The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Hooded and cloaked, the man walked with a pronounced limp and a seemingly drunken swagger. His shoulders slumped, matching his posture, and giving lie to his alert eyes. In the shadows of the late night none saw his passing as he made his way swiftly, leaving no mark upon the soft earth. He had left his exhausted mount a mile or so away to rest as he trekked the last leg of his journey on foot. Why, he thought, do the shortest trips feel like an Age?

He walked as fast as he could with his adopted gate. Passing a small house, a pair of gleaming eyes met him. Kneeling, he appeased the hungry dog with a piece of dried meat. Tail wagging, the mutt disappeared from his sight. He continued, reaching the inn. Lights glowed through the closed shutters of many windows. He made his way to the door, glancing paranoically behind him. Lifting the handle, he pushed. Glaring at the unmoving door, he whispered curses at those who bar doors against the night. Swift as wind and light as moonlight he had traveled after the encounters, opting for secrecy. It used to be simpler that way, he told himself. Now, his need for anonymity battled with his need for haste.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled his bruised fists and pounded on the doors. Screaming against the pain, he cried for admittance. Silently begging forgiveness of those asleep, he continued to beat on the heavy doors. Quiet tears ran down his pale cheeks and into his scruffy, unshaved beard, as freshly scabbed cuts broke open upon his assault. "You must admit me!" he screamed. His hood fell back to reveal mussed auburn hair that nearly covered a long, purpling bruise. "Please!" Degas screamed. "You must open the doors!"

[littlemanpoet]

"Someone is banging on the door!" cried Falco. "Ready your sword, Eodwine!"

Falco approached the door with a purpose, Eodwine following, sword drawn.

"Do not forget me!" Harreld cried, running after them with a slightly tipsy swagger.

"Nor me!" roared Garreth, wet and dripping from his head halfway down his chest.

"What weapons have you?" Eodwine asked over his shoulder.

The twins stopped and looked at their hands and about their persons: no weapon in sight. Garreth grabbed a stout chair.

"Nay, Garreth! Look to the hearth!" Harreld ran there and grabbed a stout poker and a shovel, handing the latter to his brother. "There! Now any ruffian will have four armed men to deal with." Garreth nodded and the two ran to the door where Falco and Eodwine waited.

Gudryn and Saeryn stood behind the table the six of them had been sitting at, their eyes wide and their slim hands gripping the tops of the chairs before them.

"Open the door, Master Falco," Eodwine ordered, standing before the door, Garreth on his left, Harreld on his right. Falco Boffin pulled back the lock and swung the door open all at once. A hooded figure fell sprawling before them. They were all standing over him in a moment, weapons raised.

"Name yourself!" Falco yelled.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

It would be the halfling, Degas thought with an ironic grin as he made to push himself off the floor with his still bleeding hands. A severly sharp point met the back of his neck, releasing pressure as he fell back to the floor in surprise.

"It is I, Degas of the Folde!" he spoke into the ground, all traces of adopted pose aside, all traces of arrogance gone. "I had... somewhat expected a warmer welcome."

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Looking at his companions, and back toward Saeryn, Eodwine motioned for the men to keep their weapons raised. "You may rise," he said, "but make no sudden move."

Degas sat up to see previously friendly faces leveling weapons at his chest. Shocked, he raised his bloody hands in disbelief. All eyes were on him as he stepped forward.

"Eru be praised," he murmered, making toward Saeryn. "You made it back, dear sister."

"Take no further steps!" cried Garreth somewhat heroically, wielding his shovel. "I'll shovel yer bleedin' head in if you come near to the ladies!"

"Garreth!" reprimanded Eodwine, his sword never moving. "We do not know a single thing for sure." But he did not move to stop the twins from blocking Saeryn from her brother's view.

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Saeryn had watched the entire display with amazement, jumping slightly when the man fell to the floor. After he rose, her eyes strayed not to his face, but to the bloody hand prints at his feet. Feeling a small hand rest on hers, she looked into the eyes of Gudryn, smiling slightly. "This man..." she whispered. "Is he your brother?"

[Esgallhugwen]

It had been a long day and it was about to become an even longer night, Rand was coming and they would all pay dearly for it. What have I led these people into? she questioned herself sadly, glancing from face to face as they rushed to see preparations made before the brigands arrival.

She searched the closet where she had found her beautiful clothes, perhaps they had left something else behind, something that could be used, she rummaged under the clothes and something pricked her finger, "ouch!", she grumbled under her breath and pulled the nippy object out.

A small dagger, as if meant for a child's play sword was now held within her hand, and the maker wasn't stingy on the craftsmanship. Two interwined horses reared upwards along the hilt with their silver heads merging out as the guard.

She had no time to admire it's make further, a dreadful pounding came at the door. She jumped and bolted back towards Saeryn moving their chairs backwards in order to hide behind the back rests.

A bloodied man was allowed entry, what a sorry sight, this was not Rand, but the sight of him only made Gudryn more tense. Is he close? My gut tells me he nears.

The twins were soon upon him and would have no better killed him were it not for Eodwine and his cautious manner. Yet, somehow through his ragged appearance he looked familiar...

Gudryn poked her head over the chair "What has happened? Wha..what has happened to you m'Lord?" she asked hesitantly taking pity if he had faced the wrath of Rand and yet wonder and awe that he had survived.

Gudryn turned to Saeryn as she asked in a whisper, "This man... is he your brother?", Gudryn's face slackened with a frown and she gave Saeryn's hand a little squeeze, "No, not mine Lady Saeryn, but yours, your twin brother."

She tried to smile reassuringly, placing the small dagger in her lap. "We had no idea what had happened to him when we found that you had fallen, I'm glad to see he is alive, he could be another piece to your puzzle, can you remember anything?".

[Estelyn Telcontar]

A ghastly apparition entered the Inn - well, it must have entered, since it was definitely inside, but no one had seen how. Strangely, the door had remained closed. It wafted over to one of the tables and dropped a parchment onto it. Then it disappeared again, leaving only a faint wisp of pink haze and a trace of light, flowery perfume in the air.

The guests who were seated at the table stirred from their temporary immobility, thankful that the possible danger had passed. The bravest of them lifted the parchment to the light and read:

The Barrow-Wight invites you to his barrow to celebrate the Barrow-Downs' fifth birthday!

Please come as the ghost of your real life identity - we won't see you completely, only as much or as little as you want to show us. You may describe the real life clothes you are wearing; if you wish, wear a name tag that shows part of your real name. (For safety reasons, please do not reveal your full name here!) Bring your favorite real life foods and drinks; describe the journey you made from your home (again, no full address, please); bring a present for the Wight; entertain us with your real life talent(s) of poetry, music, art, etc. - in short, imagine that this is a Barrow-Downs convention and you finally get to actually meet all of your online friends!

Location: the Wight’s Barrow, temporarily located on the Novices and Newcomers forum

Time: beginning Sunday, May 1, 2005, early in the morning

Food, drinks and entertainment to be provided by all who take part.

Five years is too short a time to post among such excellent and admirable members, but it’s a long life for an internet community! Let’s celebrate the occasion with much joy and merry-making – and with sincere gratitude to The Barrow-Wight, our esteemed founder!

There was a sudden buzz of conversation as the guests pondered the significance of this strange invitation. What was the meaning of "real life"? They could only hope that someone would know...

[Bêthberry]

While Gomen and Leofan were closing the shuttered windows, the Innkeeper and old Ruthven had been making a different kind of round of the White Horse. Early that morn, the two had, at sunrise and before others had woken, made a silent labour in the raised beds of the herb garden at the back of the kitchen. There, inside the wattle fences of the garden squares, the two had picked the herbs best known for their inherent powers against conspiracies of evil doers and invisible fell spirits. The two women had faced west to begin their toil, and then, still facing west, had picked carefully some plants with their fingers and others with silver blades, and some others with iron blades, reciting at times to themselves small verses and chants to appease the spirits of the plants and ensure support in their efforts. They then had braided and wound and tied masterwort and apple pips with birch bark and blackberry vines, making amulets for ensuring safety.

What had Ruthven and Bethberry been about on their rounds? They had tied an amulet and hung it with red wool over over window of the Inn. Over every door they had placed a wreath of ash and blackberry vine. Yet the loud voice crying at the front door, and the creaking of the hinges as Eodwine opened the door, and the cries of the twins' voices had called Bethberry back from her labour.

There, at the entrance, she saw a bloodied Degas appealing to a ring of pointed steel, aimed at him, and the girls hiding behind chairs.

"Eodwine, Falco, stay your weapons. Garreth, Harreld, give way your guard. This is Saeryn's brother, Degas, and he as wounded perhaps as she."

All stood back at the tone of the Innkeeper's words, for although a woman she had a manner of command in her voice which merited listening to.

"Eodwine, close and bar the door again." Leofan and Frodides appeared from the kitchen.

"I thank you for your prompt efforts, Leofan, and Gomen's also. Frodides, I will ask you to brew a large batch of betony tea, for there are wounds to heal and courage to wind up. And add some ranarrweed and white berries to both our milk and ale. Maercwen, will you strew some vervain around the Mead Hall, for let us take comfort from its soothing aroma and courage from our actions." Then the Innkeeper turned to the girls.

"Gudryn, you must have heard and indeed fear the return of this brigand Rand. Here, let me tie around you a small protection." Gudryn come out from behind her chair, looking back at Saeryn questioningly, and submitted to the tying of a cream-coloured linen scarf around her neck. It fell softly, its gentle touch soothing to her skin and calming her. She still felt fear, but no longer frightful incapacity and her stomach settled.

Then, taking Saeryn's hand, Bethberry returned to Degas, remarking upon their similarity of feature.

"This lady has lost her memory, Degas of the Folde, perhaps in the same encounter which bloodied you, perhaps not. Strange matters are afoot, from many directions. Come, sit down and let me check your wounds--Ruthven, a basin of water, please, and you know what poultices--and perhaps you can tell us a tale that this lady cannot." She watched Saeryn carefully as the girl looked closely at Degas.

"Falco, will you keep watch with Garreth and Harreld while Eodwine listens here with me to this tale?"

"Aye," replied Ruthven, "and while I'm at that, I shall bring out the eye of newt and lumpwort root."

"Hush, Ruthven, walls have ears. Let them not know all our potions."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas looked his thanks at the innkeeper, wiping his bloody hands on his pant legs. He stumbled to a table, sitting hard.

"May I have some water?" he asked, just as a cup was passed to him. "If Saeryn is hurt, friends, I know not how or when. I saw her last a mile or less from the edge of the city. She had considered her decision to see our brother and rode back, wanting more to stay here than to risk being unable to return. I rode on to settle the business and personal ends of our sister's death." He sighed, eyes over-bright.

Bethberry prodded him gently, mentally marking every bruise. A long one covered his forehead, looking worse than it was. His hands she bound softly as she wiped a trickle of blood from his eyebrow. His nose looked slightly off kilter and proved to be broken, although not too badly. Deftly, she shifted the cartilage back where it should have been and handed him a glass of brandy to quench the pain.

Eodwine prodded for further telling. "So you've no idea what happened to Saeryn? If no, than what is the story of your own wounds?"

Degas made to spit at the floor in distaste, but stopped himself. "My wounds... Two fights." he said with disdain. "The first... a personal matter. There is no need for your fear in that category, but that is why my nose needed fixing, and that was where my knuckles split." With a laugh, he informed them that the other guy looked worse. Nobody laughed in return.

"You said two fights, sir," interrupted Saeryn. "What are the names of your opponents?"

Degas looked in wonder at his twin who did not know his face. "M'lady," he said softly, "I have Fenrir of the Folde to thank for my first encounter. If you remember, he bade me ne'er return. He was unhappy that I saw fit to do so, and unhappier yet that you did not ride with me. The name of my attacker alludes me. Time for formal introductions was brushed slightly aside when he struck me from behind. The lovely purple across my brow is thanks to the rock I hit with the" here he interjected a number of colorful words that the ladies gasped at, "on my back."

Bethberry, finished with her work, looked at Degas. He looked very colorful, but was not hurt too badly. His worst injury was his hands. He would be unable to wield a weapon for some time, with the gauze wrapped about them.

"M'lord, you must tell us what happened. We care not so much for the fight itself... that telling can be heard later, but where is the man with whom you fought? How were the guards unaware of this adventure?"

Degas looked at her and took a drink. "We fought outside the city walls. I was in a hurry... I wanted to find Saeryn. She mustn't stay here. Fenrir is... unhappy. He wants her home to take up her rightful place as a lady of the Folde. He is coming. With him unconcious... I left. I rode hard and fast to get here first. The dolt never did care for riding to the degree that Saeri and I did. He won't reach here until dawn at the soonest. But the second man... we were outside the city. No doubt that no man heard the scuffle. I do not know where he was. I presume he thought that I was trouble. I did not see his belongings in the dark. I tripped over them, and upon standing, he helped me fall a few more times. I lay in an falsely unconcious state. Pride... pride doesn't matter as long as the ladies are safe. He left, and I ran for the city. Nobody saw me enter. We must get the ladies to safety."