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Hearpwine neared the White Horse in a state of high relief. It had been weeks since his master had last given him the freedom of a day and he already knew what he was going to do with it. First order of the day was some sleep. He did not normally sleep well with the sun in the sky, but his exhaustion was such that he knew he could doze away what remained of the morning with ease. After a hearty lunch he would wander the fields about Edoras and stretch his legs somewhat. He toyed with the idea of inviting Mae to accompany him, for he was not by nature solitary, but he immediately realised how such an invitation would be perceived by others – and he was painfully aware of how Mae herself might take it. His studies had kept him away from Mae in the last months, but in that time there had grown between them a warm regard, much like that of brother and sister. He was only a few years older than she, but he felt as though he were her elder. He had not seen much of the world, but he had seen more than she; what was more, as a young man of noble lineage he had enjoyed freedoms that were not available to a serving lass. He sighed somewhat at the thought of the disparities between them. Perhaps if he invited Gomen to accompany him on his walk first, he could then ask Mae without setting any tongues wagging.
Even as he thought this he heard the young man’s voice coming from the stable so he passed into its shadows to find Gomen and his father hard at work. Leofan greeted him cordially, but Hearpwine caught the note of reserve in his voice. Here was one, at least, who thought that Hearpwine’s affections toward Mae were more than filial. He hoped that what he was about to suggest might alleviate those concerns. “Good day Leofan,” he replied courteously. “I have come to seek Gomen, to see if he would like to join me in a walk this afternoon. I have been given my liberty this day and I would fain stretch my legs in the fields about Edoras.” Gomen immediately began to beg his father’s leave to join the bard, but Leofan only scowled and said that he would speak with Gomen about this further. “Very well,” Hearpwine replied, trying not to let his disappointment show. “I shall await your decision.” He decided that now would not be the best time to inquire if Mae could accompany him as well.
He looked in on Hrothgar before leaving the stables, making sure that his friend was comfortably stalled and fed (as always, he was both). As he made his way across the yard to the Inn, he heard a familiar voice come through the door, and even as he came over the threshold he was calling out “Osric! My old friend, how happy I am to see you! You went away ere you had the chance to tell me your full story so that I might set it to song!” As he spoke, he saw the young man who was apparently the old soldier’s companion. Hearpwine moved forward to introduce himself, but his attention was immediately caught by the sight of two more old acquaintances: his fellow bard Asad and his grandmother were at the Inn, for what purpose he could not guess. He called out to them as well. There were several strangers at the Inn, including an unusually large number of children. At the sight of him, several of the younger ones – Hearpwine had never been very good at remembering small children so he was not sure whose they were – called out to him for a jolly song. Hearpwine’s heart sank at the request even as he fought to keep a smile upon his face. He had rushed home with only sleep in his thoughts, but here was the Inn full of old friends and new audiences demanding his attention! He looked about, desperate for some polite way to extricate himself from the children, and his eye fell upon Hanasian. The Ranger, normally so alert and keen, as were all the folk of his race, looked as though he had been stomped on (repeatedly) by a troll with a very bad temper. “My friend,” Hearpwine called out to him, “whatever could be the matter with you? Why look you so ill?” He turned to the children, explaining, “I would sing you all a song, but yon Ranger is apparently in some desperate state. I will see to him first, and then we shall see about some entertainments.” He pulled himself free of the clinging hands and moved toward the table in the corner that had, by common consent of those at the Inn, become the Ranger’s reserved seat. Taking the seat opposite, he asked. “Whatever is the matter, friend? Is it an ailment of heart and limb – or is it the result of some excess that you now regret?” As he said this he smiled knowingly.
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