[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine’s laugh filled the air atop the hill, and Hrothgar joined in with a merry whinny. Gomen at first thought that the bard was laughing at him, but Hearpwine was quick to dispel that fear. “What are you to do? Why sing, lad, sing! Being a bard is not about memorising songs and getting your rhymes right, any more than being a stablemaster is about mucking out the stalls and walking the horses. What matters is the purpose of the task. You’ve heard the song once, that should be enough for you to know the melody, is it not?” Gomen nodded, not fully understanding what Hearpwine was talking about. “And do you remember what the tale was about?”

“Yes,” the lad replied, more confident in this one. “It was about a man and a lady whom he loved. She was afraid he would hurt her, but he convinced her to love him anyway.”

Hearpwine smiled at the innocent interpretation the boy had given the song. He did not tell Gomen that there was one ingredient to being a bard that no amount of teaching could impart – the maturity of wider experience. And not for the first time did he lament his own shortcomings in this regard. “Well, you know the tune, and you know what the song is about – so sing it!”

Gomen looked at him wide-eyed and afraid. “But I do not remember how it began.”

“It begins however you want it to begin. Hum the tune, and when you find the words, put them in there.”

Gomen began to hum and Hearpwine noted with satisfaction that the lad could hold and keep a tune well. Soon he found confidence as the music filled him and the tune became stronger, and even began to change somewhat as the boy found his own way through the intricate notes. As the boy hummed, Hearpwine watched as the fast moving figure in the fields below became a rider in great haste. He rode about as though looking or something, but moving more or less toward the hill upon which Hrothgar stood. From the distance there came the faint sound of a horse’s neigh, and Hrothgar’s ears twitched. Gomen began singing:

As I was walking one midsummer evening,
A-viewing the fields and to see the stars,
'Twas down by the banks of the sweet Withywindle,
When I beheld a maid most Fair.

Hrothgar’s sudden whinny interrupted the lad. Hearpwine clapped him on the back saying, “That was a fine verse Gomen, a fine verse. You sing well. I think with practice you may become a mighty performer!” Once more Hrothgar called to the horse that was now clearly approaching them, and soon both Hearpwine and Gomen recognised the rider. As Leofan pulled up beside them, Hearpwine’s questions died on his lips.

“Come,” the stablemaster cried. “You are needed at the Inn. Your Lord and Lady are to leave for Ithilien within the hour and Eorcyn is sent to find you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The woman reined in her horse at the yard of the Inn and looked about for a stable-hand but saw no-one. Her brow contracted into a slight frown of curiosity. It had been years since she had been to the White Horse Inn, but she still well remembered the great care given to horses within the elaborate stables. Dismounting she led her horse to a post and hitched him to it, whispering comforting words in his ear and giving him a lump of sugar from her pocket. That being done, she entered the Inn.

The first words that greeted her ears were the Innkeeper’s, who was addressing the Bard Eorcyn: “What do you think should happen if we are unable to find Hearpwine in time? There is no question that we will get him back here eventually, but what if it is not soon enough for the Lord Faramir and his Lady?”

The woman stepped forward, pulling back her hood as she spoke. “I will answer for that,” she said. “If the young Bard be not found soon, then he shall have to follow his Lord and Lady as best he may on his own, for he is commanded to follow them.” The people of the Inn looked up in surprise at the lady. Beneath her forest green cloak she was clothed all in white and her golden hair was bound in braids about her head like a crown. There were gasps of recognition and surprise.

Eorcyn was the first to recover the use of his tongue. Rising to his feet he bowed deeply saying, “My Lady Eowyn.”