The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hearpwine was too caught up in his own joy to notice the distress in Maercwen’s voice and face. Looking past her to another well-wisher who cried out to him, he took another man’s hand in his own and spoke quickly to a third while the girl waited for an answer to her question with increasing anxiety. When finally Hearpwine turned his attention back to her he spoke through his grin while dashing the tears from his face with the back of his hand. “I am to be apprentice to Eorcyn, and heir to the title of Bard to the King! Do you hear that Mae! Someday I will stand before the Throne of the King and my song will fill the Hall to its Rafters!” He laughed like the ringing of a clear bell and swept Mae up in his arms, swinging her clear off her feet.

By the time he put her down again, Mae was breathless and becoming impatient. As Hearpwine turned away to speak with yet another well-wisher, she clasped him by the arm. “But why do you wear the coat of the Lady Éowyn?” she cried, and for the first time Hearpwine saw the tears of frustration starting from her eyes.

Those tears sent a chill to Hearpwine’s heart, for until that moment he had not realised how deeply the girl’s feelings had perhaps gone for him. Surely he had not done anything to lead her to think that he and she… But as he remembered the dancing of last night, and thought over his manner this morning as he had begged Aylwen to allow Mae to accompany him to the Hall; and his disturbance when they had thought she had been lost… A deep swell of shame came over his heart. He regarded Mae as a fair and happy lass, one whom he desired to look on, and whose looks he liked to draw himself. The sight of her bright eyes lighting up as he sang was one deeply to be desired, but beyond these trivialities his mind had not yet gone. He had been so caught up in his desire to become Bard that it had never occurred to him that his attentions might have been misunderstood by the girl… But still, there was no knowing what was in her heart, and perhaps things were just as they appeared: she had asked a question of him that he had not yet answered, and she was growing impatient with him for it.

He took Mae by the hand and led her away from the crowds so he could speak to her with greater attention. “The King has decided that it would not be best for there to be two Bards at the Hall throughout the year. Even though I am apprentice to Eorcyn, there can be only one Bard to sing the praises of the Rohirrim, and nobody wants there to be differences of opinion amongst the people of Edoras as to whom they would rather hear sing those praises! So I shall spend half the year in Ithilien with my Lady Éowyn, to whom I am now in service, and the other half of the year will I dwell in Meduseld, where I will hone my abilities under the strict tutelage of my new Master. Oh Mae!” he broke out once more, “is it not wonderful? Why this is better than my dreams of winning the Contest! Now I can spend years in travelling the length of Rohan and Gondor, seeing the peoples and places I have only dreamed of, learning the songs of all the lands about us, and then, when I am mature and growing stiff in my bones, I can settle myself here and sing of these things to my King until either he or I is laid in our tomb.”

[Nurumaiel]

A slow, sad smile came to her face. "Yes, it is wonderful, good Hearpwine," she said, "but I shall miss you. I have not known you long, indeed barely a day, but I have come to think on you as a brother. My uncle also will miss you." She paused a moment, struggling with the tears that threatened to flow down her cheeks. "It is always hard to say farewell to a friend, especially when the road he goes on is so long."

Hearpwine said nothing but let her struggle with herself. Bitter disappointment was creeping into her eyes to be companion to the sorrow. "I had also hoped," she continued, "that you would stay a long while and might teach my brother Gomen the trade. My uncle also will be leaving soon; this I know for he never stays more than a few days in one place. Gomen has often been expected to be horsemaster as my father is but I have long known that his heart is prisoner to sweet music and flowing words."

His brows came together in deep thought, and a few moments of silence passed before he smiled. "I think that perhaps I will be able to convince Bard of the King, Eorcyn, to help teach your brother," he said. Then he laughed. "Perhaps Gomen will someday be Bard of the King."

"He would follow the steps of his uncle," she said, raising her eyebrows slightly. "He never told anyone but he was Bard of the King in a time before the War of the Ring." He stared at her with deep amazement but she did not give him time to say anything for she glanced at Eorcyn and broke into joyous laughter. "My heart sings this day that two worthy men gain titles of honor. Come, Hearpwine and you, Master Eorcyn, Bard of the King, and seat yourselves by the warm fire of the humble White Horse to feast upon rich wine and hearty food and celebrate this occasion of deep joy!"

[Kransha]

As the day had dragged on, it’s luminous and vibrant course swirling melodiously into what seemed to be a vague dusk, but was actually still day, not long after the noon and the sun’s zenith in the unclouded sky. Osric, scratching at his beleaguered forehead, studded with rough marks and creased with wizened wrinkles, got to his feet slowly, proceeding as swiftly as he could behind Liornung and Maercwen. He followed with whatever quickness he could muster, flinging his stiff leg along like the limp limb of a mannequin, flailing behind and before him until he found himself being unconsciously devoured by a small crowd that had flooded around the visage of a young man, looking pleased, but sobered up in a unknown fashion, as he and the crowd that trailed him moved towards the inn. When Hearpwine (for Osric knew the figure to be Hearpwine now) had neared the narrow threshold and saw Osric limping towards him, he smiled solemnly as his eyes twinkled, and extended his arms to greet the aged fellow.

“Good Osric,” he cried, most vigorously, “I have good news from the Golden Hall!” Osric nodded; his hand ready and up. “I know, young friend,” he said slowly, deliberating over each word that passed over and out from his moving lips, “I have heard. My ears are old, not deaf to the songs of Edoras.” Hearpwine seemed somewhat confused, as the words of Osric held an air of incredulousness, and unusually prompt for the man. He looked as if he was about to speak but, severing his words with words even more deliberated and contemplated over, Osric continued.

“Master Hearpwine,” he began, lowering his head and turning as all the figures moved into the warm and abundant cheer of the inn’s atmosphere, “I, like Maercwen here, have not known you long, but you stirred something in this old warrior that he hadn’t felt for many years. I want to thank you, at least, for that service to my stony soul. You must promise me, Hearpwine, that, before you leave you shall sing a song to this inn to remember you by. When in Ithilien, the voice can linger here, and I’ll be proud to say to those who cross the threshold of the White Horse that I knew Hearpwine, Bard of Ithilien and Rohan, and a great man. I wish now that I’d met you years ago, when the light of hope dwindled in me when the black serpent bore Theoden Thengal to his death in the confines of Rammas Echor, but now my heart is rekindled, lad! You and Master Liornung gave me something that you’ve given to many, and I thank you heartily for it.” He finished on a more jocund note, turning, and clasping Hearpwine’s hand and arm firmly, shaking it where he stood and smiling, a featured gesture which the bard and poet soon returned.

“But, no more talk of parting!” cried Osric, with a severe suddenness that nearly caused the gathered to jump in their places after the old horsemasters solemn but jocund reverie, “Mae is right, let us feast and let us drink and you, m’lad, you may serenade the throngs of Rohan here in the Horse. It may be naught compared to the scathing critique of Lord Eomer and Lady Eowyn, but it is still a grand thing to hear you, where e’er it might be, eh? Come, and give us a rousing verse for your gathered base of followers!”

[piosenniel]

~*~ Discussion Thread Opens Tomorrow - June 5th ~*~

Durelin invites you to look at the discussion thread for the new game:

~*~ Bloodstained Elanor ~*~

Click HERE to view it.

Come play!

Players already in the game are: Amanaduial the archer, Arvedui III, Aylwen Dreamsong, Fordim Hedgethistle, and, of course, Durelin.

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Will remove this in a few days.

[Snowdog]

Celebrations of victory filled the aire of Edoras, and Hanasían rode slowly through the crowd. No smile graced his face except when he saw someone looking at him with smiles of celebration. But the four years since the war had not been kind to him. A veteran of the battles of the Fords of Isen, Helms Deep, and then, being one of the Dúnedain, he rode with his northern brethren and Chieftain through the Paths of the Dead and beyond. He fought also in the battle with the Corsairs, and the Pelennor and suffered the loss of his brother Hayna there. Hanasían himself was wounded in the Battle of the Morannon, but recovered. There was no celebration in him for the victory, but for the vanquishing of the darkness of Mordor. But the memories of friends and brethren lost he was reminded of.

Hanasían dismounted and looked about. He saw a young stable girl and he passed the reins of Greyshadow to her with a silver King’s coin. It wasn’t Rohirric, but was accepted in the Realm of his mother’s kin. He looked about some and smiled and waved to some boys who shouted praises to the veterans of the war, and he soon turned to the doors under a sign of the White Horse Inn.

The crowds were in such gaiety and Hanasían deduced from the nearby banter that a bardic competition had concluded and the joy of having the King’s title was pouring out in cheer. He heard mention of Éowyn, the white lady of Rohan and Princess of Ithilien, and one being in her service. It had been four years since he had seen her, and Lord Faramir as well. Memories of their love for one another when he was in the Houses of Healing brought refreshing memories to the tortured veteran. Hanasían smiled and clapped his hands as he pushed his way through the throng to the doors and entered the Inn.

Many were out in the streets celebrating, and Hanasían did his customary look about the common room as his eyes adjusted to the light inside. His seeming dark locks were in loose long curls about his shoulders, and his attire was that of the pre-war Dúnedain Rangers of the north. He wore dark leathers and a light cloak of deep gray-green. He made his way to a table across the room that was vacant, and being somewhat weary of the road he took to Edoras, sat and leaned back in the chair that if it could talk, could tell tales into eternity of all it had witnessed. He had beaten the rush of celebrators who were surely heading to this Inn, and Hanasían ordered a tankard of ale from a passing maid. While he waited for her return, he dug out his pipe and pipeweed, and tamped up a pipe. Drawing out a twig he kept, Hanasían lit it from a nearby lamp, and he drew his pipe into a deep orange glow. It was a good trade with the old Hobbit up north, for a store of 1420 Longbottom was relaxing for sure! The pound of Khandese tea he had to give up for it was well worth it! The lass brought the ale, and Hanasían handed her a coin of Kings silver. He smiled and relaxed for the first time in awhile, and he would enjoy his time here.

The banter of the crowds came through the door, and talk of Ithilien and song were in the aire as the noise level went up a notch. Talk from Rohirrim veterans made Hanasían wonder if there was an Annalist of the Rohirrim to record the names and events, lest they be forgotten with the passage of time. Being that the Rohirrim were his mother’s people, he would do what he could to remember, and write. Hanasían’s hand went for his satchel. He was short of parchment, but his quill and ink was in good order, and if events allowed it he would do some writing and gather the stories of the individuals who fought in the war.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Osric’s sudden and uncharacteristically good humor brought a smile to Hearpwine’s face and a laugh to his throat. He pounded the elder on his back with such vigor that the old warrior staggered into his seat, but Hearpwine’s spirits were too high to notice. The Inn was quieter than the street had been, and its now familiar and humble shape was strangely comforting to Hearpwine after the grand heights of the Golden Hall. He looked about and saw Aylwen looking up from where she sat at her desk, her face wreathed in smiles. Bêthberry was there with, as always, her oddly knowing smile. She returned his glance with little more than a nod of her reverend head, but he read much in that gesture, and with a gravity that did not often characterize his actions, he bowed his head to her slightly. But his joy was greatest when he beheld Liornung coming toward him, his arms outspread and his face beaming with joy. The two men embraced one another like brothers, and once more Hearpwine felt tears upon his face, for of all the men whom he could have wished to be with on this day, the fiddler who had set him on the Road that had brought him to this moment was the most dear. “My dear, dear friend,” Liornung said, “I am more happy for you than you can know! What a tremendous honour! And how much more enviable than becoming the Bard – now you can travel and see the world. Who knows, if your Lady will allow it, perhaps you can join with me in my travels some time.”

Hearpwine’s face took on the look of one who had been granted his heart’s desire beyond all hope, and he was speechless. He merely took Liornung’s hand in his own and fought back the knot that clutched at the back of his throat. Liornung then saw Eorcyn approaching and he hailed the old Bard with glee. “Good Eorcyn,” he said, “I had heard of your success and was overjoyed – the King has chosen wisely indeed!” The two men shook hands.

Hearpwine found his voice at last. “You were Bard to the King!” he burst out at Liornung. “All this time, and you did not tell me! I had thought that none had followed Gleowine until this day!”

It was Eorcyn who replied. “Indeed he was, and a much finer Bard than I fear I shall be. If the Lady could indeed be prevailed upon to allow you to accompany Master Liornung on his travels, even if for only a short time, you would learn more from him in a season than I can offer you in many years of careful instruction.” Liornung flushed and began to refute the compliment, but the old Bard held up his hand and said with mirth, “Silence! Have I not this day been made Bard to the King? I will not be gainsaid in matters such as this – a masterful Bard you were, and one you shall always be, although I know you do not take the title for yourself.”

It was Osric, now recovered from Hearpwine’s rough treatment, who first recalled the bards to the matter at hand. “I see that we have here,” he said loudly, commanding the attention of the Inn, “three Bards of the Golden Hall: past, present and future. Come! Let us demand a song of them, so that we may boast years hence of the day we heard the three mightiest bards of Rohan united in song!”

[Nurumaiel]

"I made a dreadful mistake in telling my service to the King as Bard," said Liornung with a playful little smile. "Now you compliment me more than I am worthy of. I thank you." He bowed low to Osric, and the latter spoke again, "Sing for us first, Master Liornung, as Bard of days gone by."

"But, uncle, I beg you tell me this first," Maercwen broke in before Liornung could go to fetch his fiddle. "Why is it that you were Bard of the King and no one ever knew this? Would not Eorcyn know, and perhaps Osric as well, and others who were older than children before the War?"

"It was not a grand affair," Liornung replied, "as this one is. Times were growing troubled then, and such festivities were not held. There was no Contest; I sang in the Hall once as I passed through Edoras and the King bid me stay awhile and be Bard. The honor of Eorcyn and Hearpwine is much greater; they have earned through hard toil their right to the title while my little song merely caught the King Theoden's fancy." He moved off to find his fiddle and Maercwen went to her sisters, drawing them to her and kissing their golden heads. She sat beside Gomen and a silence fell upon the room when Liornung returned. His eyes had become soft and dreamy and he struck up a slow, haunting melody that rose and fell as waves of music, bringing the incense of sound to the room and delighting the ears of those that heard.

"Oh, fare thee well sweet Hall of Gold,
I leave thee for awhile.
The days are short, the year is old,
the road is many miles.
I hoped to stay but a little more
and linger for some days
but my presence here is o'er;
I can no longer stay.

Oh, when I was but a little boy
I heard of your renown
and such tales filled my heart with joy,
you, Edoras' crown.
I dreamt on thee by dewy grass
when time was sunrise
and hoped that one day at last
you would be my prize.

And Edoras is sweet and fair,
Rohan's gleaming star;
the Golden Hall a jewel rare;
I saw it from afar.
I travelled to that fairest place
to come before the King.
I saw the Hall's golden grace
my heart did sing.

And then before the King a melody
presented soft and low;
I sang a song most readily
of heroes long ago.
His eye was kind, his voice was soft,
no evil his words marred,
he wished me in the Hall to sing oft;
he named me as King's bard.

Joy complete, oh Hall of delight,
I sang within your walls,
my heart with peace was ever bright
and ever was enthralled.
But now alas I see darkness afar
and see a sorrow fall.
The darkness brings a weary war
so farewell, Golden Hall!

Oh, fare thee well sweet Hall of Gold,
I leave thee for awhile.
The days are short, the year is old,
the road is many miles.
I will not return again, I fear
to sing before your King
but all memories I will hold dear,
and the joy my music brings.

His voice broke and his hands trembled as he set the fiddle down. He shook his head and spoke, saying, "My friends, there is more to the song but I cannot sing. My heart was near broke when I left the Golden Hall and ceased to be Bard of the King. I dreamed of it long, ever since I was a boy, and it was bitter. I recall those days now when I gaze upon the youthful face of Hearpwine, and the memories are sweet and sorrowful. Yet I do not sorrow that the young has had his dream fulfilled and will someday be Bard. I weep that my days as Bard were too soon over, and the days of King Theoden. Perhaps I will sing to you the rest of the song when the memories have fled my heart and no longer pain me as they do now."