A young girl, fair of face as would befit a maid of Rohan, paced up and down in front of the door of the White Horse, gazing anxiously at the little road that led up to the Inn. Nearby her twin brothers, Deman and Fierlan, were sitting astride a bay stallion that was tossing his head and chiding them with his neighs when they became too careless. They cried out to each other that they were brave soldiers in the battle of Helm's Deep and seemed to be enjoying their little game.
"Maercwen, lassie!" A man stood in the door of the stable, dirt and bits of hay clinging to him. He cast a fond, careful look towards the two lads, then put his back to the frame of the door and, folding his arms, fixed an amused look on Maercwen. "What are you doing out here still when you should be inside helping your mother with the baby? And I thought you were going to ask Aylwen today if you could have a job as a serving maid?"
"I am, Papa."
Her reply was short and rather sharp and the man, her father Leofan, looked a bit taken aback. And then an understanding smile came over his features and he also turned to look at the road running up to the Inn. An impatient whinny behind him told him that one of the horses was in need of him. Most likely one of the newest arrivals. Leofan bit back a chuckle when he thought of the little pony belong to the hobbit. Maercwen hadn't seen the hobbit yet, but he hoped that when she did she wouldn't stare too hard.
"Liornung will be here soon," he called to his daughter and slipped back into the stable. For it was true that that was what was bothering Maercwen. Her uncle Liornung had promised to be there that night to sing songs and tell tales, but had not yet arrived, and now that the sun was telling that it was noon the lassie was becoming worried that he would not arrive in time. Leofan was confident that Liornung would be there on time. He knew his little brother liked to make a late entrance so people shouldn't pester him too much beforehand. At least that was what he always said.
Leofan put a hand lightly upon the front of the pony's face and smiled. People indeed. Liornung was obviously referring to all the children who were begging for a tune before it was time. And what a lie it was. There could never have been a prouder uncle than Liornung. Everyone in the family loved him dearly, and he appreciated it very much. Maercwen especially loved how he would stare anyone down who had the nerve to give him the high title of a bard. He said he was a wandering fiddler and so he would be forever. He'd take the little sideroads that were seldom trodden upon and sing for people who would forget him the next day, and he was quite content with it all.
Casting another look outside, Leofan saw that Maercwen had resumed her pacing in front of the door. Chuckling, he ran his hand down the pony's neck and said, "He'll be here."
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