The White Horse Inn, Act III

[littlemanpoet]

"They didn't!" Eodwine said.

"Well they should!" Falco retorted. "A perfect way to set up the tale. I'm wanting to know how playing better than anybody else gets you banned from a tavern, though."

"Mind you, Lady Saeryn," Eodwine interrupted conspiratorially but too loudly for the hobbit to miss, "Master Falco's a lawman. He'll suspect greater foul play than just playing better than everybody else."

"That's lawhobbit, if you please!" Falco retorted, then turned to Saeryn. "But I'm only a shirriff of the Shire." His chest puffed out noticeably, despite his humble words. "But I admit I'm curious about your crime, if that's what it was. Say away, and I'll ask you to forgive Master Eodwine's rude interruption seeing as he hasn't the sense to ask hisself."

"I beg your-!" Eodwine began, and stopped short, his eyes narrowing and a grin spreading. "Tut tut! You almost had it out of me, but I'll not beg your pardon for anything, Master Falco, at least not until I'm properly thanked for saving your hairy feet from that mud hole west of here. But since that's as like to happen as you telling a story straight and true, we might as well ask the fair lady Saeryn for the rest of her tale."

"Windbag," Falco declaimed, waiting intently for the young maid to continue.

"Twisty tongue," Eodwine returned out of the side of his mouth, nodding to Saeryn, who opened her mouth to continue her tale.

"Overgrown lummox," Falco said.

"Half sized showoff."

"Enough, you two!" Saeryn laughed, having tried thrice to restart her tale. "Take a draught of your ale to keep your mouths busy so I can finish my story!"

"Right you are, lady" they said as one, and lifted their ale cups.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Banned, Master Falco, because three of the outplayed were the Owner, his wife, and their son! You see, the challenge was this: the presense of a lady was frowned upon mightily in this tavern... fools that they were... and so in order to get in, the girl had to prove her worth. First she proved her riding skills in a race with the owner's boy... winning so very easily on her spritely little mare. That horse's feet danced like raindrops on a stone walkway."

Saeryn paused again for another swallow of her drink.

"Then, if you don't mind my saying, the girl and her brother beat the Owner and his wife in a dancing competition! Oh, but to see her feet flutter... and her brother; what a trick it had been for her to calm his outrage at the challenges. But the next tavern was another hour's ride away!"

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry's sides hurt and she had to wipe her eyes dry. She couldn't remember when she had laughed so hard. In fact, she couldn't stop laughing.

"T-t-twisty tongue," she blurted out, between bouts of laughter. "H-h-h-h-halfsized s-s-s-showoff." She laughed so hard her chair was creaking and she nearly rolled off one side.

Her laughter wasn't infectious, however, for it had intruded upon Saeryn's story. And it mightily offended Master Falco, who had no desire to hear "Halfsize" reiterated. Eodwine was himself insensed that someone else had the audacity to take over his words. Both of them nearly sputtered calumnations upon the Innkeeper.

"Oh dear," giggled the Innkeeper, trying hard to gain control of a sombre demeanour, but failing completely. This time she nearly tipped into the table. "Whoops," she chortled. "Ahem," she coughed.

"My good lady, be so kind"--a sputter of suppressed mirth here--"as to repeat your story. I am afraid I missed almost all of it." Bethberry cleared her throat and pulled her tunic down, sitting up straight in her chair. "What sort of dance was it, you say?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"That was the beauty of it, Mistress Bethberry; it was no set dance!" said Saeryn as she demonstrated the feat. With her thick braid twisting through the air behind her like a snake, Saeryn twirled about the room happily. "With feet flying this way and that, barely treading the floor, we flew about the room. I am not sure how precisely we won that competition, as neither--"

"We?" quietly interrupted Eodwine. "I thought this story was about a girl and her brother."

Colliding loudly with a table, Saeryn turned a vivid shade of crimson and sputtered. "I... uh... Well it um..."

"Do I detect some underhanded covering up of the truth?!" cried Falco with an amused smile.

"Now you wait just one moment, Master Falco!" cried Saeryn, only half offended. "The story is about a girl and her brother, but that girl just happens to be me, and the brother happens to be my own."

"No need for raised voices." interceded Bethberry. "It's a lovely story. Please continue..."

"Well anyhow... Fenrir and I beat the tavern-goers at their own game... I assure you, they did not much like that, nor the idea that I should be allowed to stay. I assure you, I never would have tolerated the race or the dance-off had I not been in the mood for the games."

"Of course not."

"And so then the men of the place decided that fairly or not, I was not to stay in that building. The oafs impolitely asked that I remain outside while Fenrir had a drink to celebrate his victory, which, I might add, was mine!"

"He did not agree to it!?"

"He did indeed. For all that I love my brother dearly, he is a fool. And so I slapped him across the face."

"Good for you! Three cheers for the Lady Saeryn! Hip hip--"

"Be silent, half-pint, and let the lady finish."

"Half-pint! Why you--"

"Gentlemen."

Saeryn offered no attempt to cover the smile that now broadly adorned her face. Her amusement was evident in the lilt in her voice.

[Nurumaiel]

Gomen lingered about the table where the tales were being told, listening with wide eyes, full to the brim with wonder and excitement. His heart, keen to feel adventure and song, beat quicker, and he drew nearer and nearer to the table, hoping to catch the words better. The tale-telling company seemed such a jolly one, and he supposed they were all friends. Maybe Bethberry, too, was very familiar with these people. He rather wished he could make friends with them, too. He took another step closer, and he was almost to the table.

"Gomen, dearie!" came the call from the kitchen, and he sprang away, trying not to laugh at himself. He was like a little moth, drawn to the candle, except his heart and mind were caught by the story-telling. Of course he should have been quite awkward in their company, knowing none of them but Bethberry. He preferred more than anything to just sit near a table and listen, but he did not like to partake in the conversation, unless it was with his Uncle Liornung or Hearpwine.

Frodides was in the kitchen, where she usually was, and while she looked older, she was just as beautiful. That fleeting beauty of youth was gone, true, but it was replaced with the beauty that comes to a woman's face when she devotes her life to the little people, that special beauty can only be seen in a mother. Many strands of grey were in the golden hair tied at her neck, and there were lines of care on her face, but also lines of laughter and joy, and her eyes shone with maternal fondness as she looked at her eldest son.

"Gomen, love, go to the stable and tell your father to come in soon, for dinner is almost ready, and it is growing dark."

"Yes, Mamma," said Gomen, and out he went, into that fine evening air of the summer. Deman and Fierlan were just outside the stable, playing with their make-believe swords, and when they heard dinner was almost ready, they gave cries of delight and pattered away on their little feet, anxious not to miss anything. Mereflod and Motan were in the garden, picking a few flowers and kissing the rest. Gomen paused to listen to them for a moment, for their sweet little minds had decided that they were the mother flowers and those dwelling in the garden were their children, and they were tucking them into bed. Gomen thought it was beautiful, and wondered if it could ever be put into verse.

Leofan apparently knew that dinnertime was drawing nigh, for he was just finishing up his work, and he called upon Gomen's assistance. In silence they gave the horses their second feed of the day and prepared things for the night, but when they were finished Leofan did not leave. Rather, he put his shoulder to one of the walls and leaned against it, thoughtfully looking at his son. And after a pause, he spoke, saying: "You're a very good help in the stable, son. It is very fine for a man growing old to have a little assistance so he will not break his back."

"It was naught by my pleasure," said Gomen.

Leofan was silent for a moment more, but before he spoke again he sighed a little. "You're quite interested in the trade of your uncle, aren't you? Music and singing, and story-telling?"

"Yes," said Gomen, with a little nod of assent.

"I thought as much." He sighed again, and folded his arms. "I've been trying to work it out in my mind. I don't want to hinder you in doing what you will, saving that it is not a wrong choice of life, but I do need help in the stable. I'm getting older, and it becomes harder to work. I don't want to fail Bethberry and Aylwen in my task, but I can't do it alone."

Gomen bowed his head and said, very lowly, "You know I'll help you, Father."

"Yes, I do know," said Leofan, "but that doesn't mean I want you to. I don't want you to if it will make trouble for you, but I do need you to. So, listen, this is what I've thought of: you will stay and help me in the stable, but at the same time you will learn what you need to know to become a minstrel. Your uncle will be back for the winter, I think. He says he needs some place to stay while the weather is cold and ill for travelling about. He'd be more than happy to instruct you, I think, and at the same time you can help me with my work. I think you will learn better if you have to do something not particularly pleasing to you, and when you are at last on the path of life you have chosen it will seem sweeter because of what you had to do for it. It will strengthen you in selflessness too, and when you are old you can recall how you made your training to be a minstrel something very worthwhile, because you gave up some of your pleasures of it to help your aged father and your family."

What Gomen was thinking could not be said, but his eyes were twinkling when he looked up again. "You aren't so old yet, Papa," he said. "But I'll break my back if it will spare yours."

"Good lad that you are," said Leofan, and together they went from the stable. Motan was in her father's arms in a moment, saying: "Ah you done 'orkin' in the sta'le, Papa?"

"Yes, darling, so come back to the Inn and have dinner with me," said Leofan, and he kissed her bonny gold hair.

[littlemanpoet]

"Gentlemen."

Eodwine caught the amusement in the lady Saeryn's voice, evident also in her twinkling eye. Ah, if only he were young again. Like that boy who had stepped closer and closer to their table as the three of them talked. Eodwine had smiled at the boy, and had been getting ready to speak to him when he had been called away. Ah, to be a boy again, with all the dreams and joys still lying ahead of you. Sorrow was all in the future. He sighed and turned his thought to the present.

"Lady," Eodwine bowed, "we dishonor you with our bickering. Forgive us."

"I am curious," Falco Boffin said to Eodwine, standing on his chair to get a better look at the lady's garb, "is it common for Rohirric women to wear breeches?" He spoke a little too loudly and was overheard by Saeryn, who colored slightly.

"Fairly," Eodwine said. "Rohirric women who ride horses wear them. And our shieldmaidens do as well. The Lady Eowyn is somewhat responsible for it, I daresay."

"What? How's that?" Falco asked.

"Have you not heard the tale of how the Lady Eowyn defeated the Dark Lord's Lieutenant during the War?"

"Yes, I heard it, from the Master of Buckland hisself, who had a part in the deed too, I ask you to remember. But women's wearing of breeches started with that?"

"I do not think so, but it gained acceptance at court and in town; that much I can say."

"I for one am glad of it," Saeryn announced with enthusiasm.

"I am curious about another thing," Eodwine said. "Your brother is not with you. What has become of him?"

[Bêthberry]

Despite her tears of laugher, Bethberry caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She watched Gomen return to the kitchen to answer his mother's call and wished she had seen his stealthy, quiet approach rather than his departure, for she would have introduced him to the table. He was an old enough lad to begin to be able to converse with the patrons of the Inn and she knew he harboured wishes for learning how to develope storey himself.

But Saeryn's demonstration of the shahallion-like dance fired her interest, as did the confession of who the story referred to. Every storey tells a life, as she recalled an old staying, although who's life is not always clear.

"A brother and a sister do not always get along so well," Bethberry observed, hoping to prod Saeryn to tell more about the fate of the brother.

Saeryn, catching her breath from the wild dance, nodded her head with an agreement to continue, but before she could, a voice hailed everyone from the door.

"Bethberry, it's a chill day out. Have you got any hot cider for old bone?" It was Ruthven, the rag lady, come to visit a friend. Without waiting upon an answer, she hobbled as fast as those old bones would allow her into the Great Hall, where she took a seat beside the Innkeeper. "Have you been riding a broom, mistress? There's the scent of cinder about you." Yet her eyes sparkled as she spoke and she nodded towards the young woman, the tail end of whose dance she had just witnessed.