[Bêthberry]

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It is now nearing sunset and dinner has been served to all. Food and dishes are being cleared away for the final entertainments of the evening. It was the practice, in days of yore, for storytellers and dream weavers to entertain such parties with tales. If any of you wish, feel free to have your character present a tale to the assembled guests. Bêthberry will be telling a ghost story, a very short ghost story, in a bit.

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The Horse was crowded with patrons, bodies squeezed into close proximity, bumping into each other with good natured mock apologies and grins, breaking down the formality of the usual distance people keep between each other. One could see people catching each other's eyes as they acknowledged old friends or looked to find new ones. Some patrons were finishing up their meals while others had settled down in small groups of animated talk.

The night was hot. The windows had been thrown wide open, but the breezes which wafted through them brought the cloying mugginess of summer heat to add to the warmth which the bodies in close contact generated. Most of the children were grinning, aware of the special treat of being allowed to stay up late on a party night, although a few of the young ones were looking drowsy and one or two were on the verge of becoming overtired and cranky.

The Innkeeper realized that the time had come for some of the entertainments. She rose from her desk, carrying a largish brass pot with a huge wooden ladle, which made a resounding gong when struck together. It was sufficiently different from her usual sedate, quiet bell that many of the staff as well as the patrons grinned in anticipation.

"Ah," Bêthberry said, grinning herself. "I might disappoint you. Others will have finer tales to tell. Instead I have a more pleasant task; I have a welcome to extend, to two people whose presence will make The Horse and all of Rohan a finer place to be."

Whistles and calls broke out from some of the patrons at this point, and the Innkeeper paused, searching the throng for particular faces.

"I cannot see them in this press of people, but possibly"--a wink here--"they can hear me. Aylwen Dreamsong has done a sterling job creating not only good posts and games but bringing together in the fun and fellowship of gaming many new faces to Rohan. Her work here in The White Horse is eagerly anticipated and I'm sure she will help make this the most exciting Inn in all of Edoras."

A large loud cheer went up, hoots and hollars enough to bring a bright blush to Aylwen's face. Then Bêthberry continued.

"And most welcome is the return of our Bard after an absence of so many years. Child, your lore, your travels, your gracious, generous patience, will I hope provide Rohan with an education which has been missing in the past. May our writing and our gaming be richer for your wisdom!"

If Bêthberry had more words of welcome to add, they were lost in the swell of applause and cheers and toasts which rang out. Like any good speaker who knows how to work a crowd, she recognized when it was time to withdraw. She signalled a special round of mead, or ale, or tea for all, and then went to find Annawen, with whom she had not yet had time to chat. Passing by the long table, she spied a most unlikely traveller through the plains of Rohan. It had been a long, long time since she had last had a chance to talk with a hobbit and she was curious to know what brought the young person here.

The minstrels struck up their instruments, beginning with a celebratory jig. In the meadhall and all around the White Horse, patrons and staff began keeping time to the rhythm of the instruments with their feet, their heads, their hands slapping their thighs. The rattling good sounds of jubilation rang out.

[ July 07, 2003: Message edited by: Bêthberry ]