[Fordim Hedgethistle]

For the first time since he’d arrived, Hearpwine’s natural good humour seemed to fail him utterly. “Alas!” he sighed with true sadness, “I’m afraid Mae” and he flushed a little as he called the lass by this name, “that I do not know of any song that will match your desires. With an hour or two of thought I could write one, but you ask for something to dance to now…” He fell into a thoughtful pose for a moment, but then his eyes brightened and he sat up in his chair. He seized his harp. “This is not, perhaps, what you need, Mae, and for that I’m truly sorry. But perhaps it will do until I can think on your request a bit longer and craft a song for you myself.” And with that, his hands flew to the strings of his harp and the room was soon filled with a rousing tune. Mae and Gomen were soon dancing once more. As Hearpwine began to sing, Liornung stood up and, taking his niece in his arms, they danced together.

“Oh once upon a time on West border,
An old man sat in his little cabin door,
And fiddled at a tune that he liked to hear,
A jolly old tune that he played by ear.
It was raining hard but the fiddler didn't care
He sawed away at the popular air,
Though his roof tree leaked like a water fall
That didn't seem to bother the man at all.

“A traveler was riding by that day,
And stopped to hear him a-practicing away
The cabin was afloat and his feet were wet,
But still the old man didn't seem to fret.
So the stranger said: “Now the way it seems to me,
You'd better mend your roof,” said he.
But the old man said, as he played away:
”I couldn't mend it now, it's a rainy day.”

“The traveler replied: “That's all quite true,
But this, I think, is the thing for you to do;
Get busy on a day that is fair and bright,
Then pitch the old roof till it's good and tight.”
But the old man kept on a-playing at his reel,
And tapped the ground with his leathery heel:
”Get along,” said he, “for you give me a pain;
My cabin never leaks when it doesn't rain.”

“My cabin never leaks when it doesn't rain!” Hearpwine sang once more and then brought the music to a halt. Once more there was applause which he acknowledged with a slight bow. He was enjoying himself as he had not in many a year, but at the back of his mind there was a nagging worry. Hearpwine had ridden for days through the raw air of spring, and he had now been singing and talking for hours, almost without break. His throat, strong as it was, could not keep going much longer. He thought about the Contest tomorrow and decided that it was time to beg off singing any more – he could play his harp, but his voice must not be over-exerted.

Just as he was to explain to the room that he dare not sing any more, Mae turned to him and her face was flushed with joy. He eyes were blazing and there were a few strands of hair clinging to the light sweat on her forehead that Hearpwine – strangely enough – found himself wishing he could brush back from her eyes with his own fingers. As though sensing his thoughts, the girl ran her hand across her hair to smooth it out as best she could. “That was wonderful!” she said. “But it was far too short. Sing us another song, with a fit tune for dancing. But perhaps one a bit slower this time, so that my uncle and I might dance something a bit more gentle.” Hearpwine bowed his head to her and made no complaint.

He began a slow tune then, one that moved along the limbs of the dancers and urged them to sway along with it like boats that rocked gently with the incoming tide. He watched as Liornung and Mae danced together for the first recital of the tune, and so engrossed did he become with the sight that he missed his entrance. He had to play the tune through again before he could begin the song. Bêthberry, he saw, noticed his slip, and she smiled at him in a manner that made him blush and look to his harp as though he were checking his fingering. When the entrance came round again, he rushed into it.

“I see her in my dreams, she trips to me lightly,
With joy on her lips she whispers my name.
Her eyes look in mine, so fondly so brightly,
I wake and 'tis then no longer the same.
Her glance then is chilly, her step seems to shun me,
The lips that have smiled wear the curl of disdain;
Oh! Rohan’s fair child my love hath undone me,
But yet in my dreams I'd see thee again.

“Oh, Rohan's fair child, in sleep thou art with me,
Wherever we walk, you go by my side;
Thou hear'st with delight the words I am saying,
I read thy young heart, I read it with pride.
But ah, when awake if I vow I adore thee,
Thy look ever tells me I woo thee in vain;
I'll trouble thee not, no more plead before thee;
I know in my dreams, thou'lt love me again.”

He felt it the instant he finished the song, unmistakably. He had reached the limit of his voice for that day. He smiled at the applause and hoped that he could find a way to rest his throat before the Contest tomorrow…