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Gomen’s eager face bore still the marks of the tears that had flown across it, but Hearpwine had been a lad of Gomen’s age not so long ago and knew better than to let on that he saw the marks of the boy’s woe. The lad was at that difficult age on the very cusp of manhood, in which life was a constant movement between childhood and maturity. His first response to whatever had befallen him had been to fling himself upon his sister and mother for comfort, but now that the worst of the storm was past, here he was seeking out a man with whom to forget the passion and the tears. It was natural of the boy to do this, but still Hearpwine felt a slight twinge of loss on his behalf – a quiet lament for the loss of the easy unity of the young boy who did not know that he had to behave like a man, and who still could find comfort in the soft and loving arms of his mother and sister. Hearpwine often wondered why it was so that men had to learn to cut themselves off from that kind of comfort, and why to be a man one had to learn to hide one’s feelings. It was counter intuitive for himself, for as a bard he reveled in the passionate feelings of his craft, and would frequently be moved to tears by the power of song: why, he puzzled, are such tears acceptable – even in the hall of the King – when this boy’s tears of hurt and distress were not?
He smiled at Gomen and stood immediately. “Aye lad,” he said, “I am sorry to have made you wait but my good friend Hanasián and I were deep in talk of the Halflings. I;m sure you understand hoe engrossing they can be!” Gomen’s bright eye and fiercely bobbing head told Hearpwine that he did. “Well then, come along, and let us enjoy the rest of the morning upon the hills!” He put his arm about the boy’s shoulders and walked toward the door. In that gesture he could easily feel the frame of a grown man beginning to emerge from beneath the boy’s skin – and he noted with some approval that Gomen would be both tall and strong: a proud tribute to the strength and manhood of the Rohirrim, and a credit to his family.
As they left the Inn, Hearpwine caught the eye of Bêthberry who was still talking with the youth Sigurd. In conversation though she was, still her eye held his for a moment, and in that time it was almost as though she were speaking with him. Hearpwine was shocked, for while there was no voice in his mind he felt her sense of warning and caution as clearly as if she had spoken it aloud. Perhaps sensing that he had felt her concerns, Bêthberry returned her attention to Osric and Sigurd. Hearpwine’s face became a bit graver and he said, “I need to fetch somewhat from the stables, Gomen, before we go.” But even as he spoke he saw that Gomen was not paying attention to him. Following the boy’s gaze he saw him looking at what was no doubt the cause of his upset – a very pretty young girl, both tall and stern of aspect. Hearpwine quickly hid his knowing smile so that Gomen would not be shamed by it.
Leading the boy into the stables he moved to Hrothgar’s stall. His horse snickered happily at the presence of his master and nuzzled Hearpwine. The bard stroked his friend’s mane approvingly and admired the tremendous care that he had received from the stablemaster – never before had Hrothgar looked so well. Suddenly realizing that he had not been riding in weeks, Hearpwine spoke to his mount. “My friend,” he said, “here I was planning on an outing and not taking you! And you’ve barely had a chance to stretch your legs beyond a round of daily exercise in the paddock! Come Gomen!” he cried, “Let us allow Hrothgar to take us out beyond the walls of Edoras so that we may feel the sunlight upon us in the high places of the vale!” A few minutes later Hrothgar was saddled and neighing happily as he bore his master and Gomen toward the gate of the city. Hearpwine smiled as he felt the fatigue drain from his limbs to be replaced by the vitality of his horse.
As they rode, he felt the reassuring slap of his sword against Hrothgrar’s flank, and he thought to himself how this way, he could bring his sword along without having to let Gomen know that it was his blade that he had gone into the stables to fetch. Bêthberry’s look came into his memory once more and he wondered why it had led him to ensure that he went out armed…
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