and her assistant busied themselves preparing them a warm breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. As they waited the conversation remained general with talk of the good weather and Bethberry’s inquiry as to the well-being of Saeryn’s mare after the fright of the previous day, Æòelhild had relaxed considerable as the younger woman assured the innkeeper that both she and the mare were none the worse for their fright.

“You really should keep the bandages tight to avoid swelling,” she offered almost without thinking as the cook returned placing warmed plates before them. All three woman looked at her, surprised that she would know such things. Æòelhild then realised that she had perhaps offered to much, but also knowing that it was too late to recant she pushed back her chair, and placing her fathers cloth wrapped sword against the table she rose and came toward the young woman, indicating to the loose bandages awaiting her consent. Saeryn looked toward Bethberry who nodded with mild curiosity in her eyes. Gentle unwinding the binding Æòelhild was please to smell the distinct smell of the appropriate salve whoever had tended Saeryn was an accomplished healer and Æòelhild could see that the wound was healing well, so she rewrapped the bandages tightly and securely to help the swelling recede.

“You are a healer?” Saeryn asked as she felt the bindings and watched Æoelhild return to her seat, “oh no, I am not as gifted as the healer who tended your injury” she admitted looking at both women, “but during the war it was required that all who could helped in the tending of the wounded.” at this admission she looked down at her plate and lifting her fork she moved it idly through the steamy eggs, remembering how bad that time had seemed to her, but it was nothing to what came after.

“So you are from Gondor?” the innkeeper queried as she lifted her tea and blew before sipping gingerly. Æòelhild’s eyes again shot up unable to believe that she had just done it again, letting virtually complete strangers know that she was from Gondor was the one thing she had meant not to do, but she guessed that they would find out eventually, her dark hair and eyes standing her apart from most of the inhabitance of these lands. Slowly she nodded that it was so, unaware of Saeryns uncomfortable shift as she lifted a heap of warmed eggs to her mouth. It was such a deliciously welcomed change from wild berries and scavenged scraps that she quickly took a second mouthful and then a third, before sipping at the tea that the cook poured for her.

“Edoras is such a long way from Gondor?” Saeryn pressed cautiously, Æòelhild looked up nodding “yes a very long way” she answered vaguely remembering the blisters on her feet and trying to avoid further questions, but the innkeeper was curious and pressed her further. “So what brings you to Edoras?” she asked.

She looked at the two woman thoughtfully for a moment before answering, “Well to be honest Edoras was not my destination,” she was not really sure where she had intended to go all that she knew was that she had had to get away, but necessity and the lack of coin and food had forced her into the city. “I thought to look for work and shelter for a time, if I could” she answered truthfully, though the former had proved difficult due to her dishevelled appearance, “but no one wants to take on someone who looks like they might drop at any moment.” she answered sadly.

“I am sorry that I snuck into the stable I didn’t mean any harm I didn’t think anyone would mind if I shut my eyes for just a few moments,” again she looked down at her now almost empty plate, “Please do not fault Saeryn not many people would be so kind as she towards …well someone like me.” Æòelhild was painfully aware of what she had become she was no longer the young Gondorian noble child, but and orphan a waif with no home or family to call her own an outlaw in her own lands. Suddenly she was no longer hungry and it occurred to her that just being here she may have brought trouble upon the innkeeper and the young woman who had befriended her, though for months she had heard or seen nothing of her pursuers, perhaps they had given up or lost her trail. Though she would regret bringing any trouble to the two women she had no choice she needed to rest and find time to raise funds then she would move on again and if she was careful what the young woman and the innkeeper did not know could not harm them. She lapsed into silence as she sipped thoughtfully at her tea.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine & Gudryn walk with Giedd

It was a pleasant, sunny day, reaching towards noon. The streets of Edoras were busy with carters, sellers of wares, errand boys, and shoppers inspecting the wares of the sellers. The lady Giedd seemed pleased with her company, but even more pleased was Gudryn, who while holding Eodwine's right hand in her left, had eyes only for the woman who walked on her right.

Gudryn acted every bit the child, though she was in her early teens; but this did not surprise Eodwine, considering what the poor waif had been through in the northeast of Rohan. So it was no surprise when Gudryn asked the lady if she would hold her right hand. Giedd's brow rose in mild surprise, and after a brief glance at Eodwine, she smiled and allowed her hand to be taken by the girl. And so they threesome traipsed through the town market, gathering glances and stares from all sides.

"'Twould seem that we three are a sight to see, the way the townsfolk gift us with their glances!" said Eodwine.

"I think," Giedd said, "they are not used to seeing me-" she paused and blushed a little "-like this."

"Like what?" asked Gudryn while Eodwine smiled to himself; he guessed what Giedd had meant, considering her earlier words.

"Oh, I am often in the company of women and children," Giedd said, as if that was all that needed to be said.

Gudryn frowned a moment, then looked at Eodwine, then she broke out in a grin, and skipping between the man and the woman said, "I can't wait to see your house!"

Falco & Garreth back at the White Horse

Falco was busy with second breakfast when Garreth walked back into the Common room. The smith stopped short and looked wide-eyed at the table where Falco ate alone.

"Where is everybody?" asked the smith. Falco chewed thoroughly while Garreth loped to the table and sat down in the chair next to him, causing the floorboards beneath his chair to positively squeak in protest. "Well?"

Falco swallowed. "Harreld went back to the smithy to get a headstart on the day's work."

"He what!" Falco eyed Garreth as he chewed on his next bite of honied hardroll. "Why'd he go and do that?"

"Maybe 'cause it's what he does for a living? And maybe you could stand to yourself?"

Garreth cocked his head at Falco. "Now that's no way to speak to a friend. Leastways, I was considering you a friend."

"And you may still, but that won't stop me from sayin' what needs to be said. Go and get some of your smithying done, my friend, or Harreld will beat you back here and have all the elitgible young ladies to himself."

Garreth's eyes widened. "So that's the way of it!" He slapped his thigh. "Now that makes more sense. I'll be off now, and work faster than Harreld has ever seen, and be back afore he's even halfway done!" Garreth marched to the front door of the Inn and slammed it to behind him.

Falco chuckled to himself and shook his head, swigging down some coffee. He didn't see Ruthven behind him, watching him with a sideways smile, shaking her head.

[littlemanpoet]

"This is my home." Giedd gestured to the front door, which was decorated winningly across the top with horses in full gallop. Most appropriate, thought Eodwine. "Would you like to come inside?"

"Eodwine!" came an urgent voice from the direction Meduseld, amid the clatter of hoofs. "Master Eodwine!"

Eodwine turned. "Beorctild! Good greetings! What news!"

The man was as big as a bear, his hair yellow as straw. His horse was big enough to hold him, blowing heated air from its nostrils. "The King summons you, Eodwine! A message must go to Gondor today!"

"My thanks, Beorctild. Please tell the king I shall come to him within the hour."

Beorctild bowed and cantered back up the hill.

Eodwine turned to Giedd. "I fear that I cannot accept your invitation at this time."

"If you are called away," said Giedd, "maybe Gudryn would like to stay with me a while?"

"My thanks, lady. Or you could ride with me, Gudryn," Eodwine replied, "'tis your choice to make. Do what you wish, my daughter."

[VanimaEdhel]

Gudryn looked from Giedd to Eodwine, and Giedd could see the girl’s mind working. She looked from Giedd to Eodwine. Giedd could sense that Gudryn was torn between getting to know this new woman or staying with her father.

Selfishly, Giedd found herself hoping that the girl would stay. Giedd always enjoyed doing her chores more if she had someone to talk to. Chores, she discovered, were lonely – even when her feeble parents were alive, it was a comfort to have them to at least speak to while she bustled around the house. Even in the stages when they could not respond, just having another body watching her was nice.

Guedryn bit her bottom lip as she seemed to make up her mind. It was clear she knew time was vital and that she could not waste her father’s time pondering what she wanted to do.

“I will stay with Giedd,” she said in a firm voice. “I suppose if you cannot accept her invitation, it would be good of me to.”

Eodwine nodded without asking for further explanation. “I will return as soon as it is possible, daughter,” he said. After a brief farewell and a few words of apology to Giedd, Eodwine took his leave.

“Will you now come in?” Giedd asked Gudryn after a pause.

“I would like that,” the girl’s voice held a little apprehension in it.

As she opened the door and allowed Gudryn to enter before her, Giedd added, “Though I am sure you would like to be with your father as much as possible, I am glad that at this juncture you chose to spend time with me. I would most certainly enjoy your company, Gudryn.”

The girl managed a small smile up at Giedd. Giedd hoped the girl was not already regretting her decision to remain with a woman she had just met today.

“I hope you will pardon the slightly cluttered state of things,” Giedd apologized, “I was going to tidy up a bit this afternoon. You do not mind, I hope?”

“Would you like me to assist you?” Gudryn asked, looking at the tiny bits of chores lying here and there around the house.

“Well, you can assist me by staying and speaking with me,” Giedd said, smiling as she went over to the small pile of dishes that still needed washing. At this Gudryn did grin, and, displaying a bit more comfort with her situation, went and sat on a chair while Giedd began doing her tasks.

[Bêthberry]

The morn wore on as the sun passed overhead and then on westwards whence men could never follow. Bethberry had spent a pleasing time with the new young waif Æòelhild and Særyn, dawdling over tea while they ate, away from the eyes of the hungry smiths. Sometimes it strengthened one to stay away from such gazes and Bethberry suspected this young one might have reasons to avoid direction recognition. Yet, out of the most innocent of comments stories could be drawn out and Bethberry, while being discrete, had surmised something of the girl's situation. Shortly, though, she had excused herself to attend to business. And as she walked the halls of the White Horse, she mused.

How strange, she thought, to find so many homeless girls astray on the land. What was it that was forcing them away from their homes and families? What drew them to Edoras? People here had no greater use for women than any where else in Rohan; there were no more jobs to be had in the Courts than in any of the other towns and villages that dotted the land. Yet still they came. Was it shelter or desperation?

Finding no easy answer, the Innkeeper turned to the business of running the Inn. She inquired of the maids if anything was needed for the laundry and if anything were missing from any rooms. It was amazing how often towels went astray. You'd think that there was a market somewhere for linen marked with an embroidered white horse the way they went missing. Still, Bethberry knew that was one way travellers came to hear of The White Horse. Paying customers were always needed given the way destitute characters seemed to be calling upon the Horse's good graces.

Later in the afternoon Bethberry attended to her most pleasant task, the designing of a new banner to hang in the rafters in the Meadhall. It was one of the few ways she was able to practice her love of creativity and beauty and she looked forward to the rare opportunity. This banner was to mark the ancient history of the fall of the east and the rise of the Dark Riders, The Shadow of the West it was called. It was a story told in whispers in the days before the War of the Ring, for not much had been known, but since Aragorn had taken the throne in Gondor some people were speaking more openly and directly about events in their history. It was a change Bethberry respected and admired, for those who did not know their past could not be prepared to face their future, she felt.

The Innkeeper became lost in thought as she contemplated the kind of design and the colours for the banner. The day flowed on into late afternoon and soon the many patrons would return for dinner and conviviality....

[littlemanpoet]

There was a knock on Giedd's door. It was late afternoon; Eodwine had left Gudryn with him two hours ago.

"Who could that be?" Giedd asked, to which Gudryn shrugged. Giedd set her dust cloth on the nearest flat surface and went to the door. Opening it, she found Eodwine standing before her, a strange look in his eye. "Good greeting, Master Eodwine. Were you not off to Gondor? Or do you want your daughter with you after all?"

Eodwine shook his head mutely, then licking his seemingly dry lips, said, "Beorctild had it wrong. There was no message to Gondor. May I come in?"

Giedd stepped out of the doorway and let Eodwine pass, her brow creasing. Something was amiss, for the man said less than he meant; that much was clear for his shoulders were hunched and his head lowered in a way that seemed most out of character.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Aye," he nodded, sitting next to Gudryn, "that would be well."

Giedd busied herself with pouring water from her jug into an extra tankard, as Gudryn watched her foster father with signs of fear and worry growing on her face. Giedd handed Eodwine the tankard and broke the silence.

"Is something amiss?"

Eodwine dropped the tankard from his lips and regarded the woman Giedd. "The King has no further need of me for his messages. I am released from my duties."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine approached the door to the White Horse Inn as the sun hid behind the golden hall of the King, casting long shadows over the town of Edoras; dusk was still a way off. He opened the door.

The fragrance of the evening meal wafted out the door and Eodwine breathed in deeply, a smile coming to his unusually dour face. He stepped into the homey light and warmth of the Inn, his stomach growling.

There was Master Falco Boffin at table, just having begun his first supper, Eodwine supposed. The hobbit turned his head to see who entered, and his jaw dropped. He closed it and swallowed.

"Eodwine! You here! Word was you were off on an errand with the King, and without me! What happened?"

Eodwine did not reply, but kept a no-tale face on, walking to the table where Falco was, and sat down beside him.

"That looks like an excellent repast. Is there more of it?"

Falco eyed him with a dubious air. "Not telling, eh?"

"Supper and a good long drink first. Where is everybody?"

"Everybody who?"

"Ruthven. Bethberry. Saeryn. Garreth. Harreld. For example."

"Haven't seen the smith brothers. Saeryn's about ... somewhere. Ruthven I haven't seen in a couple hours. Bethberry's in and out. Where's Gudryn?"

"I left her with Giedd for the evening. I'll pick her up before nightfall."

"Leaving her with the strange woman? Mighty trusting, eh?"

"She's well known in Edoras."

"Is that the all of it, Master Eodwine of the Gap?" Falco was grinning mischievously.

"'Tis enough for now. I'm ready for some supper, watching you fill your mouth with that fare. I wonder me if I should make a foray to the kitchen."

"Do that and you may lose an ear, the way I saw Bethberry handle Garreth over lunch."

"Aye. Maybe I'll wait." Eodwine settled back in his chair while Falco wiped the last bit of stew with a chunk of brown bread.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I am here." said Saeryn quietly, joining Falco and Eodwine from behind. "It's been that sort of a quiet day... I'm not certain where anybody else is, though I believe that my young friend from this morning is visiting with Mistress Bethberry near the fire."

She sat beside Eodwine, smiling as he made room for her. She sipped her warm tea, enjoying the warmth that spread through her fingers as she held the cup and breathed softly the scent of the brew. The weather had turned during the day, and no manner of layered clothing seemed to take the chill out of the air. Even the crackling fire only warmed her so much. Cold... she thought... I hate being cold. Beneath her breeches, Saeryn wore thick white hose, with soft kid boots laced up her lower legs, with her breeches tucked neatly into the tops. She wore a thin cotten shirt beneath another borrowed blouse from her brother's stores. She still had no idea where he'd gone, but she was not worried. Degas had left all of his things... he would return. Over all, she wore a fitted scarlet vest, laced tight. Were they not too cumbersome, she'd have considered gloves. She even wore her long auburn curls falling loosly past her shoulders, counting on it's extra warmth on the back of her neck.

"And of course there is more supper, Eodwine. If you like, I'll bring you some so you need not get up again."

[littlemanpoet]

"That would be most kind of you, Lady Saeryn," answered Eodwine. "You have found clothing I see for the change in the weather. It suits you well."

"Thank you," Saeryn smiled, getting up and moving toward the kitchen, and through the door.

"That one," mumbled Falco through the last bite of his first supper, "will not want for suitors."

Eodwine grinned. "Aye." He stretched luxuriously, his spirits lifted by the thought that his appetite was soon to be sated.

Moments later Saeryn returned with a well stocked tray, with food for more than one. Eodwine set to, and Falco went straight into his second supper.

"What have you been up to this afternoon, Saeryn?" asked Eodwine.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"What I've been up to?" repeated Saeryn, returning to a comfortable tailor's seat on the bench and cupping her small hands around her tea. She thought for a moment, comfortably lazing in the late afternoon light as her companions dug into the meal she had brought them. The shadows were beginning to fall heavily and the lamps had not yet been lit. Her cheeks glowed pink in the flickering firelight.

"After you and your daughter took leave with the lady Giedd, I took my own leave of Æòel, who perhaps you've not seen?" Saeryn queried, noting Eodwine's gentle shake of his head, "and Bethberry, giving them a time for talk. Perhaps Æòel will accept my invitation to stay as my guest. Gudryn is a dove, but I would never dream to impose on your family, nor on Mistress Bethberry for female companionship. I left the lass to decide. Should she accept, she knows where I can be found.

"After that, I searched my dear brother's room for signs of his whereabouts, like any good inquisative sister would." Saeryn winked at the men, showing her jest. "Being entirely unable to find Degas, I looked out the window, considering a ride. Yes, I know." she interrupted Eodwine's start. "I know I'm still bandaged and shouldn't be on a horse until my bruises are less tender... But then I noted the clouds rolling across the fields outside the city and decided that I'd rather not get caught out of doors when the rain began. Only the rain threatened all afternoon without a hint of real wet. The wind picked up as the warmth disappeared... but no rain."

She sighed wistfully, dreaming of the wind in her hair as she rode bareback across the open plains, heavy droplets staining her mare's brown coat with spots of black... No time soon, she reprimanded herself.

"And so," she continued, watching her audience for signs of boredom and seeing none, "I decided that it would be the perfect day for random tasks. So I cloistered myself in my room, mended clothes, put away my things, and frittered a few hours away doing small tasks. By mid-afternoon, I assure you, I was bored and my muscles were stiff and aching with the cold and disuse... so I went to the kitchens where it is so wonderfully warm... and I begged leave to help make supper. I chopped the very carrots and potatoes in that stew, if you'll believe me."

She smiled, content as a child satisfactorily completing her chores. Eodwine did not miss the nearly hidden question in her eyes and hid a smile.

"And the vegetables are most excellent, m'dear. The perfect size, and cooked tenderly as any master could do." She almost managed to hide her delight at the compliment and he almost managed to hide his delight at the child that still showed through her grown up facade. She mistook his smile, and probed some herself.

"And your day, Master Eodwine? I heard rumours of an errand for the King?"

[littlemanpoet]

"They turned out to be untrue," said Eodwine matter of factly. "The messenger seems to have guessed wrong."

"But you were summoned?" Falco asked. "That's the word hereabouts."

"Yes, I was summoned." Eodwine took a drink while Saeryn and Falco waited for him to continue.

Eodwine glanced at each of them, their eyes big with anticipation waiting for him to spill his news. He was not teasing, actually. No, far from it, though it must seem that way to him. Rather, he was sore put to it to find words to carry his thought.

"The King has ended my service to him," he said finally with a sigh. Now their eyes were big as saucers.

"Whatever for?" Falco managed, finding his voice.

"Seems I've been set out to pasture, as it were." Eodwine looked at Saeryn. "Well?" he grinned. "You're obviously full of a question waiting to be asked. Out with it."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Well..." began Saeryn, considering for a moment the polite art of dancing around a subject gracefully and deciding quickly that it would be an unwarranted waste of time. Perhaps another conversation would be better for a duel of words, but he'd said 'out with it', and that called for little hesitation. She laughed as she realized that she'd been hesitating, and spoke up. "You left with the lady Giedd," she intoned with a smile and a gentle teasing lilt to her voice. "Mayhap you can foresee the question without the inconvenience of bothering to state it?"

Saeryn palmed a soft roll, still warm, and began to tear it into small pieces, tossing them in the air in a most unlady-like fashion and catching them in her mouth. She leaned back as far as she could before wincing back into a better posture and glanced at Eodwine, waiting for response. She was not certain why Falco did not rise to the occasion, but she attached his mysterious silence to the ferver with which he devoured his second dinner. Finishing her first roll, she snaked her hand between his mug and bowl, confiscating one of his. She met his glare with a wide grin.

"Come now, Master Eodwine," she prodded the laughing man. "A man free of duty to the crown, with a new daughter and out for the day with a lovely lass of the town? Whyever did you return to us?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine regarded Saeryn with amusement. "Right to the point indeed," he murmured, then quaffed his ale.

"I wager," said Falco, finding a spare moment between hobbit-sized mouthfuls (which are big) of food, "you've forgotten what to do, or to say to the lass. If I were you-"

"You are not me, friend Falco Buffoon, and therefore I will have my say in the matter. Little you know." He cuffed the hobbit on the pate in good smithly fashion.

"Ack! I'm no Garreth, arunning off at the mouth to be treated so!"

"Eat your second supper, hobbit." Eodwine turned back to Saeryn, whose smirk was at whose expense he was not quite sure. "The Lady Giedd is no lass, but a woman of good standing among the folk of Edoras. I will admit that she is no hardship upon the eye. But truth be told, I was at the Golden Hall the better part of the afternoon and only arrived at the lady's house not two hours ago." Falco had swallowed, and had begun to silently imitate Eodwine behind his back, much to the amusement of Saeryn, who did an admirable job of keeping a straight face.
"I told her my news," Eodwine continued, "and left Gudryn with her for now. What words passed between us I am not free to say, out of due honor to the lady. Any good Ealderman would say no different. So you shall have to ask her yourself, maybe later this evening if she comes this way with Gudryn. But I have not seen your brother Degas in a long while. What has become of him?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Well answered." Saeryn responded, not a hint of disappointment evident. "Of Degas..." she sighed and rolled her eyes. "He's just that way. He values his freedom, my brother, I'll give him that. I'm sure he had many good reasons for leaving before dawn without a word even to me, all of which he'll surely explain abashed when I tell him he ought to when he gets back... But he'll certainly return... he's left all of his things.

"Falco, now that you've finished your own meal, what say you to a tale? How did your day transpire?" She smiled inwardly to see his antics cut short as Eodwine's gaze turned to him. He glanced at his outstretched hand and pulled it back quickly as though it had not just been snaking silently through the air to about an inch from Eodwine's head. She laughed quietly, more of a smile, and looked at him expectantly.

[Bêthberry]

"A tale, by my word, a tale," enjoined a voice, neither sharp nor shallow, and Eodwine, Saeryn and Falco looked up behind them to see Ruthven and Bethberry approach.

"You're late," observed Falco, "we've all supped and then some. I won't be tellin' any tales to those on empty stomachs."

A ripple of laughter burst out from the Innkeeper while the older woman cackled. "And will ye be thinkin' we won't be applaudin' your efforts, our stomachs bigger than our fancies?" inguired Ruthven, who was always ready for a little give and take--although sometimes it was take and give--with the halfling.

"Pfft, as if I worried over what the audience thinks," intoned Falco solemnly.

"It's all appetite, as you will," replied Ruthven, "and sometimes words make a savoury sauce to coat the roasted bird."

"No one's being roasted here," interrupted Falco.

"Now, now," interjected Eodwine. "Let's save the flaming desserts until after our dinners have settled a bit. Please, Bethberry, Ruthven, won't you join our table?"

Bethberry nodded appreciatively at Eodwine's fine manners. She wondered why he was here and not away on his errand for the king, but she was too well mannered to ask directly what caused the change in his plans. The woman Giedd came to mind, but she thought better of asking directly about her.

"We were afraid a hungry halfling such as yourself wouldn't leave anything for us, so we ate else," commented Ruthven.

"Ruthven, for shame! We thought nothing of it and don't you start in so soon after bread has been broken with your teasing ways." Bethberry turned towards Saeryn.

"We had dinner at Ruthven's with the young girl Æòelhild, who for some reason is too shy and skittish to want to be seen by others. She's returned with us now, but gone to the back room to sort some linen, for she was anxious, she said, to earn her keep."

"What! Ruthven a cook? And did she serve rewarmed mutton with day old bread?" asked Falco, his eyes wide with wonder and just a glint of merriment in them.

Saeryn could not hold back at this possibility. "Falco, you are simply attempting to change the subject. It was a tale I asked for, not a roast. Please now, regale us."

Bethberry and Ruthven pulled two chairs up to the large table and poured themselves some water.

"I second that request," said Bethberry. "Play on, McTeller, please," she remarked to the halfling, noting at the same time the slight furrow in Eodwine's brow.

[littlemanpoet]

"Well then," said Falco, pushing out his chest like a robin to make room for all he had eaten. "While Eodwine was busy getting stripped of his job by the King-"

"Leave me out of your tale, if you don't mind, Mr. Boffin," said Eodwine, noticing Bethberry's surprised look.

"Anyways, to pass the afternoon I took a walk down south and east a ways till I found myself outside the town. The weather was fine as it hadn't snapped a chill yet, and the clouds rode high up in the sky.

"I comes to this big old sycamore and what do I see but an toothless old man kicking at the trunk with his boots, and scolding and yammering at it like it had done wrong by him.

"Well, I stopped and watched this go on for a few moments, and lo and behold, it turns out this man's telling the tree it has no business following him about, and would it leave him in peace. I figured he had to be daft, and continued on my way.

"I walked for a while longer and came as far as a stream from the mountains that went under a small bridge, and had a drink and took a wee bit of a snooze. When I woke up it looked like the sun had moved not more than an hour, and I turned around and headed back to town.

"Well, sooner than I expected, here's this old man even angrier than before, still kicking at the tree, yelling at it not to follow him. Well, I couldn't stand it any longer, so I asked him why he was yelling at the tree.

"He gave me a queer look and said, 'If'n anybody could tell why I'm mad it should be you! Don't you think I remember you comin' by and stoppin' to watch me yell at this here tree?'

"'I hadn't thought you'd noticed,' I said.

"'I did,' he announced, 'only that was back there under that lee of the mountain, and you're watchin' me here instead.'

"Sure enough, I looked at where he was pointing, and I'd give away my best Old Toby if I couldn't see that he was right. I said, 'So this here tree's a-followin' you?'

"'That it is,' he said, and resumed kicking and yelling. That's my tale. There's a sycamore what follows this old man around, and I saw him and it just east of town."

Falco took a long pull at his ale mug.

[Bêthberry]

Apparently Bethberry was unaccountably overtaken by an extreme urge to sneeze. She put her head down slightly and was seen to rub her nose back and forth energetically, hoping all the while that no one saw the upturn of her mouth as she fought desperately the urge to grin. It wouldn't do for her to be seen laughing at the little halfling's story, certainly not with the unexpected news Falco had divulged.

"It's a good thing the old man set you to rights about where you were, otherwise perhaps you might not have found your way back," was all the comment she could reliably manage to say.

"Well, 'twasn't like I was lost," proclaimed Falco somewhat indignantly. How could that woman be so dense? he thought to himself. She's missed the main part of my story. He shook his head and took another long sip of his tankard.

Bethberry watched Eodwine's face and decided to hold any questions until he felt like making matters known to her. "Shall we have, in honour of Master Falco's adventure this afternoon, another round of ale?" Voices rose in agreement. "On me, of course," she said.

"A sycamore was it?" asked Ruthven, lighting her own pipe and taking a long draw on it. "You're sure it was a sycamore? You've seen many of them in this here Shire of yours?"

Falco nodded with a great slow nod of his head, as if to say, Of course woman!

Ruthven blew one, two, three rings of smoke in the air. "So tell us about it, this walking tree. Is its bark worse than its walk?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Well ain't you the funny one," Falco retorted to Ruthven. "I didn't actually see it walk, truth be told."

"Falco," Eodwine said, his chin in his hand, resting on an elbow, "there's a whole line of sycamores, or some kind of tree, along the road that way."

"Maybe so and maybe not. I saw what I saw."

"Did you just make that up?" Saeryn asked.

"Of course not!" Falco replied indignantly, and pulled out his pipe. "Have you a light, Ruthven?"

[Bêthberry]

At Falco's request, Bethberry casually looked at Ruthven and gave her a wink, although whether any of the other members at the table saw it was unclear. Ruthven pulled out her tinder tools.

A small tin box, first of all, with a tight lid in which she kept her touchwood. Then a small horn, not fancy with carvings nor engravings nor silver work nor gold, but large enough to hold flint and steel.

"You can avail yourself of the kindling in the great fire, Falco, if you wish," interjected Bethberry, pouring a tankard of ale for Eodwine from the large pitcher which the scullery maid had brought. She paused, setting the pitcher down on the table and hesitating for a moment to let the halfling contemplate his choices. Then she offerred Eodwine the tankard and turned to Saeryn. "Some also for you, lass?" she asked? A nod signified yes and Bethberry turned with solemn concentration to the pouring of another tankard.

Falco eyed the horn and tinder box. For all their simplicity, they suggested beauty and function, an economy of purpose married with art.

"Did you see the sycamore trees closely, Falco?" Ruthven queried him. "Where the trunks hollow, large?" She held her tinder box in her hand lightly, while toying with the horn.

[littlemanpoet]

"I didn't look close at the trees," Falco returned, "just close enough to see their type. I know a sycamore when I sees one." Falco eyed the flint and steel in Ruthven's hands and decided he'd like to see her work it. "I'd like to test Ruthven's skill with the tinder, if she don't mind."

"Ho, now!" Ruthven grinned. "Don't think I can manage it, is that it?"

"Proof's in the pudding," Falco yawned.

"The King has indeed set me out to pasture, as it were, Bethberry," Eodwine said. All heads turned to him. "Seems I must find something else to do." He pulled another swig from his ale, eyeing Bethberry.

[Bêthberry]

Ruthven grinned at Falco's challenge.

"Here's your proof," she puffed as she sent several smoke rings in Falco's direction. "You're needing me to show you how, is that it, halfling?"

For her part, Bethberry moved her chair slightly away from the duelling pipes, the smoke of which always made her eyes sore. She too took a long sip of her ale and looked pensive at Eodwine's news. The table was silent for a bit. Then she addressed the former messenger.

"The King can be mercurial sometimes, yet such news is not all to the ill, is it Eodwine? There might well be good reason for a family man to be settling down now in town, no?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

T'was a good thing that Saeryn had eaten well, or the pint that she consumed all-together too rapidly for prudence would have hit her hard. She'd not imbibed alcohol in quite a long time, preferring juice or tea, and had entirely forgotten the affect that it had on her, and had forgotten that if she did perchance to drink, she ought to do it slowly, and certainly not to quench thirst as she would with water or juice. She smiled benignly, listening to the friendly bickering of Ruthven and Falco. Eodwine looked at her with a bit of worry, noting the lower level of drink in her mug. Intentional, he thought, or naive of the effects on a lass of her size? Mild though the ale was, Saeryn's face took on a slightly dreamy quality as she listened to the soft and sophisticated voice of the innkeeper. She wondered what Eodwine would reply.

[littlemanpoet]

"You're needing me to show you how, is that it, halfling?" Ruthven asked Falco.

"The King can be mercurial sometimes," Bethberry was saying to the apparently former King's messenger, "yet such news is not all to the ill, is it Eodwine? There might well be good reason for a family man to be settling down now in town, no?"

"Pah!" retorted the halfling, grinning. "I wanted to see for myself if those dexterous digits were as good at something useful like pipe lighting as they seem to be for rag darning."

"Well," Eodwine said, glancing at Saeryn's dreamy face, "that depends on if there's a family to go home to."

"What're you saying, Eodwine?" asked Falco.

"I made my intentions known to the lady Giedd before I came here. I wait upon her pondering."

"What be the stakes?" Falco asked with one raised brow as he warred with Ruthven in a smoke ring battle.

Eodwine allowed a half a smile. "Whether the lady is interested in remaining as she is, or will allow the possibility of - how do you call it, Falco?"

"Handfasting, I think you're wanting. Just the possibility?"

"Ah yes. Yes, and no more just yet. So when when Gudryn is brought back to me, we shall see if she comes through the door alone or not." Eodwine shrugged.

"You don't seem to be holding out much hope, man," Falco observed.

Eodwine shrugged again. "Little was said by the lady, and little could be told of her mood from watching her face. She asked to spend more time with Gudryn, and that is how we left it." He sighed, picked up his ale cup, and took a few deep swigs.

[Bêthberry]

A quiet calm descended upon the friends at the table, a calm made mellow by the pensive whisps of smoke that curled up and up, higher among the rafters and the banners of tales of old. They fluttered lightly in the current of warm air rising from the large fire and Bethberry remembered he she had sent on her errand. She wished him a safe return.

Then, with an eye for the ale's effect, Bethberry called for a plate of dainties--cheeses and pastries and tarts--to fill stomachs. She noted that Eodwine was musing thoughtfully while Falco pondered the change that had overcome his friend.

"Let us have another pipe, one with more melodic charms," she announced and the young waif who had hidden in the stables appeared, shyly, with pipe in hand and began to play. The aire filled the silence in the Great Hall and then the Innkeeper commenced, in a voice full throated but low, a haunting song.

And she shall bring the warmth in fall
And weave among the barren trees
A story told for all to hear
Who long at sight of withering leaf.
She sorts the grain and saves the chaff
To succour beasts from stormy blast.
From orchard ripe and waving field
She gathers harvest’s splendid yield
A full bounty does she meld.
In winter’s cold her holding arms
Keep out the inclimate season’s harms.
And round about the hearth and home
Her windows ne'er loose a draft.
Though no great beauty nor young yet
A comely charm does speak her worth.
Honey’d tongue and sunlight eyes
She might reject,
But honest claim she’ll not disdain.
The lady Giedd may choose you yet
Should she her freedom not regret.

Sing noddy, hey noddy, sing noddy all day.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine's eyes grew misty as Bêthberry sang.

Until the punchline. He had not guessed that the song was about Giedd until toward the end. He looked Bêthberry in the eye, a rueful smile growing on his face. He had not told his friends everything about his conversation with Giedd just an hour or so ago. They had sent Gudryn to go to market to buy bread and cheese while day lasted, and they had talked while Giedd cut cloth she would be making into jerkins, trousers, and scarves for the oncoming cold.

"I thought you were on an errand for the King," she had said.

"As did I. He has relieved me as king's messenger."

"Why?"

Such a simple question, such a maze of an answer. There was an answer that could be told simply, but it was the mere glint of the glaciers that topped Snowbourne looming above Edoras.

He made me an ealdorman."

Her eyes had widened, her hands halted. "What does that mean?" she asked, but he could tell that she had understood; it was in her eyes. Her fingers began to work with a nervous tremor as she fiddled absently with her cloth.

"The King has made a landed noble of me," Eodwine said in a quiet voice, watching for her reaction. She said nothing, did not look up at him, busy with her cuttings. "I own a farm from my longfathers, away in the Gap where the Isen flows, but that is a mere scrap laid side by side to this new land."

She swallowed as if her throat was dry. "Where is this land?"

Since the ascension of King Elessar to the throne of Gondor, and King Eomer to that of Rohan, the lands that had been beyond the borders of the Eored had become empty. The Elves were leaving Lothlorien, and the lands between the Nimrodel and the Wood had opened to the Rohirrim. Would that King Eomer had landed him there! But the folk of Dunland had fared ill after the War of the Ring, partly at Eodwine's own hand, and they chafed at the wealth of the Rohirrim. Eomer had made him a Marshall upon the new borders of Dunland.

"Just nigh of Dunland. Its border can be walked in a week."

She looked up. Her eyes were wide and she looked at him as if he were a stranger she had just met. Eodwine's heart misgave him, and so he had decided then and there to make his intentions clear, hoping to discover if this new life was too big for her.

"Giedd, I seek a mother for my daughter. This I think you have guessed already. You had been mentioned to me as a likely woman for such a role in my daughter's life, as well as mine."

Giedd had nodded, her mouth unsmiling, tight, her eyes still big with what she was hearing.

"I would know from you today whether you are willing to walk by my side a while to see if such a life is agreeable to you."

Her hands had stilled, and she had regarded him seriously. "Eodwine, I find you honorable, and I did guess." She had paused. Give me a few hours, let me spend more time with Gudryn, and I shall bring her to the White Horse and give you answer."

He had agreed. Not long after, Gudryn had come back from market, grinning at her achievement, having found the best bread and cheese the market would part with for the coin Giedd had given her. Eodwine had taken his leave and left the two together.

Eodwine looked now at Bêthberry, and asked for the song again. As he listened, he saw Giedd as the one who did all the song said.

The lady Giedd may choose you yet
Should she her freedom not regret.

Sing noddy, hey noddy, sing noddy all day.

Eodwine said,
"Yea, she may welcome such a one,
or fear o'ermuch a life begun
trammeled by ways ne'er known before,
wishing to flee through a new-closed door."

He watched Bêthberry, who cocked her head, wondering what mysteries might be stirring in the head of the former king's messenger.

[littlemanpoet]

The door opened before Bêthberry could say what was on her mind. They all turned and looked expectantly. It was Gudryn with Giedd. Giedd seemed stoic, but Gudryn looked crestfallen. They came no farther than the door. Eodwine rose and went to them.

"How do you fare, lady?"

"Well and not so well, Eodwine. I-" she paused and lost her composure. Eodwine saw naked fear, which passed into a mixture of regret and relief. "No, I cannot walk with you in this new path, for 'tis beyond my ken and well beyond my strength. You can do better than I."

"I think not," Eodwine answered softly, "but I accept your gracious answer, and wish you well."

"Gudryn," Giedd said, her hand in the small of the girl's back, "go to your father."

Gudryn looked up, battling tears, took a reluctant step, then sprang toward him and threw her arms around him. He held her close.

"Goodbye, and good health to you, Giedd."

She nodded and left.

"There will be others, sweet Gudryn," Eodwine soothed.

"Not like her!" she whined, rubbing the tears from her cheeks.

"No, not like her, but as good and as kind and maybe better fit to share the road we travel. Come, let's get you some food. Have you eaten tonight?"

Gudryn nodded. "But I want something sweet."

"That sounds good to me too."

They returned to the table where Bêthberry, Ruthven, Falco, and Saeryn waited, watching while trying to seem not to watch. Eodwine knew better; they were too quiet. He sat down, Gudryn taking the chair to his right.

"Well, that's over. Time to attend to good food and strong drink! And my daughter would like some sweets, and the plate Bêthberry brought out is empty." Eodwine eyed Falco mischievously. "Ready for a third supper?"

[Bêthberry]

"Well now," said the Innkeeper, "if we are to have second and thirds and tea stronger than stout, then we must ask for the pipes to go out. If you please." A nod and a raise eyebrow gave the inquiry to Falco and Ruthven.

Falco for his part was hard put to decide, having just managed to achieve the right smouldering embers which would put him ahead of Ruthven in the smoke ring contest. Yet his stomach made loud protest at the thought of missing any heart stews or flakey tarts or cheese bread and jam. He looked at Ruthven, puffing away strongly yet without obvious urgency.

Ruthven eyed Eodwine and the girl Gudryn, whose face was streaked with smuges telling of disappointment. She made one last, long, lingering trail of smoke, strangely like a leaf wafting in autumn air, except rising rather than falling, and then lay down her pipe. Quiet descended upon the table as all watched the embers slowly wink out. Gudryn held back a sob and buried her head on Eowdwine's shoulder.

The lass Æòelhild picked up her flute again and began a less melancoly song this time, a sprightly tune that began softly then built to a faster air. Ruthven took up wooden spoons on the table to accompany her and Falco found his feet keeping time with the floor. From the kitchen came a serving girl with a large pitcher of hot apple cider, the scent of cinnamon rising from it as if to banish the last faint odour of pipeweed. She poured a tankard and offerred it to Gudryn.

Bethberry looked at Eodwine. "I got the last round. Is this one yours?"

It appeared for an instant that he had not heard Bethberry, but then his eyes were drawn to hers.

"It's Falco's turn to treat us," he said quietly.

"Even so, will you not name a treat you would like?" she asked in return.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine thought a moment, and could think of no especial item that suited his fancy. "I'll hand your favor to Saeryn. Let her name what she would like, and I will try it, if you have it, sing noddy hey noddy all the day long." He winked at Bêthberry and stretched, glad that the press of the day's events were sliding from him.

But Gudryn looked up at him, hot cider in hand, looking mournful. He looked at her kindly.

"Gudryn, lass, fear not. 'Twas we two before, and if it remains so yet a while, we'll do well enough. If some likely lady comes our way and shows herself to be as well disposed to you as the lady Giedd, then I pray she'll be as well disposed to being titled and joining on a new adventure."

"Will we be going to Dunland soon, then, father?" asked Gudryn.

"Soon enough. The King gave me time to remain here yet a brief while." He turned to Saeryn. "So, pretty lass, what'll it be?"

[Nerindel]

As Æoelhild played her sprits rose, playing had always seemed to melt away her troubles and bring her joy a gift her father oft told her she had inherited from her mother. She wished she had known her mother but her fathers memories had always been enough to dispel such sorrows. He had truly loved her and spoke often of her kindness and beauty, always telling Æoel with a wink and a nod that a part of her had remained in his daughter, that she was her mothers final gift to him. As the tune finished and she lowered the flute given her by Ruthven when it was discover that she could play she found herself laughing merrily. Something she could not recall doing in such along time, forgetting completely her reason for choosing that particular tune until her eyes again fell on the young girl nestled against her fathers shoulder.

Her laughter stopped as she was reminded of her own father and how he would hold her thusly when she was upset , she could remember clearly the warmth and tenderness of his embrace and the rich aroma of the tobacco smoke that clung to his clothes. Her hand searched for the hilt of her fathers sword hoping to draw from it some of that same warmth and security, but then she remembered that she had hidden it in the room the innkeeper had assigned to her. So instead she reached for the tankard that had just been poured for her and lifting it to her lips she sipped at the warm sweet liquid within as she let her eyes idly study the faces around the table at which she now sat.

The Innkeeper, Ruthven and Saeryn, she had already been acquainted with, but the others, the young girl she had heard her father call Gudryn and indeed the father himself she did not know. But then there was the halfling! Oh yes she had heard of halflings in fact there was not a Gondorian who had not, but she had never actually met one and she soon found herself staring with mild curiosity at the strange little fellow seated across from her.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Brokhelm held the door open with his right hand, letting Linnéa pass over the threshold before following her into the fire lit hall. His sister paused just inside the door, and for a moment the two stood side by side surveying the company assembled there, looking as much like two variations of one theme as a brother and sister might. One fair and well-formed, the other proved a rougher draft, with left hand hanging useless at his side and a face that bespoke a life spent on the plains. Rightly one would guess that Brokhelm was the elder, but on closer inspection the glimmer of sadness that visited Linnéa’s eyes would give one cause to be unsure.

The room was warm, heavily scented with pungent fragrance of apples and wood smoke, and the air felt closer still for the brisk wind that had blown down upon them from the mountain heights though out the day. Brokhelm stroked his beard, feeling the familiar tightness of his dry skin as he took in the mood of those gathered near the fire. “A merry tune, is it not, Linnéa?” He said hoping that his sister might welcome such diversion. Looking down at her he saw that the wind had caused a healthy bloom on her cheek, and it struck him that to the eyes of strangers she appeared pleasant to behold. “Still, let caution govern our speech, for not all men are as praiseworthy as Anwyl,” he warned.

“Or as well intentioned as you, Brokhelm,” she replied quickly. “Do not be fearful for me, I have grown accustomed to dealing with those who have with fair words and friendly ways sought to cheat us of our livelihood.” She took a deep breath, and moving a bit further, set down her small bundle on a bench against the wall.

“True enough,” Brokhelm said following her and picking up her belongings from off their narrow perch. “Soon you will have surpassed me in procuring a good price for our animals, but it is not of the horses I speak.”

“I know this, brother, and will give heed to your words, but let us not speak of such things now.”

A smile crept across Brokhelm’s face. “Very well, and in return I ask that you make the most of this luxury. While we are in an Inn we should not sit so close to the wall that we are mere inches from being without it. Come let us sit closer to the others, and perhaps we shall hear tell of sweet fields and sufficient rain.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn sat quietly, enjoying the beautifully light music coming from Æoelhild's flute. She had always loved music and had a special fondness for flutes. She listened with the ear of a noble lass trained from childhood and caught no errors nor no finger slips. She relaxed as she watch Æoel's fingers dance nimbly from note to note. When Eodwine asked her choice of treats, she did not respond, still caught in the tune. Her fingers mimicked the fading notes beneath the table on an imaginary flute, and she was loathe to lose the moment of tranquility. She wished she could play here and now... her favorite tune came to mind and played to her, now trilling spiritedly above the rafters like bird song at dawn, now low and soothing. She could hear the melody dancing as clearly as she could see the steps of the lads and lasses frolicking about to the rhythm tapped out lightly by her foot as she played on with a smile.

An unexpected entrance broke the moment and, looking slightly disappointed, Saeryn turned to Eodwine.

"I... my apoligies. What did you request of me? I was lost in thought..."

[littlemanpoet]

"Name a treat you would like," Eodwine answered Saeryn, casting a glance at the newcomers. He gently extricated himself from Gudryn's leaning grip, rose, and raised his tankard in greeting. "Hail and well met, soon-to-be-friends. I am Eodwine of the Gap, often to be found here. Please come join us. How are you called?"

That moment, the front door flew open with a bang, and in walked a pair of tall, strongly built blonde and bearded men.

"Good even all!" merrily shouted the one who walked in front. "The life of the party has arrived!"

"Ach, Garreth," said his seeming twin, "tone it down a notch."

Garreth either did not hear, or chose not to notice, for his eyes had grown large, taking in the comely new lass who with her companion was now approaching the table where the others sat.

"Ho now!" Garreth called. "An new eligible maiden has joined the company, it seems."

Garreth's companion rolled his eyes and made signs for all but Garreth to see that he considered himself not to be associated with the man.

Falco laughed. "Harreld, I fear you're stuck with him. Better you than me!"

"Our friendly bunch is growing!" said Eodwine. "Shall we not bring two tables together to accomodate everyone? Oh, and Saeryn, what about that treat?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Must I choose?" she responded with a laugh, relieved that the twins would take attention from her somewhat. She needn't worry about remembering those elusive memories... with newcomers to the Inn, though they might notice the bandages still covering her scrapes, they would certainly not bring mention to it.

Eodwine nodded to her, facing left to where she was seated beside him. "Come now, lass, surely there's a treat you wish?" She pretended to think hard for a moment, elbowing him jovially as she decided to share what she'd been wishing for several moments.

"Any treat, hm? And you insist that I choose?" an impish glint found its way to her eye as she hid a cheerfully smirking grin. "A story then, m'lord, of an adventure. With romance, and danger, and heroics and treachery, and all of that, though make it short, I beg of you, or I fear that I shall be too swept up in it to return to this lovely place and have my feet again firmly planted on the ground, and I fear that our guests mightn't feel welcome if we ignore them long for faraway places and tales of mystery and excitement."

She waited, breath held, to see his response. Would he favor her with a story? She always looked forward to his tales, impressed with his quick thinking and the style with which he conveyed such fantastic adventures...

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Brokhelm was pleased by Eodwine’s genteel manner, but couldn’t help wondering that type of man he was, hemmed in by ladies on all sides, and some of those quite young and fragile. Only a strange little fellow, perhaps a hobbit, shared the boards as well, chewing on the end of his pipe as he peered at them. It was plain that neither was the innkeeper, but just as he was walking up to introduce Linnéa and himself, with a mind to enquire into the owner’s whereabouts, the door burst open.

A bracing draft as well as a booming voice caused Brokhelm to stop, and turning his head toward the door he saw two burly men, one of whom, to his dismay, had his eyes resting on Linnéa, boldly declaring her a new eligible maiden. Brokhelm shot a meaningful look at his sister, and his eyes flashed upward again in time to see the other new comer shake his head as he distanced himself quickly from this Garreth’s brazen antics, as if he had some disease.

A laugh came from the table, and the hobbit made comment, handing the other man, Harreld, very little in the way of consolation. But Eodwine seemed as unruffled as the others by Garreth’s arrival, and so when he suggested another table to be placed beside the one now over-full, Brokhelm pushed the stay flaxen hair out of his face and joined Harreld and Garreth, introducing himself as he helped them carry both table and seats, keeping a close watch on them.

“We come to Edoras to attend to business. We won’t tarry here long,” he explained looking at directly at Garreth, hoping to quickly quench such a man’s interest in his sister. But finding out the two brothers were smithies and gainfully employed in honest work, he relaxed a notch, asking if they knew of anyone needing horses, for they were looking to sell off sound breeding stock here in town.

Harreld set down the last of the seats, and righted himself, thinking a moment, before suggesting a man with whom they might start. “He has proved fair enough to us in his dealings, and I see no reason why he should not treat you as well, though this is not the hour to find him.”

“In the morning then,” Brokhelm replied seating himself at Linnea’s side. His sister had wisely taken her place next to an attractive young woman with auburn locks, who appeared to be recuperating from some misfortune, and was, at the moment, quite prettily requesting a tale of Eodwine. Linnéa’s back was to her brother, and as he sat down she turned and smiled to see him beside her. He smiled back, before returning his attention to the two brothers. “If all goes well tomorrow, I will be indebted to you, but for now my friends, shall we settle for a draught of ale and a bite to eat, if they are still to be had?”

[littlemanpoet]

Whilst the inn staff scurried about, bringing food and drink for the two new guests and two old guests, Eodwine racked his brain for a tale to tell, narrowing his eyes scoldingly at Saeryn while he did so. She gave him a mischievous look, apparently ready to stick her tongue out should he tell her something sharp. He grinned.

"Well now, a tale. Let's see. I could tell the one of the hobbit who barely escaped from Numenor by hiding in the cloak of the Black Umbarian stow away. Or I could tell the one about the Entwife who stood outside the Green Dragon Inn watching hobbits. Or-"

"Where'd you come up with that one?" Falco slurred around his pipe.

"Oh, just out of the blue," Eodwine murmured innocently. "Or I could tell the one about the mouse with the sword who fought against rats."

"Oh, I've heard those before," Saeryn rolled her eyes. "They all sound the same after a while."

"Too true, too true," Eodwine replied. "Or there's the one about the dragon who made a farmer a king! I like that one!"

"You're stealing 'em now," Falco accused.

"A good story stolen is still a good story, as the saying goes," Eodwine quipped.

"Who says that?" Falco queried, leaning forward.

"I do." Eodwine grinned.

"I know a good one, father," Gudryn said, "but you won't like it." She looked at Eodwine shyly.

"Go ahead, my sweet," Eodwine said.

"Tell the one about the King's man and the men of Dunland."

Eodwine frowned. He guessed what she wanted. He was not sure he did not want the same thing, but was unsure that he could tell the story without the gravity it bore for him. "That one is not ready for telling, my dear."

"I would like to hear it anyway, father," she said meekly.

Eodwine sighed. "Not until I get yarnspinner's pay, then. A tankard of mead, this time, I'm thinking, if the innkeeper has it?"

[Bêthberry]

"The Lady Innkeeper has done enough paying of rounds for this evening, I warrant," spoke up Ruthven, "but as I've a great hankering after your yarns and tellings, I'll offer you a proposition, Eodwine."

The twins chortled, having only one kind of proposition on their mind, and one not likely to include the likes of an old rag lady like Ruthven. Brokhelm and Linnéa were rather offended by this blantant display of crude humour, but obviously they were too well bred to remark upon it or make it grounds for further ill mannered winks and guffaws. Gudryn blushed and Saeryn seemed to redden too, although possibly with more glee than downright modesty--not that she was immodest at all, just more saucy than Eodwine's new daughter.

The man at the centre of the commotion rose and bowed to Ruthven. "My compliments, good dame, and I shall endeavour to take up your challenge and satisfy your hankerings."

Ruthven grinned at the small bit of havoc she had created and winked at the Innkeeper.

"I think," intoned Bethberry, "we've had quite enough of all our pulling of legs and long jokes and tittering innuendo..."

"Tittering what?" cried Garreth, only to be snogged on the head by Harreld.

It was obviously going to be a long night.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn molded her face into one serious and pondering as her companions traded words. A moment later, as she forced herself to remain straight-faced, Bethberry asked her what was on her mind, as she had so recently been smiling her amusement.

"Well..." she began. "You mentioned tittering innuendo. I think I was once in Uendo... Gondor, isn't it? And the people there seemed very sombre... not much for tittering, as it were. Are you sure we are thinking of the same Uendo?"

She widened her eyes innocently, hiding well the devilish glint that lurked there.

[Ealasaide]

A shy smile played at the corners of Linnéa's lips as she listened to the merry carryings on that surrounded her and her brother as they joined the group already seated around the inn's sturdy table. Laughing softly at the current turn of conversation, she leaned over toward Brokhelm and murmured, “All sensible talk goes out the door when puns come innuendo...”

Brokhelm laughed politely, but Linnéa could tell that with all the noise in the common room, he had not quite caught what she had said. After a few seconds, he added, “Sensible talk goes out the door when...when... what was that?”

Still smiling, Linnéa shook her head. “Never mind.” She was pleased to see that he had joined right in with the conversation, though. It gave her a way of taking part, too, without feeling that she was intruding. Left to herself, she probably would have slunk into the common room as quietly as a field mouse and, wrapping her cloak around her, taken the smallest table farthest from the fire for her own. Pushing a few strands of pale hair back from her face with one slender hand, she cast a quick glance around at the faces that lined the table. They seemed a jolly bunch, not threatening at all, although Brokhelm had seemed a little perturbed by something in the demeanor of the two men who had come in just after them. She saw no harm in them, however, and allowed herself to relax, setting her small bundle of belongings down on the floor between her feet.

While the joking and puns continued to fly around her, Linnéa let her attention stray to the man who had been about to offer a tale of some kind. Ever since she was a small child, Linnéa had harbored a love for stories of all sorts. Some of her favorite childhood memories were those of herself and her brother sitting before the fire while her father related the most wonderful tales of adventure and battles in far-off lands. Her husband had been a clever storyteller as well, able to make them up off the cuff just on the basis of an overheard sentence or the sight of a broken sword lying forgotten in the dust, but her favorites had always been the ancient tales, those that told of horsemen and the gallantry of the Riders of the Mark. She had never heard any of the supposed old chestnuts that this group was bantering about and hoped that a tale was indeed imminent.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Seeing that Harreld had Garreth well in hand, Brokhelm stood up and approached the woman sitting at the head of the table, having at last deduced her proper position among the gathering. And withdrawing 2 small coins from a well mended tunic, he placed them on the table between the innkeeper and Eodwine. “My sister and I are quite willing to pay the storyteller’s wages, if the good lady will permit it. I think a tankard or two is small enough price for a good yarn, provided the teller doesn’t end the story before finishing up his payment. But you might know better, Lady Innkeeper, whether this dealer in bought or borrowed tales sets too high a value on his wares.” Brokhelm turned and winked at his sister, before he addressed Eodwine. “It all honesty, it would do us good to hear a story.”

Bêthberry, picking up the coins tapped Brokhelm on the back. “I will let you decide for yourself what the tale might be worth, should you be granted one. But this is Edoras, and the mead is not brought here from across the sea.” She held out the larger coins to Brokhelm. “You need not be quite so generous.”

“Excuse me, I was forgetting,” Brokhelm said growing serious. “My sister and I require lodging. I hope that this extra is sufficient to secure a place for us here, out of the cold, that we may rest under your roof.”

[littlemanpoet]

"All right then," Eodwine said, cup of mead in hand, "I'll tell you a story. I'll even rhyme it.

There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew-"

"Nay there!" Falco interrupted. "You may not tell that one as it's a hobbit rhyme, and I'm the only one here can do justice to it."

Eodwine shrugged and sighed. "I didn't think I'd get very far with that one with him around." He took a swig of mead, and started again.

"Hear me! We've heard of Dunedain heroes,
Ancient kings and the glory they cut
For themselves, swinging mighty swords!

How Skelda made slaves of soldiers from every
Land, crowds of captives he'd beaten
Into terror; he'd traveled to Dunland alone
An abandoned child-"

"Hold! Hold!" cried Harreld. "We can't have you telling that one, or we'll be here all night and into the morning!"

Eodwine sighed again. "Then what tale shall I tell?"

"Tell the one," Gudryn needled, "about the marchwarden of Dunland."

Eodwine leaned over and said out of the side of his mouth, "But that tale, my daughter, has yet to be written in the sands of time; only then can it be told."

"Then tell what there is to tell so far," she insisted.

"Maybe another time, my sweet." He winked at her, and she smiled wistfully back, but the smile was quickly gone.

"I know!" Eodwine said. "I can tell you one of the tales of Gob and Twiddle, two makers of much trouble hereabouts."

"Gob and Twiddle?" Garreth frowned, itching his scalp, "Can't say I've ever heard of those tales."

"No surprise," Falco said, "he's making it up on the spot."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I have an idea for when Eodwine is finished..." said Saeryn quietly, and a bit unsure. Everybody looked to her for a moment and she smiled a little. "It was a game my brothers and I played as children... a story told by the group, one member at a time. It might start with 'Once upon a time there lived a fair maiden' and then the next person would continue with something as silly or as serious as he or she wished... perhaps along the lines of 'who had one tragic flaw: a wart' and then the next story-teller would add more, such as 'that she inflicted upon the people that annoyed her.' The story could not be created without the loving care of those playing the game, but they can be very much fun, and very funny. Would a story like that be something that anybody here would enjoy?"

She sipped what was left of her drink and waited for a response... and for the adventures of Gob and Twiddle to unfold.

[Bêthberry]

"Ah, a tale not for the tale, if you know looms. But if it's rooms you want, it shall indeed," intoned Bethberry to Brokhelm, "two rooms if you wish, and a warm fire. Will you see to your rooms now?" She half rose to lead the man and his sister, but he held up his hand.

"Not necessary now, if we are to have entertainment here, although I shall let Linnéa speak for herself, as she may wish to wash up after a long journey."

The young girl spoke quietly to the Innkeeper and the three conversed over their rooms while others twiddled their tongues over gleeful expectation of Eodwine's skill.

"A glib tongue shall talk of Gob, eh?" inquired Ruthven. "Is there something wrong, Halfling, with a tale first told? Must we always hear of old ones and nary of new?"

[littlemanpoet]

"'Course not, old rag...-" Falco puffed on his pipe "-...lady. I'd like to hear this new tale of his."

"I'll rag you, little scoundrel," Ruthven winked with a sly grin.

Eodwine turned to his foster daughter. "What do you say, Gudryn, do you think we could marry the tale of Gob and Twiddle to Saeryn's game?"

Gudryn tilted her head and thought about it, a small smile on her lips spreading until it was a wide grin. "That would be fun!"

Well then," said Eodwine, "I will begin since it was my idea.

"Gob was a slouchy man, given to roundness of girth, for he liked his vittles. He had a ladle nose and a sloped forehead with a tuft of blonde baby hair atop it, soft and fine since the day he was born. Otherwise he had a bald pate on top, but he wore a halo of flowing, thin hair wore over his ears.

"People thought him an inch or two shy of a yard, if you take my meaning, because he cared little to prove himself. But they were wrong in that, and would have known it, had they looked closely at the spark in his baby blue eyes, most times half hidden by his lazy lids.

"Gob was a hedge trimmer by trade, which meant that he had a lot of free time on his hands, which was just as well to him, because then he could jaunt about town with his best friend Twiddle.

"Twiddle, now, was thin as thin. He was all hooks and knobs. He had a beak for a nose, a head as round from the side as a coin, and big ears which he hid, or I should say, tried to hide, under his wide brimmed hat. He liked his vittles as much as did Gob, but his pulse was quick and he burned up his food fast as the wind.

"Twiddle was an tree fruit picker by trade, which meant that he didn't work much either, and was ready to romp with his best friend Gob at the drop of a hat, which was often seeing as Twiddle's hat was so large for his head it kept falling off, revealing a matted head of thin, greasy hair.

"Twiddle's Edain Apple was more out than in, and when he swallowed it ducked, scooped, and lifted like a bucket in a well.

"Twiddle didn't sleep much. He didn't seem to need it. Even though he was likely to go down long after sundown, he was up well before sunrise most days. So he got in the habot if mimicking a cock crow. He'd put his whole body into it. He'd stand on a little hillock just outside his hovel, and bend backwards with the breath he took, and he'd flap his arms like wings and yell "woop! woop! cockawoop!" People wondered what cock he heard that he did it like that, but that's the way he did it.

"So that's Gob and Twiddle. How'd they get those names? No doubt their mums gave them better ones when they were born, but nobody remembers those names. Well Gob liked to talk while he ate, but he always forgot to swallow first, so everything he said came out sounding like "gob". Twiddle was the only one who could understand him. Twiddle's name is easier to figure out, because he was always working his thumbs with all the nervous energy he had.

"So everybody always thought of Gob and Twiddle as one thing, them being such close friends, so that after a while people dropped the 'and' from between the two and just talked of them as GobTwiddle. Everybody knew what was meant.

"Now for the tale. I'll tell you of the time GobTwiddle were pressed into a gang of ruffians.

"But hold, it's time for me to take a swig. All that talking has dried my throat."

Eodwine took a long draught from his mead, and placed down the mug with a big sigh, then looked around.

"So, shall I continue this tale, or does someone else want to take it up now?"

[littlemanpoet]

"No takers on that offer?" Eodwine queried around the pair of tables.

"Father, you made them up," said Gudryn, "and you're the one who knows about them pressed into a gang of ruffians, so I think you should tell it."

Eodwine's eyes went wide. "You have strong feelings about this, don't you, my dear?" Gudryn nodded her head, grinning. "Well then, I had better finish - well, at least continue - what I started.

"Now, Gob was mild and Twiddle was alert. How could such a pair be pressed into a gang of ruffians, you might wonder. Well, it was the likes of old Bill Ferny who didn't like anybody much anyway, and this pair even less than most because, well, everybody who was respected didn't mind the way Gob and Twiddle acted, getting away with little work and many pranks, which, mind you, never hurt a soul. After all, their pranks were all for fun and not for spite. And that was something Ferny didn't get. So Ferny didn't like them, and knew they were soft, so he wanted to make them work hard, because he thought that would be suffering for them, and he knew just the thing to do it.

"When Sharky went hiring no-goods for his band of bullies in the Shire during the War, why, old Ferny got his gang together and picked a moment when our Gob and Twiddle were alone if the fields by a mild stream with a pair of fishing poles in the water. They were both snoring away, but Ferny new Twiddle was a light sleeper and had two ruffians sit on him quick, a grimy hand over poor Twiddle's mouth so he couldn't holler or move. But Gob slept like a baby. Ferny got curious about their fishing habits and checked their lines, which didn't seem to have any drag on them. Sure enough, there wasn't hook or bait on either line. The poles were just for show.

"'Daft, I tell you!' Ferny cried. That woke up Gob, but he didn't startle. Well, Ferny gave him a kick in the side. Gob crumpled in, having never felt anything so fierce as that before. There was more surprise and sadness in his eyes than anger or anything else, for Gob had never thought that anybody would be so mean. After all, nobody had ever been mean to him, and being mean to another had never occurred to Gob.

"At any rate, Ferny had Gob and Twiddle hauled off and tied up until they were deep in the Shire. Finally they let them loose, but Ferny kept them under watch. Gob and Twiddle eyed each other only a little bit, but said nary a word to each other. They knew each other so well that they didn't need any words, they both knew the other's mind. They would bide an wait their chance to run free, or if not that, then prank their way to making Ferny and his boys so frustrated with the two that they'd get sick of them and send them home.

"But Gob and Twiddle hadn't met Sharky yet."

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

While Linnéa discussed the merits of various rooms with Bethberry, Brokhelm found himself losing track of the conversation soon after he had stated that any rooms away from Garreth’s and Harreld’s would be preferable, so they too be staying there. His attention, persistently drifting, shifted in part to the emerging story of Gob and Twiddle and in part the familiar voice of his sister asking if any rooms were to be had nearer to their horses. But his eyes rested on Falco, watching his expressions and ways, as Eodwine told his story.

Brokhelm had not seen many hobbits, as they called themselves. This one was the third, if an exact reckoning was required of him, and the last he saw some time ago, the day his friend Anwyl died.

As if reading his mind, Eodwine began a second tale that took his subjects into the very land of the halflings, the Shire, a place that Brokhelm had heard of, but didn’t know. He wondered if the hobbit might take up the story from there, and he might then learn more of his far off homeland. But at the mention of Sharkey, he saw the hobbit frown. Growing curious Brokhelm asked who this Sharkey was, for he had heard that the name was used once in Isengard.

“An old neighbor of yours,” the hobbit answered him. “The Riddermark wasn’t the only land old Saruman worked his mischief in.”

“Ah, then I don’t think that Sharkey will find much use in Gob or Twiddle, though he might like to think himself the master of them. Let us hope they cause the treacherous old man’s foot to slip and not the reverse. My apologies for interrupting your tale, master story teller, do go on.”

[Nerindel]

Thus far young Æoelhild had satisfactorily gone unnoticed, her once much practiced quiet reserve to her credit . Her silent curiosity regarding the hafling and his heritage quite adequately distracted from by the arrival of others. Not once but twice did the company thus grow in numbers adding to the young ladies unspoken discomfort. At one time such company would not only please but be welcomed and her tongue would be hard pressed to be silenced. Nevertheless times had changed and lack of attention was now to her advantage, especially if any of the gathered company had contact or heard news of going’s on and events of the white city or it’s nobility.

As jovial pleasantries passed between the new comers and the present company Æoelhild gave thought to her appearance, even with the notable paling of her skin (from much travel by night) and the loss of much weight over the long weeks since her departure she still felt she was recognisable as the Granddaughter of the late Master Halsten, sword master of Gondor, daughter of the late Captain Einar and Niece to Lord Regin, her fathers only brother, (A loathsome and rude, short fat balding man with an unhealthy appetite and thirst for wealth and power). Her dark eyes fell on the long dark tresses that tumbled freshly combed about her frail shoulders, she thought to cutting it as soon as she was able and wondered if it was at all possible to mask it’s distinctive raven colouring.

Coming out of her silent musings and lifting again the warm golden liquid to her pale lips. She then again become aware of the many voices around her. A tale was being requested of the one named Eodwine by her new friend, Searyn and once again a little bit of the old Æoelhild awoke as a small glimmer of excitement and anticipation reached her dark hazel eyes. She listened intently as Eodwine began, smiling with shy amusement as first the stout hobbit fellow objected to the first choice of tale and then another man, twin to Garreth, Whom she had briefly glimpsed and been warned about earlier in the day, audibly displaying his own dismay at the second choice.

She lifted her tankard as Eodwine mused over which tale to deliver only to almost choke on it’s contents as the Storyteller announce to the surprise of all that he would tell them a tale of Gob And Twiddle, Two words that when put together was one which her grandfather had used oft to refer to the rantings and long winded speeches of tired officials and self obsessed bureaucrats. Taking a napkin she quickly recomposed herself thankful that her mishap had gone unnoticed, thanks largely to the friendly bantering taking place amongst the company.

Her gaze shifted to Searyn as the young woman suggested an amusing game that they might try after Eodwine’s tale, but Eodwine had other idea’s it seemed as he entreated his daughter to the idea of tying his tale to the young woman’s interesting game. A warmth of excitement ran through Æoelhild as she envisioned the joviality of the idea, with the varying personalities gathered it should make for an interesting tale she mused, for the moment forgetting that that might included her own.

Helping herself to a chunk of the cheese before them, she listened with renewed interest as Eodwine then went on to describe the character of both gob and twiddle, before offering the tale to the table but like her the others where interested to learn more before daring to take the tale up, so after some encouragement from his daughter Eodwine continued.

Sharky? Æoehild mused silently as the storyteller again reached for his mead, Who…. But even before she could think it out further the question was answered for her but the hobbit across from her, as the well weathered new comer, Brokhelm she thought she heard him named asked aloud the very question she herself harboured.

She had never before heard the name Sharky but of the traitor Saruman she had heard and she was shocked and dismayed to learn that his evils had touch the homes of the halflings that her people held in much esteem, she had not before heard this tale, infact not much of happenings after the destruction of the ring of power had been allowed to reach her ears. In accordance to her uncles wish that she slip out of the minds of others, by keeping her locked away.

“Excuse me master Falco, was it,” she whispered trying not much to disturb the continuance of the tale, “would it be too bold of me to ask, that after master Eodwine’s tale I could entreat you to speak more of this Sharky and his removal from your lands.”

“He was removed wasn’t he?” she added as an after thought, blushing slightly at her own ignorance.

[littlemanpoet]

"Aye, lassie," Falco said, leaning so the girl alone could hear him. "Sharkey's no more. I saw his end. Pretty it wasn't. More about that later," he winked.

Eodwine continued. "Think not of it, sir," he said to the new man called Brokhelm in answer to his apology. "I've been interrupted by Master Falco so oft that I mark it not. Indeed, 'tis all give and take here, so if you've a mind to pick up the story at any point, jump in with both feet." Eodwine smiled as Brokhelm raised both hands in a gesture of relinquishment.

"The tale is yours, sir."

"Then I'll pick it up with Gob and Twiddle having been brought up to Hobbiton and put to work in de-storying, as it were. That is, they were ordered to take a shovel each, and dig out the hobbit holes under the Hill, to make place for a wide road and new brick buildings that were noised to be improvements to the area intended by Sharkey.

"'Who is this Sharkey?' Twiddle wanted to know.

"'Never heard of 'im before ol' Ferny started yammerin' about him,' said Gob.

"Gob and Twiddle didn't think too highly of Bill Ferny and his crew of ruffians, so they didn't work very fast or hard, which was easy for them as they knew how to stretch out a job and look busy doing it. That gave them time enough to keep their eyes pealed and their noses to the wind. They didn't like what they saw, even less what they smelt.

"What they smelt was Ted Sandyman's mill, with all its black smoke making a mess of the sky first, then wherever the smoke touched ground or wight, soot got left behind. What they saw was hobbits that seemed unhappy and scared, and generally kafuffled. These kinds of things didn't happen in the Shire, from the look of it, and the hobbits had nary and idea how to change things back to the way they were, which meant getting rid of the Bill Ferny and his ruffians, and this Sharkey, whoever that was. And it also meant teachin' old Sandyman a lesson.

"'Gob,' said Twiddle, 'we don't b'long here and these ruffians do even less.'

"'Right you are my Twid,' Gob replied. 'We ought to do a mite about it, don't you know?'

"Twiddle's small face screwed up into a wrinkled smile, because when he smiled his whole face seemed not to be attached to any sinew or bone, but squeezed all up like somebody folded it. But when that happened, it was wise for those who he was thinking on to watch it, because something was bound to happen that they wouldn't like much.

"Gob, seeing Twid's grin, got this pleased look on his face but kept his smile off, unless you looked in his eyes, which were, as I've said before, half covered by his drooping lids. They dug a little, rested a little, made it look like they were digging more when all they were doing for the most part was moving dirt around. And they whispered to each other their plan."

Eodwine rose. "But now I need to take a moment and take care of necessary business, as it were. I shall be back. Gudryn, you leave me some mead."

He scruffled her hair and she grinned at him, eyeing his almost empty mead cup. She looked conspiratorially at Saeryn and Æoelhild.

"Should I finish it?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"The mead or the story, lass?" asked Saeryn with a light laugh. "Though I'll warrant he wouldn't be all together upset with either. Perhaps I'll continue the story until he returns?"

Heads nodded with encouraging smiles and Saeryn took a small sip of her mead before clearing her throat in an obviously exaggerated way.

"Their plan, as it were, had very little to do with the Shire, and slightly less to do with Sharkey. You see, it had to do with them both based on a shared letter system, as the plan involved a capital 'S', a small 'h', an 'r', and an 'e', but what with the all-important missing "iaky", it was obvious to all that Sharkey and the Shire played merely a hastily fabricated role in what the men spoke of.

And so Gob and Twiddle whispered back and forth about the plan they would soon implement. They swiftly chose a name for this plan so that if they were to be overheard, nobody would know their business. "Sherbet", they called it, and a very interesting plan it was."

Saeryn leaned back a bit, sipping her mead and wishing devoutly for a chair with a back so that she could recline, perhaps tipping the chair back, and give that truely wonderful visual of one with no care in the world. She gestured softly to the newcomer, Brokhelm, motioning for him to continue her silly tangent.

[Bêthberry]

Wandering back somewhat absentmindedly, Bethberry held in her hand a small scroll, which she read over a second time before taking a seat between Falco and Ruthven.

The old bag lady raised her eye questioningly at the Innkeeper. "Wyrd?" she mouthed quietly.

Bethberry nodded and in return mouthed the name "Sôông."

Attempting to reintegrate herself with the events at hand, she smartly inquired, "What is this story about Fid and Faddle? Is Eodwine telling us a new mannish tale and not an elder one of the elves?"

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Brokhelm now at the table, replied to the innkeeper's question, “Dear Lady, Master Eodwine had left his yarn for us to finish the weaving. And it seems I now sit at the loom. He crinkled one eye shut as he plumbed his memory for all he had learned of the Shire on the long march to Morannon. “Yes, my turn has come, and what a puzzle this young lady has left me!” he said softly. But within a few moments his blue eyes flashed, and suddenly he grinned at Saeryn as she leaned back in her chair. “Sherbet, you say? Very well then, sherbet it is!”

Adopting a secretive tone, he leaned forward toward his listeners, looking from one to the other as he spoke. “Ah, this plan of Gob and Twiddle’s was so fine in their estimation, such a delectably smooth way of slipping out of their work while accomplishing much, that it drew attention whether spoken of in code or not. Of course it did aid them somewhat, that in his satisfaction with the code-name, which happened to correspond with an item of the greatest value to Gob, he pronounced it a golden plan. For having a hankering for sweets, that far surpassed his girth, he was thinking in particular of a rich sherbet that he had tasted oh so very long ago. So refreshing it loomed in his mind’s eye, that Gob grew a bit livelier than was his normal wont, for he was hungry and ready to test their strategy as Twiddle whispered its merits. ‘Right golden it is!’ Gob said again a bit louder this time as he heard the familiar squeak of a cart. And that comment did not go by unnoticed.

“A rather aged halfling that was returning up the hill, pushing a rickety barrow full of bricks stopped cold to hear the word ‘gold’ uttered on this particular hill. It must have thrown his thoughts back to better days, for his back straightened considerably as he let go the handles, his barrow tipping over with a clatter.

“Both Twiddle and Gob turned quickly to see just who it was that would sneak up on them, and finding only one old halfling, they leaned on their shovels as they addressed their elder, telling him with a wink not to worry. If they were set to dig up this hole, than dig it up they would. Though how one could dig up a hole was quite a matter of debate, for a hole was naught but air, and the more one dug down to pry the air out, the bigger ity became. And as they had understood it, it certainly was not in the spirit of their orders to enlarge any of the halflings’ dwellings!

“The old one, paid this banter no heed, but with eyes all a-glitter said he had overheard them speak of gold. Thinking quickly, Gob looked at the halfling and told him plainly that he heard aright. And Twid joined in, furthering their plan by claiming that since this treasure did not belong to them, they had decided to leave it be, for they were honest men and not scoundrels.

“The halfling sighed; replying that such things had best be kept secret from Sharkey’s men, and easily extracted a vow from the two, not to tell anyone of their find. But as an aside, he himself was bold enough to ask just where this treasure had been found.

Both men looked solemnly at their feet, as if to say right here, and the halfling’s eyes followed their glance, nodding his understanding.
Then lifting his head, fringed as it was with downy hair, Gob blinked his heavy lids quite innocently at Twiddle, and exclaimed ‘I suppose there might be more to be found around and about. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised, Twid, if a dragon of old had its roost on this here Hill.’

‘Sure as day, these hobbits are brave enough to drive off a dragon, no matter how wily.’ Twiddle replied, ‘Aren’t you now?’

The old halfling muttered that he knew of one old dragon in the Shire that was in great need of being driven off. And it was at just that time that Gob saw in his mind the Hill swarming with halflings in the moonlight, all of them armed with shovels and pick axes. And as he idily looked at the black smoke rising from the mill, the plan to Share in the hole removal and excavation quickly changed to Sharkey’s & Henchmen’s rapid eradication. Clearly they could not be seen as home wreckers then but heroes. And the beauty of the plan was that even if the halflings were found to be gathering together in rebellion, he and Gob might find a way to slip away, or at the very least the halflings might finish digging up the hill for them as they looked for imagined treasure.


“But before either Gob or Twiddle could be quite certain that the old fellow had taken the bait, one of the ruffians sauntered over to see what was transpiring, and the hobbit trundled off, quick as you like, down the hill.

“‘Get back to work, digging up them holes!’ the man yelled roughly, threatening to cuff them.

“‘Hang on now, we’ve just been working at it. We’ve been working at it quite hard’ Twiddle replied with injured tone, his hat toppling off as he wiped his brow. Their guardian leered at them menacingly.

“Tell me what would you expect happened then?” Brokhelm asked. “For I myself am unsure of what came next.” And Brokhelm looked around for any takers. “Perhaps you would like to take up your story again, young Miss?” he queried Saeryn. “Or would one of the others care to relate the outcome,” he said looking from Gudryn to the dark haired girl who listened in silence. Finally his gaze rested on the hobbit. “I think Master Falco must be amused by my poor depiction of his homeland, but I have yet to set eyes on that place.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

“Perhaps you would like to take up your story again, young Miss?”

Saeryn had been very interested in continuing the story only minutes before, but now she felt dizzy. She touched her fingers to her bruised head for a moment before closing her eyes for a second, breathing through her nose. Perhaps it was just a momentary occurance... She stood to go to the privy for a moment and lost her balance, landing back on the bench. Pretending it hadn't happened, she decided to take a nap. Perhaps she'd come back in a little while... perhaps she would just go to bed.

The rest of the group didn't need to know that she was dizzy. They would just worry about her more and she'd already taken enough of their attention. Surely she'd feel better after a bit of sleep. After all, it hadn't been long since she'd been injured and she'd been up all day.

A rest... yes... she needed a rest. She'd come back later.

Excusing herself politely with an apology to Brockhelm and Linnèa for leaving so soon after their arrival, Saeryn made her way to her room for a bit of a lie down.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine passed Saeryn on her way to her room. "A rest will do you good, m'dear. May your dreams be filled with good things, and may nightmares of Mordor be far from you."

"Somehow," Saeryn replied, trying not to allow her speech to slur, "I don't think that will work very well."

"Well then, rest easy and be refreshed."

He grinned a knowing grin, having eavesdropped on the story as it had progressed under the care of Saeryn and Brokhelm. They needn't know.

Falco bid Saeryn good night and picked up on Brokhelm's kindly hint as he saw Eodwine re-enter the common room, giving him a nod and a wink.

"Maybe you've never set eyes on the Shire, Brokhelm, sir, but your tale is well told. I've seen the Shire from end to end and top to bottom, but I can only hope to tell my tale half as well.

"I was a shirriff since before ol' Sharkey. The ruffians swelled our ranks, and I didn't like it. Not that the new boys wasn't any good, mind you. But they was all green. They needed to be trained.

"You might wonder what training it takes to gather old toby, casks of ale, and grain for bread from poor Shire folk as needs it and shouldn't be forced to part with it. Well, new rules was coming in as fast as new shirriffs, and there was no learning the new shirriffs their craft and keeping all the new rules straight at once. So the new boys stayed green and under the thumb of the Sharkey boys while us old scabs got ornery ... at everybody, I'm sorry to say, but so it was.

"Well, one day I'm ordered up from Michel Delving by old Will Whitfoot hisself, that is afore he got jailed up by Sharkey's boys. He ordered me up to Hobbiton to help out with the Sharkey changes. Seems they was having some trouble up that-a-way. Up I go, and I don't like what I see. Who likes seeing dug up roads that have served for years beyond count? Who likes gathering food, backy and drink from folks what came by it honest? I knew what Sharkey's boys said, that it was for fair distribution. Fancy word that. What it meant was Sharkey's boys got it and we didn't.

"So I gets to Hobbiton and see ruffians digging out hobbit holes and hauling bricks and mortar from who knows where. And then I see these two shifty looking men. Well, all the ruffians looked shifty, but these two was shifting a different way, like they was on the outs with Sharkey's plans. Takin' too long carryin' out orders and really only just lookin' like they was workin'.

"So I kept my eye on 'em and saw them make excuses around the ruffians, and friendly talk with hobbits. So I got to thinkin', mebbe there's something could be done with these two. I went up and said hullo and who are you, makin' sure they could see the shirriff feather in my cap.

"And now it's time for me to drink a bit and listen to Eodwine or someone else pick up the tale."

[Nerindel]

Æoelhild now listened expectantly her chin in her hands and her elbows resting on the table a habit her father had despaired from teaching out of her, her gleaming eyes glanced around the table as she wondered excitedly who next would take up the tale, Gurdyn, the inn keeper or perhaps one of the twins but even as her eye caught the mischievous grin of the one named Garreth her name being spoken startling her out of her silent musings.

“What about you miz…” Falco was saying pausing as he realised he did not know the girls name. “Æoel” Bethberry helped him out and it was this that drew her attention. “Miz Æoel is it,” he smiled “Well would you like to take up our little anecdote?”

Surprised Æoelhild did not know what to say at first, she knew little of this Shire and did not wish through her lack of knowledge to inadvertently offend Falco or his homeland, but then remembering the feather she had an idea and she nodded acquiescently with a mirthful smile that lit her dark eyes.

“Well at the halflings sudden appearance," She began smiling at Falco "Gob looked at Twid and Twid at Gob," She went on suddenly turning to the person to her left then to her right. "neither knowing the significance of the feather the stout little fellow was casually making sure they both noticed" she went on drewing her audiance in. " ‘Perhaps he wants us to tell him how pretty it is Gob?’ Twid whispered out of the corner of his mouth. Nodding Gob then suddenly bowed deep startling the sherriff that he was force to step back a pace as not to be knocked over by the strange fellows over emphasized hand gestures.

“Good day to you sir my name be Gob and this young fellow here be my good friend Twiddle, he said gesturing to Twid who accordingly tipped his hat so it slipped further over his eyes coming to rest on his hooked nose. “That be a very fine feather there in your Hat, Gob grinned hopefully. But the Sheriff frowned starting to doubt his initial assessment of the pair and now wondering if these fellows where not just as mad as march hares and as if to confirm his new assessment Twid suddenly burst into song prancing about him.

At this Æoel suddenly bounced out of her seat laughing and skipped round the table singing…

Handy Dandy’s (at this line she winked at the others as her hands grazing both Garreth and Harreths Shoulders as she passed behind them, causing the others to laugh)
Came to town
A riding on a pony
Stuck a feather in their cap’s
And called them macaroni!

And at the last line she fained placing a feather in an imaginary hat upon Falco’s head.

With the mirth and laughed about her and the memories of her Grandfather singing her that same little ditty she momentarily forgot herself and still laughing she wrapped her arms playfully about Falco’s neck and gently kissed his cheek as she would her grandfather when they finished playing this same game.

Then coming back to herself she smiled awkwardly and moved back to her own seat. Sitting again she coughed gently trying to clear the sudden tightness in her throat, “perhaps someone who knows master Falco better than myself can capture his reaction to Twiddles strange display,better than I” She said in a quiet voice, her eyes lowered staring at the grooves in the table as her cheeks turned a deep pink against the pale of her skin. Feeling deeply foolish she hoped someone would save her further embarrassment and quickly take up the tale.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Ah see that now, Linnéa", Brokhelm said through his mirth. "We are in the presence of a well seasoned shirriff of the Shire."

"You poor soul, you are mesmerized! Is it not merely the trick of the tale to make you believe so?" she replied. "A shirriff in fiction is not one in fact, and I greatly doubt, dear brother that you could guess what it is a shirriff does!"

"Well in either case, fact or no, it seems that it has earned him a kiss, and so must be quite a desirable occupation. Did he not say himself that many youths had been similarly employed? With such payment, who would not strive for such a post?"

Linnéa smiled at Brokhelm's joke, for though still in his twenties, it had been too long since she had seen him so merry.

"Shh!" Brokhelm cautioned her gently before turning to the dark eyed girl. "Well done, Miss Æoel! If only all storytellers could be so well paid!" Then realizing the full import of what he had said, he quickly cleared his throat. "Master Macaroni," he began again, addressing Falco this time. “Please enlighten me, for my sister Linnéa’s sake – for she has guessed correctly that I do not know the term shirriff – what is this post, and were might one sign up for a position? It seems a most popular vocation!” Brokhelm grinned as Linnéa tread on his boot under the trestle like the old days as children.

“Master Falco, is it true that you have held the title of shirriff in your land?” she asked politely.

[littlemanpoet]

"Was I a shirriff?" Falco responded between puffs from his pipe. "That I was, and still am once I'm back within the borders of my beloved Shire. As for what a shirriff is, well that's all about what he does. What we do is deliver the morning and evening posts, mostly, and keep order when it needs keeping. Which it don't, mostly, as Hobbits are law abiding and peaceful folk by and large."

"I suppose," said Eodwine as he approached the table, "that you don't know how you got to be called 'shirriff', do you?" Heads turned to watch Eodwine, who having sat down by his daughter Gudryn, allowed her to rest her head against his shoulder.

"That I do!" Falco replied. I told ol' Will Whitfoot I wanted the job, and he had some of the senior shirriffs set me to doing tasks by which they could tell what kind of shirriff I'd make. Well, I fit the job better'n most, and once an opening- .... - now Eodwine, what're you shaking your head for like that, as if I don't know what I'm talking about?"

"I meant how the word came to be, not how you became a shirriff," Eodwine replied with great patience.

"Well why didn't you say so! Here's how the word-" Falco stopped, looking suddenly very confused. "I guess I'm daft on this one, 'cause I don't know."

"Hah!" Ruthven cackled. "Finally caught out! Well done, Master Eodwine!"

"Now see here, you old bag," Falco began.

Eodwine cleared his throat loudly. "Ladies and gentlehobbits, please calm down! The word, my friends. Shirriff. Shire-reeve. We have no Shires here in Rohan, but we have reeves. But the title has taken two different directions amongst two different folks, for Hobbits have reduced their reeves to mail carriers, while the Rohirrim have turned theirs into March wardens, second only to the King in power.

"Of course, none of this mattered to Falco, Gob, or Twiddle. They were much more interested in a different aspect of the word; at least, once they got it out of Falco. See, when Falco told him he was shirriff, Gob heard the word alright, but it passed through his wax filled ears, and came out sherbet. So he stands there looking at Falco, wondering why the hobbit is calling himself 'sherbet'.

[Bêthberry]

With a loud cackle and a slap of her thigh, Ruthven let out a hearty laugh.

"You're a sure bet, Master Falco," she said, "to be a dog's second breakfast, if it's delivering the post you're about."

"Mind your tongue, you old bat," he retorted. "Why, I bet you'd be in a pickle trying to read the mail and deliver it correctly--a sour pickle."

"It would depend on my minding my p's for pickle and q's for fair quarter, shortling. Is it pictures that you hobbits post on your mail, so you's can read it? 'Cause lordy I didn't think there was muckle book larning your way. Cans you all read and write?"

Falco's face turned a redder shade of tone and the hairs on his considerable ears stood out as he contemplated a whitering blast to this insult at the integrity of his beloved Shire. Imagine someone suggesting hobbits couldn't read nor write when they had a Shire Post!

"Each family, I'll have you know, missus rag-tag-thankee-bag, has its own mark or rune, and we knows them well. And we hire the most competent writer, we do. They are what ye call it, amanuseits."

"Whoa, Falco," interjected Gareth. 'I think the word you be wanting is amanadueler, what challenges people to obey the rules and codes and right thinking."

"No, no," suggested Harreld. "It is an amanaduial who writes other people's words down."

This was too much for the ladies at the table. Both Linnéa and Æoelhild were brought out of their shy modesty and began tittering ever so quietly, but they did their best to hold their faces steady so as not to incur Falco's wrath, nor wound his feelings.

"I do believe," intoned Brokhelm civily, "that the word in question is 'amanuensis' is it not?

"Well, that is not one which belongs to the Westron dialect spoken in the Shire," offerred Eodwine. "Is not 'amanuensis' a derivation from the Sindarin 'lover of words'?

"Now lookee 'ere," said Falco. "Just who is master of words here?"

"He is," offerred Bethberry with a large grin, pointing at Eodwine.

"What's happened to Gob and Twiddle?" moaned Gudryn.

[littlemanpoet]

"Right you are, my deary," Eodwine said to Gudryn. "Mayhap the pair have been having nightmares from Mordor and have kept their quiet withal. But let's continue their tale and let the simmering kettles at this table begin to cool.

"'Sherbet?' said Gob, scratching his wax filled ears. 'Maybe you're cool as a cucumber but you don't look like sherbet to me.'

"'Shirriff,' Falco stated more clearly this time. 'That's what the feather stands for. I watches the borders, minds the roads, and delivers the post, though you ruffians don't make it no easier to do that last part.' Falco raised himself as high into Gob's face as he could, being two foot shorter at the least.

"'Now Mister Shirriff,' said Twiddle, 'we ain't no ruffians. We was jus' mindin' our business away over by Bree when we got up and pressed into this hyar gang of Ruffins-'

"'That's ruffians', Gob assisted.

"'-gang of Ruffins,' Twiddle insisted, 'and als we want is to be let go back agin.'

"'And in the meantime,' Gob said with a wry grin, 'we're cookin' up sherbet.'

"Falco saw that these two just didn't cut it as ruffians, or ruffins; more like muffins they were, or at least the one of 'em, while the other was more like a bean with ears and wizard's hat. So he tilted his head to one side and asked them a question, since his quick mind was catching at least as much as they were saying.

"'Tell me about this sherbet a bit.'

"Just then another of the ruffian ilk came up and got all threatening to Gob and Twiddle for standing on their shovels, and got intimidating - that is, over-towering and bullying - to Falco, who just stared up at the mean old bloke, 'cause Falco can't be cowed, plain and simple. I should know.

"'I'm about my duty,' he said to the bully, 'and neither you nor any of your bothersome cronies will make me shirk! So be off with you and go about your stealin'!'

"'That's gathering, you little nannyhammer, and don't let me hear you say nothin' more about stealin'.'

"'Gathering, stealing, call it what you like, it ain't right and you know it, and nor I nor none of us wants you here. The sooner you and yours go back to wherever you call home (as if you had mothers!), the better we'll like it.'

"The bully frowned blackly at Falco and judged that alone he was not going to win a battle of words with the insolent little snip, so he turned to Gob and Twiddle.

"'Get back to work or you'll hear it from Ferny! No, make that Sharkey!'

"'Yessir, we'll work right hard, sir,' said Gob, still leaning on his shovel.

"'No doubt about it, sir, we'll work as hard as ever you did see, yessiree,' said Twiddle, still leaning on his shovel.

"'That's more like it,' said the bully and fool, and walked away, leaving Falco snickering under his breath as Gob and Twiddle continued leaning on their shovels."

"And now," said Eodwine, I've talked more than even Falco has a mind to, and I need to take a drink break. More mead please! Who will pick up the tale next?"

[Bêthberry]

Ruthven placed her pipe down on her plate and lifted her tankard, taking a small swallow more to whet her throat than to imbibe. She smacked her lips in imitation of Falco--an imitation which Eodwine caught but none others-- stood up, and began her recitation.

Her voice seasoned with age and experience rang out: "Falco watched with a squinty eye the retreating back of the bully and mimed the bully's movements, shoulders swaggering with exaggeration and mein all puffy and self-important. He heard a chortle or two or three behind him. Then he turned to the lollylaggers. 'Well now,' he says, 'I wasn't expectin' such intelligent compliance from the likes of Buffin and Bub.'

'Beggin' yer pardon, to whom are you undressin?' asked one of the shovel-holders.

'It ain't 'undressin'; it's 'addressin', ' says the other shovelshelf. 'An we's now gettin' into the addressin' of things.'

'A serious matter by all means,' spoke up Falco, who was beginning to realise that these two ruffa-muffa-bins might be more fun than he expected.

'Well then this h'ad-dressing don't mean no fight,' retorts the first.

'I presume you mean, it's a bark but no bite?' inquires our Shire hero. At this, Ruthven looks over at Falco, with a nod and a grin and a wink. Falco, unsure of quite where Ruthven is leading with the story this way, nods in a formally dignified way. She continues.

'He means,' says Twaddle, replying as if he acknowledged himself as Buffin, 'he means he's a simple soul what don't wants no trouble.'

'Nuffin simpe 'bout me,' retorts Gob, surely proving himself a Bub.

'Noes, I means,' says Twaddle, 'you relishes a bit of clowning around, you does.'

'Oh,' replies the shovelmaster, twirling it around in the ground for good measure. 'We's not like 'im 'er--here he nodded t'wards the halfling--wif his dignity acomin out of 'im like a bit o' stale air.'

Falco sniffed and considered taking umbrage at this.

'Now, sherbets I thinks,' continued Twaddle, 'they's all into dignity and formality, but we sorts, we jist gambol and gaffaw, hail and shout.' Twaddle leaned harder onto his shovel and looked Falco fairly in the eye."

With this, Ruthven retired, taking another sip of her tankard, nodding to all, and sitting back down again, wondering who else would take up the tale.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Brokhelm lifted the weight of his left arm, placing it on the table before him. “I expect I should carry on before our sherbet melts or perhaps before full stomachs and deep sleep threaten to carry us way, for I would rather tell tales all evening than have our dreams here in Edoras haunted by denizens of Mordor! But we’ve come full circle, have we?” the man mused, lowering his eyes to the tabletop.

When Brokhelm looked up again, he caught Ruthven’s eye, and looked at her a moment in silence before beginning. Then turning to Falco, he nodded to the hobbit.

“’So we have come full circle, have we?’ Falco said shrewdly. ‘I see that you both ain’t what you would have me think - though these boys of Sharkey’s would like it far better if you were. But they’re none too bright now, those ruffians? Not so bright as you can’t put a good one over on them, pay them back so to speak?’ And as our friend here winked at him, an involuntary smile crept across Twiddle-twaddle’s face. ‘I thought as much,’ the Shirriff concluded nodding his head sharply, so that the long brown feather wagged in the air.”

“Blue feather,” Falco spoke up. “Shirriff’s now, they always wear a blue feather.”

“Ah, thank-you Master Falco. Mind you it was the tip of a blue feather then, that darted about our Shirriff’s head!” Brokhelm held up his forefinger to mark the adjustment in his story.

“’We’s just havin’ a bit o’ fun,’ Twid explained. ‘Just clownin’ like I said. No harm’s done, is there?’

“’Not so far, but a shirriff’s no more sherbet than you are, of that much I am sure. Just what are you lads up to? You’ve said you’re cooking up sherbet, but I don’t see a stove about. And you had best not be cooking up a shirriff, or you’ll both land yourselves in hot water!’

“Gob wondered if he should let this hobbit in on their plan of Sharkey’s and henchmen’s rapid eradication. He was a hobbit after all, and by the look of him, a shirriff from the days before trouble came to the Shire. In any case, it wouldn’t hurt to have a little pull on their side, if they could convince him to help.

“’You mean a bath?’ Twid was saying playfully. ‘I’m not over fond of baths, you know!”

“’Worse,’ Falco assured him. ‘Certainly, far worse.’”

With that Brokhelm ceased his storytelling, and reached for a piece of fruit that lay at the center of the table. “Perhaps someone else would care to continue, lest this stomach, with its unintelligible rumblings, attempt to carry on the tale!”

[littlemanpoet]

"I'll pick it up," Eodwine offered.

"Falco said to them, 'No, not a bath, but something worse still. And not just Ferny but his whole gang.'

"'That's to my liking,' said Twiddle with his face scrunching smile.

"'The more the merrier,' said Gob.

"'At least so long as we're merry watchin' 'em squirm,' returned Twiddle.

"'So what have you got in mind?' Falco asked.

"'Meet us after sundown in a place you name, and we'll tell you then,' Gob said.

"'An' a merry meetin' it's been to you, lousy lot of ruffians, an' don't you come near the ol' Three Farthing Stone tonight or I'll make as sure as sure that there's enough hobbits there to string the both of you,' Falco said with a wink, and moved on.

"And so the two slackers passed their shovels from side to side and sloughed some dirt from here to there, slouching and almost slumbering on their feet, whispering between them with all the sizzle on their tongues that couldn't be seen in their hands.

"Night came and they slipped their way to the Three Farthing Stone where they found as sure as they knew the hairs on their knuckles the dozen or so hobbits they expected to find there."

Eodwine stopped and quaffed his mead.

"And there I must end my part of the tale because I'm daft if I know what Gob and Twiddle had planned."

"What!" cried Falco. "You've led us this merry way not knowing the lynchpin of your yarn?" (Falco could mix metaphors with the best and the worst of them, take your pick.)

"I was hoping for a little help with that, but everybody keeps skirting the real tale just as much as I've been doing, and I can't blame 'em." Eodwine shrugged and held up his hands in a gesture of defeat.

Falco though he was bluffing.

[Bêthberry]

"Some of us, Eodwine," said Bethberry, "have longer skirts with which to circle the tale." Ruthven cackled and pulled on her nose. She handed Bethberry a tankard full of ale. "If your throat be parched," the old woman said.

Bethberry looked at Falco. "We've had a fair bit of fun at your expense, haven't we?" she soothed. Falco picked at a non-existent piece of fluff upon his fine vest and let matters settle a minute or two. If Eodwine was going to declare defeat, perhaps he could find a champion here.

"I suppose," he said, "none of you have heard of what drew Bill Ferny away?"

"Well, Falco," replied Bethberry, "perhaps it would be best if you told us a bit about this Bill Ferny, before I embark upon a tale of his misadventures. " She sipped her ale, a slow smile spreading upon her calm face. As she had naught to do but await the arrival of a friend, she might as well turn her hand to this challenge Eodwine had proposed.

[littlemanpoet]

"Bill Ferny," Falco sneered. "A rascal and a foul miscreant if ever there was one. I'd have liked to bean him on the shnoz with a ripe red apple myself, and I praise the Mayor of the Shire for having done so!

"But Ferny. He put hisself in charge of a lot so he'd have less real work to do. He liked ordering others around, looking busy while not doing a thing and winding up with the best of everything into the bargain. When old Will Whitfoot got thrown in jail, who do you think took over his place? Silly thing to do too, since he could barely fit through the front door, but that didn't stop Ferny. He knew what he wanted, or at least he knew what he thought must be hiding in the farrest back cupboards of Whitfoot's larder, and he'd crawl on his hands and knees to satisfy his greed.

"And he wasn't above injuring hobbits neither. That's what made me maddest of all, and ready to see him done in by another. Now now! I know that's not a nice thing to say or think of another, but it's what I thought. I surely wouldn't do him in myself unless it be in battle or to save my own neck, which I'm mighty fond of don't you know.

"But about injuring hobbits. It always had to be tricksy because the ruffians didn't want to get the hobbits roused up, so everything was done careful to make sure the blame couldn't be pegged to any one person. That's why Ferny always did his worst through his men.

"And them southern men were the worst."

Falco paused to take a long drink from his ale cup.

[Bêthberry]

Garreth stretched his legs a bit and scratched his ear while listening to Bethberry’s tale of Bill Ferny’s Folly. He looked away from her and then down into his tankard. What he saw made him gulp, involuntarily. It was empty and his throat was dry. Or at least his wits were parched, which amounted to the same thing. Boredom tasted far less flavourful than the ale he was suddenly missing. He wondered if he could interrupt the story.

“Well, Miz Bet’bree, that’s a mighty fine tale you are regaling us with. I never paid much mind to this here Ring story that people round about here talk of. And I must say, you are increasing my admiration for this hafling fellow, our Falco.”

Falco bore this public attention with a certain amount of modest composure, but he did feel his ears ringing and was afraid that their tips would soon become red if this continued. But he felt no modest pride in hearing Miss Bethberry tell of his small role in paving the way for the famous Halflings to mount the assault in Bywater. He opened his mouth to intone his fine sense of the occasion when he persuaded Bill Ferny to leave Bywater just when the Cottons were arriving when up spoke Garreth again.

“In fact, beggin’ yer pardon, Miz Innkeeper, but I thinks we would be remiss if we didn’t here compliment the actions of young Falco. A toast to the Halfling Who Hoodwinked Ferny!” With that cry, he raised his tankard aloft and Harreld joined him with a “By Helm and by Hildeson, by Brego and Folca, on Falco!” Others around the table joined in, Eodwine with an impish grin and Ruthven with a glowing wink. Bethberry herself could not resist a gleeful laugh at this heroic invocation and replied softly with a “So be it!”

Amid the fussing and rushing of kitchen help, the clashing of tankards, the gurgling of pitchers, the voices crying “Arise, Arise, Hobbit of Hobbiton, fell deeds slaking and The Shire remaking”, no one noticed a slight person of sallow complexion enter the White Horse Inn. He stood calmly at the entrance to the Great Hall, observing the jocularity, recalling the cacophony of voice which had faded away upon his entrance to The Seventh Star. (http://forum.barrowdowns.com/showpost.php?p=417451&postcount=320) People were people everywhere, Sôông thought to himself, while wondering if silence would meet his arrival here as it had in The White City. He shifted his gaze around the crowded Great Hall, and found himself suddenly matching eyes with the Innkeeper. A fleeting smile crossed over her face as she acknowledge him but in respect of his courtesy and decorum she assumed a calm and sombre mein. She excused herself from the table, where, truth be told, others had now moved on from The Tale of Bill Ferny’s Folly. Ruthven looked up at her, a saddened frown suddenly creasing her forehead.

Bethberry and Sôông the Easterner sought out the smaller fireplace in the wordhoard, the small room to the back of the Great Hall and conferred. Deep in conversation they seemed, their heads at times coming together, then at times sitting pensively each in his or her own thought. Eodwine at last noticed Bethberry’s absence and spied the two. He rose, halting slightly at the entrance and politely waited to be invited in.

“Well might you join us, Eodwine of the Gap,” said Bethberry, “for there is a tale here to interest you.”

“Me?” he asked. “I might as well inquire what the daughter of the Old Forest is doing with an Easterling.” Sôông’s shoulders tightened but he made no move to acknowledge this statement.

“Sôông has been my messenger, and more,” answered Bethberry. “He has come from the halfling Fordim with instructions for the banner for his game.” Eodwine’s eyes widened in understanding and he looked back at the banners waving high from the beams of the Great Hall. They wafted in the smoky breeze of the hall, brilliant colours framed by the dark oak timbers of the ceiling struts and glinting like the jewels encrusted on the regal objects he himself had seen in the Golden Hall. We could make glass like that, he thought to himself, and set it in windows. And then he thought about the colours that would dance on the floor of the Inn.

“And what is to be the banner of Shadow of the West?” As Eodwine asked this question, he looked the Easterling in the eye—and one eye is was, for Sôông was of course blinded in the one eye—and saw not exotic difference nor anything fearful but some indescribable mystery. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as the man spoke.

“something with a hooded figure upon it, with the device of a single Ring above, while below him, alleviating the darkness that the figure casts, nine glittering stars, one for each of the gamers who made the tale worth the telling.”

Bethberry nodded. “Well chosen, it is. And it shall be made, ere I leave.”

“Leave?” inquired Eodwine. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean, Eodwine of the Gap, that it is past time I continued on my way throughout Middle earth in search of she who I once set out to find.” The man stood there stupefied and then understood why Sôông had so set his senses tingling.

“You will leave with him? You will journey to the eastern lands? You will leave The Horse?”

“I shall, indeed, for there is much for Bethberry to learn of the lands of the East and there is much need among the people of my healing arts, which have grown stale here amid the beer and ale and smoke.”

“But, but, The Horse! Who shall be our Innkeeper! Who shall finish The Tale of Bill Ferny’s Folly? Who shall help us mind our Ps and Qs?” sputtered, for all his eloquence, Eodwine.

“Who? Why who indeed, Eodwine, Once But Now No Longer Messenger of the Golden Hall. Would it not be a position worthy of you and one that you can shine at? A messenger is as good a wordsmith as any, if not more. Will you take over The White Horse Inn Eodwine? Methinks the name Innkeeper Eodwine becomes you.”

[littlemanpoet]

It was not in Eodwine to accept an Easterling, let alone a Dunlending, at face. This Sôông aroused the old enmities of the War within Eodwine's breast. Yet there was clearly a bond of strong friendship between this man and Bethberry; and she was a wise woman. Such friends spoke well of the man. Looking upon him more closely, Eodwine saw in the man's eye and mien a peaceableness and courtesy. Well enough.

But Bethberry, leaving? And suddenly Eodwine found himself virtually appointed as the new inkeeper. He was at a loss for words. It must have showed, for Bethberry was clearly amused. Me? Innkeeper of the White Horse Inn? Possibilities suddenly opened out in his mind, of how he could add to the warmth and goodness that was already here, with decorations and arrangements to delight anyone who called the Mark home; and to cause wonder and enjoyment even for those who did not. But it was silliness to allow even a speck of hope for such a thing.

"Though the thought pleases me to replace you, but the King has already appointed me Warden of the Marches of Dunland."

"Speak with the King," Bethberry replied mildly.

Eodwine could not help but laugh, discourteous as it was. "Behold, the wise Eodwine who appears on bended knee before the King of Rohan and says, 'My lord, I cannot accept the Wardenship that you have seen fit in your wisdom to bestow upon me, for my calling is higher; I am to be an innkeeper.'"

"Nevertheless, ask," said Bethberry evenly. "I am sure you will know best what words to use."

And now Eodwine found his heart at war. There were two desires in his heart: one was the joy and peace and homeliness of keeping such an inn as this. The other was a desire to order peace and law in a land that had known only war for too long. He had thought of how it would best be done. Which desire was stronger in his heart? He knew not.

"Give me the evening and the night to think it over, Bethberry, and in the morning I shall tell you whether this is a matter to be brought before the king."

"Very well, a night then."

[Bêthberry]

The two riders stopped their horses and turned back to see the sun glinting off the gold roof of Meduseld. The much plainer thatched roof of the White Horse was barely visible above the tall wooden barricade which still fenced Edoras even in these years after The War of the Ring. For one, the sight brought only relief from the uncomfortable feeling of never being looked at as a human being; for the other, wistful memories.

The obligations of fealty had been observed and the ownership of the Old White Horse Inn settled. Its timbers were ancient and creaking, its shutters splintering, and its walls in desperate need of chinking to keep the old wind which blew down the mountain from creating chilly drafts. Sometimes when the wind blew the wrong way, ash and smoke and even sparks from the great fire actually blew into the Great Hall, rather than up the chimney. Bethberry had never enjoyed that task, of clearing the cinder and airing the rooms and cleaning the soot off the furniture and walls. Yet she would miss the old place and good times it provided.

The leave-taking of Ruthven had been hard, for the old woman had pleaded her ancient bones and crippled gait as reason not to join Bethberry and Sôông on their journey east. In the rag woman Bethberry had found the one stalwart companion who had stood her in great stead as she faced all the usual and some of the unusual traffic an Inn sees. In great measure it had been Ruthven who had enabled Bethberry to tarry so long as innkeeper, finding in the twisting alleyways and grim social life of the Rohirrim both the dark and the comic aspects of life most often overlooked in the heroic tales of light and power. To Ruthven Bethberry had given most of her goods and chattel that she had not sold off with the Inn, for the old woman could use such coin to ease her final years. Glad Bethberry was that she would not be leaving Ruthven alone to face her last days, for Annawyn the seamstress would keep a watchful eye on the elderly woman, ensuring she had hot meals and enough wood to keep her small fire burning, no matter how crippled she became.

Bethberry smiled to herself imagining Annawyn’s face when everyone found her parting gifts to them. Too many players to be named one by one, yet each received, tied with the remnants of cloth from the game banners she had sewn, bottles sealed with wax. In them, a chutney originally of Annawyn’s devising, but flavoured and spiced with Bethberry’s own herbs and fruits: roast apple and anise, with currants and carrots and honey-sweetened wine. What would the strange little man Madi make of his apple pips? wondered Bethberry, for some of them had indeed grown into spindly trees. It had been beastly, harvesting the apples, for most were infected with small grubs and went for mash for the pigs, but enough firm, ripe apples were eventually found to make the preserve.

Bethberry’s horse whinnied and broke her reverie. She petted her mare’s neck and thought of Ælfritha’s kindness in selling her the horse. Ælfritha, who had nearly lost her family’s entire homestead in the disasterous theft of her horses years before the War. None of them had realized at that time just what the theft foretold. Ælfritha too had chosen to remain in Rohan, for the broad grasslands were her home and horses her domain. And besides, Ælfritha had never recovered from the horror she had witnessed long ago beside the Anduin and could barely look at Sôông—not that she blamed him--without remembering the terrible dread she had felt and violence she had seen.

“You are lost in thought of the past,” remarked Sôông to her after some time.

“Yes,” she replied. “A bad habit I thought belonged only to the elves. Well, let me make amends. Race me to the River Snowborn.”

And so it was that Bethberry took her leave of Rohan, journeying east where so many more stories yet remained to be learnt and told and told again.

[Bêthberry]

~ ~ ~ Finis ~ ~ ~

To Elvenhome