The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"'Tis good to see you up and about, Saeryn. Come sit with us."

The words snapped Saeryn out of her short-lived reverie as quickly as would a slap. She looked around, wondering how she had managed to reach the common room so quickly when, last she knew, she had just been standing outside her own door. Attributing it (correctly, as it were) to her head being bruised, she shrugged off the lapse of awareness and met the eyes of Eodwine.

Perhaps I should not be in mixed company so soon... but maybe... maybe they will know who I am. She walked forward flinching a little but hiding it well. Her posture was as excellent as could be expected, and those at the table who knew of her lineage smiled to themselves at her noble bearing. She settled herself, spreading her skirts automatically around her, between Gudryn and Eodwine. Another pounding headache was springing to life behind her eyes, but she chose to ignore it.

The table looked at her, seeming to expect something. Turning a pretty shade of crimson, Saeryn looked down at her hands, cradled gently in her lap, and waited for someone to rescue her.

[littlemanpoet]

"How are you feeling, Saeryn?" Eodwine asked.

"Eazup on the <urp> poor lass, Master Eodwine!" said Garreth. "Do you not she that s-she is just g-gaining her <ulp> bearings?"

Eodwine clicked his tongue. "Right you are, Garreth. So! Let us put her, and the lad Faleron the more at ease by telling a bit about ourselves. How about you, Garreth? Your tongue seems to be mostly untied."

Garreth looked at Eodwine through stout addled eyes, vainly seeking an insult in his words. "I am nod s-sure I like your <ulp> tone."

Harreld copped him one across the head. "You've gone an' addled your wits tryin' to drink as much as me," he said. "He's saying your tongue's loosened by your drink."

"Oh!" Garreth grinned stupidly. "That's well enough then." Then he scowled at Harreld. "I'll th-thank you nod to go clipping me or I'll <urp> hammer you!"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Eodwine said. "Garreth, start us out!"

"Right," said the more loquacious of the twins. "Me, I'm looging for a wife (gulp)." He eyed Saeryn meaningfully, and slightly cross-eyed. "If you know what I mean. Someone margeable - ah - marriger - ah - marriagerble - ah - a lass willing to wed."

Harreld clipped him again. "You dunderhead."

Garreth turned on him ferociouly. "That does it! Call me a Dunlending, will you! Well doesn't that make you a fool, seeing as you're my twin!"

"Dunderhead, you ninny, not Dunlending."

"I never done no lending that I haven't returned! Er, no borrowing that I haven't lent! Er, no lending that I didn't-" Garreth stopped in confusion and stared into his mostly empty ale cup, then raised it. "More ale! More ale!"

"Poor sot," murmured Harreld to the rest of them. "He never could hold his ale as well as me." He winked to Saeryn, dark stout dripping from his beard and onto his tunic.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Upon re-entering, Odessa searched the room for Faleron with tear-bright eyes. Finding him, she ran to him, falling to her knees beside him.

"Oh Faleron, I searched and I searched, and it wasn't there! I can't find it, Faleron."

Wiping her tears with a gentle finger, Faleron looked into Odessa's eyes as he very subtly let his purse slip from his fingers onto the floor, or more accurately, onto Garreth's foot.

"Aye! <urp> Waz this?" Garreth cried out, reaching down under the table. "Some'un's lost 'is purse-- OW!" he yelled, coming up from under the table and nailing his head on it as it passed. "That table wa'n't there before!"

Saeryn looked at the man and wondered what he was like sober... Presumably not as clumsy. She smiled, covering a large yawn with her hand. Faleron carefully pasted a look of surprise on his face as his eyes landed on his "lost" purse.

"That's mine!" he cried. "Look, Desi, it's not lost after all. I must've dropped it by mistake."

"Ye sure it's yers?" Garreth asked with a sidelong glance that only the stout-addled can master. "I don' know ya, but ya look like it might be yers." He seemed to think for a moment before handing it over. "You just don't be spendin' it on no purty ladies late at night, laddie." he added sagely.

"Pretty ladies?" Odessa asked, confused. "How could you spend it on Maerlyn when we're days away from her, Faleron? And surely she's asleep by now."

A deep blush stained Faleron's innocent cheeks as he hastily changed the subject. "Speaking of sleep, lass, it's bed time and past for the both of us. We've been travelling long enough that a warm bed sounds like heaven right now."

"Ay, <urp> I thought I warned ya about them warm beds!" Garreth shouted, jumping to his feet and staring about a foot to the left of Faleron's face.

"Aye, m'lord, and of course you did. You told me that I should beware a warm bed because... uh... cold air is better for sleep and uh... digestion. I'll bear that in mind, and won't you too, Desi?"

"What? I mean... of course. Faleron, I didn't know cold air helped digestion... I should keep that in mind if I'm to heal."

Saeryn tried her best not to burst out laughing. For one thing, she knew it would hurt. For quite another, she thought it was sweet, seeing this young man trying so valiantly to keep the girl, Desi, her name was, innocent. Garreth was staring, much confused, into his drink as Faleron led Odessa toward the beckoning Bethberry.

Garreth looked up, glancing at each person around the table with the look of a man having a revelation. "Cold air <urp> aids degestion?" he asked.

[Esgallhugwen]

"I'm glad you've decided to come and sit with us Saeryn", Gudryn said happily, "and what a beautiful gown, such a lovely shade of crimson too". Saeryn and Gudryn exchanged smiles.

As the introductions began it was nearly becoming difficult for the young lass to keep herself from laughing, but somehow she managed though her face at times blushed from the supressed giggling. "I assure you Lady Saeryn that the twins Harreld and Garreth are much better behaved when they've sobered up, though their fancy towards the Fairer gender I fear will never relent!"

She giggled along with Saeryn, but they had been too loud and Garreth despite having asked a question turned his attention to their mirth. "Eh, what's 'ish <urp> now? What are ye lassies gaggling <urp> giggling 'ere aboot?

The girls pursed their lips together tightly to stop the laughter from exploding in the hall. "We just think it's a shame that you havn't yet found a fair Lady for the both of you" Gudryn replied with a hint of innocence.

"Don't be silly, we'd be wantin' two diff'rent women 'or da both of ush <urp> it'd be no sense 'aving jus da one" Garreth said matter-of-factly drowning his already damp beard in a fresh mug.

Harreld's hand was threatingly close to clapping his brother in the head again but instead he said, "I think you've had your fair share for tonight brother, perhaps it's best to go sleep it off as best you can". Garreth pushed on Harreld to steady himself to his feet.

"Per'aps ye be right", he shambled along the hall nearly toppling over another patron and as he reached the stairs was wondering if he should open his window to cool his room for better digestion. "Well, who shall be next to tell their tale?" Eodwine asked trying to get the girls to stop laughing at Garreth's indulgence.

[littlemanpoet]

"First off," said Harreld, eyeing the hallway with spleen, "I'd like to know what Garreth thinks he's doing going down the boarding hall when he knows he has a home and bed of his own not a five minute walk away."

"I dare say he might not be able to make it that far tonight," offered Falco.

"Then I'll make sure he works an extra hour on the morrow to pay for his extra bed!" Harreld's frown slowly turned to a grin with his thought. "And then I can sneak down here while he's busy, and do some courting!" He eyed Saeryn meaningfully, his smile broadening in what he apparently took to be a dashing look, but with the stout drooled down his chin and beard, made him look like a boy with dirt from the back yard all over his face.

"So treat us to a tale, Harreld!" Eodwine said.

Harreld's eyes popped open. "Me! I'm not the tale teller. That's Garreth."

"Since he is unable," Eodwine remarked, "the task falls to you. Come!" he gestured disarmingly, "tell us how you came to be a blacksmith, if nothing else."

Harreld opened his mouth stupidly, and was about to hem and haw when the Inn door crashed open and one of the guard of the Golden Hall came running to their table.

"Eodwine! News! The man they call Rand is camped just outside of Edoras. We would not let him pass without word from the King; 'twas the only thing to hold him at bay!"

[Bêthberry]

All thoughts of a first lesson in the healing arts were dashed for the time being with the sudden arrival of the messenger from the Golden Hall. Bethberry nodded to Odessa and Faleron to return to the Mead Hall for the present. As for the vainglorious Garreth, Bethberry grabbed the collar of his tunic and somewhat firmly redirected his unsteady steps towards his twin.

"Whoa there, Mishtrish Merrygoround, I am desirous of becoming acquainted with the softer parts of the Horse's linen establishment." Garreth giggled as he contempled his sense of humour. "Hick. Mishtrish Merrygoberry." He giggled again and a supremely idiotic grin took over his face.

"Let me show you the quality of our kitchen linen, Garreth." With that the Innkeeper walked the sodden lad into the kitchen. Frodides looked up from her work, gave Bethberry a knowing nod, and pointed to the large wooden basin beside a barrel of water.

Without ceremony, Bethberry doused Garreth's head into the barrel of water, then lifted it up. He sputtered and blew some of the water off his face. After he had caught his breath, Bethberry dumped his head again into the barrel, then up again, then down. After several bouts of this bracing close encounter of a liquid kind he had not forseen, Garreth seemed somewhat more sobre. Frodides threw him a towel to dry his face.

"Make yourself presentable and ready, Hero, and return to the Mead Hall, for this night you may do real battle."

"Frodides, I need Leofan's and Gomen's help. Can you go to the stables immediately and ask them to close all the shutters on the main floor? Make sure particularly that they are bolted from the inside. Then, can you and Maercwen close the shutters in the rooms on the second floor? I will return to assist you once I have more news from the Guard of the Golden Hall."

"Trouble Mistress Bethberry?"

"It would seem so. Apparently the guards at the gate are holding back this Rand fellow. And he seems none too eager to observe their demand."

"I'm off immediately to Leofan."

"Ask him, please, to join me once the windows are barred." She turned to leave, and then turned back to Frodides. "Best to lock the barrels of ale too. And maybe brew prodigous amounts of coffee and tea. People always wondered why I brought in those strange beans. Now they will know."

With that, Bethberry hurried off to the Mead Hall herself, for more news from this Guard and some quiet conference with Eodwine.

[Nurumaiel]

Gomen leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, breathing rather heavily. His father noticed him and smiled in a kindly manner, saying nothing. Gomen had worked hard the past few days, and if he felt the need to pause for a few moments for a rest, it was well and good... and let him do more than that, too.

"Sit down, lad," said Leofan. "There is not much work to be done at this time, and so you ought to save your strength for when it is needed."

The boy hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should deny his weariness and continue his work, but he saw a look of firmness begin creeping into his father's face, so he sat down. Leofan put his back to one of the stall door and gazed in an absent manner at the ground.

Gomen was quite aware of how hard he had been working, and he thought of what he had gained from it. It gave him a feeling of satisfaction to work hard beside his father for the day, and go to bed knowing that all his duties had been fulfilled, that his parents and Mistress Bethberry would not have as much to worry themselves about. Yet there was still an echo of music in his heart, and he wondered sorrowfully if it would be his lot in life to toil in the stable, when he would rather join his uncle Liornung on the road to sing the days away, or to sit and listen to the songs of the winds and waters.

The stable door opened, and both looked up, expecting to see Maercwen, or one of the other children. A smile broke out on Leofan's face when he saw that it was Frodides, and he went to her and kissed her cheek, faded and rather wrinkled, but to him as fair and smooth as it had been when he had first dared to kiss it. "Fair lady, you honour us with your presence," he said, but his teasing smile quickly faded when he saw the look on her face. "How grave you look, Frodides!" he said. "What is wrong?"

"I couldn't say for certain," she replied, "for I've been in the kitchen most of the day and have not heard much of outside news. But it is enough to know that Bethberry wishes all the shutters closed and bolted. And though she did not mention it, perhaps you might want to make the stable safe, as well. Maercwen and I will be on the second floor bolting the shutters."

"We'll do so right away," said Leofan, his face as serious as his wife's. "Gomen, I'll attend to the stables, and you run to the Inn and find all your brothers and sisters. Hustle them to our room and tell them not to leave. I will join you shortly to close the shutters." He began to move away, but then turned back, and kissed Frodides once again. "And don't be frightened," he said.

[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."

---------------------------------

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.

-----------------------------------------

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."

[Bêthberry]

Of course, not all the denizens of The White Horse fell upon the telling of this tale. For some, newly arrived, the hectic pace and sudden intrustion of fear, derring-do and fisticuffs, raised dire warnings. Odessa looked at her brother Faleron. This was what Ioreth had sent her here to learn! Healing! Healing! The sacred arts of care and nurture and the secret powers of plants against the wicked of this world. Odessa could not believe her apprenticeship had arrived so quickly. Moving away from the scene of the most recent arrival and action, she whispered to her brother.

"Faleron, I overheard them! I know what I can do! Come, come, Aunt Ioreth will be so pleased with us!"

Faleron for his part was loathe to remove himself from this tale of knuckle-busting and he frowned upon his sister's insistence, shaking his head and nodding his wish to remain. She refused to allow him that satisfaction, pulling upon his sleeve, and drawing him away, out towards the kitchen, stopping on the way to speak with Frodides, and then curtseying their withdrawal, moving quickly out the back door while the faithful cook's back was turned as she answered a call from Ruthven.

At the back, Odessa quickly sought the herb garden. She had often observed her Aunt Ioreth in the early morn in her herbarium and watched her actions. Odessa decided now to imitate those actions. Faleron protested but meekly, remembering the injunction laid upon him, and submitted to his sister's impetuous plans.

The two sought out the raised beds of the herb garden, the wattle fences of which could hide them if they slunk down amid the herbs and plants and shrubs. The sun had set, but what was that to such neophytes? No one had told them that the healing herbs must be harvested at sunrise, under oath of silence, and facing west, where shone the beams of the rising sun. Instead, the last flickering rays of the sunset skimmed their heads and pointed to the perfidious east.

Nor did either child really know the rituals of harvesting herbs. Neither bore silver blade nor iron blade and instead wacked and cut and slashed whatever plant Odessa could remember hearing about. Thus did they raise the ire of the natural world against the protections which Bethberry and Ruthven had called upon. The mort myre fungi in particular protested against their rough feet and the mandrake cried when stepped upon. The snape grass blew back and forth in the wind and whistled a silent news unheard by the two earnest but unfortunate youth.

"There," pronounced Odessa, as she tied into a bruised bundle a bunch of monkshood and snapdragon, wrapping it with nettle instead of blackberry vine. "We have made more amulets to ward off evil. Bethberry will be pleased with us!" Faleron was not so sure, for it had been he who had cut the stinging nettles, at the edge of the herb garden, and he had paid for his efforts. Angry red welts were appearing on his hands and arms.

The two snuck back into the kitchen, removed the small sliver of a knife which they had used to prop open the door, and, skirting around the room, made their way out towards the main hall unobserved. Where Bethberry and Ruthven had hung an amulet, they hung their own amulet, using hemp instead of red wool. Little did they imagine what their efforts could lead to.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine, Falco, Harreld and Garreth seemed oddly quiet for the moment. In sooth, they seemed to be frankly soulless, their eyes glazed and their mouths drooping; which was not entirely out of character for Harreld and Garreth, but it made Eodwine and Falco look positively ridiculous. In point of fact, it seemed that a certain etherish party had pulled their souls from their bodies and was being used by some infastidious subcreator elsewhere for his dubious purposes. As long as Bethberry and others could handle being in two places at once, however, there was little to worry about.

At one point, the word, "cerebriations" slipped from Eodwine's lips.

Others gave him a quizzical stare, then shrugged, and went back to the business of being in an adventure at The White Horse.

At another point, "limerickalickalickal" slipped from Falco's mouth. Now this was getting a bit suspicious, but what was one to do? Perhaps it was best to wait out the etheric party before the four LMPish characters were called upon for more than an astounding belch. And so the evening continued for the nonce.

[Esgallhugwen]

Gudryn looked at the four heroes with a questioning glance, their sudden odd behaviour startled her. Whatever possesed them or dispossesed them, for their eyes were dull but they still breathed though with strange words flowing from their lips, she hoped it would pass before Rand came to claim her.

"What is happening to them?" Gudryn asked, looking around as if to find the answer, which to her dissapointment she could not find.

"Something strange is afoot", Bethberry noted and wisked herself away towards her Herbarium and apothacary to the answer that she seeked. And still the heroes stood their, most Gudryn noted with a hint of disgust had drool collecting on the sides of their gaping mouths.

She could not tell if the others were being affected for they were mulling about in their own business, she seemed to be immune thanks to the cream coloured linen scarf imbued with Bethberry's art. She sat back down in the chair when a loud bang was heard at the door.

She flinched as it came again more insistant this time, the door creaking under the pressure of the unknown force. The third time was followed by the grinding rasp of a hateful voice, "Gudryn!", it roared checking the door again with it's body.

"Gudryn, I know ye be in t'ere sweety, come out so as to not make me hurt any of 'em other ones", there was a pause before the voice hissed, "come out me little child, let me see your pretty face".

The four heroes miraculously snapped out of the spell that had trapped them with eccentric words, and so they came face to face with the aggressor. The door swung open with a sharp snap, gusts of cold wind chilling all to the bone entered the room as the tall immense form stood in the doorway.

He was hooded and cloaked, everyone stood their gaurd waiting. Gudryn could sense something was wrong but was yet unable to place it.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Desi, leave. Now." Faleron spoke. His tone left no room for debate. "Odessa, OUT!" he roared. Staring daggers at him, Odessa ran from the room, not stopping until she had reached her room and blocked the door. She had never before heard that tone in her brother's voice, and it scared her.

Back in the common room, Faleron covertly drew his knives, joining the heroes. Degas backed away, weaponless because of his bandaged hands. He took the hand of each lady, Saeryn and Gudryn, and drew them close. "No fears, ladies," he whispered hoarsely. Saeryn was terrified... if she had ever been in such a situation, her current state of mind did not allow her to know. They waited, the three, behind a table, with Degas for protection as the four heroes... five now... blocked them from view of the loud and frightening stranger. They waited silently for the next move.

[Bêthberry]

Ruthven shook her head. She had thought the door was closed, lock, stock and barrel as the old saying went. Mayhap it wasn't locked after they let in the lad Degas. Fine bunch of heroes they turn out to be. Nonetheless, she moved covertly, taking something out of her pocket and surruptitiously shaking it into one of the tankards in front of her. Then she coughed and wheezed a bit.

The old rag lady rose from her table, wobbly with her stiff bones and creaky joints. Her tankard she held high in her hand. Another tankard appeared in her other hand. She appeared to be tipsier than she really was, which made her appear harmless.

"The Innkeeper is unavailable at this moment. May I take it upon myself to welcome you to our humble Inn. I am Ruthven, the rag lady and secondhand dealer of Edoras. A tankard on the house, if you will?" Ruthven took a gulp from her tankard, leaving foam in a small dribble around her upper lip. She offerred the other tankard to the hooded man.

He stared at her. At least, it appeared he stared at her, given his face was covered by his hood.

"I'm lookin' fer a wee lassie wot's mine," he stated.

"Ye must be tired from all yer searchin. Here, have an ale."

"You silly old bag. Tink 'ye I'll be wanting an ale when the girl's right there in front o' me?" He walked over to Ruthven and knocked the tankard out of her hand, spilling the precious dark brew over his hand, his sleeve, his side.

Ruthven jumped back, out of his way and out of the way of the ale. Twas a great loss, to tamper with such delectable drink as that, but she had had no choice. Now she moved further away from him, making him think she had simply wanted him to drink. Little did the cloaked marauder know she had hoped to spill the ale on him and let Bethberry's potion take its course.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas could not understand why the five men were not acting upon this brigand, but it was of no importance. The fact was, this man... this Rand... was here, and he was moving toward the ladies. Unacceptable, he thought, straightening to a height which, suprisingly to himself, matched that of his former attacker. The other man, however, weighed quite a bit more than the lanky youth.

Degas stepped forward, his face set. "Sir, you make demands for that which is no item that you may possess. I highly recommend rephrasing to ask the lady if she desires your company, and should that fail, which I have a strong suspicion it will, given your apparent sensitivity, I recommend even more putting your back to us and taking a long trip far from here."

The young man was almost amazed at his own audacity, but after his rocky past with the near stranger that had beaten him bloody, he was surprised to find that he didn't give a purple pea what anybody thought of his rudeness.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine momentarily smirked at Degas' fine string of words. He raised his sword.

"If you be Rand," Eodwine said, "we know what manner of man you be. You are not welcome here, outlaw. Leave before it goes badly for you. We will not let you have the lass Gudryn, upon our lives."

"Aye," said Falco, raising a short sword none of the others had seen until now.

Harreld and Garreth said nothing, but moved around one to each side of the man Rand, there weapons raised. This Rand was a big man, bigger than the two smiths, but not bigger than both combined.

Rand eyed them each darkly in turn, his huge meaty hands opening and closing as if ready to rip and tear.

"A guard told us of your coming before you broke the door and entered, and he is off to the Golden Hall for more guards. They will be on their way. You will soon be face with large numbers and taken captive to the king's judgement. One last time we say to you," Eodwine raised his voice, "leave before you give new cause for judgement. Now!"

[Esgallhugwen]

"A guard told us of your coming before you broke the door and entered, and he is off to the Golden Hall for more guards. They will be on their way. You will soon be face with large numbers and taken captive to the king's judgement. One last time we say to you," Eodwine raised his voice, "leave before you give new cause for judgement. Now!"

The shady figure of Rand paused for a moment, then he laughed, a cruel terrible thick laugh that would peel the meat from bones if it could. "So's thats howya want it then, eh? Seems there ain't much a stuffed in that there head but straw, eh blondie?"

He stepped forward as the heroes raised what weapons they had to counter any impending blows. "What's mine is mine as tey say".

"I'm not yours any more Rand!", a small but fierce voice spoke out above his chortling.

"There now, you've gone and done it in now, I was a gonna be taking yer back all nice and sweet like, but seems as things are gonin' now I'm gonna have to use some force after all".

He pulled a stained staff out from under his cloak, Gudryn cringed, stained with her own blood, the memories came wailing and clawing back like winter wind against a bolted door. "Seeing as I'm not too fond of talking and you're doing most of it", Rand raised the staff ready to strike Eodwine in the head.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

As the blood-stained staff rose, Saeryn's fear rose with it. She could not understand what this man was doing, ruining her first bit of comfortable belonging. Pure rage replaced her nerves, fizzing through every vein and causing a stream of curses she'd forgotten she knew to run through her head. For a moment, the image of a straw-haired hostler, ruddy cheeked and handsome, ran through her head. She saw a pretty red haired teenage girl throw her arms about his neck and kiss his cheek. Resolving to think about the image later, Saeryn of the Folde did perhaps the stupidest thing of her life: she broke away from the firm hold of her brother and leapt upon the man, Rand.

"No!" she screamed, flying for him.

It was pure surprise more than anything that stopped him. Assuredly it had not been her weight as her slender frame could not have weighed all that much over a hundred pounds. With a swift gesture, Rand slammed the girl away from him and into Degas, looking blankly at her. The room went dead silent as she stood clutching her still tender ribs and breathing heavily. She breathlessly muttered a curse, murmering to her brother. "That really hurt." she whispered as she stared foggily up at the man, waiting to see if her rashness and anger had just gotten her killed.

[littlemanpoet]

[edit: reworked]

Rand tossed the wiry frame of Saeryn back at Degas as if she was no more than a rag doll.

"Now that's scorched it!" Garreth bellowed.

In the time it took him to speak his wrath and raise his poker, Eodwine rushed in and raised his sword. Rand raised his bloody staff to parry Eodwine's blow, and did; but the man of the Eorling was a seasoned warrior, and his skill gave power to his sword, and Rand's staff broke in two.

Garreth charged the ruffian, as did his twin brother from the opposite side of Rand wordlessly. Harreld and Garreth were big men, easily as tall as Rand, and no mean specimens as blacksmiths went, and their weight combined was more than Rand's; but they did not reckon that a man so big could move so quickly. He ducked and their blows that had been intended for his head, careemed into each other's weapons with a clang. However, both twins were good wrestlers, having had each other to practice on often and recently, and their free hands laid strong holds on the rascal; Harreld grabbed a tuft of Rand's hair whilst Garreth had him round the neck.

Eodwine stood back a moment while Harreld and Garreth grappled Rand; he sheathed his sword and then dove, tackling Rand by both legs, receiving a forceful boot in his middle for his efforts.

Falco, standing on a table top, held a mug in his throwing hand, watching the four wrestle, waiting and watching for an opening. He wound up, ready to wing the mug. It was hard to find what he wanted in the mess of limbs flailing and heads rising and lowering. He saw his opening and let loose his mug, arrow-quick, which caught the ruffian right between the eyes.

[bilbo_baggins]

Oin Stealthanvil crept into the Inn just in time to see the scuffle ensue. How interestingly vague the action seemed to be, even though it was so real. Good thing that ruffian was knocked out, or that fight could have soured.

Sitting in a corner, he gathered his cloak about his sturdy frame. It was so hard to sit right in chairs made for humans.

It had been a long time since he had been here, and it still seemed like just a few weeks ago. He wondered if the Innkeeper still remembered him. Ah, she and that Ruthven were wonderful with memories. He couldn't place names on all of the people here. Amazing.

He went and got a small cup of mead, to soothe his throat. It was wonderful to be back.

[littlemanpoet]

Rand went down like a tree and lay still, except for his breathing.

"Good shot, Master Falco!" said Eodwine, wiping his brow, kneeling by the very sizable legs of Rand.

"Ruin of a good mug," Falco replied darkly, and hopped down from the table.

Garreth and Harreld blew out sighs of relief, and Garreth said, "He's a big 'un, no wager."

Before one could say 'I thought he was out', Rand reached up and grabbed Harreld's and Garreth's heads and smacked them together. The twins' eyes went up into their heads and they slumped overtop of the ruffian. With a bellow he pushed them aside and got to his feet, sending Eodwine stumbling back toward Falco, who caught him from catching his head against the table.

"Gudryn, welp, cmere!"

With a quick thanks to Falco, Eodwine jumped to his feet, drew his sword and raised it toward Rand. Now there was fire in the eyes of the Eorlinga.

"Gudryn has claimed me as father. To get her you must win through me, beast."

[Bêthberry]

Ruthven barely had time to see a familiar face saunter in and grab a mug of mead from the shelf outside the kitchen--for who was taking orders at a time like this?--before she watched, stunned, as this Rand fellow threw off the assault. He was a big 'un and it would take more than her potion to bring him down.

She called out to Eodwine, "'Ware, Messenger. Watch him, as very soon he will start to show certain effects from mybrand of fighting."

The twins, a pile of arms and legs all akimbo, looked over at Ruthven with disgust and surprise mingled on their faces, a guffaw ready to echo 'round the hall despite their close encounter with the floor. Degas held Saeryn and both looked with undisguised perplexion upon the rag lady. Gudryn quavered with fear and confusion. Eodwine, much miffed with the intrusion upon his heroic stance, yelled out, "By ogre and boggart, what do you mean, woman? Are ye daft?"

Ruthven chuckled and pointed back towards the brigand.

A huge whelt was forming on his forehead where Falco had landed the blow, and a cut, small but bleeding freely, had been opened. Rand had tried to lift his hand and sleeve to wipe away the blood from his eyes and found his arm was not obeying his command. Instead, it hung at his side, stiff. Not even his fingers could he move or bend, and he began to stagger over to the one side. With his other, unaffected hand, he lifted his arm to inspect the hand. But he misjudged the paralysis and instead swatted his own face with his stiff hand, wiping the fingers all the same in the bleeding wound. He dropped his useless arm and roared even louder, as if sound could be a weapon.

"There's monkshood for you," quietly remarked Ruthven. "And if there's any of that ale left on your hand, you've just rubbed it into the wound. But watch him, Eodwine, for he will be unbalanced now and his movements hard to predict."

Eodwine looked over at Ruthven with a nod. "Remind me to offer to do some weeding for you later, in thanks."

"'Tis Bethberry's garden, not mine. You can thank her. Now, carry on, Eorlingas."

[bilbo_baggins]

Oin got up from his corner and helped the man Eodwine carry the twitching Rand over to a bench by the door, where they could take care of him later.

"What is your name, lad?" Oin asked the man of Rohan. "And what was this lump of garbage after?"

"Oh, he was just making trouble," he replied, "and my name's Eodwine. Yours, master Dwarf?"

"Oin. I am working with my distant cousin, Gimli, in the Glittering Caves. He sent me here on an errand to the King."

"I see."

----

Oin was very glad that he had seen the old lady, (Ruthy, wasn't it? or Ruthen?) and hoped that he would have a good time in Edoras.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn clung to Degas as she caught her breath, watching helplessly as the brigand fell to the floor. She stifled a cry when he reached up but breathed a sigh of relief when the old woman's words proved true. As Eodwine and the newcomer moved Rand's nearly stationary form out of the way, none too carefully, she observed, she calmed.

Degas held his sister close, marvelling that she should not know his face. He looked into eyes matching his own and kept her within his grasp as the fight died before them. His bandaged hands trembled as his rage grew at his own inability to protect the woman-folk. When all was safe, or as safe as could be, he led his twin to an empty seat and sat her down, kneeling before her.

"My lady," he said patiently, "do you know my face?" She shook her head, clutching her aching ribs. In all the fuss, her bandages had come loose. They would need rebinding before she turned in for the night. "Lady Saeryn, I am your brother, Degas of the Folde. Our brother Fenrir rules the land. Our sister..." he stopped, looking around helplessly. Saeryn looked at him in complete disbelief.

"Sir, I do not know what tale you tell, but it is certainly not one of mine. I am no more a lady of the Mark than I am a dancing bear."

Degas' eyes grew wet as he looked around for aid. Most of the group tried valiantly to pretend they could not hear the painful exchange. None knew if the lady would ever regain her memory, but certainly right now she could not be pressed. It would never do for her to deny her history as it was obvious she would.

Sitting down in the Inn that truly looked so comfortable, Nolin Silverfist glanced around to see what was what. He was here on an errand of another sort than those who would traverse here. Catching runaways was truly a difficult task.

Finding an undrunk mug of beer, Nolin slowly sipped and began to search the Inn for the one he had to find.

After a few sweeps, where he found nothing but a drunken vagabond on some chairs by the door, and a tearful couple trying to work some sort of painful business out, he decided that he didn't need to hurry. Time will tell with all things, as his father Thranu would say.

He sat down on a bench to wait.

[Bêthberry]

The Innkeeper came running into the Mead Hall, breathless from her efforts to secure the other areas of the White Horse. What she found in the great room was cause for mixed feelings.

It was a tableaux of sorts. In the foreground at centre stage stood Eodwine and the brigand Rand, Eodwine still with his hand on his sword and the brigand frozen in a pose of fury, anger, and unbelief. Garreth and Harreld lay spread at their feet, a sort of carpet defense. To the left, a tender aside of brother and sister. Tears were not enough here to help Saeryn recover her memory. Behind Eodwine stood Gudryn, her hands spread forth as if to grab hold of the man who had sworn to protect her. In her eyes was a wild panic, as if she would flee if she could only find the courage to force her feet to move.

The background told a different tale. There was Ruthven, watching Rand with a certain smug satisfaction spread over her face. She seemed to be watching a dwarf who had walked away from Eodwine and taken a back seat to the adventure. Bethberry thought the dwarf looked familiar but she couldn't be sure as she always found dwarven beards confoundedly like camoflauge. Once or twice she had even mistaken a female for a male dwarf, but that was another story long ago. Then there was a complete stranger sipping beer on the bench. Who are these people to help themselves to the Horse's tipple? she asked herself.

Each person seemed to hold the pose long enough for her to survey the scene and then a sudden bustle of conversation broke forth.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine

Eodwine let go of Rand and turned around, finding Gudryn right behind him looking for all the world like she was ready to run.

"You are safe, Gudryn, as I promised. I will not leave you. Are you well?"

Gudryn's wide eyes took Eodwine in, as if she was desperate to believe his promise. Finally, she nodded once, blinking. "Yes, I am well."

Eodwine put away his sword and gathered her in his arms.

Falco

Falco moved to Harreld and Garreth. "Up, you two louts! Someone must bring word to the guard."

Garreth coughed and rubbed his forehead. "Then get yourself to them. Ow! I have a headache."

Harreld eyed his twin brother. "Your head's too hard, Garreth."

"Me! It's you as always has been the hard headed one!"

Falco threw up his hands. "Useless!" He turned to Eodwine. "Master Eodwine, I go to the guards of the Golden Hall!"

Eodwine nodded, rocking Gudryn in his arms, toussling her hair, something new in his eyes the hobbit had not seen before. As Falco dashed out the front door to the Common Room, he gave brief thought to what it was, and decided that the Eorlinga had been counting time for many years, at loose ends, as it were, and had finally discovered something - someone - worth tying down the tent-ropes for. Maybe even laying new foundations. It was something worth thinking about. For himself, Falco wanted a wife before a daughter, let Eodwine do it the other way around if he liked.

[Bêthberry]

'Ware!' cried out Ruthven. She was the only one still watching Rand.

He had lumbered up and was swaying but had reached out and grabbed Eodwine's sword with his one free hand while Eodwine was holding Gudryn.

Pitching and yawing wildly the brigand looked like a ship tossed up and down by a wild wind atop rolling waves. He didn't seem to know where he was aiming his swings, but swing the sword and his arm he nevertheless did. A lock of Gudryn's hair was sliced and fell to the floor, but miraculously her neck went unscathed. Was a battle still to be played out?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Hearing Ruthven cry out, Degas swiftly pivoted away from Saeryn, rising in one fluid motion. As a lock of Gudryn's hair hit the floor, he was running. This man had a lot to answer for in Degas' book, and it seemed that the time for reckoning had come.

The ladies cried out, but Degas paid them no heed. He was not worried... the man had gotten a jump on him once, but that was only because he had been preoccupied and less than wary. Now, Degas' teenage years caught up with him. Thin though he was, Degas' was strong. In a wrestling match, he would be toast, but with an enemy that was cocky, careless, and even better, encumbered by a healer's potion, the long hours of sparring with the brother that Degas so longed to beat paid off. Fenrir has insisted that Degas be proficient at hand fighting as well as with a sword, so although the young man would have much preferred a comfortable chair by a warm fire with no company but his harp and some music, he sparred. Now, after so many years of forced training by his overly-cautious, overly-cynical, overly-everything older brother, Degas attacked the man that stood as a danger to everyone present.

Encumbered by his bandaged hands, Degas went for a swift kick instead of a punch. His foot shot out like lightening, coming in contact with the area just below Rand's ribs. The man hit the floor before he realized what had happened. By no means unconcious, Rand made to rise, but the potion made him slow. Degas picked the fallen sword off the floor and pointed it's razor sharp tip to the man's throat.

Breathing heavy, he spoke. "You have entered unbidden, attacked unprovoked, and brought danger to all present. I will not kill you without provocation... it is not my right. It is no man's right..." he murmered, more to himself than anyone. He spoke louder. "If you force me, you will die."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

A swift messenger trotted up to the doors of the inn, leaving his steed to rest there a moment. His errand would not take enough time to bother with stabling, although, come to think of it, his horse could use a drink.

The young man strode through the door, trying to take in everything at once. Apparently he'd missed something big, since a slender youth was holding a very sharp looking sword to the neck of a large and not very nice looking man. He looked around for Bethberry and spotted her immediately. He'd seen her before, although she was unaware. He walked to her, handing her a small and neatly address letter.

"Ma'am, I've been sent to make sure that one Odessa of Minas Tirith receives this letter. Word has it that she's here?"

"Word travles fast, young man, and apparently accurately in this case. I shall see that she receives it."

"Actually... I have orders to deliver it personally." He blushed. "I'm sorry." he added, seeing the slightly impatient look on her face. Of course he wasn't particularly sorry. Bethberry consented, beckoning Faleron to her.

"Faleron, this lad has a letter to be delivered personally to Odessa. Would you be kind enough to see that she gets it?"

--------------------

Odessa had been listening with all her might to the distant sounds of the fight. When her door opened, she jumped to her feet. Seeing the possibly too-familiar face of the messenger, she threw her arms around his neck and almost managed to kiss him. A pointed cough drew her attention to her brother as her cheeks flushed. She stuttered, trying to explain why she would be greeting someone she wasn't supposed to know so exhuberantly, but gave up when she saw that, as long as it didn't happen again, Faleron didn't care.

She opened the letter, reading carefully:

Dearest niece,

I've only just found out that I need

your help at home. There's been an

accidental stabbing (the poor lad's eyes

will never be the same... actually, he'll

never be able to see again, but that's not

the point now, is it?) and even the King

couldn't heal him, not that I would be so

pretentious as to ask the King for a

favor, seeing as how he's the King and

I'm not, but you know that darling, and

I just wanted you to know that you can

finish your studies when you get home,

but that I need you here.

-Ioreth

Odessa looked at Faleron with concern.

"I'm afraid we'll have to go home," he said. "We'll leave first thing in the morning. Pack your bags... I'll go inform the innkeeper. We'll leave early... chances are, nobody will see us go."

[bilbo_baggins]

Amused and slightly embarrased that such outbursts as these happened in the Inn, Oin contemplated the scene. Things had sure changed since he had been here last. Ruffians didn't just walk into Inns back then and after all, hadn't all slimy, good-for-nothings run away after the end of the War? Oh, well, this man Rand had some accounting by the looks of the sharp blade at his neck.

And that strange dwarf that came in and then left suddenly. How funny that he should get a mug of beer when he obviously wasn't known here, judging by the look in the Innkeeper's eye.

And the Innkeeper had come in. She never did have a rest, did she? Always some gruff piece of scum to reprimand and throw out, or some person to collect payment from, or a distraught friend to talk to. However did she manage.

And then a harried-looking messenger came in. Gondorian by the look about him and his build. He said something to the keeper, and then dissappeared down a hall with another man.

Things did pick up so, didn't they? As Oin stroked his long, smooth plaited beard, he began to feel it was time to talk to some old friends here.

[Bêthberry]

"Enough, enough," spoke the Innkeeper, as Degas kicked the brigand and stood over him threateningly. "The guards from the Golden Hall will arrive any minute and to the justice of Edoras must your complaint be taken, Rand."

The man scowled at her and muttered deep oaths under his breath.

"If you have a wrong to be avenged, if you have been tricked and deceived, if you have lost what is rightfully yours, then rather than resort to bullying threats, you must take your case to be ajudicated. But you must give me your word that you will forego all violent means of regress here. We are an inn, where people meet to rest their weary, tired feet and restore their sense of goodness in the day. We are not a tawdry ring for fisticuffs and smackdowns."

Rand glared at her. Had he been well enough, he might have considered spitting in her face.

They were interrupted by a knock, nay, two knocks upon the door. The first was for the guards from the Golden Hall, who surveyed the surroundings and immediately fell to, cuffing Rand and battering his head. Bethberry spoke up against them.

"The man has erred in bringing hostility to the Inn, but do not repeat his offense."

The guards looked with some wonderment at the Innkeeper.

"Treat him civilly, for he will not come to understand his error if you yourselves succumb to the same means of control and persuasion."

"Innkeeper, little do you know..." began one of the guards.

"I know more than you credit me with. Take him by all means and be wary of him. He does not recognise any right but his own might. Yet still he might be made to see the error of his ways if we all show him better ways." Bethberry looked upon the guards with a stern, forbidding glare that broke through their petty shields of authority.

They trundled the brigand off, with gentler hands than they might otherwise have. Hidden behind the door was Falco, not much taller than the serviceberry shrub by the door. He stood there pulling his tunic down and nodding 'here, here' after the guards, but he went unseen by the Innkeeper. Bethberry turned to the second messenger.

"Odessa, Faleron, be off with you to Minas Tirith. And listen to your aunt Ioreth next time before you run off on a cockamanie adventure."

Spying Eowdwine with Guthryn, Bethberry sank down in a chair beside Ruthven and the dwarf Oin. Not a beer did she crave, but a pot of tea, and some fresh berries with biscuits and cream. Something to lighten the mood, hers no less than that of the others.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine released Gudryn from his embrace and kissing her forehead once more, smiled at her.

"Shall we sit with Bêthberry and the others?"

Gudryn nodded. They went over to the table and took two empty seats. Eodwine passed his hand through his blonde locks, then rested his chin on his elbow, eyeing Bêthberry.

"I am still trying to figure out how my sword got from inside my sheath, to lying on the floor, but no matter." He winked and grinned. Bêthberry kept a straight face, waiting for more she somehow expected to come from Eodwine.

Falco pulled up a chair and sat at table. "Mistress Innkeeper," he said, "you are a lady of vast resources. What was it that caused the ruffian to lose his limbs?"

"Some things must remain secrets, Master Boffin, or they could not be brought to bear another day." She turned to Eodwine. "There is something else on your mind, Master Eodwine."

"Aye, that there is." He took his chin off his hand and looked at Gudryn. "You see, I have a daughter and I need a wife."

Falco looked at Eodwine out of the corner of his eye, and then askance at Bêthberry. "You're not about to propose, are you?"

Eodwine's eyes widened. "Propose! Well, I am going to make a proposal, but not of the kind you are apparently thinking of!"

Harreld and Garreth had finally picked themselves up off the floor and gained their balance. They had been listening to the exchange.

"Out with it, Master Eodwine!" Garreth said loudly. "Are you all of a sudden putting yourself in competition with me?"

Harreld hit Garreth open handed across the pate. "Don't you mean in competition with both of us?"

"You're no threat, little brother," Garreth intoned.

"No threat! I ought to..."

"Boys! Boys!" cried Ruthven. "Pipe down and let the man have his say!"

"For once I agree with you," Falco said, looking to Eodwine and thus avoiding the scathing glare of the rag lady.

"Well, Bêthberry, I was wondering if you could help me find a wife."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Feeling freshly full of guilt from a light, but nevertheless effective, scolding from Bethberry, Degas sheathed his temper in the same motion as with the sword. Handing it with thanks to Eodwine, he caught the most recent bit of conversation... Eodwine after a wife. Still breathing heavily, he rasped a tease.

"Well, I know I've not been here long, but I think you and Ruthven might make quite the pair."

"Quite the pair indeed!" choked Falco, spraying his drink.

"I hate to interrupt," he said with a frown, "but I'm afraid we are not out of the action just yet... My brother is on his way to bring our sister home, and she has yet to realize that I am even her twin. He will take her with no words against it, for he will simply see it as her being obstenent, and I fear for him... she is small, but knows many things, if not her own family." He looked sadly to her, pleading to his companions silently for help.

[littlemanpoet]

Garreth spoke up. "It's true, Saeryn lass. You're his sister. Twin, even."

Harreld nodded. "That's the long and short of it."

Saeryn looked from one to the other of the twin smith brothers in confusion.

"At least," said Falco, licking the foam off his lips from his spewed ale, "that's what you told us afore he got here."

Saeryn looked to Eodwine as if for verification. He nodded. "So you told us." Then he turned to Degas. "And thank you for the suggestion of Ruthven, Degas." He smiled wryly. "But I fear she is too young and flighty for me."

Falco laughed. But the group waited for Saeryn's response to the verification of the group.