The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Snowdog]

Hanasían shrugged slightly when Frea looked his way, and he quickly departed without words. He worried about his brother. Hanasían worried about him too, but what can you do? There were many who were disabled in one way or anorther from the war, having been fortuante enough to have lived.

He sat observingly as Hearpwine asked the maiden for a walk. Her look seemed to have an effect on the bard as he stirred in his seat. Her reaction and his turning back to converse put a smile on Hanasían's face.

'Aye, no, I have not met any of the famous hobbits who were of renown in the war, or the ringbearer himself. But the tale of Fordo's magical dance still is told amonst pints at the Prancing Pony in Bree.'

Thoughts of the Shire and the unfortunate turn of events that brought hard times upon the land of the halflings sorrowed Hanasían, for if there were a time the Shire could have used a sword or two was when Sarumann and his orcish ruffians invaded its borders. But alas, we were all called to war either here in the south, or in the Mistys of which things could have been much worse for them had it not been so. Hanasían went on telling Hearpwine of the Shirelands, though he had never set foot there, nor will ever.

'The shirelands, are seemingly green and lush from what I've seen from its borderlands. I know their pipeweed and brew are the best, and though most seem reluctant to travel anywhere, I was glad that Hobs Burrowes did get the adventure bug from the Green Dragon tales from the travelers. Did you not meet Meriadoc when he was here in Rohan?'

[Bêthberry]

OOC: Currently at the White Horse

It is midsummer, early morn on a glorious summer day in Edoras, Rohan. It is the 4th Age, year One (1432 by Shire Reckoning) and four years after the events of the War of the Ring. Éomer Éadig sits in the Golden Hall as King of the Mark, with his queen Lothíriel, whom he wed last year.

The current Innkeeper is a Rohan woman, Aylwen Dreamsong, who is currently away. Taking over for her temporarily is the previous Innkeeper and owner of the White Horse, Bethberry, a woman who was an Itinerant healer from The Old Forest, of illustrious parents if rumour holds true.

Cast of characters:

(Durelin_ Dureline and young son Loar

(Imladris) Goldwine the cat

(Kransha) Osric, old Rohirrim soldier
Sigurd, his nephew

(Nurumaiel): Leofan, stable master and his family
Frodides (the mother)
Liorning, her brother, a musician
Maercwen (seventeen-year-old lass)
Gomen (twelve-year-old lad)
Giefu (ten-year-old lad)
Mereflod (seven-year-old lass)
Deman (six-year-old lad)
Fierlan (six-year-old lad; twin to Deman)
Motan (four-year-old lass)
Middaeg (two-year-old lass)
Beorht (two-year-old lad; twin to Beorht)
Drihten (the bonny baby laddie)Leofan, stable master and his family

(Fordim Hedgethistle) Hearpwine, bard-in-training

(Snowdog) Hanasian, itinerant historian

(Memory of Trees) Arrya, an ill-tempered young woman, newly arrived

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Bethberry's post

Bethberry looked at the carefully written notes which Aylwen had left her. They were concise yet complete. In effect, they represented a small handbook on running an Inn and Aylwen's thoroughness brought a smile to Bethberry's face. She was satisfied, in an inexplicable way, to see how well the young woman had handled the many responsibilities and onerous tasks of running an Inn. This calmed her heart which so often these days seemed to find fault with those who had not known the sacrifices and sorrows of the struggle against the dark lord, and of how narrowly Rohan had come to being completely within his thrall?not that Aylwen was one of those. And now Bethberry was to be Innkeeper again, for a time, and not merely owner, as the young woman was called away to attend to urge concerns of her family. So be it. The Healer would once again be Innkeeper and try to maintain a pleasant, sociable face to the patrons. Be more patient, she told herself, with the youngsters such as Mae and Hearpwine and Gomen and Sigurd. Let them do their learning.

She checked over the list once again and went to the kitchen where she conferred with Frodides, who always seemed to have children underfoot but who yet seemed ably and calmly to provide the kind of food and drink which had brought the Horse great renown. Maybe not quite as tantalizing to the palates as the menus of old Froma, the Horse's cook in days long passed, who had his way with wines and ports and spices and fruits, but healthy and tasty nonetheless. Indeed, Frodides' cooking was fresh and flavourful, she knew herbs as well as Bethberry, and her soups were never a thin water but could put meat on bone. No patron ever left the Horse saying his belly was not satisfied, nor his body refreshed, with Frodides' fare. It was hearty fare, as hearty as her manner of raising her young.

Walking back to the Mead Hall, Bethberry immediately saw the young Mae approach the table with Hearpwine and Hanasian--approach somewhat needlessly, it seemed, for their table was full and they wanted naught.

What was that girl up to now? thought Bethberry rather uncharitably. She had not forgotten how the young girl had brought worry to her parents on the day of the Bards' Competition, nor of the perhaps unknowingly forward way she had danced with that young musician Hearpwine the night before here on the very boards of the Mead Hall.

Ai, him! He certainly thought well of himself, that one, yet he had taken gracefully to being passed over for the Competition and by all accounts had comported himself well in his efforts to develop his art. Bethberry had developed a habit of running memories through her mind these days while she attended to work.

Well, I shouldn't blame the girl. He played her a pretty tune and flashed many a handsome smile her way. Remember, Bethberry, Mae is young, said the healer to herself. Let her learn to hear the true tune and not the falsely pleasant.

Seeing the girl run off after whispering something to Gomen, who hovered near the table but hesitated to come forth, Bethberry herself approached the table, the only full table at the Horse this morn, and gently, hand on his shoulder, guided Gomen to join her. She enjoyed talking with Hanasian about the old days, comparing the tales he had heard with her memories of growing up in the Old Forest, and of the skirmishes between the trees and the hobbits long, long ago. And she felt some sympathy with Osric, too, worried about his nephew Sigurd, a worry he had let show on his face but had not yet divulged to her directly. Well, Bethberry, what likely tales can you draw forth from our travellers today if you would but give them a nod and courage to talk, she said to herself as she decided to join the table.

"Hail, stout-heated men. Have you room to entertain me this morn as my work is completed and I would hear what you have to tell of your summer's labour."

.

[Kransha]

Osric, though he knew that the previous innkeeper who spoke now had not requested his oratory pamphlets, saw the opportunity to state his ploy and grabbed it without hesitation. He leapt to his feet, far too fast for a man with a useless leg, and managed to step into Bethberry’s scope of vision completely, raising a cupped hand with a sidling movement and began briskly. “Actually, Lady Bethberry, upon the matter of summer labor, I was hoping to speak to you about that subject briefly, for I have a more self-serving agenda this day.”

Her keen, deep eyes turned to him with moderate contentment, and she might have replied, but his quick wit and inner requirement spoke for him, forcing further words from his sore throat. He continued, constantly gesturing furiously for no apparent or sensible reason, though it seemed to be at least slightly effective.

“My nephew, Sigurd,” he rattled on, his speech droning but full, “has accompanied me from Aldburg to this city for a purpose unrelated to his or my enjoyment. As a boy who has now become a man, albeit a young one, I have been trying to seek employment for him. His mother assigned me the task, as she has seen too many years to gallivant across field and country searching for an occupation for her son, and I have been considering what manner of labor would be best for him. Then, as it happened, I was struck with the memory of this enchanting place and thought that it might be auspicious to find some enterprising activity for him in a place such as this, one where I could be sure amicable folk would be to educate him in life’s ways. I know not if the White Horse requires any laborers, but you, a woman of wisdom and knowledge of these lands that I lack, must know of some manner of charge I can give him that would be rooted here, in Edoras.”

Here, at last, the ancient Rohirrim paused, taking several sharp breaths and panting meagerly, his eyes that had been fixed on the uninteresting floor turned finally to Bethberry, seeing a look of polite understanding on her expression. He could not tell what her reply to his many queries would be, as her features portrayed no real emotion that he could detect. His dealing with her had been few indeed, and the last one he recalled was only a vaguely settled memory within him. Again, he did not wait to discern whether or not she would speak before diving back into his own words headfirst.

“He needs a teacher, Bethberry,” he said, now with weariness and overly obvious frustration, each syllable spouted to quickly to be considered by listener or speaker, “or rather, he needs teaching, for he is a brash youth, and has never been well schooled in his childhood. He is a stout lad, strong willed and otherwise, so he would serve for many purposes. If you could do so much as suggest a charge for him, I would be exceedingly, nay, eternally grateful. I can no longer teach the boy, nor can his mother and teachers have long lost hope for all save austere reprimand. He is not as unruly as he sounds, for he has matured and has a hearty, willing arm ready for whatever orders issued him.”

As he drew to a dazed close, he realized with some notion of confusion and horror that even he could not recall half of the things he’d uttered, for he had been preparing for this for such a time that every planned and contrived manner of speech had been fused unwholesomely into a singular mess. It was irrelevant now, though, since his end was complete. Now, he could only hope that Bethberry had words of wisdom in return. He had his reasons for such desperation, as deeply rooted as the gnarled digits of the tallest, greatest trees.

Meanwhile, as all this occurred, Sigurd had summoned up both courage and curiosity to pursue another course. Getting up more slowly from his own sturdy seat, the youth had made his way around the tables of the inn until he’d drawn near the young man who his uncle had singled out from the crowd earlier, the man he knew of only from his uncle’s heavily exaggerated tales, Hearpwine. He saw her, in fact, returning from some conversation with Maercwen. A very bare flicker of annoyance darted up in him as he considered what he might have been speaking of, but it concluded speedily as he found Hearpwine discoursing with another man.

“You are Hearpwine, the legendary bard, yes?” said Sigurd eagerly, his eyes twinkling with polite brightness reminiscent of the sly spark that glinted continually in the starry gaze of his uncle. He had interrupted one of them, which one he did not know, but he had severed one sentence nonetheless. Despite that, his excited gaze persisted as he looked upon the man.

“Indeed I am, though I would not say ‘legendary.’” Hearpwine laughed jovially, shooting a mildly apologetic look to his compatriot, Hanasían, as if he was able to speak on behalf of the inconsiderate Sigurd interrupting their conversation. “And you, you are he who was with Osric?” He extended a light-hearted hand. Sigurd’s hand, trembling foolishly, shot out to grasp Hearpwine’s and shook it vigorously.

“Yes.” He responded swiftly, “I am his nephew, Sigurd, son of Sigmund. It is a great pleasure to meet you.”

[Nurumaiel]

Leofan ground his teeth together in anger but remained outwardly calm as he strode to the Inn. Gomen had fetched Hearpwine's walking stick and given it to him, and then seeing that the bard was still engaged in conversation had returned to the stable. A young woman had come then, and she had struck him for no apparent reason. Leofan's blood had surged within him, but he had said nothing until the girl had left. And then he had comforted a stunned, sorrowful-looking Gomen in the best manner he could while staring at the horse the girl had brought. It was rather injured, to say the very least, and he was surprised that the girl had just left it there without speaking to him at all about it. Perhaps not everyone knew how good he was with horses, but he would expect one to have a certain amount of confidence in the knowledge of a stablemaster. She was young, however, and perhaps it could be slightly excused.

Her youth was no excuse for striking Gomen. The boy had struggled valiantly with his tears and had succeeded in keeping them back, but he had been deeply hurt. His first thought when he saw the girl was that she was very pretty. She had very large, lovely eyes. Gomen was not yet old enough to admire a girl with the intentions of perhaps courting her, but he could not help but admire beauty as he would admire the beauty of his mother or his sister, or perhaps the beauty of Aylwen or Bethberry. The girl had brown hair cut rather short, but which brought out the fair characteristics of her face and complimented her eyes. He had been standing there, admiring her with all his boyish will, when she had cursed him and struck him across the face. Leofan had seen the look of shock that swiftly spread across his son's countenance, and then change to hurt and sorrow. The girl had not given him another glance but had swept out of the stable.

She was standing at the bar now, a broken cup in her hand. Leofan did not approach her immediately but calmed himself a little more. He did not want to clearly show how uspet he was. He could not do much about the way she had treated his son, except speak to Bethberry who was temporarily serving as Innkeeper, and he was loathe to do that. He did not consider the matter great enough at the moment to cause such trouble. If it ever happened again, he would then speak, but for now he would grimly let it go by. He would not, however, allow the horse to remain unattended by its mistress in the condition it was in, and he intended to take her out even if he had to drag her. He doubted it would come to such extremes, for he had seen the look of love that passed in the girl's eyes when she looked to her steed, but he would surely show her exactly how careless she had been to merely leave as she had done.

"Excuse me, miss," he said, and as she turned he touched his forehead politely. "You came into the stable with your horse not five minutes ago, and I have not heard your name."

"Arrya," she replied briefly.

"Then, Miss Arrya, I must request you to come back to the stables," he said. "Your horse, I have noticed, is seriously injured and it was careless of you to leave him in such a condition. I am the stablemaster, Leofan, and if you need any assistance in caring for your mount you may ask me. However regardless of that, I bid you return to the stables and suitably care for your horse, with or without my aid."

*************

Gomen watched his father leave the stable and then slipped up to the loft, where he buried himself in the hay and let the tears run down his cheeks. He had been a stableboy at the White Horse all his life and never before had anyone struck him. The mark on his cheek pained him but it pained him more that the action had actually been carried out. He hoped his father would not return for awhile yet; he did not want to be seen crying. He rubbed at his eyes vigorously but it was no use. Helplessly he abandoned himself to his sorrow and wept.

*************

Maercwen returned to the kitchen rolling up her sleeves and looking rather mournfully at her mother. She said nothing, however, and began to wash dishes. Frodides pursed her lips and paused in her own work to study Mae carefully. Something was on the girl's mind; that much was clear. Frodides often worried about her eldest. Maercwen was old enough now to be attracting the attention of the lads and Frodides doubted the way she had raised her daughter. Suppose Mae married some wicked man who would not care for but rather cause her much pain?

"Maercwen darling, something is troubling you," she said gently. "You don't need to wash those dishes yet. Breakfast is not quite over and more dishes will be coming soon. What causes your distraction?"

The girl looked down in distaste at the rejected dishes and ceased from washing them. She glanced sternly at Motan and Mereflod who had been reaching up to steal some cakes while their mother was not looking, and they hastily withdrew their little hands. "Well, Mamma, I am merely disappointed," she said. "Hearpwine is taking Gomen out walking later, and he asked me to come along. I have already guessed what your answer will be."

"I would not refuse you for the sake of the walk itself," Frodides assured her, "but I must refuse to let you go because there is still work to be done and you are needed to do it." She gazed thoughtfully at the look of devastation that came to Maercwen's face. At times she wondered exactly how her daughter felt for Hearpwine, but always had Mae fervently denied having any feelings of love for him. She seemed to be quite in earnest, but Frodides could never tell if she were too much in earnest. "I apologize for denying you the pleasure, Mae," she said.

"Think naught of it, Mamma," said Mae, but the disappointment was still clear in her eyes. Frodides sighed and continued on with her work.

[Bêthberry]

The sound of a cup breaking drew Bethberry's attention away from the rather extraordinary disquisition of Osric. She was about to attend to this new woman, who was apparently calling to someone, when Leofan appeared, in some manner a bit disturbed about some event. She moved to excuse herself and speak to him when he raised his eye to her, nodding and shaking his head towards her before taking the young woman back to the stable. Realising she could discuss the matter later with him, she turned back to Osric, who was pulling at Sigurd's arm as if to draw attention away from Hearpwine and towards Bethberry.

"Osric, that is a mighty speech for one with a sore throat," she wryly observed.

He nodded and his face reddened, but he looked somewhat pleased.

She looked over at him without speaking for some time, waiting for him to continue. He coughed and pulled on Sigurd's sleeve some more. Hearpwine looked up and sat back in his chair, ready to observe this little drama, some of the tiredness in his body coming back into his mind. Blushing with all this attention, Sigurd finally looked up at his uncle.

Osric looked back at his nephew and with his eye winking tried to give the boy a hint to speak up to Bethberry.

The boy looked at his uncle and saw a half wink, half grimace.

"What's wrong with your eye, Uncle?" he asked, wanted to talk with the young Bard and not the older, somewhat austere woman who was observing him, who did not have the attractions to his mind of the young Mae.

"Nothing, nothing,' hastily replied Osric, who was running past all manner of idea about how to proceed, having used up all his ideas in his previous address to the woman.

Discretly hiding a smile, Bethberry turned to the boy.

"Your uncle has made a request for you. Would you like to make a similar request of your own or would you prefer to leave me in suspense about what you want?" she said, not unkindly, but clearly deciding to have a bit of fun with this situation, as a way of testing to see how the boy would react. It was the easiest way she knew to test his character in order to determine if she could use his help at The Horse, and, as the morning was somewhat idle, it was a way also for them to pass some time.

So, all four adults, Osric, Hanasian, Hearpwine and Bethberry, turned their gazes upon the hapless lad.

[Kransha]

Sigurd looked around, blinking incessantly, trying to figure out exactly why he’d been singled out. He kept feeling a tug on his elbow, but ignored it, even after he realized that the stray hand was Osric’s. He began to piece together the situation, and it all became clear. He’d been clearly prepared for this by old Osric days ago, how he was to beseech a job from Bethberry of Aylwen in the White Horse, or on its grounds. He considered, looking contemplative as Osric continued looking anxious (and continually massaging his sore throat as if it would actualy do some good, though it almost certainly wouldn't), Bethberry smiled politely, and Hearpwine and Hanasian exchanged emotionless glances and inaudible mutterings.

At first young Sigurd had been harshly opposed to the idea of being thrust into employment by his uncle, but this had been in the more tender years of his youth, and he had had other, more brash commitments. As he’d left Aldburg with his uncle, he’d been only slightly against the proposal Osric had lain so carefully before him. Now, he was unsure of where he stood on the matter, but realized that the whole idea seemed far more desirable, but for only a few reasons, which had been presented to him but recently. First, the atmosphere that his uncle had spoken of was legitimate and fair, a grand establishment compared to the stable jobs in Aldburg and the other small towns in the Wold. Secondly, the people were indeed, as he’d been told, good and true folk, as far as Sigurd could deduce. Lastly, with some relevance to the last point, being commissioned at the White Horse would allow Sigurd to receive some education in the ways of song from Hearpwine, in the ways of life from Bethberry or Aylwen, and, of course, in anything else that was required, from Maercwen.

“Yes, Bethberry,” he said at last, “I know of the request he has made, and it is a much mine as it is his.”

Osric seemed as if he’d readied himself for some horror, but now only stared at the empty space between Sigurd and Bethberry, utterly confused. Sigurd had never showed an affinity for being concise, or being helpful in any matter, as was his common attitude. It was not like him to just give in, which is what he seemed to be doing. He gawked, stupefied as he stood and heard Sigurd continue.

“I seek employment here, as my uncle has no doubt explained to you in great detail.” he began, his expression of bewilderment metamorphosing into a bizarre and reasonless glee as he recited, word for word, the speech given him by his overly oratory uncle on the eve of their departure from Aldburg. “As said, his sentiments are my own, voiced well by him, no doubt. If you could supply me with that labor that I, in my youth, so readily require, I, my uncle, and all those living who hold some bond of blood with me will be grateful. I know that here I could find an experience unlike many others, and under the tutelage of you and your most esteemed ‘colleagues,’ I would profit greatly. And, I assure you, my services would be as great as I can make them, and I would not shirk whatever duties you assign me. What say you?”

Bethberry did not respond immediately, as Sigurd knew she wouldn’t. It wasn’t a simple question, or so he thought. He now took the time to glance at his uncle, only to see his colorless face and limp lower jaw, seemingly misplaced. He stifled a laugh, knowing exactly how this sudden lack of discontentment on his part had probably affected Osric. “Uncle, is something wrong?” He murmured quietly, but just loudly and forcefully enough to stir the Rohirrim from his befuddled stupor.

Osric managed to re-adjust his hanging jaw, scratching at his neck nervously to alleviate the sudden pang that had arisen more prominently there. “No…not at all.” He murmured, still dazed, his eyes not meeting those of his nephew, who was not even trying to hide a very smug grin as he awaited Bethberry’s response hopefully, expecting a favorable response as Osric began the same.

[Orofaniel]

Aedre admitted to herself that she was weary and sad by Aylwen's absence. However, she wouldn't let anyone else know. There was certainly room for Aedre at the Inn even though Bêthberry would be the Innkeeper while Aylwen was away. Bêthberry was a kind and wise woman, and she knew of course, that the Inn would be perfectly run by her as well. It had indeed been Bêthberry who'd run the Inn before, and she was after all the owner. Aedre had naught to neither worry nor miss because Aylwen would be back soon enough.

The morning was as beautiful as can get; the flowers were blooming outside Aedre's window, and the colours were flattering bright. The morning had brought with it a few drops, so some of the leaves were still wet. Soon, however, the sun would take care of that, with its warming rays.

The colourful scenery outside encouraged Aedre; Her mood was pleasant and joyful; no worries, just joy. She figured the day at the Inn would be just as any other day, but she'd never thought ill of it. Indeed, how she liked working there. What more could one possible wish for, she did not know. Nor did she ever think she would know either, because this was absolutely the perfect place for her. As these thoughts swirled in her head she hurried into the kitchen. "Ah, good morning," she said as she saw Mae and Frodides washing the dishes. They seemed like they were in a good mood as well, but not just as happy as Aedre. She didn't know it was caused by the huge amount of dishes that were standing in front of them, or if it was caused by the thought of even more dishes to come when breakfast was finished. Maybe it was both, Aedre couldn’t tell by just looking at them.

"Good morning to you as well, Aedre," Mae said as she stopped washing for a moment. Her face was joyful and gay for a moment there, but the face expression fell steadily – and then it was gone. Frodides nodded and smiled. "It's beautiful outside today, isn't it?" Aedre said as she stabled some of the clean dishes. "Oh yes, indeed. It's very beautiful," Mae confirmed. She looked at Frodides, as if she was longing for something. Frodides looked at her a bit stern, but not as if she was angry. Aedre narrowed her eyebrows, because she knew that something was going on, but this time as well, she couldn’t tell by just looking at the two women in front of her. Aedre isn't the kind of person who doesn't ask about the things she is curious about, she is quite the opposite.

This situation was no exception, and Aedre the humble maid, couldn't hold her tongue this time either. "Now, what is going on?" she asked. Her curiosity had turned into suspicion. Who could blame her? "What do you mean?" Frodides asked her as she curled her lips. "It's nothing," Mae interrupted. But it looked as if the girl regretted what she'd just said and continued; "Hearpwine asked if Gomen would go for a walk with him, and he asked me to come along as well," she said casually as if she didn’t really care. Aedre grinned;" Oh, how lovely! You lucky girl...out on a fine day like this - with such a great lad as well," she added afterwards. She smiled, but soon noticed that Mae hadn't finished.

"No, I told her she couldn't go if there is much work here at the Inn," Frodides said and looked at Aedre. "Don't encourage her," she whispered. "I'm sorry dear," Aedre said to Mae, with great compassion, because she truly felt sorry for her. To deny a young girl outside on a day like this? That was simply not the way it was supposed to be, Aedre figured.

"How about; I'll do some extra work?" Aedre said suddenly. "I mean, no one offered me a walk, so I have nothing else to do!" Aedre laughed merrily. She looked at Mae: her eyes brightened up, but she said nothing. Then Aedre turned to Frodides. "What say you?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine turned back to Hanasían and picked up their conversation where it had been interrupted by Sigurd. He smiled at the young man’s impetuous energy and at the way he struggled to recover himself and live up to his uncle’s undoubtedly high, if oddly expressed, expectations. “Nay,” Hearpwine began again, “I did not meet Master Meriadoc, for I never came to Edoras during the War. I arrived too late for the muster and had to content myself with skirmishes upon the northern marches. When the War was over I was ordered to remain with a small band of Riders on the frontier and guard it against any incursions from the remnants of Mordor. I was only able to join the rest of the Rohirrim when they brought back Theoden to his Hall. On this journey I met many folk who have lived in my imagination since, including the Halflings. But of all the greathearts of the Shire, only Master Gamgee spoke with me at length.” They talked for a while longer about the Halflings and what they knew of their doings and ways, which was little for Hearpwine, as all he knew was from the few songs that mentioned them. Hanasían had more knowledge of the little folk, but as he had never travelled in their land much of what he reported was rumour.

As they talked, Hearpwine sensed an odd sadness, or perhaps an unfulfilled longing in the Ranger. It was strange enough indeed to see one such as him in these lands in these days, as most of the Dunedain had gone to Minas Tirith with their lord and spent their days in Gondor and to the lands south and east of their kingdom. But added to the strangeness of his mere presence was the fact that Hanasían still wore the robes of a Ranger and not the cloth of a royal retainer of Gondor, nor the sign of any other higher rank. Finally, there was the quill and parchment that was an almost constant companion to the Man, although they were not in evidence this morning. Hearpwine found him intriguing as a result of these, but knew not how to question the man about them.

Another yawn overtook him and his eyes near watered at the strength of his fatigue. He smiled in apology to his companion explaining, “I slept but three hours last night, and that was fitful enough for I was constantly being awoken by the King’s own dogs: they had taken a liking to my beard and were constantly licking at it.” He laughed at the memory. “I am too weary to be anything but abed…” He suddenly remembered what it was that had kept him from his sleep. Gomen! he thought. By Hrothgar’s mane, I forgot the lad! He looked about the Inn for a sight of the boy but he had disappeared. Hearpwine was stung with shame for having let his promise to take him walking slip his mind so easily. As luck would have it, at that moment the door to the kitchen opened and from where Hearpwine sat he could see Mae speaking with someone. He caught her eye and waved to her, indicating that he wished to have a word. She quickly looked at whomever she was speaking with and, wiping her hands on her apron, came toward him.

Hearpwine turned back to Hanasían in order to explain. “I’ve just remembered that I promised to take young Gomen with me on a walk outside Edoras this day. He seems to have grown weary of waiting and disappeared. I’ll just ask his sister where he has gone.” Mae was soon beside their table, and looking a bit uncomfortable to be there. She said that she did not know where her brother had gone, but that she would find him and say that Hearpwine was ready to go for their walk. As the lass turned away, Hearpwine asked if she had obtained permission to join them. Mae blushed, saying “I was just speaking with my mother about that when you called, Hearpwine. I do not know, but perhaps you and Gomen had best plan on going alone…” Hearpwine felt a tinge of real disappointment but did not let it show. He knew what people were beginning to think of he and Mae and he did not want to set tongues wagging any more about the girl. It was one thing to be a man and have people speaking of you – it was entirely different for a comely young lass.

Mae left them and went in search of her brother. Hearpwine turned back to his companion, and said. “We may not have long to speak, now, before I am dragged out of here by young Gomen, but I must ask to know somewhat of your story. I had thought that all the Dunedain were gathered in Gondor with the King Elessar, and that you had all been elevated to the ranks of knights and lords. How is it that you are here as a Ranger of the North, seeking to record what others have to say about their lives?”

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry caught sight of Aedre scurrying into the kitchen and thought of the errands she needed to ask the girl to do that day. She ran over the list which Aylwen had left her in her mind, trying to figure out how she could excuse herself her in order to talk with the girl without being rude.

She caught the words, "it is as much mine as it is his" and suddenly realised she was missing part of the conversation. She looked up at Sigurd as he began a long, heroic and obviously practised request. She began to stare at his mouth, which was forming words of length and eloquence far beyond that of the Rohirrim youth of the day and she found herself unconsciously searching for a metre or rhythm to their expression, silently counting the syllables of each word. Finally, Sigurd ended with the refrain,

" And, I assure you, my services would be as great as I can make them, and I would not shirk whatever duties you assign me. What say you??"

In her mind she was recalling the strangely contradictory words of his uncle just previously, something about his parents loosing hope and Osric needing to use severe reprimand on the boy. It was the strangest, most bizzare supplication she had ever heard in her life and she couldn't for a moment begin to think how she would reply.

Maybe I should let Aylwen sort this out, she idly wondered, before thinking that would be rather lazy of her to do. She watched Oscric scratch his jaw and out of the corner of her eye she caught Hearpwine desperately trying to sifle a grin by picking up a tankard and hurriedly hiding his face in the bottom of it. She found herself unaccountably needing to scratch her upper lip, as if likely to be overcome by a sneeze and she looked over towards the kitchen wondering if Frodides would appear and bring an end to this current scene with a request about the day's meal plans. But no Frodides was forthcoming, indeed Bethberry could hear murmers of words from the kitchen.

She looked Hearpwine directly in the eye and then Hanasian before raising her eyebrow at Osric. She thougth a bit and then turned to Sigurd.

"My lad," she said, "perhaps you could tell me what duties you would shirk should I assign you any."

And she attempted to make her face appear as bland as possible as she made this not quite entirely innocent request.

[Snowdog]

The talk of the Shirelands and halflings carried about some, and their habit of smiking pipeweed was seemingly slowly catching on amoonst the Rohirrim, and to a lesser extent, the Gondorians, but the high prices for the good Shire brands prevented it from being too widespread. Hanasían wondered if ol Hobs figured some good money could be made by selling some on the side. No, he didn't smoke, which was considered strange by other hobbits, and his love of brewmastering held sway over him.

Hanasían thought of the north while Hearpwine had turned his attention toward Mae and considered his impending walk, while Bêthberry was tending to Sigurd work request. Hearpwine did say to Hanasían,

“We may not have long to speak, now, before I am dragged out of here by young Gomen, but I must ask to know somewhat of your story. I had thought that all the Dunedain were gathered in Gondor with the King Elessar, and that you had all been elevated to the ranks of knights and lords. How is it that you are here as a Ranger of the North, seeking to record what others have to say about their lives?”

Hanasían thought silently for a moment at this. He could not speak of a council that King Elessar summoned three of his Dúnedain Ranger kinsmen, Haladan, Amunden, and himself. It was not spoken of by any, and to each it was unofficially known as the Council of Stealth. After a brief discussion among the four Dúnedain, they went to a small meeting chamber where Éomer Éadig, King of Rohan, and Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien were having a discussion of their own. Soon they were joined by Farasan, a renowned Ranger of Ithilien and lieutenant to Faramir, Frea, a lieutenant of Rohan, and Berogon, a trusted captain and acting emmisary for King Bard II of Dale. There were no servants about, and two of King Elessar's guard stood outside the door. The whole council lasted maybe an hour, but what was asked, said, thought about, and argued upon among these Men were enormous. Then Frea, Farasan, Amunden, Haladan, and Hanasían were dismissed for a time while the Lords of Men talked some more. When we were again summoned to the council chamber, the questions asked them were of their plans and of their families, and what was asked of them was also enormous and would be life changing. In the end, Frea opted out as did Haladan, who had a wife and had just gained word of the birth of his son in the north. So Hanasían, Amunden, Farasan, remained and Berogon then discussed what was immediatly required of them. After agreeing under oath to serve in this matter, sworn to the Kings of Dale, Rohan, and the United Dúnedain Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor, they were then only given instructions to gather at Henneth Annûn by the night of the next full moon.... Hanasían looked at Hearpwine and said,

'I had become a sort of historian in my youth in Rivendell. It grew out of my persistant enquiries about my father Halasí, of whom only a shadow of memory do I hold. The great library of Imladris also conspired to inspire me, and in learning Tengwar script, I began to write of the tales spoken of deeds uncounted. When I came with my mother Forcwyn to Rohan, I learned much of riding and warfare, and I began a book chronicling the spoken deeds of the Rohirrim. I call it the Rohirric Annals. I had also learned the speech and script of my mother's kin so that which I would write could be read by the common folk.. or at least by those who could read. But this is not what you ask. but no, not all of the Dúnedain Rangers are in Minas Tirith, though most are, and are in the King's Governing Council. But I do not go out for the pomp and celebration. The King's work goes on even now. We will have to speak more of things, and maybe you could make song to some of the deeds I record.'

Officially, after the Council of Stealth, Hanasían had asked for and was granted leave of service by King Elessar. But he still served his Chieftain. He paused and looked at Sigurd as Bêthberry spoke to him,

"My lad, perhaps you could tell me what duties you would shirk should I assign you any."

A grin came across Hanasían's face as he sipped his tea, and he watched the younsters reaction to see if he realized he could name his duty. Hanasían nodded back to Hearpwine and said,

'What do you think the lad will say?'