The White Horse Inn, Act III

[astarielle]

After being woken from a train of deep thought by a falcon flying in, Lianda realised she was meant to be answering a question. "Sorry, what did you say" she said hurridly and feeling rather embarassed.

Eodwine chuckled to himself, "I asked what other plans of yours have gone wrong"

"Ohhh, sorry, I went of into my own little world then. Well, when i was little i did intend to be a princess and live in a pink castle, but that obviouly hasn't worked out!"

They both laughed and after regaining her composure Lianda continued, "I planned to stay here forever, unless a chance to marry a prince came along of course, and live a trouble free life and marry a handsome man, nonef which has come to pass. Not saying they never will mind!"

She took a sip of her ale which mysteriously, in her opinion, had become less full than the last time she looked. She shrugged her shoulders and thought nothing of it, pints always have a habit of doing that when you least expect it.

[littlemanpoet]

"When I was a lad I dreamed of being a great warrior, a captain in the army of Prince Theodred." He shook his head. "I did not make captain, for which I am forever grateful to the rulers of fate, for then I would have been killed along with him early in the War." He shrugged and shook his head. "But enough somber talk! Do you like music? Or do you sing?"

"I would not boast of it, but I know a few tunes. Why? Do you play?"

"A harp! Which I handle almost as well as my ale!" Eodwine grinned and took a draught, half of which he spilled down his chin and neck, staining his shirt.

"Better, I hope!"

Eodwine wiped his mouth and chin on his sleeve, suddenly serious. "Forgive me, my head is addled. I am not given to such slovenliness. Would you hear my harp?"

[astarielle]

"I am of the opinion that this room needs a little livening up, wouldn't you agree?" Lianda asked cheerfully as the inn had become rather lifeless since the commotion with Eric.

"I'd have to agree with you on that one!" said Eodwine standing up and from, to Lianda, apparently nowhere revealing his harp. "Any requests, my lady?" He said coming over all gentlemanly, quite the contrary to what the ale was telling him to do, as ale has a habit of doing when you have drunk a fair amount.

Quite confidently Lianda replied "Surprise me, just as long as you make it a nice surprise, I don't care much for bad surprises but i do like surprises generally." Lianda was quite shocked she managed to string more than four words together, use more than monosyllabic words and not make it sound disjointed because of the ale, although she did admit there were a few too many 'surprises'. However, stopping herself thinking even more and therefore run the risk of confusing herself even more so, she took another swig of ale and left it at that.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine carefully set down his ale mug, and it still almost spilled, his hand was so clumsy, and he wondered how he could manage the harp's strings.

"I call this 'Heather'." His sang his simple song, his voice high and clear, and was surprised that his fingers seemed to know their way despite his muddled senses.

"Summer's heather warm and sweet,
Sun of Arda lights thee bright,
Lifted heads all do me greet,
Lilt thy voice in song so light.

"Fair in Autumn, heather small,
Faintly do I hear thee call;
Feel thee how thy blossoms fall?
Fail not during winter's pall.

"Lowly heather hid from sight,
Lay in shielding snowy white,
Safe from winter's shiv'ring bite,
Silent bide till warm spring bright.

"Field of heather growing green,
Filled with scent of rain in spring,
Washed with colors cool and clean,
Whispered words I hear thee sing.

"Sing! For winter fell has ended,
Call of heather comes once more!
Spring has come and wrong is mended!
Chilling death shall be no more!"

"That is my song, my surprise. I hope you liked it," said Eodwine, a tilted smile on his face.

[astarielle]

Currently at The White Horse Inn

It is late evening and a crowd has gathered. There is music and fellowship but melancoly as well as, fueled by sad memories of loss.

The old warrier Osric will seek a chair in the Great Hall, where the bards Eodwine and Korik compare notes on songs and tinker with their instruments. Maercwen helps her mother in the Kitchen while her younger siblings dance to the music with children's obliviousness to the memories of adults. A new comer, Lianda, joins the song while the nightwatchman Osric makes his rounds. Aylwen the Innkeeper is hidden away for the moment, doing an audit of the Inn's books for the day. They will soon be joined by the former Innkeeper, Bethberry

~~~~~
astarielle's post:

For a long time Lianda remained silent, musing over the words of Eodwine's song. She felt transported into a forest of green were shafts of shimmering light filtered throught the treetops, casting mosiacs on the floor of heather. Birds sung in the trees above, their voices rising and falling in time with the lilting of the harp. The breeze drifted into the grove, the leaves protesting all the way. The leaves turned a golden brown, shimmering in the light before gracefully falling to the ground; creating a carpet of gold. It wasn't long until the sweet voices faded to be replaced by the falling of snow, the bear branches offering little protection. Yet the heather, hardened by the years, clung stronly to the ground until the last of the snow had fallen and Lianda felt the warm sun on her back once more.

The fire was warm on her back as she awoke from her vision. People were talking and the dim light cast shadows on the ground. "That is my song, my surprise. I hope you liked it," said Eodwine, a tilted smile on his face. It was few seconds later that Lianda realised that someone was talking to her.

"Liking it is more of an understatement than ever," Lianda smiled, the warmth of happiness surrounding her, "for that I owe you a drink."

[Umwë]

The song that came from Eodwine made Umwë paralyzed. He sat, practically staring at Eodwine with and his eyes were filled with amusement. He felt how the happy atmosphere in the room rose to a level far beyond that he had ever felt, even back in his happy days in the golden forests of Lórien.

The song ended and Umwë smiled to Eodwine and he bowed towards him with honor and respect. He saw how Eodwine sat down again beside a woman again and they began talking again.

The hot midsommer air came flowing to Umwë and he really enjoyed his stay at the Inn. He sighed deeply of enjoyment and noticed how much people talked all around him and everybody seemed to have a good time.

Maybe I should take the initiative and join them, he thought and glanced over his shoulder at Eodwine and the woman beside him. He felt lonely and at this point when he was so happy and was in such a good mood, a bit of company wouldn't be wrong.

He sat and felt how he started to sweat. He was shy and didn't want to interrupt them both. He swallowed and stood up, but tottered a bit. He took a deep breathe and started walk towards them.

Here it goes, he thought, and when he stood in front of Eodwine and the woman he felt how he blushed.

"I-I..." he started. Oh no, come on Umwë, don't be so shy! "I would l-like to j-join you, if you don't mind?" he said and looked at them both. "By the way, my name is Umwë" he added and bowed quickly. He stood picking on his nails while awaited their reply.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"How I know of The Horse, you ask? Apart from rumours, (how I hope they are right!), of the legendary hospitality... my brother Fenrir stopped here some years back as he was passing through on his way to--" she suddenly broke off, her face flushing. "He stopped and gave a glowing recommendation." she finished rather lamely.

I cannot believe I almost told a complete stranger about Fenrir! Saeryn silently berated herself. I never even told Degas about that adventure... What the Innkeeper would think if she knew of that. I'll tell you what she would think, Saeri, she would think "Let's just ship this girl right back out the door!". Be. More. Careful.

Bethberry watched in fascination as the mysterious woman fell silent. First this woman, not long out of girlhood, had appeared, alone but for a horse, in the middle of the afternoon, on a day that any sane soul would stay indoors. She had then began to answer a simple question, only to stop dead when she uttered the name 'Fenrir'. Just who is this girl? wondered Bethberry.

"Strange chap, my brother." Saeryn added unblushingly as she sipped her cider a few moments later. "Red hair... rather quiet." She trailed into silence as she began her meal, blowing carefully on each well-seasoned spoonful of stew before placing it in her mouth.

On his way to where, I wonder, thought the Innkeeper. And I still don't know her name or her business... Not, of course, that I must know everything, Bethberry quickly corrected herself with a grin.

Finishing her ragout, Saeryn arose at last, weary legs soon to give out beneath her. Wrinkles creased her brown breeches. Her hairpins had long since lost their battle, leaving the mass of loosely curled tresses to cascade down her back. "My room?" she asked.

"Ah, yes." smiled Bethberry. Beckoning, she led Saeryn away from the tables and through another door. "This way, m'dear. We'll get you fixed right up. Would you like to be awoken in the morning? Perhaps a breakfast brought to your room? Will you be staying long?" she added, perhaps as an afterthought, as she unfastened the heavy lock on an altogether heavier wooden door near the end of the hall.

"I thank you, but I shall simply invade the kitchens when I awaken." Saeryn answered with an impish gleam in her eye. "As for the length of my visit... I had hoped to stay for some time... I plan to journey north come spring, and I had counted on remaining in this area until then; that will not be a problem, I hope?"

[littlemanpoet]

Loud voices could be heard through the front door of the inn.

"Now don't be thinking that your long legs are going to take you beyond the reach of my voice that easily, Master Big Trouble of the Gap!"

"I would not think it possible that I could be so easily rid of you, Master Falco!"

The door opened. A tall, blonde Rohirrim walked in, followed by one of the Holbitla, who had a pipe in his mouth, which did not keep him from saying aplenty. The Holbitlan looked around as they walked in.

"Is this the best you've got, Master Eodwine? Why, seven out of ten inns in the Shire would put this place to shame for warmth and comfort! Where is everybody?"

"I know not. But it is warm enough compared to outside, and soon enough we shall have bellies full of hot food and good beer."

"Ah! That's more like it! But all the tables and chairs are too high!"

"I am sorry, Master Falco, but the Holbitla pass this way seldom enough that Rohan does not cater to the odd chance that one might appear any day of the week."

"You must quiet calling me a whole bit, see, or I'll give you something to curl your tongue around. I'm a Hobbit, not a whole bit!"

Though the halfling's words were sharp, his tone was playful, and Master Eodwine grinned. "Hobbit it is then. Would you like me to lift you into a chair, my friendly unfriend?"

"Keep your oversized hands off of me! I'll scramble up myself before I'll let some Big Trouble handle me like one of their toddlers! Ah well. If I have to stand on this chair, then I must."

"Perhaps we can convince the barkeep to find a few tomes for you to sit on."

Eodwine and Falco waited for service, having noticed that the only two other people in the great room were busy in conversation. Eodwine knew one of them for the innkeeper, Bêtheberry, but the other he did not know. He intended to greet them both as soon as they finished their talk.

[littlemanpoet]

"I shall leave that to you, Bethberry. I am sure you know best," said Eodwine.

"Master Eodwine, I'd think you were running for mayor!" said Falco. "Make a choice unless saying you've been here before was a fib to get me through the doors!"

"Nay, 'twas no fib my unfriendly friend. Bethberry herself can tell you I have been this way before."

"Aye, 'tis so," said Bethberry. "I would not go so far as to say he's a regular, but he's been through a time or two."

"There you have it, Master Falco!" Eodwine gestured broadly.

"Not a regular, eh? What ha' you been up to afore I rescued you from that mud hole?"

Eodwine's eyes went wide and his head came back in disbelief. "You rescued me? Not so! 'Twas I who rescued you!"

"Have it your way! What are we ordering, longshanks?"

"What is the best tonight, Bethberry?" Eodwine queried.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

With a final assurance to the maid, Aedre, of her satisfaction, Saeryn was allowed to close the door to her newest home. Tears of mirth lit her eyes as they rested on the dancing fire.

Piling her smoky clothing and boots neatly on the floor, Saeryn climbed into her bath, savouring the feel of the hot water on her skin. Several times she dozed until she finally, clean and content, gave up on soaking and redressed with the idea of a post dinner snack.

Her clean clothes flattered Saeryn as her others had not. As she padded back to the Great Hall, the black breeches, equally functional, but of better make than the brown, worked with her soft crimson tunic to hug the girl's slender figure. Her long, damp tresses were currently held the unwilling hostages of a well-meaning braid.

Her exhausted body ordering her to bed, Searyn walked in the opposite direction of her room. Seeing two men beside Bethberry, Saeryn made to sneak away, not desiring to interrupt, but the Innkeeper beckoned her forward.

"I hope your bath suited you? I fear I must plead forgetfulness, m'dear, but what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't.... I am called Saeryn."

[littlemanpoet]

"How did you sleep, Miss Gudryn?" asked Eodwine. The lass looked at him briefly, then turned her staring attention back to Hama, who seemed every bit the slap-handed schoolboy under Ruthven's severe tutelage.

"Shush now," Ruthven scolded. "Let the poor girl eat."

Eodwine looked balefully at the old woman ... after she had taken her eyes off him and was watching the girl.

Falco chuckled and took his pipe out of his mouth. "It was you, Mizzuz Ruthven, as ordered us in here. What for if not to talk to the girl?"

"Don't you sass at me, you ... "

"You what? . . . Mizzuz?" Falco threw back at her, giving a wink to Saeryn, who sat on the far side of Gudryn's bed, nibbling on the last bites of her breakfast. It made Falco all the hungrier and irascible, not having had his first yet.

Ruthven had been about to say something about runts, but thought better of it when the hobbit's brow started to get thunderous. She knew Men well enough, but her edeecation on Hobbits was a might bit sketchy. Best to turn the manners just a bit to tweed with 'im.

"I was saying don't you sass at me, for I brought you in here so you could see the lass was well. And now 'tis time you saw after the prowlers last night."

Falco closed one eye and watched her suspiciously.

Eodwine spoke up. "The lady did speak of strange visitors last night."

"Ah yes," puffed Falco. "The Inn under attack."

"Tracks outside," Eodwine continued.

"Gouges at the door of the back ... where?" Falco looked questioningly to Ruthven.

"Near the kitchen, I told you," said Ruthven. "Someone tried to break in."

"Very well," said Eodwine. "Let us have a look at all these signs, the sooner accomplished, we can break our fast."

"And show Lady Saeryn to her bed while you're at it! She's been up all night, unlike you lalligags, and needs some rest."

Falco eyed Ruthven for having it both ways, as it were, but with a puff of his pipe, let it go. He turned to Saeryn. "Lady?" Saeryn got up without a word and took up the rear behind Falco and Hama, who followed Eodwine's long striding heels down the hall.

Ruthven's last imprication followed them down the hall. "Men! Always thinkin' on their stomachs!"

Falco wondered briefly about the giggling laughs that had followed the imprication, but thought no more of it. Best get this little bit of shirriffing done so as to get to first breakfast the sooner. Musn't let second breakfast run into lunch! No, that would never do.

They stopped off at Saeryn's room and saw her in with a please and a thank you, and a goodnight-even-though-it's-morning, and continued on their way.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Peering down the hall, Saeryn padded quickly but silently to the kitchen. Leave me out of the action she thought... Not bleedin' likely. The men-folk had come into the girl's room and without a yay or nay, escorted Saeryn, please and thank you, to her room where she was to "Sleep herself out, there's a lass, and have no worry over the girl." The men-folk would take care of it all. Well not if I have anything to say of it. See them have an adventure without me!

Begging a hot drink off a sleepy maid, Saeryn splashed her face with cold water, shivering excitedly as she returned to full consciousness. Retreating to her room, Saeryn changed into battle-friendly clothes. It would not do to ruin my best breeches, or to risk tearing this tunic. She pulled a pair of brown leggings from her bags and matched it with a thigh-length tunic of moss green. A light leather vest covered her, and her belt she slung across her hips, hooking her sword and dagger to it. Saeryn left her boots off. No good to draw unwanted attention... "Now miss, it's back to bed with you" without a word of "Can you help?". Well I certainly can.

Unfastening her hair tie, Saeryn pulled her braid loose with her fingers, tightly rebraiding and coiling her auburn locks. A few tendrils framed her face, unwilling to stay back. Even tired, Saeryn was beautiful. She slid the door open a bit, glancing down the hall. The men had nearly reached the end.

Quietly, Saeryn followed, boots in hand, her stockinged feet making no more noise then the smallest of cats. As the men walked through the doorway, Hama glanced behind. Saeryn swore as his hand lightly tapped Eodwine's shoulder.

"Miss, you should--"

Gesturing hurriedly for silence, Saeryn ran to the group. "Please sirs, if Bethberry and Ruthven knew I was up they would fuss so."

"Yes m'lady Saeryn, and for good reason. Ye should be resting."

I'll give you a rest. she thought impatiently. "M'lord Eodwine, you do not understand. With your permission or without, I am going to follow you. I'd much prefer your blessing, but I do not need it. I will not be cosseted like a small child. I am coming." Seeing her resolve, Eodwine gave in. Falco, about to speak, was silenced by a hand on the shoulder and an almost imperceptible head shake by Hama. Saeryn smiled her gratitude as the company turned and continued on its mission. Falco and Eodwine leading, Saeryn fell behind with Hama. She looked up at him.

"You were not in the Hall last night, nor did anyone make mention of you." she commented softly. "You are a friend, I presume, or Eodwine would not have you privy to these happenings, but... who are you?"

[Nurumaiel]

The words of the song drifted into the kitchen where Maercwen still sat. She straightened in her chair, and then she stood. Slowly she went to the door, and she looked into the common room at the singer. Her eyes dimmed with tears, and she withdrew. The song made her think of the recently-departed Hearpwine, and also of her uncle Liornung. A sad little smile flitted across her face. She could imagine her uncle there, listening to the first verse of the song and then, with his skill, beginning to play it with his fiddle, adding harmonies of both low and high natures. She could not hope to see him again until spring, unless he desired to spend the winter within the warmth of the Inn. She would hope for that.

Within the common room, Deman and Fierlan, the twins of six years, stood, their faces bored and idle, but their eyes brightened at the song. Deman cast a scornful look at Mereflod and little Motan, who had begun to dance and laugh softly. They always danced when someone sang, even if the song were slow and sad. They spent their whole lives dancing, so it seemed. They stopped to eat occasionally, and to sleep, it was true, but mostly they danced, unless they were picking little flowers from their garden. Deman gave them one more look of scorn, and then he went with his twin to the stable.

When the song ended, little Motan gazed with wide eyes at the one who had performed. "Misser Hearpwine 'ooks odd," she said to her sister.

"That's not Hearpwine," said Mereflod, with a little titter. "That's someone else."

"No," little Motan insisted. "'E sings, just 'ike Misser Hearpwine, and 'e 'as a harp, too."

"Hearpwine isn't the only one who plays a harp," said Mereflod. "I tell you, Motan, that is someone else."

"Mayee," said Motan, "but 'e usn't pay the harp as 'ood as Misser Hearpwine."

"Maybe not," said Mereflod, "but neither does our uncle."

"Oh," said Motan, tossing her hair airily, "but no one plays the diddle as 'ood as Uncle 'Iornung."

"No," said Mereflod, "but Hearpwine doesn't play the fiddle very well, either."

They seemed to sense then that their conversation was just a little bit senseless, though at the same time they were unaware of the fact, and they left the building to make sure their garden was all right.

[littlemanpoet]

Lianda smiled. "For that I owe you a drink."

Eodwine raised a hand. "You owe me no such thing! If I have another, I think I will drift off to sleep where I sit!"

Lianda laughed. A man was walking toward them. No, he was an Elf. Eodwine tried to make himself become more sober. He was in awe of Elves. He was friendly with a few, but he felt as if he watched them from a great distance - - below - - even if he sat right next to one.

"I-I..." the Elf seemed to be a little wary. "I would l-like to j-join you, if you don't mind?" He looked at them both. "By the way, my name is Umwë." He bowed quickly, and awaited their reply.

Eodwine stood. "Well met, Umwë. I am Eodwine."

"I am Lianda."

"She is a seeker of pleasant surprises!" Eodwine added helpfully.

"Master Eodwine! If you please, I would speak for myself."

"Most sorry I am for that unpleasant surprise." He turned to Umwë. "I hope my little ditty did not disturb you."

Umwë shook his head, and seemed a little more at ease. "Oh, n-no! I found it q-quite delightful!"

"Thank you very much! Would you like to share a drink with us?"

"But you just turned down my offer!" Lianda protested.

Eodwine nodded. "And so I did, for I did not want to be an offensive lout in your presence by falling asleep and snoring before you! But with our new friend, Umwë here, there is a chance that I may remain awake long enough for my weary legs to find their way to my rooms."

"You are saying that I am boring," Lianda said through narrowed eyes, winking at Umwë, who watched the minor row with increasing fascination.

"Oh, no! I am saying that I would become lost in the contemplation of your beauty, and contemplation always puts me to sleep!"

Umwë allowed a grin to spread on his lips, as counterpoint to the half smile on the face of Lianda, whose hands had found her lips.

Eodwine was sure as the moon that he needed to change the topic right quick before he got into real trouble. "Server! Three ales as soon as you can! The best you have!"

[Kransha]

As songs were sung, and words spoken, and acquaintances made in the White Horse Inn of Edoras, Sigurd son of Sigmund thought on his fate in the inn, and his newest assignment, the duties of which were still enigmatic to him.

The youth contemplated now, for many long moments as he began to pace aimlessly throughout the inn. He wondered now which of the two, Aylwen or Bethberry, had guessed his true motivation for seeking the post of night watchman. It was not a job he had desired so much, nor was it one that seemed to be catered to his talents in any ways. He had ulterior motives and other ideas of how his nights might be spent. True, he would not betray Aylwen’s trust, or Bethberry’s proposition, but he could not help it if he strayed from their watchful gaze just a bit. He was but a lad, after all, and young men should have the independence to follow their own devices (though his uncle had often told him otherwise). It was a good feeling, the one that stirred somewhat foolishly inside him: he was hot with lively vigor, and sought to leap about as a sudden revelation overwhelmed him. He was free of the rigorous coils of his uncle, to some degree, the bound with new ones that had not yet been fully clarified. Aimless, but merrier, he wandered, as a gentle song wafted into his ears as gentle spring mists after a night of rain.

From Osric, Sigurd had some freedom now, and this gave him a great comfort. He had been taught by many tutors in his life, all provided for by the funds Osric collected, and the dug wealth found in his elaborate warrior’s pension. Many had been stifled, conservative, and drawling, but a chosen few had been brisk, relaxed, and even enjoyable to be around. Both Aylwen and Bethberry seemed as if they were the latter, when categorized, which raised Sigurd’s expectations even further. Aylwen could not be a great deal older than himself, for she still looked to be a fair maid (Sigurd dared not ask her age forthwith, fearing that he might pry too far). Maercwen was, to be sure, younger, and fairer of face, but Sigurd did not wish to let himself get distracted before he had an objective to be distracted from, Smiling inward and out, Sigurd turned back toward the Common Room, chuckling gratuitously as the twins, Motan and Mereflod, pranced nimbly past him and out of the inn, probably to engage in some willy-nilly horticultural activities.

Not far from Sigurd, his uncle sat in the same old chair, which creaked in protest beneath the metallic bulk of the armor clad elder. Osric heard the song as well, the verse that Sigurd had heard. It was Eodwine’s. Osric lay back in his chair, scratching idly at the nested innards of his grayish beard, worming several wrinkled but strong fingers through the hairy muddle. He then put his warm palm to his brow and, with his stilled digits, massaged his temples as the rhythm of the poetic song rung in his ears, musical and sunny, a beam of light in his cobweb-encrusted head. He, like several others, was reminded fleetingly of his passed friend Hearpwine, who now frequented another court, in another land, and sung his songs for another patron, whose patronage was of far more value than Osric’s. Osric thought briefly on that, pondering the difference of status, and his memories of a powerful vision when he stood beneath the gilded rafters of Meduseld itself, gazing upon the heralds of the next generation, and withered emissaries of his own. The site of the last Rohirrim viziers and counselors, lingering like gathered dust in the Golden Hall, would’ve depressed him then, had he not been awed by the sights and sounds.

Curiously, though, Elves in general did not strike any great emotion into the aged Rohirrim. He did remember his awe, the maddening desire to learn and to hear of Elven-kind that had coursed through him after he heard Hearpwine speak and sing of the Golden Wood, and the Lady, the enchantress who dwelled there. If there was any Elf who held a meaning deeper than face or voice, it was Galadriel, who Osric had never met, nor seen, nor heard, nor even spoken of often. And yet, all that he heard captivated him. He could only imagine what she looked like. Perhaps she bore the same youthful prowess of the Lady Éowyn, combined with that regal, powerful air of Morwen Steelsheen, the grandmother of that same woman, who now sat on the wooded throne in Ithilien, a forest land - like, indeed, the Golden Wood itself – which seemed so very distant, in both geography and in spirit, from the rolling plains, grassy, green, and unstained by the barrenness of other lands, of the Riddermark. The old Rohirrim’s brow furrowed at these thoughts, as a painful weight was loaded again onto him. Sighing deeply, he eased himself forward, resting his arms on the stiff table, and peered forward, his eyes dimming as his mind drifted to thoughts of Elves, Woods, and White Ships.