Eorling Mead Hall

[littlemanpoet]

Eorling Mead Hall

Eodwine paced around the common room with a knotted rope, measuring. It was early morning, the rising sun peaking in through the cracks between the joists that joined wall to ceiling.

Eodwine had much to think about.

Two days past, Bêthberry had taken her leave with the Easterling, Sööng. Eodwine wondered what old Tom Bombadil and Goldberry thought of their daughter running about middle earth with an Easterling. From what Eodwine had heard of the pair living far away on the edge of the Old Forest near the Shire of the Halflings, Bêthberry had their blessing.

Eodwine sighed, mostly contented and a little anxious.

Yesterday, he had gone to see the King, and had sued for mercy and understanding, begging his liege-lord to give the Wardenship of the Dunland Marches to another more deserving servant. Eodwine shook his head and smiled in bemusement at the King's response.

'I take back the Wardenship from you, Eodwine of the Gap,' King Éomer had said, 'and in its place lay upon your shoulders a new yoke mor fitting to one of my vassals that I would keep nearer out of friendship and proven trust.'

Eodwine had cocked his head and looked up at his king, surprised, pleased, and worrited as to what new yoke was coming; he could not refuse a second time, so he would have to live with whatever the king chose to bestow and hope for the best, or the least of the worst. He needn't have worried.

'I make you Eorl of the new Middle Emnet, for I have need of a trusted servant to be the lord, under me, of Edoras and its outlyers whilst I see to the needs of the whole Mark. Make a Mead Hall of this White HOrse Inn that you wish to inn-keep. Know then that as Eorl of your Mead Hall, all your guests stay without pay, for that is your duty as Eorl. Your livelihood must come by fees from vassals and fines from wrongdoers.'

Eodwine had been relieved that he was going to be allowed to keep the inn. And he was anxious regarding his new office. None in his family had been more than a freeholder, and the king had made him an Eorl! It was beyond all he had ever hoped! And not a little scarey. He'd need a bailliff, a couple soldiers at arms, and a few other folk to help run his mead hall.

And there was Gudryn to think about. More than ever the girl needed a mother, for he would be greatly distracted. He wondered if he should seek out Giedd. Not right now, though.

Master Falco Boffin of the Shire had been a greater help than Eodwine would have imagined, full of ideas and a willing pair of hands; though short of stature, the hobbit was quick and could get in small places with his deft hands. Very useful. Garreth and Harreld the blacksmiths had been quite congratulatory; they were off in their smithy for the day.

Saeryn and Æðelhild were still under roof, and of that Eodwine was glad. They had already spoken their willingness to be employed in his mead hall. It had been a great relief to have so many willing hands. Eodwine still needed to figure out what to do with the two pair of the willing lasses.

Frodides had offered to stay on as cook for a little while, but had said that her family needed her, and that as soon as she could be replaced, she would take her leave. Eodwine had thanked her for her willingness to stay on until replaced. But he felt pressed to give Frodides her freedom.

The ostler had also requested to move on. So someone new for the stables would need to be found, too.

There was much to do. The fireplace would have to be destroyed, the roof unmade and laid aside, its wood used to gird the new roof, and then thatch it. There was much to do, many questions to be answered. Eodwine whistled an old riding song of the Mark, basically happy with his lot.

[Esgallhugwen]

Gudryn's eyelids flickered lazily trying to pinch out the rays of the sun that flashed through the folds in her drapes. The sun was just making it's way above the horizon, the soft chirping of dawn birds already filling the air.

She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and made a mighty stretch before sitting up in bed. Gudryn was still getting used to the fact that Bêthberry no longer would be here as the Innkeeper, but Gudryn was more then happy when she asked that Eodwine take her place.

Her father an Innkeeper?

Gudryn giggled lightly before finally getting out of bed to get dressed for the day. For today would indeed be a busy one what with all the comings and goings of carpenters and craftsmen and those looking for a place to rest and perhaps a place to work.

She smiled as she made her way downstairs, noticing her father looking up at the support beams scratching his golden haired head while holding a piece of knotted rope in the other hand.

Her bare feet walked gracefully over to Eodwine and resumed the same stance of looking upwards to the ceiling a quizzical look played across her face.

"Goodmorning Father, would you have my help in this task?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn woke up to bittersweet memories. Bethberry had left... Saeryn had wept long over the loss. The woman had been so kind, helping her in many ways. Now Eodwine, Saeryn's friend and protector, would run the White Horse... but it was no longer to bear that name... As with every new beginning, there must be an end.

Saeryn climbed from her bed with a wince. Though it had been several days since her fall, her injuries were not quite healed to perfection. Her ribs still ached if she moved too uncarefully and her head still swam if she stood too quickly. She washed and dressed in soft breeches and a laced shirt, as was her custom these days, and left her hair unbraided. It still hurt too much to raise her arms long enough to tie it away from her face, much less to tame the stubborn curls in a long plait.

Padding barefooted into the Great Hall, she saw that nobody had yet risen. The Inn had been quiet for the past few days, which she could only be thankful for. She'd had much to think about and had slept long on Bethberry's parting orders to let herself heal before trying too much.

Now she needed to speak with Eodwine. While she did not believe that her friend would even consider turning her out, Saeryn felt useless and unhappy with her unhelpfulness. She could think of no place within a working Mead Hall, as this was, where she would fit. A run-away noble in hiding could not very well take a public role.

As she fretted, her footsteps slowed until she came to a stop still some feet away from Eodwine and his Gudryn. She stood, indecisive, and looked from her friends to the door she had entered from. Perhaps she would wait a little longer... she was uncertain... she should think longer before making a nuisance of herself...

She began to turn and retreat when she heard Eodwine address her.

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild was up with the dawn and had already completed the morning task of helping Frodides light the ovens ready for the morning bread then that done she set about airing and changing the linens of the unoccupied rooms, of which there were more than usual, with many of the guests leaving unsure of the inns future now that Bethberry gone.

She too had been at a loss wondering what she would do now. Bethberry had been kind to take her in and to give her work, but now she was gone and a new keep may not be so disposed to do so. However Eodwine had quickly allayed her fears informing them that he was to be the new proprietor and that he would have need of staff if she was willing. She had only been at the inn for a short time but already it held a place of warmth and safety for her amidst the air of uncertainty that was her life, so she had willingly agreed to stay on.

She walk down the stairs now carrying an armful of dirty linens for washing, Her dark hair bouncing about her shoulders, no longer the tangled mass it had been when she had first arrived and two days of rest and good food had brought some colour to her pale cheeks. Eodwine had not said what job he would have her do so she thought it best just to continue on as she had, wondering thoughtfully as she reached the bottom of the stairs if Eodwine had given thought to any of the more womanly tasks.

The fleeting image of the kings former messenger in apron with scrubbing board and soap to hand made her chuckle, almost causing her to catch her footing on a trailing linen but she saved herself just in time. Passing the opening to the old common room she saw that others where now up, the young auburn haired woman Saeryn who had befriended her in the stables stood talking with Eodwine and Gurdyn seeing her pass gave a small wave. Her hands full she simply nodded in reply and moved on through the kitchen to the large wooden wash basin that waited her and the linens out in the back courtyard.

[littlemanpoet]

"Goodmorning Father, would you have my help in this task?"

Eodwine turned, smiling, upon hearing the familiar voice of his daughter Gudryn. "Well now. Yes! I would. If you would take one end of this measuring rope in hand, then I can begin to jot down some numbers that I'll need for the work that must be done."

Gudryn took the rope-end quickly, and stood where her father asked. He was just about to begin stretching the rope across the room when he heard quiet footsteps.

"Ah! Good the morn, Saeryn! You're up early! How are you feeling?" Gudryn matched Eodwine's words with a greeting of her own.

"I am well, though a long night abed makes these sore ribs ache a bit. But that'll pass."

Eodwine grew stern of face, but with a smile and a wink. "Now now, you remember Bethberry's words. Rest up and let your ribs heal. Think not that I'll be letting you straddle a ladder and start wielding a mallet, not for a few days at least."

Saeryn's eyes went wide a moment. "Not until I can get my arm over my head!"

A fleeting shadow passed from hallway to kitchen almost quicker than eye could follow.

"Good morning to you, Æðelhild," Eodwine said out of hearing of the girl, a smirk on his face. So the mead hall was beginning to stir with the day. Much to do, much to do. When was Frodides arriving? He hoped it would be soon; measuring and figuring on and empty stomach was little to his liking. In the meantime, he and Gudryn continued measuring off the lengths and widths he needed for the making of the Hall that his mead hall was to be named for. Much to do, much to do!

One more thing he thought of, suddenly, was quick and willing feet for errands to be run to carpenters and the like. He glanced again at Saeryn, wondering if her legs were more fit than her arms.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine son of Gárulf trotted his brown mare through the wooden gates of Edoras. His thick blond hair was matted with dirt and sweat and his clothes and skin were covered with dust. Across his back was strapped his spear, an iron-headed staff of oak, and his shield, planks of wood with peeling green paint. His chest was closed in a tarnished breastplate. His Gárwine felt hot and stifled in it, but there was no other way to carry it. Across his shoulders was wrapped a threadbare green cloak. His horse, Herefola, was tired and slow, but trotted on at her master's bidding. She wore the simplest saddle and bridle; it was barely suitable for anyone nobler than a farmer. Gárwine was the young son of a dead warrior, and he had traveled for days to reach Edoras, hoping to become a warrior in the service of a local Eorl. Since his father's death at the hands of orcs near the Entwood, Gárwine had not had the opportunity to travel to Edoras until now.

The thatched houses of Edoras shone with a golden light on this early morning. The entire city, perched upon a hilltop, shone across the land, crowned by Meduseld, where the King held his court. As Gárwine passed between the houses he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the famed Golden Hall, where his future as a warrior would be decided. Herefola trotted up the cobblestone street, and Gárwine watched from her back the golden roofs move down the hill past them. Herefola halted at Meduseld's stone steps. Gárwine slid from her back. His legs ached from the days of riding, and when he walked it was with a stiff swagger. He ascended the steps, which offered a magnificent view of the sunrise over the fields of the Mark. The golden sun was rising and everything shone more magnificently than any field Gárwine had ever rode through. He greeted the doorward and removed his arms and the guards swung open the doors. Then Gárwine entered the Golden Hall.

The light was dim and only lit by sunlight slanting out of the eastern windows. The air was cool, and the fire was nothing more than a few embers. Tapestries hung in the shadows along the wall, retelling the Mark's history and the deeds of the kings. Across the hall, seated upon a dais, was Éomer Éadig, King of the Mark, speaking with a retainer. Gárwine felt embarrassed for a moment to be seen in such a noble hall in such an unkempt state. He brushed the hair out of his eyes and approached the king. He summoned his courage and spoke:

"Hail, Éomer Éadig, King of the Mark. My name is Gárwine son of Gárulf, and I seek to become a warrior in the service of the Mark." He bowed.

King Éomer turned his attention away from the retainer, who took his place to the side of the king. "Welcome, Gárwine son of Gárulf. I recognize that name. Now tell me, did your father ride with me when I was Third Marshall of the Mark?"

Gárwine nodded, "Yes, my lord." He hoped his father's reputation with the king would aid him.

"He was a brave man. He died valiantly for the Mark, a hero's death. I will remember him as a faithful companion in battle." He sighed, feeling the nostalgia of the old war and remembering those who had fallen in the thick of battle. "And your brother, Gárláf, also rode alonside me, no? His death was just as heroic as his father's; swinging his sword against the Easterlings at Pelennor." The king paused again. "And did your father teach you how to ride? How to wield a sword?"

"Yes, my lord. He taught me as much as he could."

The king nodded in approval, smiling. "Well, young Gárwine son of Gárulf, your father was a true warrior of the Mark, and it should be that sons follow their fathers' footsteps. I have recently established the new Middle Emnet. Its Eorl is Eodwine of the Gap, and he requires soldiers at arms. He is constructing a mead hall in this city by renovating an old inn that was once called the White Horse, and that is where you are to serve. It is not far from here."

Gárwine swore an oath of fealty, bowed once more, and then left the hall. Outside the sun was crawling its way above the horizon. The city was awakening, and more people were in the streets. Gárwine, elated at his new job, mounted Herefola and rode in the direction of the mead hall as he was instructed. He reminded himself that without his father's good reputation, he would still be laboring for Uncle Wilfrid, without any chance of becoming a soldier at arms.

He and Herefola turned a corner and found themselves before one of the thatched buildings, but this one was surrounded by stacks of boards and piles of hammers and nails. Measuring ropes lay coiled atop a crate, and a ladder led up to the roof. All that was needed was a handful of carpenters and this would be a perfect building project. This was surely the soon-to-be Mead Hall. Even a sign, carved and painted in the likeness of a white horse, lay upon the ground, removed from its place above the door. This was the former White Horse Inn.

Gárwine slipped off of his horse and tied the reins around a post across the cobblestone street. Then he entered the inn and came into a common room of sorts, where a man and a young maiden stood at the wall measuring out the size of the room and its various beams of the walls and ceiling. Another maiden, with auburn hair, stood nearby, rubbing her ribs and arms as though they ached. They were greeting each other good morning, and when Gárwine entered they had just said hello to yet another woman passing by a doorway. Gárwine gave a gentle cough to alert them of his presence.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn welcomed the young man to the Hall, graciously taking from him cloak and name.

"You seek for Eodwine, young lord?" she smiled prettily and the young man wondered who she was and how she had come to be there, for she seemed unescorted and looked little like the master of the hall. "A bite to eat? I fear that it may not be up to the usual standards... as you can see, we are renovating... however it will be nourishing and fresh, if not exquisite. Or perhaps a drink? A kettle is on or cold water could be brought."

Small details seen too, Saeryn led the tired looking lad to Eodwine who had viewed the exchange with a contemplative look. "Gárwine, you stand before Eodwine of the Gap. I will bring you water and see to your mount. She will be comfortable in the stables as matters are dealt with here."

Bowing her head slightly, Saeryn swept away. She pulled on boots before striding to the kitchen. She drew a pitcher of water and gathered some breakfast items, settling them neatly onto a tray. Balancing it carefully, she returned to the Hall and set it upon a table nearby to where Eodwine now spoke with Gárwine. Unobtrusively, she slipped from the building and retrieved the lad's horse. A short time later, she had finished feeding and watering the beast and slid again into the room. Eodwine nodded encouragingly to her as she disappeared through the door toward her room once more.

If the Mead Hall was soon to fill with strangers, she must look presentable. At the very least, she ought to wear shoes.

[Folwren]

A few of the men-at-arms from Meduseld stood clumped together to one side of the night’s fire. They ignored the dying flames, now that the sun’s light peeped through the window of the small room - the fire’s heat and light would not longer be needed. They spoke quietly together until one of them laughed and stepped back.

“Nay, not me, friends,” he said. “I’m well enough off here. But Thornden here might be willing.” He motioned with his head and thumb over his shoulder towards a figure sitting off alone underneath the window. The pouring sunlight fell on a piece of paper in his hand and his head was bent above it. “He needs a change of scenery.”

One of the man’s companion’s laughed and looked at Thornden. “I say, fellow, what’s the news that keeps you so secretly apart?”

Thornden raised his head and looking up, caught sight of all four eyes studying him. An easy smile broke out across his face. “Nothing secret,” he said, folding the letter and tucking it away in a pocket. “My sister has had a son, that is all, and she was writing to tell me of it.” He stood up, unfolding his long legs and walked towards the others. “But what’s kept you and your heads locked together for so long? I’ve a right to ask that question, now I’ve told you what’s in my letter.”

“Have you heard the news - about the new mead hall? King Eomer has set Eodwine of the Gap over it. He’ll be needing all sorts of people. . .men-at-arms, and whatnot.”

“I wouldn’t need so little a change of scene just to become a guard somewhere else,” Thornden said, nodding to the man who had said that earlier. “Too much trouble for too little change.”

“No, but he’ll need a bailiff of some sort,” another one said. “And you with your, well, imposing figure, would be enough to scare any villainy out of any villain as soon as you walked into the room! Eodwine wouldn’t have any trouble for months, if you stayed around.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Thornden asked, laughing. He stopped their cries of protest and defense, waving his hand. “No, no, I understand you mean no harm. But that is an interesting thought, now isn’t it? And being out of the regular guard and being there would give me a chance to see. . .at least my sister, if not the others. . .” he was elapsing back into his own thought, still talking aloud. His four companions stood by, listening and watching intently, waiting to see if he would make up his mind. And after a moment, he did. His head lifted again and his merry, hazel eyes had the answer written inside them. “Well, I think I’ll take your idea and go. The worse he can do is say that he doesn’t want me, and then I’ll come back and join you. No doubt it’d be a simple matter enough. Where’s the captain?”

It took little time to make his request and get permission to leave the company of guard, and before an hour had passed, Thornden was walking away from the Golden Hall and down the cobbled streets of Edoras, towards the new mead hall. His tall, broad figure brought a few glances as he passed through the familiar streets, but he paid no mind. He knew the way to the old White Horse Inn and his feet with their long strides brought him quickly to the front doorway. There, he paused one minute, glanced down at the old sign of the White Horse leaning against the wall and at the building materiels gathered about.

Well, this was it. Something new was to begin here, hopefully. He put his hand to the door latch and went in, bowing his head ever so slightly in the doorway.

[littlemanpoet]

After Særyn left them, Eodwine handed the measuring rope to Gudryn. "Break your fast, my dear, before you're blown away by the wind. And ask Frodides if there might be any fare for me, if you please."

"Yes, father!" Gudryn grinned and ran off to the kitchen.

Gárwine looked to be a stout young lad, if a little dirty and travel worn. Eodwine, in his turn, seemed tallish and well kept for a man of his forty or so years. His hair was the color of corn ripe in the cob, but soft as silk; and his eyes were the deep blue of the sky on a hot summer day at noon. He smiled quickly and often.

"Well met and welcome, Gárwine," Eodwine said. "Who is your father? And what brings you here?"

And so the conversation began. Eodwine learned of Gárulf, and of the king's orders upon the young man.

"You would be a guard in my hall then?" Eodwine looked him in the eye, but kindly.

"Aye, I would, lord."

"Well then, we must swear oath each to the other, and then I must decide just what I need guarding from! But first, food! You look hungery!"

It seemed that Frodides had not only arrived to prepare breakfast, but had done so very quietly and unnoticed while he and Gudryn had measured the room's fixtures: Gudryn brought out with a tray bearing three hot mugs and three plates piled high with eggs and rashers of bacon, and hearty black bread. Eodwine and Gárwine pulled a table away from the wall, set three chairs about it, and the three of them fell to.

Not long after they had begun to break their fast, a tall man came through the front door, a warrior in the employ of Meduseld by the look of him. Eodwine wiped his mouth on his sleeve and stood.

"Hail, Eorlinga! I am Eodwine of the Gap, Eorl of the Middle Emnet. How are you called, and how may I host you?"

[Folwren]

“Hail, Eodwine,” Thornden said, bowing slightly to the man, “I am Thornden, son of Thrinlite, recently of the Guards of Meduseld. I’ve been sent by some of my companions who thought that this new opening of a mead hall may offer me some new change.” He paused a moment, and Eodwine waited for him to continue.

“I have no one to recommend me but myself, sir, but if you are in need of someone to. . .work as a bailiff, keeping your hall clear of any uncertain, or unruly visitors, I would be very much obliged if you allowed me to take such a place. I have been a part of the Company of Men-at-Arms at the Golden Hall for the past year. . .the captain has given me leave to come and ask you if you would need my services.”

[Kath]

Stopping beside a tree for a moment to rest her weary legs, Kara looked in relief at the wooden building not too far from where she stood. She felt to have been walking for weeks though in reality it had been but three days. Three days since the place she called home had burnt down thanks to the foolishness of the man who had taken more drink that was good for him and had gone to smoke on the roof. Kara had woken up amid screaming and thick smoke and had joined the rest of the Inn's patrons outside, where she watched the flames take hold.

The Innkeeper, a kind man who after hearing her tale of the death of her parents and brother had allowed her to stay in the Inn without paying for room and board so long as she did whatever needed to be done around the place, had been devastated. His home and his livelihood had been destroyed, yet he still offered Kara money to help her with the journey she must now undertake to find a new home. She had refused, unwilling to take anything from this man who had already lost everything. All she had been willing to take was advice.

"Well at least then you must go where you will be needed." He had told her. "I have heard tell that there is a new Mead Hall not so far from here, and Eodwine, the Eorl, is sure to need a set of willing hands and feet. Go there girl, and good luck."

So Kara had done as he asked, and was now standing just a few feet away. She had seen people going in, and they had all seemed to receive a warm reception. Hoisting her bag a little further up she set her shoulders and marched onwards. Reaching the door she could see two men inside, clearly involved in conversation. Slipping in quietly, she lowered her pack to the floor and waited.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn, bored quickly with staying out of the action, had slipped back into the hall. Eodwine shared his meal with his daughter and the young man whose horse Saeryn had cared for. She liked the young man, though knowing him little, based solely on his horse's temperment. The beast was gentle and patient, social, and sweet-tempered. She hoped Eodwine would keep him around... new faces were always welcome, so long as they were not her brother's spies.

She sat as unobtrusively as she could, taking advantage of the shadows left unhindered by the early morning light. While she did not wish to interrupt private business, she was unable to keep herself occupied alone for long. Her thoughts had returned to her place the moment she had finished caring for Gárwine's mount.

Until she had run from home, she had known her place. With Bethberry, she had felt secure even though she was uncertain of her future. Now that Eodwine had assured her that she was not to concern herself with payment or attempts to leave for foolish reasons, she wondered constantly what constituted a foolish reason and how she would earn her keep. It was unfair of her to stay, she thought. There was nothing she was good at. I talk to people, she thought. I make them smile. A lot of good that will do my lord. Unhappily, she watched the shadows play across the floor.

Now the door slid open and Eodwine looked up, noting a girl standing there. He looked to Saeryn who was surprised, though should not have been, that he had known her there. She nodded imperceptibly and rose, walking to the girl.

"My name is Saeryn. The master of the hall is in the middle of something, however he will be with you in a moment. While you wait, may I be of assistance?"

[Firefoot]

Léofric shifted his weight anxiously from foot to foot. This was the first man he’d talked to that hadn’t turned him down outright, and while he didn’t have a lot of hope, he was running out of options. The man sighed. “How old are you, lad?”

“Sixteen, sir.” He would have lied about his age, but with his thin frame and boyish (and probably dirt-smudged) features he already looked more like thirteen or fourteen. He wasn’t a terribly good liar, anyway.

The man looked like he wanted to say yes, but Léof could tell he wouldn’t. “Listen, I wish I could help you, and I’m sure you’re a hard worker, but I really don’t need any more help around here. Good luck, though.”

Léof tried not to let his disappointment show on this face. “Thank you anyway, sir.” He started to turn around and head out when the man called out to him. “Hang on, there, I may be able to help you a bit after all.” Léof turned around, trying not to get his hopes up too much. “The inn in these parts, The White Horse, has just closed down – they’re making a mead hall out of the place, if what I hear is correct. You may be able to find some work there.” He gave him directions, and Léof set off again with a word of thanks.

He untied his chestnut mare Æthel from the post and led her down the road. She had picked up a stone in her hoof sometime yesterday, and while she seemed to be walking all right now, Léof saw no need to take any risks when he was traveling such a short way.

He found the building as it had been described and once again tied Æthel out in front. “If we’re lucky, girl, you might have yourself a stall here soon,” he murmured. He left her with a fond pat and walked up to the former inn. He took a deep, hopeful breath and opened the door with some trepidation, wondering what he might find.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer interior, but he found that there seemed no one likely to talk to who wasn’t already busy. He considered just leaving, but he had found his first real opportunity and didn’t care to blow it. He could only wait uncomfortably either for someone to notice him or for someone to become un-busy.

[littlemanpoet]

Thornden had introduced himself confidently and forthrightly. Eodwine liked that, and expected no less of a Guard from the Golden Hall.

"Indeed I do need a steward, but the man that I would take under me in such a stead must be willing to do more than keep my hall clear of unruly visitors, as needful as that may be from time to time. I need a right hand man. A man who can take my place when I cannot be here. A man to keep order of other men, and my ledgers, and to give orders in my name. Such a man must be my almbudsman as well, and take coin paid in fee and fine both honestly and justly. It is a high place in my hall. Are you worthy of it?"

Thornden's eyes had widened slightly as the job had become much greater than he had at first realized, but quickly regained his composure. He was about to speak when Eodwine stopped him with a raised hand.

"A moment, friend, for this is the very kind of thing I need you for, if you it be. Come with me." Eodwine nodded to the front door. Strangers were arriving faster than a mountain stream, it seemed. Særyn was busy with one of them, while another waited. Eodwine was quite glad that Særyn had taken it upon herself to act as hostess. He would have to speak more with her about that; the role seemed to come to her as easily as flight to a bird.

"Good morn, friend!" Eodwine approached the lad, Thornden at his flank. He was not quite a man but no mere boy by the look of him. "I am Eodwine of the Gap, Eorl of Middle Emnet and host of this hall. How are you called, and how may I host you?"

"I am called Léofric, lord, and I came hoping to earn my keep if that can be."

"I see. Can you do wood work? cleaning? stabling? guarding?"

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine now sat alone with Gudryn as Eodwine and Thornden welcomed visitors at the entryway. He munched on his bacon in silence. His experience with females was limited, especially during his stay with Uncle Wilfrid. So he ate breakfast and pretended to watch Eodwine and Thornden meet Léofric. He was a carpenter or some other sort of laborer, who had probably came to aid with the construction of the mead hall.

Gárwine's stomach had ached with hunger all during his ride to Edoras. Now as he filled the void in his stomach he only felt hungrier and hungrier as he realized how long it had been since good, hearty food like this had passed his lips. His plate emptied at an alarming rate. Gárwine, not wanting to seem too gluttonous, paused his feasting to stretch his arms. He decided to ask Gudryn about the many women of the inn.

"So, you are Eodwine's daughter?" He asked.

She nodded, chewing a mouthful of bread.

He asked about the other women he had seen. "And Saeryn, what is her relation to Eodwine? She is not your sister, is she?" He took a bite of bread. "And I saw, as I entered, a maiden, arms piled high with laundry, pass by that door. Who was she?"

[Firefoot]

Léof could not help but be impressed – and slightly intimidated - by Eodwine; here was a man who was easily more lordly than any he had ever met. Yet he seemed interested, and Léof wanted to make a good impression.

“I am not choosy, lord; I would work hard at whatever tasks you might have for me.” And he spoke truly. Though such a job as cleaning appealed little to him, he would do it if need be. Eodwine had mentioned stabling, though – Léof’s heart began to race. He had no idea whether he was in a position to be choosy, but he had to try. “But if it pleases you, I am good with the horses. If you have need of an ostler, it is a job I would gladly take.”

He could hardly bear to hope that he might take a job doing what he most loved to do. His father had never cared much for the horses, and always said he spent too much time with them when he ought to be doing other things. Eodwine did not promptly respond, and Léof now feared rejection too much to be able to keep his mouth closed while another decided his fate.

“At any rate, my own horse has need of care, and neither of us has seen the inside of a stable for several days…” He realized he had begun to babble and shut his mouth abruptly. If he had not already made a fool out of himself, he figured that he almost certainly would soon, and then why would anyone want him for a stableboy?

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine watched the lad try to look and act his best. He remembered many years before, when he had just been sent from home to be counted amongst the Riders of the West Emnet - be for Saruman had begun to do evil and that Ring that caused all the War had as yet been hiding in the Shire - Eodwine recalled how eager he had been to please, to prove himself, even if he had to stumble and fall a few times along the way. He warmed to the lad. Smiling, he placed his right hand on the lad's left shoulder.

"Would you be my ostler then?" Léofric nodded eagerly, eyes wide with hope. "You come with no name that I have heard to tell me who you are; so I will need to test you. You shall have a month to be my ostler. Should all go well, then we shall enfeof you for one year. What say you?" He released the lad's shoulder.

Léofric's face brightened with a big smile. "You will see your stables in good order at the end of the month, lord!"

Eodwine laughed. "So let it be."

Léofric's face grew serious as he eyed the plate of Gudryn at the table nearby where she and Gárwine sat. "Before I begin, might I have a bite to eat? Just a little?"

"Famished, are you?" Eodwine smiled. "Go ask Særyn over yonder to fix you up with a hearty breakfast. I'll not have it said in my hall that my help works overhungry." The lad grinned, shouldered his pack, and went after Særyn. Eodwine turned to Thornden.

"What think you, Thornden?"

[Kath]

"My name is Saeryn. The master of the hall is in the middle of something, however he will be with you in a moment. While you wait, may I be of assistance?"

A little startled at the sudden appearance from the shadows, it took Kara a moment to realise that the girl was speaking to her. She hadn't known there was anyone else in the room but the two men talking. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady her nerves she began to speak.

"Oh! Well, miss, I was hoping that I'd be able to find work here. Do you know if there is anything available? I have worked in an Inn before, and have been told that a Mead Hall is similar. I will take anything you can offer, miss, if only I could stay here. You see I . . ."

She cut her words off short as she realised that Saeryn probably didn't want to hear her entire life story. The girl was nodding a little though, which gave Kara hope. Fidgeting a little she waited for an answer.

[Folwren]

Thornden, watching the lad leave, turned back to Eodwine, who addressed him. “What think you, Thornden?”

“I should imagine, sir, that you’ve managed to find a good lad for your ostler. He seemed eager enough, and I doubt he’ll let you down, or let your stables get out of order.”

Quite personally, he had liked the looks of Léofric. A mite small, perhaps, but that was better than a great blundering idiot to work around horses. And then, also, he had seemed excited and hopeful to work with horses.

“Besides,” he added aloud, going half on his thoughts and half on what he had just said, “his cause seemed desperate and it would have been a pity to turn him away.” Thornden had not missed the anxious, worried look in the boys eyes for fear of his service being turned down, nor the hungry, thin shape of his face. "I'm glad you've given him a chance to try, at least."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I cannot offer you a position." Saeryn said to Kara, hoisting her bag from the floor with a barely perceptible wince. "My lord, however, is quite in the position to do so. He has need of hard workers and has a liking for new faces and the new stories that come with them. His kindly manner will put you at ease right away, if my attempts have not."

Saeryn smiled at the girl, inviting her to join with her amusement. The girl looked to relax somewhat. A kind face was always the first thing a stranger looked for and Saeryn hoped that she had provided as close to the sort of welcome she had received from Bethberry as was possible.

She tipped her head toward Eodwine and the girl nodded. Together they walked to the eorl and Saeryn grinned pertly.

"Eodwine, I've found you another worker. If the day continues in this vein, you'll never have need for those to do your bidding. Shall I find her quarters and put her to work? I seem to remember floors in need of scrubbing and fireplaces in need of a good cleaning."

She winked at the girl who looked intimidated.

"Actually," she continued, "I could use her help, if you don't mind me stealing her away before you even have a chance to speak with her. Your hall has acquired new faces that are in want of places to stay and what with renovations, the kitchens are running slower than usual. We have guests to feed and things to do and you have bigger things to worry about than household matters."

Eodwine laughed now and Kara seemed more at ease, as Saeryn had said she would be. He spoke with a smile.

"Now Saeryn, do you mean to imply that I'm thinking myself too grand now to handle women's work?"

"Not at all. I'm just better at it than you are." She stuck out her tongue and Kara laughed to see the sort of reverence with which this girl treated the lord of the hall. "And come now, Eodwine, you know that you'll be too busy to handle all of the business of the hall as well as your duties as eorl and still tend to the needs of every guest in the place.

"There is only so much time in the day and your attentions can only stretch so far. You've already acquired a steward to care for some of those things, but will your steward also be ascertaining that each room has clean linens and that meals are seen to? Will he tend to market matters and see to it that the floors are kept clean? Will your steward or yourself have time to keep spiders webs from decorating the mantle and mediate household disputes that are not of enough consequence to be brought before you? Though you are capable, Eodwine, as I've seen, do you truly now have the time to manage the little matters of the house? I would gladly take the responsibility from you, if you don't mind it."

Eodwine contemplated her point for a bit as Kara stood wondering just what sort of place she had gotten herself into where the helpers told the master what they planned to do in his charge. Saeryn hoped that her offer had not been too audacious as she waited for an answer. Kara waited to see what the lord of the hall would make of her.

[Esgallhugwen]

Gudryn was just finishing her meal when the young man, Gárwine, began to speak with her. He stretched his arms up behind him and then relaxed.

"So, you are Eodwine's daughter?" He asked.

She nodded, chewing a mouthful of bread. She then pushed her empty plate slightly away from herself as Gárwine paused in contemplation.

"And Saeryn, what is her relation to Eodwine? She is not your sister, is she?" He took a bite of bread. "And I saw, as I entered, a maiden, arms piled high with laundry, pass by that door. Who was she?"

Gudryn's eyes widened with surprise, Saeryn her sister?, she shook her head and giggled. "Aside from our auburn locks good sir, Saeryn and I have little else in common besides friendship. She is also a good friend of my Father as well, but I suppose we could all be considered family".

"And the young maiden you saw bustling by goes by the name of Æðelhild. I'm afraid I don't know her all that well, I'm hoping that will change in a few days"

Gudryn smiled again his way thinking that the young man still looked hungry. Of course his journey must have been long indeed like so many others that had recently arrived.

Gudryn was glad that others had the resolve to change their fates as well, very much like she had so many weeks ago. Arriving in Edoras only to meekly thud against the oaken door of the Inn as she collapsed from cold and fatigue.

The thin girl stood taking up her plate and smiling, "would you like another helping sir Gárwine? I'm sure there's plenty more back in the kitchen". Before he could answer however, Gudryn had already taken his plate and was halfway back to the kitchen when she turned and called back "and when I return you may ask me more questions if it pleases you, I will do my best to sate your stomach and mind". She winked and continued on her way.

[Folwren]

“Now let’s not get our hopes up and jump to conclusions,” Thornden said, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He looked at the young woman who address Eodwine of the Gap and smiled at her. “My lord Eodwine has said neither yea or nay towards my stewardship.”

“He hasn’t answered you yet!” Saeryn said, looking surprised herself. “What have your heads been together so long about then?”

“Why, to come to some end of that purpose, no doubt, but we haven’t yet arrived to it. He was greeting anther young man who came in after me. That one, waiting for you to pay some attention to him.” He nodded his head in the direction of Léofric, “and beyond that, our heads haven’t been too close together anyway."

Saeryn turned and looked, catching sight of Léofric for the first time. She’d left him something of a lurch, it appeared, and he stood looking after her and at a loss with what to do with himself. Thornden bent closer to Saeryn and said quietly in her ear, “He’s in desperate need of breakfast, and Eodwine sent him to ask you for it. . ."

[Firefoot]

Léof found himself at a slight loss when he had started to head over to the woman called Saeryn, only to have her and another woman walk right past him to the place he had just been. He would certainly seem foolish to simply turn around and go back. When he saw her turn and glance at him, though, he supposed she would be coming to him soon, and he had already waited this long for a really good meal; a little bit longer wouldn’t kill him. He could not deny that the promising scent of good food did not make his mouth water, though. Good food, kind, lordly people, a job - Léof could hardly believe this place was for real.

His mind turned again to Eodwine’s offer. The job was his! Or, at least it would be in a month, and this chance – a very fair one, at that – was all Léof could ask for. After having been turned down so many times.... Well, now that his position seemed stable, he could start thinking about the future.

His thoughts were interrupted when Saeryn approached him and introduced herself. “It’s breakfast you’re wanting, then? Please, sit down and I can get you a plate.” Léof could not help but feel at ease with her cheery manner, and he smiled and nodded. “Thank you very much.”

She went off to the kitchen, and he wandered over to the table now occupied by only one man - he thought he had seen a woman leave before. He smiled tentatively. “Um… Do you mind if I sit here? My name is Léofric, though more people just call me Léof…”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn left Kara to Eodwine with a comforting squeeze on her shoulder. As she bustled about the kitchen, fetching the poor lad a big breakfast (he certainly looked in need of it) with extra butter and honey for his bread, she hummed happily.

As long as Eodwine agreed, and she would talk to him privately on the matter once he was less busy, it seemed that Saeryn had found a well-fit niche for herself. She just hoped that she'd not have to trade her comfortable breeches for skirts and an apron. She rolled her eyes at the thought as she hefted the loaded tray and carried it back to the hall.

"Here you are, Master Lèof, and my sincerest apologies for the delay. As you saw, I had yonder lass to attend to and did not realize that Eodwine had sent you to me. I hope you will accept this as a token of my sorrow." She pointed to a rich looking bit of dessert that made the lad's eyes open wide.

"With breakfast?!" he managed to sputter.

"Unless you're not hungry. In that case, I'll just take--"

"No ma'am." He stopped her quickly. "I mean no disrespect... I was just surprised at--"

Saeryn smiled reassurance.

"Don't tell Eodwine." she grinned. "He'll fuss over need for healthy food. But if you'll look, there's all kinds of fodder quite good for a growing lad. The dainty's just a wee bit of extra. Make sure to eat it last, now."

He nodded and eagerly began to eat.

"There's quite enough for you, as well, m'lord." She nodded politely to the man also at the table and he thanked her as she walked away.

She disappeared toward the rooms to make certain there were plenty enough blankets and clean linens for each room needed. While she never doubted Bethberry's care over the situation, she felt that she ought to make sure.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had asked his open ended question of Thornden on purpose. Leave a big enough opening for the young man to walk into with that which is real about him ... unless he be a deceiver, which is most doubtful of a king's man. Thornden's reply did not displease him. His kindly thoughts for the lad's health boded well. Nor did Eodwine doubt that Thornden could be firm at need. However, he wanted to hear more about the man's thought as to the role of steward that he had described to him. He was just about to ask him when Særyn came and introduced the lass Kara, and boldly described to him a job she saw that needed doing, and her intentions to do it, so it please him. It did, though she needn't know that just yet.

Eodwine smiled to himself. There was much more about that lass than met the eye, to be sure. There had been a tone almost of command, and Thornden had noticed it as well, though it had surprised him, taking it as being beyond her place. Eodwine wondered if it truly was beyond her place, or was she now taking a place that was beneath her? He would keep an eye on that now and then, for no other reason than to please his own curiosity.

"A moment more, Thornden," Eodwine said and was about to turn to the lass Kara when he glanced at the table where sat his foster daughter, Gudryn. She seemed very happy this morning, and that pleased him. The young man, Gárwine, who broke his fast with her, was trading words with her, and she was smiling. Sudden thoughts of suitors and betrothals flitted through his head and he felt almost ill with the prospect of such matters. With a mental shake of his head he put it out of his mind and turned to Kara, standing before him somewhat ill at ease. He smiled kindly.

"Good greeting, Kara. Særyn speaks on your behalf. What work would you do here if given the choice?"

[Nerindel]

Sat on a low wooden stool , with her sleeves rolled up past her elbows over a large basin filled with warm soapy water Æðelhild pulled the last of the linens up and down the well used wash board. She hummed as she worked, then as she rose carrying the dripping linens to the wrangle and thinking herself quite alone she began to sing.

My Lord the Sun is bright,
so bright!
Shall I open the back gate and hang out the laundry.
Washing makes white,
starching makes whiter,

The fun-loving maid makes
a lousy wife.
A long pipe dangles from her mouth
and she holds eight cards in her hand.
If she wins, she buys flowers to pin to her dress.
If she loses, she flies into a terrible rage.

My Lady the sun is bright,
so bright!
Shall I Open the back gate and hang out the laundry.
Washing makes white,
starching makes whiter,

but a man too free with his money makes
a lousy husband.
He loves to drink liquor and he loves to play cards.
He builds a big pile of pies and cakes
and brown flour biscuits - two silver shillings apiece.

But right next door, old Wybert’s third son
knows how to live well.
His boots are green,
his hat is green,
his robe is green
and he wears a green jacket.

But the washing is good
And the drying is better
So if you make me a wife
I’ll make ye a husband
And another can take out the laundry!

By the time she had finished her tune the linens where wrung and she was pegging the last on a crudely constructed line, her steps where light as she danced over to empty out the soapy tub, the sun was warm and for the first time in a long time Æðelhild felt that she had somehow managed to escape the recent horrors of her past.

She could not go back to who she was, but perhaps here she could at least start anew. Eodwine and his daughter seemed nice enough and if she was careful her past might never catch up to her. Contented she stowed away both the wash tub and board, deciding that she would break fast in the main hall before turning to the task of sweeping the floors.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine had happily greeted Léof to his table and they both began to talk. Gárwine told him of his father's service as a rider under Éomer during the war, and how he was slain near the Entwood fighting orcs from Isengard.

"That was when I decided to become a warrior, but the opportunity would not come while living with my Uncle Wilfrid, who was quite a sluggish brute. So some days ago I left him and I rode for days to reach Edoras, where the King, just earlier this morning, assigned me to be a soldier-at-arms at this very inn."

He ended just as Saeryn approached, and she served the two young men more breakfast, along with sweet desserts that were not to be spoken of to Eodwine. She smiled and hurried off. Gárwine began the second course of his berakfast, musing over the meaning of the desserts. It was obvious that she liked at least one of the two, but if one, which? She had teased Léof playfully, and addressed Gárwine as "my lord" . . . And what of Gudryn's winking and smiling? And as he thought about this Gárwine's hunger was now waning, and he no longer took as large bites or ate as quickly as he did, but he always had room in his stomach for one more bite of Saeryn's and Gudryn's cooking. He still cleaned his plate; it only took longer.

Gárwine wanted to speak more with Léofric. "So, friend Léof, tell me what business brings you here to this inn. Are you a carpenter, perhaps?"

"Oh, no. I am an ostler. Eodwine has given me one month here to prove myself."

Gárwine nodded approvingly. Léof would take good care of Herefola .

[Kath]

"Good greeting, Kara. Særyn speaks on your behalf. What work would you do here if given the choice?"

Listening to Saeryn talk to this seemingly mild-mannered man had put Kara a little more at ease, though she would not relax properly until she knew whether she was certain of a place here.

"I would do anything that is offered, sir. I cook well enough to suit simple tastes and have had experience with serving both food and drink. I can feed and brush down horses, well, those I can reach to the top of anyway! Cleaning and tidying, showing people to their rooms - please just tell me what it is you need and I'm sure I can fill some gap."

Lapsing into silence she waited apprehensively to hear what her future was to be. Eodwine looked as though he had thought of something for her, but she wasn't about to get her hopes up just for them to be dashed by a refusal.

[Esgallhugwen]

Gudryn was about to return to the main hall with a tray laden with food when Saeryn walked briskly in doing much the same to a clean plate. She even added a piece of dessert, she looked to Gudryn with a finger held up to her lips as if to say don't tell anyone.

Gudryn smiled slyly and before Saeryn had a chance to leave she asked if she would serve up this platter to the other young man sitting at the table. The young lass secretly slipped a piece of dessert onto the plate and Saeryn with a grin was out the door.

She was helping the cook Frodides, by keeping the kitchen clean when she accidently bumped into young Æðelhild. "My pardon, I'm rather clumsy around the kitchen" Gudryn smiled rather sheepishly to reassure the lass that everything was quite alright.

"I don't suppose you've yet eaten have you?", Æðelhild shook her head, "well here you go then", she handed the young lass a plate just as full as those of the lads. And with that she scurried off to the common room to join the others.

Gudryn cleaned off her hands and joined the others at the table, sitting right across from Gárwine and another lad who had recently joined the table. She merely smiled not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

[littlemanpoet]

"...please just tell me what it is you need and I'm sure I can fill some gap," said Kara.

She certainly seemed eager; nay, anxious.

"Well now, cooking is a skill and art that must be tested. Go to Frodides in the kitchen, and help her today. If she finds you enough of a helping hand, and a passing fair cook, then we will give you a week's time to prove your skill by learning Frodides' dishes. After that, we can talk about you trying some of your own. What say you?"

"Thank you!"

"Go then," he smiled. Kara bowed and thanked him again, and scurried off to the kitchen.

"Before this day is out," Eodwine murmured, "I must find that old White Horse sign and put it in safe keeping, for I have a thought of how I would like to use it. Sad it would be for the builders to destroy it."

Eodwine turned to Thornden again. "Maybe now you and I can talk more about the role of steward here. Let us go sit by the hearth fire while it still stands in the wall, and I would hear you speak at length of how you would be my steward."

[Firefoot]

Léof had been content to let Gárwine do most of the talking as they ate; he was hungry, and the food tasted extraordinary. He found himself liking Gárwine, and Léof hoped that perhaps he had found a friend in this unfamiliar place. But this did not prevent his personal barriers from creeping up when Gárwine began inquiring about his own story.

"So, friend Léof, tell me what business brings you here to this inn. Are you a carpenter, perhaps?"

Léof shook his head and grinned at the thought of himself as a carpenter. "Oh, no. I am an ostler. Eodwine has given me one month here to prove myself.” This reminded him of Æthel, still tied to the post outside the inn. “In fact, my own horse is still waiting for me outside, so I have time for only a brief tale before I must see to her.” At this point one of the serving girls approached their table and sat down; she seemed not to want to interrupt their conversation, so Léof only smiled back at her before going on. Her presence did, however, change a few things: any of the really important bits of his story that he had been considering sharing were now edited out until he knew more about her.

“I lived a few days’ journey west of here; my father is a farmer. Farming is not what I wanted to do with my life; I preferred to work with the horses. So with my father’s blessing I left the farm and came here, hoping to find some kind of work.” This last statement was a gross misinterpretation of the true events; his father’s “blessing” had actually been an order to get out; the harsh words still rang in his ears. And too, his hope to find work had been more like sheer desperation, but neither of these two would be able to figure this out, he hoped.

This past shamed him, especially compared with Gárwine’s noble tale. Eventually, he might be able to tell them, but for now, he could not let word of his banishment from his father’s house hurt his chances at establishing some kind of life here. “Much simpler than your story, perhaps,” said Léof, sadly noting the irony of this statement: if only his tale really was so simple. “But I really must be tending to my horse – I will come back later, or you could come out with me now, if you prefer. I would not mind the company.”

[Nerindel]

Entering the old Common room Æðelhild nervously looked around. All the tables bar one had been pushed against the far wall, ready for the work needing done to turn the ample common room into a mead hall fit for the new Eorl of Middle Emnet. Lord Eodwine stood with a tall, broad shouldered man to his right shoulder as he addressed a rather anxious looking young girl and even as Æðelhild crossed the room to the table the young lass with a broad smile fixed in place passed behind her toward the kitchens.

The table itself was occupied by a thin lad who’s boyish features made him look no older than his fourteenth year, but to Æðelhild who knew that first appearances could be deceiving it meant nothing, For she herself looked no older than fifteen when infact she was well into her seventeenth year and fast approaching womanhood. Sitting next to the young lad was a slightly taller man with thick blonde rather dusty hair, in fact most of him was covered in dust, telling young Æðelhild that he must have travelled someway to get here.

So many new faces! she thought as she silently sat across from the young lad, her rich dark eyes surreptitiously taking in the shield and spear strapped to the other, the dusty man’s back… A guard perhaps or a warrior? She mused, again feeling the uneasiness of her past attempting to creep up on her. But defiantly and taking a bite of bread she swallowed both down.

Three days had passed and no-one saw her as anything but a hired hand, obviously news from Gondor either travelled very slowly or was long forgotten, after all a year had been and gone since that awful night and as far as she could tell no one was looking for her. Which was just as well for she had no intentions of returning, not now that everything and everyone that she had ever loved was gone.

She was awakened from her thoughts as Gurdyn again appeared and sat herself silently beside her, the two men where exchanging histories and she listened quietly as she ate, quite content for the moment to go unnoticed.

[Alcarillo]

“I lived a few days’ journey west of here; my father is a farmer. Farming is not what I wanted to do with my life; I preferred to work with the horses, though we had only a few. So with my father’s blessing I left the farm and came here, hoping to find some kind of work.”

A happy tale from what Gárwine heard, with not a single stain of death nor cruel uncles. And Léof still had a loving father and a comfortable home waiting for him should things take a turn for the worse. Gárwine's only home was with Uncle Wilfrid and his gambling and drinking, in that grim village at the feet of the mountains, so far from the wet fields by the Entwash where Gárwine grew up among his friends and family. And should Gárwine cause a grievous hurt to his Eorl, then he would be out on the streets as a beggar. No king, not even one who rode with Gárwine's father, would let Gárwine serve another Eorl if something terrible occurred and Eodwine cast him from his house.

Gárwine cast these troublesome thoughts from his mind. Why was there need to worry? He was surrounded by new friends and a limitless future here at the inn. And what could Gárwine do that would be so horrible as to cause him to be cast out by Eodwine? Nothing. But now Gárwine's mind worried. What about Wilfrid? He was surely combing the countryside at this very moment for his only farmhand and one of his horses. He could be asking everybody in Firienmarch, from the old hag in the forest to the rich merchant's infant son, about the wherebouts of Gárwine and Herefola. Surely someone had seen him ride out those few days ago at dusk along the Great West Road. What if Wilfrid tracked Gárwine down and appeared at the door tomorrow morning? His anger would be horrible, and he would spew dirty insults from his mouth like a Dunlending. What if Eodwine let Wilfrid take Gárwine back to Firienmarch? Would Léof or Gudryn or Saeryn come to his aid? Gárwine hoped so, but his mind was unsure. They were new friends, and their friendship had yet to be tested by time. He had met them all this very same morning.

“Much simpler than your story, perhaps, but I really must be tending to my horse – I will come back later, or you could come out with me now, if you prefer. I would not mind the company.”

Léof had spoken, and Gárwine looked up from his half-eaten dessert, which was a soft and fluffy slice of cake covered in sweet and oozing honey.

"Yes, I will come with you," Gárwine said, standing from his seat. He nodded to Gudryn and smiled. "Thank you for this meal, and to Saeryn. It was the perfect breakfast to end those long days of riding."

Léof said the same, and he and Gárwine walked away from the table and outside, where Edoras was now fully awake and the people walked and rode through the street about their errands. It was mid-morning, and the sun had risen into the pale blue sky. Across the street was Léof's horse, Æthel, a chestnut mare, and Gárwine could've mistaken her for Herefola had she been a somewhat darker chestnut color. She was tethered to the same post that Herefola had occupied before Saeryn had led her to the stables. Léof now untied her.

"This is Æthel," Léof said, rubbing his horse's neck. He reached into a pocket and removed a leaf of green vegetables, which he let her nibble upon. He began leading her toward the stables. "You rode here on a horse, too, no?"

"Yes. I call her Herefola. I'll show her to you when we get there."

[Kath]

Kara thanked Eodwine and hurried off to do as he'd requested. She hadn't got far however, before she realised that she didn't know where she was supposed to be going. The kitchens, he had told her, but where were they? She wandered round in the vague hope that eventually she would find the kitchens, but wasn't sure where she was allowed to go, and as some of the passages were blocked by bits of furniture she soon found herself back where she had started.

Not wanting to be seen as incompetent from the moment she arrived, Kara backed away into a corner, and looked around for people who might help her. As she looked though she saw Saeryn heading down a passageway that she hadn't noticed before. Quickly following her she soon found herself in a large, open kitchen, and smiled with relief.

Saeryn turned, saw her, and returned the smile.

"Hello again. Did Eodwine send you in here?"

"Yes. I'm to help a woman called Frodides with the cooking. Is she here?"

[Firefoot]

Léof nodded, not seeing a need to respond further to this. As they approached the stable and entered, Léof felt a sense of homecoming; stables everywhere were all pretty much the same: same scent of horses and hay, same sounds of horses shifting in their stalls. At home, their small stable had always seemed more like home to him than the house, and despite the obvious differences, this place felt familiar and comfortable. Whether because she felt the same way or because she could sense his emotions, Æthel nickered softly to him. That’s right, girl. We’ve found ourselves a home.

They started to pass a dark chestnut mare when Gárwine said, “And this is Herefola.” At this, Léof paused for a few moments to let the mare sniff his hand. He rubbed her muzzle while trying to get a look at her. He could not see well for the dim light of the stall, but she seemed to look quite similar to Æthel – even their white markings were in similar places. Pleased to have found something in common with his new friend, Æthel nudged him, reminding him who ought to be receiving his attention. “Herefola is a fine horse,” he said, before turning to his own horse. He unsaddled and unbridled her before finding a tack room a little ways down to put them in. The leather would need some care later, but for now he was more concerned about the horse.

He gave Æthel a quick but thorough brushing, for without proper equipment grooming was one of the things that had slipped in his journey here. Watching him, Gárwine asked, “Did you have many horses at home?”

Léof shook his head. “No, only a few: Æthel, here, who was primarily our riding horse, though I was the only one who really rode her, and three others, mostly used by my father to help with the farming. But for a long time, it’s mostly been my job to take care of them.” Some worry crossed Léof’s mind; he knew his father’s attention would not be as careful or caring as his had been, even if he did need them and could not easily afford another trained horse. “I hope they’re doing all right; my father wouldn’t mistreat them, but he’s not much of a horse person.” He owed more to those horses than to leave them; not only had they given him the work experience and an escape from the house, but there had also been times after his mother had died when his father had gotten so bad (sometimes drunk, as well) that those horses had kept him sane.

He brushed off the feelings; he could not do anything right now. He cleaned Æthel’s hooves – with a real metal pick, not just the makeshift tools he had been using – and was glad he had not ridden her earlier today: a piece of stone was still wedged up in her hoof. Satisfied that she would at least now be comfortable if not perfectly clean, he attended to her larder: fresh hay and a bucket of clean water that Gárwine was kind enough to get.

Now that he had a better idea of the stable, he had an idea of what needed to be done and thought it only fair to inform Gárwine. “I’d like to check on the other horses stabled here: how many of them there are, make sure they’re properly settled, you know. My saddle and bridle will have to be cleaned, and when Æthel’s done eating, I’d like to give her and any other horses that might need it a more thorough grooming – I do not know which of these horses have just arrived, or how well they were tended upon arrival. After that, I don't think anything will need to be done until the horses are fed and cared for tonight. It may take a while, and I’d perfectly understand if you had other things you needed to be doing…”

[Folwren]

“Let us go sit by the hearth fire while it still stands in the wall,” Eodwine said, “and I would hear you speak at length of how you would be my steward.” He turned and nodded towards the hearth and they walked together to it. Thornden pulled two chairs near and placed one for Eodwine and sat in the second. There was a short pause between the two of them and Thornden considered his words carefully before speaking.

“I have to be entirely honest with you and say that when I came, not but ten minutes ago, I had no idea that such a stewardship would require so many duties, and even traits of character that you have mentioned. You ask me if I am worthy of it, but if you ask any man of the guard at Medulseld, you’ll likely get a ready answer of ‘yes, indeed I am, sir!’ for we can be overly proud in our manner and thoughts, if merely because we guard the King and his hall. I would that you had not asked me. . .

“However, because you have asked me, I will answer as straight forward as I may. You say you need a right hand man, one who can take your place when necessary, giving orders, and keeping books, and keeping order of the place. I think I am capable, yes. I am the oldest of several children, therefore can lead. My mother taught me to read, write, and know how to handle numbers when I was still a youth - your ledgers and your money keeping could be accurately and well kept. As for my honesty, well, it seems lame to tell you myself that I wouldn’t cheat the least of the king’s subjects, but I could call on any of my companions at Meduseld, or my sister, and others I know here in Edoras, and they would tell you the same.

“As for my character in itself. . .” he paused uncertainly. “It’s hard for me to explain that, sir, but I hope it wouldn’t disappoint you. I am not a violent man, but I do hate to see wrong done and not resolved or paid for. I’m sorry to say that when my anger is got up, I act quickly and rarely turn back from a purpose till it’s done. However, it may be good for you to know that I’m not easily angered, really.

“I would be willing to serve you as your steward, if you are willing to take me as that. I have no obligations elsewhere and can take the post at once, learn your will, and help you with the building of your new Mead Hall.” Thornden looked Eodwine full in the face as he finished. His expression was serious and entirely open. He had begun to like this man, Eodwine of the Gap, and thought to himself that he would be a very good lord and master to work under, and he would be honored to stand at his right hand.

[Nerindel]

‘Well they seem nice enough, don’t you think?’ Gudryn was saying as she watched the two men leave to attend their horses. It seemed the younger of the two was to try his hand as Ostler while the other was to be made a guard of the hall.

‘Yes, they do both seem well disposed, M’Lady’ she replied smiling thoughtfully as she considered how many rooms would be required to accommodate Lord Eodwines fast growing house hold. By her reckoning the inn had fifteen rooms, the ostlers off course would be housed in the stable house, then there was Bethberry’s rooms, which as yet she had been reluctant to touch, she naturally assumed Eodwine and his Daughter would be taking the rooms and had left them be. The other rooms had already been aired and the linens stripped and that afternoon she intended to sweep the floors and re-stuff any mattresses that needed it, by which time the linens would be dried and ready to put back on the beds.

Coming out of her silent contemplation she realised that Gudryn was staring at her with a look of stunned surprise that caused Æðelhild to hurriedly recount in her mind what she had said wondering if somehow she had managed to offend.

‘You called me M’lady?’ the stunned young woman whispered. Æðelhild sighed visibly glad that she had not insulted her, then smiled broadly. ‘Off course, it is only proper that I address you thus M’lady’ she replied giving a polite incline of her head as she did so. ‘Your Father is Eorl and as he has no wife and you are his only Daughter that makes you the Lady of this Mead hall!’ And with a light wave of her arm she gestured around the Hall.

Æðelhild watched with a mixture of amusement and sympathy as this simple realisation settled over the young Lady, for while there were many good things about being of nobility their was also great responsibility, for from now on anything Gudryn did would reflect greatly on her father and Æðelhild hoped that Gudryn would be mindful of this, she seemed smart enough and loved her father dearly, so it didn’t seem to great a thing to mention.

So instead she continued to smile, waiting patently for Gudryn to again find her voice.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine liked the strength of courage in this young man Thornden. He also liked that he was able to speak with care at need. He had one more, no, two more tests, and the two would be wrapped one in the other so that they would be hard to tell apart, except in the mind of Eodwine. Thornden was probably somewhat bemused at the smirk that had appeared on Eodwine's face, but that would pass. Eodwine sat forward.

"You speak well, and that is a great thing. What is more, if your words, as I hunch me, are good grain from a good root, all the better. We shall put it to the test. Since you have said that you wish to be my steward, I give you the task for a little while. Be my steward for a month, and when that time has passed, we shall make a choice, you and I, whether this binding of man to man is as ought to be." He rose. "Let us shake on it!" Thornden rose and the two closed hand on hand. Thornden had a good grip, and a good smile.

"Good!" said Eodwine. "The first thing I need is for you to have a mind of your own that I may speak my thought to you, and you tell me what you think of it." Eodwine proceeded to describe to Thornden his plans, in some detail, to transform the great room into a mead hall, leaving the halls and rooms to the west, and kitchen at the back, as they were; and the east wall open to the stableyard. He described that which was in his mind for the hall itself, showing with word as well as gesture, pointing here and there, what was in his mind.

"The thing is, Thornden," Eodwine said at last, "the king has given me a manor with much land, and a building around which to rule it. The land is all my wealth. I hold it from the king, and the fees and fines that would have gone to him will now come to me, less that which the king requires of me as his liegeman. The long and short of it is that I have little coin, and need to get some to pay for all my dream as I have told you of it. This is where you come in. I was in earnest when I said I need an almbudsman. This afternoon, you must go to the king, learn from him what fines and fees are outstanding, and begin to bring the coin in so that we can pay for not only the building but the needs of those who will be of my house. And I would hear you on anything I have told you, as you will. You have my ear. I do not require it of you this minute, but come with me and let us see how the hall fairs."

With that, Eodwine with Thornden at his side moved about the hall and grounds, seeing how things went in the kitchen, stables, rooms, and amongst the few carpenters who had arrived as yet.

[Anguirel]

Forgoil...strawheads... It had not been the first word Manawyth had been taught, true, but it had come quickly enough; it had followed "mother", "father", "mud", and "blade".

And as Manawyth had grown into a likely boy, taller than any of his brothers, and-a rare accomplishment in his homeland-an able rider; as it became clear that war would be his domain, a landless fourth child in a society where sisters as well as brothers stood to despoil his patrimony; as he had joined the chieftain's warband and trained with the other whelp-fighters, forgoil had recurred still more frequently. The strawheads had driven his people into the chilly foothills, but now matters were turning against them, so the Elders said. Their king was too old to take to battle; their Riders scattered; and at Caerissin the wise magician Saruman had received the envoys of the Elder Council.

Then everything had happened at dizzying speed. The bands of reavers had set off, and returned with plunder, so much plunder. There was talk of reclaiming the old realms, wealthy with wheat. Then the Chieftains had called every able man of arms to muster beside Caerissin.

It had been a fearful and splendid day; on the one hand to see the vast strength of their ally's army was astonishing; but it could not comfort. Manawyth, like many of his kin, feared the Orcs he fought beside much more than he hated the pale-haired thieves.

But things are never as certain as they appear. Against all possibility, the strawheads had triumphed utterly at the Hornburg. The horde from Caerissin had been culled; and most of the Dunlendings who fought beside it were slain also. The rest were spared by the Old King of Rohan; but they could find little comfort in it. So many Chieftains were dead that the Elder Council could not sit and was disbanded. The few remaining warriors returned to the cold stares of their womenfolk, carrying their brothers' bodies under their arms. Manawyth had lost two.

Without the Council or the warbands to maintain order, the scattered families in the mountains were easy prey to bandits or even Goblin raids. Feuds and grudges, uncompensated, further rent the people of Dunland. Then there were still Rohirric reprisals, from headstrong youths who had lost fathers in the Wizard's War.

In such a climate Manawyth had killed a man; scarcely worthy of notice as a crime anymore, save that the other had been heir to a Chief. And so forgoil was heard again.

For Manawyth had only Rohan to turn to.

***

So it was that the stranger, so obviously black-haired and foreign amid the proud Riders, on his equally dark steed, (not, as it happened, his own), one eye shut perpetually, unease guiding his movements, entered the town of Edoras, and made his way to the Mead Hall of Eodwine. Information had been hard to come by, for the old troubles still ran deep, but Manawyth had heard there was employment to be had, anonymity, and a chance to rid himself of forgoil ghosts.

[Firefoot]

Before Gárwine could respond, Léof heard the clopping of hooves stop just outside. He indicated to Gárwine where he was going and headed down the stable aisle to find a rather surprising sight: the horse’s rider was a Dunlending. Léof could feel the suspicions of his upbringing rising, for while he had never himself met one of them, he had certainly heard enough stories.

But perhaps even more surprising than his actual presence was that he had a horse at all; Dunlendings were not generally riders, or so Léof had heard. Yet he seemed to sit the horse well, which brought the unknown man up a notch or two in Léof’s estimation. He seemed uneasy, nervous perhaps, a trait Léof would not have noticed had the strange man not been atop a horse, but as it was, he could see the subtleties in the man’s posture and seat.

The man dismounted and noticed Léof for the first time. “This is the Mead Hall?”

Léof nodded guardedly. “It is. I can take your horse, and stable him if you intend to stay for a while.” Since he still stood out so starkly amongst the fair Rohirrim, Léof added, “There is good food inside for travelers, and if it is the master of the hall you are seeking, I believe that he is inside as well.”

[Anguirel]

Manawyth looked at the young ostler gravely. The youth was his own height already; no surprise, for the Horse-lords grew straight and tall on the plentiful grain they farmed. His courtesy surprised the Dunlander; aye, there was something wary in his look, but nothing of loathing. Truly, time had past since the war. Who had it claimed for this boy? A father or uncle, perhaps, or an older cousin...too young for a brother...

"I offer thanks," he said stiffly. "I render to you the horse." Taking the worn leather bridle, he placed it in the stable-lad's hand. "Here is for the pains of you." A few copper coins from Dunland; he hoped they would be able to be accepted and spent in this land.

"I go to seek the...Eorl," Manawyth concluded, his tongue struggling with the peculiar syllable. "Good...meet."

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine hated Dunlendings. In the years before the War, his grandfather had rode to the west with the men of the village to defend the towns on the borders from Dunlending raids. Only half of the riders returned, including Gárwine's father, but his grandfather had remained with the other half, now buried under the grass of the Westfold. When he returned, Gárwine's father told him about the savagery of the Dunlendings, and how they killed every golden-haired rider that stood in their path, and how they ran across the windy plains in huge, bloodthirsty hordes. From these stories Gárwine learned of the Dunlendings' dark hair, lust for gold, hatred of the Rohirrim, and inhuman ways of life.

And so when Gáwine saw a Dunlending ride up to the stables, he let out a groan. He would not get along well with this man, no matter how civilized he might appear riding a horse. He did not speak the language of the Mark very well.

"Good . . . meet," the Dunlending said, slowly and careful of each sound.

"Yes, good meet," said Léof, who treated the Dunlending with politeness. Still, Gárwine could see Léof's wariness of the visitor. "Come," he said, leading the Dunlending to Gárwine, "He will take you to the Eorl."

Gárwine could not believe his bad luck. He, an armed soldier of the Mark, was to lead this scruffy, poorly educated, half-savage Dunlending to the Eorl. He grinned with some annoyance at Léof. "Yes, I will take you to the Eorl," Gárwine said to the Dunlending. Even closer, Gárwine could see that one of the Dunlending's eyes was closed tightly shut. Was this a result of battle?

"Come, follow me," Gárwine told the Dunlending. The Dunlending was obedient, and followed just behind Gárwine. They entered a doorway leading into the inn, and they followed a dim hallway to the common room. Gárwine was nervous to have a Dunlending right behind him and just out of sight, but he just kept his hand near his sword and reminded himself that the Dunlending must be just as nervous to be so deep in the heart the Mark. He would've turned his head to get a better look at the visitor, but he wasn't sure if the Dunlending would find it rude to be stared at. Gárwine just kept his head and eyes forward and his hand resting upon the pommel of his sword.

Gárwine found Eodwine and Thornden walking through a doorway across the common room. He approached, with the Dunlending at his side. Eodwine and Thornden stared at the visitor. "My lord, he wishes speak with you."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine and Thornden were discussing what should be done for warmth between the time the wall hearth was unbuilt and the new mead hall hearth was put in place, when Gárwine approached them, a dark haired youth in tow. A Dunlending! Eodwine's hackles rose.

"My lord," said Gárwine," he wishes to speak with you." Gárwine stepped aside so that both eorl and steward could get a good look at the newcomer. He was too young to have been amongst those who had ravaged his family during the War, so he could not hold that against him. Eodwine tried to unclench his jaw. What was a Dunlending doing here? Clearly the worse for wear with one eye closed for good, what would make a Dunlending youth leave his homeland, degraded as it was, and come to the heart of the sworn foes of his folk?

The youth shifted his stance, seeming discomfited by the lengthening silence with which Eodwine regarded him. Thornden coughed into his hand. Eodwine cleared his throat.

"What do you want?" He was aware of the tension in his own voice; no, the veiled wrath, would be a better way to describe it. Did the youth wince at his question and the tone with which it was asked, or had he just blinked? The youth opened his mouth when a noise from the nearest corridor interrupted him.

"Good morning everyone!" It was a somewhat high pitched voice for a Rohirrim, and no wonder, for it was Master Falco Boffin, the Holbytlan, up late and yawning cavernously. "Hail, Lord Eodwine, my friend. Goodness, but it's hard getting used to calling you that, you old lout! Where's breakfast! Or at least second breakfast! And how's about finishing that ol' yarn about Gob and Twid-" Falco stopped and seemed to sense for the first time that things were not as they usually were in the common room. "What have we here? Who's this?"

"Good morn to you, Master Falco," Eodwine answered, his jaw feeling quite unnatrually tight around the name that he usually said in a much friendlier fashion. "We have here a Dunlending youth. Know you what that portends?"

"Nay, but you'll tell me, I'm sure!" Falco approached and bowed deeply to the youth, whose eyes widened in startlement at the hobbit's courteous but odd behavior. "Welcome to the Eorling Mead Hall! I am Master Falco Boffin, erstwhile shirriff of the Shire in the north, now guest of Lord Eodwine of the Gap, Eorl of Middle Emnet, as he now styles himself, quite fittingly as the King has so named him! Please pardon my late rising this morning, for I had grave business to apply myself to last night."

"Aye," Gárwine smirked, "grave business with Eodwine's mead cellar."

"One must find what rewards one can when given the the task of counting and classing the wares of the hall! And how are you called, sir?"

The youth of Dunlending's one good eye opened wide in surprise to be addressed so, and with such courtesy, in the heart of the enemy of his folk.

"Answer the question, young man," Eodwine said, finding himself just a little relaxed by the easy confidence of his friend Falco. He even managed a grim and rueful half smile. "And do not forget to tell us your purpose for coming here."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn had bustled about the property all morning. She'd spoken with Æðel over the guests rooms and to Gudryn over trifling matters of clothing and hair, sparking grins and laughter. As she cleaned her own room and saw that others were fed and without need, she spoke to Kara in the kitchen and was delighted to see the girl up to her elbows in flour with a tune on her lips and a smudge extra of the flour decorating her cheek.

She'd not seen Eodwine since just after sunrise, busy as they were with their own tasks, but she thought perhaps a cup of tea would be appreciated. Brewing one, light and sweet with just a hint of milk and sugar, she carried it and a fresh honey-cake out to the hall, humming.

She smiled wide at the appearance of a small kitten around a corner and paused to pet it. She laughed, startled, as it jumped to her shoulder, and she stood slowly, giggling as it sniffed her ear. She'd gotten to know the creature several days before and it had taken to following her around, showing itself at the most unexpected times. Now she backed the door open, careful to keep tea in cup and cake out of reach of kitten.

Had her mind been on such things, she'd have noticed instantly the tension of the room. As it was, she had already forced the tea into Eodwine's hands with a motherly order to drink up and eat before he fell sick of exhaustion and hunger.

She was surprised when his answer was merely a curt nod. He was tense, standing tall, and seemingly trying to hold himself in a state of calm collectedness. Saeryn looked around, taking in now those else who stood there. Master Falco, of course, and she nodded to him. Several others she knew, and a stranger.

From him seemed to radiate uncertainty and from some of the others what almost felt of disdain and at least unsure welcome. Saeryn looked from face to face. She was too young to appreciate fully the past's influence on now. Those were matters of tales and parents, and her parents were long since dead. As it was, she felt little of the uncertainty and much of the discomfort. It would not do at all.

"And you sir?" she asked the Dunlending. "A cup of tea?"

There was silence. She'd bustled in before the youth could answer Eodwine's question and now she stood without nerve, or perhaps with too much, welcoming all those who wished it. She hoped she was not fighting a losing battle.

"Tea it is, and I'll be right out with it." Without waiting for response, she left again, returning swiftly and disappearing, so much as she could, to the back of the room. Tea solves every problem, her mother had always told her. She hoped that it would, though she was sensible enough to know that her hopes might prove false. There was no harm in trying though... the youth looked haunted and that was never a sign Saeryn wished to see. Ghosts of the past, though a fact of life, were not welcome to stay around if she had anything to say.

[Firefoot]

"Yes, I will take you to the Eorl," Gárwine was telling the Dunlending. “Come, follow me.” Despite the polite, almost friendly words, Léof thought he could detect a new tone in Gárwine’s voice that he had not heard before – and stronger than wariness. Was a man truly to be hated simply because of his race? This was something almost new to Léof – he had rarely left his farm except to occasionally go into the nearby village for supplies, and while his father had fought in the war, he never spoke of it, not that Léof had ever heard. In truth, Léof’s life had been all but untouched by the events of the war, and the fervent hatred of his people for the Dunlendings had never been deeply instilled in him. Wariness and mistrust, yes, but never hatred.

And it was not as if the man had been openly hostile. His eyes drifted down to the copper coins that he still held in his left hand. He had never seen anything like them, but they should still be worth something since they did seem to be real copper. Pleased at his earnings, he pocketed them and recalled suddenly the horse whose reins were still grasped in his other hand. He tugged gently and gave a click of the tongue, and the horse followed him willingly into the stable.

After unsaddling and unbridling the horse, he gave him a quick brushing and looked him over. The horse had no obvious health problems and did not seem inordinately tired. Whatever else he may be, the man had taken reasonable care of his steed and that meant something to Léof. He settled the horse into a clean stall and filled a bucket of fresh water. Unsure whether the horse had eaten anything that morning, Léof gave him a part ration of hay. The horse seemed content, so he continued on his earlier intention to get a feel for the stable.

He found a few horses that, judging by their fresh and alert appearance, had obviously been stabled here for a while. Perhaps they belonged to the mead hall’s employees or local people. All were fairly ordinary, and Léof moved down the aisle steadily. But that last horse he found made him stop and look closely: a large chestnut, no longer young but still of noble bearing. Léof felt as if the horse was sizing him up, making sure Léof was worthy of his job. Here, he knew, was a horse worthy of one of the proud Riders, and the logical assumption was that he belonged to Eodwine. Right then, Léof resolved to pay extra care to this horse; he seemed to deserve – nay, expect, no less.

Realizing that he was gawking, Léof backed away from the stall and headed for the tack room. After all, his saddle and bridle – and now the Dunlending’s as well – required care much more than this horse needed his admiration. This brought back the troubling thoughts of the Dunlending, and as he set himself up to clean up the leather, he found himself hoping that the strange man was not being treated too harshly inside. The mead hall's people had seemed like kind enough folk; surely they would not turn away the man simply because of his culture. Léof hoped they would not; every man deserved a chance, and after he had worked so hard to find a job for himself, he could not bring himself to wish the same on another. But recalling Gárwine's reaction made him wonder what was really going on inside, and whether his faith that the man would not be turned away was wholly unfounded. He only wished he knew for certain.

[Anguirel]

Manawyth had soon found out that Leof's politeness was but an exception. The young Rohirric soldier beside him had almost certainly been left bereaved by the war, for his attitude fluctuated between carefully stolen, searching stares and apparent indifference. He was clearly irritated to be told to escort a Dunlending. Manawyth could put up with this easily enough, and did not look at the boy at all.

Then the Eorl. The goggling his blue eyes followed by an almost alarmed "What do you what?" Manawyth smiled in grim satisfaction. Every one of his expectations was crystallising here.

Then they were all shattered by the entrance of the rubicund little child. No, it was older than a child, and too beardless for a Dwarf...and by the sky, how it talked. As he listened, Manawyth remembered the Dunlending tales of the small folk who had come to stir the forests to rage. While this fellow could probably talk a forest into performing a sword-dance, he did not exactly fit the fell halflings of martial folklore. Manawyth returned his greeting with a cautious smile, revealing quite a few lost teeth.

Then a...serving-wench?-of some sort burst in, and offered Manawyth a drink he had never heard of. He knew that the Rohirrim downed beer prodigiously, and he supposed it was something the sort; but as bad luck would have it he was caught between answering her and Eodwine. He was released when she scurried off.

His confidence dwindling as he faced the Eorl again, Manawyth knelt uneasily. "Lord...I am seeking to a position here. They tell me you have soldiers, ostlers, joiners and such. I can fight...or work hard?"

[Esgallhugwen]

Gudryn did not realize how long her face had been scrunched up with surprise and uncertainty. She looked away from Æðelhild and began to laugh, "of course, I do suppose that makes the most sense".

Me? A Lady? My fate has certainly changed indeed.

Gudryn smiled again at Æðelhild and nodded her thanks. The young lass, Gudryn realized, would make a fine friend when the time came that they would know one another better.

"Well", she spoke rising from the table, "I am on my way to my Father to see what else needs to be seen to this day, I would have you follow as a friend, but that is your choice to make". Gudryn smiled and with a wave of her hand she set off towards the end of the Hall.

Carpenters began to arrive taking measurements of their own whilst setting up ladders and other scaffolding. They discussed rather loudly amongst themselves the means of the design and the ways in which to go about it.

Gudryn stopped right beside her Father only to find that things were out of sorts. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut it with a knife, she could swear she heard the pounding of many hearts in the silence.

It was then she laid eyes upon the dark haired youth. A Dunlending. She knew little of them kept under the short leash of Rand for many years until now and with her inexperience she found it hard to fathom the discontent that was focused on this wounded lad.

Among the few others that encircled him, she felt she was the only one whose heart beat of pity for how could she understand what the others had lost? What her Father what Gárwine had lost in the war. She could find no words to speak lost in this tumult of emotion.

[Folwren]

Thornden stood beside Eodwine, his calm eyes studying the stranger from Dunlend. As they had entered the room and first seen the black haired man, Thornden had felt immediately Eodwine tense and become rigid. His very words were cut short and seemed barely able to come out. Thornden glanced at him as he practically demanded what the young man wanted.

The two sudden and unexpected interruptions, one from a hobbit and then the second almost immediately from Saeryn, failed to put off the ill will entirely, and still there remained the strained, tense waiting.

But as the young man knelt, Thornden softened inwardly somewhat at once. He had no personal dislike towards the Dunlendings. Every man had his rights and should get some sort of chance, and this youth didn’t appear to want trouble.

“Lord . . . I am seeking to a position here. They tell me you have soldiers, ostlers, joiners, and such. I can fight . . . or work hard?”

Thornden remained silent. It was not his place to speak. To give false hope, or say anything. The young man was awkward in the speech of the Rohirrim, and yet he still tried. Thornden slowly looked over him, studying his face and his apparel. He was not a handsome figure, nor did he posses a completely kind look, but his expression was not sour, or bitter, nor was it particularly disagreeable, and certainly not disrespectful towards Eodwine. This at least could be marked to his favor.

And still another part of his mind measured up what could not be seen. He was, after all, a Dunlending. Cunning and dishonest folk as often as not, he had heard. The look and expression that Thornden saw could easily be merely a disguise, hiding who knows what. It was impossible to tell what lay behind that single eye.

‘I will not judge him either honest or dishonest, true or false,’ Thornden said to himself, still keeping his steady gaze on him. ‘Time will tell, if Eodwine gives him time.’

[littlemanpoet]

The Dunlending youth knelt. “Lord . . . I am seeking to a position here. They tell me you have soldiers, ostlers, joiners, and such. I can fight . . . or work hard?”

Eodwine was a little surprised at the youth's sudden humility. He was a foreigner though, and a Dunlending at that, and not to be taken simply at his word. The moment lengthened as he considered the youth's words, and what he would do about it. At last he spoke.

"Have you a name?"

"Manawyth, Lord."

"Manawyth," Eodwine repeated, feeling the foreign phrase on his tongue. "Rise, Manawyth." The youth rose. "I will speak frankly, Manawyth of Dunland. Your folk razed my farm in the Gap of Rohan during the War, murdering my wife and children. I was with the Rohirrim who took vengeance against your people. That the Dunlendings have lost part of their homeland is blame you could lay at my feet. Further, you have the look of an outlaw, or at least a fugitive. Is there some crime you have committed against your own people that you flee to us here? If so, why would I take you in? For if I take you, it will not be as mere jobman, but as liegeman and I your lord. Speak for yourself and do not hold back, Manawyth of Dunland."

[Anguirel]

As he waited for the Eorl's reply, Manawyth felt more eyes drawn to his strange figure; a maid, little more than a child, who looked fondly on Eodwine as if some near kinswoman, but also seemed sympathetic, glancing solicitously at him; and another typical Rohir, with hair between yellow-tawny and grey, tall and strongly built, who clearly held some authority here.

But then Eodwine began to speak, his tone, if anything, gruffer and more uncompromising than before. After extracting Manawyth's name, he made his grievances and objections clear.

"I will speak frankly, Manawyth of Dunland. Your folk razed my farm in the Gap of Rohan during the War, murdering my wife and children. I was with the Rohirrim who took vengeance against your people. That the Dunlendings have lost part of their homeland is blame you could lay at my feet."

Then we are the same, Manawyth thought irritably. Have the Strawheads no grasp of logic? But he reproached himself as best he could, though he could not hide a spark of defiance in his dark eye as the Eorl continued.

And part of their homeland? Even the Rohirrim did not deny that they had stolen the entire Westfold in years gone by! Of course they called it "prowess and conquest..."

"Further, you have the look of an outlaw, or at least a fugitive. Is there some crime you have committed against your own people that you flee to us here? If so, why would I take you in? For if I take you, it will not be as mere jobman, but as liegeman and I your lord. Speak for yourself and do not hold back, Manawyth of Dunland."

Here Eodwine struck close to the truth; but as he had no sound reasons for doing so, Manawyth was prepared to evade his question.

"You say I look like...outlaw...Eorl. That is well. You...you look like lout, plunderer, strongarm-wielder and thug to my folk. Why? My kind left your childer dead, your kind my brothers. It has been so for longer than your tales tell. Yet we are men now."

Manawyth looked around the hall in appeal to all who stood about.

"Does the King of Rohan will that men should be his foes, because they were his grandsire's foes? Does he ask that his servants," and he glanced back at Eodwine, "think so?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine's eyes narrowed on the Dunlending. The upstart had answered Eodwine's question with one of his own! Thus, he was trying to take right-of-speech away from the Eorl of the mead hall! ...rash and overweening! The Gondorians had a word for it: insolent.

Long ago, when Eodwine had been a youth just called up to Théodred's war host, he had been taught that when fighting, he had the choice of meeting a blow with the sword or buckler, thus losing gain of the first blow, or taking the blow manfully upon breast armor or shield and swinging his sword into the foe's body, defenseless by dint of his outthrust sword arm. In so like, in a war of words, he had learned that one does not answer the question posed in a retort, but asks his own again until answer is given.

But was this a battle of words, or a truth seeking? Eodwine had spoken the truth plainly, hoping to be rewarded with trade in the same coin. But this overweening upstart wanted a battle of words! Eodwine opened his mouth to angrily speak his question again, ignoring the churl's baiting; but years of experience in service to the king had trained him to hold his tongue until the rash word dissolved on his tongue while a new and better thought grew in its place.

So he waited a moment, not taking his searching eyes from the Dunlending, who grew more ill at ease the longer the silence held.

And a new thought came.

"Thornden, how would you speak to this man were you in my place?"

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine stood a few paces away from Eodwine and the Dunlending, listening to every word they tossed at each other. The Dunlending subtly had just called the eorl a lout and a plunderer, and still avoided the question posed to him. Gárwine made up his mind that the Dunlending was an outlaw; for what other reason would he skip over Eodwine's question, throwing out a mouthful of rash words as a poor substitute for an answer? He confirmed Gárwine's image of a Dunlending: a rude, sly, dishonest man who did not know how to treat his lords.

And Gárwine was grieved to see Eodwine spoken to by the Dunlending in such a way. Gárwine was already fond of his eorl, who had given him a job and a roof over his head, and here he was, standing before his steward, guard, and very own daughter, asked such insolent questions by one of the people who had slaughtered his family. Gárwine glanced at Gudryn, but her solemn face gave no sign of her feelings.

"Thornden, how would you speak to this man were you in my place?" said Eodwine, commanding the room's attention and turning to his steward. Gárwine gave a thin smile. Eodwine would show the Dunlending not to wield words against an eorl of the Mark.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn was uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned. The eyes of the two men gave away what their carefully chosen words did not, and Saeryn could not ignore the barely cloaked hostility. Her pity for the Dunlending turned to blame and fear.

Why had this man come here? Saeryn had finally found a place in which hard words rarely pierced flesh. She had escaped her brother's angry moods, replacing his oppressive lordship first with Bethberry's kind and maternal caring, and now Eodwine, as close to a father as she'd had in years, as her friend and leader. She had not sworn to him... he had not asked it... she was not even certain if she would.

To be bound again to one place... to be kept and chained by duty that she would perform freely... as long as questions never lingered whether or not her choice was free.

Eodwine would make this man swear fealty. Would he make Saeryn? He had every right... it was his hall, his lands. Saeryn worked for him, but as a friend. Would she become one of his people, as this man must?

If the Dunlending stayed, would Saeryn's life be filled again with bubbling emotion, rarely displayed, but always felt?

She stroked the head of the kitten in her darkened corner and shivered at the prospect.

She had not believed Eodwine capable of bad feeling... she had only encountered him smiling, or at worst, guarding his friends against enemies. While she knew that he must have a weakness, something that could gall him beyond all else, she had assumed that it would be fleeting. She had hoped that it would be.

If this man stayed... Saeryn worried that she would not. She could not... would not... live again in a place where anger was ever present. She could not allow herself to be bound.

[Anguirel]

Manawyth held the Eorl's blue gaze with all his mind's strength. His lips trembled slightly, and his knuckles were paler than they ought to be, but he did not intend to surrender. He might be forced to come to abide among the Rohirrim, but he would not put up with insults, not if they came from the King himself. The Dunlanders also had pride, not the golden, supreme arrogance of the Horse-lords, but a dull, dark, smouldering flame of their own. It burned all the more fiercely for the threats it had faced. The Rohirrim held themselves a hardy and valiant race, because they had defended a wide land and lost it but once.

But the Dunlanders knew that they had held a land that was no land at all for hundreds of years. To live on the scrapings of rock, and still to remember to live as your ancestors did, and to so die. That was the way of the Dunlendings.

The Eorl asked his second for advise; the same veteran warrior who had sized Manawyth up before. But the Dunlending saw little reason to hope for a reprieve from that direction. He continued to stare at the lord of the Hall.

He knew that whatever humanity his bedraggled entrance had stirred was squandered now. But he believed it was right that it was so. And the Eorl and his men were now committed to pit their wheat-fattened tongues 'gainst his.

The fearful look of the pale wench who had earlier offered him tea alarmed him somewhat, however. What was he, an Orc bringing fire to the bales?

He would be refused, and he would ride back to strive and die in Dunland, in all likelihood. But he would not leave the horse-lords with a memory of a small dark ape who had submitted and fawned.

[Folwren]

Thornden’s lips parted somewhat in surprise at the rashness of Manawyth's words. Lout and plunderer? In appearance? Eodwine may have spoken more hastily than Thornden would have, but he had a right - at least more of one than this man had.

“Thornden, how would you speak to this man were you in my place?” Eodwine asked.

“Why, lord,” Thornden replied after a pause the length of a breath, “in your place, I would have complete authority to say anything I should like. I know not for sure whether this churl’s ill spoken words have offended you. If they have not, that is all well, but I imagine that if that is the case, you would not have asked me for an answer, but laughed the insult off and replied somehow easily. You asked him a fair question that every man who cares for his property has right to ask. You gave him a chance to answer you fully, without interruption, giving his story. He answered you with a question of his own, adding insults as well. Either he thinks he holds the position of lord here and so imagines that he has the authority to speak thus to any man,” he cast his glance towards the Dunlending briefly, “or he hides something.

“Whichever it may be, he has answered back evasively and haughtily and insulted you to your face, daring your intelligence and authority in your own hall, and has refused to answer your question. Under such circumstances, it may be well if pity withdraws, and you send him from you. For if you would let him stay - what would come of it? Would harsh feelings, hatred and anger consistently dwell within these walls? Dark, heavy silence between the two of you, and coldness whenever either is present? It would not do, unless both of you were willing to forget the past quarrels between the races and he be willing to dwell under your lordship and authority.

“Thus would I answer him, then, my lord. But some of the weight lies also on your shoulders - that you will be able to forget where he comes from and not hate him for his race.” He turned his eyes again towards Manawyth. “Ask him again what his past is and if he is fully honest with you, make your decision. You have given others a chance to stay and prove themselves. His case must be desperate to have come so far from his homeland. Perhaps he is willing to take back hasty and thoughtless words.”

‘You are a fool, Thornden,’ he told himself, after he had finished his speech. ‘None of that will ever work. Why did you not tell Eodwine that had you been he, you would have thrown the man out as soon as such words passed his lips in your hall?’ Inwardly, he smiled mockingly at himself. ‘Because such thoughts are not always best. If this will work, it will be far better than to turn the man out. . .and that may yet be what happens.’

[littlemanpoet]

"Fair words, fair words, Master Thornden," Falco Boffin the hobbit interrupted. "I don't cotton to all those high sounding words you threw in there. Doubtless they're borrowed from Gondor or Elves, but I suppose you've had some schooling."

"Are you trying to say something useful, Master Falco?" Eodwine smirked, looking around the broad form of Thornden at the hobbit.

"Why of course, you big lout! At least the alien got that part right. O' course, the lot of you are big louts. But plundering? I know plenty about plundering as we had old Sharkey's ruffians in our land before four famous hobbits came back and set things to rights. Now this fellow, Manawyth - man with a big chip on his shoulder - he has the look of a ruffian, but he's alone and close to beggary, not like the ruffians I know of."

"Master Falco," Eodwine said, folding his arms over his chest, "I have a mind that you are trying to make a point of some kind. Please be merciful to my ears and tell us what it is!"

"Very well! Not too many moons ago I thought of the lot of you as 'big trouble', not least that Uien and Falowik who joined me in saving your skin in the north lands. I've learned since that there are indeed some bad among you, but some good too. There are stories the famous four brought back that say a lot to me about this hear moment of ours. The King of Gondor hisself is supposed to have met with them in Bree and looked foul to them, but felt fair. And there was another hobbit they met, by all accounts, leastways what I can make out of 'em, who was a lone bedraggled type and not a very good sort at all, and Nine Fingers hisself had pity on him, and the way I hear it, the War might have gone bad if not for that pity. You've given these others a month, do the same for this Man a with a chip on his shoulder and one eye closed an' all. That's what I say. Now, where's breakfast around here?!"

"My thanks, Master Falco, for telling every last one of us 'what for'! It's nigh on lunch time and you're up late. If you want breakfast, see what mercy you can find from our cooks in the kitchen."

Falco swaggered off yawning, but gave one last parting shot. "If you throw the fellow out on his behind, you'll have me to answer to!"

Eodwine grinned, then looked back at Manawyth from Dunland, who was staring at the retreating hobbit with one eye so wide, the other seemd to be trying to do the same even with its lid down.

"Well, Manawyth of Dunland, it seems that I must at least give you a chance, or I have the formiddable Master Falco Boffin to answer to! I still must learn who you are before any lasting agreement can be wrought, but I am of a mind to give you this same month that Master Falco reminds me of. What say you to that?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn listened silently, fretting. The Dunlending had shot her a sizing glance and she felt that she'd come up wanting... but she was uncertain why. She had taken the role of housekeeper only that morning, promising to herself that she would model her welcoming behavior and reassuring smile after Bethberry's... and yet she sat alone, worried, nervous, uncertain, and unwelcoming to the stranger that stood alone. Bethberry had left the Inn in the capable hands of Eodwine to travel with an Easterling, and Saeryn could only shiver with uncertainty as a Dunlending stood before her.

She wanted so much to stand beside him, to lend support to his cause. She had come, a runaway, so recently. Had some of these very people before her not taken up her cause, even without knowing what it was, she did not wish to know where she'd now be. Most of them, especially now, with so many new faces, knew nothing of Saeryn but her smile and voice. They accepted her without question.

This Dunlending stood alone. Saeryn felt for him... but she felt more for herself.

Eodwine was letting him stay, if he could speak for himself. Would the tension continue? Would there be so many traces of ancient hatred ready to burst forth at any time?

A month...

Saeryn picked up the kitten from her lap and left the hall, locking herself into her room. She hoped no-one saw the glimmer of fearful and guilty tears.

This man needed a friend to stand beside him. Saeryn had been given that gift... and now she withheld it from another in need. But the hostility was too much. Pulling a quilt from her bed, Saeryn wrapped herself within and cried over memories of the past and worry of the future.

[Anguirel]

Once more, the intervention of the Halfling skewed the whole current of emotion in the room. The creature amazed Manawyth. This was no smaller, tree-rousing Wose that fed on human blood...though admittedly it seemed to have a penchant for a good rare steak. No, Master Falco Boffin was beyond any of the foreigner's expectations, and he stared and he stared till he found himself, to his own surprise, laughing.

"Of your kindness, you have me taught...manners," he conceded with a free, wide smile.

It changed the stamp of his face-neither uncertain nor desperate, nor defiant even. There was much genuine mirth, of a sardonic sort, to be found in the lines of the Dunlending's mouth. He tore his wide eyes...eye...from the small, rotund figure to answer the Eorl at last.

"I answer ye in truth, sir, since ye ask...things...unloaded, without...weight. I served a Chief who...was stricken, yes?...at the Hornburg, and came away from the battle with the few...the few who left the many dead...young was I then, so young..."

He paused.

"Of the trials of Dunland a bard only is fit to sing, and it is...right that they be told in Dunland's own...tongue. I stumble in the Horse-Lord's voice. There is a harp in the hall? With a harp understanding will come easier, know ye not a sound of our speech."

Manawyth was aware he had avoided answering the Eorl's first questions again. But he was not sure if he could at all, without music to help him.

[littlemanpoet]

"Do you play the harp, then?" Eodwine asked with sudden interest.

"I - I touch it," Manawyth replied, uncertain of his words.

"Then you shall touch mine!" Eodwine declared. "Gudryn, dear!"

"Yes, father?"

Eodwine asked her to fetch his harp, which she did gladly, running off quickly.

"'Tis almost the noon hour," Eodwine said. "You are thirsty, Manawyth of Dunland?" Manawyth acknowledged his thirst.

"Then mead you shall have to loosen your tongue, and mayhap the difference in our speech will be overcome by good ale and better song. Come! Sit by the hearth!" With that, Eodwine placed his arm on the Dunlending's shoulder, to the surprised and wide eyed stares of all those who had seen the tension between them. Murmurs passed between this and that onlooker. Eodwine was aware of it all, and smiled within.

Gudryn came back with the harp, and Aðelhild came out of the kitchen with a tray loaded with tall ale-cups, followed by Kara, who held a ram's horn, the flaring end held high. Eodwine smiled. This was one of his immediate changes, in keeping with the traditions of the Eorlingas, mead served in a ram's horn. Aðelhild came to Eodwine first, handed him a cup, then took the ram's horn from Kara, and filled his cup to the brim. He brought it to his lips and tasted it. He smiled.

"It is good!" Everybody cheered. "Let the horn be passed, starting with our new bard!"

So it was done.

After Manawyth had drunk from his mead cup, and set about tuning the harp, looking somewhat bemused at the turn of events, Thornden sat next to Eodwine.

"Lord, I am curious, and unsure how to broach my-"

"You wonder at my change toward yonder bard."

Thornden nodded.

"Bards have a special place in my heart. If this man is such a one, his place of birth matters not to me. That is the all of it."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn's room was near to the hall. After a short but heartfelt cry, she set about to neatening up; a pointless diversion, given her room's spotless state. She fussed about, occasionally tugging at the corners of her blankets. She threw open her hastily closed curtains, hoping that the bright sunlight would cheer her. She splashed the tear stains from her cheeks with cold water and loosely braided her hair afresh.

As she bustled about, considering her hopes and her fears, she decided that what would come would come. She knew what she must do if asked to swear fealty... she would move on. She could not be bound again, no matter who her lord might be. She could only hope that Eodwine would overlook it when ascertaining loyalty of all those under his watch. Perhaps she would stay out of sight for a time... out of sight out of mind, she had heard. She would test it, she decided, and make the likelihood of the inevitable conversation far lower. Saeryn hoped that none of the new arrivals would be inquisitive enough to draw attention to her ambiguous place.

Finally, unable to find either speck of dust in need of wiping or paper out of place, Saeryn sat on her bed with her head in hands. She closed her eyes for several moments and merely breathed. Suddenly the unmistakable and unearthly sound of harp strings met her ears. She looked up and toward the wall that her room shared with the mead hall, mouth open slightly in surprise.

The tense voices had subdued and tentative tuning notes were plucked on the instrument. Saeryn's innate curiosity strove against her new found resolve to keep her head low. Compromising with herself, she slipped into the hallway and opened the door to the mead hall an inch or so, peeking through. She blushed to realize how young and foolish she must look and so slipped her way through the door to stand in front of it. Eodwine nodded a welcome back, though all other eyes were now on the Dunlending. Saeryn curtsied slightly, acknowledging her friend. She stood away from the crowd and waited now to hear what would come.

[Firefoot]

Léof really had not accomplished very much since Gárwine had taken the Dunlending inside – he was too distracted. He glanced around the stable and saw a few things that could be done but nothing that he absolutely needed to do at that precise moment. He would return later… after he had heard the news, and after he had found a bite to eat. Despite the large breakfast, a good lunch sounded excellent to him.

Pleased with his decision, he left the stable and entered the mead hall, where he heard the gentle sounds of a harp filling the air. Now even more curious, he stepped closer and realized that it was the Dunlending who played. Léof had certainly missed something here, but he guessed that the Dunlending had been accepted into the Mead Hall by Eodwine, at any rate. He spotted Gárwine standing off to the side, and something was stiff about his stance. Apparently his welcome had not warmed much.

Léof headed towards his friend, hoping Gárwine would fill him in. “What has happened here?” he asked rather quietly. “Have I missed something?” His second question had two possible meanings, though he left it up to Gárwine to decide: he might take it as an extension of the former question, but what Léof was really hoping was that Gárwine might explain to him his apparently instant dislike for the man, a sentiment that Léof could neither wholly understand or, unless given better reason than he had worked out for himself, approve of.

[littlemanpoet]

After his compliment to Manawyth, who seemed a good wager to be his future bard, he walked over to Saeryn, still standing in the corner. He had marked her quiet and bashful entrance into the mead hall as Manawyth had begun his song. He saw no sign of tears, but as he approached, her face looked troubled, and she working hard to hold herself from further tears.

"Is something amiss, lady Saeryn?" The warmth of his tone belied the formality of his words, for he thought of her as much like a daughter to him as was Gudryn.

She jumped a little, blushing that he'd so easily seen through her front. She considered the truth and considered her recent fears. She respected Eodwine too much to lie to him, but her thoughts were still too sensitive to share.

"Amiss?" she asked carefully. "Only that it's nearing lunch and you've barely eaten. You'll fall sick if you're not careful."

She bit her lip and caught herself, quickly pretending she hadn't. She wasn't lying, she qualified to herself... she was merely skirting the truth a little.

Eodwine smirked. "If such a woeful face is the mirror of your thoughts, I must be near death's door." He rubbed his belly with both hands, finding no lack of innards. "No, that is not it. Worried about my health you are not, though I thank you for the kind thought. If you wish to keep your troubles to yourself, I will not gainsay you nor threaten them out of you, d-" Eodwine caught his tongue. "-dear child." He forced a smile.

Saeryn felt guilty now, keeping from him what was on her mind. She could not solve her problem without sharing it with him... but she did not want to bring up the subject of swearing allegiance. While he'd doubtlessly assure her that no such thing was necessary, it would bring to his mind speculation as to why she was so nervous of it. It might raise questions that had no answers she cared to give. She sought for an answer that would divert his attention from her history. She was curious as to how much he knew or guessed... but asking him would be akin, to her mind, to inviting disaster.

"I... I am worried about my twin. He disappeared from the Inn days ago with no word and he took almost nothing with him. I don't know where he is. I hope..." She trailed off, mentally smacking herself. She didn't want to speak of her family and what had she done but give a perfect opening for such discussion?

"From what I have seen," Eodwine answered lightly, "your brother Degas is likely to disappear for days and turn up when he pleases. He is no doubt at some rival inn with a wench on his-" Eodwine paused. Saeryn's expression only became more morose at his light words. He frowned. "Do you fear his death, then? Has he said something to you?" Eodwine put his arm around Saeryn's shoulder and drew her nearer to the fire, careful not to strain her bruised ribs. "Here, sit and speak your heart if you like, d-" Eodwine clicked his tongue, "-lady Saeryn. I will do what I can to aid you."

She allowed herself to be led to the fire and to be sat like a child next to Eodwine. Manawyth had begun to play a lilting melody on the harp, one that suited the melancholy expression on Saeryn's face.

"He said nothing to me," she murmered, worried. "That is what bothers me. In his first... his only, I suppose... days here, Degas told me of..."

She stopped, nervous. She became unusually fascinated with the state of her shaking fingers. She tried once more. Eodwine sat, silently listening.

"Our brother..." she paused again, uncertain of what bothered her as much as that she did not know exactly what to say. "When my parents died... my sister and I... What I mean to say is that my sister... my brother and I..."

A quiet tear leaked out as her voice cracked. Before Eodwine knew what had happened, his hand had reached out to wipe the tear from her face; it stalled for a split second. Her eyes darted toward his hand and to his eyes. He reached and wiped the tear away, removing his hand to his lap.

"Go on," he said while his mind sped with fleeting thoughts, wondering if anybody had seen the gesture, and if they guessed - wrongly or rightly - what it might portend.

Saeryn's eyes were fixed on her hands. Eodwine's fingers had been rough from life's work, but they were surprisingly soft and gentle as he wiped away Saeryn's tear. She remembered what it was like to be held tight by her father as she cried as a child and sighed.

She spoke now toward the floor, unsure if her voice was even loud enough for him to hear.

"A short time after my parents left, word came to us that they had died. I do not even remember what their errand had been. My brother... my older brother... was of an age. He became..." She could not remember if Eodwine knew any of this. "He became the lord of my family's lands. He... he is arrogant. Rash. He does not always know the correct thing to say, so he allows his actions to speak for him... And he has always desired power that is beyond him. To take what he believes is promised to him..."

Saeryn remembered bruises as a girl when she had made him look like a fool before some local boys. He had found her after in the stables and she had carefully hidden the tender purple marks from her parents and from her twin. While most boys would never dream of hitting a girl, Saeryn's brother was... She considered a long line of curse words before deciding that silence better filled the space. The memories burned her like hot smoke, stinging her eyes and catching in her throat. Her freedom of choice had been taken from her in every sense after her parents had died. Even her stallion had been sold. Fenrir had wanted to show his sister her place... subservient to him. He was the lord and she was merely a girl.

Shortly after her eighteenth birthday, Saeryn had left. She had stolen a horse from her family's stables and disappeared before the break of dawn. She whispered now.

"I overheard him discussing my betrothal. My parents... my father had never mentioned one. Never. I expect that my brother was arranging a marriage for me that would secure more power for him. I left. He's been searching for me. That was the last thing that Degas told me before he disappeared."

She blushed at her own story, falling silent. She was a silly girl. A runaway. She'd had an enviable life and a good marriage was being planned. Why had she told him anything? She'd thrown away a life that some would kill for. Eodwine had every right to send her home. Saeryn could barely breathe for fear that any respect he had had for her had disappeared. She was just a foolish girl.

Eodwine sensed that she was holding much back; yet she was opening her very heart to him. A rapid succession of emotions swept through him: sympathy for lost loved ones - he knew that pain; anger at any who would harm her; rage at this brother who would use her life for his own ends; and last, resolve. Eodwine took her shaking hands in his.

"Saeryn, you are safe here. The law of our folk does say that your brother has certain rights ... listen to me, Saeryn!" he whispered, for she had looked up at him in sudden fear. "Saeryn, the heart of that law is that you should marry well rather than for his gain. I say again, you are safe here, for there is another law amongst our folk, that one who holds authority may stand for you against he who would use the law of our folk to his own ends instead of for justice. Saeryn, I will stand for you." He released her left hand and raised his fist to his heart. "By the Eorling that I hold from the King, I swear it!" He held her eyes, which had grown wide and still looked troubled. Her cheeks had become flushed. Yes, good, thought Eodwine, she understands the nature of oaths. "Once more I will say it, Lady Saeryn of the Folde, m-" he closed his mouth abruptly "-my guest and friend: you are safe here."

Manawyth had touched the harp with a melancholy melody up until this moment. When Eodwine had finished his words and released Saeryn's hands, and glanced at Manawyth, the Dunlending began to sing.

[Alcarillo]

"Have I missed something?" asked Léof. He had just returned from the stables and had missed the entire ordeal with the Dunlending.

"Well, yes. You've missed quite an intense discussion. Come, sit down and I'll tell you about it," said Gárwine. He and Léof unstacked a table and two chairs from where they were pushed against the wall and sat down. Gárwine sighed and laced his fingers together as he decided where to start his story.

"Well, as soon as I led the Dunlending to Eodwine, there was certainly a lot of . . ." Gárwine paused to choose his words, ". . . animosity. Everybody was watching the Dunlending. The Dunlending wanted a job here, you see. Eodwine was wary; he told us of how his family was killed by those barbarians. He asked the Dunlending if he was an outlaw, and that was when the Dunlending spat out the most vile backtalk spoken in Edoras." Gárwine folded his arms and cast a despising glance at Manawyth. "He practically called Eodwine a lout and a plunderer before his very household! But it was the holbytla who convinced Eodwine to let the Dunlending stay. eodwine has had quite a sudden change of heart.

"If Eodwine will tolerate him, so will I, but I still don't trust the foreigner. My father told me too many stories about his folk. They're a wild and savage people. I've heard about how they'll burn an entire village if they find one fair-haired Rohirric child. They live in wild tribes and just seem to fight without either reason or end. And the fact that our new Dunlending friend is an outlaw on top of all that doesn't comfort me much."

[Folwren]

Thornden sat silent by Eodwine’s side, his eyes resting calmly on Manawyth, the strange Dunlending who had caused, one moment, so much tenseness, and who the next, was sat down welcome by the fire, given a free and probably much needed drink, and now cradled a fine harp in his hands. Thornden’s lips twitched with a small smile and he looked without turning his head at the Eorl. He was still confused by the sudden change of Eodwine’s behavior towards the Dunlending, but he asked no other question as he realized immediately that Eodwine’s attention had left Manawyth and gone to another person in the room, his countenance becoming less merry, and yet possibly more tender.

Thornden looked away and down briefly, but when Eodwine rose and walked away, he lifted his head and looked after him, and then past to observe who he approached. He recognized at once the young woman who had spoken to him earlier that day. She stood apart from everyone, hoping to be unnoticed, and looking a might uncomfortable at being addressed by Eodwine.

Thornden, well aware that it was not his place to watch them, turned his eyes and attention away. For a moment, he looked again at Manawyth, who was playing quietly on the harp but singing nothing yet, and then, folding his hands and resting his elbows on his knees, he lowered his head and his eyes and fell to thinking.

There hadn’t really been much time that morning to think. From the moment he had stepped in through the door until this instant, he had been preoccupied and busy, either listening, or answering someone’s questions. Now he had a moment to draw breath and consider his circumstances. And what he considered now was the position that he had somehow seemed to acquire - at least for a month. He smiled somewhat grimly to the floor and a flash of half amusement sparkled briefly in his eye. His companions had little thought what they had sent him off to achieve that morning when they told him that the new Eorl would need someone to guard his hall for him. Who would have thought that Thornden, mere guard of the King’s Hall would have stepped up in a matter of minutes to Steward of an Eorl in a Mead Hall? Few people, that’s for sure.

I wonder if I even deserve it, he thought to himself. I have had no real experience in such a thing. Sure, I have learned, but not from experience, entirely. . .except to bear arms and keep my head. But am I really fit for it? That was a question, wasn’t it? Well, he’d been given a time of trial, and when those thirty days were through, a clear decision could be made. Until then, he resolved on doing the best he could do.

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild had been in the yard stuffing those mattresses that had needed it when Frodides had called her in and asked her pulling straw from her hair and fussing over her apron to help Kara. “His lordship calls for ale and me and young Kara here in the midst of luncheon too,” she frowned her face a deep shiny red not only from the heat of the kitchen but from her own flustering’s too Æðelhild did not warrant.

But before even Æðelhild could say that she knew not what to do the cook had pressed a tray of tall ale cups into her hands saying reassuringly, “You’ll do alright lass, just offer Eodwine a cup and then take the horn” she nodded her head towards the large rams horn that Kara held carefully in her hands. “ Always pour for his lordship first and wait, he will instruct you as to who is to be served first, then go round the room and fill for all present.”

Æðelhild had been listening so carefully to Frodides instruction that she hadn’t realised that the woman had guided them across the kitchen and through the door to the mead hall until she looked up to seeing expectant faces watching her. She swallowed hard and walked gracefully across the hall to Eodwine ,doing as the older woman had instructed and as Eodwine took the cup, drank and addressed the hall she was reminded of an unusual courtesy (well in Gondor at least) that her grandfather would bestow the guests of his house, how strange! she had thought that what she had once thought just another of her grandfathers eccentricities was so like the customs of another land?

But before she could dwell on it more Eodwine had instructed her to pass the horn to a dark haired stranger holding a harp who he named as the halls new bard, she noted that a few eyebrows had raised at this , like the Lord had just paid the young man a great compliment and again she was reminded how her grandfather would have her pour for his most important guests.

The young bard seemed to notice that she had not the look of others gathered in the hall for he looked curiously at her dark hair as she filled his cup from the horn, but he said nothing and instead raised his cup to Edowine and nodded his thanks. She moved on then but not before noting the permanent injury to the young mans eye, a mark of war she wondered as she filled a cup for Master Boffin who had just returned from the kitchens with his plate fully laden.

“So Miss Æðel what do you make of our new young friend?” He grinned nodding towards the new bard.

“I’m afraid I can not yet say, master Falco, for I have not yet heard him play.” she answered glancing in the young mans direction to see him bent over the harp carefully tending to it’s tuning.

“What… er… no, I meant about him being a Dunlending!” he frowned looking up at her.

“Oh he is!” she answered a little surprised, she knew little of these men other than that they had fought on the side of Saruman during the war and most of this she had learned from master Falco and his stories, she remembered also the heated words of Eodwine and the Twins anytime the Dunlending’s where mentioned, there was not much love lost between the Rohirrim and the Dunelending’s, much akin to Gondor and Harad she thought contemplatively.

“It seems to me master Falco that a man should not be measured in what he has done during war time, as I am sure each thinks his own cause just, but rather his mark is in what he does after war is it not?” she smiled thoughtfully as she continued to studying the young Dunlending. “So I say for now my judgement is reserved, but a greater respect I have now for our new Eorl,” she continued her gaze now shifting to follow Edowine as he walked across the hall to Searyn, “That he can set aside his differences to offer this young man who till very recently was his enemy, work within his halls is a mark of humility rare among nobility,” she pointed out thoughtfully.

“But that is not for the likes of me to comment on” she grinned suddenly turning back to Falco, “I shall pour the mead and hold my tongue and do what I can to make our bard feel welcomed and see what happens from there!” she winked moving off to follow Kara who had continued on as she spoke to master Falco and as she did the Bard began to play, a quiet tune that spoke to Æðelhild of hardship and sorrow and although she had left Falco in seeming good spirits her heart was heavy with thoughts of her old life, of her father and her grandfather and the dunlending’s choice in tune had brought a slight ache to her heart.

Then reaching the table of Léof and Garwine and hearing the latters harsh opinion of the Dunlening she had started, almost slopping mead over the side of the young Rohirrim’s cup, she apologised quickly and hurried on. Would he think of her thusly if he knew…would the others! she thought anxiously, Guilt now replaced the ache in her heart that she did not know if she could hold herself together much long, she quickly apologised to Kara asking if she would mind finishing passing the horn without her making some feeble excuse about needing air.

So that as the bards tune ended and he lifted his voice to sing Æðelhild held herself long enough to slip from the inn and find a quiet place behind one of the small out buildings where she then wept silently into her hands.

[Firefoot]

Léof absorbed Gárwine’s words quietly, hardly noting the maid that had come around to fill their cups except for her apparent discomfort while pouring. Why...? But the thought quickly fled in the presence of others coming from Garwine's explanation Could such stories about the Dunlendings really be true? They were people, after all, if perhaps uncivilized, and Léof had no idea whether they were even that, or how much so. Yet, calling Eodwine names in his own hall…? This disturbed Léof about as much as this news of the Dunlending being an outlaw. That would probably explain the eye. Yet, what did the title of outlaw mean? What had the man done? Something truly bad, or a mistake? So many different meanings a word could have. In a sense, one might call him an outlaw, banned from his own home by a cruel father. Was he to be judged as such? Léof would hope not. So why this man?

Perhaps he was simply too trusting. What did he know of political matters, of the long history that had sundered the two peoples? He did not even have that much experience with people – his own family and sparse contact with people in the nearby village.

So many new and disturbing ideas, and all of them found on just his first day here. He had never felt like he missed much by living a simple farm life, yet it seemed that he really had. Good thing that horses were the same here as at home, or he wouldn’t stand a chance at finding work anywhere. And a good thing that as a simple stable boy, he wouldn’t need to know much about any of these troubling issues. He did not envy Eodwine in the least.

He realized that Gárwine had come to the end of his explanation, and scrabbled around for something to say. What was there to say? He was in over his head. “I see.” But it did not do his feelings justice, and he plunged on. “But – do you know for sure how many of those stories are true, and how many are made up by men’s… hatred – and fear? Perhaps some is true, but how can we judge? Can an entire people really be so evil as that?” He saw Gárwine’s look and cringed inwardly. Apparently, he was digging himself a hole that would only become harder to climb out of. “Of course… I do not have much experience with these matters. My father never spoke of the war, and this distrust of the Dunlendings is almost as foreign to me as they themselves are.” He sighed. “Never mind. Perhaps only hunger and weariness make me say so. Perhaps I should not have said anything, but I cannot shake the feeling.”

[JennyHallu]

Linduiel sat primly on her horse, glaring at her guardian. By noon today, their guides had said. Noon! Never at this pace. Once she reached Edoras, and Marenil had been convinced of her safety, he would finally return home to Belfalas and leave her be. Surely it can only be a few more miles… If it weren’t for Marenil keeping a careful eye on her deportment she would give a hearty kick to her horse and get there!

“Come on, Mar, how much further?” Deliberately she shortened his name, knowing he disliked it. “Please, can’t we go faster? You know we’re close and you know I can ride. By the Stones! I’m twenty-three years old! I’m too old for a nursemaid!”

Marenil sniffed at the nickname, but looked over at the young woman affectionately. She was so impetuous. What joy that she would never remember the days when this road would have been dangerous to travel in an armed company. Now here they were, a rich and beautiful single woman and a single, elderly (he had to admit it) companion, almost to Edoras. “You have already manipulated your father, your mother, and all three of your brothers to get to make this trip. You know I see right through you, you little minx. You are almost fifteen years younger than Lothiriel. You barely knew her before she went off to wed King Éomer, and your visit is of minimal importance to her, save for the letters you carry from your brothers, who were her playmates. You are at least not going to look like the hooligan you are when we arrive in Edoras.”

She snorted but said nothing. Marenil watched her bouncing impatiently in her saddle with amusement. Linduiel was young and reckless, and her father had spoiled her, the youngest of his daughters. But she had inherited the best of her family’s traits: she was beautiful and vivacious, if a little vain of her slim figure and dark curls, and he had been her tutor often enough to know what a keen intelligence hid behind her sparkling grey eyes. “Don’t worry, my dear, we’ll get there soon enough. Here, it won’t hurt for you to speed up a little, I suppose. Don’t get out of hearing, but go ahead and run off that excess energy you’ve got. Remember I’ve got your letter of recommendation.” She flashed him a grateful smile and urged the horse into a gallop with a happy whoop, leaving Marenil to his thoughts in peace.

That her father had thought to waste this youthful enthusiasm in a marriage…Marenil had no objection to a marriage, Linduiel needed something to ground her, give her a center that could curb and channel her enthusiasm and intelligence. But the young man her father had found was not the right one. He was too young himself, and he did not have Lin’s cleverness. But someday…he looked across the green fields at the figure riding circles and figure eights at top speed but obediently nearby. She had been right to come here. Not for her reasons, her fear of what her father had planned, but perhaps she would find what she needed to learn in this harsh and lovely country. At least her father had had to give up his idea of wedding her off to some green lad. Lin had bought herself time, at least.

~*~

As the pair rode into the courtyard of the Mead Hall, Linduiel, now looking tidy and ladylike as she ought, took in the mess and construction doubtfully. “Marenil…? Are you sure this is the right place?”

Marenil raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you doubt me? This is the right place. But your impatience means we’re here almost two months before your cousin expected you. I’m sure if we’d arrived when she said in the letter there would be none of this. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about it. Your letter says there should be someone here who can take responsibility for you, and let me go home. I say we should find him first thing,” he sighed. “I’m too old for this.”

Linduial looked with affection at her friend. “I will miss you when you are gone, but at least I’ll be able to do as I please here, without my father to notice I’m still unmarried…”

Marenil snorted. “You will not do as you please. You will conduct yourself with all the grace and courtesy I have spent all these years pounding into your pretty head. Now, do you see a groom about?”

The pair dismounted carefully in the muddy courtyard, unsure where to go or what to do.

[Firefoot]

An awkward silence followed Léof’s words. “Well, you could be right. He does know our language well enough and rode here upon a horse. But . . . still, he's a Dunlending. I still don't trust him,” responded Gárwine after a bit. His words and tone were both neutral enough that Léof could not quite be sure whether Gárwine really did agree with him or whether he was only saying it to not explicitly disagree with him. Since he did not know the intent of the words, he was having difficulty formulating some kind of response, and once again silence settled over the table.

Fortunately, Léof happened to look up and see out the window a pair of riders stop their horses in the courtyard. He excused himself from the table, relieved at being saved from continuing this conversation. But as he stood up, he noticed a strange thing: the maid he had fleetingly noticed before was slipping outside, and something about the way she moved reminded him strongly of his sister when she was trying to hide that something was wrong. He frowned. She had definitely been disturbed, and he could not help but wonder about it. He could do nothing about it – at least not now. He had to attend to these people in the courtyard and their horses.

He hurried outside, trying to put the maid from his mind. He looked the travelers over curiously. The dark-haired young woman and a rather old man – her grandfather or some other relative? Simply a friend, an escort? – did not look like Rohirrim. She certainly looked wealthy, noble, if her appearance indicated anything. He was painfully aware of his own disheveled appearance.

“Welcome to the Mead Hall,” he said, smiling. “My name is Léof – Léofric – and I am the ostler here.” How wonderful those words sounded! “I can take your horses, and if you have any questions, I can try to answer them.”

[JennyHallu]

Linduial almost didn't notice the young ostler approaching them at all, so engrossed was she in looking about herself at the somewhat chaotic courtyard of the Hall. Only at Marenil's sharp surreptitious elbow did she jolt back to reality. "Really?" she asked, with her usual habit of jumping into a conversation with no preambles or introductions. "Doesn't look like much of a hall, now. Looks like..."

Marenil interrupted her smoothly by treading on her toes, preempting the hurt look on the lad's face. He had seen the expression of pride as the boy Léof had introduced himself...it reminded him of himself, many years ago.

"What my lady Linduial of the House of Dol Amroth means to say is that it looks like it is in the process of growing from a fine Hall to a great one, and she wonders if it is ready for us. But your warm welcome tells us all we need to know. We would be happy to let you care for our horses." He threw a significant glance at Lin, pleased to see by her face that she had realized her error and was sorry.

"Oh! Yes!" Hastily Lin rummaged in the dainty, lady-like purse Marenil had insisted she keep out of her trunks and produced a few coins, which she pressed into Léof's hand with an earnest and sunny smile she hoped would make up for her rash statement. When will you learn to think before you act...? she berated herself, surrendering the reins of her tired horse.

Marenil chuckled to himself as she tipped the lad. He knew her every expression. After all, hadn't he served her family since before her father had wed? Served her right to realize she was wrong now and again. "Off with you, girl," he scolded her. "Go ahead and wait for me inside. I'll just be giving the ostler here a bit of a hand."

He took the reins of his own horse, and gestured the boy to lead the way with a smile. As they turned away from Lin's slim form pouting in the doorway he looked down at Léof with a wink. "Never mind her, Léof, lad! She's just a silly girl lets her tongue run off and leaves her wit behind. She means no harm. It's as plain as the nose on my face that this is likely to be the finest hall in the Mark." His tone was kind, and not condescending. He had helped his lord enlarge his own home with every child, he certainly recognized the signs of construction, although he missed the grey stone they built with in Belfalas.

He paused a moment, reminiscing. "And to be part of it at the beginning...I remember my own first job, lad. It's a proud thing."

[Firefoot]

“Never mind her, Léof, lad! She's just a silly girl lets her tongue run off and leaves her wit behind. She means no harm. It's as plain as the nose on my face that this is likely to be the finest hall in the Mark,” explained the man. Léof nodded. He had not really taken offense at the lady’s words. But there was a one who had never had to work for much in her life, who had never had to deal with the death of a mother and a careless and sometimes cruel father, who had not grown up having to look out for herself and a younger sibling besides. No, he did not feel offense, nor even resentment. But if hard times came her way, he thought she seemed more likely to break than flow with it and make it through. Though she might be several years older than him and probably had a much better education, he could not help but feel that she was mostly naïve and inexperienced. But who was he to judge? He was charged only with the care of her horse.

“And to be part of it at the beginning...I remember my own first job, lad. It's a proud thing.”

“That it is, sir, and thank you,” responded Léof. He could already feel the beginnings of respect and liking for this old man. Léof did notice, however, just how much he was being treated as a lad – even if not unkindly so - and this bothered him. He knew that he looked rather young for his age, but he was not a boy in either age or experience. His mind was immediately set to trying to figure out how he might avoid this. His first thought was to get himself cleaned up – before he went back to the mead hall, in fact. Other than that, he supposed he would simply have to prove by his actions and speech that he was not just the young stable boy.

His thoughts returned to the matter at hand. He had noticed that the horse he was leading was still quite warm from the ride – whether because he had been ridden particularly hard or had simply been pushed along at a fast pace recently, he could not quite tell. “I’d like to walk this horse around a bit more before putting him into a stall,” he told the man. The other horse did not look so tired, leading Léof to think that the man had ridden along at a more sedate pace. “If your horse is fine, if you could tie him up out here in the aisle? I can take care of it, if you’d like to head on inside,” Léof offered. He honestly was not sure how much help the man intended to give. “Or if you prefer, there is a tack room just down the aisle where you could put the saddle and bridle. And might I ask the horses’ names? And… I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name, either…”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn listened to the soft and slow melody that danced across the Dunlending's harpstrings. She could feel her heart still beating heavily, pounding out a strong rhythm that she smiled to note matched the beat of the music. Others in the hall went about their business, this interlude unnoticed. She looked down modestly and, eyes wide, back up to Eodwine. He met her eyes squarely and she murmered, her soft voice caressing the already gentle vowels of the land.

"I am undeserving." Eodwine began to speak and Saeryn stopped him with a hand placed on his. "You have treated me as a daughter, keeping me safe from the moment we met. I have hardly been fair to you, taking advantage of your friendship without trusting enough to share why I needed such safe-keeping.

"I feared... I fear to swear an oath. I cannot be committed to one land, to one hall... to one lord. I cannot swear to you as you have sworn to me." Her hands shook and she withdrew them from his, hoping he did not notice and knowing that he did. "I can give you nothing more than the love of a daughter... I cannot swear to you a proper oath of allegiance. I will understand..." Her voice broke. "If you choose to protect me and fulfill your oath... by sending me away."

[JennyHallu]

“Or if you prefer, there is a tack room just down the aisle where you could put the saddle and bridle. And might I ask the horses’ names? And… I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name, either…”

"My name is Marenil," the older man said cheerfully, affectionately stroking his horse's nose. "And as for the horses, I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what their names are. They were gifts from friends of my lord in Minas Tirith, and he was so proud of the oddity of living in Minas Tirith and owning a horse he gave the poor dears the most ridiculous names. No beast needs to live with a name like 'Son of Nahar'...I've been calling Lin's mare Pansy, and my gelding here Apple, and they seem not to mind."

He winked cheerfully at Léof. "I've got a grandson about your age, you know. As a matter of fact, he just entered the service of my lord, as a page. (Which makes me wonder if perhaps I've made an error in calling you 'lad'; but you can't do anything about it. It's healthy to have respect for your elders.) I'll tell you the same as I tell him...I'm sure it wouldn't hurt me to care for these beasts myself, but my bones are old, and frankly, I don't want to. I'll just leave this lad here..." he looped the reins over the boards of the stall. "...and let you do your job."

He felt suddenly particularly old. It had not occurred to him until just now that his son, now head groom back at home, had been a full grown man for quite some time, and that the people he'd seen as boys for years were working becoming men...He sighed, and left the stable feeling slow, and bent over, and tired.

Linduial was still waiting for him in the doorway, holding her saddlebags. "My trunks should get here in...what? A week?" She'd left her things in the hands of a merchant train travelling from the City of Guard slowly and steadily. "Marenil? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, dear. Let's just go in and speak to the lord of this Hall. Maybe I can get off these old feet for a while and rest."

Linduial laughed, a sunny, clear sound, that cut deeply through his self-pity. "Old, Mar? You? You'll never get old." She slipped a slim arm through his. "You know you're like a father to me. I'll miss you when you head back home, but with your son's Filië expecting again, I won't hold you." She kissed him softly on the cheek. "As long as I have to reach up to do that, you're not old. Now come on, you're supposed to be taking care of me. What would my father say?"

For a moment, Marenil understood perfectly why Lord Farlen allowed this slip of a girl around him so easily. He couldn't help it. Men had no natural defenses against youth, beauty, and sweetness, combined in such a perfect triple threat. Then Lin poked him ornerily in the ribs, muttering "Posture, posture! Don't sag!" in such a perfect imitation of her deportment tutor the budding realization was completely lost.

[littlemanpoet]

"I can give you nothing more than the love of a daughter," Saeryn said in a nigh whisper. "I cannot swear to you a proper oath of allegiance. I will understand-" Her voice broke "-if you choose to protect me and fulfill your oath... by sending me away."

She was not looking at him, so did not see the slight flush he felt upon his cheeks. He was old enough to be her father; it was well worth remembering, considering that his arms ached to crush her to him, to dry her tears, to . . . . . well. Just so. He kept his hands folded in his lap.

"Send you away! How could I stand as he who speaks for you and stands against all comers if you are not here? Silly child." Her head still bowed, she looked up at him with questions in her blinking eyes.

He looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. It was thus that he saw two visitors come in, arm in arm, well to do by the look of them, the young lady brimming with life, the somewhat elderly man stooped and tired.

"No more of this!" Eodwine bantered, tapping Saeryn's knee. "We have guests and you are my hostess! Dry those tears and snap to it! You have nothing to fear from me. Nothing at all!"

Eodwine stood, and caused the frowning and confused Saeryn to stand too. He wiped her tears with both his hands again, and gave her a peck on the forehead, which made her only more confused. He gave her a gentle push toward the now waiting pair, and watched as she walked toward them, back straigtening.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Welcome." Saeryn said, holding her hands wide and with a smile. She stood tall, confident but wondering, trusting that Eodwine's loving hands had well-cleared her cheeks of tear-stains. The old man smelled comfortably of horse with a light touch of something spicy... perhaps pipe tobacco. A light floral scent lingered about the woman. "Do you require lodging? A meal? Certainly a drink to ward off the unwelcoming dust of the road. As you can see, we are in the midst of change, so things are not quite as they will be. However what you need can be acquired, if only you ask."

Saeryn spoke clearly, her voice stronger and more sure than it had been for days, even when she had impishly informed Eodwine of her role in his hall. A light shiver danced upon her shoulders and she wondered at the warmth in Eodwine's hands. She could still feel his fingers upon hers. Blushing slightly, she thrust the sensations to the back of her thought to reflect upon another time. Had she known about the new light that danced almost hidden in her eyes, she'd have blushed all the more, wondering at its existence and meaning.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine watched Léof leap from his seat to help the visitors outside. He was now sitting alone, with nothing to do but sip his mead and try to convince himself (without success) that the Dunlending was a poor bard. Near the fire sat Eodwine and Saeryn, speaking in hushed voices. Everyone else had wandered away shortly after they had forgotten the Dunlending's words.

Inside Gárwine's mind two sides were debating the Dunlending. One side, sounding like Léof, argued for Manawyth, and the other, with Gárwine's ordinary voice, argued against trusting him. They both spoke to Gárwine, trying to persuade him either to like or to loathe Manawyth.

You know, Gárwine, Léof has a point there. You really don't know if those stories about Dunlendings are true, and if they are, you don't know if they apply to this Dunlending, said the first stream of thoughts.

There's some truth in every rumor, said the opposite thoughts, and besides, this Dunlending is an outlaw. All outlaws should be avoided. The thoughts seemed to snarl at the end of each sentence.

So he ran away from his family, but so did you. When you ran away from Uncle Wilfrid, were you not deciding to be an outlaw?

The snarling voice took a gentler tone. Gárwine, you did nothing bad in leaving Uncle Wilfrid. You are at an age where you can take care of yourself and seek your own destiny. It was right of you to leave the farm. You committed no crime; you neither are nor were an outlaw. You're now a man-at-arms of a great mead hall. Don't feel guilty about Uncle Wilfrid. He's the one who kept you as a laborer in his fields. Now, that Dunlending, there's an outlaw.

A third voice, a real one, broke Gárwine's thoughts. "Posture, posture! Don't sag!" The visitors whom Léof had left to help were entering, and Saeryn was already at her feet and welcoming them. Gárwine promised the two debaters in his mind that he would tolerate Manawyth but still be wary around him, and with those thoughts in mind he stood to greet the visitors.

[JennyHallu]

The second Linduial walked through the door into the great room her bearing completely changed, years of training and learning kicking in instantly. It was almost as if a different young woman walked into the room than had walked into the inn: this girl was tall, slim, and straight, her face austere and proud; rather coldly beautiful. A suitor had once told her that if the legends of Mithrellas were true, then she was the proof, and it had taken poor Marenil weeks to cut her back down to size.

Not that he disagreed, but this public ice-maiden her tutors had created was certainly not the proof. No, the proof was in her eyes, still dancing with warmth, heat even, as though the coolness of her carriage demanded some opposite balance in her eyes.

Marenil stepped forward carefully to greet the pretty young woman who came to greet them. In her bearing he detected much the same training as his Lin had had, but none of the ice, and he hoped that in her stay here, Lin might learn graciousness. Having practically raised the young woman behind him, he certainly didn't miss the traces of tears in her eyes, but he knew Lin would never notice, and he was far too much of a gentleman to bring it up.

"My lady," he said courteously, bowing. "I am Marenil, and I am guardian of Lady Linduial of Dol Amroth, kinswoman of the Prince, and of his daughter Lothiriel, who is known to you. My Lord Farlen has given his blessing to his daughter's desire to live in Rohan for a spell, and the Queen Lothiriel told us in a letter that she might find lodgings here."

He paused for breath, determined to get the whole request out at once so that he could rest. His breath seemed to be coming a little short. "I request that the Lord of this hall offer his protection to the Lady Linduial, that I might return home to fulfill the duties of my oath" --he took a deep breath, unconsciously lifting his right hand to his chest-- "to her father." He was hurting a little, in his chest. "If you could" --a ragged breath. The pain was getting worse-- "present me to him..."

The rest of his speech was forgotten as a sudden spell of dizziness overcame him and he toppled to the floor, clutching a hand to his chest and gasping. Lin's cool, proper demeanor was abandoned instantly, and she threw herself at his side, uselessly taking a hand and crying that someone help her. Marenil was her compass and her guide, he'd taught her the best of everything she knew, and in this crisis all she could see was that the tall tree she leaned on was falling before her eyes. She panicked, unable to see anything but the withered hand of her dearest friend, nor hear anything but his labored breathing.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn politely listened to the old man's request, knowing that Eodwine could hear it well from his position and would soon come to answer. The kindly fellow's breath seemed to come short as he spoke. Saeryn meant to offer him a seat as soon as may be. Journeys were long and not always easy for the most hale of young riders, and these two had travelled far from what he said. She saw his left fingers twitching and clenching into a tight fist before falling loosly at his side.

When he collapsed, Saeryn's breath caught in surprise. Quickly, she knelt beside him, calling to Eodwine as she did. In seconds he knelt beside her, looking to the old man and carefully shifting him to a better position. Saeryn felt the warmth of Eodwine's leg where it touched against her own; she smelled the soft soapy musk of him.

"I know nothing of healing, Eodwine." she murmered, careful to keep her words between them. "I know that the lass, Æòel, tended wounded in Gondor's healing houses... are there any here with more experience? She is so young..."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine knelt beside Saeryn, over the ailing Marinel. He looked as white as birch bark, and pasty; an odor of panic and illness exuded from him.

"Go fetch Æòel, then, my dear - child," Eodwine replied.

With a glance that rested momentarily on Eodwine's eyes, Saeryn got up and rushed out of the room; he watched her hurrying form before pulling his attention back to the matter at hand. Eodwine looked up and saw Gárwine standing stock still in surprise, having been moving toward Marinel and Linduial from Dol Amroth.

"Gárwine! Get to horse and to Meduseld and call for a healer!"

Gárwine nodded and ran out of the hall as well.

"Has this happened before?" Eodwine asked of this princess Linduial.

"No! Never! I do not understand!"

"We shall see to his care," Eodwine replied, looking her in the eyes. "I promise you!"

Eodwine rose and called Thornden over. Between the two of them, they lifted Marinel onto one of the tables, and waited. Linduial caressed one of his hands. Eodwine watched Marinel's eyes go back into his head. That couldn't be good! He hoped Saeryn would find Æòel quickly.

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild let self-pity and fear wash over her as she struggled bitterly with the memories of that last night in Minas Tirith vainly trying to convince herself that she had acted only in her own defence and that none of what had befallen was her fault, but the image of a cold dead stare haunted her. He had come to help her, it was her fault he was dead! Visitors were forbidden and there would be recompense if her uncle found out all this she knew but still she let him come, it was her fault she should have told him not to come ..no she should have insisted!

Much of what actually happen that night was a blank to her. Finding them together in her fathers study her Uncle had flown into a mad rage turning on her childhood friend, demanding to know what he was doing in his house with his niece, as though she were his possession and Halfric some roguish ruffian.

She had stepped between them hoping to reason with her uncle only to earn the back of his hand as she had so many times before hard across her face which sent her to the floor where she must have banged her head on something hard, for the next thing she remembered was waking up next to the unmoving form of her dearest friend, his glassy dark eyes staring out at her cold and empty.

She shuddered at the memory letting her tears fall even more uncontrollably. For there was more, more that she hoped the others, those within who had shown her not only kindness but had given her work and a place to stay would never discover a horror that she herself wished she could forget.

Gárwine's words echoed over and over in her mind… an outlaw… an outlaw… an outlaw… Fear turned quickly to guilt as she thought on what price the goodly Lords kindness would undoubtedly cost him if what she had done were to be uncovered or worse still if they came for her.

She was still debating this and weighing if truly anyone would still be searching for her after so long , it was almost a year since, and she had passed through several towns and villages without so much of a murmur of pursuit, when suddenly she heard a distant voice calling her name.

“Æoel, Æoel!”

She stood quickly wiping away any trace of the tears that had just fallen, dabbing her puffy eyes with the corner of her apron.

“Æoel, Æoel!” the voice called again this time closer and seemingly with a sense of some urgency.

Saeryn she thought now recognising the voice, quickly taking a deep composing breath she stepped out from behind the small out building and walked towards the young woman.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine leapt out the door at Eodwine's command and ran into the stables kicking up hay and dust. Léof was tending to the old man's and the girl's horses.

"Léof! The old man's fallen on the floor! I need a horse; I'm going to Meduseld to find a healer." said Gárwine. He found Herefola's stall and was already unleashing her when Léof told him to stop.

"Take Marenil's horse. It's still prepared for a rider. I haven't taken off the saddle or reins yet; I've been tending to the girl's horse since they arrived."

Gárwine nodded his thanks and leapt upon the horse. With a crack of the reins they were out the doors and onto the streets of Edoras. The smaller, narrower streets were fairly clear of crowds, giving Gárwine long clear stretches to gallop through at top speed. But once Gárwine reached the great road that wound its way up from the gates to Meduseld on the hilltop, the way was blocked by crowds shopping in the market, which was apparently held on this day. Gárwine slowed his horse down to a trot and weaved his way through the people. Time was precious; every moment spent in the crowds was another moment the old man spent stretched out on the floor. Gárwine became agitated. He sped up the horse and darted between groups of people.

"Out of the way! There's an emergency!" He shouted as he rode. The people, though irritated, had no choice and moved towards the sides, letting Gárwine gallop through. With little delay he was at the foot of Meduseld's steps, where he gave the horse over to a guard for safekeeping. He rushed up the stone steps and for the second time that day entered Meduseld.

The air was cool inside and stirred by light breezes around the hall. The light was less dim than in the morning, but it was still rather dark. The windows high up the walls were the only sources of light. The throne at the opposite end of the hall was empty. The only occupants of the hall were a few guards in a corner, speaking in whispers, and a few servants who crossed through the shadows where the light failed to penetrate. Gárwine, not sure where to find a healer, stopped a passing solemn-faced attendant, arms piled high with linens.

"Sir, there's an emergency at the former White Horse Inn, and I have come seeking a healer." His words were quiet and calm. It was the tranquil feeling of the hall already calming him.

The attendant only nodded towards a corner and walked away. In the corner was a group of servants and other attendants, quietly talking among themselves. One of them saw the attendant's nod and approached. He was an aged man, with grey, wispy hair curling around his head and a thin and scrubby beard. His face was tanned and wrinkled by his many years out in the sun. He walked with a slight limp but he seemed untroubled by it.

"They call me Hrethel," he said, shaking Gárwine's hand, "What can I do for you, young sir?"

"There's been an emergency down at the mead hall," said Gárwine, but Hrethel shook his head. "The White Horse Inn, it was called," he clarified. Now Hrethel recognized the place. "Anyways, one of our visitors has collapsed upon the floor, and we need a healer quickly. Do you have a horse you can ride?"

"What do I look like, a rider of the Mark?" said Hrethel, "I'm a healer. I don't care much for horses."

"Well, you can ride mine," Gárwine said, noting the man's limp, "I can run. Do you know where the place is?"

"Certainly. I've been there once or twice back when it was ran by Bêthberry. I've heard she's gone east. Is it true?"

"I wouldn't know; I've never met her. Now come, time is passing!"

They exited the hall and ran down the porch steps. Gárwine handed the reins of Marenil's horse over to Hrethel, who mounted the horse with a wheeze. "I'll see you at the inn," Gárwine said, and Hrethel galloped down the hill with Gárwine running after him.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Spotting Æðel, Saeryn hastened to her, her gait a long-legged combination of run and stride.

Æðel looked at her in surprise and moved more quickly to meet her.

"What is it?" she asked quickly.

"A man, a visitor. They've only just arrived, he and a woman." Æðel's mind raced at possibilities, her still puffy eyes a reminder of her plight. Saeryn caught the fleeting look on her companion's face and set it aside for another time's thought. "The man has collapsed. You've experience, you said?"

Æðel blinked at her, taking in her words... or trying to. Saeryn paused now, taking a moment for a deep breath, composing herself, if she had known it, the very same way Æðel just had. She clarified. Little dust devils swirled about their motionless feet as the breeze picked up. A storm moving in, perhaps, though Saeryn recalled this sort of promising weather to be tricksome to predict.

"I have no healing experience, nor does Eodwine. Perhaps some of the newcomers do, however we do not know and have no time to learn. I remembered that you spoke of the houses of healing... Eodwine bade me to find you. Will you come?"

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild quickly nodded that she would, not missing the sense of urgency in the other woman’s voice, though she knew not yet how much help she would be. Yes, she had help tend the sick and the wounded of Gondor during troubled times, but only in an assisting capacity and although she had learned much from the healers she had always worked under their strict supervision and instruction, she had never had cause to test her knowledge on her own, not that was until now!

As they hurried back to the hall Saeryn described to her what had happened, from their guests seeming shortness of breath to him finally collapsing to the floor grasping at his chest, A troubled frown creased Æðelhild’s brow as she recognised the signs that Saeryn described. It had been the same for her grandmother only by the time the healers had arrived the seeds of sickness had taken root and claimed her life, so that now she knew that this mans life might very well be placed in her hands.

With this realisation all of her own fears and doubts suddenly gave way to the urgency at hand and she quickened her pace considerably. She did not pause as she entered the hall, but strode to were Eodwine and a few others were gathered about one of the large tables upon which the stricken guest now lay. He was not young and instantly Æðelhild noted the weakness of his pallor and the beads of sweat upon his forehead and her concern grew somewhat though she tried not to let it show.

“ Æðel, Saeryn tells me you have some knowledge of the healing arts, can you help?” Eodwine whispered as she came beside him, bending over her patient to lay her hand on his brow.

“I shall do what I can,” she replied glacing up momentarily, taking in his worried expression, knowing that she could promise no more. Then turning to Kara she bade the young woman bring her cloth and water.

Turning back to her patient she loosened his tunic and lowered her ear to his chest. It was as she had feared the rythmatic drumming of his heart was slowed and beat with a distinct irregularity that made his breathing sharp and shallow. “Hagedorn,” she Murmured, A food for the heart she recalled being taught.

“My Lord!” she said turning again to Eodwine, “His breath grows shallow and his heart weak, he requires immediately a tonic made from the juices of the Hagehorn berry!”

[Kath]

Kara had stood back from the commotion surrounding the ill man, not wanting to get in the way. She watched as Saeryn left and then reappeared with another woman in tow, who went straight to the fallen arrival and bent to his chest. Kara could see the worry on her face as she turned towards her and gave directions to bring a cloth and water.

Doing as she was told, Kara ran back to the kitchen she had been working in all morning, unable to believe the speed at which everything had changed. As she entered she saw Frodides still working at the midday meal. Still unsure as to where everything was Kara began to pull open drawers and rummage through cupboards, trying to find a good size bowl to fill with water. On her knees halfway inside a large space filled with crockery she found a suitable one and pulled it out. As she did so the remaining contents of the cupboard fell down around her with a crash, making Frodides jump. The cook turned with a reprimand half formed on her lips, but took one look at Kara and quickly wiped her hands on a cloth before taking her by the shoulders and pushing her towards a stool.

Kara struggled, knowing she needed to get back. Frodides kept her there, and continued to ask what was wrong. Her calming influence allowed Kara to settle down enough to get the words out, and once she had spoken the cook let her go, with instructions to fill the bowl while she found a clean cloth.

Moments later Kara was hurrying back to the main hall, trying to keep the water in the bowl while going as fast as she could. The cloth and her clothes were already damp by the time she reached the little group in the doorway, but the woman who was tending to the man on the floor seemed pleased with what she'd brought, sending a smile her way as Kara handed over the bowl and cloth before turning back to her patient.

Kara moved back a little, though stayed close in case she was needed to fetch anything else. She stood in the doorway in the hope that the sun shining down would dry her out a little and waited.

[JennyHallu]

As Æthelhild leaned over Marenil, Lin released his hand, moving back and away, trying to contain her fear for the older man. It was not easy. She curled into herself in a chair in the corner where her view of first Æthel and then a confident healer from Meduseld working quickly over Mar’s still form was unobstructed. She didn’t notice when a mug of warm honeyed ale was pressed firmly into her hand by—someone—and she drank it without noticing the taste. She didn’t notice the silent tears pouring down her face, dripping off her chin to add their saltiness to her drink, her eyes locked on Marenil; her thoughts locked on each memory she had of him.

Linduial had two older brothers, and an older sister with a son of her own. The boys, now grown into strong and good-hearted men, were dear beyond words to their father, and while he loved the pretty, delicate, witty little woman who was his youngest child, it had always been a source of almost wonder to him that he, a rough-and-ready warrior, could possibly have produced her.

He treated Lin as though she were a rose made of glass, exquisite and perfect. He’d gotten her the best tutors he could find, a dancing, dainty chestnut mare from Rohan, the finest silks and wools and brocades from all over Middle-Earth for her dresses. Her brothers were much like him; they were rough and rude and crude, excellent fighters both, but around Lin they were courteous, nervous, trying desperately to speak of things they thought would interest the lady-like little girl (she always seemed so tiny beside their tall muscular frames) who gazed up at them with such big, fascinated grey eyes. They brought her presents from all their adventures, and as they never really knew what to get her, her rooms filled slowly with a delightful mix of delicate treasures, exotic sweets, and completely random things the boys had seen and thought she might like.

The only reason she knew any weaponry at all was because they had found for her a delicately and elaborately carven bow—they’d traded their pack-horse for it, far from home, though they never told her—and had nervously taught her the use of it, flinching with her when she accidentally snapped the string against her knuckles, competing for her smiles, and, both of them, staring at her in shocked admiration when she hit the bulls-eye within her first ten shots. Since then the younger brother had taken to bringing her colorful feathers and fletching her arrows with them. Sometimes they flew a little unpredictably, but her quiver was a riot of reds and blues and greens.

Always, Marenil was there. As steward of her father’s household, his duties were many and never-ending, but he had seen the danger her father ran of spoiling the little girl. Once, when the Lord and his sons had been gone for a long time, little Lin had taken to following him around, lonely and bored. He’d quietly encouraged her, teaching the clever lass accounting and book-learning, and sending her off on little errands. It became a fond joke among her father’s men, the little Lady trotting cheerfully behind the Steward, running her little errands with such earnest concentration, brows furrowed as she worked. When the Lord returned, Marenil somehow convinced him that such an education was necessary, that she must learn how to run a household so that she need never be dependent on her servants, and from then on it was settled. Linduial became Marenil’s special charge.

Her father bought her a fine horse—but it was Marenil who taught her how to ride it, how to fall off and get back on. Her father sent her to learn from many different tutors—but it was Marenil who confined her to her rooms until she worked at her lessons. Her father bought her fine fabrics—but Marenil gave her a few sheep, and despite her father’s protestations, put her in the charge of his wife until she had learned how to spin the wool into cloth. After that her father never questioned Marenil’s treatment of her, for the pride in her eyes as she showed him the rough-woven cloak she had made hushed anything he could have said. As she grew up, she loved and respected her father—but Marenil she adored.

And now, he, her rock, was lying there helpless…and she could do nothing.

[Folwren]

Æðelhild and the Healer from Meduseld bent together over the ailing man. Eodwine paced at the head of the table, looking rather anxious himself. As for the girl. . .the young woman, she had retreated to a corner and a chair, looking badly frightened. Thornden glanced at her briefly and turned towards Kara.

“Run to the kitchen, lass, and fetch some warm ale with honey. The lady yonder needs it.” Kara looked up at him briefly and he nodded towards the kitchen. She immediately turned and went off at a pleasingly swift pace, coming back in little time at all with the desired drink. Thornden took it from her hand and went quietly to young stranger.

Without speaking, and without breaking the line of vision to where the man lay, he gently pressed the cup into her hand and curled her fingers about it so that she was aware of it before he let it go. Numbly, she drank it, and not once did she look up, nor was she aware that Thornden stood watching her and the tears which escaped unconsciously from her lashes.

“He’ll be alright yet, lady,” he finally said. She gave a start, suddenly aware of him, and looked up. “The Healer is a greatly skilled man and I have seen him heal many wounds and sicknesses. Your friend could not be in better hands. Take heart. He’ll see through this day and many more after it.”

[littlemanpoet]

The sun had fallen more than halfway down to the western slopes. It now hung a fist's width over the Golden Hall, making that slated beacon glimmer with a sheen that made the spring thaw seem the more promising. There was quite a racket going on outside, the pounding of hammers, saws grinding, voices calling out for help or orders. The makeshift tent would be up by the end of the morrow. Then the builders could start dismantling the roof and hearth.

Eodwine sat by the fire, nursing a cup of mead, feeling just a little light in the head. He had become so of a purpose; this day had had more than enough adventure and new faces that all took some getting used to. Not that he didn't enjoy people, far from it! But the wildness of the day had taken its toll. Besides, he had to get himself ready for the advent of the Smith brothers, Garreth and Harreld. There was no knowing what kind of great blithering and blathering they'd make of all that had happened at the Hall this day. Eodwine's mouth lifted in a slow grin. It was going to be fun.

"What're you grinning about?" Falco asked after uncovering half his face from the large mug he'd been drinking from, licking his lips with deep satisfaction.

"Garreth and Harreld will be coming by soon for their suppers."

"And that's a good thing?" Falco gave him a skeptically raised brow. "You know what a cantankerballyhoo they'll make of things."

"A canta - what?" Eodwine asked, giving Falco a double take.

"Never you mind. I made it up." He drank another swale of his ig.* "How's the old man doing?"

Eodwine sighed. "Better. Marinel is resting abed. His daughter, Linduial, however, is a wreck. Have you seen her hands?"

"Aye. Never stop moving, all the while doing nothing but fidget. But you're a wreck too for calling her his daughter, if I heard it rightly. He's her guardian not her father."

"Ah! Right you are. That is the way of it on both scores!" Eodwine smirked as he watched Falco's befuddled face as he tried to work out what 'both' Eodwine meant. "Thornden has been kind, however, which is very good."

"You haven't failed of kindness yourself, Lord Eodwine of East Emnet."

"Well maybe I haven't, but it's still good to have a right hand man to go along with my left hand hobbit."

"It's left, now, is it?"

"If I had two right hands, you'd get one too. But you won't be paid, nor would I have you as anything but a guest in my house, so left hand hobbit it'll have to be."

"Very well!" Falco grinned. "A guest I'll be. I'm glad to see you've warmed up to Manawyth the Minstrel, or whatever you'd like to call him."

"He plays well enough. I'll need more than music from him, though, and I think he knows it."

Eodwine looked around. There was Manawyth still near the hearth with the harp, running through song after song, his ale mug never empty nor food from his plate; Eodwine had made sure of that. He wanted his men loyal, and any lord knew that the best ways to breed loyalty in a man was through gift, praise, and respect. Not in that order, but as occasion allowed.

There was Æðelhild, speaking with Gudryn and Saeryn, probably discussing the situation of Marinel and Linduial. Léof was in the hall, seated with Gárwine at a table close to the wall. Both were apparently watching and listening to Manawyth.

The front door opened with a bang. In walked two large men with blonde hair flowing to their shoulders, and scruffy beards covering their collarbones. Their faces were beet red - as always - and the first one in spoke quickest.

"What is going on here, Master Eodwine! Are you putting up a circus next to your inn?"

"Nay, Garreth," Eodwine smiled, rising. "'Tis a tent to serve as meeting place whilst this room is changed to serve as my Mead Hall, for this is not longer the White Horse Inn."

"Oh! I forgot!" Garreth's eyes flitted across the room and stayed at the promising vision of three young maids, all three of whom he and Harreld had seen on previous nights. Garreth rubbed his hands and grinned. "I'm ready for food and drink and talk and - and -" he suddenly looked confused.

"-and dance," Harreld supplied as if by way of reminder.

"That's it! And I see we have us a minstr-" Suddenly Garreld's brow furrowed darkly. "What's a Dunlending doing here?"

*the reversed letters are not a mistake.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn smiled at the sight of the twins. She'd gotten used to their presence and enjoyed it greatly, though she had not seen them in several days due to her own recent persistance at hiding from the world when unneeded. Now she politely excused herself from Gudryn and Æðel and crossed the hall nudged Garreth in the ribs, and reaching up to do so.

"Dancin', ye say," she poked at him with an open smile and laughter in her eyes. "Ye see our new minstrel, and he's a'goin' to play us a tune. Manawyth, something fit for laughter?"

She was still cautious with the Dunlending, still unsure of him, but willing to play. If she could not poke and prod him as she could every other member of their small community, she wanted to know quickly. And more the better if her request was able to put these big men at their ease.

Manawyth looked at Saeryn with uncertain emotion in his eyes. Just as the silence became nearly uncomfortable, he nodded almost imperceptibly and his weathered fingers plucked an airy tune.

Saeryn took Garreth by the large, calloused hand, and pulled him into a bright bit of dance with neither rhyme nor reason. Ducking beneath his arm, she took Harreld as well and allowed the surprised man to spin her. Clapping her hands lightly and letting her bare feet take her whither they would on the path of the melody, she found herself before Eodwine and Falco, hand extended, thoughtless but for the joy of motion.

"Come, master of the hall, here is a song and these men called for a dance. And look," she pouted prettily, never ceasing the bright step, "they've gone and stopped. You'd not let a lass dance alone, now would you?"

[littlemanpoet]

Saeryn hopped from bare foot to bare foot before them, smiling winsomely as she invited Eodwine to dance. Of course she made it seem as if she'd take Falco just as happily, but her eyes spent more time on Eodwine. His mouth had gone dry and his fingers slick of a sudden. Her unbraided hair bounced upon her brow and shoulders. The smell of her worked like a potion on him, rendering his restraint limp as a banner without a wind. Thankfully she wore soft breeches and a laced shirt rather than a gown, looking boyish except for her hair. It would have been too much otherwise.

Eodwine coughed. To buy time he said, "Falco, I think she means you."

"As like use a pony as your warhorse!" retorted Falco. "You dance with her, and be quick before the song quits!"

So much for buying time. Eodwine drained his cup, peering over the rim of his mug at her with a heated eye. He slammed the mug to table, rose, and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he offered her his hand.

"I will show you how to dance, lady! See if you can keep pace with me!" She placed her hand in his and he grabbed her other hand. "Sash right!" he cried, and began spinning her round him, making a little vortex between them with the sudden speed of their steps. She was grinning. "Arm right!" He dropped both hands and took her right elbow with his right, and spun her the new way, keeping time with each step.

A pipe began to play above the harp, decorating the melody with trills and flourishes. Æðelhild. Eodwine grinned. Falco was clapping, a smirk on the other side of his puffing pipe.

"Arm left!" They dropped arms and locked left elbows, skipping the opposite way.

Someone had started beating a drum; Eodwine looked. Garreth, grinning, was beating the nearest table with his fists. A makeshift cymbal started up, Harreld beating a plate with a wooden spoon.

"Join the dance!" Eodwine shouted. "Keep it up, Manawyth my minstrel!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Trying to make me miss a beat?" Saeryn accused with a wink as she sashayed right on time. "Would you make a lass look the fool? Such a kindly lord and master you be."

She stuck out her tongue and he laughed, spinning her about. Though she was dizzy, she knew that he'd not let her fall. Her head ached slightly, but her spirits were too high to mind it. Of a sudden, a sharp pain shot through Saeryn's side. Her breath caught and she stifled a cry, having forgotten her still tender ribs until now.

Eodwine caught her instantly from her spin and held her steady as she gasped for breath, clutching her side. The music faltered but she waved them to play on.

"I'm... fine..." she choked out, the pain gone as quickly as it had come. She breathed deeply as he looked worriedly down at her. "I suppose I'm not quite ready for spritely steps as those yet... perhaps something a little less frolicksome.

"Falco!" she turned to the hobbit with a laugh, trying to calm the protective look on Eodwine's face, still confusedly aware of the warmth of his hands as they held her steady by the waist. Her breath came quickly still. The bright tune modulated into one slower, more airy and somehow, more sad. "May I have this dance?"

[Anguirel]

Manawyth had at first thought, as he sat at the hearth with the foreign harp in his prematurely hardened hands, that he had best stick to his oblique promise to sing of his own story. But as he plucked at the strings gently, and the hours grew darker and darker, he realised that he was neither mentally nor verbally prepared for such an undertaking. In practical terms, many changes would need to be made, to keep the Rohirrim from despising him for insulting their kind. But more importantly, the memories of the days in the company of the dark host of Caerissin, the horror of the Hornburg, he loss of poor Orwindoc, the one of his brothers least quick to anger, the shortest one, with kind, dreaming eyes...

It would make a fine song, he realised, a beautiful song, but not at such a time and in such a company. It would be six hundred verses long, each beginning with "They went to Caerissin," and ending with "Crebain-meat they." He looked from the pretty, hesitant Saeryn, to the jovial halfling to whom he owed his reception. On these, he could not inflict his bloody past. Tonight another ballad would have to do.

Yet he was a Dunlending, and sadness grew in his nature like ivy on a proud, regal oak. He would have none of the light, brisk, coarse, witty carousal-songs of the mark. No, he would show the Horse-Lords of the beauty of sorrow on which the remnants of his people prided themselves. In such a mood he rose.

"I will to you sing," he started, "a song known by every true-hearted man in Dunland," (ha! many would not admit to the existence of such beings!) "yet one that comes not from us, nor from your country."

"This is a tale of the old days, and the King in the North at Annuminas, and a voyage he bade be made unto distant Forochel. Our legends say it thus, that a Dunlending was among the crew, and alone survived to sing...but to the song itself..."

He was proud of the short speech he had delivered. He found the Rohirric tongue easier to construct in the high style of song.

"Of course, we sing it in our tongue, but in the south changed it has been somewhat, so that our languages meet. I hope that when our tongues meet again, in the age upon us now, they will bring happier times than those of which I shall now sing."

A long strum on the harp, echoing about the rafters of the hall. And he began.

The King sits in Annuminas
Drinking the blude-ried wine:
'O quhar will I get a guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?'
Up and spank an eldernmon,
Sat at the king's richt knee
'Pengolodin is the best sailor,
That sails upon the sea.'

The King has written a braid letter,
And signed it wi'his hand;
And sent it to Pengolodin,
Was walking on the sand.
The first line that Pengolod red,
A loud lauch lauched he:
The next line that Pengolod red,
The teir blinded his e'e.

'O quha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o'the yier,
To sail upon the sea?
Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne.'
'O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.

Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme;
And I feir, I feir my deir master
That we will come to harme.'
O their North nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heil'd schoone;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer played,
Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang may thair ladies sit
Wi' thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Pengolodin
Com sailing to the land.
O lang, land may the ladies sit
Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords
For they'll se thame na mair.

Haf owre, haf owre to Angleton,
It's fiftie fadom deip:
And thair lies guid Pengolodin,
Wi' the North lords at his feit.

The ballad, with inconsequential alterations, is a version of Sir Patrick Spens, one of the traditional Scottish Child Ballads by an unknown hand.

[Firefoot]

The day was finally drawing to evening by the time Léof returned to the Mead Hall. He had stopped by once to make sure Marenil was doing all right; Gárwine’s hurried explanation had worried him and he was relieved to find that he would eventually be fine. But other than that brief sojourn, he had spent the rest of the time happily alone in the stables.

Before returning to the hall, he did remember to clean himself up a bit. He washed his face with the same fresh water he used to fill the horses buckets and straightened his hair out as best he could without being able to see his reflection. He could do little about his rather worn clothes except brush the worst of the dirt off; changing them would be no good since his only other outfit was equally worn and dusty. At least he did not look like some stray lad off the streets anymore – or so he hoped.

The sound of merry music greeted his ears as he pushed through the doors. The lord Eodwine and Saeryn had struck up a vigorous dance, and many of the people were contributing to the music in some way, whether with real or makeshift instrument. As Léof picked up the beat, he began to clap along in appreciation. He was not much of a musician himself, nor had he ever learned much of dancing, but he appreciated good music as much as anyone. He did feel stabs of regret, however: not for himself, but rather for his sister, three years his junior. When would she ever learn to dance like that or have time to enjoy herself as all young lasses should? She had been even worse off than he, and she was still trapped at home. And within a few years, their father would undoubtedly marry her off, thus sealing her cage. She did not have any way out, either, not like him. Not that she ever complained. She held her head high and bore it all in silence – the obedient child that Léof could not be. Léof had always regretted that he had never been able to help her in any consequential way, and had been wishing over the past several days that he had not needed to leave her behind. He had to get her out of there. Eventually, when he could save up enough money, he would bring her out of there to Edoras. He did not have much of a plan for after that, but he knew that he had to get her out. He knew that he was his only hope, and it was a burden he placed willingly upon himself.

Such thoughts for the lively tune! But as he came back to himself, he realized that the harp’s music was no longer vibrant and joyful but poignant and mournful. How odd, he mused, that the Dunlending should take so much of the joy out of this place with his dark song? Is that the manner of his people, to take a near-party and turn it into something sorrowful? As the song drew to a close, Léof found himself more confused about the choice of song than particularly moved by the song itself. And as rustic and out of place as Léof had felt in his short time in Edoras, he could see those traits exemplified tenfold in the Dunlending, however accepting Léof might be. He had no idea how he ought to respond to the music, and for once he was thoroughly glad that he was faded into the background.

[littlemanpoet]

"Falco! May I have this dance?" Saeryn cried, her voice shaking slighlty from the pain, it seemed, as Manawyth's harp slowed. Æðeldhild's pipe faltered. The twins stopped their beating.

"Nay," said Falco, "I'll not be reminded of my childhood adancing with my mama." His light words belied his sombre tone, for he seemed to pick up the feel of Manawyth's harping.

Eodwine guided Saeryn, his hands to her waist and shoulder, to a nearby seat. Once she was seated, a slight wince passing once over her face, Eodwine gave ear to Manawyth's ballad. He'd heard the like before, having grown up so close to the Dunlending borders. He liked it. It was odd how that Dunlendings sang of seafaring, their lands locked far from any shore. Maybe they had come years long since from the western shores into the land they held now. Eodwine shrugged, for there was little chance to prove out the notion, seeing as there were no Ents nor Elves about the place to ask what was within the bounds of their memories.

When the song had ceased, a silence lingered. Well it should, the better to savor such a song. At last, when some had begun to stir, ill at ease it seemed with the lengthening quiet, Eodwine clapped.

"Well done, Manawyth!" For a while he clapped alone. Then others joined him for a space, then all was quiet again. "Set harp aside for now and let us place tables and chairs upon the floor. My measuring's long since done, and this floor need not be cleared for a day or two yet while the shelter outside is put up. Thornden! I bid you go outside and tell the builders to quit their work and come inside to feast. Frodides has been busy at my beck, cooking enough for an Eored!"

Manawyth and others joined in the work of setting tables and chairs.

"You stay seated!" Eodwine said to Saeryn. "I was a fool to tax you so, and I'll not see you lifting heavy tables and chairs, not while your ribs need healing." Saeryn rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, receiving back a grin from Eodwine.

Soon board was ready, and Frodides and Kara brought out great trays piled high with roasted and seasoned ox flesh, barley-bread, and kegs of ale. The builders joined them and soon the hall was full of the noise of feasting.

[JennyHallu]

Linduial sat in the aftermath of Manawyth's ballad, curled into an old wooden chair just outside the circle of friends familiar with the Hall. She had appreciated the morose melody, though she had not understood the words. Her grasp of the Rohirric tongue, while more than sufficient for conversation, still occasionally struggled with song and verse, and the antiquated language of the song had baffled her entirely. The melody however...it just seemed to fit her mood, a little afraid, and uncertain of her future.

Marenil had not planned on staying for more than a day. The plan had been to exact an oath of guardianship from Lord Eodwine of the new-formed Middle Emnet, so that Marenil could leave, and the young unmarried Linduial could stay in Rohan with no danger to her reputation. But now...

You're feeling sorry for yourself, Lin. Marenil would be disappointed in you. He always urged her to be independent, able to see what needed to be done, and stepping in and doing it--with the added complication of doing so without stepping on any toes, which she was the first to admit she hadn't mastered. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus on what she had accomplished in the hours since Marenil's sudden illness. She'd penned a letter with borrowed ink and paper, sending it off to her father with a messenger of King Eomer's house, and written a letter to the Queen, commending the skills of the physician that had been sent, and asking her if she could offer the man a gift in thanks once her trunks had arrived. She'd sat with Marenil until he had awoken, so that he would first see a familiar face, holding his hand, and telling him he'd be all right. At some point this evening she hoped to speak to Lord Eodwine. With Marenil ill, it was still required by propriety for Eodwine to take official responsibility for her. Sometimes, I just wish I had been another boy. Life would have been a lot simpler.

She watched the impromptu festivities with a shy smile, missing having her brothers around to watch out for her--and, more importantly at the moment--dance with her when there were few she knew around her. As it was, here only Lord Eodwine and the Lady Saeryn seemed, by their manners, to belong to the level of society she was accustomed. She wasn't snobbish, her long association with Marenil and his family had cured her of that...but she was finding that the line was rather vaguer here than in her homeland. These country dances the Lord and his Lady (for such a relationship seemed obvious to her mind, and no one had told her differently) were doing with such confidence--she didn't know them. She only knew the less vivacious, more formal dances of the nobility of Belfalas. She watched silently, but with a quiet yearning, wondering how long it would take before she felt at home here. Actually going home, to Belfalas...she didn't plan on doing that for a while, perhaps a long while.

As the meal was served, she silently rose, took a plate of the simple, homely fare, and returned to her quiet, lonely corner to eat. She missed the seafood and pastas of her homeland, but the food was tasty.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"May I join you?"

Saeryn had watched the young woman, Lin, she reminded herself, and saw the same signs of unease that she had felt upon arrival. She contemplated the wisdom of giving the woman her space before throwing away the idea and offering her companionship.

Without waiting for response, Saeryn slid into a chair beside her.

"An excellent view from here." she spoke quietly. "I find watching others a wonderful experience. You learn so much. Look there: the hobbit, Falco, speaking with the twins, Harreld and Garreth. So at ease, the lot of them. You can see at a glance confidence, comfort, and open hospitality between the races."

Saeryn spoke as though to herself, carefully pointing out and naming each member of the group. She held a cup of tea and occasionally sipped, in no rush.

"Ah, and here Kara comes... she is a new face, only beating your own arrival by a few hours. Frodides has her busy, but by her smile, she enjoys the effort. Yes, Kara, please more tea, and thank you." She smiled to the girl, beckoning for her to give Linduial a cup as well. "Gudryn; the daughter of Eodwine. Do you see how she laughs so sweetly? And the care in his eyes for her."

There was a comfortable silence in which the young women watched the lively group. Eodwine's eyes met Saeryn's from across the room and she smiled, winking. He nodded, seeing her intent, and turned back to Thornden.

"I am cold." Saeryn spoke suddenly, though still quietly. "Would you care to find a blanket with me? I would hate to be seen looking the fool, but if two of us sit curled in quilts, perhaps we could start a trend."

She smiled and winked, hoping to elicit a grin.

[JennyHallu]

Linduial threw Saeryn a grateful, radiant smile before dedicating herself to listening to the names. Luckily her training in statecraft gave her an edge in such efforts and before Saeryn had offered a place by the fireside she had each name and face committed to memory. She looked at the large fireplace, where most of the company were gathered.

"Thank you," she said softly, with a shy grin. "I would not wish my reticence to cause you discomfort. Please, I would love to help you find something." Now that the crisis had past, Lin's voice was pretty and clear, with a soft lilt of an accent as she spoke in the Rohirric tongue. She actually had a fine singing voice, though she rarely sang for anyone other than herself, and Marenil. She placed her empty plate on a cart that had evidently been left for the purpose, and gracefully rose, waiting for the woman (who seemed about her own age) to rise. It was faint, but Lin had clearly seen the woman was favoring one leg, and didn't want to rush her.

"Please, my Lady, events today have been so rushed, I haven't had a chance to really get to know anyone. Your Lord seems such a kind man. He has given Marenil such wonderful care."

Saeryn nodded and smiled, letting Linduial speak, now that the young woman finally seemed to have recovered from the shock of her guardian's fall.

"I wondered...how long have you been wed? I mean no offense, but you are barely older than myself. If you are newlyweds, I must offer my congratulations."

Lin was paying careful attention to the Saeryn's reactions. Part of the reason she had left home was to escape a marriage. She had never really known her mother, and her brothers were unmarried. The only couple she really saw were Marenil and his wife Falas, and they had been together for years. Marenil had supported her flight, knowing the reason, but she knew how happy he was. Marriage terrified her, but here was a woman her own age, who seemed perfectly happy. She wanted to understand.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn choked on her tea, coughing before finally laughing. Eodwine saw and stood, ready to come to her aid. She beckoned for him to sit back down, laughing still.

"Wed?" she asked, amazed. She coughed again, this time intentionally. "Linduial, the lord of the hall and I are not wed. We are merely friends. I left my home lands partly because of the prospect of marriage. The lord Eodwine has sworn an oath for my protection. He has kept me safe in the past and I owe him very much. My position in his hall is as hostess. I merely take it upon myself to see to his health and happiness. Every good man needs a lass to make him smile and eat on time. I daresay he'd work himself too hard without someone to encourage dance and song.

"Perhaps you'll find it rude of me to ask, but I notice you travel with a protector rather than a consort. What of your own status? A fully fledged lady of the land, or one still, shall we say..." she considered her words before projecting her own quandary with a look inviting laughter, "running as fast and far from the fetters our lands place upon us for our own good?"

[JennyHallu]

Linduial narrowed her eyes momentarily. Not wed, she'd believe. But the Lord as only Saeryn's friend and protector? She wasn't so sure. Mayhap the lady herself was unaware of the impression her actions with Eodwine gave. But the reason Saeryn had come here, that she could definitely understand.

"I fear we are much of a kind, you and I, Saeryn," she said with a sardonic smile. Her tone and the smile spoke a great deal toward her comfort with this newfound ally. "Ostensibly I made this journey to visit the Queen. She's my first cousin, on my father's side...but she was always more the companion of my brothers than myself. The real reason was because my father was contemplating a marriage for me, with a lad who I suppose I had no real issue with, but... I convinced him, with Marenil's help, that I should make this trip." Here a sparkle in her eye gave a hint of how, exactly, she had managed to do the necessary convincing. "Marenil is Father's steward, I didn't expect him to back me up. But naturally, with me in Rohan, the negotiations for the wedding couldn't possibly go through..."

She giggled, but there was definitely a tense note in her laughter. She was a lady of the House of Dol Amroth, it was part of her duty to her house to wed, and she had no problem with that. But she wanted it to be on her terms. She wanted to have what Marenil had...what Saeryn and Eodwine seemed to have, admit it or no. That ease with each other, and that warmth...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Indeed... weddings..." Saeryn looked down at her breeches and blouse and imagined a delicately fashioned gown and soft slippers. She grimaced. "Can you imagine? If I had stayed at home... I would be raising little ones already, no doubt. It's a rather terrifying thought."

Lin nodded, agreeing completely. Saeryn blushed suddenly, and Lin looked at her. She shook her head, repressing a silly grin. She remembered fondly the sweet stolen kisses in the shadows of the stables and held back a smile. He'd tended their horses for years unnoticed until one late afternoon, she'd seen him with new eyes. She'd known then that it could not end well... but she had thought herself in love. If no-one knew, than what would be the harm? Kisses and whispers in her ear...

She remembered how it had ended - so abruptly - and sobered. The smell of hay and the sound of rain on roof top as they stood hand in hand watching the sun set far beyond the clouds across the plains through cracks in the walls, the last desperate beams piercing through the rain to dance on their faces still lingered in her memory, and she remembered his eyes, so grey blue. She remembered his face when last she saw him, when he'd been sent away, and she remembered now how much she missed him. She would have married... she'd thought on it many times, always fruitlessly, and always sorrowfully. It could never happen; she knew that... she had known it then. If she hadn't been such a foolish girl... They always said that sixteen was the most foolish year...

Lin looked curiously at her, one eyebrow raised delicately.

"It's nothing." Saeryn lied. It was the past. Nothing had come of those stolen moments... that forbidden love she was not even certain had been real. He'd left and she'd stayed for years longer. But she still remembered how beautiful he'd made her feel. She longed for another man to treat her as an equal... to be her companion as much if not more than her love. But she'd done nothing then to compromise her reputation and she would not now. If she had nothing else, that remained.

[JennyHallu]

Linduial was young and innocent--but she had been trained in statecraft. She usuall knew when someone lied, but she also knew it was at the very least unpolite to point it out. If Saeryn didn't want to tell her about something, well, they'd only met that day. Her curiousity could wait.

She found a simple wooden quilt-rack in the hall where the rooms were, and snatched an especially warm-looking wrap, crying out in mock triumph. Saeryn grabbed another, and the two girls wrapped themselves up and paraded back down the hall toward the commons room. Linduial wrapped hers around her in a mock-bridal gown and processed down the hall, humming a march, then collapsed in a fit of girlish giggling against a wall. She had never really had a chance to have a friend her own age...

She looked down at herself, suddenly, still wrapped in her mock-cloak, and tried to imagine the bright-colored silks and and exotic linens her father had stored up for her against the day when she would wed. A strand of melancholy thought had twined itself around her, and she spoke before it occurred to her not to.

"I don't mind marrying, someday, and I'll marry someone as befits my House and standing; I've always understood that requirement--but I want it to be to someone that I love, not just some random lad whose father knows my father. Far too many men with sons know my father. But I've never had even a chance at a sweetheart. It's different here, things are so much less formal. At home we would never take our meals in the same room as folk such as are welcome as family here. Even Marenil is, well, a servant. My father's steward, and while his family is proud and old, it's...it's not the same. Here, he could be equal, or more near it. It is a strange difference, one I didn't expect."

Lin was babbling a little, but Saeryn merely sat against the wall beside her and--listened, just listened. Lin had never felt anything so wonderful as this tenuous freedom to tell a friend just what she felt. She hoped fleetingly that she wouldn't regret it in the morning.

"I don't want to marry until--I want to be kissed, and told I'm beautiful (I know it, but I still wouldn't mind being told,) and I want to hold hands with a man and take a walk, in the gloaming, with no one watching to make sure I follow all the rules. I want, for once, not to have a guardian, or if I must have one, for him to be blind and deaf, or willing to be for a little while. I want--" she paused, searching for a word that meant stars, and moonlight, and old ballads, and fairy tales, and impossibility.

"Have you ever been to the Citadel, in Minas Anor? From the Citadel at night, when the stars are out, there is a bench where you can watch the stars fall from behind the branches of the Tree, glimmering in the dark. You can see ghosts of the shadows of the mountains across the land, and there are stars on the ground, nestled campfires and homesteads to match the stars that fill the sky...I snuck out, while we were there, early in the morning, before daybreak. I watched the morning star, I watched the Moon set and the Sun rise...The feeling I had, while I set there, before one of the Queen's elven ladies found me...That's what I want. She knew it, too, just sat there with me until I was ready, said not a word...

"That's what I want. Freedom and the whole world in my eyes, before I return gladly to my tasks."

Lin stopped suddenly, surprised at herself. She had known that that morning on the Tower had affected her deeply, but she hadn't tried to put it into words until this moment. Saeryn beside her was nodding, slowly, as if she'd understood, and Lin was filled with a sense of quiet exultation. Perhaps...perhaps it was not too high a goal.

The two girls sat for a moment in silence, before Lin jumped up and wrapped herself back in the quilt, with a playful, childish light in her eyes. "I wish I had a cloak like the Fellowship had..." (for all their deeds had passed into legend) "I would hide behind rocks where no one could see me, then jump out as people walked by!" She laughed merrily, and led the way back into the common room, wondering anew if she would regret her honesty later.

[Firefoot]

Léof was greatly relieved and much more comfortable when feasting and high spirits took over the hall. He piled his plate high with the tasty-smelling food and looked around for someone to talk to or at least someplace to sit down. He considered joining Gárwine, the only one whom he really knew, but then he noticed that the serving girl – Æðelhild, he thought he had heard someone say – standing by herself. He watched her for a moment or two, wondering if he should wander over towards her. She seemed to be about his age and felt much more approachable than, say, the young noblewoman Linduial.

With his mind made up, Léof approached her with a light smile on his face. “I don't believe we have been properly introduced,” he said, “but you looked like you might like some company. My name is Léof.” He had already grown tired of using his full name. He did not dislike it but rather found it tiresome and rarely used it. Only his father had ever really called him Léofric.

She smiled and introduced herself in kind, but Léof thought he saw a trace of something else in her expression, though he could not think of a reason for it. Her only contact with him thus far had been when she poured his and Gárwine’s mead cups… had one of them said something to disturb her? The idea seemed strange, as they had only been discussing the Dunlending, nothing that should have impacted her. Yet what other reason for the look? Already Léof was confused, and they had barely said anything to each other.

But he did not feel quite comfortable trying to clear up this confusion right away – he didn’t know anything about her, and the question could be considered rude. And if it was anything big, as Léof suspected it might be, he doubted she would tell her problems to a virtual stranger. “So how long have you been working here?” he asked. “And what is it like?” He really was curious about this – especially about the people, with whom he had thus far had so little contact. The concerns of the day had been so largely constructed around the Dunlending and then Marenil, so that Léof had not really even considered what the ‘regular’ people around here might be like. He did not even know half their names, but perhaps Æðelhild would be able to tell him.

[littlemanpoet]

"Now I want to know," slobbered Garreth, "what became of Gob and Twiddle! That tale never got done, and I think it ought to get carried on!"

"Then say away," Eodwine retorted, "but swallow your food and wipe your mouth first so poor Æðelhild doesn't wear half your supper by the time you're done!"

Garreth grinned good naturedly. "I had that coming. And that scrumptious little morsel needs none of my food chunks to look the more winsome!" Garreth winked at the already blushing Æðelhild gamely, clearly thinking that he had laid a most cunning compliment upon her. Æðelhild giggled in embarrassment for the lout. Meanwhile his brother Harreld coughed loudly by way of stifling a mockish guffaw. "But about that tale. What say you, Master Falco Boffin?" With that, Garreth took another mustache soaking swig of ale.

In between puffs on his pipe and swallows of his ale, Falco eyed Garreth with a measuring glance. "You'd hear me tell the tale? Let's see then, the last we heard of them, they was-"

"Hold!" cried Eodwine. "It is not right that we should start in the middle of the tale with so many new folk who've never heard it. Are all who know somewhat of it sure it's worth the retelling?" Eodwine looked around and saw nods of heads from those who had had a part. "Good! Then let's spend this evening telling it over, as best we may from memory, and maybe better for having heard it once and adding somewhat to it! I'll begin."

"Do not forget," cried Saeryn, "the game (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=429359&postcount=570) we chose to play with the tale!"

"Indeed!" Eodwine replied with a smile. "The tale is passed from teller to teller as the whim takes us. Let us reckon for now that those who told the tale as far as we've heard it, say their part until we're caught up; and if part has been told by a guest who has traveled on, I will do my best to recall those words."

With that, Eodwine embarked on the tale of Gob and Twiddle, from the very beginning in which he told how they looked and acted (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=429609&postcount=572). Then he told how old Bill Ferny had press ganged (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=429942&postcount=573) them into Sharkey's service. He continued with the tale of how Gob and Twiddle were marched right into Hobbiton where they smelled the awful mill of Ted Sandyman (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=430612&postcount=576). At this point, Saeryn picked up the tale of Gob and Twiddle's plan (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=431141&postcount=577) which seemed to involve something called sherbet. She handed the tale back to Eodwine, who related that which had been told by one Brokhelm, about how there were whisperings of gold (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=431842&postcount=579). Now Falco joined in, recounting how he had first met the two (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=432283&postcount=581) slackers.

Once Falco had finished his part, he called for more ale. Once Æðelhild had refilled his and others' cups from the ram's horn (which had required three refillings, so this gave everyone a bit of a break from tale-telling), Eodwine reminded her that it was her turn to have a pull at the yarn, for she had told the next part. She took a deep breath and related the incident of the shirriff's feather (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=432283&postcount=581). Now Eodwine picked up the tale again, in which Gob and Twiddle told Falco their plan (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=434715&postcount=586). Next, Falco demanded the right to tell old Ruthven's next thread of the yarn, in which Gob and Twiddle discussed the finer points of dressin' an' undressin' (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=435326&postcount=587). Eodwine related Brokhelm's next bit, in which the prospect of baths (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=436030&postcount=588) entered into the plan. With some embarrassment, Eodwine came to the part of the tale in which he admitted not knowing what came next (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=436570&postcount=589). Falco came to his rescue yet again with the an aside regarding Bill Ferny (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=437104&postcount=591). Falco wrapped it up as far as it had got: "And them southern men were the worst."

"Now that's a dire way to stop!" Eodwine said ruefully, but then Bethberry's friend came and the next thing we knew, she was gone, then I was off to the King, and then I'm handed the whole of the Middle Emnet and this Mead Hall, and in all the muddle of it, the tale of Gob and Twiddle had been forgotten until now! And great thanks to Garreth for reminding us!" With that Eodwine stifled a large yawn. "All that tale telling has made me tired. It is late, for the sun's well past its setting, and there is much cleaning to do! Frodides will not be happy come morning with so many ale cups to wash first thing! Who will help me take the load off our cook?"

[JennyHallu]

Linduial heard Eodwine's offer to help with the dishes with a sense of mild shock. He was the lord of the hall, and he did the dishes with the others? She remembered telling Saeryn that the rules were more relaxed here, and let out a brief, but loud, chuckle. She had no idea.

Her laugh however, had turned heads toward her, and Eodwine was looking at her expectantly. Here's your chance, you silly girl, she thought. You know you need to speak to him in private.

"I suppose I could help," she answered him, with a winsome smile, and jumped up nervously to follow him to the kitchen. "I owe you more for your hospitality and care of Marenil than can be repaid with a few chores"

"But I have to confess," she added, once they were out of earshot of the rest. "I've never actually washed dishes before...and if I break something, remember I warned you in advance."

[Nerindel]

It had been an eventful day and as the others set about supper Æðelhild took a moment to step back and reflect, the tension surrounding their new bard seemed to have lifted, at least for the time being she thought seeing Garwine’s surreptitious gaze pass idly over the dunlending as he ate. Their guest Marenil, was now comfortable and resting after his ordeal, the Healer having left strict instructions for him to get plenty of rest and to refrain from any strenuous work or travel. He had then left in her care the herbs and instructions required for a weak tea that would help the old man regain his former strength . “Three times a day for about a week should suffice I think, but I will check up on him before that just to be sure,” he had told her. Then he took Eodwine quietly aside, she assumed to inform him of their guests condition but several times she felt their gaze pass over her making her feel uncomfortably nervous.

After that she pretty much kept out of the way, busying herself, with the tasks she had planned to do earlier and it wasn’t until near supper time that she reluctantly returned to the hall. But the merriment that she found as she entered held her much at ease. So much so that as Searyn and Eodwine began to dance she picked up her pipes and joined in the frivolity. But the bards tune turned then suddenly as he sang a sorrowful ballad, a strange choice she had thought, but beautifully sung none the less and though she understood not all the words in the bards strange dialect, the sorrow and loss within the notes of the song moved her, reminding her again of her own loss and sorrow.

It was then that she became aware of a voice cutting into her thoughts. It was the new Stable master, he was smiling as he offered his company and politely introduced himself, she smiled in return though the memory of the young mans conversation with Gàrwine still wavered nervously in her thoughts. “My name is Æðel,” she answered nervously.

“So how long have you been working here?” he asked. “And what is it like?” he seemed genuinely curious and Æðel relaxed a little as she followed his gaze towards where the others where seated.

“Not long,” she answered . “Barely a week if truth be told, it was the innkeeper of the old White Horse who gave me employment, but Lord Eodwine is a kind and honourable man and chose to continue my employment and for that I am most grateful!”

“I don’t know what I would have done if he had not,” she sighed not fully aware that she had spoke her thought aloud.

“But what of your family, couldn’t you return to them?” Leof asked with a hint of hesitation in his voice.
Then seeing her pained look, he thought maybe he had been to bold and tried to apologise. “I’m sorry I did not mean..”

But she stopped him then, “No no it’s ok,” she assured him. “My mother died when I was little so I never really knew her, I was raised by my Grandparents and my father in Minas Tirith. My grandmother had a weak heart and died three years past this fall, that’s how I knew that Hagehorn would help master Merenil.” she paused then for a moment then continued, “My grandfather and my father both served in Gondor’s army and I was placed in the tutelage of the healers in their absence, but after the victory at Morannon they never returned, so now it is just me.” She smiled weakly, deliberately leaving out any mention of her uncle and the tragic events of the night that had forced her leave her home.

“But anyway,” she suddenly smiled brightly, trying to deflect from the morose misfortunes of her family and sensing the beginnings of an uncomfortable silence. “if you really what to know what it’s like here, you have merely to sit awhile and see for yourself.”

She grinned then inviting him to join her at Eodwine’s table. “I’m sure Master Falco will entreat us to a tale or two if pressed,” she said pointing out the stout halfling who was now eagerly helping himself to seconds.

“Then there are the twins Garreth and Harreth local smiths who are friends of our lords and sup oft in the inn or hall as it is now to be known. Garreth can be quite encourageable at times,” she chuckled to herself, recalling the formers garish manner, “but his brother more than makes up for the subtlety his twin lacks, she assured him.

Leof nodded with interest, as he followed her to the table. They sat then for awhile enjoying both meal and company, while Æðel suitably introduced him to those he did not know, but all to soon the feast had ended and Eodwine called for help with the clearing up. To her surprise the young noble woman Linduial agreed to help Eodwine with the washing up, while Gurdyn and Searyn each took up brooms and began sweeping the hall floor, Æðel with the help of Kara and Leof carefully cleared the table taking empty dishes and mugs through to Eodwine and Linduial for washing, and though she thought it improper that they should be doing the work she did not say so.

“I should check on the horses before I turn in for the night,” Leof was telling her as they left the kitchens. She nodded her understanding, offering to help if she could. He smiled and nodded, saying that he may need some help refilling any empty buckets they found. Then lighting a small lamp they crossed the yard to the stables.

[Firefoot]

Thus far, his conversation with Æðel had piqued his curiosity further rather than lessened it. She had told him much of her family, yet Léof sensed that she was not telling him all of it. He would not pry, as he understood well the desire for concealment, but still he wondered. This did not stop him from enjoying her company greatly; they seemed to have much in common, and conversation came easier with her than it had with Gárwine, who had sometimes seemed worlds beyond his experience.

The stable was dark, lit only with the small lamp that they had brought from the hall. A few horses shifted in their stalls at their approach, but mostly the stable was quiet. Léof and Æðel moved down the aisle, collecting any empty buckets from the stalls to be filled from the trough. Now, perhaps, would be the right time to ask the original question that had been bothering him. He hoped that it would not be too pushy, as she had not seemed eager to talk about any events after the war.

“Earlier today,” began Léof hesitantly. “I noticed that when you were pouring my and Gárwine’s cups, you seemed rather disturbed. I hope it was not something that one of us said.”

But she only shook her head. “I had been reminded of something that would perhaps be best left alone,” Æðel responded finally.

For a moment, Léof did not say anything. She did not quite trust him yet, but he was not sure that he expected her to. She really knew very little about him. Perhaps… perhaps the best way to inspire trust would be to give it. And if her story was not common knowledge, if she had secrets too, then his story would not likely around to the others. But…

“Let me tell you a bit about myself,” said Léof. She cocked her head slightly, showing that she was listening, and Léof continued. “I have lived on my family’s farm in the West Emnet all my life, and I was mostly happy. But six years ago now my mother died, and after that, my father… changed. Sometimes he drank, and he was always hard on both me and my younger sister, finding fault in everything we did. I often escaped out to our small stables, just to be away from him and his fault-finding, and many nights I even slept out there. Finally, it was getting to a point where I couldn’t take much more, and I probably would have left had it not been for my sister. I started standing up to him more and more, and our last argument about two weeks ago ended in him throwing me out of the house. I took my horse, Æthel – interesting how alike to your name hers is – and without anywhere else to go, I decided to come here to Edoras in hopes of finding some work, not only to support myself, but also to hopefully bring my sister here eventually. She’s thirteen, now, and I don’t imagine that it will be very long before my father tries to get her married off. Enough people turned me down that I can’t tell you how glad I was to find that Eodwine needed workers here and was actually willing to take me on.” After the torrent of words, Léof’s rather abrupt stop seemed to echo in the quiet stable.

They walked a few steps in silence before Léof said, “I don’t expect you to tell me anything you don’t want to tell, though I won’t deny I’m curious.” He smiled sadly and shrugged slightly. “But I do understand something of hardship, and starting over. Sometimes you don’t want everyone to know. But… if you want to talk to anyone, you can trust me.”

[littlemanpoet]

"I've never actually washed dishes before...and if I break something, remember I warned you in advance," Linduial bantered.

"Then you shall learn!" Eodwine replied with a smile. "And I'll not take ill to a broken dish or two if you are willing to put two hands to it. After all, pretty broken plates can make a cheery footwalk." Eodwine cast his manner brightly, partly because he had enjoyed retelling the tale of Gob and Twiddle; another part was that Linduial was a cheery enough sort; yet another part was that a man lay abed with a sickened heart, and cheer might not hurt.

"I'll wash. You rinse and dry," he said, and set-to, noting Æðelhild's reproving expression that a lord should do drudge work. He grinned. "I was not always a lord, young lady! Some habits are hard to break!"

Æðelhild blushed, grinned, and left the kitchen after depositing a share of crockwear.

"And now," Eodwine said, tilting a glance toward the Gondorian princess (who held the drying towel like a kerchief rather than a weapon against wetness), "now's the time to tell me a bit about you and your guardian. I'm all ears."

[JennyHallu]

Linduial blushed and dunked the earthenware dishes Lord Eodwine handed her in the rinsewater, then dried them, not quickly, but carefully, as though they were finest porcelain. "My father allowed me to make this journey on the condition that I did not travel alone, and his steward, Marenil, was sworn to my guardianship. He was happy to come, but he was to exact an oath of you that you would protect me and my honor as my father and my brothers might, and then return home."

She paused to carefully stack the plates on a counter, thinking through her words carefully. "But now he is ill, and the healer my cousin sent from Meduseld says he must stay in bed for at least a week, and mustn't think of travel for six months. I have written a letter to my father that I need to post, telling him what has happened, but Marenil cannot discharge the duties of his oath, and I would like to tell him that someone has taken his place as my guardian." She paused.

"And in a more prosaic tone, my trunks should arrive with a merchant caravan from Minas Tirith in the next week, and I would like the advice of you or the Ladies Saeryn or Gudryn on a suitable gift to send to the healer in thanks for Marenil's care."

[Folwren]

While the dishes and food was cleared off the table by many willing and helping hands Thornden quietly got up and drew away. He had listened with great amusement to the telling of the tale of Gob and Twiddle. Having been part of the populace of the Hall for an entire day, Thornden found the company very likeable, and their lord and Eorl, Eodwine, even more so. A man of many characteristics, generous and kind in nature, willing to help everybody. Everybody. . .even a Dunlending. . .a man who at first, he appeared to dislike for his home land.

With the thought, Thornden turned to look for this newcomer. He had not sat with the company at the large table, but was withdrawn several places, still near the fire and in the long shadows cast by it. Saeryn was just carrying away the dishes that he had used and Manawyth sat back, crossing his arms and sticking his feet far forward, prepared to sit and watch the evening unfold.

Thornden approached him almost warily, not knowing exactly what sort of welcome he would receive.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, grasping an empty chair as he spoke. With or without permission, he sat down a couple feet away and looked at him. Manawyth sat up instantly, and Thornden, bowing his head to hide his smile, was reminded vividly of himself being told sharply to ‘sit up and not slouch’ by his mother. The next moment, he looked up again, quite serious again. “You played well today, friend,” he said. “How did you learn the art of singing and harp playing? Is it a widely known talent in your land?”

[littlemanpoet]

The odd things being an Eorl put one in for! An oath of guardianship did not surprise Eodwine. A query as to a gift for a healer, now, that was unexpected! He'd spent his time among men at war for the first years of his grown life, then married and had son and daughter, but Minna, his late wife, had taken care of all such worries. They addled Eodwine's head and she had known it.

"Best see Saeryn on such as that. Gudryn would be flustered, I fear, though she'd try hard enough."

Eodwine finished the last of the platters and moved on to the mugs.

"I will guard you as long as Marinel is abed, for you are a guest in my house and I would do no less for anyone. Once he is up and about, we shall talk of this again, but for now there is no need.

"Tell me, Linduial, a father's blessing may be extracted easily enough by a loved daugher, but why would a princess of Dol Amroth leave the comforts of such an abode filled past full with luxury and servants at every beck? Why come here?"

[Anguirel]

Manawyth nodded simply as Thornden sat down opposite him. He did not smile-apparently not yet fully used to going through the expressions of joy-but his eye showed respect, mixed, admittedly, with not a little surprise. He listened carefully to the Horse-lord's questions, and paused before answering, clearly considering his reply.

"The harp...is the instrument of the shepherd, the herdsman, now? For in winter and the cruelness of climes before...blodwyn...flowers...spring...aye, then the wind is cold and fierce, and only music can warm the gut, the heart."

He seemed to be drawing on a memory or a concept that rose him to a state of passion he had not yet reached in the evening. Perhaps he was unused to the mead; but he had drunk but sparingly so far.

"The harp is what our fathers and grandfathers played, but now is...used...by too few. For war is constantly upon us. Unhappy times, unlike here, did not end with the Dark King...no, few think much of harp strains now. For the shepherds are dead and the flocks are wild and dispersed...or herded east and south, here...horns ad drums are played by the warbands of the chieftains, and an old art has died."

Manawyth stopped, as if realising how his voice had risen. "Forgive...my mood is...too sober. It is a grim tale to me, though. I am but the least of harpers...my brother taught me all I can play now. But he was no good with an axe, and so..."

Manawyth shrugged, his meaning all too clear. He shook his head, driving unwelcome thoughts from it.

"Perhaps here I shall find memories that will make me glad. For now...I would like yours. Do you..." he paused again, thinking, "are you wedded? For indeed I have noticed that this marriage seems to...disturb the women here..." he finished wryly, in clear reference to Saeryn and the Gondorian newcomer, whom he had overheard earlier.

[JennyHallu]

Linduial smiled to herself at the lord's question, examining her wrinkled fingers in amusement.

"Luxury and servants are too easily taken for granted, my lord. To be honest, luxury and servants, to a degree, were what I expected here. My cousin Lothiriel is older than I, but she was used to much the same luxury. Her letters to my brothers have been filled with nothing but happiness and the ordinary frustrations of a woman running a large household. If she had complaints or was surprised about the differences in the way of life here, she said nothing of it--as may have been necessary of a queen, I think."

She paused, pulling another dish out of the rinsewater and carefully drying it, aware that the Lord was keeping quite easily ahead of her, but still nervous about breaking anything. She was stalling, and she knew it. This man had helped her through an enormously difficult day, and taken on the responsibility of her guardianship without a second thought. Surely such a man deserved honesty from her. She wondered briefly what it was about some men that inspired confidence. One of her brothers, the younger one, had the same air about him, and always had the power to draw honesty from her. She wrenched her way to a decision, and spoke softly, but stopped avoiding the issue.

"I chose to travel here because my father had begun to speak of a marriage, my lord, and I did not wish to marry. The price of luxury and servants is to be handed off in marriage like--like a prized mare, perhaps dearly loved...but a mare is still a horse, and I--" She laughed, wondering whether this simile would mean what she meant it to, here, in Rohan, Land of the Horse-Lords. "I am not a horse, my lord."

"The man my father chose is kind and good and well-meaning. He is my age, he is of my class and standing, and I have seen my friends make far worse matches. But--my lord, I have known this man for many years, and never once have he and I had anything to speak of together. We exchange polite nods and chat, but never do we talk. When I make a jest, he does not realize he is meant to laugh. When I read verse or sing, he thinks I am making fun of him. To wed him would mean luxury and servants until the day I die, and maybe I am destined to have such things, but not in this man's house. Not as his wife. And I knew that if I left for a time, he would find another lady. His father is agéd, and wishes to see him wed before his death."

"It's been a long trip though, and sometimes I wonder if I was perhaps wrong to avoid this match. It is what my father wanted, and maybe conversation and jests and poetry have less meaning than I thought. I am doubtful, and unsure. But I am here, and wheree'er I go in this life, I can only start from where I am. Am I not right?" She looked up, a sunny smile on her face, but her essential doubt was there, in the tightness of her lips and the intensity of her grey eyes, as though she were looking for reassurance.

[Esgallhugwen]

Gudryn despite all the goings on had wandered off into the garden shortly after dinner. As friendly as she was large groups of people made her nervous and perhaps a little frightened.

She wasn't sure why but she sought to immediatly escaped the tension. Gudryn scolded herself for being such a weakling, she was a young woman after all. A young woman who had witnessed and been victim to many horrible things in her short life. And she was angry that those things kept her from trying to live a normal life, almost kept her from being human.

Her skinny form wanted to scream until nothing was left of her but a memory. She rested herself up against a large apple tree, STUPID GIRL!!, she banged the back of her head up against the trunk. She despised the burning tears grazing her cheeks, but she couldn't stop them from flowing.

A gentle voice creeped in with the pain, soothing like the old woman she used to know. Her only friend when Rand was free.

You are stronger than this dear child, let those past experiences raise you up not bury you in endless despair. You have been given a new life one filled with love and hope, don't toss it away, you're not a dumby are you? No I thought not, no dumby would be able to do what you've done. You've changed your life around with sheer will and that's something to be proud of!

By the time the elder Lady's speech was done, Gudryn's tears were dried and she had a small smile on her face. She stood up and started to dance around the tree singing merrily to herself. She knew she was crazy, but right now she didn't care.

[littlemanpoet]

"Am I not right?" asked Linduial.

Eodwine smiled, just enough for the girl to see in the light of the lantern they washed the cutlery by. He looked at the piece of hog lard in his hand that he had been using to scratch the cutlery clean. Pungent stuff. He would have to get Frodides more. She would wonder how he got through so much in just one short night.

"Start from where you are," Eodwine murmured absently. "Yes, of course; that is always true, I suppose." She was saying something deeper than that. She sought reassurance, naturally, especially in the face of such difficult goings on as she had had to endure this day. It was no more business of Eodwine's than she chose to make it, what she was fleeing from or what she hoped for. Yet she was opening her heart, at least in a small way. Ah, the ways folk do things, say things. It was a small test, not only of reassurance in the wisdom she had spoken, but of the trust she was hoping to place in him, this unknown lord, newly made, no doubt she had found out by now, of a newly wrought Emnet. How am I to reassure her without overstepping her unspoken question?

"I have a thought," Eodwine said at length, "that maybe it would be good for me to send a letter to your father along with your own, telling him who I am, and giving what bond I may at distance. To put his mind at rest. What think you of that?"

[JennyHallu]

Linduial smiled shyly, drying the last dish and starting on the cutlery, moving a little more quickly. "I think my father would like that. As would I. I will enclose it with my own letter and send it to Belfalas as soon as I may." She finally caught up and finished rinsing and drying the cutlery.

"If it please you, sir, I would visit Marenil now before I sleep." Lord Eodwine nodded, and she ran out of the room with her small smile still on her face.

~^~

She slipped quietly into Marenil's room, where the old man lay sleeping, the natural color finally seeping back into his skin. She sat down in the hard, hand crafted wooden chair, leaning over far enough to slip her small white hand inside his gnarled, calloused one. "I'm so glad you're all right, Marenil," she whispered. "I was so frightened." She sat there, watching him sleep, for a few more minutes, then laid his hand back along his side and pulled the blanket up where movement in his sleep had pulled it down, tucking it gently around him with an almost motherly smile. He'd spent so many years taking care of her, and had the circumstances been different, it would feel very good to return the favor. As it was, it only felt--right, and proper.

She turned off the oil lamp, and moved out of the room with near silence, giving the sleeping man one last smile before walking into her own room next door.

[Folwren]

“Wedded?” Thornden repeated, rather amused. “Married? No. Not I. Rather a determined old bachelor, if you asked my friends and family. It’s quite a hopeless endeavor for me, you know,” he cocked his head, his eyes twinkling merrily as he smiled at Manawyth. “But what marriage seems to disturb what women? I have heard of nothing. . .”

Manawyth told briefly what he had heard, and Thornden could not help but chuckle. “I doubt the young ladies would be too pleased to know that you overheard their conversation,” he said. “But have no fears, it won’t reach them from me that you hear. Nay, there is no one wedded here that I am aware of.” He looked over his shoulder at the twins and the hobbit, still at the table, talking and laughing before they departed. “I am not certain that Eodwine has not had a wife, but I really don’t know him particularly well.” He turned back to Manawyth. “I am almost as new in this place as you are.”

There was a short silence. Thornden looked at his folded hands and considered what Manawyth had said. He drew a long breath and looked back up. “You have clearly lived a hard life, Manawyth. But here, where you have come, peace dwells, at least for a while. You’ve come to witness a new beginning of the Mead Hall, and perhaps it will give you ground and place to begin a new life of your own. Happier memories you hope to acquire. You mourn for the lost art of harp playing-” motioning towards the harp sitting near by “-and I think you’ve come to the right place to nurture that skill. Stay a while. Eodwine loves a good song, and anyone who can make it clearly has a welcome from him.”

He rose as he finished. “It is late. I am going to see about getting a place to sleep. Are you going to stay here?”

[littlemanpoet]

A week had passed since that busy day when so many new folk had arrived. Now they seemed old hands, though most of them still had three weeks to work before their one month stints were done, at which time Eodwine would give them news of his thought in their regard.

Marinel was improving and Linduial was happier with each new day's greater health in her guardian. Eodwine had written a letter to her father to send with her own, and it had been posted six days agone. Travel being what it was, it would be at least months before they heard back.

It was raining. The cattle-skin roofing of their tent was noisy with the patter. Eodwine sat on a wooden chair in the midst of the enclosure, which had been erected hard by the western wall of the Mead Hall. That building was missing its roof, at least over the Great Room. And the hearth had been disassembled and laid safely away until its parts could be used in the building of the new open hearth that would sit amid the floor at the very center of the new Mead Hall.

A new door had been cut in the wall of one guest room that had had to be emptied, so that there was easy passage between kitchen and tent-hall, and between guest rooms and tent-hall. It was a mess, truth be told. Dirt and grit and water and sticks and broken dishes turned into footpath stone here and there.

At least it was warm for the season. The new year had come with the first day of spring, marked now on March 25 to honor Frodo the Nine-fingered. It was now the first of April. Eodwine smirked, wondering what shananigans might not happen on such a day amongst such a young and lively folk as dwelt in his Halls.

Breakfast had come and gone, and midday meal was a little way off yet. Of course, Falco was yammering for his Second Breakfast from an unsympathetic Frodides, but Kara seemed to like favoring him with whatever she could find.

At the moment, Eodwine was the only one sitting under the tent in the rain. He knew Falco and Kara and Frodides were in the kitchens, Marinel in his room, and Léof in the stables, but of the others he was unsure. Well enough. He liked the sound of the rain and would not mind a mid-morning slumber if chance brought it. He closed his eyes and sighed contendedly.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn smiled to herself contentedly by the low fire she had kindled in her room's small hearth. She sat curled in a warm quilt, cozy, watching raindrops streak the window. She had made early rounds, seeing to it that nothing was wanted. Now she took the rest of the morning to herself, listening to the heavy pitter-pat of water above her, smelling the musty fresh scents of spring.

Her ribs felt nearly new, still achy in the damp, but no pain plagued her no matter how swift her motion. She pulled her hands from around her knees, tugging the edge of the patchwork closer to her chin. It was not cold, but the extra warmth comforted her. It was a day for rest... her features softened as she let her thoughts wander, pausing on only those that lingered. Her eyes focused gently into the grey distance through her window. The coals of the fire shimmered, the light within them dancing brilliantly red beneath their blackened edges. The light smell of burning wood filled the room and Saeryn breathed deeply, relief filling her that she could comfortably do so simple of a thing. She briefly entertained the notion of talking a walk about the halls before letting it pass. If she was needed, she'd be found.

[Bêthberry]

Luckily, the rain ran off the well-trodden earth alleyways and roadway, into the large stone channel which ran through Edoras. No sucking sound of squishy mud accompanied each plodding step that the old rag lady made. She wound her way amidst the wooden beams and wattled buildings. Spring had brought brisk trade in the rag business and Ruthven had had much to do since her friend Bethberry had taken leave of the mountain city. Yet on a day such as today, with its rain inhibiting large amounts of out of door labour, it was high time Ruthven stopped by the old Mead Hall to see what progress or lack thereof Eodwine had made in his constructions. Besides, she hadn't had a good laugh with Falco for over a week--they had at first often seen each other around the town, but Eodwine was keeping him working so hard that Ruthven feared the poor halfling might be at risk of losing weight.

And so, with her cloak wrapped around her and her hood pulled well forward, the old woman plodded her way into the tenthall, spying Eodwine asleep--or at least napping.

"Tut! March Warden or Reeve or what high faluting name you be calling yourself these days, you have picked up some halfling habbits to be asleep so early in the morn. Did you overeat at breakfast perhaps?" With a hearty shake of her head, her hood fell back and rivulets of water drops splattered over the man, who came to somewhat indignantly.

[Folwren]

Thornden walked aimlessly along the hall where the real roof and building of the old inn still stood, mostly untouched. He could hardly stand having nothing to fill his hands with. The last week had gone well, and he had had things to do and was kept busy. But todays rain kept further building out of the question. He sighed deeply and his hands dug unconciously deeper in his pockets. Passing the kitchen and hearing voices from within, he stuck his head in, and almost immediately withdrew it, chuckling.

"Dear old Falco," he murmured, heading towards the roofless Great Room. He had rather grown to like the inhabitants of the Hall, and the hobbit not in the least. He was still smiling as he stepped out of the door. He stopped almost on the threshold and stared only briefly as he saw Eodwine practically leaping up to his feet to great an elderly lady just arrived. Seeing that Eodwine was clearly about to be occupied, Thornden looked away and walked across the floor and exited the protection of the cattle hide roof.

The rain was not very heavy, but it had been falling steadily all morning. He ducked his head a little lower and walked a bit faster until he stepped into the dim warmness of the stables. Once there, he shook his head , sending the small droplets flying from his hair. He had not yet had time to look at the stables and now that it was rather wet and dreary elsewhere (he usually found rain wet and dreary), he figured it would be a good time to come and look about.

With genuine curiosity he set forth. He noticed with satisfaction the cleaniness of the place and smiled as he recalled Leof's arrival. He hadn't talked to the young man much, except to give a few random orders as the case required. At the first stall he stopped and looked over the door. In the stall, a large, grey mare stood munching calmly on her morning hay. She looked briefly at Thornden, and apparently decided that she'd rather eat than greet him properly and turned back to take another mouthful. Thornden grinned and passed on.

Some of the following stalls were empty, and others had horses in them. Only half of the animals came to recieve a kindly petting and then return to their breakfast, whereas the others chose to almost ignore him entirely. The last stall he came to had not only a fine looking steed in it, but also Leof busy grooming him. At the moment, he had one arm thrown over the horse's withers for support as he bent half over and brushed under his belly. Thornden folded his arms and leaned against the post. In a moment, Leof stood upright, and Thornden spoke.

"Good morning, Leof! Hard at work?"

The youth turned quickly and a smile flashed briefly over his features. "Good morning, sir. Yes, I am." Thornden nodded and looked approvingly at the shiny sides of the horse.

"Who's horse is that?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Tut!" snapped an aged woman, whom Eodwine recognized immediately even with his eyes closed. "March Warden or Reeve or what high faluting name you be calling yourself these days, you have picked up some halfling habits to be asleep so early in the morn. Did you overeat at breakfast perhaps?"

Eodwine kept his eyes closed, preparing a weather-denying dry response, when he was doused with a splatter of water. He sat up, opened his eyes, stood up, and peered down at Ruthven.

"Thanks for the extra bath, rag lady. But you know rain is sleepy weather, and the builders cannot do much at this stage of the work with rain coming down for what looks to be the whole day.

"What think you of the labor done so far?" Eodwine peered at the shell of the mead hall. As Ruthven was uncharacteristically silent, he continued. "At least the builders got the tent roof over that wood floor in the nick of time. I was worriting about that. Makes so the tables and chairs can stay put. But enough of that! Would you sit with me? Or do you have ought to speak of with Frodides or someone else hereabouts?"

[JennyHallu]

Marenil

Marenil woke to hear the gentle patter of rain on the thatched roof of his room. He checked carefully about--no Linduial. Good. The child was determined to keep him in bed for the rest of his natural life, and he had no such intentions.

Carefully he pushed back the warm blankets, and swung his feet around and off the side of the bed. He sat up, and paused for a moment before standing. He reached out and steadied himself on the bedstead as a quick rush of blood made him momentarily dizzy. Yes, he had definitely been in bed too long. He found all his things, cleaned and carefully folded, in a cabinet, and dressed quietly before stepping into his boots and moving toward the door.

He pushed the door open carefully, peeking around it to make sure Linduial wasn't there. He didn't want to deal with the girl until it was established that he was up, and fine. No one was there. The hall was very quiet, actually. It seemed that little was going on. He moved toward the main hall and finally caught the sound of voices, in the kitchen and the hall. A loud rumble from his stomach caught him by surprise, and with a grin that revealed the handsomeness of his youth, he decided the kitchen was definitely the way to go.

He cheerfully opened the door and greeted the group within...



Linduial

Lin was in her room. She had finally gotten her trunks a few days ago, two large sea-chests with cast-iron locks and delicate carving by her eldest brother. With Saeryn's approval, a delicate golden necklace fashioned in the form of her family crest had been sent to the Healer as thanks for his aid. Lin repeated in her mind the advice Saeryn had given her, for it had been good: "He's a healer and a proud man, he'll accept no gift for himself...but he has a wife and a daughter, gift them something pretty they can't get here."

She had rose late this morning, lulled to laziness by the gentle sound of rain on the roof, and then startled into sudden wakefulness by a cold drip of water on the back of her neck. No wonder Eodwine had been replacing the roof as well as remodeling the interior of the old Inn. As she dressed in a pale green gown with delicate rose embroidery on the long elven sleeves (styles in Gondor had been heavily influenced by the beautiful things the Queen Evenstar had brought with her from her home in the North), she idly wondered how long the building had stood here, welcoming travellers from every land. Her own home was old beyond imagining, inherited from father to son through many generations, but the tall stone buildings near Dol Amroth weathered the years and the storms off the sea with little to mark the passage of the ages. The wattle-and-daub construction of the buildings in Edoras was entirely new to her.

It occurred to her that she was hungry, and she folded her night-things neatly and put them away before rummaging for the apples she'd stashed away, wondering if perhaps Garwine or Leof would help her to hang some of the silk scarves and the single tapestry her chambermaid seemed to have placed in her trunk. Garwine's whereabouts could be unpredictable, but Leof would surely be in the stable this time of morning. That was across the courtyard -- she grabbed another apple and a shawl, and made her way to the courtyard door, throwing the shawl over her head before stepping out into the rain.

She couldn't help but be aware of the odd and unladylike figure she must have been, running across the courtyard juggling an apple and her skirts in her mostly successful attempt to keep the hems out of the mud, but there was a covered alcove before she entered the stable proper, and she straightened her skirts and rearranged her curls before stepping in, grateful that Marenil was safely in bed and couldn't have seen her.

[Firefoot]

“A fine horse, isn’t he?” responded Léof. “This is Flithaf, Eodwine’s horse – his old charger.” Léof laughed. “Don’t tell him that he’s getting older, though. He still has enough spirit for a horse half his age.” Thornden chuckled along with him, although the horse seemed to hold himself above such jokes. Léof gave him a final pat on the withers before letting himself out of the stall. He had been about finished, and would leave Flithaf to finish his breakfast in peace.

The past week had been good to Léof. Though his contact with many of the people around the hall had been fairly minimal, he had quickly developed an easy confidence around the stable and its horses. He knew from painful experience which one bit and which one was a picky eater, and which ones he could be comfortable with inside their stalls. His old comfort with horses had been coupled with a new level of security, and while he had not lost sight of his determination and past experiences, he felt that he had found a freedom that he had never quite known before. Sure, he had three weeks yet to prove himself, but he saw no reason why this should be a problem and, wisely or not, some corner of his mind had already asserted itself as master of the stables. Safety was here; he need not fear as at home that his father might come thundering in after him.

He looked to Thornden, curious now as to what had brought him out here. Léof did not particularly recall seeing him around the stables at any point during the week. He supposed that if Thornden were to be Eodwine’s steward, as he had heard, then he would need to be familiar with all parts of the Mead Hall. “There isn’t anything I particularly need to be doing right now – would you like me to show you around the stable?” Léof offered. Thornden agreed, and the pair moved down the aisle with Léof comfortably but respectfully answering any of Thornden’s questions.

They were interrupted after a bit by the arrival of Linduial in out of the rain. In the dry warmth of the stables, Léof had all but forgotten about the damp outside and was now all the more grateful for its snugness. After all, a stable had to be kept dry because if the hay became wet it would rot, which could cause all kinds of problems.

His focus drifted back to Linduial; he had little idea as to why she might have come out here. She may have just come out to see her horse, as the apple in her hand might suggest, and take advantage of the dry stable, opposing the construction going on with the roof in other parts of the hall. And the weather was certainly unpleasant for a ride – unpleasant for going anywhere. But obviously she had some business out here.

“Good morning, Linduial,” he greeted. “Can I help you with anything?”

[JennyHallu]

Lin was at first surprised to see Thornden in the stables, but it quickly occured to her that she was undoubtedly not the only one eager to escape the bustle of the main hall today. She nodded a formal greeting to both men, and walked lightly through the straw to the door of her horse's stall, offering the apple gingerly and smiling when the mare took it, whuffling breath tickling her palm.

"Actually, Leof," she began, suddenly realizing that her title and formal address had become less and less common over the last few days, and deciding quickly that she didn't mind a bit, "I had a favor to ask of you, if you have a moment later today." She explained her desire to hang her things on the wall.

"I expect to be in Edoras for a good long while, and I wanted it to feel a little bit like home." Suddenly she was homesick for her dainty lady's bower at home. Unbeknownst to her, she proved what a relaxing effect a week in Rohan had had on her formal manners, (though were she concentrating the ice-maiden was still there if she needed her) for her loneliness showed on her face for a split second before her usual friendly-but-closed expression washed it away.

[Firefoot]

The request was certainly unexpected, if bordering on unusual, and for a moment Léof did not respond. “Yes, I suppose I could help you with that,” he answered, still not quite sure how to take the request. If only she wasn’t so hard to read. Her expression always seemed somehow muted – always, every time he saw her. Léof could not understand her. Were all Gondorian nobility like this? He thought that he should get a headache being surrounded by such people.

And he was struck by another difference – wall hangings? Although there was a perfectly comfortable cot in the room adjacent to the tack room, Léof had been perfectly happy on one or two nights to bed down in the empty stall next to his Æthel’s – never mind anything so frivolous as wall hangings. Comfort, he was coming to realize, could mean so many different things to different people. He did not need much to be comfortable, and was all the more content for it. But she was a guest here, and a wealthy one at that, so he reckoned if she wanted wall hangings, she would have them. It would not be so difficult a thing, and he honestly did not mind helping.

“I’ll stop by in a little bit,” he added. “Do you want me to come directly to your room, or will you be out and about?”

[JennyHallu]

"I'll be there. I'm trying to get my things organized indoors, since it's so rainy without, and unpacking a little so I'm not living out of a trunk." She smiled sweetly and gave the horse a final pat on her velvety nose before turning fully to face the young ostler. "You do a wonderful job, Leof. I love how sweetly it always smells in here. I didn't know a stable could smell so good. And thank you so much for your help!"

She threw the shawl back over her hair and had left the stables before Leof could say another word, running cheerfully back across the courtyard, pushing any thoughts of homesickness to the back of her mind. She arrived in her room damp and slightly rumpled, and started pulling clothes out of her trunks and putting them away, alternately singing and humming to herself as she worked. Her winter and summer cloaks went on hooks by the door, riding boots and various pairs of court slippers under the bed. Three exotic silk scarves in vibrant colors and a tapestry with an elaborate maritime scene embroidered on it were tossed on top of the bed, ready for Leof. The room was large and well-furnished, though the furnishings were rougher than what she was used to, and she hung her dresses in a tall wardrobe against the wall. This freed enough room in her trunks to sort the various underthings, jewelry, and other items neatly, and she pushed one, containing such everyday items as these, against the foot of the bed, and the other, holding the personal toys and trinkets she'd stuffed into corners and odd spaces in both trunks, against the wall.

She opened that last on a whim, and rummaged happily through the contents.

A box of wonderful and clever things her father had collected through his travels over the years, meant for gifts as she needed them. Luxury, her father had taught her, was a tool, rather than a right or even privilege. "It backs up everything you say or do," he'd said. "It draws the attention of others, and then your talents and your manners have more power in high circles." She'd realized then that that very thing meant luxury was also a danger. She had to always be aware of herself. Marenil had tried to teach her that she could really relax, at least more than she did, but the lesson hadn't yet stuck.

A small wooden basket filled to overflowing with threads in a myriad of colors, with a paper package of needles underneath it, for embroidery

Five books. One was poetry, one an atlas. The other three were histories. Two smaller volumes, hidden underneath these, contained a ledger and a diary, respectively. A lockbox contained her's and Marenil's funds.

She turned over a sheaf of paper intended as a gift for Queen Lothiriel. Despite how much of it she carried, fine paper was precious. Underneath was a package neatly wrapped in sailcloth. She couldn't remember putting it there, and lifted it out curiously. A note, written cross-ways on an old letter, slipped out of the top. She read it quickly: "A gift for someone far away from home" and her brothers' signatures. She unwrapped it and delightedly found it full of sugar candies and chocolates, wonderful delicious sweetmeats that she had a horrible weakness for...she reached for one, then had a sudden idea.

Saeryn's room was next door...she'd surely be able to hear Leof when he came. She closed and relocked the trunk quickly, then re-wrapped the package, almost skipping out of her room and to her neighbor's. She knocked twice, and entered at a muffled invitation from within. Eyes sparkling, she walked up to where Saeryn sat, opened the package ostentatiously, displaying its toothsome contents. "A gift from my brothers," she explained happily. "Doesn't it just look lovely? Much too nice not to share..."

[Folwren]

Thornden stood by and watched the short interchangement of words. He smiled slightly at Leof's rather surprised look at the lady's request before he responded to her. Thornden himself only wondered a little why she had come out to ask Leof's assistance, but he didn't trouble his head much about it.

"Well, Leof," he said, once the matter had been decently settled. "I guess I'll leave you, as you're about to be busy. Thank you for showing me the stables. I think you're doing well with everything and you may be sure that I'll tell Eodwine as much." He nodded as he prepared to leave and Leof thanked him. "Don't take the trouble to thank me," Thornden said, smiling again. "I can appreciate good work when I see it. So long, then. "

A breath of cooler and wetter air met him as he opened the door. He had almost forgotten the rain and he grimaced as he stepped out into it. How his sisters would laugh at him - a recent Guard of Meduseld in dislike of rain! Well, it didn't matter. He ducked his head and hurried across the open ground as quickly as he could without appearing ridiculous.

"Well, my lord," he said, approaching Eodwine. "When do you suppose this wretched rain will quit and we can be back to work? I can't tell you how anxious I am to get my hands back to work again. It's quite vexing, you know, having nothing to do with so much to be done." He took a seat beside Eodwine and looked around himself. "I've just come from the stables," he went on in a moment, looking back at Eodwine. "Leof showed me around a bit and he's doing an excellent job keeping everything, including the horses, clean and in good order."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn's eyes widened at the treasure Lin carried. She untangled her legs and rose, keeping the quilt around her shoulders and ran to the door, making certain that it was closed. Turning, she came back with a contagious smile. Offering Lin her own blanket, Saeryn took another from the trunk at the foot of her bed, shaking it out and wrapping it close about her. She dug for a moment, finally discovering what she sought: a neatly wrapped package of spice drops. Moving back to the fire, she sank to the floor in a tailor's seat and beckoned Lin to join her.

"Where did you find these?" she asked curiously, her eyes lit with mischief. "Surely the discipline it would take for them to survive the trip from Gondor would have been beyond me."

She opened her own sweets and placed them between her and Lin as she spoke. The rain poured as heavily as ever. Saeryn pulled her blanket tighter against an imaginary draft as the heat of the fire released a heavenly sweet scent from the dark chocolate before her. She breathed deep, smiling.

"I could happily leave it there just to smell..."

[littlemanpoet]

"Sit wi' the likes of you when I've rags to profit me?" cried Ruthven. "Not likely! I'm off to see Frodides, and now. Act sharp as the Reeve you claim to be!"

"Yes ma'am!"

With a grin on his face, Eodwine watched the rag lady trounce off toward the kitchen, and sat back down. He busied his mind with picturing the next and next, and next, steps in the building to be done once the rain stopped. He had not gotten far when Thornden arrived under the makeshift mead-tent and sat down, a good report on Léof quickly offered.

Eodwine smiled again. "My thanks for the word. I'm glad of you being active in the goings on of the mead hall from low to high. And it's good to know that you think well of Léof. So do I. I doubt not that we've found us our ostler for at least a year and a day.

"And I'd be vexed with the rain stopping us too were it not for my ovenish head hot with the next and next steps to be taken in the building of the new hall. Still..." Eodwine ducked over his knees and peered at the bit of gray sky to be seen beyond the edge of the tent. "This kind of April gray looks to be with us for all of a day and maybe more. It makes for no fire in our tent-hall, for we'd have to throw back our roof to let the smoke out, which would douse the fire." Eodwine raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "So it goes."

Someone was approaching. Eodwine turned to look. It was Falco puffing his pipe, as usual, patting his rounded belly with deep satisfaction.

"Good greeting, Master Falco! How was second breakfast?"

"Need you ask!" Falco cried. "It's a shame you're losing Frodides. A fine cook she makes." Falco sat across from Eodwine.

"Do you not think that Kara will do as well, then?" Eodwine asked.

"Maybe, maybe not. Proof is in the pudding. In a pan, no less." Falco looked at the tent roof warily. "You're sure this roof will hold all that rain water?"

"Sure enough, sir, as I've been sitting here all morning. I wager Kara's puddings will be reasonable fare," Eodwine turned to Thornden. "What think you of our cook in training's cooking, Thornden?"

[Folwren]

Thornden smiled and laughed slightly as he sat back in his chair. "I'll warrant it does little good asking me how well she does, sir!" he said. "As long as the food is hot and edible, I'll eat it without much fuss. I must say, Frodides does something of a marvelous job, though. . .maybe you could keep her a while yet and maybe talk her into letting some of her secrets slip to Kara?"

He doubted such a thing could actually be done. Some cooks were perfect mules when it came to telling other people how they made their pie or their sauce or their something the best in the land. Secrets, they called them. But what was the good of knowing how to cook well if you never taught anyone else?

He chuckled to himself again and shook his head. A short pause fell and he looked out at the steady dripping rain. "Linduial came into the stables while I was there," he said. "She asked Leof for some assistance. It appears as though she's expecting to stay some while and will be trying to make herself more at home. Is this the case, sir? Is she to be here long? I guess the stay may be of unknown length, so long as her guardian is not doing well. How is he ,do you know? I haven't seen him much these past few days. . . is he still confined to his bed?'

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine was in his room at the former inn. The rain was pattering outside and there was little to do. All of the carpenters and other workmen had left for the day and Gárwine remained in his bedroom. Gárwine, to stay amused, had polished his sword to a brilliant shine, went for a walk around the inn (carefully avoiding the main hall, which was roofless and had been set off-limits by Eodwine to nearly anyone), and had returned to his room after receiving an apple to munch on from Frodides. At the moment, Gárwine was rearranging the room's furniture and standing from various angles to survey his work. He had moved his table to under the window, and the trunk from the foot of the bed to the outside wall, and had placed both chairs in the room at the table. There was just one thing missing. Gárwine set an old jar on the table to act as a centerpiece. Now the room was beginning to feel more like a home rather than an inn room previously occupied by countless strangers.

Gárwine liked his new home. He approved of everybody, with the slight exception of Manawyth, and the bustling town better suited his mood than the remote villages he had lived in out on the plains. Over the past week, Gárwine had visited the marketplace and purchased a few new articles of clothing, earned a few coins helping an old woman carry groceries to her home, and kept a good eye out for Uncle Wilfrid should he track Gárwine down to Edoras and demand him to return to the farm. There were a few look-alikes in the streets, but the true Wilfrid was nowhere to be seen. Gárwine felt relatively secure that if Wilfrid had not came by now, he never would.

Gárwine smiled satisfied at his rearranged room. He had chosen a bedroom at the north-east corner of the building. Down the hall were the other bedrooms, and beyond those were the great hall and the kitchen.

Gárwine exited his room and plodded down the hall towards the other bedrooms. Satisfied with his new furniture arrangements, he decided to visit the others. Léof would be near the stables tending to the horses, Saeryn was probably in her room, and Eodwine might've been in the main hall. Gárwine headed for the stables. There was an exit into the courtyard just down the hallway.

[Firefoot]

Léof smiled in pleasure as Thornden left the barn. His approval certainly meant something, and more than on a personal level. It was assurance that this job would almost undoubtedly be his at the end of his month. He had not yet written to his sister of his position here, but decided that now he could safely do so, and decided to do that later on this very day, probably before he went to bed that night.

On an impulse, he went to his small personal room and pulled an apple out of the bag he had gotten from the kitchen. Tossing it up and catching it as he walked, he found Æthel’s stall with her hanging her head outside to greet him. Holding both hands behind his back in a game he had always used to play with her, he waited for her to pick a side. After a moment, she nudged his left side, the side with the apple. “Smart horse.” He produced it and she munched happily while Léof let himself inside the stall. He walked to her side and laid his hands on her back to lift himself up, but as he was doing so she swung her head around and butted him – hard. Surprised, Léof toppled to the ground and after a shocked moment, he began simply to laugh. The puzzled expression on Æthel’s face at this made him laugh all the harder, and he could not have stopped even if he had wanted to.

He was startled out of this by a cold drop on his forehead. His head jerked upwards, and sure enough, there was a small hole in the roof, just enough to let the occasional drop through. Nothing a bit of patch wouldn’t fix, but with half the stalls in the stable empty there was no reason to leave Æthel here. The stall next to hers was empty and had fresh straw; he could easily move her there. He took her by the halter and led her out of the stall, and was met by Gárwine heading his way.

“Good morning, Léof… was something very funny?” he asked.

Léof, too full of high spirits to be embarrassed, shook his head. “Just Æthel here goofing off.” Noticing the curiosity in Gárwine’s look, he explained, “There’s a bit of a leak in the roof in her stall – nothing major, but I’m moving her into the stall next door. I’ll have to get some patch from the roofers when they start working again.

“So how are you doing? I haven’t seen much of you these past couple days – is anything interesting happening?”

[littlemanpoet]

Thornden spoke of Linduial, wondering how long she'd stay, and riddling his talk with 'sir' and 'my lord', asked after the princess' guardian, Marinel. '...is he still confined to his bed?'

Eodwine smirked. "I think 'twill take me a long while before I'm used or at ease with being called 'my lord', though 'sir' is more of an ease to me, from the éored days."

Thornden sat up, frowning. "I am sorry, lord, should I call you something else?"

"Oh, nay," Eodwine replied with a wave of the hand.

"Don't let him fool you, Thornden," Falco murmured around the stem of his pipe. "He likes it well, I dare say. Goes straight to his head, I wager." Falco winked at Thornden.

"Too true, too true," Eodwine replied with a sigh, and turned to Thornden. "Your respect for my office is a good thing. I just feel not risen to it, sometimes. Think nothing of it. As to Linduial and Marinel, I think they will stay a while. Linduial for her own reasons, and Marinel now for his health, though he had planned to return after assuring that I would see to her protection."

"Such pompous yammer as that," cried Falco, his pipe in hand now, "and you'll forget where you came from, Master Eodwine!"

"May it never be!" Eodwine grinned. Looking at Thornden again he said, "Did you know I was born a farmer's boy? Far out west on the Gap of Rohan beyond the West Emnet. A rough land, too close to raiding Dunlendings back in the days before the War." Eodwine fell to staring at the puddling grass just beyond the tent. "Now it seems that was Saruman's doing. Happy am I to have heard of Ents and their deeds. Good neighbors they make."

"Like as not to step on one's taters in the garden, I'm thinking," said Falco. "D'you suppose that's why their women left 'em?"

"How do I let you get me talking about such things, Master Falco?"

"Don't blame me! You're the one reminiscing!"

"Maybe we should gather everyone around and do a bit of Gob and Twiddle. What think you of that, Thornden?" Eodwine asked.

[JennyHallu]

Marinel

Marinel entered the kitchen to find it rather quiet, but both Kara and Frodides were there, working steadily to prepare the day's meal. Young Kara was hauling a sack of potatoes to a table, and with a wink at Frodides (who was chatting away, as only women can, with another older woman) as he stole a bit of the pastry dough she was rolling out, he pulled out his belt knife and sat in a chair beside the girl.

"Good morning, lass," he said with a smile, moving a pile of potatoes close and setting to peeling them before Kara could protest his assistance. "And what lovely things do you be making this morning? I've enjoyed the meals you've brought in for me, very much. A great cook you're working out to be, none could ask for better."

Frodides sauntered over and placed a slice of warm, dark bread on the table beside Marinel, with a bit of cheese, and went back to her pastry, her conversation with the other woman never stopping. Marinel gave the retreating woman an appreciative smile, but didn't go straight to the meal. He finished the potato he was working on, wolfed down his breakfast with a speed to match a young boy, and went cheerfully back to another potato.


Linduial

"Actually, I didn't know they were there," she said, as, with a mischievous grin, Lin reached over, grabbed a chocolate and popped it in her mouth, eyes closed in mock rapture as she chewed slowly, letting it melt a little in her mouth before she swallowed the smooth, creamy treat. She wrapped herself in the quilt and cozied herself on the floor right by the fire, a rare openness in her face.

"I love chocolate," she confessed, as though it were a state secret. "And my brothers know it. They bribe me into doing whatever they please by keeping a private stash I'm only allowed into for rewards. They're the ones who get it for me. This is the first long journey I've ever made on my own, and not surrounded by maids and servants and carried in a litter and constantly made much of. I like the difference--but I would go North, instead of South to where the chocolate is!"

She smiled happily. "And I bet even less of this treasure gets up here than it does home. Dol Amroth is home to a lot of sailors, and we do quite a bit of trade with the South, especially now that there's peace. My brothers are always in the thick of it, and they go further than anyone else. They call themselves adventurers, and they are so full of wonderful stories when they get home. My father only encourages them."

She paused, thinking of her family. Her brothers were so dear to her, handsome strong men that they were. Her mother had died years ago, but Lin had never felt the lack. She supposed she ought to be adding all her myriad of cousins into the equation, but ever since she had had to learn a long list of rules concerning which she could and could not marry, she tended to ignore them altogether.

"So, Saeryn," she asked curiously. "What's your family like?"

"Do you have brothers?"

[Folwren]

Thornden laughed silently to himself as light hearted bickering passed to and from the lord of the Hall and the short, round hobbit. But, no indeed, he hadn’t known that Eodwine had been born a farmer. . .no one would have thought it, seeing him now. Well, now they might, with the makeshift roof above and the rain dripping outside, making mud of the yard. But not when they heard his title and saw what the hall was going to be. Yet everybody has to come from somewhere.

“Maybe we should gather everyone around and do a bit of Gob and Twiddle. What think you of that, Thornden?” Eodwine asked, turning to him.

“Maybe. So long as I’m not asked to carry it on immediately,” Thornden answered at once. “I’m not such a bright mind at coming up with stories like that. I’d stumble about like a drunken man in the dark and then end up in silence, except it wouldn’t be silent because everyone would be laughing. But I’m more than willing to listen.”

“Then let’s separate and go see what the others think,” Eodwine said, standing up as he spoke. “Come along, Falco.”

The three parted ways and Thornden went back out to the rain to the stables to see if Leof was still there. He was, and Gárwine with him. He suggested to them the continuing of the tale of Gob and Twiddle and they both agreed quickly to come. Leof told him that he had to finish something in the stables quickly and then he would be able to join them, and Gárwine was going to stay to help. So Thornden smiled and nodded and left them.

He went to the kitchen where he thought it would be best to tell it, seeing as it was the largest room still in service, and it had a warm, merry fire - a comfort on a day like this. Falco was already there and Fordides, with Kara and the elderly lady Thornden had seen earlier, were evidently already acquainted with the plan.

“Where’s master Eodwine?” Thornden asked, stopping in the doorway.

“He’s getting the others,” Falco replied. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

“Well, good,” Thornden said, coming in and taking a seat. “I’ve got two recruits on their way.” He glanced around the warm, bright kitchen and smiled a little. “I think we’ll have an excellent gathering. Though,” he added, suddenly remembering. “Those twins won’t be here. . .they probably won’t like missing anything, but it can’t very well be helped.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Brothers... Saeryn let memories capture her for only a moment before responding, still caught in the light and freshness of childhood.

"Yes... two brothers and a sister. Degas, the younger of the brothers, is my twin, though he is taller than me, and broader about the shoulders in that typical brotherly fashion, with hair darker red and tied in horsetails most often, and he is the sort to make the ladies of Minas Tirith swoon as he plays reminiscent and sad melodies of times long past, wars long fought, and romances long since forgotten for his own contentment on the white walls of the city under the dying sun... or at least that's how he tells it, most especially if there are new ladies present for wooing." Saeryn smiled to think of her chivalrous and charismatic twin, casting her worry for him away. She would not fret over him, though he'd been gone without word for many days.

"Where are these siblings? Do they follow your lead and ride abroad?" asked Lin, savoring the gentle bite of Saeryn's candy on her tongue. "I would guess you a traveller such as myself, but travellers do not often come to play hostess in the halls of a lord, or at least not that I have seen or heard. How did you aquire your father's leave to go? How did you come to be here?"

Saeryn looked into the fire.

"My parents died long ago. My eldest brother is lord of our lands. I do not have his leave. Rather am I here by the courtesy of Mistress Bethberry, and here I remain under the protection and with the lasting friendship of the Lord. My sister is dead, my eldest brother distant, I can only hope, and my twin's whereabouts are utterly unknown, though most of that which he brought with him to Gondor resides now in the room beside this and all that is gone from here is his horse and, of course, himself."

[JennyHallu]

Linduial read much between the lines as Saeryn spoke uncomfortably of her elder brother, and her face showed a pretty moue of distaste. But this twin...Saeryn seemed to be about a year older than she, so Degas would also be older...He sounded mysterious, dashing, a little scandalous even. Lin began to build a picture of the young man in her mind, with a rascally crooked smile, wild auburn hair, strong and built like her brothers and unrealistically handsome, a rugged wild man with a veneer of class and Gondorian style. Mentally she compared this image to the men she had grown up knowing. Beside her imaginary Degas, her suitors seemed...dull, foppish. Dark hair and grey eyes seemed monochromatic rather than a memory of nobler times, especially when placed beside the fire and verve of this new young man.

She was staring at the fire, sucking on candies in a companionable silence, as she daydreamed. She had just been imagining Degas rushing into the courtyard in an all but fire-breathing semi-wild stallion, unable to take his eyes off of herself (in her most beautiful finery) in the doorway, and trying to get the expression of remote disinterest just right on her face, and wondering if there should be a number of slightly less pretty but more interested girls around for Degas to ignore in single-minded pursuit of her, when a knock at the door made her jump.

She rose hastily, a guilty flush covering her cheeks as though someone had been listening in on her thoughts, and attempted to cover her confusion by stuffing the candies under the quilt on her chair as she jumped to her feet. Saeryn, unaware of Lin's thoughts and thus infuriatingly unperturbed, welcomed Eodwine into the room, leaving the door wide open, as propriety demanded, as Eodwine explained his invitation to join the company in the mock-hall to while away the rainy morning with story and song.

Saeryn happily accepted, and turned to Lin to see her plans. Lin, still blushing furiously to the curious glances of both the lord and Saeryn now, stammered acceptance, and turned her glance rapidly to the floor in order to try to compose herself.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Excuse me, Eodwine." A silver sleeved arm snaked around him, tugging him fraternally out of the way. Black covered legs with knee high boots (carefully cleaned before worn indoors) stepped into the room, past the lord of the hall.

Recognizing the voice and careless stride, Saeryn hurried to embrace her brother before changing tactics and pushing him hard into the doorway. The hood of his damp cloak fell back to reveal damp locks shading twinkling eyes. He caught her hands and kissed her on the forehead.

"What a welcome, sister. Did you miss me?" She glared, tugging away from big hands that had held but loosely.

"Excuse me, my lord Eodwine, Linduial, my brother and I need a private word." Eodwine looked at Degas with unreadable emotion in his eyes toward the irresponsible young man that had caused Saeryn so much anguish. Lin looked at him with quite another emotion. With a look to Saeryn, they left the room without question, hearing, but politely ignoring, the next comment from Degas.

"My lord Eodwine?" he imitated in falsetto. "Have you wed since I've been gone? And where is my dear lady Bethberry? I'd hoped to beg her hospitality and forgiveness for my truancy."

"Bethberry's gone and Eodwine's been lorded, given this hall, and is remodelling. Surely you noticed as you came barging in past him." Saeryn leaned upon the mantle, her quilt forgotten on the floor, with her arms crossed threateningly.

"Come sister of mine, do thaw. Your frosty ice queen approach has me shivering in my shoes. What have I done to warrant it?"

"You, brother dearest," she replied with a voice as cold as he claimed, "disappeared without word. You could have been anywhere. Anything could have happened. Where have you been?"

"Frolicking." he replied with a grin that made Saeryn groan. "Oh come now," he added, seeing the look on her face. "It was entirely innocent. I realized that I'd left some belongings at an Inn some day or so's ride away, so I went back for them."

He moved toward her, embracing her, and her tears burst forth.

"I am sorry that I said nothing... I did not think. But all is well now, no?" He patted her on the back, pushing her away to look into her eyes.

She sniffed and nodded.

"He'll not find you here, you know." She nodded again and beckoned for him to sit. In a few short moments, she had informed her twin of the many items of business that he had missed in his travels.

"Well that's quite good, then." he smiled. "Eodwine is a good friend. I shall have to thank him for his protection of you, and apologize for so hastily brushing him aside. You know, sister, you could marry him and produce lovely little blond haired Eorlings to help you run the inn."

He ducked her swipe and jumped nimbly toward the door.

"Yes, yes, I know, dear girl. Have I not heard it all before? I'll be a content old maid until I die, so help me, and I'm not becoming some lord's wife to produce healthy heirs and naught else until I fade from memory." He winked at the glare she shot him. "I'm sure you'll make a wonderful wife to some lucky man eventually. But more likely, you'll thrive in your role here... you'll make a wonderful hostess for the new lord. Now fulfill your duties, if you will, and find me dry clothes and food."

"Do it yourself. I'll be in the kitchens." She stuck her tongue out at her brother, hugging him quickly as she ducked past him and out the door.

[JennyHallu]

Lin was aware, in a detached sort of way, that she was standing with her mouth open, staring at her friend's closed door. Abruptly she closed it, teeth clacking together as she wondered aimlessly whether she had accidentally conjured the young man up with her day-dreaming--and, considering Saeryn's frustrated shove rather than greeting, would he forgive her for it? Degas' tall rangy frame, dark red locks, and a strong-boned handsome face with dancing eyes seemed imprinted on her brain, and it occured to her that it would be an awful shame if he didn't.

She straightened her skirts and curls, all too aware of her slightly rumpled state and the amused eyes of Lord Eodwine behind her. He hadn't even noticed her...He'd greeted his sister, at least seen Eodwine...but he hadn't so much as nodded in her direction. This realization stunned her. She knew she was pretty. Beautiful, even. Dozens of near-identical young men in carefully appointed ballrooms had told her so, had told her she was proof of the rumors of Elven blood in Dol Amroth's House, had hung on her every word and gesture. Yet this one...hadn't seen her? She caught her reflection in a window. Milky-white skin, slender yet womanly figure, long delicate fingers, dark curls framing a pale elfin face and large starry-gray eyes. She had always thought herself at least meriting a glance from a man, and usually a second.

But perhaps the young men of Belfalas had seen only the fine green silk and perfect embroidery of elven design, the delicate filagree silver earrings, the small but opulent family seal she wore on her little finger, carved in jade from the far East of Harad, and traded by sea from the South. And maybe this young man, from a rougher country that cared less of such things, saw only a slim, untried girl with soft hands and skin that had been carefully shielded from the sun all her life.

She looked over at Eodwine (both seemed to have been shocked enough by Degas' sudden arrival to stay where they were) and asked, confused enough not to worry about the propriety of the question, "I am pretty, aren't I?"

Just at that moment, the door sprang open and Saeryn flounced (no other word for it) down the hall toward the kitchens, and Degas stood laughing and leaning on the door frame. Linduial blushed furiously. There was no way on earth the young man hadn't heard her question. What was it about the Rohirrim that made it so difficult for her to keep her comfortable detachment?

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas leaned against the doorway, propped carefully to look nonchalant. He eyed the girl until Eodwine coughed meaningfully. She turned an even deeper shade of red and Degas spoke, holding back a grin.

"Very pretty, I assure you. Your slender frame brings to mind the lovely swaying motion of a delicate lily in the early dawn air. Your eyes remind one of an impossibly deep ocean that one cannot help but fall into. Your light voice is reminiscent of the soft trill of a flute at the break of day and your cream skin is so flawless that I am amazed at its very existence, though at the moment, a very becoming shade of rose adorns your perfect cheeks. It utterly amazes me that such power and delicacy can be so easily mixed within one lady of the South. It is verily my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He straightened from the doorway and bent now over her hand, raising it to brush with his lips. He looked up into her eyes, winking, and she looked away, the same vibrant shade of pink that he had so carefully described. Dropping her hand, he slung an arm around Eodwine's shoulder and led him away from the floored young woman.

"My congratulations to you, Lord of the Mark." he spoke to Eodwine as they walked toward the kitchen. "A posting well deserved. I would commend the king for it were I not afraid of the repercussions of my terribly bold statements. I'm sure you'll understand if I limit myself to mere genial thoughts sent toward his general direction? Also, Lord Eodwine, I must thank you for your kindness to my lady sister. She has told me what you have done for her and I am much indebted to you for it."

[Nerindel]

Æöelhild stood watching the rain run down the fogged pane of her window, her room was warmed by a fire that crackled brightly in the small hearth set into the right wall. She liked her room, although smaller than she had once been used to, she found it cosy enough and more comfortable than the cold stone or rough earth of the past years flight. From the window she could see the mead halls courtyard with the stables to the right and too the left the newly constructed canvas covering that was to be the temporary mead hall.

As she looked down on the stables she thought of the week gone by and of her new found friendship with the new Stable Master, Lëof. she admired his resolve and determination to earn a living enough for both himself and his sister that they could finally move out of the shadow of their abusive father, it also gave her some hope that she too could begin anew.

‘set aside the ghosts of the past’ she quietly told herself.

It had almost been a relief to share some of what she had kept to herself for so long. That night in the stable beneath the clear starlight sky she had told Lëof about her Uncle, how he had come into her life directly following the death of her father and grandfather and taken away everything that was familiar to her, including her favourite horse a chestnut mare that she had loved so dearly, ‘We were practically raise together’ she had told him. She did not speak of her position in Gondorian society nor of the events of the night that had forced her to flee from the lands that she had always called home, but she did confide in him the abuse she had endured at the hands of her uncle. How he had locked her away from the world she had known and loved telling those that sought after her health and well being that she was sick, practically mad with grief, refusing to see or speak with anyone. He had stolen her freedom and practically made her his slave and like a slave if she did not perform to his satisfaction she was harshly beaten. Lëof had listened intently and when she had suddenly stopped not wishing to go on he had not pressed her but simply placed a comforting hand and nodded his understanding.

On the days that had followed, when she was not busy with her own chores or helping Frodide’s and Kara in the kitchen’s she would be found helping Leof in the stables, they had grown comfortable with each other and oft laughed and joked in a light and easy manner that surprised a few of the others, who until recently had only seen a quiet, introvert young girl who only on the very rare occasion allowed herself to relax enough to join in the frivolity of the hall. Her laughter was light, her smile warmly infectious that it gave her young face a more womanly glow when seen.

Of the others she had seen little except at meal times, Eodwine, Thornden, Gárwine and even Falco busied themselves in the effort to change the old common room of the white horse into a new mead hall fit for the Lord of Mid-Emnet and although she took instruction from Searyn regarding the chores that required the days attention, the young woman who was now the halls hostess spent much of her time with Linduail, the Gondorian noble woman and cousin to the Queen of this land if rumours were to be believed. This news made Æöel slightly uncomfortable in the young woman’s presence and although she was sure that they had never before met, especially with her being from Belfalas and she from Minas Tirth, there was still that niggling worry that some rumour or scandal of her sudden departure might have reached the ears of the young noble woman. So she was careful to be unobtrusive but polite in the young woman’s presence hoping to go unnoticed as just another serving girl. But Linduail’s Guardian or her fathers Steward as it had turned out, she could not avoid, three times a day as instructed by the healer she brought him the herbal infusion that would help him regain his strength. When awake he had always thanked her politely and she responded in kind, waiting only long enough to take back the empty cup. However of late he would find reasons to delay her, little things like asking her to pass a particular book from his dresser or pouring water from the pitcher next to his bed and always he would frown thoughtfully as though something she had done had puzzled him.

She looked away from the window then and turned to return to a seat set next to the fire, beside the chair was a small spindly looking table upon which sat a dusty old pouch and a few coin’s, her pay for the previous weeks work. She had not expected much as living under the halls roof seemed payment enough but Lord Eodwine had been generous and agreed to pay her coin as well as board. She looked from the small pile of coins to the sword that sat propped against the wall, the firelight gleaming off its polished surface showing clearly the dark line of damage across the flat of the blade. She frowned recalling how it had become so.

It had been several months back when both day and night had been filled with cold rains and harsh winds, she had thought to seek the shelter in the mountains, but Ered Nimrais (the white mountains) was not to be traversed easily and she soon became lost. She wandered aimlessly through the mountains for several months before finally finding her way out into the Eastfold where she was waylaid by bandits who sought to separate her from her fathers sword and what little coin she had left. But she would not relinquish the weapon and had been forced to defend herself. Being the granddaughter of a weapons master/smith she had been taught how to handle a sword, (though this was never made common knowledge). But the sword she wielded had been crafted for her fathers hand and not hers so it was heavy and cumbersome and took several heavy blows to the rocky ground causing the fracture in the metal. As it happened it was not the sword that saved her it was the rains of those past months, they had made the earth slippery and treacherous and as the bandits less light footed than her gave chase one of them lost their footing and careered into the other, allowing her to make her escape, but again she was lost she did not know these land and it was several weeks before she finally arrived at Edoras, half starved and penniless.

She looked again from the sword to the coins and resolved to save what she earned until she had enough to paid for the repair, It was more than a weapon to her, crafted by her grandfather and wielded by her father it was the only link she had left. Just watching the firelight dance of its polished surface or rubbing the oil rag across its flat brought a strange but alluring comfort to her. Gathering up the coins she placed them into the pouch and slipped them under her mattress for safe keeping. The sword she re-sheathed and propped carefully against the end of her cot.

Then dousing the flames of her fire, she quickly fixed her hair and adjusted her skirts before heading down to see if there was anything else needing done, There hadn’t been much to do all morning and Æöel was feeling slightly restless… perhaps I will see if Leof needs a hand she mused thoughtfully.

She quietly passed into the kitchen, where she was surprised to see so many people. Frodides stern faced stood wagging a wooden spoon inches from Thorndens nose telling him absolutely that they could not use her kitchens as a common room, Master Falco was helping himself to some bread and cheese, while at the table Master Marenil sat next to Kara silently peeling potatoes. Seeing her stunned expression he mouthed that he was feeling much better.

“What is going on?” she whispered taking a seat beside them, “Why is everyone in here?”

[JennyHallu]

Twice in ten minutes Linduial found herself totally flummoxed by Saeryn's handsome twin. She stared after him for a few interminable moments, then fled in the opposite direction, after Saeryn, lifting her skirts and running full out, wishing the uncomfortable flush on her face would fade.

"Saeryn...," she gasped, as her friend heard her footfalls and turned. "...your brother..."

She didn't know how to explain it any better than that, but that seemed to be enough. Saeryn took one look at her stricken face and flushed cheeks and laughed, but kindly, in total understanding.

========

Marenil was thoroughly enjoying the chaos and commotion filling the kitchen. Kara had not protested his assistance, and the pile of potatoes was dwindling at an alarming speed. Old Frodides was demonstrating a power of persuasion it was obvious Thornden hadn't been prepared for. Marenil noticed an accusatory glance from a new arrival, and smiled to himself. Young Aedhel was a very good nursemaid, but her manner was--constrained. Something bothered her, and he didn't think he had ever seen her look comfortable with him...If an old man bound to his bed could make a girl that nervous...

She was a puzzle and no mistake.

Frodides paused for a breath, and began again with refreshed volume. Marenil considered helping the young man smooth things over, but decided his assistance might not be welcome. He decided to let Thornden handle the situation himself, and took up another potato, one of only five remaining. He pointed out the count to Kara with a wink, and leaned back comfortably in his chair, watching Folco grabbing snacks for himself behind the irate Frodides' back with cheerful amusement. It was nice to be back around people again. Chaos and confusion was his element. When things ran smoothly he was bored and generally taken for granted. But in a crisis, Marenil shone.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn tried hard not to laugh and failed, compromising with a hug and a pat on the back.

"Poor Lin... he has that effect on everyone." Saeryn's smile was wide, her eyes dancing with amusement.

She talked as she once did to her sister Caeli when she mooned over a visiting lord, nodding understandingly as Lin's face revealed her thoughts.

"Come, love, we'll get a cup of tea from the kitchen. I'm sure Frodides has a pot on. And a whisper came to my ear from a small lark that a certain someone you've been worrying about is lurking there. We can play a bit of Gob and Tiddle after that. Hm? How does that sound?"

[Folwren]

Things would have been marvelously comfortable in the kitchen. Thornden liked a warm blaze and merry company on grey and rainy days, but that wasn't to be this time. Fordides made that very clear as soon as she realized what was happening.

'I won't take any of your plumfoolery here, young fellow!' she cried, snatching up a spoon and advancing more quickly than he would have expected. 'Don't you think I have enough to do to keep the meals coming out in time without all my counter space being taken up with people sitting and talking?'

'Don't be hasty,' Thornden was rather inclined to say, but he didn't get a chance. The cook was continuing, and that spoon was getting to move more quickly than he liked.

'I'm all very well good and happy with stories being told, but not in my kitchen. The place wouldn't be fit to be seen, much less to cook in, when it came time to cook dinner if you stayed here. Take everyone out! Out, out! Or else there'll be some real reckoning to do.'

He didn't know if she was actually intending to apply the ladle, but he ducked nonetheless and dodged to the other side of the table.

'Alright, everybody,' he said, barely keeping enough wits about him not to run and loose whatever dignity he had left, 'it doesn't appear that we're welcome here after all. We'd better all get out, or else face consequences.' He shot a glance towards Fordides who raised an eyebrow rather meaningfully. The hand with the spoon, now resting authoritavely on her hip, twitched slightly and he nodded as though he understood. 'So, let's gather to the Hall, or what's there of it. Miserable as it may be, perhaps story telling and some ale will warm us properly.'

He added to himself, though not aloud, that it wouldn't be half as nice, but that couldn't be helped. Not when Fordides guarded the kitchen like a dragon its lair. They'd have to make do with the damp, and, really, it probably wasn't half as bad as he made it out to be. It wasn't really cold, but he ignored that fact. Sending another pleading glance towards Fordides (which was replied with and killed by a withering glare) he led the entire group towards the door.

[Alcarillo]

“So how are you doing?" Léof asked, "I haven’t seen much of you these past couple days – is anything interesting happening?”

"I've just been around the town, running errands for the carpenters and such work." Gárwine said. He casually leaned against Herefola's stall. She came up to rub at his elbows. Gárwine scratched her nose. She looked much healthier than a week ago, after Gárwine's great ride to Edoras. Léof had taken good care of her.

Léof hummed a half-amused tone. "If you're not busy later, Linduial has asked me to help hang wall hangings. Want to help? I thought it would be fun to see how the Gondorian nobility live." He grinned.

"Sure," said Gárwine. Linduial had been the most intriguing of all the girls at the mead hall: a noble maiden of a far away land, probably hiding all sorts of exotic treasures behind her bedroom door. Gárwine had not seen much of her over the week. And wall hangings? Gárwine couldn't imagine that she'd need help hanging a few cloths on the walls. She seemed tall enough. "Wall hangings, you say, like tapestries?"

"Yes, and maybe paintings or other decoration. She was somewhat vague in her description. I suppose she might want some furniture moved around, too. You're welcome to help."

After a short pause, Gárwine said, "I think I will help. I've been curious to see what she's brought from Gondor. What do you suppose she has in that room? I think it's probably full of chests of gold and family heirlooms. She is nobility, you know."

"A princess. Her luggage must be filled with silk dresses and golden jewelry. She must be used to being pampered by dozens of servants and living in palaces. But she doesn't complain about the Mead Hall."

As the two boys were daydreaming about the luxuries of the life of a Gondorian nobleperson, Thornden came walking down the hall to the stables. He appeared in the doorway and told the boys that Eodwine would soon continue the story of Gob and Twiddle. "Would you like to join us?" Thornden asked.

"I might come later, when I've finished my work here," said Léof. Gárwine nodded his head to show that he was staying.

"Suit yourself," said Thronden and strode back the way he came. Léof, meanwhile, was moving his own horse into another stall. Gárwine stood by Herefola, patting her neck. He had only seen her once or twice over the week and was glad to see that she was doing well.

"You know, Léof, have you noticed how our horses look so alike? Sometimes I wonder if they are related somehow. Herefola's mother was given to us as a gift, after my father and his comrades fought away Dunlendings in the Westfolde years ago. How did you come by Æthel?"

[JennyHallu]

At Saeryn's commiseration, the shock that had frozen Linduial finally wisped away, leaving her talking at a mile a minute, trying to explain away her fascination with Degas. It wasn't working.

"When he got here, he didn't even notice me, Saeryn! Didn't even take a second look...I always get noticed. And then after you left, he-- he told me how pretty I was in the most ridiculous terms, and kissed my hand, and Oh! he was making fun of me, I know it!"

Saeryn was smiling in amusement, an arm around Lin's waist, as the younger girl spoke rapidly, gesturing wildly with each sentence, voice rigid with embarassment and frustration. Lin paused for a breath, and continued in a much softer voice, suddenly shy.

"And Saeryn, he's very handsome, he really is, and so clever, and he really does love you very much indeed. And if he thought I were pretty...Really thought, I mean, not just teasing me...well...," Lin smiled softly and earnestly at her friend. "I wouldn't mind."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn's mind whirled, but she was not upset. If Lin wouldn't mind if Degas thought her pretty, Saeryn certainly wouldn't mind it either. While the girl (barely younger than her!) was a little silly, it came from a sheltered life rather than from pure silliness. Put in her element, Saeryn had no doubt of her abilities. But the poor girl was as far from that element as a ship lost at sea, trying hard to get its bearings from stars through an overcast mid-day sky. Saeryn took pity.

"Degas doesn't lie."

"What?"

"He doesn't lie. I've never heard him utter a falsity that I can remember. If he said that you are pretty, no matter how laced his tongue was with foolishness, he believes it to be true. Now whether or not he thinks that you are, as you said, really pretty... that's not for me to say. But if you want to catch his attention... really catch his attention... ignore him."

"What?" Lin's vocabulary had lost much of its girth since the arrival of Saeryn's dashing brother. Saeryn rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

"If you treat him with the same casual uncaring that he is very intentionally doing to you, he'll be curious like you wouldn't believe." Saeryn hoped that this advice would not backfire. She'd watched his brother win ladies' hearts for years, and only ever had seen one woman that was his match for games. A mutual friend had sent the pair as a couple to the dancefloor and she had been polite, proper, and above all, very aloof. At the end of their dance, she had left him with a wink, disappearing into the crowd. Saeryn had heard nothing more for weeks than the mysterious woman who had asked Degas nothing of himself, nor had she expressed interest beyond propriety.

Saeryn smiled, satisfied that it would work. "Now if you'll just act around him like you've acted around Eodwine!" Lin blushed and Saeryn laughed. "I know that he is off-putting, but try to avoid him knowing it. He'll be that much more cocky if you let on."

They entered the kitchen to the sight of an abashed Thornden, a content Marenil, a smiling Kara on return from disposing of potato peels, and a harrumphing Frodides, among others. She held back a smile, guessing at what had transpired. Standing in the doorway, leaning, if she had known it, the very same way Degas had done when speaking to Linduial. She spotted Falco palming a roll and looked away purposefully.

"Marenil, it is good to see you about. You are feeling well?"

[JennyHallu]

Marenil smiled to see the sensible young woman who had stopped to visit a few times during the week. Lin seemed to be developing quite a strong friendship with Saeryn, which only pleased him the more. Linduial needed friends her own age. He brushed a few potato peelings off his lap and rose gingerly--rain always made his knees remind him of his age.

He walked over to the two girls, pulling them a little out of the doorway in anticipation of an impending mass exodus through the narrow portal. "I am feeling much better, thank you, Lady Saeryn, thanks to the kind care of your people here. Young Aedhel is a valuable asset to any household. I shall suggest the Lord send her to study under the Healer who came the night we arrived. I think there is much talent hidden in her retiring manner." And something else besides, he didn't say, keeping his curiousity politely to himself.

"And my Lady Linduial!" he turned toward his charge with a formal bow, but his eyes and tone belied it. The girl smiled at him sunnily and sidestepped the bow to hug him tightly, surprising Marenil. If she'd relaxed this much in a week, these people were going to be no end of good for her. "Now, now," he murmured. "I'm fine, and in a few months I'll be going home, good as new."

Lin pulled away. "That reminds me...a letter for you from father came yesterday while you were asleep, sealed in one for me. It's a few months old. Must have been following us all the way here...I can go get it."

Marenil grinned at her. "If it's waited this long, it will wait a while longer. Tell me about your letter. Your brothers getting into the usual messes?"

Lin quickly began chattering happily away about her brothers' latest exploit (which seemed to involve a pirate with a beautiful hostage...stories found those boys like magic. It was uncanny.) Marenil took the opportunity to look her up and down more carefully. There was an odd look on her face, as though she had been hit with a metaphysical brick and was thinking her way around it. Marenil threw a questioning look at Saeryn as the three fell into step following the rest of the residents of the hall out to the tent-Hall that had been set up in the courtyard.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had returned to his seat in the makeshift mead-tent, sitting beside Falco. It had taken longer to gather everyone from their farflung and rather busy-bodied places than he had expected, but now they all drew near. It was just before noon, thought it could not be told from the sky.

Here was Degas, sauntering in at the rear of the little group, looking more pleased with himself than one had a right to. Eodwine smirked and shook his head just a wee bit.

There was Kara with a tray filled with mugs.

"Gather round! Gather round!" Eodwine cried. "Sorry I am that no fire can be built under this burnable roof, but the weather is not chill though wet enough. Gather close and we'll warm each other like cattle in the barn!" Eodwine caught mild winces from both Marinel and Falco. "Sorry, but you shall find this lord's speech still cluttered with the flotsam of his youth."

Kara had set the mugs on a nearby table and gone back to the kitchen. Now she returned with the ram's horn.

"Pour for our guests first, Kara," Eodwine instructed, indicating Marenil and Linduial. Soon all those gathered who wished for mead to soften the dryness of their throats, had mug in hand, filled from the horn. "Before we start the tale afresh, is there any news to be told that 'twould be good for all of us to hear?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn leaned forward from the seat that she perched daintily on, the small motion commanding the attention of all. She could have stood, but what was the point?

"For those who've not met him," her eyes ranged around the circle, pausing at each new face, "my brother has joined our ranks. Degas, please say something, and for the sake of us all, keep it short."

Lin looked carefully anywhere but at the young man near her. Kara looked at him in wonder. She'd never met anyone quite like him. He winked at her and she looked away quickly.

"Yes, I've joined your esteemed ranks." Degas spoke, his voice a mellow tenor, the Rohirrim in him caressing his vowels into a near song. Long months in Minas Tirith had given his musical voice a Southern edge. "I hope I'll not be a bother to anyone. If so, feel free to speak and I'll be on my way."

Saeryn glared at him, speaking.

"Ignore him. He'll be here until I say that he can go."

"Yes Saer." he sighed, mock long-sufferingly. She smiled at him and looked around.

"Any other news?"

[JennyHallu]

Marenil had been watching Linduial out of the corner of his eye since he'd met her at the kitchen door, trying to pinpoint the cause of her odd manner. He was sure that Saeryn knew what was up: she had an amused light in her eyes every time she looked at her friend. When Saeryn introduced her brother, Marenil noticed a slight blush, quickly stifled, and was exceedingly amused to see Linduial rapidly construct the icy, closed demeanor the men of Belfalas lamented in bad poetry. It wasn't as firm as she usually held it...but then usually there was no hint of a blush, and she had certainly been flustered...

He threw Saeryn an incredulous glance over Lin's head, indicating Lin and Degas with a tiny twitch of his head. She responded with a tiny hint of a smile that was definitely amused, and Marenil grinned to himself. And Lin had come here to escape a marriage? Out of the frying pan, into the fire, there was no doubt about that. He glanced at the young man consideringly. Handsome, conceited, definitely full of himself...but there was a loving light in his eyes as he deferred comically to his sister. And the Lady Saeryn was noble...He could think of worse things. The bore of a certain young man in Belfalas for example...

As Saeryn asked for other news, Marenil tucked this new tidbit in the back of his mind and rose stiffly, wryly cursing the life-giving rain he could hear pattering on the rough fabric of the tent-roof.

"I'd like to thank everyone here for their kind care of me and my Lady while I was ill. Most especially I would like to extend my thanks to the Lord Eodwine and his ward Aedhelhild. She has a great gift, my Lord. You may be new to your office, as I have heard, but you are already strong in any Lord's greatest asset: a loyal people." He bowed, respectfully, and Linduial, taking his cue, rose in his place, her court manner perfect and unassailable.

"My Lord, I have taken the liberty of sending my father, Lord Farlen of Dol Amroth, and my cousin, Queen Lothiriel of Rohan, an account of your laudable treatment of myself and our servant Marenil," she began, somehow making 'servant' sound as grand a title as any other. "You have done our House a great service, and we shall be beholden to you for it. I wish to offer you this as a token of our thanks." At a gesture, Marenil rose and handed Eodwine his signet ring, bearing Lin's family seal. Both of them had offered their thanks less formally to Eodwine earlier in the week, but Linduial, as a scion of a very great House, never forgot protocol, and firmly believed that such a formal show of gratitude, in front of Eodwine's household, was absolutely necessary.

However, as Marenil had noticed before, Lin had certainly begun to relax a little in her week with the Rohirrim. It was happening rather rapidly to Marenil's eyes, but then he'd been unconscious when they arrived, and not seen how completely Lin's guard had gone down immediately after his collapse. It was more difficult to be formal with people who had seen her at her weakest, and she had begun to be less than formal with everyone in the Hall. So only Marenil was really startled when ice-Lin disappeared abruptly and the relaxed joyous Lin he knew was always in there suddenly laughed and clapped her hands together.

"Ah!" she said cheerfully. "Now that that's over with, and if no one has any more to announce, what's all this Tob and Gwiddle nonsense everyone's so excited about?" She plopped gracelessly back down into her chair, full skirts swirling in protest, looking like nothing so much as a happy little girl, so much so that Marenil found it hard to believe her feet reached the floor.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine held Marenil's signet ring in his hand, knowing full well the implications. This was lordship. Nobility. This man and this young lady were bred to it. Eodwine was not, and knew that he would be a fool to attempt to act in a way uncommon to his learning.

"My thanks, Marenil, for the token as well as the esteem it speaks.

"Mine is a court not yet become what it ought to be, and you grace it beyond its merit. I thank you." The tradition among the Eorlingas was a gift for a gift, and a mead hall lord gives greater than he gets. However, he was new and had little to offer. He thought a moment, rifling in his mind through his meagre possessions.

"Thornden, go to my bed chamber where you will find a small chest at the foot of my bed. Be pleased to bring it here."

Thornden rose and bowed. "Yes, lord." He walked away.

"Thanks also," Eodwine went on, "for your good word of Æðelhild. I will consider what you say and speak with the lass." Eodwine looked for her and did not find her. He noted also that Léof was not with them. Were the two together in the stables? A budding friendship? Maybe more? Stop it, you silly lordling, he said to himself, romance may be breaking out in certain places, cut that means not that every little corner is its nesting spot.

"Ah!" said Linduial cheerfully. "Now that that's over with, and if no one has any more to announce, what's all this Tob and Gwiddle nonsense everyone's so excited about?" She sat back down, acting much more at home than she had just a moment ago during the formal gift giving.

"Tob and Gwiddle?" Eodwine grinned. "Those would be Falco's close personal friends from up by the Shire. Perhaps you could tell us of their plan concerning old Bill Ferny?"

"I would but I need vittles first. It's time for first mid-day meal, sun or no sun to tell the time by. What about food to go with this drink?"

Just then there was a loud thump from beyond the wall to the mead hall. All eyes turned to look at the wall.

"Must have been a chair fell over," Falco commented.

"That was no chair," Eodwine retorted, rising. "More like a wood - oh ... no ... " The wall began to moan and whine, then it started to crack. With the sound of two dozen grief-stricken ghosts, the wall screamed in its death agony as it fell inward - thankfully - and toppled all over the tables, chairs, pulled down hearth, and everything else inside. And the makeshift roof fell inward, all the water that had collected splashing into the rising dust, making a cindery fog and mess of the entire property of the mead hall. Eodwine covered his face and hoped the otheres did as well. He silently hoped the kitchen and rooms remained undamaged.

[Folwren]

Thornden was crossing the hall right before the door leading into the Mead Hall when the catastrophe occurred. Instinct caused him to step back and stand with his back against the nearest, steady wall, and this he did, until the falling crash had ended. But even before those few seconds were through, his mind was racing as quickly as his heart about the others outside. He had no idea what exactly had fallen, only that it was big, nor where it had fallen, except that it was awfully near where everyone was sitting together.

He carried in his hands the small chest that Eodwine had sent him to get. Turning, half blinded by the dust that had invariably risen, he hurried down the hall away from the hole that was now rent in the building, with the hope of setting it somewhere where it would be safe. He set it on a chair near the corner of it and hurried back the way he had come, nearly at a run.

He came out into what was now the open. From where he stood, he could see where the wall had fallen and how much damage had been done. He looked around him quickly, squinting through the white, dusty fog that was rising he noticed out in front, the group of would be story tellers, crouching in the drizzly, incessant rain. No one was hurt, but they all looked considerably dazed. He nodded in satisfaction and turned his head about and looked the other way. That, he saw, was where the trouble would be. The door of the kitchen was half covered up with stones and wood. The bottom of the wall was rammed in, though it didn’t fall, and Fordides was caught inside.

With one more glance towards the others, he began to pick his way as quickly as possible through the rubble towards the kitchen door. Through his mind he tried to think of someone who could help him to clear the door and get Fordides out. He hoped that she wasn’t hurt, but from where he was, he could not tell if it was likely or unlikely.

A thought struck him at a happy moment. Two people had not been present when they gathered in the makeshift hall. “Léofric! Gárwine!” he shouted. He hoped his voice was carry into the stables where they both were. “Léof! Gárwine! Come out here, quick, I need your help!” He stopped before the kitchen door, as close to before it as he could get, and tried to look in. “Fordides?” he called. “Fordides, are you alright in there?”

“Oh, aye, I’m all very well and good,” came her voice, but it was sounded strange, and somewhat broken. “But my poor kitchen’s all busted in from the outside.”

Thornden drew back and knit his brows, shaking his head at the mysteries of women. The poor cook was bewailing her wounded kitchen.

[Firefoot]

“We’ve had Æthel since she was old enough to be broken to the saddle, and that was when I was seven or eight – just old enough to be the one sitting in the saddle,” added Léof with a wince. He had certainly learned something about being dumped from this experience. Æthel had been about as young as a horse could get for riding, and his father had not wanted to put his own full weight on her back, while Léof’s scant frame had been ideal. “But she was the product of a local breeding, so if our horses were related, it would have to be further back than that. I know that Æthel’s sire came from somewhere close to Edoras; he was the foal of Therlaf and Merufel. But beyond that I can’t say that I know. It was hard for me to get information.

“As long as I’m moving Æthel around anyway, why don’t you bring Herefola out? I wouldn’t mind having a close look at the two of them side by side,” said Léof.

Gárwine agreed and led Herefola out of her stall. They lined the two of them up and Léof handed Æthel’s lead rope to Gárwine. Léof marveled now at how very close the two of them really were, not only in markings but also in stature and build. Æthel was perhaps half a hand shorter and somewhat slighter, but besides a few other subtle differences, it would be easy to believe he was looking at twins.

Suddenly there was a creaking, then a cracking, then a loud crash. Both horses snorted and tugged at their ropes; Léof could see the whites of Herefola’s eyes, and Æthel looked ready to rear. Many of the other horses in the stable had also become agitated, but Léof was much more concerned about these two. He was taking Æthel’s lead from Gárwine when he heard a shout, “Léofric! Gárwine!” Léof felt a brief flash of fear and anger, not at Thornden but because of the connotations his shouted full name carried, but he had no time to dwell on it in the ensuing chaos. Somewhere down the shed row he heard a bang, as if one of the horses had kicked the stall wall. “Léof! Gárwine! Come out here, and quick!” The shout and bang were the last straws for the panicked horses. Æthel reared, and Léof could feel the rope sliding through his hands, burning them. He had enough sense not to let go of the rope, but he also was not about to let himself get hauled from the ground. From the side of his vision, Léof had the impression of Herefola struggling; he could not tell what was happening to Gárwine. But he could do nothing until Æthel was under control. She had reared up again, and her flailing hooves were uncomfortably close to his head. He backed up, giving the lead a slight tug and talking to her in a soft voice. Inwardly, however, he was starting to panic, not for her but for Herefola. Gárwine seemed to be having a hard time with her, and she didn’t seem to be getting any calmer.

To make matters worse, Léof could hear more shouts coming from the courtyard. Æthel’s ears, which had been slowly flicking forward in attention to him, snapped back again and she lunged. Léof jumped back, but not quite quickly enough to avoid having his foot stepped on. He felt his throat contract and he gasped in pain. He clenched to the lead rope, trying to find words to speak to Æthel. But for her, at least, it seemed the crisis had passed. Her front feet lifted a few inches from the ground once more before her ears flicked forwards and she stood still, quivering slightly and snorting, but calmed. Now, he knew, Gárwine would need help…

[JennyHallu]

Linduial watched in horror as the Mead Hall walls collapsed, a shriek escaping her lips as she spun around and instinctively crouched down beside her chair, hands over her head. She felt the shock-wave of the collapsed wall as a wind pushing against her, tangling her hair and coating her in wet and muck and dust. She stayed frozen, arms protecting herself, for a few long moments, panicked, but as no further sounds warned her of impending doom, she carefully stood, hoping that noone had been hurt.

She glanced over at Marenil and their eyes met, both remembering a bad storm that had blown up off the bay and completely flattened an entire city block in Dol Amroth the autumn past. Such storms were not unknown, but this one had been particularly bad--and even Lin had pitched in to help in the frantic search for survivors, pulling old shirts and sheets to shreds and bandaging the injured. The images of that storm were imprinted painfully on both their memories and each was frantically trying to figure out who might be in there. Shouts and faint figures working their way through the dust let them know that Thornden, Lèof, and Garwine at least were safe, but as they began digging through a seemingly impossibly huge pile of rubble and the rest of the company began to compare the scattered beams and stones to mental maps of the grounds, most came to the same conclusion at once: Frodides.

Eodwine and Degas immediately started sprinting through the rubble to the pile of debris blocking the kitchen door, with Marenil following behind only slightly more slowly. Aedhel was running for her room (the wing of the building that housed them all seemed, thankfully, to be standing) for her healer's kit, and Linduial, Saeryn, and Kara were left watching rather helplessly as the men worked to free the trapped woman.

Suddenly Lin laughed out loud, gaining her the instant attention of the other two women. She quickly sobered and turned to them with a smile. "Those ridiculous men. It will take them half the day to shift that rock. But I just thought of something...Kara, isn't there a backdoor into the kitchen, in the back wall beside the summer hearth?"

Kara nodded, slow to realize what Lin was getting at in the shock of the collapse. Lin laughed again, but sobered quickly. "Frodides must be hurt, or she'd surely use the door. But if we run, we can rescue her before the men even realize what fools they're being."

Saeryn and Kara smiled as they realized what Lin was saying, and seemed willing to go along with her, so Lin, with total disregard (for now) for her ruined dress, filthy skin and tangled hair, led them at an easy run around the back of the kitchen, all three girls giggling quietly at the sound of the men calling to Frodides not to worry, they'd get to her soon enough.

The back walls didn't seem damaged at all, but the three immediately saw why Frodides hadn't emerged. Lin shook her head slowly, for the first time realizing that the Rohirrim, not being terribly familiar with the material, used no mortar: the force of the collapse had caused the tall stone chimney to collapse, and the back door, while not blocked as thoroughly as the ones into the Hall and inner courtyard, was certainly not easily accessible. She experienced a brief stab of frustration, but quickly realized a solution was still at hand. On the same wall, to the other side of the collapsed hearth, the window was wide open to catch early morning breezes and birdsong.

Lin continued to play ringleader, standing to one side of the window, and gesturing for Saeryn to do the same. "Look at us, we three. That window is fairly wide, and none of us are. Nor is Frodides for that matter. If two of us could give the third a boost up, and then help to lift Frodides out, we could rescue our cook without the boys even realizing we'd done so. Kara, you go in, you're most familiar with the kitchen, and it's like to be dark and rather cluttered in there."

Kara nodded, and Saeryn and Lin made steps of their hands and lifted her up and over the high windowsill. "And don't make more noise than you have to!" Lin instructed cheerfully. "It will be loads more fun if the men don't realize Frodides has been rescued!"

[littlemanpoet]

"Step away, Thornden and Degas. Let Falco and me have a go!"

"I would like to lend a hand also," offered Marenil.

"And you just up from bed rest?" retorted Eodwine.

Eodwine and Falco laid hands in and pulled chunks of broken stone and wood away from the pile blocking the way to the kitchen.

Some lord I make, Eodwine thought. I was a fool to take the title. Ill luck's with me, clear for all to see. I ought to bring the title back to the King and have him hand it to another. 'Lord, just let me be a humble innkeeper; charge my guests a fair rater for room and board, live the life of a simple man as I was born to be.' He could imagine the reply: 'Do you question my command? Did I not choose the right man to rule this piece of my realm?' No, lord, you chose wrongly this once, though I thank you for the kindly thought that intended better than I've done with it. Have you seen the wonder of my mead hall? I started out with a homely inn and now I've a ruin. So well I've done with your charge, lord! In fact, I daresay you should give me that Wardenship of the Dunlending Marches after all! In a month and a day I'll have handed the whole of it back to the Dunlendings without having meant to! Better yet, make me king! In a year and a day all Rohan will be divided up between Gondor, Dunland, the Fangorn Ents, and any other kinglet who seeks a realm to be ripped from a luckless churl like me!

"Whoa there, lord," said Degas, "toss those rocks any harder and I'll have a broken leg to show for it."

"Sorry, Degas," Eodwine grunted, "just working with a will. I suggest you step back."

[Folwren]

Thornden stepped back as Eodwine suggested. and leaned against what was left of the kitchen wall, wiping the sweat that had broken out from his forehead. Not that it would do much good when rain would soon replace it. His hand came back down dirty and he sighed as he wiped it on his pant leg.

Quietly he stood watching Degas and Eodwine shovel away quickly. He noticed rocks being shoved and hurled harder and farther out than necessary and he settled his eyes on Eodwine. Clearly he was frusterated and angry. Who shouldn't be? His brows were drawn down over his eyes and he scowled as he worked. Thornden cocked his head to one side and continued to watch. If he kept up at such a rate he'd hurt himself, or someone else. Degas seemed to share this point of veiw.

"Whoa there, lord. Toss those rocks any harder and I'll have a broken leg to show for it."

"Sorry, Degas, just working with a will. I suggest you step back."

"Nay, my lord," Thornden said, standing up straight. "And let you shovel by yourself? There are many of us here, there is no reason why we shouldn't help with the work. At the rate your going, you'll end up hurting yourself and not getting as much done in half the time we could. Come, let us help, and don't take it so hard."

Thornden didn't feel like taking any argument, even from Eodwine, and especially in such a matter. There was room for three of them at least to work side by side, so long as they kept their movements small and concise. Anyone who didn't work could take the rocks they move and throw them farther back, where they would be out of the way until taken care of for good later on.

"Come, Degas," he said. "Stand by our lord and leader and lend him a hand."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Very true, Thornden. Well said. Lord Eodwine," Degas interrupted the man's work with a friendly hand on his shoulder. "there are times that a man must work alone and there are times that it is better for him to do so. But a time where a lord might throw his back out is a good one for him to notice we brawny lads and the amount of room for us to help out."

Eodwine paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. Without waiting for a response, Degas clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good man. Now let me help a wee bit and we'll have our dear Frodides out in no time at all."

[Bêthberry]

Ruthven felt the old wooden walls of the convenience quiver and shake as a loud rumbling and then a deep crash echoed through them. For a moment she thought she would experience the joke of all jokes and find the walls blowing away and leaving her displayed for all to see, and she grabbed onto the door handle. But the walls stood as voices were raised and dust came tumbling through the small cutout window atop the door. With a whistle and a grunt, the old woman composed herself and, door steadied, hurried out to see the lasses nattering outside the kitchen window.

The entire tent roof had been pulled away and down, it appeared, from what she could see.

"Lasses, what in tarnation has happened? And what are you tittering about?" she asked.

[Alcarillo]

Herefola kicked into the air wildly, and wrenched the lead from Gárwine's hands. She bucked and leapt, unable to be calmed by Gárwine. Herefola was one second a sedate and calm animal, and moments later she was leaping around like a wild horse out of the north. Gárwine did not know how to calm her. He was never attuned to the temperaments of horses, despite how his father tried to teach him. Gárwine could only wave his arms and shout. "Hey, calm down, whoa!" He backed away from Herefola to get out of the way of her flying hooves. Gárwine looked to Léof for help, but he was bent over in pain; Æthel had stomped on his foot. But Æthel was at least calmed. Léof straightened up, hobbling on one foot, and led her to her stall. "I'll help you in a moment, Gárwine!" he called. Gárwine nodded, still staying well away from his horse, quite unsure what to do.

Léof came to his aid once Æthel was shut away in her stall. "How's your foot?" Gárwine asked him.

"It's fine," he said, though it was plain that it still ached, "Here, Herefola, calm down." He spoke to Herefola gently, but she still kicked in the air. Léof approached cautiously, and Herefola backed away a bit, but Léof still came closer and grabbed of the rope. Herefola was kicking less and was calming down, and Léof led her back to her stall. Gárwine watched in amazement at the horse's sudden change.

"Léofric! Gárwine!"

They were still urgently called for in the courtyard. After Léof made sure that Herefola was securely in her stall, they hurried out of the stables to follow the shouts. They arrived in the courtyard, anxious to see what had happened, and to Gárwine, it looked as though part of the building had collapsed. He was flabbergasted, and stood wondering how on earth an entire wall could've fallen over like that.

"Don't just stand there, lads, help us dig!" Somebody said, and Gárwine ran to the rubble and began pulling out wooden boards and giant flakes of plaster with his hands. He chose a place next to Thornden. "What happened? Why has the wall fallen?" Gárwine asked him, "Is anybody inside?"

[Kath]

Kara was already halfway through the window when Ruthven appeared round the corner. Her arrival was so unexpected that it made both Linduial and Saeryn jump, causing them to push Kara a little harder than they had intended. A few brief seconds later she found herself on the floor inside the kitchen, fortunately mostly unharmed.

"Kara!" Came a panicked voice from outside. "Kara! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" She called back and rose to her feet, coughing as the dust flew up off her. She brushed herself off a little and waved a hand past the window so those outside could see she was safe.

The kitchen was dim, lit only by the light coming in from the window. It was also a mess, and even though she'd been working in there for gone a week now, Kara was having difficulty finding her way about. There was rubble all over the place, and where the floor wasn't covered in dirt or loose stones it was littered with pots and pans. Picking her way through carefully Kara called out to Frodides.

"Hello? Frodides? Where are you?"

"Here, girl." Came a weakened voice, completely unlike that of the Hall's normally fierce and sturdy cook.

Following the noise Kara found the woman huddled beneath the table, which seemed to be the only thing in the kitchen still in it's rightful place save the oven. She bent down and saw at once that Aedhel would be needed, for Frodides had a long gash in her leg, and it looked deep. The cook herself was pale and obviously in pain, though she wouldn't admit it, taking Kara's hand and pulling herself up with the slightest of winces. Taking a deep breath she steadied herself as Kara let go of her to find a chair.

"So, how are we getting out of here. Or hadn't you thought that far?"

"Of course we had Frodides. We're going out the same way as I came in, through the window."

The cook turned to her with an incredulous look.

"You expect a woman of my age to go crawling through small holes? I'd rather sit here and wait thank you." She took the chair Kara had just found and sat herself down on it, folding her arms and refusing to budge. But Kara had not just learnt recipes and cooking techniques over the past few days, she had also learnt how to deal with Frodides, and was especially grateful for that knowledge now.

"Well, if you don't think you're up to it then of course I will wait here with you. I'm sure Lord Eodwine wouldn't think any the less of you for it. After all, you are getting older now and . . ."

She never got the chance to finish, as Frodides hauled herself to her feet again and began to make her slow but determined way over to the window, hauling the chair behind her.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing girl. My body may be ageing but my mind's as sharp as it ever was."

Kara nodded respectfully as she took the chair from Frodides and positioned it underneath the window.

"And don't you think I'm doing this to prove you wrong, oh no, I'm just doing it to save you having to explain to your young friends out there that I was quite happy where I was and didn't need rescuing at all."

Continuing to agree Kara helped her onto the chair and climbed up with her. Together they managed to get Frodides' injured leg through the window and her foot into Linduial and Saeryn's hands. Now balanced, Kara helped Frodides swing her other leg through and carefully she was lowered down to the ground, with Kara quickly following. She showed the others the cut on Frodides' leg and it was immediately agreed that Aedhel should be found. Seeing that Kara had a better idea of what to do with the injury than she did, Linduial offered to find the girl, and ran off to do just that.

Thinking it would be a few minutes at least until she returned Kara turned to Ruthven.

"Could I take one of your shawls please ma'am? We need to keep Frodides warm til Aedhel arrives."

[Firefoot]

Léof hobbled after Gárwine as quickly as he could, trying unsuccessfully to hide his limp. Now that disaster with the horses had been averted, his aching foot seemed to be the only thing that could occupy his mind. And, oh, it hurt! He feared to take off his boot and find out what damage had been done.

But now their help was needed elsewhere. It was all Léof could do not to gape as he emerged from the stable and found the hall and its temporary roof fallen in on itself – so this was what had caused the horses to spook.

“Don't just stand there, lads, help us dig!” For this Léof was grateful: the men all seemed busy enough digging out the kitchen that they would not notice his limp. An ostler couldn’t go around with a bum foot, and he felt rather ashamed that he had let the situation get so out of control in the first place. Leaving Gárwine with both lead ropes in his hand, not being cautious enough to watch his own feet, even having both horses out like that in the first place. He could have done something differently.

As he approached to help dig, Gárwine’s questions were already being answered rather briefly, and Léof only caught snippets as he began to help pulling away boards of wood and bits of plaster. Wall just happened to fall over… Frodides inside, apparently not hurt… But Léof could only bring himself to pay perfunctory attention to this news and the task at hand.

Suddenly it seemed that he could hear voices inside the kitchen. The other men heard it, too, apparently, for one of them – Léof didn’t pay any attention as to who – shouted, “Frodides? Are you all right in there?” But there was no answer, and any voices that may have been there had fallen silent or disappeared.

“Were we all just hearing things?” Léof wondered, only half aware that he was speaking aloud. “Or is something else going on here…?”

[Bêthberry]

Ruthven had trundled over to the cistern that had collected the rain water running down from the roof. She poured some water over her hands to wash them, and was drying them on her shawl as a commotion came to the window. She watched as first one leg and then another leg appeared out the window, bereft of skirts and apron and none too ceremoniously. She winced. Frodides was far from a vain and cantankerous woman, and was one of the best and kindest mothers around, but she had a proper sense of her own dignity and decorum. And this event did not match that. Any cook worth her salt and her herbs would want to walk directly out of her kitchen.

Quickly though the young 'uns attended to her and one ran off to call the healer.

"Could I take one of your shawls, please, ma'am?" asked one of them.

Ruthven looked down at her shawl, damp from wiping her hands. Yet it was the best they had to offer. She wrapped it 'round Frodides' shoulders with a matter of fact tug and turned to the girl.

"What was it that ye jumped on to reach the window? Would there be a cask or chair there we could retrive, for Frodides? I can help lift ye back into the kitchen. We'll be wanting something for Frodides to put under her leg, to keep it lifted like."

The sound of males voices was muffled and the women, the three woman, stood there and considered what they were about.

"Well, lass, will you go back in to fetch a support for our cook?" commented Ruthven.

[littlemanpoet]

Degas cajoled Eodwine. Eodwine didn't like being cajoled. He kept his face in a mere frown as his innards churned to give rise to his arms to lash out. He sighed. And sighed again.

“Were we all just hearing things?” Léof asked, “Or is something else going on here…?”

"What? Heard you voices in the kitchen?" Eodwine asked, distracted. "I heard nothing."

"Surely," offered Falco, "there's a back door to the kitchen. Maybe it's open. I'll go check."

"Shirking real work again, Master Falco?" Eodwine threw the hobbit's way with a rueful grin. Falco grinned back and was gone from sight. Eodwine sighed again, and wishing to look anywhere other than at the ruined door to the kitchen, caught sight of Léof favoring a foot. "Are you limping, boy? Is there something amiss with your foot?"

Intro to Eorling Mead Hall rpg (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=439978&postcount=1)

[Lalwendë]

The broadset man with the thick straw coloured hair had two names, but he was only ever known by one of them, Larswic. This was a nickname he had acquired at a young age, and even though it suggested his being an untrustworthy man, it had its advantages. To go around calling yourself a cheat made people wonder if you really could be one. If a man was to say "I never tell lies" then it might suggest he was lying, but if he said "I'm a liar" then he would appear to be honest. The nickname had never let Larswic down and now nobody but his elderly father could remember his birth name, which Larswic kept to himself, as secret as the bag of gold tucked into his shirt.

He stood scratching his bristly chin as he wondered if this place really could be the Mead Hall of the new Eorl of Middle Emnet. The building looked to be unfinished, and worse, perhaps even in a state of destruction. He heard shouting of women and was surprised not to find a guard or two on duty as was usual in Edoras. He smiled. Disorder was to his liking as it meant easier money to be made, and an Eorl who ran this kind of establishment might also be less careful with his levies. He decided he already liked the new Eorl and would take the time to greet him.

Larswic had not come to Edoras alone and he was not there just to greet his new Lord; that would have been a wasted trip in his mind, especially when there was so much gold to be made in the city, and merriment. He had brought along horses to be traded, both sturdy workhorses that the farmers liked to own, and the fine, temperamental horses such as the nobles liked to ride; breeding horses was just one of the many ways his family made their money. To help with the horses he brought his eldest son and the lad's cousin, both boys of fourteen. This was their first time in Edoras and though they looked about them wide eyed, they knew not to be distracted, to keep quiet and look after the horses as Larswic had ordered. Wultheof, Larswic's son, was almost as big as his father, with the same straw coloured hair; he looked on his father and the horses proudly and was not impressed by the people of Edoras. Leocsley, Larswic's sister-son, was more slightly built, and though also proud, he looked at the city people, especially those with finery, through narrowed eyes.

Larswic dismounted from his own horse, and with a wave of his hand and few words, dismissed the boys to find stables for the horses. He walked to the Mead Hall, noting the faces about him, who he thought looked wise, and who gullible, and smiled as he thought of the sets of Dice and Knucklebones in his pocket.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn met Falco as he ambled (though with more speed than usual) toward the kitchen.

"Falco!" she said, carrying a tray of cold drinks. "How are they doing up there?"

She nodded in the direction that she was walking, and though she slowed, she continued forward.

"Where'd you find those cups?" asked Falco, thinking he knew the answer.

"The kitchen, of course. We thought the men might like refreshment as they work."

"Frodides?"

"Quite safe. A deep cut, but it's being taken care of."

"Where is she?"

"With the ladies." She paused a minute, watching his mind work before adding, "The window, Falco."

He stopped dead before breaking out in loud laughter, pounding his small fist against his knee as he doubled over to about the size of a large pumpkin, nearly shaking with mirth. He pointed in the direction that the men worked silently, doing it again toward the back of the building. He sputtered and laughed again. Saeryn smiled and caught the fresh scent of the cold cider. Water would prove well enough for common refreshment, but the chilled explosion of fruit would serve better to cut through the stale dust and would leave a more pleasant taste than damp debris.

"If you'll excuse me..."

She rounded the corner, stepping over several of the more aerodynamic rocks without spilling a drop of cider. She spotted Eodwine sighing heavily and noted his face, redder than usual, and his carriage... tenser, muscles nearly rippling with use or want of it. The dust had coated his golden hair, fading it to where he looked as if he had aged years in a day. The dampness of the weather coupled with heavy lifting had combined to cut clean paths through the grime on his skin. He was a sight and no mistake. She worried over his state as he took yet another breath. Angry, or working himself too hard?

She walked slower now, picking her way across strewn debris, balancing her tray carefully.

"Take a drink." she ordered Eodwine. "You look fresh from battle and there's no reason for it."

[Firefoot]

Bebother that horse! Why did it have to be Eodwine himself who noticed? Oh, no, oh, no. In the space of a few seconds a million responses flitted through Léof’s mind. Limping? No, not at all – my foot is fine. Except Léof was a horrible liar, and he faltered under Eodwine’s steady gaze.

“Well, yes, maybe a little,” Léof admitted. “The horses spooked in the stable when the wall fell in, and my foot got stepped on. But I’m sure it will be fine,” he hastily added. “It doesn’t hurt that much, and I’ve had worse before.” This very last part, at least, was true. On the other hand, he had no idea how fine it would really be. He wished that he had had a chance to look at it himself before someone else had noticed. And the very last thing he needed was a doctor coming in and telling him it had to be rested for some indefinite length of time. He did not think it would come to that, but he preferred to play it safe – and that meant no doctor.

Eodwine frowned as if trying to discern how much truth was in Léof’s words, but thankfully he had no time to call for a healer or anything of the sort because three men rode up at that point with several horses. “I had best go help,” Léof excused himself and made his escape, taking care to walk as normally as possible, although the pain of doing this was dizzying. If nothing else, Gárwine would cover for him. As Léof passed him, he cast him a glance that Léof could only hope Gárwine would correctly interpret. Gárwine nodded slightly, and Léof could only trust that it was so.

As he approached the newcomers, he realized that two of them could not be older than himself, although both were taller. By the time he caught up with them, the third man had already walked off, presumably to find Eodwine.

“Good morning to you,” he offered. “My name is Léofric, and I am the ostler here.” He had no idea what it was that led him to use his full name and not the shortened form. Perhaps it was an aura of being completely unimpressed, but Léof for some reason felt an inexplicable need to assert himself as belonging here. Maybe some of it even came from his injured foot. “I can take some of those horses,” he said. “There are several open stalls about midway down the aisle…”

[littlemanpoet]

Off walked Léof, trying very hard to hide his limp. Eodwine shook his head, grinning. He would have to have a word with that young man. It seemed he was too used to being untrusted and hid what should not be. Hmm, oh lord of Middle Emnet, that's not bad thinking for a lord of the Eorlingas; maybe there's hope for you yet. Eodwine rolled his eyes. Fool, any grown man could think as good a thought and have not the makings of a lord of other folk. Go help the others and quit thinking for a bit.

He took a step in the direction of Degas and the others, busily at work removing broken pieces of wall from the kitchen door - they seemed to be making quite good work of it without his help - when he stopped and looked about him. The rain was lessening. In fact, he and all the others, no doubt, had clean forgotten that it was raining at all in all the hubbub since the downed wall.

The downed wall. How had that happened? The next thought shook him at a deep level that would have scared him had he paid closer attention to it, but the thing itself distracted him. Where was Manawyth? Eodwine frowned. Could the tipped wall had been foul play? He began walking amid the mess of lumber and plaster, taking care not to slip on the wetness of it all, looking for any clues to what caused the wall to fall.

He was busy about this when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, half expecting Manawyth, ready to glower. It was Saeryn, bearing a tray of drink. He tried to cover his surprise at such a fair sight amid all the tangle and woe both in his mind and before his eyes.

"Take a drink." she ordered Eodwine. "You look fresh from battle and there's no reason for it."

"You're not supposed to be in here," he grated, but took the offered cup and drank, peering at her face over the rim of his cup. The cider tasted good, and the spike of age soothed his nerves. She'd made a good choice. Another mark to the good for her as hostess, though he thought her more as guest than otherwise. "What mean you, no reason?"

Noises of chinking harness and scratching leather came to his ears and he looked to what had been the entrance to the mead hall. Picking their way through the debris were a man and two youths, Rohirric by the look of them.

"Hello there! Best not step any more in this mess, we've had a wall fall over. Saeryn, my hostess, will show you to the makeshift lunch room, though I'm not sure what lunch we have to serve you right now as the kitchen's a battlefield. Oh! I'm Eodwine, keeper of this inn and erstwhile lord of this not so fair mead hall. What are you called?" Eodwine ruefully thought that he sounded in all that rush of words like one busybodied innkeeper of Bree he'd met in his northern travels. Saeryn had not moved, staring at him with quick glances at the newcomers. "Go on, hostess," Eodwine gruffed with a toss of his head, "I'm not fit to be seen and you are. Show these men where to go, and maybe to some clean rooms to get them out of harm's way."

She nodded, though not without a raised brow mixed with pointed look, and began making her way to the three men. Eodwine watched her slim, trousered figure as she seemed effortlessly to wield tray and step surefooted amid the clutter. Another mark to the good, he thought as he watched her greet the guests and lead them back out and around to the makeshift meadhall.

Intro to Eorling Mead Hall rpg (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=439978&postcount=1)

[Lalwendë]

Wultheof watched the ostler approach, taking note of the other lad's size and how strong he might be. He dismounted from his horse and squared up his shoulders, casting a quick look back at Leocsley. His cousin was busy with the horses, pointedly not looking at the ostler. Wultheof knew that he would have to take the lead here while his cousin waited and listened, as usual.

"Wultheof of Middle Emnet," he said in greeting to Leofric, nodding his head slightly. It was enough of a greeting to be polite, but not so much that he might appear weak. Leocsley only raised his hand in greeting and still would not look at Leofric.

"My father would like the use of your stables, at least for the night. How much longer they will be needed I wouldn't say. Our horses usually attract buyers quickly. They are well bred and strong." Wultheof did not exaggerate. The horses were as fine as any to be found in Edoras, and indeed many of those already in the city were of the same bloodlines.

He knew his father would not like him to barter for the price of the stabling, and he knew not to do this until his father returned, but he was determined to impress upon the ostler that even though he was still a boy, he was not stupid or weak. In as gruff a voice as he could muster, he asked: "What chance is there of a deal for the cost of stabling such fine horses?"

***

Larswic could see what had caused the trouble at the Mead Hall. The walls of the serving quarters had suffered some kind of collapse. Among his many ways of earning gold was his skill in building; it was a useful skill and had in the past earned him plenty of money during lean periods with the horses, or with his other schemes, but it was one he also knew out of necessity. His family had been used to moving about in the past. At one time this had been to follow the horses across the fields of Rohan, but recently it had been due to the effects of the War, and knowing how to quickly put up a rough house was a useful skill.

He could tell straight away that this was something far beyond his own skill, it being a Mead Hall, but that didn't stop him from offering his advice to anyone who would care to listen. A new scheme came quickly to his mind.

"You want to be setting some stronger beams in there," he said. "And the wattle wants replacing too. I daresay that might cost you a fair few pieces of gold."

A fair few pieces of gold. But it would only cost him one or two pieces from the supplier he had in mind, and there would be a nice profit to be had for his own purse. Larswic's blue eyes twinkled as he thought about it.

His words seemed to have had some effect as the new Eorl, his new lord, raised his head from the mayhem and introduced himself. The greeting was rough and rushed, and anything but formal. Larswic nodded and offered his name. He thought for a split second before adding "...my Lord" after his name. This Eodwine might not be given to formality like other Eorls he had known, but Larswic was not prepared to take a chance of causing offence. That might mark him out and make the Eorl remember him, and remember those levies and dues.

A young woman approached to lead him into the Mead Hall, and he was shaken from his thoughts by the sight of her. She could not have been much older than his own daughter, his eldest and most loved child, but this woman moved as a man might. He felt he ought to follow her as he was told to do so, and lowered his head a moment as he greeted her, even though she was a serving woman and he need not do so.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"A talk for later, Master Larswic." said Saeryn, guiding him carefully out of the wreckage. She mentally patted her own back for having worn shoes today as she nimbly moved across the stone-strewed ground. Not only were her feet safer than they would normally have been, but she presented a far more convincing hostess than she'd have without. For a reason she was unsure of, her standing in this man's eyes seemed of more importance than usual. Perhaps it was his inspecting glance, taking in everything and everyone, and Saeryn's own knowledge that the hall was marginally less than presentable. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes when he spotted the lord of the hall up to his eyes in grime, but whatever it was, Saeryn wanted this man to know that he was amongst those deserving of the utmost respect. An unshod hostess wasn't exactly what she considered demanding of it, and she felt unusually aware of the way her own appearance reflected that of Eodwine. She spoke again even as she resolved to begin wearing shoes again, no matter how lovely the weather.

"Coins or not, nothing can be done until a few other things have been taken care of. M'lord," she added over her shoulder, using Eodwine's title more for the benefit of the newcomers and for propriety than for any tendency otherwise. "Frodides is safe and outside with the ladies. I meant to tell you before you shooed me off."

Turning back to Larswic, Saeryn smiled politely at him, expecting no argument and happily receiving none.

"Now where are you from, Master Larswic? I daresay that I can find you and your young men a meal if it's desired, and certainly rooms. Will you be staying long?"

[Firefoot]

Is he trying to impress me, now, or intimidate me? Léof wondered. And why such silence from the other one? He had not even spoken a word of greeting. Too high and mighty to deal with the stable manager? Léof bristled slightly at this thought, but he turned back to Wultheof to answer his question.

“Bartering will not be necessary,” he explained. “This is a Mead Hall, not an inn; all such fees are covered for you. You will find the same to be true for your board and meals.”

Wultheof appeared rather put out of his reckoning by this. Not wanting to make him too uncomfortable, Léof saved him from responding by adding, “Come, let’s get these horses inside the stable.” He took one of the strings of horses, deliberately staying on the other side of the horse than these other two so as to better hide his limp. Léof did not know exactly why he felt so inclined to hold so firmly to his place with them. What did he think they would do, ambush him or something? They had certainly never acted threatening. Threatening? Where had that come from? Ease up, Léof! They’re just like any other visitors – it’s you who’s wound tighter than a spring!

As they stabled the horses, Léof decided to attempt conversation, if only to ease his own nerves. “Trading horses – is that your business then? Do you breed them yourselves?”

[Lalwendë]

Larswic smiled as he spoke to Saeryn and finally looked her in the eyes. His gaze did not drop now he had got over the shock of meeting a young woman with such a confident, masculine manner. He was struck by how attractive this young woman was, and wondered if she might be ready to be charmed a little.

“I should like a drink if there’s any in this Mead Hall as the name suggests. I could drink as much as a horse. It’s been a long journey. Though not so long as other journeys I have made,” he said, flashing a wide smile at Saeryn.

“My land is on the borders of Middle Emnet and Eodwine is my new Lord. A`Lord we did not expect, you might say.” He drew up his shoulders as he said this. Larswic's lands had now come under the control of this new Middle Emnet, a new level of control, and one he had not chosen. He had grown accustomed to running his affairs in his own way like many other men, and he was uncomfortable with the idea of new levies and dues to pay. There had been a lot of argument in the village, mostly in the evenings, around the fires with ale to fuel the talk. But even with clear heads the men were not all sure what would come to pass and the talk continued out in the fields and in the smithies.

“But I’m not here just to pay allegiance to a new Eorl,” he smirked and reached into his pocket. “I have business to attend to. Larswic of Halan is known for his particularly fine horses. And not only that…”

Larswic raised his hand and out of it fell a long golden chain with a small, thick square of gold suspended from it. The square was plain and highly polished, and it glinted in the low light. As it spun, it reflected their faces as though they were engaged in a twirling dance in a fire lit hall.

“Could be Orcish gold. Could be Dwarven. Who can say? Can you?” Larswic did not take his eyes off Saeryn, who was watching the pendant spin as though mesmerised. At his words, she looked back at him.

Larswic patted the pack slung over his shoulder. “I may have more of these precious little beauties.” He drew the pendant up to his mouth and gently bit down on the edge of it, as if to show the high quality of the god. He did not withdraw his gaze.


***

The wind had been taken out of Wultheof’s sails with the news that there was no bartering to be done. He had hoped to impress the ostler by his knowledge of grown up, manly business. He had a quick mind though, and soon found a new way to impress when he was asked his business in Edoras.

“My family are known for the horses they breed. Some of the greatest horses of Rohan have come from our bloodlines. There could be Mearas ancestry in the line, so my Grandfather has told me,” he gently patted the horse which stood next to him. Leofric could not fail to notice how gentle a touch the burly Wultheof gave to the horse; he had revealed that he was not always the tough young man he liked to be.

“But we are here to trade,” said Wultheof. His face brightened as he thought of something, and a boyish enthusiasm came over him. “One of the great Horse Fairs is on isn’t it? I’ve heard they have contests of all kinds. Will there be wrestling?”

Leocsley’s face suddenly brightened and he broke his scowl. He looked straight at Leofric for the first time.

“Archery? Will there be archery?” Leofric noticed that Leocsley carried a bow across his back. Both lads now looked expectantly at Leofric, as Larswic had promised that in Edoras, they would have the chance to compete in their favourite sports, to show the other boys of the great capital of Rohan just how strong and skilled the country boys were.

[Bêthberry]

Without the other young lasses around to push her through the window, Kara couldn't jump high enough, even with Ruthven giving her a bit of the old heave-ho, or as much as her aged bones could allow.

"ummph, a bit more," Kara advised.

"ppffftt," exhaled Ruthven. "I'm trying lass, but girls these days are fatted with the feasts of peace. You're a bit heavy for me."

Kara pulled harder on the window ledge, but lacked the strength of arm to pull herself up fully. With a wiggle and a turn, her foot accidentally kicked the old woman in the stomach.

"Yowww!" exclaimed Ruthven, dropping Kara as she fell over. Her old bones shook as they met the ground and her stomach hurt. Bruises at her age hurt.

For her part, Kara grabbed tight to the window's ledge and was left hanging there, yelling 'hey" and 'help' as her legs swung back and forth a bit.

A moan from Frodides brought their attention back to the real problem here, a cook with a terrible gash, still bleeding. Ruthven rolled over, rose to her feet, and went to check on the cook. She was shaking. Ruthven ripped some of her undergarment and tied it tightly around the younger woman's knee.

"We'd best not wait for Linduial to find Aedel--p'raps there's been trouble there too. I'm off to fetch the men folk. They can just as well carry Frodides as make all that confounded noise we hears." Limping a bit and rubbing her side, Ruthven made off in the direction Saeryn had taken.

* * *

Wouldn't you know, she thought, as she rounded the Hall and saw the rock piles and mess and dust and new arrivals. No wonder no helps comin' for Frodides.

"Saeryn, lass, have ye forgotten our cook? " Ruthven eyed the tall, dark stranger with the glittering eyes and sought out Eodwine.

"Loord of the Tumblin' Mead Hall," she announced to Eodwine, who still looked none too pleased with himself and events, "We be needing help out back. We wimmin have found our cook, but she's bleeding and we canna carry her. Be there any young able bodied men with strong backs and stronger characters who'd care to help?" She was out of breathe and couldn't say more, her side still aching from the kick from Kara.

Wincing, she then continued. "There's a lass hanging too, in somewhat undelicate circumstances, lest she's dropped now too, that needs picking up and putting down."

[JennyHallu]

Linduial ran as fast as she could through the debris, with a speed and agility her usual sedate, graceful manner barely hinted at. She found Aedhel just leaving the undamaged wing of rooms, the basket of herbs and supplies the healer had left for her over her arm.

"We got Frodides out," Lin gasped, "and she's got a cut on her leg. Bleeding and needs wrapped, but I suspect it looks worse than it is."

Aedhel nodded and took off for the kitchen garden without delay, leaving Lin to catch her breath in the doorway. She looked her reflection up and down in a glazed window, realizing with dismay just how unkempt she looked, thankful that Degas wasn't here to see her. Her dress, caked with stone-dust and mud, was certainly ruined, the lovely green color she'd delighted in this morning undiscernable under the mess, and she was glad she'd put on shoes before going out to the stable that morning, or she'd have ruined the light, small slippers she usually wore. Her hair looked more gray than near-black, and she had odd streaks on her face where she'd pushed strands of hair out of her way.

As the main crisis seemed to have passed, and Frodides was sure to be all right, she slipped quietly into her room. She shook out the worst of the mess on her dress (it seemed pointless and time-consuming to change it before the rest of the dust settled) and combed the grey stone-muck out of her hair. A soft cloth and water from the pitcher soon fixed her face, and she emerged into the courtyard feeling much refreshed and more herself, to find Saeryn greeting a bulky man also covered in dirt, but this had the reddish clay hue of road-dust.

The man was dangling a rude golden necklace from work-roughened hands, leering in Saeryn's direction, and Lin, with a sideways sympathetic glance at her friend, walked past haughtily without sparing the man so much as a look, vowing silently to keep her own delicate filagree goldwork under lock and key as long as he remained here.

Ruthven was in Eodwine's way, probably demanding help for Frodides, who by now was probably getting the same from Aedhel, who'd gone the back way around. Eodwine's expression was black as a thundercloud, and Lin wondered at Ruthven's courage to approach him. Degas, Thornden, and Garwine seemed to be rather uncertain of purpose, standing behind Eodwine (and a safe distance away, it seemed to her), and staring around at their home with a certainly disheartened expression. Two young lads were walking a large band of beautiful horses towards the stable behind Léof, who seemed to be walking rather stiffly. Linduial doubted there was room for more than a few of the veritable herd the boys were leading. Falco was leaning against a rock, laughing near-hysterically and holding a mug--Saeryn must have informed him of their rescue of Frodides. And Marenil, dear Marenil, seemed the only one in sight who was his normal self.

He was sitting on one of the larger stones, holding a broken-off piece of wood, with which he was sketching in the dirt, frowning down at his work. Linduial walked to him curiously, carefully stepping around his neat diagrams, and sat down beside him on the rock, looking out over what she immediately recognized as a floor plan of the Hall. Marenil was cheerfully sketching out the Great Hall, and Lin looked at the drawing intently.

"That's bigger." Her tone was inquiring.

Marenil looked up at her with a grin. "Wonderful opportunity, this collapse," he said, looking around at the wreckage. "Look here...all this rock can be used to build a sturdy thick base for the walls, about two feet high. Then Eodwine can build wooden walls, and a high roof, sloped like the Hall in Meduseld, and only a trifle shorter, as Lord Eodwine wills. I would build an open circular hearth in the very middle of the hall, or you could build a huge one on the end, you could do anything, really. I'd build big impressive double doors, and put up carved latticework across part of the hall, about half way down, and split up part of the Hall for the official business of the Eorl, and the rest for the day-to-day comfort of his household. You could put in a cellar for storage, and a door from the residential wing, maybe even a balcony looking over the hall from the Lord's rooms on the second floor, a new door from the kitchen here, and change the way it's hinged so it could open from either way..."

Marenil was drawing excitedly as his mind ran off with ideas, and Lin caught his enthusiasm readily as the two spoke rapidly in their own language. "We could send for stonemasons from home, who'd know how to build a firmer wall or chimney, with mortar. We owe Eodwine a debt anyway. There could be windows all along the top of the walls, almost under the eaves, to let in light and keep it from getting too smoky if Eodwine chooses a central hearth. And much of this wreckage could be reused, though it doesn't look it. You'd need the main beams, and maybe a little lumber, but it wouldn't take too much longer than remodeling the hall was going to already."

Marenil smiled, pleased that Linduial had learned her lessons at his knee so well. "It all depends on what the Lord wishes, of course," he cautioned, "and he may not wish to hear all is not lost until he gets over being angry about it." He indicated Eodwine's scowling face with an elbow, continuing to draw in the dirt, and Lin looked up to see the Lord kick at a rock in frustration, sending it skittering across the courtyard, and she winced.

"He's not being very sensible."

"Lords and Ladies are not any more sensible than anyone else," Marenil chided, taking the opportunity for a little lessonizing. "They get frustrated and angry, they get proud and rude and lazy and far too full of their own importance. Some never bother to use any brains at all, and are no use to anyone. Sometimes Lords and Ladies fall in love just like us common folk, and then they don't even remember what sensible means half the time."

Lin shot Marenil a sharp glance, but, as she had learned was wisest when he took that tone of voice, repeated his words to herself, mulling them over as she studied the rough plan that Marenil had laid out.

"It's almost a pity I'll be going home in a month or two," Marenil said, almost wistfully, startling Linduial. "This is going to take a long time to build, but the Lord here is a good man, and its a worthy endeavor. I'd like to see it done before I die, and Lord Eodwine in a proper home for a man of his stature in the world." The two friends, young and old, fell silent, looking out over the plans Marenil'd drawn in the dust of the ruined hall, and over the years ahead of them.

[Folwren]

Thornden quit the steady and incessant heaving, pulling, and tossing to turn and look at Saeryn as she flitted almost effortlessly through the rubble, the stranger following her. Degas did, too, and leaned his elbow on the convenient knee raised from where his foot stood on a high pile of rock.

'If Fordides is out, there's not reason to be unpiling this rock,' he observed, looking at Thornden. They had both heard what she had told Eodwine over her shoulder.

'That appears to be the case,' he agreed, looking at a small chunk of rock in his hand. He tossed it up and caught it a few times, turning his eyes towards Eodwine. 'We don't have to do it now, this instant, anyway.' He threw the rock to the side and looked at the prospect. The kitchen was inaccessible and put well out of use. Without a kitchen, he didn't know what they would do. The door would still have to be unblocked, but the cause was not quite as desperate as they thought.

He turned, pivoting on his heel, and walked towards Eodwine. The older woman he had seen earlier was speaking with him and Thornden stopped several feet away. He still heard what she had to say to him.

'We wimmin have found our cook, but she's bleeding and we canna carry her. Be there any young able bodied men with strong backs and even stronger characters who'd care to help?' She paused and her eyes flicked towards Degas and Thornden as she panted for breath. 'There's a lass hanging, too, in somewhat undelicate circumstances, lest she's dropped now, too, and needs picking up and putting down.'

Thornden wondered mildly how ladies could manage to get themselves into such scrapes. Fordides had her excuses, but the second one mentioned. . . 'Where are they?' he asked, walking forward. 'Tell us where you've left them and Degas and I will go see what we can do for them.'

Ruthven told him the desired information and with a motion of his hand to Degas to follow, he started off, picking his way carefully through the fallen wall. They rounded the corner of the kitchen and saw the women grouped under the window. Fordides sat with her back to the wall, Aedhel knelt over her, her hands gently cleaning the cut on her leg. Kara stood sat two paces away, her arms wrapped around her knees. They seemed unaware of the wet ground and grass. It probably didn't matter much, anyway, everyone was damp from the drizzling rain, if not wet from what was dumped on them from the tarp roof.

Aedhel looked up as they approached. She said a quiet word in greeting and turned back to her work. Thornden stopped and watched in silence for a moment. It was not a deep gash, but it was wide. Aedhel had dabbed away the blood, but there was also skin to be gotten out of the way before it could be bound. It would take a few minutes yet. He looked at Kara.

'Are you the one who was left hanging?' he asked. 'We were told someone else was in quite a predicament, but it looks like you are alright, unless you were hurt when you jumped back down. Are you alright?'

[Kath]

Kara had been a little worried when Ruthven had simply disappeared, leaving her hanging from the windowsill. She hoped it wasn't in retaliation for that accidental kick, but whatever the reason she was still in a bit of a predicament. Straining her arms she tried to lift herself up, but couldn't get a good enough grip to do so. Left with two options now Kara considered just waiting for someone to turn up and help her down, but Aedhel was too busy with Frodides to either help her or fetch anyone else, and there was no knowing how long it would be before anyone else appeared.

Sighing she looked down between her feet. The drop wasn't huge but it was larger than she would ever voluntarily jump. She remained undecided for a few moments, gently swinging back and forth, until the wood she was holding onto began to creak and made the decision for her. As the material splintered beneath her fingers Kara let go and closed her eyes, hoping the ground would be soft.

A few seconds and a soft thud later and she was back on solid ground. Shifting all her limbs Kara was relieved to see that she was, again, unharmed, and thanked her lucky stars that something was keeping her safe today. Thankfully the rain that had caused all of these difficulties had softened the ground and so the landing was not as hard as she had feared it might be. She saw that Aedhel was still keeping watch over Frodides and offered help, but the girl waved her off, saying she was doing fine by herself. Happy to leave the cook in Aedhel's capable hands Kara moved off a little way and sat down, glad for the rest.

Moments later Thornden and Degas appeared round the corner of the building. Kara assumed that Saeryn must have told Eodwine and the others that Frodides was now free, and felt surer of this when the men didn't appear suprised at the sight of the cook laying on the ground. Thornden saw Aedhel tending to her and turned his attention instead to Kara.

"Are you the one who was left hanging?' he asked. 'We were told someone else was in quite a predicament, but it looks like you are alright, unless you were hurt when you jumped back down. Are you alright?"

"I'm quite alright." She replied smiling. "But Frodides is not. Could you help us get her inside? We need to get her out of this rain."

Thornden nodded and motioned to Degas to help them. They helped Kara and Aedhel get Frodides to her feet and slowly, with most of the cooks weight resting on the broad shouldered men, they made their way inside. So much of the downstairs was now in disrepair that it was suggested they take poor Frodides upstairs, so she could be in a warm and clean room. This was done, and after they had helped the cook onto her bed, Thornden and Degas left to give Eodwine news of what had happened, while Aedhel and Kara stayed to keep an eye on Frodides.

[Firefoot]

As the other two lads, mostly Wultheof, talked, Léof had slowly begun to let down his guards. It seemed to him that perhaps these two were simply trying to find a place in an unfamiliar city, and this Léof could certainly sympathize with. And their enthusiasm over the horse fair was certainly catchy.

“As for your first question,” he nodded towards Wultheof, “the horse fair isn’t going on right this second. It’s scheduled to start soon – tomorrow, or the day after? I’ll admit, I haven’t been here long myself, and I don’t hear a lot of news. But from what I have heard, there will certainly be contests of all sorts: the horse events being most prominent, of course – races and others – and, yes, wrestling. I hadn’t heard anything about archery, but they probably have that, too.” He hoped Leocsley would not be disappointed; it was the first sign of friendliness Léof had seen from him yet, and he didn't want to send that trait burrowing back into its hole.

Wultheof nodded. “What about you, Léofric? Entering any events?”

Léof realized rather unhappily now that even if his duties did permit it, his foot almost certainly would not. What would you do, anyway? And he realized he did not have an answer to that. He had little skill in any kind of weaponry, and his slight frame hindered him in athletics. Not in riding, though – in fact, there it was quite beneficial. He and Æthel would have figured something out. Instead, he simply answered, “I haven’t decided yet.” He doubted that he would be able to hide his injury forever – Eodwine had certainly noticed quickly enough, and Léof had the uncomfortable feeling he had seen through a lot more as well – but he sure wasn’t going to tell the whole world in the mean time.

By now, all the horses had been put in stalls, and Léof showed the other two lads where the hay and water were. With three of them working it did not take long, but Léof still had plenty of time to notice just how few stalls were left empty. The number of horses in the stable had doubled or more with these new additions – good thing that they would be traded away in the next couple of days, and hopefully the Mead Hall would not gain more than a couple more visitors with horses in that time, or else Léof would not know where to keep them.

“Well, I guess that about settles it,” he said. “Thanks for your help. You can stick around here if you like, but you'll probably want to head out to join your... father? A piece of advice, if you decide to head out to where everyone else has gathered: you arrived at a rather chaotic time, and it might be best to stay out of people’s ways. I’m not exactly sure what happened, and they still may be trying to figure it out, too, though it may have calmed down some. Other than that, feel free to come and go.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn watched the dangling shimmer with all the fascination of a crow with a shining penny. Though no light from the sky touched it, it seemed to catch what light there was and reflect it back toward her as it spun slowly on its chain.

“I may have more of these precious little beauties.” The man made her curious. She had met those like him, of course, but they had never gained her attention such as this. She put it down to that the last time she had been in such company, she had been clad in a fine gown with her hair styled and had been seen only as a fine-brained lady with no mind for barter.

"Perhaps later, Master Larswic, you shall tell me the history of this lovely piece. I wonder at the lovely woman whose neck it once adorned. But as you can see, now is not quite the time or the place." She gestured simply, somehow capturing the illusion that she had pointed simultaniously to the drizzle falling lightly from the dull grey sky to the mud about their feet and the imperfect shelter nearby. "I must admit to a slight chill, and I suspect that if I've one, others of this household do as well. I'll need to check the state of rooms closest to the fall and organize a meal of some sort, and all that that will go unnoticed otherwise. If you'll excuse me..."

They had walked as she spoke and were now within the building at the end farthest from the destruction.

"This room should suit." she said, opening a door wide. She had cleaned it that morning before Lin had joined her for sweets and laughter. "You are, of course, welcome to wander, but please take care. I am sorry to be so abrupt, but there is much to be done and less time to do it in."

[Lalwendë]

Wultheof knew that when another boy said he had not settled on a sport or he had no idea what he was going to compete in, it usually meant he was afriad to compete, that he had no real strength. But as Leofric talked, Wultheof could tell that the other boy was clearly made to be a jockey. That would explain why he was working as an ostler, to be closer to the horses. Wultheof did not say anything, but this impressed him. A good rider was highly prized in all quarters of Rohan, but out on the plains, horse riding had become not just a skill, but an art, and a good rider would be sought out by the owner of a good horse to compete in the regular races held.

Wultheof made sure to remember to tell his father about Leofric.

They worked hard to get the horses settled. A horse was worth a lot, and everyone in Rohan respected the animals, making sure they had comfort before they sought their own. The work was done without any second thoughts. Once it was finished, Wultheof and Leocsley headed back towards the Mead Hall, hoping to find some food.

"He looked to have a limp. Lame old horse," muttered Leocsley to his cousin.

"Limp or not, he knows his horses. I reckon he'd give us more than a fair race, if it came to it," Wultheof said. "Least he wasn't soft in the head like you."

"Look who's talking, fool," Leocsley quickly stuck out his foot and his cousin stumbled. he was rewarded by being bundled to the ground and punched in the shoulder. The boys scuffled for a moment before getting up again, covered in muck and laughing.

***

He could see she was interested. That was enough for now, to dangle the idea and wait to see what unfolded.

Larswic had been dangled something interesting himself. This young woman was clearly not born to be a serving girl, she had more grace and a certain bright intelligence hidden beneath. He knew there was a story here and he resolved to find out more. His own daughter was a simple girl, beautiful but quiet.

Here was another young woman who seemed to have a man's ways. He did not quite understand why so many chose to act that way, but since the King's sister it was more common, and she had been a brave lass, as brave as any man. Still, he could not square a young woman like Saeryn with the presence of the other finely dressed, but dusty young woman he had seen pass by on the way in. One was fine but chose to hide it, the other displayed it for all she was worth.

There might be money to be made here after all, he thought to himself. He thanked his hostess kindly, and made sure to press a small gold coin into her hand for her troubles.

He looked at the room out of courtesy to Saeryn, and found it as he expected, clean and plain, and at any rate much better than the tent they had used to camp in on the journey to Edoras. Larswic was not the type to fuss about his lodgings, so as soon as the hostess had left him, he turned around. He had to make sure his horses were properly stabled to set his mind at rest, and to check that the lads weren't being knuckleheads, and making fools of themselves, and more importantly, him.

[Nerindel]

At first Æðelhild had not much liked the idea of having to take Frodides upstairs. Though she had neatly stitched up the wound and dressed it tightly with a compress of Knitbone (Comfrey) root and Calendula oil, it was still tender. She wouldn’t be able to put weight on it for sometime and climbing stairs was the last thing she should do, but there was no help for it. The lower level was now littered with dust and debris. The mock hall was no better an option as there would be no peace for the woman to get the rest she required to overcome her shock. No up stairs was all that was left and after Thornden and Degas had assured her that they could see the injured woman safely up, she had relented.

After the men had left and Frodides had finally drifted off to sleep, Æðel helped Kara to light a small fire in the hearth, to keep the room warm. She had not known where all the others had been when the wall had fallen only that Frodides had still been in the kitchen were she had left her only moments ago, noting that Thornden had realised the same thing and was trying to clear a way the debris to free the trap woman she had instinctively rushed to her room to collect the herbs and oils Meduseld’s healer had given her on his last visit. Only now, now that Frodides was safe and well did she think of the others and hoped that none of them had been in the hall when the wall fell, but still she had to be sure. So whispering, she told Kara that she thought she should go and make sure that there were not others requiring her assistance. Kara nodded, agreeing to sit with Frodides, until she or someone else returned.

“ I shall try not to be long and if I can I will also try to procure a kettle or something in which to brew a nice warm calming tea, perhaps Chamomile or lavender? Frodides will be thirsty when she awakes, and when memory of the state of her kitchen comes back to her she my need a little something to calm her nerves.”

Kara’s eye widened slightly at the thought, “Aye, perhaps it would also be best for you to advise our lordship not to pay visit till after she’s had the tea then!”

“Yes I believe that would indeed be wise,” she replied with a chuckled as she picked up her basket and again headed down stairs.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs she stood aghast, as finally the full extend of the damage lay before her. The front wall had fully collapsed in on itself, completely covering the old hall and blocking the way into the kitchen and Kara had already told her the damage within as they had lit the fire in frodides room. She had stood stunned for a moment, this would take months to clear up she thought, then with thought to how Lord Eodwine would be taking this she looked round.

She found him talking to Thornden, Degas and Falco were with him and to her relief neither Eodwine nor Falco seemed hurt. As she approached them she noted Linduail and Meneril sitting a little away lost in thought, but neither seemed hurt.

“M’lord!” She respectfully nodded in greeting. “I bring news of Mistress Frodides, The severe gash to her leg, though not deep still required some stitching. I also took the liberty of applying a compress of Knitbone root and Calendula oil, both to prevent infection and to aid in the healing, she will be fine, but she will have to stay off that leg for sometime. She is resting now in the west quarter on the second floor, but I think it would not be wise for you to visit until after there has been chance to brew ..eh…erm a more calming remedy.”

Falco let out a deep hearty laugh, catching on to what she was politely implying. “Even wounded she don’t lose that fire!” he roar digging Eodwine jovially in the ribs.

Æðel said nothing but waited for the Lord to speak, before asking him if any others required her attention.

[Celuien]

A weathered grey cart slowly rumbled up the muddy road, its lone horse and driver fighting the dismal weather. Wheels squeaked unwillingly, threatening at every moment to become mired in the rain carved ruts in the path. The driver, however, was safe from the showers, having tied a thick canvas between poles that rose on either side of his seat. His freight was likewise protected from the elements; the covering continued to drape over the rear of the wagon, into which he continually shot concerned glances.

Once too often, for during one of his checks, the cart struck a large stone, and one of the front wheels was torn from its axle. The cart ground to a halt, listing precariously to the damaged left side, and the driver reined in his horse with a muttered curse. His head snapped around again in panic, and he shouted something to the back of the cart. The muffled answer, perhaps the echo of his own voice against the cart’s tall sides, seemed to reassure him, and he dismounted to look at the results of his accident.

The collision had splintered a spoke where it joined the base of one of the wheels and broken the bolt attaching it to the cart. But the damage wasn't as bad as expected. The man smiled grimly. "There, Garstan," he mumbled. "Not too bad at all. A few bolts, and we'll be on our way, though any work isn’t like to be pleasant in this soup." He worked furiously in the rain, binding the splintered wood with bits of metal, until the cart at last stood level. The wheel would do, for a little while, but Garstan would need to find a new one. His fragile repair would never last on the rough journey ahead.

The cart rolled on hesitantly while Garstan's eyes darted ahead in search of a place to rest. A half-hour's journey brought him to what appeared to be an inn. He stopped, then stared and laughed. This inn, if it was an inn, appeared to be in worse condition than his cart, with walls tumbled down into piles of rubble and people scattered throughout the yard. Garstan nearly left then and there, but an ominous creak from the hastily mended wheel stopped him. He could go no further. Besides, a pile of stones in the rubble called to his stoneshaper's hands. Perhaps he could be of use.

Garstan climbed down from the cart and shouted into the yard. "Hello! Are there any about who might aid a weary traveler?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine waited for Æðel to finish her report, not betraying any sign of his own mood; that is, until Falco ribbed him. Eodwine scowled but recovered quickly enough, or at least so he told himself. Frodides would be a spitfire for a while. He hoped she would be willing to stay on.

"My thanks, Æðel, for taking charge of Frodides' care. There is another whom I would have you look after, unwilling though he be. Find Thornden and Gárwine, and have them wrestle that Léof down and take his boot off. I wager that foot he's hiding is at least bruised if not harboring broken bones, and I'll not have him suffer the longer hidden. Will you do that?"

"Yes, lord," she nodded.

"One thing more."

"Yes, lord?"

"Know you where Kara is?"

"She is in the room where we have laid Frodides, building the fire in the hearth."

"That is good. When she has built it to her satisfaction, tell her that I send her to market to buy food for a late midday meal and tonight's meal."

Æðel curtsied and went in search of Kara, Thornden and Gárwine.

"Now Falco, let's you and me have a look at what we can find in the mess I call my mead hall."

They picked their way through the rubble and shivered beams lying at all angles across the floor and over crushed tables and chairs, and searched every nook and cranny they could get to. After much labor at this that took them well into the middle of the afternoon, stomachs groweling, the two reached the same conclusion at the same moment, Falco speaking while Eodwine nodded.

"It was bound to fall, Master Eodwine of the Gap. It was the roof and its beams holding up the wall instead of the other way around. And that roof and those beams was getting weaker by the month. Had you not had the roof taken off when you did, the wall would have fallen at any road, and most like on top of guests in the middle of their supping. And that would ha' been tragic. So you're a lucky lord, is what it looks like."

Eodwine shook his head. "As hard as it was to believe such a thing just a couple of hours ago, I do believe you have the right of it." Someone approached. It was Saeryn.

"Hello my lovely!" Eodwine called cheerfully. "We have found us a secret worth the telling!" But then he noticed that her face was drawn in a frown, and there was a purposed fire in her eyes. "But you seem to have somewhat to tell of yourself, so I'll hear you first."

"These new men," she said. "They're freeholders from within the bounds of your new realm, and they don't sound too happy about it."

"What be you a-thinking?" Falco asked.

Before Saeryn could answer, a call issued from out front: "Hello! Are there any about who might aid a weary traveler?"

There was a cart led by a single horse, and a man standing beside it looking desperate. Off the three of them went to see what was what.

Intro to Eorling Mead Hall rpg (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=439978&postcount=1)

[Firefoot]

As soon as Wultheof and Leocsley had left, Léof hobbled as quickly as he could into his little room, hoping that he would have at least a few minutes to himself. He would need at least that long to have a look at his foot. After closing the door almost all the way (so that he would still be able to hear out), he sat down and gingerly removed the boot, then the sock beneath it.

He sighed at what he saw. Unsurprisingly, most of the front half of his foot was already starting to turn color and would undoubtedly be a mess of black and blue before too long. He tentatively prodded at it with his finger and felt spasms of pain with every touch. The toes were the worst. He could tell that his third and fourth toe had broken; he did not know about the other three (or the rest of his foot, for that matter). He did not have enough experience with injuries to tell how much was broken. Legs, fingers – those were easy to tell, Léof knew from experience. As were sprained ankles. But feet?

Convinced that he could do nothing more than hope it healed itself up, he padded his foot with some bits of cloth he found from his pack and forced himself to shove the boot back on his foot. He had no intention of taking the boot back off any time soon, not until the foot didn’t hurt as much.

But now he had other business to attend to. He recalled now the bang he had heard before Æthel and Herefola had been pushed completely over the edge and guessed that one of the horses had kicked a wall or something of the sort. If so, it would not be unlikely that the horse would now need some sort of care – perhaps a new shoeing. Léof limped off to find which horse it had been, determined to carry on with his normal duties. He had been forced to work with worse before, after all, and what was a few broken toes compared to that?

The horse he was looking for was the fifth horse he had checked on, a flighty grey gelding. Léof did not feel comfortable alone in the stall with this one, and so led him out into the aisle with some difficulty. Tying him securely outside the stall, he was moving around to check the horse’s feet when he heard people entering the stable. He looked up to find Gárwine and Thornden walking straight towards him. Léof suppressed a groan. He could easily guess what they were here for. He pretended to ignore them at first, inspecting first one back leg of the horse, finding nothing, and moving on to the other.

“My answer is ‘no’,” said Léof without even looking up. He picked up the horse’s other back leg, and, sure enough, the shoe had come lose. He would be taking this horse to the blacksmith later – and he could even ride Æthel there, avoiding the need to be on his feet.

“Léof, you can’t be walking around on a broken foot,” said Gárwine. “I saw how much pain you were in before.”

“I can and will,” answered Léof evenly. “I’ve had worse, and there’s work for me to do. Besides, it’s already feeling better.” He found the blatant disbelief in both of their faces rather annoying. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone? He’d be fine. “I’m not coming with you.”

[Nerindel]

After being dismissed Æðel had hurriedly returned to Kara to deliver Lord Eodwine’s instruction, then hastened to find Thornden and Gárwine. The news that her friend had been injuried had caused her no amount of worry, she knew how much he wanted to impress upon Eodwine that he could forefill the role given him and how stubbornly he would work regardless of any injury to insure that the postion would remain his. His need to see his sister with him was great and one she understood, but she would not simply let him go on suffering needlessly. She was his friend and this she could help him with and as she followed silently, blocked from view by the opposing broad shoulders of the Lords men, she silently resolved to help him weather he wanted it or not.


“My answer is ‘no’,” Léof issued before she could even come out of the shadow of the two men. This sharp response startled her and she waited to hear more, as Gárwine attempted to entreat the young man to see reason.

“I can and will,” came the even response “I’ve had worse, and there’s work for me to do. Besides, it’s already feeling better.” At this Æðel’s normally shy and temperate deamour shifted, like the others she could not believe what she was hearing, a very fine horse man he was but a healer he was not! She would decide if it was feeling better or not! She had expected him to be stubborn, but not a complete bonehead, his foot could not possibly feel better if anything it would only get worse!

So as the young ostler blatantly refused to go with them she stepped out of the shadow of the two men, regarding her friend with an irritable and frustrated look. “Who said anything about going anywhere? Here is as good a place as any!” She issued, nodding to Thornden and Gárwine, who quickly stepped forward intent to apprehend the young ostler, that she could attend to his injury.

“This is for your own good” she sighed sympathetically, seeing the wounded look he shot her.

[Kath]

After building the fire to her satisfaction, Kara had sat with Frodides and kept a careful eye on her. She didn't seem to be running a fever and there were no nightmares disturbing the sleep she had fallen into since Aedhel had returned with the chamomile tea, so when the message from Eodwine came that she was to go to market and fetch food for the days meals she felt that it would be alright to leave.

Making her way back down the stairs Kara had seen that the rest of the Hall's inhabitants seemed perfectly alright, even if the building itself was in a bit of a state. She began to walk towards the kitchen to pick up her cloak for the journey, but stopped as she caught sight of the pile of rubble and thought that perhaps she could do without it for one day. Nodding to Saeryn and the newcomer as she went out the front door, Kara left, a little worried about the journey as it was the first time she'd had to plan two entire meals by herself. She had thought about waking Frodides to check that what she was making was alright, but then wondered if it was worth the tongue lashing she would receive for her insecutiry. Anyway, if Frodides was leaving Kara would need to get used to this.

* * *

Kara returned a couple of hours later, laden down with goods from the market. Things seemed to have calmed down a little since the disaster that morning, though plenty was still going on. She put everything down just outside the doors to keep it away from the dust still being stirred up inside, and suddenly realised that she had nowhere proper to put the food, or indeed to cook it, since the kitchen was a mess.

Deciding to leave that problem for a few minutes she ran up the stairs to check on Frodides, and found that she was now awake and seemingly in not too much pain. She stoked the fire until it was back as full heat, despite Frodides' insistence that she need not be fussed over. Ignoring this Kara poured the cook a little more tea and sat on the bed next to her until she, grudgingly, drank it. As she did Kara told her of her dilemma, and was told in no uncertain terms that it was Eodwine's job to make sure the household ate and she should go speak to him about it at once. But it might be an idea to suggest an outdoor oven, as that was bound to get people involved.

Taking Frodides' reluctant advice Kara ran back downstairs to find Eodwine. It took a few minutes of searching but she eventually came across him and put the question to him.

"My Lord, I have the food for the meals but nowhere to cook it. Frodides suggested an outdoor oven, would it be too much to ask that some of the men help me build one that I might get something made?"

Eodwine thought for a few moments and then nodded. Motioning for Kara to follow him he led her out of the Hall and around to the east of the building. He pointed toward the grass a little way off.

"It will have to be done in a camp style and make a stone-rounded firepit somewhere in this area. I would be happy to let Saeyrn and Degas help you but they are indisposed right now. Can you not do it alone?"

"I'm sorry my lord but it will be difficult for me to build and prepare the food at the same time but if you don't mind your meal being a few hours late then yes I can."

Eodwine looked a little surprised at her being so candid, but then smiled.

"You can ask for help from anyone here. I'm sure there will be someone who is willing and able."

Thanking him Kara headed back inside to find some helpers. Marenil soon offered his services, but warned that he would not be able to do anything too demanding as he was still not completely recovered. Happy that she had at least one person Kara accepted and sent him off to find wood for the fire. She set to work marking out a space for the oven to go, and hoped that someone would walk past and offer help as she and Marenil alone wouldn't have this finished before midnight if they had to work alone.

[JennyHallu]

Linduial had changed out of the ruined dress, finally, laying it carefully aside so she could try to salvage some of the silk embroidery thread later. She now wore a gown of yellow linen, delighting that they seemed to have left the rain behind with the morning, and had spread her cloak on the large stone she now sat on, carefully transferring Marenil's dirt drawings to paper, writing his rough measurements and the ideas he'd told her down in her fine lady-like hand.

Her hair was now neatly tied back and up into a womanly chignon at the base of her neck, and she was enjoying the warming air as the early spring sun shyly peeked around the thinning clouds. She'd grabbed an apple out of the stash in her room when she'd changed and fetched the paper, and ate it slowly, careful not to muss her work with the juice. She was quiet, and thoroughly engrossed in what she was doing; she noticed little of the doings around her, except for Marenil, who was slowly beginning to sort what bits of wood and stone he thought were salvageable, and piling the rest in a corner of the yard for Kara to use as kindling, not interfering with Lord Eodwine's own survey of the damage.

The two of them were an island of calm in what was still a fairly chaotic atmosphere.

[Folwren]

Thornden didn’t like the way Léof refused help. He was absolutely certain that the boy’s foot had to be killing him, if it was as bad as Eodwine had said the limp had been, and having heard what Gárwine had to say about it, he was sure that the injury was worse than Léof made it out to be. Æðel seemed to be of his same mind set, for she suddenly stepped out from behind them. Léod had not seen her before and he looked up at her with surprise as she spoke.

“Who said anything about going anywhere?” she asked. “Here is as good a place as any!” She looked at Thornden and Gárwine pointedly and nodded her head towards Léof. They understood and stepped forward, intending business. Léof sent her a hurt look and dropped the horse’s foot. The gelding immediately stepped away from him and sidled up against the aisle wall where he could watch matters unfold. Léof was left standing alone in the middle of the aisle.

“Come on, Léof, we don’t want to force you,” Thornden said. “But Eodwine gave clear orders that your foot was to be examined and bandaged as necessary.”

“Well, it’s not necessary,” Léof replied, and Thornden regretted his use of the word. He also was annoyed. Léof looked like he wanted to bolt, and Thornden was absolutely certain that if his foot had been under no necessity of being looked after, he would have. Instead, he stood still, though he was tense and rigid. Clearly he wasn’t about to be dragged off easily.

Thornden and Gárwine reached out together and each took hold of one arm. Léof pulled back and twisted and turned in attempt to get free, but he wouldn’t have had much of a chance of escape had only one of them been sent, but with the two of them, his cause was hopeless. There was a bout of pulling and tugging, twisting and turning as Léof put all that he could into trying to get their hands off him.

Thornden kept a strong grip on his arm, one hand above the elbow, the other holding his wrist. It wasn’t an overtly simple thing to keep a hold on him as he struggled and pitched every which way. Thornden thought to himself as he began to pull him towards a bench to sit that it was probably a good thing that his foot was hurt or else there would be some flying boots to add in the fight for freedom.

They fairly dragged him away from where the horse stood to a bench against the other wall, and there they shoved him down and held him firmly. As soon as he was seated he ceased to struggle, though Thornden felt him still tense beneath his hands.

“Now,” he said, slowly relaxing his hold and taking a small step away, ready to spring should Léof try to bolt, “are you going to take your own boot off, or shall I do it for you?”

[Firefoot]

Léof was smart enough to know when he had been beaten. He slumped against the bench as he was fairly shoved down. “Now,” Thornden was saying, “are you going to take your own boot off, or shall I do it for you?”

Léof gathered what shreds were left of his pride and fixed Thornden with a sullen glare. “I am quite capable of taking off my own boot.” Thornden, however, made no indication of moving away, and Gárwine remained standing a half-step behind him. “I don’t need an audience,” he snapped. “I’m not going anywhere.” Not that he really could – after that struggle, his foot hurt worse than ever. He hadn’t even been fighting, as Thornden and Gárwine may have supposed, to escape having his foot checked, but rather to avoid being picked up and carried like a wounded puppy. In that, at least, he had succeeded.

They backed up fractionally – not nearly enough. “I’m serious,” said Léof coldly. “In fact, I’d be much happier if you just left right now.” Still keeping an eye on them, he leaned down to pry off his boot, going slowly until Gárwine and Thornden had retreated sufficiently. As they backed off, Æðel approached slowly. With Gárwine and Thornden, Léof was deeply annoyed; but with Æðel, mostly he was hurt. She had not even tried talking to him, just sent the other two after him. In fact, he may have even been more inclined to listen to her in the first place rather than Thornden and Gárwine, whose sole purpose in being there at all almost had to have been manhandling him into power. Like I’m some sort of half-broke colt. That didn’t even sound right to him – he would treat colts better than that, anyway.

“I’m sorry, Léof, but it really is for your own good,” she commented. Léof remained resolutely silent and finished extricating his foot from the boot. He held it out for her to inspect. After a few moments, he started to say, “You had better not-”, then stopped abruptly. She had hurt him, insulted him even, but somehow that didn’t seem the right thing to say. “Really, I can get along. Just… don’t tell me I can’t work,” he said, then added with no small amount of willpower, “please.” He didn’t try to explain; he did not feel like being conversational right now, especially not with the perceived conspirators in this betrayal. He figured she’d understand why, anyway.

He honestly was not completely sure why this was all necessary, so used was he to taking care of himself. Sure, it hurt, but it wasn’t going to be fatal or anything – it would probably heal itself up sooner or later anyway. And it wasn’t like he was nobility or someone that needed to be pampered with every little cut or hurt. “Not like I’m anyone really important,” he muttered.

[Lalwendë]

"Just get on with it. I want every last bit of dirt cleaned off those bridles, and I want them shining. My horses will have only the best. And I don't want to hear any more shouting."

Larswic had found the lads hanging over a fence and shouting challenges at some other lads, who looked ready for a fight. He only had to yell at them and they jumped back down from the fence and shuffled over quietly. He knew the best thing to do was to set them to some hard work that would keep them busy until their next meal, and after that, they would be so tired they would want to go to bed. It was one thing to run about and make a noise in the fields, but here in the city they would be bothering people. Besides, he didn't want them bothering him.

The sun felt warm and he wandered around the yard, inspecting the buildings. If there was no other money to be made here, he thought, at least some could be made by labouring to help rebuild this wreck. It was like a barn compared to the golden hall of Meduseld with its gilding and carvings. Still, a less elaborate Mead Hall meant less of a levy to pay. He liked the thought and laughed to himself.

The finely dressed young woman was sitting in the yard, working on some plan on paper. She might be haughty, but she was ladylike, and that was something he understood, unlike the young women who liked to take on masculine ways. He stood and watched her for a minute; her concentration on the plan she was drawing interested him. Then he noticed the plan. It seemed to be of the Mead Hall itself.

One of the horses in the stable snorted loudly, and the girl looked up and noticed Larswic looking at her. He nodded and turned away, struck by her scornful gaze. He felt sure he would find a way to get her interest, maybe with some of the finer gold he carried with him. Patting his pocket, he checked it was all there, as he did many times a day.

This made him think of his Knucklestones and he took out the little leather pouch he kept them in, sat down on an empty barrel and began to practice his hand for the catching game. The knucklebones were real bones from pigs, but older than he was, and now barely recognisable as such. At some time designs had been painted on them but these were now worn and chipped, they were so old and well used.

He made a fist of his right hand, then placed each little, ivory coloured bone on top before giving his fist a sudden flick upwards which sent the bones into the air. As he did this, he opened his hand as quick as lightning and snatched them all up into his palm. Anyone who had seen him might have thought they had disappeared into thin air, his hand moved so swiftly. Over and over he repeated this move, the bones making a soft and barely audible clatter as he caught them, his concentration was complete. This was one of the ways he made his money.

[Celuien]

Garstan stood beside his cart, looking to see if anyone would respond to his inquiry, and wondering how he should behave if they did. Never at ease among strangers, Garstan felt doubly uncertain now that he was forced to ask for aid. He'd little money with him, and begging charity was outside his sense of decorum. No, he would not be asking charity. Any aid given would easily be repaid by good solid work.

A small group – a man, woman, and a child – approached. Were they the family in charge of this place? Garstan looked again and realized his mistake. The third was not a child, but a halfling. He was filled with wonder; everyone in Rohan had, of course, heard of the famous halflings of the War, but Garstan didn’t expect to meet a Shireling in person. Amazement banished some of his injured pride, and Garstan found himself able to speak. He addressed the man, all the while stealing glances at the halfling.

"Hail, friend. I am Garstan. I come from the North. I…I…" Garstan’s voice trailed off. "My cart is damaged and I cannot go further on my journey until it is repaired. Might I stay here for the time? I cannot pay you, but I can work." His eyes glinted. "Garstan is a shaper of stones, craftsman, and builder. I will work. A better man cannot be found easily. What say you?"

Garstan bemoaned his reemerging vanity. Even if justified, this was not the proper time to show it. Not while asking a stranger for help. And he didn't even know who this man was. For all he knew, he might have insulted some noble of the land by inappropriate familiarity and seeming arrogance.

Before a reply could be given, an eager voice interrupted the conversation. "No sir! You'll never find a better stone-shaper. Not if you sent all the way to Gondor!"

"Hush, Garmund! Go back and wait. I'll be with you soon." Garstan looked behind the boy to note a small girl about to complete her descent from the cart, eager to agree with her brother about Garstan's merits. "And take Léoðern with you."

"But father…"

"Do as I say. I won't be much longer."

The children hesitantly climbed into the back of the cart, bright faces peeking out from the canvas in anticipation.

Garstan spoke again. "Forgive me. They are good children, but over eager in manner sometimes." He laughed. "As is their father. But come! Tell me. May we rest here?"

[Alcarillo]

"I don't need an audience," Léof snapped at Gárwine and Thornden, "I'm not going anywhere." Gárwine gave a glance at Thornden, who took a pace or so away from the cranky Léof, and Gárwine did the same. "I'm serious," said Léof, glaring at them, "In fact, I'd be much happier if you just left right now." Gárwine shrugged, Thornden sighed, and with long, slow paces they began to stride out of the stables, with occasional glances back to Léof where they could see him smoldering on the bench like dying coals.

Gárwine and Thornden came to the entrance of the stables, facing into the courtyard. Gárwine was a bit disappointed not to see Léof's wound, but Léof was surprisingly grumpy. "He sure put up a fight," Gárwine said, "A horse stepped on his toes, you know, and what with stomping around in that boot all day, his foot can't be in good shape. He'll probably miss a lot of work, kept off his feet." They came into the courtyard, where they loitered for a bit while Æðel inspected Léof's foot. The morning's rain clouds were vanishing and the weather was sunnier. The sun was creeping out of the clouds, and the weather was finally looking more like spring. "Léof was rather grumpy, wasn't he? I didn't expect him to resist us so much."

"I suppose he's just proud, and doesn't want to show that he's hurt," said Thornden, "He wants this job, you know, and it wouldn't help him by hurting himself while working."
Thornden paused to take in the fresh air, and continued, "I myself don't doubt that he'll get the job when the month is over."

Gárwine nodded. His eyes scanned across the yard, and it looked as though another cart had arrived. He also saw Linduial, in a yellow dress, seated and drawing something. "Oh!" Gárwine said out loud. He would have to tell Linduial that Léof's injury might not let him help her decorate her room today. "I've got to tell Linduial that Léof can't help her hang tapestries today," he told Thornden, "Or at least I doubt it; I couldn't imagine him standing on tip toe on that foot of his." He smirked at the thought of Léof standing on his toes, reaching high up a wall in typical defiance of his pain.

"She seems occupied at the moment," said Thornden. And it was true. One of the new young boys had approached her, and sat down close enough to distract her from her drawing. The boy, much younger than Gárwine, carried a tiny brown bag. He emptied this into his palm, and Gárwine could see the dull white faces of dice and knucklebones. "I've seen my uncle play with those before," Gárwine commented, remembering the many days Uncle Wilfrid and his friends would gather together in the evenings around the old round table and gamble. Now the boy was arranging his own dice on the back of his hand, and with one quick movement flicked them into the air, and caught them in his palm when they fell back toward earth. Gárwine leaned nonchalantly against the stable wall to watch.

[JennyHallu]

Linduial drew a fine line down her paper to mark the last wall, and rose, pointedly ignoring Larswic playing with the Knucklebones. She played no games of chance: her father had always taught her it was unlady-like, but she could see Garwine across the yard intently watching the man, and she hoped the quiet and polite man-at-arms would not lose much money to the brute.

She was aware that her opinion of the man was based on very little, and as like undeserved as anything else, but something about the combination of the man's careful observation and leering expression minded her of the cunning of a beast. The boys accompanying him seemed well enough--but boys, interested in weapons and horses and boys' games, and they held little fascination for her. Their--father? master? made her nervous, and that was enough to unfavorably color her impression of the whole crew.

She decided the ink was dry enough, and rolled the paper up tightly, securing it with a scrap of ribbon, before standing, stretching her arms behind her, ran it into the building and upstairs to her room. She dropped it off quickly and once again stepped outside, but this time into the front courtyard of the Inn, attracted by the sound of every-day hustle and bustle. A pleasant-looking man was climbing down off a broken cart, eyeing the ruin of the hall with intelligent interest in his eyes, and conversing almost shyly with Saeryn and Eodwine. Linduial caught a glimpse of two small faces grinning impudently at her from under the canvas covering the back of the wagon, and grinned back with answering youthful mischief.

A tall draft-horse still stood in halter, waiting patiently for someone to tend to him, and Lin wondered where Léof was. He was usually immediately available when a horse needed care, appearing almost by magic at one's elbow, courteously reaching for the reins before a guest could even think of looking after his own beast. She hoped that he was all right, but did not worry about it over-much. She had seen him helping Eodwine digging in the rubble, and assumed he might have twisted his ankle or fallen in that mess easily, and no worse.

Degas was walking to the party from the stables, carrying a lead-rope, and set about the work of caring for the horse without a word of complaint or question. Lin amused herself by surreptitiously making strange faces at the children in the cart, who periodically disappeared underneath the cover, giggling, but out of the corner of her eye she was discreetly watching Degas, and the way his muscles played on his arms and back under his light shirt as he manhandled the broken cart out of the horse's way and gently led the beast into the stable.

[Celuien]

"Quick! She's seen us! Let's hide under the cover." Garmund hurriedly retreated behind the heavy canvas, pulling Léoðern after him. The children huddled in a their corner of the cart, a little area free of Garstan's tools and made soft and warm with pillows and quilts.

Léoðern giggled merrily. "It's a game! She's so big and grown to play with us. What should we do? I think I'll make a face like this." She twisted her face and held her breath until Garmund joined her laughter and made a face too. They scurried to the opening in the canvas and peeked out again, ready to startle their new friend. But she was ready for them with yet another face that sent the children into shrieks of laughter as they ducked back inside.

"She's funny," Léoðern said. "Garmund, did mother play with us like that?"

The boy's face turned sad and oddly thoughtful for a child of nine. "I think she did. It was so long ago. I hardly remember." He looked at his sister, trying desperately to bring up distant memories. Their mother's face was fading from his memory, though he kept a few vivid moments with him. Dancing under the trees in their old home. Her voice as she sat by the fire telling tales. And there was Léoðern. She reminded him of their mother. Their eyes were the same shade of blue. And they had the same red hair. But Garmund couldn't remember if their mother had shared Léoðern's freckles.

"Brother's sad. Don't be sad. Do you think we'll stay here? I hope so."

"So do I." Garmund shook off his reverie. "Do you think she's still watching? Let's see what she's doing."

And the children peeked out again to catch a glimpse of the funny big girl, wondering if they would be able to stay long enough in this place to become friends with her.

[littlemanpoet]

"Forgive me. They are good children, but over eager in manner sometimes." Garstan the stoneshaper laughed. "As is their father. But come! Tell me. May we rest here?"

Eodwine smiled. "I give you good greeting, and rest here you may, though I wager you'll find more work than rest if you've a will to it! I am Eodwine of the Gap, newly made eorl of the Middle Emnet, and you have happened upon my humble mead hall to be. This is Saeryn of the Folde, my hostess, and this is Master Falco Boffin, of the Shire in the north."

Falco bowed low, receiving a stare of wonder from Garstan, and giggles from the cart. Falco straightened and aimed a big wink at the two lumps with eyes peering at him from the cart, and was rewarded with fresh giggles.

Saeryn spoke up. "Is there anything to eat or drink I can offer you, sir?"

"Well - I - uh - have little coin..."

"Fear not!" Eodwine interrupted. "My guests are true guests. I do not take their coin." He turned to Saeryn. "'Twas a good thought, Saeryn. See what Kara may have to offer if you will." Saeryn nodded and made her way to the back of the kitchen.

"You look in need of some coin, if I may dare to say so," Garstan said in a somewhat conspiratorial tone.

Eodwine laughed. "Yes, we have had an accident this day. The wall fell over this morning. 'Twould seem the roof that had rested on it was propping it up and we knew it not. We'll have some clearing to do and a new Great Hall to build, and -" Eodwine paused. "-did you say you're a stoneshaper?"

"That I did, lord."

"Would you stop a while and ply your trade here?"

Intro to Eorling Mead Hall rpg (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=439978&postcount=1)

[Celuien]

"Would you stop a while and ply your trade here?"

"That I shall, lord, if you wish it. In truth, little could please me better." Garstan hesitated, but went on. Despite their difference in position, there was something in the Eorl that inspired Garstan to speak openly. "I had hoped to find a place to work and earn a reputation. In truth, lord, this wandering life wearies me. And it isn't fair to the little ones. So you see, the greater the task, the better! I'll not impress half the countryside with my talents by building a simple hearth."

Léoðern's voice suddenly chirped, "May we come down now?"

"Yes. We'll be staying for a while." Cheers rose from the cart as the children scrambled to the ground and ran, Léoðern to the tall girl and Garmund to the winking hobbit.

Garstan looked thoughtfully after the children. "Yes, they need a home. I was mad to go back to roaming the countryside. Though there was little to keep me home after..." His voice trailed off. "But enough of the past! I thank you for your hospitality, lord. When shall we speak of your plans for the hall."

Eodwine smiled. "Over supper, perhaps?"

"Yes, lord. My thanks to you again!"

[JennyHallu]

Linduial's attention was drawn fully to reality as the young girl ran helter-skelter toward her across the yard. Her sister's son was about this age, but he was a shy, reserved boy, and Linduial had always longed to play with him. With a friendly smile, Lin caught the trusting child as she approached, lifted her up, and spun her quickly around, feet flying out, as the girl squealed in excitement. Lin made a full circle, then pulled the child safely in, sitting down on the stoop as she suddenly seemed much heavier than she had in the first throes of impulse.

She grinned over at the golden-haired little girl, the two of them catching their breath together on the stoop. Had Lin not been significantly taller, neither of the two would have looked much older than the other, just at that moment. As soon as she had breath enough to talk, Lin introduced herself to the girl. "My name's Linduial, and I'm from Dol Amroth, in Gondor. What's yours?"

[Folwren]

“I’ve seen my uncle play with those before,” Garwine said, leaning against the stable wall to watch the knucklebones in the hands of a man Thornden didn’t know. Thornden looked in the direction that his young friend’s eyes had been drawn. He cocked an eyebrow testily when he saw it and then looked at the mild interest on Garwine’s face.

“I’d advise you not to be a fool with that man, Garwine,” he said. “I’ve seen that game before, too, at the guard room when there was nothing better to do.” Garwine’s eyes flicked towards him briefly, but Thornden didn’t explain himself. He fixed him with a silent look that could have meant lots of things, but only of grim nature, and then walked away.

He went to Eodwine, just finishing a conversation with a new arrival. The man smiled and thanked him just as Thornden stopped behind Eodwine and turned to tend to his animal. Eodwine turned to Thornden.

“Well, how did it go? Is Léof properly looked after?”

“Yes, my lord. He didn’t want to be and wouldn’t have if he had had any choice in the matter. He demanded that Garwine and I leave before he even took the boot off, so I’m afraid I can’t tell you how he is. You’ll have to wait for Æðel to get a full report.”

A slight smile came to Eodwine’s face at Thornden’s words, likely imagining the struggle the little ostler had put up. “Well, good. I will wait for her, then.”

“You’ll have trouble with the lad if it ends up being badly hurt, and he can’t work. I heard what he told her as we were leaving, and he’s either scared or angry that he won’t be able to do what’s necessary. Perhaps, if Æðel does think that it’s so serious he should lay up for a few days, it would be best if you talked to him yourself to tell him that it’s alright if he doesn’t do his work just now, that it won’t make your decision of his being your ostler go one way or another. That’s what he’s worried about, I’m almost sure of it.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas went this way and that, wherever he was needed, answering calls from here and there. He took the new party's horse from their custody and led it carefully to the stables with a polite word to the man and a sereptitious wave to the children.

"Lèof!" he called softly. "Are you here?"

He'd long felt that it was unneeded to speak loudly over stable noises. Ostlers, in his experience, had a sixth sense about visitors. Perhaps it was the perk of the horses' velvet ears or a creak of the floorboards, but he'd never needed so speak above a polite resonance to be heard.

A pained squeak, nearly suppressed, led him to Lèof and Æðel. Degas admired the cloudy sunset of Lèof's foot, taking notice of the blues and purples of a few of his toes.

"Ouch." he said, conversationally. He still held the reins of the horse, careful to keep his active fingers from wrapping the leather around his hands. He'd broken his fingers that way as a youth when a stranger's horse in his care had startled and cinched the leather tight. He expected that Lèof's foot felt about the same as his hand had then, though the lad had been walking on it in attempt to under-play the injury.

Lèof looked up at him and looked almost as though he were about to hide his foot.

"I'll take care of the horse," the lad said. "If you can just-"

"I think not." said Degas. "I'll handle it, unless you think that a lord of the Folde has no horse sense? Come now," he added with a kind smile. "Æðel would shoot me the most paining of looks were I to leave you with a charge just now. How about a deal? Young Kara will need help quite soon for building an outdoor fire. I'll tend the beast until she sends for me, if she sends for me, and then I'll let the rest stand for you. At least let me clear the drying mud from this poor fellows hooves? Just think how you'd feel in that state."

Lèof, foot still in Æðel's firm grasp, nodded finally.

"Besides," Degas added. "It's been an adventurous morning and I need a calming task before I face less important work again."

[Celuien]

"My name's Linduial, and I'm from Dol Amroth, in Gondor. What's yours?"

"I'm Léoðern. I come from in there." She pointed to the cart, still breathlessly laughing after her whirl in the air. What fun that was! "We go everywhere in that. It's crowded and my brother teases me. But I like games. Do you? What kinds of games do they play in Dol Anrug?" She stopped her lighthearted prattle and giggled. "Antrun? That's a hard word to say."

"Amroth." Linduial sounded the word slowly. Léoðern repeated it several times, struggling over the foreign syllables.

"Am...roth. Amroth. It's hard, but nice. It must be very far away." Léoðern's eyes twinkled mischieviously. "Do you know tag?" Linduial nodded, and Léoðern tapped her arm. "You're it!" she shouted and ran off at full speed toward the ruined kitchen, glad to be in the open after so many days in the cramped cart.

[JennyHallu]

Linduial jumped in surprise as Léoðern took off running, and she caught her breath watching the child running through the rubble. What if she should fall? But the girl's footfalls were swift and sure, and Lin scrambled to her own feet as quickly as she could. Léoðern was already out of sight, and Lin followed where she thought she'd gone more sedately, wondering how her father (or any parent, really) had the energy to keep up with such a vivacious little squirrel of a person. As she reached the corner where the girl had disappeared, she found it easy to follow the sounds of giggling to where she could see reddish hair poking up behind the short remains of a wall.

Lin smiled to herself and began searching the rubble in earnest, careful to keep her skirts out of the dust as she overturned boulders and pebbles alike. "Léoðern...!" she called. "Léoðern? Where could she be? Is she under here?" Lin lifted a thin piece of wood and checked for a girl in its miniscule shadow. The giggling from behind the wall intensified, but Lin cheerfully didn't show any notice of the small head peeking at her as she straightened up, carefully schooling her features into a perplexed frown.

"Hmm...," Lin tapped a slim finger against her face, rolling her eyes around in a parody of concentrated thought. "Maybe she didn't come this way at all." Another fit of giggling from the wall. "Maybe she disappeared! Like magic!"

There was a quickly stifled "No, I didn't!" from the wall, followed by more giggling, and Lin spun around as though searching for the source of the sound.

"I knew it!" she crowed happily. "Léoðern's invisible! She's probably following me around! Maybe if I go back into sunlight I'll be able to catch her by her shadow." She stepped carefully out of the rubble into the clear courtyard. The sound of footsteps behind her nearly made her giggle, but she forced it down and schooled her face back into perplexity before spinning around, searching the ground with her eyes, but carefully never meeting Léoðern's impish grin. "I know you're back there...I can hear you. Make yourself visible again!"

"I'm not invisible...," the little girl said, but she seemed a little unsure of it, and Lin once again fought off a smile, as she turned and walked a little further into the courtyard, as Léoðern followed her, tugging on her skirt and insisting "I'm right here!! Right here!"

Lin ignored her completely until they had almost returned to the cart and the party there, then swooped around as fast as she could and tickled the girl, who squealed and tried unsuccessfully to get away. Lin picked her up and happily handed her over to her father with a serious expression on her face. "Your daughter, sir," she said, "bears watching. Did you know she can turn invisible?"

[Celuien]

"Léoðern! What have you been doing?" Garstan's face took on a expression of alarm as Linduial plopped the child into his arms. "Invisible? What sort of mischief have you been in?"

Léoðern cast a puzzled glance at her father. "I've been playing with Linduial. What's mischief?"

"Mischief is trouble. Which is what I'm sure you've been in." Turning to Linduial, Garstan said, "I hope Léoðern hasn't caused you any inconvience. Thank you for bringing her back to me." He sighed. "Léoðern, Léoðern. Whatever am I going to do with you?" Garstan's free hand went to his chin as he braced himself for the scolding he feared was coming from Linduial. He had heard it so many times before. Lectures on letting his children run wild. Speeches about lack of discipline. It had been so difficult caring for Léoðern and Garmund alone for these past years. For Léoðern in particular. She was so high-spirited, forever in some scrape or another, and Garstan didn't know what to do about it. The problems she caused were never the result of meanness, and for that reason he found it impossible to scold her. Garmund, at least, was more sedate, more easily directed. Already, he had started to teach his son the ways of stonecraft. But Léoðern was so hard to manage. Garstan couldn't look at her without calling up the image of sunlight on a brook, but the sunbeams could easily turn to shadows at the slightest harsh word. And he couldn't bear to see her unhappy. Or worse, risk suppressing her irrepressible joyousness permanently. More than once, the sound of her laughter had banished the aching weariness of a too-long day's work, and Garstan had given thanks for her cheerful ways.

The clouds were already forming. Léoðern's blue eyes began to tear. "I wasn't in any trouble. I was only playing." Her lip quivered dangerously, and she began to sniffle.

Garstan gently stroked her curls. "There, child. Don't cry. I know you didn't mean to do anything wrong. But you should act more like a big girl now. How old are you?"

"Five and a..a...a...a half." Léoðern was still on the verge of sobs.

"Well then, you have to be ever so much bigger than you were when you were five, don't you?"

"Y..yes."

"So you see, you should try not to run off into trouble all the time."

Linduial began to feel sorry for the little girl. "Léoðern wasn't that much trouble. In fact, I'd say that we had a good time together." She directed a conspiratorial wink at the child, who smiled faintly and began to wipe the tears from her eyes.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had just welcomed Garstan's prolonged stay as his new stone-shaper when Thornden came up from behind and tapped him on the shoulder, fresh with a report on the state of their young ostler. It seemed the boy was finally being properly cared for by Æðel. But Thornden's next words set Eodwine to thinking and rubbing his stubbling chin (rainy days always did cause him to forget his beard-knife).

“... he’s either scared or angry that he won’t be able to do what’s necessary," Thornden said of Léof. "Perhaps, if Æðel does think that it’s so serious he should lay up for a few days, it would be best if you talked to him yourself to tell him that it’s alright if he doesn’t do his work just now, that it won’t make your decision of his being your ostler go one way or another. That’s what he’s worried about, I’m almost sure of it.”

Eodwine gave Thornden a measuring look. Thonden coughed into his hand, looking anywhere but back at Eodwine for the moment. The Eodwine broke into a wide smile. "Your thoughts are one with my own, Thornden. I was thinking that I would have to have words with Léof to allay his fears. Your agreement makes me all the more sure. You read people well! That is a good trait in a steward! But more to the point, you have thought of the best way to deal with the problem, at least to my thinking. Well done!"

Thornden coughed into his hand again, taken somewhat aback by his lord's praise. "Well I - I am simply doing what seems right."

"That you are! Of course!" Eodwine grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "Now I will go see our stubborn young ostler."

[Firefoot]

As Æðel examined and treated his foot, Léof offered no more in the way of conversation, sitting quietly and resentfully. This feeling only grew as Degas came and went – doing his job. Oh, Léof did not hold this against Degas. The work did have to be done, and he was quite unable to do so at the moment with Æðel in control of his foot. But this did not change the fact that he felt that he ought to be doing it – he wanted to. His line of thought was broken off as another set of footsteps echoed at the end of the stable – Eodwine this time. Léof had little strength left to feel anything other than resignation: no desire to flee, no hope of deceiving the lord.

“How is the foot, Léof?” he inquired as he drew nearer.

Fine, just fine… “Æðel has not yet told me,” Léof answered somewhat stiffly, biting off any further and probably sarcastic comments. She had let him stew in his silence, and Léof now wondered if she was annoyed with him as well… let her be, then. He was annoyed with her, too.

“I think,” she began, more to Eodwine than Léof, it seemed, “that complete rest will not be necessary, although it might be better. A couple of toes are certainly broken, but the rest seems to be just very badly bruised.”

“I can still work,” said Léof firmly.

A look that Léof could not quite read crossed Eodwine’s face. “Léof, I do not want you to overwork yourself. Neither Thornden nor I will judge you harshly on account of an injury. You are doing fine work here in the stables and can continue to do so when you are properly recovered. The position will not go away because you are laid up for a few days.”

A thread of relief wound through Léof’s mind, but in other ways he felt no differently. Eodwine did not seem to have a full grasp of Léof’s motives for wanting to continue to work, and Léof did not know how to explain. He felt a further sense of duty here, but more than duty. He belonged here; here in these stables, he was in charge. Having someone else, or a few others, take over his duties even for a few days would be like… well, like some other woman taking over his mother’s duties and running her household for a few days. Léof felt protective of his job, all the more so after the incident earlier, when Gárwine had not quite known how to handle the spooked Herefola. Not that there weren’t others capable of handling the horses – probably mostly feeding them and mucking out their stalls, anyway – but Léof still felt responsible. To sit idly by while others worked with “his” horses in “his” stable felt wrong to him.

And, of course, if he was forced not to work for a few days, it would mean that his foot really was as hurt as his friends had figured. For them to be right… what pride remained to him would shrivel up to a small, hurt speck.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and meant it. That did not mean he intended to give up, however; he was a fighter, or otherwise would not have survived. Nor had he forgotten that he was still irritated with most of these people. “But if it’s all the same, I would prefer not to completely give up working. It wouldn’t feel quite right.”

[JennyHallu]

Linduial smiled at the girl's father. "I did not mean to express a complaint, goodman," she continued, aware of little Lèoðern's eyes imploring her to get her out of trouble. "Your daughter is a wonderful child, and I am sure she shall be well-loved here."

Garstan's face relaxed, and he dropped a kiss on his daughter's forehead before dropping her back on the ground. Lèoðern ran the few steps toward Lin, and gave her a quick hug (mostly around the knees) which Lin returned before the girl ran off to join her brother in exploring their new home. Lin smiled at the man watching the two run off with love in his eyes. "I am Linduial, daughter of Lord Farlen of Dol Amroth. My father's steward and I traveled here to visit my cousin. Please, I am a guest here like yourself, but might I show you to an empty room or two?" Lin gestured toward the rubble with a wry smile. "I am afraid Lord Eodwine and Lady Saeryn are busy at the moment, but I'm sure they won't mind if we recquisition a couple of rooms on the ground floor. Almost no one is down there at the moment."

She led the man towards the building, waving him away from his luggage. "Garwine can help you get that later." She paused suddenly, then turned to him with an amused smile. "You daughter charmed me so, sir, that I have not yet asked your own name."

[Celuien]

Garstan felt himself relax at Linduial's welcoming words. Daughter of Lord Farlen of Dol Amroth? He thought that he had heard the name before. But where? Garstan had no memory for names, but this was strangely familiar. He resolved to ponder the mystery later. The more practical matter of introductions still needed attention.

"I am Garstan, at your service, my lady. I am a stoneshaper out of the north of Rohan, journeying to Edoras in search of work." He smiled grimly. "There are few places to ply my trade in the far reaches of the Wold. A stove here, a wall there, and there's nothing more to be done." Garstan paused, fearing that tales of his journeys through Rohan would bore - were already boring - the Lady from Dol Amroth. He returned to pleasantries. "My thanks for your kindness to my daughter. Too often her high-spirits are taken for ill-manners."

They arrived at the entrance to the hall. Hoping to find the correct protocol, and hoping that he wouldn't look too ridiculous, he caught the door and held it open for Linduial with a slight bow. He couldn't tell if the faint smile that crossed her face in response was out of acknowledgment or amusement. Four years of crisscrossing Rohan with only his children for company had caused him to forget many of the niceties of social convention.

They entered an area of the hall devoted to guestrooms, and Garstan selected the room nearest the entrance to the great hall. He surmised that most of his work would take place there or in the kitchen, and he had no wish to disturb the other guests on his way to and from the work site. Garstan gave a word of thanks to Linduial and watched as she headed back outdoors.

It was only after she left that Garstan recalled where he had heard of Lord Farlen. From a herald, announcing the marriage of King Éomer and Queen Lothiriel. He stood in stunned silence in his room, the sound of his children's laughter drifting in from the yard.

[littlemanpoet]

“Thank you, sir,” Léof said. “But if it’s all the same, I would prefer not to completely give up working. It wouldn’t feel quite right.”

Eodwine smiled. He had noted an expression on the young man's face that was not a part of the pain of the foot, nor the humiliation of having been injured by a horse in his own stables. He could not guess surely as to what Léof was thinking, but he sensed that pride of ownership in one who has taken to a job like wet to water.

"You're the ostler here, Léof my lad. We'll find a few others to be your back and arms and legs, but this stable is still yours to run. You've got a head for it, and you know these horses and their care. Whoever is sent to do the labor shall take his orders from you. What say you?"

Léof's eyes brightened in gratified surprise, but he quickly took control of himself and reined in his surprise. He became grave of face and nodded. "I think that is the best thing for this stable, sir."

"I'm sure of it!" Eodwine rose. "My thanks, Æðel, for all that you have been doing for those among us who have fallen ill or hurt. The healer from Meduseld has put in a good word for you, and thinks you would make an able student. Would you like to spend part of your days up at the Golden Hall, learning from his skills?"

Æðel's eyes gleamed. "I would like that much, lord."

"Then I will arrange it. Kara cooks our evening meal in the backyard. See to it that the both of you are there to take your fair share of it."

Much good had been done by many of Eodwine's new household. He thought that the evil of the fallen wall had been more than redressed by all that had come to pass since then. He spent the remainder of the day welcoming the new guests at the evening meal, as well as giving Garreth and Harreld the full story of the fallen wall over late evening drinks, with details of all kinds supplied by one storyteller after another. Falco took special joy in relating Linduial's prank of getting Frodides out of the kitchen before the men could free up the front door.

The stars had come out and the night was mild and calm. The guest rooms were filling up. Had he been a mere innkeeper, he would have looked upon that as a profitable thing. However, as mead hall lord, his guests got bed, board, and stabling free, and fees and fines from his landholders were his income. It was true that the landholders, as well as those who worked land in feof, would find their rents raised due to the new eorl, but Eodwine hoped that he would be able to make it worth it to them in some way. He would have to give thought to that.

At last all were abed and Eodwine thought of all those who had rooms. It was quite an assortment of folk, from the high to the lowly. Stories there were behind every last one of them, and most of those were still unknown to him. The Eorling Mead Hall looked to be a good place for him right now, and maybe for the rest of his life. New floor plans shimmered in his mind as he dozed.

[JennyHallu]

Marenil sat awake in his room, reading and rereading the letter Lin had finally gotten to him after dinner, with tears in his eyes. His Enna, his dearest joy, his partner over so many years, so many trials and triumphs...and in her final sickness he had not been there, had not been with her. Enna...

He leaned back in his chair, memories running through his mind. Enna as he'd first saw her, the farmer's daughter swathed in dark hair, silhouetted against the sunrise. Introducing her with pride to his Lord, when he'd still been a young man working as a jack-of-all-trades. Farlen (the present Lord's father, still a young man back then) had given all his men a house when they wed, but, thrilled with the young bride's wit and will, had deeded the house to her. The threats she made to kick him out of it when they argued. Enna...

The birth of their son, and then another. Watching them grow. Listening to her teaching little Lin the womanly skills she'd perfected long ago. Watching her playing with her grandchildren. The strength in her eyes when he and his sons had followed the present Lord Farlen to the battle of Pelennor Fields. The tears he'd wiped from her eyes when the second son never came home. Enna...

He'd seen almost every important moment in her life, felt her hand in his in all his lowest times. And his memory had made record of all of that. But he had no memory of her growing old. No memory of age spots, or wrinkled skin, or slower movements, gray hairs, early evenings. Perhaps that was how life went, passing you slowly as you dwelt stubbornly in your disappearing youth. Enna...

Enna would always be the slim girl in the sunrise, working in her father's fields. Always.



He lay awake in the dark thinking of her, and of the contents of Lord Farlen's letter, and did not sleep, feeling only the ethereal pressure of a womanly hand in his own, and a cool touch of lips on his brow, and his heart was eased in her presence. He would grieve in his own time.

[Taralphiel]

Lys winced. He felt pain; it seemed to radiate through his body, following little channels. First his left foot, then through his ankle and leg until it made him dizzy with the pain. It razored through to his chest and throbbed, making him wheeze for breath. Too little air filtered through his dry throat, and he had to close his eyes and feel the rain on his mud-streaked face to avoid a panic. His hair was over his eyes, and when he opened them, everything had a sickly tinge of red. The darts of pain spiralled through his right arm, which he could figure was also broken, and ended at his head with what he could only guess was a cut or gash of some sort.

‘Where…am I? Who…’

His thoughts jumbled around, like his head was being tossed though his body was still and deathly cold. Was it day or night? So much confused him. He knew it was foolish to try to move, stand, or walk. His blanket, as he observed, was finer than he, woven through with threads of gold and russet, sliding into deep blue oceans of soft cloth. But it was ruined, soaked in with this angry-smelling mud. He saw in front of him a barrel, though he knew not its contents. Maybe, if he later had the strength, he could try to push it over and see what was inside. Though, he doubted any contents would be of profit of him. No person would leave foodstuffs or warming blankets in a keg out in the middle of the mud and rain.

His stomach grumbled, rousing his hurt muscles, and he let out a soft, pathetic groan of pain. It seemed to comfort him a little to let it out, though it didn’t stop his stomach from protesting all the more fervently.

How long could he lie out here like this? A day, or maybe two? He had no idea how bad his injuries were, or where he was…not even who he was. This was the most frightening of all his troubles. He searched his memories. All he could find were dim lamps, cloaking darkness, cold mud and pounding rain…and screams for help. He tried the simplest of things – his name.

He began to see the dawn rise slowly through the line of the roof that sheltered him, and as he did he began to try and force out his own name.

“L…lll…Leee…” He frowned and raised the hand of his good arm to his face. He remained quiet for a few moments, trying to keep his breathing short but regular, and his mind empty of pain or hunger. He closed his eyes and let out in a voice lighter than a whisper:

“L-lys…Lys”.

He looked up at the warm dawn. Well, he knew two things now. His name (or part of it), and what time of day it was. All the other questions could wait a while, for he was exhausted already and in moments had fallen into a pained slumber.

[Folwren]

Thornden pulled an extra vest over his white shirt and then picked up an empty pouch. He would make a short visit to the kitchen and pick up some left over bread and maybe some cheese before starting out. The evening before Eodwine had spoken to him, telling him that he would need to go and act as his coin gatherer among the people of the First Emnet.

“I’m low on coin, Thornden,” the Eorling lord admitted. “Things would have been just fine had that wall not collapsed, but as it is. . .we need more.”

“Well, of course. That’s absolutely understandable. I’ll leave early tomorrow morning, and on my way back, I’ll visit my sister. She doesn’t live far from the city gates and will be directly in my path.”

So Thornden rose early that morning, a few minutes before the sun peeped her own head above the mountains. He took a carved staff from the corner behind his bed and went out into the hall.

Kara was in the kitchen preparing breakfast and she gladly filled his pouch quite generously for him, putting in not only the bread and cheese that he thought would be all he needed, but also added some of the smoked ham they had. And for breakfast, she handed him a newly baked roll, still hot from the oven, wrapped in a clean napkin. He thanked her and went out.

The even before, he had told Léof that he would need a mount for the next day’s work and Eodwine had given him instructions to take his horse, Flíthaf. When Thornden exited the building, he was pleased to see Léof leading old charger out of the stable. He approached the ostler and as the reins exchanged hands, Thornden spoke.

“Good morning, Léof!” He smiled broadly and didn’t notice Léof’s slight response and his tight lip as he looked over the finely groomed Flíthaf. “How’s the foot this morning?” he asked, turning his attention back the ostler.

“Just fine,” was the short reply. Thornden grinned again.

“Well, I hope so, Léof. Thank you for preparing Flíthaf, he looks excellent and seems to be quite excited to be getting out. Goodbye! Have fun at the horse fair, today - I imagine you’ll be out there, whether it’s good for your foot or not.” Léof scarcely answered as he stepped away and walked back towards the stables. Thornden mounted swiftly and turned Flíthaf towards the road and then in the direction of the city gate.

There were few people up yet. He bid those he met good morning as he walked his horse through the streets. But he had hardly gone three hundred yards from the Mead Hall and turned only a couple corners when his eyes were arrested by a prostrate figure stretched out on the ground on the edge of the street. Thornden stopped Flíthaf quickly and for a moment sat just looking at it, shocked and appalled, for the sight was ugly. The next moment, he swung down quickly from the horse, and led him carefully forward. He knelt beside the figure, draping the long reins over his shoulder where he could feel and grab them if the horse drew back or moved away.

It was a young man, no - practically a boy, Thornden realized in a moment. It was hard to make out his features, for blood covered his face. A deep gash in his forehead above his right eyebrow caused by a hard blow from a blunt instrument had bled freely until it had dried in the wind and rain of last night, covering the gaunt face with a gruesome, red mask. Thornden slowly tore his eyes from his face and looked over the rest of the form - the body seemed broken and wounded in many places and he could not tell from sight alone what all was wrong with him.

He was quite at a loss as to what to do. His mind raced and his hands trembled as they hovered uselessly above the boy, unwilling to touch him for fear of making matters worse. With a great intake of breath for pity and horror, Thornden drew his hands back abruptly to himself. His eyes traced his face and then his body again. The right arm lay at odd angles with his body, his chest rose in jerks as he breathed in and blood had stiffened his shirt. Thornden half wished the boy was conscious, but then thanked the stars that he wasn't and couldn't feel the pain.

Hesitant as he was, Thornden realized he had no choice but to touch him. He moved closer, crouching low to the ground. Before he picked him up, however, he adjusted the reins so that when he stood up, they would rest in the crook of his elbow, not taught, but tight enough that Flíthaf would follow as though he were being led. Then, moving as gently as he possibly could, he lifted the boy's head and shoulders and then slipped his arm under it, then, with the same careful movements, put his other arm beneath the knees. He bent his head and shoulders and heaved upward as he stood.

The burden was lighter than he expected, much too little weight for a boy that height, he realized, as he turned and walked back towards the Mead Hall. The head fell back and the arm farther from him fell limp and he made no movement, nor gave sign of life, save for each struggling breath.

Thornden hurried his footsteps onward and he reached the Hall in just a couple minutes. In the yard, he hesitated, wondering what to do with his hands full, and the horse fairly attached to him. The only one he knew who might possibly be awake was Léof, but he was in the stables. Thornden walked quickly to the door and there called for the ostler.

Léof came out almost at once, stopping abruptly in surprise when he saw the bloody figure Thornden bore in his arms. But Thornden didn’t give him much time to gape.

“Take the horse, Léof. Tie him up inside there, I’ll probably be coming out in a bit to take him again. Thanks,” he added, as Léof did as he was bidden quickly. Then, without another word he hurried inside, pushing open the door impatiently and bearing the lad in. He looked about quickly, hoping to see someone who could tell him what to do, or at least help. To his relief, Eodwine entered at just that moment, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hand stopped as he caught sight of Thornden and then they both walked towards each other at once.

“I found him, not too far from here. . .I don’t know what all’s wrong with him, and I’ve no doubt he’s more than half dead all ready,” Thornden said, before Eodwine could ask a single question. “I’m sorry I had to come back so soon - I was only my way out - but I couldn’t just leave him.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Lay him down in the first room downstairs, Thornden." Eodwine looked at the boy in concern. He mulled as they moved the boy to the room. So many young ones, orphaned, wounded, fleeing and out in the open, unprotected! If any had thought all evils would pass away with the end of the Dark Lord, that had been proven false in the first year; and each year since.

Thornden lay the boy down on the bed as carefully, Eodwine noticed, as if it had been his own child. Good man, this one, Eodwine thought.

"Best be on your way, Thornden. I'll see to his care."

"I'll be back by sundown I hope. I'll be eager for news of him then."

"We'll hope for the best. Send Kara to me on your way out, Thornden."

Eodwine knelt by the side of the bed. This boy was in sad, sad shape. Bleeding from too many wounds, broken bones, pain shown in the sleeping grimace he wore.

Kara came into the room. "Thornden told me there was a bo-" she stopped with a sudden intake of breath. "Oh my ....."

"Kara, please wake Æðel and have her come to me, then get food and drink for the boy."

"And for you and Æðel, of course!" Kara answered.

Eodwine smiled at her earnest face. "That would be welcome."

After Kara had left the room, Eodwine looked out the window over the silent child, still except for his slight breathing. He could see the mountains rising up, glinting in the new risen sun. A little of that light reflected into this room. Eodwine was impressed with the cleanliness of it, and made a point to himself to give words of praise to Saeryn and Æðel for keeping it so well while unoccupied.

The boy stirred and coughed, grimacing in pain. He sounded not well. That moment, Kara came in bearing a pitcher of water.

"Here. Drink."

The boy accepted the water eagerly.

[Lalwendë]

Wultheof walked from the stables to the Mead Hall in the growing light. He was tired and moved slowly, and he coughed as he went. He had spent the night in the stables, as had Leocsley. Their job was to guard the horses through the night, a job they did not mind, nor did they mind camping out in the stables as it gave them a chance to have a bit of fun away from Larswic. There had been a bit too much fun last night as they'd got hold of a flagon of ale and had been up laughing into the early hours. There had been no chance to sleep off their beer because as usual, their day had started early.

The lad was not alone. He walked ahead of a tall, fair young man who carried a long sword and an older man who carried something carefully hidden in the folds of his threadbare brown cloak. This was a young and high born man of Edoras and his steward. They had come to buy horses in the earliest hours of the new day to ensure they got the first choice.

In the Mead Hall Wultheof knocked softly on the door of his father's chamber and the men went in. The lad sat down on the floor outside the door to keep watch, but he soon nodded off.

***

Fifteen minutes later, the door opened and Wultheof jumped up with a start. The steward was offering his hand to Larswic, but the horse trader appeared to be busy with something in his pockets. The hand was soon dropped. Larswic did not stop chatting to the younger man for a moment; this was who he needed to convince, not the steward. He had told him all about how fine his horses were, what races they had won, their lineage, their promise. Most of all, he had told him exactly who in Rohan owned horses he had bred, and the names were impressive.

The young man was not leaving with horses, only with the thought of them. No money had changed hands, and Larswic had done no deals, he had been most careful to avoid any kind of binding agreement, such as a handshake. He knew that this young noble would talk all morning about the fine horses and others would hear of this and come to the Mead Hall to speak with him about them. So the price would rise throughout the day, and by the end of it, the young noble would be quite desperate to have the horses he most admired, and would be prepared to pay even more for them.

Larswic took them to the door and wished them good morning with a nod of the head and a warm smile. They had been charmed by the man from Middle Emnet and went away feeling excited about the deal to come.

"Now lad," said Larswic to his son, who stood behind him, yawning widely. "how's about a good breakfast eh?" He ruffled his son's hair and then pushed past him back into the Hall.

[Firefoot]

Léof had awakened early as usual, making his slow way down the aisle to check on the horses. He still walked with a noted limp and probably walked more on it than he ought, though he did readily accept the help of those who came out to the stables. This had worked out considerably better than he had originally thought, and at least in this way the past few days had run smoothly.

In other ways, though… he still had not worked out his feelings toward Gárwine, Thornden, and Æðel, and while relations were not precisely hostile, nor were they very friendly. Léof had lost much of the trust he had gained in his first week. He might be able to understand why they had wanted his foot checked out, but as for how… the memory of the man-handling still stung.

Then, of course, there was the previous night. Léof did not know exactly what Leocsley and Wultheof had been doing, but they had been quite noisy about it, and far into the night. Several times he had been tempted to go and ask them to be quiet, but had always refrained, thinking that even if it was his place, they probably would not listen to him. Léof did not mind if they chose to sleep in the stables so long as they were quiet about it and did not disturb the horses (or him), although he did feel rather insulted that Larswic felt the need for them to guard their horses, as if Léof had no qualifications whatsoever. He had noticed in smug annoyance how tired and unwell they looked this morning – perhaps they had found some ale, then, last night. Served them right.

Seeing the horses all right, Léof wandered out to find some breakfast. He had discovered a rather stiff way of walking so as to put more weight on his heel and minimize the pain in his toes. He was enjoying a hot roll when Thornden came rushing in with a limp and injured boy in his arms. At Thornden's orders he went to tie up Flíthaf; then, curious, Léof followed slowly as they took the boy into one of the downstairs rooms and Eodwine issued a set of orders. He stopped in the doorway, getting his first good look at the boy. He seemed in pain, and there was a gash on his forehead. Léof felt a wave of pity for the boy.

“Anything I can do to help, sir?”

[Folwren]

Thornden left Eodwine as he had been bidden, he hurried to fetch Kara, told her briefly what was needed, and then turned to go and carry out his duty. But his quick pace slowed as he came nearer to the outside door and he stopped altogether at it. Placing his hand on the door frame and lowering his head, he stood thinking about the boy.

What if he didn’t recover? What if he never even woke up? He might slip silently away, taking in less and less air with each struggling breath, and go beyond the reach of the living. Then it would be as though Thornden had never found him. He could die just as easily in a bed as in the street.

Almost against his will, Thornden turned back around and headed up the hall. Half way there, he turned back around. Eodwine had ordered him away, he had many miles to cover before sun down. But he couldn’t just leave the boy without knowing if he would even survive! Once again he turned back and this time walked all the way to the half closed door.

There he stopped once again, but he didn’t retreat this time. He stood waiting, pacing the five feet of hallway in front of the door. There was silence within the room, and then someone stirred, and a hoarse cough came. Thornden bounded towards the door and looked in. He saw the boy’s eyes open slowly and Eodwine bent over him.

“Excuse me, sir,” a quiet voice said at his elbow. Thornden jumped and drew back. Kara glided past him, a pitcher of water in one hand and a cup in the other. Thornden resumed his place by the door and watched as Eodwine poured a full cup of water and went to the boy. He supported his head with his arm and the put the cup to his lips.

“Here. Drink,” he said.

Thornden bent to look around Eodwine and see the stranger. The boy lifted one arm to grasp the cup, putting his hand somewhat around Eodwine’s fingers and he drank eagerly. A warm smile broke out suddenly on Thornden’s face and he drew back. He was satisfied. The lad was well enough to know thirst. He would still be there in the evening when he returned.

Quickly then, with hurried strides, he left the Mead Hall, got his horse, and went once more out on the road. The sun was higher, and the city life was well on its way to being fully awake. Thornden knew he was behind his time, but he couldn’t help but feel uplifted at having seen the wounded boy wake and drink.

[Celuien]

The sound of Garstan's tools grinding over stone echoed under the morning sun. He had started work for Lord Eodwine the day of his arrival, collecting and reshaping the fallen stone from the kitchen to craft a new stove for the Hall. Soot from an open fire in the yard troubled the cook and, in truth, some of guests at the hall. And the food had taken on a smoky flavor. Garstan didn't mind. Meals at the hall were certainly better than the plain food he cooked over his little campfire, but he suspected that they met with little approval from more than one of the other visitors.

His chisel worked down a stone block, carving a groove into one of its faces. The furrow would match a ridge in another piece, and so on for each block he used, holding the new stove together in a interlocking puzzle.

The stove would not fall. Linduial had questioned him about the lack of mortar in the structure, and he had tried to explain that none was needed. Besides, to make mortar, lime and sand would be necessary, and there wasn't any about for miles. It seemed that Eodwine could ill afford the additional, unnecessary, expense. But later, mortar might be needed for the more elaborate plans Eodwine had sketched.

Garstan stepped back to look at his work. The stove was going well. Several rows stood interlocked over a round pit for the fire. The highest row needed only two more stones. A few more rows on top of that would bring the stove to completion, though a chimney would still be needed. But that could wait until the kitchen itself, still a ruin of timbers, was rebuilt.

The last stone in the row locked into place. Garstan stopped work and rubbed his sore hands together. He then went into the Hall in search of a morning snack before resuming his labors to find Larswic and his son already present. He shifted uncomfortably to the side. Something about the man stirred his distrust. But he smiled a good morning to the pair despite his misgivings.

[littlemanpoet]

“Anything I can do to help, sir?” came a shy gruff voice from the doorway. Eodwine turned and saw Léof, and smiled. But the boy was greedily clutching at the cup, and Eodwine brought his eyes and thought back to the boy, making sure he didn't choke. As he aided the boy, he wondered if he had indeed seen a skulking shadow behind Léof. Who might be trying to hide in a Mead Hall corridor in the first hours of the day? He shrugged, lay the boy's head back down on the pillow, and gently released the cup from his grasping, boney hands. Eodwine looked over his shoulder.

"Come, Léof." He hobbled toward the bed. "You seem no worse for wear."

"I'm all right, so long as I have say in the stables."

Eodwine nodded. "When Æðel comes, she will see to the boy's care. If she asks for Hrethil the Healer, I'd like you to take to horse and go to Meduseld and ask for him."

"Aye, I can do that." The young man's brows worked.

"Something else?"

"This boy. Will he-" Léof was apparently at a loss for words.

"Aye, I think he'll be well. But is that all?"

"Well, no. Those two boys who came with their horse trading father. They stayed in the stables all night and they were noisier than is seemly. All night, or late into the black hours."

Eodwine nodded. Here was information he needed and so far had not gotten. It was not his way to seek out bad word against another, and he had no plans to start such hunting. But, as Eorl, he was now beginning to wonder if he did not need to have his folk be his ears and eyes as well as ostler, hostess, guard, steward, and reeve. He would have to think more on that. Since Léof had offered some word, he took thought to test his hunching and see what came of it.

"What do you make of them? .... boys and father?"

Intro to Eorling Mead Hall rpg (http://www.forums.barrowdowns.com./showpost.php?p=439978&postcount=1)

[Taralphiel]

There was warmth around Lys, warmth much more deep and comforting than a blanket in the cold morning. His body was still pulsing with pain from all areas, and he struggled to even open his eyes.

He saw a face. His mind immediately began to race with panic. Someone had found him! But was he the one that left him here? Had he come…to finish his work?

Lys wanted to recoil, yell and scream out for help. But only the smallest exertion brought him to coughing and he winced at the pain in his raw throat and chest. The man did not make a move, only watched Lys carefully.

At that moment a woman entered the room, and Lys felt cornered. He could do nothing to save himself from these people, if they meant ill. Perhaps…he knew them once? Why could he not remember anything? Lys tried as much as he could to curl up into himself, and away from the two faces, however warmly they looked at him.

“Here. Drink.”

Lys looked up, and saw the cup of water being presented to him. His thirst won over his caution, and he allowed the stranger to aid him to drink in great gulps, though it hurt him to swallow so much fluid. Lys let his grasp slip on the cup, and the other man eased his body back against the sheets. He closed his eyes, and tried to work up the courage, and strength of voice to say something to the strangers. But his thoughts were interrupted.

“Anything I can do to help, sir?”

A young man was at the door to the room. He could not have been very much older than Lys, though he looked much stronger. He limped towards the bed, and it seemed he had done something to his foot, though he tried his best to conceal it. The older man began to talk to him of a healer, but Lys was not paying much heed to this conversation.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man standing by the doorway. His face was creased with worry as he looked on him lying helpless on the bed. This man looked kind to him, and his worry relieved him somewhat. Maybe this place was not a threat to him. Perhaps, he could call these people his rescuers. He watched the man smile at him, then quietly walk away. He looked at the two men in the room talk, and managed a small, contented smile. No, these people were not evil, and he had no need to fear. Again, Lys closed his eyes and tried to rest a little.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine awoke when the morning's bright light shone through his window. He stirred, and stretched his arms and groaned deeply. He could hear footsteps outside in the hallway; people were already awake. He rolled out of bed and stood slowly. He shook the tiredness out of his limbs, and slowly got dressed, yawning a few times, stretching his arms again, and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The sunlight through the window seemed less harsh now, and his limbs were less heavy. He was soon ready for the day and left his room to see what all the noises in the hall were about.

Gárwine left his room and walked down the hall. Near its end he could see an open door, and Thornden in the doorway, looking inside with a solemn look on his face. Gárwine approached.

"Thornden, what's going on? I woke up when I heard the footsteps in the hall, and I thought something might've happened."

"Look," said Thornded. He pointed into the room. Resting on the bed was a boy, younger than Gárwine, and obviously wounded. Across his face were the drying remains of blood. He seemed half-asleep and bewildered by the way his eyes would flicker open and shut. "I found him out in the city."

"Good grief," said Gárwine, "He sure took a knock to the head." But Thornden wasn't listening and was back to watching the boy. Gárwine shrugged, and decided he was hungry. Though Gárwine was curious, whatever had happened to the wounded boy could wait until after a good breakfast. By then they should have him up and talking. I bet they'll bring a Healer from Meduseld, then he'll be awake in no time.

Gárwine wandered into the kitchen, where the rubble of the collapse had been cleared away and shoved aside to make adequate room for the necessities of a working kitchen. The kitchen was empty; either everybody was still asleep this early in the morning or watching the wounded boy. Larswic and his boys were in the hall, though, probably up to no good. Gárwine distinctly remembered hearing the two boys laughing outside in the dead of night.

A tray of rolls was on the table, still a bit warm from the oven. Gárwine grabbed one and started munching on it as he searched for other food. He found a loaf of dark bread and a wheel of bright yellow cheese nearby. He cut a piece of each with one of the long knives Kara always used and arranged his food neatly in a napkin. Garwine would carry it back to his room to eat and not into the hall. He did not like the looks of the two boys. Larswic seemed kind enough, but his boys had gained a place of suspicion in Gárwine's mind. What were they laughing so loudly about in the wee hours of the morning? Even Manawyth now was tolerable and had proved his good will through the test of time.

[Firefoot]

“They treat their horses well, whatever else may be said of them,” answered Léof slowly, “or at least Larswic sees to it that the boys do. Whether that is simply because they intend to sell them, I do not know. But…” The truth was, Léof’s initial misgivings had not been eased, but rather settled into uncertain feelings of unease. He still had little to back up these feelings, and for this reason hesitated. He may be suffering from nothing more than paranoia.

“You may speak your mind freely here,” said Eodwine.

“I have had little contact with Larswic himself,” began Léof, “although I have noticed that he is rather close-fisted with his coin. A small tip is not uncommon, and he certainly has many horses, but I have received neither tip nor thanks. Not that I’m complaining,” he hastily added. “It was just an observation. In fact, the way he lets his boys have such free rein in the stables, having them guard their horses and the like, I wonder if he notices that I am here at all. As for the boys, I am not comfortable with them. They seemed to come in here with an attitude of sizing the place and me up. Since then, I have not seen much else from them except confidence, quite like they belonged here, so whether I was imagining it, or if they have since decided that I am not a threat, I do not know.” A doleful glance was sent towards his foot. He certainly would not be much of a threat to them, not physically. “Responsibility does not seem to be one of their virtues, either,” he added, thinking again of the previous night. “Larswic seems to keep a pretty tight hold on them and they listen, but when he doesn’t…” He shrugged. Irresponsible or simply idiotic, Léof didn’t suppose it made a notable difference.

Eodwine appeared thoughtful. “Léof, I would like you to keep an eye on those three. They do not seem to have noticed you much, which is good. I would be grateful if you would report to me if you see or hear anything that seems suspicious or makes you uncomfortable.”

Léof was rather surprised, and his mind worked quickly. He guessed that he was not the only one uneasy with these newcomers, and this heightened his confidence in his own observations. He nodded. “Aye, sir, I can do that. Is there anything else?”

“Not for now. If a healer is needed, I or someone else will let you know.”

Recognizing the dismissal, Léof said, “I will be in the stables.” He made his way back out there to begin feeding, wondering what the day would bring.

[JennyHallu]

Lin rose late on the morning of the Fair, morning sunlight streaming through the windows of her room. Cheerfully she thought through all she hoped to do that day, as she stretched luxuriously in the soft linens of the bed. Her tapestries had been hung the day before, by Léof, walking carefully on his injured foot, with young Garmund hanging in his shadow.

The sunlight promised a beautiful spring day, and she rose and dressed in light linens, singing a lullaby in Adunaic in a light, high voice. She slipped out of her corner room and danced cheerfully down the hallway and down the stairs. There was a small crowd gathered by a room on the first floor, one that Lin didn't think had been occupied (even by the hosts of nameless merchants that had been filling all the corners the past few days), but she slipped past and outdoors, heading for the kitchen-tent. A picnic, that's what she needed. She'd go outside the walls to where the Fair was set up and explore the booths and events she'd seen merchants setting up over the past few days, and bring a picnic basket from the Hall.

Garwine was already in the kitchen, and she could hear the sounds of Garstan working on the hearth chimney outside, which was taking beautiful shape despite her initial doubts. She said a cheerful good morning to Garwine, who returned it with a friendly wave, his mouth full of hot bread. A small basket was quickly procured from a cabinet, and Garwine cut her a wedge of the cheese when he got some for himself. She found the ham from the night before and cut off a few slices, and added a few of the fresh rolls on the table. All this she wrapped in a napkin and packed into her basket before leaving the kitchen in the direction of the sounds of Garstan's work, with a wave at Garwine, who was leaving the other way.

"Garstan?" she said loudly, over the high ringing of his chisel. "Garstan!" The man finally heard her, and set down his tools, turning a face covered in rock dust to her.

"Yes, Lady?" he answered, with a respectful nod.

Lin smiled at him, the basket hanging by her side. "Master Garstan, today is the first day of the horse fair, as I'm sure you know." He nodded, and Lin continued. "It looks to be beautiful out, and I thought I would attend the festivities. I wondered if I might have the loan of your daughter for the day. I am sure she'd enjoy getting out of the hall, and I would be glad of her cheerful company."

The influx of so many from the countryside was keeping the Hall's staff busy, and Lin had noticed the little girl seemed to feel mostly underfoot, as her father was working and her brother helping Léof in the stable. Lin herself had had the same feeling. Her friend Saeryn had been kept hopping, Kara had barely left the kitchen, and Aedhel had been helping Kara, when she wasn't in Meduseld working on her new lessons. Most of the men were also busy at their own duties, Marenil at a host of self-appointed tasks...Lin couldn't keep up with all he'd been doing. Only Manawyth and Degas had had any time to spare, really, and the language barrier made long discussions with Manawyth difficult, as they were both translating everything mentally. Degas...was Degas, and Lin was still cautiously trying out her 'ignore him' advice, doing her best to look exceedingly busy whenever he came near.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas rose later than he had meant. The revelry of Larswic's sons had kept him awake for longer than he was content with. He'd slipped out of doors in the wee hours to see what troubles they were causing themselves and, content that they were no harm to anything but perhaps their next day memory, he had let them be. Eodwine would care for their irresponsibility if it was required. Degas had simply intended to make certain that they were harmless in the short term. Still, if they chose to make such actions a tradition, he would have a word. Saeryn had spoken to him of equally interrupted sleep and Degas suspected that Lin's may have been restless as well. The lord's hall hosted children that needed their rest and the sick that needed nightly quiet, among many others.

He thought of this as he washed, finding clean clothing folded neatly and smelling of light spring breeze and something else he was uncertain of; when he did his own washing, if he could do it before she found it, it was clean, yet it did not have that light scent of something extra. Degas had no idea how Saeryn managed it, but she was simply good like that. No matter how often he tried to shut her from his room, she continued to silently slip in and take care of him. He smiled. His twin liked to pick up after him and see to it that he was content, and she would never accept his gratitude. A pert laugh and a tart comment would be all he would get for it, he knew. He would ask Lin, he thought, how best to thank his beloved sister.

He thought of Saeryn. She was tired. He could see it in her eyes, though he doubted any of the others noticed it. No, Eodwine, he corrected himself. Eodwine has seen it as well. Since the fall of the wall and the influx of so many guests, she had worked herself harder than Degas thought necessary. He could find her at times that she ought to be resting, on her knees, scrubbing the floor of an unused room. Perhaps he would have a word with Eodwine, though Saeryn would scold him to near death if she were to find out about it. He shook his head and pulled his damp coppery locks into a horsetail.

Securing a coin purse and a dagger to his belt, he checked himself over to see if he'd forgotten anything. Coal black boots clean and on; dark brown breeches tucked neatly into them; shirt buttoned and tucked in; belt cinched. He caught himself worrying over his appearance and pushed it out of his head. There were plenty of ladies, he told himself, that he could have if he wanted them. There was no reason to worry what this one thought of him. He shook his head and called himself hopeless and grinned for a second in knowledge of his own lack of seriousness of his past thought. Tell himself what he may, he knew that he took care in his appearance over the past few days for one lass in particular.

She had done everything to him but acknowledge his continued existence, except in circumstances wherein it would be impolite to remain silent. When Degas spoke to her, and he sought opportunites to do so, she seemed preoccupied. Degas had approached Saeryn to learn if the lass had a pair of warm arms waiting at home to pull her close upon reunion and Saeryn had laughed at him and left him in more confusion than he had already felt.

Pulling a pair of sweets from where, upon his neatly folded bed, he had left them, he opened his door and made his way toward the early noise of tired voices murmering communication. A lad was injured; Eodwine assured Degas that he was in the best of care and not to worry.

Degas followed the sound of a lovely light voice and found she for whom he searched. He smiled at her and she blushed. Kneeling to her level, Degas spoke to Lèoðern, and her father at the same moment.

"Have you yet had breakfast, m'lady Lèoðern?" Garstan nodded behind the little girl as she nodded wide-eyed. Degas proffered a piece of chocolate to her, balanced upon one knee. Her eyes widened, if possible, further. "Then please take this."

As her small white hand took the candy from his large, callused one, Degas bade Garstan good morning, asking of his health and his thoughts of the weather.

Carefully ignoring Linduial, Degas complimented Garstan for a job well done, admiring the tight fit of the stonework before him. Finally, carefully, Degas turned to Linduial, hiding the second piece of chocolate in his hand.

"Good day, my lady." he murmered, brushing her own hand with his lips. As he released it, he tucked the chocolate within it. "I heard mention that you planned to attend the festivities today. I've come to beg of you a favor..."

[JennyHallu]

Linduial mentally cursed her revealing blush. You've been working too hard at this to let him get to you that easily! she scolded herself, taking the moment he leaned over her hand to school her features into their proper disinterest. When she found herself the possessor of a rather sticky candy, she almost laughed in delight, but caught herself handily. Trying a little hard, wasn't he? Saeryn was right. Except...he surely doesn't think my heart is as easily won as Léoðern's, to be swayed by sweets and manners. But...he is such a dear. Lèoðern is completely charmed, and I as well. Mustn't show it!

She tucked the chocolate away into a handkerchief she pulled from her basket, smiling at Lèoðern's sticky happy face. "Thank you, Degas," she said smoothly, in the calm, friendly tone she used with strangers. "You remind me of my brothers; they always used to give me such things when I was a child."

Oh, Lin, that was mean, she told herself, laughing inwardly at the look on Degas' face. You'll have to try harder, my dear. I love watching you try... "I hope you don't mind if I save it. I don't like to eat such sweet things before a proper breakfast. And what favor might I do you? Please speak quickly, Lèoðern and I have much to do, if her father agrees she might accompany me today."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

He hoped he looked far less foolish than he felt. As he picked up pieces of his broken ego, he tried to think of words and was at a loss. No, he thought... I look exactly as foolish as I feel. His bright eyes beseeching and without the devilish gleam so often present, he spoke quietly, still balanced upon his knee. He had not yet stood when the lady had so calmly swept him from his mooring. All the better, he groaned inwardly, or I may have fallen and then what would she think of me? He was glad Saeryn hadn't witnessed this. He shuddered to think of the teasing he would receive if she'd been here.

"I wish to thank my sister for a deed she would prefer remain thankless. I've no idea how. I'd come to beg of you advice and in return, offer my service as your escort today as you explore what delights the fair has for you."

He tried fruitlessly to think of more words to say... something to impress the lady, or to sweep her off of her feet. He would have settled for a cool insult, even, yet nothing came forth. His full concentration was spent on the proper pronunciation of what had formerly been his rather large vocabulary.

[JennyHallu]

Lin saw that she had hurt the young man, and his quiet, deflated, honesty tore at her heartstrings. How to handle this? she wondered. Same way father told you to handle an Ambassador you wish to come to an agreement with, she realized with a mental *click* as several half-developed thoughts and lessons fell into place. Show him that he is honored, and that his desires may come to fulfilment more easily than he might think.

She turned to Degas a heartfelt, friendly, and loving smile, handing her basket to him cheerfully. "You would be most welcome, Lord," she said softly and feelingly. She paused, then continued in a more casual tone. "And I am sure that Garstan also shall feel better, knowing his daughter defended by so doughty a warrior. And as for your other request...haven't you seen the host of vendors flooding Lord Eodwine's crumbled hall these last few days? All sorts of treasures will be laid out today! If you would do something sweet for Saeryn, I will help you to choose some pretty gift, fit for a lady of her worth."

[Celuien]

Garstan watched the interaction between Linduial and Degas with the faintest hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes. The lady's initial coldness was so obviously feigned, particularly considered in contrast to her quick transformation to smiles. Should there have been any doubt, the young gentleman's crestfallen appearance following her rejection was sign enough. The rules of flirting, it seemed, were the same everywhere.

The horse fair. Should he allow Lèoðern to go with them? Her shining face told him that she wanted to go. The precious sweet offered had won Degas the child's affections. Linduial had been her friend from day one: not a day had passed when they didn't wander the yard together, telling stories and playing games. Garstan was truly honored and thankful for her attention to his daughter. And he liked both Linduial and Degas. But would it be unwise to put Lèoðern under the charge of a pair with so many distractions to be found in each other? He thought there should be no difficulties: both of them appeared trustworthy, and had certainly been kind and attentive to Lèoðern. Still, how much attention could he expect for her while Linduial and Degas were off on some mutually evasive conversation?

He studied the edge of his chisel, wiping bits of stone-dust from its surface, while catching glimpses of Lèoðern's red curls below the metal. She was looking up at Linduial, chattering about horses and chocolates. She wanted to go. She should go.

Garstan spoke. "Indeed, Lady. It would be my pleasure to send Lèoðern to the fair with you. I am sure that it would make a pleasant day for the child. My thanks to you again for your attention to her." He smiled at Degas. "And to you, sir."

He hoped that he had made the right decision.

[littlemanpoet]

Æðel had come and had had a look at the boy, and asked for Hrethil. Eodwine had gone to the stable and sent Léof to Meduseld. Now it was time to break his fast. He made his way to the kitchen where he expected to find Kara. Instead he found the larders ransacked, and Kara missing. He wondered where she was. He picked up a half a loaf of brown bread and munched at it as he wandered over the grounds looking for Kara.

It was an hour later when he found her in the cellars, talking to Saeryn, who was on her knees scrubbing at the floor beneath the wine casks.

"Will you please stop and have a bite of breakfast?" Kara was saying.

"What's this?" Eodwine asked. Kara turned suddenly, her eyes wide, as though she had been caught misbehaving. Eodwine's brow flickered in confusion as to why she reacted so.

"I was just trying to get Saeryn here to leave off with all the scrubbing and come break her fast."

"Good of you, Kara. I'll see to Saeryn. Your kitchen seems to want looking after. Some hands have had a go at your larder."

Kara 'yes lorded' him and found her way up the stairs.

Eodwine watched Saeryn, who had not stopped with the scrubbing during his words with Kara.

"Saeryn, stop a moment."

[Firefoot]

Léof was glad for the chance to leave the Mead Hall for a bit and get out; for all the time he spent with the horses, he had little chance to ride, and Æthel had not been well-exercised. Remembering how Gárwine had needed to lend the healer his horse on the last occasion, Léof had saddled up Herefola as well; he did not think that Gárwine would mind. They started out at a brisk trot but were soon slowed to a walk as they became caught up in the fair traffic. For himself, Léof did not mind; this was a sight like he had never seen before. The fair was more than horse buying and games; vendors had come to sell their wares, hoping to take advantage of the crowd. Some sold food; others, jewelry; and all sorts of tings that Léof did not have the time to look at. Outside the city, a small oval had been marked out for horse racing, and this most of all caught Léof’s eye. “What do you think, girl?” he asked Æthel. “Maybe we should give it a try.” He knew full well that Æthel would not be the fastest horse, and if the track had been straight he probably would not have stood a chance. But a round track – on a couple of occasions a small round track similar to this one had been set up near his village for people to have a bit of sport out of their normal schedules, and Léof had quickly noticed how much the dynamics had changed. Rather than running in a straight line, the horses tended to bunch up on the inside because it would be shorter, and sometimes the fastest horse might be caught up in that sort of mess, and a slower horse might win. He might have a chance.

Æðel probably wouldn’t approve, said a little nagging voice in his head. Your foot still isn’t right. The voice annoyed him. Of course he would be fine; it was not as if he would be running on it. Stirrups? interrupted the voice. So what? A fierce desire came over him to just prove them all wrong. He was not a baby to be handled gently because he had been foolish enough to get his foot stepped on.

Besides – there would be some kind of reward money. And he needed money, to get his sister here. She would be able to stay at the Mead Hall, of course, but their father would come after her if he just took her away. Léof was not precisely sure how money would help, but he figured that it would, somehow. Buying his father off, perhaps, horrible as it sounded.

His mind returned to the matter at hand as he rode up at the healer’s place. Tying the horses in front, he went inside to find the healer Hrethel. “What can I do for you, lad?” he asked. Then he noticed Léof’s limp. “What did you do to your foot?”

“Oh, it’s not me,” Léof assured him. “Horse stepped on my foot a couple days ago, but I’m doing all right. I was sent from the Mead Hall – it seems we’re needing your services again.” By now Léof was leading him out to where he had tied the horses.

“What seems to be the problem this time?”

“It’s this boy that we found. He’s in pretty bad shape – has a gash on his forehead, among other things.”

“I see.” Then he noticed the two horses and gave Léof an inquiring look.

“I remembered that you didn’t have your own horse, so I brought a second,” he explained.

Hrethel chuckled as he mounted. “Are you folk all trying to tell me something?”

“Well, the horse fair is going on right now…” Léof grinned. The old healer just shook his head.

The ride back seemed quicker. Léof directed Hrethel to the hurt boy’s room and took Æthel and Herefola to the stables. He removed the tack of both, but left Æthel’s out since he would be needing it shortly. As he worked, he tried to think of any other duties he might need to do if he was to race Æthel. It occurred to him that Larswic might be intending to conduct his business here rather than taking his horses out: this would certainly be more convenient, although perhaps less conducive to business. And if so, it might be best for him to stick around for most of the day, only slipping out for a short while – especially if he was to keep an eye on him, as Eodwine had requested. Léof nodded to himself and went to find Larswic.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn set down her supplies and dried her hands as she sat back onto her feet, straightening and lengthening her spine. Turning slightly, she allowed her back to crack the stiffness out of itself. Balancing carefully on the balls of her feet, she rotated her shoulders and turned her head a few times before standing. She hit her head on a low ceiling beam, wincing, and sneezed suddenly at the onslaught of sweetly aged dust that showered her. It fell like weightless rain to coat the newly cleaned floor.

"Troubles?" she asked delicately as she tried to ignore the already swelling bump on the back of her head. Her eyes looked up the few inches to meet his, daring him to laugh, to comment.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine watched Saeryn try to mimic the lythe motions of a cat, only the bump her head on a low beam, sending dust raining all over the floor she had so meticulously scrubbed.

"Troubles?"

Eodwine smirked, but said no word about the ceiling beam and her head. He was aware of his hands hanging at his side, flexing slightly with a sudden scene that filled his mind in which is hands held his hostess close to him and his mouth was not busy with speaking.

"There's a fair today, and you're down here slaving. Why?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Because it needs cleaning," she answered simply, "and because I've no inclination to attend the fair just now."

She looked him in the eye but her seriousness was cut short with another burst of sneezes. With her eyes streaming, she sniffed a few times, feeling foolish and being uncertain why she was being disturbed from her work.

"If there's nothing I can help you with Eodwine, I'd like to finish cleaning down here before I make sure Kara's well supplied and see that the guests are happy."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was discomfited. Here he had been thinking that she seemed tired, had been working herself much too hard since the wall had fallen three days ago. That was a lot of work. Was she trying to pay him back for swearing his oath to protect her? Maybe he was wrong. He looked her hard in the eyes. She was watching him with no great patience, waiting for him to let her get back to work. She was not being helpful at all. Well, she was with the cleaning, but not with helping him understand what was going on inside her head. No, the best thing he could do was to speak plainly.

"Saeryn, you're working too hard. Why?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Because I can." she replied, infuriatingly unhelpful still. Had she understood more of her own actions, she might have explained them to Eodwine.

Buried deep within her mind, in a place where she tried not to look because it made her a bit nervous, Saeryn suspected that it had something to do with the apprising look in Larswic's eyes when he had first spotted the hall in ruins. Though Saeryn suspected he had learned her rank by now, she had not mentioned it, not caring for her own title any more than she ever had. Rather had she made an effort for the man's respect of Eodwine to rise, perhaps based on the loyalty and effort put forth by those under his protection.

No, perhaps she'd not have told Eodwine if she'd known it fully. She was uncertain how even she felt of her protectiveness of his home, much less how he would react to it.

[littlemanpoet]

"Because I can."

She did not take her eyes away from his. He frowned, befuddled. That was no answer, and she knew it. His first thought was to say to himself, Women! and all then to latch onto that all the cantankerous nonsense that went with such a single worded casting of blame in the face of doubt. Her eyes, which he had not taken his own from, were tired. She sneezed again, but brought her eyes back to his.

A sudden linking of thoughts came to him. She knew she was working too hard, but did so anyway. What drive could there be for her, who so loved to play, to work so hard? It must be his oath. What else could it be?

"If you are working overhard because I swore to guard you against your older brother, you're being foolish. I need not your payment in overwork. You are of greater worth to yourself, and to me, sound of mind and body. If that be the why of it, set aside your washrag and bucket and come upstairs with me."

[JennyHallu]

Linduial smiled sunnily at Garstan and held out a slim white hand to Lèoðern, who moved to take it with an excited wriggle and half-jump. "We promise to return her in one piece!" she assured the anxious father over her shoulder, as she swept out into the courtyard and then to the street, Lèoðern skipping alongside her, and Degas following.


The annual Horse Fair in Edoras was a huge affair. The streets were filled with people and vendors, and this was merely the beginning. Most of the booths and all the horses and events were set up on the grassy sward outside the city, and it was there that Linduial led her merry little company. Lèoðern soon gave up on moving blindly through the dense-packed crowds of tall adults and rode high on Degas' strong shoulders, where she could see the layout of the fair and catch glimpses of what was going on all around them. Lin's obvious royal bearing had an almost magical effect on the crowd, melting people away so the laughing, happy trio walked almost unimpeded where'er Lèoðern directed.

Lèoðern's joy and excitement was infectious, and both Degas and Lin found it easier than they had expected to push their flirtation and attraction aside for a while, talking and laughing like old companions, and no more or less than friends. Lin still, however, found herself almost preternaturally aware of Degas' presence, and took pleased note of his tireless strength and patience, as well as the myriad of small kindnesses and shared jokes with the little girl bouncing up and down on his shoulder-blades. She masked her fascination with gaiety, and the three found a frank and often funny conversation about their various siblings to be a safe and welcome topic.

With many interruptions to stop and enjoy the performances of various buskers, dancers, storytellers, and acrobats, the three made their way slowly but surely to an area that seemed (from Lèoðern's skyline viewpoint) to be mostly populated with finer merchants, calling out their wares from well-kept colorful tents. As soon as they managed to get there, they set happily to looking through the goods, staying together, and pointing out to each other whatever rare, pretty, or well-made items caught their eye. Linduial, with a wink and a gesture for secrecy, pressed into Lèoðern's hot little hands ten copper pennies. Lin remembered well from her own childhood how dull it could be to go along on adult buying trips without the means to pick things out too.

[Folwren]

Somewhere in the country of the Middle Emnet

Outside the city walls, Thornden found the wind strong, but not terribly overbearing. He hardly thought of it, though, as he rode, for his mind was still lingering on the boy he'd found. He wondered where he came from, and how he got to be in such a state as he was. Were the wounds and broken bones really as bad as they had appeared, or had only the blood made it appear so? Thornden knew well how cuts and bruises could make the damage appear far worse than it really was. If the blood was washed away, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all. And they could always set the broken arm. . .

But what if it was worse than he expected? "Come now, Thornden," he told himself harshly. "Keep your mind on your business or you'll befuddle it all." He was approached the first home off the list of names and places that Eodwine had given him. He dismounted at the wooden gate and walked boldly up to the door and knocked. A kindly looking woman opened the door and greeted him rather merrily. He stated his business and though the smile didn't leave her face, she looked somewhat surprise.

"I didn't think they were due yet," she said. She flashed him a quizzical look from her sparkling brown eyes.

"Well, it's not the quarter, if that's what you mean," Thornden admitted. "But I'm not coming for all of the tax. Lord Eodwine needs some of the coin in advance, for he is setting up the Mead Hall, and an accident that happened not four days ago has caused him to over run his own purse. I'm here to gather only the last two month's due."

"Oh, well, if that's the case," she replied, the cloud in her face clearing. "Just wait here and I'll be back. Thendre sets aside coin for such happenings." Thornden nodded and she disappeared inside, leaving the door open. Thornden half turned and looked about the yard as he waited. In a moment she returned, a cloth coin purse in her hand. "Tell me how much you need," she said.

Thornden referred to a slip of paper and then told her the sum. Without question, she poured some of the coins into her right hand, counted them, placed two back within the purse, and handed the rest to the Thornden.

"Thank you very much, ma'am," he said, and bowed slightly. “In return for such payment, the Eorl Eodwine wishes to fulfil some boon or act of justice that you and your husband, may ask for. Likely in a month’s time, his work at the Mead Hall will be completed, and there you are welcome to come and speak with him concerning anything that you would have him hear.”

“Like what, sir?” the woman asked, a twinkle in her eye that may have been described as merry.

“That is best for you to decide,” Thornden answered with a smile. “You know what you need most concerning what the Eorl can give you. If all is not well, for instance, and animals or other such things are being stolen, tell him so, and he will do more to protect you. An unsettled argument, perhaps, between you and a neighboring freeholder he will be able to judge between. And he will judge fairly, I can promise you,” he added, almost on impulse. He knew it to be true and wasn’t going to hide the fact.

"Give our new lord Eodwine our best wishes then, young man," she said, bobbing her head, a new and brighter smile glowing on her face. "And good day to you!"

Thornden was happy that that had gone so well, and he hoped, rather than believed, that the rest of the land owners would give the same sort of reception to his coming.

The next farm was nearly eight miles from the first. Fields of cultivated and plowed lands laid between. Some fields contained livestock, sheep, goats, horses, and sometimes cows. He reached the clump of buildings, dismounted at the barn, and while he made out which one was the house, he tied Flíthaf to the hitching bar. He walked towards the door. It was open, allowing the fresh, morning breeze to flow into the house and Thornden stopped outside and knocked briskly on the door frame.

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede


‘Who is it dear?’ Cwen’s muffled voice called out. She’d misplaced her little shears and was snipping the length of blue yarn off with her teeth. The woven tapestry she was working on was that of Wistan’s return from that ‘awful war’ as she called it. She’d gotten the top border done and was just switching from the triumphant blue of the sky to begin to weave in the top of her dear husband’s head. His helm, she had decided would be off, held in the crook of his right arm. For a moment her fingers lingered over the grey grizzled yarn and then as quickly moved on to the rich, chestnut brown. ‘I’ll put a few grey in . . . later,’ she said to herself, conceding that it wouldn’t do to have him looking as young as his sons are at present for this bit of family history. ‘Still,’ she sighed, her hand resting on the shuttle of brown worsted, ‘’tis how I see him, even now.’

She got up from her stool, as no one had yet answered her. ‘Rose? Rose!’ she called out. ‘Now where is that girl?’ She knotted the brown to the blue and laid the shuttled on the little work table she had near the loom. Wistan and the boys were out in the western field, finishing the ploughing there. Brita and Lynet, she recalled, were taking the goats to the north pasture for the day. And Ardith was busy planting in the garden along with Mayda and the children.

‘Coming!’ she called out to the visitor. She knew it was not someone from one of the neighboring farms. They would have called out as they knocked and stepped inside to see who was in. Perhaps it was the man from the village market, come to claim the yearling pig he’d traded for. Goodman Aidan, that was the name Wistan had mentioned. Yes, that must be it.

Her hips were aching fiercely as she walked the length of the hall. And she scolded herself for not picking up her cane to lean on a bit. She was a little startled to see an unfamiliar figure standing on the step. The bright light of a fair spring day was behind him, throwing his face into shadow.

‘Welcome, sir,’ she said, stepping out of the doorway, forcing him to move back a pace. She fussed with the skirt of her long apron, smoothing it down a bit. ‘I suppose you’ve come for the yearling, then?’ she began, stepping off onto the dirt to the side of the little porch. ‘He’s fattened up nicely for us. I think you’ll approve . . . Goodman Aidan. Step along carefully now; mind the muddy places. The piggery’s just there, near the barn . . .’

[Folwren]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

An elderly woman answered his knock after a short wait. "Welcome, sir," she said, stepping out towards him. "I suppose you've come for the yearling, then?" and without answer she began to lead the way. "He's fattened up nicely for us. I think you'll approve. . .Goodman Aidan. Step along carefully now, mind the muddy places. The piggery's just there, near the barn. . ."

Thornden followed her a few steps out of pure habit and good manners, but he stopped when she finished. "No, ma'am, I'm. . . not here for the. . .yearling." She turned around towards him. "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else, and I'm very sorry for that. No, ma'am, I'm here to collect some of what is due to the new Eorling of this Emnet. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, and I know that it isn't at the quarter is it should be, but there is much construction going on and lord Eodwine is in need of coin. I'm only here to collect the last two month's due." He had said the same thing the last goodwife and he hoped this woman would agree as easily and nicely as the first.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"If that be the why of it, set aside your washrag and bucket and come upstairs with me."

Eodwine looked at her in confused wonder, waiting for her answer, hoping it would reveal more of her hidden thought.

"That, I suppose, is some of it." She spoke slowly, gathering her thoughts, careful to let nothing slip. Men! She allowed herself to think it for a moment. They never understand that some actions are not based upon logic. She frowned at the thought and ignored it. She respected Eodwine far too much to label him so half-heartedly, and understood her own work too little to think about it too critically. She knew that logic was missing in one of those thoughts, but Eodwine seemed to require one of two things... a legitimate reason as to why she should be left working, or an accompaniment away from it. Perhaps, she thought, if she left off working for a time, he would leave off questions that she could not answer.

"What awaits me upstairs?" she added tiredly.

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

Rose came round the corner of the hall, pushing the long fine veil of netting away from her face, letting it hang down her back. Her leather gloves were stuck in her belt and she’d taken the ties off from round the wrists of her long sleeved tunic. As well, she had loosed those from her ankles that tied the cuffs of her breeches securely to her boots. She learned long ago that bees were very good at finding an opportunity to sting whoever bothered them. She damped down the little smoker-can she carried and set it down for later use on one of the benches at the end of the hall.

Her cheeks were red from the recent confinement beneath the veil; her brow damp with sweat. She swiped at it with her forearm, pushing the stray hairs plastered there back from her face as she did so. Her hair she’d done up in a twist at the nape of her neck was now undone, and the long dark gold tresses cascaded down her back to her waist.

She heard voices, not too far away. Her mother’s . . . and one other she could not place. A man’s . . . Rose hurried down the length of the hall and found her mother with a look of puzzlement on her face, staring up at a young man. From what she could see, the fellow did not look menacing, but she didn’t like the fact that her mother was alone with him.

‘Sir!’ she called out to him, as she drew near the two.

Cwen’s face brightened at the sight of her daughter. ‘Well, here’s my Rose!’ she said smiling. ‘She’ll get this all sorted out for you.’ She grasped her daughter’s hand and patted it affectionately.

Rose listened as her mother explained how she’d thought this fellow was the one come for the yearling pig . . . but he wasn’t . . . he was someone else altogether . . . not that she knew his name . . . he hadn’t told her yet, or if he had she didn’t recall it . . . but it was something about Lord Eodwine . . . and who was that, dear? . . . and he was needing coin for something as was due but not really yet.

‘Perhaps our guest would like a little refreshment, mother-mine. Why don’t you go back to the hall and set some of the lemon-balm to brewing. And the new crock of honey we gathered yesterday. We will be in directly.’ She watched with a fond look on her face as her mother picked her way back to the hall. Then turning back to the stranger, Rose narrowed her eyes, looking at him in a considering way.

‘You have the advantage of me. I do not know your name, sir.’ She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing. ‘And from the new lord, too? Is that so?’ She held out her hand expectantly toward him. ‘Might I see your papers of authority to transact his business for him?’

[Lalwendë]

The lads had been left alone for a while as Larswic was dealing with one of his 'regulars', a fair haired man who wore a good, but plain cloak and who laughed heartily at Larswic's jokes. He was after buying one of Larswic's good ploughing horses, but of course, before the deal could be done, there was a lot of banter to be covered. The two men talked of horse races, other dealers and breeders and then got onto matters of tax and dues. The boys soon started yawning once the interesting talk about who was up to what had been covered and the men fell to discussing Eorls and what they demanded.

Larswic had sent them off, irritated by their loafing about while he talked. Wultheof went to find some more bread and water as his head was still sore and his mouth dry after the last night's ale. He took it into a quiet corner of the Mead Hall and after he had finished eating, dozed off for a while.

He woke up feeling a little better and wandered back towards the stables. His father was nowhere to be seen, and he guessed he might be out with his customer trotting the horse before completing the deal. But he could not see Leocsley anywhere, and wandered around the courtyard bellowing his name, squinting in the sunshine. His head was now not so sore, but he felt groggy after his nap and he was not in the mood to have to go searching for his cousin.

Finally he went around to the back of the stables where a patch of land was bounded by a fence; on the other side was one of the many wooden houses of Edoras. From the other side of the fence he could hear Leocsley's laughter, and the sound of a girl giggling. He stomped over to see what was going on, and found Leocsley aiming his bow at a crude target scratched into the wooden wall of a storehouse. A girl of their age, tall and fair haired, stood by watching him.

"Who's this then? Your fair maiden?" said Wultheof with a sneer. Leocsley spun round, with an arrow still ready in his hand. Wultheof ducked down again behind the fence. "Fool! Put that thing down!"

"I'm just showing her how to use a bow is all," said Leocsley, going red in the face. He liked the girl, she was funny, and he wanted to show her how good he was at this. It was important to him that even girls knew what a good archer he already was, though he didn't quite know why he cared if girls noticed his skills.

"Wait til I tell my father you've been slacking off and playing bows 'n' arrows with lasses!"

"Tell him what?" said the girl, sticking out her tongue at Wultheof. "That you've been snoring away all morning while your cousin has been practising with his bow?"

Wultheof was taken aback by the girl's words, and she stared at him until he felt uncomfortable and he turned away. He stomped back towards the Mead Hall, kicking a stone as he went. He hated how all the lasses seemed to like Leocsley and ignored him. "Still", he thought, "they're only stupid girls." At that moment his father reappeared, alone and without the horse. He had a wide smile on his face.

"A good deal there, my lad," he said. "That's a man you can do business with. he knows who has the best horses, and he doesn't shirk from paying what they are worth, neither. How's about I treat you lads to a look round the Horse Fair itself? Where's Leocsley?"

[Firefoot]

After a brief search of the Mead Hall, Léof had not found Larswic, nor indeed very many people at all. He guessed that most of them were off to enjoy the fair, which suited him fine. The fewer people who knew where he was going, the better, as far as he was concerned. So horribly protective, they all were! While returning to the stable, he did see Gárwine and smiled briefly before slipping off. Talk would inevitably lead to questions. All this made Léof feel as if he were about to do something wrong, which was absurd, of course. He had the right and the ability to make judgment concerning his own activities. He did not trust any of them enough not to try and stop him.

Reaching the stable, he first went to his room to collect most of his meager supply of coins both for an entry fee and in case he saw anything nice his sister might like… or perhaps Æðel, smirked a little voice, a voice which he quickly hushed. He then re-saddled Æthel and mounted using a fence as a boost up rather shamefully. He could without one, but the affair was rather painful, and with no one watching him…

As he made his way down through the crowded streets of Edoras, he kept fighting the urge to turn around and see if anyone followed him; why would they be following? He was perfectly within his rights to explore the fair, and no one would question that. He rode straight through the fair to the outside of the city and found the track where races would be run a little later in the day. A list had been posted of the various races that would be held, specifying the length of each and any other particular conditions – most were open to any horse, but a few were limited to just mares, or horses older than a certain age, which, Léof mused, made sense – stallions were usually faster than mares, and younger horses than older horses. One race in particular caught his eye: three laps around the track for mares only. Perfect.

He waited in a relatively short line to enter. On his turn, he gave his and Æthel’s names and some other basic information to the man and paid a small fee – and that was all. The man had glanced askance at his foot but not questioned it. He was entered now, and the race would start in only a few hours. Just let someone try to stop him.

[Celuien]

Lèoðern sailed over the heads of the folk assembled at the Fair. It was so very, very delightful to be there. Just when she passed one marvel, yet another rose ahead. There had been a puppet show, and a juggler, and a man with a pony that could count just as nicely as you could imagine. And, best of all, another who piped the most lovely melodies on a little flute that shone silver in the sun.

It was in front of the musician that the little group now stood. Lèoðern was quiet. For once! Her tongue, truthfully, needed a rest. For she had gone on more swiftly than the Mearas could gallop all morning until the flute captured her attention and brought her to rapt silence, her two eyes round saucers in her face. She had never heard anything so beautiful.

The music stopped, and Lèoðern's hands flew together. She clapped and shouted, "Again, again!" But though the player smiled at her, the music did not resume, and the flute's owner walked into a nearby tent.

"Oh, Linduial!" Lèoðern gushed. "Wasn't it nice? Did you ever hear anything like it?"

Linduial smiled, for she had heard many more polished performances from the best musicians in the west of Middle-earth. In comparison, she could hear that the performace was flawed (how many times had a false note been struck, or had a long note cracked in mid-breath?) and the melody quaint. Hardly the stuff of an evening's entertainment in Dol Amroth. But here, in the soft morning, and with the eager little girl and the highly interesting Degas, she could agree that the performance was very nice indeed.

Lèoðern beamed her enthusiasm, and cheerfully announced that she would one day play as well as the man with the flute. Degas laughed cheerily and wished her the best of luck, saying he was certain that she would do beautifully at anything she chose to try.

Just then, a white horse went past. Lèoðern instantly wrenched about and slipped off Degas' shoulders to the ground, causing both Degas and Linduial to start in fear that she would join the Hall's growing list of injuries. But a quick laugh assured them that she was unharmed, and tugging at her friends' hands, she pulled them away after the horse.

[littlemanpoet]

"What awaits me upstairs?" asked Searyn in a tone that could only be named bored.

What in Middle Earth? Eodwine shook his head, more fuddled than before. What had gotten into her?

"The horse fair. The sun! A fresh spring day! Ow!" he flung his arms wide, smacking his knuckles against a post. He sucked his knuckles, not tasting blood at least.

She just watched him with that tired look, as if eager to get back to her drudgery. He sighed.

"Very well. If endless work is what you wish for now, maybe you will break free of such a humor by means of work." He shrugged.

Silently she bent and picked up her washrag and soaking it in the bucket yet again, sank again to her knees and began scrubbing. Eodwine watched for a pair of moments before he turned and started back up the stairs.

"A pity," he threw over his shoulder as he climbed. "I had hoped to tell you my dream last night." He reached the top step and let the door fall to behind him. He went to Kara and told her to bring down a bit of food and drink to Saeryn, who seemed not to want to face the light of day. He sighed and made his way into the sun himself, and began to walk to the horse fair.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine dined on breakfast alone in his room, but kept the door open so he could be first to know of the injured boy's condition. He was probably attacked when traveling through the city at night, Gárwine thought, and once he was beaten senseless, robbed. And what with the likes of Larswic's sons loitering outside at night, Gárwine couldn't help but feel that the boy should've been a bit more prepared. But then again, he could be new to Edoras. And country life is very different than town life. He remembered his life in Wilfrid's tiny village: serene and safe, though at times very dull.

Gárwine returned to thinking about the wounded boy, and Larswic's sons. It was not impossible for them to have attacked the boy. They were near the same age, were they not? And the sons' midnight laughter could just as easily have been about freshly robbed coin as about a lewd joke.

That's ridiculous, Gárwine thought, chasing the suspicions out of his head. The product of an over-imaginative mind looking for adventure, as my Uncle always said. Garwine finished his breakfast, and as he exited his room he remembered the horse fair was today. Hurrying down the hall, past the room with the injured boy, he found Eodwine near the cellars. Eodwine quickly gave Gárwine leave to visit the fair, and Gárwine bounded out of the inn, glad to be able to take a walk around town.

Gárwine walked through the streets, taking in all the marvels of the crowds. Street musicians played their music right in the road. Riders led their fine horses through the streets to the fairgrounds and the racetrack. People were everywhere. The entire Mid-Emnet had arrived for the occasion.

Gárwine headed to the racetrack first, to see the racers and their horses before the races began. He fingered the few bronze coins in his pocket, but wisely decided not to spend them gambling, remembering how Thornden had warned him against even playing dice. It's too bad Léof's foot still hurts, he thought. He would've liked to race his horse today.

He ambled past the racers, both because of the natural flow of the crowd and because the wanted to see the colorful pavilions and stalls built beyond the racetrack. There he saw innumerable shops selling treasures from all over Middle-earth. Such trade had grown rapidly since the end of the War, when the roads were made safer for the merchants. With four pennies Gárwine bought a little dwarf knife, straight out of the North. The stall-keeper said the best knives were all made by the dwarves, and Gárwine could not resist buying one. He continued browsing through the attractions. There was a group of acrobats tumbling across the ground, and more musicians, and more stalls selling their wares, and men on stilts in fanciful costumes. Wonder upon wonder from all across Middle-earth, and all here at the horse-fair.

[Kath]

Having been running around on errands all morning Kara wasn't best pleased when Eodwine headed toward her, his mouth opening to issue another one. However, when she learnt that Saeryn was still refusing to leave off her work even for a bite to eat, she felt that this errand was particularly important. The girl obviously wanted to be left alone to work herself out of this mood, but she wasn't going to manage that if she was faint with hunger.

Kara headed back to the kitchen and noted that Eodwine had been right. A few rolls and some cheese were missing, as well as part of a loaf of bread. Shaking her head she mentally scolded the thieves, before realising that her absence most of the morning meant that anyone requiring a later breakfast than the one she had set out had no choice but to take what they needed. Thinking she ought perhaps to mention this to Eodwine, and suggest setting up a table that guests knew they were allowed to help themselves from, Kara collected a few small items, hoping that if the food was presented in a way that would make it easy to eat Saeryn would accept it. Some bread, cheese and slices of fruit were soon on a tray along with a cup of water and Kara headed back to the cellar.

As she reached the corridor she found Frodides hobbling down the stairs. The woman seemed to be in some pain still, but on catching sight of Kara she straightened up and removed any trace of a wince from her face.

"What are you doing!" Kara asked curiously. "Æðel said you were to stay in bed and off that leg for two more days yet."

"Bedrest doesn't suit me." Came the reply, more snappish than usual due to the pain being hidden. "I don't like to take boons from anyone and while I'm laid up like this I'm not working for my keep."

"Lord Eodwine said -"

"Never mind what he said my girl, it's me you'll be listening to, unless you really intend to give some poor soul yesterdays bread."

Following Frodides' eyes to the tray Kara saw that the bread she had picked up was indeed old, and very likely stale. Blushing she berated herself for being so distracted as not to notice and looked up, expecting to find disapproval in the old cook's eyes, but instead finding a quiet amusement.

"No one would have noticed so don't you worry. Just let me be of use. Help me along to the kitchen and I'll run through what we've got and make sure this doesn't happen again."

Kara still hesitated. Æðel knew what she was talking about, especially with these lessons she was having now, and it didn't seem right to go against what she said. On the other hand, Frodides would be happier with something to do, and it would mean there was always someone in the kitchen when Kara had to leave it. Finally agreeing she put the tray down on the stairs and helped the woman to her old haunt. Leaving her sat comfortably in a chair with her leg propped up on a stool and a stick in her hands that she might whack the knuckles of anyone trying to take anything, Kara headed back out again.

Carefully making her way down the cellar steps with the tray in her hands she found Saeryn still scrubbing away at the floor, seemingly the same patch she had been doing moments earlier.

"How long does one bit of floor take to clean?" She commented, intending it to be a joke, but from the look Saeryn gave her it didn't appear that she had taken it as such, and from the look she was giving the food it didn't look as though she was going to give much consideration to that either.

"I'm sorry if you don't wish to eat." Kara cut in before Saeryn could speak. "Lord Eodwine asked that I bring you something and it isn't much, just a little bit of food that will help you keep going if you intend to do this all day. Most of our guests have gone now and Frodides is watching the kitchen so I may take my mid-morning snack with you if you don't mind."

Gathering her skirts she sat down on the bottom step and placed the tray in between her and Saeryn. Taking a piece of bread from the tray she bit into it and then looked at Saeryn inquiringly, silently asking if she intended just to watch or to join her.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

After checking the Lèoðern for injuries at her fall, Degas allowed himself to be led away, his mind still connected to the music just as his hand was to the enraptured little girl beside him. While the musician had played a few off notes, Degas doubted that any but a practiced ear had noticed. He spotted a hiccup of breath as the man played, his well-experienced eye recognizing a hidden cough when he saw one; the player was ill. The instrument, though, that was of high quality, and that was what caught Degas's eye. He'd spotted a maker's mark just below the mouth piece and wondered at how its owner had acquired it. Degas's own was by the same maker and he'd gone through much to secure it, tracking down the reclusive craftsman and convincing him more through words and play than through gold, that he was worthy of the flute. Degas wondered if the people now surrounding him realized the worth of the instrument they had just heard, or the talent of the man who played it. His own fingers now itched to dance on his own pipes, or to pick a melody from a harp. Music he'd not played in weeks played through his head. He remembered late nights in Gondor's halls as he'd entertained his fellow lords and their ladies.

He was brought from his reverie by Lèoðern's excited giggle and a sharp intake of breath from Linduial. A full table of shimmering jewels set within delicate laces of gold and silver had caught their eyes. Degas picked up one necklace, a silver one set with emerald, and allowed the fine chain to fall across his fingers.

"What think you?" he asked Lin. "Does anything catch your interest?"

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

A dream. The words would not leave Saeryn's head. They began quickly to take on the rhythm of her scrubbing. I had hoped [scrub] to tell you my [scrub] dream last night. His words could not have tantalized her more if they had been the most irresistible sweets or promises a man could offer. [scrub] Intent to finish her job, she tried to push the words away, but Eodwine's voice filled her ears and his eyes filled her own. She was cold, hidden away in shadows. But the work needs doing, she told herself. [scrub] If I don't, someone else must. Why should they work while I play? Someone must work so that the young ones may escape into adventure for the day. Though she told herself this, she barely believed it. She could not understand her own stubborn refusal to let herself enjoy the fair. His dream.

Saeryn knew that Kara's kitchen was stocked. [scrub] She and the girl had talked over a small breakfast. Saeryn had been nearly unwilling to eat, not in the mood to take breaks or chat, but Kara had insisted and Saeryn was, after all, hungry... once she'd slowed down enough to notice. After Kara left, looking satisfied that Saeryn would not, at least, faint, Saeryn went back to work. Guests sought her out when they were in need... [scrub] she'd discovered it early, and appreciated the gesture. It saved her making rounds as often. Her job as hostess [scrub], keeping things running smoothly and caring for the household came too easily for her taste. She felt as though she were barely working. An oath sworn to her and a home to live in, food at every meal, a warm bed to sleep in, and nearly nothing asked in return. Saeryn felt unworthy, and she was uncertain why.

She'd been given all rights and privileges in the Folde with Fenrir, but she had paid for them several times over with sacrificed privileges of other sorts. Here, in Eodwine's home, she could do any sort of thing she desired. The freedom frightened her, almost, and she set her own limits to keep from merely floating away upon the plains breeze.

I had hoped to tell you my dream last night.

She picked up her cleaning supplies, standing and stretching. Her knees ached and her nose burned from the smell of the harsh soap. Her hands felt raw and looked red in the flickering lamp light. She wanted to hear that dream.

Climbing the stairs carefully, she fought herself for a moment. Decision made upon the top step, she finished her chore, stepping out the back door of the building and tossing her filthy washwater away and placing all else wheresoever it belonged. Disappearing into her room for a moment, she unbelted her breeches and unbuttoned her shirt quickly, removing her damp and dirty clothes. She folded them carefully and set them aside to wash, standing in thought for a moment. A dream... The fair...

She remembered her favorite gown as she washed, one light and scarlet and delicately embroidered with black and gold thread. Curls of careful stitching decorated the dipping neckline. She pulled it over her head and followed it with a soft black corset, fumbling with aching fingers to secure its ties. She untied her hair, finger combing her plait loose. Standing in the warm sunlight she blinked the darkness away from her eyes. She rubbed her cheeks briskly, waking herself to the daylight, and pulled a pair of soft slippers on. She closed her door quietly and went to the kitchen. Much the cook already, Kara tended to know more of each person's whereabouts than did even Saeryn.

"He's gone to the fair." the girl said, seeing Saeryn. She made no comment of the swift change, of the loose curls or the slender waist accented by the gown. Saeryn thanked her, making her way through the halls to the door. She wanted to hear that dream.

Opening the door, she blinked away the sudden burst of sunlight. People were everywhere. How could she ever find him in this crowd?

[Folwren]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

The young woman remained as her mother walked slowly back into the house. When she disappeared within, Rose turned and addressed in a most business like manner.

“You have the advantage of me. I do not know your name, sir,” she said. “And from the new lord, too? Is that so?” Even as Thornden nodded in consent, she put out her hand. “Might I see your papers of authority to transact his business for him?”

Thornden smiled at her quick thought. She was no simpleton. He complied at once and took out a rolled parchment. He undid the string of leather around it and handed it to her for her perusal. She unrolled it and glanced over it, studied the signature and handed it back.

“It is unexpected, I know,” Thornden said as he took the paper back, “but he being a new Eorl needs the coin now rather than later. He is building the Mead Hall, and he hopes to see many of his freeholders in time there. You, and your mother and father, are welcome, of course. He also, to show his thanks for receiving the coin due, wants to know anything you would ask of him, in favor or as some judgement of law, as is necessary.”

[JennyHallu]

"Does anything catch your interest?"

Lin blushed, looking at the glittering gems sparkling in Degas' hands to avoid meeting his eyes. "They're all beautiful," she murmured. "Something like this, though--this would reflect the color of your sister's hair and bring the warmth out of her skin." She held up a slim golden chain with a delicate pendant of rubies and filagree sparkling in the bright spring sunlight. "The red is a good color for her."

Lin was a trifle confused. For the last few minutes, as they'd wandered out of hearing distance of the flautist, Degas had seemed a little...detached, perhaps? Like his thoughts were elsewhere. The old musician had had a young girl dancing for him, a pretty enough lass...Lin's thoughts turned to Saeryn's stories of her brother: a bit wild, and somewhat of a womanizer, however gentlemanly he seemed to her now. Had he noticed the dancer? Was that what he was thinking about now, that disturbed his fascination with her so much? Lin wracked her brain, trying to call up details about the girl she'd dismissed earlier, sure that her hold on Degas' heartstrings was firm. A whirl of golden hair, flirtatious blue eyes, a voluptuous, supple body that enticed the men watching her with glimpses of white skin and athletic movement. There was no way Degas wouldn't have noticed her.

Would he try to find the lass before the fair was out? She was barely able to resist his charm...the dancer would think him a fine conquest. Lin was sure that Degas had forgotten all about her, and she turned away silently, trying not to show her hurt. Degas was bent over the jewelry, Lèoðern's little hand held firmly in his large one. Lèoðern was fine, Lin didn't need to help watch her.

Lin wandered off towards the next booth, brooding, the threat of angry tears hiding in her eyes, trying to destroy her enjoyment of the day. She recovered a little of her good cheer a few booths further, where she sifted through a pile of fine-crafted toys and bought a cloth doll with a finely carved wooden head and hands and a delicate painted face. Lèoðern would love it, and Lin tried to push her jealousy aside in anticipation of the child's excited face when she presented her with the toy later. She began to make plans of little dresses she could make from fabric salvaged from the green dress she'd been wearing when the wall collapsed, and continued to wander through the booths, admiring flowers and fabrics, buying herself a few girlish silk ribbons and yards of soft and fine navy blue cotton fabric and silver thread, thinking of the lovely dress she could make from it.

She stopped, finally, at a booth selling weaponry, looking over the selection of steel blades. Her father had taught her how to select a good knife when she'd come to him once asking advice for a gift for her brothers, and she began to cheerfully test the balance of a collection of small daggers laid out on the tabletop. The merchant, a bulky, bearded man Lin immediately pegged as not just the seller of the blades but also the smith, appeared almost magically in front of her, quickly and expertly homing in on a customer who was clearly lacking neither knowledge nor coin. Politely, he took the simple blade she had been examining from her fingers.

"My lady," he greeted her. "Surely ye don't require such things for y'self?"

Lin looked up at him, startled, but quickly recovered. "No, Master Smith, but as a gift for a friend."

The man nodded confirmation of her assessment of his role. "But what sort of friend, Lady? A father or a brother? A lover mayhap?"

Lin flashed the man a cold look. "You are too forward, goodman. But...I suppose he would be a suitor, more than anything else. I hope."

"Sorry, Lady. My apologies. I let me mouth run away with me brain, sometimes. Now wait..." He paused, looking at her carefully. "Ye're that cousin of the Queen, Linduial from Dol Amroth or some sech place, bain't ye, Lady? If ye don't mind me askin'?"

Lin nodded acknowledgement, and the man leaned down, rummaging under the table on which he'd displayed his goods.

"Now, Lady, it's a right honor to meet ye. There's some as don't like the Queen so much, her being a furriner an' all, but ye'll never hear me be called one o' 'em. She's a right fine lady, beggin' your pardon." He straightened up, lifting easily a heavy box. "But this be me first year to the Fair, see? I've got a name to build up, and I must have some good tales to bring home to my good wife. Selling a blade to the cousin of the Queen, now that's something to build a reputation on, right there, if ye take me meanin'. But none of those common things for a fine Lady like ye be, even if ye're just goin' to give it to a lad who bain't be deservin' of sech a lovely Lady."

The smith paused for a moment, lifting lthe lid, and pulling out five knives, and five daggers. Lin instantly could see that these were of a finer quality than any else he had displayed, and the pride the man had in them was evident. One in particular caught her eye, and she lifted it in her hands. The ivory handle was inlaid with silver and fine stones in a careful geometric pattern, smooth in her hand, though clearly designed for more mannish fingers. The double-edged blade, eight inches long, was of folded steel, catching the light in random patterns skittering across the surface. It was razor sharp and perfectly balanced, and the smith sighed when it became clear that this was the one that most interested her.

"Ach, Lady, ye have good taste. That's me masterwork, there."

"It's beautiful. How much?"

He named a figure and Lin paid it without blinking, high though it was. It took almost all the coin she had left in her purse, and she turned to return to Degas and Lèoðern.

They were nowhere to be seen. Lin knew she had wandered away while she shopped, but...she tried to retrace her steps, but soon became aware that she was lost and alone, and a little frightened. Get back to the Hall! she told herself. You're lost, and that way people can find you!

She pushed her way through the crowds, but her charmed passage earlier was only a memory. Men were entering the fair, not leaving it, and while she made it, against a strong current, into the city, she soon found herself forced into an area she was not familiar with. The men near her leered at her rudely, and a few even tried to reach out to touch her, though she pushed herself away from them in terror quickly approaching panic. She became increasingly aware of how well she was dressed, of the delicate jewelry she wore without ever thinking about it, the noble carriage that usually served her so well. She didn't have the experience to realize that was all that kept her safe was that unconscious bearing.

Finally she saw a man walking towards her who was well-dressed, and had the same air of command she associated with the nobility. She ran to him in tears, gasping out her story and her fear. The man didn't introduce himself, but repeated her own name back to her.

"Linduial? Of Dol Amroth?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You poor woman," he said, taking her elbow and leading her off the street. "It is so fortunate you thought to speak to me. Very fortunate." He made a gesture to someone behind her, and Lin suddenly picked up on a tone of insincerity in his voice.

With a scream, she whirled around, the blade she'd bought for Degas somehow making its way into her hand. She swung it wildly, and was both gratified and sickened to hear one of the three men advancing on her curse in pain, and see the flash of blood on her knife, before a blow from behind knocked her to the ground, unaware of her surroundings.

"Pity, Lady." The man she'd gone to for help stood over her body, signalling his men to lift her and her basket. "Not very gentlemanly, having to knock you out."

The men asked what they were to do with her things, and their leader told them to leave them and her be. "Carry her to our lodging, boys...and don't nick anything, not even that pretty knife. She's cousin to the Queen, boys. We'll be able to buy as many knives like that as we wish, with her ransom, and then we'll return her with all her things, safe and sound."

He chuckled. "More or less."

[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

‘Who is that, Mother Cwen?’ Mayda had come in to get a pitcher of cool tea to bring out to the garden where she and Ardith were working. She stood in the doorway to the Hall, wiping her hands, wet from washing at the well, on the towel tucked into her apron. Cwen, she could see, was brewing up a large pot of tea and had set some sweet biscuits on a plate.

‘Why that’s some fellow from the new Eorl. Eodwine, isn’t that it?’ She nodded her head at her remembering, turning her bright blue eyes to Aesc’s wife. ‘And Mayda, dear, he seems pleasant enough and of an age, too. And here he is in a good position already with the Eorl.’ Cwen hummed a little to herself as she placed a bowl of sugared nuts in a little bowl. ‘He’s a man with prospects, I’m thinking.’ She got down a dark wooden tray and handed it to Mayda, putting atop it the tea pot, mugs, a little crock of honey, and the sweets. ‘Let’s just set up under the oak out front. The trestle table is still out there from yesterday’s lunch and so are the benches.’

Mayda raised a brow at all this fuss. It was more hospitality than one generally offered to someone one didn’t know. A cool dipper of water from the well perhaps . . . Cwen’s next comment set it all into place for her.

‘And he doesn’t have the married look about him, now does he? But we shall need to find out somehow if he is spoken for.’

When she’d got the tea and such to the table and Mother Cwen seated to her satisfaction on a comfortable cushion, Mayda ran back to the garden to give her news to Willim’s wife, Ardith. ‘Wash up,’ she finished with. ‘Mother Cwen would like us present. I’ll send little Alfrid to fetch Father Wistan and Aesc from the far field.’ She grinned at Ardith. ‘And I’ll tell him to ride slowly.’

----------

Across the yard, Rose noted the bustle of activity from hall to oak tree. She frowned, wondering what her mother and Mayda were doing. Her eyes fell back to the paper Thornden had given her. It seemed well enough in order, though she wondered at the fact that the new Eorl had not put his seal on it. Her father always used his old ring that had passed down from father to son in Wistan’s family.

‘. . . but he being a new Eorl needs the coin now rather than later. He is building the Mead Hall, and he hopes to see many of his freeholders in time there. You, and your mother and father, are welcome, of course. He also, to show his thanks for receiving the coin due, wants to know anything you would ask of him, in favor or as some judgment of law, as is necessary.’

She smiled at him, raising her brow slightly at his little speech. ‘And a fair enough man seems this Lord Eodwine, if he offers such a boon. However, Master Thornden, I think we, or that is you, will have to wait a little for my father to come in from the field to transact your Eorl’s business. I’m sure mother has sent for him. But come, I see mother has set up a little tea and sweets most likely for you while you wait.’

The Hall’s well was on their way to the oak tree. She offered him the opportunity to freshen up from the dusty road, then laved her own hands, wiping them on the length of toweling that hung from the well’s little roof.

Rose could see Mayda just coming back from some errand as she and Thornden approached the table. And Ardith was with her. The women smiled as they saw her in a most satisfied way.

‘Have a seat, good sir!’ Cwen called out to Thornden as he drew near. ‘Mayda’s just sent her son to fetch my husband for the business you have with him. I thought we’d just have a little refreshment here out under the oak on this nice spring day.’ She signaled for Rose to pour the tea and passed the plate of sugared biscuits to Thornden herself.

‘It’s a rare treat for someone from round the King’s Hall to come our way. So welcome, welcome, I say.’ She pushed the little bowl of nuts toward him. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I don’t know much of this new Eorl. Though I’m sure he must be a fine man for the King to have raised him up so. What is he like? Can you tell us? And his wife, would I know her?’

[Taralphiel]

Lys stirred slowly from his slumber. He looked down to see the blood had been cleaned from his face and body while he slept though his broken limbs were not touched.

'My boy...what has happened to you? Quite a spill...quite a spill...'

Lys had woken to find an aged man shuffling into his room, eyeing him and making noises through his pursed lips. Lys stared at him with eyes round in fear, and the old man grinned a little. He began to inspect his limbs, and Lys whimpered in pain. He shut his eyes tight, knowing he could do little but submit.

'Broken. Not good at all, young man...'

He must have been a Healer, for while his poking and jabbing hurt the boy, he felt a warm care and tenderness in his actions. The man produced jars of salves and creams, and began to dab them gently on the clean cuts, some of which were deep and needed bandages. Then he carefully bound the limbs so that the bones could begin to heal right. Despite how he tried to keep still and perfectly quiet, Lys let out a small groan as the man began to tug at his limbs to place them out straight. As a plot to distract him it seemed, the healer began to ask him questions.

'My name is Hrethel...' he began slowly "I am a Healer at Meduseld, though I think you have already gathered that much. What may I call you by?'

'Lys' he said slowly, staring up at the silver-haired Hrethel.

'Lys...good name, but short. What be the rest of it?'

'I...do not know to tell you, Sir...' he said politely, wincing a little as Hrethel began to tightly wind a bandage.

'No? Strange someone know not their own name! Do you remember how you got this way then, young Lys?' The mans face was warm, but inquisitive. Lys did not like being asked questions he had no answer for.

'I cannot tell you that either, Sir. I do not remember anything. Not my full name, nor my family. Not even how I got to be here, or who rescued me...'

The Healer paused, looking softly into the boys eyes. He gently placed one long, wrinkled hand on his lap, while the other stroked his chin.

'I have known a poor man, whom on a great fall has woken and remembered naught of his life. Very rare a happening, but still an explanation for your problem, my boy...'

Hrethel leaned over and gently coaxed the boys body forward so he could bandage his ribs and the cut on his head. He propped Lys' back up with pillows, and the boy looked carefully down at his chest. His body was peppered with brusies of blue and purple, and his ribs ached terribly. Hrethel would not tell him this, but the marks were not left by human hand - it seemed a blunt implement had left these signs. Whoever did this to Lys had done so with savage cruelty.

Hrethel stood up and looked the boy over once more. 'All I can say for the rest of your treatment is rest. Eat, drink and sleep aplenty will see you right. I shall send one of the lasses up with some bread for you. Your stomach asks louder than you can squeak!'

The old man chuckled, but before he could get far enough out of the door, Lys called out to him softly.

'Sir, I am most grateful to you for your kindness and care to me in your house...'

Hrethel laughed more at this 'Not my house, young man! Though now I beg your pardon, for I did not explain in full. You are in the Mead Hall of Lord Eodwine of Middle Emnet. When you are better, you shall work off what you owe to him, and not to me.'

Lys tilted his head slightly 'Then was Lord Eodwine the man that rescued me? I owe him more than I can repay.' Hrethel's brow furrowed 'I know not who brought you in, young Lys. That is a question to ask him. For now, you should get some more sleep!
He will return to check on you by days end, and you can question him how you like!'

Lys nodded and thanked Hrethel once more before he left. Easing himself down against the mattress, he found no small wonder in the Healer's work. His ankle was tighlty bound so the dull aching had left him, and the sweet smell of the creams on his cuts soothed him into a much more comfortable sleep.

[Firefoot]

Léof rode through the streets slowly now, taking note of the vendors and their wares, watchful for something his sister might like. Sometimes he stopped for a bit to watch entertainers perform; there were all sorts, and at any other time Léof would have found them delightful. Now, however, he grew ever more conscious of the groups of people swirling around, talking, laughing, enjoying themselves. Léof began to feel lonely. He would enjoy the fair so much more if only he had someone he could enjoy it with – Gárwine or Æðel would usually have been his choice of companions, but now… They had shown no remorse for him, only given him “it’s for your own good.” None of this was his fault; it was not up to him to make amends, was it?

More than that, he for the first time since arriving at the Mead Hall felt the waves of homesickness. Well, not homesickness, precisely, since he did not miss the situation he had left. Yet he missed his small comforting stable and the small cozy house and the old and fading memories of happiness and love. Most of all, he missed his sister Cerwyn. She had been his only friendly company for years; he knew her better than anyone. Three years his junior she might be, but she would understand his plight like none of them did.

He tried to shake off his bitterness and self-pity and only had partial success. He finally chose a particular booth that was not terribly busy and stopped there, eyeing the fine gems that had been made into jewelry.

“Trying to find something for a sweetheart?” asked the man there with a smile. “I have several nice pieces.”

“Actually, no, sir,” said Léof. “For my sister.”

“Ah.” The man could not wholly hide his surprise.

Looking the table over, one necklace in particular caught his eye: a several-faceted dark green jewel that reflected the sunlight faintly, strung on a light silver chain. It was not fine in the way Linduial’s jewelry was, nor elegant as something he would expect Saeryn to wear, but to his eyes quite beautiful, and just the color of his Cerwyn’s eyes. “How much for that?” asked Léof, fearing that the price would be far too high for his small budget. The man confirmed his fear by naming a sum more than twice what Léof could pay.

“Well… what if you took out the silver chain?” asked Léof. That could be easily replaced by a thin leather strip. But the figure the man gave him was still too high. Regretfully, Léof shook his head. “I haven’t got the money, sir.”

“Well, what about this over here?” asked the man, holding up a similar but not so fine lighter green jewel. Léof shook his head again. The other one fit his sister so perfectly. “No, I think I’ll just have to try somewhere else.” With a mournful glance at the necklace, Léof prepared to mount Æthel again.

“Now hold on there, lad,” the man said. “How much is it that you’re short by?” Léof told him, and the man thought for a moment. “I’ll give it to you,” he decided. “Without the silver chain, but I can give you a leather string if you like. Those come inexpensively enough.”

Léof broke out into a grin. “Yes, sir, and thank you.”

“You’re welcome, lad. Now here you go.”

Léof accepted his package and placed it securely in his pocket. With his spirits improved, he decided to make his way back down to the racetrack; the races would be starting soon and he intended to watch some before his chance came.

[Lalwendë]

"Where’s Leocsley?”

Larswic looked around him for the lad, wondering why he had wandered off. Leocsley sometimes wandered off alone at home, but he was quite a wary lad and he hadn’t expected him to do that in the unfamiliar city of Edoras. He looked towards the stables, squinting in the bright light to see into the shadows cast by the walls. As he looked, a sudden movement caught his eye. It seemed to be a horse and rider, racing off.

“Who the?”

“I saw him too,” said Wultheof, interrupting his father. “That’s the ostler, you know, the one I said who looked to be a born jockey?”

“The lad with the gammy leg?” Larswic strained to see where the lad had gone, but he had ridden out of the stables so swiftly he had quickly disappeared from sight down the lane that ran from the Mead Hall. “We have to try and find him at the fair. By the way he ride out of there, pound to a penny he’s gone to sign up for one of the races, and I’m not missing a chance of a good wager!”

Larswic smiled and felt for the pouch of gold in his pocket, imagining for a moment that it was twice, even thrice as heavy. He looked into the distance for a moment imagining new stallions he could buy, the fine and lavish wedding he might set up for his daughter one day, more acres of good grassland, the lush green turf cut by little streams.

“But we’ve got to find Leocsley!” came the voice of Wultheof, interrupting his father’s daydream.

“Find who? I’m here,” Leocsley walked up behind them and Wultheof jumped and spun round, glaring at his cousin. He had been thinking of whether to tell his father about Leocsley and his skiving off to talk to lasses. He wouldn’t get any coin for it, but his father might decide that Wultheof was the more reliable one, he might even give him some control over his cousin, make him his boss in some way. But he hadn’t decided if it was such a good idea yet, it didn’t feel quite right to him, but he knew it would make him feel better for a while.

Wultheof was a quick witted lad just like his father, and he was strong. He knew he would one day take over his father’s trade and land; that should have given him more than enough of a sense of his own status. He was at times quite bullish about his position as Larswic’s eldest son, especially when pushing around one of his three younger brothers or his sister, and since his mother had died, there was often no hand at home to check him as the indulgent aunts who looked after them all usually spoiled him. When his father was away, he was the head of the family.

But then there was Leocsley, who was always on his mind. A bit taller than him and darker, and despite not being as strong, the lasses seemed to find Leocsley interesting. He was better with the bow of course, and sometimes just a bit too quiet and secretive. Wultheof liked being able to have all the say for the pair of them, but Leocsley seemed to know everything about everyone, and he was so quiet, nobody seemed to miss him when he sneaked off. Even his own father seemed to think Leocsley was the reliable one, but it was just that they didn’t notice when he wasn’t there. On the other hand, everyone always noticed the moment that Wultheof disappeared, and he thought he couldn’t get away with anything, and felt resentful.

“Where’ve you been?” said Larswic, looking at his nephew from under his eyebrows. He looked quite threatening when he did this, and he knew one of his glances was usually enough to keep the lads in check.

“I’ve been behind the fence, watching yon ostler riding out the gate. He’s saddled up for the races, I’m sure of it!” Leocsley had cut down any chance of Wultheof giving him away; he looked at his cousin with a look of triumph.

“Well, come on then, no time to lose!” said Larswic, striding off ahead of them. The two lads looked at each other warily, and as they passed into the lane, they heard the faint sound of a girl giggling.

[Folwren]

Away -- Wistan's Farm - Dunstede

Thornden was half inclined to refuse Rose’s invitation to go take the refreshment that her mother was putting out, but there was little else to do until the father got back, and it wouldn’t be polite to refuse, really. He was grateful to stop at the well and wash his hands and face before being led to the trestle table set out beneath a great, spreading oak. There he was invited to take a seat and as he was passed the biscuits and poured tea, Cwen asked him questions.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I don’t know much of this new Eorl. Though I’m sure he must be a fine man for the king to have raised him up so. What is he like? Can you tell us? And his wife, would I know her?”

“He is not married,” Thornden said. He lifted his hand to accept the mug of tea that Rose offered him, giving her a swiftly ‘Thank you’ and a brief lifting of his eyes before returning to Cwen’s questions. “I am not sure that he has any intentions to be. He is a good man, though. Quite worthy of being the new Eorl. I met him soon after the king raised him to that position. We’re in the midst of rebuilding the Mead Hall and he carries himself remarkably with everything that has to go on. However, a catastrophe happened not a week ago which changed things rather suddenly. I can’t say he was too pleased with that, but he bore himself well.”

“What happened?” Cwen asked. Thornden didn’t know if it was out of genuine curiosity, or simply for something to keep the conversation going.

“A wall fell over,” he answered simply. The four women looked at least mildly surprised. “We had taken the great roof off,” Thornden explained to them, “and a tarp covered it. But that day it rained, and with the extra weight of the water and no roof to help support it up, not to mention the mud that it caused at the foot of it, the wall simply fell in. Fortunately, only one person was hurt, and she wasn’t even wounded too badly at that. But I can’t imagine what Eodwine could have been thinking. What is a man to think when his walls start falling over? But, as I said, he appeared to do well. Never lost his head or his temper with anyone, or anything of the like.

“He’s very kind to everyone. This morning, as I was leaving the city, I found a boy. . .” Thornden paused to consider what all he should tell of this boy. He took a bite as he thought and then as he chewed decided to leave the extent of the damage done to Lys’s body out of the story. “He was rather badly hurt, and I carried him back, and Eodwine was there at once and took him under his own hand. He sent me off, I should have liked to stay, but I had my work to do.

“Then there are many different people at the Mead Hall that he’s greeted and brought in under his wing, you might say. Our ostler, now, he’s just a boy, practically. Came to him weary and hungry with traveling and looking for someplace to work and earn a living, and Eodwine agreed to let him take the job as an Ostler for thirty days to see how he did, and if he was satisfied with the stables and horses, he would be his Ostler for good.

“He’s a good man. Wise and considerate, and willing to accept most everybody who comes, and he’ll help anyone who needs it. Perhaps that’s not necessarily always the best way for business, but he’ll learn that in time without giving up his better traits.”