The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Umwë]

Umwë muttered and leaned back and looked at Bethberry. He sighed and finally said
“I am sorry for my bad manners, it’s just that this appears to not be my day.” He swiftly wiped his hands on a small piece of not so muddy material and reached it for Bethberrys. She looked at his hand and grabbed it. “Umwë, from Rivendell actually. You are from here?”

Bethberry seemed looking a little bit confused over his rapid moodswing, but Umwë could understand, so he said “I hope you understand, I’m very hungry and tired. Forgive me.” He said with a smile.

Bethberry still looked uncertain, but she shook his hand and replied with a smile “Bethberry.”

“Pleased to meet you Bethberry, I just need something to eat and I promise I won’t be so whiny.”

“Aye, just order what you want! Are you from Rivendell, haven’t they all departed to the West?”

“Well, actually everyone of my family have, my parents and my two brothers. I want to have a look around in Middle-Earth before I leave. I want to stay here as long as possible, I’ve got too attached to Middle-Earth, so it feels hard to leave it.”

Umwë’s head sank and he looked down on his feets. “But where are you from then? Are you from Rohan?” he exclaimed and looked up at Bethberry. Umwë thought it felt like she tried to avoid that question, but he was too curious about it to not ask her.

Bethberry seemed a bit troubled whit that question but suddenly opened her mouth to reply “Well...” she started, and Umwë awaited her reply.

[Bêthberry]

"How long does it take someone to be from somewhere?" Bethberry asked this muddy elf from Rivendell.

He was taken aback by this question and hummed and mumbled for a bit. Once Aedre came to take his request for food, however, he found his conversational tone once more and looked back up at the woman.

"No hard and fast rule to that, to be sure," he replied. "Except that people who don't answer straight or directly or evade answers with more questions often have motives for hiding their true natures."

Bethberry laughed, a throaty laugh which shook her shoulders and shook her thoughts out of the complacent and comfortable ease she had fallen into here in Edoras. It was true she was short tempered with those who were forgetting the War of the Ring but it was also true that she had been here at The White Horse so long she had forgotten her years and years of wandering Middle earth. It had been a long while since she had been questioned about herself, for people had come to accept her status here as if she had belonged; she had forgotten what it was like to have to be wary and cautious about being a strange traveller in lands where strangers were uncommon, despite the elf's claim of suberfuge to her question.

"I ask merely out of the desire for conversation, Umwë of Rivendell, and not to hide anything of my past. Indeed, I have been here long years in Rohan and can barely remember when I first learnt the language of the People of the Mark." At this she glanced over at Aylwen, who seemed to have successfully concluded her conversation with Sigurd and Ossric. Bethberry was keen to know how that had gone and hoped old Ossric might join them here, to extend the conversation, but she was too polite to interrupt the elf at this point.

'I came in part to answer to need of a friend and her family, Ælfritha, whose home towards the Westfold was facing troubled times. The family was famous as one particularly skilled in the breeding and breaking and training of hourses, yet horses were becoming wild and skittish and unmanageable. It was a dire time and strange, before people knew what the White Wizard was doing in Isengard."

She sat back in her chair and waited for the elf to consider that, while trying to catch Ossric's eye.

[Kransha]

Kransha's post

At last, the strenuous conversation had been drawn to a feeble close. Aylwen, much to Osric's happy satisfaction, had agreed to employ young Sigurd as night watchman. She did not seem entirely content for some unknown reason, but that fact did not cling to Osric remotely, for he had succeeded. He felt no swell in optimism or hope, but was at least satisfied by the happenings. He turned, letting Sigurd do the same and looked across the room, scanning it contently from his standing perch. He took several reserved steps, moving around the room as clumps of people began to spring up, swarming over tables, materializing in chairs or on stools, eating, humming, talking, and the like, leaving Osric and Sigurd to their own agendas which they could at last pursue. The old man, muttering inconsequentially to himself, pushed himself tiredly across the room, now turning his eyes down until another's gaze caught him.

It was Bethberry's light glance from the corner of her eye that managed to hook onto Osric as he looked about. She sat comfortably, reclining in a chair across from another man, who looked shadier, more reserved in the way he sat than she. This was dismissible, since Osric already knew Bethberry to be a person with whom reservation was not customary, though she was adept at concealing her nature. For this, Osric thought both less and better of her, but more he thought better, for he had always had a clear spot in him for those who possessed both wit and tact, tempered each with good humor. Osric had known those who possessed such qualities and were sour instead, very dislikable folk. Despite that, the aged Rohirrim could tell from the glances being shot at him every moment or so that Bethberry either desired his company, or was desperately trying to get him to move to one side so she could see something behind him. He decided that, whatever purpose she had in mind, he would proceed with the former. A minute grin peeling over his equally minute frown, he headed over to the table in question.

?Ah, Lady Bethberry,? he said, his voice gentle but with a bite at its back, ?I see you?ve found another newcomer to beleaguer with your wit.? His brightened eyes turned to the other man, looking to him wistfully, but suddenly focused on him, flitting away from his face to look him over swiftly. He was no man, as he?d assumed, but an elf. It had been so long, perhaps too long, since old Osric had taken in the sight of an elf of any sort, as he?d only seen three in his long life. As his feeble memory served, the last had been years ago. The sight of this fellow struck him as a sliver of brilliant golden light in murky shadow. But, before he could drift in meditative reverie, Bethberry?s challenging voice jarred his thoughts.

?Beleaguer with my wit?? she said, still friendly like Osric, but the same air of subtle sarcasm about her, ?You do me wrong, Osric. This ?newcomer? and I both have enough wit about us to talk, rather than besiege each other without need. Perhaps, after your many hardships, you would not mind a conversation.? Osric winced when she emphasized the word ?hardships,? but shrugged it off, knowing her to be toying with his uncharacteristic attitude only in fun. ?Many hardship indeed.? He turned, looking to the elf-man sitting across from him. ?So, who is it that you talk with, hmm??

?He is Umwë, an elf of Rivendell.? Bethberry said politely as the elf nodded his head in acknowledgement.

Osric breathed deeply as he pulled up a chair and fell awkwardly into it. ?I gathered that he was an elf. Such things are not hard to tell.? The elf looked at him, with an expression that might have portrayed offense, but Osric could not tell from the elf?s features. ?For some, it might be, sir.? Umwë said delicately. The Rohirrim realized that, while he thought of tact, he was not being tactful making such statements. He hastily made up for his response and tried to change the conversation?s subject.

?Yes, for some. Hopefully you have not found the people of Rohan to be in that respect.?

?As you said, sir, some are, some are not. But tell me, who are you that has such a knowledge of what folk are Elves and what folk are not? What vast archive do you hail from??

Now it was Osric?s turn to feign offense, as he wasn?t sure whether the elf was being witty, hostile, or completely impartial. He leaned forward in his chair, laying his hand and arm upon another table. His wrinkled fingers rapped energetically on its surface as he introduced himself with less of a flourish than usual. ?I am Osric, son of Oswulf, from the town of Aldburg, a place where Elves are about as common as wingless dragons. What business has an elf in Edoras. Ought you to be at Helm?s Deep??

He was still tactless in his words, and the Elf responded accordingly. ?Not all Elves have their tasks in life appointed them by men, Osric of Aldburg.?

The Rohirrim glared with one eye, but again settled himself and leaned back, his fingers tapping faster, forming an indistinct rhythm. ?Something else I gathered, Master Umwë. What, then, is your reason for being in Edoras. Of all places on this Middle-Earth, Elves frequent the Mark least of all. I had heard your kind fled these shores, so why do you come further in. What do you seek in the Rohan??

~ ~ ~ ~

Bethberry's post

Bethberry could barely suppress a hearty guffaw at Osric's question about Helm's Deep, but somehow she managed to maintain an air of interested reserve rather than slapstick humour. She turned from the old Rohirrim towards the elf far from home.

For his part, Umwë sat staring at the old warrior, not sure whether to tighten up the tension a knot or two, or to respond civilly. As he sat, he could hear the bustle of the Great Hall ebb and flow around him and watched the sunbeams skirt around the dust motes in the air. He decided he liked the Inn enough to reply civilly.

"Must one always seek something, of an ulterior motive?" he questioned, looking at Ossric but wishing that Bethberry would enter the discussion.

"It is a long journey from Rivendell to here. Not the kind of ride to be taken lightly, nor without planning and provisions. Unless one were of the frivolous kind, much given to flitting around the land and avoiding honest work."

Umwë would have risen in anger at that, putting aside all thoughts of civility, had a hand not restrained his arm.

"You must make allowances for us, Master Elf. We have had an abundance of worry and excitement this morning, mush rushing and worrying over regal matters and romantic bards, and then anxiety over employment. Our noble warrior Osric is thus inclined at the moment to direct his excess of tension towards the sparing of noble words. Once a warrior, always a warrior."

Osric half snorted at this comment and his lips began to quiver as he exuded little puffs of air, as if this would calm matters somewhat . Bethberry serenely changed the topic of conversation.

"Has Mistress Aylwen decided to hire Sigurd? Has he chosen the role of Night Watchman?"

Osric sat more firmly in his chair, his sense of responsibility now relieved while his sense of honour rose. With a slight bow, he gave an affirmation to the woman?s question.

"And has he made plans for how he should proceed? Will he establish a a regular routine and marching pattern around the Inn? Shall he march with lantern swinging or be guided by moonlight merely?"

Osric looked closely at her eyes as she spoke and thought he could discern an improper hint which lacked decorum, but he decided to dismiss the thought. No sense angering his nephews new employer.

"He shall move swiftly to enforce a healthy surveillance of the Inn and a necessary security of its perimetres," he replied somewhat stiffly.

And so the two, for the elf had lapsed into sullen quietness, passed away the morn in banter.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine rode up to the White Horse Inn and dismounted from Flíthaf, his chestnut stallion. He walked Flíthaf to the ostler, who gave him good morning. Eodwine returned the good word and removed his prized satchel from its place by the saddle at Flíthaf's side. He made for the front doors of the Inn. He was tall and blonde, a veteran of the War, and now King's Messenger, dressed in the colors and markings of the King of Rohan.

He was looking forward to a few days' well earned rest. In just the last few months there had been an urgent message from King Eomer to King Elessar, followed by an equally urgent errand to Steward Faramir in Ithilien. This much was no surprise. The usual course of events would have sent him back to King Eomer once again, but Faramir had had a surprise for him. And so he had made off for Dol Amroth and Prince Imrahil. He had been looking forward to it, for he had not been down that way while a soldier in the war, nor on his errands since then as King's Messenger. Having delivered his message to Prince Imrahil, Eodwine had expected to travel back to Minas Tirith, and thence to Edoras to report to his king. But it had not been so, which at the time had dumbfounded him. But Prince Imrahil had used the courtesy that passed between these noble leaders, and sent Eomer's Messenger on yet another errand! So Eodwine had ridden west, bringing word from Prince Imrahil to a land holder in Anfalas, along the western most reaches of the hills called Pinnath Gelin. This landholder, one Irmandil, had immediately set out for Dol Amroth, as Eodwine knew he would. And Irmandil had had no duty, nor the right, to send Eodwine anywhere. Of course, if Irmandil had had an errand for him that would have been on his way back to Edoras, Eodwine would of course have seen to it. As it was, Eodwine crossed the lonely Lethnui river, passed through the forest between the mountains and skirted the western flank of Ered Nimrais, entering Rohan only days ago, and having reported to the King just yesterday.

At least all the riding had kept him happy with new places to see, if not old bad memories away.

He passed through the door. It was quiet inside, which made sense, it being morning. Well, he had gold to spend and had every intention of doing just that. It was darker than he remembered in the Common Room, and it took him a moment standing in the doorway before he made out Bethberry, the owner of the inn, and a woman whom he did not know, speaking with an old man, a young one who must be his son, and an elf. An elf! Eodwine had never gotten used to Elves, especially since before the war, they had been beings of mystery and stayed hidden. By now he had met a few, and befriended one or two, but still remained in awe of them. He walked forward and greeted Bethberry.

"I give you good morning!"

"Good morning to you!" she replied.

"How do you fare, Bethberry?"

"Well as always. And you? Where have you been these last few months?"

He gave her the rundown of his recent errands, then asked, "Who is Innkeeper now? I recognize no one besides you."

"Aylwen is my inkeeper. She will be happy to make your acquaintance. Go greet her."

"I will, at that!" Eodwine smiled and went over to the four. "I give you good morning! I am Eodwine of the Gap, just back from errands far and wide with days to myself and gold to spend, first on a hearty breakfast if that may be had, and then we shall see. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting this fine morning?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen's post:

Aylwen sighed, tired and tried through the day with many things though the hours had scarcely met noon. Early morning and midmorning had quickly faded silently into noon?s harsh sunlight. The sun would soon begin to sink slowly and gracefully down from its perch directly above, causing the ground and air to become slightly cooler with each passing moment?a relief from the heat of the summer sunshine. Aylwen waited ever patiently for the cooling air and the darkening of the sky, for she felt desperate need for rest from her previous journey and the day?s trials. Not only that, the Innkeeper felt particularly anxious for the first night of Sigurd?s duties as night watch.

After employing Sigurd, Aylwen had taken to a quiet and short conversation with Asad and his grandmother. They had much to say about the sudden disappearance and departure of Hearpwine. Asad mostly felt optimism and hope for the young man whom he had earlier competed with for the very spot that called Hearpwine. However, the aging Jesia had only riddles and prophesies about the leaving Hearpwine, most of which Aylwen dismissed in her own mind. Aylwen soon dismissed herself to go and join the group containing Osric, Sigurd, Bethberry, and an Elven patron unknown to Aylwen.

Before Aylwen could introduce herself into conversation and to the newly arrived Elf, a man entered through the doorway of the inn. The man walked towards the group, proving to Aylwen?s eyes to be a new patron, and one that the current Innkeeper did not recognize, or at least remember from her years as Innkeeper. His hair glowed blond in color, the locks shining from the rays of the setting sun. He stood taller than many, especially taller than the already slightly stunted Aylwen. At first, he spoke graciously to Bethberry, whom he seemed to know well, or at least was in some way familiar with. When Bethberry bade him speak with her, he turned and addressed Aylwen and the others she stood with.

"I give you good morning! I am Eodwine of the Gap, just back from errands far and wide with days to myself and gold to spend, first on a hearty breakfast if that may be had, and then we shall see. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting this fine morning?"

?I am Aylwen, the Innkeeper here at the White Horse,? Aylwen greeted kindly, her smile warm and betraying her weary dark eyes. ?And I will go get your meal while these three introduce themselves. I would call it more of a luncheon, good Eodwine, for the day wears on ever quickly in its own way, and noon is fast upon our heals! I shall return in a moment.?

With that, Aylwen left Osric, Sigurd, and the Elven man to speak their greetings to the cheerful Eodwine.

---
Bethberry's post

Bethberry had spent some time in whispered greetings with Eodwine, ascertaining his state of health and what industries he had pursued since last he visited the White Horse, but then she had been called away by a child with an urgent message for her. She read the missive the child thrust into her hands and then asked hurried questions, but the child could add little to the message, which had been delivered at the gate of Edoras.

A summon it was, to come quickly to the home of her old friend Ælfritha, where an ailing family member urgently required her help. It was unlike Ælfritha to call for her over a matter slight. This must be of no small need.

Bethberry packed a small satchel of clothes, carefully checked her bags of herbs and oils and emuluments, and prepared to be off. She returned to the Great Hall, and spoke quietly with Aylwen.

"Ælfritha bids me come to attend to and elder of her family. She does not make such requests lightly and I must respect it."

Aylwen nodded. "Know you how long you will be gone?"

"Perhaps a fortnight, it is difficult to tell. I will send a message should I be gone longer. You have all you need here for the Inn? Do you lack anything?"

The younger woman shook her head. "We are well stocked, even given the influx of patrons occasioned by our bards and our singing competitions. Rest easily. Naught shall happen in your absence."

"I did not think any harm would, Aylwen. I chose an able Innkeeper who knows a thing or two about managing an Inn. My only regret is that I should miss the good fellowship here. Give my greetings to Frodides and Leofan and Aedre. Tell them whence I go." With that, Bethberry gave Aylwen an affectionate, parting hug and spoke a few words of good-bye to Osric and Eodwine before leaving. She had a long journey ahead of her, across a sea of waving grassland, to the farthest reaches of old Rohan.

---
Aylwen's post:

It could smell the flesh.

The flesh appealed to Its hungry stomach.

It had not eaten in long days. Too long. The flesh and the opportunity of a meal were too great to pass, especially for Its growling stomach. It made Its way over a small stream, sniffing the ever-present smell of nutrition and sustenance. It could sense from afar the indifference and unknowing nature of those It intended to prey upon.

Crawling in the quietest manner possible for such a large stature, It howled as loud as it could, calling for companionship and partnership to aid and share in the feast It would have later. When others had joined It, they trod the area silently and swiftly. Soon It could see the object of Its thought and senses.

The people of the little inn would not have time to react. They would wait until the sun sank beneath the hills that they had so often wandered.

Then they would eat.

And Its stomach would be filled.