The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Now that Mae had been found, Hearpwine was all but jumping out of his skin with impatience to return to Meduseld. He listened politely as Jesia spoke with Liornung and watched as his friend took in what the older woman was saying. He realised that the matter of the bracelet had reached an impasse: Mae could not keep it, Liornung did now want it, and Jesia had forsaken it. With the easiest manner he could manage amid his anxiety, Hearpwine reached out and gently took the bracelet from Mae’s hands, saying gently “If it’s not overbold of me Mae, I think that it might be a good idea for me to have that trinket. Not to keep as my own, but to hold for you until you wish to claim it.” And so saying he placed it upon his own wrist. Whether it were magic or not he could not tell, but he did feel an immense relief that the matter had been dealt with and he was free to return to the Contest.

“Now, Mae,” he said jovially, “I am afraid that you are wanted at the Inn by Miss Aylwen, who I am sure is becoming quite aggrieved with your uncle and I for having kept you away this long.” Mae pouted (quite prettily) but did not disagree, for she was aware of the conditions that the Innkeeper had placed upon her attendance at the Contest. Hearpwine turned next to Liornung. “My friend, I wonder if I might ask a favour of you? I am positively burning with desire to return to the Hall to hear the other bards…”

“And,” Liornung interrupted his quietly, “to hear the judgement of the King, no doubt!”

Hearpwine laughed and his friends were glad to hear it, for it was the first sign of his accustomed good humour this day. “Aye, and to await the King’s judgement, be it for good or ill! Would you mind escorting Mae to the Inn yourself? I am sure that Asad wishes also to return to the Hall with me.” The youth nodded and looked as though he would spring up the hill that moment. Hearpwine continued, “Once Mae is safely stowed with Aylwen, I am sure that you would still have time to hear the last of the bards. I hate to ask this of you my friend, but…” Liornung cut off the young man with an easy gesture of his hands, and assured him that he was happy to take Mae in hand. Hearpwine smiled with relief and turned to leave, but not before pausing to say to Mae, “I am glad you were in the Hall this day, to hear me sing. Perhaps when I return to the Inn, I will do so with good news!” Mae smiled and said that she hoped this would be so.

Without waiting for another word, Hearpwine and Asad rushed back up the hill toward the Hall of the King. As they went, Asad returned to the topic he had addressed before the adventure with Mae. “You sing very well, Master Hearpwine,” he began. “I fear for my sake, and the sake of all the bards gathered this day, too well!”

“Aye,” he replied, “I did feel as though I was in good voice, and the song did seem to go to the heart of the King and his lords. Lady Éowyn, I thought, was particularly moved, for I saw her dashing away a tear – so strange that a woman of such stern and noble matter would be moved to tears in that manner! But she loved Theoden well.”

Asad paused for a moment before speaking again, unsure of how to broach his question. “Your lay was not entirely as things happened though, was it? As I have heard tell of that day, Éomer did not bear Theoden from the field, and he was not laid on his bier in the company of the Lady Galadriel until nigh on midsummer when he was brought back to Rohan in honour.”

Hearpwine’s brow furrowed somewhat as he replied. “I thought long on just that point as I wrote that song. It seemed to me, though, that it was more important to get the truth of his passing right, rather than the mere events. It would not make for much of song should I tell of the endless weeks that Theoden lay waiting in a cold tomb of stone for his journey back to the green fields of his lands.”

Asad nodded but said nothing in response, for they had reached the great door of the Golden Hall once more, and with a quick nod to Wulfstan, passed once more into the light and song that filled it.

[Nurumaiel]

"Uncle..."

Liornung looked down at this niece with a smile. She had a puzzled look on her face, a look of bewilderment and confusion. She did not return his look but merely stared at the ground as they moved towards the Inn. "Uncle, Jesia spoke as though you had missed something very great. She spoke of you losing a chance and learning a lesson. What does that mean?"

"Apparently she thought I was very foolish about the bracelet," he said. For a moment Maercwen thought he was not going to say anything further, but after a brief pause he continued. "I lost that chance, she says. I lost nothing, but gained much. The only thing I did not reach out and take, as she puts it, was the bracelet. I took more wisdom, however. Mae, everyone seems to consider me the foolish bard who doesn't know anything about the War. I... I'd beg to tell the truth now. I say I didn't fight but I do not mean it except in a sense."

Maercwen's eyes widened and her breath quickened. "I keep much of my past hidden from young and old people," he continued. "Indeed, I believe it's only your mother and father who know. But I tell you because this bracelet has a very valuable lesson to teach... not about luck and confidence or any other such thing, but something I can hardly explain. So I'll tell you... I can understand Hearpwine's longing to be Bard of the King. For a brief time I was also Bard of the King... to our dear King Theoden."

Maercwen stopped abruptly, but said nothing. Her eyes clearly showed what she was thinking. She could not believe what he was saying.

"I say a brief time for it was no more than a year. Troubles came then and I left him, though I did not desire to. I returned one day and found he was not right. I could not grasp what was wrong with him. It did not seem like illness, yet it did. And then, to speak very briefly for you will learn this in your history books if they speak at all of King Theoden, an old man came and spoke to him. And he was King again." He paused and looked off into the sky, remembering things long past. "This old man I heard called 'Gandalf.' He was not unkind to me. I was like young Hearpwine... very confident of myself and assured of my talent, for light and carefree. I was still a boy, like he is now. I think I amused this Gandalf somewhat with my ceaseless songs and my fiddle. And then one time... I recall not when it was, whether it was before or after the great battle of Pelennor, where our beloved King fell... It has left my memory when, for the words he spoke to me have banished thoughts of all else on that occasion. But he was there. Gandalf was there, and I was nearby, singing a silly little song which was centered around the luck of one man. When I finished I looked at him. I always sought the approval of those who seemed high and mighty. And he spoke to me. 'Your voice rings true, as do the strings of your fiddle,' said he, 'but I wonder whether the words of your song are true? Do you really believe in chance, or luck as you put it? Do you really believe it was chance that brought the minstrel of Gondor to your doorstep, the stone that started the avalanche of your journeys? Do you really believe it was chance that made you Bard of the King? Do you believe it was luck? Or do you believe there was a purpose for it all, that it was planned, that a one inspired the Gondorian minstrel to travel to Rohan so he would meet you and your life might go as it has thus far?' I did not know what to say. A glimmer of wisdom shone upon me. 'Think upon it,' he said, and no more. I was quite an expert at judging the moods of men even then, and I could tell he was recalling the past. It was not the first time he had spoken thus to one. I never saw him again after that.

"You see, Mae, I believe what he spoke was true. Chance? How could chance ever chance so much, in such an orderly way? Do you realize that if this foolish 'chance' did not come Hearpwine would not stand before the King today? Recall that it was I who moved him to be a bard when I went to his estate one day. Think of all the things that have happened just because one minstrel came to my door. Think of how orderly it all is. Luck? I scorn how ridiculous it is. The old man was right. It was planned. By whom? I know not. But it was planned, and luck and chance are mere nothings that do not exist. Now you, little one, think upon the words of the old man and see if he was not right." He fell silent, and Mae fell into thought. She did not want to consider what the old man had said. It was too frightening to think someone was planning everything that happened to her uncle... and to her. But she considered her uncle's past... he had fought in the War after all, and he had once been Bard of the King.

[Kransha]

Osric still sat, sagging forward and occasionally yanking his beleaguered form up. His eyelids tried to droop, but his strong will flexed them mercilessly, keeping his glazing over orbs from even the satisfaction of a weary blink. Though the inn’s volume level had increased of late, Osric’s quavering ears did not hear the rumbling din within or outside. He merely heard the steady beat he kept, a calming hum that escaped him as he sat, drumming his rough, wrinkled digits upon the tabletop and systematically keeping up with the enervated monotone all around him. At last, recognizable silhouettes bounded across the threshold of the White Horse, for which Osric thanked whatever masters of the relieving of tedium existed amongst Valar or Maiar.

It was Maercwen and Liornung who entered, with oddly subdued looks upon their faces. Osric immediately missed Mearcwen’s youthful vivacity, and Liornung’s jocund gait, for they seemed to be missing from the two figures who strode inside. Osric’s bushy eyebrow of ivory gray perked up as he shot a quizzical glance at the two. He beckoned for Liornung, who caught sight of him in the inn’s more shaded corners and forded the growing waters of folk who were beginning to crowd within. He pulled the sturdy seat across from Osric at the table, placing his limp arms and hands upon the smoothly furnished wooden slate. Osric could see the meager creases upon the fingers of his left hand, signifying his playing of the melodious fiddle. The Rohirrim wasn’t sure if these marks of dedication to the instrument were recent, or a permanent gathering that had followed Liornung over time. His eyes upturned from the man to see Mae nearing them, probably to bid her uncle a good day before she pranced off to see to Miss Alywen’s assignments.

Partially out of the gnawing boredom that had set in upon the attentive old fellow, and partially out of sincere concern for the expressions of seriousness swimming in the eyes of Maercwen, though more tempered in Liornung’s, Osric spoke, his voice raspy at first having not even opened his mouth in a good many hours of the day. His gravelly tone soon smoothed out as his dry lips parted. “Liornung, good sir, I trust you’re adventure in Edoras this day was met well? Oh, what am I saying? Of course it was met well! I do not doubt that the throngs of Rohan have chaired you throughout all the city and chorused your name throughout the hallowed halls of Meduseld and beyond!” Osric’s apparent belatedness managed to snatch a fleeting smile from Liornung, but Maercwen still seemed uncharacteristically humorless, still ready to hurry off to whatever duties she was required to do, much to Osric’s dismay. But, the old Rohirrim stayed her from her mission, pausing only briefly and with a curt breath, considering as he blinked several times, rubbing at the crimson rings that encircled his eyes, and spoke again with more of a reserved pitch. “Forgive me for prying, but is there anything troubling either of you? I would think that any such festive event, won or lost, would bring flavorful winds, rather than what I see on you. Was there a mishap at the Great Hall, perhaps?”

[Nurumaiel]

A deep sigh escaped Liornung yet he smiled. "Nothing is amiss, good Osric, or at least I do not believe it to be so." He sat across from the old man, tracing the patterns on the wood. Lights flickered in his mind. All things seemed strange. Since he had encountered the bracelet he had been led to think of deep things, things he did not understand. It brought confusion to him, and wonder, and a deep peace. "I have been considering things very deep, and it strikes wonder in me. Would you care to hear?"

"If you should care to tell me, I would greatly desire to hear," Osric replied.

So Liornung poured forth all he had told Maercwen. He told of his service as Bard of the King, his service in the War, and of the words of the old man Gandalf. Osric listened carefully to all, saying nothing until Liornung had finished. When his tale was done, the fiddler leaned wearily on the table, gazing into Osric's face.

"Sir, you are older than I and I would believe you to be much wiser," he said. "I believe the words of the old man Gandalf are true and that chance is a fool's word. But if it is not chance, or luck, that causes things to happen, what is it? Who could be so powerful in this world as to plan out a man's life and guide things to happen exactly as he planned? I am bewildered."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine and Asad moved back into the Hall and took their places at the back of the crowds who had gathered to watch. There was an old bard singing at the moment, one whom Hearpwine had heard of even in his far flung corner of the March. The man’s voice, while elderly, was clear and he sung an ancient and well known lay of Brego and the founding of Meduseld. He concluded to a general clamour of applause, for he was popular with the people of Edoras, and his song was well-known. Bowing to the King with great and practised courtesy the man moved back into the crowds as the next bard’s colour was called. A middle-aged man with a long thick beard came forward and began to sing a rousing song. The melody and words were pleasant, and his voice was strong, but he lacked a full ear for music and the feeling of the moment was not right. Hearpwine could feel the crowd shift and ripple about him as they enjoyed the music, but knew that this man was not going to win the Contest this or any day.

As the two young men listened politely, Hearpwine felt a light touch on his shoulder and he turned to see the old bard at his elbow. Hearpwine and Asad bowed to him and congratulated him on his performance. He waved their compliments away with his aged hand saying, “Nay, it was a fine song, but not the best I’ve given. The years have moved too quickly for me, I’m afraid. My best days are behind me now.”

Hearpwine smiled and, remembering to keep his voice low, rejected this politely. “Do not think so Master Eorcyn. Why I still remember the Lay you sang for Theoden King as he was brought back from Gondor at the end of the War. You met us at the border of the Mark and sang of Eorl the Young as the sun rose. It was as though your music were bringing the light to us in our hour of greatest darkness!”

The old man smiled at Hearpwine’s extreme youth. “You honour me,” he said, “you, who sing of that death and that journey so movingly.” He paused for a moment, looking at Hearpwine cautiously before speaking again. “It is an impertinence, but might I ask if you would be willing to let an old man speak plainly to you?”

Hearpwine was a bit taken aback by this, and he exchanged a confused look with Asad before agreeing. Eorcyn spoke slowly and with great care. “You sing a mighty line, my friend, and you do so with a passion that I have rarely seen in one so young. Your skills with the harp, while impressive, could be bettered, but I have no doubt that time and practice will make you a master of the instrument to be told of for years to come.” He paused, somewhat uncomfortably.

“But…” Hearpwine said, urging him to continue. The old man smiled.

“But,” he said again, “you take certain risks with your singing. Risks that the schooled ear thrills to, but which perhaps place too great a demand upon the more, shall we say, casual listener.”

It was Asad who spoke in passionate defence of Hearpwine’s singing. “He is a masterful bard!” he said somewhat too loudly, earning them all a few stares of approbation. He cast his voice lower and continued. “If there are those who cannot hear that for themselves then it is their loss!”

Hearpwine placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder to quiet him, appreciative and touched by his opinion. Eorcyn continued, “Nay, I agree with you Master Asad – do not mistake me. I would not have Master Hearpwine do any different. But to be Bard to the King, you must aspire to entertain more than the King and his courtiers. The Bard is called upon to mark all occasions of celebration and festivity, and thus he must know how to please the crowd. That is a skill that I have spent my life mastering, and as a result I am better known and better loved by more people than many men of greater skill than myself. Your friend, Liornung, whom I saw you with earlier, he is one such person. I can only dream of possessing the skill of that man!” As he contemplated this his eyes shone and his voice rose into a singing register.

Their conversation was stilled by the conclusion of the current song. Instead of another wooden chip being drawn from the cup, though, the Chamberlain stood forth and commended all the Contestants for their performance this day. Like a wave in the Sea it hit Hearpwine that everyone who was to sing that day had performed, and his stomach contracted into a tight knot. Suddenly oblivious to the presence of Asad and Eorcyn, his eyes were locked onto the small group of courtiers and nobles who gathered around the King’s Throne. Everyone in the Hall was equally quiet as they strained to hear the deliberations, but the people gathered about the King kept their voices low. The debate grew quite heated, and some occasional words escaped the tightly knit circle, but nothing that would indicate which way the debate was going. At one point, Hearpwine’s heart flew into his mouth, and there were a few stifled gasps from the people gathered about him, as the Lady Éowyn openly pointed at him while speaking with the King.

Finally, the conversation was over and the King stepped forth. He stood in the middle of the Hall where the bards had sung and spoke to the people. “There have been, as I predicted, many great singers before us today, and much honour have they done to this Hall. Never before has there been such a display here, and I dare say that it will be long ere there is a gathering to match it. As you can all tell, it was difficult for us to reach a decision. The position of the Bard of Meduseld is a weighty one, and it is not to be given lightly.” He paused here as his eyes fell onto Hearpwine, Aras and Eorcyn. All other eyes in the crowd followed his, and those who stood before them fell away to either side, leaving an open space between the trio and the King. The hearts and faces of all the other bards fell. “It is with joy that I see the three mightiest singers this day have found one another out! All of you deserve great praise for what you have done this day, and all of you have my eternal thanks. Only one, however, can I choose as my Bard.” He paused again as he looked from one to the other. “Eorcyn!” he cried. “Step forward, and assume your place as the King’s Bard in the Golden Hall of Meduseld.”

The crash of thunderous applause, and the cries of the crowd were lost upon Hearpwine. As soon as the eyes of the Hall had left him, he moved into the darkness of the furthest corner and cast his cloak about his eyes.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"No!" Asad cried, almost spontaneously though he knew exactly what he was doing and exactly what sort of trouble he would get himself into. Asad walked forward from his spot, walking right up to where the King and the others of the court still stood. Most continued clapping despite Asad's cry, but some stopped to watch the spectacle and some looked towards the edgy guards. "No! This cannot be right! Hearpwine was meant to be the winner! He was meant to be the Bard to the King!"

Asad wondered at the words coming from his own mouth, and how he was defending someone else. Why not complain that I am not the bard? Asad second-guessed himself. Because Hearpwine was meant to be the Bard! I could see it in his eyes! In his heart is all that is needed to be where Eorcyn stood now! Asad's gaze became stony as he glared steadily at the King and Lady Eowyn.

"Excuse me?" The King looked down at Asad. "This was not your decision to make. We have chosen he who is best suited for the task appointed. As I said, there were wonderful bards and singers here today, but Master Eorcyn is most talented and most skilled for this job! Do you understand, young man? Do you?"

"Why do you speak to your king in such a manner?" Lady Eowyn spoke, her voice melodic and smooth but somehow strict and demanding at the same time.

"I speak what I know, and I know that Hearpwine was meant to be standing by my king now! With utmost respect to Master Eorcyn, I must say that Hearpwine would be better suited for the task set before us on this day!"

"And how do you know this?" Eowyn asked, and Asad was surprised at how quickly the argument had shifted to be between them and not he and the King.

"It is in his eyes!" Asad began, but was quickly interrupted.

"In his eyes? What about what music springs from him?"

"He has much to learn!" Asad blurted, and Eowyn furrowed her brows in confusion.

"This means that Eorcyn is best suited, for he knows much in the ways of pleasing sounds and melodies. He is more skilled than young Hearpwine!" Eowyn protested.

"But Hearpwine will learn here and prosper here, learning new lays and tunes that will be more pleasing than aught that Eorcyn knows," Asad had given up being as polite as possible to Eorcyn, and when the battle of words ended Asad promised himself that he would approach Eorcyn and prove the real respect he held at heart and not when arguments were being faught. "Hearpwine writes his own music, and inspiration will come easily here!"

The King waved his hands, and Asad felt a tight grip on his shoulder. Two fair-haired guards were grasping his shoulders, ready to lead him out of the Hall.

"You are all making a big mistake!" Asad cried out as he was dragged away. When he went by a shocked Hearpwine, Asad whispered, "Keep fighting! It was meant to be!"

With that, the guards shoved Asad out of the Hall.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

A stunned silence fell upon the Golden Hall and all eyes slowly turned to Hearpwine where he stood, open mouthed yet speechless, by the great Door. He looked across the room at the range of people staring at him, and his eyes settled on the King, who was now regarding him with open curiosity as to what the young man would do. Hearpwine noticed that the King’s earlier easy manner and gentle countenance had been replaced with something much sterner. The Lady Éowyn regarded him with a kind eye, but her face was full of stern pity. Realising that it was up to him to break the quiet tension that had fallen upon the room in the wake of Asad’s outburst, Hearpwine did his best to square his shoulders and move into the open space between the fire and the King. As he walked across the stone floor his footsteps echoed through the rafters and beams of the Hall, uninterrupted by the slightest noise or word from all those who looked on.

When Hearpwine reached the King, he bowed low before speaking. “My King, I must beg your forgiveness for my young friend’s words. He is passionate and fiery, like all youths. Do not punish him for speaking his mind.”

The King’s face was unmoved as he replied. “You call him friend? Do you stand with him, then? Will you place yourself at his fate?”

Hearpwine considered for a moment before replying. “I do call him friend, but I have known him only the length of this morning. He did me a service, though, that I will every hold dear, and he spoke kindly of my music – always the surest way to my heart!” His light joke sent a slight chuckle through some parts of the room, reducing the tension somewhat. But still King Éomer was unsmiling and displeased by the interruption in his Hall on this day.

“Then you do stand by his words? You feel as though you have been wronged by our decision?”

“Not wronged, my lord! You have the right to choose whom you wish as Bard. But, yes, I do stand by what Asad has said about my singing and my value as a Bard…although I would have had him put his opinions somewhat more gently. I am a great admirer or Eorcyn’s, as I am sure Asad is. But like all those who were not chosen this day, I cannot help but feel that it would have been better had I been so fortunate as to win your favour.”

“If it is our favour that you seek,” said the Lady Éowyn, “then consider yourself the victor. You have won the favour of the King and of Éowyn this day.”

Hearpwine looked at her and asked with the honest heart of a small child, desirous of praise, “Did you like my song, Lady?”

Éowyn smiled and say, “Yes, that I did. It brought back to me that terrible and glorious day, when Theoden Thengel slew the Fell Beast and felled the Serpent. You do that day it’s full measure of honour with your song.”

Hearpwine bowed his head once more, saying “Then with the happiest of hearts do I concede the victory of this day to Eorcyn; for you have rewarded my labours with the greatest prize I could hope for.” He turned to leave.

To the amazement of all, Eorcyn spoke. For the duration of the Asad’s outburst and subsequent conversations, he had stood to one side of the dais, the mantle of the King’s Bard in his hands but not yet about his neck. “Wait,” he said quietly, coming forward. “I feel the honour that you have done me this day, my King, and my heart rejoices at it. But I am an old man, and will not long grace your Hall as its Bard. Perhaps it would be better to give the mantle to a younger man, one who will grow old in your company and delight you even into your own age.” A gasp went through the crowd and the King’s eyes grew wide with shock. For a moment, all stared at him, uncertain which way things would go. But then Éomer began to laugh with such humour that all the tension bled from the room like water, and everyone’s hearts began to beat once more.

He turned to Hearpwine. “Well, young Master Hearpwine, your tongue is indeed magical. Not since the time of Grima Wormtongue has someone been able to usurp the power of the King with little more than the honeyed sound of his words. Nay, nay” he said quickly, seeing the alarm in Hearpwine’s eyes at the comparison, “I do not accuse you of any evil like that wicked man’s. I do but enjoy the prerogative of King to make idle jests in his own Hall, when more serious matter is called for.” He turned once more to Eorcyn. “Your actions do you honour, old friend, but to set aside that burden is not in your power. I have laid the mantle upon you, and you must wear it.”

Eorcyn opened his mouth to protest but before he could, the Lady Éowyn stepped forward and stopped him with a gesture. “My King,” she said, “we have reached an impasse I fear – a welcome one, though it may be. We have two bards, one old and one young, both of whom would do this Hall honour. Only one can be bard, and I agree that Eorcyn is that one. He is older and more experienced; he knows our people well, and they love him in return. But,” she said with a glint in her eye, “is there not room enough in our realms for two Bards?”

A silence fell upon the crowd and there was excited shuffling as the Lady resumed. “Just as there can be only one King, there can only be one Bard to the King. But as the King has his heir, does it not follow that the King’s Bard should also have one to prepare for his place when the day comes he can no longer fill it? Let us bid Eorcyn take Hearpwine as apprentice. Let him learn what he needs to in preparation for the day when he can assume his place in this Hall – when he is ready?”

The King smiled and said to his sister, his love for her easily read to all who stood by. “You speak as truthfully and as wisely as ever! Let us do so. But where shall Hearpwine practice his trade? It would not do to have two bards singing at the Hall, and I doubt that either would relish working under the other’s shadow?”

“Then let Hearpwine come with me and my Lord Faramir back to Ithilien. There will he tarry two seasons of the year as Bard to the Prince of Ithilien. The other seasons, let him come here to learn from Eorcyn and prepare to become the legend that he was so clearly born to be!”

Even those who stood outside the Hall could hear the cries of joy that greeted this. And when they looked up the steps to see who would emerge as the winner of the Contest, there came two men: Eorcyn bearing the mantle of the Bard, and just behind him came Hearpwine in the colours of the Lady Éowyn, with tears flowing upon his cheeks unashamedly.