[Bêthberry]

Almost without thought, Bethberry reached down to stroke Goldwine, her fingers entwining in the soft fur and languishing at the touch upon the feline's warm body. Goldwine promptly jumped up and claimed a regal spot on the woman's lap, where she continued to allow herself to be caressed as Bethberry listened to Hearpwine's songs and Osric's proud proclamation of the beauty of dark-haired Kate. The arrival of the children and the attention paid to them gave Bethberry time to reflect upon Hearpwine's reply.

Hearpwine had not, as she had suspected, understood what she was about. Oh, he had seen her smile and he had thought about 'heart's desires'--well, more rather 'heat's desires' --but he had assumed she was regarding him as many do the fond and energetic young. Instead, she had been testing his appreciation of the White Lady's lament. It seemed that he was indeed as cynical as he was enthusiastic, for he had dismissed the elven melodies as, perhaps, mere melodies, and not attempted to see how their heart's desire might inspire a new age.

"Let me think, Master Harpist," she spoke up. "You give me a choice between two women made wretched by the purposed dominion of men, but when has that tale ever not been true? By your very choice you consign the elven melodies to mere fancy, to trifling amusement and eliminate the meaning of the White Lady's burden from your thoughts. The old warrior Osric was not so dismissive."

At this, several eyes were raised at Bethberry in astonishment. The fond young bard was taken up short and he cocked his head slightly to the side while over old Osric's face there danced a smile of wisdom and recognition.

"Galadriel's lamentation is a burden of real life, no illusion of the conceiving mind, but the melancoly lesson of rebellion and leadership and dreadful battle against foes mighty and cruel. It is wrought out of the perils of this realm and weariness with it. And she learnt the lesson of the ring and of power. If we do not take that with us as we weave our music, then indeed we face a long defeat." She paused, wondering if she was speaking too much of her knowledge of the tales of Middle-earth, a knowledge gleaned from her father and mother's side and which for many in Rohan was the mere stuff of legend, not history.

Then she continued. "Is there no room in your vision of the new age for the reality of the elves, Hearpwine? Not the nostalgia, now, which is what I wondering about, but something that accords with the law of this Arda , some arresting strangeness that can capture a consolation unexpectedly out of grief?"

She heard coughs and looked over at Ruthven, whose aged eyes were harbouring a gleam of wicked delight, and then at the dwarves Oin and Finky.

"I forget my manner now that I am no longer Innkeeper here. We have others here, travellers from many lands, who may wish also to sing or tell of their songs. Perhaps they will serve to give impetus to our bards here, Liornung and Hearpwine." Then Bethberry looked up at Aylwen. "Or you?"