The White Horse Inn, Act III

[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?'

[Nurumaiel]

Frodides smiled in a motherly fashion at the woman. She had grown quite fond of Aedre over the years and knew her very well, more than most guests at the Inn for she did not show herself much. In truth Aedre was only a little younger than herself, though Frodides had always thought her much younger than she really was. Aedre had a very good heart. Frodides had always known this, but her offer to do extra work so Mae could go out walking only proved it further. "I thank you for your offer, Aedre," she said, "and I have no doubt that Maercwen does the same, but... You see, Mae has already been out riding this morning and I consider it now not a matter of the work that needs to be done but a lesson of responsibility and duty, whatever the disappointment." She turned to speak to her daughter, but she saw that Mae was gone. Peering around the kitchen door, she saw that Maercwen had just departed the company of Hearpwine and had turned towards the Inn door. Frodides realized that she was no doubt looking for Gomen.

Frodides turned back to Aedre and smiled again. "Once again I thank you," she said. She continued with her work but continued to steadily gaze at Aedre. "It has been long since we have spoken," she said. "I do not know why, for we are almost always together. Perhaps it is because these days have been busy and it is often difficult to work and talk at the same time. But as women we should not be denied it." She laughed lightly. "Tell me, Aedre, how have things been in your own life? You have tended well to the lives of the others in your work here, but I hope you are not ignoring yourself."

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

Maercwen had seen the look of clear disappointment on Hearpwine's face and it increased her own disappointment all the more. She pulled herself away from him as hastily as possible, wishing that she had not been riding earlier in the morning. Perhaps then her mother would be more ready to consent. She treasured the time she had spent with Gomen but she regretted she could not spend time now with Gomen and Hearpwine. He spent all his days at the Hall and would often not return until evening; it would not be a short time before he could request she walk with him again.

She went out to the stables to look for Gomen and found her father standing outside the door, talking in a low voice that was not quite stern but very authoritive. He was addressing a young woman whose face was new to Maercwen. No doubt it had to do with the horses. Her father would never speak in such a tone to a guest on any other matter. She courtesly nodded her head to both but did not speak, for this was a matter which she could not interrupt. She slipped into the stable to search for Gomen.

At first the table appeared empty, or at least Gomen was not there. The horses dozed, or pranced, or ate their breakfast as they saw fit, but Gomen was nowhere in sight. And then she heard a faint sound from the loft. She drew closer, straining her ears, and her eyes widened in shock as she realized it was her brother Gomen, and he was crying. Catching up her skirts she scrambled awkwardly up the ladder and went to the lad's side, falling to her knees beside him and stroking his gold hair. "Gomen, what has happened to you?" she cried in compassion. He made her no answer but merely sat, tears streaming down his face, clenching and unclenching his hands. Maercwen put an arm about his shoulders and helped him to his feet. "Gomen, come to Mamma," she said, gently pulling him to the ladder. "You should not be up here all alone." He obeyed her blindly.

As she hustled him past her father she saw a glimpse of his face and was surprised. It tightened in restrained anger and he looked at the young woman he was speaking with. Not with any strong emotion but a look that knew and also revealed. Maercwen realized immediately the girl had something to do without, though she did not know how she was concerned. Pushing her wonderings aside, she thrust open the door to the Inn and led the sobbing Gomen across the floor of the Common Room towards the kitchen. Bethberry had been speaking with Sigurd but when she saw Gomen she stopped, saying, "Maercwen, what has happened?"

Maercwen paused for a moment and studied Bethberry thoughtfully, then briefly cast her gaze over all gathered there. All of them were as surprised as Bethberry. Clearly it was only her father who knew what was wrong. "I don't know," she said slowly, and brought Gomen into the kitchen. Frodides let out a gasp when she saw him and knelt in front of him, catching his tears in her apron. He would not tell her what was wrong as he had not told Mae, so Frodides merely pulled him to her and held him, stroking his hair comfortingly. Maercwen stood awkwardly by until her mother spoke, saying, "Mae, would you make a cup of tea for the lad?"

Gomen spoke brokenly, his voice caught up in sobs and the breath pulled from him. "I don't want a cup of tea, Mamma."

"Just sit, darling," she said, putting him on a chair and gazing down at him. She felt her heart breaking inside her, as it had always whenever one of her children was hurt. The tear-stained little faces, the little bodies convulsed with sobs, and the weeping hearts within them. She remembered as a young girl she had once seen a boy crying with sorrow and hurt and she had wanted nothing more than to gather him in her arms and mother him. Looking down at her own son she realized there was nothing to prevent her and so she put her arms about him once more and comforted him as only a mother can.

[Witch_Queen]

He stood there with his hand across the fresh cut on his cheek. He knew that in a matter of no time it would become another scar. The elf didn't know what to think of the Inn. He had been traveling for many days and decided that for a change he actually needed to sleep on a bed. The constant change in the hardness of the ground was about to kill him. Par Ohmsford didn't know anyone yet it seemed like the room was filled with familar faces. His blonde hair hung loose around his face. He tried to make the cut stop bleeding but it seemed like it would take a little bit more than just pressure. It was a small cut but he still couldn't stand the feel of blood going down his face.

His blue eyes scanned the room to find an empty seat. It seemed like everyone got along well. After a few moments of searching he found the perfect chair. He sat down off to the side of everyone else. He didn't know whether or not he should listen to their conversation or keep his mind in his own affairs.

Par sat there and remembered his past. It only seemed like weeks since he last saw his old friend Legolas. Plus since the ending of the "secret council" meeting, he hadn't returned back home. Eryn Lasgalen was so far away and only a part of his past that he now whished to forget. The last thing he could remember of his friends was watching them sail away on the next to last ship to Valinor.

[Kransha]

Though he had not been asked to do so, Osric took Bethberry’s vaguely concealed hint, grabbed it by the horns, and ran with it before anything could be done to stop him. He was far too eager to get the irksome situation squared away to allow Sigurd the opportunity to make a mistake, so a renewed and refreshed tirade. “Well, the lad has a strong arm, for any hard labor you might charge him with, a quick wit and a head for numbers, does not tire as easily as most, has an inexhaustible nature that I’m sure would profit from, I assure you. He could help in the stables, cater to guests, tend to the grounds, see to all of the delectable victuals you provide, tend to the ale supply, hold up legless tables-”

“Osric,” Bethberry raised her hand, in effect silencing him abruptly, with a delicate and well-hidden smile crossing her face, “Sigurd is entirely capable of speaking for himself.”

Osric was about to continue, and his mouth had already opened with a new word forming on his lips, but the vague and interruptible sound duly died in his throat, as if on cue, and he nodded in defeat, realizing his own error as he spoke, much more meekly than the old Rohirrim usually did. “Yes,” he murmured dejectedly, “yes. Of course he is.” He turned, still looking defeated, but with some mild idea of hope reflected on his face as he looked at his nephew, with a expression that seemed a mix between insistence and pleading. “Sigurd,” he said, trying to fill his raspy voice with an aspect of command, but probably failing, “tell Bethberry what jobs you can do for her and how aptly.”

Again, Sigurd concealed no grin, but let it shine for his uncle to see and narrow his tired eyes at. He turned, still smiling, and clasped his hands in front of him, looking amiably at the former innkeeper. “My uncle exaggerates.” he began, words which caused Osric to visibly wince, for he no doubt thought that Sigurd was about to squander whatever chances he’d ever had. “Betberry, I am just a simple young man, but I will try my hardest to do whatever task you appoint me, as it will benefit both of us mutually no matter what. If that is not specific enough for you, forgive me, but I know not what slots are available for the filling, so I can only say that.” And he ended promptly and with fine precision, allowing Betberry and the other esteemed folk gathered to consider his words, while Osric just looked nervously back and forth and coughed.

[Orofaniel]

The poor boy, Gomen, had come into the kitchen together with Mae while tears shed down his small innocent face. The chocking sound of his voice, that swallowed the unbearable sobbing, seemed like too much for his mother; she was embracing him, hoping that it somehow would comfort him, although it did seem to be quite difficult at the time. He wept and sobbed, and Aedre couldn't do much to help him. She felt bad about it, and her happiness that she earlier had brought to the room seemed to fade away bit for bit.

"Dear Gomen, is there anything I can do for you?" Aedre asked him, as he still was weeping in his mother arms. "Thank you for the offer, Aedre. I will certainly turn to you if there is anything needed," Frodides told her, smiling weakly. "He'll be alright," she added. Aedre tried to smile back, but it ended up like an odd grimace.

"What say you Mae, should we step outside for a bit and give Gomen some room?" Aedre suggested, patting Mae on the shoulder. She nodded weakly and followed her out from the kitchen.

"Do you know what happen to your dear brother?" Aedre asked her as soon as they had slipped out the kitchen doors. Aedre seemed a bit worried when she saw that Mae had grown pale. "No, I'm afraid not," She said, looking down in the floor. "I don't like seeing my brother's tears streaming down his face," she then said looking at Aedre. "I don't like seeing tears in the faces on the people I love."

"None of us do dear," Aedre said, comforting the girl. "It's not pleasant to see them in a state like this, especially when we are close to them. Yet tears can be reliving sometimes - Take me for example, when I'm sad, upset or hurt, I sometimes feel my sorrows float away in my tears. Of course, the pain is great when you cry, but hopefully afterwards, you'll feel much better. I know I do," Aedre told Mae. “Gomen is another case though, but he’ll handle it, don’t you think? He will be just alright," she continued trying to sound both compassionate and encouraging.

[Nurumaiel]

Maercwen sighed when Aedre left and sat down outside the kitchen, listening painfully to the sobs coming from within. She felt close to tears herself, suffering accutely every particle of her brother's pain. It had always hurt her and she knew it always would. She loved all her brothers and sisters dearly, but she could not deny that Gomen had always been her special brother. She remembered as a child she had nearly died of impatience, waiting for his birth, and how from his first days she had hovered about him, assuming the role of his little mother. Gomen had been passionately attached to his mother, and when Giefu had been born he found himself suddenly ignored by her, or so he felt. Certainly she didn't pay as much attention to him. But Maercwen had come and spent all her free time with him, though she had been only a little girl herself. And so they had grown up with each other.

In the kitchen Gomen slowly ceased in his crying and put his head wearily on his mother's shoulder, letting the last few tears slide down his cheeks. Frodides continued to stroke his hair but drew him back a little so she could look into his face. "Now, darling, would you tell me what is wrong?" she questioned him. Tears began to waver on the brink of his eyelids again, but he drew his sleeve across his eyes and held them back bravely.

"Mamma," he said, letting his head fall on her shoulder again and closing his eyes, "there was a beautiful young girl who came to the stable with her horse. She was so beautiful, Mamma..." He paused, and despite his sorrow added earnestly, "Though not nearly as beautiful as you!" He fought his tears back once again as he recalled what had happened and continued in a trembling voice. "And I was going slower than I usually do because she was so beautiful; I just wanted to look at her for a moment. She grew impatient and annoyed with me and she... she struck me!" The last three words were cried out amidst the sobs that once again racked his body.

Frodides reached out and touched the red mark on her son's cheek with gentle fingers. She had wondered about that mark, and now she knew. "Gomen," she said, her voice comforting, "you mustn't hold it against this girl that she struck you. I understand your grief, and also the shock it must have been to you. And I know nothing such as this has ever happened to you. But your father will tell you often that when he was a stableboy at his father's home he was often struck by impatient ones. It never ceased to hurt him, so he told me, but he learned to bear it bravely and return the cuff with a smile." She patted his sore cheek. "At least, dearest darling, you know that your dear sister has never struck you."

His face brightened a little and with shyness he pushed his head deeper into her shoulder. "No, Mamma, nor have you," he said. "But it still hurts."

"Yes, darling," she said softly. "It does." And no more. Gomen felt peace flooding him. His mother understood. His mother didn't tell him not to cry. She did not tell him it was foolish of him to cry over such a small thing, nor that he should just bear it as a man. She told him that it did hurt but she comforted him. She was the dearest mother in the world.

In accordance with his slight brightening, she allowed a cheerful smile and took his face in both her hands. "Now, Gomen, would you keep Hearpwine waiting any longer for the walk? Run along dear, and tell him. Perhaps on this walk he will teach you another song."

Gomen's sorrow vanished and he swelled with excitement. Kissing his mother's cheek, he skipped out of the kitchen, a smile on his tear-stained face. Yet there was still a queer little ache in his heart as he came to Hearpwine. "Oh, Hearpwine sir," he said, hoping the tears on his face did not show plainly; "I am quite ready to go now, if you are. Yet I would not interrupt you if you are in the midst of a conversation."

Maercwen had seen Gomen leave the kitchen and was glad. There was at least a smile on his face. Feeling as though the world were beautiful again, which she knew it surely was, she retied her apron and returned to the kitchen to continue with her work.