Scarburg Meadhall

[Folwren]

Morning always came earlier than Javan wanted it to in the winter. In the winter, morning came before it was light. It meant getting up in the dark and clutching around in the twilight trying to find your clothes before you froze to death. It meant a sore jaw from trying to keep your teeth from chattering together to breaking point.

He tumbled out of the room where he slept with some of the other boys and men of the hall and stumbled to the fire made up by some blessed person. Eodwine was walking away as he came out, and it took too much effort to force a good morning between his tense jaws. So instead he replaced Eodwine before the fire and rubbed his hands up and down his arms until he felt warmth flowing back into his limbs.

Another thing Javan disliked about mornings in the winter was performing outside duties. He turned his back to the flames and stood thinking about the empty wood-box in the kitchen that had to be filled. And the buckets of water in the stables that Léof would need help breaking the ice in. He shivered with the thought, but there was no escaping it. So he reluctantly left his station at the hearth and went to the kitchen.

He entered just as Léof was coming in through the outside door and he stood to one side, hoping that if Léof got something warm to eat, he could share in the bounty. But all that was offered was a bit of bread from last night. Kara handed Léof a piece and when Javan stepped forward, she gave him one, too, and holding it in both hands before him, he hurried outside to bring in the wood.

He stuffed the piece of bread into his mouth and then began stacking wood into his arms. When he turned away from the pile, he paused, his eyes attracted to an approaching figure. He stopped chewing the chunk of bread and he squinted to see clearer in the growing light. It was a stranger, certainly, and like one he had never seen before. He walked bareheaded, with his cloak thrown back over his shoulder, ignorant of the cold. He had dark hair, like Modtryth and Cnebba, but his skin was pale and fair as the Rohanians’ and he was taller than any man Javan had seen before, except, perhaps, Thornden.

As he drew nearer, Javan waited for him, stamping his feet and shifting the wood in his arms. He swallowed the last bit of bread as the stranger came within speaking distance, and then greeted him.

"You must be freezing! Will you come inside? There's a fire in the Hall and in the kitchen."

[littlemanpoet]

Laerdil saw a boy come into view. As he slowly approached the settlement, he watched the boy work. He wondered what this boy perceived of Arda; no doubt far less than a boy of the Eldar. The edges of Laerdil's mouth turned down as sadness rose like evening tide in his chest: there had been no children, boy or girl, among the Eldar for hundreds of years now, and there would not be any now.

He came to a stop. The boy was staring at him, chewing on something, and swallowed.

"You must be freezing! Will you come inside? There's a fire in the Hall and in the kitchen."

He smiled gravely at the boy. "A fire would be welcome. I give you greeting. I am called Laerdil of Lorien. How are you called?"

[Folwren]

“My name is Javan, son of Thaldon.” There was a momentary pause while Javan wondered if there was some other form of polite greeting he was supposed to give. He could think of nothing while he felt the wood in his arms grow heavy, so he instead turned while saying, “Come on in,” and led the way into the kitchen.

“Lady Saeryn,” he said as he pushed open the door. “There’s a guest who’s come.” He edged towards the woodbox, keeping his face towards Saeryn as he went and indicating the door where Laerdil appeared a moment later. “His name is Laerdil, from Lorien.”

Saeryn straightened. She had a large knife in one hand and her other was holding a slab of meat she’d been cutting into strips for frying. She laid the knife down and wiped the cold blood on her apron as she stepped around the table.

“You are welcome here, Laerdil of Lorien,” she said, making her courtesy. “I would offer you something to eat, but as you see, breakfast is only half prepared.” She indicated the work in process. “My husband, Eodwine, and the other men are probably in the hall. If you wish, Javan can show you the way.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Lead on, Javan," Laerdil replied, and said his thanks to the human woman called Lady Saeryn. He noted that, at least at this moment, in this human habitation, this high born lady chose to humble herself with servant's work, and she did so with child. She must be young, for she was fair as an elf woman. The other women were glancing at him as they worked, but the one that he had seen while outside was off in the corner, watching him openly with unhidden curiosity. He nodded to her and left the room.

There was a large fire in the hearth, but there were as yet few others in the Hall. Laerdil thanked Lady Saeryn and sat near the fire. He took out his harp and began to play a song from Lorien.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine

The door to Athanar's rooms was closed. Eodwine stood before it, pondering. After a few moments he decided not to waken the eorl for the silly matter of the buffoon. Time enough for that later. Besides, the bread was gone and his wooden cup empty, and he was hungry. He made for the hall.

When he came into the hall he heard a harp, playing a song he did not know, coming from over by the hearth. There was a man there, with long dark hair, sitting before the fire. The music was dreamy and sad. The stranger knew well how to play. He was doing things with that harp that Eodwine wanted to learn. He was about to walk over when Rowenna came out of the kitchen and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Who is that?" she asked, wide eyed.

"I do not know. Let us make his acquaintance."

They walked over to him, Rowenna keeping behind Eodwine, as if she were bashful. Odd, coming from Rowenna, he thought. They stopped by the fire and stood listening. The stranger looked up and nodded with a kindly smile, then looked down again, continuing to play. Eodwine sat down and Rowenna followed suit.

Rowenna

Listening to the music, Rowenna felt coarse, as if she were not well born, not beautiful, not clever or refined in any way. This music, coming from those long, sensitive plucking fingers, was at once complex and imbued with simplicity. There was something about it that pulled at her heart, and she could not understand it. The stranger was so quiet, so at one with his playing, with his music, so .... she did not know how to name it! .... 'full of mystery' was as close as she could come.

The song came to an end, and glad as she was to be able to speak to the stranger, she was sad that the song was done.

"I greet you," Eodwine broached, "I am Eodwine of Scarburg, counselor to the eorl here. How are you called?"

"I am Laerdil, from Lorien. I go to the sea, to cross over, but before I do, I am walking in the lands of Men to see to whom Middle Earth is bequeathed." He turned to Rowenna.

"And how are you called, fair maiden?"

Rowenna blushed to be addressed so kindly by an Elf. Take me with you! Teach me! Let me bask in your presence! Such thoughts and others like them flitted through her mind. "I am Rowenna of the Folde. I am the ward of Eodwine."

"How have you found us to whom you have bequeathed Middle Earth?" Eodwine asked.

"In truth," smiled the Elf, "you are the first I have seen since I left my home. Though it is early to say anything of worth, I am welcomed warmly."

"How old are you?" Rowenna asked, then put her hand to her mouth, coloring. "I am sorry, I am being rude."

"No, child, you are so young, I would expect nothing else from you," Laerdil smiled sadly. "Indeed, you are both so young. I am old. I have lived in Lorien all my days, and seen little of Middle Earth; but I was old when Numenor sank into the sea. Indeed, I was old when the Kingdom of Numenor was founded."

"The First Age, then," Eodwine breathed in wonder.

"You do not look old at all," Rowenna said.

"We do not age as you," he answered. "It is said by your kind that our age is seen in our eyes. When I look in your eyes, fair maiden, I see the brightness of youth. It gladdens my heart that there is still such youth in this old world, and that it ever will be so. But not for me, nor for my kind."

The sadness in the Elf's eyes was so profound that Rowenna felt tears coming to her eyes, and blinked them away. What was this that was happening to her? She felt as if she were undone by merely being in his presence, but in a completely different way than in her dealings with Nydfara. He was a challenge between equals. This Elf was far beyond her. She could not take her eyes off him.

"I also play the harp," Eodwine said, "but your skill is great and I feel a simpleton with it after hearing you play. Would you show me what you do to make the sounds you make?"

Rowenna listened in silent awe as the Elf taught Eodwine a smallest piece of his knowledge.

[Firefoot]

Scyld roused with the rest of hall, neither early nor late. He stretched and dressed, mentally reviewing the night before and planning ahead for the day, as he did every morning.

Unlike every other morning though, his review did not begin with a larger survey of the hall but jumped straight to the personal details. He still was not sure what Rowenna had meant by leaving him to dance with Léof, if she meant anything at all. Somehow she must have read in his tone or face his less-than-honest intentions. He did not like being so easily read. It was unnerving. Dangerous.

Perhaps he ought not to spend so much time in speech with her.

But he had no will to follow through with such a plan. If he simply said nothing of his past, she would hardly guess it.

These thoughts were driven from his mind as he descended the stairs by the sound of harp music. Nor was it music such as Eodwine played; it was fairer, deeper, sadder somehow. It made Scyld feel as though maybe there was hope for him yet, as if a promise was hidden in those fair notes.

The music ended, the spell was lifted, and Scyld realized that he had stopped on the stairs. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear the queer mood from his head. Unsettled, he made his way to a table near the harpist.

“Who is he?” he asked the men seated there.

[Folwren]

Thornden glanced up from wiping the last of the eggs from his plate with a piece of bread to look at the stranger. “I don’t know,” he answered Scyrr. “He came this morning before very many people were astir. I have not met him yet, but I think he is an elf.”

At this, several of the men, including Quin, turned their heads to look at Laerdil. Thornden’s eyes dropped again to his breakfast and allowed them to make what they would of it.

Quin turned back to the table after casting a swift glance up and down the figure by the fire. “That would explain his music, then,” he said, finding nothing else to say. Thornden nodded, but found it unnecessary to say anything else. “And no one knows why he’s here?” Quin continued. “I wonder what his name is.” He looked again over his shoulder at the elf.

“I met him first,” Javan said, coming up to the table with a full plate. He squeezed in between Léof and Thornden. “His name is Laerdil, and he’s from Lorien. He came into Scarburg as though he did not feel cold at all, with his cloak open and his hood back and everything. He did not talk much, and said nothing to Lady Saeryn when he met her.”

“He speaks freely with Eodwine now,” Thornden noted, with another brief glance across the floor.

“Did he happen to say what he’d come for?” Quin asked Javan.

Javan indicated that he did not with a shake of his head, but his mouth was too full to say anything.

“I’m sure it would not be a difficult matter to find out,” Thornden said, rising. “He will probably answer anyone’s questions, and he has probably heard them all, if what I have heard about elves’ hearing is true.” And as he stepped out from the bench by the table and walked away, the others cast abashed looks amongst one another.

[Folwren]

Saeryn had been at work over the hot stove for at least an hour already. In the winter, the warmth was welcome and she didn’t mind the job close to the sizzling frying pan. She fried the strips of bacon that she had cut that morning while Kara scrambled what few eggs they had. They put some milk in the eggs to make them go farther. Frodides and Ginna saw to the bread and the cooked oats.

As soon as enough food was prepared to feed the earlier risers, the women filled great bowls and platters of food and took it out to the Hall. A handful of men were up, but the hall was still mostly empty. Eodwine sat with the elf by the fire still. Lord Athanar and his wife were not yet out, nor were any of their children. Most of the soldiers were still abed.

A while later, Saeryn came out again, carrying another full tray of food. One of the tables was filled now with men, but Eodwine still sat by the fire with Laerdil. She set down her burden and came towards them. She laid her hands on Eodwine’s shoulders while smiling over his head at the elf.

“Eodwine,” she said, “I just brought out some bacon, hot off of the stove, and there is hot bread, too. Let our guest rest harp a while and break his fast.”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna

Rowenna heard Saeryn's words and it suddenly came to her that much time had passed without her noticing. She felt guilty that she had left so much work to the other women. She got up and walked quickly toward the kitchen.

As she did, her eye drifted over the men at table, and she found Nydfara among them. He had been watching the Elf, and he glanced at her. She nodded once, and felt that she must talk to him. She wanted to find out his reaction to the Elf and compare it to her own. She passed through the door into the kitchen, apologized for her prolonged absence, and busied herself as she was told by Frodides, who wanted her taking food to those who were breaking their fast.

This sent her to Nydfara's table. She stopped between him and one of Athanar's men, and placed a plate of bread on the table.

"Good morning, men," she said. "What do you think of our guest?"

Eodwine

"Of course, you are right, Saeryn." He turned to Laerdil. "This is Saeryn, my wife."

"We have met," Laerdil replied with a slight smile. "Bread and water will suffice."

"Would you like to meet some of the men?" Eodwine asked.

A mysterious smile came to the Elf's lips. "I am not sure they want me so near," he said. "They seem to want to keep their distance. Instead, please tell any who wish to sit with me near the fire that I welcome their company."

[Firefoot]

Scyld was content to sit and listen to the others speculate about their visitor. It was interesting, certainly, but not in a sort of way that was likely to affect him directly. Nor was it his way to sit fawning over a person, be it king or commoner – or Elf.

Movement near the fire caught his eye and he saw Rowenna standing up. Funny – until that moment he had not even realized that she sat near the Elf. That was the sort of thing he ought to have noticed.

His gaze followed her until she disappeared into the kitchen for a few moments. Then she made her way over to their table and said, “Good morning, men. What do you think of our guest?"

Evidently, Scyld mused, the Elf was interesting enough to make her forget or disregard the poor ending to their conversation last night. That was fine with him.

“Not having met him, I can hardly think anything of him save to wonder why he is here,” Scyld replied. “But you were sitting near him; perhaps you ought to tell us your thoughts instead.”

[Galadriel55]

“Oh do move faster!”

The boy did not reply, - or quicken his pace. He was too busy examining a thick muddy stick that he found somewhere along the road to pay heed to his mother. He did not realize that he was pulling down on Ledwyn’s arm, making it more difficult for her to walk.

Halting briefly, she swung her sack or clothing onto her other shoulder and picked Theolain up. He seemed to be getting heavier by the day. She could not now be more thankful for the miles that a generous farmer let her ride on the back of his wagon. But the sight of chimney smoke heartened her; she could not have been far away now. The scene promised a fire and a shelter to escape from the bitter wind.

The Scarburg Meadhall turned out to be even bigger than Ledwyn imagined it to be. She walked anxiously toward it, as if she was going to see King Elessar in his high city of Mundburg instead of the Lord Athanar. She didn’t see a single person around, and the dim din from withing the Hall suggested that breakfast was not over yet. She was almost at the doors when she noticed Theolain’s stick, and put an end to his entertainment, cutting him off with a sharp word when he tried to object.

She knocked. Once, twice. No one seemed to hear. It is no wonder they cannot hear me, if so many men are talking at once, she thought. After waiting for a few more moments Ledwyn pushed at the door to open it just wide enough for her, came inside, tugging Theolain behind her, and almost ran into a man who was walking somewhere.

“My apology, sir,” she said. “I am looking for the Lord Athanar. I wish to speak with him.” The man hesitated. “I am Ledwyn,” she continued when she realized that she did not introduce herself, “from the West Emnet. I would speak with the Eorl. I come to live here, if he allows. With my son.”

[Folwren]

Thornden looked down at the woman and then glanced at the toddler clinging to her hand. The boy turned his face away and hid in his mother’s skirts. Thornden looked again at Ledwyn and he bowed his head a little.

“Welcome to Scarburg,” he said. He gently guided her within and shut the door behind her. “Athanar has not yet been seen this morning, but we are just breaking our fast and you are welcome to join us while you wait for him to rise. But you must be very cold. Come, stand by the fire. Lady Saeryn is there just now, and she will make you comfortable.”

He led the way across the floor to the large fire where Saeryn stood by Eodwine and they were speaking with the elf. Eodwine was about to take his leave to get breakfast as Thornden and Ledwyn drear near.

“Lady Saeryn, lord Eodwine,” he said, “this is Ledwyn. She has come in search of lord Athanar and seeks a home here. I brought her here to put her in your care, Saeryn, until Athanar comes.”

“Of course,” Saeryn said, turning and smiling at Ledwyn. “You are more than welcome here. Stay by the fire, and let one of us get you something to eat; you look half frozen.”

[littlemanpoet]

“Not having met him," said Scyld, "I can hardly think anything of him save to wonder why he is here. But you were sitting near him; perhaps you ought to tell us your thoughts instead.”

"He says he is going over sea. He is passing through the lands of Men to see for himself -" She paused to recapture his words. "- to see for himself to whom the Elves have bequeathed Middle Earth. He has lived in Lorien for thousands of years. He says he was old before Numenor was founded, can you believe it?"

"What of your thoughts?" Nydfara asked again.

"I - My thoughts hardly seem to matter, I suppose; but if you would have them, he makes me feel very young, like - like a child. He is - so sad."

Eodwine came to them, stopped and greeted them. "Laerdil has asked me to fetch him bread and water. He will eat where he sits. He invites any who would share his company to go to him, by the fire."

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn did not know what to do. At home she never saw anyone with a "Lord" or "Lady" in front of their name, except from afar. It seemed as though the hall was packed with important people. She remembered a time when her grandmother, long gone now, told her tales about the lords of the land. Always do what pleases them, she always ended off, if you want to live peacefully.

"You speak truly," Ledwyn said. "The wind is especially cold this morning. I broke my fast already, but I would not mind some food again." She glanced around the room restlessly before turning to her companions again. Only then did she notice that one of them, the one who has not spoken yet, was an Elf.

Ledwyn has seen Elves before, from Lorien and Imladris, when they came through the Mark on their way back from Mundburg. The Queen Evenstar was of the Fair Folk, and it was said that King Elessar and King Eomer both enjoyed the company of Elrond Halfelven, and Celeborn and Galadriel of Lorien. But it was also known that, fair as this folk may be, they were also perilous. It was for a reason that all good men shunned Dwimordene: it was known that the sorceress ensnared travelers in her webs of deceit. Whatever the kings have done, no common people would be willing to walk right in to one of their traps.

Ledwyn edged away from the Elf, keeping her eyes down in fear that he will read her fear and mistrust. To busy herself she pulled Theolain close and ruffled his hair. I have naught to fear here, she told herself. But the old tales spoke stronger.

[Folwren]

When Ledwyn had answered, Saeryn and Eodwine held quick discussion together. Eodwine said that he would bring Laerdil what he requested and Saeryn could bring something for Ledwyn to eat. They parted ways, Saeryn going immediately to the board laiden with food while Eodwine stepped over to the table where several men sat.

Saeryn fetched a platter and filled it with hot bread, bacon, and some eggs. Upon second thought, she filled a second trencher for herself and took both of them again to the fire. She left them with Ledwyn to return and fetch some drink for herself, Ledwyn, and the little boy. In a moment she returned, handed the cup of milk to the child and some warm brew to Ledwyn. Eodwine came at the same moment and gave to Laerdil what he requestd. Saeryn stood for a moment, one hand pulling hestiantly on the other before her waist as she considered Laerdil and his meager fair.

"Eodwine," she said, her voice quiet and slightly constrained, "Surely our guest would like something more than water. Some mead perhaps?" She looked again towards Laerdil, concern etched in the crease between her eyebrows. She did not want to seem inhospitable.

[littlemanpoet]

"Do not worry, my dear. I expect he may have some of that Elvish waybread with him and hardly needs anything from us at all."

She frowned and stared up into his eyes in that way she had, which meant that she wanted a more agreeable answer. He smirked.

"Though it is early for the mead cup, I will ask him if he would like one, if that pleases you. Yes?"

[Folwren]

"Yes," Saeryn said. "It may not be too early for him. He could have been walking all night, from what I have heard of elves and their. . .ways. Mead may be refreshing for him."

And so saying, she turned away and joined Ledwyn by the hearth. She picked up the trencher she had filled for herself and sat down. "Will you tell me where you are from, and what you hope to find here?"

[Galadriel55]

The Lady Saeryn interrupted the chain of unpleasant thoughts that were going through Ledwyn’s mind: “Will you tell me where you are from, and what you hope to find here?”

“I come from the West Emnet,” Ledwyn replied. “My husband was killed in an accident, by no fault of his, leaving me and our son Theolain to fair on our own. My young brother fed us and kept us warm for a year, but now he has his own family to feed. He would not abandon his kin, even if it meant for him and his wife to go hungry. I thought that… I mean, we shouldn’t have... I could not continue like that… We…” Ledwyn was unsure of where to procede. “If I could live here, I would not be a burden for him,” she finished.

[Firefoot]

Léof had contributed little to the discussion of the Elf, instead listening to the others and occasionally sneaking glances over at him. He had never seen an Elf, much less spoken with one, and he was more than a little intimidated. But when Eodwine came over to the table and said, "Laerdil has asked me to fetch him bread and water. He will eat where he sits. He invites any who would share his company to go to him, by the fire,” and none of the men seated there seemed inclined to move, Léof’s curiosity finally outweighed his nervousness.

“It’s not right that a visitor should sit by himself,” said Léof, standing up. It took a great deal of will power not to look back as he made his way over to the fireplace, and only the thought that he would make a total fool of himself if he backed out now kept him walking as he drew nearer.

The Elf was even fairer to look upon up close, and for a moment Léof’s tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth. His mind scrabbled for words, and seized upon the first that seemed appropriate. “Welcome,” he said. But of course, the Elf had already been welcomed by far more people than him! Foolish word. “I – I am called Léof.”

[littlemanpoet]

“Welcome," said the young man who had approached Laerdil. “I – I am called Léof.”

To the Elf, it was completely natural to observe the young man with all the percipience at his disposal. He read Léof's facial expression, his stance, his verbal hesitation, and the perimeters of his mind, where he found a mix of fear, and a deep well of courage that overcame fear.

"Thank you, Léof, for your kind welcome," the Elf smiled. "I am called Laerdil. "Please sit here close to the fire, if you like."

As Léof sat, Laerdil observed his hands and considered the scents of hay and leather and horses that were in the young man's - the boy's (he was so young) clothing. In truth, most of these Eorlingas had the horse smell on them, but not like this one.

"You are a lover of horses, I deem, and horses love you as well, Léof. How is that so?"

[Firefoot]

Léof

Léof looked at the Elf, startled. Did he read minds? Some of the old tales spoke of sorcery in the Golden Wood, and Léof was now much closer to believing them than he had been only minutes ago. But he saw no malice in Laerdil’s face, only honest interest, and his tone, too, had been neutral, so Léof tried to take the question at its face.

“It is true,” he answered. “I am the ostler here, and a better post I could not hope to have. I find horses to be… more dependable, and more honest, than most people – and I can be honest with them in return.”


~*~*~

Scyld

Listening to the various comments of Rowenna, Eodwine, and the others, and seeing now how Laerdil looked at young Léof, Scyld was beginning to formulate his own opinion of the Elf: he felt more than a bit like a bug in a jar such as young boys sometimes liked to collect, and he did not care much for the feeling. Given Thornden’s remark on the hearing of Elves, however, Scyld felt strongly inclined to keep his opinions to himself in such a public space.

He was also still uncomfortable with the queer emotions Laerdil’s music had caused in him, and with the emotions Rowenna had described. Then again, perhaps there was something about this Elf that opened people up. If that was so, perhaps he could use it. He just wasn’t quite sure how, yet.

“Well,” he said to Rowenna, resuming their conversation, “Middle-earth has seen enough sorrow just in our short lives; I can hardly imagine all of the sorrows he has had the chance to live through.” Personally, Scyld could not see the lure to live so long. Already, after just a quarter century of life, sometimes he wearied of the games and manipulations. But perhaps there were not bad Elves, as there were bad men. Though he had a difficult time imagining an Elvish Sorn, he doubted it. Better, he thought, to have a life miserable but short than long and sad.

[littlemanpoet]

Laerdil

“I am the ostler here, and a better post I could not hope to have. I find horses to be… more dependable, and more honest, than most people – and I can be honest with them in return.”

Most people, Laerdil noted, as the words tethered themselves to memories he could see in Léof's thought, played out almost as if they were happening before his own mind's eye, of a father from whom harsh words came, of soldiers treating him as an afterthought at best, or worse, a troublemaker to be beaten down. Set against them, warm beasts whose hearts he had won through his care of them, who knew his sure hands with riding gear and brush and feed. To them he was as one of them.

"Aye, that is maybe of Elves and Men. Beasts are true and whole. There is no guessing or second guessing with them."

Laerdil saw somewhere in Léof's mind that there were important exceptions among Men.

"Long have the Elves struggled to find trust in Middle Earth, not least among ourselves. Have you found any folk worthy of trust?"

[Folwren]

“I come from the West Emnet,” Ledwyn replied. “My husband was killed in an accident, by no fault of his, leaving me and our son Theolain to fair on our own. My young brother fed us and kept us warm for a year, but now he has his own family to feed. He would not abandon his kin, even if it meant for him and his wife to go hungry. I thought that… I mean, we shouldn’t have... I could not continue like that… We…” Ledwyn was unsure of where to procede. “If I could live here, I would not be a burden for him,” she finished.

Saeryn laid a hand gently on Ledwyn's, expressing through her touch and look that she did not have to try to explain herself further. She waited until Ledwyn raised her eyes to meet hers before she smiled, and answered.

"Of course you will be welcome to make your home here," she said gently. "We do not turn away the fatherless and the widows." This, at least, she assumed. This had been the rule under Eodwine, and since Athanar's coming, no one had come unexpectedly into the camp to ask for a home. But surely - surely, she thought - they would not turn away this mother and her child. She looked down at Theolain and could not resist running her hand over his ample shock of hair.

"Tell me what you do and how you hope to fit in here."

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn’s mind was set at rest when Lady Saeryn assured her that she would be able to stay. The Lady was soft-spoken and kind-hearted, Ledwyn deemed. She did not grudge her motherly gesture to Theolain – and Saeryn herself would become mother as well soon enough – though the boy shied away bewilderedly from the strange touch. Ledwyn smiled slightly. This young woman was of high birth and probably the Eorl’s wife, yet she spoke with Ledwyn as if she was a lady too instead of a homeless village girl.

"Tell me what you do and how you hope to fit in here,” the Lady Saeryn asked. A question fit for the Eorl’s wife, Ledwyn thought. She has to know whom she is bringing to the hearth.

“I fear I do not know any trade or craft, if that is what you mean, my Lady,” she said, talking a piece of bread from the trencher that Saeryn brought her. “I am like all the womenfolk of my village: we were not taught skills beyond our necessity. I kept the house while my husband laboured. I can cook, sew, wash, and do all the things that a woman must do, but little beyond that.” Ledwyn bit off a piece of the loaf, gathering her daring. She knew she should not speak out of turn with any Lord or Lady, but Saeryn was gentle and invited conversation. “Are there other women in the Hall? What do they do?”

[Folwren]

"There are a few of us," Saeryn replied. She looked up and turned towards the table where the men sat eating. "There is Rowenna, speaking with the men there. You no doubt saw her as you came in, but maybe you did not notice her. And there," she went on, turning to look over her other shoulder, "is Kara, bringing out more bread, as you see. Ginna, Frodides, and Modtryth are in the kitchen. Lady Wynflaed is Lord Athanar's wife, and she does not take as much part in the running of the household as the rest of us. She has a couple hand maidens who help her, Lelige is the head of these. Aedhel, is the healer.

"There are a couple girls. Leodern is Garstan's daughter. And Aedre is Athanar's and Wynflaed's daughter. And that is all," she said. "As you can surmise from the telling, we are sadly outnumbered by the men." She laughed.

"You're coming will be more welcome than you know!" she said. "We are overwhelmed with the work that must be done to keep so many men from going hungry! You have exactly the skills we need, so do not worry that you will be a burden to us. You cannot be, trully. You will not be. Here, as soon as you are finished, I will take you to meet the other women in the kitchen. We will get you settled in directly and find a place for you and your son. It may be rough at first, we don't have very good quarters yet, being still in the process of building, but we'll make do."

[Galadriel55]

Theolain

Theolain quickly finished off the food and milk that Mother gave him, scattering crumbs on the floor. Mother did not seem to hurry, and Theolain was becoming impatient. When will she finish her food? And they already ate this morning, so why is she eating again?

And that other woman, the fat one. Who is she? Why is she talking to Mother, when Mother could be doing something? She touched his head. She is not allowed to touch his head. There are only three people who are allowed – Mother, Uncle, and Aunt. No, Aunt is not allowed. She always wants to do something with his hair. Only Mother and Uncle. Not some fat woman. Why does she never stop talking? Leave Mother alone!

Theolain looked around in search for a muddy stick to play with, like the one Mother took away from him before they came to this strange place. He saw no puddles. But he saw a stick lying near the fireplace. He knew that fire is warm, but it hurts when you touch it. It doesn’t like to be touched, just like Theolain. The boy wished he could bite everyone who touched him just like fire. But the stick wasn’t in the fire. It was on the ground. Does that mean it won’t bite? It was red and glowing on one end. Strange. Sticks are brown, not red. And they only shine when they are wet from a puddle, they don’t glow. Theolain went to investigate.

Ledwyn

The names Lady Saeryn called flew right by Ledwyn. She could not remember so many at once. Only one caught her mind – Lady Wynflaed, Lord Athanar’s wife. How could that be? If Saeryn was not his wife, could she be his sister?

"You're coming will be more welcome than you know!" Saeryn continued. "We are overwhelmed with the work that must be done to keep so many men from going hungry! You have exactly the skills we need, so do not worry that you will be a burden to us. You cannot be, truly. You will not be. Here, as soon as you are finished, I will take you to meet the other women in the kitchen. We will get you settled in directly and find a place for you and your son. It may be rough at first, we don't have very good quarters yet, being still in the process of building, but we'll make do."

“I thank you, my Lady,” Ledwyn said. She took the last bits of egg from the platter and put it aside. “Is the kitchen -” she begun, and then noticed her son reaching to a hot coal that somehow fell out of the hearth. “Theolain!” He looked up innocently. Ledwyn took him by the hand and led him away from the danger. “I thought you knew that fire is hot.” Theolain looked back longingly.

[Folwren]

Saeryn looked on curiously as Ledwyn snatched her son out of danger and scolded him mildly. She reflected that soon she would be having the same cares as this woman had. And the same fears. She smiled as Ledwyn took the boy away and then stood up and picked up the trenchers from the breakfast.

"You were about to ask about the kitchen?" she said. "Come, I will show you." She led the way down the corridor a few steps to the door of the kitchen and went in ahead of her. "Kara, Frodides, and Ginna," she announced. "This is Ledwyn, and she's going to stay with us. This is her son, Theolain."

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn inclined her head to each of the women in turn, exchanging some words with each. Work was soon found for her, and, sitting Theolain down in a corner, she got about to doing it.

Theolain did not like sitting in the corner. He did not like sitting at all, unless it was when someone told him stories. He watched Mother and the other women run about, cutting, boiling, frying, cooking, baking, washing, and doing all the other chores around the kitchen. But Theolain got tired of them soon, and seeing that Mother was concentrated on the food and more talking he stood up and went to explore the world behind the kitchen door.

Men were sitting around tables, eating. They all eat too much. Theolain did not need to eat this much, or this long. Was eating the only thing they do at this place? Eating, cutting, baking, frying, and eating?

But they also have a red stick.

It was still beside the hearth, where he had first seen it, though it did not glow as brightly. He came to it, tripping over his legs twice in his haste. No one wanted to stop him. Why didn’t Mother let him take it? The stick is not in the fire. He kneeled before it on hands and knees.

Slowly but surely, savouring the moment – sweet as fulfilled curiosity was, it was made sweeter by the knowledge that if Mother had been there she would never have let him get so near to the forbidden stick – he brought his face closer to it, examining how the light shifted slightly whenever he breathed. Eyes shining, he muttered something inaudible in his own language, as if talking to this strange stick that responded to his words with a renewed redness. Finally, he lifted his hand and took hold of the living creature inside the stick . . .

. . . and immediately jerked it back, as pain shot through his fingers. This is not fair! Why did the stick bite? Sticks do not hurt Theolain. Fire hurts, but fire is in the fireplace. Fire does not live in sticks; the sticks live in the fire, and the fire lives in the fireplace! This was a trick! The stick tricked him! This is not fair!

Theolain loudly let the world know about his distress. Angry and indignant at the red stick, he took it and threw it at the wall. He wailed again as the red creature bit his hand once more.

[Firefoot]

Léof nodded, not looking the Elf in the face. The intensity of Laerdil’s gaze and the depth in his eyes was… not frightening, exactly. Awe-inspiring, in a way. Thinking back on it later, Léof would find that he had no word to describe the emotion the Elf evoked in him. But just now, Léof found it easier to think without making eye contact. “Yes, some,” he said, thinking of his sister Cerwyn, and Quin, and to slightly lesser degrees Eodwine and Thornden.

His train of thought was cut off by a sudden loud wail just behind him. Léof jumped with a shout, startled nearly out of his wits. He turned in time to see an unfamiliar young boy pick up a red-hot stick and hurl it with all the might in his small arm against the wall.

Léof hastened to the screaming boy’s side and knelt beside him, drawing him close with one arm and using his other hand to turn the boy’s burned hand palm up. Sure enough, the entire hand was already bright red.

“Someone bring a pail of cold water!” he said.

[Galadriel55]

Theolain let the strange man look at his hand. As long as he was not touching his head, he was allowed. Theolain’s palm became redder by the second. The creature that lived in the stick somehow entered his hand.

It hurt when the creature entered, just like fire hurt. He watched the redness spread and darken. What if the creature will make him red head to toe? Theolain waved his hand to shake the creature off, but that only made it more painful.

He tried to tell the man about the treacherous red stick. He pointed at it and showed exactly what it did. Then he said a word, one of the few words that big people seemed to understand. “Why?”

[Firefoot]

Léof was amazed by how calm the boy was being, trying to show him what had happened. Léof couldn’t tell if the boy’s lack of words was because the boy was too young to talk much or if it was because he was in distress – he hadn’t spent that much time around small children. Even so, he found himself anxiously looking around for someone who actually knew about children to come and take the boy off his hands. He had reacted instinctively, but didn’t know what to do next.

“Why?” whimpered the boy.

“Well,” said Léof, hoping that talking would keep the boy from beginning to bawl, “fire makes the things it burns very hot, and when you touch hot things they burn you.” He didn’t know if the boy would understand this explanation or not, but fortunately just then someone ran up with a water pail.

“Thanks,” he said, paying no attention to who it was. He touched the water to make sure it wasn’t freezing. “Now,” he said to the boy, “you need to put your hand in the cold water, alright?”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine came back from the kitchen with a wooden cup of mead. He sat down by Laerdil.

"Here is drink that is maybe worthy of an Elf. At least, we Eorlingas think it most worthy."

"My thanks."

Laerdil raised it to his nose and sniffed it first. His brow rose a moment, then he sipped. "It is good," he said, then put it down and plucked at his harp.

It was clear to Eodwine that Laerdil was not overly impressed. Not that it mattered.

Just then he caught out of the corner of his eye someone coming into the hall. Scyrr. An ill feeling came into Eodwine's belly. He would have to deal with this, and soon, like it or not. Best get it done. He waited for Scyrr to be seated, and stood across from him.

"Scyrr."

The man's frown deepened upon hearing his name. He wanted at this moment to be left alone so that he could fill his empty stomach and drink some water, and try to relieve the aching in his head. He looked up sullenly and his mood did not improve when he saw that it was Eodwine.

"What?" he asked.

"You insulted my wife and me last night. You are in my debt. Will you make amends willingly?"

"I may have said some hasty words, but it was the mead speaking, not me. And it was your wife who wronged me, sir, and she ought to say sorry to me."

This could make things more complicated, but it was one of the most classic tricks known to man - shifting blame. Eodwine allowed a hint of a smirk.

"That is another matter. We are sticking to this point for now. You own your own words, man, overflowing with mead or not. Will you make amends?"

"Your wife forced me to speak them, as you well know. I would not have spoken them were you not called out by name by her. But I have further quarrel to make with you - allowing your wife to address me on a problem that is clearly your authority to care for."

Eodwine had been mild but firm so far. This, however, was a variation on the accusation of the previous night. Eodwine looked down at him coldly. "Have you learned nothing, man? I give not two coins for who said what, or who sent whom when and where and how. You are proud and vain. What you think of me means less than nothing. But by your words and your deeds you are judged. You spoke insult against me and my wife last night. Will you make amends, or not? And Scyrr, be careful how you answer, for you tread close to the same as last night."

Scyrr leant back and spread his hands in a mock show of defeat. "Oh, I am sorry." His tone was insincere. "What would you have me do now, then?" He looked up at Eodwine, a challenge in his eyes. No, he would not directly defy Eodwine again, but his words were obviously nothing less than a rebellious challenge.

"Simple, soldier," Eodwine replied with a cold smile. "I would that you take your punishment like a man for your cheek. I will speak with your lord about this." With that he turned from the man and went back to the Elf. Yes, much better company, the Elf.

[Folwren]

Javan

Javan put the bucket down by Léof and stood with his arms crossed as he watched Léof try to coax the youngster into putting his hand into the water. He was not impressed that the tyke didn’t know that a stick that had been lying in the fire was hot. However, it was admirable how the little boy did not cry after those first screams. And, really, those yells had sounded more angry than hurt.

He crouched next to Léof, facing the child. “See? I got the water so it will stop the burning in your hand.” He stuck his hand in to demonstrate the procedure. “Aaaah,” he said, and popped his hand back out again. “Then it will be all better.”

--

Quin

He could not help but overhear Eodwine’s and Scyrr’s conversation, though throughout the duration of it, he kept his head down and his eyes on his trencher. He wished Scyrr had not sat so near him and that he did not have to hear it. With each passing remark from Scyrr, he winced within himself, and finally when Eodwine made his last answer, he raised his eyes to Eodwine’s face. His expression was hard to read, but it clearly lacked the general good will it usually bore. Instead, he looked implacably stern and cold as he informed Scyrr that he would be telling lord Athanar of this and turned away.

Quin glanced swiftly at Scyrr and then lowered his eyes again to his plate. He and Léof had frequently talked about Eodwine. He had learned from Léof that Eodwine was a gentle man, slow to anger, but just in his actions. Everyone who had lived in Scarburg under Eodwine’s lordship had respected him. Quin wondered if anyone had ever insulted him like Scyrr had and if even Léof could guess what Eodwine would ask to be done. He looked about apprehensively. The conversation had lagged at the table. The men were sitting with their eyes mostly downcast, but he caught covert looks being sent after Eodwine and towards Scyrr. Quin realized he had not been the only one to overhear the confrontation.

“What did you expect, Scyrr?” Quin said, standing up and preparing to leave the hall. “That’d he’d stand by to let you insult him and his wife? You should’ve made amends and let it go. He wouldn’t have asked for a punishment then.”

“Mind your own business, Quin,” Scyrr growled. “I don’t need your advice.”

“Not now, certainly. Maybe if I’d given it sooner.”

Scyrr looked angrily at him. “Move along, I said.” Quin shrugged and went.

[Galadriel55]

Theolain

Were they showing him a game? Theolain did not understand. Why were the boy and the man crouching next to him with a bucket of water, telling him to put his hand in?

Theolain reached out and dipped the fingers of his left hand into the chilled water. “No, your other hand,” the boy corrected him and guided his right arm – the burnt one – to the bucket. The water was soothing, but stung at the same time; it was a different kind of pain. Theolain made to draw his hand away from the water to escape the queer feeling.



Ledwyn

The wails from outside made Ledwyn freeze in the middle of crossing the kitchen, causing Gina to almost run into her. Looking around, she did not see Theolain where she left him. The other wenches seemed to understand her thoughts. “Your son?” asked one of them. Ledwyn nodded. She hastened to finish her task at hand and rushed outside, forgetting to close the door behind her.

Theolain stopped crying by now. This was some unusual quality that she noticed in her son only, not in any other children. They were all always at the wrong place at the wrong time, and all ran around the village grabbing things and knocking things over, and all tripped and all fell. But the difference was that Theolain never cried for long over his cuts and bruises. He never dwelt on any one thing for long if it held no interest to him, not even crying.

Ledwyn spotted him next to two young men who were speaking soothingly to him. “What happened to my son?” she demanded, approaching them.

[Firefoot]

“I know it hurts, but it’s going to help your hand heal better!” said Léof in frustration to the little boy. He grabbed the boy’s wrist more firmly to forcibly immerse the boy’s hand, but just then an angry-looking woman strode up to them and demanded, “What happened to my son?”

Léof hastily released the boy’s hand and stood up, bobbing his head toward her in a way that could almost be called a bow. “He pulled a stick out of the fire, ma’am,” he said. She wasn’t any bigger than he was, but the desire to protect her boy seemed to have brought out every fierce and protective notion the woman had. “He burned his hand, and we’re trying to get him to put it in the pail of cold water so it won’t blister.”

[Galadriel55]

Theolain

Theolain was hurt. No, not the hand. He was hurt that the man told Mother the wrong story. Theolain explained everything to him, how the stick was not supposed to bite, and how it tricked him. He knew he should not touch fire. The stick was not in the fire, though. Did the man not understand what he said?



Ledwyn

Ledwyn was surprised to see that the twain next to her son could hardly be called grown men. Although one was clearly older than the other, he was barely out of boyhood. Neither looked old enough to be a Rider.

When she heard the story she wanted to hold Theolain close and at the same time to slap him. How many more times can he burn himself before he takes the lesson to heart? But all other feelings were pushed out by a sense of simple gratitude to the two boys. They were strangers to her and Theolain, yet they took care of him as though he was one of their own. A basic act of kindness, and yet not even all wizened old men could boast such. “Thank you,” Ledwyn whispered.

She crouched down and held Theolain’s hand fast in the water herself. The boys did not speak. But before they could leave she addressed them herself:

“I am called Ledwyn. This is my little troublemaker son Theolain.” She was smiling despite the words, ruefully at first, but more merrily with each moment. She thought she must have looked like a fool, kneeling next to a burnt toddler and grinning from ear to ear, but the absurdity of it made her smile the harder. After all, what was wrong with smiling? Theolain was not hurt that badly, and he will harm himself many more times and much worse before he grows to be a man. After so many injuries it was difficult to take each one of them gravely.

[Firefoot]

Léof exchanged a look with Javan over the top of Ledwyn’s head. For his part, it contained relief, both that the woman was no longer upset and that she was here to take care of her own son, as well as general confusion over her reaction. She sounded… happy, as she introduced herself. Why was she smiling like that?

Best not to question it.

“I’m Léof, and this is Javan,” he said in reply. He paused, not sure whether this conversation was over and he should leave, or if he ought to say more. “Um… Do you need any more help? A bandage for Theolain’s hand?”

[Galadriel55]

“Um… Do you need any more help? A bandage for Theolain’s hand?” Léof asked.

“If you would be so kind,” Ledwyn said, sobering up. She reminded herself that she was still a stranger here. “Without them he will pick on the blisters, or scratch the burn if it gets itchy.”

[Firefoot]

“Of course,” said Léof. He glanced at Javan and jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen where there were kept some basic medical supplies. The pair headed off.

As soon as they were out of earshot Léof commented, “Sounds like it’s not the first time that’s happened. I don’t know much about children but that one doesn’t seem very smart…”

[Folwren]

Javan couldn’t claim to know much more about kids. He shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, but he’s tough. He didn’t cry much after the initial surprise. I think he was angry!”

They went into the kitchen together and paused on the threshold. Saeryn looked over at them.

“What do you need, Léof?” she asked.

[Firefoot]

“Bandages, and some salve for burns, if there is any,” Léof said. “The little boy Theolain burned his hand pretty badly in the hearth.” Seeing Saeryn’s alarm, Léof hastened to add, “He seems to be alright, mostly, and his mother’s with him now.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine and Laerdil had noticed the entire goings on since the boy had screamed in pain. Now the boy's hand was in a pail of water.

Laerdil set down his harp and pulled a small package from his pack. Eodwine could smell a faint odor of wood and leaf. The Elf rose and broke a piece of something dark green. He went over to Ledwyn and the boy, and knelt down.

"May I put this in the water? It might help soothe the boy's hand."

[Galadriel55]

The Elf that Ledwyn saw earlier came over to her and Theolain. She instinctively drew her son slightly closer to herself, and greeted the stranger with a wary gaze. Theolain, taking advantage of the shift of her attention, drew his hand out of the water and showed it to the Elf with a proud look on his face.

"May I put this in the water? It might help soothe the boy's hand," the Elf said. He did not sound like a web-weaver or sorcerer from the stories her grandmother used to tell Ledwyn when she was a child. They always had voices that lulled riders to sleep, made them forget about their duties, homes, and families, and ensnared their hearts in webs of treachery.

He did not sound like that. Nothing majestic, magical, or ensnaring. Just a simple, kind, gentle voice, soft and musical, only a little sad. And wise. She would believe the voice, but it was Theolain that the Dwimordene Elf wished to practice his healing on. What if the he thought to enthrall him? His folk have enthralled riders that came too close to their land with their secret arts. She had to know that this is no foul trick.

“What is this herb? Is it like the ones the renowned Healers of Gondor use? It is not…” Ledwyn thought about the word for a moment. “…magic?”

[littlemanpoet]

"I do not know what you mean by magic," he replied gently. "This herb grows in my homeland. I have used it many times to soothe hurts and help heal wounds."

The woman still seemed doubtful, even fearful. He gently reached out to the thoughts on the edges of her mind, in a way that she would not feel. He could tell that she saw him true, but that lore from the Eorlings of dire dwimmerdene arts from the Wood of the Elves, of lulling and entrapping. He smiled sadly.

"I can break it and put it in the water, or if you would like I can give it to you for you to do with as you like." He held it out to her, silently grieving the wounds that had been caused between Elves and Humans for three Ages by first Bauglir, then Sauron. He was glad that he was going to leave the shores of Middle Earth, to put the evil and pain behind him once and for all. But he was glad, too, that he could have these moments living with the Younger Children of Eru. It gave him much to think on.

[Galadriel55]

"I do not know what you mean by magic," the Elf said. In truth, Ledwyn knew not herself. Magic was always a part of every tale about another people. The Numenorians built towers as smooth as polished steel; the Dark Lord’s Fell Riders awoke fear even in the bravest of hearts; the Dwarves made doors that had no lock or key, yet would let in no enemy; the Onodrim were trees that could talk and move; the Druedain walked like any other men during the day, but turned into stone statues under starlight; the Elves weave treacherous nets that captured the minds and hearts of Men. And all is magic.

What if the Elf spoke true? What if he only wanted to help her son, and live like a Man would? No Man could match the depth of his eyes or the flow of his voice. But Ledwyn has also heard of tales told about her own people among both friends and enemies. Strawheads, the accursed orcs called her people: not a lie, but a truth twisted. What if the net-weavers and sorcerers of Dwimordene also were not wicked and horrid, as the Riddermark tales told?

"I can break it and put it in the water, or if you would like I can give it to you for you to do with as you like," the Elf said. Ledwyn felt guilty for doubting him. “I think you know best what to do with them, good Master.” She lowered her eyes. She felt that he knew exactly what she thought, as if she was as clear as the crust that forms on the surface of a pond after the first frost of winter. She wanted to hide from this feeling, to feel secure, to feel at home.

[littlemanpoet]

He could see her questioning, pondering. There was fear, distrust, doubt, and a desire to trust.

“I think you know best what to do with them, good Master.”

She looked up at him briefly then dropped her eyes. She wanted to feel that she was safe near him.

He smiled gently. He crumbled the herb in his hands and revealed to her the pieces in his open palm, then dropped them in the pail. He took the burned stick and stirred the water, then set the stick down on the floor.

"The water is ready now."

[Galadriel55]

The hand did not hurt very much anymore, but they were still talking. Why are they so worried? Why are all of them talking about him?

Yes, they are talking about him, Theolain knew. Or about his hand. He looked at his palm in an attempt to see what is so important about it. The red stick bit it, and now it was red. So what?

Theolain watched as the stranger crushed some green leaves into the water and stirred them. How did the stick not bite him? When it bit me all the red cme into my hand, and there's none left for him! I can take it again!

But instead of taking the stick, Theolain put his hand in the water. Not because he knew he should, but because one piece of the herb was not crushed as finely as the others. It swirled around when the stranger stirred the contents of the pail. Theolain had to catch it.

It took him some time. It was difficult; whenever Theolain brought his hand close the wave his hand made carried the leaf away, and it slipped from between his fingers when he was sure they are closing around it. When this did not work, he tried another way. He cupped his hand and slowly brought it to the surface, right where the leaf was. The second time he tried this new strategy he succeeded - the leaf was lying on his palm.

Theolain stretched out his hand to the man. "This one too big," he said. Mother looked on with a blank expression, but the stranger seemed slightly amused.

[Folwren]

In the time that it took Laerdil to produce his herb and break it in the water, Saeryn, in the kitchen, had gathered together a clean cloth and some string to give to Léof to make a sort of bandage. She handed it to him and sent the two boys off. She would have followed, but she knew that Ledwyn was out there with her son already and she could handle whatever needed to be done.

Javan and Léof took the cloth back out to the hall and hurried towards the boy and his mother. As they turned the corner and came in sight of the fireplace again, they stopped short. The elf was kneeling close to Theolain and his mother and he was smiling down at the child as the boy lifted his hand towards him.

Javan and Léof approached slowly. “We brought something for his hand, if you still need it,” Javan said.

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn did not stop her son from his game; it would do no harm, and he would sit quietly for a time. She wondered at the quickness of Theolain's trust. Barely few minutes passed since he has met the Elf, and already he behaves like he would with a long-time neighbour. More often than not his reaction to strangers was like with the Lady Saeryn. But this time...

“We brought something for his hand, if you still need it,” a familiar voice said, bringing Ledwyn out of her thoughts. Looking around, she saw that it was Javan who spoke. Léof stood next to him, holding some bandages. Ledwyn stood up softly, not to disturb Theolain from his game.

"I thank you," she said. "I shall put the bandage on when it is time to take his hand out of the water." Seeing that Theolain was not meaning to run away any time soon, she added quietly, "This is not the first time he burns himself. I do not know what to do to make him learn. Whatever he does, he ends up hurting himself." She looked at her son with pity, mixed with exasperation. How many more times until he thinks before he does?

[littlemanpoet]

Laerdil took the leaf from the boy's hand and crushed it, then dropped it in the water. "Is that better?" he asked.

Before the boy could respond, the report of many feet could be heard coming down the stairs. The men and women of the hall rose. Eodwine did as well, and Laerdil followed their example.

A man of noble bearing appeared from out of the staircase, his lady's hand in the crook of his elbow, preceded and followed by two men at arms, a lady in waiting following them all. The man stopped and nodded, and the crowd settle back into their seats. Eodwine approached the man.

“Lord Athanar and Lady Wynflaed, good morning. We have a most singular guest this morning." Eodwine gestured to the Elf, and the lord and lady looked his way.

Laerdil allowed a slight bow and a nod of his head. “Good morning lord and lady of the Rohirrim. I am Laerdil, of Lothlorien. Your home is warm and welcoming.”

[littlemanpoet]

Athanar's nod matched that of the Elf.

"In the name of the Eorlingas I welcome you, Laerdil. Have you been given food at our board?"

"Aye, I have."

"Good. I would be honored if you would sit with the Lady and me as we break our fast, accompanied of course," Athanar added with a nod, "by Eodwine."

"I am willing," Laerdil said. Though his words were few, his mien was warm; but his eyes held years beyond their reckoning.

Athanar asked for the Elf's story and was told it as they were served and ate their meal.

"How do you find us, Laerdil?" he asked at length.

The Elf considered. "Very young. Often rash. In truth, you seem to me a wild plant in the field that grows quickly in the spring and flourishes for a time, and dies before it has had time to do more than spread its seed for the next spring. No wonder you are rash."

Athanar laughed. "If that is what you see, then I suppose that I see you as a tree with legs, with more time than one can know what to do with. Do you not grow bored or weary?"

"Indeed, I have grown weary of Middle Earth." The Elf looked more tired in that moment than he had as of yet. "It is time for me to pass into the west soon. If we leave Middle Earth to such as you, I guess that there is hope of a kind." He smiled kindly despite his dim praise.

[Nogrod]

The last evening, the migraine had hit Athanar exactly when Saeryn brought Scyrr to the hall. Why is this cursed illness picking it's moments like this? Athanar swore as he quietly backstepped away from his table while all the eyes were nailed on the center of this new row. As soon as he got to the stairs he had to twist down and with a violent shook he fell down. He was gaping for air and it felt like his head was exploding with pain. Spirits forbid! he thought holding the wail inside.

Wynflaed was there as soon as he fell down and helped him into their corners. Athanar breathed slowly and heavily just to vent off the pain by blowing air out from his lungs in a steady rhythm, for to some odd reason it felt it helped a little under the crushing pain. After aiding him to his bed and laying some cold wet cloths to his forehead Wynflaed went back to the hall to see what was going on - and that was how Athanar knew this morning what he knew - of the last evening.

Now he eyed the elf and lord Eodwine in turn, still amused by the elf's words and eyeing Eodwine with interest to learn what he thought of the last night's incident - or what had happened for real in the first place.

It was not hard for him to figure Scyrr being the centerpiece of a brawl. He was a fiery and a rash man, a proud harsh-tongued man with tendency to drink too much. But on the other side of the scales there was his loyalty, skills and bravery. Lord Athanar would trust his life in Scyrr's hand any day - like his father would have trusted his life with Scyrr's father's hands. It was not easy to punish him even if that was what he had to do. Especially in a situation where he had been almost killed by those mutinuos rebels who called themselves loyal to lord Eodwine. So he understood too well how Scyrr's antipathies might run against Eodwine... but mocking a lord, or a lady, was an act which should not go unpunished. That was clear above the obvious and he knew it.

Suddenly he got an idea and addressed Laerdil and Eodwine.

"Now please my lords..." he looked hesitantly to Laerdil to see if it was okay to him to address him that way and as the elf didn't seem to bother he went on.

"Let me ask you a speculative question, as to how you would decide on a matter for a lord. I mean you elves are called the fair and wise folks and you lord Eodwine are renowned for your your wise decisions..." He eyed the two and saw Eodwine was anticipating the exact subject of his question.

"So let's say there is a servant, not a nice person, but rather a harsh soldier of a line that served your father already and to whom you would trust your life at any moment because of his reliability and skills. But then some people who said they were loyal to another lord almost killed him for serving you, and he would then later make a brawl with that lord and insult him and his wife after having too much mead. It is clear he has to be punished for offending a lord and a lady, but how severe do you see his crime?"

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn stood aside as the lords and the Elf exchanged greetings. She considered approaching Lord Athanar at that moment, since he still did not know about her presence in the Hall and her intention to stay there. Really, she did not have his leave to be there at all. But instead of coming forth she shied away from the lords, intimidated by their stature and distinction, and by the time she composed and prepared herself the moment had passed. She did not want to disrupt their conversation. She would have to speak to Lord Athanar later.

With these thoughts in her mind, she turned to Theolain with the intention of bandaging up his hand, judging that it had sat in the water for enough time. She started wrapping the clean linen around the wrist and over the thumb, covering the palm of Theolain's hand in an adept fashion, thanking in her thoughts the two boys that brought her the cloth. The burn was faring well; it barely needed bandaging...

Ledwyn's head turned sharply towards the Elf. Her lips moved, tracing silent words, and her eyes widened. Then, as abruptly as she stopped wrapping the linen, she started undoing it, much to Theolain's chargin. He could not wait for Mother to stop fussing over him so that he could go exploring.

Ledwyn held her breath as she undid the last loop. There it was, before her sight. Or were her eyes playing tricks on her? She brushed a finger against the smooth pale skil of her son's palm. He did not flinch at her touch. She did not see or feel any sign of a burn. It had to be real. But it could not be. It could not be.

Ledwyn looked again in the direction of the Elf. Engrossed in a conversation, he did not seem to notice her disturbed and frightened gaze. She could not puzzle out how else Theolain's hand could heal so quickly. Mere minutes ago it was red, and rough to the touch, and it looked as though blisters were about to form. Now it was as if the whole incident did not happen. This could not be.

In an attempt to overcome the confusion and disarray of her thoughts and trying not to panic, Ledwyn started wrapping the linen cloth around Theolain's hand again. The tyke was longing to go play somewhere out of her sight and control, ostensibly unaware of his mother's dread and anxiety. And to completely disappoint him, she did not let him run off but led him to the kitchen. The wenches all gave their sympathies and inquired about the burn. Ledwyn made short offhand replies, unconscious of what she was saying. Despite her best efforts to look cheerful and unconcerned, she had the feeling none in the room was truly convinced. She tried to busy herself with washing some dirty dishes, and the women, taking the hint, did not question her further, though she could almost feel the question still hanging in the air. Ledwyn prayed that she would not be pressed to answer, for, indeed, she herlsef did not fully know how to explain her story.

[littlemanpoet]

Laerdil heard Lord Athanar's question to the word. He also, carefully, observed the thoughts that shimmered across the surface of his mind. There he sensed that this lord held himself deeply obliged to the underling because of the loyalty of this man's forebears.

Laerdil also read the discomfort in Eodwine at this line of questioning, for the man had been lord here in Scarburg until he had fallen ill and was considered doomed to die from it; and now here he was, lord no longer, determined to do his duty by Lord Athanar to the best of his ability, and yet there was in this Eodwine a chagrin of which he himself was not even aware, that he should be lord rather than Athanar. It was something he did not allow himself to think, but it lay deep within nonetheless.

To complicate matters further, Athanar ruled in a more decisive, straightforward fashion whereas Eodwine led with a lighter hand and by personal touch; and he had grown up a farmer rather than a lord and so believed that Athanar had the greater claim to lordship. A most complicated matter. And here, Laerdil had thought such niceties were only to be found among the Eldar.

He pitied them their short lives and high passions.

"The man of whom you speak is valued," Laerdil began, "but disloyalty to a lord's right hand man is disloyalty to the lord. It does not matter how recently he came to be a right hand man. The punishment should teach the servant through deed the evil of his wrong and the worth of the right. Then he will be a better and yet more loyal liege man, to both lord and right hand man."

Even as Laerdil was speaking these words, he felt a mind focused upon him, from near the hearth, with fear. Now this mind came near and passed him by, and left the Hall, going into the kitchen. It was the woman and the boy with the burnt hand. He sighed. It would have to be dealt with later, if at all.

[Nogrod]

Athanar listened to the elf staring at the dance of the miniature flames in the lit candles at the table, nodding a few times as he went on. Seeing that the elf had closed with what he was willing to say - out of courtesy or otherwise - he also realised the elf was distracted by something.

There was a silenece at the table.

"So, you speak like they say the elves speak... putting what you yourself say or think in a more poetic wrap of silk and throw it back to you as is. Heh, never mind my straightness, I'm human and built like that." With that Athanar raised his hand and wawed for more mead to be brought to the table.

"Excuse me Laerdil, sir. I need to ask the question from my friend lord Eodwine as well before we continue, for I'd like to hear more of you." He nodded to the elf and turned his eyes from him looking straight at Eodwine.

"Now lord Eodwine... what would you say?" He made a pause to let Eodwine anticipate the question coming. "If you knew the details of this case with a servant from both sides, and were not part of it, how would you judge it?"

He eyed lord Eodwine with a faint smile that seemed at the same time deeply sad. Before Eodwine could react he sighed and broke a piece of bread offering the other half to Eodwine. "I will punish Scyrr, naturally. There is no way out for him from this. And there are no excuses... But I'd like to hear what happened and what would be your verdict. Think of it as things happening not to you but with some people you don't know."

[littlemanpoet]

How strange. As Athanar put his question to Laerdil, and then as Laerdil gave silent thought, looking from Athanar to himself and back again, it felt as if he were naked before this Elf, as if his very thoughts and motives were revealed. He felt himself faced with a question: "if you could find a way to be rid of Athanar, what would you do?"

Nothing! He is lord of Scarburg! I would continue to serve him as well as I may!

Verily?

Was the Elf speaking to him from mind to mind, or was he talking to himself? He did not know.

This whole time he had been staring at Athanar because he was finding it difficult to face the piercing eyes of the Elf. Suddenly he realized that Athanar had been talking to him, and had posed a question. He shook his head to get the fog out.

"I am sorry, lord. What did you ask me?"

[Nogrod]

"I am sorry, lord. What did you ask me?" Eodwine asked.

Lord Eodwine was distracted, Athanar had seen that, but that he was soo distracted... Was it the elf, or lady Saeryn, this affair with Scyrr, his comeback, all these new settings in his familiar settings? There were many reasons for Eodwine to be distracted, lord Athanar thought and nodded giving lord Eodwine a warm smile.

"Nevermind lord Eodwine. I'll ask your opinion later but soon enough."

More mead was poured into their table. Lord Athanar raised the cup and eyed both Laerdil and Eodwine, then Wynflaed and Saeryn. "To the health of king Eomer, and to our health, and to the prosperity of the whole Mid Emnet, and..." here he paused for a short while and turned to the elf. "And to your kin, where-ever you may still wonder these days."

They took sips from their goblets and put them on to the table. There was a silence lord Athanar was quick to fill. But his expression had turned from a wide smile into some solemnity.

"I haven't met too many elves in my life, good Laerdil, not to say having been able to sit with your kind in a table in all peace and quiet. So excuse my curiosity. You must be bored with these kind of questions, but still I'd like to hear your take on it."

With that Athanar took another sip and glanced at Wynflaed who smiled at him encouragingly. With the elf's nod Athanar faced him and looked at him more carefully with some real curiosity in his eyes. And it was only then he fully realised that Laerdil wasn't anything near a youth he would instinctively take him to be when looking at him - he knew it, to be sure, but it had been hard to match what he knew to what he saw until now. How old he looks even if he looks so young at the same time... these sure are different folks...

"We men are short-lived and always so keen to create a justification to our fleeting being... Some great men build kingdoms, some yarn to be heroes, others wish their poems to be recited from generation to generation... and even the simplest man and woman teaches their children about their ancestors in hopes of them passing on one's own deeds to the posterity linked to that chain. What I have thought is, that we are people obsessed with time as we have such little of it. And as our being is such a short story, we care for what is told of it afterwards... But how is it with you elves when time is not such an issue? Do you feel the need to leave your mark? To do your duty not only to yourselves but to the posterity? Do you ever grow weary of life?"

[littlemanpoet]

"Not of life, but of grief. Time is much on the minds of the Eldar. It is much on my mind; not the shortness of it, for we have all the time of Arda if we will. It is the passing of all that is good that grieves us. The years are to us a passing breeze. One follows another and may bring a different scent than the last breeze, but we have smelled it before and will again.

"We care not for leaving our mark. Ours is the care of stewarding all living things before they pass, for they will pass. Our joy is in speaking with tree and rock, hill and vale, enjoying them for what they are, while they are with us.

"How can one grow bored in such a world as we have? No, it is weariness of grief that sends us to the uttermost West."

[littlemanpoet]

Something had been distracting Harreld all morning in the smithy he shared with Garreld. Not just Garreld, who was, of course, very distracting, either singing too loudly, cracking bad jokes, or haranguing about the evils of women. No, it was something else. He put down his tools.

"I am going to the eatery. Do you want something?"

"Aye, bring me bread and a tankard of ale."

"It is only morning."

"What of it?"

"As you wish."

Harreld left the smithy and entered the Hall. There were still a few folk about, even though the breakfast hours had been over some time ago. There were Lord Athanar and Eodwine with their wives, apparently hosting a stranger. Who?

Harreld came closer. The stranger looked at him. Immediately he felt a presence in his thought. Hello. Is that you, stranger, in my mind?

The stranger's eyes widened. He rose. "I greet you, stranger. I am Laerdil of Lorien. How are you called?"

"I am Harreld Smith, worker of metals here at Scarburg." Somehow he knew better than to say aloud what he suddenly knew. You are surprised that I can speak to you this way.

Aye, 'tis so. Are you not a Man?

I am but a man.

Most astounding. "Will you sit with us, Harreld Smith?"

"I am sorry, I should not. I have come on an errand. You are welcome to visit my smithy if you like, sir." With that he went on his way and the stranger, an Elf, sat down. Harreld knew that the Elf would be by to see him.

[Galadriel55]

Theolain sulked in the corner, sitting on a sack of potatoes. He rolled his eyes at the kitchen. It was not easy to do: he could roll his eyes at Mother, and at the oven, and at the ceiling, but not all of them together. Out of stubborness, or maybe because it was something to do, he tried to roll them in such a way as would encompass the entire room. His head ended up rolling more than his eyes did, but Theolain was satisfied.

He sulked again. He busied himself with untying a hard knot on the piece of rope that held close the sack he sat on. This feat proved to have the better of him, as his fumbling fingers were too clumsy, and the bandages on his right hand got in the way.

Suddenly, a new door opened for him - quite literally. A man opened the door just wide enough for him to get in. He asked the women for something. Theolain did not listen; he was too concentrated on getting past the man, through the door, and out into the open without getting noticed. When the man stepped forward to take a bundle from one of the women, Theolain snuck quietly on his knees behind him until he was on the other side of the kitchen wall. No one seemed to raise any alarm, or, indeed, mark his absence.

Theolain stood aside as the man walked out, closing the door behind him. The stranger was already striding out the big doors when Theolain made up his mind to follow him. Maybe he would go to someplace interesting and bring Theolain somewhere where he could play in this strange and unfamiliar place.

He paused on the threshold, blinking against the bright sun and feeling the frosty wind on his face. Then, spotting the man several feet away, he scrambled head over heels in his wake.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld heard a noise behind him. He turned. It was a boy lying sprawled on the ground. He did not know the lad.

"Hello! Are you hurt?"

The boy used his hands and knees to get on two feet. It was then that Harreld noticed the bandage.

"You are hurt."

But he does not cry. He went back to the boy. "How are old are you, child?"

[Galadriel55]

"Hello! Are you hurt?" asked the man. Theolain took no notice.

"You are hurt," the man added after a few moments. Theolain listened, but made no reply. "How old are you, child?" Theolain gave the man a hesitant grin as he looked up at his tall form.

Then, without any warning, Theolain dashed away. When he was half a score feet - and a few tumbles - away from the man he turned and looked mischievously at him.

[littlemanpoet]

The lad could be no more than four. Harreld allowed a half smile. The child needed a playmate. An overlarge smith would not be the best choice of one, especially as he was still half covered in soot and black and other smudges of unnamed origin.

"Do your mom and pop know where you are?"

The boy just eyed him, waiting for him to give chase.

"Oh, that's right, you don't talk."

Harreld debated whether to bring the food to Garreth or to give chase. Then another thought struck him. He took the wrapping off a little bit of bread and revealed it to the child.

"Mmmmmmmm! Tasty! Do you want some?"

[Folwren]

Saeryn sat at the high table with Lord Athanar and his wife. She sat beside Eodwine and remained silent throughout their discourse. At first, she paid less mind to the talk and more to the food at hand. She had started the morning early and had worked hard up until that point and breakfast was more than welcome.

But when Athanar asked Eodwine and Laerdil his question concerning the loyal servant who wronged the lord’s right-hand man, she paused and raised her eyes to him. When he finished his question, veiled and yet clear as day, she turned her look to Eodwine. Yet it was the elf that answered first.

Saeryn listened with but half her mind. Why should Athanar ask what is to be done? He did not ask when Lithor was half so defiant in his presence. She lowered her eyes again to her breakfast, and slowly resumed eating. She vaguely heard Athanar turn to the question to Eodwine, but she clearly heard, “I will punish Scyrr, naturally. There is no way out for him from this. And there are no excuses...”

Good! Saeryn said to herself, raising her eyebrows. At least he will do that.

“But I'd like to hear what happened and what would be your verdict. Think of it as things happening not to you but with some people you don't know."

Saeryn smirked. How did Athanar expect Eodwine to detach himself from what had happened? He had been openly insulted, as had she, and she knew Eodwine’s pride and honor would not stand for that. No Eorling would stand for such insults without redress of some kind.

But Eodwine said nothing. The pause lengthened until Saeryn lifted her eyes to his face. He was looking at Athanar, but she knew he was not really seeing him. She laid her hand on his. He blinked and stirred slightly.

"I am sorry, lord. What did you ask me?" he asked.

"Nevermind lord Eodwine. I'll ask your opinion later but soon enough,” Athanar replied. He turned the conversation then to the elf.

Saeryn turned with disappointment back to her meal. She listened in silence as Laerdil responded to his question. As soon as she had cleared her trencher, she excused herself. She rose and took her trencher and then gathered others from other tables. Most of the men had already left to see to their daily work.

Saeryn entered the kitchen with her arms loaded with used trenchers and spoons. She deposited them by the washtub.

“Ginna,” Saeryn said, taking her apron off of the peg behind the door. “Will you go out and finish clearing the tables?” She tied the apron around her waist and began to roll up her sleeves. “I will start washing the dishes.”

Using her apron to protect her hands, she carefully lifted the pot of water that sat warming on the stove. As she poured it into the wider tub, she turned her head to look for the newcomer.

“Ledwyn, would you like to give me a hand cleaning these?” she asked.

The young woman complied happily. They began their work in silence, Saeryn washing the trenchers and Ledwyn drying them and stacking them on one side.

“Tell me,” Saeryn said after a lengthy pause, “you say you come from the West Emnet. When did you begin your travels? And why did you come here and not go to Edoras?”

[Galadriel55]

Theolain

Theolain eyed the bit of bread the man held. He broke his fast earlier, and had a good helping of bread and eggs when he ate at the new place. But he could not refuse more. He was walking toward to man before he knew it.

He was reaching out his hand to the bread when the excitement of a chase suddenly stepped in again, and Theolain jumped aside instead. His legs tangled and he fell clumsily to the ground, but sat up in a few moments. He was facing away from the man, so he winked at the fields in front of him.



Ledwyn

Ledwyn started when the Lady Saeryn spoke. She was still dazed by what she witnessed in the Hall, and she was not ready to speak about it yet. However, she loosened slightly when she realized that Lady Saeryn did not ask about it.

“Edoras is farther from my home than Scarburg, my Lady,” she replied, keeping her eyes firmly on a trencher she was wiping, as if she was afraid to drop it, though her expression did not reflect this concentration. “And,” she continued, “Edoras is just so... grand.” She paused her work for a brief moment to glance up at Lady Saeryn, who caught her eye. Ledwyn looked down quickly, taking another trencher to dry.

After two more trenchers she added, as if she suddenly remembered, “My family always lived in the West Emnet, until the War – but fortunately my village was untouched. However, it lies so close to the border the King defined for Middle Emnet that many think we are part of it. In good weather a horsed man can make the journey to Scarburg in less than a day.” And still Ledwyn’s eyes remained wide and blank, seeing neither her village nor the trencher, but fixed on her hands.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld had only had his twin brother Garreth for most of his life, and had little if any experience with children, but seeing the youngling on all fours facing away, he could not resist the temptation to play. He set down his package and reached with both hands around the boy's middle and lifted him high in the air.

"What do you see from way up there, lad?"

If anyone had seen this sudden display of impulse from Harreld, they might have grinned to see the big smile on his face.

[Galadriel55]

"What do you see from way up there, lad?"

For a time Theolain could only turn his head this way and that, getting used to being higher than he has ever been. When he stood on the ground, he measured his world in steps, sticks, and puddles. But now, seeing so many - and so small - they seemed to be inadequate for that task. Theolain gazed to the farthest hills that he could see, fading out to become the clear winter sky, and thought that the world was big.

"Big," he said.

A chickadee flew into his vision. Theolain spread his arms, like he was a bird as well.

[littlemanpoet]

"Big."

Harreld chuckled inside. The boy lifted his arms as if he wanted to fly. Well, Harreld could not make a boy fly, but he could do the next best thing. He started to run around the yard, lifting the boy higher, lower, veering this way then that.

[Folwren]

“Indeed?” Saeryn said. “A day’s ride west. So, we are nearer than Edoras. Edoras is not so very intimidating, though,” she added. “Not once you get to know it.” She paused and as Ledwyn paid careful attention to the job in her hands, Saeryn used the opportunity to consider her carefully.

Here was a hard-working woman, accustomed to the hardened life of a village-woman, but she was tired. The evidence was clear on her face: the taught lines about her mouth, the focused expression of her eyes on her hands as she dried the trenchers. And little wonder. It came back suddenly to Saeryn that Ledwyn had mentioned that her husband had died. An empathetic pain clutched her stomach at her very core. She had come so close to losing Eodwine, she had briefly touched the fear and pain that this woman felt. She also had a child – a little boy who scarcely spoke. How difficult it must have been to leave her home and come here to Scarburg, even if it was just a good day’s ride.

“Tell me about your home, Ledwyn,” Saeryn said, her voice gentle. “And about your family.”

[Galadriel55]

Theolain

The lad laughed and laughed as he felt the air rush against him and saw the ground come higher and lower in exhilarating spins. He wished this would never end. He was not for a moment afraid of falling; he felt the strength and confidence of those big hands that held him, and he knew that the man would never let him fall.

Ledwyn

Ledwyn wondered about the Lady Saeryn. She spoke as if she was accustomed to the wide halls of Meduseld, but while talking she was washing the trenchers like any kitchen wench. She sat next to the lords when she ate breakfast, and she spoke with authority; yet this stature did not stop her from doing servants' work.

“Tell me about your home, Ledwyn, and about your family,” Lady Saeryn asked.

Ledwyn thought for some time. "It is small, much smaller than Scarburg," she finally said. "A few hovels sitting next to each other. The men raised horses, and the womenfolk raised children. Just a village." Ledwyn paused again. "My husband was a woodworker by craft. Whenever someone needed a new chair or shed or wanted a toy for their child, they would go to him. But in a village like mine, if someone needs a new shed, it is a big event. My husband spent most of his time with horses, just like the other men. One day he rode to a neighbouring village to do some business, and his horse returned without him, limping. The men who went to search for him told me that the horse must have had a rock stuck in her hoof, so my husband tried to take it out, but the horse kicked him. The farmers from the other village said that he left it cheerful and in good health. The men checked the horse, and she indeed had a sharp pebble cutting into her hoof, which agitated her."

Ledwyn was surprised at how even her voice was. She felt like she was telling someone else's story, a tale from long ago, a forgotten person in a forgotten place. Maybe she was just weary. Weary of living with it.

[littlemanpoet]

Garreth

"Now what could be keeping that brother of mine?"

Garreth had been working on a trowel for quite a while with no-one to talk at, and he had begun to feel the lack. Only then had he realized that it had been quite some while since Harreld had been away.

He chucked his tools into their pail and let the trowel cool. The fire would remain hot for some time, no worries there. He peeked out the door. What did he behold? His own brother, running like a child around the yard, wielding a boy in both hands, as if he were a bird.

And there the pack of food lay on the ground, easy spoils for any four legged critter's curiosity. Garreth was ready to vent his spleen at his twin but stopped to look at this unheard of event. Here was his brother, no, not acting like a child but a proud poppa. Garreth chuckled, then got a sly grin on his face.

Harreld

"Harreld! Where's my food!"

Harreld stopped in his tracks. The boy's legs swung outward a moment then hung limp. Harreld went red as a beet.

"Um, right there."

"Now just what do you think you're doing? And who's lad is that?"

"Um, uh, I don't know."

Garreth grinned. "So that's all the answer I get?" He couldn't help it any longer and burst out in laughter at his brother's discomfiture.

Too embarrassed for words, Harreld put the boy down and went to get the pack.

"Now stop right there, Harreld you dimwit. I can get the pack of food, it's closer to me anyhow. Where'd that boy come from?"

"Uh, he followed me out of the kitchens, I think." Harreld regarded the lad with a perplexed expression. "And he hasn't said much at all. Well, one word. 'Big.'"

"No doubt he was looking at you!" Garreth chuckled. "I'll get the food. You take that boy back into the kitchens. No doubt he belongs to somebody in there."

"Oh. Right. Of course."

Harreld turned to look at the boy. He'd caught him once, he could do it again. No playing this time.

[Nogrod]

"No, it is weariness of grief that sends us to the uttermost West." Laerdil ended his answer.

Lord Athanar listened to the elf and shook his head with a faint sorrow in his eyes. He stared at his cup for a while before raising his gaze to look at Laerdil into the eye. "You speak of another world my good elf, another world closed from men. And even if it is easy to see what you say, it is nigh impossible to really feel it, to go under those thoughts of your kin, that world you inhabit..."

He was silent for a moment and saw lady Saeryn feeling uncomfortable - for clearly different reasons he himself felt distressed about. Suddenly she excused herself and took her trencher with her. Athanar nodded and collected himself. "I do hope you feel welcomed at Scarburg and stay for a while Laerdil, it would be interesting to have a deeper discussion on matters we have scarcely touched by now. But I do have a pressing matter I need to attend to right now." He nodded to the elf who courteously nodded him back.

Athanar saw Saeryn collecting trencehers form other tables while clearly heading for the kitchens. He felt sorry for her; no, he hated it when she made that kind of show-off out of her predicament; no, he felt a strong passion for all she was forced to bear; no, he thought the martyr-game she played was for teenagers, not for adults... or to be parents... He had such contradictory feelings for lady Saeryn: he wished her all the good there was and was still so annoyed of the way she acted her part in this Valar-forsaken hot-bed of strong emotions he had been thrown into... whatever... he would have to forbid her doing a maid's work, sooner rather than later. That was just plain ridiculous... but it felt awkward to just go and deny her her freedom of doing what she willed... however she just demonstrated things by what she did.

Forcing himself out from these ramblings he turned suddenly and called aloud for Hilderinc. Then he turned to Eodwine. "I'd like to see you and Thornden with Coen here before supper. I'll send for the two but I do hope you'll be present as well." He made a pause. "And if you think lady Saeryn would wish to join us, please ask her to do so. I'd like to hear from her too..."

[Folwren]

Saeryn's soapy hands paused as she waited for more. That surely could not have been the end of it. Horses kicked on occasion, yes, but they did not usually kill someone, unless he was ignorant of horses. That was unkind and unjust to assume of Ledwyn’s husband. She put it from her mind.

“What happened?” she asked. “Did your neighbors find your husband on the road between the two villages?”

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn

“What happened?” Lady Saeryn pressed on. “Did your neighbors find your husband on the road between the two villages?”

"Aye," Ledwyn replied, "they did, my Lady. They went searching for him, and sure enough his body was found just off to the side of the road, as if he was thrown there. One side of his head was crushed. That is what the men who found him told me; I did not come with the search. They said that either the horse kicked him hard, or else that his head was flung against a rock in his fall. There were plenty sharp rocks scattered there."

Ledwyn fiddled with the trencher she held before setting it down onto the clean pile.

"That is what the men told me," she repeated absent-mindedly, thinking back to that day of painful waiting a year ago.

Theolain

Why did the man stop? Theolain wondered. Then he heard another man's voice call out. The man answered. More speaking.

The man turned to him again. Theolain looked up at him, his eyes shining. He decided that he liked this man. No, he liked him a lot.

But then he noticed something different in the way the man approached him. Theolain scampered back. The mad took a few more steps. Theolain retreated a few more scampers. The man stood, and Theolain waited, a sly look on his face.

[Folwren]

Saeryn pressed her mouth shut. She should not have asked. Her heart went out to Ledwyn, but she had no words to express her feelings and no desire to pursue the topic now that it had continued so long.

“I am glad you’ve come here,” she said after a long pause. “As I told you earlier, we are short on help. Your son will be a welcome addition, too.” She looked around as she spoke.

“Where is he?” she asked after a pause in which she did not see the boy. “He was in here, wasn’t he?”

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn snapped to attention, returning to the more recent memories of the Elven herb floating in the bucket of water, at the mention of Theolain. The dread, lulled by the work, conversation, and recollection, came back with full force.

"His hand was not badly burned, and it is healing fine," she asserted, nervously and quickly - almost too quickly - as if she wanted most of all to convince Lady Saeryn (or herself) that it was true, before the meaning of the question sunk in. "Wait," Ledwyn started again, understanding creeping up to her, "you say Theolain is not here?"

Glancing around, she verified what she feared. The lad was nowhere in sight.

"He must have left the kitchen while we were busy," Ledwyn said, beginning to despair. Was there not work enough to do already, without having to go searching for Theolain and constantly keeping an eye on him? And it was not even past noon! Ledwyn needed to face so much more this day, and each new step made her wearier. "He could have gone anywhere," she moaned, passing a hand over her brow.

[Folwren]

Saeryn dried her hands on her apron and then touched Ledwyn’s shoulder. “I know everything is new and different, but it isn’t unsafe here. He cannot have gone far without someone seeing him, and he’ll be taken care of! I can send someone to go find him, if you wish. You should sit, though. I see you are very tired. I should have thought of that and let you rest.

“Kara,” she said, looking up. “Will you go and find the lad? Bring him back when you find him, will you?” Kara nodded and left by the door leading into the hall.

Saeryn turned back to Ledwyn. She gently led her to a chair and sat her down. Ginna placed a steaming cup of tea before her. Saeryn sat down opposite her and folded her hands on the table top.

“Listen,” she said. “We have not got many young children here, so there has been no sort of plan made for them, but in my parent’s household, the older children looked after the younger ones. You are going to have enough work to do without constantly worrying about your son. Léođern, Garmund, and Cnebba will look after him. You will see that once he has gotten used to his new home, he will be in and out all the time and you will not have to worry about him.”

[littlemanpoet]

Seeing that Garreld had the pack of food safely under his arm, heading back to the smithy, Harreld gave his full attention to the boy. He took a step toward the smiling lad, who took as many steps back from him, his expression changing. He looked like he was ready to make a game of it.

Harreld took two more steps toward the boy, the boy stayed out of his grasp and stopped. And he waited.

"Ah, I see, I know your game." Harreld said it half sarcastically, but the word 'game' did something to him. He chuckled. With a grin on his face he snarled and cuffed one foot at the ground like a bull. The boy started to giggle. Harreld made a feint at him and the boy jumped back, giggling more. Harreld couldn't help laughing himself. He snarled some more. Then he leapt after the boy who ran from him squealing in delight.

[Nogrod]

Hilderinc came as called and took the orders from Lord Athanar to get Thornden and Coen to attend Athanar's table an half an hour before the meal. With a nod Athanar added that Hilderinc would be welcome as well unless he had other duties. Before dismissing him he waved him to come closer and whispered something to his ear.

Hilderinc looked confused for a moment but then nodded and went to his errand.

Turning to lord Eodwine lord Athanar bent slightly forwards and addressed him, not clearly willing to keep what he had to say a secret as such but addressing him in person anyway.

"With all the people we have here, who would be your choice for a representative of a common man or woman here, the representative of the household? We two will be present and so will Coen and Thornden, naturally. I have requested lady Saeryn and my lady Wynflaed will be accompanying us as well. On top of that, I'd like to..." Here he turned his head towards the elf and addressed him straightforwards: "I'd like to see you in our little table of advisors regarding a recent occurence, so if you in any way could attend, just to give it a thought an half an hour before the meal at this table, I would appreciate it."

The elf nodded.

Lord Athanar turned again to lord Eodwine. "Hilderinc is probably my best lower officer; a trustworthy man with a good heart. So I'd like to hear whom you'd call as one from this household to be "his pair" in here... I'm not building up a jury, but I do wish to have an equilibrum of viewpoints as comes to this very intricate matter before I make a verdict on Scyrr... and by the way, I have asked Scyrr himself to join us."

He made a pause and studied lord Eodwine's expression learning little or nothing.

"And if you thought why Hilderinc looked surprised, well, it was that I asked him to bring Scyrr with him..."

With that lord Athanar leaned back to his chair and took his goblet. He looked stern but resolved. Rising the cup slightly he looked at lord Eodwine leaning back towards the chair. "To justice, and prosperity of the Mead Hall", he said and raised the cup, looking at lord Eodwine, and then to the others around the table.

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn

Lady Saeryn left no room for protest. Ledwyn felt uncomfortable and embarrassed, despite Lady Saeryn's best efforts to achieve the opposite. She wished she would have been treated like a servant, not a guest. She would be much more at ease if Lady Saeryn would not stoop below the line her rank set for her, out of generosity or humility or whatever reason it may be. If only everything in this Mead Hall would be as she had imagined it! Yet she could not gainsay Lady Saeryn. Leastways, Lady Saeryn was right about the children.

"Perhaps it is so, my Lady," Ledwyn said. "I might be worrying unnecessarily. It has been at my home as you have said - the older children took care of the younger, but the young ones never strayed far. You said it true that my son will soon run around everywhere and this would go unheeded, and that my son has not been gone too long. I suppose I think too much about it. I should concentrate on the work at hand more."

Ledwyn drank her tea quickly, thanked lady Saeryn and Ginna, and stood. She looked around for more work to be done.


Theolain

A game! And a good one too. Theolain definitely liked this man. He felt like this grown-up knew exactly what he thought.

In the breakes between the rushes, when both laughed and caught their breath, Theolain looked with admiration at the man. He knew that he would not be upset if this man caught him in the game. Yet, sometimes, he had a different sense of purpose when he ran at Theolain, apart from the game. Though Theolain could be caught in the game, he did not want to be caught in that other way, to fulfill that sense of purpose behind the carefree play.

Of course, he did not think in those terms. He perceived that if he does not want to be caught for real, he has to run for real. However, he trusted the man. That trust meant that no harm would come to him from that man, but games could.

[Nogrod]

Sitting at the end of the table lord Athanar looked around.

Lord Eodwine was sitting next to his right with lady Saeryn by his side. On the left there was first his lady Wynflaed and Coen right beside her. After Saeryn on the right side sat Thornden and the grim-looking carpenter called Stigend. On the left there was Degas sitting beside Coen but the last chair was vacant.

Lord Athanar eyed at everyone and took his time while mead was poured to all.

"My friends. I think we all know what is it that we're sitting around this table for. Let us have a toast for wisdom and good judgement."

They all raised their cups and took sips of the excellent mead produced by a neighbouring farmer they had learned to appreciate in matters of mead. "To Wilfer, the master of mead", Coen added as he laid his cup on the table.

Lord athanar glanced at his second in command but then concentrated back on his duty. "Hilderinc! Bring in the accused!"

He had wished to make it low-scale but the word had spread. Not many dared to come inside the hall to actually eavesdrop what was going on, but Athanar could see faces glued into the windows of the hall willing to get a peak at what was going on. Don't they have duties to attend to... Athanar cursed to himself but was not too bothered with it. He had nothing to hide here. It was only that he was not willing to repeat those two open trials he had given and which had turned into catastrophies. The eorl would be just but it would not be something any sorts of fools could find sparks to their already burning fires this time: close hearing, no agitation to any side, a quick judgement. That was the way he was used to and which he was happy to come back with.

Hilderinc brought Scyrr to the other end of the table and with lord Athanar's mark took the last available seat for himself.

Scyrr stood at the other end of the great table in front of his lord and all the others with an expressionless stare which wasn't broken even when his lord addressed him. But he did respond to his name being called.

"Now Scyrr, you have been serving me well - as your father served my father and it breaks my heart to see you standing here after all these years. But today I think you face some serious challenges as to your behaviour and it may be I have to punish you for the first time in our time together." Athanar fell silent for a moment looking at his man in the eye.

"It's not that you've been a dove before this day - and I haven't hired you to be one anyway". Hearing this Scyrr grinned, but only slightly.

"But if what I have heard you've done is true, you've clearly gone over your rank and limits this time. So let us hear your account of what happened between you and lady Saeryn, and lord Eodwine here. Now speak. At ease!"

Scyrr had been standing in attention but with the command he took a more relaxed position letting his arms hang loose. "Be brief and be true, Scyrr." Athanar said and then fell back in his seat to hear what his man had to say.

[Folwren]

Thornden sat at the table watching the members of this scene closely. Mostly his eyes rested on Saeryn as the proceedings began. As Hilderinc went out to bring Scyrr in, Thornden reflected that no matter what happened here, it could not help Saeryn. True, Scyrr may withdraw his insult from Eodwine and make his amends, but it would embarrass Saeryn further than she had been to have it all rehashed and discussed.

However, it had been her own actions that had brought this about. It was her own fault this had not been avoided. Thornden sighed silently and looked down at his hands folded on the table before him, and then looked up as Scyrr entered.

Athanar spoke, beginning the small trial with a few, choice words.

"But if what I have heard you've done is true, you've clearly gone over your rank and limits this time. So let us hear your account of what happened between you and lady Saeryn, and lord Eodwine here. Now speak. At ease!"

Thornden felt for this man. Athanar spoke well of him – a trusted, faithful soldier who had long been with him – and he had borne the brunt of the ill-ease of the old Scarburgians, nearly being killed that second day. Clearly, this change had not been easy for him.

“My lord,” Scyrr began, “I cannot remember clearly everything that was said. I was deep in my cups last night. It began with a quarrel between me and the stable-master. Afterwards, I went out, intending to go in for the night– Captain Coenred advised me to, I think. He hoped to help me avoid a fight. But a fight sought me out, even outside.” His eyes shifted from Athanar to lady Saeryn as he said this.

Thornden tensed instinctively as he felt the threat toward Saeryn. There was a heavy pause, and then Scyrr continued.

“Lady Saeryn followed me outside and spoke with me. Her manner, my lord, was aggressive and domineering.”

Thornden shot a glance towards Saeryn. It was clear that she was not pleased at Scyrr’s description of her.

“Her words were less than ladylike, and more fitting a man of authority, and I knew that it was not her place to come and speak to me in the way that she did. She meant to tell me to leave the stable-master in peace from that night forward, but I told her that this matter did not concern her, but rather her husband, and if he wished to speak of it with me, he could find me. Was I wrong to show her how rough, how unwomanlike her manner was? She was acting on behalf of her husband, and that was wrong. This I sought to make clear to her.”

Saeryn started to her feet and with one hand she pointed at Scyrr as she accused him loudly: “You called my husband a liar and a coward in one breath, you rogue! Answer the lord Athanar as he has commanded you, briefly and in truth!”

[littlemanpoet]

Scyrr knew not whether this woman of the old eorl's was a spoiled too rich wench by birth or her lashing tongue were because she carried a brat. It did not matter.
He scowled at her. One thing was sure, she knew not her place.

"Lord, you see what it is I faced last night. This woman knows not her place. Here is her lord and she can't or won't shut up and let him be the man."

[Nogrod]

Athanar glanced at Saeryn hiding his discomfort with her fiery tongue. She was clearly not making this easier... But he looked back at Scyrr with a stern look when he made his complaint which seemed to Athanar being his only way he was going to defend himself. Athanar shook his head with sadness in his eyes hearing his words: "Lord, you see what it is I faced last night. This woman knows not her place. Here is her lord and she can't or won't shut up and let him be the man."

Athanar drew breath and when he opened his mouth his voice was stone cold: "And since when has it been added into a sergeant's duties to show ladies their place? Or to make public judgements on their behaviour, or about their relationships with their lords?"

He didn't take his gaze from Scyrr's eyes but let his will to be understood by Scyrr in no uncertain terms. "Unsoldierlike behaviour and overstepping your rank, proved, in the presence of wittnesses. And let me remind you, you're not far away from a verdict of insulting a lady". Here Athanar had to bit his tongue to not state frankly what she thought of Saeryn's behaviour, but he felt forced to give in for a slight rounding up of his message: "Although I think lady Saeryn hasn't been exactly innocent on this issue as rows take two to be put up. But for now it suffices that it is you Scyrr who have violated a strict rule about taking and accepting your place and insulting your superiors. And I think that has now been proved beyond reasonable doubt."

With that lord Athanar finally leaned forwards and reached for his cup fast glancing at lord Eodwine before addressing Scyrr again. "So what was that brawl you had with lord Eodwine then?"

[littlemanpoet]

Brawl? As far as Scyrr knew there had been no brawl or this Eodwine would have some bruises on his face.

"Lord, I figured Eodwine sent the woman to accuse me in his place. Was I to know that she'd come on her own spleen? So I told him to fight his own battles."

Athanar was looking none to pleased and Scyrr figured he'd spoken out of line again.

"Lord, I admit I was deep in my cup and I said what I should not."

[Nogrod]

"You know you're a sergeant whether you are sober or not Scyrr. And you're a member of my household whether you are sober or not. You know that well, Scyrr." Athanar let his words fall in to Scyrr's mind and then followed quite bluntly, like to hammer it in: "That may explain some things, but it is no excuse. A man drinks on his own decision..."

With that he turned towards Eodwine: "Is that what you'd say happened between you two? That he basically told you to fight your own battles?" Glancing at Scyrr he added: "Which actually isn't your concern either Scyrr... or since when do you think sergeants should advice lords in their domestic matters?"

With that Athanar turned back to Eodwine waiting for Eodwine's account of things.

[Nogrod]

After advising a handful of soldiers how to joint the planks and to measure the levels for an outhouse for the soldiers Stigend had been searching for suitable wood from the great pile of logs and planks Athanar's residue had brought in as a gift from king Eomer to replace the crude steps and railings from the Hall to the second floor when Thornden had called him to join a court of sorts. Stigend had no clear idea what it was about or why he had been called for. But he clarly had no choice. A lord's call was a lord's call.

Couldn't Garstan go? he asked himself walking towards the hall as he had been busy trying to get a picture from the pile as to which planks and logs could could be used and where. But he immediately realised that Garstan was finishing the firewall at the kitchen - and that sure was more important at the moment. But still, why him?

He rubbed his hands dry and somewhat clean into the back of his trousers and wiped the sweat from his forehead and cheeks with the sleeve of his working-skirt before entering the hall.

Just at the doorway he caught this new sergeant, Hilderinc - a man he kind of liked at the outset - with Scyrr. Unlike many of the newcomers, he thought he knew Scyrr better the man deserved. He didn't like him at all. He reminded him of the men of his home-village who were tough and hard, and despised, even ridiculed everything strange, like Modtryth, especially if they were drunk which was not seldom.

Thornden rushed in after him and waved his hand for him to take a seat beside him. Stigend nodded and took his seat still wondering what he was doing here.

But he had guessed it right. It was about Scyrr - and he had actually heard soldiers talking about him earlier the day. Some had said he had insulted both lady Saeryn and lord Eodwine gravely while others had claimed he had being framed by lord Eodwine and Saeryn and that there was a conspiracy of sorts involved. He had phfft the conspiracy theory, but seeing he was chosen into what seemed like a jury of sorts actually made him raise an eyebrow. Glancing quickly around he found five Mead Hallers and only four of the newcomers...

As soon as Scyrr opened his mouth his doubts were washed away though. He couldn't stand the man, and how he spoke of lady Saeryn. He would have risen up and beat him right there were there not all the noble folk around who seemed to be able to listen to him and his manners just like that. Had he been able to beat him... that was another question, but it didn't cross his mind right there and then.

But slowly he realised lord Athanar wasn't going to defend Scyrr either but was actually quite rough on him. That disturbed Stigend who had thought everything ran along the party-lines between the ones with power... He sure had met some lazy and self-important soldiers both in the ranks of lord Eodwine and lord Athanar - and some of the men on both retinues were good men as well. Like contrast Aforglaed with Hilderinc - or Raedwald with Scyrr... or Javan with Raban - that thought made him smile, he liked Javan actually but was just a bit concerned of his influence on his own children - and he had been so pleased when the old Raban had been called to educate him. If he'd just get Cnebba interested in armoury as well... that would be good...

Suddenly lord Athanar's cold voice rang in his ears: "Which actually isn't your concern either Scyrr... or since when do you think sergeants should advice lords in their domestic matters?"

Stigend felt ashamed. He had totally lost anything that had been said the last minute or so while thinking to himself. Now lord Athanar turned towards Eodwine like he was waiting for him to say something. Like all the others, Stigend froze to hear what he had to say.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine hated these kinds of things. It was very much on his mind that Saeryn's jealousy for his own rank and right in Scarburg was the first mover of all that had brought things to where they stood now. He wondered where any of this kind of thinking had been when he had been courting her. She had seemed so whimsical and fresh back then. What had changed her?

Marriage.

He sighed. "Truth be told, Athanar, it seems as if Scyrr has the right of it, more or less. My wife spoke on her own, I did not send her, and would not. I ask leave to speak with her about this further, just us two. I will of course make sure you know how things stand after that."

[Nogrod]

Lord Athanar was not the only one to raise his eyebrows around the table.

He searched lord Eodwine's eyes for a moment to be clear he was not jesting. Then he glanced at Saeryn and saw her almost trembling. That didn't speak well and he suddenly wished to be done with the situation as soon as possible. He couldn't afford anything unexpected to pile up on all the other worries he had, least those of a pregnant, jealous and hot-headed woman - even if he kind of cared for lady Saeryn, she was clearly part of the problem as well.

After a nod to lord Eodwine he turned towards Scyrr and spoke to him: "You should have followed captain Coenred's advice Scyrr and go to sleep last night. But as you didn't, all what you did after that - and what you have said here and now - are on your own responsibility. Having a cup or two too many is your own choice and you need to accept the consequences."

He sighed loudly and leaned back in his chair.

"Of all the people I hate making this judgement on you Scyrr as I do appreciate your service, and you know I rely on you on any situation where a sword or eye are needed. But you have to either drop drinking or learn to behave with it. Next time you have something in your mind and wish to complain, sleep on it first and then tell Coen about it in private - or if it is very urgent, come and tell me."

Athanar turned to Eodwine. "Your leave is granted". He glanced quickly at Saeryn from the corner of his eye slightly relieved that she had not bursted out yet. "We'll continue this session if needed."

With that he turned forwards and rose up from his chair. After a moment's hesitation as to what it meant all the others followed suite.

"Scyrr, son of Sconfyrr, I thus declare you to receive a punishment of the wolf's hour night-watch for a week... that should keep you away from the cup." Letting his eyes ran around the table Athanar finally breathed in to make his last statement.

"That judgement is based solely on your behaviour at this table, at this hour. If lord Eodwine or lady Saeryn see there is cause for further action you'll learn it. Meanwhile, behave as your rank demands. Now, you are dismissed."

With that Athanar nodded first to Eodwine and Saeryn in particular and then wawed his hand to others in general to indicate the session was over.

[Folwren]

Saeryn resumed her seat at the earliest possible moment after jumping up. She was conscious that she had somehow misspoke: the men’s embarrassed reactions told her that, however subtle they were. She felt instinctively Eodwine’s rigidness though they never touched. She hardened herself against the idea that she had displeased him – again. It was for his own good that she was so adamant about this.

She felt a distinct sinking in her stomach when Eodwine finally spoke.

"Truth be told, Athanar, it seems as if Scyrr has the right of it, more or less. My wife spoke on her own, I did not send her, and would not. I ask leave to speak with her about this further, just us two. I will of course make sure you know how things stand after that."

She glanced briefly at him. He was looking at Athanar and she averted her eyes again before he noticed her looking at him. What did he mean? The Scyrr was actually right? She clenched her jaw shut tightly and held her tongue.

Athanar quickly wrapped up session. When he rose, the others stood as well and the men moved off. Saeryn felt half inclined to walk away and return to her work in the kitchen, but she would not so disrespect her husband, however angry she felt. She stood, therefore, and waited for him to guide her however he would – whether they would stay and talk there, or go somewhere more private.

[littlemanpoet]

The other men left, much like men seeking shelter from a storm. Saeryn stood a couple paces away from Eodwine and waited. He hesitated. Saeryn had noticed his reluctance to act since his return. She attributed it to his sickness. Part of her went out to him – pitying him that he had to face adversity within his own home – and she regretted the trouble she was causing, even if she thought it was for the best. Her other part held firm. He was a respectable man, and he was a strong man, and no one should be allowed to treat him as anything less than lord Eodwine, even if he had not that title now. She would defend his honor, even if he would not.

“Eodwine,” she said. “Will we stay, or go somewhere else?”

"Let us go to our rooms where we can speak out of the hearing of others." He held out his hand to her.

Saeryn came forward, turning her eyes down as she stepped to his side and took his hand. He led her out of the hall and up to their room. She entered before him and he shut the door behind them.

She continued walking to the opposite side of the room. At the window, she turned and looked at him, waiting.

Eodwine sat on the bed and gestured for her to do the same. "Here, please, be easy. Sit down by me." She hesitated. "I want you to tell me how things were from your view, before I say anything at all. I want to know your mind."

Saeryn came and sat beside him. She laid her hand on his a moment as she sought for the right words to say. Her head was turned towards him, but her eyes were lowered, focused on their hands together.

"I thought I was doing right, Eodwine," she said without looking up at him. "I thought. . .I thought I saw something that needed to be addressed, and as you did not know of it, I went out to deal with it. You have been gone since Athanar came, so you haven't see how that man has treated Leof. I had just. . .had enough.

"And then when he insulted you - I don't know what came over me. I was so angry! It was after you had turned down the eorlship, and he called you a coward, and I couldn't take it from that scoundrel!"

He smiled. Yes, she was a bit hot-headed, and he had only been back a little while; she had gotten used to having to defend herself on her own. It would take some getting used to, to have her husband there to defend the honor of both of them. He squeezed her hand and kissed her.

"I married the right woman. You have a good mind and good sense, and have been left on your own for months now. Well, my dear, I'm back. From now on, let us face Scarburg and Middle Earth together, in minds alike. Maybe it will take time for us to get used to each other again. Would you like that?"

Saeryn looked up at him quizically. He was not angry with her, then?

"Yes, Eodwine," she said. "But we must come to like minds, and I do not know yours. Well," she hesitated, "yes, I do. But I am confused. This man openly declared you a liar and coward, and yet you do nothing. Just now, you said you were of like mind with Scyrr. Do you believe me in the wrong? Am I to blame for all this? What will you do to regain your honor?"

Eodwine could not keep all of her questions in his mind at once, much less in the order asked. But he remembered the one most urgent to be answered, and the rest came to him as he spoke. "You have already owned all the blame you have coming. You bear no more blame than that. Scyrr has much to answer for, and I deem Athanar is not done with him. But were I to answer the man on his terms, I lower myself to his foolishness. I will not do that. If I seem to him coward and liar because of that, I do not lose much. If I seem that to the men of Scarburg until the truth is out, it is a small price to pay. Foremost in my mind is to be true to what is right and best, and I care not what men think as long as that is so. As for what I will do to regain my honor, to my mind I have not lost it. What I will do to gain the respect of the men, that is a more difficult matter, and will need thought."

Saeryn sat silently for a moment, considering his words. She had learned that men must answer for themselves if openly spoken against. She wondered how Eodwine could regain the men's respect by not answering this man.

On the other hand, she knew everyone else knew that Scyrr was drunk and was wrong. Perhaps, after all, Eodwine spoke wisely and correctly. He usually did.

"I see," she finally said. "Then what is our next step?"

"Tell Athanar that you and I are of one mind, if and once that is so, and then speak with each other first something like this happens again." But she seemed doubtful. "Is there something I need to know yet?"

Saeryn shook her head. "No. It is just that usually when a man is insulted in public, he gives an answer. But. . .no, you have already said it would be folly to answer him in kind." She sighed. "I - I feel if nothing is done to address him. . . " she stopped. She couldn't bring herself to say that her own pride was hurt and she wanted to see Scyrr punished - that it would satisfy her anger if he were. How childish. How cruel. "Nothing," she said. "Tell me your mind on this matter, and I will do my best to follow your lead. What do you think should be done?"

He saw that much was on her mind that she did not say, but it seemed to him by her words that her thought was to choose the wiser way. He smiled. "My lead is for us to walk into the Hall hand in hand, smiling, showing all that we two are of one mind and heart, that we stand above the petty fights of those who would try to drag us down. Is it well?"

Saeryn nodded. "Yes. I will do that and I will follow your lead. I am sorry I have caused this. I will do what I can to amend what has happened."

She sounded - what was the Gondorian word? - subdued. Not herself. He rubbed her back and stroked her hair, and other small husbandings until she relaxed. Then he stood and offered her his hand.

"Let us do together whatever is needed to amend what has happened."

She nodded once and they walked out of the room, hand in hand.

[littlemanpoet]

Harreld was chasing the boy, making sure to never quite catch him.

After a while he noticed someone standing nearby with her hands on her hips, a small smile on her face. It was Kara.

"Oh! Good morning. Are you here about the boy?"

"Aye. His mother is busy in the kitchen and I'm to take Theolain to Garmund and Cnebba."

"Ah. Well." Harreld stood by as Kara approached the child with great confidence. The boy seemed to recognize this and let himself be picked up and carried away. "Well then. Good bye."

Kara waved with her free hand and the boy waved too. Harreld went back to the smithy to be ribbed and kidded by his twin brother.

[littlemanpoet]

The women in the kitchen were well aware of events in the hall. Scyrr had been punished, lightly, and both Athanar and Eodwine seemed satisfied. Rowenna wondered if the same could be said for Saeryn.

It was the time between breakfast and mid-day meal, so Rowenna took a pail full of hot water, and soap, and rags, to wash the tables and floor in the hall. It was mostly empty now. The Elf had left the hall, too.

While she was about her task, she saw a shadow of someone standing by the door. She got up and went to see who it was, and if something was needed.

She jumped, startled, when she discovered it to be Nydfara. He did not seem startled himself, but regarded her with studied indifference.

"Is there something you need, Nydfara? Food? Drink?"

[Firefoot]

Scyld had lingered outside the hall during the trial, as had a great many of the hall’s other denizens. Upon its completion, word quickly spread about Scyrr’s punishment, and Scyld heard no one say that they thought it too harsh. In Scyld’s mind, that meant that perhaps it was too soft – but he found that the thought meant little to him.

Scyrr emerged from the hall with a sneer and soon wandered off with some of his cronies. It was not long before the yard was wholly emptied out - it was, after all, rather cold, and everyone had their chores to attend to. Scyld rarely had an assigned duty but usually kept himself busy at whichever task for the day seemed most interesting or whose workmates would have the most interesting gossip. For once though, he found that he did not care for the intrigue. Perhaps he would go for a walk – he highly doubted anyone would miss him for a while.

First, though, he supposed he ought to fetch a warm cloak. He tried to tell himself that he had no other ulterior motive for returning to hall, and that the idea of seeing Rowenna again would be dangerous for him. It was not so cold.

He pushed open the door to the hall anyway. It was empty of everyone but the one person he most hoped and feared to see. He stopped in the doorway without thinking to watch her. Seeming to sense his presence, she stood up from her washing and turned around.

"Is there something you need, Nydfara? Food? Drink?" she asked. She looked startled, and Scyld wondered whether it she was startled because someone was there, or because he was there.

“No, no,” he said, leaning against the doorway. “Nothing like that.”

[littlemanpoet]

Then why are you standing in the doorway, letting in the cold? Rowenna kept this query to herself.

"Is there something else?"

She tried to maintain the same indifference she saw in him, despite the sudden racing of her heart. Why did this have to happen? Because you find him no end of interesting, silly.

He did not answer immediately, as if turning the thought over in his mind. "Come in out of the cold, at least."

[Firefoot]

“Of course.” He stepped all the way inside and closed the door behind him. Foolish to stand there letting all of the warm air out anyway, but he hadn’t noticed until Rowenna had pointed it out. He suddenly felt less comfortable with the door closed, as if he had lost his way out.

He took another step into the room and felt even more exposed without the wall to his back. The hall seemed so large when it was empty. Rowenna was still watching him. All the surprise was gone from her face and had been replaced by polite detachment. Scyld wondered if he was bothering her.

“I just came in for my cloak,” he said, feeling as though he needed some excuse for being there and that the honest one would do. “I would not want to keep you from your washing up,” he added, in a tone that slightly implied just the opposite.

[littlemanpoet]

For a moment she was tempted to tell him, "You know where they are," and turn away. But she did not want to tease of rile him. She was too curious.

"Come with me, I'll find you a good one."

With that she started off and heard his footsteps dutifully following.

"Remember our deal?" she threw over her shoulder. Not waiting for him to respond, because she was sure he had not forgotten after one mere night of sleep, she continued. "I was not the only woman the brigands captured. I was just the only one to survive."

She let that float in the air between them as she came to the cloak wardrobes, and opened them. She furrowed through a half dozen and picked out one.

"Here! Nice and long and warm. Dark, too. It suits you. Here." She handed it to him, at last catching his eye to see what might be seen.

[Firefoot]

“Dark, too. It suits you.” Scyld did not think she was just speaking of his appearance. She caught his eye and he held her gaze. Do you know what you are asking? he wondered. His heart was pounding. He spoke without thinking.

“I was just going to go for a walk,” he said. “Would you care to join me? There is something I would like to show you.”

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn swept the broom across the floor, sending dust flying out from the corner. The broom sat clumsily in her hands. It was too long and too wide. her own broom, back home, was of a different shape, one that she was accustomed to. She would get used to this one as well in time.

She did not quite know where she was and what room she was sweeping. She was instructed to clean the hallways, closets, and just everything except for the bedrooms. So she did that as best as she could. She would always be able to find her way back to the kitchen, and there would always be someone not too far from her to ask the way.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps from outside the door. They were walking past her. She heard a woman's voice say, "Remember our deal? I was not the only woman the brigands captured. I was just the only one to survive." Putting down her broom, Ledwyn strode to the doorway and peered out. She saw the receding shapes of a woman and a man. She recognized the woman as one of the kitchen wenches, but could not recall her name. The beautiful one. Was it Kara? No, Kara is a different one... The name would have to wait.

...Brigands? The implication of the casually dropped sentence sunk in like cold wind seeps into cracks under the door, leaving everyone inside vaguely ill at ease. Did brigands raid this place and steal women? Just to think what they did to the poor things! It must have been like the War all over again for the people of Scarburg. Ledwyn's village was not too harmed by the War, but she heard stories of less fortunate folk. The girls could have been beaten, raped, or... or... I was just the only one to survive.

Picking up the broom again, Ledwyn told herself again and again that she should not be eavesdropping, that she still has a lot to learn, and that she should not meddle in the affairs of the locals. They are not her concern - not yet. Not until she is one of them, at least. Yet she still decided that she should find out about the outlaws. She had to know.

[littlemanpoet]

“Would you care to join me? There is something I would like to show you.”

Now this was unexpected. It was a shame that it was the morning after a big party. But then, there was all day to clean it up, and there was more help since Ledwyn had arrived.

"One of these cloaks should fit me. Here's one. Give me a moment to tell the kitchen I will be out for a walk. Meet you at the door?"

[Firefoot]

“Of course.” Scyld smiled one of his cryptic smiles, turned, and walked away. Inside, however, his stomach was churning. Why had he said that? Why would he offer himself up for so much time alone with her?

He would have to use it somehow. She had just shown that she was willing to talk. Maybe she was trying to get him to open up by dangling tidbits of her past in front of his face, but it wouldn’t work. He would tell her just what he wanted to tell her; he wouldn’t let her crack him this easily. He wouldn’t.

The time he spent waiting at the door felt like an eon; he half-suspected her of taking her time just to make him uneasy, but maybe it was just the waiting that made the time stretch on so long. When she finally emerged from the kitchen he swung the cloak around his shoulders where it settled comfortably. He waited until she had fastened her own cloak before opening the door for her. “After you.”

He directed their path towards the back of the hall; he had in mind to set out over the fields up into the Scar, as they were calling it now. “Have you been up into the Scar?” he asked her.

[littlemanpoet]

“Have you been up into the Scar?” he asked her.

"I have walked there," she replied as he held the door for her.

The cold was refreshing. The dampness of it bit her cheeks which were no doubt reddening, they always did. She fell in step with him as they made their way across the yards of Scarburg. He was taking his time, having set a sauntering pace for them. The sun was pale and a few streamers of high, cold cloud crossed the pale blue sky. She folded her arms into the cloak for warmth, her fingers already numbing.

Nydfarra was quiet as they walked, and she preferred not to prattle. It was not in her to fill the silence with words just to fell the silence. She liked the quiet, and wondered if Nydfarra did, or was his bent toward silence caused by something else?

"Do you like the quiet?" she asked as they approached the Scar.

[Firefoot]

As they walked, Scyld had begun to remember the day of Linduial’s escape much more vividly than he had in some time. He had come this way before, each time accompanied by a beautiful woman: that one innocent and vivacious, and this one worldly-wise and mysterious. The panic of that warm April day contrasted sharply with the serene chill of this one.

It was the cold as much as anything else that anchored him in the present, until Rowenna spoke and shook him out of his reverie: “Do you like the quiet?”

“Sometimes,” he replied. Silence left you alone with yourself – and lately Scyld didn’t always like what he saw there. I could leave, he thought suddenly. Go somewhere where these uncomfortable realizations don’t always have to be dancing around my periphery. The thought lacked conviction, though, and one powerful reason for him to stay was now walking right beside him. He glanced over at her; if anything, her reddened cheeks made her even prettier. I can think of one good reason why those brigands kept her alive… “And sometimes,” he continued, raising an eyebrow at her, “I wonder what secrets the quiet is hiding.”

[littlemanpoet]

“I wonder what secrets the quiet is hiding.”

She liked that thought, and his eyebrow raised in just that whimsical, charming way he had, and a smile came to her face altogether unforced.

"I suppose that asking it what its secrets are would be too frank, and it would break the silence." She grinned. He did not smile but raised both brows as he regarded her, which was all she expected. "Still, best to let it tell us its mysteries when it is ready and no sooner."

He led them along the path upward as they ascended the first rise of the Scar. It seemed to Rowenna that this rough, hard 'scar' of hills held ghosts, or wights, or some unseen presence, filling the silence. She liked places like this, forbidding to folk who liked best the comfort of hearth and board. She liked the secrets of it, the mystery. She looked at Nydfara's back. This was his kind of place, mysterious man.

[Firefoot]

Rowenna had chosen not to rise to his prompting and Scyld let the matter drop, though questions still niggled at his mind. He wasn’t even sure why it mattered so much to him to know her secrets, aside from the fact that he was interested in everyone’s secrets. It made for good leverage, though leverage against what, he wasn’t terribly sure anymore. This was different though.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t make a fair guess at what her life might have been like. Abuse of the weak by the strong: that was how the world worked, unless you happened to be one of the lucky few born into a life of privilege. He scrambled up over a particularly steep and rocky section, then turned to make sure Rowenna was alright following him. For a moment he imagined Linduial there, looking up at him with her large and trusting eyes. Just as he once had for Linduial in this very spot, he extended his hand to Rowenna, an offer of stability over the rough terrain.

"We're getting close," he said.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna grabbed his proffered hand and felt something like needles inside her skin. Surprised, she looked up at him.

"We're getting close," he said.

She dropped her eyes to the ground to watch her feet as he helped her up the steepness.

"Thank you," she said more breathlessly than she felt. "Close to what, I wonder? A secret the quiet is hiding, I suppose?" She allowed a half smile.

[Firefoot]

“You shall have to judge for yourself what secrets you may find,” answered Scyld. “For my part, I only pray that I have not set your hopes too high.”

They had reached level ground, and Scyld released Rowenna’s hand. It had been startlingly cold, despite the warm cloaks and the rigor of their climb, and he found himself dwelling on the fact for the next several minutes until he broke out of the woods and onto a high rocky shelf overlooking the outlying lands: the hall and outbuildings of Scarburg, immediately at their feet; past that, the surrounding homesteads and the holdings of the local landlords; and farther away south the pale, gleaming ribbon that was the Snowbourne and the distant crags of the Ered Nimrais, marching east towards Gondor.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna looked at the view. It had been a while since she'd been in the mountains and seen the view. She had forgotten how much she loved the long view from the mountains. And here she looked at them from afar. She suddenly had a famished hunger to go to them.

"Beautiful. I miss the mountains."

Of course, that hunger could not be satisfied. She had a home here at Scarburg, and home meant more to her than the adventure she had managed to survive for two years. There had been so much ugliness that she had not had a mind for the beauty.

"I like best to see them from a distance. There is much hardship and terror to be in the midst of them. Do you not think so?"

[Firefoot]

Scyld glanced at Rowenna. Something in her tone had caught his attention – a certain wistfulness, but tinged with something else. Perhaps there really were secrets waiting here for them.

“I could not say, for I have hardly spent any time there myself.” Indeed, he had spent nearly all his life within a couple miles of the spot where they now stood. “However, I had not heard that anything dwelt there more frightening than wild boars or Woses,” he said, giving her a quizzical look.

[littlemanpoet]

"Maybe there are no more brigands. Worse than that I did not find. The ones who held me captive are no more."

She stood straighter, remembering who she had been among them.

"Truth to tell, near the end I led them though they would not admit it, and my plans made them more dangerous than ever. So it was that we became too greedy and tested the margins of Edoras. So it was we faced a foe greater than any we had till then. I speak, of course, of Eodwine and his folk, and I saw a greater likely ally than the one I had and so worked what wiles I had to do in the brigands and place myself as well as I might with Eodwine."

She looked at Nydfara, suddenly realizing that she had said far more than she had intended. Her face hardened.

"It is your turn to pay the debt of so much news of me. Tell me about you and Sorn."

[Firefoot]

As Rowenna began unfolding her story, Scyld felt a flash of triumph – that nearly forgotten rush of uncovering a long sought after secret. The people of Scarburg led mostly mundane lives; their squabbles, petty, compared to the life he had known before. Compared to Rowenna’s story now. Led the brigands? He did not doubt it, but he had not expected it. All the stories he had heard of her till now had painted her as the victim, and in the beginning he supposed that had been true. But she was strong and clever, and her time with the brigands had made her hard – gone now was the casual flirtation, but Scyld was at least as attracted to her strength as he was to her wit.

She finished her story, and before Scyld had time to ponder what designs she might have on Eodwine now, she turned the discussion to him: "It is your turn to pay the debt of so much news of me. Tell me about you and Sorn."

He studied her, maintaining a cool composure, but his blood was rushing. He had missed this game.

“I have already told you about myself and Sorn,” he said, but he could tell from her glare that she did not believe his story complete.

He looked out across the plain again, but his eyes were drawn not to the mountains, as Rowenna’s had been, but much nearer. Where Scarburg Hall now stood, his mind’s eye could see clearly Sorn’s holdings. He imagined himself, a lonely and confused twelve-year-old, abandoned by everyone in the world he trusted. Traitors, all: he could not even trust his own blood. He examined the memory at a distance of thirteen years, carefully blocking out the emotions as he long since had learned to do.

Perhaps that part of his story was not so dangerous.

“I grew up on a farmstead, just there.” He gestured vaguely off to the southwest. He turned back to Rowenna and spoke matter-of-factly. “Our farm was hardly thriving – an even more rocky and unforgiving patch of ground than where Scarburg sits. My father built up a debt to Sorn, a debt he had no hope of paying off with six children to feed. So he fixed two of his problems with one move: I went to live with Sorn, and would owe him my services for ten years. I was twelve.”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna's brow rose at Nydfara's secret, now no longer hidden: he had been slave for ten years, as she had been for two. And to unlawful ruffians. No wonder she was drawn to him! Except for her brow, she kept her face clear without change of expression, though she could not dim the smoldering of interest in her eyes; nor was she aware of how intense they showed her interest to be. The overall result was a look of hunger mixed with a powerful effort to keep it under control. Most folk missed this and saw only intensity. Those of more keen perception saw it for what it was.

"So you were Sorn's slave until you were twenty-two. How many years is it that you have been free?"

[Firefoot]

Scyld laughed, a short harsh sound, both at the question itself and at the barely concealed intrigue in Rowenna’s face. He had never questioned that her motives for learning his story were the same as his to learn hers: that knowledge was power, and that the more one knew, the safer one was. But she would have to work a little harder than that to get a longer story out of him.

“I am twenty-six, if that is what you want to know. But freedom seems a hollow thing if you have nowhere and no one to go to, don’t you think?” Why else would I still be working away on this forsaken corner of land under a name that is not my own?

[littlemanpoet]

Nowhere and no-one to go to. Nydfara said more than he meant to, Rowenna hunched, or did he? Did he mean to have her know how lonely he felt? Why else bring her out here?

"Yes, I think you speak the truth. But when I had lost my father, and my lands, the brigands all my life, I did not think of anything but hanging onto life. It is different now. I have a home here, in Scarburg."

It was, perhaps, not much of a place in itself, but the folk that lived here were what kept her - not in bondage, but in the bonds of friendship and kindliness. It was something she was still getting used to.

"Where did you spend the last four years?"

[Firefoot]

How could she believe that? How could she feel any kind of belonging here, where no one could possibly understand? Four months here, and perhaps he understood the allure, but not the trust.

Maybe you should not have started with an assumed name.

Maybe you should have left Sorn long before you did, and not gotten caught up in his unlawful plots.

“Where did you spend the last four years?” she asked, maddeningly turning the conversation back to his past.

Scyld shrugged, as if the question did not bother him. “Here. There. No place I would call home.” The word was laced with cynicism - the sort of cynicism he had largely kept bottled up since making himself known at Scarburg. He found that now he took no comfort in it, as he once had, thinking himself cleverer and stronger than those he had dealings with.

[littlemanpoet]

"Home," he said mockingly, as if she were a fool to believe that she could believe Scarburg to be home. She could take offense, or be defensive. Or she could try to be clever. It would be the most enjoyable, as she thought up the play on words.

"So, then, you are most at home having no home?" She gave him a half grin and a tilt of her head, curious how he would react to the tease.

[Firefoot]

It took Rowenna a moment to reply, and for a second, before she spoke, he sort of expected her to answer with some sort of vague platitude. It was what Linduial would have done, and being in this place brought her close to mind.

"So, then, you are most at home having no home?” she asked playfully.

He stared at her briefly, unarmed. Then he laughed. None of his usual stratagems worked on her! She returned his provocations with jests, and for once his honesty seemed to be getting him farther than his lies.

“Without a home, perhaps – but not without a house. Outdoor living does not suit me,” he answered, feigning an air of snobbery.

[littlemanpoet]

"You have such high standards," Rowenna returned with a grin.

But she felt a strange sensation, something she vaguely remembered from some long ago time wrapped in mists of memory. It was associated with taking care of a very small animal that had lost its mother to a predator; she had cared for it until it died. She did not like the feeling: it was not her place to take care of a little lost one. And Nydfara was not that.

Nevertheless, her grin had slipped to a momentarily creased brow and a frown on her lips before she recovered.

Forcing a smile she asked, "What sort of living does suit you?"

[Firefoot]

Yet now he tried to jest and it fell flat. He’d seen her smile slip, just for a moment, and he had seen sincerity in her face enough times to see now that this was not it. He did not understand her: nearly all of his experience in life would suggest that she was merely manipulating him, feigning an attraction she did not really feel. He believed in his own ability to read people well; he would not have lasted so long with Sorn were it not so. And from Rowenna, he was receiving wholly mixed signals.

What do you think she would want with you anyway? You see how she is drawn to this new home she has made for herself here. She wants your secrets – nothing more.

He turned and faced the horizon again. “A place with a warm hearth,” he answered, rubbing his arms. “It grows chilly just standing here. Perhaps you are ready to return?”

[littlemanpoet]

"Yes, I'm ready."

They turned and she followed him back through the scar to the yards of Scarburg. As they came to the crest of the final hill before descending back into the yard, she noted smoke coming cheerily out of the smoke house, and recalled a most uncheery sight that had been discovered there.

"There was a dead body in the smoke house when we came here. Did you hear about that?"

[Firefoot]

“I did,” he replied, wondering at the topic and what might be behind it. “It was found, I believe, not long before I arrived. Did anyone ever find out who he was?”

Scyld wondered, not for the first time, who it might have been, and whether he had known him – though when he had first arrived, he had had more pressing issues on his mind than the identity of an unrecognizable body. He supposed that he probably had, but it mattered little to him. It was not as though he might have been a friend.

[littlemanpoet]

"The matter seems to have been dropped. There have been more pressing ones, I suppose, but maybe you and I could take it up. I suppoes it is a silly thought."

Nydfara stopped and turned to look at her, regarding her with a strange look that seemed to wonder what she was about.

"Nobody's death should remain a mystery. Maybe you knew the man, if he was one of those with Sorn."

[Firefoot]

“Maybe I did,” he acknowledged. He started ticking through Sorn’s people: Sorn, dead. Gurth, dead. Osfrid and Muriel, captured by the king’s men – but what had happened to them then? The cook… surely the dead body could not have been the cook. Selda, that was her name. She had been a decent woman, in her way, though initially he had been bitter when she came to replace the old cook. The old cook had been the only one who was kind to Scyld, when first he came to live with Sorn. She’d also been the only servant Scyld had ever seen Sorn show a lick of respect to. She’d taken ill after a few years though, and died, and then Selda had come. What had happened to her on the day of Linduial’s escape and rescue? It troubled him that he did not know, that he had only now just thought of it.

Not that he felt personally about it, so much as he wished for closure. He also found that he wished to know what had happened that day, from the others’ perspective. Here, perhaps, was a way to reopen those memories.

To find out if his offense was pardonable.

“And perhaps you are right. It is something worth looking into.”

[littlemanpoet]

"I can look over the smoke house any time since mine is the chore of getting meat for each meal, though I doubt there is much other than jostled memory that can be found there now.

"And I can ask Eodwine what has been done about it, too. He may not know, but he could learn with a few well placed questions."

They walked now in the meagre protection of the flat of Scarburg, the cold wind picking up suddenly out of the north beyond the Scar. Rowenna wrapped the cloak around her throat and folded her arms and stepped briskly to catch up to Nydfara and walk at his side.

"Is it a bitter wind blowing on us from the Misty Mountains. I have said what I will do. What will you?"

She looked up at the profile of his face, liking what she saw. He was thinking before he spoke, which was his way. But she noted the constant downturn of the corners of his mouth, the straight plain of his cheeks; not hollow, but not lively either. This man held many secrets, of which she now knew a small few. He also seemed to hold much underneath of darkness.

"What angers you most about your ten years in bondage here?" The question had risen out of her unintended, and the words were out of her mouth before she knew it. "Y-you need not answer that. It was not my place to ask."

[Firefoot]

“You need not answer that. It was not my place to ask.”

Scyld regarded Rowenna with a lifted eyebrow, amused slightly that she chose now to question the propriety of her questions. It was more personal perhaps, though the answer would lead her no closer to the secrets he most wished to hide.

His flare of suspicion on the cliff top had not wholly died down yet, however, and he was no longer in the mood to share. So after a short while of silence in which they drew near to the hall, he said, “I will ask of the people in the surrounding homesteads what they might know. I do not know if they will tell me much, but they are sure to know something.”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna nodded and bid Nydfara farewell for the time being. She passed through the door and brought the cloak back to its wardrobe. Halfway there she realized that they had not made plans to meet again to learn what each other discovered.

What has come over me that I would not think of such a thing that is right before us?

She knew the answer. It was him. Being near him sent all thought of all else clear out of her head. This would not do. She banged her hand on the doorway, harder than she meant, and rubbed it absently as she made her way to the kitchens.

[littlemanpoet]

The cold deepend out of doors. The sun hid himself longer each night. But the Hall at Scarburg was lit with a bright fire night after night and there was cheer out of the cold.

The Elf had chosen to stay with them for the yuletide. Logs were cut and brought near to feed the hearth. Game was hunted and killed to be cured and prepared for the feast of yuletide.

"Now this feels more like home," said Falco Boffin over a pint one night not far off from the shortest day.

"I'm sure it does," said Eodwine, pausing from practicing his art on the lyre. He had been taking lessons from the Elf. "It is good to see the halls decked again," he said as he strummed.

"You Eorlingas have an odd idea what to put on the walls!" Falco said, and lit his pipe.

"Can you not keep that thing lit?" Eodwine grinned.

"When I have a mind to," Falco returned. "Let's see if I can't pass a few smoke rings between those strings of yours."

Eodwine laughed.

[Firefoot]

Scyld had thought it over several times and still could not figure out why he had volunteered to go ask questions of the nearby homesteaders. They knew him, of course, for Sorn had been their lord – a greedy and, as the years went on, increasingly mercurial lord. By association, Scyld was also rather poorly liked by most and had no desire to renew his acquaintance with them. Furthermore, he had hitherto been pointedly avoiding those who knew his real name and history. Now he had willingly offered to do just the opposite and seek them out. Why?

But of course he knew why. It was her, and now that he had given her his word, he felt that he must follow through somehow. He could, he supposed, lie, and say he had found nothing out, but she would ask questions, and the first lie would beget more, and part of him was tired of lying. No, that was only justification: he did not want to let her down. Dangerous emotion, that: putting her thoughts of him above his own self-interest.

He sighed. There was one man he would not mind going to talk to; he would start there. Cynered: he lived perhaps five miles up the road. They had known each other as children, and though Scyld’s position had naturally put distance between them, Scyld thought Cynered’s emotion toward him ran closer to wary pity than to outright mislike.

So he borrowed a horse one afternoon to ride out and pay Cynered a visit. So preoccupied was he that he forgot even to heckle Léof, as was his habit.

As he came up the road he found Cynered mending a fence out in front of his cottage. He put on the most pleasant expression he could conjure and greeted Cynered as he rode up.

“Scyld!” he exclaimed, looking surprised. “I thought you’d left these parts.”

He had gone as Nydfara for so long now that hearing his right name startled him, but he kept his features carefully schooled. Dismounting from his horse, he answered, “I did, for a time.”

“I’m surprised to see you back, truthfully,” said Cynered. Scyld could not read his expression.

“I heard about the new Eorl,” said Scyld, “and wanted to see what he had done with the place.”

“Well, there’s a change for the better if ever I saw one.”

“Indeed,” said Scyld. “Though I heard it’s been a bit of work for them, getting the new hall set up.”

Cynered grunted. “You might say that. Didn’t take long after word got out that Sorn was dead, some fool went and burned the whole place to the ground. Wasteful, I say. Not that I was sorry to see him go, but we might have dismantled the place rather than destroyed it. Put the furnishings and tools to good use, given them to those as needed them.” He shrugged. “But perhaps you know more about it than I do – you were with Sorn, and it sounds as though you’ve been at the new hall as well.”

“I left his employ shortly before he died,” said Scyld. This was true enough, after a fashion.

“Then I guess you don’t know much about the kidnapping rumors that were flying around Sorn’s death, either?” asked Cynered. Scyld could not tell whether he was looking for gossip or trying to imply something further, but either way this conversation was rapidly turning a direction he did not want it to go. What had he expected? His departure from the area was timed too suspiciously for him to be free of obvious guesses by those who lived nearby.

“No,” said Scyld, with a feigned apologetic note. “Sorn had gone rather mad and desperate. He had several plans, all of which seemed likely to end badly for me, hence why I left.”

“Ah, well. I was at Edoras at the time for a horse fair and missed the whole ordeal. That reminds me though – I have something for you, up at the house.”

Scyld followed him curiously, despite his misgivings, having no idea what he would find. Inside the cottage, Cynered reached up to a shelf and pulled down a letter. “I’m not rightly sure why I’ve kept it; it’s sat here for months now, and I had no reason to think you’d be back for me to give it to you. I guess it seemed wrong to throw it out.” He handed it to Scyld. The missive was blank on the outside, sealed with an unmarked blob of wax.

Cynered seemed a little uncertain how to proceed, but plunged on, as if sensing Scyld’s next question. “It’s from your brother, Bedric. I ran into him by chance at that horse fair. It was, ah, a bit of a shock for him to hear news of you. Just as it seems a bit of a shock for you to hear from him,” he added. Scyld’s normally guarded expression had come undone. What could his brother, whom he had not heard from in years – ten? Twelve? – want from him now?

“I’m sure he explains it in the letter,” finished Cynered.

“I’m sure,” muttered Scyld, finding his voice again.

“I stayed in Edoras for a couple weeks, visiting family. I meant to bring you the letter as soon as I got back, but when I did Sorn was dead and you were gone.” Back to that topic. This entire visit had been a mistake, doing nothing but stirring up things best left in the past.

He forced a smile. “Yes, well, thank you for keeping this for me. I’ll be on my way now, I think.”

“Of course. Good luck,” said Cynered.

~*~*~*~

When Scyld had first been sold into Sorn’s service, his family had not lived far away – a few miles: close enough for him to see them occasionally, and though Sorn had not liked it much, he allowed it. After a couple of years, though, Scyld’s father had died, and with the family fortune in shambles, the land was sold and his mother and siblings had gone to live with his mother’s kinfolk. For a while there were letters, and then these too had stopped. He had spent much of his fifteenth and sixteenth years of life waiting for the letters that never came, until finally, slowly, without really realizing it had happened, he gave up. He did not even know for certain where they had gone; perhaps he could have figured it out, had he tried, but anger toward the family that had abandoned him had kept him from ever trying to seek them out.

Scyld rode about a mile up the road and then stopped. He dismounted shakily and pulled the letter out of his pocket with trembling hands. Did he even want to read it? After all this time, did his brother deserve a chance to explain and excuse himself? Bedric had once been his favorite sibling, less than two years his elder. Curiosity along with this consideration eventually won out, and he broke the wax seal and read:

Brother,

I cannot think how you must be feeling to read this letter, after so many years of not hearing from any of us. To you, I can understand if there is no excuse that will lead you to forgive us, but I beg you to think on what I have to say.

We thought you were dead. Sorn wrote to us, shortly after we moved away, that you had died of an illness, and urged us not to come as there were others in the household who had also taken ill. We mourned you, as we had mourned father – but forgive us, if we were too quick to trust Sorn because we so much wanted to move on. Sorn wished no other payment towards father’s debt to him. Knowing him to be a man of unstable mood, we did not wish him to change his mind. I see now that your death must have been a ploy of Sorn’s, to cut the ties between us and you. I am so sorry.

I will not push you, but please know you are welcome here. An easy day’s journey along the road west from Edoras will bring you close. Ask for me; I am the blacksmith in these parts. I am overjoyed to have heard news of you and hope you will come. I am sure Aelfred, Adney, and Gytha would share my eagerness to see you and have you meet their families. Mother would be glad of it as well, were she still alive. It is right that you should know, even if I do not hear back from you: she died three years ago. I hope you will come, though: please think on it.

Your brother,

Bedric

Scyld stood there numbly for what seemed a long time, thoughts and emotions churning furiously and unproductively. Rage – at Sorn and at his family. Grief – for years lost, for a family he no longer knew. Wariness, disbelief – could his brother be telling the truth? Confusion – did he want to meet his family again?

Gradually, however, his rational mind began to reassert itself. His fingers were growing stiff with cold. He remounted his horse and began to ride slowly back to Scarburg. He purposefully did not rush, giving himself time to master himself. As he had long since learned to do, he set aside his emotions, and as he did so another worrying problem rose to the forefront of his mind. Cynered had come far too close to the truth of Scyld’s involvement with the kidnapping with his seemingly casual questions. As long as his identity stayed hidden, he was safe. He supposed it was a small wonder in itself that word had not gotten round to the nearby farmers that he was here; some had come, now and then, to the hall for assorted reasons. Now that he had made himself known, though, there could be talk. What if one of them came to the hall looking for him? I’m looking for Scyld, one might say. There is no Scyld here, he would be told. But eventually the whole story would come out, and he would look all the worse for having hidden it.

As the Meadhall came into view, Scyld knew he could not stay. He would leave, and soon. It was not to his brother that he would go – not yet, anyway. The letter, he would have to consider, and he would have plenty of time for it on his trip. Truthfully, he did not know where Dol Amroth was, or how best to get there, but there, he knew, was the one person who might clear his name. Then, perhaps, Sorn’s looming shadow over his life might recede, and he might move forward.

Then, perhaps, he might come back without fear to this place that, despite everything, was the only home he’d ever had.

~*~*~*~

Scyld and Rowenna

Rowenna was kneeling on the mead hall floor, scrubbing at a difficult stain of grease from one of the Eorlingas' dropped legs of hind. That Scyrr, like as not, the hog.

A shadow came and placed itself over her work. She scowled. Who has the nerve? She looked up. Her heart fluttered. Nydfara, with that typical sardonic expression on his face.

He had avoided her as long as he could. Having made up his mind to leave, he was now dragging his feet to do so. He was unwilling to simply disappear, but he also did not know how to say farewell. So hid his discomfort with a jest, as was his wont: "Have you been kept too busy scrubbing floors to look into our dead body?"

She let the scrub brush lay, shook out her hands, and rubbed the aches out of them, kneeling still. "I have been to the smoke house. As I foretold, there is little to be seen after we scoured it so. I have not had a chance to ask Eodwine anything. I do not think there is much to be learned from him. What of you?"

"I fear that I have fared little better," said Scyld. "I learned a few things from a man I once knew, but none of them helpful to our search. He could only tell me that the old hall was burnt shortly after Sorn's death. I think he knew nothing of a body - though truthfully, I am not sure he would have told me even if he did."

The floor was hard and Rowenna's knees felt its unevenness. She rose to her feet, thinking on Nydfara's words. "So we have a dead end." She sighed. "I do not like dead ends." But she did like a good mystery, and there was yet one unsolved, that of Nydfara himself; his face gave away nothing. Almost nothing. There was a difference in his countenance, some kind of brightness in the eyes. Then she remembered his words. "Other news?"

Scyld nodded slowly. When Rowenna had stood up, a wisp of hair had fallen across her face, and Scyld felt the sudden urge to reach out and brush it to the side. Would she slap him for such a gesture? Laugh at him? You are leaving, remember? he told himself sternly, and his hand remained at his side. "Yes - news that calls for my attention elsewhere. I must take my leave of Scarburg for a time."

A sick feeling like dread clutched at her. Gone for a time? How long? Weeks? Months? Surely not years? Why did he have this kind of hold on her? It was unnerving. These thoughts rushed by in a moment. She allowed only a lowering of the brow, quickly replaced by placid expression.

"Oh? Where to?" She sat back against the nearest table, crossed her arms over her midriff, and gave him a look of relaxed curiosity.

"The where is not so important as the people I hope to find there," he said, sidestepping the question. "First, there is someone I must see to make the rest of my secrets safe to tell." He smirked. "This one among them. After that - I have not yet made up my mind. I was given a letter from one of my brothers. He wishes me to come and meet his family - as if after over ten years of hearing nothing from him, there is any tie left between us to save." He had let more bitterness creep into his voice than he intended, and regretted mentioning his brother's letter. It was too fresh a wound, it seemed, to hide behind a veneer of disinterest.

How unlike him to show raw feeling. She had trained herself to use such things to her gain. Instead, she felt his wound inside herself, as if it were her own; they two were, surely, much alike. To her chagrin, her voice came out soft through a constricted throat.

"I hope you find it worth saving." She cleared her throat. Let me come with you. Leave me at once. I do not wish to be so moved. Let me see more. "When will you be leaving?"

The compassion in her voice startled him, and in that instant he nearly abandoned his plan. Stay. Tell her everything. Then he thought of all the people who might bear witness against him if his lies started crumbling apart, and he steeled himself. It was for the best.

"Tomorrow, or the day after. As soon as I can gather the things I need." I will miss you. But the words lodged in his throat.

I will miss you. The thought lodged itself in her mind, and she knew it was so; but there was no way she could bring herself to say it. Will you miss me? Maybe not: sometimes, after having been away, and he found her before him of a sudden, he looked surprised, as if she had never figured into this thoughts while away; but it seemed that neither could keep the other out of their thought when nearby. It was almost like the Elves, or so she had heared, as if their minds were more spacious than their heads, and their thought mingled like two breezes of wind converging from different places. It was a silly thought, doubtless. I need as much of you as can be granted until you leave. I need you gone as soon as may be so I can have peace of mind.

"Can I help you get ready?"

"I have few belongings, so packing will be no great trouble - but if you would help me to gather food for my travels, I would thank you. Enough for many days: as much as I can carry and as can be spared," he said. It was no use trying to hide that he intended to travel quite far: the alternative would mean having to spend much more time foraging for food, and he was no great woodsman.

She nodded. It would be a long journey, then. "I will do what I can."

[Galadriel55]

The end of a meal was always marked by a furious final effort on the part of the kitchen workers to clean, collect, wash, dry, and clean. The women were gliding in and out of the kitchen, matching their movements like partners in a well-learned dance. Today there was more work than usual; the arrival of two more groups of travelers meant that some of the men had to take turns eating at the tables, or else find other places to sit. But these visits boded well for the Hall – the wayfarers brought with them wagons of cloth and fine armor and fruit that do not grow in the Mark and other wares besides. Trade must be going well, Ledwyn remarked to herself.

Even she got a treat out of it – one of the companies passing through the Mark on their way north stopped at Scarburg for three days’ time to rest and barter. Among them was a family - a lively couple with two children. She befriended the woman, who was a wonderful weaver. The woman taught Ledwyn how to make simple but beautiful patterns from knotting ropes or strings together. She promised her that if they ever come to Scarburg again, she will teach her how to make more complicated patterns, and maybe to weave on the loom.

“Ledwyn! Will you come with me to get the flowers?” Kara called to her as Ledwyn finished scrubbing the pots and began drifting outside. Kara was asked to gather flowers and other decorations to adorn the Hall for the coming of the guests. Ledwyn paused as the young woman finished drying her last piece of cutlery before joining her. “It’s a beautiful day,” Kara continued with a laugh, “we could both do well with a walk in the meadows.”

Ledwyn hesitated. She promised Theolain she would meet him by the well after the meal; he said he wanted to show her something. But he is probably playing with the other boys by now, and would not miss me for a quarter hour, she thought, and when Kara insisted, she obliged.

They laughed as they ran into the fields. Spotting a sprinkle of bright petals in the grass, they shouted and grabbed fistfuls of colour. When Kara’s flower basket was filled, they both lay down on the grass, breathless and giddy from laughter.

“Remember last time?” asked Kara. Ledwyn giggled. Last time they came here together was in the spring of last year. Ledwyn knew most of the men, but she still felt a stranger in the Mead Hall. Frodides told her to collect trenchers from the far table, where a few men were still sitting, absorbed in an argument. As she took a half-filled trencher from one of the men – she did not know his name yet – he turned around in mid-sentence and looked at her. “Are you blind, wench, or is it the new custom to take food away half-eaten?” Ledwyn stammered an apology and pushed the trencher back towards him. “What am I supposed to do with only half a man’s plate?” the man demanded. Some of the men chuckled. She knew he was mocking her, but she did not know what to say or do to stop him. She made to take the trencher again and return to the kitchen, but the man asked with such indignation why he is being punished so with hunger. In the end, Kara, who came to clean the other table, told the men off, took Ledwyn’s hand, and they came to this very meadow.

That was also the time she came back to find Theolain playing catch-me-in-the-house with the other children. It was the first time she saw him play with them. He had a grin on his face as he ran in and out of the oddly-shaped house drawn on the ground. Before this day, he would wander around Scarburg by himself, sometimes coming into the kitchen to get more food, or visiting Léof in the stables, or – which Ledwyn noticed happened most often – following Harreld around wherever he went, an occupation that often delayed the progress at the smithy while Theolain was coaxed to play elsewhere. Finally, Harreld solved the problem by fashioning the boy a toy bird to play with outside when Harreld worked.

When Ledwyn came back to the Hall this time, carrying a large handful of wildflowers, she did not find Theolain waiting for her at the well, or by the kitchens. She decided that this is well, that he is too busy running around with the boys or tailing Harreld to remember. She was glad for him that he found his place in Scarburg. Though when she saw Cnebba walk by an hour later, he claimed he never saw Theolain after the meal.

[Galadriel55]

“Hello, Theolain!”

Fiddlesticks! Caught.

“Good morning, Mother,” Theolain nodded politely.

“Why out of bed so early?” Ledwyn asked cheerily. He did not know what to say that would not be a lie, and he would not ever lie, especially to his mother. He shrugged.

“Well, off you go, then,” Ledwyn said with a smile as she ruffled Theolain’s hair. I will need to cut it again soon, she thought. Theolain pulled away gently. “Good morning, Mother,” he added again with a brief smile, and walked away.

He was going to sneak a small loaf of bread from the kitchen, but now he dared not risk meeting his mother again. And if she was awake, so was Frodides, and he did not want to face her either. He could wait an hour and break his fast with everyone else. But that was precisely why he woke up early – he did not want to break his fast with everyone else. Or with anyone else, for the matter. He preferred rocks to most people. And to his rocks he went.

Looking around to make sure no one was watching him closely, he strode out of the Hall. He walked straight through the fields, the grass long dead and lying flat. There was a trace of frost on the stems. The cold was coming in early, bringing with it a rough wind.

Then the rocks began. First small rocks on smooth hills. Then larger rocks and sharper crevices. Many of the rocks are too big for him, but he finds ways to go around them. These rocks, that are closest to the Hall, he knows well. One day, he might climb the rocks until the end of the world. But not for a long time. He will return today, before lunch. No one would know where he was.

Twenty minutes down the Scar, Theolain climbed on top of a large slab of rock and walked to the edge. He turned around and lay flat on his stomach. This was the tricky part. He slid down slowly, until he was hanging by his hands. With his foot, he felt for the hidden step in the steep stone. Finally finding it, he lowered himself down to the next handhold. Repeating this operation twice, he jumped the rest of the way. Jumping was quicker, but falling was not. He knew that better than anyone.

He stood on a ledge in the side of the stone wall. On one side, the rock dropped off steeply again. On the other, there was nook in the surface with an overhanging roof – a hole, Theolain decided once, that was carved out by a giant spoon. It was not big enough for a grown man to sit in, but for him it was a cave. A cave full of treasure.

Out of its hiding place, he brought out a small bundle – a collection of gems tightly wrapped in cloth. Theolain untied the knot holding it together, and out rolled the gems: a wooden knife, several sticks and tree knots of unlikely shapes, a blue feather, a few special stones, and a toy bird.





“Theolain!”

Fiddlesticks! Twice in one day! Now there are definitely going to be questions.

“Theolain, you get back here right now!” Ledwyn shouted from the doorstep. Theolain obliged dutifully.

“The wind has gotten colder, and you are traipsing about without a care about falling ill. Now go inside and get dressed properly. Where have you been wandering in this state?”

And here come the questions.

“Mother, I won’t be ill. You shouldn’t worry about me so much. Why are you here? I thought you were making lunch still.”

Ledwyn came down the stairs towards Theolain. She was about to reply when a gust of wind, unfelt before in the shelter of the Hall, threw her off her balance. As she struck out her hands to regain her step, the wind whipped her shawl off her shoulders. Up and away it flew, until it caught on the thatch almost at the top of the roof. Theolain watched Ledwyn wring her hands. He knew what she was thinking – she did not want to lose the shawl, but she could not retrieve it and would not ask for help. That is how she was all the time, Thaolain thought; she would always be silently upset and do nothing, not for herself and not for others. We can always manage, she always taught him. Well, so could he.

Ledwyn was surprised by the sudden wind. She shivered from the cold, without her woolen shawl. It was a good shawl, and she would be loathe to part with it. But there was no way to get it back: what has happened, has happened. What the wind carries off, only the wind can bring back. Even if she were to call a man from the Hall – and it would be extremely foolish to distract them from their duties for some shawl that she lost so embarrassingly – it would likely be gone by the time he arrived, with the wind tearing at it so. She resigned herself to making a new one and was about to reach for Theolain when she noticed he was not there. She looked around. He was pulling himself up atop the wood stack by the guardroom. Once there, he could reach the edge of the roof over the kitchen.

“Theolain, get down here now! You’re going to fall!” he heard Ledwyn cry as he pulled himself up over the edge of the roof. No, I won’t, he thought. He knew what it feels like to fear to fall. But he did not fear to fall this time. He was not going to fall.

He crawled carefully to the top on a wooden support beam, to avoid damaging the thatch. Reaching over, he grabbed his mother’s shawl and jerked it free. He struggled for a minute to tie it tightly around his waist as it flapped in the wind. Then he climbed down.

“Over here, lad! I’ll give you a hand!” a man’s voice called. Theolain turned to look. It was Baldwic. He caught Theolain as he swung down from the roof and placed him firmly on the ground. “You shouldn’t be doing that, you know,” he said, though not unkindly. Theolain knew it was well-meant, but he did not appreciate it. He did not respond.

Ledwyn ran over. She busied herself over Theolain’s clothing, brushing off the straw that stuck to his breeches. She took her shawl with words of both thanks and reproach. Then she turned away to thank Baldwic. When she turned back, Theolain was gone again.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

On that unusually cold October morning Hilderinc had overslept for the first time in what must have been months. And that despite his usual trouble with sleeping. But last night, he had somehow managed to fall into deep slumber the very moment he lay down, without the need to take his usual evening stroll around the Mead Hall. Maybe it was the hard work they'd done that day, even though Hilderinc had been proven time and again that his sleeplessness could not be cured merely by making his body feel tired. Maybe it was the cold that seemed to creep through the evenings and mornings on that autumn, and made many of the men feel like bears ready to winter. Whatever the reason though, Hilderinc had slept long and dreamlessly also for the first time since they had returned from the war in the East.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the sunrays coming in through the window, cold shafts of waning autumn light. It was not too late, but it was certainly very late by Hilderinc's standards. Only a few of the soldiers were still in the barracks. The room had been rebuilt and rearranged in the past years, its state now being much better and far more comfortable than when they first arrived. Even Scyrr had stopped complaining about its state, even though now he was about to change posts once again. Hilderinc hoped for the man's sake that this change was going to go more smoothly than the last one.

He quickly got himself up, trying not to lean against his right arm. A memory from the last war, a farewell gift from two Easterling warriors and their wain. It didn't hurt as often anymore, but there were times when it betrayed him. He still felt he got off lightly, however, and he tried not to think much about it.

Hilderinc marched out of the barracks. Most of the men were already done with breaking their fast and buzzing around Coenred and Thornden, who were to divide the tasks among them. Everything was getting ready for lord Athanar's departure, which was due soon. Hilderinc found himself strangely glum as he sat down to eat his porridge. He had grown, in his own way, fond of Athanar's men, it was his longest standing post since the end of the Great War. But the same could be told about Scarburg and its people. He still was not sure why chose to remain behind instead of following Athanar to a new place, but when the lord had asked, Hilderinc's response had come unhesitatingly. Only later he had begun to wonder, a rational men he counted himself to be, to think about the reason he was sure had to be hidden somewhere. But it seemed to elude him, and maybe not actually wishing to know, he had pushed it aside.

"Alone as usual," roared Scyrr who was just carrying his own bowl away from the table. "Some things never change, do they?"

Hilderinc looked up at him, raising his eyebrows. "Happy to be leaving?"

Scyrr paused, dropped his empty bowl on the table and waved his hand around. "Happy to leave these behind. You're happy to stay, huh?"

Hilderinc shrugged.

Scyrr leaned closer to him. "You know what, maybe you are getting old. Old men can get, you know, weepy about things." He narrowed his eyes, staring at something on Hilderinc's head. "Is that grey hair?"

"Might be," Hilderinc took another spoonful of porridge. "Maybe you should leave old man to his breakfast, so I can help you packing."

"How kind of him," Scyrr poked another soldier who was passing by and pointed at Hilderinc. "He wants to help us pack."

"How about you help with packing," said the soldier, Fearghall.

"I have packed my share already yesterday! Can't some of the lazies from the Hall do something for a change? Why should I rush!"

"Because the lazies lit the fires and cooked up breakfast for you?" Hilderinc suggested, chewing. "And maybe also because it's the Captain's order?"

"I'm sure you will be happy to become the Captain once we leave," Scyrr growled. "I can already see you enjoying bossing the folk around. Too bad I won't be here."

"I doubt I will become a Captain," Hilderinc replied. "I do not think anybody has even thought of that. And what would be the purpose of it, anyway?"

"I wouldn't put it past this Thornden or Eodwine siss-"

"Scyrr," Fearghall put his arm on the soldier's shoulder.

Hilderinc swallowed the last spoonful and rose up.

"You will be gone soon enough," he said. "Then you can complain about the new place and new folk all anew. But if you want a friendly advice, you are going very far, and different land usually means different manners. Take it slow. And you can tell the same to Áforglaed, too."

Now it was Scyrr's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Didn't you hear, man? Áforglaed is staying with you lazies here."

Hilderinc stared at him for a moment. "Really? That's news to me. How comes?"

"He decided yesterday, unless I am mistaken," said Fearghall. "I overhead him talking to the Captain."

Scyrr grinned. "I bet it has to do with one of the lovely ladies from nearby..."

"That is just gossip," Fearghall dismissed him.

"Indeed," Hilderinc said. "Haven't you and Baldwic especially been trying to court some of the farmers' daughters before, and yet it does not make you stay..."

"Not me, I was just watching over the boys," Scyrr objected. "Making sure they don't get into trouble with the local muck-rakers. As for Baldwic, that girl of his got married off, as it were. Her daddy probably knew what he was doing..."

"Hey, Scyrr," Fearghall once again cut the flippant soldier's speech. "That is not a nice way to talk about Baldwic. Besides, the way I heard – though I do not lend much ear to rumours – it was Baldwic who ended it with her."

Hilderinc shrugged. Rumours did not interest him, either. But Áforglaed was staying... he did not know what to think about it, but in some way, it was good. Athanar's men had really changed during the years of their stay in Scarburg – most of them, anyway, he thought, looking at Scyrr. Most of those who previously resented the place had grown fond of it, and it became their home, and there was no longer a distinction between men of Scarburg and men of Athanar.

Just what I have been saying from the beginning, Hilderinc thought to himself, picked up his bowl and carried it away to the kitchens, looking forward to another cold, but pleasantly busy autumn day.

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn has not left Theolain’s side since he stopped breathing. She has barely left him when he was still alive. She sat by his bedside for days while he first became hot and then slowly, day by day, became frighteningly cold. First he shivered. Then he became completely limp. And then he stopped breathing. As if his life left him bit by bit, seeping out slowly, that one could barely tell when it was finally gone.

She had vague recollections of people talking to her. Someone brought her food, but she did not eat. Later, Saeryn draped a cloth over her shoulders. She did not realize until later that it was Saeryn’s own shawl. For the first time in weeks she did not even feel cold.

The men wanted to take him away. He must be buried properly, they told her. His body should be laid in the ground. But she would not let them. Do not take him away from me yet, she said – or maybe she just thought; she was not certain anymore. It is so cold out there. The ground is frozen stiff. On the morrow, they will warm it with a fire to dig a grave, like they have done for the others. And then the ground will freeze again, and he will freeze with it. Let him be warm for one last night! Just one more night! But, in spite of the blankets and fires, Theolain remained cold and remote in his stillness, as if to show that no warmth in the world can stop that which is inevitable.

Ledwyn did not know how much time passed. She simply suddenly became aware of herself. Maybe she awoke from a doze, but she did not recall sleeping. The Hall was quiet around her, and it was dark. When did everyone go to bed? How late was it?

She slowly stood up, her legs clumsy and stiff from sitting all day. She wandered through the Hall like a wraith, Saeryn’s shawl dropping slightly on one side on top of her own. She walked around the Great Hall, occasionally putting out a hand to brush the long tables. After a while, she found herself at the door to the kitchen.

The last coals in the hearth were still smoldering slightly. There were not too many now, since dry wood was scarce in Scarburg and had to be burned sparingly. Ledwyn lit a candle from one of the remaining spots of glowing red. Theolain would have liked them once, she thought. Securing the candle on a table, she turned away from it and began rummaging in the store of eating utensils.

***

Hilderinc's sleeplessness had returned with the winter. It did not add to his mood that had already been affected by the sour prospects of the Hall, just like everyone else's. However, Hilderinc did not become gloomy as Scarburg's hopes dimmed. Instead, he became very stern, observant, marching around the Hall and wading in the snow around it day and night, or so it would seem to its inhabitants. He really did not sleep much, and on very cold nights of midwinter, he was even secretly happy about it. For, as death began creeping into the Mead Hall, Hilderinc began reflecting on it, and came to the conclusion that he did not want to pass away in his sleep. Not ever.

That particular night, he again could not sleep. Instead, he paced around, wrapped in his blanket on top of his clothes and a spare cloak. He had spent a long time outside, as if hoping he could find any dry firewood or spot a rabbit, or at least a squirrel. Not a chance. As he headed back to the Hall, it was already deep night. Everyone was asleep, or so it seemed, until Hilderinc noticed bright gleam of candlelight coming from inside the kitchens. Wondering who might be up at this time, he walked to the door, removed his glove and cursed silently under his breath as the cold air hit him violently. He put the glove back on, clumsily opened the door and quickly jumped in, leaving the winter outside.

It was warm inside the kitchen, and a lone shape sat by one of the tables. Ledwyn. Hilderinc recognized her light brown hair and her countenance; now, after several months of winter, she looked even more thin and fragile than usual, like a frozen reed. She did not seem to have noticed him entering, nor heard him opening and closing the door. In one heart-stopping moment Hilderinc thought she had frozen to death, but then he noticed a small movement as she clutched one of the kitchen knives, staring at the blade, as if she were studying the reflection of the candlelight on it. She turned it slowly this way and that. If not for her face, she might have been playing. Then, still turning the knife, she lifted it higher. Her hands froze, with the knife pointing straight at her.

Startled, Hilderinc took a few quick steps to her side, but her hands again rested on the table, still holding the blade.

"Ledwyn?" he spoke. She did not answer, just stared at the knife in her hand.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Hilderinc continued. Ledwyn stirred. She nodded very slightly, but she looked past him, like she did not understand where his voice was coming from.

"What were you doing here?" Gently but firmly, he took the knife from her hands. He looked down at the blade and frowned. Did she just... He examined her face. She seemed not to notice her surroundings, but just stared into the distance with her far-away look, as though she was seeing something beyond the wooden walls of the kitchen. She was definitely not asleep, but Hilderinc was not certain that she was awake.

She has gone through a lot in the last few days, Hilderinc thought, on top of this terrible winter. Poor Theolain.

"Listen," he said aloud. "Everyone is asleep. You should go to sleep, too. Sitting here at night is not what you should be doing..." He felt clumsy, he was never particularly good in talking to women. In fact, he never had to, not like that.

"I understand," he added, while he was not sure it was true, "I understand it must be hard, Theolain..." He vaguely tried to remember anything about the lad; realizing he had barely known him. "Your son was a good boy," he finished. "But you already said farewell to him, we all did. And while he is gone, you are still here." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "If you are just listening to your thoughts, you will start thinking about weird things."

"He's not my son," Ledwyn said in a quiet, dead kind of voice. She was not looking at Hilderinc.

He inclined his head, slightly confused. "Do not say that. He has passed away, but he still..." He stopped, as if his train of thought was interrupted by a sudden idea. His eyes once again shifted to Ledwyn's face, pale in the candlelight.

"He is not my son," she repeated firmly, despite her lost look. Did her mind wander astray in a memory? Who was she seeing? Who was she talking to?

She stood up and turned to look at the fireplace. The last of the heat was fading away, leaving the coals dead and ashen. The small specs of redness were fading away. Only a few were still dancing and breathing in the night air. By sunrise, none would be left.

Very slowly, her eyes became alive. She looked around her and only now noticed Hilderinc standing behind her. She did not give a start, but she seemed slightly confused. Seeing the knife in his hand, she said, "I simply wanted to cut a slice of bread from the stores. I have not eaten today." However, instead of breaking her fast, she disappeared quickly behind the kitchen door, her shawls trailing slightly behind her.

[piosenniel]

This Game Thread is moving to Elvenhome.

It can be revived for play on the request of the gameplayers.

~*~ Pio