The thick smell of smoke burned the nostrils and eyes of those gathered around one of the many great bonfires set up in Avardin. Voices were shouting and singing loudly into the night, for winter was here and they had survived so far; so what a perfect excuse to celebrate.
Stolen mead and home brewed ale and beer was drunk by the gallon as the moon rose higher in the cold clear winter sky. Amongst the merry gathering, besides one of the roaring fires, the Half Blood was nestled comfortably against the fur-covered side of a fine Dunlending woman who he had been ‘lodging’ with since his time there. His speech skills have grown better by the day now he has been living amongst them, in fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time he spoke Rohirric.
Now though, he was perfectly content in life. A horn of mead in one hand, the other resting on a fine redheads thigh while he listened to the voice of the ‘Cyfarwydd’ tell stories of ancient heroes and grand quests, the clear musical voice ringing out above the music at the next fire over.
Though soon enough the peace of the storyteller was interrupted, as voices boomed out in unison:
Wel dyma ni'n dwad,
Gy-feillion di-niwad,
I ofyn am gennad,
I ofyn am gennad.
I ofyn am gennad i ganu!
Down one of the dirt paths first came dancing children, shouting and waving about as they led the way for what could only be described as a strange creature. Higher above the rest danced a horse skull, with white furs and sheets draped down from its neck. The eyes were replaced with brightly coloured stones and along its bone were patterns like war paint. Back and forth it swayed, looking about the crowd as it leapt into the air. The gathering around this beast shouted out to the crowd, who in turn sang back as it made its way to the centre of the settlement.
“By the Huntsman, what is that thing?”, Hund turned to the woman who he was using as a pillow, clear confusion on his face.
“That is the Mari Lwyd, the Grey Mare, If you look closely you can see the legs of the poor man who has to carry that thing.”, she chuckled as she looked out on the festivities.
“What does it do?”
“To bring us good luck… and for the chance to have fun at this harsh time of year.” She smiled as she looked down to him, then to the beer which was flowing all the heavier now that the Mari Lwyd was present.
Late into the night did the Mari Lwyd go from fire to fire and from gathering to gathering, shaking her skull while those around sang to start a battle of song, though every fire they went they drank heartily until the early hours of the morning, and the stumbling legs of the mare bearer could walk no more and the Grey Mare came crashing down to sleep for the night.
Translation
Well here we come,
Innocent friends,
To ask leave,
To ask leave,
To ask leave to sing!
