Eorling Mead Hall

[littlemanpoet]

The writ Eodwine had placed in Thornden's hand had brought home the need for a sign, some thing form middle earth that would mean 'Eodwine, Eorl of Middle Emnet'. He meandered through the grounds of the fair, pleased with his lack of fame, for now, as folk recked him not as their new eorl but as yet another freeholder from some place far or near. He sought no fame until he was ready. What, pray, shall make you ready, O Eorl Eodwine the Unready? He did not know.

But his dream kept pulling his thought from the fair's gaeity and the eorl seal-to-be. What does one do with dreams? Remembered dreams? Folklore had it that dreams were from the gods, and maybe so - but he had learned from no less than Elessar of Gondor about the gods.

It had been as King's Messenger that Eodwine had had right to speak to the King of Gondor, who, being a humble man for all his greatness, looked with a kindly eye upon Eomer's messenger. He beckoned him to walk along the heights night to sunset. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, he had named himself, and 'Strider' he'd confided with a twinkling eye. Stories there were to be told about a name like that, and Eodwine had hoped to hear them some day. He had over the years, more than he felt he'd a right to, but such things had turned him into a student of the War of the Ring that had sent him to the Shire just last year.

On that walk with Elessar, Eodwine had learned of Manwë and Varda and all the great Valar, how they were gods to be sure, but angels of Eru the One. Beyond Eodwine's thought was that One. He clung rather to Manwë, lord of the winds whose messengers were the great Eagles and Hawks. High in the sky they flew, saw all that passed both good and ill, and brought word back to their lord in Valinor.

Eodwine gave thought, now, that he, Eomer's former messenger, was like to Manwë's Hawks; not the Eagles, for that would be reaching too high. So a hawk could be his seal, or a part of it, for it seemed not enough somehow.

Eodwine had found his way to the race track. It was good to see horses and riders, the very soul of Rohan, moving together as if they made two-headed creatures that could run fast and think with a man's thought how to run if not faster, then find some way to reach the goal before others. The out and out races were enjoyable enough, but Eodwine was always drawn to the other skills, for speed was not all that was needed among the Eorlingas. There were the tests of fleetfootedness, with gates and fences and waterholes scattered here and there over a cantering course. Elsewhere were mock battles, warriors wielding sticks in place of swords, their warhorses proving their mettle or not. Then there was this new game with long poles, and a ball the riders smacked toward one goal or another. The horses that were most willing to do their masters' wills served best, and light as cats on their feet.

Elessar had told Eodwine a tale of cats. Some queen, of Beruthiel, Eodwine though he recalled. It made him grin. Then his brow rose as he saw in his mind a hawk with a cat's head. Now there was an odd thought! Nevertheless, it seemed to Eodwine that his seal would have a cat-headed hawk on it. But that was not enough either. And now his thought was stuck as he tried to ferret out, Why a cat's head? He did not know, but contented himself with watching the horses and riders with the poles.

[Celuien]

The jewels on the table were beautiful, glistening over Degas' fingers. Lèoðern was filled with questions. What was that big green stone? Or that blue one? Or the red one, glinting like fire on the corner of the table? But despite their lovely shine, the precious gems couldn't distract Lèoðern from the music she heard earlier.

"Do you think he'll play again?" she asked Degas of the musician.

Degas didn't know, but promised to play Lèoðern an air later, at which statement she clapped her hands in delight. She turned to voice her excitement to Linduial, but found she wasn't there.

"Where's Linduial?" she asked.

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Garstan labored far into the morning, his son at his side. While young - still too young to take on the tasks of an apprentice - the boy had shown talent in his father's craft, and Garstan delighted in his growing skill. The sound of their hammers and chisels made a clanking duet in the Hall yard.

Garstan's chisel rested. His piece, a rounded end piece for the growing chimney they now labored upon, was complete. Garmund's simpler portion, a plain stone for the middle of the row, soon followed. He handed it to his father with anticipation, a searching look on his face. Would his work meet approval?

Garstan smiled and praised the boy for his work while gently pointing out places where the finishing of a groove might have been smoother, and curve more exactly formed, and demonstrating how to make the improvements as he corrected the carving. But the flaws were very slight. The work was good. Garmund would make a fine stoneshaper one day. Garstan had certainly not been as able at the same age. Perhaps the son would outshine the father in time. And wisely, Garstan was thankful for his son's gifts.

Garstan stepped to the side and watched his son place the completed stones into place. Then they stepped back together to look at their work. The chimney was nearly finished. Only a few small end pieces to connect the chimney to the rebuilt wall were left to be done. And they couldn't do that until the carpenters finished their work, as the stones had to be properly fitted to the wooden beams. The carpenters were behind. There was nothing more to do until the carpenters completed the woodwork, or until Lord Eodwine turned his sketches for other improvements to the Hall to more solid plans.

Garstan thought of the fair. Lèoðern was there. He knew that Garmund would like to see the horses run too, though (responsible child that he was!), he would not ask to go until he knew that their work was done. And perhaps they would meet Lord Eodwine there to give him a report of their progress. The damaged cart had not slipped Garstan's mind either. Maybe they would find a wheelwright at the fair with whom they could barter for repairs.

"Well, my boy. I'm thinking that we've finished here for now. And that you've earned a reward for a job well done! Would you like to join your sister at the fair?"

Garmund eagerly accepted the idea, and the two set off for the fair.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn greeted those she passed, speaking kind words to elderly women on door steps as they stitched their rips and tears in the warmth of the sun, listening interestedly to the bustling voices of the crowd. She met with several townsfolk that she had come to know and blushed at their praise of her gown, having only ever seen her in men's garb. She walked alone through the crowd, standing tall, her eyes ever roaming for Eodwine.

"Saeryn, Saeryn!" a small boy ran to her, hugging her about the legs. She ruffled his messy golden hair and spoke softly to his mother, thanking her for the sweet rolls she had shared the day before.

"Have you seen Lord Eodwine?" Saeryn asked curiously. The woman was a veritable mine of information if one knew enough to ask. Living as near to the middle of the city as could be, she often knew the local news before the King's messengers even had heard it.

"Yes, yes, Lady, I spotted him off that way, a look in his eye and all." The round woman's pink cheeks, burned lightly from the day's sun, moved as she smiled a curious smile. "Lost him, have you?"

"So terribly difficult to look after, lord of halls." Saeryn jested back. "A look, you say?"

"Oh yes, Lady, and he looked right thoughtful. Like chewing on a tough bit of meat right in his head, if you'll take my meaning. I last saw him wandering toward the horses, dear, if you mean to follow."

"I do, and thank you, Ma'am Verithy." Saeryn bent down, carefully detaching the little boy from her leg. Handing him a sweet, she said "May your day be as excellent as your desserts, Mistress. And you have a good day as well, little master."

He grinned a gap-toothed smile as Saeryn re-entered the shifting mass of people. She let the crowd carry her until she heard tell-tale winnying over the shouts of men clustered close on a hot day. Horse sweat and hay and mud and warm men scented the air.

A familiar form met her vision. Saeryn looked him over, eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and the curve of his jawline. He looked toward the horses, unaware of her. She moved through the crowd between them with an easy grace, stopping just next to him.

"Any riders of special talent?" she murmered eventually.

[JennyHallu]

The hall, which had been feeling uncomfortably crowded in the last few days, cleared out quickly. Marenil could hear Kara puttering about in her kitchen, the rhythm of Garstan and his son working in the great Hall, and Aeðel, busily caring for the boy Thornden had found earlier, but everyone else seemed to have gone to the Fair. Marenil had no complaint--it had been hard, these last few days, to deal with his grief while surrounded and hemmed in by so many people.

And in his room...well, there was quiet, and peace...but too much space. Marenil could see only how comfortable Enna and he would have found that room, together, and now he felt he should move to more bachelor quarters. It was the work of only a few minutes to return his meager possessions to his small chest and moved them down the stairs, though he was thankful the young healer was preoccupied while he did it.

He moved everything into a small empty room near Garwine's, and looked over the narrow single bed and short dresser with satisfaction. No fancy chair, no fancy wardrobe...just what he needed, and no more. He put things away quickly: clothes folded in the dresser, his boots under the edge of the bed, his cloak hung over one of the peg hooks on the back of the door. His pillows he placed back against the wall, so the bed could be used as a couch during the day.

Pleased with the closeness of the little room, he walked outside into the courtyard, stretching, and settled himself into an old chair from the Great Hall he'd snuck out of storage and onto the lawn the day before. It was a good day for quiet pursuits, despite the human noise from the fair that reached even this far into the city. People rushed to and fro in the road before the Hall, and Marenil settled back to watch them, warm sunshine soon lulling him into a comfortable doze.

"Eh, what?" He shook himself awake at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. A youngish man wearing the sign of the White Horse stood before him uncertainly. "What's the matter, now? May I help you?"

"I was hoping you're the man I was looking for. Master Marenil, head of Farlen's household in Dol Amroth?"

"Aye, that'd be me."

"My name is Erkenbrand, of the house of the King. I am one of his messengers. I have a letter for you." The man handed Marenil a thick bulky missive, sealed with blue wax and Farlen's seal. Marenil took it and looked back up at the man.

"Erkenbrand, eh? Are you the one in all those stories from the War?"

The man laughed. "No! No, the Marshal I certainly am not, though I've met him. Surely you've noticed how great men seem to leave namesakes in their wake like lesser ones leave debts. You should see how many Lothwens, Gimlis and some such have sprung up in the past few years. Even saw a Gimliwen once." The man saluted Marenil with a smile and walked off with a firm brisk step Mar's stiff, old bones envied very much indeed.

He opened the letter with a vague sense of dread. It seemed nothing but bad news had been filling his letters lately, and he didn't much look forward to the next one. A quick scan showed him it was indeed from his lord, and that Linduial had spent far too much of her coin in getting the news of his ill-health to her father. He'd scold her for it later...his doings were hardly worth that much money or urgency--but his musings quieted as he read more closely.

Fifteen minutes later, Marenil lowered the letter with a sigh and stood up. Free...all oaths held filled many times over. The bulk had been from a new signet ring, this identical to the Lord's own, as sign and reward for his long service: Farlen had sent instructions to a merchant based here whom he dealt with often to give Marenil a sum of money upon presentation of that ring. His son was steward now, and doing a good job of it apparently. He was not needed at home, Enna was gone...what was he to do now?

[Firefoot]

Léof had found a place where he could settle in to watch without bothering anyone and without being unduly noticeable. Mostly he watched the races, studying them to see if he might pick up any tips. He had begun to feel slightly out of his league; these horses were much finer and this was a much larger affair than any small-time races he had watched in his town. Perhaps he did not have a chance at all, and any hope he had of winning was naught but a fool’s hope. He turned his gaze to Æthel, off of whom he had dismounted – no point in putting extra stress on her when they would only be standing here for the time being – and saw an alert but not unnerved horse, expressing her quiet confidence in him. He knew his horse; let that be his trump card.

In between races, he paid more attention to the crowd, and he began to figure out the sorts of people – which ones were simply watching, then moving on; those who seemed interested in buying or selling; those who seemed to be there for the betting – when not watching a race, these often milled around the horses themselves, many of which were kept off to Léof’s left. A few cast glances Léof’s way, but mostly he was ignored as a bystander. In appearance, the pair truly was not particularly remarkable, especially not with Léof standing on the ground, his weight shifted almost wholly onto his good foot.

As the race immediately preceding his ended, Léof mounted up once more, feeling nervous twinges in his stomach. He didn’t really know what he was doing! But he nudged Æthel forward towards the paddock where he had seen all the other horses go before the races, both to warm up and to allow spectators a chance to see the horses. He told the man at the gate who he was and he allowed him through. Now was the most tenuous part of his plan; anyone from the Mead Hall who happened to be watching the races would see him now, might try to stop him. But slowly these aggravations died away as the calming effects of riding took over. He let his instincts and habits guide him as he rode around, watching the other riders and horses, trying to figure out which ones would be the real competitors, which ones seemed in tune with the jockey and which ones fought it. And suddenly, he smiled slightly. This was all racing, even racing at this level, was: an application of all the things he knew already. He nudged Æthel into a trot, feeling her respond to all his little signals and reading her like a book. He was ready for this, and what was more, so was she. Soon, very soon now. Let’s do this.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine enjoyed this new game of polling on horseback. He tried to imagine how it might have been thought up. Some victorious and bored horsemen maybe used their swordflats to knock around an orc head. Eodwine swallowed. Enough of that kind of thinking. He'd done his share of killing in battle, but did not care to think on the more grisly aspects.

"Any riders of special talent?" Saeryn asked.

"Oh, some, yes," Eodwine replied. Then he did a double take. "What are you doing -" There she stood, leaning on the rail beside him, her bright hair flowing, dressed in a lovely scarlet gown that heightened the mystery of her. Eodwine forced his eyes back to the horsemanship. "- I mean," he smirked, "so you've put away your drudgery for the day?"

"For now at least."

He knew why she'd come. The dream. Eodwine allowed a half smile on the side of his face she couldn't see. He wasn't ready to open that up. Let her ask. They watched the horses and riders for a while. Eodwine for his part did not want to break the silence. He had his seal to think on. He thought of asking Saeryn what she thought, but decided against it; he wanted to do more thinking on it first. Figure out the cat head on a falcon body. He waited for the inevitable, curious how she'd approach it, laughing inside a little in anticipation. He hoped she wouldn't be disappointed or put off. Just because it might be an off-putting dream to, well, anyone.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn tried not to shift from foot to foot with impatience. She waited for him to speak, to tell her about his dream. In the companionable but expectant silence, she began to think of the image she must present. Why had she worn a gown? There was no real reason for it... she was more comfortable in men's garb. She planned to work again when she returned. It was foolishness. And he didn't even notice. She thrust the last though away, blushing and hoping Eodwine did not see her cheeks glow in the sun.

She looked to the left, eyes searching for any distraction. In a nearby field, a race was soon to start. Her eyes swept the horseflesh, taking in size and whether or not the mounts seemed likely to do their masters' bidding. A small and familiar frame met her eyes.

"Oh!" she said softly, "Eodwine, it's Lèof!"

"What?" his thoughts were interrupted by her sudden speech.

"Eodwine, Lèof is racing. Come," she took his hand thoughtlessly in hers and began to tug him through the crowd lightly. "We should watch him."

[Anguirel]

The words Manawyth had tentatively addressed to Thornden after his first song were, he hazarded, to an extent coming true. For many days the Dunlander had marshalled his strengths and tried to groom his mind into the habits of the Rohirrim. He talked little, but often listened gravely; practising when he was alone, and this manner his speech of the Mark was much improved; the grammar almost faultless, and only marred by the Dunlending lilt. At the same time, he paid attention to the Mead Hall's harp, carressing its strings. The instrument was the truest friend he had won here so far. When he tried it, he remembered his brother and another life, and wondered if the happiness of that life could grow again in this peaceful exile.

When he heard of the horse fair that was to occur, Manawyth took it as a sign from the gods of old. The black horse in the stable was one of his few remaining possessions that tied him to Dunland-perhaps the last. He had sold his sword days ago, on the evening he had sworn to renounce battle. He even cut his dark hair as much as possible alike to one of the Riders now.

So, yes. He would seize this day. He would go directly to the Fair and offer his steed for sale. It would not grieve him to lose it; it was a fine animal, a great stallion, but suspiciously fine; and it had links to a past he would rather have forgotten. To the stables he went with determination on his one-eyed face.

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede


Rose saw to the topping of everyone’s mug; then, sat down herself, cradling her own in her hands. She sipped now and then, more to be sociable than because of thirst, her eyes roving about the little gathering.

Her mother sat at the head of the assemblage; much like a little queen, she thought, a light smile curving her lips. Mayda and Ardith sat one to either side of her, her ladies in waiting. They took in every word, and every nuance, too, she thought of how Thornden delivered his answers. There were so few visitors from beyond their farm that such a conversation would be savored for some time; told and retold in all its detail.

She wondered sometimes if her mother and sisters in law might have been happier had they lived closer by a bigger town. Rose could just imagine a weekly trip in to the marketplace, all nicely dressed, their baskets swinging from their hands. And not for that they could buy, really, but for the gossip and the news of other people’s lives. Oh, she loved them dearly, she chuckled to herself . . . but their ways were not hers. More to her liking was the company of her bees and their day to day business; or the goats and sheep as they vied for position and chatted in their own ways among themselves; the chickens, too, now, they were as much the busybodies as she needed; and even the pigs, those self satisfied beings who lived for their next meal and a good roll in the mud.

By the time she had finished her ruminations, the conversation had passed through a discussion of the weather, the crops and which fields they planned to use this year for oats while the others be planted with a resting crop for the soil, horse beans, most likely; one they’d plow under the next planting season to feed the land. Rose glanced at Thornden, wondering how much this detail might intrigue him, or was he one who could easily school his features to reflect interest. It mattered not, as long as her mother enjoyed her little time of hospitality and holding court.

A shift in subject was adroitly brought about, preceded by a refreshing of the mugs and another round of sweets.

‘And you, Master Thornden,’ began her mother, an inviting smile, an encouraging smile, on her face. ‘It seems that we’ll be seeing you now as you make your rounds of the new lord’s tenants. What might you tell us of yourself? Is your father’s family from Edoras? We have a number of friends we see there once or twice a year . . . might we know them?’

Mayda, all pretty smiles, continued Cwen’s line of inquiry. ‘And your goodwife, Master Thornden, will we meet her at Lord Eodwine’s Hall when we come to town? How proud she must be that her husband has gotten such a position! I know I would be were I in her place.’ She colored prettily, her eyes, gone wide for a moment. ‘Oh, here I’ve gone and got you married and perhaps that’s not so. Still, a young man as handsome as you must at least have someone for whom he is intended.’ She laughed a little as if to make it but a lightly given observation.

Rose choked on her swallow of tea at this last sentence. So this is what they were about! ‘Sorry!’ she gasped, noting the quick, arch look on Ardith’s face. ‘Please, carry on. I’m quite recovered now,’ she went on, clearing her throat of the wayward liquid.

And you’ll be sorry, too . . . she thought to herself as she glanced at Thornden quickly and then away. Especially sorry if they find you “available”!

Poor man! He looked, to her eyes, ever so much the fox among the hounds . . .

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine continued walking through the stalls and staring at all the wonders. He had slipped his new dwarven (or so it was advertised) pocketknife into a pocket where it would be safe jangling against his coins. He had little left to spend, so he just looked at the many precious items for sale with a hungry stare. It soon seemed to him that the races would begin soon. He stopped at a stall selling little flutes and harps to ask if the races had begun yet.

"Excuse me, sir?" he said. The stall-keeper turned around. He was a pleasant old man, smiling at everyone.

"Ah, yes, sir, what can I do for yah?" The old man's hands ran across the table, showing off his collection of little flutes. "Here for a flute? A harp? I've even got a few fiddles in, straight out of Gondor."

"Um, no thank you, sir, not at the moment," said Gárwine, though he would've liked a little flute to learn to play on. "What I really wanted to know was when the races would start."

"Ah, the races! They've begun already! I think the first race should be ending about now, or the second race beginning. I've got a lot of money riding on that one horse out of the Westfold, you know, the grey one, . . ." he snapped his fingers trying to remember the horse's name, but Gárwine was already away.

"Thank you, sir!" he called as he hurried away through the crowds. Garwine would tell Léof about how the races went back at the inn.

"Now, come back after the races!" he could hear the old man say behind him. "I've got a flute with your name on it!"

Gárwine hurried away, following the flow of the crowd towards the racetrack. He moved past the stalls and pavilions, and soon he entered the crowds at the racetrack. If Gárwine wanted to bet, now was the last time he could. He felt the few coins in his pocket, and decided right there he would gamble half of what money he had. What harm could come of it?

The racers were already lined up at the starting line. Gárwine pushed his way through the crowds to reach the fence, where he could get a good look at the horses. The grey horse the stall-keeper had mentioned stood near the end. He was a fine horse, but Gárwine thought his rider was too heavy to let the horse gallop at its quickest. Gárwine's eyes moved slowly down the line. Now, that horse looks a little like my Herefola! Except maybe a little smaller. Gárwine thought this omen was enough for him, and drawing five pennies from his pocket, made his way to the betting tables under a great white and red pavilion.

"Just five pennies? Tsk, tsk. I see where just dipping our toes into the betting pool today..." said the thin man at a table spread with piles of coins and papers. "And on which horse?"

"That one," said Gárwine pointing behind him, "The one that's a browny, chestnutty color, a little smaller than the others next to it."

The thin man stood to get a better look. "Ah, now I see it. It looks like the rider's a little young though. And he's obviously putting too much of his weight on one leg, like he's hurt. Are you sure you're betting on that one?"

"Yes, sir." said Gárwine, confident as ever.

"Okay, then."

Once the process of betting was finished, Gárwine ambled back to the fence. The race would start any moment, and Gárwine wanted to see how his rider would fare. Doubts formed in his head. A rider with a hurt foot? A small horse? How small? Gárwine leaned over the fence to get a view past the waving hands of the other spectators. The horse seemed small indeed squeezed between two great chargers. And sure enough, the rider was leaning too heavily on one foot and not the other. And he was rather young, too, barely a man. The face looked so much like Léof's, but he couldn't tell for sure, with the other riders getting in the way…

[Lalwendë]

The lads followed closely in Larswic's wake as he made his way confidently through the milling crowds. Men made way for him and drew wives and daughters close as this man with the broad frame strode purposefully onwards. Nothing would get in his way. The lads hardly dared cast a glance at the brightly coloured stalls and amusements they passed; the crowds would have quickly closed back around them if they had not kept up with Larswic.

He had the sound of the bookmakers in his ears, the smell of excited horses ready for racing was on the air and his mind was filled with schemes and plans. Larswic went straight to the enclosure where the horses and riders sat warming up for the races. "Wait there," he said to the lads, ducking under a fence. "And do not move. Or else." He quickly disappeared in the throng of nervous horses, riders and men.

Larswic joined a group of people who listened as a list of horses and riders was read out over and over. This was the list of races and who would be competing. Some lingered, bookmakers who were making notes of who was taking part and mentally calculating odds as they tried to remember all the names. Smaller men and youths strained to hear the names of those they would be competing against and nervously looked at the ground as they attempted to decide on strategies for winning. Others, like Larswic, only lingered to hear the one or two names they were interested in and then made off again into the crowd.

He moved more cautiously now, as he moved deep into the area where the horses waited, and not just for fear of receiving a kick from one of the highly strung animals. He was looking for a horse he knew very well, one he had bred himself and had sold a year since. Then he spotted the pure black young stallion, stamping his hooves and shaking his tail in irritation as he was made to wait in the enclosure. This horse was the finest race horse Larswic had ever known, let alone bred himself. The price he had raised from selling him on had been enough to build his family a new home from scratch and buy a dozen more horses of good bloodstock. What was more, he retained a stake in anything the horse won. But this horse was so good, the odds were already shortened on him at every race he turned up at. Larswic had a plan and looked for the owner who was not far away, and the two men greeted each other with handshakes and hearty back slaps.

***

The lads had waited by the fence as Larswic had told them to. They had not forgotten their spat and though they were now distracted by all the excitement around them and were chatting excitedly about the races and the horses and the people that passed by, they did not look one another in the eye. Larswic knew as soon as he saw them that some kind of disagreement had passed between them. That he had not found them tussling on the floor or tormenting someone was enough to tell him something was up. Thinking quickly, he went into his pocket and pulled out a few small silver coins.

"These are for you two," he said, with a smile, looking at each lad from under his stern brows all the same. "I think you've earned a little pocket money, and not just for the work, but for keeping a keen eye on the local riders." He looked at Leocsley as he said this, as he was genuinely pleased that the lad had spotted that young ostler riding out. But he gave Wultheof a few more coins all the same. He would always favour his son.

"Spend them how you will, but I'm going to see a man about a horse!" he laughed, and nodded towards an area where men stood raised above the crowd on crates, waving white gloved hands madly about in the air.

[Folwren]

Away -- Wistan's Farm - Dunstede

Thornden, unlike Rose, caught no hidden motive in Cwen's and Mayda's questions. They had asked at once of their new Eorl - why not be curious of him as well? They would, after all, (and providing Eodwine thought he worked well as steward) be meeting him at least four times a year. He had often heard of the curiosity of women, and he should have thought that sometimes they had reasons for such curiosity, but he didn't.

"I have no wife," he said, smiling again at Cwen's quick assumption of another match that wasn't. "And no," he added in answer to Mayda's questions. "I am not promised to any woman." He chose to ignore her rather blatant remark to his looks. "Doubtless if my mother or sister had any say in the matter at all, I would have been married years ago, but I avoided their whims and plans." Cwen, Mayda, and Ardith all smiled as one and Thornden wondered at the glance they all sent to one another. He gave one questioning look towards Rose, but she was looking rather hard at her tea with a strange smile on her lips, and she didn't offer any help or explenation at all.

"Well, that's a pity," Cwen said, but not looking at all as though it were. "I had hoped that I might know your wife. But come, tell me, might we know your family?"

"Likely not, ma'am," Thornden answered truthfully. "My father is a a free holder in the first Emnet. He rode with King Theoden to Helm's Deep, and later to Gondor, and he returned wounded, but not dead, and he didn't leave the farm again. My sister is married, and she now lives still in the same Emnet, on different land. A little time before she was married, I went to Edoras. There I worked to become Guard at Meduseld, and there I was for the past year, until I went to Eodwine and asked for a chance to be his steward. So I am really the only one of my family who has ever lived in Edoras."

They politely asked him how many there were in his family and he answered that besides the addition of Medreth's husband there were six children, he being the oldest. There fell a short pause then at the end of which Thornden thought it not very unpolite to ask a question that had begun to tug at his mind for the past five minutes.

"I don't mean to be rude, and it is very pleasant here, to be sure, but how much longer, do you think, until goodman Wistan returns? There are still several places I must go before I can return. Will he be much longer, do you suppose? I understand that one of your sons was sent?" He looked at Mayda expectantly.

[Firefoot]

Once all the horses had assembled in the paddock and were ready, they all rode out onto the track. As they proceeded, another of the jockeys caught his eye. He said no words, but the skeptical look he sent down towards Léof’s foot said enough. Léof tried not to let it shake him. This other rider handled his horse rather poorly, to Léof’s eye, manhandling her rather than working with her. Léof gave the other a look of his own and urged Æthel into a gentle canter with almost no visible effort at all.

The horses lined up at the starting line, and Léof found himself in the fourth position from the rail, straddled on both sides by horses each a hand or two taller than Æthel, one a fine looking black and the other a dark grey. There came a moment of tense stillness; then a bell rang, and the horses charged forward almost as one animal. The race was on.

Léof allowed Æthel to take a place behind the front runners, with one horse between them and the rail. Dimly over the pounding hooves and the wind whistling in his ears he could hear the cheering of the crowd, but this was soon blocked out. Around the first turn they flew, and as the horses shifted positions Léof found the jockey who had caught his eye earlier on his outside – the side of Léof’s bad foot. Very subtly he angled his horse over closer to Léof, bumped Léof’s foot with his own. Léof felt a spasm of pain but tried to ignore it and the other rider. But when he did it again in the middle of the second turn, Léof began looking for ways to change his own position, to no avail: he was boxed in. Three horses were running abreast ahead of him, and the only way to move would be to severely check Æthel and go around, and however strongly Æthel was running now, she would need all the energy she could get when it came to the end of the race. He would have to wait and be patient.

But as they neared the half-way point on the backstretch of the second lap, Léof was beginning to feel desperate. The other rider showed no signs of letting up on his harassment, and the other riders in front of him had not moved sufficiently for him to have an out. Then – there! The horse just in front of the other rider was edging forward, trying to get a shorter distance around the turns. The other jockey was paying so much attention to Léof that he did not seem to notice the small hole. A few more seconds, and it would be wide enough – Léof hoped. He took the chance and urged Æthel through the hole, giving her a little more rein. Her stride lengthened and they shot through the hole, leaving them far on the outside with three more turns to go – but out of reach of the other jockey. Léof’s foot had begun to throb more than it had since it had first been stepped on, but he refused to let it bother him.

They rounded the turn, and as the final lap approached, horses began to really shift around as their jockeys searched for the best positions. Now that Léof could focus on the other horses, he began to take note of their states. As he had expected, the two horses that had started out in the lead were already running close to full-out, having engaged an early speed duel. The black horse on the rail was still running strongly, as was the grey on Léof’s left. Léof glanced back quickly; there still seemed to be a few horses behind him that might make a closing bid. Æthel was still running strongly beneath him, but there was still another lap to go – would it be enough? The real speed in this race had yet to show itself, and Léof did not have any clear experience to tell him how much Æthel had to give him…

[littlemanpoet]

"Eodwine, Lèof is racing. Come!" She took his hand in hers and began to tug him lightly through the crowd. "We should watch him."

"And him with a bad foot?" Eodwine said absently. His hand was sweaty. She had to notice. What did it matter? This would not do, being dragged around a horse fair by a twenty-something young filly, no matter how how elegant her gait. He rolled his eyes.

"Hold up there!" He tugged back and slowed Saeryn down. He pulled his hand gently from his and placed his hands on both her shoulders, standing behind her. "No lead!"

She looked up over her shoulder at him and gave him a quizzical look, then stuck her tongue out at him prettily, and set off at a good pace, snaking through the crowd until they were at leaning against the fence, watching the race.

It was already under way, and seemed to be on the middle lap. Eodwine tried to make out Léof, but could not.

"There!" Saeryn shouted, pointing. "Caught in the middle, lower than the others!"

"Of course. Æthel is the smaller horse." Eodwine watched Léof's progress, worrying his molers against each other. "He's a fool for being out there with his bad foot."

[Celuien]

The fair was a sea of chaos, threatening to swallow the reserved stoneshaper in its midst at every moment. People came at Garstan from all directions, hawking their wares, inviting him to their shows, begging a coin. He was terribly uncomfortable. Not a familiar face in sight.

No familiar faces. Where, in all this crowd, had Lèoðern been? He pushed aside the thought that he had come in no small part to check on her. Garstan didn't want to doubt the pair who had been so kind as to take his daughter to visit the fair for a treat, but it was difficult to leave her in their charge. She had never been out of his supervision before. He hoped to find them soon.

First he would find a wheelwright. The cart still needed repairs. The search wasn't difficult. Near the stables, there was a booth surrounded by stacks of wheels. A crudely drawn sign with the image of a wheel hung at its front. But the booth was empty. Garstan asked a nearby loiterer if the booth's owner had been seen, and received a curt reply in the negative. He would return later.

Shouts and cheers echoed in the distance. The horses were running. Garmund would probably enjoy the race. So too would Lèoðern. Maybe that was where she had gone, cheering on the horses and riders from the edge of the race. Garstan led his son in the direction of the din, listening to the boy's excited speech about horses. Lèoðern and her brother weren't so very different in some respects.

They came up to the crowd gathered around the horse race. Garstan quickly scanned the watchers, searching for a wisp of red hair, listening for Lèoðern's familiar laughter. But instead of his daughter, Garstan spotted Lord Eodwine and the hostess from the Mead Hall. It dawned on him, even at a distance, that there was something different about her, though he was unsure what it was.

If frustrated in one search, Garstan had at least succeeded in another. He approached Eodwine and Saeryn, and found himself staring at the latter's gown and hair, despite trying not to notice the difference from her usual appearance. She was blushing, and he thought that Eodwine looked a bit flustered.

Garstan now felt confused himself, though he could find no good reason for it. He had come to speak to Eodwine on business, though he feared that he had arrived at an inopportune moment. Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. He couldn't vanish without a word. Garstan raised his eyes to meet Eodwine's face.

"My lord," he said. "May I speak to you?"

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

‘I don't mean to be rude, and it is very pleasant here, to be sure, but how much longer, do you think, until goodman Wistan returns? There are still several places I must go before I can return. Will he be much longer, do you suppose? I understand that one of your sons was sent?’ He looked at Mayda expectantly.

‘Why yes, little Alfrid was sent to give him your message,’ returned Mayda. She flicked her gaze toward Ardith, who nodded her head in agreement and sat forward on her bench.

‘It will take some time for Father Wistan to get here, you know,’ Ardith went on. ‘The men have all gone down to the far western field to mend fence and begin to clear that field for plowing. We’ve let it lay fallow for a number of years; let the grasses come up and kept it for pasturage. But now it’s time for getting that field into production and moving the pasture elsewhere . . .’ Ardith flustered a bit, thinking she had said more than was really needed. ‘But Alfrid would have got there by now and they should be on their way back, unless there was one project they really wanted to get finished.’

Cwen beamed at Ardith, giving her an assuring smile. ‘Tis true Master Thornden, And we’re sorry for the inconvenience. But by your own words, you have come early to collect. Had it been nearer the time we usually expect the steward, my dear Wistan would not have gone so far afield or he would have left one of our sons near to conduct the farm’s business.’ She put her plump finger to her chin as if a sudden thought had just come to her.

‘We’re I younger,’ she went on, ‘I would take you out myself to where the men are.’ She shifted stiffly on her cushion as if her hips were aching a little. ‘But these old bones just don’t travel that easily.’ Cwen looked expectantly toward Mayda and Ardith, who both made their very good excuses how they had tasks they really needed to get back to, and no, it just wouldn’t be possible for them to take the time.

Rose all this time had kept quiet as a mouse, making herself as small and invisible as she might. She was, in fact, thinking of slipping silently away and back to her bees. Most of her morning had been spent building frames for her hives, and she wanted to exhange some the old ones filled with honey for the new. She put her mug on the nearby table and slid to the end of the bench she was on. She was just bending down to retie the laces about her breeches cuffs when she heard her name mentioned . . . no, not mentioned, offered, more like, as a solution to the whole problem.

‘Why that’s just the thing, Mayda!’ she heard her mother say. ‘Rose would be just the one. She’d be delighted to take you out to where the men are. Wouldn’t you, dear?’

There was an imperative in that last question that made her rethink her first answer, but she would not altogether give up the hope she might say ‘no’. Her head bobbed up, and she was almost ready to make her own excuses as had the others, save her mother had that look of authority, that is that bone deep knowledge she could exude at the most inconvenient times that she still and would always know what was in the best interest of her daughter.

Thornden had turned, too, to look at her. And while she didn’t wish him ill, she did curse the new lord who had sent such a convenient possibility into the hands of her mother and her sisters-in-law. She was still about to say ‘no’, except that Mayda, from outside the steward’s view, was giving her a severe look and cocking her head toward Mother Cwen. As was Ardith, who had straightened her back quite stiffly and shook her head in a most emphatic manner.

Thorns and thistles!

Her mother would be crushed if she made a scene. And she would never hear the end of it from her brothers’ wives. The lot of them, when banded together in a cause, could make one’s life a living hell . . . if they so chose to do so . . . and wouldn’t they just!

And then of course there was her dear mother, a quite accomplished actress when she wanted something her way and who was and always would be the central jewel of Wistan’s life. If Cwen were happy, he was happy. She sighed thinking how he would look at her with his grave face, saying, ‘Don’t be selfish, now, Rose. Do this one thing for your poor mother who’s done so much for you. It’s just a little thing . . .’ And then, of course, with a half smile, add, ‘Give me a little peace, my darlin’ girl . . .’

‘Well, then,’ she said, her voice a bit muffled as she bent down to untie her cuffs once again, her long blond hair falling forward to hide her face. She stood up, pushing the wavy masses away from her cheeks and stuffed the leather thongs in her pocket. ‘I’ll just fetch a horse for me from the barn. Why don’t you bring your own along, Master Thornden, and we’ll start off from there.

She smiled encouragingly toward him.

Sooner done; sooner he’s gone . . . and sooner I’m free of my ‘obligations’ . . .

[Firefoot]

For the barest instant, Léof had a flash of imagination that he was not racing, and that there were no stakes, but that he and Æthel galloped full out through the fields of the West Emnet, purely for the joy of doing so – in much happier times. “For the simple joy of doing so” was not the sort of phrase that had much bearing on his life in recent years. But the recollection flashed away and was replaced with the view of reality, the exulting thudding of hoofbeats mixing with the exhilaration and inherent danger of the race.

They rounded the first turn for the last time, the horses’ long strides eating up the backstretch. It was just before they entered the final turn that Léof made his move; he did not care to make the turn far on the outside as he was. He loosened the reins, urged Æthel on. For him, she willingly dug deeply, flying along faster than Léof would have thought possible given their already fast pace. He felt as much as saw the grey horse accelerating behind and beside him. They entered the top of the stretch; Léof could feel Æthel starting to tire. “Just a little more,” he urged. “We’re almost there.” The wind whipped the words out of his mouth. She plunged doggedly on; he glanced back to see the grey horse tiring as well. Then he noticed something else entirely: the black horse starting to charge up on his outside. The finish line loomed, so close, yet so far; Æthel was tiring while that horse was picking up speed. Very suddenly, Léof realized how very much he wanted to win. He had not expected anything going into the race, but he was so close, now.

“Go, girl, come on, Æthel baby!” The black horse reached her flank, now its neck was even with Léof’s leg. The next moments seemed to pass in slow motion; even the wind buffering his face seemed to die for a moment. Æthel’s legs extended, and with a last effort, they crossed the finish line. In first. Within a couple of strides after that, the black horse had passed them, but not before the finish. Just before complete disbelief and joy could fill him, a sobering thought crossed his mind: the black horse should have won. The jockey had waited entirely too long to let the horse go; the horse still had plenty energy left, so why had he not been given free rein before or during the final turn?

These thoughts were quickly replaced by a wholly other sensation: throbbing pain in his foot. Sitting in his saddle, he kicked free of the stirrups to let the foot dangle uselessly, guiding Æthel with the insides of his legs.

Then concerns for himself subsided in favor of concern for Æthel; she was breathing hard, and her neck was darkened in sweat. He patted her fondly. “You gave it all you had out there, girl. It’s a nice hot mash for you tonight, and plenty of rest.” And plenty of rest for you, too, he told himself. The rush of exhilaration following the stress of getting here in the first place was leaving, draining him. He collected his purse money – easily enough to pay back for the money he had spent that day – and hardly remembered doing so. He felt a touch of dizziness and, after leaving the track, dismounted before he fell out of the saddle. He leaned against a post, absently rubbing Æthel’s nose as he gathered his energies for the trek back up to the hall.

[Folwren]

Away - Winstan's Farm - Dunstede

Thornden got up as Rose did and as she turned towards the barn, he thanked Cwen and the two remaining women. "Thank you very much for the tea and refreshments. I hope we will be seeing you soon at the Mead Hall. Once the roof is raised and a proper kitchen is in tact, we'll be able to return the favour."

"Thank you and you're welcome! We'll come, I'm sure. Goodbye, Master Thornden!" they all replied in their different variations and he turned and followed Rose. She turned towards him when they reached Flíthaf.

“I’ll go in and get my horse. It won’t take but a few minutes.”

“I can help you,” Thornden said at once. She looked at him quickly, lifting an eyebrow slightly, and then casting a sharp look beyond him towards her mother and two sisters. “It will take less time,” he said. She shrugged and then turned and led the way into the barn.

They walked up between an aisle of stalls, half of which were empty, before Rose stopped before one and took the halter. Thornden waited while she went in and brought out her horse, a slender, sleek bay with black mane and tale. Together, then, they continued walking down until they came to where she could tie the horse to an iron ring in the wall.

“I’ll get the saddle for you,” Thornden said as she turned from that. She led the way again in silence to a room where saddles and bridles belonged.

“Take this one for her,” Rose said, laying a brown hand on one saddle. “And this is her bridle as well.” She picked up the bridle she spoke of and laid it across the saddle and then picked up a bucket with grooming tools in it. Thornden took the saddle and followed her back out. He hung it up on the aisle wall and then took one of the brushes and positioned himself on the opposite side of the horse that Rose worked on.

The grooming took very little time at all. Few words were passed between the two of them as they worked. Thornden saddled the horse for her (she probably would have done it, but he had the saddle in his hands before she had quite finished adjusting the blankets), and then he went out, Rose following, leading her horse. He untied Flíthaf and turned him about before putting the reins back up over his neck. Then he mounted and moved his horse up beside Rose’s.

Ardith and Mayda were just leaving the house to go back to their work and Cwen was making a last trip in from the table. They all smiled and waved as the two of them turned their horse's heads about and started.

They said nothing for some time, riding in peaceful silence. Thornden was occupied in looking about him, taking into stock the long fields, separated by wide belts of trees and hedges.

After some time of such riding, Thornden turned towards his companion. "Were those your sisters we were just with?" he asked.

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

It was one of Rose’s great pleasures to ride round the family farm. She knew every inch of the lands; their nuances in every season. As she turned them down the rough dirt path between fields, she smiled at the tips of barley grass just pushing up from the dark, rich soil. She’d helped her brothers sow the seeds late in the tenth-month of the year. Hardy little things, they were; they wintered over, waiting for the first thaws and had begun to send their shoots up toward the promised sun. To either side, the fields had just been plowed and soon her father would call it time to plant the oats. All around her the air was heavy with the richness of new turned earth.

She pulled herself back to the present situation and recalled she had a companion riding at her side. She applauded the fact he had so far not been of the idle chat sort. And a few stolen looks his way had assured her he could sit a horse well. Two favorable points, then, for Master Thornden, she thought to herself.

‘Were those your sisters we were just with?’

The question brought a smile to her face, and she wondered how she should answer him. She could speak the plain facts or embellish the answer with her own interpretation. His attention was turned to her, and his hazel eyes regarded her in an expectant manner.

‘Oh, much worse than sisters, I should think,’ she began. ‘Though I love them dearly,’ she then disclaimed. ‘I can’t really know how awful a sister might be, having only brothers myself. But I could imagine that a sister might take into account my own feelings and preferences and fancies, as I should like to think I would hers, and take my side in those sorts of family arguments and discussions where the force of opinion was against me.’ She chuckled, relishing the thought of such a confederate.

‘No, those are my sisters in law. And you only met two of them. There are four altogether.’ She counted off on her fingers. ‘Aesc and Breca are twins, and my oldest brothers. Mayda is Aesc’s wife; Lynet is Breca’s. Ardith, the other one you met, is Willim’s wife; he’s the next oldest. And my youngest brother, Garan, is married to Britta. I say youngest, but still he is five years older than I.’

They had come to the corner of one of the fields and took a sharp turn, riding now along the length of it. ‘I do hold them dear, my sisters in law, and mostly for the fact that they do love my brothers well. But they seem to have become joined at the hip with my mother, and I can always count on them to support her opinions and decisions. And therein lies the problem when the opinions and decisions under consideration concern me. They are a quite formidable force, my mother and my brothers’ wives . . . quite a tough opposition to get round at times.’ She grinned impishly at the thought and shook her head. ‘But I do manage to outfox them now and then. And so far, in the game, I do believe I’ve managed to stay a step or two ahead of them.’

‘What about you?’ she asked, turning the focus from herself. ‘Didn’t I hear you say you were the oldest in your family? I envy you, as I’m the youngest in mine. I wonder . . . it must be easier, isn’t it? As the oldest child and a male, to boot, to be able to avoid your mother and sister’s whims and plans, as you so ably put it earlier.’

[Lalwendë]

He’d done it, the lad had actually done it, and what’s more, he’d made it look real. Larswic shook his head and wondered if the lad really had managed to pull it off all on his own. He couldn’t be sure.

His heart was racing now, more so than when the race had been going on. He had shouted and hollered along with everyone else as the riders had neared the winning post, but it was an act at first. Yet as the race had finally drawn to an end, his shouting and excitement had been genuine. His face was red and his throat sore. The little slips of paper which his bets had been written on were now getting crumpled in his fist, and he looked down at them almost tenderly, and smoothed them out.

Larswic went quickly to the bookmakers to claim his gold. First was the man to whom he had placed a single large bet on Leof’s horse. This was the most important one, and the bookmaker gave him a broad smile as he handed over the money, though his face was white with shock. Larswic left him with a silver coin and an instruction to “get yourself drunk tonight with that”. Next he went to the bookmakers where he had placed money on his own horse coming second; the amounts here were large too, as the odds on this horse not winning were long. Finally, he went to claim the money from his first and second place wager.

As he moved quickly through the throngs around the various bookmakers, Larswic nodded his head at a few people who went by. However, these were more than passing acquaintances. One was none other than the son of the man he had sold the black stallion to, and by the way he held his cloak close to his chest, he was reaping a large reward of gold for his wager. He gave Larswic an almost imperceptible wink as he went by and Larswic quickly pressed something into his hand.

The others that Larswic passed were some of his closest contacts. Regular punters, trusted dealers and those men who he wished to keep in favour. A small number of Larswic’s customers got a lot more for their money when they bought a horse from him; they also bought his intelligence and insider knowledge, they bought future hopes and chances from the man. He knew that he would be treated to more than a few drinks over the coming days. He also knew that he had bought their discretion and moved confidently as ever through the crowds, heading for the winners’ enclosure.

When he got there, he played his role as a part owner of the second placed horse, commiserating that he had not won, but saying how he was content with his share of the second prize, all the time feeling the pull and heavy weight of the bag of gold he carried under his shirt.

[Folwren]

‘And therein lies the problem when the opinions and decisions under consideration concern me. . .’ Thornden wondered what sort of trouble the three wives and the elderly mother could possibly cause Rose when such questions were under discussion. He glanced at her curiously. Surely she didn’t have too many troubles, living out here among family that loved her. He’d seen and heard stories of young people hating their life at home and having to run from it, but she didn’t appear to have that problem.

‘What about you?’ she asked, breaking his thought abruptly. ‘Didn’t I hear you say you were the oldest in your family? I envy you, as I’m the youngest in mine. I wonder. . .it must be easier, isn’t it? As the oldest child and a male, to boot, to be able to avoid your mother and sister’s whims and plans, as you so ably put it earlier.’

Thornden broke into his easy smile and laughed softly. ‘Don’t envy me,’ he said, shaking his head and looking away briefly. ‘It’s not easier being oldest. And it may be even harder when you’re a male,’ he added, nodding slightly. ‘More is expected of you - when you’re younger anyway. If something bad happens and you’re part of the pack, you’ll probably be the one blamed for the ruckus, whereas the younger chaps get off free because “they didn’t know any better.” Of course, as I started getting older that didn’t happen quite as often.

‘But then there were other problems. Father wanted me to stay and take over the land and the breeding, raising, selling, harvesting, storing as the seasons required. I was oldest, I should take it on.’ Thornden made a short, soft laugh again, a regretful look crossing his face. It was clearly an old disagreement. “But that wasn’t what I wanted to do. I don’t want to raise cows. I may have patience to train horses, but I don’t have the interest. As for wheat and barley, corn and whatever else that would need to be raised - well, it’s all very well and good, so long as the farmer likes what he does and doesn’t mind it, but I wasn’t willing to go out day after day, hope that it rains, lug water if it doesn’t. Crops and animals wasn’t what I wanted to do all my life.

‘As you can tell, I didn’t stay. I guess, in some given lights, I should of. It may have been my duty, but I don’t know. I went to Edoras. I went there because when my father went off to war and came back with stories, and his wound, I knew I wanted to fight. As I got older, of course, I realized that I wouldn’t want to fight, necessarily, but to just guard our king would be enough. And it was, while it lasted. Father agreed, finally, that I should go. . .I guess he didn’t have much chance to disagree, seeing as I told him I was leaving whether he liked it or not. It wasn’t a wise thing to do.’ Thornden shook his head. ‘I’m not usually hasty, and that may have been another thing in which I should have tried again to talk it over.

‘It was hard,’ he said, winding down towards conclusion. ‘Being oldest definitely isn’t easiest. I have to set examples for the younger children. Especially for my youngest brother, Javan, who used to think I couldn’t possibly do anything wrong. It’s hard to live up to that standard, you know?

‘But the whims and plans of my mother and sisters that I said I avoided. . .that was only in marriage. And it’s not like they didn’t put me through the ringer at times to gain their own ends. They tried everything, I imagine. . .everything that came within reach. After I moved to Edoras, I got letters almost every week from both of them, and in almost every one they asked if I had met anyone and to be sure to tell them if I planned to get married. As though I wouldn’t! The inquiries have gotten less, though, and I’m in the hopes that they’ve fair forgotten that I’m still lacking a wife. Medreth now has a son that keeps her pre-occupied, and my mother is still busy with four children still at home - one still only twelve.’ He smiled at Rose, a merry light in his eye. ‘By comparison, our family is much younger than yours, you see.’

[littlemanpoet]

"My lord," he said. "May I speak to you?" Eodwine turned. It was Garstan. The timing was really very bad. The horse race had begun, and Léof, his very own ostler, was in the thick of it!

"After this race!" He said. "Léof our ostler is riding in this one. See!"

"Well I'll- So he is!" Garstan hooked his arms over the fence alongside Eodwine and they along with Saeryn watched, mouths agape. Little by little awed silence gave way to muttered wishes in Léof's interest.

"Come on, come on!" said Eodwine.

"He's making a move!" Garstan cried presently.

"Oh, oh! What if he wins!" Saeryn cried.

"Come on!! Come on!!" Eodwine cried with abandon, his eyes wide, his neck taut.

"That big black's catching him!" Garstan muttered.

"Oh please no!" Saeryn begged.

Eodwine almost said that the black seemed to be tiring, but no. He knew horses. That black was being reined in, or at least he thought maybe. Next instant, Léof was across the finish line. Garstand and Saeryn whooped, and Eodwine found himself the recipient of a quick ecstatic embrace from Saeryn. Then she was jumping up and down in her excitement.

"He won! He won!" she was crying.

That had been nice, Eodwine thought, but he had not forgotten the strange nature of Léof's win. He wondered who owned that black.

"Let's go to Léof!" Eodwine said, and started walking.

"Lord!" Garstan said, suddenly reminded of his question. "About the kitchen. I was thinking....."

"Talk while we walk, Garstan. Coming, Saeryn?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Of course, Lord." she said, taking his proffered arm lightly, feeling his toned muscles beneath his light shirt. Saeryn used his title without particularly realizing it, thoughts still on the race, her eyes still seeing the handsome ebony racer fall behind, her ears still ringing with the shouts of the crowd, her heart still racing as quickly as the horses had.

The dream shifted from her attention as she giddily walked beside Eodwine, a bounce in her step, as enthusiastic as she would have been had she won the race herself.

The breeze blew her hair lightly and she impatiently pushed a stray curl from her pink cheeks as her eyes scanned the crowd for Lèof or his horse.

"Eodwine, we should celebrate his victory later... perhaps a small party in his honor. What think you?"

[Undómë]

Away – Wistan’s farm – Dunstede

A delighted smile lit Rose’s face, though not in echo of Thornden’s. Here was one who had already done battle against the urgings of mother and sisters and now stood firm against their schemes and stratagems concerning marriages. He’d made it clear, she thought, that marriage was not in his plans. Let her mother and her little covey dream of her hand-fasted to this steward of the Eorl. He would be proof against them. An unwitting partner in her own plans to avoid that little noose for as long as she might.

‘Perhaps the stork should bring my mother another wee one to take care of,’ she said, laughing aloud. ‘I’ll agree to say then that your lot was not that much easier, having heard the obligations and demands you’ve had to deal with. And in the bigger sense I suppose you could say my little life is not cast in such looming shadows as I might have made it seem.’ Rose laughed again, as if to remove any doubts on that. ‘Really, I do find my life here on this farm very satisfying . . . its lands and flocks and crops . . . and yes, even the hard, drudging work at times . . . the caring and the doing of all that needs be done gives me a rare satisfaction that I can hardly think anything or anyone might with such constancy.’

She halted her horse beneath one of the old apple trees that grew amidst the field’s hedgerow. Her hand went up to one of the lower boughs where the creamy, five-petaled blossoms grew thick among the leaves. ‘Look here,’ she said, plucking a small cluster of flowers. ‘How pretty it is and how fresh it smells, just like spring. My bees are already hard at work making honey from these flowers that we’ll soon have to spread thick on our bread. In the summer the spreading branches will give shade to us as we stop for water or food when the field needs working. And in the early autumn will come the fruit, to eat right from the tree, make into good cider, both fresh and hard, and then the pies all hot and sweet.’ Rose tucked the stem of flowers in her hair and patted the scaly grey bark of the tree. ‘When the old girl dies, her wood will keep us warm when the snow comes and make the hall smell sweet, like spring.’

A moment of certain ease and pleasure passed over her features as she perused what could be seen from the vantage point of her saddle.

‘Ah . . . but I forget. You are in a hurry to see the Eorl’s business done, and here I am talking apples and bees and such to you.’ She grinned even as she spoke, no regret evident that she had both poked a bit of fun at him and wasted a bit of his time. Rose nudged her horse a little with her heels, urging her mare down the little path again.

‘Just a little way further, Master Thornden. They’re in the far western field. It’s the one that butts up against old Eadig’s place.’ She paused for a moment. ‘That is, I guess it would still be Eadig’s place, though maybe it’s gone back to the King or would it be the new Eorl? Eadig died, you see, this last winter. His boys died in the War, and his wife, too is dead. He was the last to go.’

‘My father would like to add the little holding to Dunstede. Part of today’s plan was to walk the acreage; I think that’s what I heard them say as they left. I suppose that he will need to decide whether the place can make the land-rent.’ She looked across at Thornden. ‘I’m quite sure it will, you know. I used to take Old Eadig baskets of honey and bread and ham and other such as the old man needed. He used to show me around his fields. They weren’t planted, of course. He couldn’t manage it in his last years. But he told me great stories of what he’d grown and the flocks he’d pastured.’ She nodded her head at the thought of new opportunity. ‘Of course, we’d . . . that is, my father . . . would need to find out how he might obtain the land.’

Rose looked thoughtfully at Thornden. ‘You wouldn’t by any chance know how to go about it, would you? Be a shame to let a good farm like that lie fallow. Be no one to pay the rent . . .’

[littlemanpoet]

"Eodwine, we should celebrate his victory later... perhaps a small party in his honor. What think you?"

"Yes indeed! That is, as soon as I fall on his other foot as punishment for risking laming himself for the rest of his life!"

"You wouldn't!"

"No, but I should."

Saeryn grinned and seemed satisfied, walking jauntily by his side. He wondered what Garstan thought of the spectacle of the Eorl of Middle Emnet arm in arm with his hostess who happened to be half his age. She had deftly inserted her arm in the crook of his arm. He supposed that maybe his elbow had been not quite snug against his own side, so it could have looked like he was inviting her to take his arm. Oh well, the damage was done, if damage one could call it. Eodwine cast furtive glances to either side, to see if people noticed, and if they did, how they were reacting. Maybe it was all in his head, but he could swear that he saw a few more winks and knowing smirks than was really quite necessary.

Not that he minded her touch one bit. No, he enjoyed that. Too much. It was taking great reservoirs of restraint to hold himself from taking her in his arms and determining once for all how soft those lips really were and how they would feel against his own. Now he felt guilty, especially considering his dream.

Stop it.

She probably hadn't a clue. And therefore he must continue with all the endurance he could muster to keep her from getting one. Maybe he should release her arm. No, that would probably send the wrong message too. Best just make the best of a bad situation.

"My lord?"

It was Garstan. The man had had a question, and all the hubbub had kept him from putting it to Eodwine. Time to redress that wrong.

"Yes, Garstan! You had a question! Put it to me!"

[Celuien]

"Yes, Garstan! You had a question! Put it to me!"

Eodwine's sudden command was a relief to Garstan. Saeryn's arm in Eodwine's made him uncomfortable. As it did Eodwine, or so Garstan suspected from the furtive glances he directed at passers by. On second thought, it wasn't the joined arms that disturbed him as much as the vague uneasiness he detected in Eodwine. Garstan welcomed the invitation to pose his question.

"Well, my lord. I was thinking. While the wall is down, might it be wise to move the kitchen back a bit from the main hall? With all the cooking and flame in the kitchen, it makes the Great Hall over warm in summer, I'm sure. And too, should the kitchen take fire, it would spread quickly to the rest of the hall as things are. So I've seen it before where the kitchen was separated a bit. Moved away by a hall. What do you think?"

Garstan watched Eodwine's face, trying to detect his reaction to the plan. It had been a bold step. This was Garstan's first time suggesting an idea of his own to an employer, and an important one at that. He hoped that the idea would be well received, not least because he genuinely liked and respected Eodwine. But the thoughtful gaze in his eyes was unreadable to Garstan.

[Folwren]

Away - Winstan's Farm - Dunstede

‘You wouldn’t by any chance know how to go about it, would you? Be a shame to let a good farm like that lie fallow. Be no one to pay the rent . . .’ Thornden glanced at her quickly and smiled again. He and Eodwine had not discussed such matters. There had been no time.

'Oh, no, I don't know anything about it,' he answered. 'Nothing except that you'd have to tell Eorl Eodwine himself. I can tell you what I think the answers would be, though. A good field like that lying fallow doesn't do anyone any good. I will tell him that you and your family would put the land to good use and would like to gain possession of it. I do not doubt that he will be happy to give you that wish.'

He'd remember, later, when he talked to Eodwine and gave his report. It was such a boon that the Eorl had asked people to ask of him. Something he could grant and welcome.

They rode in silence for a little while, until the came to the crest of a small hill. Fields were spread below them, the plowed and upturned rows running evenly in one direction to meet another corner where they ran in another. Thornden and Rose halted their mounts and his eyes ran swiftly over the early green fields.

'Things seem to be going well for you as it is. Are you certain you'll need that other field?' He looked almost mischeviously at her. She merely laughed lightly and started her mare again, heading down the the gentle slope. He cast another glance around and began to follow her. He had seen riding towards them, on the dirt roadway between two fields, a group of horsemen.

'There they are,' Rose called back over her shoulder. Thornden urged Flithaf into a trot and came by Rose's side.

'Who's all there? Your brothers and father?'

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

‘Who is that . . . with Rose?’ Wistan stared into the distance as his daughter and a man he had not seen before came riding down the path toward him. ‘You go see to her, Willim. And you, too, Garan. Make sure that everything’s alright.’ He shifted in his saddle looking from one to the other of his elder sons. ‘Aesc, Breca. Ride along with me. It’s most likely just the new Eorl’s steward, as the boy said. But still I find it odd he’s come so early for the fee. And why didn’t he wait at the Hall til I arrived?’

* Ж *

‘Rose!’ Her two brothers swarmed about her, smiling, and in the process effectively separating her from her companion. ‘Didn’t expect to see you here,’ Garan said. ‘I thought you were spending the day working on your bee hives.’

‘And who’s this?’ Willim put in, bringing his horse about to face toward Thornden. ‘Doesn’t look like a bee to me, sister mine.’ Garan came alongside his brother, his face set neutral as he inspected Thornden.

* Ж *

Before Rose could make the introduction, Wistan and the twins drew near her little group. ‘Wistan, good sir,’ he began, nodding at Thornden. ‘And you are . . . the Eorl’s new steward . . . yes? Sorry, my grandson could not remember your name.’ He moved his arm in a wide, horizontal arc, taking in his sons with his hand. ‘How might my family be of service to the Eorl?’

[Folwren]

Away - Wistan's Farm - Dunstede

Thornden thought he knew very well what Rose's brothers were about and he allowed Flithaf to edge away without argument or trouble. He sent an amused glanced towards Rose as her two brother's rode between them. In another moment, the father and two other men joined them.

"Wistan, good sir," the farmer greeted him. "And you are. . .the Eorl's new steward. . .yes? Sorry, my grandson could not remember your name. How might my family be of service to the Eorl?"

Thornden nodded in greeting. "Thornden at your service," he said. "I have been sent for two reasons by the Eorl. I know not if you know that lord Eodwine has been newly appointed by the king. He came into his place not two weeks ago and since has been working on setting up his lordship and also rebuilding the Mead Hall. He has suddenly become too short on coin, due to an unnexpected accident-" most accidents were unnexpected but he neglected to make that point "-and I have been sent out to collect what is due for this first quarter. My second reason was to take any boon or wish that you would have carried to the Eorl to him that he may grant it, if it is in his power, or, if it is not, do all that he can to fulfil what you need.

"Your daughter, Rose," he continued at once with a nod towards her, "has been telling me of the field west of you. The holder of it has recently died, I understand, and you would like to gain possession of it. That is such a thing that I could bring before him, and he would be able give you a fair and good answer." He would have added 'quickly' to the end of his statement, but it occured to him that Eodwine had been extremely busy of late and may not be able to get all of his free holders' wishes immediately.

"If you have anything else you would like said to him, or something else, as well, that you would like to see changed or granted you, I will take it to him and tell him."

[Alcarillo]

Léof had won the race! Gárwine clapped his hands together and shouted out in joy. A great grin spread across his face. He felt jubilant, and not just because his friend has won. There was money to collect!

Gárwine turned from the fence, with eyes set on the red and white pavilion, where wagers were set at all those money-covered tables. He walked through the crowds, bouncing along gleefully towards the pavilion. Not many people were entering, and that made Gárwine happier to know that he had bet against the odds and won. He entered the shady pavilion and strode to the table where the thin man sat.

"I believe you have some money for me," Gárwine said, smiling.

"Ah, yes. Luck was on you're side," said the thin man.

The thin man stood and pushed piles of shining coins across the table with a reluctant sigh. Both Gárwine's eyes and his smile grew wider. So much money! He scooped it up in his hands and dumped it into his pockets. And with a nod of thanks, he walked out of the pavilion, with his pockets considerably heavier.

Gárwine strode over to the racetrack, where he could find Léof. He pushed his way through the crowds and, passing through a gate in the fence, walked onto the racetrack. Crowds of spectators milled around, meeting all the riders, admiring their horses, chatting about the race's outcome, among all sorts of other festive activity. Gárwine dove through the people to find Léof. Gárwine spied him standing beside Æthel. He was shaking hands, smiling even wider than Gárwine, and speaking with the many fans (mostly young maidens, Gárwine noticed) who had approached him to give their congratulations. Gárwine walked up to him, and Léof turned away from his group of admirers for the moment.

"Gárwine, I've won! Did you see me?" said Leof.

"Yes! I was watching," Gárwine said, "And look at all the money you won me!" He dug a hand into a pocket and withdrew a handful of glittering coins. "Haha! I ought to buy you a reward for winning me all this! Amazing race!"

[Undómë]

Away – Wistan’s farm – Dunstede

‘Well, Master Thornden, perhaps we should head towards the Hall. I’m sure you must have other freeholds to visit for the Eorl.’ Wistan urged his horse alongside Thornden’s, and waved for the others to follow along. ‘I wonder, are you collecting just the coin at present, or will you be wanting to take the pig along with you that we give each year to the Eorl’s household?’

As Thornden and Wistan went along talking together as they rode, Rose and her brothers fell a bit behind.

‘And whose idea was it that you bring the steward out here?’ Willim asked, punching her lightly on the arm. ‘Not yours, surely.’

Rose punched him back a little harder causing him to wince. ‘Guess whose it was,’ she dared him. ‘Light of your life, your star from heaven . . . yes, she was in on it . . . Ardith. Though I have to say,’ she went on, poking Aesc in the arm, ‘it was your Mayda that egged Mother on the worst.’

Garan chuckled as his brothers and sister exchanged words and a friendly succession of pokes and punches. ‘And so . . . what are we to report to our good-wives when they question us tonight, eh?’ He narrowed his eyes in mock sternness. ‘And you know Brita will want a full report.’ He looked about at his brothers, who were attentive to any details they might glean from the conversation.

‘Hmmm . . . well, let’s see . . . we had a leisurely ride for the most part out to meet you and father,’ Rose began. She cocked her head to the side, thinking of the sorts of things the wives and her mother would want to hear. ‘He was a perfect gentleman, good sense of humor, asked intelligent questions. He sits a horse well, admired the fields, the plantings . . . and oh yes, spoke about his family quite at length.’ There were murmurings of approval at this bit of information, as it would be looked on quite favorably. Rose looked up to where her father and Thornden rode, judging whether he would overhear any of the conversation with her brothers. Deciding he could not, she went on. ‘He is most definitely unattached, no prospective bride lurking in the shadows. And,’ she left this plum for last, ‘we did speak, in the general sense, about marriage.’

He didn’t try anything . . . funny, did he,’ asked Willim. ‘While you were riding alone with him . . .?’ He left the question hanging, watching her closely.

Rose lowered her head, as if the question were uncomfortable, then looked up at him, grinning impishly. ‘No! Not even a bad joke passed between us, and besides I would have punched him hard in the mouth if he had.’ She held out her knuckles for inspection. ‘See?’ She brought he horse to a halt, forcing her brothers to a stop also.

‘Now I’ve given you all plenty to divide up and share with your wives. Where’s a little reward for me.’

Breca nudged Aesc. ‘Go on tell her what we saw at old Eadig’s farm.’

Aesc leaned forward a smile on his face. ‘You were right. The oak tree at the edge of the orchard, the bee tree. The old queen has flown and there is a large swarm round one of the branches in that old hawthorn. The scouts are out, we could see them flying back and forth. If we can get your new hives out there, you can capture the lot.’

Her eyes were gleaming with anticipation and delight at this bit of news.

‘Go on,’ he went on. ‘You know you’re dying to have a look. We’ll get your hives moved out there early tomorrow morning.’

As Rose rode off, Willim look after her, a serious look on his face. ‘Don’t know about you all, but I intend to have a little talk with Ardith about sending our sister out by herself with someone we don’t even know. And Mother can complain all she wants to Father. I don’t like it and I won’t have it done again.’

* Ж *

‘Come on!’ came Wistan’s voice. ‘Catch up! Master Thornden here doesn’t have all day to wait for us!’ He caught sight of Rose heading off at a run away from her brothers. ‘Now where is that girl getting off to?!’

* Ж *

Just a short time brought the men to the Hall. Wistan had one of his sons fetch the money box and the rent was passed over to Thornden. ‘If you can wait just a little longer, I’ll write up my request for Eadig’s adjoining farm to the Eorl and send it along with you.’

When he’d finished with his short note, he folded it over and sealed it with his ring. He handed it over to Thornden, saying that they would bring the pig when next they came into the market. ‘Now, would you like a cup of ale before you take your leave, Master Thornden? Wouldn’t want you to be thirsty as you ride.’

[littlemanpoet]

"Well, my lord," began Garstan, "I was thinking. While the wall is down, might it be wise to move the kitchen back a bit from the main hall? With all the cooking and flame in the kitchen, it makes the Great Hall over warm in summer, I'm sure. And too, should the kitchen take fire, it would spread quickly to the rest of the hall as things are. So I've seen it before where the kitchen was separated a bit. Moved away by a hall. What do you think?"

Eodwine considered. Or tried to, distracted as he was by Léof's foolish daring (though had he been younger he'd have called it roguish instead), Saeryn's comeliness, a crowd of folk all about some of whom stared and gawked in the 'wrong' direction, and a mess of a mead hall to return to. Garstan's idea was good and he saw no reason to say him nay. He brought the look of the back yard to mind. Where was Garstan thinking of building the kitchen?

Oh. That was a problem. Eodwine frowned.

"There is a beloved old alder you would have to cut down, and though no doubt we could use the wood, I would be saddened to lose it. Otherwise, your plan is good. Can you solve my problem?"

It was Garstan's turn to frown. "Allow me to think on it, lord."

Now they were in the middle of the celebrations of the race just run. Eodwine saw Garwine giving Léof a bearhug, grinning as if he owned the horse himself. Or, perhaps, had made a winning off a bet. For a brief moment Eodwine's middle stirred with a wish that he'd thought of betting on Léof; then he shook it off, knowing that it would not have happened, for he would have persuaded the youth out of it, or tried.

Léof had seen the three approaching, and looked up expectantly. It was hard to say whether he was expecting a rebuke, a pat on the back, or something else. Eodwine decided to mix his word.

"Well done, my ostler! Though I should land on your other foot with my own hoof to get some sense into you! Nevertheless, a brave race, well run!"

Eodwine chose not to mention the matter of the black steed that had been steadily gaining and seemed to 'lose heart' in the last furlong. Meanwhile, Saeryn was positively wriggling by his side with excitement.

[Firefoot]

Léof had perked up considerably as the situation sunk in: he had won. He had actually beaten all those other horses, many of them probably more well-bred or better-trained. He was receiving a great deal more attention now than before the race; one man had actually offered to buy Æthel and had offered a sum that would have bought his father’s plow and maybe the two draft horses with it! Léof had politely declined, saying that Æthel was not for sale. The man had been persistent, then asking if Léof’s services as a rider were available. Léof had explained that he was an ostler, not a jockey; but not wanting to disappoint the man too much he had said that perhaps he could occasionally ride some races for the man.

But between that man and a passel of girls fairly fawning over him and making him quite uncomfortable, Léof had been quite relieved to find Gárwine approaching with a large grin on his face. Eodwine’s approach had been greeted with a little more trepidation, but now Léof grinned abashedly at the lord’s words.

“Thank you, lord,” he said, “but I might advise you against breaking my other foot – you’d be left with an ostler that couldn’t walk at all!”

“Not that you wouldn’t try,” inserted Gárwine.

“And probably get my neck wrung for my troubles!” laughed Léof. His spirits were too high to be dampened by such kidding, and he realized now that he had forgotten to be annoyed with Gárwine, nor could he find it in himself to do so now. Soon the jesting died down, and Léof recalled the tired horse at his side and, rubbing her nose, said, “In all seriousness, this girl deserves a rest and a hot mash, and I’d like to get her back to the stable.”

[Folwren]

Away - Wistan's Farm - Dunstede

Thornden looked slightly embarrassed as Wistan offered him some ale, pausing a moment as he put the note into his pouch. Finally, he shook his head. “I greatly appreciate your offer, sir,” he said, “but your good wife and daughter in laws have already served me quite well. I had at least two cups of tea, sir, not to mention the biscuits they continued to hand me. Thanks mightily. I can’t be staying longer. There are still many stops to be made before dark, you’ll understand.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Wistan replied, nodding. “You had better be on your way, I guess. A good day to you, then, Thornden.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.” He bowed his head slightly as he stepped back and left the house. His horse stood waiting for him as he gathered the reins and mounted and then, without a look behind him, he road out towards the road again.

“Good heavens, Thornden, my lad,” he said to himself, glancing up at the sun. “You can’t be staying around people’s houses that long or else you’ll not get back until tomorrow, or else return without the full amount, and that wouldn’t be very good now, would it? They were friendly folk though, weren’t they? I hope they will come to the Mead Hall. They’d be a welcome addition to the regular company.” He grinned broadly at the thought.

“Cwen would then have quite a pick of young men for poor Rose,” he chuckled. “I wonder if she’s had much trouble lately? Probably not out here. The farm is so far from many people, and I think by now if any of the neighbors were acceptable they would have been decided upon. . .”

And so with such thoughts of his last visit running about in his head, he rode on, quite confident now that most of his visits would go well. If they didn’t . . .well, he wouldn’t mind, he was sure. He could handle it, even if they wanted to put up quite a bit of trouble, he was sure he could handle it.

“We can try, anyway,” he told Flithaf. “The worse that can happen is if an old house wife chases me off with a broom. I can always explain to Eodwine. . .”

[Celuien]

Garstan thought hard. Eodwine was correct. He hadn't thought of the alder, but he had seen it. Lèoðern and Linduial had climbed into it one day, using a sturdy branch as a vantage point to look over the rear of the inn yard. There had to be some way of working around the tree. Garstan pictured the area in his mind. The tree stood near to the former rear wall of the kitchen, dangling branches over the building's roof. It was too close to the hall. Where could he move the kitchen without injuring the tree?

A deep frown crossed Garstan's face as he puzzled over the inn's geography. The rear was the only area with enough space for the expansion. Some 50 feet stood between the back of the building and the property edge, ample enough space for construction. But only 30 feet were on the sides. The kitchen would stand directly against the neighbor's property if he built there. That would never work. But there were no trees to the side of the building. Merely an open expanse of grass and shrubs, the same as the ground to the rear of the alder. If only there were some way to put the kitchen behind the tree and connect it to the main hall.

Then it dawned on him. There was a way. A little less convenient and a little more difficult to build, but a way to save the tree.

"My lord," said Garstan, "it seems that there is a way. Suppose the kitchen were built behind the tree. Maybe even with a window to look out upon it. And then suppose the hallway were built off the side of the Great Hall to curve around to the back and make a courtyard between the kitchen, hall and corridor. It would save the alder and make it the centerpiece of a sheltered garden. It would be more difficult to build, of course, and I would have to make a second stove in the new kitchen, since the old kitchen and its stove would become part of the great hall, but the tree would be safe. Does that meet with your approval?"

[littlemanpoet]

The group were walking in the direction of the Mead Hall as they talked. Saeryn had taken her arm from Eodwine's and was walking behind he and Garstan, and was holding Æthel's reins while Léof rode her. Garwine strode happily at Léof's side, and they were trading reminiscences of the race, reliving its moments from one point of view then the other. Meanwhile, Garstan was mulling and talking through the problem of the alder. Before they had left the grounds, Garstan posed his question. Eodwine liked the idea very much of building the kitchen a little farther back and making the alder the centerpiece of the new courtyard and garden. It would be a very sunny, pleasant spot, one that could be a special gathering place for the folk of his household instead of guests. It would be a good thing to have a pleasant place where people like Garstan, Searyn, Léof, and the others, could go knowing that it was theirs.

"Yes. I like it greatly. You have my yes to it. Show me a drawing of it to firm it in my mind as well as yours, to be sure."

"Yes, lord!" Garstan smiled, his step becoming lighter with the prospect of his idea being not only approved but given the go-ahead.

"My lord," said Saeryn from behind them, "you have somewhat to speak of to me."

"Oh?" Eodwine said, looking back. "What might that be?"

But before Saeryn could say what she meant, up ran Degas with Lèoðern bouncing dangerously on his shoulders, looking a little scared and even more excited for riding the wild horse of a man so high up and without a proper saddle. But Degas did not look as gleeful as the child. Quite the opposite. His face was white.

"What is the matter, Degas?" asked Eodwine. "Where is Linduial? I thought she was with you."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas hoisted Lèoðern above his head, bringing her down into his arms gently and smiling to reassure her. He'd been very careful, though he moved quickly enough to worry any father. Garstan accepted her with a paternal smile, a quick tickle, and a nod to Degas, saving his questions of her day for a moment better suited to an eruption of excited chatter. All present looked at Degas as he ran long fingers through his hair, catching his breath.

He looked around, his eyes haunted. Saeryn stepped forward, trusting the reins to Garwine.

"Degas... Lin?" She was afraid of the look on his face, his usually smiling mouth drawn tight, his eyes utterly bereft of the twinkle so often decorating them. He bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard still. He straightened to meet Eodwine's hard stare, unable to stand it more than a second or two before looking away.

"She..." He'd been preoccupied with the music, the tune still within his ears. She'd spoken to him as he showed Lèoðern the jewelry, but he'd hardly heard over the sounds of the crowd. He watched Lin's shapely figure move along the line of vendors, unconcerned that she would stray far.

"Degas, Degas," squealed Lèoðern, tugging at his hand. "Come and see!"

He'd knelt beside her, admiring to her satisfaction the litter of kittens she had discovered, smiling at her enthusiasm over their tiny grey forms, climbing over each other, their pink tongues licking spotted noses, worrying only about the light pink her pale skin was turning.

"Would you like a pretty scarf, my lady?" he asked, standing and swinging her up into his arms. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened adorably. A vendor, wide from the sampling of his own wares, smiled at the young man and his companion, pointing toward a stall a dozen yards away. Degas nodded his thanks and, with the girl's head on his shoulder, he worked his way through the crowd.

"Pick anything that meets your fancy." he said, setting her down to better inspect. This vendor was an austere old woman, sharp eyes keen. The transaction went smoothly and, with Lèoðern's burning neck now safely covered with brightly colored silk, Degas turned to find Lin, Lèoðern's hand in his.

He scanned the crowd, eyes searching for her unmistakable form. Her bearing alone should have been enough to find her, with those in her presence acting in such a way that would turn any lovely young maiden's head. He thought of her posture as he looked for her. Her back straight, her shoulders squared; she presented an imposing figured when she cared to do so. He couldn't get enough of those moments when she relaxed with a carefree laugh. He felt his chest warm those times that her cold demeanor broke and she favored him with a shy smile, though it was such a rare occurence that he often thought he had imagined it all.

His meandering thoughts were brought quickly to an end when he realized that she was nowhere to be seen. His usually relaxed gait shifted into a stride as he lifted Lèoðern again to move faster.

"The Lady of Dol Amroth?" he asked those he passed. "Have you seen her?"

Trying not to panic, Degas worked his way smoothly back toward the Hall, eyes scanning the crowd for familiar faces. If she had lost him when Lèoðern had drawn his attention to the kittens, if she had merely wandered too far and lost her way, Linduial would return to the Hall. Degas hoped beyond hope he would see her smiling, sharing a gossip with Saeryn in the sun, or some such female action, upon his return; his chest felt heavier than usual, the hot sun doing nothing to dispell the shiver now dancing across his shoulders.

He'd found Saeryn and Eodwine both, accompanied by several others of the household. Lin was not with them. He tried to speak again, afraid to meet Eodwine's gaze again. He spoke to Saeryn's waist, voice hesitating, trying to keep his words light enough that Lèoðern, eyes happily following the erratic flight of a butterfly, would not be upset by them.

"We were separated. I had hoped to find her at the Hall." His words carried a weight that revealed his worry and Saeryn responded, her own light voice laced with nerves.

"Eodwine--" She could see the Hall in the distance, the view broken only by visitors to the city as they passed. Marenil sat outside and all was calm there. She could not see Lin.

[Formendacil]

A new stranger stepped over the threshold of the being-renovated Eorling Mead Hall. He stood an impressive four foot six, sported a two foot-long, red beard, and muscular arms wider around than some people's legs. He carried a massive pack, off of which dangled various hammers and chisels, and at his side he sported a wicked-looking bearded battle-axe. His name was Náin, son of Narin, son of Nori, and he was a Dwarf of Erebor.

The first thing that Náin noticed, as he entered the Mead Hall, was the general absence of people. He presumed, rightly, that they were all about in the streets of Edoras, entertaining themselves or being entertained by others, at the horse fair.

He dropped his pack to the ground, the steel heads of his hammers clinking on the stone, and the pack itself landing with a thud that belied the idea that it was filled with mere clothing and food. He stretched, looking around, but saw no one.

Making use of the time he had until someone discovered him, Náin opened up his pack, and began digging around, eventually pulling out a rather crinkled piece of parchment, which he hastened to try and smooth out with his massive, muscular hands. Once again, he read the words inscribed thereon:

"To the Eorl of the Middle Emnet, Keeper of the Mead Hall," it read, "from Thorin III Stonehelm, King of Durin's Line, King Under the Mountain, Lord of Erebor, with greetings.

We have long conversed with our Royal peer, King Éomer son of Éomund, Lord of the Riddermark, regarding the establishment of a colony of our people in the realm of the Riddermark, for the mutual benefit of both our peoples. Our well-renowned kinsman, the Lord Gimli son of Glóin, begins even at this time to establish the Dwarven colony in the great fortress of your people known as Helm's Deep.

Having received so much in the way of aid and assistance from your King, we have desired to repay him in some small way for his generosity, and have sent a renowned sculptor of our people, one Náin son of Narin son of Nori, who bears this letter, to the city of Edoras to adorn it with such statues and scuptings as he may in thanks for the friendship between your people and ours.

Having informed the King Éomer of this intent, he has directed us to send our servant Náin to seek the hospitality of the Eorl of the Middle Emnet's Mead Hall. We trust that he shall be an honourable representative of the people of Erebor, and commend him to your famed hospitality."

And the letter ended with a crest portraying an anvil and hammer, surmounted by a crown with seven stars- the emblems of Durin and his heirs, and the signature of Thorin III Stonehelm.

Náin turned the letter over somewhat nervously in his hands, unsure of what his welcome would be like. The Mead Hall appeared to be in a state of either disrepair or major renovations, and he was unsure if the Eorl would be eager to accept a guest, although he was willing to help with the construction if needed. Though his chosen field of expertise was sculpture, he was well-enough versed in basic masonry and smithying- as are nigh on all Dwarves, among whom such crafts are widespread and well refined.

Still, Náin was a Dwarf in a strange land, and uncertain of his welcome. The Lord Gimli had by his exploits and friendship with King Éomer made the Rohirrim friendly to and somewhat familiar with the Dwarves, but they were not the Men of Dale, accustomed to their everyday presence. And since he had taken his leave of Gimli and the Dwarves making for Helm's Deep, he had been uncomfortably aware of his alienness.

It is therefore, perhaps, somewhat natural that upon someone entering the Hall behind him, he was somewhat startled, and jumped in the air, hand on his battle-axe, only to realize that all the other person had said was:

"Excuse me? Can I help you?"

[Kath]

Kara had been in the kitchen with Frodides for most of the day, preparing food for the meal for the rest of the Hall's inhabitants upon their return. Thanks to Saeryn's relentless checks on the state of the cupboards they had enough food to serve a small army, but with all the excitement of the horse fair Kara thought that the young ones in particular would be especially hungry, and set about making a larger meal than normal. There was not much she could do in the way of hot food, as the stove was not yet fully complete, but the makeshift oven outside was still burning gently and gave more than enough heat to cook some essentials.

She was just coming back from the oven, bearing a tray of bread rolls this time, when she heard clanking and a thud from inside the Mead Hall. She stopped and listened for a moment, but could hear nothing else. Looking around she couldn't find evidence of anyone's return, be it Thornden's horse or the squealing of Lèoðern. Cautiously she made her way round to the front of the Hall, and peered in through the door and caught sight of a figure in the shadows. For a moment she thought it was Garstan's son dressed in a child's battle costume, but as she got closer she realised her mistake and blushed, glad that she had not made the comment out loud, for many Dwarves were notoriously sensitive about their height.

He seemed not to have noticed her, being engrossed in a letter. She didn't wish to startle him, so stepped forward slightly as she spoke.

"Excuse me? Can I help you?"

Her attempt failed however. As the words left her mouth the Dwarf spun round, hand on axe. Kara let out a sharp shriek as he did so, dropping the tray. Bread rolled everywhere, and the Dwarf immediately lowered the axe and held his hands up, trying to gesture that he meant no harm.

[Formendacil]

"Sorry!" Náin raised his hands quickly in peace. "Sorry! You startled me! Here, let me help!"

Feeling extremely flustered, and quite sure that his cheeks were as red as his beard, he bent over, and started to pick up some of the bread rolls.

"No, no," insisted Kara, "it's as much my fault as yours." She too bent over to pick up the rolls. "But, as I was saying, can I help you? It's clear that you're a stranger here."

"Well, I, ah, I'm looking for the Eorl of the Middle Emnet," said Náin, still rather flustered. He dropped several of the rolls he had just picked up, half-missing the tray he was trying to put them on. Kara held up a hand.

"Here, let me!" She picked up the re-dropped rolls, put them on the tray, then faced Náin.

"Now," said Kara, "you said you wanted to see Eodwine. I'm afraid he's not in right now. He went down to the Horse Fair. Is it urgent?"

"Yes- I mean No!" said Náin. He really didn't like talking to the womenfolk of Mankind. At the height that he was, it was generally difficult not to stare at various parts of the female anatomy, which weren't even camouflaged, as they might be on a Dwarf woman, by a full, healthy beard- or any beard at all. He did his best to control his nervousness, and look Kara in the eyes.

"What I mean is," he said as carefully as he could, "is that I was told that I might find hospitality here while I stay in Edoras. I've got a letter-"

Náin held up the crumpled parchment he'd been reading over.

"But if things are too busy with the construction and all," he rushed on, "then I can find somewhere else. I saw an inn on the way in, and I've got plenty of coin for my purposes and it'd really be no trouble at all-"

"Whoa!" said Kara. "There's no problem at all! At least, I think there isn't. How about you just settle into the Great Hall until Eodwine returns? I'm sure there won't be a problem. Let me give you a hand with your sack."

"Don't bother!" Náin interjected as she reached for his sack. "I doubt if a delicate human like you could hoist that. With a heave, he grabbed the hammer-laden pack off the ground two-handed, and slung it onto his back. He appeared to sag an inch or two under the weight.

"I don't think I got your name. I'm Kara, I'm sort of the assistant cook around here."

"Náin son of Narin son of Nori, at your service," said he, sweeping off his dark brown hood in a low bow that had his hammers and chisels jangling forward. He rather clumbsily regained his feet.

"You said something about a Great Hall? Would it be possible to find a tankard of ale? It has been a long journey..."

[Kath]

Kara couldn't help but smile at the new arrival. He was so obviously uncomfortable around her, craning his neck to ensure he couldn't possibly be accused of looking anywhere he shouldn't, and so dropping everything he picked up because he wasn't watching where he was putting it down. Taking pity on him she gently pushed his hands away and set about recovering the fallen rolls herself while he told her something of his business there. Finally getting everything back into place, she wondered where to put the Dwarf while he waited for Eodwine. Most of the place was still in a bit of a shambles what with all the repair work going on, but she supposed the Great Hall would do for now. Her offer to carry Náin's bags for him was quickly rebuffed, and she thought perhaps with good reason, as even the Dwarf had to heave it up onto his shoulders. However, the suggestion of finding him somewhere to wait was more gratefully received.

"You said something about a Great Hall? Would it be possible to find a tankard of ale? It has been a long journey..."

Kara nodded and led Náin through. She helped him unload his bags from his shoulders and down onto the floor again, noting that that was the noise she must have heard before, and left him to settle into a chair. She returned to the kitchen to fetch his ale and some more dough, as the rolls were ruined now, and a new batch would need to be made. She also picked up some food. The Dwarf had not requested any, but he had said the journey had been long, and good food was always the best way to recover from such things. Leaving Frodides happily complaining about the extra work she detoured round by the oven to put the rolls in, and then headed back to the Hall.

Náin seemed startled when she re-entered from a different direction to the one she had left, but his eyes soon focused on the food and drink she was holding in her hands. Putting down in the table in front of him she was rewarded with a smile and a cry of thanks, as he tucked into what lay before him. Kara realised that, for now at least, she had nothing pressing to attend to.

"I wonder sir, would you mind if I joined you for a while? It has been a long time since I met one of your kindred and I would like to hear more news of the outside world."

[Formendacil]

While Kara headed away with the rolls, and then out of the room, Náin eased his pack off his back, and sat down, taking note of the construction around him, and noting with interest what the builders had been doing.

Then Kara re-entered the room from another door, startling him yet again, but carrying food and drink for which he was grateful. Accepting it with eager thanks, he began to tuck in, when Kara sat down opposite him, and said:

"I wonder sir, would you mind if I joined you for a while? It has been a long time since I met one of your kindred and I would like to hear more news of the outside world."

At least, Náin thought, sitting down it was easier to talk to them face to face. But he was still somewhat flustered. Men, and their womenfolk in particular, had no idea what pieces of art they were. Compared with a Dwarf, even an average Man or Woman looked graceful. Dwarves were made practically, which Náin approved of, but with a great love of things beautiful. And as a sculptor, Náin was particularly aware of the beauty of Men.

"Yes- I mean, no, I don't mind," he said through a mouthful. At least, he thought, he had managed not to spew any of it across the table.

"Though I fear," he continued, "that you probably know more than I, as Edoras is much more centrally located than any of the lands between here and Erebor. And a sorry journey it is from there, too. The Old Forest Road is once again somewhat passable, but it is a sorry road indeed, and once one reaches the lands of the Beornings, there are no roads south. The Lord Gimli said that he's travelled by boat down the Anduin, but we Dwarves are more comfortable travelling on our own feet, so we had to stump it through the Wilderland on foot. Other than passing through the Golden Wood"- Náin shuddered- "it was a decent, if lonely journey. The Gladden fields was the worst- mosquitoes EVERYWHERE! There's talk of a north-south road from Dale to Dagorlad, but that's a very long way indeed, and we'll see if it ever happens."

"But what brings Dwarves to the Riddermark in the first place?" asked Kara.

"The Glittering Caves!" said Náin. "I have not seen them, but the Lord Gimli has described them so well that I can almost see them in my mind's eye. They are to the Dwarves what flower gardens are to a gardener- but like the largest, most beautiful, well-tended garden ever. Or it will be, once we have begun our work. For now it is more like a lovely, but dishevelled, forest vale of wildflowers."

"I've never heard of them, I don't think," said Kara. "They are here in the Mark, you say?"

"Never heard of them!!" This time Náin did spew some ale in Kara's direction. "Oh! Beards and bullfrogs! I'm sorry. I didn't realize the Lord Gimli was so right in saying that the Rohirrim did not know the treasure they have! When he said that you used them for storage and a place to hide during war, I assumed he was jesting! Chisels and chests, I'm sorry about the ale..."

"It's nothing," said Kara, wiping her face on her sleave. "Don't worry about it. I still don't know where these Glittering Caves are, though."

"Oh... what was it called?" Náin absentmindedly twisted his jaw as his tongue sought something caught in his teeth while he pondered. "They're behind a big fortress... the Gondorians built it..."

"Helm's Deep?"

"Yes! That was it!"

"So what are you doing Edoras then?" asked Kara. "I assume that this Lord Gimli and the rest of your countrymen went on to Helm's Deep?"

"Yes, they did," nodded Náin. "I've been sent to Edoras by King Thorin as thanks to King Éomer for allowing us to colonize the caves. I'm a sculptor, so I'll be making statues and busts and whatnot as King Éomer wishes."

"So you'll be staying here at the Mead Hall for a while, then?" asked Kara.

"That's the plan," said Náin, poking a finger in his mouth, still trying to get at the food stuck between his teeth. Then he noticed what he was doing. "Er... excuse my bad manners. It's been a long time on the road. You don't need any real manners out there."

"Stop worrying," said Kara. "And especially don't worry about finding anywhere else to stay. If you're here to aid King Éomer, I'm sure Eodwine will be more than honoured to have you. And he should be back before TOO long to tell you so himself. Meanwhile, eat up!"

[littlemanpoet]

"Fancy meeting a Dwarf in Edoras," said a strange somewhat high voice behind Náin. Seeming less startled than usual, the Dwarf turned around to see someone even smaller than himself, and full grown by all appearances. The little person bowed low, so low that his nose was close on touching his very hairy feet.

"Falco Boffin of the Shire at your service," said the little person.

"Náin son of Narin son of Nori at yours! You're a hobbit!"

Falco smirked at the widened eyes the Dwarf was watching him with, and walked up to a nearby chair and sat down, puffing on his long stemmed pipe.

"I overheard you and Kara talking, as I was just waking up from a nap. So you are from Erebor and will help Eodwine rebuild this place?"

"If that is what he wishes, though scupting is my trade of choice. You stayed away from the horse fair," the Dwarf observed.

"No use to the likes of me! Ponies are enough trouble!"

"What brought you so far from the Shire, if I may ask?"

"Ask you may! Eodwine did! I wanted to see the world! I saved his life and he owed me, so I told him he could pay his debt by taking me with him back to his homeland. So I'm his freeloading guest, I suppose you could say." Falco grinned at Náin, then resumed puffing on his pipe, sending smoke rings into the slowly thickening air. "Have you ever sculpted a hobbit?"

[Formendacil]

"Have you ever sculpted a Hobbit?"

Náin shook his head.

"Until just this moment, Master Boffin, I had never seen a Hobbit, though I remember the stir when Master Bilbo Baggins visited back in the winter of 3002. Never met him, though."

"So Mad Baggins went on another mad adventure," Falco nodded, as if approving. "And at his age! What a hobbit." He reached down to his pipeweed pouch, pulled it out, opened it, and held it out to Náin.

"Longbottom Leaf," said the Hobbit. "Best variety there is. I'm told most Dwarves are fair smokers. Have a pipeful!"

Náin reached down to his weighty pack, threw open the main flap, and dug around. Finally, he removed a very well-wrapped and padded pipe.

"Haven't had any use for it since the Gladden Fields," he said, almost apologetically. He filled the pipe with the pipeweed, lit it, and began puffing contentedly.

"So," Kara said, after a few moments of Falco and Náin smoking had become monotonous. "Are you suggesting, Falco, that Náin should sculpt a statue of you?"

"I don't see why not," said Falco. "This Mead Hall can use a few more decorations, as far as I am concerned. And what a more fitting way to celebrate the friendship of the Shire and the Mark than a statue of a Hobbit in the Mark's new Mead Hall. And since I'm the only Hobbit available..."

Falco let his words trail off, his meaning clear. Kara looked him in bemusement.

"Where would we put the statue, Falco?" she asked. "Statues are all very well in courtyards, town squares and the like, but they look rather out of place in most parts of an inn- or a mead hall."

"That's up the Eodwine," said Falco, nonchalantly.

Náin stroked his beard in contemplation, watching Falco move. Yes, he could make a good statue of the Hobbit, maybe even a great statue. The Hobbit had the good, artistic lines of Man, though smaller, and given as he seemed to be to a certain amount of gesticulation, striking a heroic pose would not only look good in stone, but would be somewhat in character.

"It'd have to be lifesize, of course," Kara was saying, Náin noticed when he came out of his reverie. "Anything smaller would be easily lost."

"Double size," said Náin tersely, pipe in hand as he spoke.

"That would make me... how tall?" Falco did some mental puzzling.

"Seven feet tall," said Kara, "or thereabouts. A veritable Númenorean."

In his mind's eye, Náin could picture the statue of Falco, one hand raised in welcome, the other holding a pipe by the bowl, clearly just lowered from his mouth. The Hobbit would have to have his face turned upwards ever so slightly, since he almost always had to look up to view the Men around him. It would be nicely symbolic as well, as a sort of a sign of looking up at the Heavens, as though entreating Mahal to smile on the people below.

Náin's mind wandered back to the conversation upon noticing that Kara and Falco were both staring at him. Náin realized that he must have looked rather distant.

"Sorry," he rumbled. "I got... er, distracted thinking about the statue."

"So it's a go, then?" said Falco, pleased. "Excellent! When can we start?"

"As soon as the Lord Eodwine returns and grants me a place to stay," replied Náin. "And, speaking of places, I'm going to need somewhere to use as a studio..."

[littlemanpoet]

"We were separated," Degas said morosely. "I had hoped to find her at the Hall."

"Eodwine--" Saeryn murmured in a nervous tremor, not finishing her thought. She was looking toward the mead hall where Marenil could be seen sat outside. Linduial was not with him.

"Where have you searched, Degas?" Eodwine asked, his voice tight and low, his words as gently spoken as he could manage.

Degas looked at his feet, then slowly lifted his gaze to meet Eodwine's eyes with a reddened face. "From the shops to here. That is all." His eyes flitted nervously for another place to look before he blinked them back to Eodwine. He blurted, "I asked many on the way and no-one has seen her!"

Eodwine swallowed. This was not good. It was not like Linduial to be hidden in a fair. It was her way to promenade and draw attention. If she could not be found, something ill had happened. A weight as of lead settled inside Eodwine. What could have happened to her? he wondered. Captured? Kidnapped? Worse?

"Degas, I charge you to search the fairgrounds, every inch. Leave no possible hiding place unsearched. Garwine, go with him. Saeryn, Léof, Garstan and I will go to the mead hall and seek for news of her there. Do not return to the mead hall until you have asked any who might know. She must be found! Do I have your yes?"

Degas looked pale, but nodded. Garwine spoke his yes, and the two left at a trot. Eodwine started off at a quick pace, Saeryn tugging at the reinds of Æthel to keep up. Garstan carried Lèoðern in his arms, jostling her gently; she was crying, having sensed the bleak tenor of the exchange between Degas and Eodwine.

What will I do? Eodwine thought. If she is murdered I am no Eorl worth the name. If she is captured, I must rouse a rescue party and bring her back to safety. If she is kidnapped, I have little wealth. He shook his head as he strode to the mead hall.

When they came there, Marenil looked up.

"Marenil," Eodwine called, "has Linduial been here in the last hour?"

"Nay, lord, she has not." Marenil's face fell and creased in sudden worry. "Is she lost?"

"Aye." Eodwine apprised him of all that had happened in the last hour, forgetting in his mood the horserace just won by Léof. Nobody mentioned it.

[Anguirel]

At the Horse Fair

Manawyth stood among the rest of the tussling throng, their long, yellow locks swaying about, making him conscious of his own dark ones. He had known Dunlendings to have rinsed their hair pale, but he was not yet ready to stoop to such artifice to embrace a people still not his own.

"A fine stallion," he called out, swallowing some of his lilt. "He's seen much battle, my lords..." He tugged on the black horse's halter gently.

"I'll bet," a loud, coarse voice answered. "Probably 'gainst us, waelsman..."

Manawyth swallowed the "strawhead" that had risen to his gullet and ignored the cry. Instead, his eye roving the crowd, he caught the glance of a tall man-at-arms with a sword at his side, a freeman at least, and by the look of his garb in the service of some great patron, perhaps one of the Eorls who attended the King.

"Sir, you seem a judge of quality..." the Dunlending started. The man of Rohan returned his look evenly, brazenly, and Manawyth bit his cheek slightly.

"How much would you take for it, trader?"

"Sir thegn, if you prefer to pay in kind, I am a singer with a borrowed instrument. I'll swap this horse for a harp o' gold with the best, most supple gut."

"A singer. Your folk have always been inventive," the stranger acknowledged. "You have a deal. Keep your horse back and meet me in Goldwine Street three hours from now, and you will have what you ask for."

***

A long wait, seeming ever more estranged, Manawyth thought, as he remembered the continuing excitement of the Horse Fair not so far off. In contrast, the Goldwine-way was almost emptied. Beside him, the horse tossed its head in apparent anxiety.

"That's him!" Manawyth heard in the distance. At first he thought his acquaintance from earlier in the day had come back with his master. He was not so far wrong in this, for amid the mob of men appearing on the street the stern fighting-man could be seen, and a haughty nobleman on a white horse was not far off. But evidently they had not come alone, and there was no sign of a harp. Besides, it was not the soldier who had shouted, but the coarse man who had insulted him before. This could not be a good sign.

Manawyth automatically felt for his blade, then remembered that, to cement his position as a cleansed man of peace, he had sold it.

"There's the wolf's-head Dunlending with his stolen horse!"

That made Manawyth start, because it was so true and yet so false. The black horse had never belonged to him; but certainly never to any of these Rohirrim either.

"You lie, churl," he yelled back. "I will swear on it."

"What worth is a waels' word," a proud voice cut in, "when set against that of Cuichelm of the Mark?" It was the splendid Rider, who had slipped easily from his horse.

"Men, take hold of his arms," the nobleman cried, his voice seeming ugly when raised in anger, rather than left in languid smoothness. "Adlaf...take that horse back to my stables...we shall try this wretch after he has spent some time in suitable...quarters..."

"Stop, off, get off, you forg..." Manawyth flailed his arms impotently, but caught the errant word even now. "I mean-halt! I am under the protection of the Eorl of the Mid Emnet!"

"How quaint," Cuichelm answered laughingly. "He's one of those new men, isn't he? Perhaps he commonly feels sympathy for outlaws..."

[Celuien]

At first, Garstan thought nothing of Linduial's disappearance. Most likely, she had merely wandered off at the fair, drawn from booth to booth by the finery displayed at the many stands. She could easily have lost track of time and drifted to the far edges of the fairground. Degas would find her. He had, after all, kept good charge of Lèoðern. The two, Linduial and Lèoðern, were alike. That fact had not escaped his notice. And because Garstan could easily imagine Lèoðern drifting away in the fairgrounds, he could think the same of Linduial.

Yet how could the very noticeable Linduial have managed to go unseen through the fair? That was the only part of Degas' story that troubled him. Somone must have seen her. Why hadn't they? Of a sudden, Eodwine's worried face struck him, and the Eorl's fear spread to Garstan's mind. Linduial might be in trouble. The girl didn't seem the most able to defend herself from attack, should such a mischance have befallen her. Garstan's heart sank at the thought. Linduial, with her kindness and cheerful high-spirits, deserved better. It would, too, go hard with Degas and Eodwine to have been unable to protect her. And Lèoðern, now chattering lightly and eagerly to her brother about the fair, would lose her double. Disappointment at Linduial's absence was already working its way into her words.

But it was senseless to worry now. Garstan still hoped that she would find her way back to the Mead Hall separately from the rest of their party. Then they would all have a good laugh over dinner when they knew their fears had been for nothing. But Marenil's statement that she was not at the Hall shattered that hope.

All of their hopes now rested with Degas, still searching the fairgrounds. He would find Linduial. He had to find her.

[JennyHallu]

Queen Lothiriel of Rohan strove to be a conscientious ruler. She had loved the wild, verdant beauty of her adopted homeland from the moment Eomer had first brought her here, so many years gone, and had worked hard to gain the respect of these people. They had once been rough and strange to her, but now they were dearer to her than the tall, proud, sea-bent warriors of her youth.

But family was family.

Lothiriel had been thrilled to see young Linduial had arrived. She remembered her cousin only vaguely, as a dark-eyed, serious child, and the poised slender young woman who had presented herself at Court had come as something of a shock. The girl's wit, beauty, and natural charm, however, had won over the older and more mature woman in an instant. Linduial had also brought enough letters, luxurious gifts, and cheerful gossip of half-forgotten names and places to make Lothiriel feel like a girl again herself, as her cousin filled her in on the mundane cycle of births, deaths, and 'who-married-whom's for an hour, closeted in her chambers.

"When did this arrive?" she snapped at the guard standing before her, crinkling the paper he'd given her in nervous fingers.

"Only a few minutes agone, Lady. A child brought it to the door guard, said a man had paid him to deliver it, for your eyes only."

"And was the child detained? Have we a description?"

The man held out his arms sheepishly. "No, he'd run off before anyone realized it was a serious matter."

"I see." Lothiriel glanced down again at the paper in her hand, impotent anger rising quickly in her breast. Linduial was intelligent, sure, but young and inexperienced, still adjusting to life here. And this anonymous man... Lothiriel growled in anger. Eomer had spent the last fifteen years rebuilding his country, painstakingly repairing the ravages of war and treason. A calmer part of the Queen hoped, for the sake of this unnamed offender, that he was not of the Rohirrim, for if he were, she and her husband would be responsible for his punishment.

But there were other failures to deal with first.

~<*>~

Lord Eodwine's Eorling Mead Hall was in chaos. Lothiriel found Eodwine in the front courtyard surrounded by people, all of whom were shouting and talking and milling about. There was a young man whose face was a study in guilt and dejection, another was limping badly, the Hall itself was in ruins. A pretty young woman hung on Eodwine's arm, but he seemed oblivious to her in the face of whatever challenge he faced now.

In the midst of this confusion, Lothiriel finally discovered an outlet for her restless anger. As she strode into the courtyard with her guards struggling to keep up, the company fell silent, surprised at her appearance, waiting expectantly for her to speak. She gratified their curiousity quickly, as she was in no mood to waste time on formalities.

"Lord Eodwine of the Mark," she said clearly, her voice chill. "Where is my cousin?"

Eodwine visibly started. Whatever he had expected to hear, it was not that. "My queen--" he hesitated, knowing that this was going to go badly. "--I do not know. She left for the Fair this morning, and was separated from her party. We were gathered here to go search for her. But how did you know?"

Lothiriel's temper flared. "Don't bother searching for her," she snapped thrusting the letter she held at the confused man. "You won't find her easily."

Eodwine took the paper and read it through quickly, then, with a pale glance at his queen, over again more slowly, before handing it to the young woman at his side, dropping her arm and standing alone, suddenly bone-tired. The woman glanced at her Lord, the queen, and briefly at the distraught young man near her, and as the silence continued expectantly, read the letter aloud with a nervous cough.

"Queen Lothiriel of Rohan,

"Your lovely cousin Lady Linduial of Dol Amroth has fallen expectantly into my care. The expense of her transportation and care are such that I shall require a thousand pounds of gold or I am afraid her safe return shall prove outside both my means and my interest. You shall have three weeks' time before I contact you again, and I will expect payment."

"It's not signed..." the young woman faltered lamely, eyes wide with worry.

"It didn't have to be," returned the Queen, opening her palm with a glimmer of gold to show the slim signet ring Linduial wore on all occasions. She closed her hand tightly around it once more, and returned her attention to Eodwine. "You are sworn to her protection, Eorl."

The man nodded in acknowledgement. "I am."

"One of my men shall be commanding a party to find and rescue her. I shall expect you to join them."

"I will."

"It will also fall to you to inform her father of what has happened. I would suggest you not to delay. My uncle can be a harsh man when his family is threatened."

Eodwine nodded again, and Lothiriel reached out in sudden kindness, gripping his arm firmly as she spoke quietly, for his ears only. "I supported you before my Lord, Eodwine of the Mark, and I do not regret my decision. I hope you do not come to hate me for it. I still see in you what I saw before. Don't be discouraged!"

She straightened and cast a look over the disorganized rubble that had once been the famed White Horse Inn. Where the hearth had been, a new one was rising, and despite her fear for Linduial she smiled to see it. "Your hall shall be great when you have built it, Eodwine," she said. "And your house also.

"My commander shall speak to you of your plans." At a gesture, the leader of her guard stood forth, and she gave him quick instructions to take only volunteers from the eored guarding Meduseld before gathering the remainder of her guard around her and returning to her home.

[Folwren]

It was nearly and hour after nightfall when Thornden rode slowly up the streets towards the mead hall. He had completed the day’s work, but, it having taken more time than he expected, he had not stopped by his sister’s home. Inwardly, he scolded himself for it, but it couldn’t he helped. He had wanted to reach Edoras as early as possible after dark, hoping to have less trouble getting through the gates. There had not been much delay there, but he knew had he come much later, they would have been less likely to let him in so easily. He’d make the visit soon, he promised himself. Very soon. But, even telling himself that, he could just hear his sister’s teasing rebuke at not coming sooner.

But now his mind turned towards home. He hoped for a warm meal, and some merry company. The boy he had found, too, would be there. Not waiting for him, he realized in a moment, for he wouldn’t know him, but he’d be there, bandaged up and cared for.

“Hopefully he’ll be asleep,” he said to himself. “He should be sleeping, anyway. He’ll need all the sleep he can get in the next couple weeks until he’s mended.”

He entered the yard and after dismounting, he led his horse into the stables. Leof met him, for he had been expecting Flithaf’s return since nightfall. With a few quiet words and a goodnight bidden, Thornden left the horse in his care and hurried inside.

It was with surprise that he noticed that the hall was empty. He paused in the doorway and looked about. In a moment, Kara exited one room and walked across the floor, an empty plate in her hands. She looked at him as she passed on the opposite side of the room, but said nothing before disappearing into another doorway. She was the only living thing to be seen, though.

Thornden didn’t know how to explain the strange silence to himself. He shrugged and went in, shutting the door behind him. He would find some water and then report to Eodwine with the money he had gathered and the different messages from his freeholders for requests and whatever else they had thought to write or send by word. But the next moment he changed his mind. It would take some time speaking with Eodwine, and he would like to talk to the boy if he possibly could, but the longer he waited, and the later the time got, the less likely it would be that he would find him awake. So, having made up his mind, he washed his hands in his room, put his pouch down on the bed, took off the dusty vest he wore, and then went to the room where the injured boy lay.

The door slowly and silently swung back on its hinges as Thornden pressed against it gently. He put his head in first to see in what state the boy lay before he went in. Slowly and carefully so as to make no noise, he approached the bed.

The boy lay on his back. He wore a clean shirt, and the covers of the bed were pulled up over his stomach. One arm was folded over the blankets, and the other, splinted and wrapped in clean white bandages, lay by his side. His head was bandaged also and his face was turned away from the door and Thornden could not tell if he slept or was awake. But then he suddenly moved and turned his head and looked at him.

Thornden stopped abruptly and stood completely still. There was a complete silence as they looked and studied each other for a moment. Then Thornden let out the breath he had caught and walked forward freely to the bedside.

“Well, lad, how do you feel?”

[Taralphiel]

Lys had spent his day in quiet rest, slowly wandering in and out of sleep, and in relative comfort. He had been provided with a warm and satisfying lunch after the healer Hrethel had left, and the occasional sharp pang of pain from his ankle or arm were his only complaints. He did not voice them, but lay quietly, listening to the bustle outside of the door.

It seemed to him that as the day wore on, a great excitement took the Hall. Many people rushed in, hushed and anxious voices too far away to tell the subject. Lys wondered if it was him they were speaking of, but shook it out of his mind.

'They would not worry so much about you' he chided himself inwardly. 'You're just a broken little boy. You aren't going anywhere for a while, so all debts will be paid...somehow...'

As the day wore steadily on, the movements in the Hall began to fade. Lys heard one particular clang, like tools being dropped hastily, but they were soon hushed. Lys looked slowly about his room, enjoying the last warmth of the afternoon. But in his mind, the young boy could not shake off his sore predicament. No home, no money, no memory.

This last fact caused him to grimace. He could have a family somewhere. They could be searching for him, worrying for his safety. Maybe others were looking for him, out to finsih the work they started. Lys shut his eyes, trying to clean such thoughts from his head, and reassure himself that he was safe.

It was then he heard slow footsteps enter the room. His head was turned from the figure, and slowly he looked over to see. Despite the warmth and comfort of the room, the young boy was quietly terrified. He imagined a dark figure with dagger in hand ready to still his small life. He looked up slowly, trying to mask his fear.

Lys' eyes softened as he saw the man looking over him. His look was warm and gentle. He stood and smiled almost nervously at the bandaged boy. In silence for a moment, Lys shifted a little and wondered what to say. 'This must be the man who owns this Hall.Lord Eodwine...' he thought.

"Well, lad, how do you feel?"

Lys looked a little startled when the man finally spoke. Pausing a moment, his mouth opened and about to speak, Lys pondered how he should word his thanks.

"I am doing much better Lord Eodwine, a--"

A hearty chuckle escaped the tall mans mouth before Lys could word his 'and I am very greateful'. Lys looked up at him with a puzzled expression.

"You give me a title higher than I have earned" he said, before taking a seat in his chair.

"My name is Thornden, and I am Steward to Lord Eodwine. But I am flattered you think me worthy of such a position!"

Lys smiled a little, and muttered an apology, slowly sinking into the mattress in embarassment. As he did, he noticed Thornden slowly look over his splinted arm.

"The Healer has done quite a good job. When I carried you in this morning, I knew not how bad your wounds were. I am glad you are recovering quickly, young...?" Thornden looked at him carefully, enquiring his name.

Lys almost did not know what to say. He had found his rescuer, to whom he owed a debt he could not fathom to repay.

"Lys." he said while smiling "My name is Lys, and I am truly very grateful to you, Thornden. Had you not found me, I do not know where I would have ended up..."

Thornden touched his shoulder comfortingly "No matter now, Lys. You shall be up in time, and I am sure your family will wish to know of you..."

Lys turned from him at the word 'family'. His state was always in the back of his mind, but bringing his loss of memory out into talk made him feel very small. Thornden's brow creased at his actions.

"I am deeply sorry, Lys. You have no family...?" he prodded gently. Lys did not blame him for his curiosity, but he did not wish to share his troubled.

"Better to say I have no memory of them. Or of anything before this morning." he said, quickly and bitterly, hoping the man would not ask him more. Thornden sat back, taking his hand off Lys' shoulder.

"That is quite a burden..." he managed to say at last. "But not one that you will have forever, I am sure. For now, it is best to rest and recover. I will help how I am able, to find what you've lost."

Lys looked up at the man, his bitterness fading, and a small pang of guilt for speaking so foolishly.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to speak in anger. I am most thankful for your help, Sir Thornden..."

Thornden laughed again. "No need for Sir's and Lord's on me, Lys. It is simply Thornden, and I am very glad to see you'll recover. For now, rest. I shall see you in the morning."

Lys smiled. "Thank you Thornden. Good Night."

Thornden then turned, and slowly eased the door closed, leaving Lys in the warm dark of his room. He fell again into sleep, smiling at the thought of his new found friend and rescuer.

[Ithaeliel]

As the crowd dissipated, Ithaeliel caught snatches of anxious conversation. This one mentioned the Queen of Rohan, that one whispered about a girl at the horse fair, and the word "kidnapped" slipped from the mouth of a worried woman as she passed by. The tall girl gave a slight gasp when she heard that, her green eyes wide in astonishment. "What has happened here of late?!" she wondered aloud. As her gaze drifted around the street, she eyed a pile of rubble where a familiar place had once been. "Oh... oh, dear, the hall! I'd so been looking forward to it!" She turned to a man who stood nearby with a panicked look on her porcelain face. "Do you know what is going on here? What's happened to the Eorling Mead Hall?"

"'Tis only being renovated," a man told her. "No cause for concern, maiden. But... poor Lady Linduial..."
"Linduial?!" Ithaeliel cried. "The Queen's cousin? Is she the one who's been-"

"-abducted," the man finished. "A rescue party is to be organized. Surely you won't help?"

Ithaeliel would have willingly complied, but she had traveled from far away without a mount of any kind, and the moment this man issued his offer she became painfully aware of the exhaustion in her body and the brittle feeling in her bones.

"Sir, I wish I could, however I'm very tired and do not think I could travel any further. I feel as though I were an old woman at the moment," she joked dryly.

The man returned her jest with a chuckle and a dry smile of his own. "Well, I hope you find a place to rest your weary self, as it seems your planned venue of respite is in ruins."

Ithaeliel laughed a little and shook his hand with more enthusiasm than she might have expected of herself. "I am Ithaeliel of Minas Tirith."

"Pleased to meet you," said the man as he bowed. "I am Eorl. Good luck to you in Edoras, and I hope you have a pleasant stay."

"My thanks to you, Eorl," nodded Ithaeliel before walking uncertainly toward the mead hall. Perhaps someone would tell her what to do...

[littlemanpoet]

It was well past dark. Eodwine was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a half a mug of ale, his chin in hand, elbow resting on the table. It had been a day worth forgetting. But that must not be. All had gone well until Linduial had gone missing. With Lothiriel's appearance at his front door, Eodwine's day had become the second worst in memory. Worst had been the windswept day he had finally come home from war only to find his farmstead burned, the bodies of his wife and children burned husks in the middle of it all. He shook his head and felt his throat tighten and his lips quiver. This will not do. He furrowed his brow, wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and pulled an angry pull on his ale, spilling some down his chin as he filled his mouth with the nectar. Think! Linduial must be found. He didn't need Lothiriel to tell him that. He was a little irked that she had taken over the task of finding her, as he was the princess's guardian; but he understood that Lothiriel took special interest, seeing as they were related.

Eodwine looked up. There was someone moving quietly in the shadows just beyond the kitchen door.

"Eodwine?"

It was Saeryn.

"Can you not sleep, d-" There I go again. "-dead of night and all that?"

Saeryn rubbed her eyes as she slipped into a seat beside him. She yawned. She was exhausted, yet awake. She was quiet for a moment before responding, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Dreams. When my mind lets me sleep, the dreams wake me." She blinked away worried tears, ignoring them. "I take it you are much the same?"

The smell of her filled his head. His arm wanted to curl around her slender shoulders. So easy, so likely on a half drunk night like this. Nothing but empty air separated her leg from his on the bench.

Stop it.

"Aye." He sighed. "Would you like something to drink?"

Saeryn usually avoided spirits, disliking the fuzziness that took over her senses. Tonight though... with thoughts of Linduial already clouding them, she just wanted to sleep, to forget her worry. She remembered the last time she drank anything stronger than cider... she'd been recovering already from an injury and had stood, head reeling. Unsure whether it was injury or alcohol, she'd gone to bed, excusing herself early. Now, health regained, memory returned, in the latest hours of the night, she wanted her cares to dissipate. Saeryn wanted, just for a little while, not to think of Linduial and Degas, of Fenrir, of Caelyn. Of the hurt young man healing in a room nearby. Of her place in the world, or even merely in Eodwine's Hall. Of Dunlendings and the Rohirrim, of every little thought that plagued her as she tried to sleep. Sitting beside a friend; she couldn't sleep anyhow...

"Something. Anything."

Something in her tone woke Eodwine out of his preoccupation with his own battles. He looked at Saeryn's face and could see from the dim firelight, the tears collected beneath her soft eyes.

"Saeryn," he said, his throat catching, "I'm sorry. I have been thinking only of myself." Regardless of his worries over attractions and age difference, regardless of his dream, he gathered her to him and held her close, and it seemed good to him.

Saeryn relaxed against Eodwine for a moment, gathering herself.

"I am just worried about Linduial. Eodwine... we will find her again, won't we? I'm so worried for her. I feel so guilty when I am in Marenil's presence. I cannot help but feel like if I had not been cloistered in the cellars, I would have been with her and this may not have happened."

Eodwine's head jerked in startlement. Saeryn looked up, wondering. He smiled.

"You are not to blame, my l-" he paused, thunderstruck at what his tongue had been about to slip out of his mouth. He started over. "You are not to blame. My lacking as a lord is to blame. I should have sent Garwine with Lin. She shall not be unaccompanied away from the mead hall once we have her back. And we will have her back." Eodwine's voice had strengthened, his final words spoken as if day could hold off night.

"No." Saeryn pulled away from Eodwine, startled. "You can't blame yourself! If anybody is to blame..."

Saeryn stopped, unwilling to betray Degas. She had already forgiven him in private, knowing that there was nothing he could have done. He'd explained how they had been separated. He never could have guessed...

Eodwine read the look on her face when she stopped speaking.

He hung his head and sighed. "'Tis a tangle of blame, enough for all to go around." His eyes came up, suddenly fierce. "But there is one only who is blameworthy. That one holds Linduial for ransom. He shall pay for his crime. I will see to it."

Saeryn nodded, accepting this. She sipped Eodwine's drink, searching her thoughts for something unrelated to Lin's disappearance.

"Eodwine... your dream. What was it?"

Eodwine looked suddenly at Saeryn as if she had trapped him against a wall and was threatening his life.

"I forgot."

Eodwine knew he was a bad liar, and from the sudden look in Saeryn's eyes, she apparently knew it too.

"The dream, Eodwine. What was it?"

"You don't want to know", he mumbled, pulling the drink out of her hands and sloshing some liquid more or less in the general direction of his mouth.
Her curiosity was made stronger than ever by his refusal.

"Eodwine... please?" It took conscious effort to avoid batting eyelashes or pouting lips. She really wanted to know.

Eodwine looked at her sidelong. "I warned you, you don't want to know." Her face began to look as if she could not decide between begging and throttling. Eodwine raised a hand. "All right!"

"Shhhh! You'll wake the others!"

Eodwine nodded absently. "All right. He stared at his mug. "I dreamed that-" his voice caught in his throat. He did not want to say this to her, but he had to and knew it. "I dreamed that- No. Let me say it aright. My wife came to me in a dream while I slept last night. She said to me, 'Eodwine, I am not dead. Come find me'."

He turned to her, his eyes intent to read Saeryn's face, to see how the dream affected her. He did not know for what he hoped.
She could not remember him ever having mentioned his wife before. She searched her memory for a story, or even a word or two in passing, and found nothing. She knew that Eodwine's wife and children had died, but she could not remember where that knowledge had come from... and she knew very few details.

"Go on..." she urged tentatively, her voice no louder than the slight breeze through the kitchen window that played with her hair.

Was that fear in her voice? Kindness? Eodwine began slowly. "I found her and the children, blackened husks in the remains of our house. At least, I had always thought that; now I am not sure who or what those husks were. Kéðra. 'Heather' in the Common speech, you know. What if she is still alive, captive-wifed to a Dunlending who has no right to her? Should I go find her? If I did, where would I look? How would I find her? She would be so changed." His speech had quickened with each new thought. "But maybe the dream was no more than a dream." He paused, his head hanging over the table, staring vaguely at the table top. "Little I can do about it until Linduial is found, though that may be too late."

He turned to Saeryn, searching her face to see what she made of his strange murmurings.

She did not know how to respond. How long had it been? Could he be right... But she had had much the same dreams, her parents calling to her from a distance, bidding her to follow them. They had died on the road, or so she had been told. She had been young... how could she be sure?

She looked away, staring dismally at shadows. Dreams were only ever just dreams, she wanted to tell him, yet that would make a hypocrite of her. She had never meant to stay here... she'd merely been passing through, following the road her parents had taken, following the road Caelyn had already treaded upon. She'd wanted to know... to see the last sights her parents had seen, to meet with her sister and to escape her brother.

She hadn't planned to settle at the Inn; she hadn't planned to become Eodwine's hostess. She meant to leave the Inn with the coming of spring to follow the voices in her dreams. She'd been travelling north by a roundabout way. She failed to notice Eodwine looking at her as she fell into her own thoughts.

How could dreams so similar come to such different people? When Degas had found her with news of Caelyn's death, Saeryn lost her nerve, afraid now to follow. Her attention wavered and she looked back at Eodwine. Time, she thought, to be honest once more. With no light and a bit of ale to loosen inhibitions, Saeryn spoke quietly, half hoping Eodwine would forget by morning.

"I followed dreams. My parents called to me. My sister called. I wanted to follow their path, to see what had become of them, or at the very least, to see what they had last seen. My dreams brought me here, Eodwine. I never meant to stay. I cannot fault you for taking such dreams as you've had so seriously when it is because of mine own, not just because of Fenrir, that I ever left home at all."

Eodwine had watched her face work, biting her lip, frowning, wondering what these signs meant. Then she had spoken, revealing yet another kinship between the two of them. Maybe she was half his age, it did not matter. Soul-friends they were meant to be, it seemed to him. He smiled affectionately.

"Maybe-" He, or maybe the drink in him and the late hour working, chose to allow his tongue to speak more of its want. "Maybe, sweet Saeryn-" he reached down to her hand and found it pliable "- lovely Saeryn-" he raised her hand "-after we have found Linduial and brought her back to safety-" he closed his other hand over hers "-you and I can go on errand to help each other find those we seek."

[Anguirel]

Away-the streets of Edoras

Cuichelm's rejoinder to Manawyth's invoking of Eodwine's title had led to copious laughter from his armed freemen and sycophants. They had lost no time in hauling Manawyth up and tying him, seated backwards, bound and gagged, to a mule. The streets were none too clean after the Horse Fair and several of the less nobly minded Rohirrim seized handfuls of dung and flung them at him.

Manawyth was afforded a split-second of satisfaction when one of the townsmen aimed ill and struck the tall man-at-arms who had caused the situation full in the face. Incensed, the pompous fellow drew his sword and thrashed the offender with its flat till Cuichelm bade him stop with a lazy glance of prohibition. The Lord turned his horse until he looked the defenceless Manawyth in the eyes.

"We're going to Meduseld, Dunlending. The King and his officers have little love, so I here, for your sort, but I am an influential men, and can probably-since you are friend-moderate the hanging to a mere dismemberment. Or, of course, you could insist on the trial by ordeal and keep us all entertained. The gods know we could use a laugh at court at the moment, what with the abduction of the Queen's cousin!"

Manawyth jerked his legs ineffectually. That cousin had to be the Lady Linduial. He had talked little to her but listened much, and found enough to laugh at slyly in her naive confidence. But he was deeply saddened by the thought that the girl's spirit had punished her so soon. He knew Eodwine and Thornden-who had treated Manawyth with particular justice and kindness-were bold men and would give their all to return the young noblewoman to safety; but he felt incredibly frustrated at his complete inability to help.

The prospect of Meduseld, too, was not comforting, for he was inclined to agree with Cuichelm on the attidude of the King towards Dunlendings. It had been King Eomer who had ordered the merciless reprisals; he was known among Dunlendings, indeed, as "Edigh the Bloodied One." Manawyth had considered resorting to a call for an Ordeal before, but Cuichelm's flippancy decidedly put him off the idea.

Very well then, he thought grimly. You'll have to lose your hands, at best...or elude these forgoil fools, somehow...

***

The somehow, beyond any expectation, arrived. For when Cuichelm and his train were close to the hill topped by the Golden Hall, there was a cry of anger somewhere behind Manawyth's field of vision-that is, in front of Cuichelm-which quickly magnified in size. There seemed to be a considerable crowd blocking Cuichelm's progress, and their shouts now began to be distinctly heard-

"Down with Cuichelm! Down with the Geld!"

"No more taxes! Why should we pay when there's no war on?"

"Down with the Geld! Let the Witena have its say!"

"The King, the King! Where is he? He'd put a stop to this. Justice and the King!"

"The Geld" was a phrase Manawyth remembered a pair of dissatisfied drinkers at the Mead Hall mulling over one night. It was essentially a tax that pressed hard on the common smallfarmers, levied by King Eomer, on the advice of certain nobles, in order to pay for a future war planned, in alliance with Gondor, against Harad. The problem was that in the minds of the populace, the war was a projected, distant and rather improbable idea; the harvest share they were surrendering was rather closer at hand. It seemed that Cuichelm must have been one of the lords who had advocated the Geld, and that a party of Rohirric countrymen were protesting against him. Armed violence was probably not far off.

"Silence, men," Cuichelm bellowed. "The King shall answer your plea as and when he wishes! Go back to your farms and your cursed cattle..."

His voice was drowned out in a cacophony of disordered yells, of anger, pain, surprise and sheer meaningless human noise. Some kind of riot was evidently in order. Cuichelm shouted an order that just about carried-

"Harry them, men! Harry them!"

Then something akin to actual battle came into being. Manawyth could even see some of it now; partisans of Cuichelm clustered round each other, wielding whatever came to hand, the rebels, for that is how they now appeared, attempted to swamp them or pull them from their mounts. It was uncertain who had struck the first blow.

What was certain was that at one stage an angry Rohirric farmer cried, "The King! The King! Stop abusers of justice!" and sliced the cords that bound Manawyth. He fell from the mule in an undignified manner, clueless as to who had rescued him, and scrambled, ignored by all, out of the way. When he was clear of the surging, thronging riot, he ran all the faster. He no longer knew where he was going, but he intended to escape the farce that had caught up with him.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine winced as the light of the sun angled into his window, struck the brand new mirror on the wall - a gift from Lothiriel for the successful rescue of Linduial - and straight into his eyes.

"Ow!"

He shut his eyes tight and rolled over. A cock crowed. There was a knock at his door.

"Yes?"

"Lord, it's Kara. You wanted breakfast served with sun-up."

"Aye, that I did," he yawned, stretching. "Thank you, Kara! I will be down shortly!"

He heard her steps disappear back in the direction of the kitchen. The old kitchen. Garstan's loyalty had taken him away from his plans to build a new kitchen. But now the good man could begin. Eodwine was eager to see that able man's hands and mind at work. Well they had been proven in the last twenty days!

Eodwine rose and stretched again, splashed water on his face, and donned himself in clothes befitting this special day.

This was to be his first Court day, when all and sundry came from all over the Middle Emnet to speak their grievances and ask their boons. Eodwine would receive gifts and give as good as he got. Better yet, he would stand all those before him who had come to his hall thirty days before, and asked for a place. They would hear his judgement on their service, and hear whether they would be kept in. And he would mete out justice. This thought made him scowl. There was the matter of Manawyth.

And there was the need for another visit to that bard and prisoner before Eodwine held court. He needed to know more about the man than he did. But enough. It was time to break his fast and greet the many of his household. He hoped that Linduial's bruises would heal quickly and would not disturb her overmuch this day.

He left his room, went down the hall, and into the mead hall, which now had a complete roof. There was much more to do, but at least the bare bones of the structure were in place and their heads would be kept dry. It was a little dark, for the windows were still blocked in. Lanterns hung from beams, and that helped much, but it was still rather dim. He would have to talk to Garstan, Thornden, and Marenil about that. Maybe they could offer some advice.

Kara brought out a plate filled with sun-up eggs, bacon rashers, a sausage, and cheese. With it was a pitcher of fresh water. And a good stout loaf of brown bread.

"My thanks, Kara. How is Frodides this day?"

[Folwren]

Thornden had less of a rude awakening that Eodwine. When he opened his eyes, the sunlight streamed in through the open window along with a gentle, cool wind, and a bird’s song. He yawned and stretched and sat up. The day promised to be good, at least in weather. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he wondered briefly if the court that Eodwine had to attend would be quite as good. As he dressed, he went on thinking – considering everything else that would take place that day. The thirty days that Eodwine had spoken of at the beginning of his time was up this day. Thornden’s own place and immediate future would be decided upon sometime in the course of the day.

Once dressed, Thornden exited his room and made as straight a way to the make shift kitchen as he possibly could. He found Fordides alone there, bent over a great bowl of something. As he entered, she turned towards him. One arm was looped about the huge bowl, the other hand clutched at a wooden spoon as she stirred.

“Good morning, Fordides!” Thornden said, in his sweetest tone, slipping around the table. “How’re the rolls behaving this morning?”

“What’ve ye come here for, fellow?” Fordides asked, seeing past his disguise of friendliness and getting right to the point.

“Breakfast. Breakfast for two, actually.”

“Aye, aye, I could’ve told you that myself.” The woman nodded her head knowingly and put down the bowl, the spoon sticking up out of it. “You’ll be wanting it for yourself and that poor boy again.” She tsked briskly as she shook her head over two plates as she filled them. Thornden grinned and his hands went to his pockets. She turned towards him again, a plate in each hand. “Now, wait just a moment and I’ll get a tray. . .” That was done quickly and then she handed it to Thornden. “Now, take it and enjoy your breakfast.”

“Thank you much, fair maiden of the kitchen!” Thornden said, taking the tray gratefully. The wooden plates were piled high with eggs, sausage, bread, and cheese. He winked at her over the lovely meal she’d given him and then scurried quickly towards the door. She hitched up her shirts to her knees and aimed a kick after him, but he was already gone.

Thornden went quickly on through the hall and came to Lys’s room. He pushed the door open and entered without knocking. “You awake yet, Lys?” he asked as he entered, pushing the door closed again with his foot behind him. “I’ve brought breakfast again. A little early today, I know, I know, but I’ve got work to do today, I imagine.”

He placed the tray on the small table by the bed and dragged a chair closer. Sitting down, he clasped his hands between his knees and leaned forward to study Lys. The boy was hardly awake and he slowly pushed himself up as he yawned.

“How’s the arm today, lad?”

[Kath]

After giving Eodwine his wake up call Kara headed back downstairs to the kitchen and Frodides, who was busy getting a plate together for the Eorl. The woman was determined that he should have the best, as she still felt uncomfortable with the idea that she was not earning her keep. Kara thought this ridiculous, as Frodides was doing just as much work as she ever had, except that much of it was done from a chair. Still, it meant that Eodwine got a good breakfast, and he seemed grateful for it when Kara brought it out to him.

"My thanks, Kara. How is Frodides this day?"

"Doing well, my lord. Her leg is almost fully healed now and Aedhel says it will not be long before she is back to full strength. Frodides herself believes that she is at full strength now and should not be coddled as though she were a child, but so far she is abiding by the rules and not taking on too much."

Eodwine nodded with satisfaction, glad to hear his cook was much improved. Settling down to eat his breakfast he was somewhat surprised that Kara did not leave, and seemed not to be wholly there.

"Kara? Is there something else?"

Startled from her thoughts Kara shook her head to clear it and focused on Eodwine.

"Yes, Lord, but I am not sure what. Before all the trouble over Linduial I had meant to mention something to you but it has been driven clean out of my head."

Eodwine smiled, knowing such memory lapses happened to everyone at some point. Still, he had a long and busy day ahead what with holding court, and would appreciate some peace and quiet as he ate his breakfast to think over what he would do. He began to mention this to Kara, but only got as far as telling her about the court when she suddenly cried out.

"That's it! Lord, over the past few weeks Frodides and I have noticed that food sometmes leaves our kitchen without our permission. No, we don't want to charge anyone." She quickly forestalled Eodwine's question, not wishing him to think she believed anyone in the Hall to be a thief. "There are reasons for it. Frodides and I cannot be in the kitchen all the time, and if people are hungry they are welcome to eat. The problem is that some of what is taken should not be, as it is needed for later meals. We thought perhaps that a table could be placed in the Great Hall, laden with food that is available, so that those who come down for breakfast and find us missing can take from that table, and so not cause us difficulties later. Is that acceptable?"

[Firefoot]

Léof awoke feeling refreshed for just a few moments before a heavy feeling of anticipation settled in. Today was the day that Eodwine would either accept him or not. Even though Eodwine and Thornden had both expressed approval of his work here, he still felt rather nervous – if he could not stay here, he had no where else to go. Well, perhaps this was not now true. After having won the race – which deep down inside, Léof still was not completely sure he should have won – he could probably find work as a rider somewhere. But what kind of living would that be? Certainly no kind that he would want to bring his sister in to. Besides… he liked it here. It was a second home… these people were almost a second family. He tried to shake off the feelings. Of course he would be able to stay. No worries.

He rose, flexing his foot a few times as he had every day the past week or so. Not completely healed yet, but not disabling anymore either. He could walk normally now, only feeling spasms of pain when he moved it in an awkward way. One of the toes that had broken hadn’t quite healed straight, but this did not bother Léof. What did he need his toe straight for, anyway?

He began his morning rounds, starting as always with Æthel. He had been concerned for her in the week or two following the race; it had tired her out more than he would have thought and she had not been eating right. But now she seemed to be returning to her old self, and Léof was glad. He could not have borne it if he had somehow hurt her permanently. As it was, Léof doubted he would ever race her again. It had simply been too hard on her.

As Léof went about morning feedings, his mind wandered, not back to Eodwine’s decision, but to Æðel. He had seen her scarcely at all in the past few weeks, and had never tried to talk to her, not about the race, not about his foot, not even about general things like Linduial’s kidnapping. He regretted this, but time had made it harder not easier to consider approaching her. The hurt had festered and begun to scar; like his foot, it seemed that it would not just heal itself. But what was he to do? She seemed just as intent to avoid him as he, her, and he recoiled mentally at the thought of approaching her.

But how much was a friendship worth?

No, he had not wronged her, after all; he should not have to go to her – right?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Saeryn... Saeryn, wake up."

It was still early and she'd been awake late sitting with Linduial. Degas sat next to her slightly curled form, on top of the blankets she clutched at with tired disorientation.

"'Gas," she mumbled into her pillow. "Go 'way."

He tucked her hair gently out of her face. "Saer, wake up. I'm back and I need you."

She woke up now, opening her eyes and coming to the realization that Degas was sitting next to her. She could feel the warmth of him coming through the blankets. She pushed him off of her bed gently and bade him to turn away as she changed. She spoke as she did so.

"She's been back for a bit... not too long. She's all right. How did your trip go?"

She noted that his skin was darker and his red hair looked a little bit more burnt golden. He looked slightly impatient when she finally let him turn. She had changed quickly, donning the gown she had laid out the night before for the day's events.

"Degas, what is the look in your eyes?"

"Relief, Saer... you've no idea. I had news on my way into the city, but hearing it from you is more... more real, I guess." She nodded, understanding. He continued now, his real agenda clearer. "Saeryn, you need to play hostess. Her brother Farahil came back with me. He's waiting in the Hall to be attended to. He doesn't speak much, but I'm fairly certain it may be more that he loathes me for letting his sister get taken than anything else. He might speak more to you, but either way, he'll need to be given a room for as long as he stays and Eodwine needs to know that he is here."

She nodded, curious about Lin's older brother. Linduial had told her stories of this younger one... the sailor that taught her archery and fletching. Saeryn had wanted very much to meet both brothers and Lin had promised that they would travel together to Dol Amroth one day, but she had not realized she would meet one so soon. She excused herself from Degas and went to the newly roofed hall to greet this newest guest. She sent Degas to Eodwine's room.

He knocked on the door as she went down the hall, calling softly so not to wake any still sleeping.

"My lord, it is Degas. May I enter?"

[Taralphiel]

"You awake yet, Lys?"

The young boys eyes slowly began to open, seeing the hazy form of Thornden balancing a tray in his hands. "I've brought breakfast again. A little early today, I know, I know, but I've got work to do today, I imagine." He set the tray down, and moved a chair closer to the boys bed. Lys slowly began to rouse, trying to sit himself up in bed. Thornden looked down at the tight bandage over Lys' arm.

"How's the arm today, lad?" Lys smiled and rolled his shoulder a little. "I don't feel much discomfort. I am doing much better." Lys leaned over to smell the warm breakfast Frodides had prepared, and his stomach gave a happy grumble. Both he and Thornden chuckled at the sound.

"I won't keep you longer from your meal, young man!" he said, and pushed the tray in between himself and Lys. As they ate, Lys looked up at him and noticed his brow furrowed. He looked to be mulling over a small thought.

"Today is an important day, is it not Thornden?". Lys remebered Thornden telling him of the events of the past few weeks. Today was the day of Lord Eodwine's first Court. Many would come to settle their greivances. Not the least of them was one who had come to stay at the Mead Hall, a Dunlending. Lys did not seem to grasp the importance of his birthplace, but Thornden often stated with empathy that it did not do well for him. Lys was glad that Thornden thought so kindly on all people.

"Aye, I remember telling you about this day. It will be eventful, no doubt. I do not know my place in it. But I wonder..." Lys picked up his tone, and put down his piece of bread. "Wonder on what...?"

Thornden smiled, and waved off the boy's worried expression. "Don't worry, Lys!" he said with a smile. "It won't do any good speculating. I've been here thirty days, you see, and it is the time for Eodwine to decide if I shall keep the job of Steward."

Lys smiled. Then it was a good day! Thornden was certainly worthy of the charge. Nothing in Lys' mind could make Eodwine think otherwise. He set back to his warm fist of bread, before asking Thornden yet another question.

"Thornden, could I come to see you today? My foot is feeling much better..." While Lys was more than grateful for the care he received, he had been in this small room for almost three weeks, and he longed for a change of scenery. Thornden looked on him gently as he scooped up the last of his sausage with bread.

"I do not wish you to strain yourself, Lys. Hrethel said more than three weeks rest up in bed. I know you want to see the outside world, but it will not run away while you're abed!" Lys frowned a little, but nodded, as he knew Thornden was right.

Thornden saw his disappointment and sighed a little as he sat back in his chair. He studied Lys carefully from head to foot, or what he could see of him. He certainly couldn't walk, but surely it wouldn't do any harm if he were carried out. And perhaps he could sit atop a horse. But it would be going directly against doctor's orders. . .

"I suppose," Thornden said slowly, looking back at Lys' expectant face, "I suppose we can take you for a small outing for dinner this evening. I know all the residents are looking forward to seeing this mystery boy I've had hidden away all these weeks!"

"Thank you so much, Thornden! " Lys grinned. Thornden winked at the rise in Lys' expression, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I think you're getting better, Lys. You'll be alright in a little while longer. Now," he went on, standing up and collecting the empty tray to return to Fordides, "you make sure to rest well today. I'll come around when I can, and in the evening, I'll come early to help you get ready for dinner."

With that, Thornden left with a smile, and Lys looked out the small window and grinned. He could not rest, when such a wonderful time awaited him this evening.

[Formendacil]

By the time the Eorl of the Middle Emnet of Rohan was rising, most days, Náin son of Narin had been awake for a couple hours. It was not that he was an early riser by nature. Left to his own inclinations, he would probably have rarely risen before the noon hour most days. Náin loved his sleep, and savoured every minute he could acquire.

But the Dwarven people were a race that prized, among other things, hardiness and hard work. Inclined though Náin might have been to sleeping in, fifty-some years of training automatically woke his body at five in the mornining. And, though he would have enjoyed more sleep at times, Náin was accustomed to his habits and was not troubled by them.

This particular morning, as he strolled over to the alder in the middle of the courtyard between the main hall and the new kitchen, he was awake and walking before Eodwine by a matter of several fewer minutes than normal, though he knew it not. Nor did Náin particularly care.

As had become his habit since dwelling at the Mead Hall, Náin's first walk of the day took him to his chief project, which was nearly finished. The double-scale statue of Falco Boffin, tall as a Númenorean, sat almost done on a stone base at the foot of the alder tree. Náin didn't care much for trees one way or another, but he had to admit that the alder made a suitable and impressive backdrop to Falco's statue, complementary to the relationship between Hobbits and nature.

When he had started on Falco's statue, the Men had expected him to do it in a room somewhere, and to move the statue out when it was finished. Náin had scoffed at that idea. The weather was nice, the courtyard was a scene of busied construction anyway, and there was a good deal more room to work in. Why cramp himself in a stuffy room somewhere?

Looking over the statue with a pleased eye, Náin mentally guessed that it should be finished either that day or the next. It was a job well done, he thought. Already, he had several ideas for his next project. The late King Théoden had been a great hero, and yet Edoras was completely unadorned with any semblance of him, or possibly a smaller statue of the Lady Éowyn for the King, or maybe a couple of fancy columns to spruce up the gates to the city. Yes, Náin had many ideas. It was simply a matter of running them by King Éomer or Eodwine, or some other important lord of the Mark, and finding one that one of them liked. An easy task.

Pleased with himself and his work, Náin made to take a detour back to the Mead Hall's main entrance, where he would make his way to breakfast. A short walk was just the thing to get ready for a good day's labour.

Though he had kept mostly to himself over the past few weeks since his arrival, Náin had become fairly well acquainted with the normal habits of life in the Mead Hall, and as he re-entered the Hall, ready for breakfast, it seemed to him that there were more people astir than normal.

Ah yes! he thought, Eodwine was holding court today. Small doings, compared with the whole kidnapping affair involving that Gondorian lady, but revelant to the daily lives of a few more people in Edoras. Wondering if he might not get as much work done as he'd intended, Náin headed in for breakfast.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was in a soured mood. Saeryn had brought Degas before him and the young man had given his report. Well enough. Degas had seemed a little pleased with himself, which was only natural; this was Degas, after all. At the same time there was a little bit of standoffishness to the lad. Or was that the right word? Eodwine couldn't think of it. At any rate, Degas seemed a little ill at ease. Maybe he was impatient to go resume his courting of the recovering Lady Linduial. Eodwine half hoped that she would give him a good tongue lashing.

He had complimented Degas on "a job well done," and sent him on his way, leaving Saeryn still standing before him.

"Yes?" His tone was curt, he noticed. She did too; a slight frown played around her eyebrows.

"Degas has brought back one of Linduial's brothers."

"Oh?"

"He would like to meet you. Do you want to go down to meet him, or would you rather have me bring him here to see you?"

"Bring him up here." She left quickly. Had there been something in her tone, in her face, that belied more than she meant? And what had she said this brother's name was? No, she hadn't said at all. That was odd.

While Eodwine waited for her to return with the new guest, he happened upon the reflection of his own face in the mirror Lothiriel had given him. There was a prounounced frown on his face. Where had that come from? He could not recall why he was so dour. He passed his hand over his face, trying to relax his expression. He looked again. Better. But not great.

There was a quiet knock on the door.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn responded to the soft invitation to enter. She pushed open Eodwine's door, beckoning for Farahil to enter before her. He shook his head politely, reaching carefully and easily around her just above her shoulders to hold the door. He gestured that she should enter first and she obliged, smiling a little.

"My lord Eodwine, may I present Farahil of Dol Amroth, son of Lord Farlen and brother of our Lady Linduial?"

Farahil nodded his thanks and smiled to Saeryn. He bowed to Eodwine and stepped forward lithely before offering his hand, large and callused, tanned. Muscles rippled beneath a well-fitting black shirt. Saeryn was much impressed with the way that Farahil's broad shoulders were hugged by his sleeves. Born and raised amongst the Rohirrim, she was much unused to black-haired strangers. The few strangers she had come across in her youth had been blonde and built much like her brothers. Linduial's brother was several inches taller and well-built with darker skin and chin-length straight hair tied at the nape of his neck. His high cheekbones highlighted dark eyes and his bearing was light and powerful. She sensed that he could probably fill a room should he choose, yet he didn't.

"Lord Eodwine," As Farahil spoke, Saeryn was fascinated by his voice, low, calming and exhilerating as waves pounding upon a shore. His Rohirric was easily understood but his accent spoke of a life spent far south and some words were slightly hesitant as though he were unsure of his desire to use them. "My family offers its gratitude for the safe return of Lady Linduial. My father bids me to extend the hand of friendship between our houses forthwith as further thanks, with all such meaning as such an offer implies to be taken as truth."

[littlemanpoet]

"My lord Eodwine, may I present Farahil of Dol Amroth, son of Lord Farlen and brother of our Lady Linduial?"

Was there a tremor in her voice? Farahil nodded and smiled to Saeryn, then bowed to Eodwine, stepping up to offer his hand in friendship. Eodwine kept his eyes on Farahil, but it was not difficult to shift his attention to Saeryn, who was watching the young man in a way that he must surely notice. It was annoying. Eodwine kept his face and forced smile to Farahil. He took Farahil's hand in his.

"Lord Eodwine," Farahil continued as Saeryn drew an audible breath (foolish girl, could she not control herself?) "my family offers its gratitude for the safe return of Lady Linduial. My father bids me to extend the hand of friendship between our houses forthwith as further thanks, with all such meaning as such an offer implies to be taken as truth."

Eodwine was the first to let go of the handshake, which was appropriate, Farahil being the guest. Much was indeed implied. Eodwine relaxed a little.

"It is a most generous gesture," he said, using Gondorian speech patterns he had learned in foreign courts. "I am honored. I accept your offer of frienship and return it in full measure."

Saeryn and this young man were of an age. Eodwine was not under any illusion regarding his own feelings. This young noblewoman of the Rohirrim drew his attention in many different ways. She was a beauty and a spirit both of gaiety and depth at once. Not unlike Kéðra. Who might still be alive. It was no business of his to stand between her and a man of her station and age, no matter how he felt. But that did not stop him from wanting to know how long this rival would be underfoot.

"How long will you be staying with us?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Farahil noted the strength of Eodwine's grasp and listened to his next words. He watched the older man's eyes, wondering why it was that he did not mark Saeryn's continued presence with a glance. Assuredly Farahil had marked her beauty and was curious about her. He knew of her as Lord Degas's sister, a lady of the Rohirrim, and yet she resided as hostess in the hall of a lord to whom she was unwed.

Farahil was not a stranger to Rohan, though he was to these parts, and to the nobles of the land. He had travelled several times with one of his men, a close friend and a transplant from the areas around the Entwash, riding north with him for companionship and adventure as he rode to see his family. Perhaps it was common for ladies of this land to serve in roles taken by commoner women at home, yet he did not see it as being so. Lady Saeryn was her own woman with her own set of rules, he saw, and he desired to learn more. He glanced at her and met her eyes. She neither blushed nor looked away. He looked back at Eodwine.

"I am uncertain how long I will be staying, Lord Eodwine. I do not wish to over-stay my welcome, yet I have business to attend to, both private and less so. I mostly desire to see Linduial. Words may calm fears, yet only sight can put them wholly to rest."

[Celuien]

The morning sun filtered through the leaves of the alder tree behind the kitchen. Garstan stood under the tree with a ball of twine. Construction on the new wing of the hall had been neglected during the search for Linduial. He was glad to be back at work, and delighted that the Lady was safe in Lord Eodwine's hall once again.

A stab of pain ran up Garstan's left arm as he stretched it to tie the string to the base of the tree. The wound suffered during the rescue mission had not yet wholly healed. He would be unable to start the heavier labor of putting stone to chisel for the next few days, but there was nothing to stop the careful work of measuring and marking out the places where the new corridor and kitchen would stand. With a final grimace, he pulled the knot tight and walked to the left to bring his line flush with a straight, narrow furrow in the ground that his son was drawing between the remains of the rear wall of the old kitchen and a stake that would mark the beginning of the new one's nearer wall. With the twine in place, he called to Garmund.

"Here lad. Put the stake where the twine ends."

The boy obliged with a nod. Garstan then measured off a spot three feet nearer the new kitchen and placed a second stake there, ignoring the sharp ache in his arm. The stakes marked what would be the center window of the corridor, set carefully to match the position of the tree that would be the centerpiece of the courtyard.

Garstan walked back to the alder to retrieve his twine. The new statue caught his eye. The odd dwarf, whom he had seen silently walking the courtyard while the measurements were taking place, certainly had a gift for sculpture. He wondered if Náin would be willing to help with the construction. It was a little less artistic a task than the fine statue, but Garstan envisioned some intricate work for the borders of the windows. Perhaps a bench or two at the sills where one could rest and look at the courtyard. But he was getting ahead of himself. The work hadn't even started.

Leaving Garmund to take a rest in the courtyard, Garstan headed inside, hoping to have a chance to speak with the dwarf. Even if Náin was not interested in more mundane stonecraft, perhaps he could still provide a few ideas for the project.

[littlemanpoet]

Before answering Eodwine's question, Farahil seemed to pointedly look at Saeryn, who looked back into Farahil's eyes with an unwavering look. Or stare, more like. Then Farahil looked back at Eodwine.

"I am uncertain how long I will be staying, Lord Eodwine. I do not wish to over-stay my welcome, yet I have business to attend to, both private and less so. I mostly desire to see Linduial. Words may calm fears, yet only sight can put them wholly to rest."

"You are a friend of my house. You cannot overstay your welcome." Eodwine forced his smile to widen. But let me not keep you longer from your sister! I am sure she will be happy to see you." Eodwine turned to Saeryn. "Saeryn." She puller her attention away from the dark and handsome young man. "Please show Lord Farahil to his sister's quarters."

"Yes, lord." They left. Once the door closed behind them, Eodwine huffed a very disturbed sigh, and began whispering to himself. "They are of an age. It is right that they would be interested in each other. She is a beauty, he is a handsome lord with his whole life ahead of him. He represents the future whereas I represent the past, no doubt. Let her go. Let her go. You never had any business following her with such interest in any case. You're too old for her, you silly a*s. Find Kéðra." That stopped him short. Was his wife alive? Was she partnered against her will to a Dunlending who not doubt abused her, fathered his brood on her? Eodwine felt his jaw clenching. More likely she was long dead. His jaw loosened and his throat tightened. Get a hold of yourself, old fool. You have a court to preside over. With that, he checked his face in his new mirror one more time before leaving his room for the Hall, which he had had set up for holding court.

There was already a crowd gathered outside. This would be a long and tiring day. The last thing he needed to do was get himself worked up over a girl half his age who needed a young man, not an old.

He sat in the furlined chair that had been specially made for his Mead Hall. No one had come into the Hall yet. A makeshift firepit had been built in the center, just below the opening in the ceiling. It looked to be a good ceiling. Yes, there were the gifts he had ordered to be brought up, ready to hand as need would arise. He waited, allowing his mind to clear.

[Folwren]

Breakfast was over and the dishes were returned to Fordides. Thornden found he had nothing left to do before the business of the day took place. He knew that Eodwine would already be in the great hall, prepared for what was to come, and probably anxious for it to begin. Thornden couldn’t think how Eodwine couldn’t be at least a little bit nervous. He knew he felt so. His stomach felt tight, and the food sat somehow uncomfortably. He scolded himself inwardly. What had he to fear? Had he displeased Eodwine in the last month? Had he failed in any way?

Thornden couldn’t think that any of the answers could be yes, but he still feared to hope. He took the side door outside and for a moment stood there. He drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. Then, gathering himself together, he turned back around, reentered the building, and headed straight for the hall.

As he expected, Eodwine sat there in the chair prepared for him. Thornden walked towards him and bowed slightly.

“Good morning, sir,” he said in as light a voice as he thought fitting. “Did you sleep well?” Small talk, Thornden realized with an inward grimace. Well, maybe it would get them somewhere. Eodwine answered in the positive and Thornden nodded. “When do you suppose we’ll begin seeing people?”

[littlemanpoet]

"When my retainers have all gathered. I await them. You are of course the first one, and I welcome your presence."

Eodwine smiled by way of reassurance. He saw that Thornden was nervous and could not quite hide it. He gestured for Thornden to sit in the seat just to his right, just off the small dais he had Garstan mock up for him for this day. He was glad that with all the time consumed by freeing Linduial, Garstan had had the time, despite his injury, to throw it together, even if it wasn't made of stone. Garstan, it turned out, was handy enough with mallet, rod, and spikes, to do the job.

Eodwine wondered what Saeryn was doing, and how long she would be, or Léof, Aðelhild, Garwine, and the others.

Manawyth was another story altogether, and one Eodwine did not relish. There would have to be questions asked, since he had not had a chance earlier. To speak for Manawyth required knowing some things, and he strongly hoped the answers Manawyth - if he chose to give them! - would strengthen his resolve to protect his new Dunlending bard. He hoped he was innocent.

As time went by, his various retainers came into the Hall. He greeted each one with a smile, and they took up the poisitions he indicated for them. As soon as they were all present, he would begin holding court.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn guided Farahil silently, motioning direction with a slight cock of her head. Linduial's room was at the far end of the hall. She knocked quietly, announcing herself, waiting to hear Lin's voice before opening the door.

"Good morning, love. How did you sleep?"

Linduial looked at Saeryn sleepily, shrugging her response with a tired smile. Better than had been expected, then. Saeryn eyed her with the concern of an older sister, spotting each visible bruise and knowing well that more lay beneath her soft covers and bedclothes.

"I've brought you a visitor. No, love, not Lèoðern." Saeryn winked. As soon as the little girl had been allowed, she'd hustled in a short-legged run and skip to see her friend. She'd fallen asleep next to Lin last night and Saeryn had gathered her to herself for a moment, smoothing her soft curls away from her face before bringing her to her father and returning to her friend's side. Saeryn and Lèoðern had grown close over the time spent awaiting the return of their men folk.

A few short words later, Saeryn deposited Lord Farahil with his sister, excusing herself politely.

"My lord holds court this day. Please do join us if you feel so inclined." She pulled the door shut behind her, marvelling as always how lightly the heavy wood turned on its hinges.

Pausing at Degas's room, she knocked. No response. Already downstairs, she thought. She would beg stories of him later...

She descended the stairs with the lightness of a dancer. Today would be a day to remember. With Lin returned safely and Degas back as well, and with the Lord Farahil's unexpected appearance, the day would be a fine one even without the added interest of court. Saeryn had been excused from such things as a child and had loathed them when her brother required her attendance. Yet now... the events of Eodwine's household and lands seemed far more important and interesting to her than those of her own ever had.

She met Degas coming from the kitchen as she stepped into the Hall. Together, they found their places. Saeryn smiled to Eodwine and wondered at the smile with which he favored her. It seemed troubled, though she stood with Degas... Saeryn had never been certain of her friend and protector's feelings toward her twin. She brushed the thought from her mind. A day to remember, she reminded herself, and she watched the Hall fill.

[Kath]

Pleased to have received a positive response to her idea from Eodwine, Kara headed back to the kitchen. People were already popping in and out. The day was shaping up to be a busy one and everybody had their own things to do before Court began, including Kara. She had almost forgotten that she was here only on a trial basis what with everything that had happened since she arrived, and she sincerely hoped Eodwine would keep her on.

But enough of that for now, she told herself, shaking her head to clear it. Whether she was cook or not after this session of Court she still had lunch to prepare. No point in letting people starve now. Realising she was beginning to think like Frodides spoke she smiled, and then remembered that her mentor was to decide her fate today as well. Before her accident Frodides had intended to leave once Kara had proven herself a worthy cook. In the past couple of weeks though, the woman had been speaking of what she would do once she was up and about again properly, and it had all centred around the Hall. Kara hoped this meant she had changed her mind about leaving, but dared not ask for fear it might sway Frodides to stay when she didn't truly wish to.

Having finished getting lunch ready so that it simply needed to be taken out to the tables Kara changed her apron for a clean one and turned to Frodides, who hopped off her stool, able to walk with nothing to aid her now, though she still retained a slight limp.

"Come on then girl, we're to find out how we'll be living our lives after today, and we can't know until we get there."

They reached the Hall a few minutes later and took their places, Frodides muttering quietly that they had set off too early as not everyone was here yet. Kara didn't share her sentiments. She'd never really been involved in anything like this before, and was keen to observe as much of it as she could.

[Nogrod]

They had come to Edoras because of the horse fair. There was always work for carpenters in fairs like this. Stigend had soon been enlisted to the workforce and had been building different stages, fencings, pens and the like for three long and laborous days with all the other hired hands. His wife Modtryth had made it to the workforce too – despite her outlook - preparing the canopies and serving as a general maid preparing food, taking care of the children and so on. Their 8-year old boy Cnebba had had the time of his life with so many other children around, running amok as their hired-hand parents had too much work to do to watch after them.

So Stigend was a carpenter, son of a carpenter. That’s the way it goes. Though he had rebelled against his family and the afore-laid career already in youth, enlisting to the local Men-of-Arms at the age of 16. But he never got used to the discipline of an armed militia or the hierarchical system involved. So he had returned and taken willfully to adopting his father’s trade. His second and the more serious rebel against his family concerned his marriage with Modtryth. “There will be no Dunleding blood in our family! Not a half-Dunleding, not fourth, not eighth, not any! You just realize that! And behave like a decent Rohanian! There are fine ladies to marry out there, and you come up with this Dunleding-monster!”, his father had bellowed to him, as he had told about his intentions to engage with Modtryth, a half-Dunleding.

They had tried to live in peace in their community as an odd pair for several years, raising their firstborn and getting some income from temporary carpentery and maiding. But it had been hard, sometimes unbearable because of the insults and the general scorn, not to mention the actual offences. When Modtryth’s mother accidentally died, they lost their last actual tie to the village they lived in and decided to hit the road. After that they had wandered around the countryside, taking a temporary post here and there. That kind of life had now lasted almost four years to date.

After the horse fair was over, and the workers were pulling down the constructions of the fair, Stigend was approached by one of the fair’s organizers, a man called Rumstan. His friend, a somewhat renowned Sir Byrthold needed a few handy carpenters to build an extention to his house as his stature was climbing up. Stigend was happy to have been picked from the lot, but also weary of having to serve yet another Lord or Sir or something. There was use for the money, but these “better people” just gave him the shivers. They were the ones who didn’t accept other kind of people and who despised ones like his son and wife. To his eyes, they seemed all to think that only strawhaired and blue-eyed people were humans to begin with. And only his sons piercing dark-brown eyes had led to contempt so many times already on different places they had lived in. Anyway, he accepted the offer because of the money involved – these “Sirs” could afford a nice pay if the work was well done.

By the time Stigend was working at Byrthold’s house, both he and Modtryth heard about the local Mead Hall being under renovation. “Think about it. That, if something, would be our chance to get a place - a good place actually - to stay and work in.”, Modtryth had remarked to him the day she had heard of the renovation. She had given him a sharp look and added: "For a bit longer while this time, maybe. You should really try to apply there."

“Those are those fancy folks living in a Mead Hall. You know them! I don’t think they will look at us too kindly there either. Remeber that Dunleding incident at the fair? What would they think of you, or Cnebba? You know the ways of these better people...”. Stigend hadn’t exactly tried to hide the poignancy of his words.

His wife had looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Nevertheless you should try to apply. You know I've managed with those lordly swines all my life. Funny, one could imagine you were the one with a Dunlending background" she had commented. As Stigend had opened his mouth to say something, she had continued: "As to Cnebba... You can't protect him from despise all his life. He has to learn to deal with it, as I have learned. And besides, not all rohirrim are like that. I believe they will treat our little darling well. If they don't, well, we'll deal with it... This is our chance. It is unlikely that we get another as good an opportunity very soon"

“But why not to try somewhere out of the sight of these pompous lords? Edoras is swarming with them! We should try and find a community to live in – not once again hiring ourselves to some lord who doesn’t care about us as humans but only as work provided!”, he tried to argue his wife for his case not to apply to the Mead Hall.

And this way they had gone to and fro with the discussion or argument, it depends on how you look at it. In the end Modtryth had gotten her will. She had managed also to force Stigend asking lord Byrthold for a letter of recommendation for him.

Sir Byrthold was a busy man and seemed somewhat annoyed by Stigend’s request for an audience. But then again, he had been happy with the effectiveness of these three carpenters his friend Rumstan had hired him, and the quality of the work had delighted him. So he allowed Stigend in. “A recommendation? What for, may I ask?” he had asked wryly from a bit trembling Stigend as he had come forwards with his cause. “For the Mead Hall you say... So you would like to work there?” Surely lord Eodwine had grown in stature, and it could be counted on Byrthold’s credit if he would in this way help Eodwine to get good workers enlisted. But Byrthold had also heard rumours about this man’s wife and child. Well, Eodwine is one of those stranger-lovers, he might even appreciate this. And if some of my friends come asking about my recommendation, I could always say, that I gave it to this decent Rohanian chap only – maybe I didn’t even know about his wife and the child..., Byrthold thought to himself and happily made his signature to a paper that was then to be filled by his clerk.

That evening Stigend and Modtryth embraced each other warmly the first time for a long time. Not that they were not getting along together, but there just hadn’t been that spark about them for a long time. Now everything looked somewhat promising. Although all was still open and Stigend had his doubts – as always. The next day could decide very much of their future.

But there is that court tomorrow... Will that high lord have time for our kind of people at all? I hope Modtryth is right in her hunch that this lord Eodwine is better than most of these lords and sirs. With these thoughts Stigend closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep.

[Thinlómien]

”Come on, Cnebba! We don’t have the whole day to waste! Your dad’s going to apply for a job to day and we’d better be there before noon. Hurry up now!” Modtryth shouted to her son who was examining a bug he had found from the roadside. Cnebba pulled a face at his mother and hastened to his parents’ side. Modtryth had lifted him to the wagon and took the reins of the horse. Her husband Stigend, who usually led the horse looked a bit surprised, but said nothing and began to walk beside the wagon. The boy immediately started questioning his father about bugs’ life. “What do they eat? Where do they sleep? What do they dream of? Why do they have shells?”

Modtryth was amused to watch the two strawheads very like in appearance, her husband and her son, side by side, the smaller one babbling all the time and the bigger one trying to answer the flood of questions a bit absent-mindedly. Stigend seemed a bit worried as he walked beside the wagon. Modtryth didn’t know if he was still agonising over how his family would be treated or whether he had moved on to agonising would he get the job or not. Modtryth, on the contrary, was confident. She knew her husband would get the place, especially since he had the recommendations from Lord Byrthold. Furthermore she knew that however arrogantly they would be treated, they could deal with it.

Prejudices. Modtryth herself had dealt with them all her life. Her dark brown hair, brown eyes and complexion that was darker than most of the Rohirrim’s had gathered ignorant, unfriendly, despising and even hostile glances wherever she had went in Rohan, her homeland. And all that only because she had happened to have a Dunlending mother.

As they passed by a crossing, Modtryth noticed a couple she had worked with in the Horse Fair. They were talking with a merchant, apparently negotiating about the price of a kettle they were about to buy. The woman noticed Modtryth and waved to her, smiling. Modtryth waved back and continued her way to the Mead Hall.

That couple, like so many other people before them, had first despised Modtryth and tried to avoid her, but in the end their prejudices had been won by Modtryth’s fluent rohirric – her mother tongue, her apparent friendly and humble bahaviour and her diligence. She was sure that if the people in Lord Eodwine’s Mead Hall would give her a chance, she would prove their possible prejudices wrong. It was not herself she was worried about.

It was little Cnebba, with his huge brown eyes and the ability to get involved in everything he should not that worried Modtryth. The boy had showed his tendency to get into trouble during the years. Furthermore, his curiosity and his endless hunger for knowledge could be able to make the things even worse.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Cnebba’s question. “Is it that big building over there?”
“Yes”, Stigend replied and thereby volunteered to be the target of the question flood.
“Why does it look broken?”
“It’s under renovation. That’s why we’re going there. We’re going to help to fix it.

As they reached the Mead Hall, they saw lots of people outside the building. “Why are they all here?” Cnebba asked. Modtryth and Stigend glanced at each other.
“Because Lord Eodwine is holding a court today, dear”, Modtryth said, taking the turn to answer.
“Why is he holding a court?”
Modtryth sighed. “That’s what lords do”, she said simply.
“The people need justice”, Stigend added. Modtryth catched a trace of sarcasm in his voice. Maybe he was referring to the Dunlending incident in the Fair.
“Why do they need justice?” Cnebba asked.
“So that criminals would be punished” Modtryth answered, at length. She felt a bit uncomfortable with the discussion so she decided to change the topic and turned to her husband: “Now we just need to find a place for our horse and our wagons.”
“Easier said than done”, said Stigend.

[Firefoot]

As Léof made his way to the hall, he realized something that made all thoughts of Æðel and his horse fly out of his mind: he should have told Eodwine something about his situation, or at least something about his sister. He intended to bring her here eventually, after all, and Léof began to feel that he had never been completely honest with Eodwine. Eodwine had never asked, and so Léof had never lied, but it still didn’t feel quite right. The story would have to come out eventually; why had he never thought to explain?

The answer came to him immediately: the opportunity had never really come. That first week he had been so concerned with adjusting himself and proving himself that the thought of actually talking to Eodwine had never really crossed his mind, and after that, half the hall had been gone in the search for Linduial. And now there was no time. Léof quailed at the thought of everyone hearing his tale; he wanted this to be between himself and those few he chose to tell or who ought to know. And Gárwine – how would it be for him to hear it like that that Léof had not only not told him the truth, but lied to him – or at least led him to believe something other than the truth?

You messed it up pretty well this time, he told himself as he took his place. And now he had no idea what he ought to do, or what he would do.

[Alcarillo]

The past three weeks, Gárwine had remained at the mead hall while the others had left to rescue Linduial. He was disappointed not to join them on their adventure, but Lord Eodwine's decision was sound: the mead hall needed a good guard to stand at watch while the lord was away. But still, Garwine couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and jealousy when Linduial's rescuers had triumphantly returned to the mead hall. But staying at the mead hall did let Gárwine watch Náin begin his work on Falco's statue. And Lys was recovering from his injuries. Manawyth had gotten himself into some sort of trouble with the law, as Gárwine had expected would eventually happen.

Gárwine woke up that morning with Eodwine's court on his mind. Today was the first day Lord Eodwine would hold his court, and people from all across the Middle Emnet would soon be arriving with their complaints and requests. Gárwine was most eager to see Manawyth's trial. The Dunlending had stolen a horse during the fair and had been caught by a Rider of the Mark. It's about time he was caught for something, Gárwine thought as he climbed out of bed, I knew Lord Eodwine had made a mistake letting him dwell here ever since I first laid eyes on the waelsman. Gárwine now started dressing in his finest clothes. The Dunlending will finally get what he's been asking for today.

Gárwine reached under his bed to retrieve his chain-mail and helm. It was of poor quality, but Gárwine threw a green cloak around his shoulders to hide his armor's imperfections. He buckled his sword belt and reached for his shield leaning against the wall. Gárwine examined it in his hands and frowned. The green paint on his shield was chipped and flaking. He would just have to deal with it. There was no time for him to go find green paint, wherever it might've been hidden in the mead hall.

He sighed and left his room, pulling his cloak around his arm to hide a particularly bare patch on the shield. It was no use, so he just let the cloak drop. What am I, one of the Queen's Men?

He entered the Great Hall and took his place. He stood where he wouldn't gain too many looks, but just enough to remind people that this Eorl had manpower should anything get out of hand. Gárwine could see through the open doors that people already had gathered in the courtyard, eager to get to the Eorl first. He craned his neck to see if Manawyth was in the crowd. What a sight it would be to see Manawyth bound and begging for mercy before Lord Eodwine's throne!

[Formendacil]

Náin had taken his breakfast in the partially finished new kitchen, as had quite a few members of the Mead Hall's household, for the Great Hall was abustle even at that early hour with preparations for the Court.

The Dwarven sculptor was still rather uncomfortable talking one on one with most human women, especially those he didn't know, but three weeks of living in Edoras had made being around humans, of both genders, fairly normal seeming. He rather missed Erebor, where he had been accounted one of the taller ones of his people, but even among the tall Rohirrim he wasn't a Dwarf easily pushed around.

So he ate his impressively large (though not QUITE so large as the Hobbit, Falco's) breakfast in silence, sitting in a corner of the kitchen and Kara and Frodides saw to the feeding of the household, and people came and went fetching and eating food. Following a leisurely after-breakfast drink, Náin departed for the Great Hall with just enough time to beat the start of the proceedings.

He quickly found himself a good spot to watch with several of the Hall's retainers- people he knew, at least somewhat. Náin was not the sort to go stand with strangers when friends were about.

"Excuse me," he pushed his way to the front, "too short to see over your overgrown heads." A smile or two from the Men, and he was there.

Lighting his pipe, Náin made himself comfortable. He was here for the spectacle, there was no doubt about that. Present as a matter of courtesy between the Kings of Rohan and Erebor, he had no position to maintain or acquire.

Falco's statue, he thought to himself, was definitely not going to be finished today.

[littlemanpoet]

All of Eodwine's household had gathered and found their places. He looked from one to the other, greeting each with a kind look, but a searching one as well. What were they thinking?

Garstan and his children smiled back openly. Garstan was now a friend as well as retainer, after the affair with Linduial. Eodwine had sworn to protect Garstan with his life, but it had been Garstan who had thrown himself in the way of an errant, or perhaps not so errant, dagger, and had taken the wound meant for Eodwine's heart, in his own arm. A good man, Garstan.

There was Léof. Eodwine smiled and greeted him silently. The boy gave him back a fitful smile that fled as quickly as it had come, as if he was fearful. Eodwine hoped that he did not fear for his role as ostler.

Saeryn smiled at him when their eyes met. He smiled quickly back. She was lovely as ever, calm and cool now, seeming happy with the return of her brother. He wondered how she would react to the words he planned for her this day.

Garwine looked stolid as ever, and greeted Eodwine with a respectful nod of his head. Garwine's eyes kept slipping outside to the courtyard. Eodwine followed his glance, and saw the two Meduseld guards between whom was held Manawyth, who had been recaptured after his foolish attempt to escape prison. He had been alone in a dungeon deep beneath Meduseld for two weeks now. Eodwine didn't want dungeons beneath his mead hall. But that was beside the point. He had never had a chance to properly question Manawyth, and wished that he had. He hoped things would not go ill.

Thornden, by his side, seemed a little nervous. Linduial, Farahil, and Marenil had come as well, to see no doubt how such things were done in Rohan. There was Æðelhild, hard to read these days. Eodwine missed that horse dealer and his son and nephew, and wondered what had become of them. Falco Boffin and Naín had managed to sit next to each other, and had seemed to fall into a rather buoyant friendship while Eodwine had been away. Just as well, and no doubt it had just as much to do with the ale cup and pipe as with that statue.

Eodwine nodded to Thornden, who nodded in turn to Garwine, who opened the doors. The crowd that had been waiting in the courtyard, came into the mead hall, filling the place quickly; Eodwine feared that maybe he had designed it big enough after all! The crowd was not silent. Folk talked with each other, gawking at the mead hall's interior, pointing and commenting about this and that. One thing that seemed to draw much attention was the old sign of the White Horse Inn that he had had mounted just below the rafters of the mead hall, off toward the eastern wall. He had wanted that kept, in order for one to honor Bethberry, for another because it was after all a white horse, and the symbol of Rohan was no bad thing. I really must give thought to an insignia for myself, Eodwine thought. He rose. The crowd quieted.

"Good morning to you all! Welcome to the Eorling Mead Hall. I am Eorl Eodwine of the Middle Emnet, and you have come to my first court-holding. I thank you for coming. What first just be done is that those who have sought places in my household will be told their fate after a month's trial.

"The first such one is Garwine."

Eodwine sat down.

"Garwine, come forward," said Thornden.

Garwine walked into the clearing before Eodwine's raised seat and nodded to his lord.

"Garwine, what think you of service to me? How have you fared?"

[Nogrod]

The crowds were milling about the Mead Hall. The proceedings had clearly started already as the main entrance was packed with people, all trying to get their peak inside. Stigend was wondering whether even Meduseld could have housed such a host of friends, relatives and wellwishers to anyone addressing their case in front of the Eorl – not to talk of all the traders and dealers who always appeared when a large enough gathering took place somewhere.

“Hey, you there! Move along, move along! We don’t have the whole day!”. A man called them from behind. Stigend turned to meet the caller. There was a a big wagon, pulled by two horses behind them, trying to make way towards the Mead Hall. Stigend greeted the driver by waving his hand and turned back to Modtryth.

“Ok, we are blocking the road and need to move. We’ll turn ourselves over there.”, Stigend said to her, pointing to their left. There were some small shrubberies on a grassy area that was not so crowded as the immediate surroundings of the main entrance.

“And you lad, you’ll stay right there where you are!”, he turned to Cnebba, pushing him gently but firmly back to the cart from where he was already on his way out of. “No tricks this time”, he added, smiling lightly to the boy. “But why can’t I go and play with the others?”, Cnebba protested. In return Stigend only patted his head, “You just wait...”, he said and took the reins. The man behind them with the wagon looked impatient enough and Stigend wanted no trouble now with anyone.

“Mummy, you let me go? Pleea-se, Mummy? I won’t go far.” Cnebba pleaded her mother in turn as his father seemed busy steering the horse amidst groups of people who had settled on the lawn, waiting for their familymembers or friends cases to be brought up in the court. “You heard your father dear”, Modryth answered him patiently. “And if your father gets work from here, you may play here everyday! Just wait now”, she said to her son, smiling openly and quickly glancing at her husband. Stigend had heard what she had said, but didn’t show any reaction to it.

“But that’s different, Mummy! It’s those other days then, they are not today!”, Cnebba tried to argue, but to no avail. “This is unfair”, he muttered.

Stigend reached a spot he thought good enough for waiting the whole long day for the proceedings to be over and halted the horse. Then he turned towards the sulking boy and raised him from the cart. Holding Cnebba high in the air he told him: “That the rich man has everything and the poor has nothing. That’s unfair. That a good man may die young and a bad man may live a long life. That’s unfair. There is nothing unfair in you not being allowed to get in trouble here with all these people.” With that he released his grip on Cnebba and let him fall, catching him just before his feet touched the ground. Even though Cnebba was already eight, this was still one of his favourites. “One more Daddy!”, Cnebba begged still laughing. And the laughter went up as he was hurled into the air again.

After two more throws and more laughter Stigend let Cnebba down and crouched to meet his eyes. “Do you see that big elm there?”, he said, pointing to a large elm some thirty yards away from them. “If you promise, you won’t go anywhere else, you may go and play in it”. Cnebba’s eyes shined from eagerness and Stigend really had to hold him firmly from the shoulders to make him listen the last thing he wanted to say: “And remember, if there is someone who teases you, you just come back. No scuffles, remember!”. As he loosend his hold Cnebba was already running towards the elm. “You promise!”, Stigend shouted after him. “Ye-ye!”, he answered, not even turning his head back as he ran.

“Now, whose the one again spoiling our son?”, Modryth asked prankingly. Stigend rolled his head and smiled back: “Well, less questions for a while. And this will be a long day anyhow.”

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine felt drops of sweat burst upon the back of his neck when he heard Eodwine call his name. He walked into the clearing in front of the Eorl's throne. Despite the heat inside, he unconsciously pulled his green cloak more snugly around him. He glanced at all the people surrounding him once, and then bowed his head to Lord Eodwine.

"Garwine, what think you of service to me?" said Eodwine from his kingly chair, "How have you fared?"

"I have fared well, my lord," Gárwine began, choosing his words carefully. He was off to a safe start. "I have a new home here at your mead hall. I thank you for the hospitality you have shown me and the others who have came here." He bowed gingerly.

"As to being a man-at-arms, I feel that I have fulfilled the post suffieciently. I have carefully watched the comings and goings of travelers, and made sure that no harm comes to this hall. And while you were absent from the hall, searching for the kidnapped Lady Linduial, I kept an especially watchful eye over this hall's visitors. There is nothing more important to me, my lord, than the safety of your hall during your absences."

He glanced up at Lord Eodwine for a moment, but couldn't make out what expression he wore in that brief instant. Gárwine turned his eyes back towards the floor.

"Every day during those three weeks I walked the hallways with my sword and spear," he continued. "Though there were few threats, I still guarded the hall diligently." Gárwine glanced again at Lord Eodwine. "Pray judge me fairly, lord," he muttered, awaiting what he would have to say.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine remembered when he had been in such a position as Gárwine was in, before him, now. He sympathized.

"Pray judge me fairly, lord."

Eodwine did not leave the poor fellow in suspense longer than a moment.

"Gárwine, you have been a good man at arms for my mead hall. I have no complaints. Far from it! You have served me well and diligently. So Marenil has told me. He is most grateful for your aid while I was away. If you will stay with me, I will call you my man for a year and a day, as custom dictates. As that custom further dictates, after that year and a day have come and gone, you and I will sit together and decide once and for all if you will be my man for life. Until then, you shall be my man at arms, and shall rank just below Thornden as more men at arms come to the Eorling Mead Hall. Will you be my man for a year and a day?"

Gárwine's eyes shone with his pleasure at the good review. "I will, lord! I am honored!"

Eodwine smiled. "The day I have devised an ensign for my standing as Eorl, you shall wear it. Stand down of your good will, Gárwine, and be pleased to return to your post."

"With pleasure, lord!" Gárwine bowed and sauntered spiritedly to his position at the Eorling Mead Hall door.

"Next," said Eodwine, I call Kara!"

[Kath]

Kara stepped forward, nervous but hopeful. Gárwine had received kind and encouraging words, she only hoped she had done well enough to be deserving of the same.

Eodwine repeated his question, asking her how she thought she had fared. Taking a moment to collect herself, Kara answered truthfully.

"At first my Lord I did not fare so well. The accident that caused Frodides' injury meant that I had no kitchen and no teacher. However, the kindness that was shown by you Lord in allowing Frodides to stay here even though she could not work, and by others in not minding when food was late or not as good as they are used to made me feel welcome, and I knew I was in a good place."

Kara paused to smile up at Eodwine, wanting him to know that she believed what she was saying.

"My cooking is much improved now, even Frodides said no one would know the difference if she were to leave tomorrow, and that is great praise! With a kitchen to work in again I can only hope it will improve further."

She stopped, unsure if she should say anything more. Over the last month she had noted that Eodwine was a man who preferred plain speech that came to the point when it was about something important, and Kara at least felt that this was important. Deciding against it she turned her eyes downward, awaiting his answer.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine listened to Kara, trying very hard not to betray how much he wanted her to feel welcome and confident. If one is to play the part of an eorl, one must withhold judgement, at least in seeming. So he said to himself, but he wasn't sure if it rang true, nor if he could achieve such a goal. When Kara had finished speaking, he was greatly pleased with her words, for she had spoken in a way that he tried to speak to others. She was looking down, waiting for his words.

"Frodides has told me the same of you, Kara, that your skills of the board have vastly improved since you first came to us, and you were no mean cook then. There is a problem, however."

Kara looked up then, worriting in her eyes and a sudden down turn on her lips.

"Frodides wishes to stay on, you see."

Kara swallowed. Her fear was obvious, that the Mead Hall needed but one cook.

"Nevertheless, Frodides has told me that though she wishes to stay on for now, she says that she wishes to only if she can have you as apprentice. For though she knows that you have learned much, there is much more she wishes to teach you. And I would have your learn these things."

By now Kara's frown had disappeared and her eyes had lit up, and she seemed eager.

"I ask you, Kara, will you agree to an apprenticeship of a year and a day under the tutelage of Frodides?"

Kara looked to Frodides, who was smiling and nodding, seemingly quite happy with herself and the prospect of having Kara as her student.

Kara smiled. "I have told you already, lord, that this is a good place. I do not wish to leave."

Eodwine smiled warmly, for he liked Kara well. There were things about her that reminded him of the daughter he had lost, or of how he imagined she might have turned out had she lived.

"Then you shall stay."

"Thank you, lord!" Kara smiled.

"I called you so early that you and Frodides could be excused to your work in the kitchens. Off with you! We shall be wanting good food after this hungry work." Eodwine grinned and winked.

Kara grinned as she scurried off to the kitchen, Frodides limping after.

"Next, I call Léof!" Eodwine said. The lad came forward, barely limping at all anymore on his hoof-stomped right foot, and stood before Eodwine.

"You know my questions, Léof, but I will repeat them. What think you of service to me? How have you fared?"

[Firefoot]

Léof stepped forward nervously, but not because he feared Eodwine would send him away. He knew what he was going to do.

“You know my questions, Léof, but I will repeat them. What think you of service to me? How have you fared?”

“I have fared well, my lord, working here. I did not know what to expect when I came to Edoras; for a while it seemed I would not find work at all, but you gave me a chance, and I have done my best to prove the chance was not ill-given.” That was right; Eodwine had given him a chance, and it had been without inquiries to his circumstances. Why should that matter any more now, after Léof had proven himself? “I have worked hard and done my best to fulfill my duties. I would be honored to continue serving as your ostler.” And that was all. Let Eodwine judge him for what he had done, and not what his father had done to him. The question of his sister coming was a separate issue; he would bring it up with Eodwine when the time came. Besides, he owed it to Gárwine for him not to find out in so blunt a way that Léof had practically lied to him before they even really knew each other. Léof did not care to lose what seemed to be his only good friend in this place (with Æðel and him not talking) in such a way. Having so justified his decision, Léof was able to meet Eodwine’s gaze openly and without fear.

[littlemanpoet]

Now this was interesting. Eodwine was sure that he had seen Léof looking very nervous when he had first come into the Hall. Now the lad had spoken plainly and clearly, and with a good bit of confidence. Eodwine was actually impressed. He watched Léof measuringly for another moment or two, and did not see so much as an ill at ease shifting of foot to foot; the lad looked at him, eye to eye, simply awaiting the Eorl's response. Eodwine allowed a slow smile.

"Léof, you have done well as ostler. I have just one complaint."

The crowd murmured at that, for so far Eodwine had said no ill thing to the others. He waited for the murmurs to die down, every eye turned to him, waiting for the possibly fatal words.

"It is the matter of your foot. Not that you had an injury, for that could happen to any good ostler with a terrified horse or two to mind. No, it was your refusal to have it cared for. I do not know what passed through your mind to be so mulish about it, but as you know, I overruled you and forced your foot to be looked at, minded, and we hope, healed.

"So I ask you, not only if you will submit to my orders and rulings as they are given, but will you also submit to the rulings of those in whom I place my authority? What is your answer?"

[Firefoot]

Of course that would come up. His confidence wavered visibly as a multitude of thoughts passed through his mind in the space of a few seconds. Certainly this was a reasonable request, and Léof could not say it was surprising, either, although the thought had never occurred to him. But his pride – in the house of his father, rebellion had come as second nature to him; he was used to looking out for himself, although of course Eodwine had no knowledge of this, close-mouthed as he had been. Eodwine’s word, he had accepted as the rule when he had come here asking for work; but to place himself in submission to still more people…

You are foolish, considering your mule-headed pride at a time like this. Would you have Eodwine send you away because of your pride? Surely you would be able to walk away with your head held high, you and your foolish pride!

But still… having to listen, if they thought they knew what was best for him - Thornden, Garwine, Æðel... Léof wondered if Eodwine knew just how much he asked of him.

He raised his gaze from the ground to meet Eodwine’s once more. He hesitated, then nodded slowly and spoke clearly. “It is no easy thing for me to say, but, yes, I will.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine did not know fully why, but he felt pity rise up within him. He would never tell this to Léof, who desired no man's pity, but Eodwine perceived an unnamed need in the lad. He knew that he had asked an open ended question, and that by answering it in its fullness, Léof was saying much. Now that he had so spoken, Eodwine spoke carefully in return.

"Léofric, you shall remain my ostler. Only one man's authority stands at all times between mine and you, that of my steward. All others will have no call to give you command unless I say so. Thus it shall be for a year and a day, if you choose to remain as you have been this past month. Would you?"

Léof's face had cleared as he listened to Eodwine's words. Though he could read no minds, Eodwine could tell well enough that the lad was glad to be under only one other in Eodwine's Hall.

"I accept your terms, Eorl," Léof responded.

"It is well, Léofric. You may stand down.

"Next, I call Saeryn of the Folde!"

Saeryn looked suddenly at Eodwine in confusion, for they both knew that she was a guest in his Hall and no laborer except by choice. She slowly rose in her confusion.

Eodwine stood and stepped down from the dais. He faced her as she stepped out of the gathered crowd and approached him. By instinct, she took a place opposite and facing him so that his dais and chair could be seen between them by Gárwine who stood by the door.

Eodwine smiled, knowing his purpose, and allowed his smile to broaden ever so slightly, for he intended to enjoy the speaking of it.

"Lady Saeryn, I stand before you as an equal, for you are wellborn. You are my guest, and up until today have been under no obligation to me except what you have chosen."

He had piqued her curiosity; it was all over his face. He allowed a glance to the one called Farahil, who was watching intently. Degas looked quite curious as well.

"Today is a different day," Eodwine declared. "And so I ask you, Lady Saeryn, if you will consent-" Eodwine paused, allowing a murmur to run like a trickle through the gathered crowd before quieting. "-to be the Lady of this Hall-" The murmurs of the crowd flowed like a stream gathering speed. Saeryn's eyes had widened and her mouth had parted. "-until at least one of us should marry?" Stunned silence. Eodwine could feel the eyes of all upon him. He was enjoying it. He could see in his peripheral vision the confoundment of Degas and the astonishment in Farahil. Was that a little bit of outrage, too? He kept a small smile on his face, watching Saeryn carefully.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn's eyes locked with Eodwine's and the Hall around them disappeared. As she processed his request, she looked at him in wonder, her head slightly tilted, an uncertain half-smile adorning her lips. All eyes were on her as she considered his offer, yet for the first time in a rather long time, she was not uncomfortable with the attention. Though her noble status was not the secret she had once meant it to be, she had not cared to publicize the information. Now, standing in the midst of whispers with Eodwine silently and patiently waiting for a response, Saeryn was too preoccupied to care.

A Lady of the Hall? She had been content with the role of hostess, excited for once to have an opportunity to make a name for herself that was not based upon nobility or appearance, but ability and intellect instead. To be the Lady of the Hall... to be Eodwine's lady, at least in seeming?

Linduial had, upon first arrival, believed Eodwine and Saeryn to be wed. Saeryn had laughed and allowed the thought to relocate itself to memory to be reminisced upon, rather than something to be mulled upon. These days, Saeryn saw Eodwine in a more serious light than she had before Linduial had come, though she had ever been grateful to him. Her first true friend at the Horse, her sworn protector. Her confidante. Saeryn sought ways to pay Eodwine back for his kindnesses, finding solace for the chilling feeling of debts unpayable with long hours of work.

When Eodwine had approached her work ethic with confusion and an air of almost impatience for her reluctance to explain it, Saeryn had been left fully uncertain as to how now she could salve her own guilt-ridden consciousness. Friendship was not a loan, but a gift to be cherished. Oaths were not sworn to indebt those protected. Yet Saeryn felt unworthy and had tried, even as she celebrated Lèof's victory at the Fair, to think of a way to respond to Eodwine's generosity. Such thoughts had not left her even as the rescue of Linduial occurred. She had helped to tend Eodwine's home while he was away with as much care as she could give. She had tended to guests and children and household matters, always with the question of Eodwine's approval in her mind. Would he have done certain things such and such a way? What would he say upon his return? Could she feel, finally, as though she were a needed part of the world she lived in, rather than a silly young woman to be protected, humored, and, at best, talked to at late hours?

Now... now Eodwine had offered her a most wonderful way not only to belong, but to truly help him in a way that, perhaps, no other could.

She smiled now, looking down with a faint blush and curtsying low, glad to have chosen a gown for this day.

"My lord, I am honored accept your gracious offer."

[littlemanpoet]

Saeryn was taking a while to decide. It was only fair that Eodwine should give her the time she needed, seeing as he'd sprung this on her like a jester-in-the-box. It was no jest and she knew it. The crowd was whispering. Eodwine kept his eyes on Saeryn, not changing the hopeful but not too hopeful smile on his face.

She was taking a long time to decide, but her eyes did not leave his. She was thinking it through. Eodwine resisted the urge to shift his wait. Whispers skittered among the crowd like leaves on a swirling wind.

What if she said 'no'? He fought to maintain his hopeful expression. I would be crushed! He was stunned, but forced himself not to show it. Had she come to mean that much to him? How could it be, she less than half his age? 'Robbing the cradle', they would say, or worse. He had a following question in case she refused: Will you consent, then, to remain my guest and hostess, and ward under my sworn protection until fate takes you elsewhere?' He did not want her to leave, nor to feel as if she should.

Her face began to brighten. Eodwine's pulse raced. She began to smile. She opened her mouth and said 'yes', with a curtsy and words becoming of her station. Eodwine could not help the smile that broadened his face, but he kept himself otherwise in strict control; though he wanted to crush her to him. He bowed to her curtsy.

There were two bronze chains around his neck, one thick and one slim. The thick one had five keys on it, the slim had four. He doffed the slim chain and passed it over Saeryn's head, and draped it over her shoulders. She fingered the keys, which fell to her breastbone, and wore a contented smile.

"As Lady of the Eorling Mead Hall, Saeryn," Eodwine announced, "you have the keys to door, larder, safe, and cellar."

Eodwine turned then to Thornden and nodded in a prearranged sign. Thornden nodded back, then moved Eodwine's chair so that it took up the left half of the dais (as the audience viewed it). Thornden placed a second fur-lined chair next to it.

"As Lady of this Hall, Saeryn, you have authority over all matters of hearth and home, and you have my ear for counsel in all matters concerning my court."

"Is this a betrothal then!? (Ouch! don't hit me!)" shouted somebody from the crowd. The voice sounded familiar to Eodwine but he couldn't place it, nor could he see the speaker. He felt his face redden, and Saeryn's cheeks became pink also though she held her peace. No one else spoke, but every eye was on either Eodwine or Saeryn, waiting for his reply.

"If this were a betrothal, I would have said so," Eodwine said with a slight frown. "Call it an apprenticeship, for it fills a need of mine in this Hall, since I have no family - yet."

"Is it courting then!" asked the same speaker, who quickly followed with "stop hitting me, Harreld!" This time Eodwine saw the speaker. He should have known: it was Garreth the Smith. Eodwine allowed a half smile.

"Garreth, you ever were too loose with your tongue."

"And you, lord Eodwine, were ever saying half as much as you meant!"

Laughter. Eodwine joined in, and Saeryn smiled.

"So is this a-courting?" Garreth asked a second time.

Eodwine did not answer right away. He was generally a careful man, though bold when he chose to be. Something in him - maybe the prospect of Saeryn's youth so much a part of his life - broke back to ogre-may-care, and he decided to go with his gut.

"I will not say," Eodwine began slowly, "that it is not." The crowd erupted in a jumble of noiisy speculation. Eodwine looked to Saeryn, whose eyes had gone wide again. He half expected her to rip the chain of keys from her neck and angrily throw them at him. But she simply stared, open mouthed. He waited to see what she would do or say.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas had watched the events unfold before him in bafflement. He watched Saeryn's face, looking for the signs of the refusal that he almost hoped she would make. While he very much wanted his sister happy, and he could not deny that this arrangement was one very good for her, and he much liked Eodwine, he could not help but feel a burning sensation working its way from his stomach to his chest, trying to burst forth from him in a potentially violent way.

Is this a courtship? It had most certainly better not be. Forgetting immediately his guilt-stricken desire to avoid the presence of Eodwine, Degas worked his way to the front of the crowd, taking note of Linduial and Farahil, spotting the look of fascination upon Farahil's dark face and the look of excitement on Linduial's light one.

Saeryn deserved to be happy. She deserved a place befitting her station and her reputation must be preserved. Certainly this... this apprenticeship as Eodwine called it... would be an appropriate response to all concerns.

However a courtship... Saeryn was young, only just beginning to explore the world and all of its facets. A bird, only just discovering that her gilded cage had been left unlocked and she was free to fly through open skies. Degas thought of his sister's personality more and decided that she was more of a cat than a bird, but could not think of a better analogy. He left the thought behind and continued to fume as he stepped forward. Eodwine had lived long in the world already, had experienced far more than Saeryn. He was old enough to be their father! Saeryn deserved to be happy, but she deserved, in Degas's opinion, to be happy several years from now with a younger man.

He cast another glance toward Farahil before stepping clear of the crowd.

"Surely, Garreth," he spoke quietly, almost coldly, looking at Saeryn before locking eyes with Eodwine, standing to his full height - equal to Eodwine's, "this is no courtship. For if it were, I am sure an honorable man such as the lord of this Hall would have asked leave of the lady's brother."

[Formendacil]

Náin had a good vantage point, he thought, of the proceedings. He was near the front, where he shorter stature would allow him to see, nestled amongst a group of the Hall's retainers with whom he was somewhat familiar. He was thus able to hear clearly Degas' words

"Surely, Garreth, this is no courtship. For if it were, I am sure an honorable man such as the lord of this Hall would have asked leave of the lady's brother."

There was a provocative declaration if Náin had ever heard one. The noise in the hall rose immediately.

"And why is that?" Náin asked Garstan, who was one of those standing near. He did not bother to lower his voice. If anything, he raised it so that it might be heard among the crowd- and more than a few heads turned his way.

"It is the proper way," said Garstan, more quietly. "When wishing to court a lady, one ought to request the permission of her father."

"Degas is not Saeryn's father," pointed out Náin. "And is not Saeryn old enough to choose these things for herself? Among us Dwarves, we let our womenfolk decide- not their fathers, who are our brothers and comrades in arms."

"We are not among Dwarves," said Degas, loudly. "And as Garstan said, such is not the way among the Eorlingas. I am sure that Eodwine would do the honourable thing in this, as in every matter."

"So is your father, and Saeryn's, dead then?" asked Náin loudly, though someone behind him was trying to whisper that he should hush. "Or have you no other, elder brothers."

[littlemanpoet]

"I require order in my court," Eodwine declared through the growing roil of voices; he had not taken his eyes from Degas'. The young man did have a point, and almost - almost - Eodwine regretted his words, and thanked whatever beings watched over such things that for all the vim he had felt, he had chosen his words carefully. The Hall had quieted.

"I have said that the arrangement I have made with the Lady Saeryn before you all is an apprenticeship of a sort. This is so, regardless of what some may choose to think. I was asked if I am courting the Lady Saeryn. I answered that I will not say that I am not. Nor," Eodwine continued in a stronger voice, "will I say that I am; I leave the question open because, as Degas of the Folde said, it is not a matter solely of my choosing. If acourting comes of this, I would have his blessing, as well as any others of his family. And most certainly I will pursue no such endeavor unless the Lady Saeryn herself permits it, and that only after other critical matters have been dealt with, of which I will not speak now, for they are not for all ears.

"Degas, I ask you to heed my words and hold any further words for a later time when you and I can talk at length. What say you?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas reflected over Eodwine's request before answering.

He had travelled far upon Eodwine's orders to inform the lady Linduial's family that she was missing. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as old Bilbo and Mithrandir had once said, or so the legends went. Flying from those who blamed him for her disappearance to those who would learn, from him, that it was his fault their youngest and beloved was kidnapped.

While Degas knew it was only fair for him to bear his own ill news, his thoughts and judgement were both clouded. Had Eodwine's decision been clouded with a desire to leave Saeryn unattended? Could a man with romantic interest treat a woman under his protection with an impartial eye? Degas pushed the thoughts from his mind to deal with the situation at hand. Surely Eodwine was far too honorable... and he had ridden to rescue Linduial... he had not even been at the Hall. Yet what had transpired between the pair while Degas's mind was caught up in his own romantic difficulties?

He looked to Linduial for a moment and glanced back to Eodwine when Farahil's eyes met his.

"I say that you speak wisely, Lord Eodwine. Not all matters of a Lord and Lady are meant to be judged within their court. My thoughts will remain my own for the remainder of these proceedings excepting the birth of a situation in which their publication becomes required. We shall have further words, I am sure, when the walls have fewer ears."

[littlemanpoet]

Fewer ears indeed! thought Eodwine. He smiled. "Very well, Degas. You show great wisdom and restraint. Let us continue with matters of court!" Eodwine turned to Saeryn. "Lady?" He had not yet heard nor seen a reaction from Saeryn as to courting, and wondered what was in her thought. He extended his right hand to her, watching her face for any indication. She seemed to be schooling herself. She allowed a slight smile to come to her lips, and placed her left hand in his right. He escorted her the few steps to the dais, releasing her hand when they had climbed the single step of the dais, and stood before the furlined seats. He turned to face the crowd, and she followed his example. He sat down, and so did she, exhibiting a quietness and demureness that he had not yet seen, but which pleased him, for it spoke well of her upbringing and her potential as Lady of the Hall.

But now to the business at hand, he thought.

He called for Æðelhild, who came forward showing some agitation. He asked her the same question that he had put to most of those of his Hall. She answered that she felt she had much to learn before she could feel at ease as healer of the Eorling Mead Hall, and asked to continue to work as an apprentice to Hrethel, the healer of Meduseld. Eodwine granted her request, which finally brought a smile to her face.

"Next I call Thornden to stand before me!"

Thornden made his way to stand before Eodwine - and Saeryn as well now - in his usual confident fashion.

"Thornden, I put to you the same question I have done with others. What think you of service to me? How have you fared as both steward and almbudsman?"

[Folwren]

Thornden paused a moment before giving Eodwine his answer. Thoughts of the last month passed through his mind. In a second’s time, vivid recollections of conversations and incidents came back to him.

“My lord,” he finally said, looking directly at Eodwine, “I came here without expectations of a stewardship. I may very well have the abilities to stand in your place – to speak with the people who come here, to keep tallies and records in books, to stay here when you go and oversee everything when you can not - but this is not what I came here to do and I do not think that I really am fully prepared to take on all these responsibilities in your absence. When the lady Linduial was kidnapped, we could have had the chance to test my abilities as steward, yet we did not. I went with you and Merenil stayed here. He took the place of a steward.

“I would, therefore, that you did not give to me the place of your steward, for I don’t think that I have truthfully earned it. I do not want to leave, though. I am still willing to be your servant, as your almsbudsman and also one who will be here to help Gárwine keep your halls clear of men or anyone else who mean harm. I would that I could stay at your side always; to ride forth with you when you have to go, and to come back only when you return.

“Give me the place I first came to ask for and I will be satisfied. Find another, better man for your steward. A man who, in your time of need, will not fail you. A man with more years and experience, for I am yet full young to take such a position as you have offered.”

Thornden subsided into silence. He hoped, but was not quite sure, that the people did not take his words as words of cowardice or defeat. He had not come to take the place of the Eorl’s steward. It would prove to be a heavy burden in time, and Thornden thought that though he could bear it, he would not always necessarily bear it well, and Eodwine would soon wish for a man closer to himself in years and experience.

More than anything, though, he hoped Eodwine would understand. He would not for anything have his eorl believe him to be a coward.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine regarded Thornden with a smile. Those who knew him well in the hall saw on his face an expression mixed of amusement, liking, and beneficence, though they would not have used such words in their thought. Eodwine's own thought after Thornden's speech was, I'd forgotten he had such a quick tongue! So many words for such a simple question. All of which means, 'please let me be what I came here to be in the first place, and let Marenil be your steward'. Thornden liked talking and he liked people, and he was a man of his word. Such a man would make a very good steward, yet he did not wish to be one.

Eodwine had given this thought, and had already come to a conclusion, but had wanted to hear Thornden before he decided to follow through on that conclusion. And here it was. He spoke.

"Thornden, you are an honorable man; this I know, and all here should learn it if they don't yet. I have been thinking that I need the role of steward and almbudsman separated between two men in my Hall, and your words strenghten my thought. I deem you to be a good steward already, but I need a man as capable as you for almbudsman. So I will grant your request on one condition: if Marenil will agree to become my steward, then I will release you to be almbudsman and captain of the guard of the Eorling Mead Hall.

"Marenil, I bid you, please rise and stand beside Thornden."

The elderly man did so, slowly, and made his way to stand beside Thornden.

"Marenil, you have heard my thought, and that of Thornden. Please tell this court your own thought on the matter."

[Firefoot]

Léof’s expression had darkened slightly as Eodwine and Thornden began to talk of there being a third person in the position of steward. Now, Léof liked Marenil, but it would be still yet another person Léof might be expected to take orders from. Surely it would have very little effect on his life, but… Someday I’ll be my own man, in the service of no one, and it will just be me and the horses… But he supposed that day would be long in coming.

Léof wondered if he was expected to stay here to watch the whole of the court. Already he was wearying of the lengthy proceedings, and his own part in it was complete, he supposed. He would not be far off, at any rate; just inside the stables, which did, after all, adjoin to the main hall. With this in mind, he quietly excused himself from the hall and made his way to the stables, where he found Æthel’s stall and slipped into it, murmuring softly to her all the while. He leaned his head against her warm shoulder and breathed in her comforting horsy scent as he idly twined his fingers in her mane.

“Life must be awfully easy as a horse,” he told her. “You don’t have to worry about anything at all, not family or secrets or oaths or taking orders… well, maybe you do have to take orders, but that’s what you do, you’re a horse… and you don’t mind, anyway. You trust me, so you do what I ask… simple as that. You don’t have to think about it… I trust Eodwine, I think, anyway… so why’s this so hard? You never had to worry about being independent… you had me, and I had you… Remember the days when we could just ride? When I didn’t have to worry about anything? That was nice, huh, girl?” He lifted himself up onto her bare back. She pawed the ground. “Sorry, girl, can’t go anywhere today… court and all…

“And then, of course,” he continued his monologue, “there’s Cerwyn… I didn’t tell Eodwine about her, you know… not her or father. Maybe it doesn’t matter… maybe it does… and she hasn’t written back, either… I’ve sent two letters, now; surely she would have gotten at least one of those…

“And there’s Æðel, of course… there’s a whole other mess. See how lucky you are? No worries at all. Maybe I worry too much. What do you think, hm? Of course, you really can’t talk back… that’s the real problem, is that no one really understands, not as can help, anyway. What do you reckon? That I ought to be something useful, probably… not sit here bemoaning my struggles to you…”

[JennyHallu]

Marenil gave Thornden a friendly glance from under bristled brows. "I reckon I could do a fair job for you, Lord Eodwine. Especially with young arms like this to share the burden."

A shrug, and his bright grey eyes turned sharply to Eodwine's, still amused. "And I'll admit, Lord, it's like to be a light task, after Farlen's household. Not to belittle your issues here, but your house is yet small, and Farlen's could populate half this city, I think sometimes. I'd be honored to do you aid in this. And I reckon this is as good a place as any for a bit of a rest, after my long labor."

"But what about Enna?" The question was not meant to carry, but those on the dais could clearly hear Lin's suddenly concerned voice. Marenil sighed, having hoped not to have to break more sad news to the girl so soon after her ordeal. He knew she'd been having nightmares, as he could hear her rising in the night, could see the fear still haunting her eyes...but there was a new glint of steel in their grey depths, and he prayed every night that it would, in the end, triumph. She needed time to rest, and recuperate...something. He looked up at Eodwine, waiting for permission to leave before taking Lin aside.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine liked the thought of experienced Marenil as steward. The old man knew a thing or two, and could teach a lot not only to Thornden, but to Eodwine. After the whole affair of Linduial's kidnapping, he was more than ever aware of his own inexperience and shortcomings. He had much to learn.

"Marenil, you are my steward as of this day. Only my word and that of the Lady Saeryn comes first. Thornden as chief of my guard is next in authority, regarding matters of the safety and wealth of this Hall, but not of daily matters.

"Ah, but I keep you standing too long. Be pleased to sit you down and take your ease."

Marenil nodded and smiled, and returned to Linduial, seeming to whisper something to her, or maybe not; Eodwine was not sure.

"Now I call before me Garstan the stoneshaper."

[JennyHallu]

Marenil stepped down from the dais, leaning forward to grasp Lin's hand firmly, her grey eyes flashing from him to her brother. "What about Enna?" she demanded, pleading. "You can't stay here, Mar, you have to go home to Enna."

He shook his head at her gently, for the sake of her pride ignoring that her weight was firmly supported by her brother, his heart tearing at her weakness. Though he had been assured by the returning rescuers that Lin's courage and intelligence had probably saved her life, if not made the rescue possible, he had seen only the thin, exhausted waif they had brought home, and worry for her was keeping him up at night. "Darling," he whispered. "Enna's gone where I can't follow."

Tears suddenly streamed down her face. Marenil and Farahil exchanged glances, and the younger man took his sister's elbow and led her firmly but gently through the crowd to the relative privacy of the kitchen garden.

Marenil followed, his ears full of the comments of those among the crowd they displaced. "Who's that?" "That girl who was kidnapped and her brother." "She's so pretty!" "Her name's Linduial, right?" "Rescued by the Queen's guard and our own Eorl." "I've heard she was brave." "They tell me she showed courage." "Poor lass, look how tired she is." He shut his mind and hurried after the duo.

Farahil had Lin nestled into a bench, her head resting on his shoulder. She was still crying, and it seemed only to have intensified. Marenil sat down on her other side and held her hand, listening to her wracking sobs. Slowly he realized these tears weren't for Enna, or not just for her. All the stress and fear and tightness of her ordeal was pouring out of her, and he realized with a start of surprise that despite the nightmares and exhaustion, he hadn't yet seen her cry. And she'd needed it. That was apparent.

When she finally calmed and set up, wiping her eyes almost shyly with a kerchief of her brother's, the men both saw immediately the difference. The familiar spark of intelligence and joy was back in her eyes, some part of her old fiery spirit in the curve of her back. And...something new...a mix of fine steel and new wariness.

"So you'll stay here then." Her voice was soft, stating a fact, not asking a question.

"I will," Marenil answered.

"I think I shall go home."

Farahil smiled. "About time, sister. No need for three world tra--"

"I'll be coming back."

Both men stared at her in surprise. Marenil knew, and suspected Farahil had likely been told as well, why she needed to return. The surprise was in her tone: some new force or self-knowledge gave it a hard edge. It was--it was like when Marenil had watched the elder brother, Adragil, in his practice bouts with his sword instructor. The lad had always been good, absorbing all his lessons effortlessly, but he had never been able to defeat his instructor. Then, near-grown, he had accompanied his father on a Corsair raid: his first taste of battle. When he came back and resumed his lessons, the skill and grace had not lessened, but he'd added something new; there was an awareness of the sword that had not been there before, like he'd suddenly learned what it was, and his delighted instructer had lost every bout since.

Linduial had been trained in diplomacy and statecraft, trained to use her words and voice to their utmost. I'll be coming back. Such an innocuous phrase...and yet...Lin knows it's a weapon, Marenil realized suddenly. She's always had the skill, the intelligence; and now she has the strength of mind and heart to use it. And knows why.

Her words brooked no argument, and her brother sat back and agreed. "I'll bring you home then. When do you want to leave?"

"Tomorrow, early." She looked up at Farahil. "If you don't mind leaving so early...Saeryn..."

"...is a pretty lady, but she is not my sister. If you want to leave tomorrow, you'd best pack. I'll tell that ostler of our plans."

"Actually..." Lin cleared her throat, catching her brother's eye with a sparkle. "I'm about sick of being indoors, locked up in little rooms. Will you?" He nodded, and she proceeded with her instructions. "Pack up one of my trunks, but leave the other, and take only my clothes. I'll ask Eodwine to save the room when I talk to him this evening, and I doubt he'll mind if my things stay. I'll go talk to Leof." Immediately the woman--for woman she was, and the girl-child who'd come here was left behind forever--rose and walked briskly towards the stables, pausing only to squeeze Marenil's hand. "I'm sorry for Enna," she said awkwardly, emotion throbbing in her voice. "I loved her."

[Firefoot]

When Léof heard footsteps at the end of the stable aisle, he quickly slid down from Æthel’s back and left her stall with one last fond tug on her forelock. He was rather surprised to find Linduial standing there, apparently looking for him. He had not seen much of her since she had returned to the hall, but from what she had seen, she was different, somehow. Léof had not heard the tale of her kidnapping in full, only garbled parts of it, but at least enough to know that she had gone through quite a bit. He found himself feeling rather surprised that she seemed to have come out stronger for it; perhaps his first impression of her had not been quite fair after all.

Léof managed a smile as he greeted her. “Do you need something?”

“My brother and I are going to leave early tomorrow morning for Dol Amroth, if you could have our horses saddled…”

“They’ll be ready,” Léof said, making a note to himself to give both of them a thorough grooming that night. Still, he could not help being curious. “But if you don’t mind me asking… you’re leaving already? You’ve not been back long, and your brother hasn’t really stayed very long at all…”

[JennyHallu]

Lin smiled, heartened to see that she had such friends here. "Don't worry, Leof," she said, climbing one-handed to sit on a high haybale, out of the way. "I'll be coming back. I love it here...you won't get rid of me that easily. I'm even leaving half my things. But my father will be worried about me until he sees me in person, and there's so much news to catch up on. Half the reason Farahil came was to bring me home.

"And...I need to rest. After--after I got back here it seemed as though all the energy drained out of me. I've not been sleeping right, I'm not healing right...and you know how it is. I'm a bit homesick."

[Celuien]

Despite the importance of Lord Eodwine's court proceedings, Garstan found his mind wandering. Court matters were of significance, he knew. Yet, other than the Eorl's strange announcement of apprenticeship for the Lady of the Hall, he could not find the speeches interesting, and Garstan's attention faltered. He had dilemmas of his own to consider, and with the thought, his grip on Lèoðern's small hand suddenly tightened, causing her to look up at him with a quizzical smile.

"What..." she began. Garstan put a finger to his lips in signal for her to keep silent. Interruptions were inappropriate. Despite his impatience with the day's formality, he knew the importance of the laws of politeness. Lèoðern would have to learn them. Would she? Could she, under the rough tutelage of a simple stoneshaper, struggling to earn his keep? He didn't have the time he needed to teach her and often found himself at a loss for a method when he did attempt it. Yet there was a way now open for her. And as he thought of it, his fingers clutched hers again, bringing the smile back to her face. She raised a finger to her lips in imitation of Garstan's gesture and looked at him, suppressing a string of giggles.

Garstan, weary from his journey, in pain from his wound, and suddenly feeling a deeper pain spring unbidden from his mind, knelt and gathered Lèoðern to his arms. And a single thought echoed in his head: Please, let her always be as she is now. No matter what the years may bring. He knew that changes to her world were coming, hopefully to her betterment. But he feared for her too - feared that she would lose the affectionate, laughing innocence that had always marked her.

Eodwine was speaking again. "Now I call before me Garstan the stoneshaper."

Garstan released his grasp of Lèoðern and stood. "Yes, my lord?"

[Firefoot]

Léof nodded. He knew how homesickness worked, alright. He murmured, “At least you have a home to go back to.” It slipped out before he could think, and when it did he felt his ears and face grow hot. Maybe she hadn’t heard -

No such luck. “What?” Léof could tell from her tone and expression that this came from surprise and not lack of hearing.

“Nothing. I just- it’s nothing,” stammered Léof before she could comment further. He felt trapped. After that little tidbit, she would surely want to know more, and he could hardly make up some nice-sounding story to go with the comment. He wouldn’t lie to her anyway… he had passed the point of wanting to lie about it – not that he was any good at lying anyway. Linduial still looked inclined to ask another question, and his voice took on a fiercer tone. "Really. It's nothing." She wouldn't understand anyway. Then he changed the subject, the only thing he could think to do. “Will you be needing anything else, then?”

[JennyHallu]

"Will you be needing anything else, then?"

Lin smiled shyly, giving him a negative answer with a shake of her head. She felt--hurt, somehow, that Leof had so clearly turned the conversation away from himself. Perhaps...perhaps she had not earned such confidences. It did not occur to her that the troubles of the young man before her would not have affected her a few short weeks ago.

"I think...," she paused, trying to phrase this new wish to provide comfort and friendship. "I think that Edoras--this Hall--could be a good place to call home. And surely now, with Eodwine's word today, it is your home? You're officially the head ostler now! Congratulations, Leof!" She grinned at him earnestly. "You should be so happy and proud! Celebrate!"

On a whim, she pushed off the haybale with her good hand, landing firmly on her feet. With a happy cry, she looped her dress over her weak wrist and firmly gripped and placed Leof's right hand on her waist before grabbing the other and spinning him around in a lively reel, to the time of her suddenly light feet, warbling an improvised tune.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Farahil carefully emptied what was left in one trunk before lightly folding gowns into shapes far more compact and travel-worthy. He left the packing of womanly necessities to Linduial, as was only appropriate, and took a final look at the trunk, smiling with fond remembrance of Adragil's sudden desire to carve Lin a chest and his immediate departure for country sides unknown wherein to learn the art. Farahil was certain that Linduial could have fit a half dozen more items at the very least had she been taught to pack for adventures at sea and he smiled wider, not minding at all that his baby sister had never learned of such things. She did well as a lady; her power did not come from intimidation by sword or by nightly stealth but by carefully chosen words and a demeanor that called for respect and wariness.

He sat on her bed, smoothing the covers that he had lain in place for her before they had gone downstairs, and he looked at his hands, remembering every scar.

He ran a cold finger over a dark red line that ran from his left forefinger to nearly the inside of his wrist. He'd been playing swords when he was young, gloating that the weapons master had never landed a hit. He was cocky, over-confident; a child, he remembered. The master had grown weary of his foolishness and whipped a dagger from his sheath and sliced carefully forward with it even had he distracted Farahil with his longsword.

I'm bleeding! What have you done?

I've landed a hit, young lord, and don't forget it.

But you cheated! That's bullying! It's unfair.

Is it unfair to use the weapons for which you have been trained? A time will come, Farahil, that you will face an opponent larger, stronger, and far more experienced. That time will be, by all odds, that in which you will be asked to use techniques that they have never learned, weapons with which they have no familiarity. Will you use them? Will you call your learning an unfair advantage and allow them to strike? Your life and those of others are in your own hands, boy. There is an honor among those you will fight that will not extend to you. Do not forget to use what you know. You will bear a scar now, to remind you.

Linduial would bear scars. She would not forget her ordeal. But she had learned more than she could have under the best teachers about what makes a leader and what makes a lady.

Farahil had come to bring her home and he would; but he would also bring her back. She had learned here that which those at Dol Amroth could only partly teach. These people were good people, honest ones, if a little odd. The lady Saeryn... she would be a good friend to Linduial, and the lords Eodwine and Degas... they would protect her from all they could. And Lin... little Linny... she could protect herself.

[Firefoot]

Before Léof even realized what was happening, he found himself swept away by Linduial. He laughed suddenly, not from the fair absurdity of the situation, but from the sudden relief of stress. Strangely enough, he found himself dimly recalling the steps to the dance, and as he spun Linduial, he remembered where from.

On a particular winter evening when Léof was about nine or ten, his father had pulled out his fiddle and begun to play – a rarity, even in those happy days. His mother had come in from the kitchen, and as his father struck up a lively reel, she had pulled him up from his seat and taught him the steps while his father played and Cerwyn laughed and clapped. “Someday you’ll be glad to know how to dance, when you’ve a pretty girl at your side!” his mother had told him. Reluctant at first, he had slowly picked up enthusiasm as the night waned away…

He never would have thought the ‘pretty girl’ would be a young noblewoman from Gondor. But why must she always just be the noblewoman? Why couldn’t she be… a friend? Have you ever really even given her a chance? An odd pair they must look, she in her finery and so light on her feet and he in his working clothes and only remembering the dance as he went along – but if none of that mattered to her, why should it to him?

The dance ended, and Léof bowed slightly as it seemed the right thing to do, but he was grinning for the first time that day. “Thank you, Linduial. I much needed that. I reckon I worry too much – Æthel” – he jerked his head towards his horse, who had poked her head on of the stall to watch the spectacle in the aisle – “could tell you the same. But I guess – I guess you might say that you reminded me what home is like…” And what it’s like to have people you can trust… learn to trust people again. “My mother – she taught me that dance,” he inserted with a slight smile, “died some five years ago. And I suppose home for me died with her.” He was leaving a lot out, but trusts are not built in minutes, and Léof still was not entirely sure of this new Linduial.

[JennyHallu]

Some newborn part of Linduial recognized that a confidence was best returned with a confidence, and as she swept Leof a graceful parody of a full courtesy, she offered her own, shyly, like a rosebud revealing a new petal.

"You're lucky. I really don't have any memories of my mother--Marenil's wife, Enna, she was really mother to me. She taught me to weave, and was the first person I ran to when I had some feminine problem I dared not bring to my father." She blushed, then sighed.

"I just found out she died. While I was gone. I don't know what it will be like, going home and not finding her there. It frightens me a bit." Suddenly she realized talking to Leof was taking a lot of the sting out of learning of it so late, and she settled back onto her haybale (this time with a hand up from Leof) somehow...content. "You don't mind if I stay here a while, do you? And watch you work? All those people--" she waved vaguely towards the rest of the building-- "just want to ask me how I feel, and whether I was scared, and what it was like, and if it's true I set my own arm, and this and that. And I just don't want to talk about it. I promise not to say a word. You'll never know I'm here." And then she smiled, and it was a joke again. "Just hide me from the adoring masses. I think the Rohirrim love me as much now as they do Lothiriel, and while I'm honored and such, I wonder how she stands it all the time."

[littlemanpoet]

"Yes, my lord?" Garstan responded.

Eodwine looked at him and smiled. There was a gravity about him, Eodwine decided, that maybe had always been there and maybe had not; at any rate, Eodwine could see it now.

"Garstan, when the search for the lady Linduial began, I swore you an oath that I would protect your life with my own. I did not have to hold good to that vow, for your life never quite came into danger-" Eodwine paused "-save once, when you saved my life with your own body. You swore me no oath. I honor you.

"I have called for you to stand before my court because I would have you remain as more than guest at the Eorling Mead Hall. I do not desire to bind you in fealty, but as friend. I ask you to stay here for a year and a day, succored by the protections I may offer you, a friend to this house. Though I have not work to keep a stone shaper busy for that long a time, let this Hall be your home, and find work where you may.

"I do not ask you to choose this moment what you will do, but I wish it to be known to all here the regard I hold for you. So take a day or more to think on it, if you wish, or tell me now if you already know your mind. I leave it to your choice, and will hold neither choice as telling me more than you say."

Eodwine ceased his words, which seemed to him had rendered him rather longwinded, and waited for the stoneshaper to speak.

[Celuien]

Despite Garstan's worry, Eodwine's words brought a faint smile to his face. His memory turned back to the evening before their departure from the Hall - Eodwine's vow, and his own secret promise.

"I have no need of a day, nor yet an hour, to think upon my answer, lord, for I know even now what my choice shall be.

"Yet before I speak, there is something which I would set aright." It was Garstan's turn to pause. He was unsure of how broach the topic of his secret vow to Eodwine's protection. "It is true. I swore no vow that was known to you. But an oath I took to your aid, Eorl, ere we left the safety of your Hall, though it was witnessed, perhaps, only by the breeze at the window. For I could not accept your protection without doing my utmost to guard you in turn. But I should have spoken long before this day, and I beg your forgiveness for having kept my counsel to myself until now.

"And now to your question! I will stay, and hold your friendship in care and in honor."

Having put more words together than he ever had before, Garstan stopped, uneasy under the numerous gazes of the folk of the Mead Hall, and searched Eodwine's face for a response.

[littlemanpoet]

The response Garstan sought was not long in coming. Eodwine wiped at an eye.

"Garstan, you are a good man," he said gruffly. "Let it be as you say. And I thank you."

Garstan smiled and bowed, and returned to his place beside Léoðern with a light step.

But now it was time for the one part of this court day proceeding that Eodwine did not relish in the least. He turned to Saeryn briefly.

"Watch and listen well, my lady. I would have your counsel in this." She nodded, her forehead knotting prettily in a frown of curiosity.

He turned from her wordlessly and sought out Gárwine with his eyes. It was time for the questioning of Manawyth.

[Anguirel]

Manawyth was brought forward, not gently, by Gárwine. His hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were bound by thick a leather strap so that his steps were shortened of necessity. He looked sullen and frowned balefully at those who stared - which was everybody. At last he was brought to a standstill with a jerk by Gárwine.

Eodwine looked at him. The matter of Linduial had made it impossible to speak with Manawyth earlier, which Eodwine regretted. Now the questioning would have to be done here, before the crowd. Eodwine did not relish the prospect; it would be the hardest thing he had to do.

"Loosen his bonds, Gárwine."

"But lord-!"

"I'll not have this man bound while I question him. There is no way he will escape through this crowd. Loose his bonds."

"Yes, lord."

His bonds removed, Manawyth rubbed and flexed his arms, but had not yet looked up at Eodwine.

"Manawyth, look at me."

***

The accused did not now hesitate to glance upwards to the Eorl on his dais. He seemed to have little spirit for resistance. He could not hold Eodwine's gaze steadily for some time, but at last succeeded in meeting it and keeping his eyes locked. In Dunland they accounted both avoiding a direct exchange of looks and accepting one with too much emphasis signs of guilt. Well, he had managed to commit both.

This was Rohan, not Dunland. But Rohan was no longer the calm place of healing and acceptance Manawyth had briefly been persuaded that it could be.

After the strange false hope of permanent escape Manawyth had been granted, he had got out of the town as quickly, and as quietly, as he could manage. Without arms or harp, he was little good to anyone, and shifted from lord to lord, farm to farm, accepting employment as a churl readily but never remaining in one place for long.

Occasionally he heard extraordinary stories of a notorious Dunlending bandit who had flouted the King's law, plotted to reverse the Geld tax, and now indulged in frequent robberies on the high roads. On such occasions it had been hard to swallow laughter. Things were hardly so glamorous.

His capture had been quite as farcical, stumbled on by a thegn and his companions who were searching for another, rather more upmarket outlaw-a man named Herward, apparently-and decided to take the Dunlending as some compensation for their failures.

Once imprisoned, awaiting his Eorl's decision with the word of Lord Cuichelm firmly against him, things had got still worse due to the occasional visits of Rohirrim with whom he had thought to have reached an understanding-Gárwine for one. It was clear that his innocence was not a possibility they considered.

Yet they were only half right, and Manawyth was now determined upon the course of the truth. He was judging Rohan as it judged him, and if he found her guilty, he would be glad to be relieved of the necessity of dragging out his life in her.

"Lord?" he said simply, obeisance clear.


"You have been arrested and accused of theft of a horse. Perhaps you are aware, Manawyth, that in Rohan, theft itself is a heinous crime, but theft of a horse is judged only a little lesser crime than kidnapping. What have you to say of the charge against you? Are you guilty or innocent?"

***

"Guilty, my lord. But not as charged."

Manawyth paused, waiting for the effects of his answer to settle. Whisperings and even protests were whirling about the Hall; every face showed bewilderment and consternation.

"You have told me that the theft of a horse in Rohan is especially grave among crimes. This I know. Yet I did not steal a horse in Rohan, lord; but in Dunland. The black horse is a Dunlending mount, or was when I took him, and when my lord Cuichelm claims I robbed him of the steed...he lies."

Manawyth did not go on, but his voice was rising in strength and he seemed perfectly willing to continue this strange story if bidden to do so.

This was a most unexpected turn in Eodwine's mind. He wanted to trust Manawyth, but needed a basis for it, and felt that it was as of yet lacking. He needed to hear more.

"Manawyth," Eodwine said presently, "Rohirric law has it such that if Cuichelm is the man of highest rank to speak regarding you, his word is held to be sound. In this chamber, only my word is of greater worth by the will of the King. But I cannot yet speak one way or another until I have heard more of your story. Two things you must explain before I will even begin to consider how to think. First, you must convince me how Cuichelm speaks the lie. Second, you must convince me that this horse was stolen in Dunland and not in Rohan. Nevertheless, you have admitted guilt and made my task the harder. Thus you have made your own task the harder. Speak."

Manawyth nodded, but did not answer for some moments. It looked as if the memories he drew upon were painful ones.

"Lord, you must be told something of the life I lived after the victory of your people in battle. One of my brothers, the least warlike, poor soul, had been killed at the Hornburg, but I had yet two more, and a sister, too. Of our clan they called me the hardiest, and my sister first in beauty. My two remaining brothers were of a different stamp. They were...mickle cunning, you would put it. They planned and thought and saw ahead. They were proud, but canny enough not to show it.

"Dunland was then suffering from the reprisals of the Mark. I lost a second brother in these affairs, and my remaining brother Math took the property of both into his hands. He became more ambitious, fiercer, subtler. The Chieftain of our Caerdom did not trust him...but the affair is contorted. Suffice to say, the Chieftain's son, Gwaer, desired my sister Llian and asked my mother for her hand.

"We were all determined to refuse him, though we knew it would mean a fight. Llian was betrothed instead to the neighbouring Chieftain, on Math's suggestion. On the day of the wedding Gwaer rode into our house, on the very horse I am accused of stealing from Cuichelm. He carried off Llian and his men...cut down my mother as she barred his way.

"Math and I swore blood-vengeance 'gainst Gwaer. Math and Llian's betrothed strove against him with a warband, but I knew they lacked the numbers to punish him. I set off alone to his Caer, where Gwaer's men were cavorting drunkenly...I saw through a window...but Llian stood proud and he smote her across the face. Then I shot him stark dead."

Manawyth left a pause long enough to savour the tale, but short enough to show that he would shortly take it up again.

"Then I crept to the stables and took the black horse. I could see it was the fastest. A horse of the Mark from its breeding. But it was not born in the Mark. Your people rarely bred black steeds when the Dark King's thiefs came searching for them, especially. Gwaer's horse was no exception, and its ancestors may have been rustled from your plains, but it was not."

There Manawyth ended his testimony, waiting for either further questions, or his accuser's answer.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine leaned forward. "I see how the two quetions I asked of you are intertwined. I also see that we cannot be assured of your story unless someone from this Mead Hall goes back to Dunland with you, to see for himself the way of things. That is what shall be done."

"My lord?" Manawyth queried, his one eye big with surprise. "What mean you?"

"I shall go with you back to Dunland to see if your story is true. But not today, nor this week, nor for a few months. The trip must be planned, and things must be set enough to rights here so that my leavetaking for a little while will not be the the worse. In the meantime, you shall be under the protection and guard of the Eorling Mead Hall at all times. You are not a free man, but my prisoner, and you shall do my bidding until we go. I will use your time and craft to prepare for our leave taking.

"But-"

"Listen to me! You are safe here. If you try to escape from this Hall, your head will be hunted, and no man of the Eorlings will consider it a tragedy that one more Dunlending's head is separated from his body. As long as you are here, you are under my protection. I am holding you as my captive, but you shall not be bound hand and foot, but by the knowledge that were you to go anywhere but where I say, your life is forfeit. Do you understand me?"

Manawyth did not speak right away in answer, but eventually gave his assent to Eodwine's terms. He had little choice else.

Eodwine looked out the windows and saw that it was almost noon. The morning had passed more quickly than it felt! As had been planned ahead of time, Eodwine nodded to Thornden, who stepped forward and announced that Eodwine's court would cease for the mid day meal, and that anyone who had come to the Eorling Mead Hall was welcome to the fare he had to offer. Frodides and Kara had, of course, been forewarned, and been busy since they had left the hall themselves. The Hall was quickly rearranged for food and drink. The afternoon would see the guests welcomed from the surroundings.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn had sat quietly, her skirts spread about her carefully, with her hands folded in her lap. She'd watched Eodwine speak to each member his household... their household... with silent fascination. He'd told her to take special notice of Manawyth's case; she had listened carefully not only to his words, but his inflection, and had watched his eyes and hands most consciously, remembering that lies were most oft shown through both. Eodwine had not asked for her to share her thoughts before the court; Saeryn suspected that he would ask her later, privately.

She considered private conversations as Eodwine dismissed the hall to their midday meal and blushed a little at Degas's words. She'd be having several with him later and she would not guarantee that he would escape without considerable damage due to ferocious tongue lashing.

And Farahil... he was so silent, but not due to lack of confidence. Saeryn wondered at what stories he had, for he certainly would have them, if Linduial's reminiscing was at all accurate. She wondered at his quietness... he'd spoken little with Eodwine earlier, but his words carried much weight. The sound of his voice was almost musical and she was very curious to hear it again. She wondered if he would speak more now that matters were lighter before remembering that he had left some time ago with Lin on his arm.

She caught herself staring off into nowhere and smiled, a little embarrassed to be dreaming before such a crowd. She stood, smoothing her skirts into place and watched helping hands shift the hall into order. She glanced at Eodwine who nodded and smiling, she clapped her hands lightly for attention.

"Come, friends, and let us eat and make merry. It is a beautiful day."

[Nogrod]

There were a couple of children playing in the elm tree. Cnebba was running his life for it. A sturdy 9-year old was standing by the tree. As Cnebba approached him, he saw that he was dirty and snotty, just like himself. He halted a couple of yards before him and said: ”I'm Cnebba, who are you? Can I come to play with you?”. The snotty boy looked at Cnebba with disdain. ”You’re one of them Dunledings in disguise! We will not play with you!” the boy shouted and called for his friends up in the tree. They started coming down with haste.

”You can’t catch me! Bet on that?” Cnebba said to the snotty one and run out of his reach to the other side of the tree. He was agile and nimble enough to evade the boys coming down after him and to climb the first branches while they were still descending. But soon the boys were coming after him like wolves in a pack, climbing again. ”Hey Black-eye! Come here and we will blow your nose!” one of them shouted after him from the lower branches. Cnebba kept on climbing and went much higher than the other boys had ventured. ”Hey, Dun-dung! Have you courage to meet us down here?”, called the eldest of the boys, a 11-year old kid, tanned and muscular boy with a blond hair and grayish blue eyes. Cnebba had climbed as far as he dared and looked down. The other boys were a couple of yards under him, clearly not sure whether they should pursue him further. ”Catch me if you can!” he shouted and took a daring leap to yet higher branch.

He was balancing himself on a quite slim branch as he heard the other boys shouting at him again, now from much farther beyond. ”Come here sissy! We’ll give you a smack you won’t forget!” the eldest one shouted, not being able to reach him. Cnebba was holding his balance but aware of the slenderness of the branch he was clinging to. ”Come up here if you like me that much!” he yelled back to them. The situation was all too familiar to him. Other children were almost always like that, at least in the beginning. He had won many friends too, but it always took some time and effort.

”We’ll be waiting for you!” called the eldest boy and started to descend the tree. Soon all four boys had gotten to the ground. They sat down beside the tree and went on playing a game with small pebbles.

Cnebba started descending after a while, slowly and carefully at first as not to give the other boys a chance to notice him. He would show them that he was good in sneaking too. That should give him some credit. Even though he was young, he had already learned a couple of lessons in life. One was, that the stranger would always have to prove his qualities to be accepted.

At last Cnebba was sitting comfortably on one of the lowest thicker branches. The other boys had seemingly forgotten about him as they were drawn into the game with the pebbles. Cnebba studied them carefully from above. The oldest boy clearly was the ”leader” of them. The snotty one seemed to be the one they would go on picking if there were no outsiders to pick. They already had started it, calling him names as he failed in his throw, and the oldest one poked him to the shoulder somewhat violently every now and then. The two others were remarkedly similar-looking, brothers they seemed to be, maybe twins.

Then suddenly the game seemed to end. It clearly had been the leader-boy who had missed his throw and the brothers hugged each other triumphantly, calling for victory. The big one thumped the snotty one to the ground and started arguing for a possible re-throw for him.

”Let’s do something more fun!”, Cnebba called them, and after that swang himself to the ground with one leap, managing to stay up as he landed a yard away from the snotty one who had just risen up to sit. They had seen his jump and were somewhat impressed. The three of them stood up immediately, the snotty one trailing them.

”Let’s play hide’n’seek?”, Cnebba suggested. The leader of the other boys saw his chance to wipe out the memory of him losing the game and also a chance to bolster his leadership. He accepted immediately: ”Ok, but with one condition”, he said, taking a couple of strides towards Cnebba so that he could show his physical superiority to the weird-looking stranger. ”You’ll be the seeker first. And you count to hundred…” he made a little pause here, glancing fast to the other boys, ”if you know how to count”, he then continued with a malicious grin.

”Sure I can. And you guys hide well. I’m good at this”, Cnebba answered and turned towards the tree, starting the count in all the voice an 8-year old could produce. The brothers took off with speed and so did the snotty one. The leader of the boys was unsure about what to do for a moment but then just pushed Cnebba towards the tree forcefully enough to send him on his knees and then ran away to search for a place to hide. ”You’ll never get us weirdo!” he shouted as he ran. Cnebba rose up, never breaking off with his count. They will be my friends, he thought, ”45 – 46 –47 – 48 …”

[littlemanpoet]

It was not long before the noon time meal was ended. Eodwine made request to Saeryn to see to finding help for Frodides and Kara, as they'd be busy into evening cleaning and no chance to start the evening meal if given no help. Meanwhile, he had Garstan and Thornden help him get help from those who had had a free meal in turning the Hall back into a court. Before long, all was as it should be, and Saeryn was sitting beside him, waiting for the courty to re-begin.

Degas had tried to sit near enough to Eodwine to give him a piece of his mind as regarded Saeryn, but Eodwine had asked him to wait until court-day was ended, for there was no knowing how long such a talking between the two of them would take.

Now that the affairs of his own Hall and the hearing of Manawyth had been dealt with, court proceeded in the traditional way. The highest ranking Eorldermen came first, then those less high, then freeholders, then peasants.

Thornden had given Eodwine word to keep an eye out for Wistan of Dunstede, a freeholder. There was also word from Gárwine that there were folk about who seemed not to be of the Eorlingas, or at least not wholly so. This intrigued Eodwine, and he had asked Saeryn to keep an eye out for such folk as well.

Saeryn. She had been quiet for the most part, and Eodwine was aware that he had said much to her about listening and watching and little about sharing of her mind. That, he hoped she understood, would come this evening.

[Celuien]

The noon meal had passed quickly, and Eodwine called for Garstan's aid in rearranging the great hall for the continuation of court proceedings. Lèoðern yawned, sleepy in the afternoon heat. And, partly, because she bored of lengthy speeches for which she had to stand quietly.

Eodwine smiled, catching the child's sleepiness. "The children, perhaps, would prefer to be dismissed from court?"

The children looked hopefully at from Eodwine to their father, silently begging to be allowed out of doors. Garstan returned Eodwine's smile. "Yes, I think that they would prefer it so."

Garstan nodded to Garmund, and the children first walked, then ran to the door.

Sunshine and air cured Lèoðern's weariness, and she dashed around the yard, now whirling, now tugging at her brother's hand. Though, for all her giddiness, Lèoðern had acquired a new grace in her motion of late - a quick, light step and alert bearing.

They came to the alder. "Come, Garmund. Let's climb." Lèoðern reached for a low branch and quickly pulled herself to a perch a short way from the ground. Garmund followed.

From their branch, the pair saw a group of boys scatter and hide. Lèoðern laughed and pointed. A game. Neither knew the children playing.

"Do you think they'll let us join them?" Garmund shrugged.

Another boy, darker than the others, appeared. There was a defiant look about him. Garmund wasn't sure he trusted that stubborn, proud glare. Before Garmund could stop her, Lèoðern slid out of the tree and followed the boy as he passed. Garmund came too, a few steps behind her. The new boy didn't turn, either ignoring his shadows or unaware of their presence.

A series of poorly stifled giggles from Lèoðern revealed her game.

[Nogrod]

“...97 – 98 – 99 - 100!” Cnebba shouted the last number with all his 8-year old might and turned around. The yard was buzzing with people. He thought he had a glimpse of the big-guy, the one who had bullied him to the ground, just disappearing behind a cart somewhere over his right. He started walking somewhat towards the cart that was about 50 yards away from him, carefully trying to show that he was not looking at that direction and slightly angling his path away from it, not to make to the cart straight away. He had played hide’n’seek before.

He was determined to show these boys he would be as good as they were. I’ll show them, I’ll find them and find them fast! He thought to himself as he suddenly came aware of someone behind him – it was not an adult. He continued as if he hadn’t noticed it but was more than alarmed. Those two, could they have sneaked behind me? He thought as he walked steadily forwards without glancing to his back. The giggle of Lèoðern finally made it clear to Cnebba. Those behind him were not the brothers he had met a moment ago. Suddenly he stopped and turned around to see the giggling Lèoðern and the more reserved Garmund trailing him – their movement stopping just a bit too late to appear not being tracing him.

For a while Cnebba stood there unsure about what to do. They looked kinder – or at least the girl looked like it. Anyhow they both were much nicer looking kids than the ones he was playing the hide’n’seek with. But still, he had promised to play...

Without a further thought Cnebba took a step towards the girl and addressed her: “Hi, my name is Cnebba.” He said, looking Lèoðern intently in the eye. “Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Lèoðern, and this is my brother Garmund”, Lèoðern answered somewhat taken a back by the blunt move of the strange boy – as one who had been caught in the middle of something one should not be caught in the middle of. Garmund just stood back, waiting what would ensue. Lèoðern raised her gaze to meet Cnebba’s eyes and looked curious "Why are you sneaking around like that?" she asked, smiling in the end of her question.

Cnebba felt a bit confused by the sudden stare and the smile of the girl. “I’m playing hide’n’seek.” He answered but then paused for a while, thinking fervently for a good answer to make these two his friends.

“Would you like to join the game? I could count to hundred again and both of you could go hiding too? There are four guys in the game too. They wouldn’t mind you joining in... You come?” he asked in the end, smiling too with his teeth shining white. But his long and untied golden hair was taken by the gust of the wind and it covered his face – making him cough the last words as his hair got into his mouth. He blushed slightly. "You come?" he asked again, kind of making sure they had understood what he had mumbled with the hair in his mouth.

After he had sweeped his hair back, he felt more confident. Lèoðern and Garmund were looking at each other questioningly. Cnebba continued then, not wishing to lose the opportunity: “I would like to play with you more than with the boys there”, he said, pointing to the general direction to where the other boys had hidden themselves among the crowd, “But I can’t eat my promise. My father and mother have told me that a man never breaks his word”.

[Folwren]

The court continued after lunch. Eodwine now had time to hear the requests of the land holders and to decide whether he was able to grant their wishes. Thornden recognized each freeholder that came forward. He had seen all of the ones present when he had gone out to gather coin. Most of the land holders had not asked for any boon. Here at court, there were thirteen different families represented to speak with their Eorl. Thornden looked over all of them, recalling their names, and at the same time running over who had asked something of Eodwine and who had not. As Eodwine began to call them forward, one by one, Thornden drew from his pocket a list he had drawn out of all the people who had bidden him to take word to Eodwine. There had been fifteen separate requests.

‘Good,’ Thornden said to himself. ‘Only two have to be dealt with without someone here to receive the decisions. Who, now. . .?’ He perused the names and then looked at the people standing about, comparing them. ‘Ah, yes, Wistan was one. . .his daughter told me first of it. She was a pleasant girl. The other. . .Aerdlyn, right.’

Having figured out who he would have to speak for, Thornden turned his attention back to Eodwine and the proceedings of the court.

Each free holder came forward and stated his case. Eodwine considered them all, some taking more time than others, and then pronounced his judgement. The two who came last had an argument against one another. Eodwine heard them both out. One man claimed that his neighbor had planted an entire crop of oats on one of his outlying fields. Because it was land granted to him, he should now own the crop growing on it. The other man interjected - the field had lain fallow for two years, the owner wasn’t using it as it should be used, he didn’t do the work, if he wanted the field for his own use, he should have been out there breaking the ground instead of leaving it for neighbor to do.

Eodwine calmly asked the second free holder if he didn’t have enough land of his own to use for more crops?

“No, sir. I’ve expanded to all of my borders.”

“Is there land on either side of you, besides the side that this man owns, that is unkept and that I have not granted? Is there no other field that you could ask me for?”

“No, sir. On two sides of me are fields that are planted and kept. On the third side it is rocky, full of trees, and sheep and goats are pastured there. His field, directly adjacent to the property granted me is empty and has been left untended for two years, as I said.”

"You should have gone to the King or his man before you broke ground and planted crops. It would have saved trouble."

“By then it would have been too late. The oats needed planting, and at the time, I did not know that you were Eorl.”

Eodwine said nothing. He sat in silence for a moment, and Thornden ventured to lean closer to him. “If you’ll allow me, Eodwine,” he said quietly. Eodwine bent his head and listened as Thornden quietly spoke in his ear.

“I do not know anything about general laws or customs in a case like this, but I think, if the land has indeed lain fallow for two years and the holder has done nothing to prepare for crops this year, his neighbor does not seem to have overstepped his rights by going over there and making use of good land. If the field is being put to no good use, then the owner should not be permitted to continue holding it. Give the land to the one who planted it.”

“I will consider your words, Thornden. Thank you. For now, though,” he said, sitting back upright and turning towards the two men waiting his judgement, “you will wait for the answer. "Later today I will have more questions. I will call you back this afternoon before the evening meal is called up.” The two men bowed and turned away. Eodwine turned again to Thornden. “Were there any other requests from my land holders who were not here today?”

“Yes. There were two others. . .” Thornden told him of Wistan’s request - of the land lying behind theirs, now unowned and un used, ready for someone to pick up and replant. Eodwine quickly granted their request, and that was resolved. The second one was nearly the same and that was just as easily resolved.

“And that is all, sir,” Thornden said, looking up with a smile. “Everything except that case,” he nodded to the men standing back near the wall, “is done concerning your land holders. Most of them are quite contented folk.”

[Celuien]

"But I can't eat my promise. My father and mother have told me that a man never breaks his word."

Garmund smiled, liking Cnebba's reply. "Of course you must keep your promise. My father, too, says that promises must be kept. A man's word is his bond."

Lèoðern burst out, "But can we come too? You said we could. Please?" The last question was directed at both of the older boys.

"We have to wait until Cnebba finds the other boys, Lèoðern."

"But that shouldn't be hard. They went..."

"Lèoðern!"

Realizing that she had nearly given away the answer to the game, Lèoðern clapped her hand over her mouth.

"I'm sorry! I won't say." She grinned.

"We can watch until this round is over. Then, if the others don't mind, we'd like to play too. How's that?"

[Nogrod]

"That's great!" Cnebba answered, a bit too enthusiastically for his own liking, and had to add: "Yeah, I know where the big-one is, about". He yanked his head a little towards the cart behind them, looking straight at Lèoðern. "But the twins, I'm not sure. I almost thought you were them", he confessed.

Lèoðern made a conspirational smile and nodded towards the stables at their left. Cnebba glanced to the stables and then returned his gaze. "Thanks!" he said and run away towards the cart first, waving his hand to Garmund. "It'll just take a minute!" he shouted to them as he ran, "Just wait a moment!"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine and Saeryn took their seats again (it had been a most interesting discussion between the two of them regarding tenancy rights), and Thornden called the court to order with a thump on the floor of the staff Eodwine had procured for him recenlty. The two farmers stood before the Eorl.

The first freeholder, Edelfrid, who tenanted the disputed land, stood on Eodwine's and Saeryn's right; the second, Radweld, who had planted the crops, stood to their left.

"First," Eodwine said, "do each of you have someone to speak for you?"

"Aye, lord," they said.

"Let them stand forth, Radweld's man first, then Edelfrid's."

One freeholder joined each of the two opponents and after brief questioning from Eodwine, it was determined by the court that these two men were truth speakers and could be trusted with their word. Eodwine excused the two men, and regarded the two men in silence for a moment.

"Edelfrid," Eodwine began, "did you pay tenancy to the King for the field while it lay fallow the second year?"

"That I did, lord."

"Did you know that Radweld was planting crops in your field?"

"I knew, lord."

"Why did you not speak of it to your shire reave or bring a complaint to the king?"

Edelfrid's brow furrowed. "Lord, am I on trial, or this man's misdeed?"

"You are not on trial. But I must know as much as I can before I make a ruling. Answer the question."

"Lord, we have been unfriends for many years, and I admit that I hoped to win at his cost."

"That is ill-thought by you, Edelfrid."

"Yes, lord, I am sorry."

"Your unfriendship should be redressed, but the matter of the crops must be ruled on first. Why did you leave the land fallow the extra year, Edelfrid?"

"I plan to buy horses, lord, and I need a field for pasturing."

"That field is not big enough for horse pasturage!" Radweld scowled.

"You, neighbor," Edelfrid sneered, "have no right telling me what my land is good for!"

Thornden raised the staff and brought it down hard three times. The three knocks on the floor got the two opponents' attention. "There will be order in my lord's court," Thornden said smoothly.

"Thank you, Thornden," Eodwine smiled. "How many horses will you buy, Edelfrid?"

"Two, lord, a stallion and mare, to get foals to sell."

"Here is my thought on the matter. Radweld, you did wrongfully to plant on a field not in your tenancy. For that you must pay. Since Edelfrid was preparing his land for pasturage, you have stolen not only the use of his land for a crop year, but you have stolen time Edelfrid needed to turn the land to pasturage, and if Edelfrid is to hold to his plans to buy horses, he will have to pasture them elsewhere, paying rent."

"But-" Radweld interrupted.

"I am not finished, Radweld."

The freeholder subsided.

"On the other hand, Edelfrid allowed Radweld to do all the work on the field, with the hopes of gaining at Radweld's cost. This is wrongful. There is no law against it, but I would not have such things be the way things are done in my Emnet. Therefore, I rule first that Radweld must pay a fine to me of two tenths of the worth of the crop for his wrongful use of Edelfrid's land, due at the end of harvest. Second, Radweld must pay to Edelfrid double the yearly rate for rental of pasturage for two grown horses, due to be paid two full moons from now. Third, these fines covering Radweld's wrongdoing, he is ruled as tenant of Edelfrid for the planted field, and will pay to Edelfrid a normal tenant rate for one year's use of the field, due at the end of harvest, and may keep all that is left, for the sake of the work he has put into the land."

"Lord, if I may speak?" Radweld broached.

"Speak Radweld."

"To pay double yearly rent for two horses by a mere two full moons from now is hard, lord!"

"You did a wrongdoing, Radweld, and are paying for it. Besides, I will not see Edelfrid be in debt or forced to wait because of your misdeed; he will need the coin soon. That is all."

Neither Edelfrid nor Radweld looked completely happy, nor crestfallen. To Eodwine's mind, that was as it should be. The two men retired.

Assured by Thornden that these were the last freeholders, Eodwine opened the court to the needs and desires peasants and aliens.

[Celuien]

Cnebba ran off in search of the hiders, leaving Lèoðern with a clever grin on her face. She had learned strategy, at least, from her days with Linduial.

Garmund looked at his sister. "You told him where they hid, didn't you?"

"I didn't tell. It was just a hint. Telling and hinting aren't the same."

Garmund was unconvinced. "Just see that you don't do any hinting again."

Lèoðern giggled. She wouldn't. But she wanted to play with the new boy. And hinting was the quickest way to move the game along.

Both children looked eagerly for Cnebba's reappearance.

[Thinlómien]

”Let’s settle down then”, Modtryth said taking the harness off the horse. The mare, Snowstreak, glanced at her. Modtryth patted her head and gave her a pear. The horse ate it with delight. Modtryth stroked her and spoke gentle words to her, thanking her for the morning’s work.

The horse looked at her mistress with a pleading look. Even if the horse would have been able to talk, the message couldn’t have been clearer. “I know, Snowstreak, you love those”, Modtryth sighed, smiling. “Here you are, old lassie”, she said, giving the old mare another pear.

”You say I’m spoiling the boy, but you’re evidently spoiling the horse”, Stigend remarked, grinning. He was sitting on the lawn and the sun played on his straw-coloured hair. A true forgoil, Modtryth thought, amused, remebering the name her mother had used of some rohir lords that had made her angry.

”She’s old. She needs some reward for her work”, Modtryth answered and sat down beside her husband. Stigend gave her a “that’s no excuse” -look, but said nothing. He smiled at his wife. Modtryth returned the smile.

For a while they just sat on the grass, enjoying the day. Modtryth looked around. Something was missing: “Where’s Cnebba? He has left the tree.” She wasn’t very worried; she knew the boy could look after himself, but she didn’t like the fact the boy never learned to do what he was told to.
“Should we go after him?” Stigend asked, getting up and looking around. His voice was calm and conversational, but Modtryth, having known him for several years, caught a nervous trace in his voice.

“I don’t think so. He’s probably just making some new acquintances”, Modtryth said. They glanced at each other. They both knew it wasn’t always a good thing when Cnebba made new acquintances.

“Look, there he is!” Stigend finally spotted the boy. He was talking with a girl and a boy. “See, they aren’t fighting”, Modtryth smiled with an edge of sarcasm in her voice. Stigend rolled his eyes as he watched Cnebba run away from his new friends, waving his hand. The boy’s parents sit down, relieved. The old mare took a few steps and placed her big head on Stigend’s shoulder.

“How long you think the court proceedings will still take?” Modtryth asked her husband. “I don’t know. Depends on how many issues there are to be solved”, Stigend replied absent-mindedly, stroking the horse.

[littlemanpoet]

"Is that the last of them?" Eodwine asked by way of formality. Saeryn, Thornden, and Garwine were the only others left in the Hall. Eodwine stood.

"Lord!" Garwine said from the doorway, for he was looking outside.

"Yes, Garwine?"

"There is one family sitting on the grass outside yet. I'll ask them if they have business with the Eorl." Garwine was through the door which had closed behind him while Eodwine's mouth opened, ready to say, Good. Eodwine smiled and sat back down.

Moments later, Garwine opened the door and in walked a Rohirric man and a Dunlending woman, followed by a boy who seemed half one and half the other. Hot on the boy's heels were Garstan's two children, seeming to have made friends with the boy already.

Eodwine's eyes narrowed. The boy was a half breed and this man had been unable to find better than a Dunlending wife. Such were his immediate thoughts, though he knew them to be somewhat harsh. It was hard not to speak that way, especially due to his dreams of Kéðra of late. Still, as Eorl he knew he had to give them a fair hearing, and was determined to.

"I greet you, goodman and goodwife. You have waited long, it seems. Now is the time to have your say." He had been about to ask them how he could serve them, but did not wish to imply service. Then he had thought of telling them to speak their piece, which would imply that he wanted them to be quick and done soon. That would not do either. He hoped the words he had chosen did not imply the wrong meaning, but feared they did. He waited for the man to speak.

[JennyHallu]

Lin left the barn late in the afternoon with a cheerful wave at Leof, so absorbed in his work and the horses she doubted he noticed her departure. She noted with relief that the riot of people, horses, and wagons filling the yard to capacity seemed to be nearly all gone, but still...she didn't feel like facing more strangers. While none had spoken to her, she couldn't help but notice the whispers and rumors that had followed her all day.

A low rumble from her stomach quickly helped her choose her path. She'd skipped lunch, choosing to stay with Leof in the stable instead, but she was sure there must be plenty of food left over. Almost silently she slipped across the courtyard, dimming slowly as the sun began to set, and crossed through the dormitories into the kitchen garden, intending to enter by the back door and avoid whatever strangers still sheltered under the tarp protecting the rapidly growing Great Hall. The kitchen garden seemed deserted, and Lin skirted the large tree quickly.

A cough from behind her made her screech and spin around, placing her back to the wall in her newly-learned paranoia, ready to run, peering into the shadows under the old aspen tree. A familiar face quickly took shape.

"Degas, is that you?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to frighten you, but you didn't hear me call your name." Degas took a step closer; close enough that they could have a conversation without calling statements and responses across the distance, far enough that all propriety was preserved.

He looked her up and down, seeing her differently than before. She was more beautiful than ever, even with bruises, perhaps especially with them. He had liked her very much before when he had thought of her as a lovely, fiesty, and very desirable girl. Now he looked at a woman and he was not displeased.

"I meant... I meant to apologize..." He looked at her beseechingly, his words just loud enough for her to hear and no louder. He looked into her eyes, afraid to see what he suspected would lay there: she would blame him for her ordeal, and she had every right to do so. He did not know what to expect, but he braced himself for the worst.

[JennyHallu]

"Degas..." she paused, visibly relaxing, the look of a frightened beast disappearing from her eyes. "I saw you this morning, at court, and wanted to talk to you, but there were so many people." She paused, a shy and slightly embarassed blush creeping up her pale cheeks.

"I--um." The false start did not help her confidence. "I need to apologize."

"What?" Degas' face was a study in surprise, but Lin was inspecting her hands rather minutely and didn't notice.

"At the Fair...the day I was kidnapped. I--" Lin looked up suddenly. There was a wryly amused expression on her face, but her dark eyes were pleading. Don't laugh at me. "There was a dancing girl. On a corner. And I saw you watching her and I just got mad, I don't know why, you have every right to think she was pretty if you wished, but I got mad, and I walked off when you weren't looking, and I got lost, and kidnapped--" Lin stopped, aware she was talking too quickly.

"And I'm sorry. That you had to worry about me."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas stopped short, floored. His mouth opened slightly as if to reply, but he was caught up in thought. His eyes had been on one girl only, two if he counted the little one on his shoulders.

He'd asked Linduial to pick out a necklace... not for Saeryn, but for herself... and she had responded that Saeryn would like a certain one that Degas had never quite managed to purchase. And then Lèoðern had drawn his attention to scarves and kittens and Lin had been gone.

He looked down at her, but not condescendingly; he was simply that much taller; and he met her wide eyes quite seriously.

"There... there was a dancing girl?"

[JennyHallu]

Lin looked up in confusion, meeting Degas' eyes for the first time. "You don't remember the dancing girl? But--" She paused. She'd convinced herself that Degas had been so distracted that day, but had she really had any reason to believe it? "I thought-- I'm sorry, Degas. Seems I had more to apologize for than I thought." She was silent a moment. If I hadn't acted so stupidly, I might never have been attacked. It was all my fault. She glanced up at the young man, her self-doubt roiling at the corners of her thought.

"I should never have wandered out of your sight. It was all my fault. I'm sorry."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

He looked into her eyes and saw that she meant her words. He took an unplanned step forward and took her hand without considering the implications. He held it carefully between his own.

"Lady Linduial... you have nothing for which to apologize." His words were for her alone and he lost sight of everything but her eyes. "I never should have taken my eyes from you. I blame myself... the one time... the only time, it would seem... that my eyes strayed from you was the one time it most mattered. I was your escort and my attention wavered. It is my fault that you were taken and if there is a way, any way, that I can... that I can do anything... please, would you have me do it?"

[Nogrod]

The yard became emptier hour by hour as the afternoon turned to an early evening. Stigend and Modtryth had already packed their little camping site consisting of a couple of small linen clothes they had spread to the grass for the food and drink and to sit on. As the little boys had disappeared with their families, Cnebba was left with a boy and a girl who seemed to be in no hurry either. The three children were playing in the great elm that dominated the yard. There seemed to be no figthing or teasing. Just the natural lots of fun the children only are capable of when they are not spoiled by the adults and their twisted ways, Stigend thought to himself looking at the children playing. Both Stigend and Modtryth were feeling comfortable right now, but the idea of meeting the Eorl and asking for a job had slowly creeped into Stigend’s mind making him more worried again as the day was drawing to a close.

They had just decided to call for Cnebba and try to check inside the Mead Hall when the man came and bid them to come in. Stigend took the horse by the reins and started walking her towards the main door as Modtryth went after Cnebba.

“Could I stay here Mummy? We could play more!” Cnebba called to his mother as he noted her intent even before she had opened her mouth. “Oh no, you will come with us right now!” Modtryth called him back with a firm tone. “You know, if they are to give us work from here they will have to see that you also can behave yourself!” she continued, flashing a smile to him and quickly checking Stigend’s expression. For a moment Stigend’s face showed a sudden alarm, but that melted fastly to an amicable but controlled smile basically thrown at Modtryth. But he addressed his son: “You just listen to your mother! And no tricking inside, the Eorl is a great man and has no time for foolery”. The two other children had been following them and now hurried to whisper something to Cnebba’s ear as the Eorl was mentioned. Soon they all giggled heartily. Stigend and Modtryth frowned and smiled to each other at the same time, rolling their heads.

After being out in the open for the whole day, it was relatively dark inside and it took a moment for their eyes to get used to it to actually see something. Stigend sensed that there were several people still at the Hall, but before the Eorl spoke there was a short silence. He knew exactly what that silence meant. They were examined and evaluated by their looks.

"I greet you, goodman and goodwife. You have waited long, it seems. Now is the time to have your say." echoed the Eorl’s steady but already a bit tired voice at last. Stigend found himself more nervous than he had thought he’d be before. The Eorl spoke to them respectingly, but still there was that familiar ring of uncertainty in his voice, as if he was not sure how to treat them.

“My lord.” Stigend and Modtryth both bowed low in front of the Eorl. “Thank you for your kind words sir. But our waiting has been kind of our own choice as we have no case to bring forwards in this Hall. We are here to offer ourselves to your service. My name is Stigend and I’m a carpenter by trade.” Then he turned a little to draw attention to his wife and child. “This is my wife Modtryth and this is our son Cnebba.” Modtryth smiled to him quickly in encouragement as he turned to face the Eorl again.

“We came to Edoras because of the horse fair.” Stigend found himself immediately searching for words as his first address he had thought of the whole afternoon started breaking down. “Then we heard that your Mead Hall is under renovation and thought of...” He was getting desperately conscious of his lack of eloquence.

Suddenly Cnebba broke free from her mother’s hand as Garmund and Lèoðern hustled him to join them to something more interesting. Modtryth tried to grasp his hand back and was just getting after the boy as Stigend’s hand took hold of her shoulder. Then she noted it too. The lord Eodwine himself seemed to smile and nodded to the father and mother to let their child go. Or so they both interpreted what they saw. The children ran out from the Hall clearly delighted of their freedom.

Stigend felt relieved by that small gesture of good will towards his child and encouraged himself to finish what he had to say with more confidence. “I master most of the techniques that are used in carpentry. I can do masonry and simple ironworks and have some crude experience in making and using weapons.” He made a small pause and then nodded towards Modtryth. “My wife is handy in any kind of household- and needlework and has even served as a helping hand at building sites.”

Stigend was already taking the step back to show that he was finished when Modtryth elbowed him, hissing through her teeth about the letter of recommendation. Stigend had been a bit embarrased with that letter-thing from the beginning and had hoped he would not have to present it in the end. His idea of the value of a man’s work was the man and his work itself, not the letters written between lords and masters. But as lord Eodwine clearly had noticed this last communication between the two and waited, he had to open his mouth once more.

“I have been given this letter of recommendation from lord Byrthold at whose estate I was working after the fair.” he added a bit shily. He produced the letter from his belt and took a few steps towards the Eorl, offering it to him from respectful distance.

[JennyHallu]

Lin drew in a slow breath as Degas claimed her hand, suddenly aware of how close he was, and of how his proximity affected her. Her heart was racing, her face flushed...and she was sure he felt the same. She wondered fleetingly if he was going to kiss her, then cast the thought aside.

But he looks as though he might...at least as though he might wish to.

Could it be, perhaps, that she had been so totally wrong? The only time my eyes strayed... Were her feelings for this young man requited? She turned her face up towards his, unconsciously begging for the kiss he was too much the gentleman to give.

But he did not try to rescue you!

And Garstan was hurt trying. Could I have borne it had he been there?

"Anything?" Lin was standing practically in his arms now, oblivious to anything outside of the small circle their bodies made. The excitement of his nearness made her bold. "I have but one boon that I could ask, Degas. I'm going home tomorrow, and I don't know how long I will be gone, but I swear I shall return, as soon as I may." Her emotion and fear shone in her grey eyes. "Wouldst thou wait for me?"

[Celuien]

The hour grew late. Garstan had not seen his children since their dismissal from court. Garstan had remained for a time, but his arm began to pain him as the hours passed and Eodwine, seeing the discomfort written across Garstan's brow, had given him leave to depart and rest as court drew to a close for the day. He had retired to his room, only missing the last case. He looked for the children, but though he heard their voices now and again through the window, they were nowhere to be found.

Playing out of doors, as well they should on a fine day. Good. While examining his wound, Garstan moved to the window, curious to see their game, but the children were hidden from view. Turning away from the window, Garstan carefully prodded his wound with a finger, wincing to change its dressing. It bled little now, but the gash still ached terribly. The blade had been keen.

Garstan heard the children's voices again, along with that of a strange child. He looked outside again, this time catching a glimpse of the children as they were called away by a woman – apparently mother to Garmund and Lèoðern's new playmate. A deep frown crossed his face. Another Dundenling at the hall? And a child? Garstan went to investigate.

The children had been in the front inn yard. He strode outside, but found no one there. Not realizing that the group had gone into court, he went around the building to the rear garden to search for them near the kitchen garden.

Linduial and Degas stood close together. Too close together, Garstan thought, for the bounds of propriety. He coughed loudly to announce his presence before approaching.

"My lady," he said, carefully not looking at Degas. "Have you seen my children? I thought they might have passed this way."

Garstan knew that Linduial could not have seen the children. But he needed something to say.

A step and a voice behind her startled Lin out of the intense embrace, and she stepped quickly out of the bounds of Degas' arms, a heretofore quiet part of her mind crying out in reluctance. She blushed, eyes flickering between Garstan and Degas. Couldn't he have waited just a moment longer? I want to know Degas' answer...

"I am sorry, Master Garstan," she whispered at the ground, ears hot. "I have seen naught of them."

Garstan looked back and forth from Linduial's blushing face to the ground and then quickly to Degas. "No?" he said, slowly backing away from the pair. "They are not in the front yard and I heard their voices but a minute ago. They must be nearby." He spoke unnecessarily, and probably unwelcomely. He knew it. But he could think of no graceful exit. And was uncertain of the correct course of action.

Lin threw Degas an anguished, apologetic look, then walked awkwardly to Garstan. "I'll help you look for them." Degas made no move to follow her and she mentally cursed her rash request, heart sinking. As soon as she was out of earshot of the young man, she murmured intensely, brokenly to Garstan, "You won't tell anyone, will you? We weren't doing anything, just talking..."

Garstan frowned. How should he answer? Linduial seemed desperate for his silence. Garstan wasn't sure he should be involved. He was a mere stoneshaper. But what did honor – his honor, his friendship with the Eorl, who was responsible for what passed under the Mead Hall roof – demand?

"I will do nothing to bring dishonor upon any of us." He cursed himself for the word. Their was nothing in Linduial's behavior to suggest that it was needed. But he had used it, all the same. He only hoped that they would reach the safety of the Great Hall and the group still assembled there before Linduial could press the issue further. Garstan was evading her question. Intentionally. He didn't know how to respond correctly, and so he gave a non-answer.

"Dishonor?" The pair were searching through the building, making sure the children weren't simply hiding indoors, and Lin's tone, though low, was beseeching. "What does that mean? Why should there be any chance of dishonor in this meeting? You go your way, I'll go mine, none need be the wiser."

Garstan raised an eyebrow. "Surely, my lady, you must realize that there would be some question raised by your discourse. I know well that there was no dishonor involved. But others…others might be less charitable if they overheard. Rumor mongers. You have enemies. Of that, at least, you must be aware. And there are many folk at the Hall today for court." He paused, puzzling over how next to reply.

"I can promise you not to speak to those who have no need to hear of what you said. But I cannot give you my word to remain silent to all. Your brother, at least, should know what has passed. For I heard some part to your conversation, and he should be made aware."

It was done. Garstan thought his choice was just. He hoped it was.

Giggles from one of the empty rooms betrayed the whereabouts of the children, and Garstan entered to be presented with the unevenly roasted apples that had served to keep them hidden so long. Lin remained at the door, trying to think of something she could say to change his mind, but she was tired...and frankly too discouraged to continue the argument. Degas did not answer, nor did he follow. Lin, you fool! you've ruined it. And now you'll have to face Farahil as well...and he'll tell Adragil...and Papa.

"So be it," she said in a flat tone, but she doubted Garstan heard her, so intensely was he interested in the slightly burnt skin of the apple, and did she but know it, all too relieved to have an excuse to end their confrontation. It was too much, and she hastily spun around and up to her room, all appetite forgotten. Things may yet look better in the morning.

Garstan did hear Linduial's last words to him, and the rapid footsteps that carried her away. He was, in fact, relieved that their conversation had ended. But his relief was short-lived as he noted the third child with Lèoðern and Garmund. He was definitely Dundendling, or partly so.

"Who is this?" he asked.

"He's Cnebba," Lèoðern said between bites of apple. "He's nice. We were playing."

Garstan frowned again, uncertain. For the second time in the same day, he avoided the most important aspect of the topic at hand. "Let's find Cnebba's mother, shall we?"

Taking Lèoðern's hand, he led the group to the Great Hall.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas wandered in a bit of a daze, making his way into the kitchen and begging a soft roll from Kara. He pulled it apart and placed meat and cheese inside so that he could take it with him and make no messes. He was not actually hungry, but he had things to do this night that would sap him of energy, if he gauged his companions accurately. He filled a heavy mug with cider, with Kara's permission, and slipped away from the kitchen again, making his way quietly to his room. He needed a moment to himself before he attended to other matters.

His door closed, he sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the floor. Wouldst thou wait for me? His hands were shaking. He could still feel hers within them, could smell the light scent of flowers that always seemed to accompany her. She was leaving. He had known... he had ridden many miles with Farahil; many quiet, brooding miles. He had known that Farahil would take her home, and he had known something else at the very same time. He smiled to himself. She had asked for him to wait for her. That he had not expected.

Screams he could have dealt with, angry tears. He had expected cold silence... to never hear her voice addressing him again. It would freeze his heart to ice, the coldness he had expected, and he knew that broken shards of it would cut him. He had hoped for so much, only allowing himself to dream that she would forgive him, never letting himself think she might say what she had... He had not allowed himself to think that it might happen. He had spent a long week with her family; he knew that they wanted her to return. They had met him with curiosity and he had left with his own. He had come to speak with them over matters of grave importance. He had ridden to bring tidings of Linduial to her family. And they had surprised him equally as much as he had them.

Her father had been angry; it was apparent. Farahil had sat quietly, and Degas could hardly look away from him. Adragil had come some time later and Degas had explained it all again. And then he had said something more, expecting anything. He could already feel bruises, could envision himself bound, sailed far from home, and deposited into the brine to fend for himself against the cold tides, the creatures of the sea, and his own exhaustion. And Adragil had clapped him on the back fraternally, excusing his very large self and his family from the room. They had not returned and Degas had heard nothing from them about it until the day before he left.

He had quietly learned his way about Farlen's home, made friends with Adragil's children. He knew that they watched his every move, even when they were not in residence. It was planting season and they were busy. Adragil had returned from Dol Amroth; he had been mere hours from sailing. He was imposing and Degas was reminded at once of stories his father had told him when he was young, of men that were bears as well, that had the strength of a wild animal, and that were brave and terrible, kind and noble, and fought along side the forces of good in many terrible wars. Degas was awestruck, somewhat, by Linduial's brothers, and he could tell that they knew it. He pretended otherwise, ever respectful, but as confident as he could be, knowing now against whom Linduial measured men.

They were polite, if distant, and Degas attended to his own business while they attended to theirs. Adragil's son had made fast friends with Feowertyne and Adragil had agreed to give young lad work and a home, and Degas spent all the time he could on the matter, seeing to it that Feo was well enough that he would not fall ill again. He could not ride north to Edoras until Farahil was ready; he had given his word to wait, but every day that he tarried, he worried more of Linduial. Had they found her? Was she well? Why was he not there, saving her himself? What would she think of him... he had lost her and could not be bothered to search and find her; to deposit her safely before her family and act as a man. She would think that he had run. She would think of her brothers and know their courage. They never would have lost her, and if by some chance she had disappeared, they would find her in moments.

He heard Saeryn's voice and looked up toward his closed door. He wondered what she was doing... he had not yet spoken to her for more than a moment and she had made it clear that she did not want him near her until her rage cooled. He thought of the conversation he must have with Eodwine. It was not fair... Eodwine was his senior by many years... they were in his home. Eodwine could best him in battle with any weapon but staff and Degas knew it. He thought of Linduial's brothers again. He denied himself use of the word, but he knew deeply that he was vaguely afraid of them. He knew that they could kill him in a second and he would have no say in the matter. That they hadn't... he smiled. Adragil had been... different than Degas had expected. Farahil... he was different as well. Degas knew no more of him now than the day that they had met.

He thought of Linduial. Would he wait? She did not hate him. She had asked him to wait. He thought of Farlen, and of Farahil's reaction to what Degas knew Garstan would say to him. He smiled tiredly. Would he wait? He knew the answer deeply.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had been at courts in Gondor in which the lord nodded to his steward, who retrieved the parchment from Eodwine's hands, and either read it aloud or handed it to the lord; it was as if the messenger, or peasant, was too far beneath the lord's station. Eodwine rejected such an action for his court. He smiled, stood, and approached Stigend, who handed him the paper, which he quickly scanned. Byrthold's word was that Stigend was a good carpenter and steady worker.

"Stigend and Modtryth, the Lady Saeryn and I will sit with you at table, back by the kitchen."

Eodwine handed the paper to Saeryn and instructed Thornden to have Kara bring food and drink for four. Then he directed Garwine to prepare the fire in the hearth against the cool of the night.

"Court is over," Eodwine said as they sat down. "I need a carpenter who can work with my stoneshaper and the others of my Hall. And I welcome families. The girl and boy playing with your son are the stoneshaper's children. A seemly omen, if you heed such things. I will take you on for one month to see how you fare with those who are the folk of my Hall, and then we shall see about longer. But tell the Lady and me about yourselves."

[Nogrod]

After all the worrying and tension before the audience with Lord Eodwine, everything seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Stigend was both relieved and astonished by the quick outcome of things as he followed the Lord and the Lady towards the kitchen. For a moment he felt like he was out of the time and place, just not believing what had happened, but then Modtryth’s fingers that pushed him gently but sharply to his side awakened him to reality. “I told you so!” she whispered between her teeth, throwing a wide smile to him after it. Her smile and her gaze were at the same time warm and triumphant. Stigend managed to smile back as he was recovering to the here and now. Quickly he focused on Eodwine and Saeryn who were already taking their seats on a big table and nodding them to take seats opposite of them.

The table was quickly laid with bread, a couple of cheeses and sausages and different sorts of fresh vegetables. There were even some fruits available. As a crown to this “light” evening meal, Kara served them all full pints of cider. Stigend and Modtryth were used to second quality food and cheap ales. So even if this was no feast by any normal standards, but just a plain simple and good food to bite in hunger, to both of them it was a special treat they had afforded themselves seldomly during their wandering years. Fresh and good quality food with excellent cider, not the all too familiar watery porridge, or those last year’s taters served with cabbage and the shabby yeast-tasting ale. Well, the occasion seemed special to them in other ways too. Added to this, they had only enjoyed some light provisions on that day, of which most had been offered to Cnebba. So understandably, it was hard for them both not to attack on all the things laid before them immediately and to try to behave decently, waiting for the Lord and the Lady to start.

Lord Eodwine opened the discussion. "Court is over and I need a carpenter who can work with my stoneshaper and the others of my Hall. And I welcome families. The girl and boy playing with your son are the stoneshaper's children. A seemly omen, if you heed such things. I will take you on for one month to see how you fare with those who are the folk of my Hall, and then we shall see about longer. But tell the Lady and me about yourselves."

After that they toasted with the cider and Stigend thanked both the Lord and the Lady for the generous offer, setting the pint carefully back at the table. He glanced quickly to Modtryth who smiled to him heartily, seemingly happy. Stigend then turned his face towards their new masters and addressed them.

“Thank you again your Lordship, ... Lady”, he nodded also to Saeryn. “Thank you for your kindness and for your confidence. I do see the omen as a promising one. It’s a rare thing Cnebba is taken to play with others without a fight or other show of force”, he said and again found himself at loss with words. He felt he was bent on totally wrong way of putting things in words. Just too rash and blunt. He wasn’t used to discuss with people of high rank and the beautiful sentences they talked with. He wavered for a while about how to continue when Modtryth broke in.

“We believe we can prove ourselves worthy of your confidence, my Lord, ... my Lady”, she said with perfect North-Rohanian accent, looking both of them to the eyes and nodding to them with respect, but also with confidence.

Eodwine and Saeryn seemed somewhat astonished by her fluent speech. Stigend nevertheless was quite accustomed to this kind of reactions and hurried to explain, being more confident now as he faced a situation he had faced so many times before. “You asked us to tell of ourselves. I think we should begin with her. My wife Modtryth, she is a Rohanian.”

Both Eodwine and Saeryn glanced at each other questioningly and then turned their faces towards the newcomers again. “She was born in Rohan and has grown and lived in Rohan all her life. Her father was a Rohanian freeman, just a boy though, at the time.” Stigend sipped some cider to let his words sink in. He had done this so many times in so many different circumstances that he knew when to pause and what to say.

“Her mother was a Dunleding. A maid in a rich household, or a slave to say the truth of it. I think you know the end of the story, ... of every story like that”. He continued. The poignancy of his tone was getting too easy to hear.

Stigend wasn’t particularly a man who wanted to make his points heard everywhere or to aggressively argue his views. Just on the contrary. But of this matter he felt really deeply about and had been drawn into actual fights over it many times. Oh no, calm yourself now! We have been treated well by these people and Modtryth seems to be right, these people really feel open-minded and good-hearted. Just don’t follow that track now, you have no reason for it! He thought to himself while sipping some cider to get an idea how to make good the situation.

Once again it was Modtryth who actually managed to made a try to save the day: “I’m sorry about my husband’s language. He feels too deeply about these things, especially when it comes to his son. But I hope you to understand the pressures and the disdain we have to face on daily basis. It has made us both quite defensive.”

“Yes, my wife speaks the words of wisdom. I apologize the tone of my voice. I promise it won’t happen again”, Stigend put in, looking both Eodwine and Saeryn to the eye as he spoke. “I’ve just have had to defend my wife and child so many times against people of my own kin that it has somehow become my second nature to be suspicious of every kinsman as they seem all to be malicious towards me and my family. I’m deeply taken by the way you have treated us and in no way intended to implicate anything on your Lordship or the Lady.” He bowed to both of them in open shame of himself. He had been brought up well. He knew exactly well, that the ways in which he argued with other commoners were not suitable in this kind of company. He knew it just too well himself.

Before Eodwine or Saeryn had time to answer the many questions that were in the air, Modtryth continued, just to get over with the issue. “My husband has told you about me. I can tell you about him. He is a hardworking and honest man, a man true to Rohanian spirit. And he’s a brave man too. He has courage to ignore the scorn and ill-will of others to stand for things that are right as he doesn’t make judgements over looks but on deeds.”

If Stigend was used to defend his wife and child against certain kind of scorns, then Modtryth was also pretty professional with her defense of her husband. They both knew just too well of what things the other was looked down upon and how to defend the other.

Stigend welt his cheeks starting to redden. He always felt uneasy when her wife defended him. But especially now he was more than ashamed: in front of their new Lord and Lady he was being defended vehemently by his wife. Forgetting the keen eyes and ears of Eodwine and Saeryn, he suddenly took Modtryth’s shoulder by his right hand and hissed to her: “Now stop it! Who’s getting a bit carried away here?” Immediately he realised that they had been both heard and seen by their new masters.

More than a bit embarrassed he took one more piece of bread and rolled it in his fingers, looking genuinely apologetical, but he was not brave enough to open his mouth at the moment. Modtryth took a sip of the cider to veil her face.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine smiled, determined to put the two at their ease. It was good to see and hear folk who were so very much themselves; too many kept too much hidden. Eodwine wondered if that was true for himself. It was something to think about later.

"See, Saeryn, that you defend your someday husband as well-" Stigend and Modtryth looked up in surprise "-and I'll see that I treasure my someday wife as well."

Stigend blurted, "You speak too well of us, lord."

"I would rather that you spoke to me as you have done, Stigend. I was born a lowly farmer, thrust amongst my betters by the favor of King Eomer. The Lady Saeryn is highborn, but not I. She is my apprentice and ward until she or I marry.

"But enough! You stare at the food as if you would eat it with your eyes! Methinks you are hungry! Eat your fill, my friends! I am hungry enough too!"

Stigend and Modtryth grinned and took Eodwine at his word. It was not long before Cnebba joined them. The talk lightened, for Stigend and Modtryth had been put at their ease. When they had taken their fill, Saeryn as host and Lady, showed the family to their room, and Eodwine went to the hearth fire to see how Garwine had fared.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn retired to her room for a few short moments to splash cold water on her face and change into soft breeches and a loose shirt long since stolen from Degas. Only members of the household were left in Eodwine's hall now, and she was tired. She would have loved to sink into her soft bed and sleep until late tomorrow, but she needed words with both her brother and her lord.

Ignoring shoes, she opened her door and knocked on Eodwine's. The only answer was a soft mew from her feet. She reached down and scooped up a soft grey kitten and walked down the stairs, cuddling it and rubbing its head with one finger. She saw Eodwine standing by the hearth and went to him, standing back a little and waiting for him to see her.

He had been standing before the hearth for some time, now that Thornden and Garwine had been dismissed. He would have to give each of them a day free from duties as thanks for the long hours of standing and waiting and help they had both given him. This week, he decided.

The hearth was as he wished it. {see The Hobbit, Queer Lodgings (illustrated edition)} The floor in the center of the room had been dug out, about a foot deep (just behind the dais, looking from the front door toward the kitchen), four feet wide by six feet long. In its middle was an iron grate, filled with tinder and wood. Garwine had prepared the fire as his last chore before his evening meal. Falco had pulled up a chair and was sitting in front of it, smoking his long stemmed pipe, his legs crossed at the ankles.

"So you think yourself important now, eh, Eodwine?"

"You know better than that, you old rascal."

Falco glanced at him once by way of agreement, and saw Saeryn waiting. Eodwine noticed and turned. She had changed into a man's loose fitting clothes, and she was barefoot, holding a kitten in her arms. Most fetching. He smiled.

"We were to talk about today, were we not?" Saeryn nodded once, straight faced.

"She's not giving away what she's thinking!" Falco chortled. "Be on your guard, Eorl!"

"Falco, I ought to make you work for all that food you eat here." He had not taken her eyes from her. "Shall we talk in quiet?"

She nodded again, and led him back toward his room. She put the kitten down and went inside. They took chairs on opposite sides of his table, leaving the door open.

"Say what you wish, Lady Saeryn," he broached.

"I am unsure where to begin, Lord Eodwine."

He smiled. "Then perhaps with the beginning?"

She grinned and her mood lightened. This was a test, of sorts, but one that he was sure she would pass. He would not have chosen her to be the lady of the hall elsewise.

"You asked me to watch, and to listen. So I did. Before you called my name," and here she smiled shyly, "I listened less, but still heard. They were matters that I had guessed would pass the way they did... your household is loyal to you, and they are hard, honest workers. Also, they bring so much laughter and liveliness to the Hall. And the children make me smile."

Saeryn reported her thoughts dutifully, keeping few of them to herself, on the events that unfolded. She failed to mention Degas or anything to do with him. She kept herself on track, resisting the urge to tangent off into lengthy compliments of every individual household member.

Her speech was quick, though clear, and it was quieter than usual. She eventually trailed to silence for a moment and shifted in her seat, crossing her legs beneath her. She had spoken of the household, of the question of land rights, of the mixed family that now resided within the hall. The event that weighed most heavily on her mind was the only that remained.

"Eodwine, I do not think that Manawyth is guilty of the crime of which he has been accused. His eyes claimed honesty... and his bearing showed no sign of their lie. Either he was honest today, if not before, or my years of residence with a man that lied more oft than he spoke truthfully were for nothing."

Eodwine regarded her with raised brows, borne of his surprise. "I did not expect such strong words on the matter, but thank you. It is one of the reasons why I wish to go to Dunland with Manawyth, to learn all there is to know about the situation, for will I or nill I, I hold the man's fate in my hands. It is a dire thing." He sighed heavily and his shoulders drooped. Saeryn noted the lines around his eyes and near his mouth; he seemed older with his duties of lordship weighing upon him; but the spark had not left his eyes.

"And I wish for you to go with Manawyth and me, for I would see to your quest as well; somehow. And that brings me to the matter of your apprenticeship as the Lady of the Hall; and Garreth's rude question. What think you?"

Eodwine watched her face. He had noted her seriousness and quietness; she seemed more a woman than the spritely girl he had met a few months ago.

"My apprenticeship seems to solve many problems, Eodwine, and I thank you for it. My place in this household is now firm... before I was... well... simply a guest. A runaway noble with nobody to speak for me but an equally runaway brother that found me at The White Horse Inn by accident. I was floating like dust in the wind, Eodwine. You've settled me. You gave me protection and friendship before... now you have given me a home and honest work as well. I can ask for no more."

Eodwine watched her. She had avoided the rude question. He allowed a slow half smile. "I am glad." He decided to leave it at that.

"Ahem," came a cough from the doorway.

Saeryn looked up and her composed look fell away. Eodwine turned. It was Degas.

"Eodwine, we need to talk."

Eodwine's face fell. He had been hoping to join Falco for a pipe smoke and glass of wine. It would have to wait. He stood and offered Degas his chair. There were only two chairs in the room, so he sat on the edge of the bed . Degas sat down.

"Well?" Eodwine said, his face feeling more tired than it had since the day he'd learned that Linduial had been abducted.

Degas turned to his sister with a meaningful look. She glared at him and very intentionally made herself more comfortable. If they were ten years younger, she'd have accompanied the motions with a protruding tongue. Eodwine watched their faces, noting Degas's impatience and discomfort, Saeryn's barely concealed annoyance. He had to suspect that the two had already spoken. Her words were polite when she spoke and only Eodwine's familiarity with the young woman allowed him to discern any emotion from within them.

"My brother seems to be of the opinion that he has a say in my life and he seems equally of the opinion that I should not be present when he says it."

"Your father--"

"Our father."

"Our father is dead. The next oldest man in your life is Fenrir. Would you prefer that he speak for you?"

Eodwine sat quietly, listening to the exchange and watching. Saeryn's voice fell to a near whisper.

"You left me with him, Degas. You packed your things and left for Gondor and you left me behind. You forfeited your right to speak for me when you deserted me nearly four years ago, and Fenrir lost his right when he chose to act in such a way as to be undeserving." Degas looked crushed and Saeryn fell silent.

This was ugly. She was right. And she was wrong. "Saeryn," Eodwine said in a quiet voice, "Fenrir loses no right until the king's court says he does. The same is true for Degas. He cannot unmake himself your brother by leaving your household for four years, nor for forty. Nevertheless, I also have a right to speak for Saeryn now, for she has placed herself under my guardianship. So think of that as you speak, Degas."

Saeryn fell silent before mumbling something. Degas wasted no time.

"What was that?"

"I can speak for myself."

"But obviously not clearly or with enough power behind the words for men to hear."

"How dare you?" Her voice shook with rage. Eodwine was forgotten.

"If you can't be bothered to make yourself heard--"

"I'll make myself heard, you arrogant fool. Do you want to hear me? Do you? Do you want to hear of power?" Her voice rose passionately as Degas provoked her. They knew each other well; far beyond well enough to know what things to say that would cause the most hurt, or the most anger. What did it matter what was believed, what either of them cared about, if they could win for the moment, as fleeting as it was? "I am the same age as you, brother dearest, and in potential alone, I stand to gain more power than you ever will, the younger son of a house that lost favor with the death of our parents. I can marry and gain from it. Can you? Can you stand that the object of your affections is of a higher station than you, and always will be? Speak to me, brother, of power, when you have some of your own that has more substance than mere words!"

[Formendacil]

It was night. The April sun had fallen, and Náin, up since nearly dawn, had retired to his bedchamber, just down the hall from Eodwine's chambers. He had climbed into bed, and was just starting to doze off when a commotion erupted down the hall, in Eodwine's personal drawing room. Someone, a girl... Saeryn maybe? Whoever it was, she was raising a powerful ruckus- and someone, a male, was arguing with her.

Náin's first thought was to put his pillow over his head and stuff out the noise, but that was clearly not going to work.

When the arguing intensified rather than got louder, Náin jumped to his feet irritably, threw on a nightgown, and stormed out of his room and down the hall. Had it been earlier in the day, he would likely have considered his actions a bit more beforehand, and would probably have come to the conclusion that they were ill-considered. Unfortunately, it was not earlier in the day, and so he didn't reconsider. A tired Dwarf is a rarely a rational one.

Shoving open the door to Eodwine's chambers without regard for who or what might meet him within- and forgetting whose chambers they were- Náin strode right into the argument between Saeryn and Degas. Eodwine appeared to be a little bit uncomfortable at being stuck in the middle of the twins' quarrel, but Náin failed to notice this in his irritability.

"...to me, brother, of power, when you have some of your own that has more substance than mere words!"

Before Degas had a chance to reply to Saeryn, Náin had burst in.

"Battleaxes and Balrogs!" he roared. "Can you make it any less difficult for a Dwarf to get some sleep around here!"

"Náin, I ask you-" Eodwine began, but the irate Dwarf wasn't to be stopped.

"And in the Eorl's chambers of all places! Bricks and Barriers! A fine example to set after such a fine court day! The only thing that marred the court was the same thing that's keeping decent people awake at this hour! You two youngin's and your childish ways! You may as well give up the pretence, both of you, of being grown adults! If I were in your shoes, my father'd give me a thrashing I'd never forget! Carpets and corsets, though, seeing as you two hooligans haven't got a father handy, I'm half-tempted to do the honours myself!"

Degas gave Náin a glare, daring the two-foot shorter Dwarf to lay hands on either of them, but it was Eodwine who spoke first.

"Silence!"

Fuming, Náin, Degas, and Saeryn all turned to face Eodwine. Down the corridor, Náin thought he could hear more people who should have been abed stirring. Perhaps, his tired mind suggested, he was making things worse rather than better.

[Celuien]

Garstan stood pacing uncomfortably outside of Farahil's room. Lèoðern and Garmund were left behind to wait for Cnebba to come out from dinner. The boy seemed a good enough child from the little Garstan had heard on their walk before delivering Cnebba to take a meal. He was, for the moment, satisfied with the boy, though he wanted still to meet Cnebba's family.

But for the moment, Garstan had a more pressing concern in Linduial. Why, and how, had he ever managed to be drawn into this situation? It was none of his affair. He had no place meddling in the concerns of those above him in rank. But this time, this one time, he did. There was now a tie between Linduial, her family, and him. Garstan didn't know what was expected of him, but he felt it his duty to report what he had seen. Courtship. Garstan thought of his daughter. He would certainly want his permission asked before Lèoðern received any suitors. And therein was the rub. Linduial had spoken without seeking her brother's advice. Garstan didn't think her action had been correct. He needed to be sure that her behavior was proper, and accepted by her family. For Linduial's future and her family's position. Perhaps not the place for a mere stoneshaper to speak, but this was not an ordinary circumstance.

He rapped on the door. Farahil opened it and looked at Garstan in some surprise.

"Garstan. Yes. What is it?"

He entered the room uneasily, not knowing how to begin or even what to say. How much should he tell, and how much of the tale should be Linduial's?

"My lord. I thought that I should tell you. Your sister seeks the courtship of Lord Degas. I heard her speak to him." The image of Linduial in Degas' arms returned to him. He chose to remain silent on that point. It was enough to speak of the courtship. Linduial could speak to her brother of particulars. "I thought that you, her brother, should be aware."

He hoped that was enough.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Farahil was still dressed, using the relative quiet of this late hour to write letters and sort out logistics of travel. A worn map lay abandoned on his desk as he looked at the humble stoneshaper with no small amount of consideration. Linduial, seeking out Degas? He had wondered...

"I thank you, Garstan. You are a good man to tell me this."

Down the hall, confronted by an angry dwarf, Saeryn burst into tears.

[littlemanpoet]

The Dwarf had barged into a closed room and spoken foolishness. Saeryn was beside herself. Degas's head bounced back and forth from the Dwarf and his sister, looking dumbfounded in both directions. Eodwine got the attention of the two men with a quick shout. He rose and turned on Náin in a cold fury.

"Dwarf, you have not yet worn out your welcome, but you come dangerously close. Leave this room at once!"

It was now the Dwarf's turn to stare at Eodwine dumbfounded. Then without a word he hustled from the room and down the hall, passing a thoughtful looking Garstan on the way to his room.

Eodwine shut the door again, and waited for Saeryn's cries to quiet into hiccups. "Now, Degas, if you have anything more to say, say it now. And choose your words most carefully, for I am not in a mood to accept more foolishness. You are a guest. I expect courtesy of my guests in return for the courtesy I offer. Speak, man!"

[Celuien]

Garstan nodded slightly, relieved to have broken the news so easily and with no further questioning. After a few pleasantries, he left.

The children had been left outside the door to the great hall to wait for Cnebba. When Garstan returned, they were gone and the hall was deserted, the last embers of the fire burning low. He would never be able to keep track of them now that they had another child to help them find mischief, he decided, as he walked past closed rooms in search of Garmund and Lèoðern.

He asked the Dwarf if he had seen the children. A half-growled, "No," was Náin's answer. Garstan was surprised. More dramas than the one Garstan was involved with, perhaps, were at work tonight. But he'd had enough for one day. Bidding good-night to the Dwarf as he passed, Garstan continued his search.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas was abashed. He refused to let Saeryn's words hurt him, though his refusal was weak. He had provoked her and would not blame her for anything that she said because of it. Still, he should have known that her clear-sightedness would betray uncomfortable thoughts he had not yet allowed himself to even address.

"Please, Lord Eodwine, forgive me. I will not say forgive us, as Saeryn's behavior was directly influenced by mine." She sat up a little straighter and looked to say something, before wiping her eyes and deciding against it, wilting slightly once more. "I came to address the matter of courtship.

"Saeryn made mention of my stay in Gondor... my views of such things as asking leave of a woman's menfolk have been encouraged by Gondorian customs, yet these same customs have strong tradition in Rohan also."

[Formendacil]

Náin did not return to his bedchamber. He was in far too much of a temper for that, and certainly wasn't going to be sent to his room by Eodwine. Instead, he wandered to the part of the Mead Hall property that had become most familiar to him: the courtyard where the statue of Falco now stood, almost finished.

The chill April air soon chilled Náin's temper, and his mind fully awake again now, he began to ponder his actions in a more rational manner.

Shaking his head and shivering somewhat, he picked up his hammer and chisel, and began to put some of the finishing details on the statue. It was a clear night, and the moon illuminated the courtyard, but Náin needed little light for sculpting. A month of work had left him intimately familiar with the statue, and he could work as much by feeling as by sight.

The work was soothing, and just strenuous enough to keep him warm, so that the bite of the spring air did not leave him shivering. And a Dwarf, in any event, is resistant to discomfort.

As he slowly tapped away the final features on Falco's left calf, he admitted to himself just how utterly foolish it had been to go barging in on Saeryn and Degas. First of all, it was the Eorl's private chambers, and if Eodwine wasn't setting things right, it was hardly the part of a guest such as himself to do so- and calling the Lady of the Hall childish was rude in the extreme.

A fine example of Dwarven chivalry was he! Eodwine wouldn't kick him out- he was a guest of the King, and a representative of Thorin, but he was hardly promoting good will between Dwarves and Rohirrim. And having finally settled into the Mead Hall's routine, Náin was hardly eager to put a difficulty between him and its inhabitants.

He chipped away at the stone, it's hard, cool surface a comfort. Mahal's work was a beauty, a delightful mixture of texture and strength, gleaming when revealed. His own art was as much as display of Mahal's bounty and Falco's inherent beauty as it was any sign of his own skill.

If only he had the talent to sculp himself in such a manner, to chip away his imperfections, and leave a person that was a display as flattering to his maker Mahal as this piece of stone. Not that he need lose himself completely, for just as the stone displayed its own character as a part of the statue's design, so too should he be able to display his own personality as a part of a beautiful whole.

His mind calmed and introspective, Náin stepped back finally to view his creation. It was finished. He had no idea what the hour was. His last thought, before putting away his tools, was that in the morning, he should definitely go and apologise. To Eodwine, to Saeryn, to Degas- to Garstan too. He had been quite rude to his fellow stone-shaper. Yes, he thought, as he finally drifted asleep, chipping away imperfections was sometimes a humbling experience.

[Nogrod]

They had run into Garmund and Lèoðern on their way to their chambers. Although the situation might be better described by saying that Garmund and Lèoðern had run to them.

“You must first come and see where our home is dear”, Modtryth tried to reason to Cnebba as he was intensively asking for a permit to go play outside with Garmund and Lèoðern still for a while. “How could you come home if you don’t know where it is?”

“You could come and get me, ... if you’d find me!” Cnebba had answered, looking at the siblings as conspirationally as an 8-year old is capable of. “Or we could sleep outside? We could play that we are great heroes on a dangerous journey!” he continued with his eyes flashing. Garmund and Lèoðern seemed to appreciate Cnebba’s zeal.

“I have a solution”, Stigend had broken in. Then he turned towards Garmund and Lèoðern, kneeling a little to be nearer the level of their faces and asked: “If your father and mother let you stay up this late, would you like to come with us to see our chambers? You could keep company with Cnebba and we could all see our new home. Okay? I think the Lady here would have other things to do than follow our discussions about who is to come home and when and with whom.” The last bit of his speech had clearly not been directed to the children only. They had been so well received that Stigend was somewhat worried not to cause any unnecessary troubles or inconveniences to their new masters because of them.

The children had looked at each other, smiled and nodded enthusiastically in chorus. Lady Saeryn had smiled at the kids and after nodding gently to Modtryth and Stigend, she turned to lead them to their quarters.

The room was clean and cosy. By their standards it was almost luxurious. Clean linens on beds, a table and chairs of well made handicraft, even a wardrobe and a rocking chair! And it was clean. That last one really impressed the three. Yes, it also impressed Cnebba.

“I hope to see you all downstairs in the morning to have breakfast and to discuss your duties”, Saeryn had addressed them from the doorstep. Noticing Cnebba’s little shiver when he heard the word ‘duties’, she added kindly, smiling at him: “Yes, you too Cnebba. You will have a duty to play with Garmund and Lèoðern everyday so that all your parents can do their work undisturbed by you three.” She had smiled at Stigend and Modtryth and left with the wishes of good night.

After Stigend and Modtryth had carried all their belongings to their room and Stigend had been shown where to take their horse and the cart, they both felt happy and tired. The children clearly were happy too, but unfortunately they seemed not to be tired at all. When in the game of ‘orcs and knights’ Cnebba and Garmund fell together over a pile of newly pleated clothes, Stigend and Modtryth realised, that the room wasn’t so big at all, at least tonight.

“You still would like to play outside?” Modtryth asked with a bit sarcastic tone that the children wouldn’t understand, but which Stigend enjoyed so much, when the point was not directed to himself. The children almost froze hearing her words. “Outside?” they yelled in chorus and were about to set out immediately.

“Hey!” Stigend called them loud enough to stop them at the door. “Cnebba, not for a long time. You’ll have to sleep tonight and you have all the days to play together. You’ll come back in an hour.” During his last sentence the kids had already turned around and run off. “You forgot the ‘no foolery’-part”, Modtryth said to her husband, smiling heartily. Stigend just smiled back and whispered in a laid-back tone “Nobody’s perfect...”, and winked an eye to her.

The two had taken each others hands and just felt happy. “We have been blessed today”, Modtryth whispered softly. “At least being fortunate”, Stigend answered quietly and ran his fingers through her hair. “We might even get these washed one day” he noted jokingly after a while, still smoothing her. Modtryth tugged him so hard that he fell flat on his back to the bed. “Oh, you!” she had protested, but they were both laughing. The first thoroughly happy laughs they had had in years.

~*~

They arranged their belongings to their new quarters and discussed this and that, but soon they felt really tired indeed. It was late and Cnebba hadn’t yet come. In the end Stigend took out to search for him. As soon as he got to the corridor he heard the door banging and then the joyous shrieks of children coming towards him from the downstairs. He settled himself to the upper end of the stairs and waited for the children to come up.

“Daddy, daddy, look what we found!” Cnebba shouted eagerly. All three gathered around Stigend as Garmund showed him the find. Stigend kneeled to see it better. It was a caterpillar, that much Stigend knew of it, but he had never been very knowledgeable with these things.

“It’s called a caterpillar. It will change into a butterfly one day.” He said to his keen audience. The children looked at him in disbelief. “This yacky thing will be a beautiful butterfly one day?” Lèoðern asked, hardly being able to hold back her disbelief.

“Yes it will my little ones” said the voice from behind them.

“Daddy!” Garmund and Lèoðern shouted and ran to him, Garmund still carefully treasuring the newly found wonder in his hand. Stigend rose up and greeted the man.

“You must be Garstan, the stoneshaper. My name is Stigend, I’m a carpenter.” They shook hands in eorling fashion, taking hold with their right arms of the others right arm just someway below the wrist and looked each other in the eye.

Stigend felt good with this man. His eyes were honest and open, revealing a kind of person he had used to appreciate. His grip from his hand was firm and strong, yet he seemed not to be one of those who wanted to impress others with too much force – or one of those whose hand felt like a cold dead fish.

[Celuien]

"I am glad to meet you, Stigend," Garstan said. "And thank you for taking care of my children tonight." Glancing down at the children, he added, "You have a good son," before bringing his eyes to meet Stigend's again.

"Thank you, but it was a pleasure... at least for a while." Stigend smiled openly and Garstan seemed to have gotten the intended idea and was smiling back to him knowingly. "But really, I think part of our warm welcome here is due to your lovely children. And I truly am happy about it," he continued "If we will get along as well as our children, we will have no problems here."

The men looked at each other for a short while. Garstan studied the carpenter and his son, taking in the details of their faces, their look, running through his impression of Cnebba's behavior earlier. Then he broke the silence with a relieved, welcoming tone. "I can see no obstacles to that. I look forward to working with you."

"As do I," Stigend answered, and with that they let go of each others hands.

Garstan moved toward the stairs. "Lèoðern. Garmund. Come. It is late, and you should be abed."

The children hung back for a moment, still whispering and laughing to Cnebba. Then they somewhat reluctantly said their good-nights and walked after their father. Garmund and Lèoðern's soft laughter and whispers echoed over the sound of their feet against the wooden floor as they followed Garstan back down the steps to their room.

[littlemanpoet]

"Saeryn made mention of my stay in Gondor... my views of such things as asking leave of a woman's menfolk have been encouraged by Gondorian customs, yet these same customs have strong tradition in Rohan also."

"Yes, they do," Eodwine responded, relieved to get to the heart of the matter at last. "Yet I will not ask for your favor-"

"But-" Degas reacted, but Eodwine raised a hand even as Saeryn, eyes widened, her interest keen.

"-because I do not seek to court your sister."

All three were silent. Degas tilted his head. Saeryn frowned and her face worked, whether with relief or regret Eodwine could not tell. He waited for one of the two to speak.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Of all of the responses Eodwine could have given, none could have surprised Degas more than this. Saeryn looked at Eodwine, an unreadable gleam in her eye. Eodwine looked back and forth between the twins and waited for a response.

Degas waited patiently for one to come to him. Saeryn, still embarrassed over her earlier outburst, quietly hoped for somebody to speak and hoped that it wouldn't be her. Finally, Degas replied in a most repetitive fashion:

"You... do not... wish to court my sister?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine smiled. "No, Degas. Not now. You see, I have had dreams. Dreams of my wife, whom for fourteen years I have thought dead, killed by marauding Dunlendings. But these dreams, Degas-" Eodwine's eyes glistened and his face became taut with sudden passion. "-she comes to me in my dreams not as I knew her, but as one who has aged as have I!" Eodwine stopped of a sudden and stared earnestly at Degas, then relaxed a little, shaking his head and chuckling ruefully.

"Lord?" Degas prompted.

Eodwine met his eyes. "It is not proof that she lives. Well I know it. Therefore I must go to Dunland. Not yet, but some time soon. I must go there anyway to see to the case of Manawyth, but now I have the greater urge to go. So go I shall." Eodwine turned to Saeryn, allowing the warmth he felt for her to show on his face. "Yes, Degas, your sister is-" he paused "-dear to me. In a way no woman has been in many a year. If not for my dreams, I would seek your favor. But for now I cannot." He faced Degas again. "Not until I know my wife is dead-" he paused again and tears appeared ready to spill, and his voice trembled "-or if my dear Kéðra lives."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas sat pensively for a moment before responding, and though now words came to him with more ease, he still spoke slowly, cautiously.

"If that is how you feel, it is better indeed that you refrain from the asking. I would not have it that my sister is taken into courtship by a man still haunted by his past, though my words perhaps do not express it how I would have them do so." Degas breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. He wondered what Saeryn's thoughts were, but her face was unreadable. He hoped that she would share later, but held no delusions that her anger with him had waned. She had checked herself, silencing herself with no small amount of effort, and had schooled her emotions, but her outburst spoke of thoughts that had doubtlessly lingered for quite some time. He wondered how long she had been annoyed with him, perhaps not even realizing it, before she had lost her patience. He looked at her quickly, wondering where the red headed girl he had left behind had gone.

He'd seen her, certainly, since he'd left. He'd returned home many times, and had written every few days. But he had not been there to see his sister turn to the young woman that sat quietly before him. On a day long ago, she'd have exhausted herself wrestling him into a water trough, would have laughed as he, sodden, pulled himself up by the rim, and would have danced away with a grin, forgetting her anger and playing chase through the long grass after. On a day long ago, she'd have come to him immediately to share her secrets, would have expected the same from him.

Degas realized then that she had not sought him out to share her thoughts at all since he'd returned. She smiled and laughed and teased him with the same enthusiasm as she once had, but she was not the girl he knew any more. He thought of Linduial... he had not spoken to Saeryn of her. He had not even told Saeryn of his trip to Lin's home, excepting that he was back and had brought Farahil. They did not talk now... he couldn't remember when it had happened. Was she even interested in courtship? He had taken it for granted that she would be... but he had not asked. He knew that she was unhappy in their childhood home, but had he asked her why she had left? No... he had left it to her to come to him, and hadn't questioned it when she did not. He wondered at himself how he had not noticed before, and looked sadly at Saeryn before looking back to Eodwine.

"I wish that you should find whatever it is that you seek, Lord Eodwine. I wish that we, all three of us, should do so." With a few more words, he bade the lord of the hall goodnight and smiled questioningly at Saeryn before leaving. He would find a way to make it up to her... he did not know how, but he would get to know his twin again. He would win her back, and things could be as they once were. A few short moments later, Saeryn followed Degas's example and left Eodwine, making her way in the dark to the kitchen. She prepared herself a cup of tea and fell asleep where she sat, head resting on her hands on the table, the unsipped tea growing cold beside her.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas stretched beneath the statue of Falco, leaning lazily against its base with a lute in his hands. He strummed it, tuning it quietly, and hummed a little for a moment. He had not sang in Eodwine’s Hall and was uncertain as to what the reaction would be, yet it was a beautiful day.

It was early yet; the sun was just breaking the horizon. Farahil and Leof readied mounts inside the stable. Saeryn slept still, having woken suddenly in the middle of the night and relocating herself to her room after the initial confusion of her whereabouts. Lèoðern had met Degas coming from his room with the instrument and had taken his hand sleepily, a thumb in her mouth. He smiled and now she sat in the dirt before him, watching his fingers caress the lute strings.

“Sing me a song, ‘egas?”

“What song would you have me sing, little lady?”

“A pretty one.”

“Ah, a pretty one…” He pretended to think for a moment, running his fingers practicedly over the lute to make it hum. Lèoðern giggled, as he’d known she would. He took a sip of the water he had brought with him and coughed lightly to clear his throat before plucking a few short practice chords. Quietly he began, not wanting to wake anybody, and his voice grew as the song went on. It started slow, with soft notes, and he sang as if to Lèoðern.

A heart beat ever heavily,
Its feet to tread the world alone;
It asked its master pleadingly
To find a lass and make a home.

It wandered hills with only song
As comfort for its loneliness
Begging softly all along
To settle down in happiness.

The master heard the heartfelt plea
And begged his heart to hear.
Wouldst thou, heart, please wait for me?
‘Til settling I no longer fear.

The heart spoke back to master’s words
And softly it did say
I’ll wait for you, loyal to you,
Until our dying day.

From hill and field the harper lad
Sang for his bed and mead
But ever onward thought he had
Of what his heart did plead.

With laughter then he met a lass
And thought of her as fair
And so a time did come to pass
That none other could compare.

Her voice and laugh was its own song,
Her heart the beat he cared for best
And finally time did come along;
He wished to stop and rest.

His wandering days he left behind
But cared less than he’d guessed.
But time now came to try their minds
And put devotion to the test.

The lady made a heartfelt plea
And hoped his promise true:
Wouldst thou, love, please wait for me?
‘Til I return to you.

The harper spoke to lady’s words
And softly he did say
I’ll wait for you, loyal to you,
Until our dying day.

[Celuien]

The last notes of the song faded, mingling into the soft rustle of the alder leaves in the breeze and the warbling of the finches. Lèoðern's eyes were wide as she looked at the singer, now silently running his fingers over the lute once again.

"That was pretty, 'egas."

"Thank you, my little lady." He gave a bow from the shoulders, sending Lèoðern into giggles again. She quieted herself and sat still, her elbows on the ground, propping her chin in her hand. Degas absently strummed a few chords in accompaniment to the songbirds. The birds redoubled their singing, seeming to understand the sympathies of the human musician and to be eager to join him in a duet.

Degas' song was pretty. But the words were so sad for an early morning in the springtime, with the sun shining through the trees and casting the shadows of the merrily waving leaves on the ground. The poor harper and his lady didn't seem happy. Lèoðern glanced upward again, tilting her head to one side in a question.

"'egas?"

"Yes?"

"I like that song. There's a story. But it's a sad story. Did the harper really die? And the lady too?" Lèoðern's face was frank and open in its curiosity, unsuspecting of the song's significance to its singer. "What happened to them?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas smiled sadly at Lèoðern, wondering for a moment what it would be like if she were his own. He'd always liked children and already missed Feo's presence. He started at the thought and pushed it away.

"I do not know what happened to them, m'lady, for their story was not finished before the song was completed."

[Celuien]

If Degas knew the beginning and middle to the tale told in his song, surely he would know the end, if ever it were to be written. She shook her curls and smiled softly, still puzzling over the unfinished story.

"Someone has to know what happened to them. Will you tell me the end, if you hear it? And will you sing me another song? Please."

~*~

Garstan and Garmund stirred inside the Hall. The latter was eager for the day to begin, already anticipating games with Cnebba once chores were finished. But Garstan feared the new day, not knowing how to behave to Linduial after their scene the evening before. He knew, after a night's rest, that he had most likely overreacted and caused her unnecessary discomfort. He hoped that Linduial would understand.

[JennyHallu]

Lin stood silently in the doorway to the stable, heart full of an emotion she did not yet know how to handle. She had run out with a saddlebag she'd forgotton had been stashed under her bed, and heard the whole of Degas' song. Now she watched Degas smoothing Lèoðern's pretty hair, and listening to their conversation, unwilling to break the spell by speech. Farahil was in the stall with her mare, and Lin wondered fleetingly if Garstan had spoken to him yet, and what he thought.

But not even the looming threat of that particular conversation could spoil her joy right now, and as Degas straightened up she met his eyes with her own starry ones, as eager as the child to hear his answer.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Of course, my lady; you shall be among the first to know. And what sort of song should this be?"

"A happy song."

"Oooh," he nodded, looking past Lèoðern and into Lin's wide eyes. He wished he could read her thoughts. He wished he knew what emotions, if any, had been stirred by his song; if she had even understood its significance past the sleepiness of dawn. He wanted to go to her, to hold her close, and whisper into her ear what he had said in song, but now could not be the time. "A happy song. That I can do."

He looked back down at Lèoðern and tapped out a beat on his knees, one hand twice as quick as the other, and smiled to see the little girl before him mimicking the motions with limited success. He let Lèoðern take up the beat when she had mastered it and chanted softly and slowly, rather than singing, playing a few notes with one hand as he spoke the light rhyme and snapped his fingers lazily on the downbeat.

She flaps her wings
And lands on things
With painted gown
And blackened crown.

The flowers of fall,
The grass so tall,
They call her name;
She plays her game.

Dancing swift,
Her feet she'll lift
In thoughtful care
Into the air.

When winter's here,
Sleep 'til next year
And wait to see
What new there'll be.

In spring she wakes;
First flight she takes
To greet the sun
And everyone.

Wings whisper song;
She floats along
Up in the sky...
Look, she goes by.

By lucky chance, a beautiful butterfly chose that moment to flutter through the courtyard, and Lèoðern's delighted laughter danced through the air. Farahil came to stand behind Linduial, and she did not see him. He watched Degas as he pointed to the butterfly, seeing the child follow his finger and watch the delicate creature cast a magical spell over the girl. Degas wondered at what luck had made the butterfly come just then, as if planned, to punctuate his words so beautifully.

He smiled and looked at pretty Lèoðern, laughing with her. She would have a story later, that he could be sure. He set his instrument carefully upon the ground, leaning back against the great stone Falco, and wondered if Lin was still watching. Hesitantly, he stole a look, and Lèoðern followed his gaze.

She jumped to her feet and ran to Linduial, speaking excitedly.

"Did you hear 'egas talk about the pretty butterfly and then it came! Did you see it come? It flew by! And he sang about a harper that promises to wait for a lady but he says he does not know the rest of the story. Did you hear him sing about the harper? And the butterfly came!"

As Lèoðern spoke, Farahil silently went back to his work, and Degas saw him. He wondered at the man's thoughts, and knew that he would never ask him what they were. But now Lèoðern asked Lin if she had heard... perhaps she would speak and Degas could hear what she would say.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine woke to the sound of a lute and voice. "Do you hear that, Ké?" He turned over; she was not there, only in his dreams. He sighed.

a man still haunted by his past

He peaked out the window; the sun was just rising above the plains of the East Emnet. He got up and stretched, donned his clothes, and washed his face from the bucket he had refilled last thing before abedding. He wondered how Saeryn had slept.

I would not have my sister taken into courtship

He wondered more what she thought.

...it is better that you refrain from the asking

But Linduial was leaving this day, and he must speak with her. There had been no chance earlier between her own healing and his court duties. He hoped catch her before they left. Fool, all you needed was to have Marenil ask her to wait. Why had he not thought of that? Oh, he knew why. He passed through the kitchen, bidding Kara a quick good morning and snatching a bite of bread from the tray she kept out. Many a friend had told him that once he got a thing in his head, all else flew away on the wind.

I hope you find what you seek

He wondered what that was, and knew the answer quick as that: peace of mind. He needed to know whether Ké was alive or dead. Yet the finding out must wait, no matter how it gnawed at him, no matter how she haunted his dreams. Are you real, Ké, or just me wishing in a vain dream?

I hope all three of us do.

Or something like that. ...find what we want ... He wondered what Degas wanted.

He heard a child's excited voice. "Did you hear him sing about the harper? And the butterfly came!" It was Lèoðern asking Linduial. Good. He was not too late. He held back just shy of the stables, choosing to wait a moment.

[JennyHallu]

JennyHallu's post


Lin looked down at Lèoðern with an effort, grinning easily. "I saw the butterfly, you little squirrel. A lovely thing, don't you think? I heard both songs actually, and I must admit my favorite is the first. I myself am rather curious to hear the ending." She looked again to Degas, eyes shining with hope.

Lèoðern looked back and forth between her friends with confusion, aware somehow that something was going on between the two. The silence was full of expectation, and Lin began to wonder whether she had perhaps been forward in thinking the song was for her. Would he say nothing to her?


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


Taralphiel's post


Lys looked up worriedly. The morning had wrung out sunshine through the cold for some hours, and Lys had woken startled. He had expected to be woken the night before! Had Thornden forgotten to collect him?

Lys tried to sit up, holding at his waist gingerly. He looked to the corner of the room, and saw Thornden slumped in the chair by the door. He had likely snuck in later that night, and Lys did not wish to wake him. He sat and watched him carefully, smiling at his steady breathing and calm expression. Lys saw him most often with creases of worry lining his brow, and Lys felt guilt for being the cause of those lines.

Thornden stirred and lifted his head. His eyes opened and his chest expanded as he drew a deep breath of air.

“Oh, Lys! You are awake,” he said, noticing the boy at once.

“Yes,” Lys said softly. “Thornden, why didn’t you wake me? We did not go to eat dinner in the Hall, like you promised.”

Thornden had forgotten, until that morning when he woke up, and he felt sorry for it. Lys saw it immediately as the familiar wrinkles of worry returned. Lys quickly muttered a few apologies, until Thornden got up and walked to his bedside. He gently laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Now, now, Lys! Do not be sorry. I’m the one who should ask pardon. The court of yesterday turned bitter-sweet. Our Lady Linduial is leaving this morning for home, and there were some changes,” he paused slightly. “I am not to be appointed to Lord Eodwine’s side in the rank you supposed. I did not wish to disappoint you...”

Lys shook his head thoroughly at Thornden’s words. “I could not be! You have taken care of me all this time. I am no blood to you, nor have I any thing or promise to serve you benefit for being so kind. You have given freely, and nothing you could do would make me feel disappointment. You are all at the once my family, and, mayhap, my Father…”

Lys stopped after this, and lowered his head. In all of the healing his body was yet to endure, Lys knew he could feel safe in the care of Thornden. And with no family in his free memory, Thornden was all he had.

[Laiudanama]

Beside the road, just over the wall, there was a soft rustling: the sound of someone moving deliberately quietly, a sound practically designed to attract attention. Silence for a moment as an eye peered through a gap in the stonework, then silence for a moment more as the eye withdrew. Then, with a swift motion, the owner of the aforementioned eye grasped a sturdy branch of the overhanging tree firmly, braced his feet against the wooden wall, and pulled himself up and over in a sort of half-abseiling fashion, landing squarely in the mud on the other side on a pair of well worn walking shoes. The boy, a scruffy, dark haired youth of about nineteen years, wrinkled his nose, shifting his feet disdainfully as water seeped through the battered soles and into what remained of much-patched socks, then shrugged, to no one in particular: after all, these feet had seen more than little mud in the past few years, and particularly in the last, particularly eventful month that had led up to his standing there in the only muddy patch of the road for miles, it seemed, shaking long, untidy brown hair out of his eyes to survey the building in front of him: the Eorling Mead Hall.

Not that Trystan, young vagabond that was was, knew that was what this rather splendid, barn like building was, of course; and neither did he particularly care for that matter. What mattered to the boy, at that particular moment, was firstly that this building was as far from Gondor, and thus that dratted city Minas Tirith and his unwanted pursuers with it, through street as his legs could carry him, and if he didn’t find somewhere to rest during the day he would surely collapse; and secondly, upon closer inspection, that it was some kind of Inn – and where there is an Inn, there are people…and where there are people, there’s profit to be made.

Trystan turned and tugged a forelock ironically at the tree which had so assisted his passage over the wall, his sharp eyes slanting slightly in self-amusement, then picked up his dirty leather satchel where it had fallen beside him, slinging it over his head and across a skinny chest, and began to approach the wall with the careful, almost stealthy walk of one who is more than prepared to run at the slightest sight of any human life. Thank the stars it was still relatively early in the morning, he thought, gratefully; there were few people around, it seemed, leaving him time and space to maybe grab a handful of something tasty and find somewhere to lay low for the rest of the day. And a beautiful early morning it was turning out to be as well, he mused to himself, sniffing the air appreciatively and taking in the soft scent of dew and sunshine; the kind of morning where one could almost be glad to be alive, no matter what their position – whether a lady combing her golden hair in an ebony tower by the sea, or, indeed, a scrawny vagabond on the run from gods-only-know what punishment, with stealing and cheating becoming a way of life.

Not that the aristocratic sorts within any sort of dressed-up Inn would recognise that; too lazy to get out of their beds, he added, bitterly, his jaw setting angrily. Still, all the better for you, Trys lad; get in, grab, get out. Easy, right?

Stealthily, the young man approached the buildings, keeping close to the wall as he crept along, always ready to run. Approaching a tall, wide open door, he paused, checking for any sound of life. Suddenly, a giant, wet snorting noise made him duck, hand to his boot, wide-eyed to the ground, looking around for the threat…

…and found it, regarding him with some amusement in it’s big brown eyes from within the hazy gloom inside the door. From over a stall wall in fact, contentedly munching on hay as it watched this strange boy crouched on the floor with interest. Trystan unfolded himself, sliding the slim knife back into hiding in his boot and glared at the his equine companion venomously. The horse tossed his – or her? Petty thieving was Trystan’s trade, he barely knew one end of a horse from the other, he was a city boy through and through – head disdainfully in reply and turned back to grasp another mouthful of hay in yellowing, tombstone teeth. Trystan wrinkled his nose slightly at the sight but, despite himself, stepped forward tentatively into the gloom of the stable building, a surprisingly peaceful place, all dust and gloom and the sounds and smells of contented steeds. He approached his new found friend and smiled slightly, pushing his hair once again away from a handsome, bony face.

“Hey, hey…” he whispered softly, his eyes flickering over the beast’s face in a kind of admiration and fascination. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see me, eh? Handsome boy, yeah?” The words were fairly meaningless, but somehow just being able to speak to something living, and for once not in his own defence or to give another spiel of lies, was surprisingly comforting. And unlike most who Trsytan met, this one was unlikely to judge him – or at least, not audibly, and not to a court. He, or she, was truly a beautiful creature too, even Trystan could recognise that with his very limited knowledge of all this animalian. Then a new thought struck him, a sudden idea which seemed to fall into place to solve all of his problems, and he suddenly looked anew at the horse.

“Handsome indeed, aren’t we?” he said slowly, a plan forming. Carefully, tentatively, he began to stretch out his hand, long fingers reaching towards his nose. He grinned slyly as his hand rested on the animal’s coarse, dappled fur. “And probably worth a pretty penny too, aren’t we, eh…?”

The sound of singing, sudden, unexpected and pure, made Trystan jerk suddenly and the would-be horse thief hurled himself backwards into the opposite stall in a defensive crouch, hand once more on his boot; but this time, in his haste, his fingers fumbled and the knife slid out of his hand and into the walkway between the stalls on either side of the stable building. But it wasn’t the sound of a harmless, tuneful ditty that kept Trystan crouching there rather than rising to get the knife: it was the realisation, suddenly, that he was no longer alone in the stables – and he wasn’t counting the horses…

[Firefoot]

Busy inside of Linduial’s horse’s stall, Léof did not notice anyone entering the stable. He thought he heard a quiet voice, but attributed it to Farahil two stalls down. Even so, he could not quite shake the feeling that something was not quite right… perhaps because the voice didn’t quite sound like Farahil’s, perhaps because the sounds of horses that he was so used to weren’t exactly right, or perhaps it was simply intuition. Whatever it was, after a few minutes Léof was sure he heard something drop and decided he ought to go check and make sure everything was all right.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to Farahil. He glanced up and down the aisle; nothing seemed amiss. You’re just imagining things, he told himself – but he didn’t believe it. He walked slowly down the aisle, checking the horses; and the farther he went, the more stirred up they seemed to be: pricked ears and alert expressions, one or two had ceased eating and poked their head out of the stalls. That’s funny.

Then when he was nearing the end of the aisle, he spotted a knife on the floor. He immediately frowned. Not only was it not safe, but he had no idea as to why anyone would have a knife out here in the stables – much less drop one. He stepped closer to pick it up, then jumped back in surprise when he realized that someone was actually occupying the empty stall nearest the knife. “Hey! What are you doing here, sneaking around the stables?” Léof’s surprised expression turned to a scowl as he contemplated the options. The young man in the stall was scruffy and roguish looking, crouched and hiding there in the stall – and not from Rohan, by the looks of him. Léof glanced over his shoulder quickly, not trusting his back to the stranger – the horse in the stall was none other than Eodwine’s Flithaf, an appealing horse to any thief… His glance also showed that Farahil was coming to find the source of the commotion. “You had best explain yourself.”

[Nogrod]

Stigend and Modtryth woke up early but didn’t want to wake Cnebba too soon. Modtryth went on with an inventory of what they were lacking. If they were to live here now, they might need a few items to make it their home, she told Stigend. They should have fresh flowers beside the window and so they would need a nice little vase for it, the rocking chair absolutely needed a rug on it...

“But you heard what the Eorl said. It’s just a month now, and only then will our fate be decided. I think you should worry about the vases and rugs then. Nothing’s certain yet”, Stigend tried to argue, but to no avail.

“C’mon now dear, surely we have savings enough to buy some essential things”, Modtryth looked at her husband half-challengingly. Then her face lightened and she said with a triumphant tone: “Remember, we don’t have to pay for our quarters or the food here, so we have at least a month’s expenses saved already.”

Modtryth was right as always. Lord Byrthold had paid him handsomely for his job and they had some left from the horse fair earnings too. And then there was Stigend’s secret “reserve” he had never mentioned Modtryth about. That meant the golden ring and the ornate silver necklace with two small gems on it he had been given by his Great aunt, the only person who somewhat approved of their marriage. She had given them to him when they were leaving their village. “I don’t have any eye for beauty anymore as I’m almost blind now, and I will not be suffering poverty on my last years. So take these and change them to silver to get you a living in times of despair.” Stigend had tried to decline the offer but his Great aunt had been resolute enough. And surely Stigend had appreciated the gift. He still appreciated it.

So Stigend had calculated that with a scanty living they might get on almost half a year with the money they had. And with the Great aunt’s gifts something more. Stigend didn’t have a clear idea of their worth. But he always wanted to be rather safe than sorry. He never wanted to use more money than was necessary as one never knew what the fate had in store. They had discussed this issue of using money during the years. They surely had.

It was not unexpected then, that when Cnebba finally woke up and Modtryth got something else to think about, Stigend was quite relieved.

After Cnebba had made a detailed account of his dream where he, Garmund and Lèoðern had adventured in the halls of the great King, tightly escaped a couple of dragons into a dead end and meeting there a horse-sized caterpillar that had turned into a butterfly and carried them to safety, they decided to go down and see whether there were breakfast still on offer.

As they opened the door the somewhat melancholic tune reached them. They just stood and listened to the melody. They didn’t hear well enough to make out the words but the player succeeded in getting the emotions through. As the song ended, Modtryth turned towards Stigend, almost whispering “That was so beautiful, wasn’t it?” Stigend was quiet for a second, just coming back from the world into which the melody had carried him. He couldn’t play any instrument and was quite bad a singer, but music sure was his weak spot, something that carried him away from the here and now easily and effortlessly. He looked at his wife smilingly, touching her cheek tenderly with his palm. “If we are going to be welcomed like this every morning to the breakfast, we sure are in the land of the dreams”.

“C’mon! I want to see it!” called Cnebba, already running towards the stairs. A new song had begun. Modtryth took Stigend by the hand and they both followed Cnebba downstairs and out to the courtyard.

Cnebba had stopped some ten yards away from the young man that was singing and playing. Even as he would so much have wanted to go and listen to the song beside Lèoðern, the stranger made him stay a bit farther away. Cnebba didn’t quite understand what he felt. It was something new. The man sang nicely and he admired him for it, but still he felt a bit disappointed to see Lèoðern being so deeply drawn into him and his song.

But then there was the butterfly! Cnebba’s eyes went round and the others might as well have heard how his jaw dropped from amazement and wonder. Wor a while he couldn’t say anything but just follow the butterfly as it danced around the singer and Lèoðern and then gracefully got farther, going up and down, left and right.

When the music stopped, he just couldn’t hold it any longer. He turned around to see his father some yards behind him and ran to him. “Daddy! Daddy! Did you see that! Was that the caterpillar we found yesterday?”

Stigend took the boy into his arms and answered, pretending to be serious “Well, it might have been. For that you must ask Garmund. But more probably that was the butterfly that saved you last night, don’t you think?” Cnebba looked into his father’s eyes intently for a moment and then bursted into laughter. Stigend laughed too and just couldn’t resist the chance and threw Cnebba high up, catching him only at the last moment before his feet would have touched the ground. They both laughed.

Only after he had let Cnebba to the ground did he realise that there were other people on the yard too. He hadn’t seen them the last evening, but they had to be people of the Mead Hall. He straightened his back and met some curios faces looking towards him and his family.

“Good morning to you sirs, mylady.” Stigend said a bit hesitatingly. He had no idea who these people were or how to address them. But they seemed to be of higher class. Still at least Lèoðern seemed to be in very close relation to that young man.

“My name is Stigend and I’m your new carpenter. This in my wife Modtryth and this is my son Cnebba. Nice to meet you all, in a good morning like this accompanied by the beautiful songs of you good Sir.” He bowed slightly and Modtryth followed his example.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan thought fast, skimming through the options, but he was already so tired that it was almost like thinking through mud. The boy who stood in front of him looked at least a good few years younger than him, and was even slighter in build than him. His eyes flickered to the knife on the ground, which was almost within reach of his long legs, if he stretched to it – but then again, even if he couldn’t, he could overpower this boy, surely…

“Oh no you don’t!” The boy had seen Trystan’s eyes move towards the weapon and he kicked it quickly out of reach. Trys’ eyes narrowed, and he was about to rise, before pausing, frozen mid-motion and Leofric looked nervously to the side, nodding to another who was just out of Trystan’s line of vision, sprawled rather awkwardly on the floor as he was. Just my ruddy luck – not just one, but two of them… His heart sank, too, when he saw this next new stranger, and the thought of fighting flashed only briefly into his mind before disintegrating. Two stable-hands, nervous and probably less experienced in fighting than Trystan, he could have dealt with: but this young man was rather more sturdily built, broad across the shoulders and with obvious strength – besides which he was probably an inch or two taller than Trystan. He hesitated, trying to think of some plan of action, but before he could say anything, the younger lad spoke again.

“Here, you’re Gondorian, aren’t you?”

Panic seized Trystan. He tried to tell himself it was his accent, or his distinctive colouring, dark hair and grey eyes, but his mind was running away with itself. They’d heard about it, they must have done! He could imagine the line on the wanted poster: Gondorian criminal wanted for murder and robbery, young man likely on the run or in hiding… He tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to have dried up completely. The other man frowned, his arms folded across his chest, and seemed about to speak, but Trystan pulled himself together, determined to get the next word before they said anything else. “Why do you say that, friend?” he replied, trying to keep his tone light. Bother. Too jovial. He tried again. “I am indeed from Gondor – bit of travel never hurt anyone, right?”

“Not if they’re travelling purely for the sake of travel, no…” The older man spoke for the first time, slowly and deliberately, watching Trystan carefully with a look that made the boy feel like he was under examination – a feeling he usually associated with soldiers and guards. Now that really would be just his luck, seeing how the last few months had gone – to get miles from Dol Amroth and run straight into a soldier!

“And why else would I be travelling?” he replied, his voice carefully neutral. It wasn’t quite a challenge, but was coming close. He tried to relax slightly, but his sinking feeling was increasing as the man spoke, and what is more, he was looking more familiar by the second. “Your accent… You are from Dol Amroth?”

“Aye. And I take it from yours that it is from the same that you yourself hail from?”

Should have spoken less, Trys… He forced a smile. There was no point in denying it at this point. “I am – and a pleasant surprise it is indeed to run into a kinsman this far from home.” He was rewarded with a wary smile from the man, although his expression remained guarded, and although the younger lad had been watching the exchange with his head jerking from one to the other, as if watching a sport, he still looked utterly unconvinced. Shaking himself out of silence, he gestured towards the beautiful horse behind him, scowling down at Trystan. “Well, that may be all well and good, but may I ask what you’re doing in lying in a horse stall, miles from Dol Amroth, with your eye on one of the most beautiful horses this side Edoras? Like I say, you’d best be explaining yourself!”

Trystan was getting into his stride now, and instead of showing the panic inside, he allowed a smile to slip onto his face and looked away, nodding slightly. Looking back up at the boy, he grinned ruefully and put his hands up as if caught red handed. “Fair enough, sir, a good point – I can see how that might look. But I promise you: I have only just arrived, and was making my way around to the front of the Inn when I was distracted by this beautiful creature. I have a fondness for horses – although not, of course, in that way!” he added, grinning amiably. Just a little white lie: as one who had grown up all his life in a city, he didn’t know the slightest thing about horses, but it was about the closest he could get to the truth as possible, and at this stage, the truth was just about acceptable. But the charm worked, or at least melted the boy’s defences slightly, so Trystan decided to seal the blow by putting himself right out there, showing (oh, the irony) that he had nothing to hide. Wiping a hand quickly on his trousers, he held it out to both the boy and the older man, open to either. “My name is Trystan, sir, traveller and general no-good, I believe would fit the bill?”

His tone was relaxed, the last comment even slightly tongue in cheek, though his heart was beating furiously as the boy hesitated. After a second of silence, though, it was the boy who answered, smiling and grasping Trystan’s hand and pulling him to his feet, where he did indeed stand an inch or two taller than the boy. “And I’m Léofric, and this here is Farahil; I work as ostler here at Eorling Mead Hall – and anyone who likes horses is fine with me, I suppose. But…I don’t suppose this knife is yours, is it?” So the suspicion remained. Trystan didn’t even hesitate, allowing a puzzled expression to address his features as he tipped his head slightly to one side. “Why….why would I have a knife out in a stable?”

Léofric nodded slowly, digesting the reply and seeming to accept it. “Just thought I’d check, y’know. Although I can’t think why it is in here; must have been dropped by someone or other… Never mind, anyway, you looked like you could do with a good drink – you haven’t been travelling all night have you?” Léofric’s tone was now far friendlier, chatting to Trystan, but the thief doubted he was entirely taken in. And as he followed him out of the stables, he noted that the other man, Farahil, did not immediately follow. Instead, he could feel narrowed eyes watching him leave, as if he was familiar but couldn’t quite be placed, before Farahil too followed them.

[Firefoot]

“Wait a second,” said Léof as they exited the stable; he had forgotten the knife on the ground. He would not have that laying around for someone to step on – human or horse. He set it up on a shelf containing a few other odds and ends that hadn’t been properly put away, making sure it was easy to access. Whoever it was that had dropped it would surely come back for it – and Léof wasn’t so sure that it wasn’t this Trystan – he had been looking at it mighty keenly before Léof kicked it away. Léof had no proof that he was not who he said he was, and so did not want to judge him by his appearance. Indeed, had he not been hiding in the stall, Léof probably would not have been very suspicious at all – but if his motives truly were honest, he should not have minded being found there in the stables.

“So what brings you here?” asked Léof. “It’s a fair way from Gondor, especially on foot.”

“Just traveling,” Trystan replied easily, but Léof thought he saw a hint of something – worry, perhaps? – in his eyes.

“Just traveling,” Léof repeated curiously. “You travel much?”

“Some.”

Léof nodded, still not wholly convinced. Trystan obviously was not telling him some things… but who was he to blame people for carrying secrets? Léof’s place was not to judge people on what they had done; Trystan ought to at least be given a chance. “Well, you can go ahead and sit down; some breakfast should be brought out soon. I’ll let the Lord Eodwine know you’re here, and then I’d best get back to the stables.”

“Thank you,” said Trystan, and Léof just nodded in acknowledgment. He walked over to where Eodwine appeared to be watching something in the courtyard. “Sir?” Eodwine turned. “A traveler just arrived – said his name was Trystan from Dol Amroth. Or, he didn’t say he was from there, but Farahil recognized the accent. Anyhow, I probably wouldn’t have said anything, except that I found him, well, hiding in an empty stall… he didn’t seem too happy to find me and Farahil in the stables with him. I can’t prove anything by it… but I thought you ought to know.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Farahil followed only as far as the doorway and watched from there. The lad, for lad he was to Farahil, was ill at ease, though he seemed practiced enough at pretending otherwise. Farahil thought back to a lazy night on the dock, sipping ice cold cider as an old friend drank mead and enjoyed a smoke. A gaggle of youths had found their way near as the two men watched the stars begin to show in the faded night-blue sky. They laughed riotously, possibly drunk, and Farahil had looked at them in vague disdain. His companion had thought to inform them of their rude loudness, but Farahil had motioned for him to remain silent. Why waste a perfectly good moment of peace by chasing children along the water?

He couldn't be sure, but this lad's lanky frame seemed to match one from that night. He'd certainly seen him... somewhere... Farahil could not remember where and was loathe to assign the boy, Trystan, he reminded himself, an identity not his. He may have been one of the young men on the wharf that night... but just as easily he may not have. Farahil pondered the smallness of Middle Earth that he could travel anywhere and spot a familiar face.

He went back to his horse, rubbing her soft nose pensively. Why did the boy seem familiar? Perhaps it was merely the interest of finding one from Dol Amroth so far from home.

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

Degas saw Cnebba watching him with what appeared to be wistfullness and beckoned him close. He leaned in, gesturing as if for secrecy, and the children leaned in with him, fascinated.

"My lord, my lady," he bowed at the waist over his crossed legs and they giggled. "I would have you do me a great favor..." Anything, they assured him, in all seriousness. "My mind is tired... I can think of no more rhymes. Would you spend a moment, perhaps two, and find me rhymes to sing about?"

Excusing himself from their activity, he brushed the dirt from his clothes and looked at Linduial. He smiled and nodded to Cnebba's parents, and waved casually to Leof, and he looked at Linduial once more. He walked to her, nervous; she might say anything.

"My lady." he spoke the greeting softly. "How did you sleep?"

[Celuien]

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Garstan looked out of the window to the front Inn yard. It was still abandoned, quiet, and peaceful in the early morning. He thought he heard faint singing. Though Garmund was yet in their room, Lèoðern had vanished. Fond of melodies as she was, Garstan thought she had most likely gone off in search of the singer. She would most likely return to him with the words to the song on her lips and an excited gleam on her face. Lèoðern had a quick ear. She learned tunes and the words that went with them easily. As had her mother, long ago.

Garstan distracted himself from the melancholy thoughts that threatened to intrude on him by tousling Garmund's hair and taking a few swift steps to the washbasin. He splashed water over his face. Linduial was leaving today. He did not know what to say to her, or what had already been said to her by her brother. He would find out soon enough.

"Well, my boy. Shall we go find your sister? And decide what chores need doing before you go off with Cnebba today?"

At the mention of Cnebba, Garmund's face grew nearly as animated as his sister's usually appeared. Garstan laughed. "I see where your mind is today. Very well. We'll finish the measuring and I'll show you some stone cutting, then you can go."

"Yes. Hurray!" Garmund, it seemed, was already counting the moments to the end of the day's work.

They left the room and made their way to the alder court, arriving just as Degas finished his second song and Stigend made his introductions. Garstan hung back at the kitchen wall to watch Linduial, hoping she would speak to him first, as Garmund hurried forward to tell Lèoðern and Cnebba about his chores.

[JennyHallu]

The courtyard was getting crowded and chaotic, but Lin barely noticed in her frustration with Degas. How did I sleep? Surely he can guess...

"My lord," she said demurely, though her hands, tightly clasped before her, betrayed her impatience and emotion. "I fear my sleep was haunted by a question. I do not think I shall rest easily until I know the answer, and I have not long to learn it."

And she didn't. Farahil had finished with the packs, and had disappeared into the stables, presumably to get the horses. And there were doubtless many who would wish to bid her farewell today. She looked up into his eyes, mind and soul hanging on the answer to her question of the night before.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan thanked Léofric, but he felt anything but thankful, sitting at the table the boy had led him to, torn as to do what to do, and feeling utterly trapped. He was inside the Inn now, true - but the morning was rather later than he had hoped to arrive at such a place, and was downright bustling with people moving too and fro about their daily business. By the commotion by the stables as they had left, and the general purposefulness of movement - aye, and indeed also by a fair amount of careful eavesdropping - Trystan gleaned that this Farahil character was leaving today. Well, at least that was some luck. Something about the man made Trystan uneasy: he would doubtless make an excellent ally, but he somehow doubted this was a man likely to be easily won over, and he was sure about one thing, that he would be a formidable enemy.

No. He didn't want to make enemies. He had just wanted to do what he always did: get in, grab a quick something to eat and maybe something to sell, and then lay low until it was dark so he could begin travelling again. But it had all been scuppered by that Léofric! He looked around quickly to find where the other had got to - and saw him talking to an authoritative looking figure, an elegantly dressed man standing with his arms folded in the doorway. The Lord Eodwine, would this be? He decidedly disliked the title assigned to this man: ‘Lord’s generally didn’t bode well for people like Trystan, and he could just imagine Léofric describing to his…his master?...the circumstances under which he had met Trystan. Well, my Lord, not to make him sound suspicious, but he was all crouched in one of the stables, a knife by his feet and a keen eye on this rather fine horse… Eodwine glanced around and Trystan looked quickly away, staring at his hands, his long fingers entwined around each other, although the main part of his right was covered with a dirty bandage.

‘Lords don’t like people like you’: and what exactly are ‘people like you’ Trystan? Thieves? Petty criminals? Or potential murderers?

Trystan felt the panic and fear rise in his throat once again, his mind snapping back to that gloomy house in Dol Amroth. It was an accident! It was never meant to turn out that way, he could swear it! Wrong place, wrong time, wrong bloody people to get involved with – way to go, Trys, this time you really messed up…

As a girl passed, he rose quickly, catching her by the arm, then quickly withdrawing his hand, not wanting her to get the wrong idea and call over this Lord figure. She was a pretty thing, possibly some kind of waitress or server, and of about his age, even in his panicked state Trystan couldn’t help but remark upon it in his mind, but there were other, more pressing matters to be thought of right now. “Ex…excuse me, ma’am,” he began, humbly – a little humbleness and charm never did any harm, especially with a pretty girl. “I…well, I was just wondering whether I could perhaps speak to the owner of this establishment, or…” he tailed off, his hand nervously straying to push hair away from a handsome, if probably rather dirty face, and hoped he didn’t look too foul. Glancing around, just to make sure no one else was within earshot, he decided to cut straight to the chase; leaning forward almost conspiratorially, he continued. “You see, I…well, I don’t actually have any payment with me, and, not liking to presume upon the kindness of your generous persons, I was wondering if there was some job or other that I could do or get, maybe just on a temporary basis, in exchange for a few nights of rest here?”

The girl hesitated, and Trystan saw he glance towards Eodwine. Drat: he had been hoping she would just give in and assign to him some easy gardening job or handy job, but apparently there would be no such luck. She came to a decision and looked back at Trys. “You’d best talk to Lord Eodwine, or Lady Saeryn, the Hostess, about that sort of thing. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite,” she added with a slight smile; apparently some of Trystan’s worry had shown on his face. He had to be more careful about that – it was just tiredness, but he couldn’t let his mask slip, because the consequences of being found out really didn’t bear thinking about. Maybe later. First up, he’d indeed have a word with this Lord Eodwine – and no matter what he had said in his opening statement, the one thing he really didn’t want to do was blatantly draw the attention of any sort of nobility to himself. Unless, of course…

“Lady Saeryn, you say?” he replied thoughtfully, still watching Eodwine in the doorway carefully. “I shouldn’t like to disturb Lord Eodwine – may I ask where I may find this Hostess…?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"You may find her behind you, and a bit to the left." Saeryn was sleepy, but she had a knack for overhearing things that pertained to her, and she doubted that the young man would notice. As it was he appeared uncomfortable addressing Eodwine; nothing new, she thought, hoping that her light voice might put him at ease. Many are uncomfortable with lords. Not all lords, she added bitterly, are as kind and approachable as Eodwine is.

She glanced over the young man, taking him in quickly... he was young, though perhaps older than her... she couldn't be sure. As it was, they seemed to be about the same age, and he was certainly underfed. She would see to that before he left. He was filthy... travelling, that was apparent, and seemingly not under the best of circumstances. She would see to that as well. She'd need to think of a diplomatic way of suggesting a hot bath.

"How may I help you this morning? Come, I've yet to eat and I am terribly hungry; we shall have breakfast together while we speak."

Leading him toward the kitchen, she waited for him to respond, wondering how and what he would say.

[Kath]

Kara had been headed outside to find out what Degas' singing had been about, but had been waylaid as she crossed the Hall by a stranger, and a rather shabby looking one at that. He'd been asking after jobs, and though Kara could think of a good few that needed doing, she knew it wasn't up to her to say who could and couldn't stay in the Hall. Still, she could see that the fellow seemed frightened to talk to Eodwine, and suggested instead that he talk to Saeryn, who was now an equal to Eowine, yet young enough not to scare him.

Just as she was thinking this the lady in question appeared behind her, offering the newcomer some food and company. Noting that they were planning on conducting their meal in the kitchen Kara hurried back to warn Frodides, who wasn't always keen on being interrupted when in the middle of something. She appeared through the back doorway just a few seconds before the two visitors voices could be heard in the hallway, giving her time to ready Frodides and throw some extra goods on the breakfast tray, which was looking a little empty since half the Hall had already been by that morning, and the children always took as much as they could fit in their hands and mouths.

Listening to Frodides' half-hearted and quite facetious grumbling about not being able to get any work done if her kitchen was invaded like this all the time, Kara returned to arduous task that she had been trying to avoid earlier, of cleaning the burnt pans that had so far resisted any attempts to shift the grime on them.

Just as she'd managed to pick the first one up Saeryn and the stranger entered. Kara nodded to them and indicated that they should help themselves from the tray, holding up the pan as an excuse for not having some ready for them. Saeryn smiled in understanding, and directed the boy toward the food.

Hooking her feet around the stool she was on, Kara continued to scrub quietly, hoping that she would remain unobtrusive enough that the two conversed in the room while eating. She wanted to know more about this boy.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas looked into Linduial's eyes, searching for something that he wasn't sure how to find.

How would Linduial react to Degas having gone to her family before going to her? Though his conclusions had proven correct, Degas had not ascertained before from Linduial that she even wished to be courted. Should a suitor assume such things from Saeryn, she would be furious. She would certainly not care to court a man that would change her life in such a way without her say so. What would Lin say? Degas looked at her, wondering what he should say.

Should he tell her how he had so desired to ride to her rescue, but could not? It sounded like a childish excuse, even to his ears. Perhaps recount the tale of finding Feo in the road? Give her fair warning of a new face in her home... What had that to do with her question, though? She needed an answer, but which answer should he give?

My lady, the answer to your question was ascertained the moment I begged leave of your father to court you.

Lady Linduial, I didn't check with you to see if it was what you wanted, but I asked your father and brothers if I could court you and, surprising though it may be, they said yes.

Didn't you know? Your father doesn't hate me. West wind take it, your brothers even approve!

My lovely Linduial... fair maiden... I will wait for you always. And your family does not mind.

Beautiful girl, I'd wait forever with arms open if I knew that you would return to them.

"Lady Linduial," he finally began. "You have my word. I will be here upon your return."

[Formendacil]

When Náin awoke at his usual early hour, he found himself rather more disinclined than usual to get out of bed. His body responded sluggishly as he forced it through the motions of getting up, and he was chagrined to discover that he was not among the first to make it to the kitchen that morning.

After mumbling a grumpier than usual 'Good Morning' to Frodides and Kara, he brought his breakfast to the hall, and noted to himself that clearly late-night tempers and chiselling were not beneficial to one's body.

Thinking over the past night did little to improve his mood, since he recalled his late hour decision to apologize to Saeryn, Degas, and Eodwine. In the morning light was no less ashamed of himself than he had been under the moon the night before.

Swallowing the last of his breakfast, Náin shoved himself to his feet, and headed off to find Degas. He knew the young man was already awake, having head (together with half the Hall's population, it would seem) the strains of his song coming down to breakfast.

Steeling his iron Dwarven courage, Náin headed in the direction of the courtyard and his now-finished statue, only to find himself blocking the way of Saeryn and a young man of similar age as they were about to enter.

"Excuse us, Náin," said Saeryn, blushing ever so slightly- perhaps remembering the last occassion on which she had seen the Dwarf. "We were just going in to breakfast. Trystan, this is one of the guests of the Hall, Náin son of Narin of Erebor. Náin, this is Trystan, of Dol Amroth."

Náin nodded, a bit tongue-tied himself. "Err... excuse me," he said, not really wanting to apologise in front of a stranger. "I've got to rush away- need to meet someone."

"At this hour?" Saeryn looked surprised. Náin, though friendly with most, wasn't known to be closely associated with anyone. "It's still quite early. Who can you possibly want to see so soon?"

"Well... er... ah... that would be Degas," said Náin, stumbling over his words, realizing precisely how awkward this was getting.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was watching the goings on near the stables. It was a busy morning, so soon after dawn! So it must be, he supposed, when nobility takes their leave. Eodwine was studiously turning a deaf ear to the seemingly intimate words passing between Degas and Linduial - and smirking a bit, considering that Degas was now the 'pot calling the kettle black'; at least, so it seemed. Just then, Léof came up to him from the stables.

“Sir? A traveler just arrived – said his name was Trystan from Dol Amroth. Or, he didn’t say he was from there, but Farahil recognized the accent. Anyhow, I probably wouldn’t have said anything, except that I found him, well, hiding in an empty stall… he didn’t seem too happy to find me and Farahil in the stables with him. I can’t prove anything by it… but I thought you ought to know.”

Léof looked as doubtful of the young man as his words sounded. Eodwine looked at the man, who had been watching him carefully, only to look quickly away in seeming fear when their eyes met. Eodwine narrowed his eyes. Such a way with the eyes bespoke falsity or fear, or both.

"My thanks, Léof. I will talk to this Trystan."

Eodwine was just about to go to the young man when he noticed that Saeryn had taken charge of him and had led him off to the kitchen. Very well.

"It would seem, Léof, that Saeryn has the matter well in hand. I will hear from her later. Thanks again. You did well to warn me."

Léof thanked him and went back to the stables.

Eodwine approached Degas and Linduial, their moment together seeming to him to have lasted long enough to have said whatever it is they had thought to say. He made a point of not reading their faces, for it was not his business to pry into the hearts or minds of others unless asked.

"Good morning to you both, Degas and Lady Linduial. I trust that Léof and others of this house have done well by you?"

[JennyHallu]

Linduial flashed a loving smile at Degas before turning to Eodwine with arms outstretched, the joyous smile still (and likely to be for a while) brightening her face. "Of course they have, my Lord; you know they have," she assured him, taking his hands with a friendly grin. "I shall miss it here, it has come to feel dear as home to me."

And it has, it really has. Her mind sped over the events of the last few months. They had been...eventful...at the least. She had run the gamut of human emotion, had learned who she was and who she wanted to be. And now...home for a little while, and then back here, to friends and fellowship. A nagging thought pattered at the back of her mind. Ah-but what will you do? Can you settle for wandering the world, looking for adventure? You've had adventure. You've had just about enough, I should think. She pushed the thought aside.

"I'll be back, though, as soon as I may. I must see Father and my Uncle and assure them I'm all right, and hopefully I'll be able to talk my way back out of the bower fairly quickly. You don't mind me leaving things in my room? Of course, pack them away if you need the space, but as long as I have a room here I'll feel like you're all looking forward to my return."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"You'll want to wait, I suspect." remarked Saeryn very quietly, flushing crimson as she spoke. "Linduial is leaving this morning and I expect that Degas is indulging in a childish, or at least less than adult, though certainly without speaking of being a hooligan, desire to see a pretty lady off."

Embarassed at her lack of control, though thanking whoever could hear her thoughts that she'd had the ability to speak quietly, even though she couldn't seem to avoid speaking pettily, Saeryn fled with Trystan.

[littlemanpoet]

"Of course we will be looking for your return!" Eodwine smiled.

He was glad to see Linduial happy, for he had feared for her life and her wellbeing. Indeed, he had known that it was his own failing that had led to her falling into the hands of Sorn at all. Yes, Degas had shouldered the burden of guilt for his part in it, which, now that Eodwine had heard all the facts, was greatly without warrant; but Eodwine knew that he had not given serious thought to Linduial's safety until after she had been stolen from them. True enough, as Eodwine had said that first night after the abduction to Saeryn, the only one who bore true guilt was Sorn, for doing the deed. Nevertheless, he knew that he could have given better thought to Linduial's safety than he had.

"I am happy that you look so hale after all you have been through, Lady." He grew serious of face. "I have not in more than three weeks said what need be said, though. I am partly to blame for the harrowing that befell you. I should have taken more care than I did to see that you were safe. That you have been brought back to us with little harm - I will not say none for to have lived through such a thing must change one - that you suffered so little harm is a gift to us all. And so I ask of you, forgive me for how I failed you."

[Formendacil]

This was not going to be even as relatively easy as he had hoped, Náin realised, as Saeryn departed swiftly from view, the perhaps bewildered Trystan in tow.

So. Degas was currently engaged in bidding Lady Linduial farewell. Having arrived at the Hall only just in time to see Degas depart for Dol Amroth, Náin was entirely unfamiliar with the young man, save for their confrontation in Eodwine's chamber. And, come to think of it, the few words exchanged on the matter of Saeryn becoming Lady of the Mead Hall during the Court the previous day.

In essence, then, Degas was probably not going to welcome another encounter with Náin. Well, no one ever said that apologizing was easy. In fact, Náin was becoming distinctly sympathetic with Thorin II's stubborn refusal to allow the Elvenking or Bard any compromise in the matter of his treasure. It was, by and large, a whole lot easier to starve.

But, having made up his mind, there was nothing to do but go and wait Degas out. In theory, Náin could have gone after Saeryn and apologised to HER, first, but that seemed rather inappropriate at the moment, having just been on the end of a rather sorry encounter with her, and if she was still with Trystan...

There was Eodwine too, but Náin had privately made up his mind to leave the Eorl for last- if only because he was likely to be easier to find alone and unbusy come evening.

Still mulling things over, Náin came down to the stables, and heard Eodwine's voice speaking to Linduial in the courtyard. He sat down cross-legged on the floor of the stable and waited. As soon as Linduial had departed, he would accost Degas, and apologize.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan stumbled a few steps after Saeryn as she suddenly took off towards the kitchen, and from behind her could see her neck reddening in apparent embarasment. As they reached the kitchen and the Lady began bustling around, putting the kettle on, Trystan grinned and leant back against one of the work surfaces, an apparently relaxed position.

"You are not a friend of this Degas, my Lady?" he asked, his smile audible in his voice. Saeryn did not turn immediately, then replied slowly, "I'm not sure I would say that exactly. He is my brother, Trystan."

The smile vanished from the boy's face and he felt his cheeks redden in embarasment. You idiot, Trys... "I...I'm sorry, I didn't realise..." he stammered in reply.

Saeryn looked over her shoulder at him, giving a small smile, then turned around fully, shaking her head and grinning. "Calm down, Trystan, I will not bite your head off," she laughed. Trystan smiled back bashfully, feeling relieved and a little foolish. Her eyes twinkling, Saeryn looked carefully at him and, taking advantage of the light-heartedness of the moment, got to the point. "My brother aside, what brings you to Eorling Mead Hall anyway? You are not from around these parts, I suppose?"

Trystan wasn't taken in for an instant: he wasn't easily enough distracted by a pretty face not to realise that she was weighing him up carefully with her eyes and coming to gods only know what conclusions. He was a mess, after all: torn breeches, battered and worn boots, a loose shirt and dark jerkin that had certainly seen better days. He crossed his arms across his chest in a self-conscious and rather futile gesture. "What, was it my enchanting Gondorian charm..." he struck a knightly pose, "...or maybe just the accent?"

Saeryn laughed, with him rather than at him, and the thief took advantage of the moment to alter the conversation in a rather less dangerous direction. "Would I be right in guessing you too are from rather more Southerly parts?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Actually," she responded, liking the young man already, "I was born not a day's ride from here. It is my brother that can claim time spent south; he spent several years in Minas Anor and recently travelled to Dol Amroth.

"But you are right in how you gave yourself away... t'was the charm." She shrugged helplessly, her cheeks pink with amusement, and her eyes squinted up in flirtatious laughter that she tried and failed to repress into a look of seriousness. "Gondorian charisma cannot be rivalled, it is true, and it would appear that yours is on par with the highest of lords."

He looked at her wide-eyed for a moment before laughing outright. She handed him a buttered roll filled with meat and cheese as well as an apple and bit into her own fruit before continuing.

"Now, you may, of course, refrain from telling me your business in Edoras, but I cannot guarantee that it will not be asked again later, perhaps by my lord. We have no desire to appear nosy or ungenerous, or unwelcoming, but we've recently had quite the time of it, so all suspicions are at high.

"Pressing onward, and you'll forgive me, I hope, for the rush; my dear friend is leaving this morning and I've yet to say farewell... What would you have my lord or me do for you?"

[JennyHallu]

"And so I ask of you, forgive me for how I failed you."

Lin laughed and looked at the older man earnestly. "Indeed, my lord, I see no failure. It was my own carelessness that earned me my fate that day, and only the courage of my friends that got me out of it. You still wear my father's signet, lord, and the favor of my house still goes with you, for what it's worth."

She hesitated, then embraced Eodwine, losing all hint of formality. "In truth, my friend," she said fondly, "I think of you as a brother or another uncle. And I think my natural brother wishes to complain of how much I have packed." She granted both men a joyous smile, and swept off towards the stables, taking the offending package from her brother and stuffing it into a saddlebag despite him, sticking her tongue out at him insolently. With that, their preparations were complete, and she scanned the courtyard, hoping that Saeryn and perhaps Garstan would find her before her brother demanded they start. The day was getting advanced.

She'd said her goodbyes to Marenil the night before, promising to plant some flowers for him by Enna's resting place, and she was not surprised he had not come out this morning. He had told her he likely wouldn't--he'd wished to go over Eodwine's books as a first step in taking the reins as Steward, and she expected he was already busy, despite the early hour.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan took the apple gratefully, although he did not immediately bite into it. In a strange sort of way, he was not quite willing to take something from this young lady unless he was sure he could repay it. Ridiculous really, for a fellow who made his living from thievery, but it was a weakness of his - and one that had nearly cost him his life in Dol Amroth. She was mocking him, he was sure, but it was quite, quite charming. He rubbed the skin of the apple gently with his thumb as he watched Saeryn sidelong biting into hers. Sweet fruit indeed.

Her mention of Dol Amroth had made him slightly nervous, to say the least. First Farahil, the soldier in the stables, and now this Degas fellow who he was yet to meet - although if the sister was anything to go by, surely the brother could not be too bad. She mentioned suspicions: what sort was she speaking of? He would have to find that out certainly, if he was to spend any sort of length of time in this place - and maybe if attention was that way focused, his own past would not be so pryed into? Although it could easily work against him too: a recent crisis could mean more interest into his own past as a stranger and a newcomer, especially if he was to appear to deliberately withhold it...

"My own story is nothing much to dwell on, Lady Saeryn, so do indeed press on - although I would not withhold it from you if you were so inclined to hear it, of course," he added quickly. "But to move on...my lady, as you may have guessed, I...well, I find myself on rather hard times, and am somewhat unable to pay for my own breakfast, let alone any length of stay in such a grand place as this Hall. But I have been travelling for a mon- for a good few weeks now, and so would be very glad of a place to stay. So, if you would be so kind, and I will of course understand if you cannot oblige, but I would be glad to do any sort of oddjob in payment..."

Trystan trailed off uncertainly, his eyes fixed intently on the apple's still untouched surface, before he raised them to Saeryn's hopefully, awaiting her answer.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Please, Trystan, eat. Call it a courtesy gift, if you wish." Saeryn heard the young man's story seriously and pondered it.

"I would gladly give you work in payment for room an board, but at this moment, I am not sure what work we have for you. It has been a rather busy few weeks, culminating in a court day yesterday that the household is still recovering from, so to speak. I'll need to speak with Eodwine--"

Saeryn felt a touch on her elbow and turned to see Degas; he had come in without her noticing. She was not sure how to act around him; she withheld a glare and met his eyes, but it was with an uncertain indifference, hiding her thoughts.

"Excuse me for a moment, Trystan. Degas, what may I do for you?"

He was startled by her formality and half expected to hear her mouth the word Lord before his name as she would to a stranger or one that she did not know well. He was relieved that she didn't, however the tone of her voice was less than happy to see him, though it was by no means impolite. How could he fix this? She treated him, her twin, as politely distant as she did this stranger. Moreso, he thought grimly. She joked and flirted with the young man; did Eodwine kno-- No, wrong thought. Why was Saeryn flirting with a rapscallion such as him? Was it womanly revenge for Eodwine's-- No, surely she was not that petty. What in the world was Saeryn doing? And why was there no chaperone over this interchange?

He spoke quietly, uncertain exactly to whom he was speaking; it was certainly his sister, but he could barely recognize her beneath her exterior.

"Linduial is leaving. She wishes to see you, though hasn't said as much. Also, I met the woman, Modtryth, on my way inside; she seeks you as well."

"I will go to them momentarily. Has Nain found you? He sought you earlier."

"No." responded Degas, on his arrogant nobility, with a sudden coldness directed toward the Dwarf that had so recently slighted him and his sister. "Perhaps he sought half-heartedly."

"Degas, do not be unkind."

"Very well, lady." She looked up, surprised to hear Degas call her 'lady' rather than Saeryn, Saeri, or Saer. She met his equally hazel eyes for a moment, looking into them searchingly before closing herself back off into disinterest.

Degas excused himself and Saeryn offered her hand to Trystan; he extended his arm and she placed her hand on it and they walked as she spoke.

"I am sorry to cut our visit short, but I must turn you over to Lord Eodwine. I cannot make a deal with you as of the moment, but he can, and other duties call me."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine called Garstan and Stigend to him and told them to sit at a table in the Hall just off the kitchen. He left them talking together, hunting for Saeryn. It turned out that she was looking for him, with the new lad, Trystan, dogging her steps like an eager puppy. He gave the boy one quick, dismissive glance (he had seen him leering at Saeryn while gobbing on a wrinkled but still juicy apple (it being spring and not the season for ripe ones), and he had taken an instant disliking to the lad). Saeryn seemed to be a bit pinker in the cheeks than was her wont, which suggested things about her private thoughts toward this young pup that Eodwine did not like at all. He was feeling suddenly very, very protective, more so that he had in regard to Farahil the day before.

"I have been looking for you, Saeryn."

"And I you. This is Trystan," she gestured. "He has asked to work for room and board."

Eodwine eyed him again, remembering Léof's words of doubt. The boy had fear in his eyes. Did he fear all lords and masters? Why? Or had he marked Eodwine's dislike of him? No matter.

Eodwine wrinkled his nose: the boy stank. Did Saeryn not notice? Or did she choose not to notice? And why? But it gave Eodwine an idea: it was time for a test of this Trystan.

"The privies are getting full. Have him clean them out and take the filth to the Ravine."

Saeryn blanched, knowing that there was no worse chore to be found at the Mead Hall. "Lord?" she queried as if she could not believe her ears.

"The boy is filthy enough already. It will do no greater harm than for anyone else here." He looked straight at the lad, willing him to glance away from his stare; in moments he did. "Look at me, boy." The lad swallowed and met his eyes unwillingly, fear written in them clear. "Do this chore, lad, and you wil be well fed and roomed, and allowed to bathe. I charge no fee for room and board save loyalty and a man's good word. Prove your worth to me in this small task, and I will show you that at least my word is good as any bond."

Saeryn's mouth was hanging open and she was looking at Eodwine from beneath a lowering brow. At least she said no word from her anger; he would have to ask her what she had been angry about, though he could guess well enough.

"I'll have Garwine show Trystan where the privies are. I want you, Saeryn, to go to Kara and request breakfast for four to be brought out to you, me, Garstan, and Stigend. Planning the work to be done will be hungry work." She stood watching him yet, some kind of retort stalled on her saucy tongue.

He looked away from her to the lad. "Trystan, come with me." He did not wait for the lad to follow, but went toward the front door which was Garwine's usual outpost. The guard was there, and Eodwine told Garwine to show Trystan the privies. Only then did he turn around to see if the boy had followed, or if he had high-tailed it, rascally terrier that he seemed to be, far away from the Mead Hall.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan had been taken in by Saeryn’s advances, her almost flattering if confusing attentions to him and for a moment he had thought – fool! – that maybe her motives could be innocent. Fool! Could ever a woman be straight in her affections? Apparently not: for she too had been playing with him, it seemed, building him up just so that her Lord could knock him down – and in so humiliating a fashion.

Eodwine stormed off, then swung around with a scornful eyebrow raised to check that Trystan had followed. The boy met his gaze with an impassive, neutral expression. Truly, short though their exchange had been, Saeryn had not made Eodwine out to be a cruel or unreasonable man, and the words of the server, Kara, floated to the surface of his mind. Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite!” So why did Trystan see, and even tangibly feel, such dislike radiating off the man towards him.

Suddenly it came to him, a thought so delicious that it almost made him smile, although he kept his expression carefully solemn. The Lord and Lady of the Hall, those were the titles addressed to the pair; and from Eodwine’s body language towards Saeryn, even as he tried to appear aloof and distant, quite the master, there could be found something in that pairing. A couple, of sorts? Could it be? But then, why had Saeryn adopted such a sweet manner towards him? No matter: Trystan would not be seen to bow or scrape before any man, and surely this Lord Eodwine could not find any lower task to bestow upon him, so a little small revenge would not go amiss if impeccably timed now…

Turning to Saeryn just as Eodwine turned back towards him, Trystan took her delicate hand carefully and, in an exaggerated, courtly motion, leant and kissed it, his lips softly brushing her smooth skin. Amusement played in his eyes as he straightened to face Saeryn again: he was well aware of the how ridiculous so courtly an action was from one about to be forced into labour in the privies. But so solemn was the rest of his demeanour that Saeryn could not help but laugh, her free hand coming to her mouth as the gentle sound rippled from her lips. Inside, Trystan threw back his head and laughed: it was exactly the reaction he had hoped for, and, although he refrained from looking immediately, he knew it was bound to have had the desired effect on Eodwine too. Remaining serious, he inclined his head to Saeryn. “My Lady, I must take my leave: there is, I believe, a desperate situation awaiting my attentions.”

Saeryn shook her head, still smiling, and he finally yielded a grin himself, turning towards the door quickly to follow Eodwine – although he did not immediately let go of Saeryn’s hand, his rough fingers caressing her skin just slightly before he let go. He did not much care at this moment in which direction her affections leant – he had exacted a small, satisfying amount of revenge against Eodwine, and for the moment, that was all that mattered. He had not intended to hang around, he had not intended to make enemies – and certainly, the latter still very much stood, he had no wish to provoke enemies or make trouble unnecessarily. But he would not be humiliated: Trystan was not the sort to take undeserved punishment lying down. Who is smiling now, my Lord? he thought, mischieviously.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Eodwine," Saeryn called quickly after them, glad that the youth had not crumbled beneath Eodwine's unpleasant greeting. He turned. "You may want all you like, but I have business that awaits me before I can attend to a breakfast. I will speak with Kara when I finish."

With that, she turned lightly and seemed to flounce from the room. It was not in her nature to flounce, but why must Eodwine be so disagreeable? Yes, the boy was hiding something, that was certain, but so had been Saeryn when she'd first arrived. It had not taken scrubbing privies to open her, it had taken an extended hand of friendship. Eodwine's hand, no less, and he felt the need to treat this young man with disdain? Saeryn rolled her eyes at his... at his mannishness, she thought with an exasperated sigh, and found her way to the kitchen.

"Kara, dear, Eodwine requests a breakfast for four to be brought into the hall. Trystan will need a large meal when he finishes the task Eodwine's put him to work on."

She found her way next to the stables and was glad to see that she had not missed her friend. She smiled to Farahil and bade him a polite farewell before finding Linduial. She threw her arms around her friends and hugged her tight.

"Travel safely, and come home to us soon." she whispered.

[Celuien]

Garstan sketched lines onto a sheet of paper, showing Stigend the plans Eodwine and he had planned for the hall's renovations. There was work in plenty for both stone shaper and carpenter.

He pointed around the hall. They sat in the left corner, near the wall to the kitchen. A door, Garstan said, was to be cut almost directly behind the spot where they sat, connecting the great hall to a corridor that would go to a new kitchen. Both had yet to be built. The old kitchen, its rear wall still only half repaired from the earlier collapse, would then be merged into the great hall. The three walls of the great hall, kitchen, and corridor would then enclose a new courtyard, with the alder as its centerpiece.

There was, of course, other work as well. The firepit in the great hall needed completion to make a fireplace. There would be shelving and pantries in the new kitchen and the corridor between it and the main hall and any number of other projects. Garstan's head spun with the enormity of the project. He hadn't time to consider it before, with the news of Linduial's kidnapping coming hard upon his proposal and the days upon days of searching afterward that banished all thought of work from his mind. He had only started measurements to position the new kitchen and hallway yesterday. Now, with Stigend before him, he was beginning to plan in earnest, and was nearly overwhelmed by the massive amount of work that truly had to be done before the construction would be finished. It was fortunate, indeed, that both the carpenter and Dwarf were present.

Garstan led Stigend back out to the alder court, pointing out where the lines had been drawn for the new portions of the building. While he was showing Stigend the progress, little as it was, that had been made, Lèoðern suddenly ran around the corner from the stables to tug at Garstan's sleeve.

"Come, hurry! Linduial's leaving. We have to say good-bye."

Farewells. This would be awkward. But the farewells would have to be said, and quickly, hopefully putting to rest any discomfort after last night's episode.

"Your pardon, Stigend. If Linduial is about to depart, I should bid her farewell. I will return shortly. Please, think upon the plans! We shall have much to discuss."

"Of course," he replied. "I wouldn't have you miss the chance to say good-bye."

Lèoðern and Garstan headed to the stable.

"Do you think she'll come back?" Lèoðern's voice was sad.

"Yes. I think she will." Garstan looked down at Lèoðern's tangled curls and, clutching her hand, added, "I know she will."

Inside, Saeryn and Linduial stood close together. Garmund had preceded his father and sister's arrival by a few moments and stood at the edge of a stall, waiting. Lèoðern pulled away and ran to Linduial, hugging her around the knees. Garstan jumped forward as Lèoðern's quick motion nearly toppled Linduial, but stopped as Saeryn caught them, lifting Lèoðern to Linduial's uninjured arm.

"Good-bye, Lin! Come back soon, please. I'll miss you." Linduial lifted her gently and Lèoðern rested her head on Linduial's shoulder, questioning her friend's departure until she received assurance that their separation would not be permanent.

With her farewells said, Lèoðern left the stable, and Garstan approached Linduial with some trepidation to add his well wishes for her journey. "Farewell, my lady. May you have a safe journey." In his thought, he added, Please, don't let last night come between us. Let us part as friends.

[JennyHallu]

Lin embraced Saeryn enthusiastically, only releasing her when Lèoðern ran firmly at her knees, wrapping her arms around them and throwing Lin off balance. Saeryn caught both Lin and the little girl, laughing, and held Lèoðern high enough to properly hug her friend.

"Goodbye, Lin! Come back soon, I'll miss you!" Lèoðern's goodbye was fervent, and it was clear that she was not looking forward at all to the absence of her friend. Lin smiled and hugged cheerfully back, wrapping her good arm around and under the child, taking the weight herself.

"Thanks, Saeri," she chuckled, lifting her wrapped arm with a grin. "Couldn't have gotten her up here." She reached out with the injured arm and clasped Saeryn's firmly in the Rohirric fashion. "I will miss you, friend. Do write to me! I want to hear all the gossip and goings-on while I'm gone."

"Stay here! Don't leave!" Lèoðern's urging made both young women smile, especially as the girl's voice was muffled from where she had her face pressed into Lin's shoulder. Lin turned solemnly to her, speaking with the same reasonable frankness she'd use with an adult.

"But I must, squirrel. My father is worried about me, and wants to know that I am safe, and it is far too busy in spring on his lands for him to visit himself. If you were with me, and your father needed to see you, I would do all in my power to make sure you could."

Lèoðern nodded seriously, seeing the logic of her friend's explanation. "You'll come back soon, won't you? I won't have anyone to play with."

"Yes, you will. There will be Garmund and that new boy you were playing with last night, and I bet Lady Saeryn here will let you help her sometimes...when I get back, you'll have so many stories to tell me you won't know when to start! And I'll be back as soon as I can. I won't tell you how long, but only because I don't know, but I'll write a letter to you when I find out, and tell you. I'll send it to you at the same time as I send one to Saeryn, so she'll bring it to you."

Saeryn smiled and agreed, and when Lin indicated the weight of the girl was getting to be too much for her, cheerfully helped Lèoðern get back to the ground.

Garstan had been listening to the conversation for a while, and as Lèoðern, worries assuaged (and excited over the rare prospect of a letter) scrambled off to play, he offered his own hand and his farewell. Lin took it tentatively, sparing a glance for Saeryn, who seemed determined to see her off, then took the plunge. "Did you--did you tell Farahil?"

Garstan's reply was equally tentative. "I did, lady."

"Ah." Lin was quiet for a moment, standing with brows furrowed, but her face cleared quickly, and the sincere smile she gave Garstan was a little rueful. "You did rightly, of course, and I thank you for it. Not wanting him to know was--childish. Keeping secrets wouldn't make anything easier. I wish you fond farewell, and hope your place here prospers you. Navaer, Garstan, until we meet again."

She then turned to Saeryn, ignoring her brother, who had their horses saddled now, and was gesturing at her to mount. "And if I keep no secrets from my family, I should keep none from you. Your brother--Degas and I are courting. I don't know what will come of it, and I've never had a sweetheart before, so I don't know what I'm doing, but I think I love him, and I hope we have your blessing. And I'm sorry I didn't talk to you right off."

Lin's brother rode up, leading Lin's little mare. "We need to go, Lin. I wanted to leave at dawn."

"I know, I know," Lin said, giving a somewhat stunned Saeryn a last hug and mounting the horse with a minimum of graceless scrambling. She couldn't wait for her arm to finish healing. "Farewell!" she called waving at the occupants of the courtyard. "Farewell!"

Then she turned a corner and was gone.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn gathered herself. Degas had done what? Did you ask her father, my boy? she asked herself bitterly. Did you get permission from her brothers? Did you ask Linduial if it was what she wanted?

Saeryn pushed her unkind thoughts away and tried to concentrate on happiness for her friend. Why didn't Degas tell me? Linduial is so happy... If he must be begged permission for me to court, why must not I be for him to do the same? It is not fair! She clenched her fist and felt her nails bite into her palm.

Lèoðern was watching her as Lin rode away with Farahil, handsome Farahil, into the morning.

"Garstan, Eodwine requests our presence over breakfast; did you know?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Very good." They walked back inside together, the children following them. They saw Modtryth and Stigend's child and asked permission of their father with a look. He nodded and they ran to play.

"Garstan, I will join you soon. I must attend to Modtryth." Excusing herself, she beckoned to the woman, calling her to a table far from Eodwine's. "Modtryth, do you have a moment to speak of duties?"

[piosenniel]

Thinlómien's post


The morning had been a pleasant one for Modtryth. She enjoyed the new place. The new home, she corrected herself. She wondered how everything would turn out and how would their little family settle in the lifenof the eorl's hall. Cnebba at least had found his place, and was clearly enjoying the new place and the new company. Everything will settle as it will, no need to fret over that, she reached the same conclusion as always. She was confident their little family would find its place in the hall, in one way or another.

Modtryth watched the two children, Lèoðern and Garmund, run to Cnebba. She had no reason to hide her smile. She turned to her husband. Stigend was smiling too. Oh, he doesn't look anxious, Modtryth remarked to herself half-seriously.

Then lady Saeryn caught her attention. The lady called Modtryth to her. She gestured Modtrth to sit opposite to herself. "Yes, my lady?" Modtryth asked. "I'm to give you your duties", Lady Saeryn answered. She looked at Modtryth thoughtfully and asked: "What kind of work you are used to do? What would you like to do?"

Modtryth didn't except the last question. Maybe it showed in her face, for Lady Saeryn smiled. "I have mostly done cleaning, cooking, looking after children and such. I'd be pleased to do it in the eorl's hall too", Modtryth answered simply.

"We have two cooks, Kara and Frodides, already, so I doubt there's need for kitchen staff", Lady Saeryn said. "We don't have very small children here so that rules out the babysitting... So I guess that leaves us with cleaning." Modtryth nodded. The work was familiar for her, and so were the words. She was about to open her mouth to tell the Lady that she was fine with her new duties and to thank her, but something in the Lady's expression made her not. There was something strange in her eyes and Modtryth could not imagine what was she thinking about.

Then lady Saeryn smiled again. There was a shrewd glint in her eyes. "But surely cleaning is not all you can do. And besides, there's not enough work for a person who only cleans. Kara and Frodides clean the kitchen and the tables in the hall and I do some cleaning myself. Have you ever done shopping for a big household?" At first Modtryth thought she had misheard the lady's words. She was offering her, a half-dunlending and a newcomer, a position of trust.

"Well, have you?" Lady Saeryn repeated her question seriously, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. Modtryth nodded. "Yes, my lady. I've done it twice. In the place I was born in and I worked in for many years, Lord Godhere's household in Western Wold. The second such job was in Field Marshal Laudwine's household." She didn't add that in both places she had had to work at least for months to achieve the position.

"Good", Lady Saeryn replied. "Then I can trust you with it." She looked at the dark-haired woman. Her face was serious. "Thank you, my lady. I'm honoured to receive such a duty", Modtryth replied, still wondering if it was really happening. "I won't prove untrustworthy."

"I am the one to oversee your work, both cleaning and shopping", Lady Saeryn told her. "The household doesn't need anything from the town today. I think you could start with the laundry. Come, I'll show you", she continued.

Modtryth rose to follow the Lady. She had heard only good of her, but now it was proved. Unlike so many, she managed to gain my respect in a very short time, Modtryth thought, wondering if it was good or bad.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"If you have any questions about anything in or of the house, Modtryth, please feel free to come to me."

Saeryn turned to leave before a thought crossed her mind. The harsh scent of hard soap was burning her throat; she would bring Modtryth honey-sweetened tea before she left her entirely.

But Marenil... as steward of Eodwine's house, he should surely be involved? And certainly, with Linduial and Farahil gone, he would look forward to a diversion...

"Modtryth, when you have finished, and it should not take long... Kara helped me to do most of what was needed only a few days past... please find Marenil. You may not remember him from yesterday; he is the kindly old man that you may have seen by the fire. He is Eodwine's steward and he can tell you more about shopping and the like. And, if you don't mind, when you are done, can you ask him to meet with Eodwine, Garstan, Stigend, and I in the Hall? Please tell him that we are discussing business and that he might wish to be in attendance. If you cannot find him, Kara in the kitchens usually knows where members of the household are lurking."

Saeryn left Modtryth now, hoping that her hastiness had not been taken for curtness. She liked Modtryth; the woman struck her as kind, patient, hard-working, and down to earth; all qualities that Saeryn respected.

What next? Saeryn counted off chores on her hands, using her fingers more to keep from fidgeting than for need of them. She toyed with her fingers, marking off duties quickly. See off Linduial; check. Feed Trystan, find him work; check. Find Modtryth, give her duties; check and check. Find Degas and smack him upside the head for not telling me that he was courting Lin; ooh, how I wish I could check that... She sighed heavily, finding herself in the kitchen again.

Making small talk with Kara, she prepared sweetened tea and brought that and cold water to Modtryth, depositing it with a preoccupied smile.

"Laundry is thirsty work, I've learned."

What am I forgetting? Eodwine wants me... he can wait. But I cannot, in good conscience, make him wait unless I have reason for it... Seeing to Linduial and Modtryth was fine; it needed doing. But I cannot find hidden corners to secretly clean to spite him. But why must he be so disagreeable? Ugh! He is never this way. Such a welcome to give a guest of his hall, no matter how unclean or travelworn. It was nothing more than unkind. I will have a word with him later, that is for sure. What must he be thinking, to greet the poor boy, trickster though he may be, with such hostility? Ugh!

She shook her head at her own folly as much as Eodwine's and found her way to the table at which he sat. She slipped onto a seat across from him, crossing her legs beneath her skirts. She clasped her hands gently on top of the table and when the men looked at her, she spoke quietly.

"Kara will come soon with breakfast; she was just finishing it. What have I missed?"

[JennyHallu]

Marenil was entering the Great Hall just as Modtryth was exiting in search of him. He listened to her tell him of her new duties, and pledged to speak to her of it later in the morning. For now, the meeting Eodwine was calling with his laborers was more urgent.

And he had not even been told of it, except as an afterthought from Saeryn, with poor Modtryth as proxy. He chuckled to himself. This young Lord Eodwine was unused to the vast household he was rapidly acquiring, and had never had a Steward. He was clearly unaware of what Marenil was capable of, and hadn't yet learned that at times it was best to stand out of the way and let him do it. He'd even been a trifle startled when Marenil had asked for the key to the lockbox where Eodwine kept his books, and Marenil had spent the morning groaning over the disorganized state thereof. Oh, they weren't too bad, for a man who'd grown up overseeing nothing more than a midsized farmhold, but Marenil had overseen Lord Farlen's holdings for over twenty years: The country estate, the palatial home in the city...and at the same time he'd worked to support Farlen's other tasks: as soldier, diplomat, merchant...

He had high standards.

Not that he thought Eodwine and his Lady should not be attending this meeting. They should: it was, after all, their home and the seat of the Eorl that was being rebuilt. But he dearly hoped that Eodwine would learn to welcome, and in best case seek, the expertise Marenil had spent a lifetime garnering.

He arrived at the table just as the Lady Saeryn did, remembering as he saw her something he had meant to speak to her about. The Hall was too large for her to be serving as housekeeper and Lady of the Emnet. It was time another took that task from her, some woman strong enough to pry it from the girl's stubborn fingers. After the meeting. Don't get ahead of yourself, plenty of time to take the rudder of this disorganized little ship. You need to speak to everyone, really. One at a time!

[Nogrod]

After Garstan had gone with Lèoðern, Stigend was left alone to the would-be alder court. The great old tree was impressive to look at and would make a fine centerpiece of the second courtyard. But as a practical man from much more modest conditions he was a bit baffled about the plan to separate the kitchen and especially its ovens from the walls of the Mead Hall itself. What a waste... he thought to himself still watching admiringly at the great alder. Well, maybe these people can afford it? He shrugged his shoulders and took another look around. And the corridor-thing... I surely wouldn’t like to work in a kitchen with such a long corridor to pass through time and time again, everyday.

Slowly, immersed in his thoughts, he walked back inside the Hall to see that everyone else had already gathered around the table. Or not everyone. As he was taking his seat an old man came to join them. Stigend was introduced to him. Marenil, the steward. An old man with a gaze that told of experience, determination and pride. There was something similar in him as had been in his great aunt whom he had revered, although in a much grander scale.

As they had all set themselves and the rest of the breakfast was carried to them, lord Eodwine opened the discussion.

"So my friends, we must make choices for rebuilding to send our masters here to their duties." he said, nodding towards Garstan and Stigend.

“Stigend, as a new one here with fresh eyes, what do you think of the plan Garstan has showed you? Tell me your thoughts” Eodwine said, looking him straight to the eyes and ripping a piece of bread to himself.

“The idea of the alder court is fine. It’s a beautiful tree out there.” Stigend coughed a little as there was a piece of bread in his throat. “You just ask a carpenter... about old trees...”, he had to cough more intensely this time. Then he smiled to the others a bit embarrassedly and took a draught of water to clear his throat.

“Excuse me that my lord”, he said to Eodwine, nodding to the others in passing and then went on. “Yes there are some things I found a bit troubling. I haven’t ever lived in wealth so I have never seen a kitchen been built separately from the sleeping corners. The stonewalls of the ovens, if they are part of the house, keep a good part of it warm during wintertime with no additional cost as they are heated everyday anyway.” He looked at the others around the table just to make sure he was not laughed at. They looked serious and interested enough that he encouraged himself to continue. “And the corridor will be so long and having two corners in it as to be unsound for those working in the kitchen. And surely it would have to be made wide enough for two people with full trays to be able to pass each other in it, and that just sounds a bit grand if it will have no other function.” He looked at the others again, taking some water and then wiping his mouth with his palm.

Eodwine had a questioning look on his face, as if he was waiting for more. “Sorry sir, that’s all I had from what I’ve seen this morning.” Stigend felt himself a bit confused. Had he just been too open about the imminent shorcomings of the planning which he thought there were? Or was it just that he had accustomed to build for the poor and the common folk, rarely to the rich and powerful? “I’m just a plain and simple carpenter and you asked about my straight opinion, my lord.” He tried to explain his confused looks, avoiding Garstan’s eyes. He broke some more bread to himself and dipped it into the jelly.

“But do you have any idea about the alder court that you said yourself was fine? Surely a carpenter used to carpentry, as you seem to be, would have some ideas about the planning too?” Eodwine asked him firmly, not letting him fall out from the discussion just yet.

Stigend felt even more ill at ease now. He was on the eyes of all these noble people and he had already managed to criticise the plans of the only person he had actually learned to know and to whom he felt warmly towards. But Eodwine didn’t turn his questioning gaze away from him and in the end he realised that he had to answer him.

“Well... The kitchen might be built against the sleeping quarters. That way it would warm the rooms at wintertimes and the people in the kitchen would have a short and easy way to the tables inside here or outside the alder court if folk like eating there more. And at the height of the summer heat we might use an outdoor oven and a grill that could be built in the alder court itself, beside the outer wall of the kitchen...” The thought was not exactly ready yet, but he had entertained something like that in his head as he had been in the yard. “Then the third side of the alder court could be... well, if you had something to need a building for? More lodging, a workshop of sorts, an armoury? I’m sorry, but that’s all I can come up with at the moment.” He was even more confused than he had been a moment before, pouring himself more water just to have something to do and not having to look at the others around the table.

[Celuien]

Stigend had a point, of course. The hallway would be difficult to build, and would add a distance for the kitchen staff to travel while serving meals. But Garstan, while aware of this from the beginning, had his reasons for proposing the plan.

"You speak truly, Stigend," he began. "Moving the kitchen away from the hall is makes for more steps than leaving one wall against the other. The heat in winter would be lost, and there is a greater trouble for those who must bring the food from the kitchen. Yet too, there are things to be said for having the longer way. I have seen other places where the kitchen is set apart from the hall so that should the kitchen take fire, it may be stopped ere the hall too is in flames. It was against the chance of fire that the plan was made to divide the cooking place from the great hall, not for show. Surely a fire can be more easily stayed in a narrow corridor than it may when it takes to the timber of the main hall.

"But I see too that the plan is somewhat grand. It is a happy chance, indeed, that the matter has been brought up now, before much had been done towards the building. There was no chance to discuss the plans in full when they were first made, for more pressing matters came about at the hall. Perhaps there should be some change to the plan. I know not."

Garstan stopped, wondering what Eodwine's judgment would be, and wondering if Stigend had more to say.

[Nogrod]

Stigend had been really nervous to hear how Garstan would react to his criticism of the plan. After all, he wouldn't have wanted to go so far this openly but Eodwine's gaze had pressured him to continue. Maybe that was his way of checking his subordinates honesty and loyalty?

As Garstan started talking he almost froze. But what he heard made him relieved word by word and strengthened his earlier conviction that he indeed had a respectable and good-hearted partner. Even though he disagreed with the overtly careful ways of the rich in principle, you just don't leave your fires burn at nights and build the wall with stone which doesn't set alight, he had to admit that Garstan had a point in his plan with the fire-safety. Fires did happen. A humble cabin was relatively easy to build again if something happened and normally there were not anything too valuable to cry after. But it was different here. Even though with his experience, all the fires started from the utmost carelessness or lousy constructions, which he just couldn't figure happening here.

He looked at Garstan in the eye and nodded to him in agreement but didn't open his mouth. He had been talking just too much for the time being. The good lord and lady and the old Marenil should have their say now.

[JennyHallu]

Marenil sat back, leaning back in his chair. Of kitchens he knew little, and although he supported the idea of the kitchen being a separate building, he felt it best to do so silently. Especially since he had so much to suggest. He had been disheartened, and in an odd way, excited, by the state of Eodwine's books.

They had been tidy, yes, and while the lord's heavy handwriting spoke to self-teaching, Marenil assumed the odd spelling was a result of the relative youth of the Rohirric tongue to his own. Writing was in itself a fairly new art for these people, though their oral history was rich and their memory long enough to rival any of the sea-kings of yore.

No, what Marenil disapproved of most were the figures themselves. Two columns, one for income and one for spending; it was not a complex or unusual system. Only-the one for spending contained far more and larger entries than the one for income. The entries for foodstuffs, at least, were regular, well organized, and in bulk, speaking to Frodides' firm control of her sphere, but far larger than the size of the permanent household warranted. Everything else was haphazard, with things purchased a little at a time, and things purchased that Eodwine should have been producing for himself long ago.

It's what comes of two running a large household who never have before, he thought, looking sharply at the Lord and his young Lady. The Hall hadn't been previously set up to support itself: as an Inn, it made its own income in custom, which Eodwine refused to charge. An' that's all right, Marenil admitted reluctantly, but there's a better way to do it. Eodwine was new to the whole business, and Marenil suspected that Saeryn's family holdings were smaller, and probably a farmhold, at that. Lass hadn't the least notion of what to do with a hold in a city, or how much she could get away with, and there's been no one to ask. She hadn't done that bad a job, considering what she had to work with, but Marenil did know what could be done, and intended to send Eodwine's sinking financial ship onto a new course, just as soon as he could get a firm grip on the rudder.

Of course...the challenge was that it might take a great deal of money just to get settled onto the proper course, but if Eodwine could be talked into making a loan of the King, Marenil could get it paid back in a year, maybe two, and turn a profit for his new lord at the same time.

And now, in a plan of what buildings were needed...time to make his first move.

"These men you've got here are quite knowledgeable," he said, meaning every word. He'd worked with many artisans through the years, and these seemed to take a pride and pleasure in their work that did their crafts good justice. "I think between 'em, they'll work out a good plan for the kitchen, especially if they ask Frodides, who knows all there is to know about a good kitchen, I think.

"We should also consider, though, what other buildings you'll be needing, Lord Eodwine. Your house is almost full to capacity, and more arrive daily to take their oath with you. You should have a barracks, with some private space for the captain of your guard, and room for armsmen and freemen. You have long been in need of a bower, and the women's work your Lady could direct there could do a great deal to help your house. A Healer is in training, already on oath to you. When she returns, a stillroom would be appropriate, as a place for her to work. And then some simple projects: a smoke-shed, a chicken-coop, space to keep some few livestock, for the benefit of your house, and I should like Master Stigend here to take a look with me at the attic-space, to see if we can create some living space there, so that your household can all be housed, and with the luxury of as much privacy as you can spare them, and leave most of the old Inn for high-ranking guests and your own business."

[Alcarillo]

Poor soul, that Trystan. The privies were a stinking pool of hot fumes and odors. Garwine had seen Kara clean them out before. They contained in their murky depths countless bucketfuls of filth, and once they were shoveled out, they had to be carried to the Ravine. And then it was back to the privies to shovel some more, and then back to the Ravine, and so on. A rigorous and messy task. It was an odd chore for Eodwine to assign to a newcomer…

The kiss…It was plain that Lord Eodwine did not approve of Trystan. He was a rather scruffy fellow…and bold. He had arrived only today, and already appeared to be courting Lady Saeryn...with Lord Eodwine playing the part of the protective father?

Garwine reminded himself it was not his place to concern himself with the personal affairs of his superiors. He had other business to care to, like showing Trystan to the privies.

He led Trystan to the dark hallway leading down to the privies, halfway down the residential wing. They stood at the entrance, Garwine not daring to face the stench if he could help it. "The privies are down there," he told Trystan, pointing. "Shovels and buckets are kept in the closet under the stairs. Usually these are stored to the right to separate them from the buckets used for other chores, even after they're washed. A matter of public health, I'm told. Anyways, to clean out the privies, you just shovel the, um, waste into the buckets and carry it down to the Ravine."

"Where is the Ravine?"

"Not very far from here. You just walk down the slope and eventually you'll come to a large ditch filled with similar waste. That's the Ravine. Everybody in Edoras throws their rubbish there. Also, remember to carry the filth out a back door. And be discreet. Here, I'll show you the shovels…"

He walked Trystan over to the closet under the stairs, and once he had a bucket in one hand and a shovel in the other, Garwine gave him a grin of encouragement and, with a firm hand, guided him to the privies' hallway, only leaving after he had seen Trystan disappear into the gloom.

[Formendacil]

So absorbed was Náin in his own thoughts that he completely failed to notice that Degas had left the courtyard by a route that didn't take him past the Dwarf (though Degas was unaware that Náin was seeking him at all, at that time) until Degas was gone.

How long he had been muttering to himself in the stables, Náin wasn't quite sure. It could have been five minutes, or it could have been half an hour. Time is difficult to keep track of when your mind is endlessly revisiting the same themes over and over and over...

Cursing himself for his inattention, Náin set off back into the Mead Hall, determined to find Degas and apologize- whether the boy liked it or not.

He found him on his way out of the kitchen, eating. Whether it was second breakfast, or a first, or if he was just eating (Men in their teens, Náin reflected, had appetites to rival Hobbits) for the sake of it, Náin did not know.

"Degas!" he called the young man's name, catching his attention. Mouth still full, Degas half-turned to face the Dwarf, his face full of suspicion and altogether unfriendly.

"I would speak with you, if you would," said Náin, bracing himself. Remember, he thought: you deserve this.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine noted that Marenil joined them, and offered an apology that he had not thought of calling him to their artisan meeting.

Eodwine saw Saeryn join them later yet. She spoke quietly, hardly looking at him. Now what? Something was eating her. Oh, it must have to do with that drop-jawed look she had given him when he's sent Trystan to the privies. They would talk about that later.

He listened to Stigend and Garstan trade their thoughts on how the kitchen should be rebuilt. Something was on edge in Stigend, and it made Eodwine more on edge himself, against his will. It did not help that this Trystan had come to them out of the shadows of the stables, seemingly trying to steal a horse and then cover his tracks. It had put Eodwine more on is guard than he cared to be. He would have to find something to do after this meeting to ease the edge.

Marenil took a turn to speak, and what a speech it was! Eodwine stared at his new steward in wonder. Had the man just listed off over a dozen things to better the holdings? Eodwine did think that he had. But this was getting off track. Eodwine wanted the kitchen matter dealt with first. He smiled warmly at Marenil.

"Your list of ways to better these holdings is grand, and beyond my coffers' depth, I fear, good Marenil. I would that you make a list of these betterings. Start it with the betterment that is most doable and lowest in cost, ending with the least doable and highest in cost. Also, number them in order of the most needful to least. But do so after this little meeting.

"Garstand and Stigend, I would that we have the kitchen fixed so Frodides and Kara are happy and not tripping over each other. I care not whether it hoves against the mead hall or is twenty steps away. But I want to hear the two of you air your views now, and I want you to come to an agreement before we finish our breakfasts. Say on."

[Nogrod]

Stigend looked at Garstan but he nodded back for him to start. Stigend was not at all happy with that as he felt himself a newcomer around, but after the second nod he gave in. “Well, if you want us to build a kitchen Frodides and Kara will be happy with, we will not be building a corridor." he said, looking questioningly to Garstan.

"The faster they get to the Hall the easier it is for them, and the warmer people get their meals. What my friend Garstan here said, surely is an issue." he nodded towads Garstan appreciatingly. "The fire safety is a thing to be considered. But if the firewall is built carefully and wide enough, and the people who use the oven are not careless, it should not pose a real threat. And the savings in winter heating are considerable enough." he looked over the table to see how people around it reacted. Especially he tried to catch the expressions of Eodwine and Marenil. The first showed no sign of anything, but the latter seemed somewhat pleased with the idea of saving something.

"With all these things sir Marenil has stated here, it would be easiest and most flexible to start to build the kitchen adjacent to the sleeping quarters. That would leave the things open to any plans to follow. For the next summer we could have an outdoor fireplace to save the main building from any overheating.”

Stigend had clearly made more than he had thought himself capable of. He wasn’t used to make speeches like that. Normally the bosses said what they wanted and then he had just performed what was asked. But here his opinions were clearly appreciated, or at least listened to. And what came to Eodwine, he deemed to require him to tell his mind.

“The corridor surely could be made, and I can build it. That is no problem. But we would need a lot of prime quality wood there, as they would have to be both long and straight. Building a long and narrow hallway demands highest quality timber for the corridor to be stable and safe.” He nodded to Garstan who was sitting across him. He had a feeling that he had managed to speak his mind but still something was nagging him from inside, something was forgotten...

“But surely, that is only my opinion, I’m sure Garstan here has some points to give us.” Stigend nodded to Garstan and smiled to him in a friendly way “We may have our different areas of expertise, but at some agreed point they surely will come together. I’m not saying that we should do as I say, but after Garstan has made his opinion clear, you should be able to decide on the proceedings.” With that Stigend nodded to the lord Eodwine and cut a piece of sausage to fit his bread....

[Celuien]

Garstan nodded. The carpenter spoke well on the kitchen.

"A wall of stone around the place of the fire would do well to guard the timber against the flames. I can build that, and with more ease and less cost than to make the corridor.

"Yet, I say still that setting the kitchen apart makes the safety greater, for there is more time to put out a fire when the space betwixt hall and kitchen is more.

"Here is my thought. Whether we build the kitchen apart from the hall or against the sleeping quarters, we may see nearly the same to safety. A wall or hallway may serve nearly the same for a fire break. Nearly. But the small loss in keeping the kitchen with the hall is paid back in fewer steps for Frodides and Kara. Should we build the kitchen again where it stands, I would say only that we should make it larger to leave space from the wall for the fire to the wooden walls of the great hall. I will abide my lord's judgment in the matter."

[littlemanpoet]

Both carpenter and stoneshaper looked to Eodwine, expecting a choice made. Ah well. He gave thought to the main things behind all their words. Indeed, these artisans, known usually for their closed mouths by and large, were at no loss for words when the matter touched upon their own differing views of the same point! Eodwine allowed himself a smirk - - on the inside!

He cleared his throat. "Now then, Stigend has said that food is hotter the shorter the hallway. True enough. Safety from fires is also a great matter, and the firewall must be wider than the one we have, and built with care, and next to the sleeping quarters for winter heating. To that I say I would not have windows blocked, nor would I make folk suffer in the summer heat with a hot kitchen oven the other side of their walls. Stigend is right that if a hallway we build between Mead Hall and kitchen, it must be well timbered and sturdily built.

"Garstan agrees that we ought to do all we may to keep the oven fire in its place, but says that should it begin to burn out of its place, a kitchen so many paces away is safer for Hall and guest rooms than one at the back of the Hall. And Garstan agrees with Stigend that the kitchen must be bigger.

"There are many things, then, that must weigh into the matter, but some of greater moment, some less. So-"

Just then, a rather imposing presence announced itself with a most impregnable clearing of the throat. Into the Great Hall marched Frodides with stormy brow, followed by Kara who seemed as if she wished not to be seen. Frodides ceased her promenade before the table where the five were gathered.

"Am I to understand that you are discussing my new kitchen without me?"

[Kath]

Kara returned from the Hall, bearing the empty trays she had taken the food in on. Well-schooled in the art of accidentally overhearing conversations, having been under Frodides' tutelage the past few weeks, she had meandered around the room for a while, looking busy. She had, therefore, caught much of the conversation focused on the kitchen, a subject of great interest to her it being her workplace, and one she thought Frodides would be glad to know about as well.

Disappearing through the door she quickly made her way back to the kitchens.

"It seems we are to be moved." She said, placing the trays on the side to be washed, waiting for the coming questions. She didn't have to wait long.

"Moved? Where to? And on who's authority?" The strong voice began with curiosity, but swiftly changed into a defiant tone.

Quickly filling her in on the plans that were being discussed Kara waited to see whether Frodides would rather wait for a decision and then argue it, or interfere now. She had noticed that the older cook seemed to have little fear when it came to Eodwine, and although she still treated him with the respect he was due, there was still an air of familiarity that spoke of a time when their roles weren't quite as far removed. However, whatever friendship Frodides had for the Eorl it wasn't about to stop her getting involved in discussions about what she still termed 'her' kitchen, though the odd 'our' was thrown in on occasion if Kara was in the room.

"Are you coming, girl?" Frodides' voice pulled her from her musings and she raised her eyes to see another pair fixed on her, equally demanding and questioning. Knowing she wouldn't hear the end of it if she didn't go, Kara followed Frodides out of the room, hanging back as they reached the Hall, and watched as her mentor strolled right up to the table and spoke her mind.

"Am I to understand that you are discussing my new kitchen without me?"

There was a moment of silence as the men adjusted to the new appearance, and Frodides didn't let the chance to speak go to waste.

"My Lord," She began turning to Eodwine, "as much as I respect you I think it was a great discourtesy on your part not to include those who work in your kitchens when discussing arrangements for their renewal or relocation."

Kara saw that Eodwine had the grace to look a little contrite, but was sure she saw a smile being hidden behind the hand that was raised to his mouth.

"And you, master stonemason. I understand that you wish to move my kitchens further from the Hall than they are now. Do I have that right?"

With an uneasy glance at the others Garstan nodded slowly, seemingly a little wary of admitting to this apparent sin.

"Then I offer you a deal." Frodides continued, beginning to build up a bit of steam. "If you can cook a meal where these new kitchens are to be placed and deliver it to this room as piping hot and carefully set out as it was when you set off then I won't say a word against moving. But you mark my words it won't be possible."

Without waiting for an answer from the man she whisked round to direct the same glare at Eodwine.

"That goes for you as well, my Lord. You've been in my kitchens many a time and know the work we do, we don't have time to go traipsing through corridors. Safety is important, you won't get an argument from me there after that roof collapsed on me, but good service is important too and you'll get less of that the further you move us. So my good Eorl what is it to be? There are ways to keep fires safe as I believe I heard our carpenter say, and they don't cause me to leave ovens unattended in my kitchen while I walk miles to serve food."

Finishing her little speech Frodides nodded and folded her arms across her chest, awaiting her reply. Observing the faces around her she decided to compromise a little.

"I'll say nothing against making it bigger though. The girl and I can hardly move for falling over each other as it is."

[JennyHallu]

Marenil nodded slowly. "Of course, Mistress Frodides, nothing would have been decided without seeking your advice."

Quickly he outlined the options that had been discussed: to build the kitchen away from the building, to build an expanded kitchen in its current location, or to build it against the sleeping quarters for warmth.

"But to be honest, I must say I have doubts about the latter option. That would make two, maybe three guest rooms with no windows. It would be black as pitch in day or night. Without a wizard to light the way as in the old tales--" he shrugged, chuckling. "I have little wish to find room in our slim budget for more lamp-oil."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I would speak with you, if you would," said Náin.

Degas looked down at the dwarf, secretly and somewhat shamefully glad that his higher stature gave him an excellent excuse and ability to look down his nose and glower.

"Aye, and would it, Master Dwarf, be in words, or in shouts?" Degas's feelings toward the dwarf had not much changed since the night before. He wished fervently that he had responded to Nain as a commoner in a tavern might; a slight to my dignity? I shall remedy it with an highly dignified punch to the face! But he reflected upon the situation with some regret; to hit a dwarf seemed so... wrong. Like hitting a very furry and gravelly child. And the dwarf was too low to get much impact behind a punch anyhow... And who kicks dwarfs?

Degas stood still, his arms crossed before him, struggling with thoughts unbecoming of one that wanted to maintain a certain image of aloofness and uncaring. He waited for Nain's response, waiting for the dwarf to reveal for what reason he had come.

[Formendacil]

"I would speak to you in measured words, if I might- in contrast to last night," Náin clenched his jaw as he replied to Degas. The greater height of the man did not intimidate him (few Dwarves, wisely or foolishly were intimidated by height). But the temptation to forget the whole matter, or to blow up in shouting, or to just slap the foolish boy in the face was strong.

"In fact," he pressed on, before Degas could get another snide comment in, "it is about my behaviour last night that I wish to speak."

"Oh?" Degas didn't bother trying to hide the sarcasm. "Did Eodwine interrupt you before you were finished? Have you got more to say?"

"Would you be silent for a minute and let me get on with it!" Náin burst out, grabbing Degas by the tunic.

"I am trying to apologize to you for my behaviour last night!" he shouted at the boy. Then, realizing what he was doing, he released Degas, drew in a deep breath, and continued in more normal voice before Degas had recovered his wits.

"It was wrong of me to barge in on you, your sister, and the Lord Eodwine. It was wrong of me to raise my voice at the lot of you. And... it was wrong of me to be so brusque in apologizing. I would have your forgiveness, if you can give it."

Feeling more awkward than he had yet that morning, Náin clasped his hands behind his back and rocked slightly on his heels, awaiting an answer.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas looked down calmly and brushed his tunic into obedience. Still quiet, he looked at the dwarf's face and responded casually, though with a touch of coldness.

"A slight to me is worth little mention. I have been called worse things in my time than a child. But you caused hurt to my sister. Lady Saeryn shed tears after your outburst. You would do better to beg her forgiveness than mine, as mine you will not receive until a smile once more lights her eyes."

[littlemanpoet]

"No," Eodwine agreed, "the kitchen cannot be built aback the guest rooms; that is sure, and for that I need no 'yes you may' from our excellent cook." He grinned up at her, and she raised one brow, her arms crossed in front of her, looking most lordly as long as the topic was her domain. Eodwine chuckled inside, but kept it there.

"I do like better a kitchen at a remove from the Hall and guest rooms, maybe ten paces. I would have the alder courtyard untouched, so all the more weight bears to having the kitchen away. Frodides, one thing that Garstan has not said in his own defense (if I may borrow a word from Gondor), is that the hallway between kitchen and Great Hall would be of need built to hold in heat. So it is done in other Mead Halls.

"So I give my yes to a larger kitchen, away from the Great Hall, a bigger oven, and a hallway between that holds in the heat. What say you to that, Frodides?" The head cook opened her mouth to speak, but Eodwine interrupted before she could start; he turned to Kara who had been trying to look inconspicuous. "What think you, Kara?"

[Formendacil]

From Degas' point of view, Náin's face was unreadable, emotionwise. Had he been able to peer into the Dwarf's head, he would have seen that the tense look on Náin's face sprang from having bitten his tongue- quite literally.

"It grieves me to learn I caused your sister tears," said Náin, completely honestly. "And it is my intention and desire to seek both her forgiveness, and that of the Lord Eodwine- into whose chambers I barged. But they are in council and you, Lord Degas, are not."

"Saeryn was not in council when you saw her earlier," Degas could not refrain from mentioning. "She told me you sought me."

"My reasons are my own," said Náin, jaw set slightly askew and tense. "Though it is no business of yours, the simple matter of it is that I wished to embarrass neither myself nor your sister by speaking in front of that newcomer."

His fists clenched, and his temper set somewhat on edge, Náin made to move away.

"I have asked your forgiveness, and would have it," he said to Degas, "but my part in amending the matter is done, and I would move on to amending it with others. Have I your pardon, or no?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Your logic does not fail, and I am grateful that you thought to spare my lady sister more upset. But my decision stands."

Degas had become impatient with Nain, though he tried to hide it. His father had never held grudges; why could he not be the same? He clenched his own fist, not of violence, but of disappointment in himself.

Father would not be proud of who I've become. Every bird comes home to nest, my boy, and every tree with reaching branches has its roots. Never forget from whence you came lest you float away like dust on the wind.

But Father, should a storm take the nest and tear it to shreds, what then? If the tree is struck by lightening, or falls in that same strom, what then? We cannot all be you, father. We cannot all be humble, and be gracious. I had to travel to learn, father, and you always said to learn. How can I help it that while I was gone, my nest was broken? How can I be you, Father, beloved by your people, by your family, and by your friend the king? I am not humble unless I am with humble people. I cannot find it in myself to be unflinchingly forgiving.

My home was taken from me, Father, when my parents were. All I have left is my sister. She is my root. How can I forgive Nain, Father, when the forgiveness has yet to come from the only one that matters? How can I forgive anyone that hurts her?

"There will be no need to ask again once Saeryn's forgiveness is sought. You will have mine as you have hers."

And with that, Degas left, appetite gone, past Nain and many others, out the door and into the street, and for some time he wandered, retracing his steps at the fair so long ago already, and he looked up to Meduseld and wondered, and he was not happy. The sun was bright already, just over the edge of the world, but it felt dark to him.

[Kath]

Kara had been listening to the exchange with interest, but had not intended to get involved until Eodwine had called upon her for an opinion.

"What think you, Kara?" He had asked, forcing her to come toward the table so that her views might be heard.

She could see that Frodides was not entirely pleased to have suddenly been cut out of the conversation, but that she was also curious to know what Kara thought, and was not about to interrupt.

"My lord," she began, trying to organise the thoughts in her mind into some kind of order, "I understand that your main concern is for the safety of those that stay here, and if the kitchen must be moved to achieve that then I will accept it. The bigger oven and larger kitchen are a good compromise, as they will allow us to make more at a time. However, I must agree with Frodides in that the further we must travel between the buildings the more chance there is of food becoming cold, or being spilt, especially if there is only Frodides and myself to rush between them. Therefore I think that if this is to work, we may need a little help, someone whose job it is to take the food from kitchen to Hall. That way there need be no gap in preparation and delivery, and there should be no decline in quality."

Suddenly aware that she had spoken more than she had intended to Kara blushed. She could feel Frodides' eyes on her, but the woman did not seem angry, more impressed that she had thought it through.

"Yes." She said, directing a firm tone at Eodwine. "That would work right enough. The girl and I can cook and another can carry in busy times. If you agree my lord then I won't speak another word against being moved."

[littlemanpoet]

"That is well!" Eodwine exclaimed, and turned to the two artisans. "Do both of you agree?"

Garstan nodded, and Stigend, voicing his reservations briefly one more time, also gave his nod. Eodwine asked his steward and his apprentice-lady if they agreed, and they gave their nod as well.

"Would Modtryth be willing to walk the hallway between kitchen and Hall, do you think, Stigend?"

"I think she would, but she should give her own yes."

"Right you are! I will find her and see what she says."

The meeting broke up. Garstan and Stigend spent the rest of the day pouring over pages with lines that looked more and more like what the kitchen and hallway would be as the day wore on. Saeryn went in search of Degas, and Marenil worked on his list.

Late in the afternoon, Marenil came to Eodwine, sitting with Falco Boffin under the alder tree.

"Ah, Marenil!" Eodwine said, standing and smiling, "Come join us! Shall I have Kara bring you something to drink?"

[JennyHallu]

Marenil grinned slowly, easing his body carefully down onto the bench. "Thanks, Lord, but I've just drank a jug of water thinking this out for you." Quickly he outlined his plans, starting with his ideas for freeguests. As expected any mention Marenil made of fees was met with a disapproving frown, and he let the issue lie--for now. Time enough for Eodwine to change his mind: eventually someone would abuse his generosity again as Osfrid had.

He quickly moved on to plans to partition attic space into homes for the household, indicating with a gesture that he'd like to get through the whole proposal before Eodwine stopped to argue with him. This idea seemed to go over better, but Marenil had expected it to. There was no denying that the old Inn was becoming decidedly full.

Next he detailed plans to purchase some livestock and build pens for them in the area planned to someday become the Mead Hall. The rebuilding of the Hall would take years, and the space might as well be used in the meantime. This seemed to be greeted with enthusiasm, but again Marenil gestured to indicate there was more. There was much to do and think about, and he wanted to get it all through with.

Briefly he mentioned that he'd like to get a trade caravan going to Gondor, then quickly hurried on.

"Just one last thing, my lord. The city of Edoras is also under your jurisdiction, and there are some taxes that I do not see are being collected. It is customary for there to be a fee owed you by any who wish to set up a market stall within the walls, and a tax on the sale of a house or business-place. Not as much money here as those fees bring in Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith, but significant just the same. The market fees at least would help the state of your purse, strained by all this construction."

He sat quiet a moment, thinking through to make sure he had covered everything. "Yes, hmm...I think that's all. Nothing else we can accomplish without more money. What do you think?"

[littlemanpoet]

"I think, Marenil," Eodwine smiled, "that you must be terribly missed back at Dol Amroth, for your skills in stewarding seem unrivaled. I am a lucky man."

Falco interrupted, "You surely weren't born that way, so I figure it must be the fact that you've a Hobbit to keep you company."

"Ah, yes, that simply must be why, my proud Baggins of a hobbit."

"Baggins! Fishing for compliments, are you!" Falco grinned.

"Ah but not all hold the name Baggins in as high a regard as you, Master Boffin."

"More's the pity, and their loss into the bargain." Falco lapsed into silence, aware that Marenil was being quite patient with a small, amused smile.

"Now to my thinking on the many matters, Marenil, that you have laid before me. I say a 'yes' to the attic work, to livestock and pens for them, and to the collection of market booth taxes, seeing as they are owed anyway. Oh, and 'twould be wise of us to make sure with Meduseld how much of that the King expects to come his way; after all, I hold these lands in fief to him.

"One other thing: I would like you to assign Thornden to visit farmsteads that are in arrears on their payments of dues, whether in kind or coin."

A thin smile on his face, Eodwine studied Marenil. "I sense a keen mind behind those quiet eyes, my dear steward. As I said already, I am a lucky man. But keep one thing always in that keen mind of yours. An Eorlinga's word is of more worth than what his purse holds."

[Laiudanama]

The sun rose slowly towards her pinnacle, stretching her rays brightly as she awoke from a night’s slumber, beaming benevolently down upon every corner and creature of Middle Earth as midday approached. The day was indeed turning out to be a nice one: beautiful weather, a clear sky stretching away infinitely, and the heat rising pleasantly to a temperature that would surely have every Man in the Mark looking longingly out of his window – and sure, if there was no other urgent business to attend to, midday would surely see a fair number of men reaching for their walking staffs, the fine Ladies of Gondor and Rohan changing into their summer hats, scores of children racing out of their schoolrooms into the bright yards beyond…

Trystan glared at the sun furiously, wiping a hand over his perspiring face and, disgusted, spat to one side, trying to clear his dry mouth of any filth which may have got in. The very idea revolted him, and the boy spat again, just for good measure. Though he was without both food and drink, Trystan decided that, after several hours – how long? He was losing track of time, beginning to measure it in terms of monotonous shovelfuls of filth – now would be about as good a time as any for a lunch break. And why not: here, less than a hundred yards from the Ravine, a pit of household waste, sewage and other the gods only know what other forms of filth and waste, who would be watching him? Not Lord Eodwine, that was for sure, and probably none of his lackies, either. Trystan grinned to himself suddenly, remembering Garwine’s face as he had tactfully paused just outside the privies, safely out of stinking distance. He didn’t even come in, where I’ve spent my morning practically up to my elbows in…well. He snorted derisively at Garwine’s words: “Carry the filth out a back door. And be discreet…”

Still, he was almost done now: say one more trip, maybe two at a push, and the whole arduous task would be finished. Trystan stabbed his shovel into the ground, although his venom was now fading, as he leant back against the shade of a nearby tree, although as a gentle breeze ruffled it’s branches, even the tree seemed to recoil from the stench which pervaded the boy’s very being. He smiled at the thought, reaching into his back pocket for his pipeweed…and cursed viciously when he found the pocket empty. He must have dropped it! Somewhere between here and the privies back up at the Eorling Mead Hall – either that, or… Trystan glanced distastefully towards the peacefully steaming Ravine into which he had been slogging waste all morning. Attached as he was to his pipeweed, he sure as knives wasn’t going after anything in there.

Although if he hadn’t dropped it around the Mead Hall, it could be anywhere between here and, well, Dol Amroth for all he knew. And going back in that direction any time soon was about as appealing a prospect as diving headfirst into the Ravine.

The youth settled back into the tree, his skinny shoulderblades digging into the trunk, loosening his shirt a button or two further, having already removed his jerkin. Yes, perspiring in the heat, doing the filthy oddjobs of some pompous Lord in what constituted to his first day of honest hard work in memory, and stinking, frankly, of everything that had passed through the bowels of the honourable denizens of the Mead Hall in gods only know how long…well, it could be worse. He could be hot, tired, stinking and being chased the authorities of Dol Amroth, not to mention a hardened thug who wanted to kill him, preferably via as much pain as possible.

Oh wait – that was the current situation.

Trystan closed his eyes wearily for just a second, but all he could see imprinted on his eyelids was that house, dark, gloomy, the dust motes still spinning in the air where the old woman’s scream had disturbed it. Her scream and her fall…

He started up, his eyes wide. No. No, he wouldn’t – couldn’t – dwell on those thoughts for any longer. Groaning softly, he fell forward to his knees, then struggled up to his feet, grabbing the shovel and buckets and started the long trudge back up to the Mead Hall. Trystan would never be the lacky or minion of anyone who judged themselves superior, but currently, he could do with a little protection – and with not making any more enemies…

[Formendacil]

The council, or meeting, or whatever it was, that Eodwine had been holding with regards to the expansion had broken up, and the various members gone seperate ways. Having come to terms, if not quite forgiveness, with Degas, Náin decided there was no time quite like the present, and that he ought to go seek out Saeryn, and apologize to her. He was aware that he was leaving Eodwine, who had been most rude to and who he was consequently dreading the most, to last. He found, however, that he was well able to explain it away to himself. And he'd apologize to Eodwine come the end of the day, one way or another.

As he sought up and down the Mead Hall for Saeryn, unaware of wither she had gone, Náin thought to himself about his "apology" to Degas. Forgiveness had rather been unforthcoming, but Náin wasn't so much concerned about forgiveness as about his own apology. To have done the right thing to try and rectify the situation on his part, that was the important thing. If Degas harboured a grudge, that was his affair. His affair- and it meant that Náin didn't feel particularly bad about the fact that he didn't care too much for the young noble.

Before his rambling mind could finish it's trail of though, Náin crossed the partially-reconstructed Great Hall for the third time, just in time to catch sight of Saeryn exiting by the opposite door. He sprinted the length of the hall, soon catching her up. Saeryn appeared to be on a errand, or mission, or something with a purpose anyway, to judge by the covered basket in her hands. She seemed to notice Náin behind her, and sped up her walk a trifle, so as to avoid the Dwarf.

"Lady Saeryn!" Náin called out. "I would have a word with you, if you would find it in your heart to listen."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn stopped, sighing, and turned around. She had been unable to find Degas and cared for little more just then than to do so. He wasn't at the Hall. Still. She knew she ought to have brought a companion, more specifically a male companion, as the afternoon was getting later and this was no quick trip to market, but she had not dared to ask. She knew that none of the menfolk of the Hall would, or even really could, decline her request for accompaniment, but she also knew that few in the Hall truly liked Degas, and that they all had their own business to which to attend. She had hoped to slip away unnoticed.

"My good fellow," she murmered with nothing but politeness. "'tis not my heart that listens, but my ears. If you speak loudly enough, I have no choice in the matter, as we both know. I am sorry... that was unkind and helped nobody. But as you would have it, Nain, I will listen freely, if you will make haste, as I must find my brother. Or, if you would, you may speak and we will seek him together, giving you more time to relate your errand even as I complete mine."

[Formendacil]

"You are unaccompanied?" Náin did not need an answer, for it was plain. Saeryn was quite alone. This was rather improper, he considered. At least for a human woman. Among Dwarves, such an issue would not be worried about, but among humans, propriety was a good deal more serious- if only because human females were more likely to fall prey to their male counterparts than Dwarven females would.

"It would be shameful of me to refuse," he said slowly, a bit uncomfortable about acting as an escort, and even more uncomfortable with the idea of searching for Degas.

"Good," said Saeryn, and she started moving again. Náin hastened to keep up, muttering under his breath about humans and their long legs.

"What I was meaning to speak to you about," Náin said as he caught up, "was about my behaviour last night. There was no excuse for my actions, and I would have your forgiveness for my insult and intrusion."

[JennyHallu]

"An Eorlinga's word is of more worth than what his purse holds."

Marenil snorted, unable to help himself, raising himself up in preparation for searching for some luncheon. "Forgive me, lord," he said, using his Eorl's shoulder as a prop for a moment, "but you strike me as a very idealistic man for one of your years. Remember, young man: an Eorl's word carries no more value than any other man's. Think of Sorn!" Marenil was a bit snappish, and he saw the insult on the younger man's face before he really thought about his words. He fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again his words were calmer and more careful, if no less harsh.

"Lord, a man of your fief will, if he has sense, lay less trust in your word than in any other. If any other man betrays him, his case can be brought before you for justice. Not so if you betray him. I said before, look at Sorn. Not to compare yourself with him, but you must recognize that there are terrible men in positions of power. Horrible men. And they get away with it, sometimes for years, sometimes for life if they're canny enough not to try anything big enough it cannot be ignored, as Sorn did in his insanity. Your word, begging your pardon, my lord, means nothing. Only your actions bear any weight.

"And thus to gain respect and trust, you must build a household that is self-sufficient, that produces enough and to spare. You need to be wealthy, but not ostentatiously so. Because if it is clear to your people that you are not avaricious, but are successful enough by your own work to have little need of theirs, then they can begin to trust your interests lie truly with your own.

"I refuse to operate your household at a loss, and as soon as I get things in order, I shall refuse to make use of the taxes you receive for the upkeep of your house.

"But for now, there's more than enough to keep me busy, and I won't lecture you again for a while."

With a chuckle, Marenil walked toward the kitchen, intent on finding Frodides, with what kindred spirit he had struck up an immediate friendship. She'd find him something to munch on, and they could sit and commiserate about the quirks of their employer.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine looked to Falco with raised eyebrows as Marenil walked away, and Falco returned the expression.

"You had better teach this overweening steward a lesson but quick, my friend," said the hobbit.

"It would seem you are right."

Eodwine got up and followed Marenil into the kitchen. The man was already speaking to Frodides.

"Marenil," Eodwine called. The man turned. "Once you've grabbed a bite, come back to the alder tree. I want to finish our conversation. I was not finished."

Marenil nodded once. Eodwine turned and slowly walked back to the bench, and waited.

After a few moments, Marenil came back outside. Eodwine met him halfway.

"Marenil, I have made you steward, not my school master. Your task is to see after the affairs of my Hall, not the education of its Eorl. And if you truly believe that my word means nothing, then you must believe the same of your own. Thus there is no point in exacting an oath from you that you will steward this Hall as I see fit rather than as you do."

The old man opened his mouth to protest, but Eodwine continued.

"I am sure that you are a most able steward, but our two minds are as unlike as can be. I did not know this before today. You would try to make me unlearn what I hold most dear to my heart. It shall never be."

Marenil again opened his mouth to protest, but Eodwine continued again.

"So as of this moment you are no longer my steward. You may, of course, remain my guest, if it pleases you; or if you prefer the hospitality of the Queen, your ward's cousin, that can be arranged. What would you?"

[littlemanpoet]

Nogrod's post

Stigend had been busy the days that followed. The first days passed at the planning board; one of the tables of the Hall had to serve as one. Stigend and Garstan drew and redrew, discussed and sat in silence. They talked with Frodides and Kara several times a day and every now and then they consulted Eodwine, and Saeryn.

Stigend had made an inventory on the building materials on the second day, making himself familiar with the Mead Hall’s supplies and tools at the same time. There was enough timber to start building, but a lot more was needed. The saws seemed well enough, but the chip axes and framework-drills were rusty and dull. Stigend had his own with him and could start by himself, and the tools of the Hall could be made usable with some care. On the third day they ordered timber and other things needed.

Within a week they had started the actual work, beginning with the kitchen oven and the fireplace. Garstan had designed the oven and the fireplace with the help of Frodides and Kara, and Stigend had designed a firewall to surround them; and came up with a solution of how it should be attached to the wooden wall. Somewhat familiar with masonry and bricklayer’s work, Stigend needed a little guidance from Garstan every now and then.

It was during these days that he became familiar with Náin. He hadn’t met a dwarf in his life before. It was a place of personal reflection and discovery that greatly humiliated Stigend. From the beginning he had been prejudiced towards the dwarf, going over in his mind with all the generalisations people had about dwarves and trying to see them in Náin. It took one visit of a travelling stranger that had given Modtryth a bad look, complaining about the Dunlending rabble around him in a decent Hall, to make Stigend realise his own prejudices.

He had been so happy with this new place whose dwellers had taken Modtryth and Cnebba as themselves, that he had had no need to keep an eye on how others thought of his family. But that way he had also forgotten to keep an eye on his own mind. Now he realised he had begun to think like the people he had despised all his life. Stigend was ashamed. Luckily he hadn’t made any nasty remarks or behaved badly towards Náin. But they had been only fellows at work. There had been nothing else.

After the incident he started looking at the dwarf with open eyes and was astonished with what he saw when he was not bringing all his prejudices along. Náin seemed flexible and friendly enough, but his skills with stone were just incredible. Even though this seemed not to be his real trade – he had heard he was more of an artist – he helped them every now and then and proved to be a real help indeed, able to do many of the things Garstan did. And the grace of the things he had touched! Náin seemed to be able to shape stone into any form he willed, like it was clay.

After the first week they started to have conversations during the work and at the pauses when Náin was around. Stigend appreciated the dwarf and he seemed not to think bad about him either. Even Stigend’s mediocre skills in masonry started to get better day by day.

On the third week the timber arrived and Stigend had to change his focus. Garstan would still have work to do with the fireplace now that the oven and firewall were finished, but the hewing of the logs, and especially preparing the framework, required an experienced hand; so he stuck to the logs by himself. As he had helped Garstan with the easier tasks, Garstan could help him when the time came. And anyhow, as they would start to hoist the logs to their places they would need lots of strong arms to help them.

That was a happy time. There was work that gave him satisfaction and he had been getting on very well with Garstan whom he considered now his friend. And his family was accepted! Stigend and Modtryth were enjoying their new appointments to the fullest. And what warmed Stigend the most was to see Cnebba’s shining eyes every evening when he made minute descriptions of the games and plays he had had with Lèoðern and Garmund.

And Cnebba kept speaking about Lèoðern all the time. Stigend had thought of it a couple of times. Indeed he had noticed a little uncomfortableness in Garmund’s expressions one or two times when he had seen all the three together, but he was too busy with his work to mind much.

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

Thinlómien's post

Modtryth was helping the cooks with unloading the newly bought random household goods - such as butter, salt, syrup, honey and herbs, carrying them to the kitchen and putting them to their right places. From the corner of her eye she could see her son running around the yard with his friends.

He looked very happy. He’s probably happier here than any place we’ve been in after Field Marshal Laudwine’s house, Modtryth thought, and that was many years ago. She knew the happiness wouldn’t last for ever – nothing ever did – but she hoped that it wouldn’t end too soon. Cnebba turned and saw his mother. This time, she saw, he was even smiling at her. And so was life.

Modtryth was having a job she liked. She had some kind of a place of trust – achieved only after a short discussion. Furthermore she was doing well in it, at least in her own opinion. And because the Lady Saeryn had never criticised her (except the one shameful time when she bought wrong sort of flour) and sometimes she had praised her for a work well done, she thought that she couldn’t be doing very badly in her eyes either.

Frodides and Kara discussed the evening meal as they worked. Nowadays they were so used to Modtryth that they didn’t mind her being present while they planned, and knew she wouldn’t mind them talking about their own business. Modtryth actually thought it was quite nice to listen their homely everyday talk about the ingredients of the stew.

Sometimes Frodides irritated Modtryth. She had basically interrogated Modtryth about the tiniest details of her life until she had let her be and accepted her as a part of the household. Older women were like that everywhere, and Frodides had a good heart, so Modtryth didn’t have problems with getting along with her. Kara, she thought, was a nice girl, friendly and good company. It would have been difficult not to like her.

“I’ll go and find the children. I know my Cnebba well enough to know that if he doesn’t have food before the meal, he’ll get impossible. I wouldn’t be surpised if that was so with Lèoðern and Garmund as well”, Modtryth said after they were done with all the organising.

"Strange that they haven't yet come looking for food, they must be so caught up in their games they've clear forgotten about eating."

Modtryth smiled. “I’ll go and get them then.” Even before she had stepped out of the kitchen, she heard the two cooks start discussing about the stew again.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn sat down in the courtyard, taking a short break from her errands, and she let herself relax enough to enjoy the warm sun and the mouth-watering scent of baking bread. She needed still to speak with Modtryth, but it was a matter of no hurry. Trystan had gained a little weight, Saeryn liked to hope, in his stay, but he was still in need of new clothing; Saeryn hoped that, with Modtryth's tactful and easy-going help, she could nudge the young man into the direction of looking more upstanding and less like a rapscallion. She'd grown used to his presence and his roguish chivalry, and she smiled to see it, and frowned to see Eodwine's obvious distaste for the theatrics. She thought of Degas now, whenever she thought of Eodwine.

She closed her eyes, tilting her face toward the sun, a daisy sprouting, seeking the light. She wanted Degas to come back. She'd been unable to find him that day with Nain, a month ago already. He'd slipped into her room late that night and awoken her.

"Saera, I'm going to leave."

"What?"

"Saer," he repeated, pushing her hair away from her eyes, sitting next to her on her bed. "Saer, I cannot stay here."

"Of course you can, Degas." She sat up, scooting back, wrapping her arms around her knees and smoothing her nightdress. She was sleepy; he wasn't making sense. Why did he always choose the middle of the night? It was the same when they were children; always so late. "You are my guest. You are my brother. Of course you can stay here."

"Saera, what do I do? I do not earn my keep here, and Eodwine will not accept a coin in recompense for my stay because I am your brother. Even if he would, I have very little to give to him. The days grow long, Saer, when there is no work to fill them."

She sighed and looked at him, breathing out through her nose. "You told her you would wait."

He swallowed hard. "I know."

"Where will you go?"

"Home. Our childhood home." he clarified. "Fenrir and I have words to exchange... our last visit was less than friendly, if you remember the break in my nose."

Saeryn ran a finger along the bridge of it, noting where Bethberry had tended to the disconcerting shift of flesh. "Why return?"

"Because it is my home. Because what do I have, if I have no roots? I study in Minas Tirith and I play for every man woman and child between the cold streets and King Elessar's courts, and I live as a guest in his halls. Because I am a guest. I stay in Eodwine's Hall as a guest as well, with no work to qualify me. What do I have here, Saeri?"

"You have me." He took her hand.

"You have Eodwine."

"He has the memory of his wife. You have Linduial."

"She has her duty. She has her life. You have the young scapegrace Trystan to brush your hand with his lips as you giggle."

"Degas..."

"Do you think I did not see it? Do you hold Eodwine's past against him? No answer... Saeri, he is a man. He did not spring into existence the day that you met him in Bethberry's Inn. Did it hurt to remember it?"

"Degas... yes. Yes, brother, it hurt. I'd denied myself thoughts, but still I'd wondered at what it would be. He is my friend, Degas, but I began to wonder if it could be more, and what would happen if there was more, and whose nod would I seek should he care to look my way, and I let myself wonder as I worked, because what else had I to think of except the place I once called home, the place that I can't return to, or the dreams of our parents?"

"You dream of them?"

"Every night, Degas. They call me. And Caeli too, since I learned... There are paths and it is dusk, and the grass is trampled and there are birds crying intrusion, and their voices say to follow, and I wake in a sweat and I want to cry. Degas, since I learned, I have not wept for our family. I cannot find the tears. I would rather not dwell on the past... so I let myself wonder lazily about the future."

"And the past found you."

"Yes."

"My past is my future. Yours is as well, though you do not want it to be. I have to go home, Saeryn. What am I in this world? A younger son of a lesser known house. Our parents were loved by all. Saeryn, King Eomer knew our father, and loved him. Without Mother and Father, though, Saer, what do I have? I have that which I claim from Fenrir. But to claim my birthright, whatever it might be, I cannot run away. I cannot spend my days lazily writing, locked in my room, or flirting with tavern wenches."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"But..."

"I know, Saer."

"It has been four years."

He cupped her cheek. "You do not want me here. I would lessen the spirit of the day. It does not need me."

"But I do..."

"Our birthday remains ours, even if we are apart."

"We haven't celebrated our birthday together--"

"Not since before I left."

"You cannot leave after? Or come back more quickly than you will?"

He hung his head and did not answer.

"Lady Saeryn?" She startled a little, her attention removed from that night, and sought for the voice in the yard. It was Modtryth.

"Yes, Modtryth?"

"Have you seen the children? The time is nearing for lunch and they are sure to be hungry."

"I cannot say that I have, though I meant to speak with you. May I have a word as we look? I would ask a favor, if you would entertain me the question. What think you of our Trystan?"

[Folwren]

A new day and a new start, Thornden thought. Good luck, anyway. He held a letter limply in his hand as he stood at the window, half dressed for the day. His face had an odd expression on it and had anyone been there to see it, they would probably have asked him what the trouble was.

He watched a bird distractedly as it flew about at almost eye level with him, chasing a bug. It darted about, turning at sharp, startling angles, and suddenly it made a snatch with its beak and flew off.

Thornden blinked and sighed and looked down at the paper in his hand.

My Dear Thornden, it read, You quite astonish me, brother. I’ve not seen or heard anything of your for months on end, even though two months ago I’m sure you got my letter I wrote about your nephew. I’m quite astonished, though I don’t see why I should be.

I did receive your short letter telling me about your employment at the new Eorl’s Hall there in Edoras, however, and you may be happy, though surprised, to hear that I didn’t write only to tell you how shocked and disapointed I am in you, but also to tell you that I am coming to do it in person. Expect me on the 22nd, hopefully a few hours before noon.

I will be coming with someone accompanying me, but I may need an escort on my return journey. You will be good enough to arrange something?

Yours, etc. . .

The letter had arrived two days ago and Thornden had nearly leaped out of his chair. Medreth – here? It wasn’t so much that Medreth would be a bad person to introduce. . .just not one who he hadn’t visited in months when he should have weeks and weeks ago. . .how was he going to receive her and what was she going to say?

Thanks goodness the Lady Linduial has left! he thought as he picked up his shirt. Still. . .Medreth might go so far as to ask about Saeryn or Kara. He winced visibly and scowled as he picked up a comb. Women and their infernal opinion that everyone should be married instantly upon their twentieth year! All the same, he must face it like a man, he decided, and looked at the bright side of things. He would see his nephew and maybe his youngest brother. That would be enjoyable. And it had been a long time since he’d seen Medreth. Perhaps she wouldn’t ask him too many questions and maybe, just maybe, she would accept his excuse of being far too busy to slip away earlier and visit her. . .

He tugged on his last boot with a decided jerk and went out.

[Celuien]

Dawn had hardly broken before Garmund, Lèoðern, and Cnebba ran out of the Inn to play. Since their meeting, the children had spent most of their free time together. All three were now friends. Though to Garmund, it seemed that there was something not quite right. Before Cnebba came, Garmund and his sister had each been the best and only friend to the other. Things were different now. When Garmund was called to learn his father's stonecraft, Cnebba was often free, and Lèoðern had often gone to play with the carpenter's son, leaving Garmund to catch up on their games only as they neared their ending. And then, in their room in the evening, she spoke often about Cnebba. In his own thought, Garmund found himself in envy of the attention the new boy had from his sister. His sister. If Lèoðern played with anyone, it should be her brother.

But in the early morning, all three were together, and those thoughts did not come to Garmund. They huddled in a corner of the yard where Cnebba had drawn a circle on the ground. Each of the children had made a set of clay balls the day before, and now played at knocking one ball against the other, trying to push the others' out of the circle.

It was Lèoðern's turn. Cnebba suddenly whispered something in her ear. She giggled and sent one of her balls flying towards one of Garmund's, his last in the circle. Garmund's rolled outside the circle's border, and Lèoðern laughed again, clapping her hands.

"Poor Garmund. You're out."

Garmund clenched his jaw. He was out, yet again. The unsettled envy returned.

"I am. But I have work to do anyway. I should go." He stood and started to leave, and then in a hasty moment, turned to give a parting jab, knowing well that he was acting wrongly.

"Unlike some others."

Almost instantly, Garmund was ashamed, but he kept walking, angry at Cnebba for taking so much of Lèoðern's attention, angry at Lèoðern for not siding with him, and, most of all, angry with himself for making matters worse.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had been up since the crack of dawn, going over his books. Shortly after having returned Marenil to his status as guest, Eodwine had ordered Thornden up to Meduseld to see to the issue of taxation of the market shops; and his almbudsman had returned with the information that Eodwine had expected: the King expected a tithe of the market taxes, as he expected a tithe of all other fees Eodwine collected. This seemed overly generous to Eodwine, since Eomer had been receiving all the fees and taxes himself until he had made Eodwine the Eorl of the new Middle Emnet. What possible benefit could come to the king at giving up so much revenue? The only answer Eodwine could discern was that the king was freed from the headaches of daily management. But could that possibly make up for the loss of revenue?

Such questions as these had created the need for Eodwine to go to Meduseld. He rose, returned the small tray of breakfast he had been given by Kara, and stopped in at Saeryn's room. He knocked and waited, and momentarily she came to the door. He greeted her good morning, which she returned; he marked that her smile did not reach her eyes, but it was early morning and one should not expect too much.

"I am going up to Meduseld today, as I told you yesterday. I leave you in charge of the Hall until I return. I expect to be back before dark, but it depends upon how long my meetings with the King's wítan lasts; so I may not return until tomorrow."

Saeryn nodded.

"One final thing. Trystan needs more than odd jobs. He needs training. Put him in Garwine's charge. Have Garwine turn the boy into a guard and maybe a soldier. He needs some ordering about, that one."

Saeryn frowned, apparently no relishing the task he'd handed her. Eodwine winked. "I like him, Saeryn, but I also know that his trustworthiness must be strengthened. I'll not have a Hall full of rogues, but Eorlingas, even if I have to make the one out of the other.

"Have you any words for me before I leave?"

She shook her head. "No. I will do what you wish, but I do not think such a life is in Trystan."

"We shall see. Good-bye, love." He winked again as her brow rose and her mouth opened in her startelment at his word, and then he closed the door before she could say or do any more, then walked quickly away to the stables so that she could not stop him to make sure she had heard him aright.

After bidding Léof a good morning and quick thanks for having Flíthaf ready as requested the previous night, Eodwine was off and away for the rest of the day.

[Thinlómien]

“Of course you may ask, my lady”, Modtryth answered automatically and made a little pause after continuing. The question had come as a surprise. What indeed did she think of this young man that had appeared to the hall right after her little family?

“May I put it bluntly, my lady?” she asked the younger woman as they walked in the yard.
Lady Saeryn winced. She hadn’t maybe expected this. “Yes, of course, go on.”

“He’s a young rascal, but not one of irremediable sort. I wish my Cnebba doesn’t grow to be a man like that”, Modtryth said, softening her words with a smile. “Trystan’ll hopefully grow out of it. I don’t know him well, but there’s something strange in him or in his past.”

Saeryn nodded, but kept looking at Modtryth, as if urging her to continue. She did: “I guess he has to be let to forget it and to have a clean start, just like you and the Eorl have done, my lady.” She hoped she didn’t sound too arrogant.

Secretely, she congratulated herself for giving a nonsense answer. She would have liked to point out that the boy clearly needed a proper job, and soon. That would help him to settle down. Modtryth however kept her opinion to herself and looked humbly at the lady. She did not wish to step over the boundaries of her own position here where she had been so warmly welcomed, even when she was evidently asked advice. She did not wish to admonishthe lady and the lord.

“May I ask what are your thoughts on the matter, my lady?” she returned the question instead.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"You may. I am to put him in Garwine's charge, for the time at least."

Saeryn considered Trystan, running other duties through her head. Eodwine had asked her to put Trystan under Garwine's watch, and that was what she would do; and she would not give him other duties besides without consulting Eodwine; it was not her place to do so. Still... if there were other duties better suited to him? Trystan was no soldier. Not every spirited young man should be molded. Would it not be better to find a place for him that he came already fit for?

Saeryn had not yet spent more than a few minutes at a time with Trystan. They'd not yet spoken at length, and she did not know him well. She would need to remedy it. She had an idea, but it was not one it was prudent to speak freely about. She would let it develop and then have a word with Eodwine.

"Trystan is a rascal, you are not mistaken about that, but I do not distrust him. There are none in this house I would not trust with my own life or the lives of others close to me. I've found that the best way to foster trust is to give it. Still, I see your meaning.

"We will give him a home and work for as long as he needs it, as that is Eodwine's way. And he must be outfitted for the work. That is why I came to you; to be put to work under Garwine requires clothing for the work; sturdy, functional, and fit for the duties that Garwine gives to him. Also, though, I believe that Trystan might be better viewed in terms of standing if he is dressed as less a ragamuffin." Saeryn smiled, wishing Trystan's freedom to dress as he would was her own; she'd worn breeches perhaps once since the court day, dressing for her role as lady. She knew that she could still wear men's garb, but with so many visitors, noble and common alike, and all of them eying her, and not all eyes as friendly as others, she kept to gowns that showed her standing, but not exhorbitantly. She knew that a woman's bearing and appearance could do much for her, but she still missed the comfort of bare feet and leggings.

"We can outfit him as a soldier with no eyebrows raised, not even his own, but I would like to see Trystan dressed as an upstanding young man even off duty. Would you help me to clothe him in such a way that we are not merely approaching him with words that we disapprove of his poverty?"

[Folwren]

Thornden wandered quietly through the great hall after having breakfast. His eyes traced the wall and roof, the great fireplace in the center, and the new doorway in the wall leading into the corridor coming from the kitchen. Having made a complete round of the room, he went towards the place of construction.

Stigend and Garstan were beginning their day’s work and for a while, Thornden watched them in silence. Their work fascinated him in almost every stage. He knew next to nothing of the art of building or anything like and found it very interesting.

He had stood there nearly five minutes without moving so much as an inch when he heard a soft step near him. He drew in his breath and his eyes left Stigend’s work with the wood to shift to the person near him. It was Garstan’s son, Garmund.

“Good morning, Garmund!” Thornden said, smiling and taking a step towards him. The boy glanced up briefly.

“Good morning, sir,” he answered without stopping or slowing his walk.

Thornden bent his head a little to look more squarely into Garmund’s face. An expression of carefully contained anger or vexation dwelt on his face. Thornden laid his hand on Garmund’s shoulder. “Wait, lad,” he said softly, kneeling with one knee on the ground to bring himself more to the boy’s level. “Is anything the matter?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

If any of the small village in the Folde had cared to look toward the morning sun, they could have seen the wilted outline of Degas lit by it. They could, perhaps, have made out the broken harp in his hands; the glow of the strings flashing like infinitely small whips of fire might have given it away. He'd dropped it by accident in a fit of annoyance and watched in horror as a crack split the fine frame and snapped several strings, fraying many others. He walked, a ghost, out the front doors of his family home, his hands curled around it, staring blankly.

Everything is broken in my life.

He pushed the thought away. He did not want it. To admit to problems made it so much harder to qualify doing nothing about them.

"She's to return."

Degas glared at his brother. Fenrir was two inches taller than him, was heavily built; most chose not to pick fights with him... they'd lose if only to his temper.

"What's it to do with me?"

"You know where she is."

"So do you. If you want her back so much, go get her." He felt like he was betraying Saeryn. He should have known... Fenrir did not live far from Edoras. Perhaps a day's ride. If he had not heard before then, he'd learned for certain through the city gossip that his youngest sister was the lady of a man she had not wed.

"You will bring her back."

"I'll do no such thing." Fenrir took a step forward.

"Go ahead, brother, do it. You know you want to. I know you want to. What stops you, brother? That the village can see us? Be a man and pick fights where the world can see. Punish me all you like. I will not be your slave or your messenger. If you want Saeryn back, go and grovel."

"I do not grovel."

"Then you do not deserve her." None of us do. She is the only worthy one of us.

"You will cleave to my will or you will be removed from that of our parents."

"You'd never dare." His words were acid. Careless. What had he to lose? Father would never approve of a rivalry of his children's wills. Father was gone. Mother; she would take them aside in private and share her displeasure with a look of disappointment. Fenrir would wilt. Degas would have already apologized. Mother was gone. Their displeasure meant little. Only the here and now. Here and now, Degas stood alone with his brother in the morning sun, and he had no Linduial to take for evening walks, to write music for, to treat like his very own queen. He had no parents to disapprove. He had no Saeryn to take his hand and calm him, to make him think sense. When had she become the calming force in his life? She'd had the temper as a child. He'd been pushed into watering troughs often enough to know it. When had she changed? Why hadn't he been there for her?

"I can do it without question. You left home with little warning and no regard for the state of your lands or your people. You left their well-being to another while you frolicked in foreign lands living upon the purse of another. Is that the responsibility to hold lands? You allow your youngest sister to live in the house of a man not her husband, to be his lady out of wedlock. You allow rumors to garner about her, cutting her hard earned reputation to ribbons, and what do you do of it? You care nothing for your land or your family. Your inheritance is undeserved."

"You dare!" Degas stepped forward, his harp still in his hands.

"You will bring Saeryn home or the matter will be taken before the king and he will learn more even than the little I've said."

"You have nothing."

"I have everything."

[Formendacil]

Náin woke for the first time in a very long time rather later than usual. And grumpier. He hadn't been this grumpy since...

Oh, right.

Not since the day after Eodwine's first court day, when he had faced the unpleasant task of apologizing to Degas, Saeryn, and Eodwine. What a mess that had been! Degas had done nothing to endear himself to Náin, and had told him that if Saeryn forgave him, then he would. Saeryn had been nicer about it than Degas, but had not given Náin a formal statement of accepting his apology, but had told him that if Eodwine would forgive him, then she would as well.

What with having been in the middle of Edoras at the time, away from the Mead Hall, and escorting Saeryn in search of -of all people- her brother Degas, Náin had not had the opportunity to seek out Eodwine until evening, when Eodwine had again sought his chambers- the same place Náin had blown up and gotten himself into such a mess in the first place.

What had passed between Náin and Eodwine that night, nobody knew. They seemed to have come to terms, anyway, and the consensus being that Eodwine was a just and kind man, the general feeling was that Náin had gotten the forgiveness he'd been looking for, and all was well.

Whatever the case may have been, that was a good month ago. Since then the statue of Falco had been given a proper unveiling, and Náin had busied himself with several smaller projects around the Mead Hall, including the chimney and fireplace for the new kitchen with Garstan and Stigend. Working with the two practical labourers, Náin decided that, as far as most things were concerned, he much preferred to spend his time with commoners than with nobles. Among other things, they tended to have a greater appreciation for Dwarven practicality.

Which brought Náin back to why he was in a foul mood. The sandstone block that had taken him three weeks to have hauled in from Dunharrow's quarries, and which was supposed to have been the basis for his next statue, a smaller-than-life statue of the late King Théoden mounted for battle, to be a gift from King Éomer to his sister Lady Éowyn, had arrived cracked right down the middle. Just about any way Náin looked at the thing, it was not going to be possible to turn out the statue he was intending from it. He needed to get another block from Dunharrow- something that Éomer's treasurer would be displeased about, and he needed to find a use in the meantime for his flawed block.

Tired and grumpy from a night dreaming about the cracked sandstone, Náin dressed and went in search of breakfast.

[Kath]

Kara was happily kneading dough when Náin entered, searching for food. With all the renovations going on at the moment she and Frodides were often unsure where exactly they could work at any one time, which was not always conducive to good relations. It was for this reason that the Hall had been swamped with large amounts of bread in recent days, as the making of it calmed frayed nerves and nasty tempers as well as any fight or rant did.

The Dwarf didn't look entirely happy, giving Kara a rather surly sounding greeting as he took a plate and began to fill it. He hadn't been in a good mood since his latest project had been scuppered, and Kara doubted things would improve until he had something worthy of his talents to work on. Still, there was nothing to lose by trying to offer friendship. Opening the oven door she removed the tray of just finished rolls, and called to the Dwarf before he could leave the room.

"Náin? Would you like a fresh roll to go with that? Still warm from the oven."

[Celuien]

"Is anything the matter?"

Garmund felt Thornden's glance searching his face and looked to the ground. Anything the matter? Of course there was something the matter. Everything, in fact. His sister liked a new, strange boy more than she liked her own brother - a brother who had been her best friend and playmate for her whole life. Until now.

Frustration and annoyance burst out in a single question.

"Do you have a sister?"

[Firefoot]

As Léof walked down the stable aisle, he paused at Æthel’s stall to watch her much contentedly at her morning meal. “At this rate,” he commented with a smile, “you are going to get fat.” He said it in jest, but there was a seed of truth to the words. She did not get enough exercise; few of the horses did. To this fact Léof was growing ever more aware, and while he tried to remedy it, there was little he could do. Walking the horses up and down the stable aisle could hardly be counted as exercise, but the only other alternative would be to either ride or walk the horses through the streets of Edoras. What the horses really needed was a paddock, however small, where they could be let out of their stalls for even just a little while each day – but Léof did not know how to give voice to this idea.

He figured he ought to, though, and sooner rather than later. Later that day, he decided, or sometime after Eodwine gets back from whatever it is he’s doing.

He couldn’t do anything about it now, though, so he turned away from the stall with a soft sigh and continued down the aisle. He had seen to the horses’ larders, and now he was ready for some breakfast of his own.

Hardly had he left the stables, however, when he saw Trystan and felt obliged to say good morning. Léof was almost surprised that he had stuck around this long; he had been so sure that horse theft had been the other’s goal, and that with that not being achieved he would have shortly left. But there had been no further such attempts, leading Léof to wonder if he had imagined the whole thing in the first place. What was more, the knife had remained on the stable shelf, an enigma whenever he took the time to think of it. So Léof’s naturally trusting personality had eventually taken over, and his smile was perfectly friendly as he said, “'Morning, Trystan. Had breakfast yet?”

[Formendacil]

"My thanks, Kara," said Náin, accepting the roll. Now that he had someone to talk to, he showed no signs of departing immediately, but appeared in a mood to chat, if not to be shiningly cheerful. Over the course of two months, he'd grown familiar enough with Kara not to get too flustered in her presence, and he enjoyed the company of Frodides, whose no-nonsense and authoritarian approach to running the kitchen appealed to him.

"I envy you," Náin told Kara, taking the roll. "Able to work at your craft every day, producing these things of beauty- doing something useful and praiseworthy. I chafe at the delay between projects to occupy me, and Garstan is a worthy mason who needs little in the way of assistance."

"It's hardly all fun and games feeding the Mead Hall," said Kara, working at doing just that, flitting around at various tasks while talking. "People never stop being hungry, you know."

"I do not know how it is for Men," said Náin, "but Dwarves, for the most part, would rather put their hands to steady labour that taxes them, even taxes them overmuch, than to sit idle day in and day out. We need things to occupy our hands and our minds."

"Surely not only work can do that," said Kara, pausing after wiping off a counter. "Surely you can occupy your hands and minds just as easily at work as at play."

"Under normal circumstances, yes," agreed Náin. "But I have had more play and less work than usual, and I prefer to be productive. And there is only so much in the way of play to occupy a strange Dwarf in this city. Even after two months, I'm still a stranger to most of the city and lands outside this Mead Hall. The people and places that would entertain a local such as yourself are unknowable to me- at least without a guide. And, it irks me to say, most of those around me are better occupied with work than I am."

"Well, I would envy you rather than pity you," said Kara. "You're willing to help bake and cook, as far as I'm concerned- though you'd have to do exactly as Frodides told you, lest you find yourself boiling with the vegetables."

"No fear there!" Náin held up his roll-filled hand. "I have no talent in the culinary arts. Merely a great appreciation and taste for the craft." He bit into the roll as a demonstration.

"And this, I might add," he continued, "is most definitely beyond my abilities."

[Folwren]

Garmund seemed to struggle inside himself for a moment after Thornden asked his question. A clear expression of anger passed over his face for a moment. His little jaw tightened and relaxed and his eyes darted away briefly. But then he looked back at Thornden and asked a question the man was not at all expecting.

“Do you have a sister?”

“Well, yes, I do actually,” Thornden said, smiling a little. “Three, in fact. You have one, too. . .” Garmund nodded shortly. “Has she been causing you trouble?” Thornden asked. He kept his face carefully straight, not allowing any of his amusement to show. Siblings’ quarrels were not uncommon, as he well knew, but he figured it would be easily sorted out.

[Kath]

Kara had wondered whether Náin would be willing to talk, but once he'd settled himself onto a stool he had opened up. He spoke of his troubles finding something worthwhile to do, especially since his true skill was not much called upon here. In fact, for all intents and purposes, the Dwarf was bored.

Smiling in delight at the compliment he gave her, Kara dropped another roll onto his plate in thanks.

"Frodides is a good teacher, if you did turn your mind to becoming a cook I'm sure she would be able to whip you into shape soon enough. But lack of material or opportunity shouldn't cause you to turn away from the craft you excel at."

Náin nodded in agreement, mouth full of roll, and then swallowed to reply.

"Yet what is there for me to do?"

"Maybe you just need to find some inspiration. You say you want to explore this place, but you need a guide. Well, I can offer myself if you will have me. Frodides is back to full strength now, and the Hall is not so busy at the moment. All the building work has people looking for simpler meals, so I think my dear mentor could spare me a few hours of the week. What do you think?"

[Formendacil]

"What do you think?"

Náin had little hesitation in responding. If someone was willing to occupy his mind during his doldrums, he'd not be the one complaining. It was an unexpected gesture, from the Dwarf's point of view, though.

"I would gladly have your company and assistance in seeing and exploring Edoras and the close countryside," replied Náin, "provided that Frodides is as agreeable as you say. I would not upset so fine a cook! Nor would I wish to face the men of this hall were I to do so!"

Kara laughed. If anyone in the Hall knew Frodides well, it was her.

"Don't worry," she told him. "I'm equally willing to let Frodides get the same rests on the days when I'm working. And when there's not enough work to satisfy two cooks, things can get tense."

"In that case then," said Náin, with a grand bow, "I accept your offer with a good will. But I would be sure that you are as willing as you say! Surely, there are other things you could be doing in your spare time. Any family? Or interests other than the cooking which occupies you? Or a perhaps a young man? I would not have you spend your time on me if there are others with a better claim."

[Kath]

Blushing Kara shook her head. It seemed Náin truly had become comfortable around her. A month ago he'd barely have looked at her, and now he was asking for intimate details. She was glad though, awkward silences were not something she was overly fond of.

"I am as willing as I say, for if I were not willing I would not say it. I have no demands but this Hall to claim my time. My family is too far away for a single days travel and I enjoy walking and talking, both of which we would be doing. As to a young man, well, I believe potential suitors would be hard put to impress Frodides, who has appointed herself my local guardian."

"Perhaps she simply wishes not to lose you? After all, such a friend would take up much of your time." Náin spoke steadily and there was no trace of a smile upon his face, but Kara was sure she could hear amusement in his voice. She flicked her cloth at him in a manner she had unconsciously picked up from Frodides and turned his comment back on him, wondering if his natural inclination to shyness would come out again.

"Well then, with all the time we will be spending together she won't be taking to you much these next few weeks."

[Celuien]

Garmund took a moment to think before answering Thornden's question. Looking back, there was nothing he could remember that had caused him trouble. It was Lèoðern's spending so much time with Cnebba which irked him.

"Well, no. She's not causing trouble. But she's with Cnebba so much now. It used to be that just the two of us played together. And now they're always playing games and...and"

You're out. Lèoðern's words returned to him, and his voice trailed off. That was just it. Garmund thought that he was always left out.

"Yes, my lad?" Thornden broke in, encouraging Garmund to continue.

"And it's like they don't want me around anymore." Annoyance and frustration rang clearly in Garmund's voice. "Lèoðern was my sister before Cnebba ever came here. Now it's almost as if he was her brother and I'm not. Why can't it be the way it was before?"

[littlemanpoet]

Falco passed into the kitchen and snitched a roll on is way through, his quiet feet almost escaping the notice of the cooks before he was through the door. "Rascal!" Frodides cried at his fleeing back. But before him were other words in a different tone.

"Why can't it be the way it was before?" It was young Garmund.

"Why can't what be?" Falco interrupted, as if the conversation was his by right to intervene into. Lucky for him he was a hobbit, for Garmund seemed to find it easy enough to talk to someone of his own height, even if he was an adult. Besides, he had already been out with it once, or so it seemed, so Falco was all ears as he made quick work of his snitched roll.

"My sis used to play with me. Now she always plays with Cnebba instead."

Falco knew what was up right away. Such things were not reserved for children; they happened among full growns as well, at least back in the Shire they did as much as not, and probably more than most places as far as he could tell.

"Tell you what," he said conspiratorially to both Garmund and Thornden as he lit up his pipe. "Why don't we have our own fun, us three? We can have so much fun they'll want to stop what they're doing and join in on ours! What do you think about that?"

[Celuien]

The unhappy look about Garmund was slowly overcome by a sly grin. Falco understood what was happening and seemed to know just how to fix the problem. They would show Cnebba and Lèoðern for leaving him out over the last few weeks.

"I think that's just right," Garmund replied. He smiled, both happy to have found allies and relishing the idea of evening the score with Cnebba. For it must have been Cnebba more than his sister. Lèoðern, for all her eager ways, was little more than a baby, and would never think to leave her brother. Cnebba, though, would learn a lesson for causing trouble between Garmund and his sister.

Falco was blowing smoke rings and rubbing his chin. Probably thinking up a plan, Garmund decided.

"What should we do?" he asked.

[Thinlómien]

"We can outfit him as a soldier with no eyebrows raised, not even his own, but I would like to see Trystan dressed as an upstanding young man even off duty. Would you help me to clothe him in such a way that we are not merely approaching him with words that we disapprove of his poverty?" lady Saeryn asked.
"I'm at your service, my lady", Modtryth answered politely, giving the younger woman a warm smile. "That ragamuffin - as you put it, my lady - certainly needs new clothing." It seemed that young men were like boys, always lacking proper, fitting or not worn out clothes.

For a while, they just walked in silence. Modtryth let her gaze follow a sparrow hopping in the ground. I am to put him in Garwine's charge, for the time at least, the Lady's words echoed in Modtryth's head.
"He is to become a soldier then, my lady?" she asked.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn smiled softly. She liked very much to speak with Modtryth, who spoke so shrewdly, yet without the words needed by so many to carry the same message. Is he to become a soldier?

"Eodwine wishes it to be so, for now. The direction, I think, will be good for Trystan in the short term." And the long term? No... what comes will come. Eodwine will see sense, I'm sure.

"Do you not think, then, that he will take to it?"

She laughed. "Do you see him following the orders of another for very long? He does what I ask of him because, I think, he sees that I do not ask unnecessary things, or things that I would not do myself, and because I am the Lady here, and he listens to what Eodwine asks, but you can see, I'm sure, that he does it with considerably less than a soldier's stoic assent. The theatrics make me smile, but how many soldiers have we seen that flirt so shamelessly with everyone from young Kara to even Frodides? No, do not answer me that... I've heard too many stories to even think of my example as serious. But do you see my meaning? Trystan will act the soldier, because it is what is asked of him, but he is no soldier at heart. Not from what of him I've seen."

[Formendacil]

"Well then, with all the time we will be spending together she won't be taking to you much these next few weeks."

The thought had not occured to Náin yet, but it did so now with aclarity: if he was to go spending a good deal of time in Kara's company- during her hours of leisure, at that- then who knew what tongues might set about awaggling. He was single, she was single. And his being a Dwarf, rather than serving to insulate them from any nasty rumours, would most likely aggravate them and add to the scandal.

Náin could feel his cheeks turning red hot. This is nonsense! he told himself. You're predicting scandal long before there is any. And it's not as if you were planning to be acting any way less than perfectly decorously. She's not even a Dwarf, after all! Besides, you've already accepted her offer.

Náin looked up, and saw Kara looking at him queerly. Did his face show his thoughts so transparently?

"That, er, really um... grieves me," said Náin, stumbling over his words, something he hadn't done in front of Kara in weeks. "I'd much rather remain in Frodides good cooks- books! Not cooks, books!"

Hands clenched firmly behind his back, where they wouldn't fidget or shake, Náin attempted to master his stammering speech.

"Well, if you are willing as you say, I shall be pleased to accept. When do you anticipate having a day to take off?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas found himself in a dark space and a small fire lit his strong features, bronzing his light skin and fading the few freckles, the remnants of his youth, into obscurity. The dancing light made his dark red hair show golden at times, darkest black at others. It was the bright of late morning out of doors, yet the shutters were closed and only sickly cracks of light fought their way through.

He sat back in an old wooden chair, feeling the carved knot work dig into his left shoulder. He shifted, spilling a little of his wine. He clenched his jaw a little and wiped his hand on his breeches. The small wooden goblet he held had been emptied a few times since he'd walked away from Fenrir.

"Boy, you'll want to stop this foolery."

Degas glared and his eyes burned hot with angry tears. The old man had greeted him silently, opening the door and stepping to the side, letting Degas come past him. He'd poured wine into his own cup and handed it to the young man now sitting, head in hands, in the chair his son had made him long before Degas was born. He'd silently poured more wine as the cup emptied, waiting.

And his first words to Degas were those. Degas felt his cheeks flush in shame.

"Faesten, how? What do I do?" The old man had not heard such desperation since the red head was barely into manhood, trying to find the will to leave a home in which he could not stay. He'd listened then, just as he did now, hearing everything that was not said.

"It would be a good beginning to set the cup down." Degas laughed hollowly, but he did it, looking into the shadows toward the aged voice.

He saw the heavy outline of a cloak. He hadn't been so frail the last time, had he? It had been several years... The fire was warm... or was it the wine? The old gravel of his voice was still strong, his hands were still calloused. But he seemed thinner.

"You've grown." the old man commented wryly, seeming, as always, to read Degas's mind.

"Were you always so small?"

"Watch your tone, boy. I'll lay you flat as I did so long ago when you thought to play Riders and Orcs with yourself as orc and my wife's fresh pies as plunder."

Degas laughed legitimately this time, though his tone remained distant.

"Faesten, he'll deny me my inheritance. You know as well as I that he has the means."

"Does it mean so much to you, money and land? I thought you were to be a travelling musician. I thought you were to wander happily, all your days, paying room and board with news and song from faraway lands. Has the romance left it? Have you felt the cold bite of wind alone on distant roads with no warmth in sight and no thought for comfort but far away dream?"

"She's a princess."

"A she. A princess. The queen's lady cousin?"

"You know too much."

"Old ears hear clearly when folks forget them."

"I cannot hope to woo her with no copper to my name. How can a man raise a family with no inheritance when all that he knows how to do, all that he's ever done, is no life for any lady, but most especially not one such as her.

Linduial, Linduial,
Your skin so Elven fair,
Linduial, Linduial,
With starlight in your hair,

You travel long, you travel far
Across so many lands
And with you, though you know it not,
My heart... 'tis in your hands..."

Faesten looked at Degas with pity, stepping forth from the shadows, placing an old, gnarled hand upon his shoulder. Degas placed his hand over it and wept for a time, and they were silent.

After a time, Faesten spoke again. "Degas, you have been as a son to me for many years. A choice is before you: will you make it?"

Degas met his friend's eyes levelly, and though his hands shook, and his voice with it, he spoke honestly. "I will not sacrifice my sister's love for my own. She will not return home by me. Though I should have nothing save my body, I would not ask her, nor even ever mention it, to return to Fenrir. I will bid my farewell to the lady in my dreams, the white lady of my heart, and I will play for her when she is wed to a better man, if she will consent to have me as her humble musician."

"You do what you think is right."

Degas looked startled. He stood now, swaying only slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean only that you can do only so many things before you must let things to the winds and hope the storm dies down quick, boy. Did you think, mayhap, that the lady may have a thought of her own on the matter? Did you think, mayhap, that you ought to share with your sister your thoughts? I doubt it much, but that is your own business. You have chosen, and it is a noble choice, but its rightness may only be seen in time."

"Faesten, I would have you tell me what to do. I cannot do it alone."

"No. You cannot."

[littlemanpoet]

"What should we do?" Garmund asked eagerly.

Falco puffed on his pipe, thinking a moment about the possibilities. He eyed Thornden briefly, who seemed to be about as eager to find out what Falco had in mind as was Garmund.

"Well, you see, Garmund, there's this old ruin just outside of Edoras proper that I'd like to go see again, and it's no good going to such places alone because who's there to share it with then? But if the three of us go, we can share our finds and keep safe into the bargain."

Garmund's eyes had been widening with eagerness. Any child loved ruins. Thornden's brow rose but he kept his peace for the moment.

"So what we need is to go find your pa and ask him if I can take you with Thornden and me, and we need a couple of mounts too. So I was thinking that Thornden could get Léof to ready the mounts while you and I, Garmund, go talk to your pa. What think you?"

[Celuien]

"What think you?"

"I think that I can't wait to go and see the ruins. Let's go and find my father now." Garmund started to the door, so excited that he forgot to mind his footing and nearly tripped over a low bench.

Falco's arm darted out to catch the boy by the arm. "Steady there, Garmund."

Garmund laughed and began to ask Falco question after question about the ruins. The change from sadness a few minutes before to eager good cheer was striking.

They soon found Garstan, already at work in the new kitchen. Garmund and Falco quickly outlined the plan to visit the ruins.

Garstan put down his tools. He noted his son's excited face with no small relief. Garmund's spirits had seemed low of late, though Garstan had been unable to find the cause of the trouble. Whatever the reason, this trip with Falco and Thornden looked to be a cure.

"Of course you may go," said Garstan. "I ask only one thing."

"What is that?"

"That you, Falco, and Thornden tell all of your tales from the day over supper tonight."

[littlemanpoet]

"You ask a Hobbit not to keep a tale of his own small doings of the day to himself?" laughed Falco. "Might as well tell a dog to dig or a horse to gallop or a cow to chew cud or-"

"I think Garstan takes your meaning," said Thornden, grinning.

"Ah yes, of course he does." Falco turned to Garmund. "Shall we go see how Thornden and Léof are doing in the stables?"

"Yes!" Garmund cried, and was off at a run toward the stables.

"Mind you keep him safe, Master Boffin," called Garstan to the Hobbit's receding back.

"Upon my honor, Master Garstan," he cried over his shoulder. "You may be sure of it!"

It was not long before Thornden's horse and Falco's pony were ready for riding. Thornden took Garmund up to sit before him, holding the reins, even, and soon they were trotting merrily through the eastern edges of Edoras, in the general direction of Gondor. Falco suggested to Garmund that the ruins lay near that great kingdom, and Garmund talked excitedly of how they were going all the way to Gondor to see the greatest ruins of them all, this very day. Falco did not correct him, but described the ruins in the most exaggerrated of terms. Thornden, who had seen the place, grinned and kept his laughter at the jest to himself.

[Nogrod]

Stigend dacided to straighten his back for a second before taking on the next log. Glancing around for the children he noticed that Garmund had disappeared. Lèoðern and Cnebba were playing together at the back of the going-to-be Alder court.

Both Stigend and Modtryth had noticed that some tensions had been building up between the children but they had always been too busy or not having an unforced situation to take that up with Cnebba. Maybe I should have a word with those two right now? I could do with a little break anyhow, Stigend thought and started walking towards the children, stretching the jammed muscles on his back as he went.

“So, who’s leading?” he addressed the two as he reached them and sat down to the ground beside Cnebba. Both kids looked to him, but before Cnebba had time to open his mouth, Lèoðern already answered: “I am! Cnebba only has two left!” With that she produced an irresistible smile. Stigend couldn’t but smile back to her. She really is charming little girl.

He took a look at his son and gripped him softly from the elbow. Aloud he said: “Don’t lose your concentration, Cnebba, or you lose the whole game”. Cnebba turned his face downwards and didn’t dare to look at his father but instead started ripping off some grass from between his legs. Stigend knew that Cnebba was fairly good in the game the children were playing. When they played it together, Stigend rarely had to fake a bad throw to keep the game even. Letting the girls win now aren’t we? So, he has seen me faking and uses the same method, I see.

As Cnebba avoided his eyes, he turned casually towards Lèoðern and asked her, like in passing: “Where’s Garmund? I thought I saw him a while ago here but I haven’t heard your dad come around to call for him.” Now it was Lèoðern's turn to start avoiding his eyes, picking hairs from her dress. There was clearly something wrong here.

Cnebba opened his mouth to help her: “Garmund lost the game and got angry for it! We don’t know where he went”.

Stigend looked at his son to the eye for a while until Cnebba ducked his gaze again. He took a bit firmer grip on his elbow and after a moment’s silence he said, looking at both of them in turns. “One should not take games that seriously”. Both children lifted their heads slowly and carefully to see what was to follow. “But was it just losing the game you played a while ago that made him angry?” He took again a bit tighter grip from Cnebba’s elbow and looked now straight into his eyes quite seriously: “Was it a fair game today?”

Cnebba tried to turn his head away but simultaneously Stigend let off from his elbow and grasped his chin with his hand. Slowly but firmly he turned Cnebba’s face to meet his own. “Have you been fair to Garmund? Answer me, Cnebba”.

“But we have such fun together!” Cnebba tried to answer, as a tear started forming in the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure what was it exactly that he had done wrong this time although he had a faint idea of it. But what he knew for sure was, that if his father acted like that, then he was serious and he himself had done something wrong. Cnebba tried to escape the situation, but his father’s eyes were nailed on him and he couldn’t get away. So he just bursted to words.

“I mean... I mean Garmund is nice but he is so often working with Garstan and then we get great games going and then when Garmund comes back we need to explain him everything and still he doesn’t understand the game as we do and then we must correct him all the time and...” Cnebba had to draw a breath but Stigend didn’t let his eyes go.

“And Garmund’s adventures are always the same. Cnebba has funny new ideas that are nice!” Lèoðern put in, trying to help Cnebba.

Stigend glanced at Lèoðern and nodded slowly while thinking. Then he turned to Cnebba and asked calmly: “Answer me in earnest, Cnebba. How do you find Garmund’s ideas? Always the same or quite new and fun?”

“I’ve never heard many of the stories he tells while we play adventures”, Cnebba managed to mumble, his head down again as his father’s eyes had given him a chance to escape by looking the other way for a while.

“Alright you two. I understand what you mean and I hope you understand it too. But how do you think Garmund feels about this? It’s not his fault that he has to learn the trade. But when he comes from his duties you start to scorn him, right? How would that feel if it were you Lèoðern, or you Cnebba?”

“I’m sorry dad. I hadn’t thought it that way...” Cnebba said slowly, his voice trailing off a bit. As Stigend glanced to Lèoðern he thought he was seeing small tears in her eyes too.

“You should tell that to Garmund, and make an apology to him, I think. You know, it’s always easier to lose a friend than to gain one.” Stigend made a little pause, watching the two children fighting for courage to look at him and enduring the shame they had found in themselves. “And the sooner, the better, I say. You go and find Garmund and tell him you are sorry and make it a jolly reconciliation. And if all this is settled after the working-day is over, I’ll promise you a little game of adventure with me. Maybe I could talk Garstan over to join us, and Modtryth perhaps...” With that he noticed that both kids raised their heads and a flash of joy was to be read on their faces.

“Really dad? Mum would come too?” Cnebba asked. “My dad too? We all?” asked Lèoðern in turn.

“I quess it could be settled. But I can’t promise it.” Stigend answered them, smiling now heartily to them both. He rose up patting both gently to the shoulders as he rose. “But at least I will come with you and plan an adventure anyone of you will not forget!” With that he winked an eye to both of them and straightened himself up. “Now you two have something to do and I have also. I hope to see you all three in the evening as friends again!”

Stigend turned and started back towards his site. I must discuss this whole issue with Garstan, and with Modtryth. Maybe it’s time for Cnebba to start learning the trade too?

[littlemanpoet]

"I give you good greeting, Eomer King!" Eodwine bowed deeply.

"Greetings Eodwine, my new Eorl. I had hoped you would bring the Holbytlan with you, the one who claims to have saved your life, Master Folc- Folwi-"

"Master Falco Boffin."

"Ah! Those Shire names are passing strange!"

"He did as he claims, lord, and I did not think to bring him. Forgive me. He would have liked to come."

"Forgiven! Bring him next time. What brings you to Meduseld?"

"Fear that you would beggar yourself out of kindness to me, lord."

Eomer allowed a half grin as he eyed his Eorl. "I think I can guess what you will say next, but I wish to hear it from you."

"Lord, you have given me Edoras and land fifty miles long from north to south and fifty miles wide from west to east. All of it did pay tithe to the king. Now the tithe comes to me, and you get but a tithe of the tithe! You have cutt off your own wealth from your hand!"

"I keep the wealth from East and West in my own hand, Eodwine. You have a new weal from my hand that has not been done before among the Eorlingas. I am testing a new thing to see how it works, and you are my Woses Hog."

Eodwine blinked, tilted his head, and squinted from one eye. "So you are giving me your wealth to test me? Why? ....if I may be so bold?"

Eomer chuckled. "Not testing you, but a way of holding lands."

"What way is this?"

"It is to hold all one's lands in fief to local eorls, and to get tithes from all of them."

"But then you get only a tithe of a tithe and beggar yourself surely!"

"Yes and no. I do get a tithe of a tithe, and if the lands stay as they are it would be beggary to me. Tell me, Eodwine, how much of the Middle Emnet is farmed? And how much of it is fen, bog, marsh, unused, or horse pasture and paddock?"

"The numbers of our fold are not great for we have often been at war with Dunlending or orc, or even woses; much of the land that could be farmed is not."

"And much is pasturage for the steeds of the Eorlingas," said the king. "Some day our fold will learn that warring costs more than it gains, and that the land is enough to enrich us."

"Where has the king learned these new thoughts?" Eodwine ventured.

"From Elessar and Imrahil. And Lothiriel my wife."

Eodwine nodded. It was as he had thought. Marenil's newfangled ideas came back to mind, as things he would rather do without, and here was his king speaking of the very same thing. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "We are close to the land, lord."

"Close enough to turn fen, marsh, and paddock aplenty to cropland? I want you to understand these things so that you can see for yourself how they may be made to happen. I have land to give you so that you can put this to the test."

"Lord?"

"Sorn's land is forfeit to me because of his crime. I give it to you."

Eodwine was dumbfounded for a merest moment. "And I give it back to your forthwith, lord!"

"No, Eodwine, you shall not. Use the land. Move there with your household. That old inn is too cramped for the Eorl of the Middle Emnet, though you have done much with it already. Sorn's land will make a fine estate which, as it turns out, is in the very heart of the Middle Emnet, where you should be."

"But folk do not go there, lord."

"They will when you are there."

"Would you have me a day's ride away? Out of sight and mind to do as I please whether you like it or not?"

Eomer smiled. "Bold words. But I picked my first Eorl well. I trust you, for you are trustworthy."

"Are you commanding me?"

"I could. But I do not. Think on this. Return to me in a month and we will talk of it again. It is not something that must be done all in a rush. Now, is there anything else?"

"No, lord. You appear to have matters well in hand, far more than I credited you with, and much more well in hand than I."

Eomer laughed. "Ah, but I have means that you lack. Speaking of which, the queen wishes to speak with you when you leave my court."

"Oh? About what matter?"

"I know not, though I will learn soon enough, no doubt. There is another thing. Haleth!" The king's chief guard came forth holding a small pouch, which he gave to Eodwine. "Take it, Eodwine."

He opened it. Inside was a broad gold ring, etched around with galloping horses, nose to tail.

"In honor of your aid in winning back the queen's cousin."

"My thanks, lord. 'Tis doubtless a small fortune!"

"And well placed. Now tell me before you go, what is your ensign to be?"

"It is to bear a white horse, a white lyre, and a white alder tree on a green field, the horse to upper left, the lyre to upper right, and the alder tree beneath."

"You have made me curious. Tell me what these things mean."

The conversation whiled toward noon, and Eodwine had had a luncheon repast with the king before he went to see Lothiriel.

[Thinlómien]

"But do you see my meaning? Trystan will act the soldier, because it is what is asked of him, but he is no soldier at heart. Not from what of him I've seen."
"I'm sure you're right, my lady", Modtryth replied, though she was not so sure. She, however, did not question the decision, she trusted that lord Eodwine and lady Saeryn had better knowledge to make their decisions from than she had. Besides, it was not her place.

Things will manage, in one way or another, she told herself. That was, actually, a motto of hers.

"It seems that children are not here at the yard, my lady. I will have a look inside; are you still willing to accompany me, my lady, or do you have more pressing duties?"

[Kath]

Biting her tongue to keep from laughing had given Kara's face a strange expression she knew, but it was better than letting it out and causing any offence to Náin, who was stumbling over his words as though this was their first meeting again. She knew it had been cruel to suggest such thoughts to him, but the mischevious streak she had always retained had reared it's head.

Eventually the Dwarf managed to pull himself back together and got a full sentence out.

"Well, if you are willing as you say, I shall be pleased to accept. When do you anticipate having a day to take off?"

"I don't entirely know." Kara mused. She knew she was free to choose what time she had off, but within reason, and only if she wasn't needed for something important. "It might be wise to wait for Lord Eodwine to return as he may not be pleased to find a cook missing if he comes back with guests. Shall we say that if he returns alone and with no need for an extra cook we will go exploring the day after?"