Eorling Mead Hall

[Mithalwen]

"And what of you? You said that you have an Uncle? Is he here?"

"Here?" Elfthain was startled slightly having been distracted by Lys' previous words, "Oh in Edoras but not in the Hall.... he is a knight of the kings guard ...and well he is the nearest I have to a father now ... he is very kind but it is not the same ..... and my aunt is having another baby - that is why we are here, my mother is good with that sort of thing - and if this one is a boy maybe he won't be so interested in me anymore".

Elfthain suddenly looked a lot younger and his lip quivered... he had part overheard his mother telling her brother that maybe if he had a son of his own to raise he would interfere less in how she brought up hers and taken it overly to heart.

[Firefoot]

Seeing everyone around him draw their weapons, Léof had followed suit, unsheathing his short knife and holding it awkwardly in front of him. The short weapon was of small comfort; even if he really had known how to use it for fighting, he imagined that it was too short to be really effective: it was scarcely half a foot long. He wished that they had not had to spread out so much, even if two or three of the others were within sight, if he looked for them. He felt utterly incapable, and, yes, scared. His knife hand was trembling slightly. Why had he come? He had known he wouldn’t be much use in fighting. He was more like to get himself captured like Eodwine, or killed, than to be of any help.

He walked forward slowly, listening carefully for any sound. Every dell, every tree seemed to hide an outlaw. Then somewhere off to his right there was a clashing; Léof jumped at the sudden noise. He hesitated; ought he to keep going, or run towards the sound? Did someone need help? Had they found something? Without thinking too hard about it he began to run in that direction. Before he had gone even three steps, he tripped and went flying, landing heavily on his stomach. Just as he was reorienting himself, something large landed on top of him. One word registered in Léof’s hazy mind:

Outlaw!

He began to struggle, kicking wildly and trying to get the great brute off of him. He felt crushed, unable to draw a deep breath of air. One of his kicks connected firmly and he felt the man grunt and move slightly off him. He managed a gasp of breath and cried out. Help! He needed help!

[Celuien]

Eager to come to Falco's aid, Garmund ran faster than he ever had before. He did not know what had gone amiss, but there had to be something wrong. Even from a distance, Garmund had seen that the hobbit had something wrapped around his head.

For a moment, Garmund thought of being glad to be away from the slow shearing and from the simmering fight with Cnebba, now pushed under a stony silence broken only by grumbled comments on their work. He chided himself. If there was trouble at hand and if Falco had been hurt, that was far more important than the quarrel.

The unkempt thicket near the ruins drew near. Not long ago, Garmund had approached cheerfully, ready for an adventure. Now the place seemed somehow forbidding. Falco was nowhere to be seen, and a quick glance behind showed that Cnebba had been left far behind. Garmund was alone.

Or so he thought. Whispered voices and footsteps came from inside the thicket and Garmund dropped to the ground alarmed. He crawled under a tangle of brambles and tried to peer into the deeper undergrowth.

Several pairs of booted feet paced just ahead. Garmund held his breath, not wanting to be heard, and slowly crawled back out from under the brambles. Cnebba was coming, and quarrel or no quarrel, had to be warned to be on his guard.

He headed back the way he came, first slowly and on tiptoe, then, once some distance separated him from the thicket, he broke into a run. He soon came back to Cnebba.

Out of breath, Garmund gasped out, "There are strange men in the thicket. We have to be careful. Come on."

[Nogrod]

Garmund and Cnebba reached the ruins undetected. First they had been covered by the tall grass and nearer the ruins they had taken to crawling beneath the underbrush. They were panting heavily, leaning their backs to the remnants of a once powerful tower giving to the east.

They had seen three rugged men dragging the twins by force into the mound from a half collapsed doorway. One of them had slapped Ritun brutally to the face when he had cried for help.

Both of them were trying to control their breath but couldn’t help it. Their cheeks were red from exhaustion and their hearts were beating on overrates. Cnebba’s hands were shaking visibly and he tried to bury them under his legs not to show the trembling to his friend. Garmund was pressing the shearing knife so hard in his hand that his knuckles were white. With one word, they were scared to death after seeing how the outlaws had handled the twins.

“What do we do now?” Cnebba hissed from between his teeth.

Garmund was quiet for a while but then seemed to pull himself together and whispered back to Cnebba. “I have these...”, he raised his hand to show the shearing knife to Cnebba, “Pick some pebbles... we must get the twins out from here”.

Cnebba was about to voice his fear of the big men but decided to shut his mouth as he saw the determined look on Garmund’s face.

Armed with a shearing knife and a few pebbles the boys started crawling beneath the underbrush towards the doorway some twenty yards from them. They stayed close to the broken ancient wall that had been growing grass for decades for the vegetation was thickest just beside it.

“More of them coming! Hurry up guys! Giddyup!”

The sharp voice coming from the left froze them both to their positions. Neither dared even to breathe.

Suddenly there was movement all around the place. Four men appeared from behind the corner some thirty yards in front of them and ran towards the voice. Two of the men who had dragged the twins inside the mound emerged from the doorway and followed the four. There were also sounds of running feet behind them but they didn’t dare to turn their heads to see. For a while they just waited.

Eventually Garmund started to crawl forwards again. Cnebba had no choice but to follow. He didn’t wish to be left alone in this place anyhow. He was hoping, he was hoping indeed, that his father and Garmund’s father, and lord Thornden and all of the men from the Mead Hall would be here. He just hoped.

Garmund stopped abruptly and turned to look at Cnebba. “Okay Cnebba. Now we get up and run... we run fast but quiet. You understand? The doorway is just a few yards away.” He pointed carefully forwards. “You see it?”

Cnebba nodded slowly and pressed the pebble he had in his hand. He swallowed and then looked at Garmund to the eye. “We run then”, he said quietly.

“As I count to three...” Garmund whispered.

[Celuien]

Garmund could feel the blood pounding in his ears. He stared intently at the one man who remained to guard the mound, holding his breath and clenching the small knife in his fist. The guard's back was to the boys.

Garmund swallowed hard, worried that he and Cnebba had come into more trouble than they bargained for. But, with the other six men gone, this was their best chance to help the twins.

"One."

He clenched the knife tighter.

"Two."

Now or never.

"Three."

Garmund stood quickly and ran on tiptoe towards the doorway. Cnebba was just behind him. The guard did not turn.

The ground was covered with straggling vines from the surrounding thicket. One of them wrapped around Garmund's ankle. He fell, and as he caught himself, the knife slipped from his grasp. The guard turned sharply and gaped at the boys.

Without thinking, Cnebba flung his pebble at the guard, striking him squarely in the forehead. In the moment gained by Cnebba's quick action, Garmund caught his footing and snatched the knife.

"Come on!" he shouted and sprinted to the doorway.

The boys stood in the doorway, shoulder to shoulder, and faced the guard, who approached with a smirk on his lips.

"Come no closer," Garmund cried shakily. The knife flashed in his hand.

[Folwren]

The outlaw fairly laughed at Garmund’s threatening motion of the knife. Ghem enjoyed a good show of bravery and sport, especially when it posed no danger to himself. Regardless of their harmlessness, though, he slowed his advance and came on slowly and gently, as though he were stalking a shy horse.

“‘Ey, me lads, now, I haint gonna ‘urt you,” he said softly, a wicked smile twisted to get free and spring on his face. “You put up a nasty li’le foight, don’ yea?” His left hand brushed his forehead briefly, where the stone had struck him. A little blood showed on his fingertips, but he ignored it. He didn’t care.

He was glad these boys had come along. He was always left to guard prisoners and it was always the most boring job of the whole commission. Rarely had he had visitors, and rarely had the visitors been so small and promised so much fun.

And all the while the thoughts sped through his mind, he advanced slowly forward, ready to make a quick spring, capture that knife arm and put some sense into these brave, foolish, and very unlucky little boys’ heads.

[Folwren]

Thornden’s fight was short and fierce. His sword helped him little at such close range and the man was practically savage in his attacks with the knife, but Thornden was taller, stronger, and heavier. This outlaw’s best chance had lain in surprise, but Thornden had recovered from that surprise.

In less than a minute, he had overcome the man and thrust his own dagger into his heart. Thornden got up and stood for a moment, looking around him for some plant who’s leaves he could hold against his sliced palm. The blood was flowing freely and it burned like fire. He had no cloth to bind over it.

His eye spotted a small, leafy plant that grew close to the ground. His mother had often pointed it out to them when he was young. It grew beneath bushes and trees and rarely grew more than two inches high, though it spread it’s leaves in a broad diameter on the ground. He knelt and plucked several of these leaves, furry and soft, stuff them in his mouth, chewed once or twice, and then pulled it back out and laid it across his palm. Then his fingers curled down over them and he stood back up. He sheathed his sword and picked up the long bladed dagger. That would be a better weapon in this tightly woven wilderness of vines and thicket.

It took less time to do these things than it takes to explain them. In seconds he was up and on his way again, running forward, this time, instead of walking. He had to find Eodwine. The danger was thick here, and Eodwine in the most danger of all, for he was weaponless.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine moved as quietly as he could through the dense foliage and thickets, trying to find his way away from the noise. A real man would sneak up on one, disarm, him, dispatch him, and join forces with his friends. Eodwine didn't like the thought that had slipped into his mind, for it implied that he was a coward. For one thing he was not sure anybody whom he'd call a friend was anywhere nearby. On the other hand, this was pure survival.

But what about Rilef? What if they had captured him? What mockery and cruelty might they not resort to? Eodwine cursed softly and turned around, making his way as quietly as he could back the way he had come.

He heard sword's clashing and feet thumping along worn down paths. Horses whinnied in the distance .... that was a good sign. Dogs growled and barked aggressively in the opposite direction. He was almost back to the tower.

“‘Ey, me lads, now, I haint gonna ‘urt you,” came a soft, menacing voice. “You put up a nasty li’le foight, don’ yea?”

Was Falco back? But there were two lads. Where were Rilef? Eodwine peered through the foliage and saw a ruffian stalking toward Cnebba and Garmund.

No!

Eodwine forgot all about protecting himself of a sudden. This was not to be allowed! He sprang out from his covering, quickly closed the short distance between himself and the ruffian, and tackled the lout who fell sprawled face down beneath him. Eodwine didn't give him a chance to react and beat him about the head until he was senseless.

[Nogrod]

Stigend and Leof (and Garstan)

Stigend unmounted by Thornden’s orders. He took the shorter spear to his left hand and the longer one to his right. He patted Snowstreak to her neck as tenderly as he could with all the excitement and pulled the reins over her head. “Keep cool my love, keep cool...” he whispered to her more to assure himself than her.

Stigend felt insecure as they walked forth towards the grassy hill in front of them. Can these people fight? Thornden probably can... He realised how little did he know of his fellows that were advancing this grassy mound. Well, he did know them by names surely but he had still spent most of the time in the Mead Hall with his family or then with Garstan and their work. He knew Náin also and relied on his stounchness but the dwarf was trailing long behind him as Stigend tried to stay along the level of Thornden. We’re spreading too wide.. now where’s Garstan?.

Knowing someone by name was not much when you were possibly walking to a fight. Stigend was missing the straighforward calls of the officers at the men-of-war –camps. There was a certain order there and when they had to actually fight the two times he had been involved everything had been orderly and clear and he had known what was demanded of him. Now he was much more insecure. Thornden had just called them to spread and advance... Stigend was getting worried about the distances they were making to each other. It was not the way he had been taught.

Thornden was attacked first.Stigend’s body stiffened as hew realised it was an ambush they were walking into. Just as he was about to rush to the aid of Thornden he heard noises from all around him. Then there was a call of help to his left.

“Leof!” Stigend cried as he recognised the voice to his left. He turned and started running to the direction of the call. Leof! You’re so young you shouldn’t be here in the first place! I won’t let them harm you! Just hold on! I’m coming! Stigend was overwhelmed with his thoughts. Fatherly instinct they were? Possibly... no doubt the image of Cnebba flashed in his mind as he thought of Leof.

After a short sprint Stigend thought he had an idea where the cry had came from. Happily the grass were swinging to and fro at the point near enough the one he had been targeting. So there they were. He rushed forwards throwing in everything he could. He changed the spears in his hands while he ran. There was no use of the throwing-spear here.

And he caught them. The outlaw was on top of Leof and they struggled. Leof was just barely pushing the knife of the outlaw from the wrist to stay away from his throat. It looked really bad indeed. But everything that followed happened fast then.

Stigend dropped the longer spear to the ground two paces away from the struggling pair. With the next he secured a two hand grip from the shorter spear and with the last bounce he bellowed as mightily and loud as he could.

The outlaw had time enough only to turn his head to face Stigend as the spear ran through his body. It went in from the shoulder and through out to his other side. The spear hit the ground and yanked Stigend who was still holding it savagely to the side. You were to drop it...!

Stigend was immediately back on track and turned around to face Leof on all fours. Simultaneously he was trying to swerwe the spear from the still trembling outlaw.

“You’re alright Leof?” He asked, panting after he had freed his spear from the body of the outlaw.

“Mmhh... I guess I am...” Leof managed to answer, gurgling the blood of the outlaw from his mouth.

Stigend looked at him worriedly at first but then nodded as he could see no open wound on him. He crawled over Leof and picked his longer spear from the ground. Then he turned back to him.

“Promise me you will stay behind! And take this brute’s knife, it’s far better than yours!”

Leof nodded with confusion while Stigend was already standing up straight. Leof saw Stigend to take a quick look around and then he heard him shout out aloud.

“Come together! Closer to each other!”. With that he ran away from Leof.

At the moment Stigend started towards the middle of the Mead Hall men he saw a man emerging from behind Garstan whom he had just spotted from between the grasses.

“Garstan! Your back!” he shouted and at the same time threw his spear. The outlaw was too far for him to reach and the spear seemed to fall some yards too short. But the outlaw yelled in pain. It had seemingly hit him into his leg. But with the force of the sudden effort Stigend fell down himself. He heard oncoming noises of feet approaching and went to his knife.



---***---



Garmund, Cnebba and lord Eodwine

”Master Eodwine!” both of the boys yelled in unison when Eodwine fell upon the brute. The fight was quickly over but the sight of lord Eodwine hitting the brute’s head first with his fists and then just banging it to the ground sent shivers to both of the little boys. All the blood around... the way the brute’s body stopped responding... They were petrified.

Eodwine looked them anxiously over the numb body of the outlaw, panting heavily.

“Rilef is in there...” Garmund managed to utter at last. Cnebba was pointing inside the doorway as well.

“It’s good to see my good friends armed and by my side” lord Eodwine said warmly amidst the panting. He drew breath to calm himself.

“But from now on you two should stick to the pebbles... Do you both have them?”

Garmund hesitated with the shearing knife still in his right hand but Cnebba produced two pebbles from his pocket and laid them to Garmund’s free hand. The two boys glanced at each other and then turned back to face lord Eodwine. They nodded to him in concerto.

“Now, promise me not to try any heroics. You’ll come five paces after me the nearest, you understand?” Eodwine queried seriously, not waiting for an answer.

“You can help with your pebbles if there’s a need, but otherwise you just stay behind. That understood?”

The two boys nodded.

"And if something bad happens you two get deep in the thickest brush until all's clear, then try to get some help. Do you understand?”

The two boys nodded again

[littlemanpoet]

"Now, lads," said Eodwine, "I'll look inside the tower. You keep watch. Got it?"

The boys nodded their heads eagerly. Eodwine turned toward the doorway to the tower and took one cautious step at a time until he could see around the corner. Inside the land dipped down, as if there had once been a floor built at the level of his feet, which was now gone.

He saw Rilef, lying on the ground.

"Ritun! Lefun!" he whispered hoarsely.

The twins did not respond. Eodwine looked to right and left and saw no other outlaws in the circular chamber. He approached Rilef. Both twins had head wounds, gashes at their foreheads. Eodwine knelt by them.

"Rilef! Rilef!"

He slapped them gently on the face, and their eyes came open, and showed recognition.

"Come! The outlaws are not far! Let's get out of here and into the brambles where it is safer! Garmund is here with his friend Cnebba. Can you rise?"

Rilef did so, but with difficulty. Eodwine called for the boys who came in wide eyed and happy to see Rilef standing, though unsteadily. They helped him to the doorway, across the opening where the path lay, and toward the bracken opposite the tower.

"You!" came a harsh voice from down the path away from the East Road. There were four outlaws running toward them. They struggled into the bracken and tried to put as much distance between them and the path as they could in the short time allowed them. It was not long before Rilef was dragging behind, and fell. A knife skewered the bark of a tree trunk just instances from Eodwine's face. The outlaws were upon Rilef again, and looking at Eodwine and the boys. Two of the outlaws started dragging Rilef back again while two gave chase to Eodwine and the boys. He ran slowly so as not to outdistance the boys, and pushed them with his free hand and his urging voice. He wished he had taken a moment to look around the tower for possible weapons, or at least to take the dagger the bandit had.

Eodwine and the boys pushed deeper into the woods. The two outlaws were gaining.

[Taralphiel]

Lys watched the younger boy struggle with his emotions. It was hard for him to understand the emotions Elfthain may have felt. He had little personal experience to draw from. Would he feel wounded if Thornden had a son, and showed him greater love and care? He most likely would. He wondered what Thornden was doing now. That was another thought he pushed out of his mind. He had seen Thornden quickly take charge of the situation that had claimed the Hall, and he knew he would ride out to Lord Eodwine’s aid. He must simply wait for him to return.

Lys spoke softly to Elfthain. “You have a hard thing to deal with, Elfthain. I would not think your Uncle would forget you so easily. He seems to be an honest man. And you are a nice person. Why would he overlook you? It is nice to have an Uncle like that, I think.”

Lys watched the boy look up at him, and saw that the words were not going to comfort him. He stood slowly. “I do not know when Thornden or Lord Eodwine will be back, so would you like to take a walk? I can show you around.”

[Celuien]

Garmund glanced back over his shoulder. Ritun and Lefun no longer followed.

"Wait! Rilef's gone!" Garmund cried out and started to turn back.

Eodwine caught him by the shoulder. "We have to keep going. It's not safe for you here."

"But we can't leave Rilef behind," Cnebba protested.

"They were hurt." Garmund's worried face turned back towards the mound.

The pair of outlaws shouted as they drew nearer.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine grimaced. This was a bad situation. If he hadn't two lads to keep from danger, he would be back following Rilef to see if he could rescue the twins without endangering his own life too greatly. But to go back with Garmund and Cnebba in tow would be reckless. If anything happened to them in such a pass, Eodwine knew that he would never be able to forgive himself, and he would not, of course, be able to blame Garstand and Stigend and Modtryth for holding their deaths accountable to him. No, it could not be.

"Come! These are dangerous men! If they did not kill you, they would take you captive and make slaves of you. What would I tell your parents? Once I have brought you to safety, I give you my word that I will go back for Rilef. Now run!"

It was too late. The bandits were upon them. They waved short swords and daggers in both hands. Eodwine wished that he had had relieved the guard by the tower of the short sword he had seen on him, but there hadn't been time. Desperate, he bent down and dashed at the ground with his hand, sending dirt and debris into one of the bandit's face.

"Run, Garmund! Run, Cnebba!" Suddenly they had wings on their feet and they fled west, leaving Eodwine between them and the bandits. He threw himself at the one scrabbling at the dust in his eyes, and rolled him to the ground, clutching at both his wrists. He used the force of his tackle to roll the bandit between himself and the other, and just in time, for the second bandit had lunged toward him, and just caught himself from stabbing the wrong man. Eodwine bashed the first bandit's wrists against the ground and the man's grip loosened on his weapons. Eodwine pushed his knee into the man and made a swipe at one of the blades, with no success. It was either try to get away, or try for a blade again and risk getting cut himself. He fled. But he was going southwest. He had to get between the bandits and the boys.

[Folwren]

Thornden struggled on, pushing through the underbrush, and running as fast as he could manage on the narrow, choked path. Finally, he came to a heavy curtain of grape vines that blocked the path. He stopped for a moment, his heart pounding with tension, excitement, and exertion. He listened carefully while he stood there. On the other side of this curtain of thick vines and leaves, he knew there was an opening of ground. Little underbrush grew there, and the main remains of the ruins still stood in that area. Once he stepped out, he would be in easy view of whoever watched.

But it was not only for that reason that he stood listening so intently. He heard the sound of leaves crackling and branches snapping. It seemed to him that something heavy was being dragged across the sound. In such a circumstance, he could not help but think that it could easily be some body just recently killed.

The noises stopped and a man spoke. Thornden did not recognize the voice, nor the rough accent. “Blimey, but this thing’s ‘eavy! We sh'd just kill'im! ‘E’s no good to us!”

“Don't complain,” came the curt answer. “Come on, you’ve rested enough.”

Then started the labor again. There was less noise, for they were apparently beyond the bracken and underbrush, but still Thornden knew that they were dragging something, and he knew it was a body, though not a dead one.

He also knew that there were two outlaws out there, and there was only one of him, and he really only had one workable hand. He drew a deep breath and lifted his right hand to look at the dagger. It was a clumsy weapon, but it was sharp and would do it’s business, as he well knew by the blood still on the blade and the memory of its recent owner. Then he lifted his left hand and looked at the curled fingers and the blood and green of the leaves that showed beneath and between them. He’d have to do his best and that was all.

With a sweep of his left arm, Thornden drew back the vines and ducked through, entering the glade almost silently. Almost directly before him two men were struggling with the massive burden of an unconscious Lefun and Ritun. Thornden ran forward mutely, hoping to reach them before they noticed him. He was almost upon them when one of them turned and lifted his head. He gave a warning yell, and dropped Rilef’s ankle while dodging back, away from Thornden’s swinging arm. He nearly escaped the blade, and though he escaped immediate death, the knife sliced his chest and his shoulder.

Thornden did not halt his forward momentum and he passed between the two outlaws, leaping over Rilef’s body. He turned about, lifting the knife in his hand, and hurled it towards the second, unwounded villain. Unfortunately, Thornden knew little of knife throwing and the blade spun crookedly, hitting the outlaw with little damage.

In a flash, Thornden’s sword was drawn. The sun glinted briefly on the cold steel. A swift glance at the first man he had wounded told him that he would be easier to overcome in the end, so he turned his attention to the second man, with the minor wound.

This fellow now had his own weapons in his hands he had a sword in his right hand and a long knife in his left. He looked a dangerous adversary as Thornden stood considering him.

They stood still for a moment, measuring each other up. Then the outlaw lunged forward. He feinted to one side with his sword and then swung about to the other. Thornden turned the blow and answered it with one of his own. Then they were locked in a mighty battle of flashing and slashing swords. It was fierce and hard and quick, and in a moment, they stumbled back from each other. The outlaw was waving his left hand in the air. His knife had fallen to the earth and blood streamed from his hand.

Thornden’s body tensed to spring forward again, when the other outlaw stopped him.

“Hold fast, or I’ll slit his throat.”

Thornden stopped and turned to look. The man had a dagger blade pressed against Ritun’s throat and Thornden cursed himself inwardly for not killing him sooner. The outlaw himself was badly hurt, Thornden saw now. He would not be able to fight Thornden, but he could stop him after all.

Thornden’s tensed and ready muscles relaxed. His sword lowered half a foot and he took a step backwards. In that moment, the outlaw he had been fighting, leaped forward, hoping to catch Thornden off his guard. Instinct that had been instilled in him by training caused Thornden to fight back immediately. He dodged to the side, and his hand went up and then down again in a diagonal stroke. He got behind the other’s guard and the blade went deep.

Quicker than thought, he spun about - pulling the sword after him, out of the other’s body - and ran the few paces towards the other outlaw kneeling by Rilef. The man’s hand had paused and he hadn’t killed Ritun left. He seemed shocked by his companion’s sudden death, and his hand was perhaps arrested for another reason, too. Either way, it was too late. Thornden knocked him backwards away from the twins and while he still lay on his back, Thornden’s sword tip came to rest on his throat.

“Now,” Thornden said, panting a little, “drop the knife and stand up. Slowly, man. Slowly.”

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” the man asked.

“No,” Thornden said. “I’m going to let the king’s officials do that. . .if that wound doesn’t kill you. I hope you don’t poison your daggers because that belonged to one of your companions.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was running as quickly as he could, round about. He had to get between the bandits and the boys. But that would only drag things out as he and the boys became more weary while the outlaws cagily waited for them to weaken. No, there had to be a better plan. It had been easy to tackle that one outlaw back by the tower, but this was deep woods and --- Eodwine stopped running and ducked down low. He had thought of something. It was very risky, but could be very decisive. Why not let the outlaws think they had the boys within their grasp? He had a hunch that they wouldn't kill them right away. Make bait of the boys. Garstan and Stigend would no doubt foreswear their liegemanship to him, but he couldn't think of another way to save them.

He listened. He could hear the outlaws.

"F'rget the big 'un! He's too much trouble! The two lads'll give us plenty o' game though, eh?"

Harsh laughter followed these words, and then the outlaws were running west, crashing through the brush. Eodwine gave stealthy chase, aided by the outlaws' recklessness.

~*~

It was not long before he heard them.

"Now don't think ye c'n hide from us b'hind that ol' tree. We knows y'r there."

Eodwine slowed and crept stealthily. He could imagine that the boys feared that he had left them to their fates. It was a hard thing to do to them, but he couldn't let them know he was close by either, or they might give him away.

Eodwine looked above him. A great old beech tree grew beside him, and must have been planted when this place was not a ruin, for its branches, big as a giant's arms, spread far in all directions in the middle of this wood. As soundlessly as he could, Eodwine used the lowest branches as steps, and walked on top of a branch that reached over the outlaws. Luckily, there was a little bit of undergrowth beneath the tree so that it was easy for Eodwine to see without being seen. Peering through the leaves, he watched one of the pair take off his belt and start handling it like a whip. The other bandied a pair of knives before him like he was cutting a slice of meat off a hock.

"Little rabbit caught his foot in a snare did he?" the knifer sniggered. "Wonder how it feels to be et slice by slice, my little ones, eh?" His fellow cackled and cracked his makeshift whip. Eodwine wondered what the outlaw meant and took a closer look. Cnebba was lying in an odd position and Garmund was huddled over him. This was not good!

The outlaws were within two yards of the boys, whose heads could be seen from Eodwine's vantage point over the edge of an old rotting and mossy log. Cnebba's face was twisted with pain. Garmund was looking out over the log, his teeth gritted and his brow knotted. That boy has courage! thought Eodwine. The outlaws came a step closer, hooting and mocking at the boys with their knives and whip. The boys were tensing. But Garmund was not fleeing.

Suddenly with a boyish roar Garmund leaped out from behind the log and rushed the whipper. In the same instant Eodwine dropped from the branch, legs and arms spread wide to knock both outlaws down at once. Garmund hit the whipper in the legs. The whipper brought his belt up for a swing and the knifer bent down to cut the boy. Eodwine hoped desperately that he wouldn't injure Garmund. Neither blow fell, for the outlaws crumpled beneath Eodwine. He landed on his feet with a spring of his knees and then stamped on the knifer's wrist. The knifer dropped the dagger while Eodwine stomped on his other wrist, then kicked him in the jaw. Only then did Eodwine pick up the daggers.

Suddenly the whipper was howling. Eodwine heard what sounded like a little dog growling in a high pitch, gnawing on its enemy for all it was worth. Garmund had sunk his teeth into the man's leg just above the ankle. The outlaw scrabbled at the boy in vain. Eodwine finished him off with a kick to the head.

Garmund rose to his feet and glared at the whipper with the eyes of one who had bested his foe. "Well done, Garmund! Now see how Cnebba's doing."

"Aye, lord," Garmund said proudly, then turned and went over to Cnebba. While Garmund was busy looking over Cnebba's twisted ankle, Eodwine quietly dispatched the two outlaws, slicing their throats.

[Mithalwen]

“I do not know when Thornden or Lord Eodwine will be back, so would you like to take a walk? I can show you around.”,


Elfthain seized on the chance to substitute activity for brooding. His fear seemed a little foolish now he had voiced them and while he had lost his father to war and sister to illness he still had his mother and an extended family. Lys seemed to have no one of his own.
"Oh yes, I have been here before but for not a while and I never got the chance to explore. I don't remember it very well anyway" he finished the last morsel of cheese and stood up - " but will you be alright?" he added anxiously "Won't it make your leg hurt too much?

[Taralphiel]

Lys coloured as Elfthain looked down at his leg. He'd tried his best to make it seem less noticable, but it seemed he hadn't done the best job.

"My leg? Oh, it will be fine. I have grown stronger and I don't need to rest as much. Hrethel the Healer has given me good strong boots too."

He looked up slowly at the boy, and knew he was curious. But he couldn't bring himself to tell him.

"I'll take you around past the kitchens first. The gardens are wonderful too. I would visit Hrethel, but he would be busy..."

Lys stepped away from the bench and tried to look like his limp bothered him as little as possible. He smiled.

"Really. It is nothing."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine faced the boys. Garmund was looking at him, hands hanging at his sides, his eyes wide; his glance slipped to the two dead outlaws.

Eodwine cleaned the dagger blades on some fallen leaves from the previous autumn, slipped them inside his belt, and knelt down by the two boys. Garmund did not flinch.

"Do you understand, Garmund, what I did, and why?" The boy nodded. "Then tell me."

"They would have killed us, and if you had not killed them, they would have tried again."

"Aye. You are a smart lad. Now, let's take a look at that ankle, Cnebba."

Eodwine felt it carefully and asked where it hurt and how much. It seemed to be either a twisted ankle or a mild sprain. He helped Cnebba to his feet and asked him to see if he could stand on it, then limp about. With much wincing the boy was able to put only a toe-hold of pressure on his ankle.

"That settles that, young man. It seems I'll be carrying you. You're not so big as you can't sit on my shoulders."

Eodwine reached down and placed Cnebba, sitting, on one of the beech tree branches, then backed up until he was under the boy, who slid down onto his shoulders. He hoped that there would not be too many low hanging branches.

They walked for a little while and could hear shouts and hollarings off behind them.

Suddenly they came out in a clearing. Five dogs, thankfully chained, started in an uproar of barking and growling, their hackles raised and their teeth bared, saliva dripping. Garmund cringed against Eodwine's leg and Cnebba's grip around his neck almost choked him. Two of the dogs were Dunlending wolfhounds by the look of them; one was big as a mastiff; one looked a wolf except for its curled tail, and the fifth was a hound with drooping ears.

Behind them, tied tight to a tree, legs bound by rope, was a woman in rough smock over a threadbare skirt. Tough boots were on her feet. Her blonde hair fell this way and that in shaggy strands, but could not hide a frankly stunning beauty of face.

"I would untie you, lady, but for these dogs!" Eodwine called. "You must be a prisoner of these outlaws!"

"Claw!" shouted the woman "Fang! Gray! Bull! Bear! Quiet! Lay down" The dogs stopped barking and their growls diminished to a bare-fanged grumble, but their tales went down and their ears back, and one by one they settled on the grass surrounding the woman.

"They obey you," Eodwine said in open surprise. "Are you a captive of these outlaws?"

She nodded. "The men are often gone, and I have won these five over. They are not vicious."

Eodwine helped Cnebba to the ground and ordered Garmund to watch over him while he untied the lady. "How long have they held you?"

"Two years, I think. They burned my father's holdings to the ground, killing everyone, and took me as their slave."

"I am sorry. What is your name?"

"I am called Rowenna."

"I hope they did not treat you too shabbily."

"They kept me well enough..." she paused, her face reddened and her eyes became hot with humiliation, but she did not look away ".... well enough for their purposes."

"Come with me away from here," Eodwine said.

"Not without these my dogs," Rowenna declared. "They will obey me instead of them."

Eodwine's eyes widened. "Will they attack whom you say?" She nodded. The mastiff looked big enough to serve as a mount for Cnebba. "Will that one bear this boy? He has a bad ankle."

"If I tell him to."

[Nerindel]

Deep in the shadows of the trees and carefully hidden by a thick covering of thorny brush, a pair of dark eyes watched at a distance. A solitary witness to the eorling’s dispensing of justice; swift and quick; without hesitation. Thin lips curved beneath the dark covering that masked the strangers face. He imagined the anger and distain that had driven the Lord of Middle Emnet’s hand. Oh yes he knew exactly whom it was he watched. Who it was who had unwittingly stumbled into this babbling band of fools; Unknowing puppets, easily swayed by their own lust and greed. He wonder if they even realised who it was that pulled their strings and how fragile those strings were. They mattered not to him they were not his friends nor his allies and if they all died here today it would be of no great loss to him.

He watched a little longer as the Eorl wiped the bloody dagger on some near by foliage while turning back to the two lads he had gone to great lengths to defend. The smaller of the two boy’s appeared to be injured and as the Eorl helped him up, The stranger silently took his leave. There was no gain for him in killing the Eorl and these two boys. Well at least not yet, he thought darkly. Besides he had gained something much more valuable, knowledge.

Unlike those other fools he had followed the Eorl discreetly and silently through the shadows. He had seen fear and indecision turn to courage and honour, a man unafraid to make the hard decisions. Something that would be worth remembering and perhaps may just prove invaluable someday, but not today. Today that fool who called himself leader had made a bad decision and likely not the first, but the price of this days failure was not one he planned to share in. This Eorl would be missed and soon others would come in searching of their Lord and Master, by which time he planned to be long gone, but not before he collected his true prize.

The sounds of not to distant battles assailed his ears as he cautiously made his way back towards the ruins. so soon, he mused, stopping to listen. The sounds seemed all around ; shouts and scattered orders came from somewhere ahead and to the left of him, while ahead and to the right the sound of weapons rang faintly. But it was the sudden baying of the dogs that made him look back in the direction he had just come. The fighting was ahead, so why where the dogs back there, had they found those brats and their eorl? Or had…… he pondered the thought a moment longer, suppressing the urge to laugh darkly at the cunning and resourcefulness of another, another that also might bear watching someday. Putting those future thoughts from his mind he focused on the job at hand, he had not ingrained himself in this band of ruffians only to loss his mark to the point of a sword or the hang mans noose.

Silently he edged his way around the trees careful not to alert his presence as the sound of voices grew closer. Reaching the rear wall of one of the larger ruins not far from the tower, he carefully snuck inside. Enough ivy and vines grew on the outside to hide his presence from those without. Carefully he crouched down to peer through a small hole that had been worn away in the stonework. Another body had been added to that which the eorl had dispatched earlier and a third; the one he had come for was badly wounded. His Job was half done for him and only the matter of collection remained. But one problem still presented itself, well not really a problem, more of an inconvenience. It seemed his mark was in the custody of another, a tall; broad shouldered follow and although bent over the body of the unconscious body…bodies of that that ….hell he didn’t know what it was! he remained cautiously guarded, no doubt ready to use the sword in his hand at the slightest movement.

But ever resourceful and ever prepared he had a plan. Sneaking out the way he had come in he made his way quietly through the trees again keeping to the shadows so as not to be seen, till he came to a large overgrowth of thorn and brush, taking a last glance about to make sure he was alone and being satisfied he quickly tore away the bracken (more easily that would be expected) to find a very weather worn wooden door with a rusty handle. The truth was he had found this secret entrance to the tower days ago and had planned to use it to escape if necessary, but now it would get him back into the tower and close to his targets.

It was dark in the tunnel but he knew the way and soon found himself in what was left of the towers basement, the stairs to the next floor had long worn and crumbled away and only a few bricks held stubbornly to the wall, it was the reason why the bandits had not found the passage and it’s secret exit. But he knew a way, it was dangerous but he was agile and lithe enough to make it. So slowly he climbed foot following hand one after the other, careful not to dislodge any loose stone and dirt. It wasn’t far and soon he was pulling himself up onto the ground floor.

Stopping to catch his breath he listened, it sounded as if the big fellow was still trying to rouse his …friend.. Lefun?…Relif?…he could barely make out the words over the bandits moaning and continuous whining about his injuries. He couldn’t help wonder at the big fellows reserve? By now he would have killed the idiot just to shut him up.

He had heard enough, reaching into his shirt he pulled out a leather roll and quickly untying the binding he let it roll out silently. Inside was a five inch tube and twelve darts, six red to the left and six green to the right, his hand hovered momentarily over the red before moving to the left and carefully pulling out a green one and placing it into the pipe. A quick glace round the window showed him his target, then with out hesitating he blew. the dart struck the big fellow in the side of the neck and he was quick enough to duck back down as the fellow turned and an instant later he heard the thud.

In another instant he had grabbed up his remaining darts and vaulted the window. “Ced…” came the stunned and wheezing voice of the bandit, as he thought he had just been rescued. But Ced did not stop, instead he walked purposely toward the big fellow. there was no mark of the lords house on the man but by his attire he marked he had been right in thinking that this man was one of the eorls rescuers.

There wasn’t much time the affects of the dart would not last long. He removed the dart from the mans neck and lifted his fallen sword, it was a nice blade and another time he may have taken it as a prize. But today it would serve another purpose.

"I thought I were for the noose for sure!” The bandit wheezed as he struggled to join him.

He didn't look up only continued to look at the light catching the blade or so it seemed. “we could share the spoils ya…., but before the fool could finish his words Cedric as this idiot knew him swung round fast, the blade in his hands cutting through both flesh and bone severed the bandits head clean from his shoulders. Blood sprayed into to his face and clothes, but he didn’t finch merely watch as the head bounced once and rolled towards the trees, and the body dropped to the ground. Then turning he placed the sword into the big fellows hand, Let any who happen on this scene think this one did it, then claiming the head he disappeared back into the tower.

As the last affects of the drug began to wear off, he was half way through the tunnel and on his way to retrieve his horse on the other side of the woods, then on to collect on this bounty.

[littlemanpoet]

"With what name do I call my rescuer?" Rowenna asked as she held the mastiff still while Eodwine lifted Cnebba onto its back.

"I am Eodwine of the Ga-" he paused; no, that was no longer adequate. "I am Eodwine, Eorl of the Middle Emnet." The mastiff did not protest.

Rowenna laughed. "You mock me. There is no such thing."

Eodwine grinned, abashed. "Nay, 'tis so. Eomer created me an Eorl, and charged me with a portion of his realm. My mead hall is in Edoras not far from Meduseld."

"An Eorl's mead hall within sight of the king's? That is odd."

Eodwine looked about. They were too easily seen. "We must leave this place. Let us head west toward Edoras." He started off.

"Then why go you south?"

Eodwine stopped and looked at her questioningly, then following her eyes, looked up the slopes of the White Mountains straight ahead of him. He shook his head. "I must have gotten turned around in the woods. Where are the ruins from here?"

"They are to our north." She pointed in the direction from which Eodwine had unwittingly come. "If Edoras is to the west from here, then it is that way," she indicated.

"Then that is our way."

They left the clearing, Rowenna holding the leads of five big dogs.

"You say you have made friends of these beasts?" Eodwine said, marveling.

"Aye. 'Twas easy. The hound, Bear, grew up with me on my father's farm. I gave bits of the little food spared me to these five. It was not long before they saw me as friend."

[Folwren]

The dart had felt momentarily like the sting of a small insect. He had not had long enough to feel any worse pain before falling like a stone to the earth. Minutes later, when his consciousness slowly returned, the first thing Thornden felt was a pain at the side of his neck. As he raised himself up on his left elbow, his right hand unclasped the sword hilt and he lifted it to feel the sore area. His fingers touched the area gently, feeling out the welt that was rising around a very small indentation.

Once he had found out what very little he could of that, he shook his foggy head and looked up around him. He looked at Rilef, relieved to see them in the same position that they had been, and then turned to see if the wounded man had crawled away.

An audible gasp, bordering close upon a cry, burst from him as a jolt of surprise shook him. The headless corpse lay but two feet away from his face, and the bloody stump of his neck was nearest of all. He sat up and backed quickly away from it.

How did it happen? Thornden wondered. He stooped forward to retrieve his sword. Who would put me down and then come in and kill him and leave Rilef and me unharmed? His thought stopped there, however, as he lifted the blade, stained with bright red blood, still wet. He had cleaned the sword after wounding the one and killing the other, he was sure. But now fresh blood showed on the blade from half way up it to the very point.

“It was a clean sweep,” he observed, gnawing his under lip. “But with my sword.” He stood up and walked away to where a clump of clean grass grew. He knelt and cleaned the blade once more and then sheathed it. His next object was to get Rilef up on their feet and get them out of this tangled mess of vines, trees, and old ruins.

[littlemanpoet]

Thornden came toward Ritun and Lefun, reaching down to give them a hand up.

"Move us not!" winced Ritun. "They evil did us."

"What do you mean?" asked Thornden, his brow creasing with concern. "Where are you hurt?"

"'Tween us," Ritun grimaced.

Thornden noted how pale their faces were, especially Lefun. Between them? "Let me see."

Lefun shook his head. Thornden saw then that Lefun's right arm hugged Ritun's middle very hard, while his left arm was buried between them. Worse, he saw now that blood was soaking their shared trousers at both hips, and a red stain was expanding around them in the dirt.

"What have they done!" Thornden cried, but he believed that he knew.

"Pulled us apart they tried," Rilef grunted. "Lefun ripped inside is, methinks."

"I've got to get you out of here!" Thornden cried.

Ritun shook his head. "Nay, we're done. Save your Eorl, a good man he is."

[Folwren]

Thornden stared in horror and he felt himself moved to his very heart with pity and furious anger both at once. How could they have done this? Why? And when did they do it? Not when…not when…he cursed audibly, both at himself and at the brutal men. What had happened, just a moment back? Was more damage done that the outlaws head being removed? A great, hard lump rose in his throat at Ritun’s words, and tears rose in his eyes.

“I can’t leave you here to die by yourselves,” he said, his voice rasping. “They might come back and try to hurt you more. There are other men here from the Hall, Rilef,” he said, trying to speak encouragement. “They’ll find the eorl and save him. I can try to help you. When all of the bad men are killed, we can carry you back home.”

But Ritun shook his head again. “Can not one of you be saved?” Thornden asked desperately, trying hard not to succumb to tears. “Can not at least one of you yet live?”

[Firefoot]

Léof had still been recovering from his own shock when Stigend had run away from him. He took a moment to reconstruct the events in his head: yes, he was still alive, and yes, he had escaped relatively uninjured, somehow. Had he really promised Stigend that he would stay behind? He had no intention of doing so; he had come this far, and while he might be useless as a fighter (he vowed, then, to ask someone at the Hall, Thornden perhaps, for at least basic lessons in weaponry, after this whole mess was over), Eodwine and Rilef were still out there somewhere. He might be of some use to them, and he was not about to sit back uselessly while others headed off to rescue their lord.

He did take Stigend’s advice, however, in taking the outlaw’s long knife. Then he plunged off into the trees in a different direction than Stigend had taken. He went more carefully, now, than he had earlier, taking care to avoid any sounds of fighting. After another encounter with an outlaw, he might not be so lucky. For some time he did not find any, and counted himself fortunate. He also began to feel rather lost, however, unsure of where any of the others or the horses were. He had not been out here to the ruins before, after all. He was not sure that he would be able to retrace his steps; his path had not been straight. Just as he was beginning to feel truly worried, however, he thought he heard voices and warily approached – it would do no good to run into the midst of a group of outlaws!

As he drew nearer, he recognized one of the voices as Thornden’s and came into their presence suddenly, coming around a large rocky outcropping. He caught only Thornden’s most recent, stricken words, “Can not at least one of you yet live?”, but these combined with the scene that opened before his eyes, were sufficient to give Léof some vague idea of what was happening and to replace the relief he had felt with a sickening feeling in his gut. “What has… how can I help?” he stammered out.

[littlemanpoet]

"How many outlaws are there?" Eodwine asked Rowenna.

"Twelve."

"Make that two less at least," Eodwine said.

Just then he heard cries of distress, and stopped. He and the others had not gotten far. If he had the rights of it, he knew that those cries were coming from none other than the tower where Ritun and Lefun had been imprisoned. It was no good. He could not leave the twins there, not knowing if they could be saved.

"Cnebba and Garmund, you stay with Rowenna! I'm going back for Rilef!" He turned to Rowenna. "Keep out of sight and keep safe! Watch for my return!"

She nodded, and he started of at a run. He had two daggers now, little enough they were against swords, but they would have to do.

[Folwren]

Rilef did not answer Thornden's last question. Perhaps he was not able to, or perhaps he did not want to. The question was badly asked, Thornden realized after a moment. How could he ask if one could live without the other?

But before the silence was long, Léof was there, running up quickly through the underbrush. He stopped short on the edge of the clear space and stood for a moment, looking. And then, with hesitant steps forward, he ventured, "What has...how can I help?"

Thornden slowly lifted his head. He gathered his scattered wits together and cleared his eyes of tears. "Léof," he said, rising slowly. "Have you seen anyone else nearby?" Léof shook his head, his eyes fixed on the twins. Thornden was about to ask him another question when a movement and grunt caught his ear. Thornden turned about, his hand on the hilt of his sword. For the first time since coming, he noticed a third outlaw in the near vicinity. The man lay half on his back, in a twisted sort of position. Apparently, he had been senseless, but now he was waking back up. He groaned again and turned towards the ground.

Thornden looked quickly towards Léof, nodded his head in the outlaws direction and waved his hand. The two of them closed in quickly, coming upon him silently. He didn't notice them until they were quite near, and only because he had begun to raise himself up on one elbow. He gave a start, rising half to his knees, but Thornden drew his sword and in a moment, had it at his throat. The man knew better than to move and he remained rigid, on his knees. Thornden commanded him to stand up, and he obeyed.

"Léof, go back to Rilef. I'll figure out what to do with this one." Léof turned to obey, but before Thornden could even begin to think of what to do, another person came running and crashing through the underbrush. "Léof, be on guard!" Thornden called. Without thinking, he opened his left hand grasped for his dagger. A pain shot through his hand, from the cut on his palm, but he drew the blade anyway.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine came to the ruined tower, and almost ran headlong into the point of a sword. Léof was on the other end of it, looking ready to kill. In a half a moment, his eyes went wide and his mouth formed an 'o'.

"Lord Eodwine!" He lowered his sword, then his eyes to the twins lying behind him. Eodwine saw the growing stain of blood on the ground around Rilef. Behind them both was Thornden, looking grim, holding the outlaw hostage that Eodwine had knocked out a few minutes ago.

"My thanks for coming! So Falco made it back whole. That is good. Are there others?"

"I have brought Garstan, Stigend, Garreth, and Harreld with as well, lord," Thornden announced.

"And here they are now," Eodwine replied as he watched them come near from out of the brush. "There are twelve outlaws; so says the maiden I have freed and is waiting with Garmund and Cnebba."

"Cnebba!" cried Stigend.

"Garmund!" cried Garstan.

"What do they here?" both shouted at once.

"They came on their own and got themselves into a load of trouble which they then helped me get them out of. But it meant saving them and not Rilef. Would that I could have done both. At any rate, there were twelve outlaws; I have killed two. How many others have you seen?"

Thornden named two kills, and Stigend one; Garstan, Garreth, and Harreld named two more between the three of them. This accounted for seven deaths, but not one for the eighth body lying nearby. Thornden explained that the one extra seemed to have been killed by someone else while he was knocked out by a dart. It seemed rather odd. Then there was Thornden's captive, making nine.

"That leaves three unaccounted for," Eodwine concluded. "Keep an eye and ear out, then." Just then, raucous and angry barking exploded in the distance. "Rowenna! Léof, help tie up Thornden's captive! Everyone else, follow me!"

"Lord, Léof and I will stay with Rilef!" Thornden said.

"Very well! We'll come back this way and meet up with you."

Eodwine picked up a bloodied sword lying next to one of the bodies, and dashed back the way he'd come, in the direction of the yammering dogs. Soon they came in sight. Rowenna and the boys stood with their backs to a big tree. Rowenna was holding the leashes of the five dogs who were snarling ferociously at two big men who stood with swords drawn. Just as they came in sight, the two men swung their blades down on two of the dogs, who were permanently silenced. The three remaining grew fiercer yet, snapping at the outlaws' arms.

"Hold!" Eodwine shouted. "You are outnumbered! Lay down your swords!"

Garstan, Stigend, Harreld, and Garreth spread out two to either side of Eodwine, and swords drawn, advanced step by step toward the two men.

"Lay down your swords, or die this day!" Eodwine warned.

The biggest gave Rowenna a dirty look, then threw down his sword. His fellow did likewise."

Eodwine directed his four men to bind them with the useless leashes of the two dead dogs. As soon as the two men were secured, Garstan and Stigend made way through the now calmed dogs (who were sniffing at their cohorts), to Garmund and Cnebba.

"Name yourselves!" Eodwine commanded. The two men said nothing.

"They are Ulric and Withold," Rowenna said. "Ulric is their leader, and a murderer of women and infants. Withold is only less an evildoer in that he takes orders from Ulric."

Ulric scowled at Rowenna. "I'll flay you, you traitorous witch!"

"Silence!" Eodwine commanded. "I am Eorl of the Middle Emnet, and you will be tried in my court tomorrow, and if your guilt is not countered, you shall hang." He looked to this men and said, "This band of outlaws has seen its final day of crime, it would seem."

"But lord," said Stigend, "only eleven are accounted for!"

[Mithalwen]

"Really. It is nothing."

Elfthain realised he had done the wrong thing in asking about Lys' leg - the older boy clearly didn't want a fuss made but it was hard to ignore the fact that for him each step was a small triumph while Elfthain moved with agility and careless ease.

Elfthain decided the best course of action was to accept Lys' words without quibble and to moderate his own pace.

"That's good - resting is boring. I fell out of a tree once and my mother made me rest for ages " He shuddered a little at the memory of what had in fact been a very short restriction.

"I wonder if my mother knows Hrethel, she knows a lot of herblore - learnt it from my grandmother along with the midwifery - lots of the people in the village come to her for possetts and simples so she must be good, but she doesn't think so, says that they are just used coming up to the farm from when my grandmother was alive" Elfthain knew he was talking too much, trying to cover any residual embarassment from his earlier faux pas. "She doesn't make boots though - there is a man in the village who does that - I don't think she really likes sewing at all much... but she does like gardens" he added, and it occured to him, that his mother was much happier outside the house than in it. He did not analyse the realisation further but picked up the plates and things they had used.

"We better take these back to the kitchen - I suppose you know everyone here" he added looking around, " ....and all the ones who have gone away. I hope they will be back soon." Elfthain hoped he would not have to leave before he could get to hear about all that had happened and tried to calculate how long it would be before he was looked for.

[Celuien]

"But lord," said Stigend, "only eleven are accounted for!"

Garmund could think of yet another member of the party who was not accounted for. Almost as soon as the Eorl returned with the others, he noted that Rilef was not among them.

"Where's Rilef?" he blurted. "Did you see them while you were away?"

Eodwine did not answer, but it seemed to Garmund that he was troubled.

He knows something, thought Garmund. Something's wrong, and they're afraid to tell me.

"Where are Ritun and Lefun?" he repeated.

[littlemanpoet]

There was a pregnant pause after Garmund's repeated question. It was going to be the Eorl's job to answer the boy.

"They are back at the tower, under the protection of Thornden and Léof, Garmund."

His words did not allay the disquiet amongst the group, and especially in the boy.

"They are wounded to the quick. I am sorry."

Eodwine looked to the boys' fathers. "Garstan and Stigend, you may bring the lads with us to the tower, or you may stay here until I return; 'tis your choice."

The fathers looked at each other and wordlessly agreed. "We will come with you. The boys need to see their friend."

"I warn you," Eodwine said, "his wound is evil."

"Nonetheless," said Garstan.

Eodwine nodded and led his men and their prisoners, Rowenna and her three remaining dogs taking up the rear. Eodwine had meant to ask her what she wished to do about the two dogs who had been killed. The question would have to wait.

[Folwren]

Thornden turned again to the prisoner as the others disappeared behind the leaves and branches. He considered for a moment what he ought to do. He had nothing to bind the man with.

“Léof, run back to the horses quick as you can and get a rein or a rope. We’ll use that to bind his hands. No,” he said suddenly, changing his mind. “There are many creeping vines here, small enough to be twisted easily. Gather as much as you can in one long strand and we’ll settle for that, until the others get back.

Léof did as he was told, and began pulling at a long trailer. It’s thin, shallow roots, came up easily and as he gathered the vine in as neat a coil as he could, he walked forward slowly, tugging gently as not to snap it.

The outlaw stood rigidly and uncomfortable, waiting with a sour look to be tied up with a vine. Thornden kept his eyes and attention on him, his sword drawn and held ready at his side.

In the end, Léof came back with a fair length of about fifteen feet. “Do what you can with it,” Thornden told him. He would have bound the man himself, but he figured it would be best if the sword remained in his hand. Léof was just a boy, and had never fought nor killed before, as far as Thornden knew, and he might hesitate with a weapon in his hand should the outlaw attempt to do anything.

So Léof took the vine and set to work, doing his best to bind the man’s hands securely behind his back. When he finished, Thornden examined it. The job was as well done as possible, and though Thornden did not like being without rope to do the business, he was prepared to be satisfied with that for now.

He commanded the man to sit down with his back to a tree and he put Léof over him to guard him. He then turned and went to Rilef’s side. He knew of nothing he could to help ease their pain and he thought of no words to comfort them. So he waited in silence, watching them and looking for Eodwine’s return.

[Nogrod]

Cnebba limped towards Stigend. It was only then that he realised his son had been injured. He rushed towards the boy and lifted him up to his arms. He looked at Cnebba to the eyes and glanced concernedly at both lord Eodwine and Garstan .

"What is it Cnebba? You are hurt?"

Cnebba nodded shyly and turned his head away from his father. "It was when we ran away from the outlaws... I tumbled...", he muttered silently feeling guilty about his clumsiness.

Stigend was abashed for the information but did not show it. He stayed as calm as he could although the instincs of a father were getting strong. He wished he could just get his boy to safety as soon as possible. But it had been settled already and he could not change the situation now as the others had already started towards the tower.

He saw that Garmund and Garstan walked hand in hand.

"Okay Cnebba. I'll carry you to the tower", with that he dropped his spear and lifted Cnebba to his shoulders with two hands. Cnebba knew the game now. He threw his good leg around Stigend's neck while his father was hoisting him up so as to sit on his shoulders and Stigend took a firm grasp of his knees as Cnebba had settled.

"You're alright?" Stigend asked and after the comfirmation from his son he started kneeling down carefully. "Just hold it, I'll pick my spear..."

And they were on their way reaching the others.

Stigend's mind was overloaded. What should I do now? If what lord Eodwine said is even near the thing I presume, would it be wise for Cnebba to see it? And how can I make it safe for him anyhow? And where is that one missing outlaw? He took a firmer grip from his spear and with his left hand he pressed Cnebba's legs tighter. They catched the others in no time. Stigend was panting now but didn't care.

"Garstan?" he asked as he got level with his friend who was walking steadily ahead with Garmund.

"Do you think this is wise?"

[Ealasaide]

Dusty and footsore, the young man had been traveling hard for what seemed like an eternity. He knew that he must be somewhere in the vicinity of Edoras, but since necessity had dictated that he avoid the main roads, he had gotten a bit turned around and wasn’t entirely certain where the city lay in relation to his current location. A compass and quadrant would have been helpful at this stage, but he wasn’t sure how much. After all, even aboard ship, navigation had never been his strong suit. Besides, it suddenly occurred to him, in order to get an accurate location, you had to have a clear view of the horizon. He was surrounded by trees. Lots of them. In fact, they were beginning to make him feel a bit claustrophobic.

He sighed and squinted up with very blue eyes at the thick canopy of branches over his head. He was sorely tempted to take a quick climb up for a look around but had a feeling that all he would see when he got there was more trees. Shaking his head, he chose a direction at random and started to walk. If it didn’t take him to Edoras, at least it would take him somewhere. He hoped. He was growing low on supplies and needed to find a town, a city, a berg. A house. Anything.

Besides simply being lost, he also had been hearing the echoes of a skirmish of some kind for some little while: shouts, the barking of dogs, and the intermittent clashing of swords. Although he had never been the jittery type, it set his nerves on edge. The fighting sounded close-by, but the trees had a way of bouncing the sound around so that he couldn’t tell precisely where it came from. As a matter of precaution, he drew his sword, carrying it loosely in his hand as he walked. While he had no idea who was fighting or why, he knew it was always better to be prepared to defend oneself, and never a good thing to be set upon by surprise with one’s sword safely sheathed at one’s side. Nonetheless, while he was a good hand with a sword, he had no desire to get in any more fights for awhile. After all, he was still reeling from what had happened in Belfalas.

“Talk about disaster…” he mumbled to himself. As result of that mishap, he was trying to put as many miles as possible between himself and the coastal city. Surely, they wouldn’t look for a petty smuggler this far north. Would they? Guards had been killed. Frowning, he shook his head. Surely not.

He was still pondering this thought when he rounded a bend in the trail and nearly stumbled over the body of a man, freshly slain, his blood still glistening dark and liquid in a pool under his wounded torso. Curious, Elián gave him a long look and decided that the fellow must have been an outlaw or brigand of some kind, judging by his coarse look and the state of the beat-up sword that lay in the dirt just beyond the reach of the dead man’s stiffening fingers. But, Elián guessed, he had likely not been killed by other outlaws, as the fellow still had his purse attached to his belt.

Unable to resist temptation and being a bit short on funds himself, Elián bent over and, with a deft slice of his sword, severed the man’s purse strings. He tossed the purse into his own shoulder bag, figuring he would look at the contents later. In the meantime, he thought it best to keep moving. Whoever had killed this fellow probably was not far off. In fact, the sounds of dogs and human voices suddenly seemed very near indeed.

[Celuien]

"Wise? That I do not know. But there are times when I would put kindness before wisdom. This is one."

Garstan thought for a moment of the final outlaw who remained at large. Léof and Thornden were ahead. Once Garstan and Stigend met with them, the outlaw would be a fool to attack, outnumbered by four to one, all the more so knowing that his fellows were all captured or dead.

"And there can be no great danger from the one outlaw who has not been found. I think the fates of the others will have taught him to keep away from our party, outnumbered as he is."

Though they knew the scene ahead would not be a pleasant one, Garstan and Stigend hurried ahead, fearing that they might already be too late.

"It's not fair," Garmund mumbled. "We tried to save them - Cnebba and I did. We tried. Maybe Rilef's not hurt as bad as the Eorl thinks."

Garstan did not answer.

[littlemanpoet]

Thornden and Léof came within view. Their prisoner had been tied with a vine. Now there was a piece of ingenuity, Eodwine thought. But his attention was quickly turned toward Ritun and Lefun. Their faces looked pale .... too pale. He set aside the sword he had been carrying and knelt down beside the two. They lay still.

The two fathers and their sons came up on either side of Eodwine, and looked intently at the still forms of the twins.

Eodwine felt the side of Lefun's neck, then Ritun's. He could feel no pulse.

"They have passed beyond the walls of Arda," he said quietly.

[Firefoot]

Léof had been quite content to follow Thornden’s orders in dealing with the ruffian; he himself would not have had any clear idea of what to do with the fellow, nor was he sure that he would be able to kill the man if it came to that. Thankfully it had not, yet, and as Thornden had gone over to check on Rilef, Léof had been left guarding the tied up man. Léof had pulled out his newly-acquired knife, although he hoped he would not have to use it, with the man being bound and Thornden only a few feet away.

Soon the small party with Eodwine leading them arrived in the clearing, and Eodwine knelt down to take Rilef’s pulse. Although his words were quiet, they were easily audible in the still clearing: "They have passed beyond the walls of Arda.”

Léof bowed his head in respect, but in truth he did not feel particularly moved by the statement. He felt some vague sense of sorrow at the horrible way they had died, but no personal grief. The one conversation he had carried out in their presence had been one of the most uncomfortable in his life, and although he realized intellectually that they had very human thoughts and emotions, he had not really reached the level of considering them, well, human.

The thought made him feel guilty, but did not change fact. Léof knew that his life would not change significantly because Rilef was dead, nor would he feel any particular emptiness in his life. Their life had simply not impacted his enough for their death to affect him.

Not that he would say so, of course. Others here would probably mourn, and he would let them decide the next steps.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco and Javan arrived at the place in the road nearest the ruins. They dismounted and Falco waited and listened while Javan tied his horse to a a tree trunk just off the road.

"Shh! Quiet!" Falco whispered. "It's too quiet hereabouts considering there's outlaws." He feared that Eodwine had been taken captive, or killed, as well as Thornden and all the others, and the outlaws were already long gone. That fool Thornden would be in no such scrape if he'd allowed me to come along in the first place, Falco thought irritably. "Follow me as quiet as a mouse," he said to Javan.

Javan followed Falco's footsteps and seemed to be trying his best not to be a lumber footed human. It helped he wasn't full grown yet.

Falco put out a hand to stop Javan.

"There's somebody just over there." It was a young man and a stranger. Falco wondered if it was one of the outlaws, but he didn't seem the type. He was got up outlandish with strange clothes from far away places that made no sense to Falco. There was an ink picture on one of his forearms that had to be a compass, of all things. And his hair was long as an Elf woman's. A brief recollection of the overbearing Uien of Lorien came to mind and Falco quickly dismissed it.

Javan stepped on an old dead stick and it broke with a snap. The young man's head turned suddenly in their direction. Falco put his finger to his lips to shush the boy. He didn't figure the young man could see them behind the foliage, but just in case he was wrong he slowly and silently drew his dagger from his belt.

[Celuien]

Dead. Garmund listened, unbelieving, as Eodwine's words worked their slow way into his head. Ritun and Lefun were gone.

He blinked, fighting the tears that had already started to sting his face. Anger at the twins' cruel end turned Garmund's cheeks to fire. The twins deserved better.

"It's not right. Not fair. Lefun and Ritun didn't hurt anyone," Garmund mumbled. He walked ahead and looked down at the twins. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wish - if we'd been faster." His voice caught on something rising in his throat, and Garmund fell silent.

Garstan came up to the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault, Garmund. You couldn't have saved them."

But Garmund, seeing only the pale faces of his friends, did not hear.

[Ealasaide]

As Elián moved quickly along the path through the woods, it became increasingly clear to him that an encounter with other people, either outlaw or otherwise, was likely if not inevitable. The path was a veritable hodge-podge of footprints, both human and canine, coming and going, trampling back and forth across each other so much so that it was impossible to tell how many sets of prints were involved, much less which set of prints belonged to outlaws and which to the other folks. Elián paused, staring down at the confusion of tracks. He was considering his options, unsure which he would rather meet – the outlaws or the forces of law and order, if that was in fact who the other folks involved in the skirmish were. There were advantages and disadvantages to both. If he could decide which was which and choose his side accordingly, that would be one thing… but, he decided, unable to make heads or tails of the multiple sets of prints, it’s a throw of the dice now. He would just have to wait and see who he encountered first and try to run with it.

Elián was just straightening with the intent of continuing on his way when he heard the distinct snap of a twig. His senses suddenly on edge, he turned his head sharply in the direction of the sound and peered into the leafy undergrowth. He thought he saw movement but whatever it was was subtle and stopped at once. For all Elián knew, it could have been a rabbit or a squirrel – after all squirrels around these parts were as big as the housecats back home – but with all the people scampering about the woods that day, he figured that it would be prudent to check it out. Lowering his drawn sword and dropping it slightly behind him into what his old weapons master used to call the sucker’s stance, he moved cautiously in the direction of the thicket. He knew full well that the position of his sword was only called the sucker’s stance, because it looked deceptively harmless and defensive. Given enough space, however, it could turn lethal very, very quickly, and Elián was a very quick young man. Nonetheless, he eyed the trees on either side of him with a growing sense of doubt. He might not have enough room to swing a sword, should it come to that. With that thought in mind, he reached back and, with his left hand, pulled the dagger from its sheath at the small of his back. He could fight just as well with either hand and might as well be braced for anything.

Holding the dagger at the ready in front of him, Elián stopped in front of the suspect thicket. Instantly, he felt the sensation of being watched. It was almost as though the very bushes held their breath. He knew then that there had to be someone hiding within.

But who?

Boldly, Elián reached out and flicked the topmost leaves of the nearest bush with the point of his dagger. “Ahoy, there, Master Bunny-Rabbit,” he said pleasantly into the bracken. “You might as well show yourself. I’m not much in the mood for a game of Hide-and-Go-Seek.”

[Folwren]

Javan’s heart leaped and his breath caught in his throat. He didn’t move a hair’s breadth while he waited, listening as the man’s footsteps drew nearer and nearer. He wanted to turn his head to look, but fear kept him from it. Now that he was here, he wished that he was away again.

He had caught a brief glimpse of the man. He was of strange appearance, clothed as not many people were clothed about Edoras, and he had a strange look about his face and bearing.

Javan had only seen him briefly and could tell nothing further, except that he was armed. With that knowledge, he stood now, waiting with tense muscles, as the stranger drew slowly and carefully towards them.

And finally the man stopped, not far from where Falco and Javan stood. There was a short silence. Perhaps the man was trying to see them. And then he called out, “Ahoy, there, Master Bunny-Rabbit! You might as well show yourself. I’m not much in the mood for a game of Hide-and-Go-Seek.”

Bunny-rabbit? Javan thought to himself. Ahoy there? That is not how one speaks! Who is this cocky-snop? He looked at Falco, his face lined with confusion. Besides, if you’re not in the mood for hide-and-seek, then don’t play it and leave us alone…I’ll wait for Falco to make the move.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco lost his reserve. He dropped his dagger to his side. It was clear that this one was no outlaw; at least, not one of those that had attacked first and mocked later, never mind about 'asking questions later'.

"I'll Master Bunny-Rabbit you, you oversized clown!" Falco forced his way through the brush and into the presence of this odd young man - and his well-proportioned stomach up to the point of the young man's ready sword. "I'm Master Falco Boffin, Shirriff of the Shire, if you'd like to know, and nothin' like a bunny rabbit, as you can plainly see. Now take that sword point away from my vest before you put a scratch on it, so I can do proper Hobbitish courtesy!"

The young man regarded him with a raised eye-brow, then a smirk upon his countenance, before he pulled his sword away from Falco, who promptly bowed. "At your service!" he said.

He looked back to introduce Javan, but the lad had not come forward.

[Taralphiel]

"We better take these back to the kitchen - I suppose you know everyone here....and all the ones who have gone away. I hope they will be back soon."

Lys looked up and smiled. "To be truthful I know very few people. I have only been able to move out of my room for the last few weeks. I am also shy...I have found most people are too busy to talk with me."

He took his share of the plates and with Elfthain following him walked back to the kitchen and gave thanks for their meal. Then he lead Elfthain on a simple tour giving him small snippets of the big news from the last few weeks from what Thornden had told him. Elfthain had already seen the stables so Lys took him for a look through the Great Hall and the garden, now temptingly warm from the attention of the sun. Then taking Elfthain out to the street, he smiled shyly.

"I am afraid I still know little about what is around. Perhaps we can explore? I would like to see more! But...must you be off home? Will someone worry about you?"

[Ealasaide]

Elián couldn’t help but raise a surprised eyebrow as a stout and indignant hobbit burst out of the bracken almost directly underneath the point of his dagger. He took a step back and, not without considerable effort, managed to choke the snort of laughter that threatened to escape him down to an amused smirk as the hobbit blustered through a rather angry introduction of himself. Smiling, Elián sheathed his dagger as requested, though he still kept his sword drawn, held slightly behind himself and down.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said politely as the hobbit completed his bow. “Allow me to apologize for the bunny-rabbit remark. I had no idea that such an illustrious person as yourself would be skulking about in the bushes like that. I am El… eh, Elbörn of Belfalas. At your service.” He offered a hobbit a shallow bow of his own, hoping that the fellow hadn’t noticed the slight hesitation over the name. He had only decided to lie at the last second as it occurred to him that it might not be such a clever thing to give a Shirrif his proper name, be he Shirrif of The Shire or of wherever. Elián had decided to own up to Belfalas, however, as it was fairly obvious that he came from the coast. As there were literally thousands of sea-farers in the vicinity of Belfalas it was hardly incriminating in and of itself. Besides, the name of his home port was tattooed on to his upper arm, in the crossbar of an anchor. It wouldn’t do very well to deny it as he would be branded a liar the second his arm was bared.

Hoping to distract the hobbit from any further inquiries, Elián continued in friendly tone of voice. “I can’t say as I would recommend hiding in the bushes like that as a common practice. It’s a good way to get oneself killed.” He dropped the Shirrif a quick wink. “If I’d had a bow and a handful of arrows about me, I might have shot first and asked questions later.”

As the blustery look began to fall again across the hobbit’s face, Elián pressed on, not letting him get a word out. He had noticed the hobbit had cast more than one furtive glance back into the undergrowth as they were talking and began to suspect that maybe someone else was concealed there yet. He leaned toward the Shirrif.

“And speaking of hiding in the bushes,” he said softly, as though begging a confidence. “I get the impression that you conceal someone behind you yet. Would it be the good Mrs. Shirrif, by any chance? Or perhaps another young lady that the good Mrs. Shirrif would perhaps rather not know about. If so, I can certainly understand your desire for secrecy. You can bid her come out now. I will do her no harm.”

[Folwren]

Javan could not believe his eyes when the hobbit burst forth from their hiding place, right up to the stranger. He couldn’t get himself to move and he winced as he heard Falco’s angry sounding salutation, expecting any moment to hear him cut down by the man’s sword. But no blow fell. Instead the man returned the introduction with his own name and home country. Javan began to breath a little more and he peeped about through the leaves.

He was just getting the courage to step forward and go out when he heard Elián (or Elbörn as Javan would call him) speak concerning him. “And speaking of hiding in the bushes, I get the impression that you conceal someone behind you yet. Would it be the good Mrs. Shirrif, by any chance? Or perhaps another young lady that the good Mrs. Shirrif would perhaps rather not know about. If so, I can certainly understand your desire for secrecy. You can bid her come out now. I will do her no harm.”

Javan flushed red up to the ears, indignant towards the suggestion. He thrust his way through, his boyish face screwing up into the most grown up scowl he could muster. “I’m not a girl!” he said angrily, facing up to Elbörn with puffed chest and clenched fists. “So just you take that back! And I’m not afraid of you, anyway!”

[Ealasaide]

Elián couldn’t help grinning as the boy charged out of the thicket, rising like a hungry mullet to the bait that he had cast upon the water. He threw a lightning quick glance behind the youngster just to make sure that there was no one else in the thicket that needed to be drawn out, hoping that there were only the two of them. He was running out of calculated insults and would be hard-pressed to come up with anything else off the top of his head that would be inflammatory enough to pull strangers out of the hedgerows, yet mild enough that he could apologize it away once the remark had served its purpose. Thankfully, he saw no one else.

“I’m not a girl,” sputtered the boy, nearly purple with rage. “So just you take that back! And I’m not afraid of you, anyway!”

“Ah, sorry, mate,” Elián responded cheerfully, adopting a much less formal tone with the boy than he had taken with shirrif. “It was an honest mistake.”

He dropped his sword into a relaxed position at his side as the boy continued to eye him suspiciously. “I take it back,” he added after a moment and was pleased to see the high color begin to ebb from the boy’s face, returning his features to a reasonably normal hue. Elián had learned years ago that children should never be discounted as potential allies. He didn’t have any children of his own, but had discovered through hard experience that they could turn out to be valuable friends or dangerous tattle-tales, depending on how you treated them… particularly the independent little guys like this one seemed to be. Seeing the boy at least temporarily mollified, Elián turned his attention back to the shirrif.

“There was a dead man on the path not too far back,” he said. “And the sound of fighting nearby. If there is trouble, I would be happy to assist you in any way I can, or, at the very least, travel with you as far as the nearest town. I’m a skilled hand with a sword. Perhaps I can be of use.”

[littlemanpoet]

Falco had not so long ago been the kind of hobbit who based his impressions of others solely on appearance; one particularity actually: size. If someone was not a hobbit, it meant that someone was Big. And if someone was Big, that someone was Trouble. Not to be trusted. All that had been dashed by Falco's adventures with the Elven maiden, Uien, along with other Elves and Humans, in the attempt to rescue Eodwine, held captive in Hills of Evendim already a year ago. And here he was in a land of Big People, some of whom thought him trouble (he thought of Thornden with an inner grin).

This fellow was, however, downright outlandish, even for the Eorlingas. From the seaside, he claimed to be, and if he didn't smell of it, he certainly looked oddly dressed enough for it. But the question that faced Falco was, did he trust this fellow enough to tell him what was going on?

Maybe a little of it, and time would tell how much further he could trust him.

"Well, Elbörn, if that's your name, you can be of help if you choose, for we may have need of aid, me and Javan. Or the town's a mile off thataway, if you prefer to leave us now. And if you heard fighting, then fighting's what it was, and to the death, if you saw rightly. As to the dead man, he could be an outlaw, or it could be an Eorling. I haven't seen him, so I couldn't say. But any road, we were going to that ruin of a tower that you can just barely see through the trees there."

"Then let's go see," Elbörn replied gamely.

"I'll go first then since I'm quietest on my feet, and Javan in the middle, and you can take up the rear."

Elbörn did not resist the hobbit's insistence, and thusly they made their way until they came upon Eodwine, Thornden, and the others - - with Ritun and Lefun lying in the midst of them, lifeless.

"Rilef?" Falco called. "Rilef! What's happened to him?" The hobbit pushed his way through and around legs to the side of the twins.

"He's - they're dead, Falco. Killed by the outlaws," said Eodwine. "I'm sorry. Who is your friend?"

Despite his catching throat and pointless rage at the now dead killers, Falco quieted himself and introduced the fellow calling himself Elbörn.

[Folwren]

The silence in the clearing was very deep when Falco, Javan, and the stranger arrived. As quiet as the three came, their footsteps could clearly be heard. Thornden looked up and around towards them, not knowing who to expect, and when he saw who it was, at least who Falco and Javan were, he could hardly have looked more surprised.

The third one was a complete stranger and he was soon introduced by Falco, who gave his name and origin. The man had come a long way and stumbled upon them upon an unfortunate time. But that would soon be all set to rights. Shortly, they’d head off to the Mead Hall again. Things would be set back in order. And, Thornden thought, he would find out how Falco and Javan came to be there after both being ordered to stay behind. He looked at his younger brother and then back at the hobbit and doubted not a little that Falco had quite a bit of hand in it.

But sifting to the bottom of that would wait. There were heavier and sadder things to see to. They had prisoners now, and a dead friend to take care of.

[Ealasaide]

As Elián followed his newly found companions, Falco and Javan, into the clearing where another party had already assembled, he could tell at once that something horrible had taken place just prior to their arrival. Someone who had apparently been greatly loved by all had been killed and still lay where he – they? – had fallen. Sensing the gravity of the moment, Elián sheathed his sword and tried his best to remain out of the way as the others went through the sad and deeply personal rituals of recognition and grief. Curious, he stole a glance past them at the individual who had been slain and was startled to see two torsos adjoining a single set of legs. He looked away quickly in a conscious effort to avoid gaping at the poor soul. Souls. He had never seen anyone like that before and was disappointed to run into him, them, after their deaths. They might have been interesting to get to know.

Oh, well, he thought to himself. So it goes. Elián turned away, letting his attention shift from the dead fellow – fellows? – to the other faces assembled around the clearing. He found them to be an odd mixture of folks to be out chasing outlaws around the woods: two of what he would consider professional fighting men; two villagers, probably tradesmen, with their children; and a woman holding a pair of goodly-sized dogs. The woman seemed to be watching a handful of prisoners, while the others hovered over the dead fellow. Fellows.

Elián that hoped he didn’t know any of the prisoners, as that could not possibly lead to anything good. He was just beginning to sneak a careful glance in their direction when his attention was yanked back toward the group surrounding the dead fellows.

“Who is your friend?” asked the older of the two fighting men, obviously the leader of the group, addressing the hobbit Shirrif.

As Falco made a quiet introduction of Elián as Elbörn, Elián offered a deep bow. He could see the man was a high-ranking nobleman of some kind and, as such, he was entitled to a good deal of courtesy.

“At your service,” said Elián politely as the introduction was finished. “I seem to have arrived at a bad time. My condolences for your loss.”

[littlemanpoet]

Suddenly there came from the road the sound of many horses galloping. The sound died away suddenly to be replaced by urgent voices calling. One voice rose above the rest, giving orders.

"That will be the muster form Meduseld," Falco said. "Javan and me, we took it upon ourselves to give word to the King's men that you were in need, Eodwine. But it seems you didn't need as much help as I thought you might."

Falco gave Thornden a quick glance and smirk, noting the young almbudsman's narrowed eyes looking at him.

It was not long before the small party was joined by a captain from Meduseld and a few followers.

"Halt!" he yelled, raising his arm. The line of men running stilled with not a little jostling back down the path.

The man took stock of the situation, then gave greeting to Eodwine.

"We'd heard there were outlaws about. It seems we are not needed. And you've killed yourselves a two headed monster into the bargain."

[Ealasaide]

A two-headed monster? Where?

Elián’s ears pricked up at the mention of a monster. He had seen a few monsters from a distance at sea and had a lively curiosity about them as long as they were dead. Looking around, however, he quickly came to the realization that the cavalryman was referring to the poor two-headed chap who had been killed just prior to Elián’s own arrival into the clearing. As far as monsters went, that fellow seemed about as scary as a flounder. In fact, from Elián’s perspective, he looked just like an ordinary villager. With two heads. Aside from the extra head, there was nothing about him that even suggested the notion of monsterhood: no necklace of severed fingers or baby-sized skulls dangling about his neck. Nothing.

“Old Blackjack Snorrisson is scarier that,” he mumbled to himself, conjuring a mental image of his old ship’s captain. On his bad days, Blackjack Snorrisson could give any ogre or orc a good run for his money in terms of scariness. Elián wondered if Blackjack had gotten away during the skirmish with the guards or if he had been recaptured and hanged back in Belfalas. Guiltily, Elián found himself half-hoping that his old captain had hanged. If he hadn’t and was still running around loose, odds were that he was not too happy with Elián and would take it out of his hide when he found him. Having a well-developed instinct for self-preservation, Elián had seized the first opening and fled during the Great Escape rather than going to the aid of his shipmates. He’d never liked those guys much, anyway, at least not most of them.

Disappointed at the lack of a real monster, Elián backed away, giving the nobleman room to talk to the cavalrymen. The timing of their arrival was actually pretty good for Elián as he had been dreading being questioned by the Eorl, who looked like the no-nonsense type when it came to keeping order under his domain. As long as the Eorl was preoccupied with the cavalry, Elián wouldn’t have to answer any awkward questions. With that in mind, Elián really hoped that the Eorl would forget all about him and concern himself with more important matters.

With the others all pre-occupied with the arrival of the cavalry and the death of the “monster,” Elián found himself at loose ends. He drifted again in the direction of the prisoners, casting surreptitious glances at them, hoping to discover them all to be strangers and, as such, no threat to his anonymity. The first two appeared to be just that: the sort of cut-throats that you would find around any smuggler’s market or disreputable tavern, only more so, as they seemed to be the ringleaders of this particular outfit. They stared sullenly at either the ground or their shackles, giving Elián no mind at all. They had been caught and they knew that things were likely to go ill for them. The third outlaw, on the other hand, the one whose wrists were bound with vines, was staring pointedly at Elián. Catching Elián’s eye, the outlaw gave him a slow wink and tapped his leather bracer.

Elián blanched and looked away quickly. He knew the guy. In fact, a year or so earlier, Elián had sold him a lovely set of lock picks, along with a very fine dagger and sheath that was so small that it could be easily hidden behind a belt buckle or inside a bracer without anyone being the wiser. Barely three inches long and a quarter of an inch wide, the blade, if it had been properly maintained, could slice easily through those vines.

Following his instincts, Elián made snap decision. Careful to avoid any further eye contact with the prisoner, he walked purposefully toward the woman with the dogs as she seemed to be the only one who was not wrapped up in the matter of the dead two-headed villager.

“Don’t ask me how I know,” he said barely loudly enough to be heard over the snarling of the dogs. “But this man has not been properly searched. If you value your life, check behind his buckle and bracers. He still has the tools to free himself.”

[littlemanpoet]

This Elborn was a handsome enough fellow in his ship-legged way. Rowenna smiled just enough to suggest that she was not ill-disposed to him, and nodded to indicate that she understood his meaning about the lockpicks. She tried to toss her untossable, matted her winsomely and failed, and wished very hard that she could get to the Eorl's mead hall very soon so she could bathe, brush out her hair, and maybe even find a new dress to replace the rags she wore.

She wondered how this Elborn knew about Ghem's lockpicks. She wasn't convinced that he was telling the truth about himself, in general. It was not that he seemed less likely to be truthful than any of these others, including the Eorl; living among outlaws for two years had taught her to place her trust in others carefully and seldom. She wondered what had sent him away from the sea, for it was clearly where he belonged. The outlaw scouts and guards had not seen him nor heard of him before this day, and that was saying something. Ghem's talk had been as if he'd snitched his lockpicks off their previous owner unbeknownst, which might or might not be true. At any rate, she had no intention of mentioning Ghem's lockpicks to anyone else. Better to let things happen that she could not easily stop, no matter how unforgiveable, and see what might be made of them later. It was how she had survived among outlaws.

Things were in a bad way for Ulric and Withold, perhaps less so for Ghem; which suited her fine, considering all they'd put her through. Not least of all was today's outrage, killing her poor dogs, Bull and Claw. She wanted to tear both their eyes out. Instead, she schooled herself away from her rage and forced herself to think on the memory of Bull, her big strong and courageous mastiff, and Claw her clever wolfhound, brother to Fang. At least Bear, her hound, had not been killed, his sad eyes looking back at her as if he too grieved his packmates. Gray, her wolf-dog, was too high spirited and in the moment to think any more upon Bull and Claw. Her pointed ears were up and forward as she looked from speaker to speaker, her curly tail flipping back and forth like a darting fish.

But not all the outlaws had been accounted for. This would not do.

"Lord," she said into the first pause in conversation among the others, "I know each of these rogues by face and name. I would help you be sure that all are accounted for if you will show me the dead."

"Witch! Traitorous witch!" cried Ulric.

She gave him not even a glance, holding the eyes of the Eorl, who agreed to her offer. He sent Haleth and his men back to Meduseld with his thanks, then he and his men showed Rowenna each of their kills. It was in this way that Thornden's story came out again, and became less mysterious, of a headless rogue whom he could not remember having killed.

"What do you make of it, lord?" asked Thornden.

"I know not."

"I do," Rowenna said. "Cedric is not among the dead, and he is not captive. He must have escaped. He was one of the more clever ones, and spoke less than he seemed to know."

"Where might he have gone?" the Eorl asked.

"I know not."

"What might he have a mind to do?"

"I know little of that either, except that this one's head is missing, whatever may be made of that. And be sure that whatever may be, will be to Cedric's advantage."

"And clearly to the disadvantage of this headless one," Eodwine remarked.

"Maybe he is spying on us this very moment," Falco offered, looking around.

The eyes of all who remained wandered here and there among the bracken and briars and trees and stone outcroppings, but very little if anything could be seen, and there was no sudden noise as if this Cedric was trying to make a hasty exit.

"Who was this Cedric?" Eodwine asked. "What can you tell me about him so that it can be decided what to do about him?"

"He was last to join us," Rowenna answered. "He proved himself useful with his sword and dagger, and he took orders well enough. He kept to himself mostly."

"When and where did he join you?"

"Some moons ago, not far from Dunland."

"Did he ever speak of any plans of his own devising?"

"Nay, never. He offered to add his sword to ours for a fair share of the gains."

Eodwine shrugged. "Well, since there is little enough to know about this fellow, let us leave this place and return to the Mead Hall."

As she fell into line towards the rear of the party, Rowenna wondered what to expect from Ghem, and this Elborn; and from Cedric. She kept her thoughts to herself.

[Mithalwen]

"I am afraid I still know little about what is around. Perhaps we can explore? I would like to see more! But...must you be off home? Will someone worry about you?"

Elfthain paused and thought, he had no desire to part from his new friend but having been allowed to go to the inn to gather news on the general's return he wondered whether strictly speaking he should return. It was not that he feared punishment but that he had lately come to realise that reliability was the key to greater freedom. At home he had generous bounds and as long as he told someone where he was going, had completed his chores and returned in time for meals he could please himself much of the time. He also had the wit to realise that at home, he was usually kept under the friendly eye of the farmhands and villagers and his mother would soon hear of any mishap or misbehaviour and the price of not having her fuss over him was not giving her grounds to fuss.

Edoras was not home and he would dearly love to explore properly and in all honesty he was sure he would just be in the way.

"I think it will be alright. They know that I was coming to the Inn and so if anyone looks for me they will know that I am with you. But I don't think anyone will miss me for a while - they were all too busy. As long as we don't go outside the walls it should be fine". Elfthain hoped that that was true and the pair set out, Elfthain letting Lys set the pace.

[Ealasaide]

For the second time that day, Elián raised an eyebrow in surprise. He had assumed that the woman with the dogs was part of the Eorl’s group, either a guard or a tracker, but when she acknowledged his warning about ol’ Ghem’s lock picks with nothing more than a smile and a toss of her untossable, matted hair, he began to suspect otherwise. This suspicion was confirmed by her subsequent conversation with the Eorl, in which she inventoried the dead for the Eorl and his men and identified the missing outlaw for them: some fellow named Cedric. Idly, Elián wondered if he knew Cedric, too. He was terrible with names, which could come in handy when being questioned by the authorities – after all, you couldn’t divulge what you couldn’t remember – but he never forgot a face. As for the girl, he had not seen her before, but by his guess she had lingering sympathies for the outlaws since she had chosen to do nothing with the information he had given her about the lock picks. Apparently, she was already aware of their existence, even without his input.

Elián shrugged amiably to himself. He had done his part for law and order and, having done it, had decided to wash his hands of the whole business. The outlaws weren’t his problem. In fact, if he could manage it, he would like to stay on their good side as well as the Eorl’s. After all, as he knew very well, escapes did happen and a person could sometimes find friends in unexpected places.

What was his problem was the matter of getting to Edoras, where he hoped he could either vanish for a while – at least long enough for things to settle down again in the South – or purchase enough supplies to continue his flight north toward Bree. An old shipmate and friend had hailed from Bree originally and since returned home again, having had enough of the sea, to settle down and join his family’s blacksmithing business there. Elián had hopes of finding work with him until it was safe to return to Belfalas. Now… if he just knew where Bree was. He knew that it lay to the north somewhere, but that was about it. He hoped to find a reliable map, as well as supplies, once he got into Edoras.

With that thought occupying his mind, Elián fell in at the rear of the line as the entire group, led by the Eorl, assembled on the path and began to move in the direction of town. Finding himself behind the young woman with the dogs, Elián decided to try speaking to her again.

“So, how is it,” he asked, moving close up behind her. “That you seem to belong to the outlaws, yet you have the complete trust of the Eorl? It’s a rare spot to be in, to hold both ends of the anchor line like that.”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna cocked her head at Elborn's query, glancing at him with one raised brow. Could he not see the rags she wore instead of a good dress? Or was he mimicking daftness? Or asking something obvious to see how she would react? She shrugged.

"I was their captive for two years. They had me bound, waiting upon their kind ministrations." She said her last words with a sardonic smirk. "The Eorl found and rescued me. And my dogs."

“Two years, all bound up?” asked Elián mildly. “Seems like a long time for them to be toting you around with them. And your dogs. Explains your choice of wardrobe, though, don’t it?” He grinned, but, seeing that she was not amused, changed his tack.

“If it was me, I’d’ve ransomed the lot of you as soon as possible and spared myself the trouble of a couple years’ worth of ministrations, as you put it.” He gave her a sideways glance, thinking that she must have been treated very badly during her time of captivity. She seemed so angry. But then, he reminded himself, if he had spent the last two years trussed up like a holiday goose and relying on the kindness of a bunch of cutthroats, he’d be cranky, too. If that was really her story. For all he knew, she could be one of the outlaws just passing herself off as a hostage for her own purposes. After all, the captives looked about as rough and ill-used as she did. Who could say for certain that she was not one of them? To take her at her word alone, the Eorl was either a trusting fellow or an idiot, decided Elián. Either that or the girl was already known to him from an earlier association of some kind. Either way, Elián had his doubts. There was still the matter of the lock picks.

“I mean, you must be worth something to someone, eh?” he finished.

So this Elborn wished to bandy with words, taking advantage of her first slip. Did he wish to be her opponent, or her friend? Or both? She could not tell. Not yet. "To none but my former captives have I worth," she answered coolly. She allowed some small portion of bitterness to slide along her next words. "I have no kin. These outlaws killed them all." She waited for a comment of some kind, but none was forthcoming. She did not normally need to fill silences, but his gibe still goaded her, and she wanted her faulty speech fixed. "I meant that my captors bound me today so that they would be sure I was where they had left me. Does that satisfy your quibble?" She almost gave way to a sudden urge to raise her chin, frowning, and walk ahead of him, effectively turning her back on him. But that would be rash, and she fought down the urge. Deeds wrought from how one felt so often went awry; those wrought from thought were the more trusty. She continued her easy pace beside Elborn.

“It does indeed,” answered Elián. “To be honest, I don’t think there’s anyone who’d pony up a cent for me either.” At least not for his health and well-being, he added to himself. He was fairly certain that there was a least a little coinage available for the individual who handed him over to the hangman. “I am sorry to hear about your family, though. Why didn’t you just run away? With those great big dogs on your side, I imagine you’d be more than a match for ol’ Ghem and his lot.”

Elián cringed as soon as the words left his lips, hoping that the young woman had not noticed his use of the outlaw’s name. It was a stupid slip, but lock picks or no lock picks, outlaw or no outlaw, he was beginning to like the girl. It was making him a little too chatty for his own good.

Rowenna had good peripheral vision and caught Elborn's cringe. Had he twisted his ankle? No, nothing like. Had he said something he regretted? Her eyes widened ever so briefly: he had used Ghem's name without having heard it from anyone else. So he knew Ghem from somewhere. And he knew about Ghem's lockpicks. Had Ghem stolen them from him? Were these two old rogue-brothers? Fellow lift-pads? Better not use this tiny morsel of advantage this very moment; there might be a better time to use it. She tucked it away for safekeeping.

"You did not see Ulric and Withold kill two of my dogs as if they were ants. This whole brood were killers. I would not have lasted the day I chose to run."

“Oh, I see,” answered Elián. “Shows how much I know of outlaws,” he added a moment later in an attempt to cover his earlier slip. With a polite incline of his head, he dropped back a few paces, as though conceding that she had scored a point on him and he was feeling duly chided. In reality, he was silently chiding himself: put a set of petticoats in front of him, even raggedy ones, and sooner or later his brain turned to oyster shells and he began babbling away as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Or a price on his head. He sighed. It was probably because he had spent so much time at sea with no females around except the captain’s wife, Mrs. Snorrisson, who was a formidable creature and a good bit more dangerous than her husband when she was in a temper. In Elián’s opinion, she scarcely counted as female. He was tempted to perform a theatrical shudder at the thought of her, but decided the better of it. He had already drawn enough attention to himself as it was. Elián smiled ruefully at the ground. If he valued his own hide – which he did -- he really had to get a grip on himself, most especially his mouth.

The moment Elborn could no longer see her face, Rowenna smirked. "Shows how much I know of outlaws." So lame as to be laughable. She did not let herself laugh. She had enjoyed the conversation, as far as it had gone. Elborn was a likeable enough fellow, but that was the possible trap: too likeable. She needed to know more about him first; just as she had studied each of the outlaws and come to know their quirks - and their needs - especially the ones they didn't even know they had. Elborn's questions had been too near the bull's eye: she had learned how to manipulate the outlaws so that she not merely survived, but in the end got what she wished for from them.

These thoughts slipped to the recesses of her mind as she heard raised voices ahead, between the Halfling, the Eorl, and the Eorl's right hand man.

[Folwren]

When they first started out from the place, Thornden did not walk beside Falco and Eodwine. He fell into line behind Eodwine, and when his younger brother moved to stay with Falco, he called him back. Javan obeyed reluctantly, leaving the Hobbits side and going to Thornden with a sullen look.

The entire group set off. Some of the guards of Meduseld took up Rilef’s body and walked behind Thornden. The others from the Mead Hall walked behind those – Garmund going directly behind Rilef, looking crushed and depressed. Javan’s curiosity kept his head craned over his shoulder, staring with wide eyes at Rilef and Garmund, until Thornden laid his hand on his shoulder and jerked him forward again.

“What happened?” Javan asked.

“Don’t know,” Thornden replied in clipped tones.

“Weren’t you here?”

“Not when he got hurt.”

“Did you-”

Thornden didn’t want to be questioned. He had questions of his own to ask and he deserved answers more than Javan’s silly curiosity did. “Javan,” he interrupted, “why are you here? I told you to stay back at the Hall, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Javan said slowly. “It was Falco’s fault. He wanted to go get help and we couldn’t use his pony, and I didn’t want him to ride mine all by himself because…he’s so little I didn’t think he could control him.” Actually, the thought had not really entered his mind, but it was an excuse. “And,” he went on quickly, “I was only expecting to go to Meduseld to get help, it was all Falco’s idea to come here.” He quickened his pace and plucked Falco’s sleeve. “Tell Thornden that it was your idea to come here after getting the men from Meduseld, Mr. Falco.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Of course it was my idea," Falco announced. "What of it?"

"I ordered you to stay at the Mead Hall," Thornden retorted.

"You've no rights to ordering me around, plain and simple," Falco shot back, "and if you'd listened more close to Lord Eodwine here, you'd know that."

Thornden's shoulders stiffened and his brow positively thundered with the wrath that was obviously building inside of him. He was trying very hard to control his tone, however, and what came out was disappointingly shy of the pique Falco was hoping for.

"Lord, what have you said regarding Falco that I heard not aright?"

Of all the nuisances, thought Eodwine, this is poorly timed with grief so thick in the air. But deal with it he must. He did not answer straight away because he wanted to make sure he gave the right of it. Simply put, Thornden was second in command at the Mead Hall. However, Falco was Eodwine's personal guest and not a Man - or Hobbit - of the Hall. In fact, his status was more on a par with an ambassador. For he was, after a fashion, an ambassador from the Shire to Rohan. But only informally; and hobbits were, if nothing else, very clear about formalities. No, ambassador was a stretch. Still, Falco was his guest and therefore had a certain status not given to his hired help or bonded men.

"Lord?" Thornden prompted. "Did you hear my question?"

"Aye, I heard it. I was trying to think it through clearly, for I do not think I ever did lay out for you the - ah - precise - ah - status - of Master Falco Boffin." (He realized that he was resorting to formal Gondorian verbage in order to be as careful as possible. He was glad that he had had such exposure over his many years as King's Messenger to Eomer.)

"Precise status, lord?"

"Aye, you ninny!" Falco threw in. "I'm guest and friend of the Eorl! Not to be ordered about by the likes of you!"

What really irritated Thornden the most about Falco was not that his words were so outrageous, but that he was smirking and grinning his way through his jibes. Thornden was being made fun of! Few things bothered him more. A retort was ready to jump off his own tongue, and one that he knew he would regret, but the Eorl spoke first.

"Enough, Falco. Though you may not be Thornden's underling, he still deserves respect. He is, after all, my right hand man at the Mead Hall. Thornden, Falco is my guest but not a formal ambassador. He is not one to whom commands may be lightly given-"

"There! I told you!" Falco blurted.

"I'm not done, Master Falco," Eodwine scolded mildly. "-however, Thornden, in the case of emergencies, it is your bounden duty to hold both bond and guest in safety. To do so you have no recourse but to order things as you see fit. So you were right to command Falco for his own safety. And Falco, perhaps you had cause to refuse to submit to Thornden's command, but you did wrong to involve Javan, and you should apologize to both Thornden and Javan."

"But I did not force Javan-!" Falco started.

"There are no buts," Eodwine cut in. "Javan is Thornden's to scold as he will. To you I speak as a guest in my house but also as friend."

"I see," Falco said. He took two more steps, stopped, turned, doffed his hat and bowed. Thornden and Javan were forced to stop suddenly, causing a small jam-up behind them. "Masters Thornden and Javan, I have wronged you both. I offer you my deepest apologies."

[Lhunardawen]

Léoðern had absently got up from Ginna's lap when Frodides had given her permission, and Ginna was glad that the child consented to come with her. They went out the kitchen and walked across the yard in silence. Ginna gently led Léoðern to the same bench where she had talked to Harreld the previous night, and lifted her up to let her sit.

"Are you feeling better, Léoðern?" Ginna asked, brushing away the strands of hair that had stuck to the girl's tear-stained cheeks.

"Ye-yes," she replied, her voice trembling a bit, but nevertheless she had stopped crying. "I'm sorry. I'm a big girl now, and big girls shouldn't be crying."

Ginna smiled in spite of herself. "Big girls can cry every now and then, if they have good reasons."

Léoðern looked at Ginna with a brave sort of twinkle in her eyes, as though eager to prove that she really was a big girl, and explained how Falco's sudden bursting into the Hall, shouting about how the Lord Eodwine was in trouble, had scared her, and more so when her father Garstan had to go and rescue him. "I don't want them to get hurt," she finished tremulously, and tears threatened to fall again from her eyes.

"That's a good reason, but they will be fine. The men of the Mead Hall will be with him, and together they will all bring the lord back safely." Ginna thought fleetingly of Garreth, Harreld, and that man who did not know her name, and immediately chided herself for doing so. It was not as though Léoðern could discern her thoughts, but all the same...she should not even be thinking about them. "Your father's a hero. You should be proud of him."

A broad smile came across Léoðern's lips, and she nodded fiercely.

"Now, while we wait for them, what about that tour I asked of you yesterday? Do you remember?"

"Of course," Léoðern exclaimed. "Come on!" And she slid from the bench -- "Be careful!" -- onto the ground and took Ginna by the hand, the latter standing up elegantly. Léoðern giggled.

"Why do you giggle?" asked Ginna.

"You move just like my friend Linduial. She's a princess. That's why I thought you're a princess, too."

Ginna laughed at the memory of their first meeting, and the irony of it. Indeed now she was a serving wench, as she had guessed! She couldn't help asking, "And where is your friend now?"

A spasm of sadness came upon Léoðern's face. "She went back to her home. I miss her so much."

Ginna felt pity well up inside her - not so much for Léoðern as for herself. She knelt before the child and looked her squarely in the eye. "I'm not a princess, as I told you, and I never will be. But I can take her place while she is gone, if you don't mind. Can we be friends?"

Léoðern laughed and screamed, "Only if you let me call you 'my lady'!" And she ran at top speed away from Ginna, who stood up and immediately caught her. Hand in hand they strolled towards the Hall, and it was as though Léoðern had not been previously crying. Ginna could only marvel at and envy the resilience of youth.

[Folwren]

How sincere Falco was in his apology, Thornden could not tell. He stood rigidly for a moment, as Falco spoke. It was a ridiculous, humiliating moment for both of them. All the same, he had to bear it like a man.

Thornden returned the bow slightly when Falco stood up again. “Your apologies are accepted, Master Falco, and I trust we do not have such a misunderstanding again. . . “ Not likely, he thought, but he could at least be polite.

“You’re forgiven,” Javan piped up. He was oblivious to the embarrassment but he felt important and proud to have Eodwine notice him to the point of making Falco apologize.

But Thornden was annoyed. Javan looked as though he thought he deserved the apology. “I think Falco may be right, lord,” he said, as Falco turned and they began to walk again. “He could not have forced Javan into doing anything. It was likely Javan’s own doing that led him out here.”

“That is not my concern,” Eodwine replied calmly, “and I do not mean that Javan should not be held accountable for his own actions, but Falco did somehow include him in this when he should not have.”

“I understand,” Thornden said, nodding slowly. “My lord,” he said after a slight pause. “What do you think? Should I not have given him the order to stay? You have said that in such a case I must order things as I see fit – but was I wrong? If I was, then I would have you tell me, that I might learn from my mistake.”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna had been watching and listening as the exchange between the Eorl, the Hobbit Falco, and Thornden (for that was apparently his name) wound around to Thornden's latest question. Rowenna shook her head once, but once only, at the sheer density of this Thornden's question; for that was how she saw it. The Eorl had as much as told the young man that he had done right, and now he was actually telling his lord that he wanted the same answer in bald terms. She wondered how the Eorl would react. She considered that this moment would tell her much about him, as the previous had told her much about the other two.

Eodwine slowed and met Thornden's eyes, his expression firm. "If you had made a mistake, I would have told you." Then the Eorl continued on his way, keeping his own counsel; Rowenna was very curious what he was thinking at this moment. The way she saw it, the Eorl had chosen not to take note that Thornden's request was ridiculous, but kept his calm and answered him. Still, Thornden looked a little stung by the reply. She wondered if the young man was a bit overly sensitive to others' opinions. That could be useful to know. And was the Eorl always so forgiving of others' foolishness? Just how forgiving was he? Rowenna had not known anyone so lenient, but then there was very little to go on so far. She wondered if these last two years had maybe taught her the ways of the outlaw too well. She thought about this and other related things as they made their way to the Mead Hall, which looked remarkably like an town watering hole, as some might call it, when she finally laid eyes on it.

Women came out to greet them and looked appropriately crestfallen as the two headed dead man was brought amongst them. Rowenna stayed toward the back of the group, keeping an eye on everyone else - including Elborn who had not left them - to learn what she might before committing herself.

[Lhunardawen]

By the time Kara had returned to the kitchen the new girl she had just had time to be introduced to, Ginna, had disappeared and Frodides and Modtryth were clearing up the dishes that had been left scattered in the great hall as everyone had rushed out. Guiltily realising that she had been of absolutely no help so far Kara hurried to help, filling the sink with soapy water and starting to wash up.

She was down to the last couple of plates when Ginna reappeared, looking a little flushed and smiling down at Lèoðern who was chattering away quite happily as they entered the kitchen. Frodides also turned as the two entered, a satisfied look crossing her face as she saw them.

"Feeling better now little madam?" She asked Lèoðern, who gazed up at her and nodded vigorously. "Well that's wonderful. Do you think we could have your new friend back for a little while? We need her help now."

Lèoðern nodded again and let go of Ginna's hand.

"Bye m'lady!" She called as Modtryth, who had offered to take her on her rounds of the Hall so she wouldn't be underfoot in the already quite crowded kitchen, led her off down the hallway.

"M'lady?" Frodides inquired of Ginna with an amused arch of an eyebrow, but continued before she had a chance to answer. "Well m'lady, if you don't mind coming down to our level for a while I have a little task for you."

Ginna flushed, whether in annoyance or embarrassment Kara didn't know, but moved to the table Frodides was standing at all the same. Kara followed suit, assuming she could be of some help and having little else to do.

"Ah!" Frodides said, catching sight of Kara coming closer. "I'll leave you to teach the basics to our new girl here, I need a look at that garden." And she disappeared out of the back door, leaving Kara and Ginna alone in the kitchen.

Seeing that she had been left with the easy task of teaching Ginna how to sharpen the knives used in preparing meat and how to prepare a salad. Neither were tasks Ginna would usually be required to do, but Kara had found that working in a kitchen often meant you ended up doing something that was not supposed to be your responsibility, so it was good for Ginna to learn this now. In addition, the simplicity of the tasks would allow them to finally finish the conversation they had tried to start that morning.

"Hello again." She began. "I'm sorry we got interrupted this morning. I'd say it isn't usually so crazy in here but I'd be lying! There's always something going on in this place."

"Always? Oh dear, what have I got myself into?" Ginna went in a mock panicked voice - Lèoðern's mood seemed to have rubbed off on her - and Kara chuckled gently. "So, what are you going to teach me?"

"Not too much." Kara replied. "I suppose you've already learnt serving food and drink out in the main hall, so we're really doing things you might be asked to do if we're very busy. First off we have sharpening knives, an easy job if you don't mind the noise it makes!"

Kara picked up one of the duller knives and a sharpening stone and began her demonstration, Ginna watching her movements closely.

"Want to give it a try?" Kara asked, and Ginna nodded, holding her hands out for the tools.

"Oh!" Kara cried, catching sight of the girl's bandaged hand as she stretched it out to receive the knife. "What happened? Does it hurt? Maybe we should do the salad instead."

"This? It's nothing," Ginna said in an awkward chuckle. Kara gave her a dubious look, still holding on to the tools. Sighing, Ginna pulled her hand back and raised it for Kara to see.

"It was just a silly accident yesterday. I was carrying some dishes when Master Falco, Lefun, and Ritun came in--"

Kara nodded and smiled understandingly. She knew what came next.

"It was unfair to them," Ginna continued, feeling her cheeks heat up a bit. "I apologised to them last night, and I'm sure I'll never be frightened by them again. But as I said, it's nothing. I've been wounded worse - accidents are bound to happen when a female is being taught the use of a sword. Now then..."

She held out her hand towards Kara again, and Kara placed the tools in it with a still doubtful glance at the bandage.

"Well, just tell me if it starts to hurt." She said, trusting that Ginna would know when to stop if she needed to. "So what were you doing with a sword?" She continued, deciding it was time to find out more about Ginna. Upon receiving the knife and the stone, Ginna had straightaway started on her task, and it was a few moments before she replied.

"My father wanted me to learn how to use it, for my protection. I'm his only child, you see, and my mother's gone," she added, with a glance at Kara. "He knows Lord Eodwine from the War, and requested of him to...let me stay here for a while."

"Oh I'm so sorry about your mother." Kara said, almost reaching out to comfort Ginna, but stopping herself as she realised she was still holding sharp objects in her hands. "Is that why your father wants you to stay here? So you can have some female company?"

Ginna could not help smiling. That was a good enough alternative reason, she thought. And it could have had an element of truth to it; Randvér could have known that there will be enough women in the Hall to keep her company...and keep her well-behaved.

"You could say that," she said at last. If she had any plans of saying more she was denied it, as a shrill voice rent through the silence of the Hall:

"They're here!"

Quickly looking at each other, Ginna and Kara dropped the knives, wiped their hands on their aprons, and ran out the kitchen, Frodides coming up behind them. Outside was Modtryth and Lèoðern, with downcast faces. Ginna turned and saw what they were looking at.

"Oh, no," she whispered. "What happened to him - them?"

[littlemanpoet]

"All questions will be answered in due time," Eodwine announced. He ordered the three outlaws to be taken to the securest rooms in the basement of the Mead Hall, which happened to be a closet behind the wine cellar. They were secured there.

Then Eodwine led those who carried Lefun and Ritun into the Mead Hall. The best they had to lay them in state was a large table, so Eodwine had it brought to the front part of the Mead Hall, halfway between the central firepit and the front door. It was not long before everyone associated with the Mead Hall had gathered around the body in repose.

Eodwine told all gathered the story of the day, and had Thornden tell parts of the tale that he did not know well, and then he required the same of Falco.

"Is there anyone else who would speak up at this time?"

Silence settled over the sombre gathering for several moments.

[Ealasaide]

Having nowhere better to go and nothing better to do, Elián followed the rest of the procession back to the Meduseld. His first impression of the place was that it was just a big, rather elderly inn, but as he entered the Great Hall, he soon discovered that, while it did have certain elements of an inn, it was indeed the Eorl’s seat. Elián watched with carefully concealed interest to see how the prisoners were disposed of and smiled to himself as they were stowed in the wine cellar below decks. It wasn’t much of a jail in his opinion and probably wasn’t in much of the opinion of the outlaws either. With the right tools, he figured that he could let himself out of there in no time. Ghem probably could, too. The question was less how effective was the jail cell itself as it was how effective were the guards? He would be interested to see how events unfolded. The knowledge could come in handy if he ever found himself on the wrong side of the Eorl’s cellar door.

In the meantime, though, the fate of the outlaws wasn’t really his problem. Nonetheless, he did find himself looking around for the woman with the dogs and, not seeing her, assumed that she must have gone off somewhere either to clean up or to find suitable space for her pets. He had forgotten to ask her name, but thought that he had heard someone call her Rowenna… Rowena… Helena… something like that. It was a pretty name, but he still had not quite made up his mind about the woman herself. Oh, she had a pretty face all right to go with the name, but there was something of Mrs. Snorrisson about her that put his teeth on edge. Maybe it was that toughness under the surface that conjured the image of his former captain’s wife. Of course, the woman would have had to have been tough even to have survived two years with the bunch of fellows she had been running with. On the other hand, there was still the matter of the lock picks. The fact that she had done nothing to alert the Eorl’s people as to the existence of the picks in the hands of her former captors still bothered him.

And where did that leave him? She knew that he knew and Ghem knew him, and, in fact, Ghem had gotten the cursed lock picks directly from Elián himself. In fact, Elián had made them with his own hands. Before running away to sea, he had spent several years apprenticed to an unscrupulous cutler who had taught him, among other things, how to craft a very efficient set of lock picks. The tiny dagger that went along with them had been Elián’s own invention. He had made at least fifty sets of both over the years and sold all of them for a tidy profit. That is, all but one. He still carried a set himself. Elián sighed. It left him in a very precarious position, particularly if word came up from Belfalas that he was a wanted man.

They couldn’t possibly be looking for him this far north. Could they? He was just a member of the crew…

Rowenna-Helena-whatever-her-name-was had something on him. While it was not much, especially if she had not picked up on the slip he had made in calling Ghem by name, it was enough to make Elián feel vulnerable. He very much wanted to find her, to get to know her a little better, and, in doing that, find out if he could trust her. If she could be trusted, then everything was lovely. If not? Then he had some decisions to make. Either he needed to disappear or she did.

In the meantime, he would have a flagon of mead and get a feel for the atmosphere in the Eorl’s great hall. Already, the Eorl had launched into a tale of the day’s doings and of all the events leading into the death of the two-headed chap and the capture of the outlaws. Elián listened with great interest as he knew almost as little of the events of the day as the local serving girls did. He was silently relieved when the Eorl made no mention of him at all or of how he had happened to join the party in the woods. With any luck at all, the Eorl had completely forgotten his existence. That way, maybe, he would not have to answer any uncomfortable questions.

[littlemanpoet]

As they made their way across the courtyard and into the mead hall, Rowenna asked one of the members of the Eorl's party where best to put her dogs. He was pointed toward one Léofric, the stableman, who looked young for the job. She moved toward him and put her question to him. The young man gave thought for a moment and led her back out front toward the road, and around the stables to the yard behind the hall, where the latrine was. Apparently, her dogs were to be kept aback of guest rooms where they would be far from all other animals and people as well. Rowenna thanked him and situated them for their comfort.

Léof had not neglected to tell her where she could find food for her dogs, and she made her way around the latrines and walked toward another, smaller courtyard where grew an alder tree. To the right was the kitchen and to the left the main hall. She passed the tree and came into the kitchen. No one was there, occupied still with the rites of passage for the two headed dead man. Rowenna found little to hand. Looking about, she saw a doorway into a cellar. She passed down the small flight of staird and found herself in a winecellar.

She heard voices. Odd. They were coming from the closet. Who could that be? She went over and put her ear to the door. The hairs on the nape of her neck rose: Ghem, Ulric, and Withold! They were speaking of escape. It would be tempting to help them get away, but they would demand that she came with, and she would have none of it. She wanted to stay with this Eorl, and see what could be made of this new situation.

Ah. Ghem was talking about his lockpicks. She would leave them to their wiles. She looked about and found a covered bin in which was salted meat. She took a loaf of bread and went out to her dogs, listening for sounds of an attempted escape.

[Folwren]

The girls and the women came out to meet them in the courtyard. Thornden stepped back away from Rilef, allowing them to come and see him. He pulled Javan away with him and led him inside. “I want you to go up and wait for me in our room,” he said, leading to the stairwell. “I can’t see to you yet – there are things to be taken care of here.”

“But, I’d like to see what went on!”

“I’m sure you would, but that’s not the point. Get on with you.”

Javan turned with great reluctance and obeyed slowly, walking towards the hall and climbing the stairs up to their room.

Thornden returned to where the others still stood in the courtyard. It was his duty to see that the captive outlaws were taken care of until Eodwine had time to think about them and see them properly disposed of. Without bothering Eodwine, he went back to where Garwine stood, still guarding the outlaws faithfully.

“Bring them in. We’ll find proper and strong rope and make sure they’re all secure before putting them away somewhere.” He turned to lead the way in. Garwine pushed two of the men forward and the third going on without prodding.

It did not take long to find the rope and a place to put them. Down in the kitchen cellar was a closet. There was only one door and the place had no windows. Thornden and his two comrades bound the three outlaws securely, hand and foot. Thornden went out from the closet last, locking the door after them and drawing out the key.

“Thank you, Garwine,” he said as they climbed the stairs again to the kitchen.

“You’re welcome,” Garwine replied. He smiled and nodded and went out of the kitchen again, down the corridor to the great hall.

Thornden stood for a moment, considering, and then he turned and also departed from the room, but he went by the outside door and headed towards the front courtyard. On his way, he saw Rowena, the woman that Eodwine had found in the ruins. She was leading her dogs someplace and she did not see him.

Thornden went in search of Léof. He found him, as he expected, working on unsaddling and whisking the horses’ coats with dry straw.

“Léof,” Thornden said, drawing near and stopping a few paces away. “May I speak with you?”

[Ealasaide]

The closet in the Eorl’s wine cellar was small and damp with no windows, very little light, and no way out other than through the stout oaken door that had been locked securely from the outside. What’s worse, the place stunk of rotten cabbage. Ghem guessed that the Eorl’s people must have used the closet at some point to store fresh vegetables, but that it had since fallen out of use. They must have forgotten one of the cabbages, he decided grumpily. It stunk. And now he along with his cohorts, Ulric and Withold, had been bound with ropes and tossed in there with it, elbow to elbow on the floor like three sacks of potatoes.

“Left in here to rot…” Ghem muttered. His head still ached brutally from the pounding he had taken earlier from one of the Eorl’s men, and the rotten cabbage stench in the closet had done nothing to make it feel any better. He was in a foul mood that was getting fouler by the second.

Ulric elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Shut yer mouth,” he growled. “We’d be lucky to be left to rot. They’ve got the rope in mind for us.”

“That’s right,” agreed Withold from somewhere in the darkness on the other side of Ulric. “We don’t get outta here, we’ll be dangling for sure.”

“Not me,” argued Ghem. “I’ll go down fighting first.”

“Yeah? With what?” asked Withold with a sarcastic snort. “Yer breath? I noticed you didn’t bring yer sword.”

“Laugh it up, funny-man,” retorted Ghem. “When you’re swingin’ from the gallows, I’ll be enjoyin’ a nice pint of ale in a cozy pub a long ways from here.” Ghem smiled to himself. Withold obviously didn’t know it, but Ghem had the means to escape hidden inside his left bracer and in the hollow behind the buckle of his belt. All he had to do now was figure out how to get at them. The guard had done a disappointingly good job of binding him. In fact, the ropes were so tight around his wrists that his fingers were beginning to go numb. Ghem flexed his hands, trying to get the blood flowing through them again. He was going to need his dexterity.

“Yeah, you and yer mama’s ghost,” persisted Withold. “You’ll swing with us.”

“Shut up, both of you,” snapped Ulric. “We need to find a way to cut these ropes.”

“I’ve got a way,” said Ghem. “I just can’t reach it.” He went on to describe the miniature dagger and the lock picks to Ulric, not caring whether Withold heard or not. He’d decide later whether or not to let Withold come with him and Ulric when they escaped. He and Withold had been at odds for weeks, and it was about time that Withold learned to watch his mouth. In the meantime, though, the dagger, which could cut through their bindings like a hot blade through butter, needed to be retrieved from its hiding place behind Ghem’s belt buckle. With his hands tied behind his back, Ghem needed Ulric’s help, and possibly Withold’s as well, to find it and draw it out. The three of them soon fell into a hushed but intense discussion of how best to do that. Finally, they hit upon a workable scheme.

So intent were they on constructing their plan that none of them noticed a slender shadow pass across the keyhole as a young woman pressed her ear against the outside of the door, listening. Quickly, the shadow flitted away, unseen.

The three outlaws squirmed from their haunches on to their knees and, with slow careful movements so as not to fall, began to knee-walk toward the door. The idea was to position Ghem’s belt buckle so that the tiny spot of light allowed into the closet through the keyhole would fall on his buckle. With Withold to direct him, Ulric would retrieve the dagger. With this plan in mind, Ulric backed up to Ghem and groped blindly for Ghem’s buckle with hands that were tied behind his own back. Withold, as the only one of the three with a clear view Ghem’s belt buckle, gave directions.

“Straight back now… that’s right... I can see the hilt. Up just a bit. There!”

Ulric chuckled as his thick fingers closed around the bone handle of the delicate knife, and he grinned as he drew it out of the hidden sheath. Within seconds, he had cut his own bindings and those of his companions. It rankled Ghem a bit to wait as Ulric cut Withold’s binding before his own, but there was no arguing with Ulric on the matter. After all, Ulric was the boss. Ghem put his anger aside. There would be plenty of time later to settle old scores. For the present moment, escape was all that mattered.

As Ulric pressed his face to door, peering out through the keyhole to the wine cellar beyond, the closet fell into complete darkness. Needing no light, Ghem felt for the lock picks he had concealed in his bracer. He smiled as his fingertip grazed the one that he needed.

“All clear?” he asked as he pulled the pick from its slot and turned it between tingling fingers.

“Clear,” said Ulric. “The fools have left us unguarded.”

Ulric rose to his feet and took as step back as Ghem assumed his place at the keyhole. Ghem inserted the pick into the lock and, after only a few deft turns, was rewarded by a resounding click as the tumblers fell into the place and the lock fell open. Cautiously, he pushed the door open.

[Nogrod]

Modryth read Cnebba’s expression easily enough from a distance when the party was coming into the main yard. Something terrible had happened. She ran to meet her child with open arms and Cnebba ran to her. They hugged each other tightly falling on their knees. Modtryth could feel that Cnebba was shaking all over and he was sobbing now, after all the brave face he had given to the others. “My poor child, what has the world done now? Please, mom is here now and you’re safe and sound. Mom’s here… just let the bad things out, mom’s here…”

Stigend came to them at last withdrawing from the group and stroked their hair as he didn’t know what else he could do.

“It’s the twins… they are no more…” Stigend offered as an explanation to Modtryth. “These outlaws were responsible of it. But we caught them and justice will prevail.” With that he kneeled to the level of his wife and son and grasped them both into his arms. “Nothing will give them back. But we shall see justice done after this horrible affair. We should weep today indeed but we should always stand up against the monsters who do such things…”

Modtryth raised her head to give an irritated look at his husband. Save us your lessons on justice of the Rohanians… that was what she meant and Stigend got it immediately. He took a firmer grip of his wife and son and laid his head down towards Cnebba’s shoulder who was still shaking.

After a minute or two Cnebba was cooling down and his trembling ceased. It was Modtryth who lifted her head first and addressed Stigend:

“Let’s go inside now.” She took a tighter grip of her son and added to him: “We’ll get to our room now. No one is going to be helped and nothing made straight by lingering here at the courtyard. Now brave up my little...” She rose her head and looked at Stigend studyingly. “You owe me a couple of explanations but I think their time is not now…”

Stigend nodded and took Cnebba with both of his hands hoisting him up from the ground while Modtryth let go off him. Cnebba resisted more feebly than for real.

After they had gotten to their room Stigend laid Cnebba to the bed and leaned over him. “I think lord Eodwine is going to deal some quick justice and I need to be there, to defend the case of the twins and to see for my part that justice prevails. Now be a good boy and stay here with your mother. I’ll be back soon.” With that he kissed his son to the forehead and rose up. Facing Modtryth he frowned and took a step towards the door.

But he couldn’t leave yet as Modtryth’s eyes were literally nailing him to his place. Stigend frowned again but in the end spoke:

“It’s a court-thing. They need witnesses. But Cnebba should stay here… or if you find Garstan, maybe the kids could be together… I mean Cnebba and Garmund… I think Garmund has the tougher time of these two.”

Stigend turned away and left the room without waiting for Modryth to answer him.

Cnebba rose up from the bed and stared at nothingness.

“What is it my child?” Modtryth asked her son gently but Cnebba was if he hadn’t heard the question.

Garmund… how does he feel now? I thought Rilef was nice and friends I could have, … but they were his friends already… It’s so terrible to Garmund… Cnebba shivered with the remembrance of how the twins looked lying in the pool of blood.

Not saying anything Cnebba rose up from the bed and went to the corner of the room where his few personal possessions laid. There was a small knife his father had made and given him to his birthday a year ago. There was an old linen cloth that had belonged to his grandmother, beautifully embroidered in Dunleding-style. There were different beautiful stones he had collected from different places about… and some weary and time-beaten dolls he didn’t himself remember how old they were. But then there was the wooden knight. Stigend had carved that to him after they had gotten into the Mead Hall. It was figurine of a charging man on horseback spear laid down ready for attack. Cnebba immediately remembered how enviously Garmund had looked upon it when he had showed it the first time. That would do.

Cnebba took the figure into his hands and turned towards his mother.

“We should see Garmund. Can we, please mom? I have something for him.”

Modryth was quick enough to follow the tracks of his son’s mind and smiled frowning in away that was more than telling. She was most delighted of her son’s reaction.

“Let’s go then and find Garmund.”

As they came to the stairs they realised that most of the people had gathered into the main hall. Rilef’s body was laid on the table and Modtryth felt sick to see it laid that openly in front of everyone’s eyes. She tried to call Cnebba’s attention elsewhere but that was too late.

“Mom, it’s Rilef!” then Cnebba’s voice broke. “They’re so… dead….” Modtryth tried to hug her child gently but before she had time to come up with it Cnebba was on it again.

“Garmund is there, look there, beside Garmund and daddy! Let’s go!” With that he ran away from Modtryth.

Cnebba made himself room to sit beside Garmund. He had hidden the figurine under his skirt. After sitting down he carefully poked Garmund. No proceedings were out yet but everyone were just waiting and whispering. Slowly he drew the figurine from inside his skirt and presented it to Garmund.

“Take it. You can have it.” Cnebba said as Modtryth hurried to sit beside Stigend and made a knowing glance towards Stigend, smiling.

[Lhunardawen]

Having heard everything she needed to hear concerning Lefun and Ritun's death, Ginna slipped away from the congregation in the Mead Hall and stealthily made her way back to the kitchen. She did not even let Kara see her, even though she could have needed her company, at least in finishing the work they had left behind. She wanted to be alone, to think, to express what she was thinking even just through her face, without anyone noticing and asking her what was wrong.

She knew Rilef's death should not affect her much, for she had only met them the day before, but her encounter with them was not as simple to her as it probably had been to them. Her apology had been sincere; she was concerned about how much she might have offended them, and was determined not to do it again. Perhaps she felt she could relate with them - surely they always had people judging them based on their appearance, and caring not to see what lay beneath it. Just like my father, judging me for what I had done, and refusing to consider that it might have been his fault . . .

As she walked slowly, with the kitchen in sight, she felt a tear fall unexpectedly down her cheek. Remembering her father, he could not control memories of her mother also flooding in . . . she had died shortly before the War, when Ginna would have most needed her in her father's absence . . . and now Rilef died after she arrived in the Mead Hall. Am I a curse to the people around me? she asked herself bitterly, and let more tears fall.

Ginna stopped at the kitchen's threshold and quickly wiped her face, though she was quite certain no one was there. She stepped forward, and with relief found she was right. She took up the knife she had been sharpening and continued her work, just as though there had been no interruption, her emotions churning inside her but careful not to let them show.

[littlemanpoet]

Having fed her dogs, Rowenna chose to go back to the mead hall to see how things were with the two headed dead man. She wondered whether it would be quicker to go by way of the alder court and through the kitchen, or through the door that must be at the back of the guest rooms, or all the way around the stables. She rejected the long walk that Léof had taken her along, which left a tour through the as yet unknown guest rooms, or back to the kitchen. The guest rooms would be an interesting diversion, and Rowenna was curious. She had never heard of a mead hall that seemed as much like an inn, and so it intrigued her. But the likely try at freedom in the offing down by the kitchen tickled at her mind, and so she decided to pass by the alder tree.

She came in the door and stopped, listening for sounds from the cellar, and heard none. She did here the chopping sound of a knife against a board, and saw a young woman who could not be any older than she herself was, her face long and drawn and still wet with recently shed tears. This was curious.

Rowenna had shed many tears in the first few weeks of her captivity. She could remember having felt horrible, grieving for her father, and feeling very sorry for herself. But tears became no more than a luxury and a waste of the strength she had needed to survive. She had not cried in nigh to two years. Even now she could not recall what the horrible grief and self-pity had felt like, so completely had she closed them off from herself, to survive the harsh life of the outlaws. So she felt no sympathy for the girl now.

More urgently, if Ulric, Ghem, and Withold came up from the cellar right now and found the two of them in the kitchen, it might not go well for either of them. She had to get this girl our of here, fast! - - without making a scene while she was at it.

"Hello, I am Rowenna." The young woman looked up in surprise and wiped at her eyes with her free hand. "What is your name? Could you help me a moment with my dogs?" Rowenna pointed back outside in their direction, holding the gaze of the girl.

[Firefoot]

“Of course. Just let me put him away first,” Léof replied, patting the horse’s shoulder. Thornden nodded. Léof unclipped the horse from the aisle and led him to a nearby stall. After making sure the water pail was filled, he left the horse and returned to where Thornden stood. “Can I help you with something?” Léof asked.

“Well, yes,” said Thornden. “It’s about Javan.”

This piqued Léof’s curiosity. After all, Javan had only spent a short while in the stable, not yet the full week of trial they had initially agreed to. “I’m listening.”

“I am considering removing Javan from stable work as punishment for his disobedience today,” Thornden explained, “but first I want to know how much help he is to you. If he is a great help to you, he will remain where he is and I will come up with another suitable punishment.”

Léof did not respond quickly. Javan’s arrival at the scene of the fight had surprised him, of course, but he himself had spoken no word of reproach; that was not his place. But now Thornden was effectively placing the nature of Javan’s punishment in his hands. “He is not necessary to me – I managed alright before he came,” Léof replied truthfully, “and he has much to learn. He does seem to learn quickly, however, and in time I could come to depend on him. I will support your decision whether he goes or stays.” There. That was fair – and removed the actual decision-making from Léof’s shoulders.

[Taralphiel]

Lys had been able to freely walk the Halls since his recovery, but this had been the first time he had a companion free of duties to explore with.

Lys' first thought was to walk to the markets. Hrethel would be busy, and would not want him playing as his shadow. Lys had wished to see the markets for some time. Walking with Elfthain was just what Lys needed to lift his spirits and lessen his worry over Thornden.

Entering the marketplace, Lys was near stunned by the colours, smells and activity. The food stalls lured him with their deep scents and Lys suddenly felt the wish that he had coin to purchase a savoury pie or an apple or carrot.

The food stalls stretched for most of the space allocated to the markets, but small wares stalls dotted the area, selling stock left from the horse fair. Lys followed Elfthain as he bounded from stalls carrying swords, to trinkets and jewellery and then to finely polished and designed saddles.

Lys stopped at a stall selling woven goods. The goods were of varied artisans, and for varied uses. Soft woven fabric for dresses and tunics were gathered in ordered piles while blankets of different colours were displayed about the edges of the stall with pegs and tied lengths of thick twine. Lys stopped at one blanket.

It was the same as the one he had been found in, his only possession. His had been torn and stained in the mud beyond the hope of any cleaning. This one had reds that burned and blues that where icy cool next to them. The gold twine sparkled to Lys eyes. He stopped staring when Efthain’s hand was on his shoulder, and he finally heard the query of the stallkeeper.

"Nice work, is it not boy? Sold to me by a stanger, 'least to these parts. Doubt it was the maker. Did not know the skill put into this. Not of Edoras, no. An outlying people, I say. Worth a bag of coin, at least."

Lys heart seemed to sink to the pit of his stomach. He smiled and nodded, turning to Elfthain who was looking at him with concern.

"You look pale? Are you ill? Should we be going back?"

Lys shook his head. There was still time left in the day, and he did not want to miss more, even if more than his ankle was aching.

[Ealasaide]

Leaving their makeshift cell behind them, the three outlaws crept silently up the stairs toward the door to the kitchen. Ulric led the way, followed closely by Withold, with Ghem bringing up the rear. Ulric still held the tiny dagger that had cut the ropes that had bound them, wrist and ankle, only a few moments earlier. While it was barely three inches in length, the miniature dagger was razor sharp and could do considerable damage to a face or a wrist. It being their only weapon until others could be found, Ulric held it between his thumb and index finger, concealed behind his palm. Should he need to use it, the element of surprise was almost as valuable to him as the blade’s sharp edge.

Reaching the top stair, he paused, listening to the steady chop, chop of the cook at work, preparing the evening’s supper for the Eorl’s guests. Slowly, he cracked the door and peered out. The kitchen was empty, save for the presence of one young woman. Unaware of their presence, she seemed completely absorbed in her work. The chopping continued as Ulric smiled to himself. She would be easy to overpower, knife or no knife.

He was just beginning to push the door open when the door from the kitchen to the outside suddenly opened directly opposite him. He pulled the cellar door swiftly to without taking the time to see who was coming in. To his utter surprise, he heard a familiar voice.

“Hello, I am Rowenna,” said the newcomer. “What is your name? Could you help me a moment with my dogs?”

“Rowenna!” hissed Ghem from the bottom of the short staircase.

As though in response to Ghem’s exclamation, Ulric cracked the door once more. It would not do to go charging out there only to find that Rowenna had been accompanied by others. He had to make sure that she was alone with the other young woman. A single glance told him that she was. Feeling very confident, Ulric pushed the door open and stepped into the kitchen, followed closely by Ghem and Withold.

“Hello, my dear,” he said to Rowenna, catching her firmly about the wrist with his free hand. The hand holding the knife landed on her shoulder as he stepped behind her. With a subtle movement of his wrist, he flashed the small blade before her eyes so that she should know that he was not unarmed. “Nice of you to come help us out! Right timely, too.”

The other girl had been caught so much by surprise that the response she had just started to give to Rowenna died on her lips. The tear that had already been trembling at the corner of her eye, burst free and rolled unchecked down her cheek, dropping from her small, rounded chin to the floor as she turned to face the trio of rough-looking men who seemed to have appeared in the kitchen out of thin air. Her kitchen knife paused in mid-air as Withold and Ghem closed on her. Ghem reached out and took a meat cleaver from its hook on the wall, as Withold picked up a second kitchen knife from the counter where the girl had been working. It had been newly sharpened and shone with a dangerous glitter.

“Shh-shh-shh,” said Withold with a slimy grin. “There’s a good lass… not a peep. Give us the knife afore ya hurts yerself.”

“Yeh,” said Ghem with a creepy, false kindness. “Give us the knife, poppet.”

[Celuien]

Garmund looked at the toy in Cnebba's hand. Not long ago, the little carved rider had seemed a thing of great importance; and it had tweaked the beginnings of his jealousy. Now, after all that had happened over the day, with Ritun and Lefun lying still and quiet on the table, Garmund felt how little the quarrel mattered.

He reached out and closed his fingers around the toy.

"I'm sorry, Cnebba," he muttered. "Friends?"

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna

Rowenna's throat clenched in panic. Every nerve in her body urged her to scream, or because of the threat of death at knife point, to swallow the scream and weep silently.

No.

This was not the first time. It had been this way all the time those first few months, and then there were more incidents later; the last one had been Eric, one of the most rascally ones, who was now thankfully dead.

Make the best of the situation.

Using her silkiest voice she said, "You are just in the nick of time, my love." She leaned back into Ulric, using her body to remind him of his lust. "I was beginning to wonder if Ghem was going to remind you of his lockpicks."

"Lying witch! You betrayed us."

"Silly boy, I played the Eorl. You did not die. Why do you think not?"

Rowenna could see out of the corner of her eye that the young cook's eyes were widening with fear, not having expected such words from her.

"See, you even have a new wench for your pleasure."

"Don't trust her Ulric!" growled Withold.

"Girl," said Rowenna, her voice suddenly harsh, "hand over the knife if you wish to live. If you do not, my friends here will think nothing of slitting your throat once they've taken it from you. They've done it before. And don't be a little fool and scream, or you'll get yourself killed even quicker."

Rowenna wondered what the girl would do. Confound Ulric for not trusting her more and loosening his grip on her!

"Ulric, my dear, I would be so much more useful if you take your little knife from my throat."

Eodwine

None of the others wished to speak, Eodwine concluded after a short wait. He ordered Garwiné to stand honor guard over Rilef's body, and ordered Stigend to build a casket so that Lefun and Ritun could be buried in the back pasture that night. Then he indicated that the others were free to go about their duties. Eodwine remained standing where he was, reflecting on the strange events of the day. He was startled to realize that almost everyone had left without him aware; except for Falco, Garmund, Cnebba, and Modtryth. They were still standing where they had been, each of them eyeing their Eorl.

"Well? One of you wishes to say something now that the others are gone. Please speak your mind."

[Nogrod]

Garmund’s fingers were closed around the toy. Cnebba laid his own hands over Garmund’s and pressed them firmly as a mark of a deal. Cnebba looked at his friend to the eye.

“Friends…”, he said and pushed the toy towards Garmund. “You keep this. I’ll ask my dad to make me another one and then we can play with them together?” Garmund nodded approvingly and they gave each other a short smile.

---

“Stigend, I wish you to make a casket for the dead. They should be buried today.” Lord Eodwine ordered and Stigend rose up nodding to the eorl. “That will be done immediately” he said and turned away to get his tools.

The hatchet… I left it in the alder court in the morning… Stigend turned back and went out of the door leading to the yard between the hall and the new kitchen. He picked his axe from the pile of logs he had been carving in the morning when he heard voices from the kitchen. There were some rough male voices but also a female voice which was not that of Kara. Everyone’s at the hall so there shouldn’t be anyone in the kitchen…

Stigend crept carefully to the door and peeked round it.

Two men were bullying Ginna and one had a knife at Rowenna’s throat. Rowenna had just turned her gaze at the outlaw who was threatening her.

“Ulric, my dear, I would be so much more useful if you take your little knife from my throat."

For a second Stigend was confused. now what is this? My dear… being more useful? But there was no time to think.

“Alarm! Everyone alarm! The outlaws are loose, in the kitchen!” Stigend shouted from the bottom of his lungs and took a step to close the doorway. He had picked his knife to his left hand and in his right hand he held the chip axe.

“Allright brutes, leave the women and drop your knives. You have no way to escape.” Stigend was suddenly trembling with anger. It was not only because he despised outlaws in principle or even that these outlaws had attacked his lord… these things would have not triggered such a powerful reaction from him. But it was what they had done to Rilef and even more to the point how their deed had affected Cnebba and Garmund. Remembering the anguish in the eyes of the little boys made Stigend boil over with the brutes who were now bullying women.

Stigend raised his left hand fingering his knife and thence signalling that he was both able and willing to use it as a ranged weapon as well. Stigend looked at Ulric who was nearest to him. "Drop your knife and let her free!"

[littlemanpoet]

"This is all my fault," Falco declared. "I should never have talked them into comin' here," he continued in a low voice. "He was better off on his own."

"You blame yourself for their death, Falco?" asked Eodwine. "It's a fool thing to do. Bringing him away from the ruins might have saved-"

"Them!" Garmund deftly inserted the correction.

"What? Oh, sorry. Bringing them here might have saved their lives. I was the one asked them to go back there today, so if anybody deserves blame, it falls on my shoulders."

"Ah but don't you see," said Falco, "If he'd never left he'd have kept hid."

"They!" Garmund interrupted.

"Aye, they!" Cnebba joined in, grinning. It was great fun correcting one's elders.

"Now boys," Modtryth reprimanded mildly.

"Maybe and maybe not. Anyway, he's dead - I mean, they are dead. May we be the better for having them among us for a little while."

Suddenly a cry went up from the alder court. “Alarm! Everyone alarm! The outlaws are loose, in the kitchen!”

"Curse it!" cried Eodwine. "Modtryth, take the boys upstairs to your rooms and close the door, and block it! Falco! Grab a weapon!" Eodwine dashed to the armoury, grabbed a sword and throwing axe, and ran toward the back hall which led directly to the kitchen.

[Ealasaide]

Ulric, Withold, & Ghem

The blood rushed to Ulric’s head as Rowenna leaned her supple body into his, her familiar scent filling his nostrils as she purred, “Ulric, my dear, I would be so much more useful if you take your little knife from my throat.” She knew how to work his particular hungers well, having proven it many times in the past, but Ulric knew that now was no time for games. He had to keep his wits about him if he wished to live. The hand holding the tiny knife moved closer to her throat, rather than farther away. If she had indeed convinced the Eorl that she was a mere hostage, then that is what she would remain. He grabbed her roughly around the middle and jerked her against him as a booming voice exploded from just outside the kitchen door.

"Alarm! Everyone alarm! The outlaws are loose, in the kitchen!"

As the newcomer burst through the door, a knife in one hand, a throwing axe in the other, Withold made a lunge at the serving girl. Before she could make a move in her own defense, he had disarmed her and sent her knife skittering harmlessly across the floor toward the fire. Like Ulric with Rowenna, he spun around to face the newcomer, holding the girl’s slender figure between him and the threat that loomed in the doorway. He held the gleaming blade of his kitchen knife to her throat. A small bead of blood appeared against her pale skin as the knife grazed her just below the chin. Ghem, being the only one without a hostage, continued to brandish the meat cleaver he’d snatched from the wall only seconds earlier.

“Drop your knife and let her go!” ordered the young man, looking at Ulric.

Ulric laughed harshly. “Take it from me.”

As the man took a step in Ulric’s direction, looking as though he fully intended to carry out Ulric’s challenge, Ghem slipped behind him and slammed the door to the Alder yard shut, dropping the bolt solidly into place. The newcomer was surrounded.

“You shouldn’t have raised the alarm,” said Ulric. “That was a stupid thing. Now someone is going to die.”

“Yeh,” snarled Ghem at the newcomer. He reached down and picked up a piece of firewood from the pile just inside the door with his offhand. “Drop yer weapons unless ya want it to be you.” While the log he had picked up wasn’t much of a weapon, it could take a blow from the newcomer’s axe if need be and buy him enough time to counter anything his opponent threw with a swipe of the meat cleaver. Or it could make an admirable bludgeon if he got in close enough. Either way, it was better than nothing. Better than Ulric’s teeny little blade, anyway. He waited for the young man to make a move, his muscles coiled like a viper’s.

In the meantime, a great deal of shouting and pounding of feet sounded from the direction of the great hall. Ghem began to think of the door at his back and came to the abrupt realization that perhaps sliding the bolt had not been such a brilliant idea. It might be their only avenue to escape.

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

Elián

“Alarm! Everyone alarm! The outlaws are loose, in the kitchen!”

Ah, blast, thought Elián as the call to arms echoed throughout the Great Hall. Ghem and the blasted lock picks. Neither wanting to take part in the recapture operation nor wanting to be accused of inaction during a time of danger, he reluctantly put his mead aside and trotted dutifully behind the Eorl to the armory where he had been forced to leave his weapons on the way in. He found his own sword and dagger where he had left them and, pulling both from their scabbards, followed the Eorl down the hallway toward the kitchen. Inside, he could hear a commotion, voices. Something about women.

Women?

Well, that wasn’t right. If Ghem and the boys wanted to menace the local gents, that was one thing, but if they were going to pick on the pretty little serving girls he’d seen earlier, that was too much. He was definitely going to have to throw in with the Eorl on this one.

“Sorry, Ghem, mate,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re on your own.”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna

So Ulric was going to play it like a rogue. Rowenna had more than half expected it. She had been playing both sides against the middle so far, to see which side came out on top, but she had secretly been hoping that she could leave outlawry behind. If it was not to be, she would have to make the best of it that she could.

When the man yelled and charged into the doorway, Ulric grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him roughly. The only movement she could do now would be to strike at Ulric's face blindly with her small fists, or feebly kick her heel into his groin. Had he given her more freedom of movement, she could have surprised the man before them by kicking his sword hand, possibly disarming him. But that would be too decisive and ruin her chances at leaving outlawry. She held her tongue and stilled her body; it was time to wait things out to see which side won out.

Falco

Maybe Eodwine was right, maybe not. Falco was still convinced that Rilef would have been able to hide from the outlaws had he stayed in the woods around the ruin. But he was dead, and the outlaws were trying to escape. Eodwine and Elborn had run down the kitchen hall, effectively blocking off that escape. That would mean that the arbor court was their most likely means of escape, unless they planned to climb out through the hole in the cone shaped roof of the kitchen, which was frankly too small even for himself. That or dig a tunnel out of the cellar. Falco looked again at Lefun and Ritun.

"I'll avenge your death on these outlaws if I'm given the chance. Seein' as Eodwine plans them to hang anyway, it wouldn't hurt if I hurry them along."

He did not go to the armoury, but walked steadily past the firepit and the Eorl's Seat, past the tables and benches, past the door to the guest rooms, past the stove in the south wall of the Great Room, and through the door to the Alder court. The kitchen door across the court was shut tight. Had the outlaws done that? Where was Stigend? For it had been he who had yelled the warning, no doubt.

Falco stooped and searched the ground. The lawn was new and rough here where the kitchen had once been, and it had truly been small, fitting into the tiny space between the Hall and the Alder tree. Rocks were plentiful and he had his choice. He picked up four of them, holding three in his left hand, testing one in his right, feeling its weight, its edges, its curves, for just the right throwing grip.

The story of Mayor Samwise's "Apple Toss in Bree" was famous in the Shire, but also here in Rohan where the Master of Buckland had been a knight, and told the King, who had laughed heartily; his eorlings had liked the tale and the story of the halfling's skill of the target had spread across Rohan. It had been the same in Gondor.

"So let's show 'em, Master Shirriff of the Shire," Falco said to himself, "that it's not summat only the Mayor is good for, but most every Hobbit west of Bree."

Falco Boffin waited at the door to the Great Hall for his chance, should the outlaws come charging out of the kitchen into the Alder court; a deft and deadly shot to the side of the head would fell 'em, and maybe kill 'em, and if not kill 'em, then someone else could finish 'em off with a sword. Or tie 'em back up to contemplate their hanging on the morrow. Either way would be just as well.

[Nogrod]

Stigend had been concentrating too much on Ulric who held Rowenna on the blade. Ghem had managed to leap to the door bolting it. When Stigend retreated a step towards the wall and turned lightly to have both of them within his view he heard Ulric calling him from his right: “Now someone is going to die.”

Glancing swiftly back from Ulric to Ghem on his left he saw him grasping a piece of firewood. He did not see Withold or Ginna properly as they were behind Ulric and Rowenna.

“Drop yer weapons unless ya want it to be you.” Ghem said in a firm voice.

There was a noise coming from the corridor that united the Hall and the kitchen and it grew louder. Stigend saw how Ulric turned to hastily glance at the doorway at the other end of the kitchen as well as catching Withold’s nervous look as he was the closest one to the corridor with his hostage.

“You drop your weapons! You’re only making this worse for yourselves if you don’t!” Stigend yelled at the outlaws.

“Worse than going to the gallows? What might that be for you?” Ulric grinned to Stigend and took a firmer grip from Rowenna’s waist.

That was the moment Ghem striked. Stigend felt that something was coming towards him and fast from his left. Immediately he realised he had forgotten Ghem for a second too long – and Ulric had taunted him for that. Fool!

The backhanded hit was aimed at his throat. Stigend had barely time to turn enough to parry the swing of the cleaver with his left hand so that it only inflicted a cut into his left shoulder. His grip of the knife loosened with the impact and the knife went flying to the floor. With the momentum of his leftward movement Stigend brought the chip axe to fall down on Ghem with full force but he had clearly taken that into account as even partly unbalanced by Stigend’s parrying move the axe fell straight to the billet in his left hand. Ghem fell backwards towards the door with the thrust of the blow and Stigend fell forwards as the force of his movement and the sudden weight of the log now sticking with the axe draw him.

It took Stigend two steps to balance himself. Ghem had arisen to a defensive position at the door still holding his cleaver that now had blood on it. Stigend swang his axe in the air to get rid of the log of firewood. It clattered to the floor. From this new position Stigend was able to see all the outlaws as he now was standing more near to the fireplace in halfway between the two doors.

“The Eorl is coming and all the men… So drop your weapons…” There was a frozen second when no one moved or said anything..

“Now!”

Stigend looked at the outlaws challengingly while the rumble from the corridor came louder. He had to bite his lips from pain. His left shoulder was bleeding heavily.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine halted just before the door to the kitchen in order to take stock of the situation; he didn't want an arrow or other missile to put an end to him before he had a chance to do anything worthwhile. Sword in his right hand, throwing axe in his left, he crossed his weapons before him as a partial shield and took a step forward. One outlaw held Ginna by knife, another held Rowenna, and the third and smallest had his hands free and his knife dripping blood, facing down Stigend, who was wounded in the shoulder.

They could flee through the back door! Eodwine quickly crossed the space, facing the outlaws, and blocked their way. Elborn came just inside the kitchen and blocked the way to the Great Room.

"You are matched man for man," Eodwine growled. "Unhand the women and throw down your weapons!"

[Lhunardawen]

There were seconds of silence following the Eorl's challenge, as though the outlaws were weighing their options. Leaning forcedly now against the body of his captor, Ginna thought back on the last few moments with regret. She cursed herself for not moving with her instincts, for holding back, for giving in to surprise when the outlaws sprung suddenly on her. She felt the knife at her throat prick her skin, but not the pain it should have caused. Her blood was surging in anger, in disgrace, her father had not taught her all he knew only for her to end up in a situation such as this . . .

And Ginna was not used to being held under a man's power; she had been the one who overcame them. For a moment she had thought of following the girl Rowenna's lead, as an act of desperation. Rowenna . . . Ginna suddenly found her voice.

"She's with them," she snarled, pointing at Rowenna with her chin as she looked at Eodwine. "I don't know how she came to be at the knife's point now, but she's working with them, or she used to."

Ginna did not think her talking could endanger her, or else she did not care, but she went on and turned to Rowenna, "I'm sorry, Rowenna, but now it's too late for me to - how did you call it? - help you with your dogs."

[Ealasaide]

Ulric, Withold, & Ghem

“You are matched man for man,” growled the Eorl. “Unhand the women and throw down your weapons!”

Ulric exchanged a slit-eyed glance with Withold before responding. “Better to die by the blade than the rope….” He began, but was cut off by the angry voice of Withold’s hostage.

“She’s with them!” the girl cried out, pointing to Rowenna with her chin. “I don’t know how she came to be at the knife’s point now, but she’s working with them, or she used to…” She went on speaking to Rowenna but Ulric was no longer listening. He watched the Eorl’s face for his reaction. Who would he believe – Rowenna or the serving girl?

“Shut her up!” he ordered Withold from the corner of his mouth. In response, Withold pressed the flat side of his knife’s blade tightly against the girl’s throat. A mere turn of his wrist could slash her throat clean through.

“Shaddup!” he said harshly into the girl’s ear. She fell silent, but he could feel her muscles tense with rage. It was not exactly the response he had hoped for. He had hoped she was more the cowering, swooning type, but, apparently, he had no such luck.

Off to the side, near the door to the Alder Court, Ghem was feeling a little less confident than he had felt a few seconds earlier when he had landed the blow on the other man’s shoulder. While his opponent was bleeding heavily from the open wound, he had not only kept a firm grip on his axe, but had managed to relieve Ghem of his piece of firewood. Out of position now for grabbing another one, Ghem continued to brandish the cleaver threateningly. At the same time, his eyes flitted from side to side, assessing his position and searching for a way out of the rapidly filling kitchen. He almost laughed outright when his eyes fell on the man guarding the door to the Great Hall. It was none other than Elián, that same Belfalas pirate who had sold him the lock picks several months earlier. Ghem had been surprised to see Elián in the woods with the Eorl’s men that afternoon when he was captured, but had since forgotten all about him. Now seeing Elián guarding one of the exits, he couldn’t believe his luck. He began to edge surreptitiously in Elián’s direction.

As he reached the place where Withold was standing, he made a subtle gesture in the opposite direction with his head. “Out the backdoor to the kitchen yard,” he murmured. “I’ll cover yer back.”

Withold nodded and began to edge back in the direction of the door to the Alder court, dragging his unwilling hostage with him.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine wished he had more men at arms. Why did he have only two? Garwine and Thornden were good men, but these outlaws were pointing up the weakness of having only two. He had even had word from a couple young men from Meduseld who were interested: Théogud, Alwalda, and Finnas , each of them younger than Thornden, but worthy fellows. And they might not be enough either.

Some men were coming up the hallway, Garstan and Garwiné.

"Garwiné! I ordered you to stay by Rilef!"

"I'll do you more good here, my lord, punish me how you choose!"

Eodwine smiled between clenched teeth despite himself, actually relieved that Garwine had come. "To my side, then! And Garstan, I want you to guard that doorway with your life! By no means come nearer these rogues! You've saved my life enough already!"

"There, now, you rogues," said Eodwine, pleased. "We've doubled you. You've no chance of escape. Throw down your weapons and let the women go."

"Only to hang!" Ulric cursed. "I'll take as many of you down with me fighting as I can."

"Fight? Holding a woman as your shield? A more cowardly death I could not have named," Eodwine scoffed. He was tempted to mock them by challenging them to let the women go and fight to the death, but he overcame the fey urge and chose to see to the protection of his House instead. After all, these rogues would make some mistake and it would be their end.

[Ealasaide]

Ulric let the Eorl’s taunts slide past him without a reaction. Of course, he would hold a woman as his shield. He would hold a six-month-old baby as his shield if that’s what it took to save his skin. Still keeping his gaze focused primarily on the Eorl, he cast a lightning glance in either direction to check the relative positions of Ghem and Withold. Withold had begun to edge in the direction of the door to the kitchen yard, while Ghem, inexplicably, had shifted in the opposite direction. He now stood closest to the man with the axe who had first burst into the kitchen, and seemed to be moving in the direction of the doorway to the Great Hall: a doorway which was rapidly filling with men.

Pulling Rowenna with him, Ulric, like Withold, moved toward the door to the kitchen yard. Locking his gaze with that of the Eorl, he said, “We are leaving through that door. The first of your men to move against us will bear the death of this woman on his soul, for I will plunge this knife into her throat. The second man will bear the death of that young woman.” He nodded toward Withold and the serving girl. “Blood will be spilled, but the first blood will not be ours. It will be that of the ladies.”

Withold nodded and shifted his blade so that the knife pointed upward into the soft spot just below the serving girl’s chin. A single push would finish her.

When the Eorl showed no initial reaction, Ulric continued to move slowly, carefully toward the door. “Ghem!” he barked. “Open the door.”

Seeing the hallway fill up behind Elián with a half-a-dozen armed men, Ghem abandoned his plan of slipping past the seaman and did as Ulric said. He edged back past the man with axe and raised the bolt of the door to the kitchen yard. Pushing it open a crack, he glanced out. Only two men occupied the kitchen yard: a single man-at-arms and a hobbit. Ghem decided to take his chances. Closing his hand around the meat cleaver in a white-knuckled grip, he threw the door open and bolted directly at the two in the yard. With a little luck, he could be past them both before either one of them had time to react. Lowering his head, Ghem charged forward, his shoulder pointed directly into the middle of the man-at-arms’ chest. He hit him with resounding thud, knocking him off his feet and knocking the wind out of him. Leaping over his momentarily prostrate figure, Ghem pelted off as fast as he could for the open space beyond the stable. The hobbit made a grab for his leg as he passed, but a swipe of the meat cleaver at the hobbit’s arm seemed to make the halfing think twice. Ghem didn’t wait to see if the blow had actually hit its mark. He lowered his head and ran, flinching almost immediately as a rather large stone sailed past him, frighteningly close to his left ear.

As Ghem made his sudden break for freedom out the back door, the standoff in the kitchen broke as well. Ulric and Withold, dragging the two women with them, made their move for the door. Ulric, the first through the door, found himself face-to-face with the man-at-arms that Ghem had flattened on his way past. The man had recovered his feet and, although still gasping for breath, raised his sword, pointing it at Ulric. Silently cursing Ghem for his treachery, Ulric tightened his grip on Rowenna. His dark eyes studied his antagonist shrewdly, trying to get feel for what sort of man he was, what sort of strategy would be most effective against him.

Behind him in the kitchen, chaos erupted. Ulric startled as Withold came flying out the door backward and landed sprawling on his back at the bottom of the steps, his hostage on top of him, and a burly and roaring madman on top of her. Withold’s knife flew out of his hand, disappearing somewhere in the area of the woodpile. Completely ignoring the girl trapped between them, the madman had grabbed Withold by the throat and was choking the life out of him, while at the same time pounding Withold’s head against the packed dirt of the path. Withold, in a desperate attempt to save himself, had let go of the girl and groped with one hand for his attacker’s throat. The other hand threw violent punches at the man’s face, but landed very few blows, as the servant girl still squirmed and screamed between them.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine

“We are leaving through that door," Ulric growled. "The first of your men to move against us will bear the death of this woman on his soul, for I will plunge this knife into her throat. The second man will bear the death of that young woman.” He nodded toward Withold and the serving girl. “Blood will be spilled, but the first blood will not be ours. It will be that of the ladies.”

This Ulric was clever, whatever else he was. Eodwine glanced at his men, each taking his cue from him. Tight lipped, he shook his head, continuing to hold his weapons still before him. It was Eodwine's first duty to Randvér, Ginna's father, that the girl survive, even if it meant that the outlaws escaped.

Two things are clear, Eodwine thought as he watched the three scoundrels begin to make their way out the Alder Court door, this Eorl's Hall needs a real dungeon and more men at arms. He would see to them both on the morrow.

Ghem was out the door. Eodwine hoped that someone was there to stop him.

Two more pairs of lumbering runners were coming up the hallway. First came Garreth. He still had on his linked chest plate that he had made for himself, not having had a chance to take it off since the skirmish at the ruins. Eodwine widened his eyes and tried with his mobile face to get the big smith's attention. Garreth stopped and took stock; it seemed that in the heat of battle was the only time he had sense; in the heat of words one never knew what would come from him. So Eodwine was thankful that Garreth was showing caution. He nodded to Eodwine and stood in place.

Ulric, Rowenna captive in front of him, passed out the door.

Next came Harreld, also still wearing his chest plate. He stopped right behind Garreth, took one look at the outlaw and captive still in the room, and his eyes went red. He roared and pushed Garreth out of the way. He failed to draw his sword and ran full tilt at Withold and Ginna. Both captor's and captive's eyes went wide as Harreld bore down on them both.

"No!" Eodwine yelled, to no avail, and rushed forward in Harreld's wake. Next moment, Harreld had both captive and captor sprawling beneath him and backwards through the door. Ginna screamed. Had she been wounded by Withold's knife? Eodwine so no blood. But the doorway was blocked.

Eodwine looked over his shoulder. Stigend, Garwiné and Garreth stood behind him, waiting for instructions. Elborn could be seen passing through the back door out of the kitchen, Garstan right behind him.

"Garwiné and Garreth! Out the back! Follow Garstan! Stigend, your shoulder's a mess. Stay where you are."

~*~

Falco

"Blast the scrawny one!" Falco said as the smallest outlaw ducked just in time to miss his throw. He disappeared around the latrines. The dogs could be heard yammering at him, but no doubt they were of no avail, straining at their leashes.

Falco fingered his next stone. He would not miss twice. If only Thornden would keep out of the way! There was the big, black haired one. He was scowling at the one fleeing. Falco had his stone ready to throw. Suddenly there was a roar from the kitchen. The big brute looked back in surprise to see his fellow falling backward out the door, the new wench falling on top of him, also backward, with Harreld on top of them both! Good. The 'Big Trouble' had left his head in plain view, and the top of blonde girl's head only came up to his collar bone. Falco aimed and threw. The brute fell like a toppled tree. The girl struggled free of his loosened grasp and fled to the tree which she stood behind, waiting to see what would happen next. Thornden drew his sword and stood over the felled outlaw.

Meanwhile, the remaining outlaw's face was turning purple under Harreld's death grip.

"Harreld!" It was Eodwine yelling from inside the kitchen. "Harreld Smith! Your man is down!" Falco could see Eodwine's sword at the ready.

The blacksmith seemed to come to his senses and looked at Ginna, struggling beneath him.

"Oh! Your pardon, miss, I forgot about you." He went red in the face and got up off the girl and the outlaw. Ginna scrambled to her feet, apparently none the worse for wear, though she was shaking from head to toe. The outlaw lay on his back, coughing, Eodwine's sword at his throat.

[Lhunardawen]

Ginna trembled horribly as she got up to her feet. At any other time she would have felt thoroughly embarrassed to be in the position she had found herself in moments earlier, but then she probably would not have been a mere inch from certain death. Absentmindedly brushing dust off herself, she looked up at Harreld and saw the redness in his face, and the concern in his eyes. Ginna opened her mouth, completely meaning to thank him for saving her life, but before she knew it she had thrown herself at Harreld and began sobbing on his chest.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and her shoulders heaved violently, and she felt Harreld, after a bit of hesitation, lightly place an arm around her. She did not care that she might have looked like an utter fool, or that the yard was hardly the place to break down, especially with some men of the Hall and her captor just around her. The trauma she had endured was simply too much.

"Harreld," she heard Eodwine say beside her, "bring Ginna back to the kitchen."

The smith's chin brushed against the top of her head as he nodded, and this seemed to rouse Ginna. She quickly tore herself away from Harreld and walked towards the outlaw's knife, which she had seen fall earlier.

"Ginna!" Eodwine called sternly, but the girl heard nothing but the pounding in her ears. She crouched down beside the lying outlaw, placing his own knife against his throat.

[Nogrod]

Even if lord Eodwine had particularly told Stigend to stay where he was he followed the eorl and Garstan to the Alder court. He saw two of the brutes captured but didn’t see Ghem anywhere.

"Bring Ginna back inside. Modtryth and the boys are upstairs, let her stay with them." Stigend heard lord Eodwine tell the smith. Upstairs… Modryth and the kids…

“Falco? Thornden? Has either of you any idea where that third one went?” he asked trying to hide the anxiety that had just taken over him.

“Well he ran for his life I can tell you… through the paddock. But where he got then I don’t know as I had this other one to fell.” the hobbit answered and smiled at Stigend while pointing at Ulric who laid on the ground stunned.

Stigend was just about to open his mouth and ask lord Eodwine whether they should check the stables and the hall itself just to be sure when he heard the eorl calling Ginna loudly. The girl had a knife on Withold’s throat. Modtryth and the kids… it’s now.

Stigend made the decision in an instant and ran straight through the Alder court and in to the hall from the door that was opposite the kitchen door. Lord Eodwine would have other things in his mind for a while and Stigend just had to find out that Modtryth and the kids were safe from Ghem.

The hall was quiet and Rilef’s mutilated body laid on the table in the flickering firelight. The only noises were the cricks and cracks from the great fireplace. It looked pretty macabre. Stigend crept silently to the residential wing and listened closely. To his great relief there were no sounds of a brutal outlaw who would wish to take hostages out from women and children. Coming near to the door that lead into the yard he stopped and took the last few steps even more carefully and peeked out. Everything around the stables seemed quiet as well.

He backed a step away from the door. But what next? Lord Eodwine would have enough men to handle the two brutes so he was not needed there… indeed Eodwine had kind of dismissed him from duty because of his shoulder. That made things easier. But if Ghem was still around would he just try to steal a horse or would he have some other plans? Stigend gave it a thought. It was more probable that Ghem would try to steal a horse than to creep into the hall itself. So he should go to the stables quietly and lay an ambush on him. But leaving this position where he literally stood between any intruders and Modtryth and the kids would leave them into a more vulnerable position… Of course it was also possible that Ghem was already a mile away taking his first breather somewhere far enough.

For a moment Stigend just stood there in the dimly lit corridor of the residential wing and peeked out occasionally to the stables. It was quiet everywhere. He could of course go back to the Alder court and ask lord Eodwine to order someone to help him and thence secure the residential wind and the stables both... but he would not leave his wife and the kids unprotected anymore now as he stood there in watch already... and he now knew how vile creatures these outlaws could be.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld

Harreld felt his face go hot, like it always did when he did something foolish. He wished that he could catch himself before he did the foolish things, but it just wasn't in him; especially when lovely young ladies were near. Like Ginna.

Suddenly she was hugging him, burying herself against him, crying into his chest. That couldn't be very comfortable as her face had to be smearing against his unburnished chest plate armor. Once he got over the shock, Harreld decided that he really liked it that she had given herself over to her tears, on his shoulder. Tentatively he laid his heavy arms on her small shoulders. He could smell her hair! That was nice.

Eodwine told him to bring Ginna to the kitchen. He was about to do so when Ginna broke away from him with a cry. Next thing he knew, she had the nasty outlaw's little knife to his own throat.

"Ah, Ginna, I - you - I mean - don't hurt the m - I mean -"

~*~

Rowenna

Rowenna watched as the young cook acted out her selfish passion. Let the youngster flail and brandish if she chose. She had never had to endure worse, it was clear. Maybe she was spoiled, maybe not. These men, let them talk her out of hurting Withold. For Rowenna's part, it didn't much matter whether the girl imposed swift justice now, or if the Eorl did so on the morrow. Withold surely deserved to die, not least for what he had done to Rowenna - more often than she cared to remember. She had half a notion to go to the girl and take the knife from her and plunge it into the rogue's throat herself. Ah, but that would be folly. Wait and see. The girl was a firebrand, saying or doing the first thing that came to mind, whether it helped or not. The big blacksmith was taken with the girl, sure enough. That was useful to know as well. And Ghem seemed to have gotten away. Rowenna would be free to make whatever life she could here at the Eorl's hall. But she would have to make sure to undo any damage this Ginna had done by declaring that Rowenna was "one of them". She didn't think it would be very hard to find her way clear of that; after all, the girl was a hot head.

Now, where had that Elborn got off to? She had seen him in the kitchen, but that had been the last time. Surely he should have come to the alder court by now? Had he gone around the outside of the kitchen? Surely there had been enough time for that?

~*~

Eodwine

"Ginna," interrupted Eodwine, "put the knife down. Do not harm him in your ire and become no better than he. My word is law here, and I will see that he is given a just punishment."

Still Ginna hesitated.

"Ginna! Ginna Randvér's Daughter! Do as I say!"

Ginna had kept her eyes on the knife as if she had been contemplating the deed. Her angry eyes and tear stained face came up and she looked at Eodwine, but the knife still stayed on the outlaw's throat.

"Ginna," said Harreld tentatively, "y- you don't really want to do that. Let me take you away from here."

[Lhunardawen]

"Ah, Ginna, I - you - I mean - don't hurt the m - I mean -"

The girl took no heed of Harreld's bumbling. Just the slightest movement of her hand, and justice would be served. Ginna knew it was not her responsibility, but they did not know what it was like to have their life entirely in the wrong hands. They did not feel the uncontrollable urge to fight back, life for life, the moment an opportunity came . . .

"Ginna, put the knife down. Do not harm him in your ire and become no better than he. My word is law here, and I will see that he is given a just punishment."

But what if he escaped? One of them had already done so. Better now that he was helpless, before he got the chance to regain with words the life he was about to lose . . .

"Ginna! Ginna Randvér's Daughter! Do as I say!"

I am not his daughter. Randvér's daughter would not have been easily subdued. Her father . . . her father would hear of this, and what would he think? Would he not be proud if she made up for her initial cowardice with this act of bravery?

She hesitantly looked up at Eodwine, keeping the knife in place. There was still a chance. One push, and all would be over for the outlaw. Surely Ginna's punishment would not be equal to the wrong she was about to commit.

"Ginna," Harreld spoke suddenly, "y- you don't really want to do that. Let me take you away from here."

Her eyes turned to the blacksmith, fully expecting to meet pity in his. There was none; as at first it was filled with concern, now to overflowing. Perhaps it was the confidence in his voice, perhaps even the fact that for the first time he had not turned red in speaking to her, but Harreld had won her over. Ginna slowly stood up, walked over to the Eorl, and placed the knife in his outstretched free hand.

Harreld approached her and, with more courage now, it seemed, again placed his arm about her. She was about to let him guide her back into the kitchen when a movement to her right, behind the tree, caught her attention. Ginna cast a smouldering glance at Rowenna.

"Lord," she said to Eodwine, "do not forget her."

Overcome suddenly with weariness, she suffered herself to be led away by Harreld, leaning heavily against him.

[Nogrod]

Standing near the door at the residential wing Stigend got a new idea. Where’s Leof? I haven’t seen him… He might still be in the stables. Now if he’s there and doesn’t know that there is a possibility of an outlaw creeping in… But at the same moment he heard a sound of quiet footsteps from the direction of the hall. He was in full alert in a second. No one would come through the corridor, at least silently… If anyone was just coming in they would come the straightest way through the nearest door and they would not have to move quietly. And in no way had the eorl and the others had time to already tie-up and lock the outlaws yet… and even then they would not come in this silently…

In distress he crept quietly away from the door and moved towards the hall. There was indeed someone moving quietly in the hall. Stigend tried to peek in but saw no one. Sweat was pouring down his face from both excitement and fear. He would not wish to meet Ghem again as he seemed to have been a cunning and able fighter compared to his one and half years training with the men-at-arms and the occasional fights with drunken brutes who had scorned his wife or son. And not less because his left arm felt quite lame now… there was no feel in it anymore to be frank. How bad is it indeed? … I need to check it… later, he thought to himself and still crept forwards to the door separating the hall from the residential wing. But if it was Ghem… he’d surely face him rather than letting him drag Modtryth or the kids with a knife in their throats like his friends had done to Rowenna and Ginna. The image of that filled his mind with horror and anger.

The steps were coming closer.

Stigend raised his chip-axe and made for a better position in relation to the door. For Modtryth and the kids then … ¤%&?# Stigend cursed in his mind as the sudden movement sent pain radiating all around his body from his left shoulder. It’s not senseless then…, he frowned to himself.

The steps stopped. It was quiet. Someone... whoever it was had heard his movent.

Stigend would wait for no longer. He paced to the doorway and called loudly: “Who is it?” His axe was ready to deal a blow to anyone threatening his wife or son… or Garstan’s children for that matter.

[Folwren]

Thornden stood at the ready above one of the outlaws. The man was not completely senseless. He lay partially propped up on his left elbow. His right hand was pressed against his bleeding forehead as he stared at his companion, just a few feet away.

Thornden was looking at the other outlaw, too, and Ginna, as he listened and watched carefully. He said nothing as Eodwine ordered and Harreld advised Ginna not to kill him. He kept his own thoughts and words to himself. He would hold no sway over Ginna and her actions and would only complicate the matter. But it would be a foolish thing if she killed him like that. Foolish and dishonorable.

Finally the girl stood up and placed the knife in the Eorl’s hand. “Lord,” she said, before going. “Don’t forget her.”

Thornden turned and looked in the direction that Ginna glanced. Rowenna stood by the tree, looking on from a little distance. He didn’t understand and turned again to Eodwine and the rest in time to see Ginna and Harreld making off towards the door at the wing of the hall.

“What shall I do with them, lord?” Thornden asked after they had gone. “I can put them in the cellar where they were before and stay and guard them, if you would be satisfied with that.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine knew what he wanted, and Thornden's quesiton prodded it from him.

"Tie them up tight, then search them over. I want no trick locks or blades or any such on them anymore. Then put them back into the downstairs closet, and work out a change of guard. They are not to be left alone.

"Where's Léof? I want him to ride to Meduseld and give warning of our escaped outlaw so that the King can make any plans he sees fit."

"I'll go find him," Falco offered.

Harreld was walking Ginna to the doors leading to the kitchen, and had the door opened when Garreth growled, "Now how is it my brother finds a young lady to cotton up to and I'm left standing here all alone?" Then he raised his voice. "Ginna girl, have you a twin? A sister? A cousin?"

Harreld turned and faced him, red as a beet. "Stow it, Garreth! Leave off with your jokes until a more jesting time!" With that he closed the door behind him with a bang.

"I wasn't joking," Garreth muttered.

"There's always the former captive lady," Falco pointed out.

Eodwine winced. Had these fellows no sense of propriety? "Falco, go find Léof. Now! Garreth, I think you've earned yourself a drink. Get you to the Hall where you will be served!" With those two gotten rid of, only the Eorl and his two men at arms remained, except for Rowenna, leaning now against the alder tree.

"How do you fair? Are you hurt?" Eodwine asked.

She shook her head. "They threatened my life often enough, one more time does not unnerve me." She paused and looked at the door through which Ginna had passed. "The girl, Ginna. She thinks wrong of me."

Eodwine had not forgotten Ginna's words. "She said that you were one of them. Why?"

"When they had us both by the knife I said things that I thought might give us a few more moments of life, and she took them as if I was allied with them."

"What did you say?"

"I suggested to them that they had not died because I had your ear. I needed to make myself of value to them in any way I could, or they might have killed me. It is how I have survived among them."

"Is that all you said?"

Rowenna paused, then shook her head. "Nay. I also suggested that they might make use of her as they-" she paused again and looked away at nothing in particular "-as they had used me. I did not mean them to. They were just words." She faced him again, her eyes pleading. "You have to believe it! Liars are quicker to believe a lie than the truth."

"Was there anything else you said?"

Rowenna looked at him, her eyes shining. She swallowed. "Yes. I tried to get her to hand over the knife she held. I feared for her life as long as she held it, for they might have tried to use it against her. I admit that I spoke harshly."

"So you made yourself seem an enemy to her."

"Yes, lord. For her good."

"Is there anything else that you said?"

She shook her head. "Nay, lord. There was nothing else."

Eodwine said nothing, but held her eyes. She did not look away. He had kept his own face clear of all warmth, for he did not want her to think that he regarded her with sympathy, even though he did. She needed to be examined in her words, for he did not know her. None of them did. She still held his eyes. She was strong, and had clearly been made so by the dire circumstances of her recent life with these scoundrels. It made Eodwine's blood boil, for he could well imagine the evil to which they had put her.

"Very well. We will talk of this more later." He turned to Thornden and Garwine, who had listened to this exchange with great attention. "Take the prisoners down to the cellar. And tomorrow we begin work on a real dungeon!"

[Firefoot]

Léof was starting to wonder if he and Thornden had not simply made something up out of nothing. There had been a couple of shouts earlier, but since then he had heard little else and seen nothing.

Of course, if something had happened, it was also rather doubtful that he would find much in the residence wing, where Thornden had told him to check. Dutifully, he had checked both the down- and upstairs, finding nothing. As he was again heading downstairs, he heard a voice coming from the opposite end of the hall. As he came into sight, he spotted Stigend, axe at the ready.

“I don’t think there’s anyone except me around here,” Léof offered. “I’ve checked both floors.”

Stigend did not appear convinced. “Could someone have come in while you were upstairs?”

“Well, I suppose so,” answered Léof, becoming increasingly confused by Stigend’s manner. “What’s happened?”

Before Stigend could answer, however, the door behind him opened and he whirled around, axe held high. Whoever it was that Stigend expected did not appear; rather, Falco emerged from the door. He seemed not to notice Stigend at all, for his gaze went straight to Léof, who by now had come down from the staircase. “There you are!” Falco said. “Eodwine wants you to take a message to Meduseld.”

“What’s happened?” Léof repeated, more urgently this time.

“You haven’t heard? One of the outlaws has escaped!”

“Just one?” asked Léof.

“We caught the rest of them again,” Falco explained impatiently.

“Right,” Léof replied, still absorbing this information as he headed for the stables. Fortunately he had not yet had time to put away his saddle and bridle and both were still right outside Æthel’s stall. He quickly replaced them onto his horse and led her out into the courtyard to find out if Eodwine wanted him to report anything other than the brief details Falco had given him.

[Folwren]

“Take the prisoners down to the cellar,” Eodwine said, turning to Thornden. “And tomorrow we will begin work on a real dungeon!”

Thornden bent at once to obey, pulling the Ulric up onto his feet. Garwine followed his example, prodding Withold to stand. They took them back through the kitchen and down again into the cellar. There, Thornden shoved his man into the corner and then he stooped and picked up the cut ropes. They were cut in only one place and would work again, for now. Thornden would come back with new ropes to take their place shortly.

While he bound the outlaw's hands and feet again, his thoughts whirled bitterly about in his brain. ‘Dolt!’ he called himself viciously. ‘It’s your own fault for not searching them! Clumsy fool that you are! You might have known they had hidden weapons on them! You’re fortunate Eodwine said nothing to you. You’d deserve it, you would, if he yelled properly at you.’ He tugged furiously on the rope, tightening it harshly, and Ulric grimaced.

“Both the women might’ve been killed,” Thornden went on, half aloud and through gritted teeth. “Both of them! And it’s all you’re careless doing. Garwine!” he snapped suddenly.

“What!” Garwine replied, a little startled.

“Sorry,” Thornden apologized, turning from Ulric. “Have you got your man bound?”

“Yes.”

“Then go ahead and search him as lord Eodwine instructed.” ‘And as I should have instructed earlier today,’ he added to himself. For a minute, there was silence as the two men searched the outlaws. They searched them as thoroughly as they knew how, coming out with nothing.

When they were through, Thornden and Garwine left the cellar, once more closing and locking it behind them. Thornden left Garwine alone at the door and went up, intending to find other men and working out a change of watch, as Eodwine wished. He intended on having two men there at a time, and on having both men wide awake at any hour of the day, until the outlaws were gone.

[Kath]

Even as everyone else disappeared from the table bearing the broken body of Rilef, Kara remained there still, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her. From a young age she had been schooled to believe that death was a natural and necessary part of life, but not death like this, needless and dealt by vicious hands. Finally she closed her eyes and turned from the table, fully intending to make her way back to the kitchen, but as she opened her eyes again she felt hot tears spring to them and instead made her way out of the Hall, looking for somewhere quiet to shed her tears in private.

Frodides meanwhile had been picking herbs in the little garden behind the kitchen, hoping to give Ginna and Kara time to get to know each other. It was no good having two girls in a kitchen if they didn't get on or there would be jobs done half heartedly as one would think the other should be doing it. No, she thought to herself, best to let them hammer out any issues now rather than later. And with that sage advice she had gracefully settled herself onto one of the benches out the back and tilted her head back in the sun.

Which was exactly how Kara found her a little while later, having grieved as much as she needed to at that moment. The sight of Frodides snoring gently, completely unaware of the sad event that had taken place, brought a smile to her face and it was with sorrow that she reached out a hand to wake her up. For however peaceful she might look Kara knew that her temper would soon be up if she was allowed to nap the afternoon away.

"Frodides?" She said quietly, shaking the older woman's shoulder.

"What?" Was the frighteningly immediate response.

"I'm sorry, I thought I should wake you. There's something - "

"Wake me?" Frodides didn't give her a chance to finish. "How can you wake a person if they're not asleep? I was resting my eyes that's all, giving you and that new girl some time alone. Haven't fallen out already have you?"

"No, but - "

"Well that's a blessing. Now so long as some fine fellow doesn't come along and get the two of you fighting over him we should all be happy!" She stated, a frown of disapproval crossing her face at the thought of it. "Now, what is this something that was so important?"

Haltingly Kara told her of what had happened and almost broke down again herself as she watched Frodides' normally stoic face fall. She was one who naturally allowed her emotions to show but Frodides kept things to herself, so to see such pain and bewidlerment on her face was startling.

"Why would they do such a thing? Those two were no threat to anyone that was clear enough." She asked, and though no answer was expected Kara gave one anyway.

"I don't know. Lord Eodwine has locked them up inside I think, perhaps he'll question them."

"Locked up? Here? But there's nowhere safe to put them and there are young children about! Come on girl," she said, leaping to her feet with far more agility than Kara would have given her credit for, "let's go see what solution has been found."

Kara followed, hoping that Frodides wasn't about to barge in and rip into poor Eodwine before he had a chance to deal with the outlaws, but as they reached the kitchen she found herself worrying a great deal less about that and more about Ginna, who was currently being helped onto a stool by Harreld and looked decidedly the worse for wear.

"What in the world happened to you?" Frodides apparently agreed, and was taking the direct approach to getting answers. A few moments later and she had the full story, reported by a very shaky Ginna and a distracted Harreld, and it was clear to all that she was now on the warpath.

"Right. Kara, you stay here and keep an eye on young Ginna here, she needs no more excitement today so I want you both to stay out of harms way. You, Smith, where's Eodwine?"

"In the courtyard, or he was last I saw him." Came the reply, and Frodides marched off in that direction, muttering to herself as she rehearsed what she was going to say when she found Eodwine. However, when she finally came upon him talking to another girl who didn't look as well as she might, she had come up with nothing better than:

"My lord, just what exactly has been going on? I find one of my girls in tears and the other telling a tale of being an inch away from death! How did this happen? And what happened to my kitchen? It's a mess!"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine stared at Frodides with thinly veiled ire. In most cases he was able to greet each new challenge as it came with, he liked to think, a gallant and generally happy bent of mind. But having not enough men and murderers almost escaped and having almost killed his charge, had renewed that itch that bugged him now and again, that he was not up to the task for which the King of the Eorlingas had set him. So his tone was more bitten off than he liked, but he could not seem to control it.

"Murderers were kept in the cellar. We have no dungeon. They tried to escape through your kitchen. Make me a list of the repairs needed and I will see that they are done."

Frodides' eyes had strayed to Rowenna.

"She was their captive and is now free. See that she is fed and any other needs met. I must see to finding more men at arms to defend this Hall."

With that, Eodwine turned on his heel and made his way into the Great Hall, then to the courtyard, with his eye on the stables. Léof was standing by his horse, seemingly ready to depart.

"Léof!" Eodwine called curtly. "Where are you off to!"

[Firefoot]

Entering into the courtyard, Léof had initially been disappointed and rather frustrated to find Eodwine nowhere in sight. He had been given the bare bones of a message, and no information about Eodwine’s whereabouts; would it really be so hard to tell him just what was going on around here?

He had only been standing there for a few seconds before Eodwine emerged from the Hall, somewhat alleviating Léof’s ill will. He had not been forgotten, then.

But just as he was about to ask what Eodwine needed for him to do and say, he was cut off by Eodwine’s curt question: “Léof! Where are you off to?”

He felt quite taken aback by the lord’s tone; it was his orders that he was following, after all! Unless Falco had been playing with him? But Léof thought it an unlikely thing for the hobbit to do.

“Falco told me that you wanted me to take a message up to Meduseld, sir,” he replied, managing to keep most of the reproach out of his voice. “Since the stables were on the way, I thought I would get my horse before coming out here to hear the details of your message. Have I done wrongly?”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine

Eodwine came to a full stop and closed his eyes tight, wincing.

"Nay," he said heavily, his eyes still closed, "you have not done wrongly." He opened his eyes and heaved a deep and unrefreshing sigh. "I am overwrought with too many things at once and forgot my order to Falco. Where is the misfit, anyway?" Eodwine looked from side to side as if expecting Falco to emerge from underneath one of the stones loose in the courtyard.

"Misfit!" cried a shrill voice from the stables. "I'll fit you with a miss!" Falco emerged, walking swiftly and full of vim toward Eodwine and Léof. "I carried out your order, and thought I'd keep a lookout in the stables while the boy was away."

"Very well, leave off," said Eodwine peevishly, "I've somewhat more for Léof to say to the King or his man." He turned to Léof. "Tell Meduseld of our adventure with the outlaws. Tell the tale as best you can, if you choose. But tell them that the scrawny one of the three, one Ghem by name, is escaped and at large. And put word out that the Eorl of the Middle Emnet seeks men at arms who will be well rewarded. Have you any questions, Léofric?"

Rowenna

Rowenna did not really want to go back into the kitchen, not with Ginna there. She did not dislike the girl, but she felt unready. She had survived two years of captivity by being ready for anything, and here she was, unready to share space with a girl because of mere spite.

What is wrong with you, 'Wenna? she asked herself, using her late father's endearment for her.

The Eorl's questioning had unnerved her. Worse, she was rattled by being so unnerved! Not that she had answered poorly. She thought that she had answered well, using the truth, for it would best serve. What nagged her was that she had felt so strongly the need to be believed by this man.

For two years she had not cared whether she was believed or not. Sometimes an outlaw's trust was more danger to her than his distrust, depending upon the situation. But never had she wanted so badly to be believed. Why was that, she wondered? But she could not think of an answer.

[Firefoot]

“No, sir,” said Léof. Tell the tale – Ghem escaped – men at arms needed. Got it. And he took his leave, mounted his horse, and rode off towards Meduseld. His reproach for Eodwine had all but faded, seeing how worn Eodwine had appeared for those few moments. Responsibility seemed to ride heavily on his shoulders, at times like these, but he was still, no doubt, the most lordly man he had ever met.

Of course, that may be about to change, with him taking a message to the king himself. Léof started at the thought, and at his stiffened body Æthel halted in the middle of the road, drawing a curse from the man behind him. Jolted back to his senses, he nudged Æthel forward again, calling, “Sorry, sir” back over his shoulder.

It was obvious now – he couldn’t believe the thought hadn’t occurred to him before, although he had been more focused on the message than its place of delivery. Of course “to Meduseld” meant “to the king.” But he was hardly in any shape to go before a king! His clothes were both dusty from the stables and smudged with dirt from the battle. Perhaps he would not go before the king himself – but he rather doubted it.

Well, Eodwine thought he was fit for the job, anyway. That would be sufficient.

It was not a long ride, and at the top of the hill Léof left Æthel and ascended the broad steps up to the doors of the hall with growing trepidation. At the top he was stopped by the door warden. “What is your name, and what business do you have with the king?”

“I bring a message from Eodwine, Eorl of the Middle Emnet. I am Léofric, his ostler.”

“Very well, then. Have you any weapons?”

Léof spread his arms. “None.”

And the great doors to the hall opened, and Léof was permitted to enter. The long hall was unlike anything Léof had ever seen before, and only with effort did he keep himself from gawking once his eyes had adjusted to the dimmer interior. At the other end of the hall he stopped at what he deemed an appropriate distance from the two seated figures of King Éomer and his queen.

He was much relieved when the king spoke first, relieving him of the need to find something to say. “Greetings to you, Léofric. What message do you have?”

He found himself speaking before he even had time to wonder how his name had gone ahead of him so quickly. “It is more of a tale than a message, lord,” he began, and at Éomer’s gesture to continue, he began the story. He was no bard, he held the interest of all there as he told the story of Rilef’s arrival, and Eodwine’s venture out into the country, and the outlaws and the battle. The final part he was forced to skim over, since he only knew the barest details himself: “After locking the three remaining outlaws in the cellar, somehow they escaped, and while two have now been secured again, the one called Ghem has escaped into the city. It is this that the Lord Eodwine wishes you to know, and that he wishes word to be put out that he seeks more men at arms who will be well rewarded so that such a problem will not occur in the future.”

[littlemanpoet]

The king shifted in his seat.

"Léofric, tell me what Lord Eodwine has done with the lands formerly held by the coward that took my wife's niece captive for ransom."

"I know of nothing, my king," Léof said in confusion.

"It is as I thought," the king growled. "Tell him I want to see him here before sundown tomorrow. Also, I will send a half dozen men with you. Have Eodwine board and room them for the night, and return with them in the morning."

[Firefoot]

“Yes, my king. I will tell him,” Léof answered, bowing. King Éomer then gestured another man forward, a guard, Léof thought, and he took that as his dismissal. He turned and walked again the distance of the hall, this time hardly noticing the splendor of the place. He had not noticed his own tenseness as he spoke; telling his tale to the king had felt strangely natural. But now that the whole affair was over with, Léof felt rather shaky, and he thought that if he should stop walking his limbs might cease to support him. He concentrated on taking deep breaths as he walked, and by the time he left the hall and descended the steps, he felt strong enough again to lift himself into Æthel’s saddle.

He was granted a few moments rest before the six promised guards arrived. One gestured for Léof to lead the way, and he did so, feeling mildly awkward with the guards following him. After all, an escort was meant either for someone important, a king or lord, or a criminal, and Léof, a simple ostler, was far from either of those things. Well, you were banished from your father’s house… Uncomfortable thought.

The ride could not have been short enough, and upon their arrival at the Mead Hall, Léof dismounted and left Æthel at the hitching post for the moment. He absently patted her neck in promise of a good brushing soon. He was confused for a moment about the guards – should he do something with them? – but with an internal shrug he decided he should simply find Eodwine and give him the king’s message.

He quickly found Eodwine inside the Great Hall and delivered the message word-for-word as nearly as he could remember it, then added, “I think the guards are still out in the courtyard.”

[littlemanpoet]

As he strode out of the Great Hall to the courtyard, Léofric at his heels. He could imagine the king's words.

"Has Eodwine done anything with that traitor Sorn's lands that I gave him?"

"No, oh king."

"Drat him! Tell him I want to see him and I want him to explain to me why he dallies. I gave him a command and I expect to be obeyed!"

A hard lump formed in Eodwine's gut. How was he going to explain this?

"Lord king, the man I asked to be my steward over Sorn's lands refused. There has been no one else worthy of the task."

"But I told you to move your entire household out there, not have a steward do it for you!"

The lump hardened.

Six horsemen had dismounted and were looking about the grounds dubiously. They're probably wondering how an old inn can hope to serve as a lord's mead hall, and they'd be right.

He knew the men. To his surprise, three of them were the very same he had thought of, Théogud, Alwalda, and Finnas, as those he wanted to recruit to his Hall. Maybe they had volunteered. It was a hopeful thought. The three others were Osbert, Bregwald, and Lowson. Of the three, Bregwald was elder and the leader of the others while the other two were also new to Meduseld.

Eodwine greeted them. It was getting on toward sundown and though none of the House had eaten, the outlaw Ghem still had not been found. Eodwine told Léof to ready his horse and join them in the search for Ghem.

"Lord," said Bregwald, "Do you know of a surety that the outlaw is not on these grounds?"

"Nay. He could be skulking about."

"Might we leave the ostler here then, in case he turns up? He could give warning."

The man had sense. Eodwine nodded and swallowed his pride that he had not thought of such a common sense thing himself. "It shall be as you suggest. Léof, let Thornden and the others know that the outlaw may still be on these grounds, and all of you are to search the whole of it until you are sure he is not here. I will go with the king's men to search the town."

With that, Eodwine mounted Flíthaf and the seven horsemen rode out of the courtyard.

[Folwren]

Lys followed Elfthain through the market, his sense of wonder at the place dulled after being so unnerved by the sight of something he held oddly dear to him.

Elfthain was warm and kept a friendly conversation going which comforted Lys greatly, but did not completely distract him from his thoughts.

That blanket was a key to his memories, but it was completely out of reach. Lys limped along silently, letting this thought eat away at the pit of his stomach.

Soon the afternoon drew out and the Lys began to wonder if he should be getting home. Tugging softly on Elfthain's sleeve, he gestured the boy to the orange sky and he too agreed it was time to be off.

Approaching the Hall Lys sensed from the expressions of those that busied themselves that something had gone wrong. Lys sped up his pace and began to look for people to question on what had happened. Most of all, he looked for Thornden.

Weaving his way through to the kitchen, he saw sombre faces. He began to ask whoever would stop to talk if they had seen Thornden. Eventually he was directed to the cellar.

----

Folwren’s Post

Thornden was pacing the cellar steps in front of the door where the outlaws were kept when Lys found him. He looked up as extra light flooded down onto him. “Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s me – Lys,” replied the boy, starting down towards him. “I wanted to find out what happened.”

“Well, where’ve you been that you don’t know?” Thornden asked somewhat shortly.

“I was out with Elfthain. We were in the market while you were gone saving the Eorl. Have I done wrong?”

Thornden looked at him. The boy stood directly before him now, staring up at him with quiet, unwavering eyes. “No, you have done nothing wrong. I’ll tell you what happened. . .” So, in the dimness of the cellar stairs, Thornden told Lys all that had taken place that afternoon. He told him merely the outward story, saying nothing of his own vexation about when the outlaws escaped and how bothered and rather alarmed he was at Javan’s disobedience.

“So, here I am now, guarding them until the end of this hour. Then I’ll be replaced with someone from Meduseld. Lord Eodwine sent Léof earlier to get help from there.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine sat at his desk in his room, the sun having risen not long ago, parchment, quill and ink ready to hand. The parchment lay blank before him, the inkless quill absently twirling in his hand. One month had passed since the adventures of the ruins, leading to the deaths of Rilef and the addition of Rowenna with the status of permanent guest. The outlaws Ulric and Withold had been hanged after a trial that had been hours long rather than the quick affair Eodwine had expected. One exchange that had stuck in his mind more than others came back to him now. Ulric had been given the right to speak. Speak, he did, standing bound hand and foot before Eodwine's Seat.

"Guilty you would find me, and a murderer I am. I deny it not. I'll be hanged on the morrow. But this woman-" he indicated Rowenna with a nod "-is guilty of every evil of my hand over the last year and more!"

Eodwine had looked at her then. Her expression was unchanged. She met his eyes unblinking, unwavering, unsmiling. Eodwine looked away, back at Ulric.

"This is a dire accusation. Explain your words."

"Aye, that I will," Ulric nodded. "We captured her and killed her family, and at first used her as we liked. But she was not the only woman we've had. Where are they all now, you may wonder? For they are gone. I will tell you. They are dead and food for crows, for she killed them to get rid of rivals. What's more, she murdered her own offspring, twice. And all that is nought laid beside this one thing, that all we have done over the past year and more has been because she thought it, said it, and convinced us to do it."

"How do you explain that I found her bound and guarded by your dogs?" Eodwine asked.

"Because she said to tie her up, for by being thought of as our captive in case things should go awry, she'd still be free and could get the rest of us free in case we were caught. And then she betrayed us. And why? Because she's an ambitious whore and likes better what she might get out of you set against the likes of me. And who do the dogs obey, by the by? Don't you see? She's the one who's led us. So if we die, so should she, and for the same crimes. That's all my say."

The Hall had been silent. Well it might be! Eodwine sat and pondered the man's words. Maybe he was lying baldly out of his hate. Maybe his words were the truth at last from a condemned man. There was no way to know. Rowenna would have to be heard. Eodwine had bidden her to speak to the charges. She had stood and spoken in an even tone, but all could hear her.

"I am accused of murder by a murdering rogue. Did I kill women? Yes, because they pitted us against each other, and it was kill or be killed. Did I kill my own babies, twice? Yes, because they forced me to, as they wanted me for their pleasure, and a baby at my breast would be a hindrance and a burden unbefitting of the whims of a band of outlaws. Did I make them their plans over the last year? Yes, in hopes of finding a way to be free of them. Pitted against the vile strength of a dozen evil men, I had to choose to be a slave until I died, or use what wiles I could to survive. So if I am to be accused, my crime is having done what I needed to do to survive."

"Lying witch!" Ulric said.

"Silence!"

She had spoken all these things without the merest glint of a tear in her eyes, not the merest quiver in her voice. Was she that cold? Or had she become so hardened by her life's trials? Was Ulric lying, or was Rowenna? Or were neither lying? Eodwine had a hunch that there was much that was being left unsaid, and he had spent the next hours questioning Ulric, Withold, and Rowenna to try and pry any of it loose, to no avail.

In the end, Ulric and Withold had hanged, and Rowenna had not. She had become a drudge for all of the least liked chores of the Hall, and had kept her peace uncomplaining. Today Eodwine expected to see her on her knees with a bucket of water and soap, cleaning the tiled floors yet again. He got up with a sigh and went down to break his fast.

[Folwren]

Javan’s eyes opened and he was instantly wide awake. The sun was fully risen and long shafts of light lay on the floor by the windows. Thornden was up already and getting dressed. Javan sat up and swung his legs out of bed.

“Today I get to return to the stables, don’t I?” Javan asked eagerly.

Thornden looked at him upon hearing his voice. “Yes,” he answered, quietly.

“Harrah!” cried Javan, leaping up out of bed.

“Pipe down, will you?” Thornden muttered. “It’s too early in the morning to be making such noise.”

Javan was quiet, but his face continued to shine with excitement as he reached for his breeches and pulled them on. He was out of the room before Thornden and bouncing down the hall towards the stairs.

The main hall was nearly empty when he made it there. He took no note of the people just yet as he ducked down the corridor to the kitchen. He needed to get breakfast first - just a quick one for now - and then he would head out to see Léof. He entered the kitchen and found Ginna and Kara working together at the table.

“G’morning,” Javan said. His eyes strayed to a basket full of newly baked bread. He could see steam rising from the small loaves. “Might I trouble you for some bread?”

“There’s some in the basket there. Take as much as you like,” Kara replied, nodding her head.

Javan moved forward quickly and gingerly picked up one of the small, round loaves. He broke it in half, drawing in breath through his teeth as his fingers felt like they were burning. He put half of it back and the other half, juggling from one hand to the next, he took away with him, thanking the two young cooks and hurrying out.

He went back up the hall towards the great hall. By the time he reached it, the bread had become cool enough to hold still. He nibbled cautiously at it while he cast his eyes about. Nothing struck his fancy except...

Javan grinned and he began to walk again, making his way across the floor quickly. Rowenna was on her hands and knees, working already with water and soap and a scrub brush.

“Away at it again, are you, Rowenna?” Javan asked. “Didn’t you just do this a couple days ago? Is it entirely necessary?”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna stopped and took the boy's rapid-fire questions as an opportunity to stretch her aching back and loosen the stiffness in her fingers from gripping the brush hard.

"I do as I am told. 'Necessary' is not for me to decide." She looked at him, studying him briefly. Javan, he was called, full of vigor and wrestlessness, like a young horse that does not like the bridle. "Go ask Frodides if it is necessary, if you like."

She picked up the brush in both hands, dipped it in the hot soapy water, and began scrubbing the floor again. She did not look up at the boy. If he chose to speak more, she would answer. If not, she would keep at her work.

At least she had a new dress, even if it was a handoff from Kara who, it just so happened, was the same size as Rowenna. And her hair was not a tangled mess anymore. It was almost an embarrassment to her how much these small things pleased her. But she told herself it was what they meant: she no longer fought for survival among outlaws.

She had been surprised at first how much of her thought and will had been taken up with the struggle to live and wheedle from Ulrich what she could. And now she could hardly help herself from discretely studying and weighing everyone around her, to see how the power was apportioned, who had it, who was angling for more, who was losing it. And she also found herself forming fantastic strategies as to who was the most useful, and how they could be used, to raise herself up into a position of power here.

She had discovered that Ginna, for example, was in a most strange position. Whereas her work was lowly, she was the Eorl's old friend's daughter, and so had more influence than it seemed, and more than the girl seemed to be aware she had if she only knew how to use it.

And then there was that Garreth. Twin of Harreld, Ginna's love interest, if that was what it could be called. And with Harreld so caught up with the girl, Garreth had cast about for anything with a skirt, and quickly settled on Rowenna. She rolled her eyes. His interest had been spoken in no uncertain terms. Her disinterest had at first been spoken as discretely as she knew how, but no avail, and by the time two weeks had gone by she had found it necessary to tell him straightly that he was not for her. Poor fool. She was a land holder's daughter and would not marry a blacksmith almost twice her age who would no doubt leave her widowed and at the mercy of whatever sons could keep her. No, she had bigger plans for her life, if she could bring them about.

And why could not Ginna see that leading Harreld on was no good? She was the same rank as herself, and her father would not grant such a union; it would be stooping too low. The girl was meant for a land holder like her father. Or better, if she could learn how to harness that wild horse of a temper of hers and use the strength of it to advance her own ends.

All these thoughts passed through her mind quickly, being rehearsed from earlier, and she glanced to see if the boy still stood there or had moved on.

[Folwren]

“Seems to me, if I was you, I’d say something,” Javan replied. “No, I’m not going to argue with the old, stuffy Fordides. She’s not my boss and I’m not that concerned about it. All the same, I think it’s awful mean of ‘em to give you the worst jobs of the lot. Why do they do it, d’ you suppose?”

Rowenna straightened and looked up at him again. Her lips were pressed together as she thought of a reply. But before it came forth, Javan went on.

“I’ll bet I know why.” He plopped to the ground beside her, folding his legs beneath him. His eyes were wide as he spoke. “It’s ‘cause you used to live with the outlaws, that’s what.” He nodded his head sagely. “They figure you don’t know how to do much else than slit throats and take care of yourself, so they have to keep you to simple work where’ve you no chance to murder no one. That’s why, I expect.” He took a bite of bread and before he could get it chewed and swallowed his quick, running mind came up with a question that he would dearly love answered.

“Was it exciting living with the outlaws? I saw you at the trial. You said you fought! And you’re only a woman! Did they bring in a lot of treasure and gold? They were cut-throats, weren’t they? Did they ever bring in heads?”

[littlemanpoet]

Listening to the boy rattle off his questions, Rowenna could not help raising an eye brow. She allowed a slight smirk to come to her lips; if she didn't she feared she would start to giggle. And that would not be very becoming at all for the kind of young woman she had worked hard to become. How to answer? Matter of factly.

"It was a hard life and one I do not wish to go back to. And yes, there were heads. Stuck on spears sometimes, sometimes left to lie about as food for wolves and worse."

A strange place to find a possible ally and friend, in the person of an uncontainable boy. Not that she would tell him any real secrets, for it was clear enough that he spoke whatever came into his head, closely guarded secret or not. And she would be a fool to ever tell him to do something for her that she didn't want found out. He wouldn't be able to keep it to himself. She told me to do it! Rowenna could well imagine. Still, it could be useful having such a one as a friend of sorts.

"But I do this work because I chose to. I asked Frodides for the hardest work." She paused. "You don't believe me, do you."

[Firefoot]

Léof had risen early as ever, stretching contentedly before dressing and pulling on his boots. A new day, but one that already promised to be not quite the same as the others. Today Javan would return to the stables to be his assistant after his month-long ban. As he considered this, he walked down the long stable aisle, checking on each of the horses in turn. As always, he stopped for a few extra moments at Æthel’s stall, rubbing her long face as he commented, “Up for a ride today, girl? Time to see what Javan is made of, hmm?” Perhaps it might have been better to wait a couple days so that Javan wasn’t quite so excited over his return to the stables, but the truth was that Léof felt like a good ride, and this was the perfect excuse to leave the Hall for a bit.

Rather than feeding the horses first as he normally did, he decided to head to the kitchens to get some breakfast for himself and find out if Javan was awake yet. He went by way of the courtyard and Great Hall, where he found Javan plunked down beside Rowenna, who was washing the floor. “Good morning,” he greeted them, walking over.

“Léof! Thornden said that I could go back to the stables!” Javan exclaimed.

Léof smiled. “Then you can help me feed the horses this morning,” he said, “just after I go get something to eat.” And with a polite nod towards Rowenna, he headed off to the kitchens.

[Folwren]

“But I do this work because I choose to. I asked Fordides for the hardest work.” Javan’s brows knit a little and Rowenna saw it. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Well. . .” Javan scratched his head a little. It wasn’t fully polite to doubt someone at their word, but. . .she didn’t seem like someone who expected everyone to be perfectly polite all the time. Not when she talked about heads being brought in on spears. Most women didn’t talk about that sort of thing. They’d sooner tell him to keep quiet and not ask. So, he answered truthfully. “Not exactly, no. Why should you ask for the hardest work? It doesn’t make sense! You don’t like scrubbing the floor. . .do you?”

Before she could answer, Léof came in at the front door and approached them. “Good morning!” he said, coming near.

“Léof!” Javan scrambled up to his feet. “Thornden said I could go back to the stables today!”

“Then you can help me feed the horses this morning. Just after I go get something to eat.” He nodded to Rowenna and made off. Javan’s face was lit with excitement. He turned back to Rowenna, grinning widely.

“I’m going to be working in the stables after today,” he said with great importance. “That’s what I like to do. I’ve always liked horses a great deal, and I can ride ‘em, too. You like horses, don’t you? Can you ride?”

[littlemanpoet]

Léofric came by and greeted them. Rowenna returned his greeting, using his full name as she always did with everyone. Javan was an excitable boy, to be sure. Rowenna wondered if Léofric was quite as eager to have Javan as Javan was to be Léofric's helper.

“That’s what I like to do. I’ve always liked horses a great deal, and I can ride ‘em, too. You like horses, don’t you? Can you ride?”

Rowenna smiled. "Yes. I had my own filly before -" she furrowed her brow "-before I was taken by the outlaws." She had been about to say 'before ... you know'; she had promised herself that she would never shy away from the memory of the horrors of her captivity, but she had almost done so, so soon. She realized with a little anger that she would have to force herself to think the hard thoughts and speak the hard words. The warm memories from earlier times must not be allowed to buffer her from the memory of rough hands using her roughly, evil words spoken to her. And the warm memories must not be allowed to soften her into easy chatter. She felt her face compose. To Javan it looked like she had been about to really be happy, only to shy away from it and become cold and stoney again.

"I did choose this work, believe it or not. I do this to remind me that I am an escaped slave and an orphan."

She held his eyes to see that her words sunk in, then gripped the brush, watered it in the bucket, and began scrubbing again.

[Folwren]

For a moment it looked like Rowenna was going to actually continue being companionable. Javan’s smile got a little wider and his eyes a little more eager as she told him she did once have a filly. Perhaps she would tell him what the young horse was like, what color she was, and what Rowenna had named her.

But no. Suddenly the happiness seemed to fade and her smile left not only her lips but also her eyes. Once more a hard line came up around the muscle in her jaw. She was composed, humorless, cold, and her talk went back to the job at hand.

“I did choose this work, believe it or not. I do this to remind me that I am an escaped slave and an orphan.” She looked at Javan with the look he’d often gotten from his mother or older sisters to make sure he understood something he didn’t want to understand.

“Well,” Javan said, a little ruffled at her behavior - her closing up like a clam shell. “Well, I don’t think that makes much sense. You’re not a slave any more, that’s what I think, and you shouldn’t act like one.”

She ignored him, seemingly, and went on scrubbing the floor, using both hands on the brush. “You shouldn’t look at the ground so much,” Javan told her. “And at people’s feet. You’re better than that. You can look people in the face now.”

[littlemanpoet]

A grim smile came to Rowenna's lips as she continued to scrub. To be told by a mere boy that one is not making sense was ironic. And of course it would appear that way to Javan. He did not understand how a moment - or many moments strung together without quarter - could change one with no going back. She did not mourn the change, for the last two years had made her strong of will and of mind in a way that could not have happened otherwise, except perhaps after many years. In a way she felt old. But she had thought of a way to explain it to Javan.

"Everyone is a slave, no matter how free. Even King Eomer may not do certain things, such as murder his queen, or forsake the Eorling vassalage to Gondor, or he will face the consequences. Everyone is a slave. You Javan are also a slave: is there not someone you dare not cross?

"And you are not making sense. If I am the murderess you say, then I cannot be "better than that", as you put it."

She was testing him, to see how much capacity for thought lay behind those sparkling eyes. He was too young to understand, of course, but she dared to hope that she might be surprised.

[Folwren]

A look of confusion passed over Javan’s face. It struggled with his conviction that he was right, and neither the expression of confusion nor the conviction won, rather that of angry annoyance.

“I’m not a slave!” Javan burst out. “Not to anyone, I’m not! I’m not afraid of anyone. Not - not Thornden or even lord Eodwine, that’s what. And I never said you were a murderess! I just said that the others might think you are. You never wanted to kill anyone! And I think that if you spent more time thinking about your present freedom and how jolly well you have it now and less time feeling sorry for yourself and what happened, you’d be much happier and you might not be stuck scrubbing stupid floors and breaking your back in menial tasks day in and day out.”

He aimed a kick at the bucket of water to illustrate his point. The blow was harder than he meant it, and the water sloshed violently as the bucket leaped sideways a foot. Most of it spilled, soaking Rowenna’s skirts.

Javan clapped his hand over his mouth in dismay. “Oh, golly,” he said in a much quieter tone. “I’m awfully sorry, Rowenna. I didn’t mean to make you wet. I’m so sorry. . .” He was kneeling again beside her instantly, pulling the bucket away and mopping the water up with the nearest cloth he could find. He stopped after a moment, appalled, realizing the cloth was Rowenna’s skirt. “I...” he blinked. How utterly unfortunate. She must think him a dunce. “I’m so sorry.”

[littlemanpoet]

He was just a child, of course. Rowenna's words had done what they were supposed to do, see what he was made of. And of course he revealed far more than he meant to. She jumped back when he kicked the bucket, but not enough to miss getting wet. She shook her head at his antics, now full of woe for his misdeed. He was more a slave than he could possibly understand, but it would do no good to explain that to him. Maybe some day he would break free of some of it, enough to choose his enslavements.

When he lifted the hem of her skirt in his hand and realized that his cloth was in fact her skirt, the look on his face almost made Rowenna lose control and fall into a fit of giggling again. Silly boy. She sighed, forced the smile off of her face, and spoke quietly.

"Javan, look at me." Slowly the boy raised his hanging head and met her eyes. "Come with me to the kitchen and ask Frodides for towels. I'll need to refill the bucket now. The water was getting too cold at any rate."

"But your skirt is all wet!" He was close to tears.

"What of it? Skirts dry after a while." She rose. "Come with me."

She led him down the hallway and to the kitchen, wondering about Javan's claim that she was feeling sorry for herself. It could not be right, but she found it hard to shake it from her thoughts.

~*~

Eodwine had been listening from around the corner. He had feared that he would be found out by Léof, but he had passed the other way also. Eodwine had been intrigued by the oddity of the boy striking up a conversation with the young woman that most everyone else left alone; she seemed to prefer being left alone. So when she had become almost conversational, Eodwine had been curious to find out what she would say to such a boy. Her replies had been strange, while Javan's had been exactly what one might expect from such a high spirited lad. Did Rowenna really view herself as an escaped slave and orphan? Doubtless, her two years among the outlaws had been harmful. But how much so? There was no way to know without having known her before it happened. Eodwine shrugged and came out of the shadows. He walked by the wet floor and followed the pair, some way behind now, toward the kitchen, to break his fast.

[Firefoot]

Léof was about halfway through his breakfast, enjoying the eggs and freshly baked bread and chatting lightly with Kara and Ginna. He knew neither of them particularly well, seeing as he was typically occupied on the opposite side of the Hall as either of them, although he was decidedly more comfortable with Kara, for the simple expediency that she was closer to both his age and background. He usually wasn’t quite sure what to make of Ginna, nobleman’s daughter that she was, and of quite a marriageable age. Léof figured that his own father would want to be rid of his sister long before then. He tried to stay away from that thought, and the guilty realization that he had thought less and less of his sister’s plight in the last weeks. It was easy to forget, with this new life of his going on all around him.

Just then, Rowenna trooped in with a very guilty-looking Javan trailing behind. There was a moment of shocked silence in the kitchen before Kara and Ginna were bustling after towels and Léof found enough of a voice to exclaim, “What happened? What did you do?” This last was aimed primarily at Javan in response to his expression, and Léof almost immediately regretted it; he wasn’t trying to cast accusations about; it had probably been a simple accident.

[Folwren]

Javan sent Léof a pitiful, rather pleading look. “I kicked the bucket of water and it spilled all over the place,” he said. “And then-” He stopped himself abruptly and blushed a deeper, more thorough shade of red. He nearly told them he had used Rowenna’s skirt to mop it up. Instead, he ducked his head to avoid any more of their looks, snatched two towels out of Ginna’s hands and turned to escape. He dodged out the kitchen door, preparing to launch himself into an immediate run, but his forward momentum was very suddenly stopped as he came into contact with the large and very solid body of lord Eodwine himself.

Javan stumbled back, a look of absolute horror rising to his face when he saw who it was he had nearly bowled over. “Lord Eodwine!” he gasped, but then he stopped. He turned his head sharply to look at Rowenna who was watching him. He swallowed. What had he said less than five minutes ago? ‘I’m not afraid of anyone...not even lord Eodwine.’

“I’m sorry,” he muttered without looking the eorl in the face and then he began to move forward, to pass him and to get out into safety.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine smirked. "Has Rowenna pawned off her drudge work on you then, Javan? I thought you were working with Léof."

The boy didn't answer. His head ducked lower and his shoulders rose higher as he stumbled down the hallway back to the Great Hall. Eodwine shook his head and sighed and made his way into the kitchen, where all eyes were suddenly upon him. Ah, he thought, the Eorl has arrived.

"Good morning, everyone. Has our humble kitchen turned into a fast breaking hall? Whatever happened to a good cooked breakfast?"

[Firefoot]

“It does seem that way,” Léof replied, but his mind was still more focused on Javan than Eodwine. How ever had he kicked over the bucket? Léof felt for him; it was bad enough that something like that would happen, but then it had to be made into a rather public spectacle. Javan would bounce back, though; he was cheerful enough – and the prospect of a ride would help.

He finished the last couple bites of his breakfast off and handed his plate off to Kara. Before he left for the stables, however, he turned to the Eorl. “Lord Eodwine?” Once acknowledged, he continued, “I’m going to be taking Javan out riding later today – I want to see where he’s at, since I did not have much of a chance when he started helping out the last time. At any rate, we’ll be out for a while.”

[Folwren]

Javan went out again to the main hall, his towels in hand. He resented those words of Eodwine’s, for no boy could bear such a jibing remark, however well deserved.

He came to the wet section of floor and dropped down to the ground to begin sopping up the water. He herded it gently all into one, round pool, and then made a valiant effort to get all of it dried up with his two towels. Much of the water from the bucket had been absorbed by Rowenna’s skirt and he finally managed to get it nearly all dried up. The towels were soaked through and dripped as he lifted them, wadded up in his two hands. The ground was streaked with droplets of water, but Javan could do nothing about that - his supply of dry cloth was out. Rowenna could easily get the rest.

He carried the dripping towels to the outer door and outside he wrung them until no more water would drip out.

As he returned inside, he saw Léof coming from the kitchen. “I’m about to take these back to the kitchen, Léof,” Javan said, hurrying forward. “Then are we going out to the stables?”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine told Rowenna to stop and break her fast. Kara and Ginna kept up a playful banter as
Kara kept the rashers and eggs and bread coming while Ginna kept the dishware and cutlery ready to hand. One by one the householders straggled into the kitchen. First came Falco, then Thornden, followed by Garstan, Garmund and Léoðern, then Stigend and Modtryth and Cnebba. The new men at arms had not yet wakened. It was just as well. Eodwine wanted his closest householders to know what was coming first.

Frodides came in, stretching and yawning, commenting on how right and proper it was that she should get a longer morning rest and let the youngsters take care of the easiest meal of the day.

Once everyone was busy with their food and drink, Eodwine broached his news.

"As you all know, I've been up to Meduseld often enough lately." The eyes of the others had drawn to him. "King Eomer has given me a decree and a command. The decree is that he's taking back the direct rule of Edoras. It is no longer part of the Middle Emnet."

"That don't make sense," Falco blurted. "How can you role your Eorldom from here if this ain't part of your lands?"

"An aptly put question," Eodwine replied. "The King's command is for me to move my seat of rule from Edoras. He has given me Sorn's lands to be my own."

"But that's some of the poorest land in the realm!" cried Garstan, who had had a first hand look when they had rescued Linduial, the niece of the Eorling queen, from the outlaw Sorn.

Eodwine nodded. "I am aware of that, of course. The King has commanded me to drain the marshes near Sorn's holdings, and every inch I can make to grow crops or feed cattle, is mine for the claiming. On either side of the Scar."

"Scar? What's that?" asked Falco.

"Its'a rocky spine that runs east to west across a small portion of the plains. It is of little use, but one cannot simply move entire hills one does not like. We shall have to see what can be done with them. At any rate, I've decided to call the place Scarburg. It seemed fitting. So it will fall to each of you whether you wish to stay here, at the White Horse Inn, or to come with me to Scarburg, for the King will let me keep this Inn, so that it may once again be a hostelry for travelers who are willing to pay for room and board. So that is hwo it is." Eodwine turned his attention to his cooling food, and took a few bites before the inevitable questions started coming.

[Firefoot]

Léof ran into Javan as he was leaving the kitchen. “I’m about to take these back to the kitchen, Léof,” he said. “Then are we going out to the stables?”

Léof nodded. “Yes – it’s time to see to the horses’ breakfasts. I’ll meet you out there.”

“Great,” said Javan, and they parted. Javan caught up to Léof shortly after he reached the stables, whether from reluctance to spend any more time than necessary in the kitchen or from eagerness to begin work again in the stables, Léof did not know. “Here’s what we need to do,” he began. “We’re going to feed them and fill their water pails first, and once they’re about done we’ll turn about half of them out into the paddock and muck out their stalls. We’ll do the other half when they go out later; it’s easier than individually removing the horses to do their stalls. You can start with the water pails… take each one out back and make sure it’s clean, then fill it up at the pump. Got it?”

Javan assented and was about to head off, but Léof couldn’t resist a teaser. “And, Javan? When we’re done, I have a surprise.” But he refused to say any more than that.

[Folwren]

Javan hurried off to do as Léof told him to do. He got two of the water buckets and hurried out to the pump to get fresh water. All the while, his head spun with excitement about the promised surprise. What could it be? He had begged Léof to give him a hint, but the hostler had merely shook his head, pressing his lips shut, and refused to answer with a single word. Javan had let off quickly, knowing the sooner he got his work done the sooner he would know.

In the mean time, though, he would guess what it would be. It could be a number of things, but he had no hints to start from. He worked in haste, and before very long, the watering was complete and he was in search of Léof.

“I’m done with the water,” he said when he found him returning from taking a horse out to the paddock. “Will you tell me what the surprise is now?”

Léof shook his head. “Just get a lead rope, Javan, and move these two horses out to the yard. One at a time. I’ll tell you what it is when we’ve completed the work.”

--
Thornden

In the kitchen, a short silence fell after Eodwine had given his news. Thornden pushed the few remaining bits of eggs about on his plate with his fork. He looked up and cast a critical eye about the kitchen, looking at the newly built walls and stove. He had grown to rather like this place. The three months he had been part of the household had made the entire place seem more like home than the whole year he had spent living in the barracks as a guard of Meduseld. But perhaps things would not change very much when the Eorl moved. If Thornden went with him, the new holding would soon become as familiar as this old one.

He looked at Eodwine. “How soon does the king wish you to move your household? And who do you intend to take with you, and who will you wish to stay here, to look after the inn?”

[littlemanpoet]

“How soon does the king wish you to move your household?" asked Thornden. "And who do you intend to take with you, and who will you wish to stay here, to look after the inn?”

"Some of you are bound to me by oath of a year and a day, and so shall join me, I hope willingly. Those who are not so bound, I hope that you will join me out of friendship.

"The King's will is that we go as soon as we can be ready." Eodwine's mouth slid into a half smile. "I could delay for a week or a month more, claiming the needs of many details, but I know the king's mind and heart in this, and he does not wish me to tarry.

"The only delay of real import is finding an innkeeper. Who among you care I to lose? None! I fear I shall have to find an innkeeper somehow, and that could take days, I fear. Do any of you want to be an innkeeper?" he finished doubtfully.

"Not I!" declared Frodides. "I'll be cook here if you don't want me coming with you, but not innkeeper!"

"You may come to Scarburg if you like, Frodides."

The cook smiled briefly, then said, "Kara! Quit dawdling and give the Eorl some of those eggs and rashers! He has hungry work ahead of him!"

[Firefoot]

Léof had noticed with some appreciation the unforeseen side affect of his surprise: Javan had completed his work with the water buckets very efficiently. When Javan reported back to him, he nearly spilled the secret, but decided to hold on to its enjoyment for a short while longer and instead passed off a horse for Javan to take to the paddock. He followed with two more and smiled to himself at the brisk pace Javan set, though it was not quite fast enough for Léof to chide him for running.

When five horses had been let into the paddock and they were done, Javan turned to Léof and asked, “Now will you tell me?”

“Surely you have some guesses?” asked Léof.

“No clear ones,” said Javan impatiently.

“Very well,” Léof laughed, “and I hope it was worth the wait. You and I are going out riding.”

[Folwren]

Javan could have laughed out loud for joy. He nearly did. He also nearly clapped his hands and jumped, but he didn’t do that, either. Instead he smiled broadly and skipped backwards towards the tack room, knowing they would need to go there first to gather tack and other things for the ride.

“Really?” he cried, leading the way. “What horses are we riding? Can I ride a different horse than my own? He’s not very tall and can’t go fast. And we already let him out to the paddock, anyway. Can I ride that great bay one at the end there?” He bounced and skittered as his hand waved towards the stall. Though he did not know it, it was Eodwine’s horse that he indicated, and Léof immediately shook his head.

“No. That is entirely out of the question. If your horse is already out in the paddock, you can ride Garwine’s. She is gentle enough, and will keep pace well with my horse.”

“Which one is she?” Javan asked with a deal of disappointment in both his voice and expression.

“She’s the dark chestnut without the star on her forehead. Herefola. She is the one like my horse, Æthel.”

“Oh, please let me ride the other!” Javan begged.

“That’s lord Eodwine’s horse, Javan, I can’t let you ride him! Get the saddle for Herefola and let’s have no more arguing.” Léof picked up his own saddle and Javan turned with a bitter shrug to obey him. The sour look had entirely left his face, though, by the time they were drawing the horses out of their stalls and tying them to the rings in the aisle.

In five minutes, the two mares were saddled. They stood side by side, their heads up and their ears moving about with excitement. Very handsome they looked, their deep, coppery chestnut coats glistening. They were remarkably alike, and Javan was so pleased with their appearance he nearly forgot his disappointment about not being able to ride the retired war horse.

“Alright,” Léof said, “let’s take them out. We can get on them in the courtyard.”

[Firefoot]

Léof was more relieved than he let on that Javan had let the subject of riding Flithaf drop. He supposed that it was no wonder that Javan should rivet on the lordliest horse in the stable – he himself had taken note upon his arrival, three months back – and it was not unlike Javan to be stubborn to the extreme. But Léof trusted that the excitement of the ride would be enough to drive the idea fully from his mind, and Herefola would be a good mount for him, steady and even-tempered (but with enough spunk to please Javan), and as he had told Javan, able to keep pace well with Æthel.

They led the horses out into the courtyard where Léof let Javan mount first as he watched discreetly. In this, at least, he looked competent enough, and Léof followed suit. He clicked his tongue and Æthel stepped obediently forward, and Javan fell into step beside them. After only a couple minutes, Javan proclaimed, “This is boring. Can we go faster?”

“Not through the streets of Edoras,” Léof replied. “Give Herefola a chance to loosen up, and get comfortable on her first.”

“All right,” Javan said, a hint of sulk back in his voice.

They reached the city gates shortly (but not nearly soon enough for Javan, Léof was sure). As they were heading out, they passed a man heading in, who by the state of his appearance seemed to have been traveling for a while. Léof nodded politely towards him and received a rather stiff nod in return, as if the man was unused to friendly greeting. But all thought of the man was promptly driven from his mind as Javan nudged Herefola into a trot without warning. Léof quickly caught up to them, mildly reproving Javan: “You might have said something.”

“You said we could go faster outside the city,” Javan pointed out.

“That I did,” said Léof, and he realized that he really did not mind. He wanted to observe Javan, of course, but he realized that he was actually enjoying himself; it had been some time since he had left the walls of Edoras. Seeing that Javan was doing just fine with a trot, he grinned. “Come on,” he said, and pushed Æthel into a canter as they passed between the green mounds rising on either side of the road.

[Folwren]

Javan grinned as Léof sped into a canter. A mischievous glint came into his eye. He would see what paces this new horse had. With a whoop of joy, he dug his heels into her sides and stretched himself forward. She leaped at once into a gallop, gaining on Léof and then passing him quickly. As though anxious to meet Herefola’s set speed, Æthel tossed her head. Javan looked back over his shoulder and saw Léof tighten the reins momentarily. Then he, too, bent forward over his mount’s neck and the bit loosened in Æthel’s mouth. She lowered her head slightly and plunged forward into the faster gait without urging.

Side by side, the two horses galloped, passing with thundering hooves over the deep green grass. They went in a great, sweeping arc, bringing the walls of Edoras about to their left.

Slowly, the horse’s feet went less swiftly. Léof and Javan drew rein as one accord and they brought the mares to a stop. Javan looked at Léof and laughed as he panted for breath. Herefola’s sides beneath his legs heaved as she pulled in air, but she was not weary. She pranced hotly beneath him, eager for more movement.

“We should walk them out some now,” Léof said, turning Æthel’s head away from Edoras. Javan quickly came by his side.

“Léof,” Javan said, pulling Herefola back into a relaxed walk. “Can we find a place where the horses can jump? You did say before that we might be able to, didn’t you? Can we do it out here, please? If it’s against the rules, no one will know out here. It’s a perfect chance!”

[littlemanpoet]

"Well that's mighty fine news," Falco Boffin said around a mouthful of egg and bread. "I have a bit of my own." He continued chewing, slowly, as the others' talk died away in anticipation. It seemed like it took him a long time to finish chewing his mouthful (it was a big one admittedly - the mouthful, that is, although the mouth wasn't all that small for a hobbit, as such things go). Finally he swallowed.

"Well?" prodded Eodwine. "What's your news?"

"A moment." Falco took up his mug of hot tea and sipped at it a couple of times. "One must clear the pipes proper, o' course." He sipped some more.

Eodwine grinned. The hobbit was savoring the attention.

Finally Falco let out a sigh of satisfaction and lifted up his fork again, ready for another mouthful.

"The news?" prompted Eodwine again.

"What?" Falco's fork hung in mid-descent, his face caught in an expression of confusion, which cleared at once. "Oh! The news. Right."

He set down his fork and stood up and harumphed a big "eh hem". "My friends," he said. "I have greatly enjoyed the company of all of you, but I feel that I have spent enough time in Rohan, and I can hear the road calling me back to the Shire." Eodwine could see Falco's right hand fiddling with something in his pocket. "It is time for me to be going. Now. Well, today at any rate."

"Well, that is sad news, I'm sure, Falco. But I'm curious. What have you got in your pocket?"

[Folwren]

Thornden, having had his question answered, relapsed into silence. He quietly pushed the last bit of eggs about in his place as he gnawed on his inner lip. He thought about Eodwine’s question - “Do any of you want to be an innkeeper?” He did not really want to be, no. He doubted he’d be fit for the job. But - and Thornden sighed a little - if Eodwine wished it, he would remain.

Thornden looked towards the Eorl. He would love nothing better than to stay by his side and go with him to his new holding. Yet he would do as Eodwine bid him. It was his duty.

Before he could voice such thoughts, Falco spoke up. What bit of news could the hobbit have? Thornden waited with the rest to hear it and finally it came out.

“My friends,” said that noble hobbit, glancing around the kitchen to indicate all of them, “I have greatly enjoyed the company of all of you, but I feel that I have spent enough time in Rohan, and I can hear the road calling me back to the Shire. It is time for me to be going. Now. Well, today at any rate.”

What did the little fellow...?

“Well, that is sad news, I am sure, Falco,” Eodwine said, interrupting Thornden’s surprised thought. “But I am curious. What have you got in your pocket?”

What has he got up his sleeve, rather? Thornden thought to himself. This new idea was sudden, it seemed, and very unexpected. Thornden did not think very badly of Falco, but he did not entirely trust him and his flighty way of thinking. He clapped a sharp eye on the hobbit and waited for him to answer Eodwine.

[Lhunardawen]

Eodwine's news might have temporarily stunned his household silent, but it had not dampened their appetites. For yet another time that morning Ginna had to shuttle away from the kitchen table for reinforcements before she faced again the hungry horde seated on it. This time they needed something to drink, and giving them that, since Ginna arrived in the Mead Hall, had been automatically her job. She made her way out the kitchen to the yard, bringing an empty water jar and a tray of cups.

As she lifted the familiar weight of the filled jar off the ground, she remembered her first day in the Mead Hall. The memories flowed through her mind like the water into the cups: Frodides's first task for her, meeting Falco and Rilef, the wound on her palm, her first encounter with Harreld--

Splash! The cup she had been filling tipped over, spilling water as it fell. Cursing silently, Ginna let down the jar and wiped the spillage on the tray, and the bench on which she set it, using the apron around her waist.

Harreld. It had been in this very place. I had sat just over here . . . and she wistfully marked the place, leaving a wet streak on the previously dry surface.

Just after Ginna had sent Kara to the yard from the kitchen, that day a month ago, she had regretted it. She was thirsty, she could not deny it, but she felt she could bear it for a few more minutes, at least until Frodides returned. Only after she and Harreld had been forced to recount to her the tale concerning the outlaw did Ginna realise how stupid, how rash she had been. And now the very man she last wanted to be with was alone with her.

She looked at Harreld. He was fidgeting, wringing his hands, obviously feeling just as awkward as she was, if not more. Ginna could not blame him; it seemed to her that she was hardly the kind of man one could force to sit in a kitchen to guard a wayward little brat. She did not notice how long she had been looking at him until he glanced her way and she found herself staring into his eyes.

"Um, how are you feeling?" she said without thinking, just to keep his attention away from her.

He coughed. "I am well. You have stopped shaking. Do you feel better?"

"I guess I do," she replied tentatively, surprised that the smith had been observant enough to notice. "But just a little. I don't know how I'll be able to feel better with the memory of my stupidity going around my head." Ginna almost kicked herself. Why could she not keep her mouth shut?

"No, I didn't mean that. I'm feeling better, really," she added lamely, giving Harreld a forced smile.

Harreld wished they were in his smithy where he could keep his fretful hands busy with his hammer and anvil. There he was at peace with his thoughts while Garreth talked all day about nothing and everything. And she could see how good he was at his work. In the meantime his thick, calloused fingers kept chafing against each other. With Ginna sitting before him, staring into his eyes, he could not think at all. Except that she should not be so hard on herself.

"You were not stupid." His words came out more forcefully than he had intended. "I mean-" he coughed into his hand, "-you sought vengeance. It is runderable - I mean understandable. Reasonable." He blushed over his mangled words.

Ginna looked down at her hands, shaking her head. "You're just saying that. I let my emotions rule over my actions. What if I did kill the outlaw, against the Eorl's command? What then would he have done with me?"

Harreld had well formed opinions about this, and probably to Ginna's surprise, his words flowed. "Done with you? Punished you before others and thanked you with none hearing. You almost saved him the need of a trial. And don't forget that I almost killed him before you did, the no-good piece of filth, for daring to cut your pret-" Harreld's eyes fell to her pretty neck, which he had been about to invoke, and he was embarrassed by his sudden awareness of her beauty. And femaleness. He went red all over again. "I mean, for daring to lettin your thrife. I mean threaten your life."

Ginna laughed gently at Harreld's blunder, but quickly stifled it lest she offend him. "I'm sorry, I forgot that," she said, hoping he would think that was the reason for her laughter. "To be honest, though, I doubt I would have been able to kill the man even if he had not stopped me. Even if you had not stopped me. But still," she reached forward, and took his large, restless hands in her own slender ones, "thank you for keeping me from taking a life. And for saving mine. I'll never forget it."

Harreld's eyes widened. Where her hands touched his, it felt like sparks from his smithy furnace. But her words were a delight. He felt all kinds of boastful promises welling up inside him, wanting speech, but when he tried to open his mouth he found that his tongue was quite tied in his head. He stared at her smiling face. He mouthed the words, "She likes me!"

And Ginna had caught them. She had felt, just like in her days of freedom, the thrill of being desired, perhaps later of being pursued, and began to see how she could use it for her own emotional benefit. In the days following their conversation she had little by little managed to lower Harreld's defences, until he was significantly more comfortable around her. This initially, however, brought about a problem in the form of Garreth, Harreld's twin, who got jealous of his brother's seeming success with a woman . . . and so he turned to Rowenna.

Ginna knew Rowenna could not be a lot older than her - for all she knew the girl was probably younger - but she could not help, for all that she held against her, admiring her confidence. It was no secret how Rowenna kept Garreth's advances in check, and soon brought them to a stop altogether. Ginna was aware that she should be doing the same thing concerning Harreld; she could not forget the reason her father entrusted her to the Eodwine in the first place. Besides, despite being of the proper age, she knew Randvér would never consent to a marriage between them. And most importantly . . . it's not as though that is unquestionably what she wants to achieve.

Without quite seeing how, Ginna realised she had already filled all cups. Putting the jar down and picking up the tray, she thought about Eodwine's recent announcement. He would undoubtedly take her with him, in keeping with her father's request. But what about Harreld? She was surprised to find herself wondering. Should it really matter?

Tired and confused, she laid aside her thoughts before walking back to the kitchen.

[littlemanpoet]

"What have you got in your pocket?" Eodwine asked.

"String I suppose." Falco pulled his hand out of his pocket. "Or nothing. Anyway, I'll pack after a bit and bid you all goodbye after second midday meal. One must have proper vittles before taking such journey."

"Will you be going by yourself?"

"It need not be so, but I wager the king's roads are safer today than they were fourteen years ago and more." Falco stopped and squinted suspiciously at Eodwine, then at Thornden. "You don't believe me, do you?"

Eodwine and Thornden said nothing but paid extra attention to the remains of their vittles.

"I'll show you! I'll go find Léof right this minute and I'll begone after first midday meal instead of second! In fact, I'll leave right after second breakfast! See if I don't!"

With that Falco walked out of the kitchen in a huff, opening the door in a hurry. Ginna happened to be coming in from outside with a tray of water cups. Caught by surprise by the suddenly opened door, she tripped and the tray fell, splashing all over the sputtering hobbit.

[Firefoot]

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t say that,” answered Léof carefully. Actually, he knew he had not said it. He had hoped it would not come back to this. The ride had been going so well, too; Javan’s cheeks weren’t the only ones slightly flushed from exhilaration.

“But can we?” asked Javan, seemingly not too put off.

“I don’t really think that’s a good idea,” Léof answered.

“Nobody would know,” Javan repeated.

“I’m not concerned with ‘getting away with it,’ Javan,” said Léof. “Jumping the horses is not a good idea, regardless of who knows. No jumping today.” Javan’s face was settling into a pout, and Léof didn’t want to hear any more whining, so he cut Javan off and changed the subject. “Look, part of the reason I brought you out here today was to watch you ride. There’s a nice flat grassy area over there – come on.” He nudged Æthel forward as he continued. “I just want you to ride around a bit – circles, figure eights, whatever you want, at some different paces. I’ll let you know if there’s something in particular I want you to do.”

[Folwren]

Javan swallowed more words of protest and pleading. What was the good of arguing with anyone in charge? They always wanted go exactly with the rules, no matter how fun the breaking of those rules might be. He gave Léof a narrow, reproachful look out of the corner of his eyes as he obediently swung his horse about and set her into a trot into the clear space that Léof indicated.

“Figure eights. Circles! Pah!” Javan felt furious. “What am I - his pupil? Does he think I don’t know how to ride?” He jerked fitfully on Herefola’s rein, pulling her head about. She turned in an awkward looking circle, swinging about on her hindquarters and launching again into a trot immediately in response to both his feet kicking into her sides.

Léof stopped his horse some way back and sat watching Javan work. Javan did what Léof asked of him, setting different paces and go left and right and in circles and other figures as he was instructed. Before very long, Léof had him come back.

Javan allowed Herefola to trot back to Æthel. “There,” he said, coming to Léof’s side. “I did it. What’d you think? Am I good enough for you?"

[Firefoot]

Léof didn’t have Javan ride around for too long. He only wanted a feel for the other boy’s abilities, and he was mostly pleased with what he saw. Javan sat Herefola with confidence and Léof could see that he was a fairly accomplished rider, despite his inexperience in stable work. He had noticed, however, some roughness with the reins and a style that was more aggressive than Léof would have liked to see. He could not quite dismiss this, but he told himself that Javan was still young and could likely be taught otherwise. Needing to see no more and ready to go on with the ride, he called Javan back.

He was not prepared for Javan’s sharp remarks: “There. I did it. What’d you think? Am I good enough for you?"

Léof recoiled, stung. “It’s not like that, and you ought to know it. Come on.” He turned Æthel down the way they had been heading earlier, surprisingly bitter thoughts swirling in his mind. It was hard for him too, after all! He wanted to be Javan’s friend, but how did that reconcile with being in charge of him as well? Responsibility had always been his mantra, these last few months more than ever. After all, what would happen to Javan if he were caught breaking the rules? He might get sent away from the Mead Hall to his home, nothing worse. Léof had nowhere to go; he couldn’t afford to break the rules. And if Javan got hurt because of his irresponsibility, the retribution would be even worse. So what was he supposed to do? How ought he to act?

He almost wished he had not brought Javan with him today, that instead he had simply come out here by himself to let Æthel go for as long and hard as she would go, and he was reluctant to offer a race to Javan; that seemed to belong to a camaraderie that had been splinched off. He did not know what to say to Javan that would not seem either appeasing or demanding, so silently he rode on, half-hoping Javan would break the silence and half-hoping he would say nothing at all.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco muttered bitterly as he helped Ginna pick up the cups and place them back on her tray, then he walked out the door.

Ginna stood a moment, stared at by all gathered, then said, "I will fetch more water." She was about to walk back out when Kara stopped her and offered to fill the cups with her jug.

Silence settled over the room, and Eodwine gave his attention to his breakfast.

"I will go to Scarburg."

Eodwine raised his head and looked for the speaker. It was a woman's voice. Others' eyes had turned to Rowenna. She was looking straight at him.

"My thanks, Rowenna." Eodwine looked around. "Anyone else?"

[Kath]

Kara had stood in silence after Eodwine's sudden revelation, and was only startled from it when Frodides began to speak. As the old cook's mouth opened in answer to the Eorl's request for one to stay behind as innkeeper she had almost feared that Frodides intended to stay behind, to act as ruler in Eodwine's absence, but even before the first few words had been spoken Kara had known she was being foolish. Frodides was quite happy being in charge of the kitchen. Being in control of the rest of the place would only distract from that.

So it was with a much lighter heart that she had started to move toward the doors as she had been told, but Falco's addition to the meeting had brought her to a stop again. She never could make up her mind about the hobbit. There were times when he made her laugh until she cried and others when she would quite happily strangle him, and she still wasn't entirely sure how to tell whether he meant what he said or not. Still, he had seemed serious enough when he had risen and marched off, it was just a shame that the exit had been ruined by Ginna pouring water down the front of him.

Smothering the smile that rose at the sight of the dripping hobbit and the horrified face of poor Ginna, Kara followed the girl outside in the hopes of offering some comfort. She did seem to have an unfortunate habit of throwing things down people and felt each accident deeply, as evidenced by the drooping shoulders and quiet muttering Kara observed as she walked through the door.

"Are you alright?" Kara asked, taking up a jug to help refill the cups that had been spilt. "Falco at least is fine. A little wet and his pride may have been bruised a little, but perhaps that isn't a bad thing." She continued, trying for a little humour, but as Ginna slowly turned her face toward her Kara could see that it hadn't really worked.

[Folwren]

“Anyone else?” Eodwine asked, glancing again at those gathered. Thornden looked at him and decided to speak.

“I will do as you bid me, my lord,” he said. “I would like to stay with you and go with you to Scarburg, but if you ask me to remain here, I will do as you wish.”

[littlemanpoet]

"My thanks to you, Thornden," Eodwine replied. "I want you with me at Scarburg." Eodwine looked around the kitchen. Everybody else who might say something was looking everywhere except at Eodwine. He allowed a sly smile to creep onto his face. They needed time to think, or they wanted to speak with him in private. Very well.

"I will not ask any of you right this moment. Think on it, and speak to me soon. By the end of this day, if you have a mind." He looked down at his now empty plate. "As for me, it seems my food is eaten and I don't remember eating it. Ah well. I shall be roving Edoras parts of today, speaking with folk of the town to see if anyone can point me to a good innkeeper. So I bid you all good day, and eat and work well and to your heart's delight."

With that the Eorl got himself up and left the kitchen, washed himself in his room, dressed as befitting an Eorl of the King, and made his way to the stables. Léof was not there, nor Javan, but Flíthaf was, and the stallion grew excited the moment he saw his master.

"Ah, Flíthaf! It has been too long already since we rode the open plains. Maybe you need a good run before I take you about town for this innkeeper business." He found an old but serviceable apple and raised it to the horse's lips. "How would you like that?" The horse took the apple from Eodwine's hand and tossed his head as he made quick work of the dainty. Eodwine saddled him up and mounted his now frisky stallion, and left the Mead Hall behind as the sun rose into the sky.

[Folwren]

The fun seemed to have been taken out of the ride and Javan could not entirely tell why. He was inclined not to blame himself, but it was obvious that Léof was not happy with what he had said. The discomfort and rigidness from the ostler somehow passed through the air and settled on Javan. He was a little ashamed, perhaps. . .

“Should we go back now, Léof?” he asked after several minutes of riding without speaking.

Léof nodded and they turned their horse’s heads towards Edoras. “Can we run back?” Javan asked, a fresh spark of excitement entering his eyes. Léof nodded again and immediately the two mares moved forward into a canter.

At the gates they drew rein. Javan was flushed again and almost laughing. His blood pumped quickly and beneath him his horse moved hotly, too. She obviously had more energy in her.

They walked up through the gates, past the watching guards and into the street. Javan eased the pressure on Herefola’s bit and her feet quickened into a trot.

“Carefully, Javan, just walk, she might be barn sour,” Léof said.

Always careful. Always worried that something might happen and always telling him what to do. Javan frowned and sent Léof a rather black look and instead of tightening the reins again, he loosened them even more and clamped to her tighter with his knees. At once she moved forward from a trot into a slow but eager canter. Javan chuckled to himself and was about to draw rein when suddenly, from the doorstep of one of the houses on the side of the road, a large dog suddenly howled and bayed as she darted forward and snapped at Herefola’s feet.

The mare’s forward momentum stopped abruptly as she shied sideways. Her head went down towards the dog and her back humped. She skittered to the side of the road and stopped her escape in that direction when her hindquarter’s rammed hard against the booth of a fruit seller. The tables teetered and fell with a crash and Herefola, terrified, swerved again to the other side, towards the dog. The bitch’s barking and howling intensified as the horse came near her again and Herefola, out of her mind with fear, plunged forward into an instant run.

Javan clung blindly to her mane. His seat was unstable, after nearly being thrown twice by her shying sideways, and his limbs were frozen in fear and panic. The mare would not have stopped for some time had a man not stepped suddenly forward and caught her boldly by the bridle rein and brought her to a stop.

“Woah there. Easy, girl,” the man said, gently stroking her and speaking quietly. “Easy. . .” Herefola stood still, her head up, her ears twitching backwards and forward and back again. She was trembling in every limb.

Javan slowly slipped down from the saddle. The man turned his head to look at him. “Got out of hand, didn’ she?” he asked, not unkindly.

“Yes, sir,” Javan said.

“Well, well. There you are. Take good care of her.” He let Javan take his place at her head, holding her rein, and he turned and went back into the shop he had left. Javan thanked him quietly as he left and then stood still, letting Herefola cool and calm down while he waited for Léof to catch up to them.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine came back into Edoras after a good long ride, though not long enough apparently for Flíthaf, who fretted and threw up his head repeatedly as Eodwine held him to a trot. When he arrived at the market place, he dismounted and led Flíthaf to one of the water troughs kept ready for the mounts of the many Eorlingas who came to market each day.

He went from booth to booth and from tent to tent and let it be known that a new innkeeper was wanted at the White Horse Inn. Word spread quickly, as it is wont to do, not only what the Eorl of the Middle Emnet wanted, but that he was calling it by its old name, the White Horse Inn. Questions were bandied back and forth as to what it could mean, and by noon it was the talk of the town. In this, Humans are no different from Hobbits.

Finished with this first part of the work of finding a new innkeeper, Eodwine returned to Flíthaf, patted him lovingly, mounted, and returned to the Hall. Leaving Flíthaf with Léof, who had returned to the stables before him, Eodwine retired to his room for the morning, washed and changed, and waited until noon.

[Firefoot]

When Eodwine brought Flíthaf back to the stables after his ride, it was quite a while after his and Javan’s return, but Léof was still thinking on the end of their ride. What had possessed Javan to take off like that? It had been senseless, in direct opposition to his instructions to him. There was a reason that they had been going slowly through the streets of Edoras! It had taken Léof a bit to catch up with Javan, because Æthel had spooked at all the commotion, and by then the man that had helped Javan had disappeared and Léof’s initial burst of anger had been tempered with relief that neither Javan nor Herefola had been hurt, but he could not check the annoyance in his voice as he rode up.

“That was a stupid thing to do, Javan,” he said, “and I’m not sure why I should still trust you after a stunt like that.” Javan didn’t seem to know whether to respond in anger or shame. “Now, come on. Let’s get these two back to the stables.” Javan quietly consented, and Léof noticed that his mount up was considerably shakier than it had been earlier that morning. “That scared you a bit, didn’t it?” Léof asked. “Good. Remember it.” Without waiting he nudged Æthel forward, leaving Javan to follow after. The thought had briefly crossed Léof’s mind that he was being cruel and making the situation worse, not better, and that he might regret his actions later, but he also felt enough justified in his remarks that he made no move to amend his terse words. Nor did he look back over his shoulder to see what kind of looks Javan was giving him.

When they had reached the Hall, Léof had had Javan walk Herefola out and brush her while he did the same with Æthel. When they were put away, Léof finally felt that he had gathered himself enough to talk civilly with Javan. “I won’t tell Thornden or Eodwine about what you did earlier, although I’m not sure why. I like you, Javan. I want to be your friend – but I’ve been put in charge of you, too, and in charge of the horses.” He sighed. “Look, go ahead and take a break; I don’t have anything else for you to do right now. Come back around lunchtime and help me switch out the horses in the paddock with those we left in here and muck out the rest of the stalls.”

Really he had just wanted some time to think without interruption, and he had gotten it, though his thoughts were hardly less clouded than they had been, and now it was nearly lunchtime, when Javan should be coming back. He hoped that Javan had done some thinking as well, and might be willing to talk, though Léof wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. As he put Flíthaf away in his stall, he murmured, “Horses are so much simpler than people – haven’t I always said that?”

[Thinlómien]

It was a beautiful day, one of those days when sun was playing hide-and-seek in the sky filled with little white clouds. It was good to be outdoors, Modtryth thought, it was good to be walking the strees of the city of Edoras.

Modtryth was strolling with a big basket in her arms and little Lèodern at her heels. She had a small basket of her own. Modtryth had talked with Garstan and they both had thought that it would be good for Lèodern to see how a household was managed. They had agreed that every now and then Modtryth would take her to town with her, but she wouldn't be purposefully taught or made to memorise anything - after all, Lèodern was still very young. This was the first time Modtryth had taken the girl with her, but as she had promised to buy the girl honeyed dried apples she had been more than willing to come with her.

Lèodern was telling Modtryth about her morning and how she had seen a little frog outside the stables. She seemed little moved by the Eorl's news. In fact, she was more concerned about the fact that the frog had seemed to have lost one of his fingers. The girl's lively chatting was interrupted by a hostile-looking skinny bearded man who stepped on her and Modtryth's way. He paid no attention to the girl and focused his attention to the woman.

"You're not wanted here. Go to your wilderness, you Dunleding whore!" he spat.
"I'm in the service of Eorl Eodwine", Modtryth replied calmly. She didn't move.
The man took it as a challenge. His eyes narrowed and fists clenched. Modtryth casually hushed Lèodern behind her.

"I can't believe the Eorl has sunk as low as to hiring barbarians", the man snarled. Another man appeared behind him. He gripped his shoulder. "Thored", he said firmly, "do not offend the Eorl's folk. Even if they are Dunleding whores." Grudgingly the man called Thored backed away. His friend cast one disrespectful look at Modtryth before following him.

Modtryth continued walking, but Lèodern wasn't following her. ”Come on, Lèodern, there's no time for idling”, Modtryth said, but her tone was gentle. Obediently, the girl came to her and took her hand. Her little face was sligthly troubled. Modtryth felt suddenly uneasy. This was not Cnebba who was more than accustomed to this kind of interactions, but a girl several years younger and probably with little experience about brutish people. Well, someday she must learn to deal with them, Modtryth thought, though she would have preferred protecting the girl from such harms, she was so young.

”Lèodern? Does something trouble you?” she asked. The girl just shook her head. Modtryth sighed. If the girl didn't want to say it to her, she shouldn't force it out of her. Lèodern would tell someone later, if it continued to trouble her.

Lèodern was a difficult case to Modtryth. Modtryth was fond of the gentle but spirited little girl. Most of the time she was affectionate to Modtryth. She seemed to enjoy her company and come to her to tell about her day or to ask something pressing her mind or something trivial. Sometimes, though, she was sullen and din't want to talk with her. Sometimes she didn't want to share her concerns with her. Modtryth suspected it had something to do with her mum missing. Modtryth believed Lèodern didn't want her to replace her mum. That was quite understandable. Modtryth wondered what had happened to Lèodern and Garmund's mother. She hadn't asked Garstan or his children about it. If some of them wanted to tell her some day, she'd be interested to hear it, but she wouldn't be fishing for the information.

~*~

Modtryth and Lèodern arrived at the beekeeper's shop. Modtryth bought candles and honey and the honeyed apples for Lèodern. As that was their last affair in town, they turned to walk back to the Mead Hall. They walked in silence. Lèodern was eating her sweets and Modtryth's mind was occupied with thoughts of the Eorl's moving and all the changes it would bring.

”Modtryth?”
”Yes?”
”Why did they call you that?”
”Why did they call me what?” Modtryth asked. She didn't feel like explainng the word ”whore” to the little girl nor to teach her the word by simply saying it was an ugly word used to offend a woman.
”A Dunleding. Why did they call you that?” She seemed angry.
Modtryth turned to face the girl. ”Because they probably thought I look like one.” Impulsively, she crouched so that her eyes were on the same level as Lèodern's. ”They were right, in a way”, she told the girl, ”I'm a half-Dunleding. My mother, she was a Dunleding.”

There was disbelief in the girl's big blue eyes when they met the woman's dark brown ones. ”You can't be”, she said, ”I've heard Dunledings are filthy barbarians. And dad said they wanted war with us.”
”I doubt they are any filthier than Eorlings. I don't think they are any more barbarians than we are, just different. And I'm sure not every Dunleding wanted war with Rohan.” Lèodern's eyes remained slightly doubtful.

”Lèodern. I'm an Eorling and porud of that. There is also Dunlending blood in my veins and I'm not ashamed of that either.” Suddenly Modtryth realised she really meant those words. There must have been mirth or triumph in her eyes, for Lèodern's face broke to a responsive smile.
”Come on, let's go now”, Modtryth said and they continued their way to the Eorl's hall.

~*~

They were already in the Mead Hall grounds when Lèodern stopped abruptly.
”Modtryth?”
”Yes?”
”Does that mean Cnebba is a Dunleding too?”
”He is three fourths a Rohanian”, Modtryth replied instinctively.
”Bu then he is part Dunleding?” Lèodern pressed.
”Yes”, Modtryth admitted. There was little point in trying to hide the facts. She had just declared she was not ashamed of her Dunleding roots. Should she then be ashamed of those of her son?
”Good”, Lèodern concluded. ”I want to see him now.”
Modtryth was confused and curious. ”Actually, I need to talk with him as well. I'll come with you to look for him, but first we must take these baskets to the kitchen.”

Luck favoured them. Cnebba was in the kitchen, chewing a carrot or what was left of it. Kara was also in the room, arranging some bottles in the corner. She greeted the newly arrived and then glanced at Cnebba. ”He said he felt like eating something so I gave him a carrot”, she told the boy's mother. She didn't say it as an excuse, merely stated a fact. Modtryth smiled and nodded. That was something she liked in the young woman.

Lèodern had moved to sit beside Cnebba at the kitchen table. ”Cnebba”, she said solemnly, ”I know you're a Dunleding, but you're still my friend.” There was a moment of awkward silence. Suddenly, Modtryth burst laughing and soon Kara was laughing too.

”Why are you laughing, mum? What's so funny?”, Cnebba demanded, his ears red. Lèodern looked puzzled, but there was a smug smile on her pretty face. Modtryth looked at the children fondly and shook her head. ”Never mind, my dear”, she said softly, ”never mind.”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna was on her knees with scrub brush in hand, cleaning the hallway floor just outside the kitchen. Cnebba and Kara were keeping up a lively banter, and Rowenna doubted that they knew she was there. This suited her.

Two others came into the kitchen through the alder court door, Modtryth and Léodern as it turned out.

”Cnebba”, said the girl with sudden seriousness, ”I know you're a Dunlending, but you're still my friend.”

Rowenna stopped scrubbing. It was a curious thing to have said; surely there was a story behind it. Modtryth was dark of skin and brown of eye, which was of course unusual in an Eorling. She was Dunlending? It must be! But that was a small matter set beside other considerations. The outlaws she had been forced to live with were an odd mix of many folk, and all of them barbaric whether Eorling, Dunlending, or Gondorian.

Suddenly the two women broke into laughter. How odd, Rowenna thought.

”Why are you laughing, mum? What's so funny?" That had to be Cnebba. He sounded very unsettled.

”Never mind, my dear, never mind.”

But the boy would mind, especially if it was adults who were laughing at him. Even if they weren't laughing at him, how was he to know better?

Rowenna filed the moment away in her mind and went back to her scrubbing.

[Folwren]

With a shamefaced attitude, Javan left the stables when Léof dismissed him. He did not try to explain himself, he did not try to apologize. He was thankful that Léof decided not to report his behavior, but he felt somehow crushed when Léof sent him away. Javan knew that Léof had a right to be angry. Although Javan had not meant for his horse to spook and take off, he was still at fault. He went to extremes to avoided Thornden and Eodwine and therefore saw no one else as he slunk quietly up to his room. He did not want to be stopped and questioned about not being in the stables.

The remaining hour in the morning passed slowly for the boy. He paced quietly in the room between the door and the window. He used the time as Léof hoped he would - thinking. He had nothing else to do.

When enough time had passed and he figured lunchtime was drawing near, he once again slipped out of the bedroom and headed quickly for the stable. He knew what he had to say and what he had to do. He only hoped he’d be allowed to do it. Léof was a patient and quiet fellow, though, Javan told himself: he’d surely hear him out.

“Léof?” he said when he entered the stables. Léof popped out of one of the stalls immediately. Javan walked forward, tentatively wrapping his hands one about the other. “Léof, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have disobeyed. I didn’t mean for her to spook and run like that, and I was about to stop her, but. . .I should have stopped her sooner...when you told me to.” There was a short pause and Javan looked down. “Thanks for not telling Thornden or lord Eodwine.”

---------------------------------
Thornden

Thornden had kept busy all of that morning in the armoury with Garwine. Together they surveyed all of the weapons and if any of the blades of the swords of spears had any rust or signs of it, they cleaned and oiled them carefully. They took the bows down from the wall and oiled the strings. It was a long, meticulous job, and by noon-time the two men were hungry with long hours of it.

“You have the last one, Garwine,” Thornden said as he placed a spear on the brackets. “I’m going to go see how lunch is coming. When you’re done, you can follow.”

“Aye,” Garwine said, glancing up and waving his cloth absently. “I’ll be out shortly.”

Thornden went through the Great Hall to the kitchen. He passed Rowenna in the hall, stepped carefully around her work, and entered the kitchen. Lunch was not entirely ready yet and Fordides did not let him linger there for long.

“We won’t work faster with you looking over our shoulders. Get out and wait with Master Falco!”

“Master Falco?” Thornden repeated. “Is he still here, then?” He did not wait for an answer (and he would not have received one) as he left the kitchen by the outside door. He walked across the courtyard towards the alder tree where, sure enough, Falco sat, placidly smoking his pipe. “Good morning, Mr. Boffin!” Thornden said, stopping beside him. “I thought for sure you would be well on your way to the Shire by now. What happened to your well laid plans of leaving immediately after second breakfast?”

“Léof was not in the stable,” Falco answered.

“Oh, what an unfortunate pity. I guess you’ll be staying at least for lunch, then?”

[littlemanpoet]

“Oh, what an unfortunate pity. I guess you’ll be staying at least for lunch, then?”

"Aye, that I will," said Falco, taking another draw on his pipe. "But I've been having second thoughts. Traveling alone ain't wise, even now with the king's peace. Outlaws and ruffians don't truck with the king's peace, or anyone else's but their own, if you take my meaning, and I don't want to fall in with any such, mark my words."

"Does that mean you'll be staying a while past lunch?" Thornden asked.

"Aye, most like a bit past lunch, like a few days maybe. I'll need to find out if anyone's going west and north so's I can tag along, if they'll have me."

[Folwren]

“Oh,” Thornden said. “Oh, I see. Well, master hobbit, I think it is a very wise decision. I never liked your way of running off on your mad-cap adventures without thinking first.”

“Well, I have thought first," Falco said rather haughtily. "And this is not a mad-cap adventure.”

“No, but it would have been if you had left on a second’s notice and with no one to go with you,” Thornden replied, smiling. “But tell me, Falco. . .” he sat himself down on the grass at the hobbit’s feet. “Why are you going? Really? I can not believe that simply ‘hearing the call of the road’ would lead you to leave all of us on such short notice as you originally intended. I mean, I can well imagine that you might be ready to go home, but I can not think of any real reason that you would want to be off at once, as you were telling us this morning at breakfast.”

He did not add that he also had not believed him that morning...that is why he had spent all of his time without worry in the armoury, polishing swords without giving second thoughts to Falco or saying farewell. But this he kept to himself, and only looked with a fond smile the hobbit while he waited to be answered.

[littlemanpoet]

"Ah that bit was just fun and games," Falco replied with a wink. "But truth to tell, I've been thinkin' on it for a good month now and-"

Falco stopped and glanced as the kitchen door opened: Rowenna came out with a half empty bucket. She nodded to the Eorling and the Hobbit as she lugged it around the corner of the kitchen and out to the well.

"-and, well, I guess I'm homesick. I want to see Hobbits again. My own kind, if you like. I'm gettin' a bit tired of craning my neck to look up all the time just to see a face."

[Folwren]

Thornden listened quietly to the hobbit give his reasons and he nodded with understanding. “I see your point, Falco,” he said when he had finished. “It won’t quite be the same without you and we’ll miss you. Even I will,” he added.

There was a silence between the two of them. Thornden, with his arms clasped about his knees looked around the courtyard absently. Falco continued smoking his pipe, staring out as well. Then another detail of the morning’s conversation came back to Thornden and he looked again at Falco.

“I say, Falco,” he began. “What was it you had in your pocket this morning? That Eodwine asked about and that you wouldn’t answer?”

[littlemanpoet]

"Nothin' at all," answered Falco, smoke escaping from his mouth. "An' jus' what is that s'posed to mean, 'even I'll miss you, Falco'? Did you want ta see me off? Is that it?" Falco rose indignantly and faced Thornden.

"Maybe I'll just stay an' bother you, if me bein' here bothers you that much. Good day!"

Master Falco Boffin turned on his heel and stomped away from Thornden toward the Hall. He noticed Rowenna coming back around the corner.

"And tell the cooks that I'm expecting lunch as long as you're goin' in there with that bucket!" He gave another cold glance at Thornden and mumbled, "'Even I will.' Hmph!" He opened the door to the great hall and shoved it closed with a slam.

Rowenna had stopped to stare, brows raised. "What was that all about?" she asked.

[Folwren]

Thornden turned his head to watch Falco storm off into the hall. His eyes were wide with surprise and his mouth gaped open slightly. When he turned to face Rowenna, his expression was just as clueless as hers.

“What was all that about?” she asked him.

Thornden pushed himself up and rose to his feet. “I’m not rightly sure,” he said, walking towards her. “Evidently I offended him, though I certainly didn’t mean to. I only told him I’d be sorry to see him go and then I asked him about something. Evidently he doesn’t want to answer.” He paused, pondering it a moment in silence. “Eh, well,” he continued, looking at her and smiling a little. “It doesn’t matter. I can carry that water for you.” He extended his hand, offering to help.

[littlemanpoet]

"Save your gallantry for the maid you plan to marry," Rowenna said with a smiling mouth, and entered the kitchen carrying the bucket herself. She was not about to owe anyone anything.

She had overheard their conversation and found it odd that Thornden had decided that Falco had not answered his question about the pockets, for she had heard the hobbit say "nothin' at all'. But some people just couldn't hear others rightly, no matter what they said. It was interesting that Thornden and the Hobbit just did not get on well. She wondered if the Hobbit did it on purpose, or if Thornden did? Or did they merely stumble over each other badly all the time? The probably didn't understand each other at all. If the Hobbit truly was staying, that would be a valuable piece of information to keep handy. Even if the Hobbit left, it still could be useful to know that this Thornden sometimes said things he didn't realize he was saying, and that he sometimes did not hear things said to him at all. Not that the young man was a dolt or something, she supposed; maybe he just missed some signals. Not a good trait in an almbudsman. At any rate, Rowenna would of course keep her eyes and ears open.

She went to Kara and said, "I can continue to wash the floor if you wish, or is there something else you would rather have done?"

[Folwren]

He had only tried to be a gentleman…to be helpful. His extended hand remained there moment, alone in the air while Rowenna swept like a victorious queen into the kitchen, her head held high and her brown hair tossing. Thornden flexed his fingers as he drew a sigh and then he dropped his hand by his side and laughed.

“Save my gallantry for the maid I marry, eh?” chuckled he to himself. “If every maid told me so I guess I would never marry, for they’d all think I was bound to go after someone else.”

“By heaven, though,” he muttered to himself, sobering quickly and turning to the great hall door. “People seem easily offended today…and if not offended at least defensive. What did I say wrong to Falco, anyway? Can’t he take a joke?” Thornden knew he wasn’t witty…he never had been, but Falco often seemed to find amusement. That is, Thornden supposed, when he wished to. He made a wry smile. “Next the little fellow will be wanting me to apologize to him. Not likely.” And when he came through the great hall door, he was frowning with the thought.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine hoped that his morning's work would bring a possible innkeeper or two, or even three, to the mead hall, even during lunch. Now that he had resigned himself to making the move the king required, he was beginning to look forward to it, and wanted to accomplish the thing.

He straightened his breeches and shirt as he prepared to leave his room, and thought upon the roles that would need to be filled at Scarburg. Frodides and Kara would cook, Modtryth and Rowenna would clean, Ginna would serve. Garstan would do stonework, Stigend carpentry, Thornden almbudsmanship, Leof ostlery, and his men at arms, not least of them Garwine, would do their duties. Trystan and Saeryn were long gone, but at least not together, Eodwine hoped. He thought that he could get one of the Smith brothers to come with him. What of a hostess? He still had no wife, nor knew any woman who remotely seemed right. So maybe the hostess role would have to go unmet.

He came down the stairs and almost ran into a frowning Thornden.

"What ails you, Thornden?"

[Folwren]

Thornden and Eodwine met unexpectedly just inside the door and at the bottom of the stairs. Thornden stepped back and looked at Eodwine apologetically.

“What ails you, Thornden?” the eorl asked at once.

Thornden’s frown deepened by the slightest degree. “Nothing, really,” he said. “Nothing of significance, that is.” Then his expression cleared almost entirely, and though he did not really smile, he was no longer frowning. “You may be interested to know that Falco is staying for a few days yet. I may have actually unwittingly talked him into staying for good...so that he could continue bothering me, as he put it.”

[Kath]

Kara had spent much of her morning since Eodwine's impromptu council had broken up in the kitchen with Cnebba, who had proved to be a most amusing companion. He'd sat himself on a stool and had been regaling her with tales of the adventures he'd had shearing the sheep in return for morsels of food, for he always seemed to be hungry. It was a worthwhile trade though, and Kara couldn't recall a more pleasant morning.

It was with good will then that she had begun to laugh after conversation between Leodern and Cnebba, in which Leodern clearly had the upper hand if Cnebba's face was anything to judge by. His confusion made him angry though, and as his little face began to turn red Kara quickly tamed her mirth and a meaningful look at Modtryth had her hiding her smile as well.

"What's wrong Cnebba?" She asked, facing the boy and passing him another chunk of cheese as a peace offering.

"Nothing." He replied moodily, kicking his feet against the stool.

"Oh? But you were so happy a minute ago and now you've gone quiet on me. Was it something that Leodern said?"

Cnebba shrugged, his eyes still resolutely fixed on the floor.

"Because if it was maybe you should think about what she said for a minute. I don't know what brought it on but it seemed to be that what she said was a good thing. She wants to be your friend! Isn't that right Leodern?"

Cnebba looked up for long enough to see the little girl nodding earnestly at him, her eyes wide and innocent, and some of the tension went from his shoulders.

"And if it was because we laughed, well, that was just because we were as confused as you! We weren't laughing at you Cnebba, do you know that? When people are in a good mood a strange thing can make them laugh, it doesn't mean anything."

There was silence for a few seconds as Cnebba seemed to work that through in his head. Finally his head came up and again he looked at Leodern.

"Well, I don't mind that you're a girl, you can still be my friend." The words were said in a challenging tone but they weren't cruel, and Leodern apparently gathered that as she broke out into one of her beaming smiles and clapped her hands.

"Come on then!" She cried. "Let's go play."

Cnebba looked at his mother who nodded her assent and the two children ran off together into the yard, with all the worries of the past few minutes forgotten.

Once they'd gone Kara and Modtryth glanced at each other and broke into laughter again.

"Poor thing." Kara said. "What a thing to say to someone. Though I suppose to Leodern it made sense. Where did she get the idea from?"

Modtryth explained what had happened in the market place as she began to put away her purchases from that morning, finding a good listener in Kara who joined in in all the right places. She had just finished when Rowenna walked in and had Kara so incensed by hearing of the rudeness of the man Modtryth had met that it took her a few moments to calm down enough to answer the girl's question.

"I can continue to wash the floor if you wish, or is there something else you would rather have done?"

"Something else? I don't know if there is anything else. There are few guests at the moment and oh! But there's something you could do. The rooms that aren't in use will need cleaning and airing before new guests arrive to use them. If you have finished washing the floor then that would be a good thing for you to do."

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna thanked Kara for her orders, put away her bucket and brush, and went up to the guest quarters. On her way she passed Eodwine and Thornden talking just inside the Hall. She continued up the stairs and was soon out of earshot of the two.

"Bothering you?" Eodwine asked Thornden. "He said he wants to stay so that he can bother you? Maybe I need to have a long overdue talk with him. But it can wait until after lunch. Come! Let's sit and eat! And here comes Harreld!"

"Good day to you!" cried Harreld from the far door.

"And to you, Harreld! I didn't expect you until the evening meal! But surely you're welcome now too!"

Harreld looked bashful. "Well I don't usually eat here except at night, but the work is light and I wanted to have some peace from that brother of mine, don't you know!"

Eodwine smiled as Harreld joined them. He could think of another reason why Harreld might have decided to come to the Mead Hall more often than had been his wont. He looked to the corridor from which Ginna would eventually come with food and ale. A glance at Harreld indicated that the smith was looking in the same direction with the same expectation; although in the smith's case, maybe there was more to it. Eodwine shook his head. It would come to no good if Randvér didn't approve. He could put a stop to it, but he hated to ruin Harreld's hope, or at least the enjoyment he had in his friendship with Ginna. Eodwine feared the worst, but could not bring himself to save the two the trouble he foresaw.

[Folwren]

“Pappa! Pappa! I heard the Eorl of the Mid Emnet spreading word that he wanted an innkeeper for the White Horse Inn!” The young blond headed girl burst into the small house full of excitement. She ran forward and grabbed her father’s hand. “And he wants one quickly and for people to come and talk to him!”

Her father turned towards her, smiling kindly at his daughter. “What makes you suppose the eorl would want to hire an old man like your father – half blind that I am?”

“You are wise, for all your blindness,” the girl said, smiling in return. “And if the eorl knew what he was about, he would hire you, for he would find no better man.”

The elderly man laughed and turned back to his work with chisel and wood. “You over estimate me, daughter, and under estimate other men.”

“Please, Pappa!” the girl said, eagerly hopping up and down beside him. “Please go to him and at least ask if you might take the position! The worst he can say to you is no.”

The father put down his carpentry tools again and turned to his girl. “Fleide,” he said gently. “I am a man who works with his hands. A carpenter…I shape wood. I am not fit for the task of an innkeeper.”

“But you used to be more…when Mamma was alive, you know that. You can do it, if he will have you.”

He smiled again at her. “Fetch me my stick then, and we will go out, since you seem so bent on it. As you said, the worst he can say is no, and we will be no worse off than before.” Fleide smiled again and hurried away to the corner to fetch the smooth, carved cane her father used when he went out. Then together, the young girl and her grey haired father, started out into the streets of Edoras and towards the mead hall.

[Folwren]

Fliede and her father wound through the streets of Edoras to the Mead Hall. Before entering the courtyard, he turned toward Fliede and laid his hand on her shoulder. “I will be doing the speaking here, daughter,” he said.

“Yes, father,” she said.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself and start speaking for me in your excitement.”

“Yes, father,” she said again.

“The eorl will not need you to explain to him that I am blind or that I am smarter than I may appear or that he should choose me.” Fliede pressed her lips hard together and nodded firmly. He patted her shoulder gently. “Good. Come along, then.” They started forward, but at that moment, another man stopped them abruptly.

“Excuse me,” he said, making to push past them. Fliede looked upwards, offended.

“Excuse you indeed!” she said sharply. “We were here first, there’s no reason that we should step out of your way.”

“Your father should make way for better men than himself, girl,” the man replied with a disdainful look in her direction. “He’s used to it.” He looked at the blind man’s face and smiled unkindly.

“Oh, yes?” Fliede asked. “And what are you here for?”

“Come to enquire after the position of innkeeper.”

“Really. Have you?” She scowled in disgust, showing her anger clearly, but at the same moment her courage and hope failed slightly. The man was tall, handsome, young, and strong, and if the eorl saw him first, would he even spare a glance for her old father? “Well, I-”

“Hush, Fliede,” her father said. “You’ve spoken enough.” He looked up and cast his eyes in the direction of the stranger. The man laughed and shrugged and went in before them. Fliede and her father followed. They entered the great hall in time to hear the rude man address the gathering there.

“I am seeking for lord Eodwine. Is he here?”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine, Thornden, and Harreld had begun work on the mugs of ale Ginna had brought out, ripping black bread into chunks, consumed with large cuts of cheese. Eodwine was enjoying his repast so much, eyes closed with delight, that he didn't notice someone standing by the table, waiting.

"Uh, Lord Eodwine!" Thornden said.

"Yes?"

Thornden motioned with his eyes. It was Rowenna.

"Lord, I am to freshen the rooms but yours is locked."

"The rooms be hanged, girl!" Eodwine cried, having had quite enough of seeing this girl do nothing but work from sun up to sundown; he was surprised she had not thinned so much as to blow away on the breeze. "Sit with us and eat and drink."

"But Lord-"

"Do as I say and enjoy yourself for a change, Rowenna, and that's an order if you like."

Rowenna's brow rose and she sat herself down opposite Eodwine, next to Harreld, who self-consciously moved his chair away an inch or two, looking over his shoulder at the hallway Ginna was likely to come out of at any moment.

"So tell me-" Eodwine was about to begin when he was interrupted by a loud voice issuing from the door to the Hall.

“I am seeking for lord Eodwine. Is he here?”

"I am he," Eodwine replied, rising and moving to meet him near the firepit. "Welcome to the Eorling Mead Hall. You are just in time for lunch. How are you called?"

[Nerindel]

Æðel chewed nervously on her lower lip as she fingered the fine parchment within her hand. She had been awoken abruptly that morning by a sharp brisk knock at the door and after ascertaining that it had not indeed been merely a manifestation of her dream she rose quickly. Hurrying into a robe she had opened the door and it had been a surprise to find one of the kings retainers, as she looked at him in his livery she had wondered for a moment if they ever slept or if they simply did so fully clothed, which of course was absurd as not a rumple or a crease was evident to say that that was true. It wasn’t until the young man coughed politely that she realised that she was standing in the doorway in only her night things staring. Suddenly self conscious and hoping her cheeks didn’t colour with the embarrassment she felt, she pulled her robe tighter. The young man at least had the decency, as was his place to look ahead at nothing as he lifted up the small silver tray in his hand, upon which sat the letter she now nervously fingered. If not for the fine script that clearly addressed the letter to

Miss Æðel,
Residence of the Healers


she might have thought the young man mistaken in his delivery. However before she had the chance to enquire as to whom the missive was from the young man was gone. She looked up the hallway in time to see him turn the corner away from the healers residences. …Residences of the Healers it made it sound grander than it really was. The truth of it was that the residences were no more than the two small rooms next to the healers hall that she and Hrethel occupied.

Closing the door and crossing to what under numerous scrolls, parchments and a stone pestle and mortar was a small writing desk, she slowly turned the folded parchment. Her legs almost giving out under her as she recognised the seal of the king. She dropped down hard on the wooden chair that was partner to the desk, her hand shaking as she fumbled to break the seal. why on earth was the king writing to her….what could she have possibly done to give the king of all people notice! her hands shook further as she slowly unfolded the page.

A summons…it was a summons! Her stomach knotted and her throat dried as she read on quickly, but it said nothing more, no explanation only that she was to present herself at the hour before noon bell, in the Kings study. Feeling herself begin to panic she forced herself to take a deep breath. It might be nothing, she thought forcing calm as she put down the letter and crossed to the dark wood closet that held her belongings. Perhaps Hrethel wanted her properly presented before releasing her back to Lord Eodwine’s service? She chose out the best of her cytel, a rich brown that matched her eyes with a clean white shift, but before she even had them laid out on the bed another thought came to her.

Only a month ago she had disobeyed Hrethel and rode beyond the city in the hopes of doing a service for her benefactor, Lord Eodwine. But as with most things, not all had gone as she planned, infact none of it. She had barely left the city behind when she came upon two exhausted and terrified farm girls on a tall roan. It seemed that their farm on the boarder lands of the traitor Sorn had been attacked and their father had sent them to get help. After settling the youngest girl on her mare she had sent the older girl on to get the help her father had sent her for.

By the time she and the younger girl had reached the farm the excitement was all but over, the bandits or whoever had set about the farm had been killed or run off and now the farm hands with some of the local freeholders where helping to put out the fires. Several young men had been wounded including the girls father, she was kept busy attended their wounds and listening to anger and unrest as they awaited the arrival of the help the king would surely send. It seemed that since the removal of Lord Sorn many of the border farms on his land had suffered losses, mostly livestock and grain. This had been the first real attack and all eyes look beyond the border and to the hills , “they’re growing bold!” one man had muttered angrily.

Hama had come with fifteen men, they questioned everyone including her thoroughly, checking and burning the attackers bodies before sending her back to Hrethel who reprimanded her soundly, by setting her to scrubbing pots in the kitchen and forbidding her from going to Eodwine’s hall till she could prove herself trustworthy. An odd thing seeing as how every day since she had been allowed back to the farm to check on her patients and every evening over supper Hrethel would listen as she voiced her concern over the growing unrest. She pitied the Lord that was chosen to take over those lands, for he would have a job gaining the trust of those people, who to her were rightly feeling abandoned and unprotected.

Had Hrethel gone to the king with her concerns? What had she been thinking speaking so openly! But Hrethel was a friend and loyal to the king, he knew nothing of why she wished to remain unassuming and unnoticed… or did he , there had been questions… How long had she served in the healers halls in Minas Tirith?… And at what age?….. And why so young?….. And many others aside and although most she answered honestly there were others she had most definitely skirted around. But none of this was getting her anywhere, only knotting her stomach tighter and causing a dull ache at her temples. Perhaps Hrethel could tell her more? Quickly she brushed her teeth with salt and soda, washed and pulled on both shift and cytle, before quickly braiding her dark hair and heading to the study were she had hoped Hrethel would be.

The old mans study had been empty when she reached it, though the morning meal had be brought. So she ate alone, pondering were the old man could be. In fact she didn’t see him all that morning, which was strange as he always seemed eager and excited to start new lessons with her. As she went about the usual morning tasks she began to wonder if he was purposely avoiding her, but it soon became clear that no-one had seen him that morning not even Verin Hrethel’s maid, but by the time she had discovered this there was no time to worry about it as the appointed hour was almost upon her. And how she now stood a short distance from the kings study biting her lip nervously fingering the fine parchment hoping to find some last clue as to why she had been summoned.

“Miss Aeol!”

She started at the address and looking up quickly stuffing the parchment into her pocket. The voice was that of Tayn Farn one of the kings guard he was a tall fellow at least ten years older than her but still seen as young amongst many of the other guards, his golden straw hair showed under the helm that he wore and he always had the rugged look of one who forgot to shave that morning but it suited him and she had seen many a maid eyeing him when they thought no-one was watching. He was handsome she gave them that but he was also stern and very dedicated to his work. Any woman that thought to be his wife would have to realise that she would always be second to his duty. A shame she thought as she nodded acknowledgement to his address. The love of a good woman might actually make him a little less stiff.


“The King is Expecting you.” he said stiffly as she reached him.
Taking a deep breath she steadied herself “I'm ready.”
Tayn nodded a quick understanding before knocking on the large chestnut door and pulling it open for her.

[Folwren]

“I am Hameth, lord,” the man replied to Eodwine’s question. “And I came to offer you my services. I heard that you were seeking an innkeeper and I think I could be your man for it.”

Fliede , hearing the proud words from the doorway, smiled dryly and mimicked in her mind, ‘And I think I’m the man for it.’ She walked forward ahead of her father with confidence. He followed more slowly, but in such a manner than few could have known that he went forward in blindness. “You’ll have to learn manners before you’ll be fit for such a job, Sir Hameth,” she interrupted before the eorl could reply. “And learn not to run down older men than yourself and children. As an innkeeper, you’ll have to learn to be kind to all folk.”

“Forgive my daughter, lord,” her father said quietly. “She is hot headed and in her love for me she is rash and not altogether polite.”

He reached Fliede and stopped where she had, a few paces away from Eodwine and Hameth. In great dimness and uncertain shapes and shadows, he could see that both Hameth and Eodwine were looking at him.

"I am Norjm, sir, at your service, and this is my daughter, Fliede."

[littlemanpoet]

Not one, but two who wished to be innkeeper!

"I greet you, then, Norjm and Fliede, and Hameth," Eodwine replied, looking into the face of each of them in turn. He considered a moment, then said, "I will speak with Hameth first, in my room, while Norjm and Fliede take the hospitality of my hall." He turned and looked back at Harreld and Thornden who sat gawking. "Thornden! Please show this Hall's hospitality to these two fine Eorlingas. And Rowenna, see that Ginna brings them food and drink."

Thornden and Rowenna rose, and Rowenna disappeared down the hallway to the kitchen.

Eodwine turned to Hameth and gestured for him to follow the lord of the Middle Emnet to his rooms.

[Folwren]

Things certainly looked liable to change, Thornden realized as he stood up to obey Eodwine’s bidding. There would be little dallying about now if Eodwine hired an innkeeper immediately. They would be out of the present mead hall quickly and go on to the new holdings. Eodwine’s tidings that morning had seemed as though they could be yet far off and change might not be sudden. The morning’s work in the armory had helped set it back a little way, but now it appeared that that would not be so.

He approached Norjm and Fliede with a polite smile. “Come in, sir, and make yourself comfortable.” When he looked down at Fliede’s upturned face his smile broadened. He had not understood her attack upon the man Hameth earlier, but now as he stood near her and saw the hot flush still in her cheeks and a shred of temper still present in her eyes, he found himself amused. “Take a seat and shortly, Ginna will be out with something for you to eat.”

He stepped to the side and motioned with his hand. Fliede’s face cleared almost entirely and she smiled slightly in return. “Thank you,” she said. She waited until Norjm had walked on ahead of her and then she followed quietly behind him.

As they drew near to the table, Rowenna and Ginna arrived together from the corridor to the kitchen, bearing food and drink for the two newcomers. Fliede and Norjm seated themselves near Harreld and Thornden sat down in his original place.

“Have you come to seek the innkeeper position, too?” he asked Norjm after a moment of silence.

“I have. My daughter encouraged me to come. I think lord Eodwine will find his man in Hameth, however,” Norjm said, speaking what he truly believed. “He will be more fit for the job.”

“It’s not true,” Fliede said, her temper roused again.

“Fliede,” Norjm said sternly, and with annoyance entering his patient face.

She shut her mouth firmly on further words, but Thornden caught the keen look of impatience in her face.

“Forgive me, sir,” Thornden said, “but may I not ask your daughter what it is she has against this Hameth?”

“If you wish,” Norjm said mildly.

“He stopped us outside the hall here,” Fliede said at once. “And he made father stop and said that he should be used to making way for men better than himself. And he isn’t better than my father - for father hasn’t done anything wrong in his entire life, and just because he is half blind doesn’t mean that he’s a beggar or is unworthy or any such thing.”

Thornden turned his eyes from Fliede to her father with surprise. He had not guessed that the elderly man was partially blind.

“That would explain what you said earlier, then,” he said, lookig back at Fliede.

“Aye. I just hope the eorl has eyes to see what an incompetent, rude, and overbearing chap he has with him now.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine led Hameth back into the Hall. It had been a good talk. The young man had promise. He bid him good day and to return in two days for news. Hameth walked out of the Hall with a spritely step; but Eodwine noticed that he said nothing to the others sitting at table before he left. Maybe it was nothing. He had seemed rather confident, maybe too much; but young men were like that, and if he had the skills, maybe he would do.

Eodwine walked over to the table where Thornden had sat with Norjm and Fliede, and smiled.

"I trust that my almbudsman has given you good hospitality." He turned to look Norjm in the eye. "Shall we go to my rooms, Master Norjm?"

"Can I come too?" cried the girl.

Eodwine grinned but shook his head. "I fear that if you came your father might not get to speak for himself." The girl opened her mouth to protest but Eodwine raised a hand. "Surely you would say only the best and truest of your father, but I must hear it from his own lips. My friends here will keep you company." He looked to Norjm again. "Shall we go?"

[Lhunardawen]

Ginna went back to the kitchen after leaving food and drink and Rowenna with the two newcomers. So soon had some expressed interest in being the new innkeeper! Ginna took no thought of how they came to respond so quickly, but that surely they would be relocating soon.

She still could not help wondering, just like that morning, if Harreld already knew about it, and whether he would stay or leave. Well, someone had to stop speculating and start getting answers.

"Ginna, are you not hungry yet?"

She turned to Kara, who was taking out dishes for their use. "Go on ahead, I'll be right with you," replied Ginna, and hurried back out of the kitchen.

Rowenna was nowhere to be found. The little girl was in rather deep conversation with Thornden, and Harreld sat listening to them. He immediately sat up upon seeing Ginna approach him.

"Harreld, will you come with me? I need your assistance."

Thornden looked at Ginna, apparently overhearing her request. "Do you have need of another to help you?"

"No, thank you, one will be quite enough. Besides, someone needs to keep-" Ginna motioned towards their young companion.

"Fliede," the girl supplied.

"-Fliede company. A pleasure to meet you," Ginna added with a smile. "Please excuse us."

She led Harreld to the alder tree court, which she found, with relief, they had to themselves. Still, she kept her voice low, without quite knowing why she felt the urge to be secretive.

"I think you're already aware of what's going on, why Eodwine is looking for an innkeeper. Of course I will be going with him when he leaves. How about you? Do you think he would ask either you or Garreth to come with him?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Aye, I have heard it in talk this noon at table."

Harreld watched Ginna's face, looking intently up at his own. She had come right to the point! She liked him enough to want him to go to Scarburg. Did this hint at more? Might she want to be his wife some day? What would Garreth say? Maybe it was unfair to leave his brother alone. Should he deny himself this hope for Garreth's sake? All these thoughts rushed through his mind in a moment.

"If Lord Eodwine would have me, I would be his smith at Scarburg."

Her face lit up with hope and she reached for his hand.

But I must speak with Garreth first, he said to himself. He knew he should say the words aloud, but he could not bring himself to say anything that would dim her happiness. He reached up and took her hand in his, and his face twitched into a smile. Maybe his hesitations were not noticed, maybe they were; either way, he did not think of how they looked to her.

[Folwren]

Norjm smiled at the eorl’s words to his daughter. “I fear that if you came your father might not get to speak for himself.” From pure experience with his daughter, Norjm knew she would have a reply to that, if only to promise that she wouldn’t speak at all, but she said nothing. Eodwine had probably stopped her, for he continued a brief moment later. “Surely you would say only the best and truest of you father, but I must hear it from his own lips. My friends here will keep you company. Shall we go?”

Norjm stood up, knowing, rather than seeing, that the last had been addressed to him. “Yes, lord.” He picked up his cane and moved about the table. Eodwine turned and led him away.

Fliede sat back down and picked up her fork again. “I would not have said much,” she told Thornden and Harreld with a pitiful and extremely innocent look on her face. “I really would not have.” Thornden struggled hard to keep his face straight. Fliede looked at him and looked mildly taken aback at his expression of humor. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I would hardly know, miss,” Thornden said. “I just met you.”

“But so has lord Eodwine and yet he already seems to know I chatter like a magpie.”

“Well, if you say so yourself-”

“But it’s not entirely true! And I would have not said too much if the eorl had asked me to be quiet.”

Fliede would likely have gone on, but at that moment, Ginna reappeared in the Hall. She asked for Harreld’s assistance and the young smith rose immediately. They left Thornden and Fliede alone with a few added words and for a minute, there was a silence in the hall.

“She said pleased to meet me and I do not even know her name therefore...it could not have been a real meeting,” Fliede commented to her lunch and this time, Thornden couldn’t help but laugh.

[Lhunardawen]

"That's wonderful, Harreld."

With her hand in his, Ginna could not help smiling contentedly. She did not realise how much she had been holding out hope until she heard his assurance. For some reason, however, she could not suppress a nagging worry - not that Lord Eodwine would not have need of him, she felt almost certain he would, but...

Oh, stop it, Ginna, she chided herself.

"I think we should go back now. Kara's waiting for me." Harreld nodded and let her go.

Ginna tried to wipe away the smile from her lips as they returned to the Hall, for she was not quite prepared to explain its presence should it be noticed. When they reached the table Thornden was laughing, apparently at something Fliede had said. As Harreld took back his seat, Ginna looked at the little girl.

"Here's your companion, I bring him back with my thanks. But it seems you have managed well with just Thornden here. Oh," she exclaimed with sudden recollection, "my name is Ginna, by the way."

[Folwren]

Norjm followed the eorl quietly out of the hall, through a doorway and up a staircase. His cane bumped quietly on the first stair. The shadows here were thick, and Norjm could see nothing.

Eodwine led Norjm to his chamber. The door to the private room was closed. Eodwine invited Norjm to sit at the small table. Once both were seated opposite each other, Eodwine began.

"Thank you for coming today. I do need to have an innkeeper soon, for the king has commanded me to remove to lands that he has granted me, and I need someone whom I can trust to hold this inn for me. Tell me about yourself, and why you want to be my innkeeper."

Eodwine wondered how bad his eyesight was, and if it would hinder his work, but he decided to hold his peace for now and hear the man out.

Norjm laid his stick aside and laid his hands on his knees beneath the table top. He looked back at Eodwine nearly squarely in the eye.

"I wish to be your innkeeper, my lord, so that I can give something more to my daughter than I ever can at present. For now, I am a mere carpenter, sir. I do what I can with my eyes as they are." He motioned vaguely towards his face. "I was not always thus. Before the Great War, I lived in the Westfold, under Erkenbrand. In a skirmish against orcs I was badly wounded."

Norjm sighed and turned his eyes towards the light of the window. "I don't want to burden you with my tale, sir. Suffice to say I lost most of my eyesight and much of my memory, as well as my position in Erkenbrand's company. I could not fight, and I could not advise. And war was happening quickly and men were always on the move. You remember, surely...

"Soon after the war and while I was yet recovering from my wounds, we came to Edoras and made what living we could. My wife died two years ago, and my daughter and I have been living as well as we could since. However..." And here he looked again and Eodwine and it would have been hard to tell that he could scarcely see him, so keen was his g lance, "Fliede deserves more. She is the one who asked me to come today. And it was for her only that I agreed."

There was a slight pause, and then Norjm spoke again, quickly. His voice was sharp. "I do not want you to feel sorry for me. I have not come to beg this position from you. You asked me to tell you about myself and why I came, and I have done just that, to the best of my ability. If the other man who came here is more worthy of the post - if he could hold it better - then by no means give it to me because you feel sorry for me. I will not accept such charity from you."

Eodwine leaned back in his chair and regarded the elderly man. It was a study in contrasts. One young and too confident, full of energy and little experience; the other old, having paid a heavy price for the wisdom of his years, almost blind and having experience in many things but not as an innkeeper. He hoped there might be others who would show interest, for he did not care for the possibility that his choice lay between these two. If it did, however, he leaned toward Norjm, for one reason only: his thought was for another's wellbeing rather than for his own gain. Well, there was a second reason: he felt akin to this man since they had both lost a wife. And he had to admit that there was a third reason: he liked the man.

"I have an inn that needs to be profitable," Eodwine said finally. "Whatever my thought of your story, I need a man who can do the job. Can you, with such bad eyesight as you have yourself said? And if you can, how?”

“I do not know for absolute certain if I can,” Norjm answered at once, and truthfully. He paused, seeming to hesitate, and then he said, “I would need help. More help than my daughter can give me. She can be my eyes, so far as seeing other men and people and what condition things are in, but she could not help me when it came to the money keeping and the books, if this job would require that. She cannot write well, for I have been unable to teach her that, and her mother died when she was yet learning.

“And I can not answer your question further unless you tell me more, or ask different questions, for I know little about innkeeping.”

Eodwine could not stifle a grin. "Truth be told, I know little of innkeeping either, and I was hoping to find someone to whom it would come easily. Someone who had run his own business, I was thinking." Norjm did not look encouraged by his words. "Of course, I knew very little of eorlship when I was given it by King Eomer the first of the year! So if my new innkeeper is the right man, whatever his background, well and good.

"But now, I would ask you-" Eodwine entered familiar territory, that of placing a small bit of responsibility in the one being tested, to see how he responded. "-what would you like to do now, in order to get a sense of what innkeeping is all about?"

Norjm looked downwards. In days gone past, when he could still see, he would have studied Eodwine’s face for any sign that his expression or eyes might give. But it had been many years since he could see any man’s face and he had grown accustomed to looking to himself for answers and not seeking cues or help from other men.

“If I could have what I wished at this point to get used to innkeeping, I would first like to know the enviroment – what room I had and what I would be in charge of. I would then like to know what is expected of me – what rules or guidelines I would have to live by. And after that.” What to say? He knew nothing. He couldn’t just say ‘I’d like to run the place for a week and see how it went’, the eorl needed to chose someone before then. “I don’t know.” He stood up, abruptly, feeling awkward and somehow ashamed. It was a ridiculous situation, he being blind and all and not knowing what was expected or what he would have to do. He should not have come. “I’m sorry. It would not be right for me to take the place of innkeeper. You need a better man than I. I would ask for a trial, but you need to choose before then. You can not give every man who comes to ask for this position a trial, and I realize that.”

Eodwine suspected that the man was right. He was unsure of himself, unable to see, and inexperienced. Why had he come? Eodwine smiled inside: because his daughter had persuaded him to.

"Norjm, I think you are right that you should not be my innkeeper. However, I will have much carpentry that will need to be done in Scarburg, and my man Stigend will need help. Someone who is skilled and is willing to be commanded is what I need. Would such a role suit you?"

Norjm sat down again as abruptly as he had stood. He couldn’t help it. The offer came unexpectedly, like a crack of deafening thunder out of an utterly blue sky. For a moment he could not answer, but inside his head there was only one thought - that this eorl deserved the lordship he had, for he was a good, noble man.

“My lord,” he said finally. “I accept with my whole heart, if you truly mean it. I do not know how skilled I am, but I am willing to be commanded. Ask anything of me. I am your servant.”

Eodwine smiled. He had not actually asked Norjm to be a carpenter, much less his man. It did not matter. Norjm was the kind of man, no matter his age, that Eodwine wished to call his liegeman and friend. He looked Norjm in the eye, still smiling.

"I hold court tomorrow. If you still want to be my man in Scarburg, come and I will you make bond with you." Eodwine rose. "Let us return to the Hall. You shall have lunch with me and my men today."

[Folwren]

Fliede did not quite know why Thornden was laughing, but before she could ask, Ginna and Harreld returned by the outside door.

“Here’s your companion. I bring him back with my thanks. But it seems you have managed well with just Thornden here.” Fliede opened her mouth to reply that she did not know what she had said so humorously and she had evidently been the one keeping Thornden amused opposed to the other way around, but suddenly Ginna exclaimed, “Oh! My name is Ginna, by the way.”

Fliede smiled broadly and stood up from the table. She dropped a quick curtsey. “It is nice to meet you, Ginna,” she said. She looked quickly from Ginna to Harreld, took quick stock of his slightly flushed face, and looked again at Ginna. “You like him, don’t you?” she asked. “That’s why you thanked me for his company.”

Thornden did not blame Ginna for looking slightly taken aback. Before anyone could make any sort of reply, Eodwine and Norjm came back into the hall. Fliede spotted them first and with a bright look on her face, she darted about the table and ran to her father. She stopped without touching him.

“Papa! What did he say? Has he decided?”

Norjm reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder as he continued to walk towards the long table. “We will eat lunch with him, for he has invited us. And tomorrow we will return here.”

[Taralphiel]

"My my! Almost doin’ backflips, lad! I’m impressed!"

"Gant! You know that hand-walking would be my strength. My feet are not the best." Lys chuckled as he stepped back off the foot-ladder after securing a thick rug to the side of the waver’s stall. He stood back and checked to see it was draping straight, then turned back to the man.

"I think I am doing much better at this, now I am able to climb that ladder without being so frightened". Gant grinned and nodded "You are doing a fine job, lad. When I first saw ye it was painful to see a boy so sad. Putting a task to one’s mind is often the surest way to recovery o’ all parts o’ the body"

Lys quickly turned to see to a woman thumbing a patched blanket rolled on the front table. He had won this ‘job’ from Gant not long after the day that Rilef had been slain. Lys was not in the Hall at the time of the disturbance but felt the pain it had caused everyone in the Hall. He was most concerned about Thornden, but kept that to himself. Instead Lys had, after walking by that stall more than once, secured himself an agreement with the merchant Gant. He would work until he could take the weave as payment. Lys had spent every day since working with the man and was happily counting the time until it could be his.

"I can still remember the change in your face when I called you over to strike our deal, Lys. Your face almost made me sing out loud. You were so happy! I am glad I have had your service. I am not young, my lad".

Lys smiled politely at the woman and handed Gant the coins from her purchase. He eyed them, nodded, and slipped them in a pouch on his belt. Lys had become accustomed to listening to Gant and completing his tasks.

"It means so much to me to have that blanket. It reminds me of something. But it is not…clear. I wish I knew."

"You will with time. I am certain. Now you must be off for lunch!"

Lys nodded and began his walk back to the Mead Hall. He still had a limp, and flushed with embarrassment as younger boys sprinted past him. As much as he wanted to run, he knew it was also something that would take time if it could be cured at all. Lys gave a little shrug and hurried back to the Hall.

After entering the kitchen and taking a small lunch for himself he Lys saw Thornden sitting with some familiar faces and new additions at the table. Approaching shyly, he said "May I join you all?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Lys! Of course!" cried Eodwine. "Here, take Rowenna's place. She seems to be done."

Thornden spoke up. "How have you fared this morning, Lys?"

The boy told them of his morning's adventures.

Rowenna

Rowenna had been nowhere to be seen, as Ginna had noticed. She had done a most risky thing: she had quietly left the Hall when the visitors came, in lieu of cleaning the room next to the Eorl's, had taken a cup and placed it against the wall and listened through the wall to the Eorl's conversations with both men who wished to be innkeeper. As soon as the interviews were over she snuck back out of the room, unseen or heard by any others, as far as she could tell, and returned to the chore Kara had set for her before Eodwine had interrupted her.

In her opinion neither man was at all suited to the job, but she was impressed with the Eorl's quick decision as to how to use Norjm's obviously good qualities.

She went about her work, busy with her own thoughts, moving here and there in the Mead Hall, making every effort to know where the others were, and with whom they talked, and when possible, what they said. Every little bit of information could turn out to be useful.

Falco

Falco had been about to come out of his room and had seen Rowenna turn into the room next to Eodwine's, and had seen her leave after Eodwine's interviews were over. He tilted his head and closed one eye, squinting through the other, wondering what was up, if anything? His stomach growled. It was time to go eat! He had moped in his room all morning, and moping was hungry work, especially for a hobbit. He wondered if he ought to stick around and see what Rowenna was up to. Maybe nothing, but maybe something. It wouldn't hurt to keep one eye and one ear open just in case, while he waited for word from Eodwine about others who might be leaving Edoras for parts west and north.

No one else had known that the Eorl had included his request in his errand into Edoras that morning, but that was how Falco wanted it. He needed to get back to the Shire, but he needed to do it safely, and King's peace or no king's peace, recent events had convinced him that robbers and bandits and other sorts of ruffians and sharkies might be more than happy to separate him from his pony or his purse, or him from his freedom, or worse yet his head from his neck. He would wait.

He entered the Hall and saw that many were at table already.

[Lhunardawen]

Relieved at the arrival of Lord Eodwine and Norjm, Ginna quickly excused herself and retreated to the safety of the kitchen, where there were no little girls to catch her unawares with sudden exclamations of "You like him, don't you?"

She stopped at the threshold and sighed, grateful that she had not been obliged to respond to Fliede. Ginna wondered how Harreld must have felt about the comment . . . or how he would have felt if Ginna did respond.

The very thought made Ginna flush. She had no idea how she would respond. Perhaps that was why she was careful not to be seen when she talked to Harreld: she did not want to risk being confronted about it. But her precautionary measure had been to no avail, and a visiting child, of all the people in the Mead Hall, had breached her defences! It was not as though, however, Fliede had really accomplished anything. No one had followed up her query. Ginna was simply thinking too much, and decided to think no more of it.

Kara was putting down a tray of bread on the table when Ginna entered the kitchen. "There you are," she said, "I thought you had disappeared for good!"

"I'm sorry," Ginna replied as she took the tray. "There are more people who will be having lunch here. I'll bring this out for them."

"Maybe we could join them, if the lord does not mind. I'll get some water and follow you."

Ginna did not really feel like being around a lot of people, after what had just transpired. She feared that Fliede might have trouble keeping her tongue in check, and with Eodwine back there . . . she did not even want to imagine the scenario. She quietly dropped the tray of bread on the table, hoping to stay unnoticed amidst Lys's storytelling, and started back towards the kitchen.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld was no fool. He did get tongue tied in the presence of fair women, and thus said foolish sounding things, but his mind was good; good at reading hints. He had seen the relief on Ginna's face when Eodwine had come back with the elderly Norjm. She had not had to answer the girl's question. "You like him, don't you?"

Harreld chewed on his hard black bread and drank the dregs of his ale in silence while all those around him carried on as if the world was full of joy. He watched as Ginna came back in with a tray laden with more bread, and how she snuck quickly away, not willing to be in the same room with him.

Yes, Ginna liked him, or she would not have pulled him aside to ask if he would go to Scarburg. But she was embarrassed by him, too. She did not want the Mead Hall, much less, Edoras, to know that she had any feelings toward the bumbling twin smith of the eastern quarter of Edoras. If she did not wish to have it known that she liked him, much less would she want to be his wife someday; or if she did lower herself - for she was not lowborn as he was, he knew - she would be embarrassed by him their whole life. It would not be good.

He stood up more abruptly than he had meant to and caught the surprised looks of the others.

"I must be back to my smithy," he growled, and shoulders hunched, plodded out of the Hall.

[Nerindel]

The room was well lit and the small fire in the hearth gave a subtle warmth to the room, it was not as stately a room as she had imagined but more inviting than some. To one end of the room was a large desk with several lacquered boxes neatly arranged upon it. To the other end was a round table littered with what she thought must be maps and charts, then to the centre was the hearth. By which sat several high backed comfortable looking green fabric covered chairs each with it’s own rearing white horse embroidered into the fabric. Above the hearth over a dark wood mantel two spears crossed and between them glimmering against the fire light sat the kings crest. As well as this decoration several portraits adorned the oak panelled walls, past kings of Rohan no doubt, but one portrait stood out an oddity among the wise old faces. It was of a woman in a rich green riding dress upon a white mare adorned with both sword and shield. Æðelhild could not help but stare in awe as she recognised the figure of Lady Eowyn. The princess and the witch king had been a particular favourite tale of hers growing up and as a child she had always fancied herself becoming a shield maiden like the lady Eowyn, it had been why she had pestered her grandfather into letting her watch his students train, even when her father had insisted it was not the done thing for a lady of Gondor. But that was a long time ago and another lifetime, a childish fantasy best forgotten.

“An Extraordinary likeness , do you not think?” The subtle rich tones of the kings voice shook her from her reverie.

“Eh, why I would not know, your Majesty. I..I have never had the good fortune to see her ladyship close up.” she stumbled over her words realising that she had been gawking like a wide eyed, awe struck child. Blushing profusely she dropped into her best curtsy, her eyes cast down to the floor. If the king had seen her embarrassment he took no notice of it as he crossed to one of the high backed chairs beside the fire.

“Come, sit.” he issued, gesturing to the chair opposite him.

She looked up, startled and confused by kings break in proprietary. In these halls she should have been regarded as little more than a servant, but to be asked to sit by the king! Surely even here that was a strange thing, but feeling the weight of not one but five pairs of eyes on her she was quick to obey. Master Hrethel, the corners of his eyes creased with what looked like sympathy stood to the kings left , attempting to smile encouragingly as she sat. While to the kings right the tall and straight form of Captain Hama stood watching her as a hawk would its prey, with a glint of distrust and suspicion in his eyes, that made her want to squirm, but that look was not for her alone for it also took in the two men that stood near her chair by the fire. Two men that at first glance seemed little different from any other Rohirrim man at arms, only that their scabbards were empty and their dirty blonde hair did not seem right on their dark weather worn features and the younger of the pair even seemed uncomfortable in the stiff woollens and leathers he wore, but catching her eye he smiled and she could swear there was a light of excitement in his grey eyes as he turned to his companion, who dipped his head courteously to her. The gesture almost froze her for there was no mistaking the recognition in those dark hard eyes. She quickly turned away, ready to enquire as meekly as she could as to why she had been summoned, though she was now all but sure she knew the answer. But as she turn, it was to the King studying her so thoughtfully that the words where lost on her tongue.


There was a long moment of silence before the King spoke. “It would seem Miss Æðel that you are a puzzle that must be solved, you see my Captain here has been quite uneasy about allowing someone, a foreigner you might say reside within my halls without proper recommendation.”

“But your Majesty, Lord Eodwine.” She protested weakly looking uneasily between the king and his captain, she would have also taken in Hrethel if not for the guilt in her heart that she thought her eyes would betray.

“I Believe that Lord Eodwine knows even less than we do.” Captain Hama answered evenly, with no hint of accusation in his voice, though his eyes narrowed slightly toward the two men by the fire, but if they noticed they did not show it, only continuing their careful scrutiny of her. Almost as if they where curious as to what she would do next, but with a readiness that reminded her of the silent shadows, The name given to her late fathers patrol. Six men who it was said that along with Lord Faramir where the only survivors of the hidden refuge of Henneth Annun, after the madness of Lord Denethor had forced their lord and captain to take them into Osgiliath a mistake that had come at a heavy price and a place that her father would never speak of despite Lord Faramir’s promises to cleanse the ancient city and again reopen her gates.

“It would seem so.” The king nodded agreeing with his captains assessment, “but we will get to that in due course, but first to continue,” the king went on. “To so elevate my captains concerns I had Hrethel here, Write to the healers in Gondor that it was said you had once studied under.” Æðel looked up at the old man at the king gestured and even through her own guilt she could not help but feel a little hurt by his deception, but seeing that same hurt look reflected back at her she looked away ashamed, ashamed of what she had kept from him and listened as the king went on to inform her of the glowing praise and recommendations the Hall had given her and of their disappointment that she had not chosen to remain with them, but their relief that she was safe.

“I don’t understand?” she said confused looking between the king and the two men to her right, who she had now convinced herself that despite their clothing and hair in the Rohirrim fashion where knights of Gondor sent to bring her back. Why had the healers not said anything and why was she here if they had spoken so highly of her?

As if reading her thoughts the older of the two men spoke, “His Majesty King Eomer was not the only one to receive word of Miss Æðel or should I say Lady Æðelhild of Arnen from the halls.” At the declaration of her full name and title the colour drained from Æðel’s face, her muscles tensed and panic flooded through her, wave after wave like a turbulent sea and before she even realised what she was doing she was on her knees begging, no pleading for Mercy and Safe haven to the King of Rohan. Retelling as best she could through tears and broken sobs her tale and how it came that she found herself here in Rohan.

[Folwren]

Thornden felt sorry for Ginna. At first he had nearly laughed, again, for Fliede amused him greatly, but her embarrassment was so obvious that he really felt a great deal of pity for her. He was kind enough not to look at her and allowed her to slip away unnoticed while the attention turned to Eodwine and Norjm’s entrance.

He was pleased to see Lys. The boy had been getting on wonderfully and Thornden saw him comparatively little now that he had begun to work for the weaver.

Whilst the lad told about his morning, Ginna entered with a new platter of fresh bread and exited again at once, with nary a glance towards Harreld. Scarcely had the young woman left the room again than the smith rose abruptly, cutting Lys’ talk short.

“I must be back to my smithy,” he said in excuse before turning and stumping out. Lys, Falco, and Eodwine, all of whom knew nothing of what had passed before, stared after him, wondering what the trouble was. But Thornden knew well enough. He was the first to turn his eyes away from the door and addressed Lys, trying to pull the attention back to him instead of it remaining fixed on Harreld’s clipped words and sudden departure.

“Sounds like you had a successful morning, Lys,” he said. “But I don’t want you wearying yourself out.”

Taralphiel's Post

Lys began recounting his days spent with the weaver and his success. He felt glad that he could tell Thornden he was being useful and was not seen with his obvious weakness when he tended to his agreement.

"I think I have worked to earn it. I am glad I can do something useful. I now know how to sort money and I can tell when someone offers a price too low. Gant has said I could do this for proper work one day, had I wares to sell. He said I have an open face and that is what draws people!"

Lys continued to bubble over with his tales of people he had met and what he had sell between great bites of bread. He stopped when the man sitting across from him, Harreld, quickly excused himself. He blushed a little. "I am sorry, I am talking too fast. I'm too excited!"

"Sounds like you had a successful morning, Lys," Thornden said, reassuring Lys he had not done wrong, "But I don’t want you wearying yourself out."

Lys shook his head and said quickly "Oh no! I am doing well! I am not in pain as much as before. I can almost run but it looks silly. I feel it is making me much stronger!" Lys stood from the bench and carefully put his weight on his poorer ankle. He winced, but was able to almost stand on one foot. He looked up at Thornden and smiled.

"See, it is much better..." He paused, before adding quietly "Would you like to see what my work will earn me? I would like to show you."

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld strode to the Eorling Mead Hall, having put away his hammer and tongs and banked his fire. He could not bank the fire inside. And the hammer and tongs in his mind kept on beating upon the same anvil of undeniable reality.

Garreth had heard him out during the afternoon. Which meant that Harreld had mumbled a little about maybe thinking about the possibility of considering becoming Lord Eodwine's smith in Scarburg. Garreth badgered him with question after question until he had from Harreld everything needed to make the first '2' of '2 + 2 = 4'. He figured out the second '2' for himself: Ginna. But Garreth had not left it at '4', because he could tell that Harreld was still holding something back that was not sitting well at all. Garreth badgered and badgered until Harreld snarled all at once in words ringing louder than any hammer on anvil.

"Ginna finds me embarrassing!"

The ensuing silence had been deafening.

"Then she is not worthy of you," Garreth had said finally.

Harreld had snorted his response. "Idiot, I'm not worthy of her. She's highborn and I'm lowborn. She'd never marry me. Why did I never see it before?"

"Then why go to Scarburg?" Garreth had asked. It was a good question. Harreld had left Garreth with a dual purpose: to ask Ginna if she would ever consider the possibility, some day in the future, of becoming his wife, and if not, why would he go to Scarburg?

Harreld came to the front door of the mead hall, stopped and stared at the doorpost, and sighed a deep, reluctant sigh.

"No use standing here until Turin returns. I might as well get this over with."

He passed through the door, through the armory where he set aside his pair of daggers, and entered the mead hall.

Lhunardawen's post

Harreld crossed the hall and took his usual place at the table nearest to the kitchen. He sat hunched over, one leg on either side of the bench. No one else was there yet. He waited for Ginna to come as he beat his fist lightly against the table. What he needed was a good large ale cup.

After some time Ginna came in carrying empty dishes and silverware, Lèoðern tailing her. They had spent the last few hours together, chatting as they sat on the bench in the courtyard when they had become too tired of playing tag. Frodides had yelled at her to set the table for supper and Lèoðern had insisted on helping. Ginna was unwilling, however, to let the little girl carry anything, for her safety, so she had to be contented with simply coming along.

The sight of Harreld sitting alone at the table startled Ginna. She quickly became aware of her flushed face, her hair in disarray, but it was too late to make herself more presentable. She flashed him a self-conscious smile, and looked immediately away to set herself on her task.

The moment Ginna entered the hall, Harreld watched her every move, for he needed to know by any sign he could find in her. Not even a greeting beyond a quick, fleeting smile. Harreld pursed his lips in annoyance at the seeming verification of his doubt.

"Good greeting, Ginna," he said gruffly, not trying much to hide his ire. "I would like some ale and bread."

Ginna was yet to put down a few plates, and walked around the table towards the side farthest from the smith. "Lèoðern, dear," she called to the girl, who stood aside watching her, "why don't you run along to the kitchen? Kara might need your help." She nodded at Lèoðern, smiling encouragingly, and closed her eyes in relief when the child took off.

"Talk about good greetings," she finally said when they were alone, with nary a glance at Harreld. "What's wrong with you, anyway?"

Her words were like a slap in the face. But Harreld was one to consider any question posed to him. He looked down at the floor and gave thought. There were many things, he supposed, that were wrong with him, but what was it this time? It was the fear of dashed hopes. Could he say that to her? He looked up.

"I am unsure of how things stand between you and me." He thought of saying more, asking her if he had any chance at all of having her to wife, but he could not bring himself to ask, not yet.

How things stand between you and me. Ginna felt a shot of tingling up her back, crawling to her cheeks. She felt her heart pace, she could hardly breathe, she wanted to run away but was frozen where she stood, staring at the last plate in her hand. How could he spring such a question on her? What was she supposed to say that would be honest, yet would not hurt him either?

"I do not understand," she finally said when she had breath enough, still not looking up at him. "Are we not friends? Why do you ask me this?"

Friends. Every man knew that such words were the death-knell of any hopes such as Harreld had been entertaining. His frame sagged and his eyes became sad. His face settled into a defeated smile. "Yes, we are friends. I would be a fool to hoax - I mean expl - I mean think otherwise."

Now standing right in front of Harreld, Ginna cast a quick glance at him and frowned lightly. But nothing more remained to be said, not by her. She had no good thing to say, apart from one: "I'll get your ale and bread," she whispered.

And as she walked away, she could not help noticing the transparent barrier that had sprung between them, and blaming herself at the thought that she might have lain down its bricks.

[Nerindel]

Much Happened after Æðelhild finished her story and not at all what she had expected. First off the King seemed annoyed, even a little angry, but the deep furrow of his brow was not directed at her but towards the two men she believed sent to drag her back to Minas Tirith and the hangman's noose. But as Hrethel helped her back to her chair the King was demanding answers of his two guests. It seemed that what news they had brought had not matched her recount and although shocked by some of what they had heard, neither man seemed surprised, if only a little disturbed.

Again it was the older of the two men that spoke first, evidently the one in charge. "Milord, as no doubt indicated in Lord Mordavim's massage, it was suspected that the charges against Lady Æðelhild where unfounded," Mor...Davim? [I]She Knew that name, [I]But a lord? "however until now we had no proof of it and the evidence against Milady was... well... is... persuasive and only strengthened by her unexplained absence." Strangely with an almost fatherly look the man glanced her way sympathetically before again turning his attention to the King. "The charges that Cild has brought against his own niece, puts her in danger weather true or not and..."

"Wait!" Æðelhild interrupted confused, "You mean to say that my uncle is not dead?" The two men looked at each other hesitantly, "No, you said the charges Cild 'HAS' brought..." a wave of relief rolled over her that she had not murdered the man, but it was short lived as she rose unseadily to her feet frowning. "If he is not dead then what charges does he bring?" she demanded uncertainly.

Again the two men hesitated seemingly reluctant to accuse her of that they did not believe, but she needed to hear it. Finally it was the King himself that spoke, reading aloud from a white parchment in his hand. " It grieves me to inform you that the charges made against Lady Æðelhild are of a most serious manner, that of theft, assualt and murder." If Hrethel had not been at her side she would have collapsed as her legs buckled under her from the shock. "No" she whispered tearfully, Even from a great distance it seemed her uncle could still deliver a painful blow, he would have known that with those charges she would dare not return.

But it had been too much and as the events of that night and those empty dead eyes staring at nothingness again haunted her memory something in Æðelhild snapped, anger and resentment poured out of her, How dare he! How dare he accuse her of the murder he committed! "No, I will not let him get away with this Insult!" she screamed angrily. "Even if I must return with you and petition the King himself." she resolved turning on the two as yet unnamed soldiers.

This time it was the younger of the two that spoke, stepping forward as if meaning to console her until he noted the sharp cool anger in her dark eyes. "I am afraid Milady that will not be possible, you see at this very moment the King is travelling northward with his family to spend time with friends in Everdim."

"And your uncle it seems has a great many friends or at least eyes and ears to insure that you never reached sight of the white city." The older of the two added sourly.

"Who are you?" Æðelhild suddenly asked regarding each man suspiciously. How was it they knew such things? And why were they really here? The more she looked and listened the more she thought the older of the pair familiar, as familiar as the name of her fathers closest friend; Mordavim or Uncie Davim she vaguely recalled calling him as a child. Another she had thought dead, Mordavim by all accounts had been in the Party including her father that had been ambushed and killed by supposed bandits in southern Ithielien, Though she had never believed that possible.

"My apologise Lady Æðelhild," The King announced, breaking the tension "forgive my manners, This is Captain Balvir of Ithielien."

"At your service Mi'lady," the older man replied bending his leg graciously.

"And this is Master Matrim of Arnen." he gestured to the younger man.

"Yor servant Mi'lady," he answered bowing as formally as the other.

This Matrim she was unfamiliar with, but Balvir... Captain Balvir, that name she did recognise he was another of her fathers friends. The silent shadows, she mused silently, as she tilted her head to regard the man thoughfully. But before she could ask why they were helping her and where they had been when she could have really used their help the King was speaking.

"It seems that Lord Mordavim agrees with his captain's assesment of matters and has requested that you stay away from Gondor until such time as matters are resolved or he sends for you. Having heard all that I have I would strongly advise you to take his counsel, but as to arrangements here that must be discussed further. But first we must eat, noon bell has long since rung and no man should make a decision on an empty stomach, come let us eat and see if I cannot help in some way." So with a graceful nod she and the others followed the King to the main hall.

It was late afternoon before those discussions drew to an end, to which much she had merely listened, picking out what was relevant and perhaps unsaid, but of them all it was Balvir and Matrim that left the most unsaid and she was in no doubt from some of the questions they asked her that it was of her uncle and some deeper matter, but for now she let it pass. The King as was undersandable remained reluctant to become involved in what he considered a Gondorian dispute, but he did remind her of her debt to Lord Eodwine, A debt of kindness she had always meant to pay off in service to his house. Although the other two did not see it, offering to have the lords Inconveniences repayed, Æðelhild knew this was the help the King had spoken of giving, even if it was the course she had originally chosen for herself.

After careful consideration she gave a slight nod of acceptance unseen by the others to the king. Who then rose breaking an arguement that had risen between Hamma and Balvir and making his apologises that he could be of no further help in this matter. All three of them rose and thanked the King for his time before bowing accordingly as Hama and Hrethel followed the King out.

It wasn't until she reached her own room that Æðelhild told the two men (who it seemed had been ordered to protect her) of what she intended to do. After being concerned that they did not know this Eorl and at the length of service she intended to take they reluctantly agreed. She sent them off to ready the horses while she quickly packed, it was in this time that Hrethel came to speak with her privately.

"Æðel my child, forgive me but I must ask. What do you intend to tell Lord Eodwine?"

"I mean as I all was did to tell him the truth and let him decide for himself the risks, It is the least I can do after the kindness he has shown." she answered truthfully.

The old man smiled suddenly, nodding his head as he pulled a sealed parchment from his belt, "The King bade me give you this letter, with message that you should give it to Lord Eodwine after you have revealed to him your secret. I know not what is written but it is sure to help.

"Be well and be safe Æðel" the old man said in farewell, "Be well and be safe." she returned clasping his hand "And thank you" she whispered as he let go and slipped out of the room.

Lifting her Pack and stuffing a small wooden simple under her arm she headed out to the stable. Balvir and Matrim already had the horses ready and waiting, and after helping her to attach her belonging they started out for the mead hall.

"Are you sure about this Milady?" Matrim whispered as they approched the hall, earning him a sharp look from his captain. "Indeed I am sure master Matrim, Lord Eodwine is a good man and I am sure he will help. But you must remember that I am Æðel a healer seeking to serve in Lord Eodwine's house and that you are a gaurdsman looking for work."

"I will remember Miss Æðel" Good enough she thought as they stopped at the stables.

"Matrim, see to the horses" Balvir ordered not seeing a stableman at hand, "Then join us in the hall." The young man nodded and went of to find the stable man or empty stalls she was not sure which, though she did not think Leof would be best please to find him snooping about. "the Stablemasters name is Leof," she called after him. Then she and Balvir entered the Hall together.

The hall was well lit and very busy, the delicious smells of honey'd ham and glazed mutton wafted through the hall masking the usual smell of stale ale and beer. Lord Eodwine was not hard to find and as she approached he rose to greet her and inquire as to if she would join him and his guests.

"Your Lord is most gracious as always," she smiled politely inclining her head in gratitude. "But I am afraid for the moment I must decline and more so I must ask your guests forgiveness as I hope to deny them your company that we may speak in private."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine arched a brow. Æðelhild's bearing was different; more noble, he supposed. He gestured to his left, toward the corridor that led to his receiving room. She nodded once to him, then to the others sitting at table, and proceeded in the direction he had indicated. The other guests, who had quieted, resumed their conversation as Eodwine followed her out of the hall.

She seemed not only more noble in her bearing, but a bit troubled. Eodwine wondered how things went with Hrethel at Meduseld.

She stood aside as he opened his door. He led her into his receiving room and offered her a chair, then sat down across his small table from her. The lowering sun still was high above the horizon to the west, so he needed to light no candles yet.

"Pray tell me what news you bring," Eodwine said.

[Nerindel]

Matrim

In the stables Matrim found only a sole groom, a young lad carefully brushing the forelock of a dark gelding, but on seeing him the lad carefully set down his brushes and quickly came around to attend him.

"May I help sir?" the lad asked, curiously peering past him at the sound of the three horses impatiently nickering outside, but falling short at the sight of the long sword sitting on Matrim's hip.

"I am looking for one master Leof, who I am told is the stable master of these halls. Are you he?" Matrim inquired with a slight grin as the young lads eyes drawn away from his sword suddenly widened.

"Oh, oh no, I am not Leof." The lad answered. "Master Leof is at supper, but I can get him for you."

"No, there is no need to disterb his supper, I am sure that between us both we can see to the three horses outside." Matrim replied jovially, allowing the lad to lead the way back out of the stables.

Matrim was careful to ensure that he delt with Balvir's black warhorse as the animal could be somewhat temperamental about his handling and even with Matrim the beast tossed its head and stamped a hoof indignantly if he did something the animal did not like.

"Are you a Guardsman?" the young lad asked suddenly from behind lady Æðelhild's dun, without so much as a glance as he carefully unstrapped the saddle.

Matrim grinned at the lad's astuteness or perhaps his candidness. He had seen the question forming on the boy's face from the minute he had laid eyes on the sword at his hip and although carefully sidestepped the lad had obviously not forgotten it.

"Aye that I am, or at least I hope to be." He answered, pulling off the black stallion's saddle and copying the boy; placed it over the low hitching post.

The lad now looked at him as they both turned to unsaddle his dark brown gelding, with a grin broader than any he could manage and a light of interest and excitement that reminded Matrim of himself at that age.

"Lord Eodwine is looking for guardsmen," he said eagerly, "or so I heard my brother say anyway." He shrugged as an afterthought, holding the geldings reigns as Matrim unfastened the straps.

"I do hope so," he chuckled as he slipped of the saddle to put with the others, or I and my friend Balvir will have had a wasted journey."

"There are just two of you?" the young lad asked confused as he took in the three horses.

"Oh, the dun is miss Æðel's," Matrim answered casually, though still uncomfortable at addressing her so. "We met her at Meduseld."

"Meduseld!" the boy exclaimed wide eyed. "You've been to the golden hall?" he said tillting his head disbelievingly.

"Aye," Matrim laughed again, he defiantly liked this lads candor. "My Friend has higher hopes than myself and thought we could get work in the kings guards. However it seems the king has as many guards as he needs, but the captain there was good enough to suggest that we try here and as miss Æðel was coming to the hall she agreed to show us the way." The lad nodded seemingly accepting his story as they led the horses into the stables, and Matrim took the opportunity to put a question of his own to the boy.

"I am afraid I have to admit that I do not know too much of your Lord Eodwine. I mean what is he like? Is he good to work for?" Closing the door of the stall he had just put Balvir's Stallion into he took off the animals halter and waited patiently for the boy to reply.

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

Balvir

After disarming as was required by this lord and his hall, Balvir took a seat that gave him a good view of the corridor to which Æðelhild and the man he assume to be this Lord Eodwine she spoke so highly of retreated down. It was agreed that he and Matrim would remain in the hall while she spoke to the lord alone, if only reluctantly on his part. Mordavim had sent him to protect her and as such he had argued against this recourse most heatedly, until Æðelhild rightly pointed out that a healer with guardsmen would draw too much attention. It needed to be seen that they were not together and that only a chance encounter had brought them to the hall at the same time. There is much of her father in her. he thought fondly as he relaxed into the chair, watching the corridor without openly appearing to do so.

Before long a serving maid approached asking if he required food or refreshment, to which he smiled and replied that he would indeed like some ale and perhaps some bread and cheese if she had it. The young maid nodded once befor hurrying off to fetch his order.

Balvir was just wondering what was keeping Matrim when the serving maid reappeared, setting before him a plate laden with generous slabs of bread and various cheeses along with a very inviting cup of dark golden ale.

He thanked her and as she turned to leave he stopped her, "Excuse me miss, but could you tell me who I should see about possibly gaining work here, my name is Balvir, I am a Guardsman by Profession and they tell me at Meduseld that I may find work here."

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

Æðelhild

Æðel studied the chair for a moment before deciding that perhaps it would be best if she sat. For some of what she had to discuss with Lord Eodwine still left her a little shaky and she needed to appear strong and sure of what she was about to ask of him.

"Pray tell me what news you bring." Eodwine asked.

Æðel had been worrying how to brooch the subject since leaving Meduseld, but now sitting here before Eodwine she felt strangely at ease. She had witnessed the Lord of the mead hall have this effect on others, even when he himself was not aware of it and with her fears and uncertainties it had kept her nervous and more than a little distant for him. But now was not the time for regret, it was time for honesty, she owed him at least that much. He was a good man and deserved to know what taking her bonds would mean if her uncle was to discover her location.

"My Lord, I bring news that my studies with master Hrethel have come to an end and I would ask to join your household as your healer. However before you consider my request I think there are a few things you should be made aware of." She paused for a moment gathering her thoughts as Lord Eodwine studied her thoughtfully, before indicating for her to continue.

She kept her eyes level as she spoke, "My Name is Æðelhild Of Anren, daughter of Lord Arethil, high captain of Ithielien and in Gondor charges of theft, assault and murder are held against me." As she spoke each charge it stung, but she had managed to hold back the tears letting her anger strengthen her resolve as she continued over Lord Eodwine's obvious shock.

"All but the latter are perhaps founded, if you count defending yourself assault and taking that which was given theft, then yes I am guilty! But to the charge of murder that is an outright lie concocted by my uncle to hide his own guilt and to no doubt prevent me from ever returning. I beg only that you listen to my story before making any decisions."

And with that Æðel went on to describe her life after her father's death, from the arrival of her uncle; her first and subsequent beatings; the nights he came uninvited to her bed chambers and the night that had lead to the death of her closest and most beloved friend Halfric, with whom she had conspired to run away with, only to be twarted at the last minute by her uncle's early return.

"...My uncle was furious, he drew his sword on halfric. I tried to stop him, but I was not strong enough and he threw me aside. I hit my head and the next thing I remember was waking to find Halfric's lifeless dark eyes staring back at me, I screamed and my uncle dragged me up by my hair. he was stiil angry, murder burned in his eyes and blood dripped from his sword, I was scared and fearing for my life I frantically felt behind me on the desk I had apparently hit, for something, anything. Then finding what felt like the silver paper knife my uncle had often threatened me with, i wrapped my fingers around it and plunged it into his chest! He fell to the ground. I thought he was dead, afraid and sickened by what I had done I fled, taking only the few coins Halfric had given me and my fathers sword, that I had long kept hidden from my uncle."

What Æðel did not relay was that the coin had not lasted and more than once she had been waylaid by bandits who had not only thought to relieve her of such a valuable weapon but also what virtues still remained to her and it was only by mere chance and luck that she had managed to escape with either and find her way eventually to Edoras and the kindness of Lady Saeryn, Mistress Bethberry and the Eorl whom before she now sat.

There was still more that needed to be said, of her summons, the revelations that her uncle was not only alive but accused her of Halfric's murder, Lord Mordavim and the men he had sent to protect her. Who even now were here under Eodwines roof enquiring after work as guardsmen for the hall. It was all draining and a little of her resolve was crumbling at the second recount of that horrible night. It hardly seemed fair that she had to subject herself to it again and again while her uncle no doubt gave it not a thought. It was painful, but necessary she reminded herself. So she took a moment not only to compose herself but to allow Lord Eodwine to speak, for she knew there would be much on his mind.

[Folwren]

Javan

Javan welcome the company of the young soldier. Léof had not been in an exactly sociable mood all afternoon. He had accepted Javan's apology, of course, but there had been little talking afterwards and no friendly banter. So Javan was ready for something to turn his mind to instead of brooding on Léof unreasonable behavior, and this newcomer was perfect for such a thing.

He seemed an easy going chap who didn't mind abrupt questions or talking with someone younger than himself. This was a good trait among grown ups, Javan told himself. There was nothing more annoying or bothersome than a stuck up grown up, because not only did one feel small and unnecessary, but one also had to keep quiet and do what the stuck up grown up wanted, or else get in trouble.

But this guardsman, or soon to be one, was not like that at all.

“I am afraid I have to admit that I do not know too much of your Lord Eodwine,” Matrim asked as they put the horses into stalls. “I mean, what is he like? Is he good to work for?”

Javan took the bridle off of Æðelhid's horse and exited the stall, fastening the latch after himself. He turned towards Matrim. “I think he's nice, but I don't know much about lords and all that. He's let me stay on, but my older brother's his right hand man, so that may have something to do with it. He gave me thirty days to prove myself.”

“Did you?” Matrim asked, with a smile.

“Well, I'm still here,” Javan said, but his brows knit. “I was supposed to stay in the stable for a month, but then I disobeyed my older brother and he said I couldn't work with the horses until I proved myself trustworthy, so I was stuck with him for a long time, and I only came back to the stables today. I guess lord Eodwine has quite decided, perhaps.

“I think Eodwine will like you,” Javan continued. “You seem nice to me, anyhow, and he likes nice people...all the people here at the hall are nice, leastways, so he seems to have a pretty good eye for such people.”

[Kath]

Kara had found herself out of the kitchen for a fair amount of the afternoon. What with Ginna popping backward and forward and Frodides in something of a huff due to the impromptu nap she had taken earlier it had seemed a good idea to offer the other girl help. So it was that she found herself confronted with a new face, and once she'd fetched him the food and drink he'd asked for she thought hard about the question he'd asked.

"Excuse me miss, but could you tell me who I should see about possibly gaining work here, my name is Balvir, I am a Guardsman by Profession and they tell me at Meduseld that I may find work here."

"I would think it's Thornden you need to ask. He is Eodwine, I mean the Eorl's, right hand man here and he's definitely in charge of protecting this place. I would say you should speak to the Eorl directly but he seems to be busy."

"And where do you suppose I might find this Thornden?" Balvir asked.

"He's just over there." Kara replied, pointing in the direction of the table at which Thornden was seated. "Once you've finished your meal I'm sure he'd be glad to speak to you."

Balvir gave his thanks and Kara left again, spying a familiar face leading Eodwine away from the main hall. What was Adelhild doing here? Speeding her pace Kara hurried back to the kitchen, sure that the news of an old friend would put Frodides into a better mood.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had not been able to keep his brows from rising at several points during Æðel's tale. She seemed to be telling the truth. His ire rose at hearing how this uncle had used her ill in too many ways. It seemed to him ironic that young women in flight from relatives seemed to find their way to his Hall. He wondered where Saeryn was, and wished she might return some day sooner than later. But this was another young woman, also apparently of just as noble blood as was Saeryn, though Gondorian instead of Eorling.

He sighed and allowed his eyes to close half way as he considered her situation, and what keeping her on as his healer could mean. He had sworn himself to be Saeryn's protector as long as she stayed in his Hall, and that had created problems unforeseen. Were Æðel to become his healer with a price on her head, it did not matter that the charges were probably false; they were still charges and the law was the law, and the only way he could truly protect her was to trump the law that sought her for crimes with another, better one. He couldn't think of a better; not at the moment.

He rejected out of hand the thought of turning her down. It was not in him to do so. So he considered what she had said some more. She had just come from Meduseld. She had said that she came back because here training under Hrethel was complete. Was that the only reason to come back from Meduseld?

"Lady Æðelhild, taking you on as my healer places me in difficulties. The laws of Gondor cannot simply be ignored. The Eorlings and Gondorians have a strong alliance and it therefore our duty to cooperate with them in keeping their law. The simple thing to do would be to escort you back to Gondor and present you to the King and have these charges addressed in his court. Why should I, or the King's men at Meduseld, not do that?"

[Nerindel]

Matrim

“Why thank you, master…,” Matrim paused realising he had not asked the lads name.

“Javan, my name is Javan” the boy offered as he led Matrim’s gelding into the last stall.

“Well then master Javan, my name is Matrim, but you can call me Mat if you like. Most of my other friends do.” He smiled, stroking the long face of his gelding as Javan closing and latching the stalls door suddenly looked up, a broad grin splitting his face, seemingly pleased to be included his friend.

“But speaking of friends,” Matrim continued. “My friend Balvir will be wondering where I have gotten to and as much as I would like to stay and get to know my new found friend better. I had better get back to him and besides I do not think Master Leof would be too happy if he knew I was keeping his only just returned groom from his other duties.” He grinned nodding towards the dark gelding Javan had been working on when he first arrived.

“No I don’t think he would be,” Javan laughed, turning back to the gelding. Matrim laughed along with him. “Well it was good meeting you master Javan and I hope that we can talk again soon.”

“I would like that.” Javan answered excitedly, picking up the curry brushes. Matrim nodded once, before turning to leave, then stopped remembering something the lad had said.

“Oh Javan,” he said, drawing the boy’s attention once more. “If Lord Eodwine has as good an eye as you have told me, then he will surely see that you have the makings of a fine groom or he is a blind fool indeed,” he winked jovially, leaving the lad beaming with pride. A little praise when warranted always goes along way and doesn’t cost a thing, his father always told him.

Matrim’s jovial smile only lasted till a few paces from the stable, some of what Javan had said troubled him. In his book nice men meant honest law abiding folk who avoided trouble where ever possible, which would not bode well for Æðelhild, especially as she was not in lieu of all the facts. Things ran much deeper than any of them could have imagined and although he knew Balvir was not ready to trust this Eorl, he could not help thinking that some of what they knew could help. But he had promised to follow Captain Balvir’s lead, after all the man did have more experience; being one of the famed shadows; hero’s of Ithielien. Though he was no fool and fully aware that his father had him sent on this errand to keep him out of trouble. His frequently increasing displays of open hostility toward the head Merchant of Minas Tirith was causing problems. Problems that Lord Mordavim could well do without, especially if they were to discover the proof they so desperately needed and telling him of Æðelhild and who she really was had secured his co-operation.

A look of disgust crossed his face as he thought of the things they had forced Æðelhild too reveal, if he had disliked the man before he totally detested him now and even the hangman’s noose would be poor justice, he thought bitterly. He breathed deeply expelling his anger as he pulled open the door leading into the main hall and wearing a wide grin and a cheeky wink for a passing serving girl he removed his sword and went to find Balvir.

The man wasn’t hard to find sitting at a far table seemingly eating a meal and drinking a good ale as he enjoyed the atmosphere of the hall, but Matrim knew better, the old man would be thinking hard, planning what to do next if Æðelhild’s Eorl refused to help her.

“So did you find us work then?” he asked loud enough that those close enough would hear, but not so loud as to draw to much attention as he sat opposite the older man.

“Aye, Perhaps,” Balvir answered around his mug. “I got it from one of the maids, that the man we should talk to is Master Thornden.” He nudged his head slightly to indicate a tall fellow, older than Matrim but certainly not as old as Balvir, enjoying the company of the others at his table. “Apparently the Eorl’s right hand man.” Balvir added almost offhandedly.

Matrim’s eyebrows raised slightly as he glanced at the man. “Young master Javan’s older brother, so the lad was not boasting,” he laughed. Causing Balvir to frown at him as if having missed some great joke, so after stopping a passing maid and ordering more ale and some cooked meat, Matrim told him of his conversation with the young groom and the lad’s assessment of the Eorl and the others in the hall. As they spoke neither one made any mention of Æðelhild or the errand they were on.

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

Æðelhild

Æðelhild nodded, she was fully aware of the predicament she placed on the Eorl if he took her as his healer and of the strong alliances between Rohan and Gondor, but she would not return, at least not yet. Although she was still not entirely sure why her father’s friend chose to speak for her he had and as a lord of Gondor that would surely cause problems for him as well. She knew the right thing to do would be to return, even with the king gone she could still petition the steward, but Balvir’s warning still echoed in her mind, along with Lord Mordavim’s advice that she stay away until he sent for her which she could only hope meant he had some kind of plan, a plan that her early return might jeopardise.

“For two reasons Milord, the first being that the King is not at this time in Minas Tirith and the second being that Lord Mordavim of Ithielien has requested that I stay away until such time as matters can be resolved or that he sends for me.” She answered carefully.

“Lord Mordavim?” Eodwine asked questioningly and she went on then to explain her Meeting with King Eomer and the two men sent by Lord Mordavim to be her protectors, she also told him of Mordavim and Balvir’s connection to her father, and how she felt that both men had held back, if not with the King certainly with her.

“The King thinks as you do that this is a matter for Gondor and although I am not fully aware of his reasons I believe the King meant for me to return here and ask for your help,” she concluded. He had Hrethel give me this letter for you.” Reaching into her pouch she took out the fine parchment and handed it to Lord Eodwine.

[Folwren]

Soon after Matrim left the stables, Léof came in search of Javan to tell him that he was going to go eat and Javan could stop working and go in, too.

“No, thanks, Léof ,” Javan said, “Not yet, leastways. I need to get these new horses water, yet, and hay.” He looked at Léof hopefully – perhaps he would notice that Javan was responsible enough to think of it on his own. If he noticed, Léof gave no particular sign.

“That sounds fine,” was all he said before leaving.

Javan sighed just a little bit and then he took up the two buckets and fetched water. When the job was finally done and the mangers were filled, he drew water again from the well and washed his face and hands. He raised his arm to wipe the drips of water from his nose with his sleeve when his eyes caught sight of something. His arm froze. The water ran down unheeded. And then a grin spread over the boy’s face.

Javan glanced swiftly about the courtyard. There was no one in sight. He ran forward, silent and quick, like a fox and stooping, picked up a small pouch. He had seen it often – quite often – in Falco’s hands as the hobbit drew it from his pocket to stuff his pipe full of weed.

“Smoke!” Javan muttered to himself. A movement caught by the corner of his eye jerked his head up and he stuffed the pouch into his pocket. It was only Kara, tossing some water out from the kitchen door. She spared him a mere glance before returning inside and Javan breathed a sigh of relief.

“I wonder what it’s like,” the boy continued in his musing. “It wouldn’t be…it wouldn’t be…too difficult to find out…”

Everyone else was at their meal. Javan would be able to slip in the side door and head straight up to Falco’s room, find one of the hobbits’ pipes (none of the men smoked there), a flint or something to spark the weed, and discover just what was so enjoyable about it. “It must be something quite good,” Javan said, beginning to move on his plan at once. “That li’l chap’s at it constantly, nearly.”

He opened the door a crack and peered in cautiously. As silent as a shadow, he slipped within and darted up the stairs. Only a couple minutes later, he found what he was in search of and came back down. Once again, in the courtyard, he looked right and left and then sped away towards the stables again. No one was there, as he knew, and he hoped he would be left a while longer in peace.

He went back to where Léof slept. It was a small room, cozy and comfortable, and, most importantly, private.

Javan took a seat on Léof’s bed and drew the packet of weed from his pocket. He proceeded to stuff the pipe full, as he had often seen Falco do, and then attempted to light the pipe.

His attempts were futile. Nothing he could do could make the spark from the flint catch the weed in the pipe on fire. His frustration grew, until suddenly, he remembered Falco taking a stick or straw and lighting it in a larger fire and then carrying the flaming end into the pipe and from that, lighting it. He glanced around and noticed for the first time the straw that covered the floor. In a great deal of excitement, Javan knealt and brushed an area clean and then carefully made a pile of straw. He carefully lit it with his flint and almost at once, a flame sprang up.

Rubbing his hands with glee, Javan picked up the pipe and searched for a stiff, long straw with which to light it. As soon as he found one to his liking, he thrust the end of it into his fire and carried it to the pipe and gently, just as he had seen Falco do it, he sucked in his cheeks and drew in air and smoke.

He erupted into a hacking, coughing volcano. He tossed away the pipe, dropped the straw, and grasped his throat, his eyes bulging, and his tongue wagging. “By all the stars!” he gasped, coughing again. “What on earth does that holbytla find so enjoyable about it?” He coughed, trying to clear his throat and he shook his head to clear it.

“Hoi,” said he. “It does smell a lot, doesn’t it?” He wiped his eyes clear of tears and then looked down.

For a moment, his body, his very blood, froze in terror. And then, with a shout he leaped forward, stomping at the flames that had sprung up from his burning straw. “Fire,” he gasped, his throat constricting with fear. “Fire…” The fire was spreading. He grabbed the coverlet off Léof’s bed and began to beat at it, finally finding his wits and his tongue.

“Fire!” he screamed.

[littlemanpoet]

"Fire!"

It was a scream coming from the stables, which had begun to erupt in panic stricken whinnies. Eodwine stood quickly, tucking the letter in his jacket and bumping the table toward Æðelhild, who put our her hands to ward it from pushing her.

"I am sorry," Eodwine said. "I must see to this. Please do me aid and spread the word in the Hall!"

With that Eodwine leaped out of the room, ran down the stares, out the courtyard door and toward the stables.

Rowenna

Rowenna pulled her ear back from the wall in the room next to lord Eodwine's, stood. She had had her wash bucket propped up against the door to give her warning should someone enter the room while she spied. She moved the bucket now and resumed her work, sprucing up the bedclothes. She had been able to hear pretty much all that had been said, by both lord Eodwine and the young noblewoman called Æðelhild. Rowenna tucked away the young woman's story in her mind for later use as opportunity might avail.

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild

“Off course!” Æðelhild nodded, alarmed at the sudden change of events, she watched as Lord Eodwine tucked the letter into his jacket and leapt from the room. Knowing that the stables a joined the halls residence’s she quickly knocked on the next door and pushing it open to check it was empty she saw a dark haired woman freshening up the bed linens, a maid Æðelhild thought spying the bucket . The woman looked up seemingly surprised by her sudden entrance.

“Sorry I did not mean to startle you,” she said, “but there is a fire in the stables and all these room’s will need to be vacated, do you think you could make sure the rooms up here are emptied while I find Master Thornden.” the Maid nodded and Æðelhild heard her knocking on the next door as she hurried down the stairs.

She ran across the hall to where Thornden was sat with Leof and a few others of the hall she recognised, she did not see Balvir and Matrim rise and follow her concerned by the look of urgency on her face. “Master Thornden” she breathed “the Stables are on fire, Lord Eodwine asked that I alert the hall.”

Matrim

"Javan!" Matrim breathed hearing Æðelhild's words. "The boy was in the stables Balvir!" he announced turning to his captain, looking for permission to go. Balvir nodded once and Matrim leapt for the door and out into the court yard towards the stables.

The flames licked at the walls and black smoke billowed out through the stables entrance, "have you seen a young lad, yay high dark hair" He asked one of the man frantically trying to put out the flames. The Man frowned and shook his head that he had not.

"JAVAN, MASTER JAVAN ARE YOU IN THERE CAN YOU HEAR ME" he shouted over the panicked horse's screams, But there was no reply. Looking about Matrim thought quickly, grabbing a bucket he filled from the water trough and sloushed it over himself then ignoring the protests of the man seemingly in charge he dived into the stables.

The smoke was thick and it stung his eyes but he had to be sure the lad was alright, the flames seemed to be everywhere but he managed to pick his way through the stables calling the lads name hoping that the boy was still able to reply.

[Folwren]

Javan

Javan gasped and panted as he struck valiantly at the flames. Did anyone hear him? Did anyone know that there was fire here? What was he going to do? The fire was spreading, for all his struggling with it, and the smoke was curling up in a great, wafting, choking coils. And what about the horses?

The horses! The thought struck him violently and without a moment of hesitation, he threw down the blanket and ran out into the main aisle. Smoke was already spilling out there, and though it was not so thick for him and difficult for him to breath, the horses were already nervous, some were whinnying, and almost all were moving about their stalls.

Javan paused momentarily – what was he going to do? How could he get them out of there before –

There was a sudden whoosh from behind him, a burst of heat and light, and Javan turned about. The fire had found its way through the boards of Léof’s tiny room and lit the stock of hay. The flames were growing and dark smoke was curling upwards and repulsed by the stable’s roof came flowing back down.

“Get the horses out!” Javan gasped to himself as he coughed. He plunged forward to the farthest stall, his hands fumbled with the latch and he jerked the door open. The horse, one of the ones that had come in less than an hour ago, stood trembling in the farthest corner. Javan stumbled in. “Come on, get out! Go!” Oh, what he would give for a rope! “Go!” He stepped to the side so that he would not block the door and he went at the horse.

The mare lowered her head, blowing air from her nostrils, and then she plunged forward, half shying, half lunging at Javan, and then she did a half leap, skittering strangely out into the aisle. Javan plunged out after her and shooed her desperately towards the open door. She raised her head, tucked her tail, and ran. Javan turned to the next stall, and at that moment, as he tried to get this door open, he heard someone calling his name.

“Javan! Master Javan! Are you in there? Can you hear me?” It was that newcomer fellow, Matrim. Javan opened the stall door and was thrown backwards against the opposite wall as the horse plunged out at once, knocking him violently with his right shoulder. Javan slumped momentarily, gasped for air and got a lungful of smoke instead. He struggled up and forced himself forward again. His mind swam, his senses seemed disoriented. Horses were screaming, some were kicking at the walls of their stalls. The noise of the fire was intense and the heat unbearable. He grasped the latch of another stall and forced it open. This horse leaped out at once, too, and Javan fell back, clear of his hooves as he galloped away.

And then, out of the thick smoke, the figure of a man became visible. Javan tried to get up. He tried to speak. His throat constricted and his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. His limbs felt very heavy, his eyes burned, and his chest felt as though a great board were pressed upon it and he couldn’t draw air.

Without uttering a sound, he slumped back, half senseless and unable to move.

Thornden

Thornden felt the blood leave his face as he heard Æðel pass Eodwine’s message. He sprang at once to his feet and glanced about the hall. There were not many men there now, but the others would be somewhere about the hall. There was Harreld there, and the two strangers, but one of those two were already running out

“Go, Harreld!” Thornden cried to the Smith, “Go out and help, and you, sir!” he said, to Balvir, although he did not know him. “Miss Æðel, find Stigend and Garstan.” He started towards the kitchen at a run, calling over his shoulder as he remembered, “and Garwine! And anyone else who can bear a bucket and water!”

He ran into the kitchen headlong, practically knocking Kara down as he entered. He caught her and set her on her feet, but he didn’t let go of her shoulders. “Buckets, Kara – quick - many as you’ve got – we have a fire.” Mutely, she handed the one she held in her hand to him. He grabbed it, reached for another beneath the table half full of scraps and rushed out the outside door. As he sprinted towards the stables and the billowing smoke, he flung out the scraps of food, emptying the bucket and preparing it for water.

And all the while, he thought, “How did a fire start in the stables?”

[Firefoot]

The stables are on fire. The words thudded dizzyingly in Léof’s mind. The stables are on fire.

Æthel.

He had not a thought for the other horses, not a thought for Javan, not a thought for the rest of his possessions, not a thought for the cause of the fire. His horse was in those stables.

He bolted from the table, scarcely begun meal forgotten. Fear granted wings to his feet; he flew through the Great Hall, across the courtyard, into the stables. How many times had he told Javan not to run in the stable? Irrelevant.

Already smoke billowed; the fire could not have started but minutes ago but already fighting the fire seemed to be a hopeless cause. The stable would go down; it was only a question of how many horses could be saved in the meantime.

He ran straight to Æthel’s stall, where the flames were thickest. He could hear her frantic screams and the thudding of her hooves against the wall boards. He flung open the door; her neck and flanks were lathered and he could see the whites of her eyes. “Easy there, easy,” he crooned, trying to keep the panic from his own voice. He reached up for her halter, but she flung up her head beyond his reach. Wary of her hooves, he laid his hands on her neck, trying to calm her by his touch but ever conscious of the time this was wasting.

If only he had something to cover her vision with! He cast about for something, but he was woefully unprepared for this situation; his shirt would have to do. Without a second thought he pulled it over his head and lifted it over Æthel’s head. Now at least he was able to catch hold of her halter and pull her forward, however reluctant she was to move. As quickly as he could, he led her outside and into the paddock.

Now finally he took thought to the other horses. He fleetingly thanked his luck that half of the horses were still outside since he and Javan had moved them out here at noon. Before the thought was over, however, he was already running back into the stables to retrieve the next horse.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine's thought was only for Flíthaf, and he ran headlong toward the entrance to the stables closest to his stallion's stall. The moment he entered, he encountered billowing smoke and a cacophony of horses and humans screaming, and hooves striking wood. He could see flames dancing along the stalls and reaching quick hungry hands up to the roof. He pulled his shirt up to his nose and plunged in.

He came to Flíthaf's stall, which was thankfully closest to the opposite end of the stables from where the fire had apparently started, which was Léof's little room. How odd, his thought skittered a moment, then he was at Flíthaf's stall. Hooves came flying out at head height. Eodwine dodged just in time. The stallion was bucking his way right out of his stall, into the aisle. Soon the horse's head was out. The reins dangled then flew out of reach, then whipped back again.

"Flíthaf!"

The horse ignored him. How was he going to get at all near the horse? Once he did, should he grab the reins, or try to ride? That would be foolery, he decided. He began to step closer to his bucking stallion, to try and grab the reins. Suddenly the horse became aware of the relative light beyond the entrance, and bolted. Eodwine leaped out of the way just in time. He was happy his horse had escaped, but did not look forward to searching far and wide.

Eodwine rose and looked around him. There was Léof leading a horse in his direction.

"What happened? How did this start!" Eodwine demanded.

"I don't know! I was in the hall!" Léof hustled by. Eodwine followed his ostler's example and looked for another horse to lead to safety.

[Folwren]

Thornden came to the scene of the burning stables abruptly, running around a corner and suddenly being engulfed by the noise of the many men and boys already at work attempting to douse the flames. The men here were not just those who lived at the Mead Hall – they were men from the city, stopping on the street at the sight and sound of fire to help, Thornden realized.

But all their help was going to little or no good use at all. The place was in an uproar of confusion. Men ran to and fro, some with buckets, some without, taking water from the trough and casting it into the stables. But that water would soon run out, if nothing was done to refill the troughs, and even though the stables were on fire, was the water reaching the actual fire?

Thornden plunged forward into the thick of the hustle. “Form a line to the well!” he shouted, trying to make himself heard. “Form a chain! Take the buckets and form a chain!”

But there were too many other men shouting their ideas of orders for him to be heard. The tumult remained the same and no one listened. But if men will not listen like men, they must be driven like cattle or sheep. Thornden’s hand reached out and he grasped a stranger by the shoulder, spinning him forcefully about to face him. He shoved one of the buckets in his hands and pushed him in the direction of the well. “Go to the well! Fill this with water and hand it to the next person I send!”

With the same rough handling of anyone Thornden thought he could do it with, he began to make the chain, and those that Thornden did not think he could manhandle, soon caught on themselves and followed suit.

Within minutes, two chains from the well to the stables had been formed. The ten or twelve buckets that they had plied to and fro as quickly as human hands could possibly carry them and each bucket of water was used as best it could, for the line of men went into the very structure of the stables and as near to the actual fire as the mortal body could handle.

But would it be enough to save the stables? Thornden stood at the head of one line, pitching water onto the flames as his eyes watered and teared in the smoke, sweat poured down his body, and his lungs struggled to collect air through the fabric of his shirt, and even with all the work and turmoil that every one of them put into it, would they be able to stop the fire before the entire stable went down?

He grasped another bucket full of water as he passed the empty one back down the line and used its contents. They must. They had to put it out. And perhaps…perhaps it was slackening some…perhaps just. . .

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine saw the first bucket of water - half filled only, grabbed it and sloshed it at the father. The fire hissed, recoiled momentarily, and shot out a head of flame, like a serpent, toward the nearest rafter. Eodwine shook his head. He ran out of the stables, bucket still in hand, along a makeshift, straggling line of bucket passers, back to the well where he found Thornden.

"It's no good, Thornden! Not enough buckets and the stables cannot be doused! It's the guest rooms I'm worried about! There's nothing to stop the fire from spreading along the building. Better take axes to the stable's walk-through and then soak the area between. I'll find axes and hammers and able bodied men, and you command the water!"

With a brief nod from Thornden, Eodwine ran off to the armory, hoping to catch as many folk, men and women, as he could, to destroy the stable walk-through. He hoped he had enough time. He looked up at the sky, hoping against hope for a hint of cloud cover and possible rain. The sky was brazen, not a cloud in the sky. The sun watched from just above Edoras in the west: a couple hours remained before dark.

There was no one left in the Hall. Many plates of food had been left half eaten. Eodwine shifted to the courtyard where he found a few gawkers and other folk trying to make a pitiable difference. He collared one or two men and ordered them to the armory with him to grab anything that could be used to break down the beams of wood.

[Firefoot]

As Léof plunged into the stables a third time, he could see that it would not be much longer. A stable, he knew, was one of the worst possible places for a fire, since it was built entirely out of wood and kept dry so that the hay would not grow rank – a fire could not help but easily catch and spread rapidly in such a place.

There was a flash of light and a whoosh just behind and above him – the hay in the loft had caught fire! He quickly checked each of the stalls as he passed for horses still remaining; unless he missed his guess, one or two still remained. He found one of them about half way down the aisle, a normally placid gelding now worked into a frenzy. As well as he knew the horses in this stable, none of them trusted him so well as Æthel, and as with the second horse he had brought out this one was not so easily calmed as Æthel, even once he had managed to clip a lead rope he had grabbed on his last trip to his halter and swing his shirt over his eyes. Too much time, this was taking too much time!

He heard a crash somewhere outside the stall, further spooking the gelding. Léof finally abandoned his attempts at calming the horse enough to follow him and gave him a good smack on his hindquarter; the horse plunged forward, nearly ripping the rope from his hand.

Now that the horse was outside the stall, Léof could see the source of the crash; the boards in the hay loft were beginning to give out. The aisle was no longer clear enough for him to lead the horse out by the shortest way; he would have to go around, wasting even more time.

His eyes were watering and his throat burning from the smoke. When he finally emerged into clear air, he took great gulps of it, only to begin coughing violently. He couldn’t stop, though; not until all the horses were safe. He led the gelding around to the paddock where he took stock of the horses there. It took him a moment, but it suddenly hit him: Herefola was still inside!

Even though his chest was burning, he again broke into a jog, rushing past the men who were trying to halt the fire’s progression to the residential wing. Someone shouted after him, “No, Léof, it’s too dangerous!” But he did not heed him, rushing for the last time into the burning stable.

[Folwren]

The stables walls were falling quickly with men hammering them down. Men worked in feverish hurry to break through and clear away the plunder. And the smoke billowed out through every crack, the fire roared within, and the heat grew more and more intense.

Thornden worked still with the line of men and the buckets racing up and down the chain. They soaked the ground and then, when there was one, the gap between the stables and the residential wing of the great hall.

Out of his eye, he saw Léof leading a horse past them. Good, Thornden thought to himself as well as he could, that should be – hopefully – the last one. But then saw Léof running towards them again, a rope in his hand and an intent look in his eyes as he fixed them once more at the entrance into the stables.

“No, Léof!” Thornden shouted, turning swiftly about. “It’s too dangerous!”

If Léof heard him, he didn’t make any sign, and almost immediately he had plunged again into the dark, grey entrance of the stables. Thornden turned again, panic attacking him suddenly. He spotted Eodwine near, striking at the remaining beams with an ax. He ran to him and grasped his sleeve. “Léof has gone back in, Eodwine!” he cried.

Eodwine’s paused, his arm lifted in mid-swing and he looked at Thornden. Then they both glanced at the door of the stables.

“Should I go after him?” Thornden asked. Now was not the time to ask permission or advice. Go after him? To what end? Léof had gone in to save another horse, and that would mean time spent fumbling with the latch, catching the horse, calming it enough to come out - Léof could be minutes in there, provided he did not collapse from lack of air to breath or from heat. Of course Thornden had to go in after him, to bring him out - willing or not.

"Never mind," he said to Eodwine almost as soon as he had asked his question, and he turned away and ran after Léof.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine stopped his arms in mid-swing and watched dumbstruck as Thornden raced into the maelstrom. Almost, he reacted on instinct and dropped his axe to chase after Thornden, throwing himself into the self-same impending doom, but he caught himself.

"I've two fool heroes in my keeping," he muttered, and swung his axe again and again, watching the progress of the intentional destruction of the stable walk-through. At least that much was going well.

It was also helpful that there were five other wells not too far distant from the Mead Hall: one in the holding of their neighbors to either side, and to three directly across the road. More and more townsmen and women were arriving with buckets and others were taking the lead and forming lines to other wells. It would be too late to save the stables themselves, but everywhere else was getting quite drenched. So it was beginning to look like the guest rooms would not burn.

Eodwine looked back at the stables moment by moment, fearing the worst for Léof and Thornden.

[Firefoot]

Inside the burning stable the very air seemed to be alight with flames. The fire had by now reached the roof of the building; at any time it could come crashing down on him. Briefly Léof considered turning back but recklessly decided against it. He could not leave Herefola here to burn alive.

He could hardly see; the smoke stung his eyes and burned his throat. Had he been relying on sight alone he might never have found her stall but as it was he went nearly straight to it, coughing all the way. The flames licked at Herefola’s walls, further terrifying the panicked horse. Léof searched for an opening amidst her flailing hooves, hoping he could get her out before the entire stable collapsed on them.

Before he could even get a hand on her halter, however, he heard the shouts echoing down the aisle. “Léof! Léof, where are you?”

“In here!” Léof replied without thinking, and shortly Thornden came into sight.

“You’re going to get yourself killed! We have to get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving without her!” Léof answered stubbornly, turning his attention back to the horse.

Thornden laid a hand on Léof’s shoulder. “Now, Léof! It’s just a horse!” Even as he spoke there was a great moaning and creaking of wood outside the stall. “You’re wasting time!”

“You’re the one wasting time!” Léof snapped. “Either help me or let go of me!” And with a violent twist he jerked from Thornden’s grip into the raging horse’s stall.

[Folwren]

Help him! By the great stars of heaven, Thornden was going to kill him, if the fire didn’t kill him first. His hand swept out swiftly after Léof but the boy had already dodged out of reach, into the stall, into the range of those flailing hooves. Thornden immediately recognized the greater danger and he wavered momentarily, completely unsure of what to do.

Heat and pain and lack of air forced him into action. He lunged forward to the door of the stall. Léof was standing before the horse trying to get hold of her halter as she shied away from him and kicked at him. He was trying desperately to get near enough to contain her head and keep near her shoulder, but the mare didn’t let him come close. She plunged forward, her head held high, running against one side of the stall – Thornden heard the sound of the impact of her shoulder on the wood with strange awareness – and then she backed up again, kicking out, turned and ran to the other corner. She was caught, and she wouldn’t let Léof help her.

“Come on!” Thornden shouted. “Get out!”

“No!” Léof responded vehemently.

The fire roared with sudden vehemence and the far end of the stables caved in. Thornden swore. Léof dove for the mare’s head. The horse reared with a wild shriek. Thornden ran forward to snatch Léof away from beneath her flailing hooves and dragged him away.

He fought all the way to the door. He was still fighting when Thornden stumbled out into sunlight, obscured by billowing smoke. He would have run back again even then, but Thornden, intent on keeping him out, grabbed him by his hair and forced him back.

Thornden looked up and watched as the flames grew higher and the sound swelled. Léof begged to be let loose, but he struggled and begged in vain. “It will go any moment now, Léof,” Thornden told him. “You’d die if you went back.”

They heard a moaning creak. Thornden half turned his face away, but his eyes remained fixed on the burning structure. A moment longer it stood, the tone of the fire remaining the same, and then the last bit of roof and wall fell inward. A huge cloud of smoke, ashes, and dust shot upwards, the fire became quiet for a fraction of a second and then leaped up with a renewed frenzy.

Thornden drew a shuddering breath. He let Léof go and turned away.

[Firefoot]

All the strength and will that Léof had been drawing from to fight Thornden suddenly died as the last of the stable collapsed in flame and Thornden released him. He felt weak, powerless, numb.

He had failed.

He had not gotten all the horses out; Herefola had been left. He had tried – how he had tried! And if it wasn’t for Thornden - ! A word of reproach rose to his lips and died – he felt too tired and sick, both emotionally and physically, to raise an argument. He could only watch dumbly as the flames consumed the remnants of the stables. Soon there would be nothing left.

Nothing left. So where did that leave him? An ostler without a stable! Now there was a jest, and a sick one at that. More than his work – all of his possessions had been kept in that small room. Not that he had many; clothing could be replaced, and the coins making up his small savings had probably survived the fire if he cared to look through the ashes. The thought nauseated him. Even so, there had been a few small keepsakes that he would miss, and Æthel’s saddle and bridle would have to be replaced… that might be more expensive than he could afford…

His thoughts drifted off into vagueness. How could this have happened? So quickly – all of it gone. So quickly, gone.

[littlemanpoet]

The stable roof fell in. The drenched walk-through adjacent to the guest wing did not catch fire. Slowly the flames died down, a people throwing half-empty and half-hearted pails of water on the dying embers. Soon the heat from the flames dissipated and the glowing coals darkened. People walked around listlessly, transfixed by the process of the dying fire.

Kara, Modtryth and Ginna came around passing out cups water to everyone. Sitting on the ground, his back to the wall of the guest wing, Eodwine took one from them and downed it in one series of crackingly thirsty gulps, with his thanks.

How had this happened?

There was Léof, with Thornden, who stood with his back to the ostler, staring at the remains of the stable. Eodwine got up achingly, and walked over to the two.

Léof, having seen his shadow, looked up at Eodwine. Thornden turned.

"How did this happen?"

"I do not know," Léof responded listlessly. "It was already alight when I came back from supper."

"Nor I," said Thornden. "I learned of it from Æðel."

Eodwine nodded. He looked around the courtyard and his eye caught a stranger kneeling by Javan. From a distance and gathering twilight it was hard to tell, but the boy looked covered in soot.

"Javan!" Eodwine said, his brow furrowing. Léof, rising from the ground, and Thornden both looked at Eodwine in startlement, which turned to stiffening and dark looks. No words passed between the three, but it was as if each of them knew what the other was thinking. The three walked together to Javan.

They stopped before the two, glowering.

"What happened?" Eodwine asked curtly.

[Folwren]

Javan was aware of nothing except an extreme dryness in his throat and lungs. And then, slowly, he felt the ground beneath him and a hand on his shoulder. Many loud voices filled the air around him and as his senses became more firm and his mind began to work again, he could make out words, and the sound of fire, and everything else in the chaotic scene.

Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He faced the stables and his eyes were fastened to the burning remains. Men were working on putting the last fires out. Matrim was kneeling beside him, no longer taking hand in the attempt to quench the flames – the job was nearly finished anyhow.

“Matrim,” Javan said, his voice hoarse. “Matrim, what happened? I don’t remember…I was letting the horses out. . .”

“Yes. And then you fainted, or something, and I carried you out.”

“It’s all gone, then…” Javan said. “All of it…all because…” He stopped and pressed his mouth close. He felt a hot sensation in his eyes, but no tears. He drew his knees up to his chin and clasped his arms about them. “What will he say?” thinking of Thornden. His stomach knotted itself. “What will the eorl say?”

Perhaps he could go and hide somewhere. Perhaps he could escape, until it had blown over. It would never blow over. But if they didn’t have to find out immediately. . .

And then suddenly they were there. Not only Thornden and Eodwine, but also Léof. They stopped just by him, looking down at him. Matrim stood up and took a step back, and Javan was left alone sitting on the earth.

“What happened?” Eodwine asked.

Javan looked up at him. Fear, worry, regret were all written clearly over his face. But also question – for he silently, furiously questioned himself what he could possibly say in answer. He could not lie – Thornden stood there, grimly looking at him. His own brother. He could not lie.

He stood up, his limbs trembling, and stood before the three of them. All of them he wanted nothing but to please. And now he had done something horrible, despicable. But it had been an accident.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, sharing a glance between Eodwine and Thornden.

“Sorry for what?” Thornden asked sharply. Javan didn’t reply at once. He looked down at the ground. “Answer it, Javan!”

“It was an accident!” Javan gasped out. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean to start the stables on fire, I swear it! It was a straw from trying to light a pipe. I dropped it and it caught another straw, and then it just went up!”

So that was it. Thornden stared at his brother without the slightest glint of friendliness or brotherliness in his eyes. He didn’t understand, but he almost felt he didn’t want to understand. Eodwine would certainly have more questions, surely. And Léof…he at least deserved an explanation. But Thornden, besides being Javan’s brother, had very little to do with it. So he remained silent.

[littlemanpoet]

Falco Boffin sat down against the wall, letting the bucket lie nearby. He had done what he could to help.

"The inconvenience!" he muttered to nobody in particular. "Here I am trying to pack and plan my way back home and somebody up and lights the stables on fire. Most inconsiderate. I could use a smoke."

It might have seemed to any of the Eorlings that wanting to smoke his pipe moments after a major fire had been put out, but to Falco it seemed just the thing. There were not many creature comforts that seemed right at home to the hobbit, here and the Eorling lands, so his own pipe would have to do. He reached in his pocket. It wasn't there.

"Now where did I last leave it?"

He traced back his steps, and with sudden horror realized that he had left them in the stables.

"Oh no! Lost for good!"

Just then he noticed Eodwine, Thornden, and Léof standing over Thornden's little brother. He got up and walked over to them.

"Eodwine, I fear my pipe has been lost in that there fire."

Eodwine looked down at him, his face set and grim. "I know. This boy started the fire with your flint." Eodwine turned to Thornden. "Take him home. You shall leave today."

Eodwine turned and trudged across the courtyard and into the Hall.

[Folwren]

Javan had told the truth, the entire story being dragged from him reluctantly with direct, sharp questions from Eodwine. And now to cap it off, Falco, the very person from whom Javan had stolen the items to start the fire, walked up and learned at once that Javan had started it. The boy new that soon everyone would know – it wasn’t something that would be kept secret – but it did burn a bit. The way Eodwine said it sounded as though he had done it on purpose.

And then Eodwine turned away from him and spoke to Thornden. “Take him home,” he said. “You shall leave today.”

Without looking again at Javen, the eorl turned and strode back towards the hall. Javan looked after him, feeling crushed. “Lord Eodwine!” he called out, finding his tongue before the eorl made it to the door. “Lord Eodwine, please! I’ll do anything!”

Thornden reached out and grabbed Javan’s arm. He turned him about sharply to face him and shook him. “Be quiet! Be quiet, do you hear?”

“But, Thornden,” Javan pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to, and I want to make up. I don’t want to go home.”

“I don’t think you have much choice.”

“Please let me talk to him…plead my case. He is a judge of a court, isn’t he? I should be heard, shouldn’t I?”

“A judge!” Thornden exclaimed. “Javan, if you were to stand before him in his court, there would be worse judgment than just being sent home, I can promise you!”

“But if he didn’t kill me and let me stay, then I wouldn’t care what the judgment was,” Javan said, beginning to cry.

Thornden had no patience to stand and talk with him. Daylight was fading quickly. Their ride would be done in the dark, obviously, and the sooner they set off, the better. He directed Javan towards the Hall and let him go with an emphasized nudge. “Go get your things together. We’re leaving as soon as I can find horses.”

Javan made off obediently, his head hung low and his shoulder’s hunched forward, weighed down with guilt and shame. Thornden turned to Léof. He had not said a word the entire time.

“Léof,” Thornden began quietly. He didn’t know if he should ask him just now, or apologize, or what. But he had been given orders. “Léof, are there two horses that can bear us tonight?”

“The horses are fine,” Léof said. His voice was flat, void of emotion, and he didn’t look at Thornden. “But I think all the saddles were burned.”

“No, actually,” Thornden said. “Someone managed to save a few at the very beginning. It was one of the men who stopped from the street.”

Léof nodded and turned. “I’ll get Javan’s horse and another for you.”

Thornden paused a moment. He looked towards the door of the hall and then after Léof, and decided to follow the ostler and lend a hand there.

---

Javan entered the Hall by the same door Eodwine had. He kept to the shadows of the wall as he went into the main hall and scurried as quickly as he could towards the door to the residential wing. He was half way there when he spotted the eorl, standing in the twilit gloom of the open hall.

Javan’s feet stopped. He looked at Eodwine, his heart thumping against his ribs. The eorl did not seem to be aware of him. Slowly, Javan turned from his course and approached him.

“Sir?” he asked as he finally drew near. Eodwine looked up, and Javan’s advance halted abruptly. “I – I would like to stay, sir. Is there no way I can make up? I’ll promise to do whatever you want. I won’t cause trouble – I’ll do my best to be good.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had been making his slow way to the kitchen, and stopped by his eorl's chair when the boy, Javan, the culprit, the arson, had come up to him.

Eodwine had just been thinking about how court would be held the next day, and how it would not be out of the way to bring charges against the boy, to make him work for years to pay the debt of the lost stable and the horse and all else that had been lost in the fire. It would make the boy his serf for a long, long time, and amply deserved; but it was not something he cared to do. Better to send the boy on his way back home. He would see to it that Kara provided bread and drink for Thornden, and coin enough to find an inn or bribe for a stranger's bed.

The boy had nerve, or such desire. Of course he could not stay. It did not matter what promise he might make right now, he had little self-control, even for one of his own age. Apparently he had been spoiled back home, and not trained to do what he was told and earn his way. Eodwine was not moved by his plea. He was young, and would recover given the right circumstances. But for Eodwine the decision had been easy and would not be easily changed. The boy was too reckless, too out of control, too in need of constant supervision, to be --- and suddenly Eodwine was caught in a possibility. He looked over the boy's head, allowing the silence to stretch on, no doubt uncomfortably for the boy.

"I will think on it this night and decide in the morning. Send for Thornden, boy. I must talk to him. Do this one thing now and do not delay, and perhaps it may go well for you."

[Folwren]

The eorl’s look was not entirely friendly as he stood and seemed to consider Javan’s question. Javan waited for the answer, torn between hope and dread. The expression on Eodwine’s face told Javan nothing of the thoughts that ran through his head – all the lad could see were the hard lines of a jaw clamped tight and eyes that didn’t seem too friendly. And suddenly, a brief, slightly changed look passed over the eorl’s face and finally he looked directly at Javan.

“I will think on it this night and decide in the morning. Send for Thornden, boy. I must talk to him. Do this one thing now and do not delay, and perhaps it may go well for you.”

Javan stepped forward eagerly. He half extending his hands, and then seemed to remember himself, and he drew back. His eyes were bright suddenly.

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir! I’ll get him at once!” And away he dashed, running as quickly as he could. He went out again to the courtyard and asked the first familiar person where Thornden was. They directed him in the direction of the horses and he made off again.

“Thornden!" He gasped, coming up to where Thornden and Léof were leading out two horses. “Thornden! Lord Eodwine wants to speak with you! He wants to see you now! He told me to fetch you at once! We won’t need the horses tonight, put them back – put them back. Come on! Here, I’ll take your horse.”

“I can deal with it,” Léof said abruptly, reaching out and taking the lead rope before Javan could. “I don’t need help.”

Javan shot him a confused look before shrugging it off and turning again to Thornden. The older brother obviously wanted more explanation, but there wasn’t time for it. With Javan behind him, Thornden started off towards the hall.

“Javan told me you wanted me,” Thornden said finding Eodwine still in the hall. Javan stepped beside Thornden and offered the eorl a smile, as though to say, ‘I have done your bidding quickly, now may all go well with me?’

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine glanced back and forth between Thornden and the boy, who was already looking hopeful and eager in that dangerous way of which Eodwine had suddenly become very aware. He locked eyes with Thornden.

"I will speak with you alone, Thornden. We must find someone to watch the boy in the meantime. Follow me to the kitchen. Mayhap we shall find someone there."

Javan, as Eodwine said this, noticed with some surprise that Eodwine had not called him by name since he had learned what had passed. He looked with slightly dimmed enthusiasm at him and his smile faded.

Eodwine led them toward the corridor to the kitchen. He stopped abruptly as Rowenna was just coming out of the corridor from the kitchen. At least, so it seemed. She always seemed to be very ready to hand when someone was needed. A good trait, he supposed.

"Rowenna, watch the boy. Thornden and I must talk. With no one else to hear."

"Aye, lord," she said with a nod, and led the boy off toward the kitchen.

"To my rooms," Eodwine said with a glance. Thornden followed without a word. When he had closed the door behind his almbudsman, he had him sit but paced from wall to wall himself as he spoke.

"Thornden, at first I was going to have the women send bread and drink and coin with you so that you would not have to travel far this night, but the boy came and begged."

“He came and begged, my lord? For what? Not a more merciful judgment, certainly? I told him you were already being merciful.”

"Yes, he begged. But nothing he said persuaded me." Eodwine stopped and looked at Thornden, who was staring at him in frank surprise.

"Persuaded you, lord? Of what?"

Eodwine could not hold back an abrupt ironic chuckle. "What, indeed." He resumed pacing. "At first I thought of hauling him before court tomorrow and requiring him to work for me until he has paid, in coin, every last copper a new stable will cost. But then I thought that he should just be sent home as he is too reckless to be trusted with work here. Yet I thought to myself that it would be no good to him to send him back to the place where he seems not to have been supervised as much as was needful. Then I had a new thought, that instead of holding a job here, he should be taught to be a man, here. Yes, he should be schooled."

Schooled! Thornden was still surprised...almost bewildered. How is someone taught to be a man? What else would Eodwine do, other than giving him a job and holding him to it? But Eodwine said, "Instead of holding a job here, he is to be schooled."

"How do you intend to do this?" Thornden asked after a lengthy pause. "And who will? Lord Eodwine, I will be frank - he's not your or my responsibility. He's my father's, if anyone's. You should not have to make him into a man." But then Thornden stopped. He didn't like the idea, merely because he did not like Eodwine thinking that he himself should deal with Javan's upbringing. On the other hand...he wondered what good it would be for Javan if he were sent back home. Perhaps Eodwine was right. Perhaps it would do no good to send him back, he'd just continue to grow in the same foolhardy, spoiled way, his boyish instincts and thoughtlessness never checked.

Finally, he sighed and looked down. "I don't know what you intend to do or how you think you can teach him, but I'm willing to listen."

At last Eodwine sat down across from Thornden and leaned on the table, eyeing his almbudsman with a twinkle in his eye.

"Why was he sent here, Thornden? Why did he come?"

Thornden was doubtful. "He came to work for you. To get a foothold someplace so when he became a man, he had a position at least somewhere in your court." He stood up. "I didn't think he'd be like this...thoughtless, careless...even dishonest...I mean, to take Falco's pipe and try to smoke it and then burn down the stables!"

It was clear to see Thornden's feelings. He felt angry, and he was ashamed - ashamed that his younger brother should be so without responsibility, should act dishonorably.

"I'm sorry," he said, sitting down promptly again. "I'll listen."

"So we agree that he is not ready to find a place as a worker for me, and that it is no use sending him back home. So he must be taught to be a man. If he is not ready for work, then he must be supervised, every minute of every day. Since he has trespassed against me, I can use the law of the Eorlings to aid us. Mayhap he should be made to think that he works drudgery to pay the cost of the stables.

"But neither you nor I am ready to say yes to this thought tonight. Let us both sleep on it and talk in the morning, and see if it still seems as madcap then as it does now. What say you?"

Thornden did not know exactly what to say. He still saw little promise in the idea at all, but at this point, he thought, perhaps there was no exactly good choice.

There was one thing more. "My lord," Thornden asked, his voice a little sharp, "if he is not to be sent back, what will be his punishment? You said yourself you will not charge him and make him your serf, but there must be some judgment, mustn't there?"

Eodwine sighed and nodded. "Yes, there must. That is my added burden, and I shall sleep on that. For now, good night."

They both rose and Eodwine saw Thornden out of his rooms.

[Folwren]

Javan sat on a stool by the kitchen table. Rowena was silent - she often was quiet - as she washed the dishes and Javan found it very trying. Finally, he heaved a sigh and stood up. Rowena watched him like a hawk as he paced from the window to the stone hearth and to the door and to the window again.

“Rowena,” he said finally. “What do you suppose they’re talking about?” He looked up at her, but she, not one to mince words, said nothing - she didn’t know, why waste breath saying so?

“I did an awful thing, you know,” Javan continued, not having waited long enough for the pause to become awkward. “I was going to be sent home, but I may have changed his mind. I hope,” he said as a sudden thought seemed to strike him, “that he does not decide to do something terrible.” Rowena still didn’t answer him. Javan stopped to kneel on one of the stools and put his elbows on the table and cradle his chin in his hands. “Have you ever done something so terribly bad and wondered what was going to happen to you?”

Rowenna’s hands stopped in the sudsy water and her head came up partially. But before she could answer they heard footsteps in the corridor and a moment later, Thornden strode into the kitchen. Javan scrambled up to his feet, somewhat alarmed at the brooding expression on Thornden’s face.

“Come on, Javan.”

The boy didn’t move immediately. “Am I going back?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet, come on.”

Javan started forward, slowly. “When will you know?”

“You’ll find out soon enough!” Thornden said sharply. “For now, all I know is that you’re staying here for the night, so get upstairs, clean yourself up, and get in bed.”

Javan looked sour. He wanted his question answered for real. He didn’t want to go to bed, and he wanted something to eat. But the look on Thornden’s face told him it would be foolish to say any of these things, so he didn’t and went passed Thornden into the corridor.

“Goodnight, Rowena,” Thornden said, and turned to follow his brother.

[littlemanpoet]

"Good night, Thornden," she half whispered, since he had left without waiting for reply.

The question the boy had asked. “Have you ever done something so terribly bad and wondered what was going to happen to you?”

I murdered my own babies, and I choked the life out of two women so that there would be a greater chance that I would live. Does that count? I wondered if I would survive. It didn't work the way the boy meant it, but they were her chains of memory.

She turned her thought away from her own hard road. The boy had burned down the stables. Rowenna had overheard Eodwine tell Thornden that he and the boy would be leaving, and had found a dark corner to hide in to overhear anything else near the eorl. The boy had come and begged. "I’ll do my best to be good!" The sheer effrontery! But coming from this boy it did not surprise her; he seemed unaware of the weight of consequence of his actions, as if nothing he did could possibly truly affect the rest of his life. She knew better.

What had surprised her were the eorl's next words. His mind seemed ever changeable. Was that a good thing, or a bad? She supposed that it depended. But what was he thinking? She forced down a sudden urge to dry her hands, run to his room and go ask him. Such a foolish thing it would be to do. She kept at the pans.

Then there were steps coming down the corridor. The eorl came in. "Good even, Rowenna. Thank you for watching the boy. Thornden took him then?"

"Yes lord."

"My teeth need something to knead. What have we to spare?"

"Kara set a loaf of black bread in the pantry, lord."

He got out the loaf and sat on a stool on the other side of the table from where she stood. She kept her hands busy, hearing him tear a chunk off and chew. She could feel his eyes watching her back, but not in that way those ruffians had had, as if she were so much meat devour.

"What is my lord thinking on?" she ventured, staying her hands.

An ironic laugh escaped from him, harsher than she usually heard from him. "The boy and how to school him."

"You mean to let him stay then?"

"I'm thinking upon it."

She dried her hands on her apron and turned. His face looked dour in the lamp light. "Why let him stay?"

He looked up and studied her. She looked down at her hands after a moment. "Why make him go?" he asked.

She allowed a half smile. Now she must play the game, having asked a question of one higher ranking than herself, who could by rights turn the game any way he liked will she or nill she. "My lord is not bound to keep as laborer one who costs him more than he pays him."

"Is that why you work so hard, Rowenna, to make sure that you cost me less than I pay you?"

She looked up and was caught by his eyes. "I-" What he was asking was probing too close. "I do what I can to earn my keep," she said. She must turn the talk back to the boy. "So why keep him?"

"Because it is the best thing for him, I'm thinking."

"Better than sending him home?"

"He was spoiled there."

"So you would make a proper Eorling of him." How had he gotten her talking so?

"Not I alone. You, I think, Rowenna, would be able to teach him things the rest of us could not."

"My lord?" Like what, how to survive at the expense of others?

He shook his head. "No more talk tonight. I am not sure I will do this. I need to sleep. And so do you. Tarry not overlong," he said, and left the kitchen.

[Firefoot]

Léof watched for a moment as Javan followed Thornden back to the Hall to talk to Eodwine. Léof had known that Javan could be reckless, immature. Yet they all had kept giving him chances, time and again, and this was how he repaid them. Oh, yes, it was an accident, but Javan seemed to think that somehow that fact made up for the loss. It didn’t. It was an accident, but wholly brought about by Javan’s foolishness. Trying to smoke Falco’s pipe! And using Léof’s own room to do so! Léof felt overwhelming disgust and disappointment. How could Javan ever expect Léof to trust him again? Eodwine might forgive him – at the least, Javan was not immediately being sent home, which was far more than Javan had any right to expect – but Léof would yield much less easily.

He turned to the horses that he and Thornden had saddled up and began to untack them. Imagine saving saddles while horses still were trapped! Léof couldn’t understand it. In his mind, the act was comparable to saving the crib while the baby wailed only feet away. If whoever it was that had retrieved all these saddles had taken a moment to retrieve a horse or two, Herefola would still live.

After a short while he turned the two horses loose in the paddock and draped the saddles over the top fence post for lack of a better place for them. Then he retrieved the other couple of saddles and bridles that were lying about; with a jolt, he realized that one of them was his. This, anyway, was a pleasant surprise, but Léof gleaned little joy from this find in the context of the larger loss.

Since there seemed to be little else for him to do and the sky was growing dark, Léof supposed it was about time for bed – but he didn’t have a bed anymore, Javan had burned that down with the rest of the stables. He briefly considered just sleeping outside with the horses but quickly realized the impracticality of it and headed off to find Eodwine. He wished that this whole day could just be a nightmare that he would wake up from in the morning.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was about to pull off his tunic when he heard a knock on his door. He opened it and found Léof's drawn face looking up into his face.

"I need a bed, lord."

Eodwine shuttered his eyes as hard as he could then opened them. Of course!

"Forgive me, Léof, for failing to think of your needs." He searched about in his mind for an option. Everybody was to bed except Rowenna, whom he had ordered to do likewise at first opportunity.

"You will have my bed this night."

"But-"

"No, I will not argue it. It is the least I can do after how you have served this Hall today and ever since you became my man. I'll find another. After all," he winked, "I've rights to whatever unused bed I can find."

"But lord-"

"Tut tut!" Eodwine pulled Léof into the room and used the leverage to push himself out. "I bid you goodnight." With that he closed the door, his last view inside the stunned look on Léof's face. With a chuckle he went into the Hall and found himself a mat and bed cloths and wrapped himself up. As he nodded off to sleep he considered that the boy was probably too distraught to think of bedding down in the Hall with the footmen.

[Folwren]

When Javan reached the room that he and Thornden shared, the first thing he did was to carefully take off his shirt. It was covered in ashes, suet, and smoke. He went then to the basin of water and began to clean his face, neck, hands and arms.

The job was only just begun when Thornden came in. Javan stopped when he entered and turned to look at his brother. Thornden did not address him and after a pause, the boy went back to his washing.

The silence between them stretched on for several seconds. The water sloshed gently in the bowl as Javan scrubbed himself. Then he spoke, quietly, hesitantly. “I am sorry, Thornden,” he said. “You do know that, don’t you?” Thornden didn’t make much of an answer. Javan put his hands on the edge of the basin stand and turned his head to look at his older brother. “Look, just ‘cause I asked him if I could stay doesn’t mean that I don’t realize what I’ve done.”

“The fact that you think that saying you’re sorry will suffice shows me that you don’t realize what you’ve done, Javan,” Thornden replied.

Javan turned his head away and two emotions flared up – anger and remorse both. Thornden was being unreasonable. He wouldn’t listen. He would not accept any sort of apology. And at the same time, Javan wondered if he should. He had been terribly stupid and had done a very terrible thing, and he was sorry for it.

Thornden looked at his skinny back and hunched shoulders before turning away himself. “Léof lost a horse, you know,” he said finally.

Javan whirled about. “He did?” It was the first he had heard about it. “Who?”

Thornden shook his head and shrugged up his shoulders. “I don’t know. All I know is that I stopped him from trying to save her, and he’s terribly hurt by it. And if it weren’t for you-” He turned about abruptly, prepared to launch into some long lecture or scolding, but the look on his brother’s face stopped him. Javan gasped and dashed away his tears. He looked at the ground.

“That is why he was angry tonight,” Javan said, “and didn’t let me help with the horses.”

“I’m sure that’s not his only reason,” Thornden muttered.

Javan turned away again, finally so overcome that he couldn’t speak any more, and thrust his hands back into the darkened water. After a while, he found his voice again. “Does lord Eodwine know?”

“About the horse? Yes.”

Javan nodded, mute again. New doubts crept into his mind as he finished washing away the traces of the fire. He wondered what the morning would bring. If Eodwine did not send him home, what would happen to him? He would have to wait until morning and he would have to try to sleep. As he laid himself down and turned in his bed, he knew it would likely be a long, very sleepless night.

[Lhunardawen]

Weary as she had never been in a while, Ginna lay on her bed, on her side, barely consciously rubbing an aching arm. She had come out from the kitchen as soon as she heard about the commotion in the stables and offered what little help she could in destroying the stable's walk-through. Thankfully the job had been more than half-done when she joined in, so she had enough strength left to resume her serving duties - water for the thirsty firefighters - when the raging foe had been dealt with. She had not much appetite for her unfinished meal after all the excitement, so she had begged Frodides for an early night. The cook gave it kindly.

With sleep claiming her almost completely, Ginna gave but a fleeting thought of gratefulness for the fact that save one, all horses, including her own, had been saved. She had no thought for what would become of the Hall after this, or for poor Javan, or for the exchange she and Harreld had earlier that day. She promptly fell asleep.

It was still dark when she awoke, but satisfied with rest, she got up and threw on a robe. She went downstairs and walked slowly to the kitchen, where she knew she would be alone...but she was not.

Harreld sat at the table, head buried in his hands. He seemed to be crying. Ginna made to come over and ask him what was wrong, when Garreld stormed into the kitchen.

"Stay away from my brother!" Garreld's face worked in anger. Ginna drew back. He continued to glare at her, standing behind his brother, a protective arm on his shoulders. Ginna shivered.

Frodides, Kara, Modtryth, and Lèoðern then came in, all of them looking reproachfully at Ginna. They, too, walked towards Harreld, but Lèoðern stopped in front of her.

"Why did you do it, Ginna? A princess never acts that way. We can't be friends anymore!"

Ginna reached out to the little girl, a plea on her lips, but Lèoðern had turned away. "No- no-" Ginna could only stammer, her arm still towards the girl as she walked towards the rest of the women. She was silenced when Thornden entered the kitchen, profound disappointment etched on his face. He was followed by Javan, who looked rather relieved. Ginna looked pleadingly at Thornden, but he shook his head and looked away. From the corner of her eye she saw Javan wink at her, gloating. She burst into tears.

Rowenna walked in soon afterwards, laughing cruelly at Ginna's outburst. And then Eodwine burst in...accompanied by a furious Randvér...

When Ginna opened her eyes, she felt tears sticking to her lashes and dropping down her cheeks. She hugged her pillow tightly, hiding herself from the oppressive darkness of her room.

[piosenniel]

Former posts from 962 & forward have now been transferred to:

~*~ Scarburg Meadhall (http://www.forum.barrowdowns.com/showthread.php?t=14745) ~*~

.....being a new twist in the Eorling Mead Hall's storyline

[piosenniel]

Moving to: Elvenhome