Hard Winters RPG

[Folwren]

“Can I help you?” The query came from Ledwyn as she stood wringing the water from her hair by the fire. Saeryn glanced up at her as she piled trenchers onto her tray.

“No. You sit down. Anyone who spent their day in the rain, digging in all that mud, deserves a rest. Cerwyn and I can handle supper tonight.” It was perhaps an ambitious statement, but Saeryn felt they could do it. She looked over at Cerwyn as the young woman pulled two fresh loaves of bread out of the oven. Léof’s sister had proven herself to be capable and helpful, and Saeryn was grateful that she had come that day.

They prepared everything to take out into the hall, stacking the trays high. They sliced the bread and laid it in baskets.

There was a knock at the kitchen door. Saeryn glanced around quickly. Everyone was dressed and proper. She opened the door. Cnebba stood by.

“Eodwine sent me to inform you that the hall is ready.”

“You may tell him the food will be out directly.”

The ladies all lent a hand with bearing out the utensils and food for supper. Tray after tray was carried out and laid on the tables. There was a quiet but appreciative murmur as they laid their trays down and the stew began to be ladled out. Very little conversation sprang up for several minutes as the hungry men set into their well earned supper.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna was miffed that all the women were expected to serve the men first. She had been just as hard at work digging the trenches as any of the men, and harder than some of them. Yet here she was, joining the women, serving the men who expected to be served first. Yes, it was the way things were done, but it wasn't right.

She set the food down before each man, the plates hitting the board with just a little more of a thud than the others. She met their eyes if they looked up. If any of them failed to offer a thanks, she remembered.

She placed a plate in front of Harreld, who nodded glumly. The next plate went before Garreth, who looking up, gave her a foul look. She did not let go of the plate and met his eyes.

"Let go, wench."

"Why should I? I worked as hard as any man."

"So you say. Work the bellows or forge a sword and I'll think better of you."

She allowed a half a smile. It was an interesting challenge. "Maybe I will."

He glowered. "Don't come near my smithy. Now take your hands off my plate."

"What do I get in return?"

His frown went black. Suddenly he got up, his seat tumbling behind him. "Harreld, I'm off to the smithy where I'm free of womanish foolery. Bring some food back." He stalked out of the Hall.

Harreld sighed and looked at Rowenna. "Now why did you have to go and harass him like that, Rowenna?"

She looked down her nose at him. "Why do you men get served before us women?"

He shrugged and bent his head back over his plate.

There were still two plates in her hand. Leof and Scyld sat at the same table, watching her. "Do you both think you deserve these plates more than the women?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine sat at the head table, as he always did. Thornden sat a few seats away, busy with his own thoughts, which was just as well.

Eodwine felt weary. More than weary. Truth be told, he felt exhausted. He also felt that he had done as well as he could. He wondered, then, why he felt so dreadfully terrible. Was it another illness coming on? It surely was possible, considering the matter they had been dealing in all day.

But no, it was not that. Food had been brought to him first, by his wife Saeryn. When she had set his plate before him, he took hold of her hand while it still held the plate.

"Sit with me as soon as you are able, please."

He had not meant his words to sound so forlorn, but he could not keep it out of his voice, nor out of her awareness. She looked at him, concern in her eyes.

"Is something the matter?"

He shrugged and gave her a wan smile. "Just come when you can." She nodded, her lips closed in a ribbon.

He ate his food. He hardly tasted it. Were he to give attention to its flavor, he felt that it would taste no better than sawdust. It seemed a long time before she came to sit with him.

[Firefoot]

As much as Léof usually kept his nose out of others’ business, it was hard not to overhear the quarrel at the next table over. Rowenna was in a foul mood, it was clear; but then, so were many others: nearly everyone in the Hall felt worn out and hungry after a thoroughly unpleasant afternoon of work.

But then she turned around and her gaze fell on him and Scyld, who for some unknown and unwelcome reason had sat down beside him.

"Do you both think you deserve these plates more than the women?"

“Of course not,” answered Léof quickly, wanting no part of the fight (and also hoping that if he answered correctly, one of the plates she was holding might be his). Rowenna’s gaze swiveled to Scyld.

“Only a foolish man would say so to the woman serving his food,” answered Scyld. Léof nodded, missing the hint of jest and forgetting briefly who it was he was agreeing with.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna gave Scyld a sideways smile. "Then you are no fool."

She flicked a glance toward Leof and set a plate in front of him. Then she stepped over the bench, sat down, and placed the remaining plate halfway between herself and Scyld. She took a slice of bread and ripped off a chunk with her teeth, and chewed. She watched Scyld, whose eyes moved up and down between the plate and her face.

"You're welcome to share."

[Firefoot]

Scyld's breath caught in his throat; was she truly so willing to forgive his duplicity? Beside him, Leof nearly choked on his soup.

"I'm fine, don't mind me," Leof gasped, when the coughing subsided.

Scyld nodded and turned back to the plate of food between him and Rowenna. He hesitated for the briefest moment, but after this impossibly long day he was too tired to analyze the implications. "Very well," he said, also taking a slice of bread and dipping it in the stew. "Equally deserved, equally shared."

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn felt a bit self-conscious, serving up trays of soup and warm bread to the throng of unfamiliar faces. She'd looked around for Leof but hadn't seen him: she found herself rather annoyed that he hadn't thought to check in on her. After not seeing each other for five years she'd expected a bit more of a welcome.

Well. She could take care of herself. She fought back the niggling thought that if she didn't need him, she needn't have come here at all. She walked up to a table that had not been served. There were some younger men at the table, about her age she guessed. She smiled at them as she began serving out plates from her trays but did not want to interrupt the conversation.

[Folwren]

Saeryn hurried to serve the others, wondering what it was exactly that trouble Eodwine. It could be any number of things – the continuing rain and threat of new flooding, the recent toil of digging the trenches. Something tightened in her gut as she thought that maybe Eodwine was succumbing to yet another sickness – not unlikely, given his recent occupation. She tried hastily to push from her mind, but it would not leave completely.

She emptied her tray and went back to the kitchen for more. Returning, she scanned the room quickly for which tables had not yet been served. She spotted Garreth storming out the door, and she glanced about for an explanation. She saw Rowenna talking with Harreld and for a moment, she watched without moving. Rowenna stepped to where Léof and Scyld sat waiting for their meal. She spoke to them, her face glowering, and she seemed to be holding the plates hostage until they answered her questions.

“What is troubling her now?” Saeryn wondered impatiently. “Isn’t there enough to do without finding trouble?” She began to move toward them.

She did not hear any of the words that passed between them before Rowenna placed the plate before Léof, but her eyebrows went up when she saw Rowenna sit beside Scyld and put the plate between them. She was close enough to hear her offer to share.

“Very well,” Scyld said. “Equally deserved, equally shared.”

Saeryn stopped just by Rowenna. “Is everyone served, Rowenna, or are you too weary to go on without supper?” she asked.

[Folwren]

“I heard Osmund talking about flooding,” Javan was saying as Cerwyn approached with their supper. “He said if the Entwash overflows and fills up the marshland, we could be forced to leave the hall.”

“The scar will protect us,” Cnebba said, watching the plate of food as Cerwyn placed it before him. Javan glanced up at Cerwyn, momentarily distracted.

“I’m Javan,” he said. “We haven’t properly met. You’re Léof’s sister, aren’t you?”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna knew what Saeryn meant. Which meant that she was part of the problem. She straightened and looked directly in Saeryn's eyes.

"I did not see you out in the trenches, digging. Your protective husband excused you from such dirty and wearying work so we'd have food and drink. Well and good for you and us. Meanwhile, I worked as hard as any man and I deserve to eat and not serve."

The Eorl''s lady's eyes went wide and outraged and all afire. All the better. Rowenna allowed a menacing smile on her own face.

"Or are you upset about something other than your words suggest?"

[Folwren]

Saeryn didn’t know what she meant by her last words, but her previous ones were enough to answer.

“You know well, and as you said just now yourself, that had I gone out, there would be no supper for anyone – man or woman. You also know that Eodwine would ask of no woman what he would not ask of me.” She paused and drew breath. Something hard and painful lodged in her stomach, and she was not as hungry as she had been before. She was angry – angrier than was right for the situation. Her eyes snapped sparks as she glared down at Rowenna, but she did not speak the words that rose immediately to her mind – that an ungrateful shrew had no place here at the hall, and that perhaps she had better find another place where men would treat a discarded, used jade like her as well as they did here.

“People must be fed,” she said, at last. “And if you are too tired to do so, you should just have said so. I have plenty of helpers.” She reached across to a plate on her tray and set it down before Scyld. Then with the same hand, she pushed the plate they had been sharing to Rowenna’s place.

“Eat,” she said, her voice short and clipped. “Enjoy your supper.”

She turned away, trembling with constrained fury.

[Firefoot]

"Yes, I'm Cerwyn," she said. There was a flurry of introductions at the table and she thought she'd be lucky to remember a quarter of the names.

She set a bowl of soup down in front of Javan. "Are we very close to the Entwash here?" she asked, hoping he didn't think her rude for overhearing the last part of their conversation. "Where would we go if it flooded? The road is already terrible."

[Folwren]

Javan picked up the slice of bread with one hand and his spoon with another, but he answered Cerwyn’s question before diving in.

“I’m not sure. There’s higher ground south, but we couldn’t go far that way before we’d run into flooding from Snowbourne.”

“There’s lots of land between us and the Snowbourne,” Cnebba interjected.

Javan shrugged. “Maybe.” Truly, he did not know where they would go, but to save himself the uncomfortable business of admitting this, he took a bite and for a while forgot about Cerwyn’s question altogether. By the time he had looked up again, she was moving away to serve the next table. He leaned back to see past his neighbor and called after her.

“When you finish, we’ll save you a seat here, if you like,” he said.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna turned to Scyld. "Did you hear her try to make it as if this is about me being tired?"

He raised a brow, but said nothing ... which was what he was supposed to do. She gave him a half smile then sat up straight and called after the fleeing Lady Saeryn.

"Have your husband make the men serve the women!"

[Firefoot]

Frankly, Scyld supposed that Rowenna had a point, even if he disagreed with how she was expressing it. What really irritated him, though, was Saeryn’s giving him his own plate. Certainly, he was hungry enough for his own meal; one plate’s worth would not have satisfied both of them. Nevertheless, the way she had done it had left him feeling scolded like a naughty child, and he resented it. What was it to Saeryn whether they shared a meal?

He would say none of this, of course. Long experience taught him how to keep his thoughts and emotions to himself, and nothing would convince him to get in the middle of a fight between the Lady of the Hall and the only person for miles around who actually liked him.

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn smiled brightly at Javan. “Thank you, I would like that,” she said.

It was quick work to finish serving the men, though there seemed to be some to-do across the Hall: Lady Saeryn looked furious. Cerwyn reluctantly decided it was none of her business, no matter how curious she might be, and when the last few tables had received their suppers she fetched herself a plate and made her way back to Javan’s table.

They made space for her and she settled herself in front of her stew. After smelling it for hours in the kitchen, she was eager to taste it. “So have you lived here long?” she asked Javan.

[Folwren]

Saeryn stopped dead in her tracks. She stared straight ahead, and her hands gripped the edges of her tray so tight the contents of it rattled. Rowenna should not have said that. She should not. After everything Eodwine had done…!

She turned on her heel and strode toward the table, her anger flowing before her like an invisible thunder cloud. She leaned across the bench between Scyld and Rowenna and set the tray down, firmly and loudly. She set her palms against the edge of the table, leaning low to see Rowenna face to face, and also breaking immediate contact with Scyld, her accomplice and instigator.

“Eodwine has done more for you than you can possibly expect of any man, Rowenna of the Brigands. When you came to him, you were worth nothing in most men’s eyes – and Eodwine took you in. You act like the men here treat you poorly, when, really, it is quite the opposite! No one dare disrespect you, for you know, and they know, Eodwine would never allow it. I’d show some respect if I were you.”

[Folwren]

“About six, seven years,” Javan said with a shrug.

“He was something of a rogue when he arrived,” Garmund said from across the table.

Javan raised his head and looked at him with a sort of pleading expression. Garmund just laughed. “I remember – the first year he was here, he borrowed Falco’s pipe – Falco was a hobbit friend of Eodwine’s staying at the time – and Javan ended up burning the stables down!”

“It’s not funny,” Javan said, going terribly red in the face. He rarely referred to that day, and his friends could not guess the deep sense of shame that he still carried when he thought about it. Garmund had been just a child at the time, and he likely did not recall the exact circumstances that followed, or the long indenture Javan had served afterward. He probably did not even know about the horses Léof had lost in the fire, or how long it took for Javan to repair the breech in Léof’s trust…or anyone’s trust, for that matter.

“It’s true,” he said, after his friends had had their laugh at his expense. “I was rather bad. I think I’ve improved.”

“Well, you haven’t committed any crimes worth speaking of recently, anyway,” Cnebba said. He and Garmund laughed again.

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn didn't see what was so funny about the stables burning down - she could only imagine how devastated Léof must have been.

"Don't worry," said Cerwyn. "I shan't judge you for something that happened years and years ago. I wouldn't be here, after all, if I didn't think people could change. When my father threw Léof out of the house it was one of the worst days of my life. I'm hoping maybe they can finally forgive each other."

[Folwren]

Javan would have been glad of any excuse to turn the topic away from his past crime, but it was with genuine wonder that he and the other boys turned their attention to Cerwyn. For a moment, the young lady did not seem to notice their surprise as she took another bite of stew, but soon she couldn't help but notice it - the silence was pretty complete at their end of the table for several seconds.

Javan at last cleared his throat and spoke for all of them. "What do you mean, your father threw Léof out?" he asked. "I thought he left because...well, he because he was tired of the way your father treated him."

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn flushed. Léof seemed so well-known, so well-respected, here at the Hall that it had not occurred to her that his story would not be common knowledge. Maybe, if he had spent more than ten minutes talking to her since she’d gotten here, he would have told her that there were things he was keeping secret. So much for all his fine words about this being his home now! He didn’t even trust the people who lived here enough to tell them the truth about where he came from.

Maybe, if she were less tired, if she were thinking clearly, she would have gone right away to find Léof and talk with him.

Instead, she said, “Is that what he told you?” she asked. She laughed shortly, feeling slightly hysterical. “Well - Léof was certainly tired of how our Father was treating both of us. Up till that night, he just took it, we both did. But one night, Father came in – drunk, of course – and they started fighting. I wasn’t paying attention to what over, but I looked up just as Father took a swing at Léof. Instead of just ducking or backing away or just taking it, Léof hit back. I don’t think it hurt him much, but I’ve never seen my Father so angry. He told Léof to get out, and by the next morning he’d taken his horse and gone.” She laughed again. “Honestly I think my Father was more upset over him taking Æthel than over his leaving, but going after the horse would have meant going after Léof, and he’s too stubborn to chase after someone he’d just told to go.”

[Folwren]

The young men at the table mulled over Cerwyn’s story for a few moments.

“But I thought…” Javan began, and stopped. He tried to think of what Léof had told them. He shook his head. “Honestly, there has been so much that has happened that we have not spoken of past times. Léof may well have told us something of what you said, and we just did not remember. It seems to me that if I was treated so, I would wish to leave, whether or not I was kicked out.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation. Then Javan looked at Cerwyn again. “So, why did you leave? Your father tell you to go, too?”

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna listened to Saeryn's diatribe with a smirk on her face, chewing and swallowing a piece of bread. She considered interrupting her, just to make the pot boil hotter, but decided to let her finish. She tipped her head quizzically and sardonically.

"It's nice to see you show up. I was not sure you had it in you. You might just have lasted more than a day with my brigands." She lowered her brow and allowed her smirk to slip to a menacing frown, and she leaned forward.

"It matters not that you don't make any sense. You're not used to being this hot headed, so I'll let it pass. But maybe you might explain just what has got you so hopping mad?"

Somewhere inside, Saeryn felt a prick of satisfaction that she had actually gotten under Rowenna's skin, despite Rowenna's cool front.

"It's you," she said. "You - stepping out of your place - and disrespecting your betters." She lifted one hand and reached to the tray, still holding several servings. "You've effectively driven Garreth out. I want you to take this to him." She held it toward Rowenna and met her eye, daring her to disobey. "Now," she said, quietly.

Now Rowenna was angry. "No-one is my better. You may hold a place of power and right by law, but that does not make you better than me. Take it to him yourself."

Saeryn shook her head, growing calmer as she felt she gained the upper hand. "I wasn't talking about myself," she said. "You drove him out. You'll amend it."

She set the bowl down by Rowenna's, retrieved her tray with a huff, and stood up.

"The plate will sit there until he comes for it or someone brings it to him. Did you see me with a whip and chair to drive him out? He left by his own will. He owns his deeds, not me. Go find some child to scold. And next time, make sure you know what really happened before you start your scolding."

"Some would count your tongue as a lash, Rowenna," Saeryn said, feeling the sting of it at that moment. "I need hardly stretch my mind to guess what passed between the two of you." She paused, waiting. Rowenna made no move. "So you will not take it to him, then?" Saeryn asked. "We shall see what is to be done." She turned and moved away.

That was a threat. Rowenna did not take it kindly. "So you would rather not know the truth, you just want your way, is that it?"

"Fine," Saeryn said, swinging back. "Tell me." And inwardly she added, 'It had better be worth all this trouble, or I swear, I'll make you pay.'

Rowenna stood. She looked at Harreld, and called him by name. He looked at her askance. "Please tell Lady Saeryn what passed between your brother and me."

Harreld stood up and cleared his throat. “Rowenna handed a plate to my brother but did not let go. He demanded that she let go, and she asked what she would get in return. He did not answer but walked out. I asked her why she harassed him and she asked why we men are served before the women. I had no answer.”

Saeryn turned from Harreld to Rowenna. She could not believe the stubbornness she had to deal with. “Why did you harass him?” she asked.

Truth be told, it was because Garreth had been the one who was foul to her in the first place. She had chosen not to be difficult with Harreld or any other man; instead she had allowed her rage to find an appropriate target, as it were; but she would lose face if she said that to Saeryn. “I harassed no-one! I worked as hard as any man today! I’ll not be treated like trash!” She stepped over the bench, leaving the bowl sitting where it lay, turned her back on Saeryn, and stormed out the door and into the downpour.

Saeryn stared after her. She almost followed her, but when she saw the pouring rain through the opening and closing door as Rowenna went out, she decided against it. She turned back to the table and looked down at Rowenna’s uneaten portion of food and the bowl meant for Garreth beside it.

Harreld was still standing, watching Saeryn. “Lady, I will take the food to my brother. He asked it of me.”

She looked at him and did not immediately respond, for her mind was still full of Rowenna’s words. At last she seemed to hear him. She shook her head. “No. Thank you, Harreld. I will take it to him myself.”

“Are you sure, Lady, that you want to do that?” Harreld looked uncomfortable. “My brother is - a - difficult man when he is angered, and you -” he paused and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Please let me take it to him.”

Saeryn turned her head slightly and stared hard at him. “And I am what?” she demanded.

“You are - er -” he paused again, and reddened as he realized how many faces were looking up at him around the hall. He braced himself. “You are a woman, Lady, your pardon.”

Saeryn cracked a smile. “So I am,” she agreed. She took a quick glance around. Cerwyn had seen to the last of the serving. She set her tray down and picked up Garreth’s serving. “You have worked hard and are tired. Sit and enjoy your supper and stay warm and dry.”

“Lady, I have lost my appetite and I am going back to the smithy anyway. Please let me take it.”

“Harreld,” Saeryn said, firmly, but not unkindly. “I am not afraid of your brother. You will not let my good supper go to waste. I know men better than to think a woman’s quarrel will put them off their meat.” She smiled at him again and went back toward the kitchen to find a cover for the bowl before taking it out into the rain.

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn’s mood was not assuaged by Javan’s reassurances. They had all been too startled by her original revelation for Léof to have mentioned it at some point, and her anger at her brother continued to simmer, though she let herself be momentarily distracted by Javan’s question.

“No. He’ll be quite mad when he finds I’ve gone, if he hasn’t already heard,” she said. “So maybe you’ve not got the corner on roguishness at this table.” She attempted a grin, but even to her own ears the humor seemed flat. “As I said before, I’m hoping Léof and Father might finally forgive each other. Father’s better than he used to be, I think. But I also thought Léof would want to come home, if I gave him the chance, and I seem to have gotten that terribly wrong.”

~*~*~*~*~

Léof

With the fight between Rowenna and Saeryn over (or at least suspended), Léof finally felt safe to move again. He’d finished his soup, having been very keenly focused on it for the last several minutes, and he had no wish to linger at the table. It was past time for him to catch up with Cerwyn, anyway. Taking a piece of bread in hand, he stood up and scanned the Hall for his sister. He spotted her at the other end of the room, sitting with Javan, Garmund, and Cnebba, and headed in their direction.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna

Rowenna walked through the downpour. She had taken off her cloak inside and forgotten to put it back on. It was cold. She was drenched in seconds. She did not care. Right now she hated Saeryn. She knew it wouldn't last, but this was now. She was enraged at herself for having retreated from the fight, but she had seen that it was going badly for her, and the only way to win would have been to openly test Saeryn's word that Eodwine would favor her instead of his own wife. She would not do that. If Eodwine favored Saeryn, then it would go badly for Rowenna; if Eodwine favored Rowenna, Scarburg could become a very bad place to be.

It already was a bad place for her to be.

She sent the water spraying with each footstep, for the puddles were growing; even with the new trench. She reached the scar and began to climb. Soon, the light from the settlement ended and she was feeling her way, scrabbling in the mud and sliding stone and sand of the scar.

It was already a bad place to be because there would be no end of fighting with Saeryn, and the advantage belonged squarely with Saeryn. Rowenna liked her, she was an honest and well meaning lady, wife, and mother, but that did not lessen that she was impossible.

Rowenna reached the highest point of the scar and looked out. The darkness was complete: she could see nothing. All she could hear was the rains striking the ground or puddles.

Scyld had just watched the whole thing. That was his way. If they were a couple, a real couple, he might have come to her defense. But they were not a couple, and there was no use teasing herself about it. She knew that if she did not get back inside soon, she would most likely sicken and maybe worse, but she could not bring herself to do it. Instead, half realizing it, her feet were taking her down the last of the hillocks of the scar, and out onto the open plain. Her fingers were numb and she could barely feel her feet. Her arms shook and her teeth chattered, but she kept moving forward, away from the scar, into the night, her thoughts a mess of spinning threads.

Eodwine

Eodwine watched the whole thing pass. He found it hard to swallow his food for the distaste of what was happening before his eyes. He would not interfere with his wife's actions; it would not be good for the folk to see them at odds, but this would have to be dealt with. He also realized that his displeasure was not, for the most, in how Saeryn dealt with Rowenna. No, it was something else, something he did not know quite how to say. He realized that he was simply in a foul mood. They came on him rarely, but when they did, there was no helping it. Maybe it had been brought on by the difficulties of the dung pit and the trench, but if so then only in part. The best thing he could do was lay low until it passed. It was what he should do. He finished his food and thought to get up and go in. But he stayed sitting where he was, waiting for his wife to finish with her many tasks.

[Folwren]

Saeryn hurried through the soggy courtyard toward the smithy, ducking her head against the rain, and seeing little except the ground just before her feet. When she reached the eaves of the smithy, she raised her head and shook the loose rain drops from her hair. She gave an involuntary shiver before entering the smithy.

It was warmer inside, and dry. She saw Garreth working by the furnace.

"I have brought you your supper," she said. "If you like, you can come back in and eat it. Or stay out here, as you wish."

Garreth looked up from his work and regarded her sullenly. "I asked Harreld to bring me my food, no-one else. Is he suddenly too ill to do the job himself?"

Saeryn was not going to get into another argument with a hard-headed contestant. She set the food down on a workbench. "Harreld has worked hard today. I saw little reason to send him out again into the rain. Here is your supper. Have a goodnight."

She turned to go.

Garreth was not about to let a woman have the last word, at least not without one retort. "And here I thought it was the lord of the hall that made such decisions, rather than his wife." He allowed a goodly amount of sneer into the last word he spoke.

Saeryn paused by the door and reflected on his words. She made an effort not to let them affect her. She looked back at him. "Goodnight, Garreth," she said, and went out into the rain.

"Women, confound them," she heard Garreth mutter behind her.

She almost walked right into Harreld. She jumped with a surprised gasp. When she looked up at him, she saw he looked worried. "What did he say to you?" he asked.

"Not much," she said, backing up under the eave of the smithy again. "I think he indicated that I was running the roost instead of Eodwine." She sighed.

"I am sorry. I would have spared you his temper. He trusts no woman since - since his time in Edoras. Good night." Harreld let her go by and went inside the smithy.

[littlemanpoet]

Well, it would be a most tragic thing to have done, walking out into the open plains, in the cold rain, with not enough clothing, but it would be a fool thing to do, and Scyld was not about to come rescue her. Rowenna was still standing on the last escarpment of the scar, watching the tragedy play out in her mind's eye. Well, it was not to be. She huffed a sigh, turned around, and went back the way she had come.

She saw Saeryn walking from the smithy back to the hall. Could it be that she had taken Garreth's dinner to him? It would not be surprising. She followed the lady back toward the hall, watched her go in, and maybe half a minute later passed inside herself.

Saeryn was seeing to the needs of various of the folk as she made her way toward the front where Eodwine sat waiting and watching his wife. Scyld had not moved. Something inside hardened at the man's inaction. She bristled.

Rowenna closed the distance between them half way, and stopped.

"Lady Saeryn!"

She turned and faced her; her smile faded and her face became tense. Rowenna raised her chin and looked down her nose at the woman who ruled with her husband.

"Lady," she said archly, "your serving wench asks your forgiveness for her rash words and deeds. What does the lady require of her serving wench?"

[Firefoot]

The fight over, Scyld rapidly found himself alone at the end of the table. Once, he would have found the whole scuffle entertaining: the way Lady Saeryn still seemed to feel threatened by Rowenna (why else so blatantly assert her authority?), Rowenna's rare loss of composure, Léof’s obvious discomfort.

He stirred his soup absently. He was still aware of these things, but his primary emotion now was not amusement. He felt the detachment that he’d cultivated for years slipping away, and he wasn’t sure he liked – or trusted – the way that felt. Glancing over at Rowenna’s still-full soup bowl, he considered trying to take it to her – wasn’t that what she wanted, a man to serve her meal? A smirk twitched at his lips at the thought, but he rejected it. He did not know where she had gone, and he was not going to chase after her. Besides, he had no wish to go back out into the cold and wet now that he was warm and dry.

He played over the fight in his mind as he ate. He was keenly reminded of an earlier thought: that Rowenna still felt she had something to prove. And why should that be? Saeryn was right – no one would dare disrespect Rowenna. But perhaps because of Eodwine’s protection, she never felt that she had earned that respect in her own right? Or maybe, was there something about herself that she simply found un-respectable?

He’d been drawn to her for many reasons, but perhaps the biggest was that they were much alike. For the first time, he wondered if that was a good thing. He frowned. Once, long ago, Rowenna had claimed to have found a home here, but clearly there was still tension. If she had not managed in five years to lay that to rest, what hope did he have? Why had he come back?

He shook his head; it seemed that everyone was in a dark mood tonight.

Just as he was starting to think that Rowenna had been gone overlong, he saw her come inside. He was surprised to see her approach Saeryn directly, though he was too far away to hear what was said. Well. Maybe she would come back for her soup. Despite all his doubts, he rather hoped she would.

[Folwren]

As Saeryn passed from the cold rain into the warm, comforting atmosphere of the hall, she drew a slow breath. She felt suddenly tired and very hungry. Garreth’s grumblings had become so commonplace she scarcely remembered them, and the dash through the rain had released the built tension of her quarrel with Rowenna. She resolved to find Rowenna and make it right…later. Now, she was ready to go and sit by Eodwine. It seemed more than just a few hours since they last spoke quietly and uninterrupted together.

She made her way forward, pausing once or twice along the way. Suddenly, her name was called from behind, loudly. She turned and faced Rowenna.

“Lady, your serving wench asks your forgiveness for her rash words and deeds. What does the lady require of her serving wench?”

Her words struck Saeryn like a physical blow. She blinked and caught her breath sharply. For a moment, she had no response.

“You are not my serving wench, Rowenna. In all I said, I never meant that. Please,” she said, her shoulder’s drooping a little, “go sit down and finish your supper. I have fed the rest of the people. There is nothing left to be done for the time being. Or,” she added realizing Rowenna’s condition, “get into something dry first.”

Hoping it was enough for the time being to quiet Rowenna, she turned away and approached the head table.

[littlemanpoet]

So Saeryn was going to run Scarburg with her feelings rather than by her will. So be it. Rowenna had already laid it out for herself that she would treat every whim of the lady as her iron will, no matter how inconsistent. She wondered if Saeryn had noticed that Rowenna had looked over her head rather in the eye during the whole exchange. She shrugged.

"I shall of course choose from the choices the lady of Scarburg has given me," Rowenna said to Saeryn's back.

She walked out of the room into the women's quarters, with not so much as a glance for Scyld.

[Folwren]

Saeryn turned and watched Rowenna go, wondering at the change in her. She turned away again, shaking her head slowly. She was sorrowed to see Rowenna react so, but she thought that soon things would settle into their old way. They were both tired. A meal and a night’s rest would work wonders, she had little doubt.

In a moment, she joined Eodwine at the head table. She quietly slid into the chair beside him and drew a deep sigh. For the first time in hours, she felt herself relax. She shut her eyes a moment, too tired to take up her spoon and begin eating. With a shake, she roused herself and sat up and reached for the bowl that someone, she was not sure who, had placed there in expectation of her arrival.

---

Javan

“No,” Cerwyn said in reply to Javan’s question. “He’ll be quite mad when he finds I’ve gone, if he hasn’t heard already. So maybe you’ve not got the corner of roguishness at this table.”

Javan laughed a little in politeness, but his curiosity was piqued again, and after an appropriate pause, he asked, “What do you mean, if he hasn’t heard already? Don’t you see him every day? I mean, if any of us up and disappeared one day, someone would be sure to notice right away.”

Just as he finished, and before Cerwyn could begin answering, Léof sauntered up. Javan glanced up at him, and then down at Cerwyn. Quickly, he looked away and slid down the bench, making room for Léof between himself and Cerwyn.

“Come to join us, Léof?” he asked, slapping the space on the bench.

[Firefoot]

"Yes, it's a bit tense over there," said Léof, taking the cleared seat. "How are you settling in, Cerwyn?"

"Oh, fine," she said, her smile just a little too sweet. "Javan and I were just getting to know each other." She looked past her brother to answer Javan's question.

"My father let me go to Edoras with the widow he's set to remarry and her son. I ran off from there."

"You really ought to have left a message or something," Léof said.

"Then they might have tracked me down before I got here," she retorted. Léof shrugged, conceding the point, not wishing to fight in front of Javan. "As you said," Cerwyn continued, "we'll send them word, and then they'll stop worrying. It's not as though I'm trying to stay hidden or keep secrets forever."

Léof frowned, sensing a barb but unsure where it was aimed.

Satisfied at having made her point, Cerwyn turned to Javan again. "Do you have brothers or sisters?" she asked him.

[Folwren]

Javan understood the jab, and he and Garmund shared a covert grimace. He blinked and wiped the amusement off his face when Cerwyn addressed him again.

"Yes," he said. "I've got four sisters and a brother. Thornden's the oldest - he's around here somewhere." He turned around and looked toward the head table. "There he is, by Eodwine. He's the steward here." He paused before turning back to his table, looking at Eodwine and Thornden, sitting side by side, but not conversing. They both looked tired.

Javan turned back around. "Thornden got here first, and my father thought to send me to him." He stopped before explaining why. "Actually, at the time, Eodwine's court was held in Edoras. It was an old inn, I think, where he first was. We moved the entire household here when the previous landlord here turned out to be a villain." He briefly told the story of Sorn and how Eodwine and his men got caught up in dealing with his crimes. He could not go into much detail, for honestly, he did not remember much, he having been but a boy, and an irresponsible, disinterested one at that.

When he finished, there was a brief pause. It came to Javan that perhaps Cerwyn hadn't really been interested in the story. She was, after all, just newly arrived and probably did not care much for their history. He wasn't even sure how long she was going to stay.

"Are you planning on staying?" he asked.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine watched Saeryn come to the table. She looked tired. He had told her to come when she could. Maybe he should have said ‘come the first moment you can.’ Maybe that would have made a difference. She sat next to him, breathed a huge sigh, and with it let all manner of tightness release from her body. He was glad for her that such a move was all she needed. For his part, he felt the tightness in his head, in his chest, and in his gut as well. She picked up a spoon and tried her soup.

“How is the soup?”

“Oh,” Saeryn said, at first. She had not taken any notice. She looked down at it. “Alright, I guess,” she said. “Come spring, there will be fresh herbs to put in. I hope you enjoyed yours, though,” she said, looking up and giving a small smile “At least it is something hot.”

Maybe there would be fresh herbs this spring, if the rains would stop. If? It seemed that it had rained for weeks without let up, and it was beginning to seem uncanny.

“You have been very busy since I asked you to come sit with me.” Eodwine leaned on the table, staring at nothing across the hall, and said no more. He did not know quite how to say what was in his thought.

“Yes,” Saeryn said, resuming her meal. “There were many folk to be fed.” She chose not to speak of her quarrel. It seemed useless to pull him into this trouble.

Eodwine, he said to himself, out with it. “You need to stay above the challenges and quarrels.”

So he had noticed it anyway. She did not look up from her bowl and took another bite before responding. “How am I supposed to run the household if I stay above the challenges, then?” she asked finally.

“You run the household by staying above the challenges. Never make the challenges battles of will. You have all the advantage of your place. You’ll be fine. These kinds of things are needed to refine the gold. It’s not why I asked you to come to me, though. Of course not, since I asked you before that happened.” He let out an involuntary huff of an ironic chuckle.
“Here I am advising you. I wanted to tell you how I feel very much ill suited to Eorldom.”

Saeryn looked up sharply. “Why?” she asked. “Others, including the king, have found you suited for it. Why do you feel otherwise?”

He shrugged. “Who can put why to feelings? It’s a mood. It will pass.” He knew that he was reassuring her but he did not think that it was worth pursuing; he did not think to ask himself why not.



Saeryn forced herself to give pause and wait before answering. She looked at him in silence, thinking that if it was a mood, and if he knew it would pass, why let it trouble him? As a woman, she had learned to ignore passing feelings and carry on. Clearly, her first response would be of no aid to him. She tried to think of something more useful.

“It is certain things have been hard here of late, Eodwine, but it is not due to your lack of leadership. Nothing that has happened is your fault.”

He smiled half heartedly. “I have not been doing my best. So it goes. I think I am being hard on myself after a difficult day.” He stretched. “I think that I do not need so much talk as time with my wife. I am tired. If you have more to do, of course go do it, but I think I am ready to turn in. Please do not linger about your tasks too long.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently rubbed a knotted muscle he found there.

The temptation came suddenly to Saeryn to abandon all of her duties and go with her husband this moment. Rowenna would take the slack without a word, she thought. She smiled and then dismissed the thought. She dipped her head and let it rest just a moment on Eodwine’s shoulder.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised.

[Firefoot]

Being already familiar with Javan's story, Léof paid little attention to it. Instead, he was wondering what she and Javan had been discussing before, and whether she was actually being short with him and if so why. He couldn't think of anything.

Cerwyn was intrigued by Javan's story, even more so than after hearing Scyld's testimony earlier that afternoon. Javan's version was still lacking in details, but maybe Balan might make a good story of it - if she saw him later she'd mention it. After all, there was action, betrayal, romance... or so she imagined. Why else would the henchman turn on the evil lord to rescue the beautiful noblewoman? (Again, her imagining - no one had told her what the woman looked like.) Maybe she would ask him. She felt tingles down her back, fascinated and nervous at the idea of meeting a true-life villain-turned-hero.

She was pulled from this thrilling line of thought by Javan's question, and forced once again to consider her own predicament. "I've not decided yet," she said. "Everyone I've met has been so kind and welcoming. I think I just need some time..." to figure out where I'm wanted, needed, loved... "To figure out where I fit, if that makes sense."

"Well, there'll be plenty of time for that," said Léof. "With the weather as it is, no one is going anywhere for a few days at least. It's been a long day; maybe things will seem clearer in the morning. I'm heading to bed." He stood. "It's good to have you here, Cerwyn. We'll talk more in the morning."

"Good night, Léof," she said, the edge of her anger blunted. He left, and she turned to Javan. "He's right; it is getting late, and I probably ought to help clear the dishes. It's the least I can do, since all I did was watch the stew while the rest of you did the dirty work today."

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna could not sleep. She tossed and turned on her straw mattress. She was surprised that all her movements didn't waken any of the others. She turned over one last time and closed her eyes, trying to focus on the swirling specks; it usually lulled her to sleep. They were all going straight down, just like the insufferable rains.

It was not use. She sat up. She heard water moving. Of course, she heard water running. The rain was beating on the roof. But this was a different sound, like a stream. Maybe there was a stream of water forming outside where it dripped off the roof more than elsewhere.

She got up and walked across the damp thresh that covered the floor. She lit a candle then opened the door to the hall. The sound of flowing water was louder now. She stepped into the hall. Her foot came down in cold water, an inch deep. Had someone spilled something? Was there a leak in the kitchen?

She went into the kitchen, but the water became more shallow that way. She turned around and went to the outside door. The water deepened. She got to the door. A stream of water was coming in through the door. It occurred to her in half a thought that it might not be a good idea to open the door, but her hand went to it anyway and opened it. A stream of water washed over her feet, more than ankle high, into the hall. She was about to call out the alarm, but thought first to look outside.

The whole Scarburg's lands were gone. In their place was a lake, and it was rising.

She grabbed for the door and had to fight with all her might to close it against the flood. She turned and ran to the men's quarters first.

She knocked and knocked, crying, "Wake! Wake! We are flooded! Wake!"

[Firefoot]

In his dreams, Léof was still drenched with rain water. He roused slowly from a deep sleep, at first unsure of why he had woken. Then he realized: the wetness was not a dream. His hand had slipped off of his pallet and the end of his sleeve was soaked through.

But why is the floor wet? he wondered muzzily.

The stables were flooded! The realization brought him to full wakefulness. He leapt up and stuffed his now-wet feet into his boots. He dashed out into the main aisle of stable to find the floor covered by at least an inch of water. He splashed out to the courtyard and up to the Hall only to find that it too was flooding and its folk were already rousing.

He did not see Eodwine yet, but Thornden was standing near the fireplace. Léof approached him and said, "The stables are flooding too. Worse, maybe, than in here."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was wakened by the ruckus. He leaned up on his elbows. Saeryn was stirring. What was he hearing? He focused. Wake! Wake! We are flooded! Wake! Maybe he was just dreaming. He shook the cobwebs loose in his mind. No, it was no dream. He could hear the furious knocking. Was it the middle of the night? It must be. He groaned and got out of bed.

Oh no.

The floor was covered in water. He pulled a face. Disgusting. It was probably very dirty water. How could this be! They had just gotten done digging a very good trench! He pulled on his briefs, threw on a tunic, and hurried to the hall.

Thornden was up and dressed already.

"How bad is the flooding?"

The whole of Scarburg is a lake," Thornden replied. "What shall we do?"

Eodwine sighed and his shoulders slumped. He hated this. It would have to be his decision, and the lives of all of these people depended on him. This was what he could not tell Saeryn: he was terrified of making decisions that would go wrong or be not enough in the end, for lack of foresight or what have you. He searched through his harried mind for anything that might help. Everything was wet. What was not? The roof of the hall was wet, but it would not be enveloped in the flood. Move everyone to the roof? It seemed ridiculous. The scar was above it all, too.

"Thornden, what do we have to use to keep people dry if we can get them to a place that will not be flooded?"

[Folwren]

As Thornden threw on his clothes, his mind worked with the questions of where the water was coming and how quickly it was rising. He also thought of the food, so recently brought here, and so easily ruined if reached by water. He paid no mind to the men’s talk as he finished dressing and waded his way to the great hall. Someone asked him what he should do, but Thornden didn’t know yet. He told him to follow.

Out in the great hall, Léof met him almost at once.

“The stables are flooding, too, worse maybe than here.”

“I have not even looked outside,” Thornden answered. “What is it like?”

Léof described the scene. Rowenna approached as they spoke, and she reiterated what Léof had said – the entire place was flooded, and the water was rising.

“Don’t let the horses go yet,” he said. “Put the halters on them, so that those who can may be able to ride. Let the foals and any you have that cannot be ridden loose at once. Maybe they can find higher ground.”

As Léof departed, Eodwine approached Thornden from the other side. “How bad is the flooding?”

“Léof tells me the whole of Scarburg is a lake,” Thornden said, turning at once. “What shall we do?”

He saw Eodwine’s shoulder’s slump, and for a second, Thornden remembered that Eodwine was older than he, and these constant setbacks were becoming more and more difficult for him to surmount. He regretted asking the question and reproved himself for not having come up with something before Eodwine arrived.

“Thornden, what do we have to use to keep people dry if we can get them to a place that will not be flooded?”

Thornden reflected quickly. His earlier thoughts of food availed him, and he said almost without hesitation, “The caravan came with tarps over the wagons. Those are well oiled and tarred and will keep some people dry. If the water is not too high, we should try to use the wagons, fill them with the youngsters and with some food, and try to pull them out.”

[Firefoot]

Léof hesitated only a moment before leaving to do as Thornden bid. Thornden was right, and Léof had to face it: he could not protect the horses, and the young ones would stand as good a chance on their own as with the human denizens of the Hall.

He made his way down the stable aisle, opening stall doors and releasing the uneasy yearlings, two-year-olds, and pregnant mares. None were yet due to foal, and he hoped they might be a calming, steadier influence on the flightier young animals. “Look after them, alright?” he said to Cinderfoot as he led her out of the stables. “And don’t even think about having that foal till the water’s gone and you’re safe back here.”

Lastly he came to Æthel’s yearling filly Ællwyn, the one for whom he had such high hopes. “Be wise and brave and safe,” he murmured to her. “Come back to me when it’s dry.” The flick of her ears told him she was listening to his voice, but her anxiety at the rising water was clear. She hesitated only a moment before plunging out into the rain, trotting to catch up with the small herd that was already headed towards higher ground and shelter on the Scar. Their instincts are good, he told himself. They will be safe.

But his worry continued unabated, and he could not help but wonder if it was the last time he would see any of them. If there was something more he could have done. Memory flashed sudden and bright in his mind of another day long ago: stables burning, horses screaming…

But no. There was nothing more he could have done then, any more than he could do now. He had other charges to care for, and he put his worries aside as he began the familiar work of haltering the remaining horses and preparing them to ride out.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine sighed with relief. He put his hand on his shoulder. "Thornden, you are a rock. I thought that we would have to have everybody climb onto the roof. I give you the power to do as you see fit about the wagons. Give orders to who you deem fit."

He wanted Thornden to give him orders so that he would not have to think of what to do next, but that was not the way this was to go. He looked about him to see if there was anything that stood out to him that needed doing.

"Thornden, I am going to stay here and work as the point to which all questions must come. Spread the word that any new woes and troubles are to be brought to me."

Thornden nodded and moved.

[Firefoot]

Yawning, Cerwyn joined the crush of people gathering in the great hall. "What's going on?" she asked of no one in particular, having missed the original alarm cry and only been awakened by the general clamor that followed.

The man next to her turned, and her eyes widened in recognition - it was him, the kidnapper. Scyld smirked - he'd not yet met Léof's tibet sister but it seemed that his reputation had preceded him. At least there was none of the scorn and mistrust in her face that had seemed to mark most of the old Scarburgians' reactions to him - only curiosity, and maybe just a little fear. He could have some fun with that - later, when the Hall wasn't under water. For now, he only said, "It seems that that we are being flooded."

She nodded and scurried off. She caught a glimpse of her brother as he was rushing outside - of course he'd go back to the horses before checking on her. She sighed. Spotting Javan not far away, she approached him instead. "Looks like you were right," she said.

[littlemanpoet]

"Such an astute comment," Scyld heard from behind him. It was Rowenna. "Yes, we're being flooded."

He looked at her sidewise with that sardonic expression of his.

"So are you going to stand there and smirk at everybody, or are you going to be useful?"

[Folwren]

"Right about what?" Javan asked, hopping up and down on one foot as he tried to tug on his wet boots - it was never easy putting on wet boots.

"You said earlier it might flood," Cerwyn said.

"I said Osmund said that!" Javan snapped. "I wish he was wrong!" He jerked the second boot on. "I'm going out to help Léof." He ran toward the door. "Come on, if you know anything about horses!" he called over his shoulder.

"Javan!" he heard from his left. Thornden came striding toward him. Javan swerved from his original course to meet him. "We're going to load the wagons and try to take the people and some food out with them. Go out and tell Léof and begin. I'll send men to help you."

Javan nodded and hastened outside. The cold, deep water brought him up short. He paused on the top of the steps leading down from the hall to the courtyard. He drew a shuddering breath and then plunged in. It swirled about his knees, and he shook his head. He doubted they could get the wagons out of this.

"Léof!" he shouted when he reached the stables.

"Here!" came the answer. Javan sloshed to him.

"We're to harness horses to the wagons. Best get the biggest ones, I don't know if we'll be able to get them out."

---

Saeryn

She stumbled out of bed. Her body ached with weariness. Why had this come now? She shook her children awake and bid them dress themselves. Eoghan began to cry.

"Mama, my stomach hurts!" he whimpered. Saeryn touched his forehead and ran it quickly over his cheek and behind his head to his neck. He felt cold and clammy. What more?

"Get dressed, son," she said quietly, her own stomach giving a terrible twist of fear. "You're going to be alright."

She dressed herself with haste, listening all the while as Eoghan's whimpering continued. Just before she left the room, she heard him begin to vomit. She turned back to him. He sat shivering violently on his mattress, leaning over, thankfully, so he had no soiled himself. She hastily wiped his face with her skirt and wrapped him in a blanket. "Are you feeling alright, Ruari?" she asked, looking over at her. Ruari stared at her, her eyes huge and dark, and nodded. "Come on, then."

She led the way out into the bustling hall. Eodwine stood near the fire, which thankfully was still alive, thought water was beginning to churn among the dry ashes beneath the grate.

"Eoghan is ill," she said. "Eodwine, if we are leaving, we must have food and shelter."

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn hesitated a moment, put off for a moment by Javan’s snappishness. Well – better to be useful somewhere. She’d only pulled a shawl around her shoulders over her shift when she’d been woken, so she hurried back to the women’s quarters to put on some more useful clothing. She pulled a dress over her head, and after brief consideration decided to pull on Léof’s old trousers that she’d arrived in as well.

All told, dressing only cost her a few minutes’ delay, though in that time several others had been recruited to the stables and she followed them out. Léof spotted her almost immediately. “Do you need something?” he asked.

“No, I’m here to help,” she said. Seeing his look, she added, “Javan said to come.”

If anything, his frown deepened, but he had better things to do than argue. “He’s in the tack room,” Léof said, gesturing. “You can help him bring the harnesses for the carts out. I was about to bring out the first horses…” his voice trailed off as he remembered she’d come out with several others who also needed instruction. He addressed the small group. “The horses in these first four stalls need to be harnessed.” He considered for a moment. The carts had been left alongside the stables; there had used to be an awning there but it had been used for firewood like so many other structures that winter. “A few of you go out and see how stuck the carts are and whether they can be brought around, or if we’ll need to hitch the horses directly out there to pull them out.” The men dispersed, and when Léof turned back to Cerwyn he found that she had disappeared as well, hopefully to find Javan as he'd said.

He’d barely gotten one of the horses out of its stall and clipped him into the aisle to be harnessed when one of the men who’d gone outside to check on the wagons returned. “The ground’s so wet the wheels have sunk straight into the mud,” he reported.

Léof sighed. “I guess we’ll see what happens when we get the horses hitched then,” he said.

[Firefoot]

"And if you are done listening in on my conversations, perhaps you could tell me how best I can help," Scyld answered in the same tone.

He glanced around: people were either milling around in confusion or dashing about chaotically, and he wasn't sure any of them really knew what was going on. He didn't.

[Galadriel55]

It was not courteous to order a guest to do housework. The people of Scarburg were too courteous for these rough times, Balan decided. And he was a guest who intended to earn his living with more than words, if need be.

Noticing some people leaving the Hall, Balan quietly went back to the room to get his canvas. He slept in the room with all the other men, and it took him a while to find his bed among all the mattresses. By the time he returned to the Hall, people who stayed inside swirled around the Hall like dust on a light wind, picking up here, landing there, clumping together and then falling apart again. He slipped around them, draped the canvas over himself - he usually used it as a tent, and it hung awkwardly on him, but it would keep off the worst of the water - and stepped outside the doors.

At first he could not see anything. There was a wall made of water and darkness in front of his eyes. For a moment, he was lost; he did not know where to head. Then he chuckled at himself. For someone who can invent such clever characters, you are a mighty fool, Balan. He cocked his ear this way and that, straining to hear voices. Almost nothing could be heard over the rain, but Balan thought he heard a snippet of conversation. He followed it, making sure that the water did not come up too high; he did not want to end up in the trench he helped dig just a few hours ago.

He knew he found the right place when he nearly collided with another man.

"Watch your way! Don't walk here like a wraith in the dark!"

"Wraiths in the dark we must be now if we are not to be wraiths in the light when morning comes," Balan retorted cheerily. He could not see the man's face to tell if he was angered or amused. "Tell me," he said, possibly interrupting the man's thoughts, "what task is to be done?"

"Nothing you and I can do until the horses come. The wagons are stuck too deep!" the man shouted back. Another man's voice sounded, asking what was happening. Balan carefully guided himself to a wagon, where a lantern sat shielded from the rain. Its flame barely lit the edges of the wagon, but it was clear that the wheels were buried deep.

"Do you have a strong, flat piece of wood?" he shouted to the man. He did not hear, so Balan repeated again.

"Unless you make a raft of it, how will wood help you drag the wagons out of the mud?" the man asked.

"As long as the wheels are on the ground, they will keep sinking, and the horses would be exhausted pulling them even a single arm length. But if we place the wood beneath the wheels, we will make a road for the wagons to drive on. Not a very good one, but better than this mud!"

[Folwren]

It was hard working in the dark and streaming rain. Javan didn’t have an extra hand to push away the streaming locks of hair out of his eyes as he and several others scrambled in the rising water to get long, stout pieces of wood underneath the wheels of the wagons. Before they were done, other men were leading the horses out with the traces and collars already on them. The water surged around the horses’ knees as they plowed through.

“This your idea?” Javan asked as he and the new minstrel fellow worked side by side at the last wheel.

“Aye,” Balan replied.

“Hope it works,” Javan muttered. He sloshed through the mud and water toward the tongue of the wagon. The horses were backed into places, looking about them nervously, but holding their alarm in check admirably. Javan and the others worked quickly in fastening the traces to the wagon tongue.

“All ready?” Javan asked as he buckled the last clasp.

“All ready,” came the reply. Javan gathered the reins and stood by the near horse’s flank while the other men hurried around to the back of the wagon and to the wheels. They set their hands and backs against it. Javan slapped the reins along the horse’s back, and shouted to the horses. The horses leaned into the collars and heaved. The men gasped as they put all of their effort into the pushing. For one long, horrible moment, nothing happened. The horses strained, their hooves sinking deep into the wet, oozing ground. Then, with a sucking sound and a surge of water, the wagon moved. It rose out of its watery bed, rolled over the wood Javan and the others had put in place. There was a halfhearted cheer as it sloshed out to the main courtyard in front of the hall.

[littlemanpoet]

So Scyld was in a bad temper; at least toward her. Fair enough, she thought. They all deserved to be in a bad temper, considering the nuisance of the flood and rains.

"Let's go have a word with Eodwine, see how he thinks we can both be useful."

She turned toward the eorl who stood in the midst of the Hall. She was not sure Scyld would follow, but that was really his choice.

This rain and flooding was too much. It was uncanny. There was no Dark Lord anymore, but it this much rain and flood must have wizardry behind it; or at least, something altogether out of their reckoning.

[piosenniel]

This Game thread will be moved to Elvenhome.

It can be retrieved for play at the request of the owner and players

~*~ Pio