Hard Winters RPG

[piosenniel]

Short general introduction to the Scarburg Mead Hall

Scarburg Mead Hall had had a stormy beginning. By king Eomer’s word, Eodwine was made Eorl of Middle Emnet to bring it under king’s peace. This was done because it was known in Edoras that some of the stronger and wealthier local landholders in Middle Emnet sought more to add to their own wealth than to rule well, show loyalty to the king, or work for the common good.

Finding only smoking ruins at Scarburg Hall, the folk who joined Eodwine began the hard task of rebuilding the old Hall and establishing the new Eorldom. Sadly, Eorl Eodwine took ill before he had time to see either task finished, and was deemed beyond healing.

Believing his loyal servant to be dying, king Eomer chose as new eorl for Scarburg, Athanar, a renowned hero of the War, battle tested chieftain, a man strong enough of fiber to make firm the King's rule. Although given to quick wrath, he was reliable, trustworthy, stern, and strong.

Eorl Athanar’s efforts at bringing the Mead Hall under his rule were doomed to failure from the very beginning, for the folk of Scarburg were loyal to Eodwine's memory and light-handed rule, and chafed under the more stern authority of Athanar. They had no wish to be ruled by the new eorl. Amid much mayhem, with great resolve Eorl Athanar did finish the mead hall, and by a set of bold moves brought the local landholders under the king’s rule – at least for the time being.

Then, unforeseen by all, like one risen from the dead, Eodwine came back.


Jumping to the present Mead Hall

Year 16 of the Fourth Age saw the finishing of the Mead Hall. Not all wounds were healed inside the Mead Hall but with Saeryn giving birth to twins even those ills seemed to be set aside by most people for the time being. The two eorls seemed to get along well enough and seemed content with a sharing of responsibilities. Eodwine still healing, and a father of the newborns, Athanar oversaw the daily life of the Mead Hall – but was hearing the counsel of Eodwine. Thus, most of those loyal to Eodwine came to trust Athanar a little more.

The summer was far busier than anyone could have expected. With king Elessar’s trip to lake Evendim, all the lands under his rule received many visitors journeying where they had never dared to go before. The Scarburgers built a two-story shed for visitors who were happy with a more modest bedding.

The local landholders, eager to line their pockets, set aside their dislike of the new masters in Scarburg.

As the spring of year 17 of the Fourth Age carried with it troublesome news. There were more raids of Easterling tribesmen and groups of orcs from Wold, East Emnet and North Marches.

King Eomer called a muster of eorlingas from the northern and north-eastern parts of the Mark. He called upon Athanar to be chieftains over all of the eorlingas from the Middle Emnet. He took with him most of his men and some of eorl Eodwine’s as well. Athanar's sons, Wulfric and Wilheard, were mustered alongside most of the local landholders and their sons.

Having not fully recovered from his illness, Eorl Eodwine was charged with sole rule of the Mead Hall once again – with only a handful of eorlings left to defend it.

A not so small group of easterling fugitives from the wars in the east, stumbled upon the Mead Hall. By lucky chance, Cnebba and his friends were puttering about amid the outskirts of the Scar, and spied the undisciplined rabble before they knew they had been seen, and well before the easterlings realized what kind of easy booty lay before them.

Cnebba brought the news to the Eorl, who mustered the few eorlings in his charge. They took their places in defense, and by means of a sudden rain of arrows upon the enemy, made it seem as if there were more of them than there were.

However, the easterlings' sudden losses did not lessen their desperate greed to take this prize and what loot it might have to offer. They laid siege. A sense of dread set in among the folk of Scarburg, for they were badly outnumbered.

Rowenna came to Eodwine and asked leave to gather any boys, girls, and women who were willing to be given quick and basic training in banditry, and do what damage they could. Eodwine thought the request odd, but given their dire straits, saw no reason to say her nay.

Between night raids, baiting, and other means, Rowenna and her makeshift gang of bandits picked off one, two, or three easterlings at a time. It was a mere few days before the easterlings were demoralized, according to the reports from Rowenna's well placed spies, and in the face of an eorling sally at dawn, the easterlings broke camp and fled, or sued for mercy.

Knowing that the Mead Hall could not feed and house so many captives, Eodwine charged them to leave the Middle Emnet, going he cared not where, and that any found within a day's walk on the morrow, would be killed on the spot. Whether Eodwine meant his threat or not, became a matter of debate among the folk of the Mead Hall, for he would not say.

The following day, search parties were sent out, and only one easterling was found within a day's march; this one was found sitting cross-legged, not two stone's throws from the Mead Hall beyond the Scar. His weapons were laid down and he rose, his hands held above his head. In broken Westernesse he said that the unmercy of the mead hall, whether death or imprisonment, was better than any other fate that awaited him elsewhere. Eodwine took pity on him against the heated objections of Rowenna. This one proved his worth over the following months and years. His name was Jian.

The riders of the Riddermark drove the scattered enemies away from the eastern parts of the Mark, but before they could return more serious news was brought to Edoras. King Elessar had come back from the north and was mustering an army to ride north-east, to Rhûn, to defeat the source of the raiders that festered the eastern borderlands of Gondor, of which the raiders to the Mark were only a small part.

Lord Athanar and his eorlings were mustered with the larger call to arms and rode beside king Eomer to the east led by the high king Elessar his Gondorian army late in year 17.

In year 18 of the Fourth Age the spring came late and the northern parts of the Mark missed the first sowing. Most of the men were waging a war in the east under the banners of king Elessar of Gondor. It was clear there wouldn’t be a good harvest this year. Many thought these were ill omens.

The eorlingas came back from the war in the east in early autumn. Their return brought hope, and there was a night of singing and dancing to celebrate the victory. The dead, including Athanar's oldest son, Wulfric, who was cut down in the closing battle, were honored and buried with song.

Eorl Athanar was awarded for his bravery and leadership in the war in the East with a chieftainship on the frontier of the Rhun, answerable directly to the Prince of Ithilien - a prestigious post indeed. Thus was ended the unhappy double leadership in Scarburg since seeing that Eorl Eodwine was whole enough to claim back his seat in Scarburg.

But the worst was to come. The men came back just in time to help with the second harvest, but just after two days winter came. It was October.

Biting cold settled in upon the Mark for many days. The ground froze. The crops died in the fields. Athanar deemed it wise to take leave, with his folk, so there would be fewer mouths to feed in Scarburg. He took with him a large party back to Edoras, vowing to ask king Eomer for any goods that could be spared. He left a few eorlings behind to help Eodwine, for their number at the Mead Hall had become thin indeed.

Then came snow. Athanar and his folk escaped the first blizzard in thenick of time. Wind swept fields, forest, and roads were covered. When sunlight finally glared over the vast white, the drifts were man-high. The Mead Hall was cut off from the rest of the Mark, even the nearest landholders..

The snowbanks hardened and were very hard to dig through. New snowstorms added more layers of snow. Walking on the face of the desert of snow was treacherous, for one never knew where one might fall through and land a few feet below. The folk dug narrow, high walled paths to their store of chopped wood, the meat shed, and the smithy. They were soon low on firewood.

In year 19 of the Fourth Age the winter took even firmer grip of the Mead Hall.

In February they tore down the sheds they had built just two years ago for firewood. They sent a few eorlings to find help during sunny cold days in March. The men made makeshift shoes of cross-cut wood, tied to their boots, so they could walk on the top of the man-and-a-half high snow. The men never returned.

In late March, the Mead Hall began to feel the pangs of starvation: the old and infirm were dying, first one then another a few days later, then another a day more .... until a pall hung over the Mead Hall, and it seemed that death and despair might win the day as well as the night. In April they tore apart the upper story of the guest wing, and used it for firewood, and ate bark from trees boiled in snow.

In May, spring came suddenly. Days and days of balmy sunshine warmed the air and melted the snow quickly.

Five days after the sudden warming of the weather the people of the Mead Hall heard a remarkable sound from far away: something very noisy was coming through the snow and the rising flood waters.

Carts trundling down the muddy road, filled with food, were spotted first by the children, who ran back to the hall screaming in joy. They were saved!

In the lead wagon was Athanar’s son Wilheard.

~*~ writen by littlemanpoet

[Thinlómien]

The snow and mud were mixing into an ugly grey puddle under Bolt's hooves. The bad-tempered mare wasn't particularly enthusiastic about wading through the sloshy remains of the hard winter, and even less enthusiastic about keeping a pace with the slowest carts in the caravan. Wilheard couldn't really blame her. If it had been up to him, they would have galloped all the way from Edoras across the open lands and arrived in Scarburg days ago. He patted Bolt on the neck. ”We'll be there soon. Good girl.”

Wilheard shot an exasperated glance over his shoulder. The carts were rolling through the treacherous ground slower than Wilheard thought possible, and the horsemen accompanying them kept a leisurely pace as well. A couple of them were singing a bawdy song as they rode. They seemed to be quite enjoying themselves, and not in a hurry. ”I'm sorry,” he muttered to Bolt. He had just reminded himself that it was no one else than Wilheard, son of the lord and war hero Athanar, who had set this sluggish pace Bolt was suffering from. He was really not cut out to be a leader, he exasperated even his own horse.

”Hey sir, is it far yet?” a cheerful voice called from behind. ”The ladies would like a rest soon.”
Wilheard rolled his eyes. Ladies. And what ladies they had with them, even a spoiled little Gondorian seamstress for no reason he could fathom. A little belatedly, he realized it was he who had been addressed.
”We're not stopping until we're there,” he shouted back. ”If you looked ahead, you could actually see it.”

There it was, along the scar, the Meadhall from which these land were governed. And where I am supposed to learn my manners, Wilheard thought. How well it worked out the last time. The place was accursed, and there were many memories connected to it, both good and bad, that Wilheard tried to keep from his mind. He was ridiculously lonely, and in the brink of losing it all he knew. He gritted his teeth. Onwards, we have a mission, he told himself. He had once had a brother who had despised weakness in a soldier.

The caravan trudged on through the afternoon. It was becoming hard to tell which one was more unhappy and restless, Bolt or Wilheard. But slowly, Wilheard could make out individual buildings, then horses and people, and finally he rode onto the yard of the Scarburg Meadhall, Bolt splashing a fair amount of mud on a child that foolishly ran towards the approaching caravan. Wilheard cast a furtive glance around himself. The hall looked positively miserable, and so did the people streaming out to greet him. So many faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, all eyes fixed on Wilheard and those that came behind him. This leadership thing was definitely not for Wilheard. Nonetheless, he reined in his horse and raised his voice:

”Westu hal, Eorl Eodwine! We bring to you food and supplies from Edoras.”

[Firefoot]

It was with considerable trepidation that Scyld now returned to Scarburg. It had been just over four years since he left. He’d never meant to be gone so long, but one thing had led to another, and before he knew it, the time was just gone. His errand had seemed so urgent at the time. He fingered the letter in his pocket absently. It was a bit worn around the edges, for he had handled if often, wondering what would happen when (or if, he had eventually began to think) he would give it to the Eorl. Linduial, once he had finally found her, had been happy enough to write it for him. She had even offered to come herself, saying it would not be far out of her way the next time she came to Rohan. He had declined; he needed her testimony, but he did not need her to fight his battles for him. He would handle this on his own terms.

He had read the letter, before Linduial sealed it. “Don’t you trust me, even now?” she had asked. And he had mocked her for her trusting nature, to hide the shame he felt – shame which only grew after he read her words. The letter was an even more generous depiction of his nature than he thought he deserved. It did not hide the fact that he had aided in the kidnapping, but it emphasized the small ways he had helped her and his role in her escape.

“Thank you,” he’d said, and meant it.

“It is the least I could do, after how you helped me and after how far you came to find me. Will you stay long?”

He told her no, for though he was loath to begin already the long journey back (it had taken him nearly two months to get there, and truly had he recently told Rowenna that he did not fancy living out of doors), his task was achieved and he had nothing further to gain there in Dol Amroth.

Linduial had protested, saying that she herself intended to return to Rohan at the end of the summer, that he might travel with her, as part of her guard if he wished. He had laughed, less meanly than he once would have but not without scorn. “Perhaps the purses of Gondorian noble ladies run deep, but mine do not: I fear I cannot afford to stay so long without occupation. And you choose a poor man for your guard: a poorer swordsman you are unlikely to meet.”

“I have seen you throw a knife,” retorted Linduial, “and half the point of a guard is to dissuade bandits from attacking in the first place, so that they do not have to be fought. As for work…” she paused, and a light jumped into her eyes. “There is an envoy here, from Harad, recently arrived, seeking a trade treaty. It is a good offer, but we think they may be trying to trick us in some way. You are skilled at finding information out, I think – if you would see if anything might be found out from the sailors that came with the envoy, I would be grateful, and would pay you well for it.” He had tried to protest, but Linduial’s mind was made up and he was swept along by her plan. In the end, after talking to, eavesdropping on, and a couple times sneaking into the rooms of the Haradrim, he had been able to place a tip to Linduial that Dol Amroth stood to profit far less from the treaty than the Haradrim would have them believe, and the terms had been renegotiated.

Thus did Scyld spend the better part of a year in his journey to Dol Amroth and back. In that time, he had thought long on the letter from his brother, and eventually curiosity had overcome his bitterness. Upon his return to Rohan he did not go to Scarburg but followed the directions in Bedric’s letter, thinking to spend perhaps a few days or weeks there before bearing Linduial’s letter to Scarburg.

He’d realized, as he walked the last couple miles to his brother’s house, that he had no idea what he would say. Would they even be recognizable to each other? He asked for directions from a couple men he met along the road, and they pointed him toward a snugly built cottage with a smithy nearby. It was nearing dinner and the smithy seemed quiet, so he walked directly up to the cottage and knocked at the door. A young blonde girl, not even waist high, answered. “Who are you?” she asked, staring up at him with large blue eyes.

“Well,” said Scyld, who had never been comfortable around children, “I think I’m your uncle.”

She frowned at him, clearly not sure whether to believe this outrageous claim. A man came up behind her, and Scyld felt a jolt of recognition. His features had aged, but certainly this was his brother. “Who’s here, Agnes?” he asked.

“He says he’s my uncle,” said the girl – Agnes. She continued to talk but now Bedric’s attention turned sharply to Scyld, a disbelieving look on his face.

“Hello, Bedric,” said Scyld, a bit stiffly. “I got your letter, though it took some time getting to me.”

Then Bedric laughed, a joyful booming noise. “Come in, then! I couldn’t decide if you’d never gotten the letter, or if you just wanted nothing to do with us. Agnes, he most certainly is your uncle – this is your Uncle Scyld.” And then there were introductions all around: to Bedric’s wife and three other children – two older than Agnes and one a babe scarcely walking. They had just been sitting down to dinner and a seventh place was quickly prepared. Much of the meal revolved around the children, helping them with their meals and listening to their chatter, for which Scyld was grateful – a bit of time for him to watch the family without answering any difficult questions. Afterwards came the cleaning up, and just when Scyld thought the time might be coming for more serious conversation, Agnes approached him. “Can you tell a story?” she asked.

“Agnes, honey, I’m sure your uncle is tired from his trip - ” Bedric started to say, but Scyld made the quick decision that dealing with the child was immensely preferable than trying to explain himself.

“That’s alright,” he said. “Storytime, it is.”

With a delighted squeal, Agnes hauled herself up into his lap. Startled, he tried to figure out where to put his arms – having been the youngest of his siblings, he’d never held a child before. He did not notice the twitch of amusement on Bedric’s face. He thought of a story that his father had used to tell him, when he was a child. He began clumsily, but soon the rhythms of the tale began to come back to him. By the end of it, she had fallen asleep in his arms, and his heart was won.

Maybe that’s when his decision was made, that he would stay longer than just a few days – that his family was worth getting to know.

He started trying to find ways to help out during the days. He was worthless as an assistant in the smithy, but his oldest sibling, Aelfred, was a leatherworker, and Scyld found that the work intrigued him. Without formal arrangement, he began spending more of his time there, helping as he could. Learning a trade was an opportunity he’d never had while with Sorn, and he was pleasantly surprised to find how satisfying it was: he could easily lose himself in the tasks of piecing together the leather or detailing an intricate design. Aelfred, serious and quiet, was a patient teacher and seemed to appreciate Scyld’s companionship. They rarely talked except of their work, which suited Scyld as he began to lose his fear of prying and uncomfortable questions.

He continued to stay with Bedric, and it was not long before a glimmer of the easy rapport they had shared as boys began to return. Scyld told him as few details as he could manage about his life with Sorn, and eventually Bedric stopped asking, content to share the present rather than dwell in the past.

Adney, Scyld’s oldest sister, he saw seldom, for she had married a farmer who lived some ways away, but Gytha, the younger of his sisters but still three years his elder, seemed to see and understand him most clearly. He caught her, sometimes, looking at him intently. It made him uncomfortable: not the fact of her attention, but what she might see in him. She never pressed him, but it was she who came to him nearly three years after he had come to them, and said: “I still wonder, sometimes, that you are here with us and not dead, and I would be glad to have you with us until we all grow old and have grandchildren about us. But I sense there is still something you are searching for, some healing you have not yet found. I thought, when you came to us, that it was your family that you had been missing, but now I think it was not so – not wholly. If you know what it is you are missing, and where you might find it, you should go to it.”

She had smiled at him, but he had only nodded thoughtfully back. When he had gone there and then decided to stay, he had tried to put thoughts of Sorn and Scarburg out of his mind, to see if perhaps this was the place where he was meant to be. Then, unbidden, thought of Rowenna come to mind, and he thought of Linduial’s letter unopened, and he knew Gytha had seen more clearly than he himself.

Three years among his siblings, and still he had never told them. He was grateful to them, thirsty for the kind of simple joy they found in life together. He wanted to share it – to anyone who did not know him well, it would seem that he did. Still, there was a barrier between him and them. At first he had simply not wanted to explain to them his life with Sorn, and why he had stayed when his ten years were up, and how he had gotten mixed up with Linduial’s kidnapping. Then after a time, he had wished to, but had not known how. How could they understand? He did not know which he desired less: their pity, or their spite. Either they would somehow try to explain it away, say it wasn’t his fault, or they would hate him for it. He could imagine their revulsion as they tried to hide it, wishing that they had not invited him into their homes. He could not stand the thought, and would not take that chance.

He had met only one person who might understand, and knew of only one way to finally be free from his past. So, in the fall of the eighteenth year of the Fourth Age, he began to make preparations to leave and return to Scarburg. His brothers gifted him with his own set of leatherworking tools: knives, awls, needles, stamps. “Can’t have those years of learning go to waste,” Aelfred had said gruffly – like Scyld, he was uncomfortable with emotionally fraught moments.

In October he set out for Scarburg, but made it only as far as Edoras when a heavy snow fell across the land, unseasonably early. He found there also a delegation from Scarburg, and was able to find out from some soldiers he had known the news from Scarburg: the harvest destroyed and the hall in need of supplies, but the heavy snowfall preventing the delegation’s return. Scyld’s heart sank. The way back to Bedric’s cottage was likewise unpassable, so he took up lodging in Edoras, figuring that snow which had come so early would soon melt, and that he would make his way to Scarburg soon enough with the supply train. After several weeks, it became apparent that this was not to be the case, and he managed to put his newly gained skills to use, working on commission for another leatherworker in town who currently had more work than he could handle and earning enough to pay for his room and board while waiting for the weather to clear.

Over the long winter, he’d had plenty of time to think, to second-guess his decision. He supposed his welcome back to Scarburg would be lukewarm at best: he did not flatter himself that he had been well-liked. Tolerated would perhaps be a more apt description. He wondered if Rowenna had missed him; if she had been sad to see him leave, she had hidden it well. What if she had forgotten him? Or was gone? Or married? As the winter wore on, new worries began to set in as well. How low on food supplies was the Hall? Had they run out? Were they dying? Thus with great anxiety he had joined the supply train when the weather broke and the great thaw began. What would he find, when he reached the Scarburg?

He paid little heed to the other members of the caravan as he drove one of the carts (Sorn had had a cart much like it, once, that he had had Scyld drive now and again). He made polite conversation as necessary, introducing himself once again as Nydfara to those he did not know (he had resumed use of this name in Edoras over the winter). It would not do to begin using his right name until he should present his letter to the Eorl. Slowly they rolled into sight of Scarburg, and Scyld felt his anxiety rising further. He took deep, steadying breaths and allowed a placid smirk to creep onto his face. He belonged here, he told himself. Let no one doubt it.

[littlemanpoet]

All the folk of Scarburg streamed out of the hall and outbuildings at the call. Eodwine stood in the thawing muck, a heavy cloak wrapped around his thinned frame, his bony hand holding it tight around his throat. Maybe it was not so cold as it was, maybe the frost was gone from the air, but the cold was in his bones even yet.

"Well met! Is that Wilheard?"

"Aye, it is I, eorl Eodwine."

"You have brought many -" mouths to feed, was his first thought, but if they brought food and new clothing and aught else, then maybe these brought more than they would take. "-many folk! All are welcome! Come! There is a fire in the hearth, and warmth enough within. Did you by chance bring wood? We have little left."

[Firefoot]

Léof leaned against the fence, taking a break for a moment to watch the horses freshly released into the pasture. He found it necessary to take breaks frequently, these days: the effects of constant hunger taking their toll on him. He had always been thin, and though he had gained a few inches in height and his shoulders had broadened out since he had taken up his position at the Meadhall five years ago, he still did not have much in reserve to sustain him through these weeks of hunger. He’d found that keeping busy distracted him from his hunger, but that he was also losing the stamina to work for extended periods of time.

Finally, finally, it was warming up though, and he thought the horses were nearly as ready for spring as he was. He smiled as a pair of yearlings suddenly took off at a gallop, as if racing each other. He loved watching the young horses. Over the last several years, he (with plenty of help) had gotten a small breeding program started at the hall. Considering his near total lack of experience with breeding when he had gotten the whole thing started, he thought he was doing all right. With the combined knowledge of those at the Hall and some local horsemen who were friendly and generous with their advice, Léof had learned an enormous amount and was becoming ever more self-assured of his skills.

His first thought had actually been to breed Æthel, in large part because a foal might be worth good money. He had no coin for a stud fee, but instead had offered a share of the foal. That colt had been sold nearly three years ago, as a yearling, and had fetched quite a good price, leaving Léof’s pockets heavier than they’d ever been. One of the yearlings out there in the paddock now, in fact, was Æthel’s second foal, a lovely bay filly. Too thin, though – all the horses were, after this winter. One of the pregnant mares had lost her foal, and he was afraid that the others that would be born this spring and summer would be under-sized. Still, the horses were in better shape than their human counterparts: the first two harvests of hay had been unaffected, and since Athanar had left with most of his folk and their horses, there were sufficiently few horses that Léof had been able to make the hay last through the winter with the horses on reduced rations. He had estimated that he had less than a fortnight’s worth of hay left in the stable when the weather had finally broken earlier this week, rapidly melting the snow. The pastures were a soggy mess, and the grass was yellowed and sad-looking, but he thought it would provide ample nourishment to supplement the dwindling hay until more could be gotten.

Behind him, one of the children shrieked, startling him out of his reverie. He turned around and thought he saw in the distance a train of carts. His stomach twisted – could it be that finally they would have food again? He scarcely dared to hope, but made his way over to the front yard of the Hall to find out.

There were several carts, piled high with all sorts of supplies. He wondered how soon there might be food set out to eat. As he walked up, folk were already beginning to unload the carts. He realized with an unhappy start that attached to those carts were horses, all needing care and stabling. He hoped these newcomers were in a helpful sort of mood, because even the thought of handling all these new horses exhausted him. Nevertheless, he approached the nearest cart to get started.

[Inziladun]

It was an odd place to be, Ladavan thought.

He was riding an old grey horse that seemed not at all pleased to be bearing his weight for so long a time, slender though Ladavan was. Carts, wagons, and other horses filled out a long, dusty, and hard-bitten caravan that wound its slow, plodding way toward Scarburg Meadhall.

Most of his fellow travelers were, judging from the gold that adorned their heads, of the Horse-lords that until recent years Ladavan had been taught were bitter enemies.
The Great War had changed much, though. Ladavan had been on the wrong side of the conflict, though even now he remembered the enthralling speeches given by the lord Saruman to him and so many others of his people; words that spoke to their hearts. Saruman had railed against the wrongs done to the men of Dunland by the Strawheads over the years, in which they had been aided by the Men From the Sea. The latter were hated scarcely more than the Horse-lords, for it was by their hands that Men of Ladavan's race had been driven from their ancestral homes.
These memories Saruman had fiercely rekindled, saying he had the power to slay and drive away all the invaders, and great reward would come to those who would join his forces.
Thus, Ladavan was brought into war. His older brother Meryk, too, had volunteered. And both had found themselves fighting against the hated Men of Rohan.
At first, they had confidence in victory, though Ladavan and many others had not liked being near the filthy, violent creatures called Orcs that made the most part of Saruman's troop count.
Defeat had come so quickly to them though that Ladavan still did not know how it had happened. Their assault on the fortress where the Strawhead king was said to be, had been broken by some strange force of trees that walked, and Ladavan had fled in terror before them. It was the next day that he found Saruman's armies shattered, and he himself taken to a camp for those like him, where he expected to be killed by the enemy.
To his surprise, all his people had been released, on the condition that they first help to repair damage done to Rohan during the fighting. Ladavan had been amazed to find Meryk during that time, for he had thought him likely dead.
Meryk, though, would not return to Dunland. He had said he had news that there was a refuge in the North, up the ancient road past Tharbad, where Men could have plenty and rule lesser folk. He was setting forth with some dozen companions, and left as soon as the Rohirrim let them free.

Ladavan shook his head at the memories. Now he was going toward a new future. He had tried to go back to the old life in Dunland, but his parents were gone, no one knew where, Nor were they the only disappearances. Ladavan had known that even as some of his race had served Saruman as fighters, others, too old or unable to war, had gone to Isengard to serve as laborers and food-tillers. After Saruman was beaten and had left his old dwelling, Ladavan had gone there and found it changed greatly. The walls and mighty gate were in ruins, and fearful tree-men too like those that had menaced him at the Rohirrim's fortress had stalked the area. Ladavan saw no hope in searching, for no Men seemed to remain.
Dunland had been uninviting and dreary with so many gone, and he had been encouraged by the mercy of the Rohirrim toward defeated enemies. He thought to make a life in a new place, free from old hurts and grievances.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

She had arrived to Scarburg close after the turn of the year, when one week there came a sudden relief in the form of unexpectedly beautiful weather. For three days, the sun shone, and it was only mildly cold outside. Crust had formed upon the snow and she deemed it safe to travel. She had been decided already for a while back then, the possibilities for her were only two: the other was to remain in the silent house until the last of the supplies had disappeared from the cellar, and if thaw didn't come by then, lie down next to where she had buried her husband's body. She would not let herself dwell on that, however. The only thing that had kept her going, as also the nearest neighbours went silent and there was nothing for company save the trinkets Mildric had brought from afar, was that her mind had been on the future. She had been imagining and planning what she would do once the snows melted. She would send a letter to her son, who was surely apprenticed somewhere warm and safe. Maybe he had become a blacksmith, working in a blazing forge all day, or maybe he had become a baker, pulling fresh warm loaves of bread straight from the oven. She would save her husband's feather quill for writing the letter, the colourful one he had brought from his travels in South Gondor; the rest of them she had fed to the fire already. She should also write to Mildric's firstborn, yes, she should, and settle the matters regarding the old house. It was something to occupy her mind with during the long days of the long winter, when it was not safe for her to go outside. She had decided, though, that she would not stay in the old house after the winter, there was nothing for her there. She was still young and beautiful, oh yes, the soldiers from Scarburg had been telling her that, and she could see it from the looks they gave her even without it. One in particular, Áforglaed, probably as much younger than her as she was when she had married Mildric, but strong and handsome and wonderfully amusing with his often silly behaviour. She had found herself thinking about him more and more, she knew he had not left with the rest of eorl Athanar's men in the autumn. She had not seen him since then. How was he? Was he still alive? Stefnu was convinced that he, of all, would survive the harsh winter, a healthy and strong young man. She would see him, too, once the thaw came. Or earlier. She began to think of Scarburg Mead Hall, she was certain lord Eodwine and lady Saeryn would welcome a pair of hands; it had happened in the past. And then, who knows? Soon, Stefnu's resolution gained a clear shape.

But as the winter did not cease, she had not dared to leave the house. The Mead Hall was far, and people had died for less than a few miles. Eventually, her thoughts began running in circles as the fires dimmed with the last of her husband's fine Umbarean furniture burning down, and the last of the supplies dwindled. She even drank the barrel of Bree ale Mildric had stored in their cellar a long time ago, then burned the wood. And it was then when the weather suddenly cleared for a couple of days, and she knew it was now or never.

And so I am here, she thought to herself several months later, moving around in the kitchen she had already grown fond of, even though these days there was not any real meal to cook. We have made it through the winter. It won't be long before somebody comes from the outside, to help us get back on our feet. They will bring food and other supplies. Every day, together with the other women in the kitchen, they would talk about it and look out of the windows. And one day, at last, one of the children burst into the kitchens - a poor, gaunt thing, but still with the liveliness all children possess no matter what - and shouted: "They are coming! I saw them! They are coming!" And indeed, as the women - and half of the Mead Hall - started pouring out of the doors, a man on a fine horse appeared on the road, and then another, and another, and another, and laden carts behind them.

"At last," somebody's voice escaped from behind Stefnu, and similar sighs of relief and happiness followed from all around.

"Béma bless them," Stefnu whispered. They were saved. They had food. They had wood. The last of the winter was finally over.

[Nogrod]

Stigend was pounding the sawdust with the chips and slivers of wood into a paste that would replace some of the flour in the dough the women in the kitchens would bake the bread from. He wasn’t sure how much of the actual flour there was left but he did know that Frodides asked for more of the stuff every day and the small pieces of the daily bread he had tasted less and less like bread and more and more like the dust he was pounding into a paste.

He was tired. He was so tired and weak he didn’t recognize himself any more. It was not how he felt being himself would feel like. How many days did they have left? How many days could they continue even if the weather had started warming up steadily already the last week? One, two, three days? The cold wasn't the only killer, hunger was one too. Was there a point in continuing the struggle? He thought of Garstan...

Suddenly he stopped the pounding. He thought he heard voices from outside the empty workshop. Just as he straightened his aching back the door was flung wide open and Leodthern ran in with her eyes wide from excitement.

“People are coming!” she yelled, “Come and see! People!”

Before Stigend had time to even mentally react to the news, Leodthern had grabbed his hand and was pulling him determinately off from the carpenter’s bench. Without a word, in something like a dream, he threw his gloves on top of the table and followed Leodthern’s lead.

From the doorway he saw it. There was a caravan coming towards the Mead Hall and people were coming out from all the doors to greet the incomers. There was joy and excitement in the air.

Stigend had to breath in slowly and hard not to burst into tears while Leodthern was pulling him from his hand. “Come Stigend! People! Everyone’s there!”

With Leodthern yanking him forwards Stigend suddenly collapsed to the ground face on. His legs were just not carrying him anymore.

He vaguely heard Leodthern calling for help and thought he was trying to rise up himself, but only after a couple of hands took him from the armpits he came back to his senses and realised he was being lifted up. He saw Modtryth’s troubled face in front of him.

“Are you allright?” she almost whispered, worried, looking at him in the eyes.

Stigend nodded and fell down to his knees – and burst into tears of relief.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

He felt like he had not eaten for years. Even if the snow was gone and the prospects started to look better for all of them, Hilderinc had refused to eat when he thought there were others more in need of it. There were not too many older than him left, but women and children there were. He wondered whether anybody had spotted his habit of slipping away during mealtimes whenever he could do it without being too obvious. He assumed it must have started showing in his countenance, but then again, who of them looked well anymore?

As the carts rattled into the courtyard, Hilderinc finally realised this was over. Feeling strangely light-headed, he followed the eorl and others who were with him to welcome the long-awaited caravan. He had never thought he would feel so happy to see Athanar's younger son. He had never thought he would feel so happy seeing anybody after being stuck so long in the same circle of people slowly starving to death. He caught Wilheard's eye as the young man surveyed the crowd. Hilderinc smiled and nodded, even though with his ghastly appearance it must have looked terrifying.

He figured lord Eodwine would have them help unloading the carts so that first food could be made, then the rest of the supplies could be stored and distributed in a more organised manner. He made his way closer to the caravan so that he could promptly get to work once Eodwine would issue the order. As he walked past one of the carts, he noticed another of the Scarburg soldiers, Áforglaed, already kneeling next to a small wooden box inside which a few chickens were making protesting noises, apparently unhappy about being tossed around during the long journey.

"Cluck-cluck-cluck," Áforglaed was trying to communicate with the chickens, poking his finger between the bars and removing it just in time to avoid being pecked.

"What are you doing?" Hilderinc asked. Áforglaed jumped up, looking somewhat embarassed.

"I haven't seen a chicken in a while," he said, apologizingly. Hilderinc pressed his lips together in a smile. His lips felt so thin that he was sure his teeth must be showing through. "Don't worry," he said. "Now I hope we all are going to see some every day."

"On a plate," Áforglaed added cheerfully.

"I hope we first see their eggs," Hilderinc said, but then paused and looked around as he heard lord Eodwine saying something.

"Guess we could start unloading these soon, if our stablemaster also shows up to take care of the horses," he added, looking up. Then he noticed another familiar face. "Nydfara!" The man looked older, with possibly a few more wrinkles on his forehead, but he wore the same smile Hilderinc had remembered and that he had always found slightly irksome. He also bore himself on the cart as if he had just returned from a short trip into the town, despite the fact that Hilderinc had not seen the man for what must have been - three years? Four years? There had not even been much time for them to get to know each other very closely, but Hilderinc remembered him well, just as he did all those he had met at the beginning of his stay in Scarburg. The memories of the first days were always the freshest. And now he was one of the last few of Athanar's men remaining.

"You could not have picked a better time," he said, squinting against the light as he looked up at Nydfara.

"Well you could have, a couple of weeks sooner," Áforglaed chimed in before anybody could slap him over the mouth.

[Firefoot]

Despite Aforglaed’s jesting tone, Scyld could see that it was the truth. “Indeed, it looks as though none of you has had a decent meal in weeks,” he said. All around him were the gaunt faces and loosely hanging clothes of those who had gone too long with too little food. There were many faces he recognized, but quite a few that he did not as well. He saw no sign yet of Rowenna, though he tried to tell himself that he was not looking for her. He did not know whether to feel relieved or worried.

He forced his mind back to the task at hand, unloading the cart. “I have mostly grain in this cart,” he told them. “Flour and oats, I think. And the chickens, but you already found those.” He hefted a flour sack over his shoulder and grabbed another with his other hand to take inside to the kitchens. Before heading inside, he added with a wry smile: “If you’re deciding over a chicken to eat first, I’d take that brown one in the far cage. Wouldn’t quiet down for a single mile of the trip here.”

Hilderinc’s welcome, such as it was, along with the obvious relief and joy of the folk at receiving supplies, had heartened him. Maybe he needn’t have worried so much, he thought, as he carried his burdens into the Hall.

[Nogrod]

Cnebba, Garmund and Leodthern were searching for any vegetation revealed under the snow that could be used as food a bit farther away from the Hall when Leodthern first heard the voices. They all heard it soon enough.

“Someone’s coming! Athanar’s coming to save us!” Leodthern shouted.

Garmund looked at her little sister in dismay. “You wish”, he snorted but turned back to gaze where the road made a turn half a mile a way. They were all tense with excitement trying to hear and see anything that would relive them from the immediate fear of a false hope. And there it was, a sound of carts wheeling slowly towards them, the muttering of voices, the slow pounding of the hooves – and they were all coming closer. It was true! Someone were coming!

Suddenly the figure of Wilheard came from behind the corner riding proudly in front of a caravan spreading behind him. The three were speechless just watching the caravan spilling out into their view cart by cart, soldier by soldier – and whoever there were riding with them.

“We must tell dad, mom… everyone!” Cnebba yelled but Garmund was not reacting. He stared at Wilheard with his eyes fixed. “Garmund!” he yelled again pushing his arm but Garmund just shook his hand away his eyes still fixed on the convoy.

“Go Leodthern, go! Tell dad, tell mom, tell everyone! I’ll bring Garmund!”

Leodthern hesitated for a moment but obeyed. She ran towards the Hall as quick as her feet were able to carry her in the slippy sleet and snow still covering most of the forest.

“Garmund. We have to go.” Cnebba told his friend in an even more commanding fashion pulling him from the sleeve when Leodthern had gone. “C’mon Garmund, we’ll got to tell them.”

Garmund wrestled his arm free from Cnebba’s grip and turned sharply towards him.

“You go if you will. I’m going to stay until they come by. I want to see them.” With that he turned away from Cnebba once more.

Cnebba was hesitating. They should do things together, like they always did. But Garmund had fixed his eyes again to Wilheard leading the train and was clearly paying no heed to him.

Cnebba looked at his friend for a moment and then sighed. “Bah”, he breathed out and turned to run after Leodthern to break the news.

Garmund’s eyes were fixed on Wilheard. When he was a child he had feared lord Athanar and especially his sons. But he was no child anymore. And Wilheard was leading a van of supplies: grim-looking, strong and muscular in his bright armour, a seasoned warrior, an eorling in his prime…

Garmund would be like him one day, he knew it now. He would not be one who suffered the cold and famine. He would be one who relieved others from it, with a sword if need be. He’d protect the weak and suffering with action, not with sheepish resignation or vain labour that wouldn’t help his dearest to live. He swore it to himself then and there, his eyes still fixed on Wilheard who was riding ever closer to him.

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn was swept along as the people of Scarburg piled outside. “They brought the food!” she heard someone exclaim. “At last!” she responded, more to herself. They could all do well with some food. Ahead of her, Stefnu said softly in her deep voice, “Béma bless them.” That woman was odd. Ledwyn just could not understand her.

As she stepped over the threshold, Ledwyn was blinded for a moment by the bright sunlight shining right at her face. She was surprised at the warmth – she has not been outside since the snow began to melt. No, surely it was longer than that. A fortnight? Maybe even longer.

Her left foot splashed in a puddle. Oh, the muck! Of course, she thought. With this much snow in the winter, there would be flooding when it melts. She looked around regretfully at the people around her, joyfully dirtying their clothing and boots as they rushed to greet people they recognized or to unload the supplies. All of that would have to be washed. She grimaced at the thought of washing; that is how she ruined her hands. Two fortnights after the early onslaught of winter it was clear that the snows will stay until spring, and tasks that were meant for the fall were carried out in the winter cold. Knowing that it ought to be done anyways, Ledwyn did not consult with anyone but took the washing outside to clean before the winter deepened. She warmed the water beforehand, but it was not enough. She should have known beforehand that it would not work. It was plain stupid, she thought angrily. The water cooled within minutes, and at the end her hands were so numb that she could not feel them. She rubbed them by the fire afterwards, but it did not stop the blisters from appearing the next day. Most of them healed, but one of her fingers was left black and splotchy. Without thinking, she covered it with her good hand.

Ledwyn looked at the new arrivals. She noticed a young woman with elegant black hair, a lady, by the look of her, sitting on one of the wagons. Beside her, an unfamiliar man was speaking to his companion with a strange accent. Gondorian, most like. Behind them she could swear she saw a Dunlending, by the look of him. Why did all these people have to come? Not only would they have to be fed and welcomed, but they would require housing, and most of them would probably stay. Why did the people have to change so? She wished that her home would remain as it was before the winter – before the war, even. She knew that these people were not at fault, and that she should be grateful for the aid they brought, late as it came, but why did they have to change her home?

She took a hesitant step back and nearly stumbled over someone. Turning her head, she saw the people standing all around her, eagerly crowding towards the carts or carrying boxes of goods back into the Hall. She realized that it would be uncourteous and embarrassing for her to leave now. She fidgeted with frustration. If only I was more like Rowenna, she thought, I would have turned around and left right right there and then! She never cared much for what people would say, she would just do what she felt right. But another voice at the back of her head told her that Rowenna wasn’t as ungrateful and uncharitable as she was to begin with.

[Firefoot]

Realizing that the carts needed to be unloaded before the horses leading them could be led away and unhitched, Léof decided to approach one of the riders first. A couple of the riders were familiar, and but many were not, and Léof put them at the top of his priority list, since they would be least familiar with the Hall.

There was a dark-haired man dismounting from a gray horse (A Dunlending? wondered Léof, as he caught a glimpse of the man’s face. Odd, but the few he had met had been courteous enough, and he had no personal grudge against that people). Léof walked up to him and said, “I am Léof, the ostler here. Can I take your horse, or show you where he will be stabled?”

[Inziladun]

Finally the journey was at an end.
The creaking caravan came to a halt in the muddy track, and people were running to meet it. Ladavan saw gaunt faces with hungry eyes looking at the horses and wagons, some with joy etched on their features, others with blankness, as if they did not trust their own sight. He had heard talk of the dearth the freezing season had visited upon this part of the country, of course.
For the moment, though, it was still hard to envy them; Ladavan's thoughts returned again to the previous night, when they'd been stopped, preparing for the last stage of the ride.
He had been stooped over, looking at his horse's hoof, when suddenly something bumped him firmly, knocking him to the ground.
He'd rolled over and looked up to see a large, yellow-haired man about his own age, gazing down at him.
'Oh, sorry' he said, with a mocking look on his unpleasant face.
Ladavan stood and looked around. There was no reason the man could have done that by accident.
'Skûdthu viaren!' The curse escaped Ladavan's lips before he could stop it.
The man stepped closer and Ladavan tensed, waiting for a drawn blade. But the man only smiled thinly.
'I know little of your tongue, Dunlending. But that is no matter. I give you advice. It is not by right you stand here in Rohan, but by the mercy of King Éomer, and behind him, the Lord of Mundburg. But you would do well to remember this: not all here are as merciful as kings, nor as forgetful of the past.'
He had then stalked away without a look back.
Ladavan had since in turn been angered over the incident and worried, wondering if more of the same would come.

But now someone did approach him. This was a younger man, though. He wore the same look of hunger and weariness as the others streaming in to meet the caravan. He spoke.
'I am Léof, the ostler here. Can I take your horse, or show you where he will be stabled?'
The was no sign of hostility here, but it was still better to be cautious.
'You may do both,' Ladavan said. 'And there are things a stranger needs to know in a new place. Perhaps you could talk of them as well.'

[Firefoot]

The man’s accent was strange to Léof but thankfully not too thick, and his tone was polite. Léof smiled. “Of course. This way.” He gestured toward the stables. Before trudging off through the muck, he relieved a second newcomer of his horse, mindful of making as few trips as possible.

He led the stranger to the stables, chatting as he went. “To the right here is the main hall. I think most of the goods the caravan brought will be going in there for now. The kitchens are there, as are the sleeping quarters. There are a smithy and a woodworking shop on the other side of the Hall as well, away from the horses here. And these are the stables – there are paddocks for the horses in front of and behind the hall. Probably most of the new horses will have to go out into paddocks for a bit here, until stalls can be gotten ready for them. I’m afraid we’re a bit short on straw, so they won’t be very thickly bedded down, unless there’s some on one of those wagons.”

Léof broke off his monologue as they reached the tack room. He tied off the horse he was leading in the aisle and indicated for the stranger to do the same. He began untacking the horse, cautious for any tricks the unfamiliar animal might try to pull, but he seemed grateful to be at the end of a long journey and stood quietly for Léof.

“I hope that helps a bit,” said Léof. “I’m sure you’ll get it down quickly enough. Do you plan to stay long, Master …?” He trailed off, realizing he did not know the man’s name.

[Inziladun]

Ladavan followed the man, who obligingly pointed this way and that, keeping a steady stream of conversation.
He took special note of the woodworking shop, thinking he'd likely spend a good deal of time there, at least for a while. He was hoping to have his own shop eventually.

The man tied Ladavan's horse (a ragged beast he had not even thought to name) and turned, saying

“I hope that helps a bit. I’m sure you’ll get it down quickly enough. Do you plan to stay long, Master …?”

"I am named Ladavan,", he said. "My thought is to remain here a while. I have some skill with wood, and perhaps could make a living while I see what fortune brings. He paused, then added
"Your manner is helpful, and it is good to know someone to call upon in case of trouble or doubt."

[Firefoot]

Léof smiled at Ladavan. “When folk on horseback come to the Hall, I am often one of the first they talk to. They ask many of the same things, and I am used to answering them.”

He stowed the horses’ saddles and bridles in the tack room, mindful of where each was placed. He had long since corresponded each rack in the tack room with a specific stall in the stable, and it had cut down on the clutter and confusion considerably.

They led the horses out to the small paddocks in front of the Hall (Léof would see to them more thoroughly later). “Stigend is our woodworker here,” he told Ladavan. “If you do not meet him on your own, ask me later and I will introduce you to him.”

[Galadriel55]

Having calmed down her unreasonable anger, Ledwyn found her eyes returning again and again to the dark-haired lady. She was certainly beautiful. Her hair was artfully arranged and seemed unruffled despite her journey. Though Ledwyn could not see her whole dress, she judged her garments to be much richer and more elegant than anything the women of Scarburg ever wore. Ledwyn felt incredibly plain when looking at the newcomer - though beauty, like nobility, had its cost, she reminded herself. She would not want to be a lady.

Ledwyn realized then with a guilty pang that she and the woman were the only ones still unoccupied with any work. She darted towards a sack of grain left in a cart, but then changed her course. If this is truly a lady, she must be greeted properly. She is probably waiting for someone to show her to a room - ladies are like that sometimes. If no one else is here to do it, then it shall be my task. If I cannot feel gratitude, I can at least show some courtesy. Wishing that Eodwine or Saeryn were in her place, she walked over to the cart where the lady sat gracefully.

Ledwyn inclined her head. "My lady," she said somewhat uncertainly. She stammered slightly, and felt like a fool. Anyone else would do a better job than her. "Welcome to the Scarburg Mead Hall." She paused. She should probably say more - this was as sparce a greeting as real flour in their bread this last week. "Was your journey long?" No! That was just the wrong thing to say, that is why someone else should have said the greetings. Why did that forward question have to jump out of her mouth? That is no fit way to welcome strangers, and certainly no fit way to speak to a lady. This time Ledwyn did not try to correct herself for fear that she would blunder even further.

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth

"There, there," Modtryth said, wrapping her arm around Stigend. Her voice, she thought, had become a mere croak over the winter, and her hair too had grey streaks in it now. Maybe she would have eventually turned into a scrawny black and grey crow, had they been in the clutches of winter for longer, but now it looked like spring had finally taken over with a magic entirely its own. The children, it seemed, were already enchanted. Modtryth watched them run away, not as carefree as before, but full of life still.

"Come, let's sit down for a moment," Modtryth told her husband and led him toward the kitchens, where they sat on one of the many empty boxes that had contained food a lifetime ago. All the women had gone to greet their saviours, to cast their hungry eyes on what they brought, and it was the quietest Modtryth had ever seen the kitchens. "We will have to clear up here for all the supplies," she said, casting a critical eye around. "Maybe they even brought more people to work here. More mouths to feed too, then, of course."

Stigend nodded. He seemed a little distant still. Modtryth took his hand. "It's going to be alright," she said.

She was not entirely sure of that. To tell the truth, she was a little worried. Stigend was strong, but it was a man's strength Stigend had - strength to work, strength to fight an enemy - not the sort of strength to endure and endure, to hold on to whatever was left and wait. Winter is time for wolves and women, Modtryth's mother had used to say, and she had hard time arguing against that. She thought: Yet now it is spring again.

[Folwren]

Mithalwen’s Post -- Elfthain

"Can't you get me out of it Uncle? I am your shield bearer? " Elfthain had asked on the eve of departure. The boy had looked hopeful but his uncle laughed but with a hint of sadness and shook his head. " You expect me to countermand both your mother and the king? You are still on leave and to risk such folly I would have to think it a bad idea. And I am sorry 'Thain but I don't".

The boy looked a little hurt and Elwin raised his hand to stem the budding protest. "You are my sister-son and I love you just as much as my own children - for your own sake, as well as hers, and that of your father who was my dearest friend ; but you are not a child anymore and the time for playing is over. I know your heart isn't in soldiering... and really I don't mind. You are lucky enough to have a choice.." Elfthain hung his head at this - he knew his father and uncle had been scarce older than him when they rode to Gondor in the great War, "but whatever you do, you should do it wholeheartedly. Your mother has worked very hard to keep the estate going for you - it hasn't been easy for her and she has sacrificed much. If you intend to take control when you are of age, you need to do things properly. She raised you better than to be the sort of landlord who gives a few orders to his steward and sits back and collects the rents"

"I do know uncle..and I do want to farm.. farm properly.. it was just mother took it the wrong way.."

His uncle grinned and commented that from what he had heard there wasn't a good way to take what had been said. Elfthain realised that further discussion would be fruitless. It was clear that his remaining leave would be spent sloshing through the mud to some forsaken place rather than in the restored comfort of Upbourn Grange, finally emptied of the many villagers and estate tenants who had taken refuge there during the worst of the winter for economy of fuel and other reasons.

Only the foundling remained and it seemed was unlikely to be going anywhere soon: In the midwinter a woman had been found in the woods at Upbourn, dying of hunger and exposure, and sheltering beneath her cloak was a young girl, a toddling thing, little more than a baby. The woman seemed to be of the Eorlings but the child's hair was as dark as a raven's wing and as healthy as the woman was ailing. Clearly all resources had been devoted to the little girl. They had done all they could for the woman but to no avail and she had died without giving much clue to their identity. The child had been no help, unable to provide even her own name she had been addressed as "poppet" so often that she had ended up calling herself Poppy and it has stuck. And Elfthain's mother, Elfride, had seemingly become besotted by the little girl to a point that worried her son. Some might have said he was jealous unused for many years to sharing maternal affection and attention but for the most part his concern was genuine... a strange light seemed to come into her eyes at times when she held the child, fierce and defensive as if she might never let her go. And he worried about her health too..she was thinner than Elfthain had ever known her. Elfride had put all her energy into getting the village through the winter, taking minimum rations herself to leave more for the still-growing young, the ill, women with child or nurslings. By and large she had succeeded. There had been deaths of course - cold could be helped but the toll of years could not yet few died who might ordinarily have been expected to see Spring and all from mischance in the extreme conditions rather than starvation or cold. Save the stranger...

So it was not to be wondered that Elfride, exhausted, had responded badly to her son both querying her attachment to the child and saying that things should be easier now the snow had gone. He had received a lecture as to how she was perfectly aware that Poppy wasn't hers, let alone her lost daughter returned and then a detailed breakdown of how parlous the situation still was - they had depleted the firewood stored to season for next winter and the portion of the crops reserved for seed, many animals had been culled to save feed and so there would be fewer eggs, less cheese and butter, rations would be short until first harvest and perhaps after since they should do all to prepare lest this Winter not be a one off. Thought would have to be given to preserving as much as possible and to repairing and refurbishing the villagers and tenants homes to insulate them better against the cold. It was not going to be easy at all.

And so it had chanced that this exchange had been vastly ill timed, early on the day his mother had been summoned to Edoras to report on what supplies they had left and what could be spared for the succour of the outlands. And since his mother had been raised at court and had known Eomer since childhood the audience had moved on from the requisition to comparing notes on the hazards of raising sons. The upshot had been that it had been decided it would be good for him to be part of the escort and to see first hand how much worse the Winter had been in the remoter areas and he had been despatched along with the waggons to Edoras with barely time to gather his belongings let alone change his mother's mind. And Poppy had formally been placed in his mother's care until such time as her kin could be traced.

"Mother, will be alright won't she Uncle?" Elfthain queried as he made his final preparations. "Cenric says women go strange and witless around her age..." Elwin made a noise between a choke and a snort and then erupted in laughter so violent his nephew feared he might injure himself.

"I strongly advise you not to repeat that in your mother's hearing... but if you do I beg you give me sufficient notice that I may charge admission to the spectacle". His sister was still only in her 35th year and was far from losing her wits, though she had lost her temper with her lackadaisical son. Cenric was another esquire and inclined to give Elfthain rather dubious advice based on his six months seniority in age.

"My horse knows more of the womanly mind than Cenric and would give you better counsel..." Elfthain ruffled his nephew's curly hair and became more serious. "My sister has more mothering in her than even the most demanding only chick could exhaust, Elfthain, and now you are almost fledged and away, do not grudge her the pleasure of having a child in the house - even if it is only for a little while". Elfthain gulped and focussed hard on the strap he was fastening. It was nearly time to go and the courtyard was full of loaded carts, horses, those who were to travel and those who were seeing them safely on their way.

"Tell mother I am sorry won't you?"

"You can tell her yourself," Elwin gestured and Elfthain saw his mother making her way through the melee on her grey palfrey, the child Poppy, seated before her.

"I had to bring her" Elfride stated, by way of a greeting, dismounting and settling the little girl on her own two feet "there was no time to leave her with anyone and I couldn't let you go with only the memory of hard words."


Elfthain's glib tongue nearly pre-empted his brain to say he was only going to Scarburg not war but he stopped himself just in time. Instead he crouched down and scooped up Poppy who was trying to hide behind his mother's skirts. "Will you look after Mother for me while I am gone?". The little girl nodded solemnly though he doubted she truly understood what he said. He planted a gentle kiss on her brow before putting her back down and addressing Elfride. "I am sorry, I will try to make you proud of me".

"I already am. Come home soon, come home safe!". With that the muster horn had sounded and there had been time for little more as he had made ready to ride. A salute to his uncle and a bow to his mother and he had taken his place in the convoy momentarily at least resolved to make good his promise.


Elfthain might have even enjoyed the journey over unfamiliar territory had its leader been more inspiring or even cheerful and the pace less glacial. Usually of a lighter hearted disposition, he had followed the example of his commander. His resolution failing in the lack of opportunity for pride inspiring valour, he had spent much of the slow trek mum-chance and brooding over his banishment. It seemed a hard fate to spend what was meant to be his free time plodding along beside a cart when he could have been schooling his new horse - a fine iron-grey colt he had coveted since it was foaled and which had finally become officially his on his recent seventeenth birthday - all just because of a couple of ill-considered remarks. His older horse, Safran, though less glamorous was ideally suited to this venture, barely fifteen hands and a quarter mountain cob, she was smaller and sturdier than most of the other riding horses but surer footed and sensible enough to need little guidance from her master whose thoughts were often elsewhere. The evenings were no better , Wilheard gave no greater impression of desiring conversation at camp than during the day and he was shy of imposing his company on the older soldiers who seemed to be having a more convivial time.


Yet if the journey had been dismal the destination once reached had presented a scene of quiet desperation. The people were thinner and more haggard than any he had seen in Harrowdale or Edoras and even the buildings seemed to have been butchered. They were right, he thought sadly. Others have had a much harder time of it. He didn't need to wait for orders. It was obvious the most useful thing he could do among these starvelings. He dismounted and loosened Saffy's girths before hitching her to one of the waggons, then fell to unloading

--------------------------------------------

Folwren's Post -- Thornden

The courtyard was in chaotic activity by the time Thornden arrived. He glanced about, noting the newcomers intermixed with the tired, hunger-worn Scarburgians. Eodwine was speaking with Wilheard (Thornden looked about quickly for Wulfric and saw him not before continuing to scan the yard), Léof was leading a horse into the stables, followed by a stranger, and Ledwyn was speaking to a woman, also just arrived. Others were carrying sacks of grains from the wains into the kitchen.

"Javan," Thornden said, addressing his brother as he passed, "run and help Léof with the horses. Leodthern," he said, spotting the girl running amongst the adults in delight and excitement, "find your mum, and ask her to direct things in the kitchen until Saeryn arrives. Garmund! Cnebba,” he said, spotting the two boys threading through the people. “Take those chickens to where they belong and make them comfortable.” He almost followed up with a more detailed list of ‘find some old hay to line their nests, and get them water,’ but realized before beginning that they were old enough to figure it out on their own.

He began to thread his way through the wagons and peering in each one to see what was brought and decide where it ought to be taken. Two were full of wood, and these he directed the drivers to turn the horses about and take them around back where the old wood piles used to stand. He sent two or three men to follow them and help unload and stack wood.

Another wagon held large barrels full of dried and salted meat. His pinched stomach quaked a little at the thought of supper that night. He had not been truly full for he knew not how long. Tonight there would be something of a feast, he reckoned. He bit his lip and turned his mind back to his task.

[Thinlómien]

Wilheard

"All are welcome! Come! There is a fire in the hearth, and warmth enough within. Did you by chance bring wood? We have little left."

"Aye, we did," Wilheard replied, dismounting. "And there will be more now that the roads are open. The King will send another caravan in a moon's turn."

Wilheard approached Lord Eodwine to greet him formally. The Eorl of Scarburg looked old and frail, he thought. He questioned, again, his father's decision to send him here.

"King Éomer sends his regards, as does my father, Lord Athanar." Wilheard was certain there was something missing in his niceties, but he had never been good at court manners. He was glad his mother couldn't hear him. "And my father also wishes you would find a place for his son in your household, for a time," Wilheard added, doing his best to keep his voice neutral. He produced a piece of parchment from his belt. "He wrote you a letter."

~*~

Brith

Brith sat on one of the wagons, a little reluctant to get up. She felt like an intruder here among all the people laughing and crying and rejoicing at their arrival. The folk here looked haggard and starved, worse than any Brith had seen in Arnor, even though the winters were often harsh there. Their relief felt very personal, it was none of Brith's business really.

"A little overwhelming, huh?" Caranthir asked.
Brith snapped out of her daydreaming. "A little," she admitted, and smiled at the sellsword she had traveled with for half a year. "Where's Fréa?"
"Took his horse, and yours."
"Oh," Brith said. "Do you think he's still mad at me?"
Caranthir shook his head. "He still disapproves, though. Anyway, I better see to my old lady here or I'll hear about it too. I'll catch up with you later."
Caranthir took the reins of his pretty grey mare and started leading her away. Brith sat and hugged her knees like a little girl.

Travelling with Caranthir and Fréa had been like travelling with a pair of uncles. Brith had come to greatly depend on the two old sellswords, and Caranthir's counsel and Fréa's cheerful spirits had got her through much. But Uncle Caranthir was sometimes a little too protective, and Uncle Fréa would always nag her about exercising her horse and taking care of him herself. Brith was a decent rider and she liked feeding her old gelding apples, but she preferred travelling in a wagon and she found taking care of her own horse tedious at times. Well, the Rohirrim sure loved their horses.

"My lady," said a voice in the rough but melodic speech of Rohan. Abruptly, Brith turned, realising she was being addressed by a waifish woman maybe half a dozen years her senior, a maid judging by the clothing. "Welcome to the Scarburg Mead Hall."

Brith smiled a little and nodded, acutely trying to remember what else than "thank you" she could say.

Then the other woman blurted out something, really fast, and Brith realised she had no idea what had just been asked. She looked around for Caranthir or Fréa, but neither of them was anywhere to be seen.

"Ummm... do you speak the common tongue?" she asked.

[Inziladun]

“Stigend is our woodworker here,” the man who'd named himself Léof said. “If you do not meet him on your own, ask me later and I will introduce you to him.”

Probably more skillful than I, Ladavan thought ruefully. Ah, well.

"Fine," he said aloud. "For the moment, I need know only two more things: where to find bed and board. I see too that our coming is very welcome, and there is much to set in order. I could perhaps help with the unlading before I see to other matters."

[Folwren]

Javan came strolling about the corner before Léof answered and interrupted without thought.

"Léof, Thornden told me to help you with the horses," he said. He glanced at Ladavan curiously. "You come with the rest of them?" he asked. "You don't look like..." He paused and shut his mouth. He squinted a moment and then turned back to Léof. "What would you have me do? Bring the horses in, prepare stalls, or groom them?"

Before Léof could reply, two more men entered, one leading two horses and the second bringing in one. Javan turned to glance over his shoulder at them. "Here are more horses now."

[Folwren]

In one the inner rooms of the hall, Saeryn sat on the edge of her son's bed. Here, the sounds of the arrived caravan had not reached her. She brushed the hair back from Eoghan's forehead and peered again into his little face. His pale eyelids finally hid the tired, sunken eyes, but though he slept, he did not seem to sleep comfortably.

Saeryn rose, tucked the coverlet close under his chin, and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. She paused just outside the door, her head bowed in troubled thought. Slowly, she became aware of the sound from outside. She raised her head and looked out towards it, and finally, as though weary with weight and age beyond her years, her feet moved towards the commotion and she went out.

She stood in the doorway to the hall, taken aback by the activity of the courtyard. The place had been silent and empty not an hour before, and now it teamed with life. She felt her heart rise with hope, until she remembered the little figure lying asleep on the bed in the house behind her, and the light left her eyes.

Approaching her with his hands full of a large sack came someone she knew. "Nydfara!" she said, surprised. "What brings you here? What is all this?"

[Firefoot]

Léof closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. His mind seemed to work so much slower these days. Once he would have managed this chaos efficiently but now his mind just felt muddled. One thing at a time.

“Ladavan, I would head back out to the courtyard and help unload, as you say. Once all is inside, I reckon someone will see to putting a meal on the table and getting the newcomers housed.” The man nodded and left with thanks.

He turned to Javan and regarded him thoughtfully. How best to divide the work? Before he could lay out a plan the two men with the three horses had approached.

“Are you the stablehands?” asked the fair-haired one.

Once the question would have set Léof bristling, determined to be taken seriously. Now he simply nodded and replied, “I am Léof, the ostler. This is Javan, who often helps me.” He paused again, wishing his thoughts clearer. “The tack room is up the aisle there,” he said gesturing. “I have started untacking the horses and putting them out in the paddock until we can get to bedding down the stalls and grooming the horses.”

“We can see to them ourselves, if you show us the way,” the fair-haired man replied. “I’m Fréa, and this is Caranthir.”

Much relieved, Léof replied, “Of course, welcome.” To Javan, he said, “Go ahead and start preparing stalls. Then I’ll have you help me with rubbing down the horses and getting them settled.”

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn watched in dismay as the woman's face grew somewhat worried. Instead of accepting the welcome in the usual way, as Wilheard had done, she kept looking around her, as if searching for someone. Turning to Ledwyn, she addressed her, asking of something. Ledwyn caught the words "Common Tongue" - one of the very few things she could say in that speech. Did she fail completely with her greeting because she was supposed to address strangers in their speech? What pushed her to this task in the first place, when there were others much more skilled than her?

The lady was looking expectantly at her. "I would explain all to you if I could," Ledwyn wanted to tell her, but, of course, she could not. Maybe she should seek out someone of proper authority to welcome the guest. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Lord Eodwine was still speaking with Wilheard. Thornden, on the other hand, stood much closer to her and seemed unoccupied for a brief moment. He would know what to do, he always does. Ledwyn shot an imploring glance at the lady and nearly ran towards Thornden, which turned out to be a mistake.

She barely took two steps when her foot caught on a rock, hidden beneath the swampy muck. Had she been watching her step, she might have regained her balance, but as she was still looking at the dark-haired woman, she flew forwards. Throwing her arms out instinctively, she managed to grab someone's arm. "What!.." came a surprised exclamation, and she realized that she fell on Hilderinc's bad arm. A sack of potatoes that he was carrying fell to the ground, and both woman and soldier followed suit. The sack was not tied well, and potatoes came rolling out into the puddles. Hilderinc muttered something and stood up, trying to brush the dirt out of his clothing. Ledwyn looked at her own ruined dress, then at the soldier, at the spilt potatoes, and at the woman, still waiting to be greeted, and grabbed her head. "It is all my fault!" she wailed.

[Firefoot]

As Scyld was carrying his second load into the hall (a large sack of oats), the Lady Saeryn stepped into the doorway. She looked tired, weighed down with care – a look that was becoming rapidly familiar to him but seemed intensified somehow in Saeryn. Of course – hers was the care of the Hall, and Eodwine had seemed particularly frail as he had greeted the caravan. And, he suddenly remembered, hadn’t she been pregnant when he left?

Her gaze landed on him. "Nydfara! What brings you here? What is all this?"

He nodded at her in greeting, unable to do more with his hands full. “Eomer King sends food and supplies from Edoras – much needed, I gather. As for myself, I always meant to come back, though it has taken longer than I planned,” he said dryly.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine trudged slowly back to his rooms. He carried the letter in hand, having concluded his conversation with Wilheard. Had he given him instructions or directions? He did not remember.

Each step seemed like lifting logs and moving them to a new resting place. Many folk were doing many things all around him. All he wanted was to rest.

He came into the mead hall, struggling with the door to close out the cold. Everything was always cold. Others spoke of being glad that the winter had passed. He still felt it, and wondered that they did not.

He moved toward his rooms, and stopped. There was Nydfara speaking with Saeryn. He did not move, but watched them, and listened.

[Folwren]

Saeryn nodded and let him pass without further comment. She stood a moment thinking about his words. Great tears welled up in her eyes as she realized that this was their salvation. Much longer on the fare they had, and most of them would be dead before spring truly came.

She turned to go to the kitchen and begin at once to prepare food for everyone, though inwardly she knew it was primarily for Eoghan. She saw Eodwine and stopped. "You have heard the news, Eodwine?" she asked. "You have been out? I am going to prepare a meal at once. Everyone will want to eat after unloading and after..." she trailed off. She was going to say, 'After being so hungry for so long,' but she couldn't bring herself to it. Didn't they all know how hungry they all were without her saying it? Had she not watched as her husband and children grew thinner and weaker before her eyes, and she had been unable to do anything for them? It was going to change now. No more were going to die.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Pain throbbed in Hilderinc's right arm as he got himself up. Next to him, Ledwyn broke out in utter distress. His mood dropped too as he saw the potatoes, the precious food, suddenly roll in the mud. But he wanted to reach out and calm the woman down, and then the wound betrayed him again.

"Calm down, it is noth-" he started, but again came a sudden throb of pain, so strong that it actually made his sight go black for a while. More instinctively than wittingly, he suppressed a scream that came out only as a soft groan. The arm kept doing this to him from time to time since it had healed, but usually not so badly, and not in front of so many people. Not that Hilderinc was in a state to analyse. His only thoughts were just that it hurt a lot, and that he wished it would not, not now of all times, and he could not think of anything else. While he saw some of the other bystanders dive for the spilled potatoes, all he could do for the moment was to clench his fist, close his eyes and grit his teeth.

[Inziladun]

Ladavan tuned as another man's voice addressed Léof, then saw the man himself appear from around the corner.

Then, apparently noticing Ladavan, he said
You come with the rest of them?" he asked. "You don't look like..."

Like what? thought Ladavan. One of you? He sighed inwardly, thinking how welcoming a bed would be.

Léof looked suddenly weary himself.

“Ladavan, I would head back out to the courtyard and help unload, as you say. Once all is inside, I reckon someone will see to putting a meal on the table and getting the newcomers housed.".

"All right, I thank you," Ladavan replied.

Nodding curtly to the man who'd spoken, and ignoring two others who'd followed him, Ladavan left for the courtyard.

[littlemanpoet]

"... and after-"

Saeryn did not finish her thought aloud. they come inside? Or maybe something else. Eodwine had not the strength to make anything of it.

"I met with Wilheard at the gate with the food and clothing." They are much needed. He looked at his hand absently, holding the letter. "Wilheard brought a letter from Athanar." He sat at one of the tables and unfolded it to read.

[Firefoot]

Scyld stepped past Saeryn into the Hall to add his sack of oats to the growing pile of goods. A couple of the women of the Hall were already sorting through it, undoubtedly planning a meal for the evening. He nodded a greeting to them but did not stay to chat.

He retraced the muddy tracks back out of the Hall. A vivid memory struck him as he eyed the bootprints, of Rowenna kneeling and scrubbing the floor, as she was so often wont to do. He realized that he had never asked whether it was a task that was given to her, or one she took on herself. An endless, thankless task, surely. So clear was the image in his mind that he half-expected to see her appear before him, telling the men off for tracking so much muck into the Hall.

It crossed his mind to turn and ask the women standing there at the pile whether she was still here, but he resisted. If she was around, he would see her soon enough, and without any gossip swirling around.

He returned to the courtyard just in time to see a woman collide with Hilderinc, sending a sack of potatoes flying. One came nearly to his feet, so he stooped to pick it up and return it to its sack. He supposed it was no dirtier now than it had been the day it had been pulled from the earth. He rescued a few more potatoes along the path but tried not to crowd too close, as a small knot of people was already forming around the fallen.

[Folwren]

Saeryn left Eodwine reading the letter from Athanar. She entered the kitchen and found Stigend and Modtryth seated together there.

"Stigend, we need a fire started," she said. "I hope they brought more wood. Use what you must. We will get water going." Kara entered behind Saeryn, carrying a large bowl full of oats. Saeryn smiled without quite meaning to when she saw them. "Modtryth, fill two pots with water."

"There is barley as well," Kara said, setting the oats on the table.

Saeryn took them and poured them into an empty pot and handed the bowl back to Kara. "Go and get some, then. We will make both." Kara took the bowl and headed for the door. Saeryn looked about at the empty bins and boxes lining the walls. She called after Kara, "And if you see them bringing more grain in, send them in here."

"The bags may be wet," she commented to Modtryth as she began to open the bins in preparation for the grain. "We want no ruined grain."

--

Thornden

Thornden saw rather than heard the commotion. He cast a swift glance towards everyone diving for the potatoes, and he smiled a little. But then his eye landed on Hilderinc, standing back from the others and hunched rigidly slightly to the right. His eyes were closed and his jaw clenched tightly.

Thornden was by his side in two steps and he held his hand out towards him to offer support.

"Are you unwell, Hilderinc?" he asked, in a low voice.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna stood in the wind and cold, standing on the peek of the final rise of the Scar. She looked out over the vastness of the plain, wrapped in a warm cloak. The snows were thawing, but it would take much more warmth of the sun for all to be turned to spring floods. She came out here often, in part to be away for a little while from the distress of the starving folk; but also to be alone with her thoughts.

She had told Nydfara how it had been for her among the brigands in the White Mountains, how she had risen from slave to leader in all but name. It had been four long years since that moment, and he might be dead for all she knew.

There was noise in the burg, a bustle of activity from the sound of it. What could have happened to cause anything like it in the starving place? She turned from the emptiness and retraced her steps.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Are you unwell, Hilderinc?"

He shook his head, an instinctive response. He opened his eyes and met Thornden's gaze.

"It's just my arm. I might have overestimated after this long winter and took too much load for myself."

The pain still throbbed, but it did not feel as terrible as in the first moment. He looked down at his arm.

"I will be all right, but if you permit, I would perhaps be of better use elsewhere at the moment." He pressed his lips together in a wry smile. "Maybe I could keep an eye on that the guests do not create disorder in the Hall, or if some need to be showed around." He nodded vaguely toward the group of wagons.

[Folwren]

"No, you are right," Thornden said quickly. "They will all need direction about where to go." He cast an appraising eye about quickly. Most of the newcomers were men. In fact, there was only one woman that Thornden could see, and she stood just a few feet away, looking on the bustling confusion with a lost expression on her face.

"The men can be put up anywhere," he said to Hilderinc. "Go and greet the lady and take her inside. Find out who she is and what she is doing here." He narrowed his eyes as he studied her quickly, turning away before she noticed him staring. "She looks...important. Find lady Saeryn if necessary. She will tell you where to put her."

So saying, Thornden left him to it with an encouraging slap on his left shoulder.

[littlemanpoet]

Having read the letter from Athanar, Eodwine folded it and tucked it inside his jerkin. He went to his rooms and found Eoghan lying on the bed. He did not look well. The boy was sleeping.

"Do you know where your sister is, my heart?" he whispered. "No matter. No doubt she is well enough. Eodwine settled on the bed as carefully as he could; the boy stirred but did not wake. I would give you all the health I have if it would help you live. He lay his head down and rested, wondering what the final rest was like before he drifted off to sleep.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna passed between the paddocks. As she turned toward the Meadhall she saw a wagon and many folk, more than lived here. Who had come? Bringing wares for sale?

A woman ran into a man; she fell and her potatoes scattered over the ground. Quickly a small group gathered to help. Starting toward them. It was her wont to see the exceptions and differences, and so her eye was drawn to a man stooping down away from the group to pick up a potato here, a potato there, staying back from the knot of folk around the woman. If she did not know better, she would have thought it was Nydfara.

She came closer. It was Nydfara! Her heartbeat quickened. An image played in her head of herself running to him and jumping into his arms, welcoming him home. She would do no such thing, of course. Her legs felt weak. He was alive. He seemed well enough.

Four years gone, and suddenly here. No word, but why would there be? Who was she to him that he would send word? Yet there was anger in her that he should have been gone and never a word for four years. And this anger ran alongside that old familiar excitement, that quickening in her of senses and feeling and heartbeat that none but he could work in her.

She started to walk again, her legs feeling oddly unsure still, until she came near the group. She looked to make sure that they were doing all that must be done for the fallen woman before she turned to him, and stopped.

"I greet you, Nydfara. It has been years. Who brings this food?"

[Thinlómien]

This visit, it seemed, was starting even more confusing than she had thought. Fréa and Caranthir were nowhere to help her, and the poor waif that had welcomed her and blabbered to her in the riders' tongue was gone too, only she had crashed into a man carrying a sack of potatoes, and they had both fallen on the ground and the potatoes had spread all over the yard. People were diving in after them, picking them from the mud, polishing them with their hems and gathering them.

Brith watched it all unfold like in a dream. She could have cried for the poor people and their precious potatoes, but there was something hilarious about it all too. Quickly, she looked down to hide her smile. She didn't want to seem malicious.

On the ground by the wheel lay a perfect yellow potato, covered in mud. No one seemed to have noticed it. Brith slid down from the wagon and made a face when the mud made a soft splash under her boots and the hem of her gown became spotted with brown and grey. Clothes can be washed, she reminded herself, and picked up the potato. Gently, she scarped the mud off with her sleeve. She looked up. The man who had fallen was now talking to another man, younger and more handsome. They looked over at her. She wondered if they thought she was trying to steal their potatoes. The handsome man slapped the muddy one on the shoulder, and the muddy one approached her.

Brith held out her hand with the potato on it. "Greetings," she said with her best Rohirric. "You want this?"

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc looked down at the potato in the foreign woman's manicured hand. She indeed did not look like just anybody, and judging from the manner of her speech, she came probably from Gondor, if not Mundburg itself.

"Thank you, my lady," he replied in the language of the Mark. It seemed to him she might want to speak it, perhaps to show her skill the way some nobles liked to, since she first talked to him in that language. He almost reached out for the potato with his left hand, out of fear his right arm might betray him again, but then it occured to him the foreign lady might see it as bad manners, and he instead took the potato in his right hand.

And it slipped from his fingers.

Any other man in Hilderinc's place would have flushed bright red, but the only thing that might have betrayed the soldier's emotions were his eyes. Both him and the woman just stood there frozen; then, after what seemed like long awkward silence, she bent down and picked up the potato again. Wiping it into her already dirty sleeve, she handed it back to Hilderinc.

"Here, your..." She paused, apparently in search for words.

"Potato," Hilderinc finished for her.

"Potato," she repeated.

"Thank you." This time he reached for it with his left hand and put the potato into his belt pouch. He looked back at her. "Would you prefer if we speak the Common tongue, my lady?"

The look on her face made him reevaluate his impression that she might be one of the nobles interested in showing their knowledge of foreign languages.

"Yes, please."

He bowed his head slightly. "Then let me welcome you here in Scarburg, my lady. My name is Hilderinc. I can show you around. It is a humble place, especially now after the hard winter, but I am sure we will find you a place where you'll feel comfortable. I can take you to meet lady Saeryn, I am sure she will be happy to welcome you. If she is not too busy," he added after a short pause. He hoped the new guest would not see it as insult that the lady of the house might not have time to see her immediately, but she did not really give that kind of impression, and it was more than clear that Scarburg was now in commotion.

[Thinlómien]

"Then let me welcome you here in Scarburg, my lady. My name is Hilderinc. I can show you around. It is a humble place, especially now after the hard winter, but I am sure we will find you a place where you'll feel comfortable. I can take you to meet lady Saeryn, I am sure she will be happy to welcome you. If she is not too busy."

Brith smiled. It had been a relief that the grim mud-covered man spoke Westron, and spoke it remarkably eloquently at that. And now he was being most helpful.

"I would indeed love to meet with the Lady, but I am sure she has more pressing matters at hand at this very moment. I am pleased to wait."

She paused. The man was looking at her, his expression unreadable. "Oh," she said. "How silly of me. I'm pleased to meet you, Hilderinc. My name is Brith - well, my name is Brithiel really but no one ever calls me that, not even my mother called me that - and I am a seamstress."

He nodded at her politely. "Then maybe I can show you around first, Lady Brith."

"Thank you," she said. "I'm hoping to stay for a while."

He did not ask more, but instead led her out of the worst of the commotion. He pointed out the stables and the sheds, then took her for a short tour of the Hall itself. His way to put things was short and informative, if not military. He had the gait and the scars of a soldier too, but he didn't talk more about himself. Brith wondered why he wore his hair short unlike virtually all other knights of Rohan, but she did not ask. Even though he was curt, he was polite, and that put her at ease. He reminded her of some of the dúnedain of the North in his grimness.

She made some small talk as they walked, commenting on the excellent workmanship of the buildings. Many of them were clearly recently constructed, and even though they bore signs of being taken apart after that, the solid groundwork was there. She had seen much shoddier work in many places in Arnor. Still, the state of disrepair was very evident.

"You will have a busy summer ahead of you. So many things to make this place fit for an Eorl." She cast a quick glance at her companion to see if he had taken her remark the wrong way. She hadn't meant to think out loud.

[Thinlómien]

Eodwine had left and Wilheard went back for Bolt. He had left his mare's reins to a soldier that had come with him from Edoras, alongside with the instructions to hold her until he'd come to collect and stable her. Wilheard could see Bolt was uneasy, shifting her weight and tossing her head. The man handed the reins to Wilheard with a sour look.

"Your mare has a foul temper, sir. She bit me," the man said.
Wilheard stroked Bolt's muscular neck. She was much more at ease already. "I am not surprised," Wilheard said. "She doesn't like strangers." He scratched Bolt's forehead affectionately. "Oh, and you're dismissed," he added without even glancing at the soldier.
Muttering something under his breath, the man hurried away.

"Let's take you to the stables. You need a rest," Wilheard told Bolt and started leading her towards the stables. He didn't need a guide - after all, he had lived in Scarburg for a time, even though it had been years ago. It felt like it had been in a different life. He knew he had been to Scarburg only half a year ago, but all his memories of that time seemed to be coated in a thick dark grey fog. He remembered Bolt kicking a hole into her stall, he remembered a girl chasing a crow across the yard, and he vaguely remembered a lecture from his father about drinking, but that was all. He had been numb and miserable. Well, truth be told, he was still a little numb and miserable, but he had horses and people to look after.

There were a couple of people in the stables when Wilheard entered. He recognized the ostler Léof and greeted him curtly. Léof pointed him to a stall where to take Bolt. He was clearly used to some men preferring to seeing their horses themselves. Wilheard unsaddled Bolt and gave her water and the horse bowed down her head to drink.

Wilheard looked over his shoulder and saw a young man approaching with feed for the ill-tempered mare. Only then he realized it was not really a young man, more like an overgrown boy, and one he remembered all too well. "Javan, is it?" he asked, straightening himself to his full height. He smiled mirthlessly down at the lad, and he knew the scar made it look like a grimace. "Are you still in the habit of beating women?"

[Folwren]

Javan attended to the duties Léof gave him in a methodical way. He often helped in the stables though it was not his only job, and he knew what must be done. He noted where the men who brought their own horses stabled them and then went and fetched hay for them.

He approached the latest stalled horse, thinking more of his own upcoming supper than the one he held in his arms for the mare, when the man addressed him.

“It’s Javan, isn’t it?”

Javan stopped, the hay hanging rather limply in his hand. He raised his head and looked at the man. He knew him at once and frowned, not at all pleased to see him.

“Are you still in the habit of beating women?” Wilheard asked with an unpleasant sneer.

Javan’s lip curled with disgust, and he dropped the bundle of hay at Wilheard’s feet.

“She was more a brat than a woman,” he replied, turning on his heel.

[Firefoot]

This shirt would certainly have to be washed before he wore it again, Scyld mused as he juggled the muddy potatoes in his arms and looked about for a place to put them. He was interrupted from his task by the sound of a familiar voice, however, as he looked up to see Rowenna standing there. A glimmer of a true smile crossed his face before settling into something more reserved.

"I greet you, Nydfara. It has been years. Who brings this food?" she asked.

He felt suddenly guilty – it had indeed been a long time. Had she thought to hear from him? Did she intend for him to feel this way? Surely not – he must be reading into her words that which was not there. Better, safer, to focus on her question.

“Well, I helped to bring it,” he remarked smartly, “but Athanar’s son Wilheard led our convoy, and the food was sent by the King from Edoras.” He paused. “How have you fared, these last few years?”

[Folwren]

The two pots of porridge were nearly boiling. Saeryn stood by the stove and stirred first one pot then the other. She laid her hand on her belly. Her hands were trembling again. They often did now after very little exertion, and what with lifting and pouring the grain into the bins, she was very tired.

Stefnu and Modtryth came into the kitchen, carrying a sack between them. “This is the last one,” Modtryth said.

“Good. These will be done shortly. The fire’s hot enough, we can start more water.”

“Should we prepare anything else? Potatoes? Some of the dried meat, perhaps?”

Saeryn shook her head. “Not yet. The porridge will do us all good, but eating too much all at once would do more harm than good, I think.” She laid the spoon over the rim of the pot. “I will be back,” she said.

She went out the door into the hall and across to her and Eodwine’s room. She opened the door cautiously, so as not to wake her son, and was surprised to see Eodwine stretched out on the bed beside Eoghan. She went to the bed and laid her hand gently on her son’s forehead. He was still hot, but he seemed fast asleep and did not respond to her touch. She reached across him and touched Eodwine’s forehead. He, at least, was not feverish. He was asleep, though, and Saeryn took the moment to study him. He may not be sick, but he was far thinner than what was right. The skin was pulled tight over his cheekbones and his eyes were sunk far back.

“Are you asleep?” she asked in the tiniest whisper. If he was, she would let him lie until the porridge was entirely finished, and then she would wake him.

[Galadriel55]

The mud was brown and sticky on her fingers. It was on her dress and in her hair and on her hands, and on others’ hands as well. Many muddy feet came towards her, and many muddy hands dropped the muddy potatoes into the now muddy sack. It was a muddy world today.

Ledwyn stayed behind after the others have left, having recovered most of the scattered produce. On her hands and knees, she felt the area, searching for any hidden ones that may be buried in the dirt and puddles. No potato may be left to waste, not when each one could have meant the difference between a living person and a person otherwise. Her search yielded four potatoes and half as many stones. She only stopped when she covered a circle around the fallen sack twice.

She was filthy. There is no way she could come into the kitchen in this state. Ledwyn gave thought to it, and walked to the well. Drawing up some water, she washed herself first as best as she could. She splashed some on her skirt and shoes. They are wet already. At least they will be a little cleaner. She rubbed the fabric until the worst of the dirt came off. Last, she washed each precious potato, as well as the sack, taking care not to drop them into the well.

Once back inside the kitchen, Ledwyn dried her load so that rot would not form, and placed them gently into a clean, dry sack. She put them away with the rest of the stores – oh how blessedly full now! – hung the wet sack to dry, and joined the rest of the women in their duties.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

New kettles of porridge were already simmering slowly next to the ones lady Saeryn had already prepared. Stefnu trod from one to the other with a spoon, humming quietly. Behind her, steady flow of suddenly frantically active Scarburgians as well as many of the newcomers were still streaming into the kitchens. More and more sacks of oats, vegetables, and all manner of edibles appeared that made Stefnu's mind already devise intricate ways of how they all could be used and what amazing and different kinds of meals they could be put into. As the supplies piled up, however, she began to think more soberly. There was much more to do.

"These are almost ready," she said to Modtryth, pointing at the kettles. "Did you see how many people arrived? I just hope this will be enough."

"There are no more kettles to make it in," Modtryth said. "These will have to do."
Stefnu nodded, laid the spoon aside and walked to the nearest pile of sacks. She surveyed it critically.

"These cannot just all be clumped about the hall, true?" she said. "Somebody should sort them out."

"Maybe that somebody should be us," Frodides's voice chimed in from behind.

Stefnu turned around, her braids whipping her back.

"And right you are, Frodides!" she exclaimed. "We cannot wait with everything for lady Saeryn, and she will have the little ones to take care of anyway. Leave that to me! As soon as everyone gets their meal, I will take a look at these-"

She noticed a curious look from Modtryth, and paused.

"I don't think I am going to eat much anyway," she finished. "When we are done with the meal, you can eat and I can make sense of these. And we need to know what we have here." Her gaze fell on one of the small sacks.

"Nuts," she noticed, picking it up. She rattled the bag. "What if we threw a couple into the porridge! There's not much, but just for the look! And for the flavour! I am so sure everyone will be happy to just have something they can crunch with their teeth."

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain had probably never worked so hard in his life before as he did unloading the waggons. He had helped with harvest of course and that work was long and hot, scything and gathering from dawn til dusk, but he hadn't done anything so strenuous as lifting full grain sacks in chainmail, the combined heft of which was not far off half his own body weight. And so eager were the locals to have the goods safely in their stores that they set a brisk pace, almost as if they feared that the carts might be driven off yet part laden if they were not swift enough. He was determined to keep up even though his legs threatened to buckle each time he lifted a full sack.

By the time his waggon was unloaded he was almost on his knees and hugely relieved that the unloading of the other carts seemed under control and not in immediate need of his help. He reckoned he could be spared to take care of Safran who had waited patiently amid the chaos. The mare turned her sweet head towards him and whickered softly. Elfthain stood close to her and gently pulled her ears. The sight of her bulging saddlebags had reminded him of something "Sorry Saff, I have one more thing to do and then I will get you sorted" he promised. "I won't be long", He extracted a bulky and heavy oilcloth wrapped parcel from one of the big leather panniers, No point lugging this back from the stables when I am right by the kitchen door he had thought.

He had been inside before of course but not in any state to take in the detail of the environment. Now he noticed several women who seemed to be part of the household, about his mother's age or older he guessed for the most part though there was a younger looking one who was looking rather grimy and damp. Not that Elfthain was in any position to judge. Already less than fragrant after several days travel, his exertions hadn't improved matters. He knew a hot bath would be out of the question but a swill under a pump or a bucket or two from the well would be a start.. even that would have to wait . The women were all busy either with pots on the stove or examining their new stock of provision and even though he didn't really believe Cenric's theories on the unpredictability of women past first youth, he became diffident in the presence of the strangers.

He tapped gently on the doorframe before speaking "Is it alright if I leave these with you?" he enquired entering the kitchen and setting his burden on the table and loosening the wrapping to reveal two large stoneware jars. One of the women raised an eyebrow and asked what he had so he continued, "my mother sent them for the lady of the house - this is leaven, she thought you might not have been able to keep yours going if you had run out of flour ... I have fed it during the journey so it should be alright." At least the antisocial nature of the travellers camp had meant that he had evaded this strange procedure being witnessed. He unstopped the smaller jar and the lump of wet dough was still obviously fermenting."She thought it would let you have bread that bit quicker" he explained. "And this is honey from our own bees. there wasn't much to spare so she said to give it to someone who would know how it would be best used" He didn't unseal this. It had been used sparingly even at home for many months and hadn't been part of the requisition more a personal gift from one household to another made in the knowledge of its value. To smell it would be too tantalising. He tried not to think of it's sweetness let alone the meadows at home where the hives would be set in proximity to the spring flowers and where his colt was no doubt growing sleek on new grass. That jogged his memory again.. "oh and can you tell me where the stables are... I need to see to my horse" ..

[littlemanpoet]

“How have you fared, these last few years?”

"Well enough." Her exploits in turning away the Easterlings came quickly to mind, but she would not brag to him. He would have to ask her to get that out of her. Better for him to learn of it from others.

"I know a thing or two about finding food in the wild, so I am not as hungry as some here. So this food is not for sale but free? The king is a good man."

He was fiddling with the potatoes, as if wondering what to do with them.

"Here, I will take those inside." She took them from him one at a time, wiping the dirt and mud from each in turn before taking the next. While she did this she asked, "Where did you go that took you four years?"

[Folwren]

Eodwine did not stir. Saeryn sighed and drew her hand away from his forehead. She had hoped to discuss with him the arrival of the caravan and of the contents of the letter from Athanar, but it would have to wait, she told herself.

She went back out and had nearly reached the kitchen again when she spotted the back of a small red head poking up amongst a pile of sacks stacked near the door. She stepped around the bags and looked down at her daughter, sitting just in the midst of them, a raw potato held in both little fists.

"Look, Mama," Ruari said, holding the potato up for her to see. "They brought food." The potato skin was scored and broken, and the white flesh showed through. Ruari had been gnawing at it with her little baby teeth. Tears sprang up into Saeryn's eyes when she saw it.

"Yes," Saeryn said. She smiled, trying to hide her tears. "Yes, daughter, but potatoes have to be cooked before eating. We have porridge cooking in the kitchen, let's go in and get some of that." She held out her hand towards Ruari. For a moment, her daughter hesitated, still clutching the potato. Then, without putting her potato down, she reached out and took Saeryn's hand.

They went into the kitchen together. The women glanced at her as she came in, and she noticed an expectant silence in the air, as though she had entered just in time to interrupt a question from being answered. A young man whom she did not know stood by the table with two jars in front of him.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Upon the sight of the leaven and honey, Stefnu rushed to the table. She looked first into the jars, then quickly up at the boy who had brought them. She did not have to make an effort to put a big smile on her face.

"These are treasures, lad! Treasures! Aren't they, lady Saeryn?" she glimpsed her entering the kitchens.

"His mother sent this for you," she added, pointing at the leaven and then at the youth towering over her. "That is so lovely!" Then she spotted little Ruari's red head sticking out in curiosity from behind her mother's skirt. Stefnu smiled at her, which was already enough to make the girl break away from her mother and run towards the table and the unfamiliar young man, a thing she had obviously been itching to explore since the moment they entered the room.

Stefnu moved the jars closer to the edge of the table, so that Ruari could examine them.

"Come and take a look what this good boy has brought us. See? There is leaven, so we can make bread! And here is some honey," she picked up the jar and held it towards Ruari to smell. "He brought it all the way from his family where they have bees that make this honey. We can put a little bit in your porridge if you are nice! Has she been nice today, lady Saeryn?"

[Mithalwen]

The new arrivals put Elfthain into a bit of a quandary; the tall woman although much younger was clearly the lady of the house and for the long moment of silence that followed her appearance he thought perhaps he should repeat his speech, awkward enough the first time. He was saved by one of the older women, the one with fire-gold hair whose effusive reception of the simple gifts made him colour a little from embarrassment. Nevertheless it also relayed the information without him having to, so he was grateful. However Elfthain felt he should say something but what? The woman had opened the jar to examine the contents and the sweet fragrance transported him back to his home and his childhood, days of plenty when porridge with honey and thick cream was standard fare not a treat that required good behaviour...he hoped that the little girl had been nice, she was the Eorl's daughter seemingly and yet was clutching a spud as possessively as if it were a mead cake at Midsummer.

Elfthain had a lot of cousins of varying degrees and he was especially close to Elwin's large brood who regarded him as their big brother. So he noticed that the the little redhead was eyeing him curiously and she was definitely the person he was least daunted by... so he sank down to sit on his heels and held out his hands to the child so as to let her decide whether to approach him or not.

"Hello, my name is Elfthain," he said softly

[Firefoot]

“Of the first nine months, I will say little yet save that it was a long and wearisome journey - I hope never to make such a one again – and that it was about a matter that must be brought to the Eorl.” He felt the clenches of that ever-present knot of fear. Soon all would be made known, soon he would be free. “The next three years I spent with my family.” The word still felt strange in his mouth, as if it ought not to belong to him. “I stayed with my brother Bedric, and from my brother Aelfred I learned something of leatherworking. Last October I made up my mind to leave and return here, but as you know winter came early and hit hard, and I have been in Edoras waiting out the winter.”

It was a perfectly factual account, yet expressed so little. He did not have the words to explain the great joy he had found in his young nieces and nephews or in setting his mind to a craft, nor the way he had never quite belonged, never quite felt at home. He looked around at the familiar landscape. The Hall itself had changed a bit, but not the land: that was exactly as he remembered. “It is strange to be back,” he said.

[Thinlómien]

"She was more a brat than a woman."

She was neither, Wilheard thought. She was just a girl then. Not so much now. He had been with Aedre all winter and it seemed that somehow, when he hadn't been around, his little sister had transformed into a tall and beautiful young woman he hardly knew. The gangly girl he'd taught to ride horses and even played with dolls with when he was small and she was tiny, she was gone.

As Wilheard was thinking of his sister, Javan turned to go. "Well," Wilheard said. "Beating brats is a pastime you and I have in common, Javan. Except I only do it when a brat gives me a reason to. You better remember that."

He turned around and started grooming his horse. Bloody scarburgians, he thought. Here we go again.

[littlemanpoet]

It is strange to have you back. No, she did not have him in any way; he was not hers in any sense, would she or not.

"What is strange about it? Come, the potatoes need to be in the hands of the cook."

She carried them in her apron into the Meadhall, expecting him to follow. Would he? She thought so, but a momentary pang of doubt clutched at her stomach. She did not look back.

[Folwren]

Stefnu offered the honey to Ruari before Saeryn had a chance to respond or even thank the young man.

“Has she been nice today, lady Saeryn?” Stefnu asked.

“Well, she…” Saeryn began, hesitant and somehow confused. Food should not be used as a reward or withheld as punishment. General good behavior should not be rewarded. It simply was what was expected. She knit her brows together and looked down at her daughter and then up at the boy. He knelt and held out his hand towards her.

“Hello,” he said. “My name is Elfthain.”

Ruari smiled and put her hand in his, as she had been taught. “I am Ruari,” she said. “Look,” she showed Elfthain the potato in her hand. “I found this out there. Are you hungry? I am hungry.”

Saeryn stepped forward at last. “Welcome, Elfthain. I am Saeryn, wife to lord Eodwine. You are welcome here. I thank you for your gifts.”

[Folwren]

Javan stopped mid stride and paused with his back to Wilheard. He knew better than to carry on the conversation – it is better not to answer a fool, Thornden had told him many times when Javan had tried to explain an argument or fight, for it simply encourages them and makes you a fool yourself – but how could he ignore such accusations and biting comments?

He turned around.

“I didn’t beat your sister,” he said. “She pushed me into it.” Actually, he had pushed her, but then she hit him. The provocation was indeed unendurable, and he gave her a bloody nose for it. He remembered it well, for his punishment had been long lasting, and much of the time he spent forging a chainmail shirt under the tutelage of the ancient Raban had been used in reflecting on his crime.

“I have learned much since then, Wilheard, and I would not strike a girl or woman, no matter how she scolded or carried on, the way your sister did. Something you may want to remember is that Eodwine is eorl here now, not your father, and you will not bully us as you used to.”

[Thinlómien]

As Javan talked, Wilheard kept his eyes on his horse. Then he turned, deliberately slowly.

"Don't be a fool, Javan. It suits you ill, a man almost grown."

With a jolt, he realized Javan must be the same age as he himself had been when he'd last stayed in Scarburg, if not actually older. He pushed that thought away, as well memories of all the foolery he had done with his brother, and all the lectures and punishments they had endured from their father and mother.

"We both know Lord Athanar was a much stricter eorl than your Eodwine."

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain hesitated between replying first to mother or daughter but remembered his manners and rose back to his feet, though retaining the little girl's hand in his own and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I am honoured by your welcome, Lady Saeryn, but I assure you no thanks are necessary, at least not to me, I am merely the courier. My mother though will be glad to know they are well bestowed." He bowed again and dropping back on his haunches added, "and I am honoured to meet you too, Miss Ruairi. My mamma says I am always hungry and if I don't stop growing soon she will have to start feeding me hay like the horses! But I don't think I am as hungry as you are just now." He could see the little tooth marks in the potato and it broke his heart. Ruairi was surely no older than his little sister had been when she died, and he wondered .if the convoy hadn't got through when it did, might this little one also have failed to see her sixth birthday?

"I think your potato will give you a horrid tummy ache if you eat it as is. I like them best cooked in the embers of a fire so that the outside is nice and crispy and the inside all soft and fluffy but that takes a long time. So if the porridge is ready you could have that now and it will be nice and warm and gentler on your insides. And if your mama thinks a spoon of honey will do you good then it might make it even nicer." He couldn't really see how the child could be denied a taste now the jar had been waved under her nose but thought the idea that it was almost medicinal, like the foul tonic his grandmother had been wont to dose them all on through the winters, she would understand it could not always be expected. He looked up at Saeryn hoping he hadn't said the wrong thing, "but now if you kind ladies all would excuse me I feel I really must see to my poor horse, she is a patient beast but she has been waiting a while for attention now."

[Firefoot]

Scyld made an amused noise in his throat as he fell into step beside Rowenna. “What is not strange?” he returned. “I spent so many years wishing to leave and having nowhere to go, but once I left I found I could not stay away. And now that I am back, I do not know which strikes me stranger: those things that have changed or those that have not. Some things are just the same, as if no time at all has passed. The changes are unsettling, though, and I am sure that I will find I have missed a lot.” He quirked an eyebrow at her curiously, wondering if she might say more of herself.

They came to the door to the kitchen, and Scyld stepped ahead to hold open the door, gesturing for her to enter ahead of him.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna wondered if she was in Nydfara's thought one of those things that had changed, or stayed the same. She was not sure how she felt in either case. And why could he not stay away? What was there at Scarburg that drew him? Surely, not herself? There must be more. He had been here before it had become Scarburg; could that be it? He had been a slave to the hated Sorn, and when she thought of that she felt herself pulled toward him because of their shared past.

He opened the door for her and gestured gallantly for her to go first; it was a courteous deed, one that seemed new for him; he had changed. Was it family? Where else had he been?

"Thank you."

She passed into the kitchen and he followed. The warmth was pleasant in the kitchen. Though it was not bitterly cold outside anymore, it was not warm.

After his cascade of words he fell silent. Was he studying her, or waiting for her to say something? She set down the potatoes on a table and turned to him.

"Shall we go see what else is in the wagon that needs taking in?"

He nodded. She led him back outside again, and slowed so that they walked side by side. She paused before she spoke, then looked at him levelly.

"You were missed." His eyes opened wider and a momentary look of surprise flashed across his face before he mastered himself; but curiosity remained. She needed to say something more to take the edge off her words. She allowed a sardonic half smile. "I have been bored."

[Folwren]

“But now if you kind ladies all would excuse me, I feel I really must see to my poor horse,” Elfthain said. “She is a patient beast, but she has been waiting a while for attention now.”

Saeryn nodded her head. “Of course. When you go, please tell the stablemaster - Léof - and any others in the stable that we have something ready to eat.” He departed, and Saeryn turned to the other ladies. Modtryth had already begun filling bowls with the porridge and Kara was arranging the bowls on trays to carry out into the main hall.

“Ruari,” Saeryn instructed, “go wake your father and tell him there is something to eat.”

--

Javan

“Don’t be a fool, Javan. It suits you ill, a man almost grown. We both know Lord Athanar was a much stricter eorl that your Eodwine.”

Javan scoffed. “If by strict you mean he does not take offense at the slightest provocation, then yes, Eodwine may be less strict, but at least he doesn’t overlook the misdeeds of people close to him, or treat men in his household differently than others outside of it.” He clearly implied Athanar had shown favoritism, but he did not feel the need to say it outright. Wilheard was not so dense that he needed it pointed out to him in flaming red lettering. Javan felt sure he’d feel the sting of the insult, and he smiled.

[Firefoot]

Rowenna's statements set Scyld's heart pounding. He was pleased by her words, and it frightened him how much. You are not a free man yet, he reminded himself. He did not know yet how the law would deal with his transgression (though he felt fairly certain that Linduial's letter would exonerate him, else he would not have returned), nor did he know how Rowenna would handle his secrets. He could not let himself be ruled by his feelings now.

Still, he could not escape the conclusion that she was glad of his return (however she might veil the depth of her attachment with light words), and that he was glad of her gladness. Being more comfortable with light words that heavy ones, he responded in kind and did not keep his amusement from his face.

"Such a harrowing time you must have undergone without me," he said, a smirk belying his solemn tone. Rowenna laughed, and Scyld realized suddenly how much he had missed these conversations with her - he could think of no one else who understood his sense of humor as she did. They came to a cart that was still half-laden with goods, and he climbed up, handing one sack down to Rowenna and taking a crate for himself. "But surely you cannot have spent all of four years bored," he said. "You must be able to tell me of at least one funny or interesting thing that has happened while I was away."

[Firefoot]

Going to Edoras! Cerwyn still could not believe her luck, though it had been a full two days since her father had given her permission. Clothes and supplies were strewn everywhere, none of them in her pack: she could not decide what to bring. Probably she did not need to bring so many things, but she had never been more than a few leagues from home before and did not know how to pack.

Perhaps Father really was changing, she mused. It had taken long enough – more than half her life, since mother had died. She did not remember well how it had been before then. Léof had and he used to talk to her about it. Even her memories of his stories had started to fade, though: it had been five years since he’d left. At first, she’d been terribly lonely without him. They had been each other’s greatest ally and friend. Now, she’d grown accustomed to his absence, and no longer felt such a great emptiness at home. She had friends, of a sort, in the village nearby, but Father discouraged her from spending much time there. He did not often grow violent any more – but she had also gotten better at not getting caught. She knew when he was likely to miss her.

So now, to let her go to Edoras! Not alone, of course. She would be traveling with Everild, a widow of three years, and her oldest son. Theirs was the cabin closest to Cerwyn’s, and the two families had been of great help to each other during the harsh winter. During that time, it seemed Cerwyn’s father had formed quite a connection with Everild, and they had announced their intention to wed just a few weeks ago. Cerwyn thought that she must be the only woman for leagues around who wasn’t put off by her father’s drinking.

Then again, maybe she was changing him. Already Cerwyn was seeing it.

Maybe Léof could come home.

She knew, or thought she knew, two things of Léof since he’d left. She’d received one letter from him, long ago, and in it he’d said he’d taken up a post with the new Eorl in Edoras. She did not know why he’d stopped writing, and it rankled with her, but mostly she missed him too much to be truly angry. Then, sometime later but still now a couple years ago, she had happened to be in town when a traveler passing through was discussing this same Eorl, and how he’d moved his Hall to a place called Scarburg, somewhere east of Edoras. She guessed that Léof would have gone with him, and hoped that he might still be there.

This might be the one chance she had to find him. He would not come home on his own, she felt sure of that by now: he was far too stubborn. And their father, in turn, would never seek him out to invite him back: even if he wanted to, he was also too stubborn. In this, at least, did Léof take after him.

Well, neither would she be deterred. Already she had a plan. She was sorry already for the worry that she would cause Everild, but unrepentant of her plan. Once they reached Edoras, she had no doubt that she would be able to learn the whereabouts of this Scarburg, and then she would sneak away and go. This brought to mind the first thing she had to pack.

She went over to Léof’s old trunk of clothes and possessions and sifted through it. Father had never touched it, and when Léof left he had been about the same size as she was now. She found a serviceable pair of breeches, a shirt, and a hat, and stowed them at the bottom of her pack. A boy travelling alone would be less remarked upon than a girl, and a disguise would make it harder for anyone trying to come after her.

She was so eager to put this plan in place that she did not even mind that once she was caught her father would probably never let her leave the cabin again – at least not until he married her off, a possibility that loomed increasingly likely now that she had passed her eighteenth birthday and now that her father was remarrying, thus gaining a wife to care for his home as his daughter had for so many long years. She wouldn’t have it. She had not yet thought of a suitable resolution to this problem, but pushed it to the back of her mind for now.

She had to finish packing.

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain left the kitchen to find Safran where he had left her, eyes closed seemingly dozing and resting her white hind foot. "Wake up Saff, he said softly "let's get you sorted out". The mare flicked an ear and blinked at him as if to say that she hadn't been asleep, merely resting her eyes. It was only when he had unhitched her and retrieved his helm from the waggon seat where he had abandoned it before he had started unloading that he realised that no one had actually told him where the stables were. Deciding he couldn't go back and ask yet again, and that they couldn't be so far away he let the mare around the Meadhall buildings and before long found the stable yard. He paused to allow Safran to drink from a trough and caught fragments of a less than cordial discussion. One voice he recognised, that of Wilheard. The other was strange to him as was the name he thought he heard, Jan or something like it.

Saffy finished drinking and spattered her master with water. resigned that I was hardly going to mar his appearance at this stage he led her on in to the stables talking to the mare so as to give warning to the men lest they prefer their discussion unwitnessed.

He acknowledged his commander as military discipline required, then turned to the other, who was a perhaps a little more than him in age though a little less in height .

"I seek the ostler, Leof, the Lady Saeryn bids me tell him and any other here that food is now ready... and I also need to know what to do with my mare". He though he heard a stifled snort from Wilheard though maybe he imagined it. He knew some of the older knights laughed at his "pony" though he couldn't imagine why Wilheard had any cause to sneer. Saffy might have the soup-bowl feet, abundant mane and sturdiness inherited from her cob ancestor but she was brave and enduring and wise, while it seemed to Elfthain that Wilheard's mare was simply the most malevolent thing on hooves he had the misfortune to ever encounter. "where to stall her I mean.. or she could be turned out if that is easier.. she is very well tempered" he said pointedly "but I need to rub her down first .." his voice tailed off and he wondered if they would realise that he must have heard their conversation to know that Leof wasn't present. Saffy bumped his arm with her nose... she was ready for a bite of hay now and ideally a nice bit of mud to roll in. Her winter coat was starting to shed and it itched.

[Thinlómien]

Wilheard

"If by strict you mean he does not take offense at the slightest provocation, then yes, Eodwine may be less strict, but at least he doesn’t overlook the misdeeds of people close to him, or treat men in his household differently than others outside of it."

Genuine disbelief washed over Wilheard's face. For once, his words failed him. He had his own grievances with his father, and his own misgivings about his nature, but Javan's view was so badly skewered he wouldn't have known where to start.

"Lord Athanar disinherited his own son for the benefit of the unborn babe of another man, yet you accuse him of favouritism," Wilheard said quietly. That old wound still hurt. Everything still hurt that had to do with Wulfric.

As he was talking, he almost missed another lad entering the stables and greeting him curtly. This one had been with them from Edoras, and Wilheard would have barely noticed him if not for his ridiculous mountain pony. It was no steed for the rolling plains of Riddermark.

"I seek the ostler, Leof, the Lady Saeryn bids me tell him and any other here that food is now ready... and I also need to know what to do with my mare," the newcomer announced. Wilheard suppressed a snort and turned back to Bolt. She was what you would call a mare, not the shabby little thing the boy rode, however sturdy and reliable the pony was.

Wilheard let the peasants sort out the care of the pony while he finished grooming Bolt, then made his way out of the stables. He wouldn't mind something to eat and drink.

[Folwren]

Athanar had disinherited his eldest son? Javan had not known that. Perhaps it had been common knowledge in the hall at the time, but Javan had been a mere boy, and had spent every free moment he had outside with the Cnebba and Garmund. They had not paid attention to the heir of the eorl, for they felt no love either for him or his offspring. Still, the information came something as a shock. It certainly proved Javan’s words unfounded, and left him feeling more than a bit foolish after all.

He was grateful for the interrupted that the stranger brought. He would have felt inclined to retract his words and possibly apologize, and that was an idea he did not much care to think about.

“Léof’s up there,” Javan said, waving somewhere past the young man. “I can tell you where to take the mare, though. If she’s good tempered, as you say, she can go out into the yard with some others. You can rub her down here first, if you’d like.” He walked down several paces from the stall where Wilheard had stabled his mare and indicated a ring set into the wall where the mare could be tied while groomed.

“I am Javan,” he said, as the boy tied the mare to the ring. “What are you called?”

[Folwren]

Ruari scampered off to wake her father, barely listening as her mother called after her, “Do not wake Eoghan!” She ran to their room and paused at the door. She reached up, hanging on the handle a moment before slowly letting her weight push the door open. It swung in silently on its hinges just enough to let her slip through. She pattered up to the bed and peered over the edge, right into Eoghan’s face.

Ruari squinted her eyes and frowned and then carefully made her way to the other side of the bed. She climbed up and crawled across to where her father lay, his back to her. She leaned across him, resting her arms on his shoulder and bending her head over his, and her red hair falling in his face.

“Papa,” she whispered, stifling a laugh. “Papa, wake up. Mama says there is something to eat!”

[littlemanpoet]

Something interesting or funny? He walked by her side. Her eyes were on the sack she carried, a small smile on her face. He walked beside her, hugging the crate to himself. Little had happened that could be called funny, and it was not her way to have such thing ready to mind. There was the other thing, and she had already promised herself not to brag of it. She did not mean to leave him hanging, waiting on her words. They were back to the kitchen door when she finally spoke.

"We were attacked by Easterlings."

She opened the door and let herself in, holding it open for him.

Eodwine

His eyes fluttered open. Red hair hung over his eyes. The sweet giggles of his daughter floated by his ears. He kept his voice quiet for Eoghan's sake.

"Something to eat? Are you playing make believe, Ruari?"

[Mithalwen]

“I am Javan,” he said, as the boy tied the mare to the ring. “What are you called?”

"I am Elfthain" replied the young soldier, "and this is Safran," he added unbridling the little mare. "Say hello Saff" he added tapping her shoulder lightly and the horse lifted her right foreleg up and before her and waved it as if shaking hands a few times. "Well done girl", praised her master finding a rather batterd bit of carrot in his pocket which Saffy deigned to accept. "She can do other stuff too...even a proper bow on one knee...or could" Elfthain added a bit sheepishly,realising it might seem a bit babyish to teach one's horse tricks.

He was itching to ask about the evident bad blood between Javan and Wilheard but hadn't the nerve, and his babbling was the consequence. "I was only thirteen when I got her and it seemed like a good idea then" he covered, trying belatedly to give the impression that he was much too grown up for such things now. He hefted the heavy saddle from Saffy's back to a saddle horse, and unfolded the saddle blanket to cover her back so she wouldn't get a chill while he worked on her. He had retrieved grooming kit from his luggage and set to work chatting to Javan as he did so "I came with the waggons as is no doubt obvious. Can't say it was the most enjoyable time I have had. He..." Elfthain nodded at Wilheard's departing back, "is not a ray of sunshine. In fact he is a complete misery... I think even that brute of a horse of his is better company but unfortunately he is my commanding officer.. or maybe he isn't anymore now we are here!" The boy's face brightened wondering about this technicality. "but aren't you in a hurry to get something to eat? I won't be very long though, there is no point getting her very clean since she is being turned out". As he talked he had been checking Saffy's feet for stones and her legs for injuries then rubbed her coat where her tack had been and made sure there was no sign of soreness and brushed off the worst of the loose hair. "That will do for now, but I will sweep up if you lend me a broom". Elfthain looked ruefully at the drifts of dusty bay hair on the stable floor. "Apart from that she is ready to go out if you show me where..but shouldn't we tell Leof about the food first?".

[Firefoot]

Rowenna was quiet for a time, and at first Scyld thought she was merely taking the time to think of a story. Perhaps it truly had been an uneventful time in the Hall.

Then she said, “We were attacked by Easterlings,” and Scyld wondered instead if this was a story she was reluctant to tell for some reason. She certainly did not seem eager to share more details, which, of course, only intrigued Scyld more, as if this thoroughly unexpected opening to a story were not enough. They dropped off their loads and headed back outside for another load.

“Well, it seems the attack failed, seeing as the Hall and most of its people are still here,” said Scyld dryly. “Though how that came to pass, I cannot see.” Scyld was no soldier, but even he could see that the Hall was poorly situated for defense against a determined attacker.

[Firefoot]

Léof was less than pleased to see Wilheard leading his mare into the stable, and it was hard to say which of the two he welcomed less. Probably the horse, he decided. Wilheard, though taciturn and surly, mostly kept to himself and had a good hand with horses, which Léof respected. His horse, on the other hand, had kicked out her stall wall last year and was prone to biting. Léof thought that he had finally come to an understanding with her right before Wilheard had left. Now Léof supposed he would have to start all over.

He went back out to the courtyard and saw that there were still a few horses left who had not been seen to at all, mostly those harnessed to the carts that were still being unloaded. Léof chose one and led him into the stables. He seemed a good-natured animal, and after untacking him Léof started to lead him out of the stable when he caught the sound of his name. He looked down the aisle to see Javan talking to a young man nearby and changed his course.

“I am Léof,” he said to the newcomer. He glanced back and forth between him and Javan. Surely Javan would be able to help him with anything in the stables? “Is all well here?”

[Folwren]

Javan's eyes widened with surprise when Elfthain made his horse show a courteous leg. He grinned broadly from ear to ear as Elfthain explained she knew more tricks. He stood by, watching and listening in silence as Elfthain brushed down his mare quickly, talking all the while.

"That will do for now," Elfthain said as he finished, "but I will sweep up if you lend me a broom. Apart form that, she is ready to go out if you show me where. But shouldn't we tell Léof about the food first?"

"Never mind sweeping up!" Javan said. "Time will come for that later. We do need to find Léof, though."

He turned about as he spoke and nearly bumped into the person in question. "I am Léof," Léof said. "Is all well here?"

"Aye," Javan answered. "All's well. This is Elfthain, just come with everyone else, and here is his horse, Safran." He gave her a friendly slap on the shoulder. "He's taught her all sorts of odd tricks, he says, and sometime I'm going to see them. But Saeryn has sent word that there is food to be had inside, and we were about to find you and tell you so."

Ruari

"No, Papa!" Ruari said, leaning back and sitting on her heels. "There is porridge made! And I found a potato! And a nice man brought honey, and maybe I can have some, if I have been good, Stefnu says. But," she dropped her voice suddenly, remembering abruptly Saeryn's second instructions. "I am not to wake Eaghan up. Just you."

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain was happy to let Javan introduce him to the ostler and merely smiled and nodded but he nearly choked at his next words "He's taught her all sorts of odd tricks, he says, and sometime I'm going to see them. ".

He realised he had been babbling but having replayed in his mind as much of what he said as he could remember he was fairly sure he hadn't promised any such thing. Much as he was grateful that Javan didn't seem to think Saffy's talents juvenile, but was if anything impressed, it was some time since she had performed her full repertoire and they might well need to practise in private before demonstrating before an audience of even one. Maybe he wouldn't be around long enough to need to make good on his "promise".

The possibility didn't cheer him surprisingly. Friendships had become more complicated in recent years. The boys he had grown up with, in and around Upbourn had become.. not distant exactly.. careful as awareness grew that he would be their landlord one day and if he planned only a short military career, that day might be sooner rather than later. Conversely at Edoras he knew some feigned friendship in the hope of advancing their careers, knowing that his great uncle had reached the rank of full Marshal of the Mark and Elwin was tipped to match that achievement ere he was done.

Finally he had been made aware, in the course of perhaps the most excruciating of a series of mortifying and largely one sided conversations he had been subjected to since he reached adolescence, that he was on the brink of being a very eligible bachelor and that not all who might seem interested in him, were interested in him. With every friendly overture being filled with potential peril it was a bit of a relief to be where no one, including it seemed his commanding officer, had a clue about him and consequently no designs on him to provide fortune or favour. The place might be less congenial but it had advantages.

He walked with Javan and Leof to where the horses were to be turned out and thought it best to say something to temper expectation "She may not remember the tricks - it has been a while... we have had to learn so much cavalry training... battle formations and the like, there isn't the time for much else. Saffy isn't big enough to always keep up - my uncle says she is made for comfort not speed. I have a young horse I am bringing on at home over a hand taller, so we may breed from Saff next year, while she is still fairly young - and if we can decide what sort of foal we want". The mare, unware her future was being planned, shook her head now freed from its halter and seemingly deciding that the patches of mud were more tempting than the grass sank to her knees with a contented grunt and rolled happily.

[littlemanpoet]

She had intended to say that one thing about the Easterlings, then go into the kitchen and stay there where it was too noisy to say much of anything, and so be safe from having to admit that it was she who had led the victory. However, she found herself passing through the door that he held open for her, and walking next to him as he made his guesses about the attack.

"Yes, the attack failed, though one of the Easterlings stayed. His name is Jian, though I have not seen him all the day. He is interesting, and quite different. You might like him."

[Firefoot]

In truth, Léof was only half-listening to Elfthain talking about his pony, though he smiled and made polite noises where suitable. At any other time he would happily have picked up this conversation. Now, a much greater part of his mind was occupied contemplating the food inside, and how much work he had yet to do in the stables. A couple hours’ worth, he thought, and his dinner would not wait that long. Best, then, to continue as he was, getting all of the horses minimally comfortable before eating his own dinner. Afterwards, he would have to finish getting the horses settled, though he had little doubt that after a good meal he would want nothing more than to sleep.

Having released their horses into the paddock (Safran to roll in the mud, and Léof’s horse to nibble at the sad grass that had spent so many months yellowing under the snow), Léof turned to Elfthain and Javan and said, “Elfthain, welcome to you and Safran both – let me know if you need anything or have any questions. Javan, I’m going to make sure all the horses are settled before eating. I’ll leave it up to you if you’d rather eat now.”

[Firefoot]

Scyld now felt fairly certain that Rowenna did not wish to talk in detail of the attack, though if that was the case it confused him that she had ever brought it up. In any case, he made up his mind to ask some questions of others – whether it was gossip or a riveting tale that he would find, he was interested either way. For now, he allowed her to change the subject to this Jian fellow.

“He is interesting, and quite different,” Rowenna said. “You might like him.”

Having met quite a number of the Haradrim in his journey to Dol Amroth, Scyld could well imagine that he must be an interesting fellow. In the tales of the Great War, the Haradrim and the Easterlings always seemed to be mentioned in the same breath, and in Scyld’s mind they were much the same. The Haradrim he had met bore little love for their northern neighbors, and Scyld had difficulty imagining any of them wishing to leave their own people to dwell among strangers.

“You will have to introduce me,” he said. They came to the last cart that still had goods on it – the unloading had gone more swiftly that Scyld had imagined, with so many hungry bodies to help carry in the food. “Our last load, I think,” he said, then let the conversation lapse as they headed back inside. He could not get a read on her – she had gone from polite reservation to laughter tinged with something deeper and back again so quickly that Scyld’s head was swimming. Inside, the kitchen was full of people jubilant over their first real meal in a long time – Scyld had never seen so many people so excited about plain porridge. Several women were still hard at work, making more porridge, cleaning dishes, and as they put their burdens down, Rowenna spoke over the noise: "I ought to help them." Scyld nodded, and she was gone, leaving him to wonder what he ought to make of their conversation.

Perhaps that sort of thinking was better done on a full stomach. Scyld helped himself to a bowl of porridge and took it out into the main hall to find someplace less crowded to sit down.

[littlemanpoet]

"Then we had better let him sleep," he replied. He made to rise, but found that he did not have the strength for it. He lay on his back and thought a moment.

"Papa, come!" Ruari whispered.

"A moment, moppet."

He rolled to his stomach, placed his hands on the bed, and pushed himself to a sitting position. He stood up, his legs feeling shaky, and made to follow his daughter, but felt as if he were on stilts that gave in the middle. Next moment he was on the floor, feeling lightheaded.

"Papa!" Her eyes had gone wide.

"Get mother, Ruari," he grunted.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Áforglaed almost ran into Hilderinc as the latter was washing the remaining mud off his hands by the well, his sleeves rolled up and inspecting his arm.

"You almost pushed me into the well," the older soldier commented, as Áforglaed hurried to clean the dirt from his own hands.

"There's going to be food soon," he explained, splashing half of the pail over himself. "Porridge!"
"So I heard."
Áforglaed tried to look at his reflection in the water that remained inside the bucket, but he could not really make anything out. Meanwhile, Hilderinc finished examining his arm and was rolling his sleeves back into place.

"You are behaving as if you were afraid somebody might eat everything before you come there," he observed. "Move aside a bit, there are others who have been carrying the potatoes and would like to clean themselves before they eat."

Áforglaed glanced aside and let another of the Scarburgians pick up the pail.

"And what is all that scrubbing your face for?" Hilderinc continued.

Áforglaed turned to him, startled.

"Do I have something on my face?"
"No."
"Mud?"
"I said no."

Áforglaed craned his neck in an attempt to take another glance inside the bucket, despite knowing he would not be able to see the reflection of his face, and he almost stabbed his elbow into somebody else's stomach as they tried to get some water for themselves.

Behind Áforglaed, Hilderinc shook his head.

[Folwren]

“Get mother, Ruari.”

Ruari hung back a moment, frozen in fear as she stared at Eodwine, but almost at once, her legs remembered how to move and she ran off.

She burst through the kitchen door. “Mama!” she cried, breathlessly.

Saeryn turned from the table where she had been working. Her heartbeat quickened when she saw the distress on her daughter’s face. “What is the matter, Ruari?” she asked, bending down.

Ruari rushed to her, clinging to her arms, and beginning to cry in her alarm. “Papa fell! He tried to get up to come to eat, and he fell and can’t get up, and he sent me for you, and he’s just-”

Saeryn gently, though hastily, disengaged Ruari’s hands and silently put her to the side. Without another word, she hurried from the kitchen. She ran to the door of their room and went immediately to Eodwine’s side, grasping his arm and helping him sit up with his back to the bed.

“What have you done to yourself?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What’s the matter?”

From the bed behind them, she heard Eoghan stir and begin to whimper quietly, calling her, but she did not turn from her husband.

[Inziladun]

Leaving the stable, Ladavan found himself wondering again just what he was doing here.

He knew he wasn't the first of his people to make his way west and see how life was among their former enemies. He had even seen some persons since his arrival he thought likely were at least partly of his race.
But the encounter on the road with the stout man and the words of the other in the stable just then made him wonder if the old scars would ever be healed.

Now he was doubting the wisdom of trying to set himself as a carpenter here. Would there be any business? Would people take a look at him and decide they could find someone else? What could he do, though? He couldn't go back. There was nothing for him there, even if he managed the long road alone. What he needed was some way to prove himself, to earn trust and respect.

He had been absently walking as the thoughts passed, and when he came back to himself found he was both hungry, and very thirsty.
And there was a well, with two men standing at it, backs to him.
Ladavan made his way to it, walking close behind them. It was then that , without looking, one of the two suddenly drove his elbow at Ladavan.

"Biandur"! he said reflexively stepping back, and winced. He would have to stop speaking the old tongue in public. "I mean, watch out," he added.

[Mithalwen]

Folwren's post - Javan
Javan wanted to eat. He was as hungry as the next person. But he would not leave Leof out here working while he went in and broke his fast.

“I’ll finish the job with you,” he said. He turned to Elfthain. “You’ve come a long way and must be weary,” he said. “You ought to go in and rest. We will be in soon enough and I will come find you.” He offered Elfthain a quick, flashing smile, and then turned and hurried off to tend to the chores that could not wait until after dinner.

Mithalwen's post - Elfthain

It was all very well, thought Elfthain, to tell him to go in and rest but he didn't know where "in" was other than the kitchen and he wasn't that weary anyway. The journey had been dull rather than tiring and while the heavy lifting might give him aching muscles and he was sure he would sleep well that night he felt no immediate need for slumber. What he would really like would be to get out of this wretched mailshirt. ideally to wash and to change in to fresh clothes as far as possible. However all his gear was in the stables and until he knew where he would be quartered there was no point in moving it and in the meantime the easiest way to transport the cumbersome hauberk and its gambeson was to wear it.

Finding himself at the well he drew a pail of cold clear water and washed at least the dust from Saffy's coat from his hands. Bracing himself, he raised the bucket and poured some of the well water over his lowered head. He gasped at the chill of it and felt it trickle down his neck shivering his spine. Refreshed, if resigned to the knowledge that his ablutions had merely moved rather than removed the grime he decided he might as well have a look around. The yard was a deal quieter now, the stores had been unladen, the waggons moved and most of the people seemed to have disappeared too, no doubt eager to get at the hot food. He scuffed the toe of his riding boot in the dirt and pondered. The only places he knew were the stables and kitchen and both were likely to be busy, maybe he should take a look round the other side.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Áforglaed realised he just elbowed somebody pretty hard and the person swore, even though he could not make out the word. "I mean, watch out!" the same voice said, and Áforglaed turned around to face a thin dark-haired older man, apparently one of those who arrived with the caravan.

"Uh, sorry," he said. "Here," he turned around, handing the pail over to the stranger. "Sorry 'bout that. I'm done washing."

"He is just not looking where he's walking," Hilderinc chimed in from behind.

"No I'm not!" Áforglaed turned his head. "Or, I mean, yes, I am looking, of course, I just did not see you," he faced the stranger again.

Behind him, Hilderinc shrugged and started walking towards the hall.

"Name's Áforglaed by the way," the young soldier offered his arm, then realised the other man's hands were still dirty, so he promptly withdrew it. "Hey," he suddenly observed, "you look quite Dunnish."

[Folwren]

"I have kept my-" he swallowed and breathed "-my children alive."

Saeryn's eyes flashed as she took in his words and their meaning. Her hands, resting one on his shoulder and the other on his laboring chest, felt the bones beneath his rough, white shirt. "By starving yourself?" she demanded . She swallowed back the lump of fear in her throat, torn between grief and disbelieving anger. "What good would it do if you died and your children were left fatherless?" Eoghan's crying grew louder, but Saeryn still did not turn. "Why didn't you tell me? You should not have done this!"

His brow lowered in annoyance. "Your children are alive. The deed is done. Berate me if you must. Now help me not die."

Saeryn could not stop tears from escaping her eyes, but she forced her sob into a bitter laugh. "I ought to let you die, you silly old man," she said, choking again on a sob, but smiling. Thankfully he still had the will to live! She had feared he was resigned to dying. It would be the sort of heroic attitude he would take. "You've practically killed yourself already. But I'll see what can be done."

"There's a good girl. I married right. See to the boy first. I swear to you I will stay alive a few more moments. Will you bring me food here?"

Saeryn bent and kissed his head. "Of course." She helped him lean back against the bed, taking away the support of her body, and after sniffing and wiping her eyes, she stood up and turned to the bed.

"What is it, son?" she said softly. Eoghan did not answer. Her presence calmed him almost at once, and he lay back, staring forlornly up at her. She sniffed again, picking up the cup of water from the table at the bedside. "Drink. I will bring you food, too."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

First they came one by one, but now as the word about the porridge spread, groups of starved Scarburgians were streaming into the kitchens. There was no way, Stefnu mused, for anybody to try to make any orderly meal out of this. No: now was the time to eat, only to eat, to feel the simple part of life that had for so long been denied to them. Now people just came to get their bowl of porridge, the first proper meal in weeks, and Stefnu made the special note to sprinkle a few nuts on top of every portion. It was a mere gesture, but she felt it was right.

"This meal is nothing special," she had told Modtryth, "but at the same it is special, because-" There was no need to explain further. Of course it was special, from now on, they realised how every meal was special. "It may be humble," she had continued, "but I don't feel we should hold back on making it better!"

Most people in Stefnu's place would not think of treats at this time, but she did, and she felt that was what the people of Scarburg needed. In some way, it occupied her mind even more than her own hunger. In some way, she had been thinking about this the whole winter.

She also made a mental note to talk to lady Saeryn, later. They will have to make a proper, large, celebratory feast. Later, maybe even tomorrow. To mark the end of the terrible winter once and for all, to share their joy of coming back to life and to remember those who did not. And last but not least, they would do so to thank those who brought the caravan that saved them. She was certain the Eorl or lady Saeryn would see to it, but now there was surely no hurry. Now, there were people to feed.

She smiled at the next person who came to fill their bowl, when she noticed Saeryn storming away, leaving clearly agitated Ruari behind. She did not see what happened, but she could make good enough picture of the situation.

"Excuse me," she said, handing the spoon to the next person. "I'll be right back, help yourself. Just a few spoonfuls, you can come back later for more!"

Quickly, she turned to pick up an empty bowl and walked to Ruari's side.

"Hello again!" she smiled encouragingly. "Is everything all right?"

"Papa fell," the girl said in a trembling voice. "Mama went after him, and-"

Stefnu forced herself not to betray any signs of distress herself. She stroked Ruari's head.

"I am sure she will take care of him," she said. "You can wait for them here with me. I am sure they will come soon and everything will be all right, you'll see. Perhaps you would like to have some porridge while you wait? See, I got you a bowl. What if you come sit over there with me, and you can also get some of the honey the nice boy - what was his name? - brought us."

[Inziladun]

As the man turned to him and uttered what seemed to be a genuine apology, Ladavan watched the other turn and walk away.

"Name's Áforglaed by the way", the remaining one said, extending his arm in apparent greeting. Then, withdrawing it, he added "Hey, you look quite Dunnish".

You aren't the first to notice, Ladavan thought sourly. Trying not to let his feeling show, he assumed a neutral expression and replied, "Yes, I am of that people. I have made this long journey to see what I can find here." He paused. This one looked young and rather reckless, but not necessarily hostile.

"I am a stranger here, of course. No doubt it will be some time before I learn the customs and laws. But the more I can talk to people, the more I will discover." The young man had something of a soldierly feel about him, as had his departed companion. Ladavan had the (probably) foolish beginning of an idea.

"Tell me, sir: what is your living?" he asked.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Me? I am a guardsman, here. There aren't many of us, now." He made a vague nod in departing Hilderinc's direction. "Not that it's needed," he grinned. "It's been quite peaceful here, after our former eorl Athanar showed the neighbouring lords their place - I was there," he remarked, straightening himself proudly. "I also heard the local folk made quite a short work of the Easterling raiders who appeared when the rest of us soldiers were fighting out beyond the River last spring."

He surveyed the man from head to toes. "Are you a soldier? I mean, a Dunnish soldier? Man, I hope your people are not fighting ours anymore. I mean, obviously you're not, now that you are here. Right?" He grinned again, this time a bit more nervously, it started dawning on him that he had been babbling. "What is your name?" he asked quickly.

[Folwren]

The kitchen was flocked with people who had heard the summons to supper. They stood in two lines as Modtryth and Frodides ladled porridge into their bowls from the pots. Saeryn picked up two empty bowls and walked directly to the head of one line and held them out. She thought grimly about what she might say if someone questioned her right to cut to the front, but no one did, and she strode from the kitchen with two steaming bowls of porridge.

"Here we are," she said as cheerfully as she could when she came back to the room. "It's a bit hot yet. Let us pour some water into it. It will do it no harm." She poured a bit of cool water into Eoghan's bowl, while admitting to herself that water was a poor substitute for milk.

"Here, lad, sit up for me." She helped Eoghan sit up against the wall and pulled the blankets up about him under his arms. She set the bowl in his lap and put the spoon in his hand. "Eat it slowly," she instructed, leaning towards him and speaking in a low voice, so as to gain his closest attention.

"Now for you," she said, turning to Eodwine. "Do you want water in your porridge, too, or shall you eat it hot? Let's get you up on the bed, first, so you're not freezing on the ground."

[Inziladun]

He'd been right, Ladavan thought. He'd wondered if this man could give him the opening he sought, or at least point him in the right direction.
Now the man seemed wary and nervous, guessing he stood in the presence of a Dunland foreigner. Oddly, this brought amusement to Ladavan, and not bitterness.

"I am of Dunland, and I did fight in the war. And yes, I fought against you horse-people. I do not look proudly on it now, though at the time, I thought what I did was right. I am named Ladavan." He then plunged ahead.

"It is of soldiering I would speak, though. How does one gain entry to such service here?"

[littlemanpoet]

Maybe he had been a fool to starve himself in hopes that his children might then live. Well, thanks to the king, his plan had won out. Which was lucky, not good planning. So he was a fool. Well, he thought, better a living fool than a dead one. Saeryn came back and fed their son first. He watched her, enjoying her motherly ways.

She turned to him and became less motherly and more cool and about business. Maybe he deserved her coldness, if that was what it was.

"I'll have it with water."

He lifted his arms to be helped off the ground. Once he was seated on the bed, and she had poured some water in his porridge, she handed it to him and watched. He looked up at her before he took his first spoonful. Was she afraid he still would not eat? Or that he would not be able to keep it down? She seemed all anxy and worrity, as his mum used to say.

"I am sorry. It was a foolish thing to do. You married a fool, title or no," he added lightly, grinning ruefully. "If only you had known." He ladled some porridge onto his spoon and took a cautious sip.

[Folwren]

“It wouldn't have made any difference,” Saeryn said with a shrug. Then she softened a little and her hands came down from her hips and she sat down next to him. “You're only a fool when it comes to taking care of yourself, you know. I shouldn't be surprised about this.” She watched him slowly take another bite. Her mouth watered and her stomach tightened longingly, but she did not get up yet. She had to wait until her husband and son were finished and she was sure they were well enough for her to leave them.

She resumed talking to distract herself. “You always push yourself harder than anybody else. There was the time you got sick and had to go to Gondor.” She paused and reflected a moment. No one really believed he would come back that time. “I may as well get used to you almost dying on me every couple of years,” she said with a smile, and then fell silent.

It would not have made any difference, even if she had known. She knew his generous, kind nature, and that was enough. She had seen him accept people whom others had cast out, and she had watched as he influenced the most unsavory characters until they became good, upstanding members of their community. She knew firsthand his patience and his forgiveness, and she loved him for it.

“Just don't go too far one day and actually go,” she said quietly, turning and looking up at him.

[littlemanpoet]

What passed between the Eorl and his wife is a matter between them. Suffice it to say that they both had enough to eat, took care of the needs of their son, and eventually corralled their daughter.

Late afternoon passed into evening and the sun hid behind the western trees, what few there were in those parts.

That night, Eodwine's dreams were quiet and had not about them the rigors of leanness. He and his family slept well.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Legate of Amon Lanc's post - Áforglaed

"It is of soldiering I would speak, though. How does one gain entry to such service here?"

Áforglaed surveyed the Dunlending with new interest. Was it possible this man could join them in Scarburg? It was true, Áforglaed mused, Eodwine would have to get more men to replace some of those who died during the winter. Such as poor old Raban. Sooner or later. So why not this Dunlending?

"I guess you would have to speak to the eorl about it," he said. "That's what it comes down to, anyway. When I came here, I was already in the eorl's service, the previous one, I mean. But yes, why not? Talk to Eodwine. I mean lord Eodwine. Or to Thornden, I mean commander Thornden, he is in charge of these things. Even though he will lead you to Eodwine anyway. But yes."

The prospect of having a Dunlending as a fellow guardsman gave Áforglaed a strange feeling, but it was also kind of intriguing. However, loud rumble in Áforglaed's stomach also reminded him that he wanted to go to have dinner.

"Listen," he said, "I am pretty hungry and the food is being served, but if I see Thornden or Eodwine, I mean lord Eodwine, I can tall them. Uh okay, probably not Eodwine, he might have too many important things. But Thornden. Or you can find me or any of the other soldiers, they can tell you who Thornden is."

There was a sound of metal pots clanging from somewhere in the kitchen. "I have to go," Áforglaed said. "But see you around, Lamedon!" And he rushed away from the well, without looking back.

---------------------------

Folwren's Post - Saeryn

Morning After the Arrival of the Caravan

Saeryn had noticed the woman that came with the caravan the first night she arrived, though she had no chance to speak with her. The ordering of the new supplies and seeing that everyone was fed, and tending to her sick husband and child, had filled Saeryn's time. It was not until the second day that she was able to approach the woman.

She left the women washing up dishes in the kitchen and went out to the hall. The stranger had been given no task and stood rather awkwardly by the fire. Saeryn smiled.

"I am truly sorry I have not greeted you before now, lady," she said. She spoke respectfully, for it seemed to her that the woman came from a respectable family. "I was remiss yesterday not to have seen to your bed myself. Forgive me." The woman's head dipped slightly, and she looked at a loss for words. Saeryn did not pause long. She motioned towards a table and as they sat down, she said, "What is your errand here, and how may I assist you?"

Brith smiled, and a little belatedly, dropped in a curtsey. "My lady Saeryn," she replied in Rohirric, as she had been addressed. "If it please you..." she hesitated, switching to Westron. "I am ashamed to say I know very little of your beautiful language." She smiled.

Saeryn, too, smiled. "I can speak Westron if you like. I was asking your errand, and if you might require assistance of any kind."

"My lady, I would hate to ask anything, seeing how things stand here," Brith said quickly, then realized that her words could be interpreted the wrong way. Especially since she hadn't really been doing anything useful all morning, but she had been discouraged by a local woman who had shrugged off her question if she could help with any of the household chores. She didn't want to seem too proud or condescending. "My name is Brithiel, and I am of Lamedon. More recently, from Arnor." Idly, she wondered if she was rambling.

"I am a seamstress by profession. I have come to Scarburg on a... personal quest." Again she paused. She had nothing against telling this grave and friendly young lady her story, but her father had always told her to keep it short when she was explaining something. Saeryn gave her an encouraging nod and she continued.

"I am hoping to stay for a few weeks, or maybe a few moons, while I take care of my business. I understand you already have many mouths to feed, and I do not desire to be a burden. I will help you as I may. Sewing is my trade, and I also know weaving and spinning." She paused and smiled again. "I am more than glad to help you with anything that has to be done around the household, too. I spent the last couple of years doing laundry and shearing sheep, among other things."

"One willing to work hard is always welcome here," Saeryn said kindly. "We have fallen on hard times, but winter is passed, and the roads are opened to Edoras. I do not think I am wrong to say that you will not be a burden and we have plenty of supplies now. May I ask what this personal quest is and why you have chosen our humble, and rather worn, home to finish your business in?"

"Oh my lady, but Scarburg is lovely!" Brith insisted. "The scar is a marvel, and you can see the hall has been constructed with love. It only saddens me to see how you have suffered in the winter."

Saeryn smiled and murmured something about Brith being too generous with her praise, and then waited patiently for her to continue.

"But I did not choose to come here because of your beautiful home, I'm afraid. I am looking for a man by the name of Belecthor, son of Handir. We were betrothed to be married many years ago." Brith cast down her glance. "He... we didn't marry, and I heard he's now in Rohan and has a family here. In Edoras I heard stories that his wife is the niece of a landholder in Mid-Emnet named Tancred. I understand this Tancred lives not far from Scarburg."

Brith looked back up at Saeryn. She realized for the first time that her errand may seem inappropriate for an unmarried woman traveling alone, if not even scandalous. She tried a faint smile.

Saeryn returned the smile, though it was no stronger than Brith's. She had met Tancred only once, and she had not been well impressed by him.

"You may stay as long as you have need," she said after the briefest pause. "We will do what we can to help you in your search."

"Thank you, my lady," Brith replied. "You are too kind." She hesitated. She had offered her services in exchange for a roof over her head and something to eat, that was just and fair. To come as a wealthy foreigner and offer money could be seen as rude. Still, she felt like she had been presuming and given a bad impression of herself. "If I may, would you, Lady Saeryn, accept a small gift as thanks for your hospitality?" She produced a small pouch and opened it on the table. "These are freshwater pearls from Lake Evendim. They are abundant there, worn by commoners too on festive occasions, but here in the south we seldom see them. If you know a good jeweler, these could be made into a lovely little brooch or bracelet for your beautiful daughter - or perhaps I could help you to sew them in one of your own gowns, in the Gondorian fashion?"

Saeryn's lips parted with surprise. She smiled, pleased by the gentle luster of the pearls, and she touched one with the tip of her finger.

"This is no small gift," she said, glancing up at Brith. The young lady looked nervous, scared that she had offended Saeryn, and Saeryn smiled again. "I will accept them."

"I will still work, as we agreed," Brith hurried to say.

Saeryn smiled kindly. "Let us go to the kitchen and I will introduce you to all the ladies."

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain woke early and yawned lengthily, stretched and sat up. It was close after dawn and weak light lit his room and the impressive amount of chaos he had managed to create in so short a time with so few posessions. He had been astonished to be given a room of his own rather than just enough space to unroll his blankets as he had expected. His muddle of discarded armour and saddlebags made it seem less obvious that this was someone's room rather than just a spare room and there was, most likely a very simple reason why it was vacant. He supposed he should tidy it out of deference to his host but away from military or even maternal supervision he had granted himself furlough from the discipline of having his kit ready for inspection at any time. Wilheard had ignored him on the rare occasions their paths had crossed. Elfthain had discarded his armour in favour of a simple shirt and tunic at the earliest opportunity and he wasn't even sure the young knight recognised him out of uniform. Elfthain had told no lies yet he had not told the whole truth either, not even to the curious ladies in the kitchens who had an uncanny ability to winkle out information. He had confided little more than the basic facts and he had elided some of those...he had admitted to being Elwin's squire but omitted that he was also his nephew, that his aunt was from Gondor but not that she had attended the queen, and so forth. He told himself he wasn't lying. He just wasn't showing off.

After two full days at Scarburg he was beginning to get the hang of the place. The first day had been occupied largely in moving the supplies to their proper locations from where they had been stowed temporarily after their hasty unloading, yesterday it had rained solidly and he had cleaned Safran's tack. The rest of the time he had spent exploring, with Javan as his guide and companion when he was free. There was enough affinity in age and temperament between the two for a friendship to have been easily forged. And his labours had caused him to renew his acquaintanceship with the ladies in the kitchen and Ruairi the Eorl's enchanting little daughter who had made him think that it would be fun if Poppy were still at Upbourn when he returned and that it would be nice to have a little sister again even after so long a time.

Of the Eorl himself he had seen virtually nothing. He had been ill even before the Winter demanded its dreadful ransome and much of the running of the household had devolved upon the Lady Saeryn and his Steward who Elfthain had been amazed to learn was Javan's elder brother. It was the disparity in age and height that had misled him; Javan was a little older and an inch or so shorter than Elfthain but his brother, Thornden, was about a handspan taller and wider and far closer to Elfthain's mother in age than he was to the boys. When you knew and looked properly a family likeness could be discerned but it hadn't been obvious, to Elfthain at least, without this prior knowledge. He wondered idly to himself, if Javan would grow anymore and if the siblings between ranged down in height as well as age.

Elfthain yawned again and forced himself out of bed. There was a chance they might be leaving soon - dissention had broken out between the waggon drivers and their soldier escorts. The soldiers' horses were less tired but the drivers were more worried about the road conditions. The rain and meltwater combined threatened to make the roads treacherous and a ridden horse could pick its way through much more easily than one drawing even an unladen cart. Arguments about whether it was better to push tired horses on or wait and risk a deterioration in the weather had broken out and some of the soldiers had even speculated if the empty carts needed their protection at all knowing that they could do the journey in half the time alone. Elfthain had kept out of it. He could read the weather in the Harrowdale well enough but here on the open wold it was different. And to his surprise he realised he wasn't in quite such a hurry to get back as he expected.

He doubted that it would happen today. He hoped not.. if the weather held they hoped that Javan would have time and use of a horse so they could ride out and he could see more of the area but either way he would have to groom Saffy. The previous evening, much to the little mare's disgust her master who apart from checks on her welfare had left her to her mud larking til then, had found space for her to be tied up undercover. She would rather be outside and free.. Saffy was too good-natured to misbehave but when her master arrived (having dressed hastily in his least clean clothes and not bothered to wash knowing he would only have to repeat the exercise once Saffy was clean) she sulked a little and was only really pleased to see a full haynet. "Sorry old girl but I had to make sure you would be dry for this morning... and you really are filthy. There seemed hardly an inch of the creature that was not covered in mud and it was hard to tell what colour she was let alone that she had a white sock.

The rain was holding off so he took his horse outside where the breeze would carry off at least some of the dust rolled his sleeves up and set to work. He would be there some time.

[Folwren]

The top rim of the sun was barely visible on the eastern horizon, but the hall was already stirring. Javan woke no later than the others and made his way directly to the kitchen. He was turned away before he had barely entered: they did not even give him a chance to steal a crust of the bread baked the previous night. He went away with his hands as empty as his stomach, but he smiled, for at least there was sure promise of food in an hour or two when the chores were done.

He began the daily task of bringing water to each of the stalled horses before tossing them their ration of hay.

“Turn out the two at the end, will you?” Léof asked as Javan passed him in the aisle.

“Aye,” Javan answered briefly. He finished his task before going to turn the two horses out into the yard. He released the first one, but paused before returning for the second.

“You’re out here already?” he said, spotting Elfthain at work grooming his own mare. Javan went over to them. He clapped his hand amiably on Saff’s off shoulder. The mud was so caked on her stiffened coat that his hand did not even raise a cloud of dust. He grimaced “This’ll take a while,” he observed.

Elfthain laughed dryly, but there was not much to say in response to that, and he kept brushing methodically.

“Have you heard if you’re staying or going yet?” Javan asked after a pause. “It seemed uncertain last I heard.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine yawned and stretched. The sun was peeking through the window, just after dawn. He was hungry, but not starving. It was a good feeling. He looked at his wife, still asleep. The worry lines on her forehead had disappeared in the night. That was a good thing. The two little ones were curled in their crib like a pair of puppies, draped over each other. He smiled, and he felt like his heart would burst with how it made him feel to see them all, so peaceful, not starving.

Ah. He'd said it in his head. Not starving. That was the especially good thing. He wanted some grub. He threw on his clothes, went to the kitchens to splash water on his face, and nosed about for some food. He found a loaf of bread and took it in his hand like a haunch of meat, and walked to the door to see what it looked like outside.

[Firefoot]

Scyld rose early that morning – at least, early for him. He had never been naturally inclined to waken early, though neither was he a sluggard. Long years of discipline under Sorn’s ruthless hand kept him from staying abed too late in the morning, though now without such a taskmaster Scyld had become accustomed to taking a little bit of extra time in the morning to rouse himself.

Not this morning. In truth, he had hardly slept, wracked with anxiety now that he was finally faced with the reality of handing over Linduial’s letter. He had put it off for a few days, letting the commotion over the caravan’s arrival die down. Additionally, word of Eodwine’s collapse on the day of the caravan’s arrival had spread quickly after his young daughter had effectively announced it to the whole kitchen, and Scyld had told himself that he ought to make sure that the Eorl was properly healthy before approaching him. The abundance of proper food seemed to serve its purpose though: everyone in the Hall, not just the Eorl, was already looking healthier.

Now many of those in the caravan were discussing making the trip back to Edoras, and Scyld knew he had to choose: to stay and carry out his original plan, or to leave, fearing too much the consequences of admitting his guilt. The option tempted him sorely: once, it was the choice he easily would have made.

He could hear when the Hall began to wake up: women heading to the kitchen, others up to attend to early morning chores. He despaired of sleeping any longer and rose himself. He did not have any particular tasks of his own to tend to and was unsure of what to do at such an early hour. Then he thought: a walk. Perhaps a walk before breakfast up into the Scar would clear his head. He dressed quickly, tucking Linduial’s letter into a pocket. He had fallen out of the habit while at his brother’s, where he had merely kept it hidden among his personal affects, but now the information was too valuable to him for him to feel comfortable with it out of his sight.

When he stepped outside the Hall though, he felt a jolt in his gut to discover Eodwine standing there alone. Now he thought. Now is your chance, with no distractions, no one else around. Before he could talk himself out of it he stepped towards the Eorl. “Lord Eodwine,” he began. A convincing show of deference had once been an essential survival skill, when he lived with Sorn, and Scyld used it well now, though it was not so feigned as it had once been. “There is a matter I have been meaning to bring to you.” He reached into his pocket to bring out the letter. After keeping it so close for so long it felt wrong to hand it over, but he held it out. “This letter will explain much, but if there is more you would ask of me after you read it, I shall try to answer.”

[Mithalwen]

“Have you heard if you’re staying or going yet?” Javan asked after a pause. “It seemed uncertain last I heard.”

"No, not yet... I don't know if it has even been decided. Trouble is that the soldiers want to get back but the hauliers are worried about the roads after the rain... of course it is harder going for them even with empty waggons. And no one is really in charge since Wilheard is staying here" ..Elfthain paused while he broke up a particularly stubborn clump of mud with his fingers and exchanged knowing looks with Javan - the pair had found common ground in their opinion of Lord Athanar's heir , ".... not that he was much help on the way over ... neither use nor ornament as my grannie would have said... but he was there and knew the way and his dad is too important for anyone to cross him, miserable git though he be... any way I reckon that if there isn't news in the next hour we are good for another day - the one thing they are all agreed on is that there should be as few overnight stops as possible which means an early start". He sighed surveying the state of Safran's coat. So much effort to uncover such a small amount of horse. Saffy made a soft whickering sound and Elfthain half thought she was laughing at him.

"I am in no hurry to go.. at this rate it will take me half the day to get Saff clean.. and I don't want her getting girth galls even if she is an orc-horse". Safran turned her head and regarded her master balefully through a filthy forlock. "None of the others are half as bad, quarter even but Saffy really, really loves rolling in mud, just usually she doesn't have so much to play with, do you my sweet?" He patted the exposed coat affectionately. "Anyway don't let me hold you up now.. I won't be going anywhere for a while" he grimaced and banged out the dirt from the dandy brush.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine took the letter from Nydfara, looking him in the eye. The man seemed ill at ease, to say the least. Anxious. He opened the letter and read it.

Greetings, Eorl Eodwine

I hope this missive finds you well.

It is with mixed feelings that I write this, for I do not relish the memory of my kidnapping. However, I remember with fondness the hospitality afforded me at your warm, if plain, Mead Hall. I also remember with gratitude he whom you know as Nydfara, whose real name is Scyld, for it is through his kindness and skill that I am alive today.

I was imprisoned by the dastard Sorn for ransom, and Scyld was at first my jailor. However, he did not like Sorn nor relish the evil man's ways, and helped me to escape, and protected me from murder at the hand of Sorn.

By the time you arrived at Scarburg, with the assistance of Scyld I had accomplished my freedom. I offered, at that time, to defend his innocence and honor, but in his natural humility he requested that I not do so.

I invited Scyld to stay on at Dol Amroth, and would happily have placed him in a good situation. However, he was determined to return to Scarburg, though why he would wish to live in such a backwater, I have no idea. I mean no disrespect to you for living there Eodwine, as you have been assigned to the place and would no doubt prefer a better.

Since Scyld is indeed determined to return to you, with full pleasure, I take it upon myself to do as I offered then, and swear to his uprightness, faithfulness, decency, honor, good heart, and above all, innocence. I hope that you will accept this letter in its intent, and declare Scyld to be not guilty of any crime, but instead a hero and a man of honor.

sincerely, Princess Linduial of Dol Amroth

Eodwine looked over the letter at the man, eyes narrowed. "Scyld. That is your name?"

"Aye, Eorl."

"Of what crime are you accused? Being Sorn's jailor?"

[Firefoot]

As unendurably suspenseful as it should have been to stand there as Eodwine read Linduial’s letter, Scyld found himself oddly at ease. He had borne the burden of that letter for so long, carrying it across the long leagues of Gondor and the Mark both, considering its contents, contemplating its delivery. The decision was made; the consequences largely out of his hands.

He was also grateful for the moment to collect himself before being addressed. He had been caught by surprise, not expecting to find the Eorl here, and had been less composed that he might have liked. By the time Eodwine had finished reading and turned his attention back to Scyld, Scyld met his gaze calmly.

"Scyld. That is your name?"

"Aye, Eorl."

"Of what crime are you accused? Being Sorn's jailor?"

“No one has accused me of any crime,” Scyld answered carefully, “though I have long feared it. Rather, I freely confess to you that I was Sorn’s jailor, in hope that my later deeds might earn my pardon, with Lady Linduial as my witness.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine's eyes narrowed further a moment, then he relaxed his face.

"Come inside, Scyld, and let us break our fast."

Eodwine's thoughts sped like a stream coming out of the White Mountains, crashing and splashing over rocks and around sharp curves. For months, this Scyld had claimed to be someone he was not, and now he came clean with a letter from someone of high repute ... whom Eodwine did not particularly like, which should not really matter, and didn't so much; Scyld could not help that his captive was an overbearing, arrogant princess whose personal business seemed to extend well beyond her realm. But Scyld. He had been lying to them all. Duplicity. Deceit. Eodwine hated it. And now.

He gestured for Scyld to sit opposite him, and raised looked around to see who might serve them. Rowenna happened to be just inside the kitchen. He called her name and waved her over.

"Good morning Rowenna, please fetch Sc - Nydfara and me some food and drink."

The serving woman raised a brow and then a furrow appeared between her
brows, then she nodded, and glanced at Scyld before hurrying off to get them food.

"Why did you wait, Scyld?"

[Firefoot]

It was difficult for Scyld to discern the Eorl’s thoughts. His tone, so far, had been measured and thoughtful, though Scyld would have expected little else. Scyld could not tell what lay underneath that though, whether his admission was being received well or poorly.

When Eodwine called Rowenna over to serve them breakfast, Scyld felt his anxiety rising again, and began to second-guess his decision to say nothing to her. She would be angry at him, he felt suddenly. But why should she be? He still had not been able to figure out what that first conversation they had exchanged at his arrival meant, and since then he had not spoken to her much. Maybe he overestimated her regard for him, and she would not care at all, save to be glad to finally have discovered his secret. Who could tell?

He knew that she did not miss Eodwine’s near slip of calling him by his right name, though she said nothing. Again, what was there for her to comment on, though? She was only here now to serve them breakfast.

He was jerked back from his trailing thoughts by Eodwine’s question. Why had he waited? The question seemed almost absurd at first, to him who had for so long not even considered saying anything at all. But sensing the seriousness of the question, he did not smile as he might have had someone with less authority asked.

He thought, I could have stayed Nydfara forever if I never had to fear being caught. But he did not think that saying so would endear the Eorl to him; nor was he sure if it was true.

Instead he said, “The only master I had ever known was Sorn, who was neither kind nor just, and the other lords nearby are cut from much the same cloth. I did not believe Lady Linduial when she said she would support me, and I did not believe her descriptions of you and your people. I believed myself a hunted man, and I feared what would happen if I stepped forward nearly as much as I feared being found out.” He might have stopped there, not naturally being prone to long speeches and still feeling reticent to speak honestly about himself after hiding for so long. He suspected, though, that his answer so far would not satisfy the Eorl. “In truth, I was not waiting to confess, because in the beginning I never meant to make myself known. Curiosity brought me back to Scarburg when you moved in, and I stayed longer than I ever thought I would. It was only when I ran into a farmer whom I have long known and he started asking questions – to my mind, the wrong sort of questions – that I knew I could not hide here forever. Eventually someone would figure it out. I left shortly after, to find Lady Linduial and ask her to write that letter for me.”

He was partly relieved to see Rowenna approaching with their breakfasts, for it put an end to what felt like rambling to him. It was all so complicated; maybe it had been foolish to think he could make Eodwine understand, but it was too late for second-guessing now.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine thanked Rowenna for their breakfast served.

"Let us eat for a bit while I think over what you have said." Eodwine began to eat and gestured for Scyld to do likewise.

So Scyld had not so much been waiting, as had changed his mind. He had tried to control his circumstances by means of a false persona as he tested his experience of Scarburg against what he had heard of it, and apparently his fears of the worst had abated. Or, not quite so. Rather, his fears of being found out a liar had become stronger than his original fears of being mishandled by unjust rulers.

And so he had come back, with a letter of good report, which would be of little value with an unjust ruler. And this spoke volumes about Scyld's opinion of himself, thought Eodwine, and of Scyld's hope.

Well, he thought, I shall be just. And I do lean toward mercy, all here know that. There is no reason why it should be any different now, with this man, just because his crime is duplicity rather than some other wrong like fighting or drunkenness so such.

He swallowed, looked up at Scyld, holding his hands over his plate, and allowed a not unfriendly smile. "What do you hope for, Scyld?"

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn was the first one in the kitchen. This was odd; Frodides or Saeryn were oft the first to arrive and take charge of the work. But the rough winter and the sudden, though long-awaited, gift of food have upset the regular duties, and the people of Scarburg were just beginning to return to their former lives. Ledwyn started the fire and laid out the supplies. Soon, Rowenna joined her and took charge until Frodides came with the others.

Stefnu was singing softly as she worked. Her voice was beautiful, but her manner too assuming. Work is a time for work, Ledwyn thought, not for song and dance. And the woman’s cooing over Ruari made Ledwyn scowl. Ruari was a bright lass, wild and lively, as fiery as her locks, but her quiet serious brother deserved no less than her. Stefnu seemed completely charmed by the girl, while Eoghan went unnoticed. And even so, these children have a mother. She may be the Lady of the Hall, with little time to spare, but she is not dead or gone. Leodhern needed a mother, and so did Garmund, yet Stefnu chose to occupy the place of a living woman. Ledwyn held her displeasure in hand; it was not her place either to pronounce judgment on Stefnu. During the winter, when living was the purpose of each day, much was forgiven, and much more was not noticed. Now, if Saeryn finds fault with aught, she will be the one to upbraid.

Lord Eodwine called to break his fast, and Ledwyn followed Rowenna out as she brought out the first tray. Rowenna went to serve the eorl, while Ledwyn took hers to the first men to arrive.

[Firefoot]

Hope: it was a word Scyld had scarcely dared to think in many years. He had been so unhappy for so long that for a long time he had not even known what he wanted anymore, had not known what it would take for him to be happy. He would have responded to such a question as Eodwine’s with scathing cynicism (if he was honest) or a dishonest platitude (if he wished to not offend, or to manipulate the conversation in some way).

He still did not fully understand what he was looking for, but it was something that his family members had, and something he had seen among many of the Scarburg folk as well: a fullness, a satisfaction in their lives, and an optimism for the future: hope, he supposed it was hope. He did not know how to find those things for himself, but maybe he could have a chance to try.

He could not quite bring himself to say the word, though. “I want to put my misdeeds behind me,” he answered, “and to live without fear of anyone laying charge against me.” He paused a moment, then supposed he might as well bring up the rest of it as well, while he had Eodwine’s attention. “Nothing more would I ask, though I came back to Scarburg with the thought that I might stay. I have spent the last three and a half years learning leatherworking. I would offer my services.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Good morning Rowenna, please fetch Sc - Nydfara and me some food and drink."

Eodwine and Nydfara were breaking fast together? They did not look relaxed together, not like friends. What business could this be? Walking away, she kept her attention on their conversation, hoping to catch something of what they said. The Eorl was speaking quietly, but she caught the word, 'skilled'. Was he asking Nydfara in what ways was he skilled? She had to go into the kitchen and their voices were out of earshot. She quickly gathered what was needed for their morning meals so she could return and catch what she could. She thought she heard Nydfara's voice, but she could not make out the words. At last, she had the food ready and returned to them.

"... a farmer ... long known ... questions ... wrong sort ... not hide ... forever ... someone ... out. I left shortly after, to find Lady Linduial and ask her to write that letter for me.”

A letter? Written by a Lady for him? Shown to Eodwine? Rowenna set down their platters and cups, and moved away. This time she would stay just on the other side of the door, listening carefully.

"Let us eat for a bit while I think over what you have said."

There was a long silence. What kind of skill? What did that have to do with a farmer? Who was hiding?

"What do you hope for, skilled?"

It was an odd question. Had Nydfara not been skilled before? What skill? Rowenna held her breath. It was a while before she heard the answer, but Nydfara spoke quietly. It was hard to pick out every word.

“... misdeeds behind ... live without fear ... charge ...” There was a moment's pause. “Nothing more ... came back ... Scarburg ... thought ... stay... three ... half years ... leatherworking... offer ... services.”

His skill was leatherworkering? He wanted to stay for three more years? Then where would he be off to? Insufferable. She went and grabbed the water jug and walked out to their table.

"Water?" She couldn't help glancing at Nydfara crossly.

[Firefoot]

Waiting for Eodwine’s reply more tensely than he had wished to let on, Scyld could not quite control a jerk of surprise when Rowenna came up from behind him.

“Water?” she asked, and at first he thought she had only come at a bad moment; he nearly smiled weakly at her when she shot him a cross look.

He recovered quickly. “Please, my cup is nearly empty,” he said blandly to hide both his confusion and his irritation. He did not understand why he deserved that look. He supposed she must have overheard something, intentionally or not, that displeased her. Had she heard Eodwine’s use of his right name? He could think of nothing else. And why would she try to make an issue of it now, in front of Eodwine? Surely she could see that this was a serious conversation; why was she trying to insert her opinions into it? Her quarrel with him must be personal. Let her glare; he would not let her jeopardize his chance for pardon.

[Folwren]

Thornden roused himself when the others of the guardroom bestirred themselves. It was well after the women of the hall and the few other early risers had been awake, but no one, besides the children, were up long after sunrise.

Breakfast was not quite ready when they woke. Most of the men saw to whatever work they had to attend – some brought in wood, some drew water, others stirred the fires and brought the embers to life – others who had no work before breakfast to attend sat together and talked in quiet conversation.

Thornden made his way outside. The morning air still had a frigid bite to it, as though winter had stolen back during the night. The cold woke him thoroughly, and he took a deep breath of it. He headed towards the stables, for he had an idea that he would take his horse out that day and see if he would have any luck hunting. He had little hope of being successful – any game he found would be thin and meatless after the hard winter – but he had not ridden in a long time, and he did not know when his next opportunity would be, for soon the work of spring would begin and every man would be hard at work breaking the ground to plant crops, and building back the parts of the hall that had been torn down during the winter.

He bid good morning to Léof and Javan when he passed them on his way through the stables towards the outside paddocks. As he exited the stables, he spotted a young man hard at work grooming a horse. Thornden paused as he passed and turned his head to look. The horse’s coat was caked with mud and Thornden did not envy the lad his job. He turned his feet towards him and approached.

“Good morning!” he said as he approached. “You have quite a task ahead of you.” He smiled sympathetically as he surveyed the horse and then looked at the young man. “You are Elfthain, are you not?” he said. “We have not met. I am Thornden.”

[Folwren]

The twins made their presence known before they had been awake for five minutes. They had barely tumbled out of bed before they were quarreling. Ruari came out of the room screaming, with Eoghan hot on her heels, silent and intent on his prey. They made a direct path towards the kitchen, and Ruari had almost reached it and the protection she knew she would find within when Eoghan caught her. He tackled her to the floor (the momentum of their run was mostly the culprit in his violent act) and began to wrestle her for the wooden sword she held clutched in her hands.

Their loud disturbance brought their mother out from the kitchen. She picked Eoghan off Ruari with a practiced hand and set him down on one side of her before helping Ruari to her feet on the other side.

“What are you about, making all this noise this early in the morning?” she asked, frowning down at the two of them.

“She took the sword Elfthain made me yesterday!” Eoghan cried, still too riled to moderate his voice, even while speaking to Saeryn.

“You broked mine!” Ruari shouted passionately.

“I did not!” Eoghan retorted.

“Give him the sword back,” Saeryn commanded, knowing such an argument could continue indefinitely if allowed. “Go outside, Eoghan. Ruari, come into the kitchen.”

“But I don’t have a sword now!” Ruari cried, holding it back. Eoghan made a snatch for it, and Saeryn held him back.

“Now, Ruari,” she said. Ruari reluctantly handed the sword over and Eoghan took it hastily. “Go outside,” Saeryn said. The boy ran off, and Saeryn turned back to the kitchen, Ruari close behind her, sulking. “Sit there,” Saeryn said, pointing to the bench by the table. “You’ll have your breakfast soon.”

Ruari climbed up on the bench and knelt on it, her elbow on the table top. She sat glowering straight ahead, pretending to ignore all the women working around her. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she watched her mother, and as soon as she left, she turned her head to take proper stock of her surroundings. She slid off her bench and padded across the floor to Ledwyn. She tugged her skirt.

“Put honey in my porridge,” she said, her eyes bright with eagerness. “What Elfthain broughted.”

--

While Ruari attempted to swindle the sweets out of the ladies in the kitchen, Eoghan made his way to the stables. It was too cold outside to play in the courtyard, and he enjoyed going out and finding Léof or Javan and watching them work. Eoghan, like most boys his age in the Mark, had already grown to love horses. He was not yet allowed to be in the stalls or yard with any horse alone, but he had been promised that very soon he would begin to learn to ride alone. Many times he had sat astride Flithaf, his father’s now old war horse, usually with Eodwine behind him, but he looked forward someday to having a smaller horse more to his size and ability.

Until that day came, he assuaged his eagerness by visiting the stables often and asking Léof and Javan whatever questions he could think of. Sometimes they let him help groom some of the gentler horses. There were days he spent most of his hours in the stable, and Saeryn had long since learned that if she ever lost him, she could usually find him there.

This morning he entered the stables and walked quietly down the aisle, peeking under each stall door in search of Léof or Javan. After a time, he found Léof inside one. Bending down with his hands on his knees and his head nearly upside down, he peered within and hailed the stable master.

“Hi, Léof!”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine had been about to dismiss Rowenna with a thanks for the water when a pair of high pitched screams and two small bodies hurtled out of his own rooms, across the hall, into the kitchen. He could not help watching ... and grinning. Saeryn quickly took matters in hand. Eodwine couldn't help chuckling as Eoghan left the hall and Ruari sat glowering. Oh, that one would make a fine head mistress someday in some eorl's hall. No doubt. Unless she chose to be a shield maiden instead. He pulled a mildly horrified face then returned his attention to Scyld.

But Rowenna had not left. "Did I hear you say that you have become skilled in leatherworking, Nydfara?" she asked, wiping absently with her apron at a small spill on the table.

Nydfara's brow furrowed a moment as he turned to answer, but Eodwine raised a hand. "Yes, it is as you must have overheard, Rowenna," he interrupted. "Please leave us. Nydfara and I have something to speak about and I want us to be left alone. If we want more of anything I will call for it."

Her lips pursed but she nodded and left.

"Scyld," he said, but paused a moment, gathering his thoughts, "though I do not like Linduial, her word was never in question, only her pride. That is a point to the good. You, however, withheld the truth from me and mine while you were with us; a point to the ill. Perhaps those two points even out, perhaps not.

"I will tell you the truth. When I first read this letter, I thought to call my men to us and put you under guard. That tells you how much I dislike falsehood. Yet what you have been telling me now rings true. I see a man who has been bred to mistrust and caution, who has here learned that he can place trust, while still being cautious. That tells me that you have a sharp mind.

"I wish to be just and I wish to be merciful. Here is what I have a mind to do. I will take you on as a leatherworker for a year and a day. If, when the time has come, and you have done well in your work and in your deeds toward all in Scarburg, then I would speak with you at length ... about how Scarburg could benefit from that good mind of yours. What say you?"

[Firefoot]

Leof's mind was wandering as he mucked out the stall, and did not mind in the least when Eoghan's cheerful voice interrupted him.

"Hello there, Eoghan," he said, smiling at the boy. Leof was quite fond of Eoghan and glad to see him looking more like his old self. With the natural resiliency of youth, he seemed to be recovering well from the hard winter.

He also had all the makings of a good horseman, Leof thought, and he was pleased to share his knowledge with the boy. Privately Leof thought it was time for him to begin learning to ride in earnest, and decided to try and take the boy out with him more that summer (with Eodwine and Saeryn's consent of course; he did not mean to undermine them).

"I'm almost finished here," said Leof. "Then I'm going to check on Cinderfoot. She's going to have her foal soon. Would you like to come with me?"

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn frowned at the girl.

“Your mother told you to sit by the table, young lady,” she said sternly. “And you should say brought, not broughted.” Ledwyn watched as the girl pouted, but then brightened up again as thoughts started sparkling in her mind. At times like this, it seemed to Ledwyn that the reason the girl’s hair was so red was because sometimes these sparks flew out and set it on fire.

Her face serious and meek, but her eyes shining with mischief, Ruari tried to plead. “Stefnu gived me honey before!”

“We do not say gived,” Ledwyn said patiently, while she thought of how to best answer the lass, “we say gave.”

“So I can have the honey. I will remember to say gave.” Ruari jumped on Ledwyn’s hesitation.

“No you cannot,” Ledwyn retorted. She saw Stefnu come in with an empty tray in one arm. She wished the woman would not meddle now. “Honey is rare,” she tried reasoning, “and it is a treat. If you would eat honey with every porridge, you would empty Elfthain’s flask in less than a fortnight, and you will not have any honey left for special days. Besides, you are not the only one who wants to try the honey. Your brother still did not have any, and I do not see him wheedling it out of the kitchen wenches.”

“But Stefnu gave me honey because I was good that day! I was good after that too!”

“You were not very good this morning, child, or else your mother would not bring you here to sit and cool down your temper.” And Stefnu should not have given you that honey. Ledwyn saw that the woman was listening, and tried to finish her task quickly. “Now go Ruari, sit where your mother told you, and stay there until she comes back.”

[Firefoot]

Scyld was a little shaken to discover how close Eodwine had been to disregarding his plea. What surprised him the most was that Eodwine seemed more bothered by his deception than by his original crime. He would have to remember that, if he was to live under the lordship of a man to whom honor and integrity were so important.

By the time Eodwine reached the end of his proposal, Scyld found himself nodding slightly. It was a good offer, a test of both his character and his skills. Had Scyld been in the Eorl's position, he would not have shown himself even as much trust as Eodwine was giving him, and it actually increased his respect for Eodwine to see that his mercy was not wholly blind.

At any rate, he had nothing left to hide and felt reasonably confident that a year would be sufficient time to win over the Eorl, as well as to determine for himself whether he would like to make this his permanent dwelling, to see whether he might find what he was looking for here. "Your offer is more than fair," he said, "and I would gladly accept."

[Folwren]

“I’m almost finished here,” Léof said. “Then I’m going to check on Cinderfoot. She’s going to have her foal soon. Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes,” Eoghan said simply, and stood upright. He seized a ring in the wall and used it for leverage to pull himself up until he could reach the top of the stall wall, and so clambered up to sit astride it. The horse inside the stall with Léof lifted its head high and stared at Eoghan a moment. After careful consideration, the horse began to chew its breakfast again and dropped its head back to the manger.

Eoghan sat in silence, watching Léof work methodically, raking the hay and throwing the soiled bedding out over the stall door and into the aisle. Neither of them spoke. Eoghan saw no purpose in speaking, and Léof had grown accustomed to his often silent companionship.

Before long, Léof’s job was done. He came out and Eoghan scrambled down from the wall. Together they walked to the foaling stall. This was a larger stall than the others and was build just by Léof’s room so that he could keep an easy eye on any expectant mare they had there. At present it contained a towering dappled grey mare. Her mane and tail were black, as were all four of her legs. That was how she had gotten her name, Eoghan had been told, for cinders are black, and as she grew, it became evident she would keep her black legs and feet even while the rest of her body became whiter and whiter. She paced the stall restlessly and when Léof opened the stall door she turned her head towards him and nickered softly. Léof entered, Eoghan coming close behind him.

He gazed up admiringly at the horse. Under normal circumstances, Cinderfoot would be considered a large horse, but at present, with her belly swollen to remarkable proportions, she appeared in the little boy’s eyes a giantess in the horse world.

He stood at a respectful distance while Léof approached her.

“Will it come soon?” Eoghan asked after Léof had had a moment to exam her.

[Folwren]

Thwarted in her attempts, Ruari turned from Ledwyn with a new scowl etched in her face. She walked towards the bench, but did not sit down. She saw Stefnu and narrowed her eyes at her, considering. Her face brightened and she ran to her. She threw her arms about her leg in an impulsive hug, staring up eagerly into her face. She was entirely aware of how winning her beaming smile was, especially to older adults, and she used it to her advantage whenever possible.

“Good morning!” she cried. “I want honey in my porridge today!”

She knew Stefnu liked to give her what she wanted. She did not care what Ledwyn said about the honey being for others and for special occasions. Stefnu would do as she asked.

[Firefoot]

"Not too soon," said Leof. "I'd guess a couple more weeks." This would be his third year of delivering foals, and though he was getting better at recognizing the signs of upcoming labor, he still found it difficult to predict, especially since all mares seemed to be just a bit different, and the length of their pregnancies could be highly variable - about 11 months, but give or take as much as three weeks. Cinderfoot had been bred last June - theoretically the foal could come a week from now or six. It was her first pregnancy, too, so he had nothing to compare to. He hoped it would be several more weeks, though - although the horses had had able quantity of feed during the long winter, Leof had eventually run out of everything but regular hay. He knew that horses couldn't live off hay alone anymore than a person could eat nothing but potatoes and still be properly nourished. Since the caravan had come, he'd been reintroducing other grasses and grains to the horses' diet, and he figured the longer the mare could eat well while still pregnant, the better.

"Come see," Leof said to Eoghan, beckoning him closer. Cinderfoot was a steady horse and, though mares often became moody and restless before delivering, she seemed calm this morning. Eoghan stepped closer and Leof showed him what he was looking at.

"See how her udder is getting bigger?" Leof asked. "It's getting ready to make milk for the foal. When the milk comes, it means she's almost ready. And see how wide her sides are? When the foal is ready to come out, Cinderfoot will actually get narrower, but her belly will hang down much lower." He could see Eoghan taking in the information and filing it all away. "Would you like to feel the foal kicking?" he asked. He was relieved every time he came in and felt the foal still moving - that was how he'd first known something was wrong with the mare who'd lost her foal that winter.

"Yes," said Eoghan again simply. So Leof lifted up the boy's thin body and placed his hand against the mare's side where he'd seen and felt the movement before.

[Mithalwen]

"Westu Thornden hál!" responded Elfthain looking up across Safran's broad back at the greeting. Had the tall man been merely Javan's brother he might have been less formal, but he did not forget that as well as being a lot older he was also the Eorl's steward and erred on the side of caution, despite the genial greeting he had received.

"Aye sir, Elfthain Théodmund's son am I, at your service. Javan has spoken of you". The boy (and very boyish and awkward he felt in comparison to the Steward) paused in his grooming, bowed and then allowed himself to relax a little adding "only good things, of course!", then nodding towards his horse "T'is a small mercy at least, she is not a grey". He grinned ruefully. "And it must be done for she needs to be exercised even if we are not leaving today - maybe then she will have less energy for rolling in mud".

As he spoke he mentally assessed the man before him; tall as his uncle Elwin and as broad, though much younger, and darker in colouring, but not as dark as Javan. There was a confidence in his manner and a spark of something in his eyes, but what? Humour? Fiery spirit? Ambition? he wondered. Whichever it was, Elfthain concluded that looking up to this man might be more than a physical necessity.

"I don't suppose you know sir, when we are leaving that is?".

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Stefnu looked down at Ruari. The little girl was beaming, her large eyes pleading.

"Good morning," Stefnu smiled back. She stroked Ruari's head. Stefnu felt a deep affection for the girl, not only because she was so cute, but there was perhaps something else. She had spent large part of her life raising two boys; the sight of a little girl especially as lively as Ruari moved her in a way she wasn't accustomed to.

Stefnu hadn't seen the exchange between Ledwyn and Ruari earlier, being occupied with morning preparations. She also had not been there at the moment Saeryn brought the girl in. She had been just fetching some more water from the outside, when she had bumped into Áforglaed. The young soldier had greeted her happily, explaining that he was up early. He had seemed to be unusually full of energy.

"I think it stopped raining just before the dawn, and that woke me up," he explained cheerfully. He sounded so silly that Stefnu had to smile to herself. Áforglaed then briefly explained that he had taken a little exercise of running around the fields, "as long as it hasn't started raining again". His unbelievably muddy boots (and trousers) bore witness to that.

"But look what I also found," he said finally, and pulled a tangle of some plants out of his belt pouch. Not plants, Stefnu corrected her observation, flowers: pale yellow blossoms, some almost white, now half-closed and laying somewhat limp and damp in Áforglaed's palm.

"Primroses," Stefnu recognized them. "Where did you find them?" She touched one of the flowers and leaned to look at it closer.

Áforglaed gestured to the fields. "Somewhere out there." He straightened himself. "Would you like to, er, have them? They are pretty, you could, er, wear them in your hair or something," he finished.

Stefnu laughed. "I think they are a little too damp and limp for that. But never mind that," she added, seeing Áforglaed's apparent disappointment. "They are still pretty. I can take them." That seemed to make the soldier happier. "Thank you," she said, picking them up from his hand. "But now I had to get back inside."

She had put the flowers aside and gone back to her work until Ruari's interruption. Now the little girl was there, looking up at her. Stefnu would happily give Ruari whatever she wanted, however, she also felt it was not necessarily for the best to give her honey every morning just because she asked for it. The first time, it had been a different case; also she was not entirely certain how lady Saeryn would feel about it. Nonetheless, she did not want to leave Ruari disappointed.

"You know what," she said, smiling at the girl. "Honey is good, but it is not always good to eat too much of it in the morning. But I have a better idea! What if we made your porridge a little more special instead? I know how we can make it more pretty!"

Ruari seemed to be first surprised by that proposition, so Stefnu quickly used the moment and picked up the bundle of flowers from the shelf. "Look," she said. "These are primroses. Aren't they pretty? We can lay them around on top of your bowl - like this - and your porridge can be much more special then."

[Folwren]

Thornden considered Elfthain with a slightly keener glance after the young man’s greeting, and his eyebrows went up a little in surprise. Until then he had merely looked on the lad as a new friend for Javan, but now he thought perhaps this Elfthain son of Théomund may be more than just another soldier in training. He clearly had a more gentile upbringing than Thornden and Javan had ever had; indeed more than any of the men-at-arms that currently worked in the hall.

As Elfthain bowed and proceeded to speak, Thornden reflected that perhaps this young man would be a good asset to the hall.

“I don’t suppose you know, sir, when we are leaving, that is,” Elfthain said.

“No,” Thornden said. He smiled briefly, his eyes twinkling a little. He liked Elfthain, he decided. He liked him a lot. “Have you been long from home, Elfthain son of Théomund? Or is this your first experience as a soldier?”

[Folwren]

With Léof’s arms around his middle, Eoghan reached out both hands and laid them against the mare’s side. Cinderfoot switched her tail about, but Eoghan barely flinched as it hit him across the face. His mouth opened into a little ‘o’ and his eyes widened as he felt the stretch and movement of the foal inside the swollen belly. He turned his head to look up at Léof and a slow, huge smile spread across his face. He looked back at the mare and kept his hands splayed on her side.

They stood thus for over a minute until Léof set Eoghan back down. The boy stood to the side while Léof finished checking her over. Although he said nothing as he watched, the child stood with a thoughtful air about him, and it was clear a thought was growing and hatching in his mind.

At length, when Léof was almost finished with his work, Eoghan finally found voice for what he had in his mind. “Do you think the baby horse could be mine?” he asked. “Papa says I am to learn soon to ride. I need a horse.”

Ruari and Saeryn

Ruari drew back and looked at the flowers in Stefnu’s hand. She tilted her head a little to one side and narrowed her eyes in consideration. She took another step back.

“I don’t like flowers,” she announced, and turned away and climbed up onto the bench.

She had scarcely returned to her original position when Saeryn re-entered the kitchen. “Are those oats about done?” she asked Ledwyn. Then, looking around and catching Stefnu’s rather displeased, even hurt, expression, she stopped in her tracks and asked, “What is the matter?”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Stefnu felt deep disappointment at being rejected by Ruari; she had imagined the little girl would like the flowers. But it seemed this was not the case. At least not now, who knows if it wasn't just her mood at this moment?

"What is the matter?" Lady Saeryn asked.

Stefnu looked at her, forcing herself back to smile.

"Ah well," she said, laying the flowers back on the empty shelf. "Ruari wanted to make her porridge more special, I suggested making it prettier with some flowers. I should have known it was not her thing," she finished, smiling apologetically.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine nodded. "I will hold court today and this will be announced." His head jerked and his brow furrowed; he looked at Scyld with concern. "This could be harder for you than it might otherwise be, because of your name. I do not think that I want to share the secret of your name, everyone else calling you Nydfara. Even were you to choose to be Nydfara henceforward, I do not want to own the secret with you of your former name. If you are to be at Scarburg, you must be Scyld, and that must be explained to the folk here, and they must be told the truth. I do not see another way. What say you?"

Scyld nodded slightly; it was awkward - everything about this conversation and Eodwine's coming announcement was awkward. But he had given this matter plenty of thought himself, and wasn't it partly fear of his true name being revealed that had driven him to Linduial? Though it had not occurred to him to continue using Nydfara as his name. "It shall be as you say," Scyld answered. "I think I shall go by Scyld again, though if there are any who would prefer to still call me Nydfara, I would not mind."

Eodwine smiled with a cock of his head. "That is fair enough." I can think of one young lady among our folk who may prefer it as a term of endearment, he thought to himself since she knows him better than most by it. "But we need to work out before then what need be said and what need not. I would that you and I agree on it now."

Scyld considered a moment what he might prefer left unsaid to the Hall at large before a realization struck him. Though he doubted Eodwine meant it as a trap, Scyld could see the question as nothing else. If he asked for anything not to be shared, it would be to make himself look better by hiding something. Eodwine had made his thoughts on duplicity quite clear; Scyld did not wish to be seen as immediately falling back into his secretive ways. "To me, it seems clear that my role in both the kidnapping and rescue of Lady Linduial must be told," he said. "Beyond that, you know your folk better than I; what do you think they deserve to know?"

Eodwine smiled. "If you are willing that these things be told, then I can think of nothing that need be held back. I shall tell Thornden and the others to ready for court today."

"I am willing," Scyld said. Not entirely true, but what else could he say? He had not expected anything he told the Eorl to remain secret anyway.

"Good. I will see the thing arranged, for later today. Now I must see to affairs around Scarburg, I have been too idle of late." Eodwine rose, bid Scyld good parting, and left the Mead Hall.

[Firefoot]

Leof thought for a moment for a tactful way to answer the boy's question. He did not wish to hurt Eoghan's feelings, but it would be many years before he was experienced enough to raise and train a young, spirited horse.

"Well," said Leof, "It will be several years before Cinderfoot's foal will be old enough to ride, and training a young horse also takes a long time. Wouldn't you rather have a horse that you could start riding now?"

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn had no time to speak to Lady Saeryn quietly about Ruari’s brash attempt. Saeryn’s manner was brisk and commanding, and Ledwyn felt herself turn away to check the oats boiling in the pot, though she sensed it would be better to speak now.

But when Stefnu spoke, Ledwyn’s anger blazed. This surprised her, for she did not oft seethe at past remarks and never flew into a rage. She put her spoon down harder than she meant to, splattering oatmeal on the table. She would wipe it later, she decided.

“The oats are still too hard, Lady Saeryn,” she said stiffly. “Your daughter was beseeching me for honey, and when I refused she turned to others.” Now Ledwyn was beginning to regret her outburst. Was she tattling on a child who did not even live to one fifth of her age? She felt like a little girl; she could not even bring herself to say Stefnu’s name. She wanted to finish this quickly and quietly. “I do not think breaking your fast needs to be more special in any way than it is every day. No matter how little a girl is,” she added to Stefnu, with the last of her bitterness.

[Folwren]

Saeryn sent Ruari a warning glance. The little girl tilted her eyes downward and pretended she had not seen it. “Ruari doesn’t need her porridge more special, anyway,” Saeryn said, pointedly. “I agree with you, Ledwyn,” she said. “Perhaps Ruari has been too privileged of late.”

“The men are hungry,” Saeryn said, a little more cheerfully and dismissing for the moment Ruari’s rather too forward behavior. “Rowenna is already out there serving water. Ledwyn and I will take out the bread. Stefnu and Kara, follow with the porridge when it is done.”

They each picked up their burden and went out into the hall. Modtryth and Brith picked up stacks of bowls and wooden spoons and followed them. Ruari watched them go, her hands folded on the table in front of her. Stefnu and Kara stayed by the stove, stirring the two pots a minute or two longer, then they too went out. The door closed behind them and Ruari took a long, slow look around.

Slowly, she climbed down from the bench. She found a three legged stool in the corner and dragged it over to the shelves. She climbed up and carefully surveyed each shelf in sight. She saw what she looked for without much delay and reached for the pot of honey.

[Folwren]

Eoghan considered Léof’s words solemnly. After careful thought, he nodded his agreement. “Yes. Is there a horse here I could ride?”

Before Léof could answer, the bell in the courtyard was rung, signaling breakfast served. Eoghan turned his head and momentarily the thought of a horse was put from his mind.

“Breakfast is ready!” he cried, a little too loudly. Cinderfoot raised her head and for the briefest instant the white in her eyes showed as she stared down at Eoghan. The boy grimaced apologetically. “Sorry,” he said more quietly.

[Thinlómien]

Modtryth had been awake since before dawn. She and Leodthern had quickly tidied the hall for breakfast, then fed the precious new chickens, then done what they could to make their makeshift shed more waterproof and make sure the chickens were warm. The last thing anyone wanted was for the poor birds to catch a cold and die away. Stigend would have to look at the shed, as well as many other things.

Leodthern had been quiet all morning - the girl had grown more solemn after her father's death, and she had started to worry about things. There was a tiny crease on her small forehead, and Modtryth resisted the temptation to plant a little kiss on it and tell Leodthern everything would be alright. She didn't want to lie to the child, and besides, Leodthern was growing up. Modtryth could tell she didn't like her almost-mother fawning over her half as much as she had when she had been little and greedy for hugs and praise. Well, Leodthern was still a child, and sweet-tempered despite everything. The same couldn't be said for Cnebba - not to mention Garmund, Leodthern's older brother - but that was a whole another kettle of fish. Those boys really need something sensible to do, Modtryth thought.

"Ma?" Leodthern asked.
Modtryth smiled, a little sadly. She often thought of the poor child having almost no memory of her real mother. "Yes, honey?"
"I have a feeling like something is going to go wrong again," Leodthern said.
Modtryth looked up to the sky. "Well, it looks like more rain. Laundry will have to wait, but as long as we can keep ourselves, our animals and our stocks dry, we should be fine. Rain in the spring is only as it should be."
"I didn't mean the rain," Leodthern said.
Modtryth waited for a moment, but the girl did not continue. "Well, I hope you haven't become a seer then, even though Lord Eodwine might find one useful," she smiled.
Leodthern smiled back, a little uncertainly.
"Come on, Leodthern, you are useful as you are. There are more than enough hands than Frodides needs in the kitchen, so what about we..."

"Excuse me?" someone interrupted. Modtryth turned to see the Gondorian seamstress Brithiel - or Brith, as she insisted people call her - looking a little distressed.
"Yes?" Modtryth asked evenly.
"Lady Saeryn said we may start sewing clothes from the new linen today. Would you have time to join in after breakfast? And maybe Leodthern would like to learn too?"
Modtryth had to concentrate to understand what Brith said. She had travelled a lot in Riddermark and served in many households, and picked up a good amount of the common tongue on the way. Still, she wished the Gondorian would talk more slowly, or use less flowery language. Well, she was from a wealthy family, so what else could you expect from her?
"Obviously if you have too many chores, I understand, I just wanted to ask if you too would like to join, Modtryth. I thought maybe your children have outgrown heir clothes, hm?"
"Yes," Modtryth said. "They have indeed." She smiled, and decided not to brave explaining in her broken Westron how they were used to there people's hand-me-downs, and that she had not discussed with Saeryn if they should get brand new clothes of their own. It seemed like the seamstress's business anyway. "I will come, if Saeryn doesn't need me elsewhere. And Leodthern too, if she wishes."
"Excellent," Brith smiled.

Modtryth returned the smile, but she did not feel it. She had nothing against the friendly Gondorian, but she suddenly missed Ginna, and how they had sat together mending clothes in the evenings with Leodthern pestering Ginna for stories or pinning needles in Modtryth's skirt for amusement. The winter had really changed everything.

~*~

Brith left Modtryth and Leodthern by the chicken shed. She was looking forward to something to do, and the thought of having a needle in her hands made her feel more confident. She felt awkward still, and an outsider. She had learned the names of all the household women in a couple of days, and a little more of some of them, but they were still strangers to her. For the most part, they were a chatty and kind bunch, and she had done her best with the language barrier. She had kept a distance from Fréa and Caranthir - they were in service of the Meadhall now, and busy with getting acquainted with their new brothers in arms. Furthermore, they might have reminded her of the actual reason she was in Scarburg.

Three days had already passed, and Brith had done nothing to find her first fiance after her initial discussion with Saeryn. It has been raining a lot, she told herself. And she needed to show that she could earn her keep, and that she wasn't a pampered noblewoman like some in the Hall seemed to think. The day after her arrival one of the soldiers had come to talk to her, being excessively polite all the time and calling her "m'lady", until he had ventured to ask which part of Gondor did her family rule. Brith had failed to suppress a giggle, then gently explained she was not highborn and her family were merely valued craftsmen on her mother's side and distinguished soldiers on her father's side. The man at arms had seemed a little confused by this, and Brith had remembered a thing her mother had used to say - the servants of Gondorian lords have better manners than the lords of Rohan, generous as they may be. That was an ugly thing to say, though, and very untrue. Well, Brith had travelled a lot more extensively than her mother by now. Maybe it wasn't a wonder she was the one to know better.

Well, I still know very little, Brith thought. Most of all I need to learn the Eorling tongue. She wondered if Fréa and Caranthir could teach her, then rebuked herself for the thought. She had let the two men become her guardians, her uncles like she liked to think of them, but she could not hold onto them forever. They had lives of their own. Maybe she could ask little Leodthern to teach her, and teach the girl the common tongue in turn. She seemed to be of gentle nature, and even though they did not share a tongue yet, Brith didn't feel half as awkward with her than with most of the adults. She suppressed a sigh. She knew she couldn't use the girl as her shield any more than she could her uncles.

It will get easier day by day, she told herself. Maybe I will even make friends. And at least no one hates me here.

At that moment, she could hear the bell ringing for breakfast. Don't be a coward, she told herself. Go talk with people. They can't read your thoughts, they know nothing of you and your shortcomings. Brith straightened her back, and armed with a smile, she made her way to the hall.

[Mithalwen]

“Have you been long from home, Elfthain son of Théomund? Or is this your first experience as a soldier?”

Elfthain paused and considered his response for the answers to the two parts of Thornden's question were not the same. "I have been bound esquire to Elwin Eldredsson for three years now - but he has been garrisoned at Edoras all that time, and home is only a few miles away in the Harrowdale. Though I was away with him as a page for a year long before. So , yes while I have done a lot of drill, this is the nearest I have come to active service". he continued drily. Elfthain was aware that squires to the knights of the King's Guard often garnered a poor reputation, particularly in peacetime when obtaining such placement was too often seen as a way of getting wastrel lordlings out from under their parents' feet during the most tiresome stage of their progression to adulthood, rather than preparation for life as a career soldier

The breakfast bell rang and Elfthain turned his head wistfully towards the hall. He noticed that light in Thornden's eyes again and this time he was certain it was humour.

"I think you will be very hungry if you wait until your mare is clean to break your fast. I doubt she will suffer if you leave her long enough to eat", Thornden advised. Elfthain agreed and having tied a reluctant Safran under cover once more, he walked with Thornden back to the hall.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine went outside. It was still a little cool. The snow was mostly gone, and the puddles grew. This was not such a good thing: Scarburg was low lying, and it would not take very many rains to put the entire burg under a couple of inches of water. Not that the folk could not slog through it, but it wore on the footwear and on the spirits as well.

Eodwine stopped in at the forge, as was his wont, and greeted the twins, Garreth and Harreld. Or, one might name them Dour and Glum. And what was the root of it? Women. For Garreth, a none too fine lady of Edoras had cheated him. For Harreld, his bride had gone missing and might be dead. Whereas he was more sympathetic to Harreld's plight, he found the man's mood altogether too dark, whereas Garreth was just bitter about women in general but in fine fettle otherwise.

And it was Garreth who reminded Eodwine of one Wilheard, whom he had seen kicking about with nothing to do and less than useful.

"Ah. I am supposed to seek him and see how he can be settled in Scarburg," Eodwine mused.

"You'll have to!" said Garreth. "Sure as my hammer, he seeks no work on his own!"

"Well, I shall go find him then. Good day to you!"

"There are no good days," Harreld growled.

"There are so, so long as you can keep women away!" Garreth grumped.

[Firefoot]

Léof shot Eoghan a look that was only half-scolding, since he had caught his own mistake so quickly. “Next time try to remember not to shout before you do it,” he said mildly. “Now let’s leave Cinderfoot in peace and go to our own breakfasts.”

As they walked out of the stable, Léof considered Eoghan’s question: Is there a horse I can ride? Most of the horses in the stables belonged to individuals and would need their owners’ consent for others to take them out. He wondered if Eodwine and Saeryn might be thinking of getting a pony or a small horse for the twins to learn on. In the meantime, Léof supposed Eoghan might try riding his own mare Æthel, a rather small middle-aged horse. She had always been good-natured and had steadied even more after mothering a couple of foals.

He nearly suggested a ride that afternoon but paused when they stepped outside and he saw the overcast sky. “Maybe when the weather clears up, I’ll let you try riding my horse,” he said instead. “I think you two might get along.”

[Folwren]

Eoghan did a few hop skips to show his excitement, and he grinned from ear to ear. They spotted Thornden with Elfthain coming out from behind the stables at the same time, and Eoghan ran across to Thornden.

“Thornden! Léof is going to let me ride his horse! Maybe when the weather clears up.”

Thornden reach his hand out to the boy, and Eoghan took it with both of his. Thornden swung him forward a stride or two and then Eoghan landed again on his feet and bounced along by his side.

“And he says maybe I can ride her and we’ll get along!”

“Well, good for him!” Thornden said, smiling. He felt rather like an uncle to Eoghan and Ruari, and he was pleased to hear that Eoghan’s riding lessons would soon begin. He was also amused by Eoghan’s carrying on, for the lad scarcely ever showed such excitement about anything.

“Good morning, Léof,” he called as their paths converged and he and Elfthain drew closer to Léof. “Have you told Eodwine yet that you’re going to teach his son the art of riding?”

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn was glad that Lady Saeryn swept the conversation aside. She was ashamed of herself, and yet unsure if she wished to have said less or have said more.

She interrupted her musings when she saw a familiar figure come into the Great Hall. Brithiel, slender and elegant, glided through the doorway and looked around her, perhaps in search for a seat. Ledwyn was meaning to speak to the lady for the last two days, but with so many duties the chance never presented itself. She could not miss it now.

Putting aside her earlier woes as best as she could, she approached Brithiel and steeled herself for what she must say. She was preparing for this the last two days, and she should not blunder again as she did before.

"Westu hal, Lady Brithiel," she said, inclining her head. "I offer you our bread and mead. You are our honoured guest, but this is more than honour. I came to ask for your forgiveness. I pray you shall not judge the rest by my doings and misdoings. My bearing is low, but the bearing of the Hall is high. If there is a deed I can do to reclaim your respect, you must name it to me."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Hilderinc sat down at the table in the hall. He had not slept well. Again. Maybe the rainy weather was to blame, his right arm again hurt badly. He had woken up several times, and when it happened in the morning after the rain had finally subsided, he could hear Áforglaed waking up and rummaging around the room for long enough that it kept him awake for good.

Hilderinc took a sip of water from the cup as he saw the women entering from the kitchens. The smell of porridge that came to him from across the room made his mouth water. He realised he was quite hungry. Then he heard squelching noises and turning his head to the right, he saw Áforglaed trotting towards him from the entrance, dragging mud with him all over the Hall. Hilderinc wondered where had he been; his boots looked as if he had spent the morning by walking in a swamp.

"Morning, Hilderinc," the younger soldier greeted him, so cheerfully that Hilderinc wondered whether Áforglaed had actually woken up early to play in the mud like a five-year old. He could see the image very vividly in his mind, and shook his head at it. Áforglaed interpreted that motion in his own way.

"What, don't be such a sourface," he said, sitting down. "It is a nice morning. Maybe it will finally stop raining today. Oh no," he added, probably for the first time noticing the state of his boots and the substance that was still dripping from them. "The women are not going to thank me."

"No, they certainly are not," Hilderinc confirmed, eyes focused on Ledwyn and lady Saeryn, who were going around offering bread. Each of the soldiers took a piece when the bread came their way and started munching immediately. Then the kitchen door opened once again and Kara with Stefnu appeared with the porridge.

Hilderinc noticed that Áforglaed promptly hid his muddy boots further under the table as Stefnu approached. She did not seem to notice. Smiling at Hilderinc, she put two big spoonfuls of porridge into his bowl. Áforglaed jumped to hold his own bowl in front of her, watching eagerly as she dumped one spoonful in it. Grinning, Áforglaed looked up at her again, expecting more. But Stefnu only smiled. Hilderinc had to hide his expression behind his own bowl, as Áforglaed's previously radiant face changed from utter disbelief into obvious terror. Only then Stefnu casually topped Áforglaed's bowl with another spoonful, considerably larger than the previous one.

"Thank you," Hilderinc said for them both, as Áforglaed sat down, appartently confused and unable to piece together what had just happened. Still smiling, Stefnu nodded at them and drifted away towards the other tables.

[Firefoot]

“Not yet,” Léof admitted, “but it’s only one ride. I wouldn’t want to overstep if Eodwine would rather teach Eoghan himself.”

He hoped he had not offered the boy more than he should have, but how could he resist the boy’s obvious desire to ride? It was one he understood well. One of his earliest memories was riding along on one of his father’s farm horses as his father worked the field. Not long after, Léof began to sneak out and ride those horses in the paddock, bareback and rein-less. He realized now, of course, that it hadn’t been the safest way to learn how to ride, and he would be less than pleased if any of the youngsters in the Hall were to try such antics now. He also wouldn’t want Eoghan to feel as though he needed to sneak around in order to get the chance to ride.

“Thornden is right, though,” Léof said to Eoghan. “We do need to check with your father before I take you out riding.”

[Firefoot]

Having finished his interview with Eodwine (Scyld tried not to think of it as escaping), he found himself wishing to be alone to collect his thoughts. He collected a few items from among his belongings, put on a light cloak, and left the Hall. He headed for the Scar, crossing the fields and climbing the path that was engraved into his memory, even after so many years. The trail was muddy, making the way up both slicker and more treacherous than he remembered.

The view was worth it. With all of Scarburg and the surrounding area spread out before him, he felt like he had the distance he needed to breathe freely again. Dark clouds blew visibly from the west across the sky as the wind picked up. The plains below were illuminated by a diffuse, oddly colored light where some of the sun’s rays shone dimly from the eastern sky.

Rain would come, but not yet. He sat down and drew out the small, nearly finished pouch he had filled with a handful of tools and brought from the Hall. The pouch was usable as it was: the edges were precisely stitched, the flap fastened closed with a simple button, and a pair of loops in the back allowed it to be attached to a belt or strung through with a leather thong or string for wearing over a shoulder or around the neck. It only lacked for decoration.

Scyld was pleased with his work so far, and though he did not have a particular purpose yet in mind for it, he wanted something special for the design and had so far been uninspired. It might now also be one of the first pieces of work he would have to show at Scarburg, and he wanted to make a favorable impression.

He thought for a moment, his mind somewhere between his work and his turbulent thoughts: the relief after his conversation with Eodwine, the stress of his upcoming announcement to the rest of the Hall, Rowenna’s confusing behavior. He looked out again at the land, so luminous in the face of the upcoming storm. Something clicked, and he began lightly to outline his pattern. A confusing tangle it seemed at first: a vine, continuously interwoven with itself, sprouting leaves at irregular intervals to accent the twists and loops of the stem. Slowly a sense emerged from the tangle as the design took shape.

He was so absorbed in his work that he was caught off guard by the first drop of rain. He looked up and found that it had slowly grown steadily darker without his realizing it. He hastily stowed his tools and the pouch beneath his cloak and his shirt, held against his body to keep them dry, and hurried back down the way he came, hoping to make it back to the Hall before the worst of the storm came.

[littlemanpoet]

She wiped at the mugs, rehearsing what she had heard from Nydfara. A farmer he had long known asked questions of the wrong sort? And Nydfara could not hide forever because someone sooner or later was bound to find out. I left shortly after, to find Lady Linduial and ask her to write that letter for me.

Find out what? What was in the letter, no doubt. What was in the letter?

"Rowenna, if you keep wiping at that mug you'll turn it into dust!" That was an off hand comment from Saeryn.

"Oh. Sorry."

There was a long silence. What kind of skill? What did that have to do with a farmer? Who was hiding?

He'd said he wanted to leave his misdeeds behind so he could live without fear and something about a charge, then Nothing more ... what? So he came back to Scarburg and thought to stay for about three and a half years and do leatherworking and he offered his services.

"Rowenna," said Saeryn, "you have a black cloud hanging over your head. What is the matter?"

"Oh, nothing." Nothing that I can talk about.

Stay for about three and a half years. And then leave again with all his mystery and her none the wiser? What was wrong with him? Couldn't he see how cruel that was? She threw it down. And it cracked and broke. The mug she had been wiping. She stared at it. She had not meant to throw it, but she had been lost in her thought and anger at that miserable... Saeryn hurried over and knelt in front of her, picking up the pieces.

"You need a break. Go! With the state you're in."

"Fine."

She tossed her apron aside and stomped out. She would seek forgiveness later. She blew by all those seated at table with nary a look and reached the door before it could close. Who had just gone out? She had not seen anyone. Ah. There was little Ruari, holding something close to her chest.

"Hi, little Ruari. What secret treasure have you there?"

[Firefoot]

Despite her misery, Cerwyn was not quite ready to admit the foolhardiness of her plan. The trip to Edoras had been pleasant: the sun was shining warmly for the first time since last fall; they rode in the cart, which saved them from the worst of the mud; and Cerwyn had found herself enjoying the company of Everild and her son.

But she had set out from Edoras to Scarburg alone and on foot, and the rains came when she had been on the road less than a day. Mud clung to her clothes and she felt as though she would never be dry or clean again. She was also exhausted, having slept poorly the last couple nights. Still, she ought to reach Scarburg sometime today, if her information was correct. She had started travelling early that morning, finally giving up on sleep. The sooner she reached Scarburg, the sooner she could wash, eat a warm meal, and sleep in a real bed – she felt fairly certain that even if she did not find Léof, she would be offered at least that much.

Trudging along the road, she paid little attention to her surroundings, but looked up when she felt the first drop of rain on the back of her neck. It hardly mattered; more rain only meant her clothes would go back from damp to soaking – unless the lightning started. Then she would have to find cover somewhere, and she begrudged the delay. She was eager to arrive and weary of the road.

She’d thought over and over what she might say to Léof, if she found him, and imagined a hundred ways she might meet him, as well as several where she arrived at Scarburg and not found him.

She had better find him. She’d crossed half the country for him.

[Folwren]

Ruari stood on the stool, gazing at the pot of honey with a pleased, self-congratulatory smile on her little face. Then carefully, she bent down to put it on a lower shelf and climbed down from the stool. She reached up and took the honey down and, holding it tightly against her chest, she moved towards the outer door. She opened it a crack and looked out. There were still several people in the courtyard outside, but they were moving towards the great hall. Eoghan was there, with Thornden and Leof and Elfthain, and though she would not have minded sharing the honey with Elfthain, she did not want her brother to have any. She waited until they disappeared into the hall, and then she slipped out.

Just as she closed the door behind her, she saw someone exiting the great hall. Ruari turned her back hastily and began to hurry down the edge of the kitchen, hunched over her treasure. It was too late! Rowenna already had seen. Ruari grimaced a little, thinking bitterly that Rowenna always saw everything.

“Hi, Little Ruari. What secret treasure have you there?”

Ruari froze in her tracks. Her head lowered a little and a guilty smile pulled at her lips. She turned to face Rowenna and slightly proffered the pot of honey.

“What do you have there?” Rowenna asked again, finally drawing near.

Ruari answered evasively. “Elfthain brought it for us,” she said, quietly and sounding as innocently sweet as she possibly could.

[Folwren]

Eoghan did not look discouraged by Léof's words and continued to skip towards breakfast. Thornden grinned after him. “I think that Eodwine will be happy of your offer, Léof,” he said.

They came to the door of the hall. Eoghan was hauling on the handles for all he was worth, but he couldn't budge the heavy door. Thornden reached over his head and opened the door and stepped back to allow the others through before him.

He entered last and nearly collided with Rowenna as she walked to the door. He gave way before her and would have opened the door again for her, but she was too quick.

“Come sit with us, Elfthain,” he said. “We'll find Javan and sit near him.” The three of them soon found Javan who had arrived just a moment before them. Áforglaed and Hilderinc were sitting nearby and Thornden bid them good morning.

Eoghan left the men and head directly towards his father's chair. He ran across the hall and around the table, but Eodwine was not there. He paused, taken aback slightly, and looked around. He saw his mother approaching, still carrying a tray of bread.

"There you are, Eoghan. Go and sit down and get some breakfast."

"Where's Papa?" the lad asked, turning and beginning to walk obediently to a place to sit.

"I am not certain," Saeryn said, with a glance around the room.

Eoghan looked mildly disappointed, but he shook it off and ran back the way he had come.

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain was only too happy to accept Thornden's invitation and slipped into the free place by Javan, and even happier that the subject had turned away from his history, he picked up the threads "I'd wager you will have two pupils rather than one, Léof. My sister was furious when I got my first pony even though she was so much younger and far too little to ride on her own. Miss Ruairi doesn't seem one to be left out".

[Firefoot]

Léof chuckled as he sat down across the table from Elfthain. “You seem to have figured Ruari out quickly,” he said. “No doubt she will also wish to ride, but I think she might be less keen for the extra chores that come with caring for a horse. She’s never shown as much interest as Eoghan has. We will see – but I would be happy to teach her as well, if she behaves.”

As he finished speaking, Saeryn came up to them with a basket of fresh bread. Léof thanked her and eagerly bit into a thick slice. It still seemed a novelty, fresh bread made with pure wheat, unmixed with sawdust. “Mmm, still warm,” he said approvingly.

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain taking a piece for himself, nodded in agreement, grateful at last for his mother's insistence that he carry the cumbersome jar of leavening with him. He also agreed with Léof about the responsibilities that riding incurred.

"Aye, my dad took my saddle off me when I left it uncleaned once too often. I had to ride bareback 'til he was sure I had learnt my lesson.. taught me to stick on though: you had better not let Ruairi see Saffy unless you want her put off stablework for life... she is a determined little thing, from what I have seen, so if she decides she wants to ride, I guess she will find a way."

Elfthain cocked his head straining to hear over the general background noise of the hall. "Is that rain again?" he queried "I shall have a wet ride on a grumpy horse then... lovely"

[Folwren]

It took Eoghan a minute or two, walking between the tables and looking for Thornden and Léof. He went relatively unnoticed by the men seated at the tables. A few greeted him, and one or two reached out to rumple his hair as he passed, but he ignored most of them. He found Leof and the others at last and crawled up by Thornden. Javan, seated next to his brother, shifted to make room for Eoghan.

As he climbed up and settled on the bench, he heard Elfthain regretfully announcing that it was raining again. Eoghan imitated his expression of listening and after a moment he, too, heard the gentle patter of rain. He made a face and looked at Léof.

“Maybe the weather will be better tomorrow,” he said sadly. “I was going to ask Papa about learning to ride, but I don't know where he is.”

Thornden overhead him and glanced about the hall. Eodwine was nowhere in sight.

“The horses will wait,” he said, comfortingly

Kara came up behind them and served Eoghan a bowl of porridge. As the child tucked in, Thornden continued the conversation with the men around him.

“If it is raining hard today, there is not much for anyone to do out of doors. Elfthain's story has made me think that perhaps it would not be a foolish idea to use this day in cleaning the leather. We can bring them in. Perhaps today will not be another entire waste of time.”

[littlemanpoet]

“Elfthain brought it for us," Ruari said with big eyes and sweet smile, holding the honey jar up as if to offer it to Rowenna.

The little trickster. Rowenna couldn't help a half grin. "You made off with it, didn't you."

It was not a question, and was not meant to be. Rowenna knelt down and stuck her finger into the honey, came up with a dollop on her finger and licked it clean, winking at the girl, whose eyes widened and mouth parted in surprise and a sudden grin.

"Your turn," she said, licking her lips. "Here, hand the jar to me and I'll hold it for you."

[Folwren]

Ruari handed the jar to Rowenna, but she hesitated a second before trying the tempting nectar. She knew that what she was doing was wrong. Hadn't she been told this was special stuff, to be shared with others? Hadn't her mother essentially told her that she was to have none of it for breakfast? Why was Rowenna offering it to her? Was she trying to trap her?

Rowenna wouldn't do that. No one, not even Ruari herself, would be that mean and tricky.

Ruari dipped her finger in up to the first joint and and stuck it in her mouth. She stared solemnly up at Rowenna as she savored the thick, sweet taste.

[Firefoot]

“Yes, and it will be a good chance to check everything over and see if anything needs mending,” Léof agreed. He took a bite of his porridge before adding, “Also, if we have the supplies on hand, it might be useful to make a batch of leather soap. If the weather keeps up like this, we’ll be using plenty of it.”

The sounds of spoons scraping bowls and chewing dominated for a few minutes. Léof considered the newcomer across the table. He had spoken to Elfthain only briefly since meeting him a couple days ago, but his first impression was favorable: polite and conscientious in his care for his horse, who was herself a good-tempered mare. "Elfthain, do you think you'll be staying for long?" he asked.

[Mithalwen]

"I am expected to return with the waggons, Léof", replied Elfthain. "but I have not heard when they are to depart - I made an early start on Saffy's grooming in case it was today - but this rain makes that unlikely. The drivers aren't keen with the going so heavy". He paused to take a mouthful of porridge. "But if we wait for it to dry out we could be here for ages".

He didn't mind delaying the journey too much for himself - camping, in deep mud was not his idea of fun. And if the weather was as bad at home he wouldn't have able to do much work with his new horse anyway. It was going to be enough to exercise the steady and surefooted Safran in current conditions.

[Folwren]

Javan ate his breakfast in silence, listening rather glumly to the plans for the day. It was not that he disliked cleaning the tack and leather so much, it was more that another day within doors seemed unbearable. And then Léof questioned Elfthain about if he was to go soon, and Elfthain responded, and Javan's spirits plunged even lower.

What was the point of even forming new friendships if they were going to be broken so soon? He had felt better since Elfthain had come. The winter had been hard for everyone, and he had no more to complain of than others - less, in fact - but since Garmund's father had died, Garmund had behaved differently. Cnebba, too, had grown distant, and Javan had found himself rather lonely. Léof was there, that was certain, but Javan and Léof had never been very close. Javan often thought Thornden got on more with Léof than he did himself, although he and Léof were closer in age. Elfthain, then, had been a welcome newcomer.

If only he could stay.

Javan looked up. The gloomy look cleared from above his eyebrows.

"I say, Thornden, couldn't Elfthain stay behind and live here?" he asked impulsively. "He could join the men at arms, couldn't he? He's a soldier in training, after all!"

Thornden glanced over towards Javan and smiled at the idea. "That would be a question more fit for Eodwine. I would be pleased to take him, so I could put in a good word." He turned and looked at Elfthain. "Shall I?"

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain startled dropped his porridge spoon into his bowl with a clatter and stared at Javan and Thornden astonished, while thoughts tumbled over themselves in his mind like a torrent of meltwater down a mountain side crashing into rocks and carrying smaller pebbles in the flow.

It had never crossed his mind that he wouldn't go back. He was only there because he was effectively being punished, not that he would admit that to his new acquaintances, and his future had been planned out for him so far in advance that it hadn't occurred to him that he might change it. And he was content to know the farm was waiting for him when he came of age and in the mean time he marked time, training for battles he hoped he never would have to fight. There was no doubt that staying would be harder work. He would not be able to slip off back to Upbourn when he was off duty, and however much he might resent other squires' suggestions of nepotism he had to admit that his uncle probably was more indulgent of his failings than a lord who was not a kinsman would be.

Yet he had enjoyed these past few days and liked the people who he had met. And maybe it would be worth the harder work and harsher conditions to be judged on his own merits... it might be the only chance he ever got for that.

"I would like to stay longer.... but I can't not just go back.. I am indentured...though since they thought it would do me good to come with the convoy it must mean staying longer would improve me more" he said with a grin "so maybe Elwin would grant permission if Lord Eodwine were amenable". be Elfthain paused and frowned remembering two stumbling blocks"If I did stay would I be under Wilheard's command? And would you have space for another horse?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine meandered around the Burg, looking for Wilheard. The young man had not been at breakfast when he had left there, so he chose to look elsewhere. He was not in the smokehouse. He was not at the latrine. Eodwine passed by the stables and saw the ostler Léof busy at his work, and a few others among the horses with him, but not Wilheard. He thought of going out to the top of the first hills of the scar, but shook his head. He did not think that Wilheard would go there first in the morning. He made his way out to the road, checked the wagon, no Wilheard.

Eodwine was more puzzled than frustrated. Maybe he was finally at his meal. But no, he was not in the hall, breaking his fast. Nor in the kitchens, making a nuisance of himself among the cooks and serving women. That left only one place.

Eodwine mad his way to the men's sleeping quarters. Sure enough, there was one body at rest. Eodwine got a slanted grin on his face. He stood at the door and put his hands to his mouth.

"Everybody, up and at it! Time for work!"

A groan came from the one occupied bed. Hands reached for the pillow and thrust it over the head.

"Wilheard! It's time to get up!"

"Leave me be! I'm tired!"

Eodwine's smile now had about it a bit of the fatherly disciplinarian. He walked over to the soldier's bed, pulled the covers off, yanked the pillow away and chucked it over to the side, bent down, got within two feet of the shirker's ears and yelled.

"Wilheard! Up and at it! If you don't, Eorl Eodwine will hear about it first thing!"

[Folwren]

Thornden's expression sobered. It would be more difficult than he had originally imagined. He did not know the lad was indentured. Still, there could be no harm in asking.

The question about if Wilheard would be his superior made his smile disappear even more. Any reminder that Wilheard was not leaving was enough to make Thornden not feel very pleased at all.

"Léof will have to answer for the horse," he said, glancing at Léof, "but I can at least say that you will not have to be directly under Wilheard, if that is your desire. I am not sure what his position here will be, but he will not be over men." Not, anyway, he added to himself, if I have any say in it.

"Who is the man you are indentured to?"

[Galadriel55]

But the irises did not bloom for long, for by the time their petals opened, the ancient river has dried. Their blossoms withered, and their leaves lay flat, and their roots turned to dust. Too late their proud stems have bowed to the riverbank, this time to rest there and not rise. Thus went the river, and the irises, leaving no trace that they once ruled this land, and only the earth remained, for only earth is eternal.

The day was tired. It tried halfheartedly to hide it, but gave up the feeble attempt before midmorning. The sun’s beams were too weak to pierce the clouds. The clouds were too pale to cast darkness. The ground was covered with yesteryear’s grass, a sickly yellow hue. The day was weary and drained of colour, its eyes hazy with mist. It barely dragged its feet across the earth, hoping that night would come early to relieve him of that task. But night comes only at its own time. So the weary day must trudge on, its seconds counted by the rhythmic chomping of the ground at travelers’ feet.

For only the earth is eternal. Yes, that would be a good way to end that tale. And end without an end, as all tales should be. Balan liked his new story. He put it in a pocket of his mind, to pull it out when the right time will come.

As the mist ahead of him cleared, he saw a small figure in the distance: a man, making his way north. He must have been going since sunrise, for Balan was walking faster, and he did not see this man at the village where he spent the night. Last night this man must have still been behind him, but set out earlier this morning. One wayfarer is company to another, especially when both are going the same way. Balan quickened his pace.

As he approached, he noticed that the man was slender and short of stature for a man of the Mark. Looking closely, Balan thought that this was a young man, and he appeared weary or cold. Balan reached behind him into his rucksack, assuring himself of his provisions. He had enough food for two, and he would be able to get more food when he reached the next village, or possibly the Mead Hall, which he remembered to be nearby.

“Hoy there, lad! You have walked far this morning,” Balan called out.

[Mithalwen]

"Elwin son of Eldred, Captain in the King's Guard. He was my father's best friend" Elfthain felt himself colour as he omitted and my mother's brother, "He has other squires I am sure he can manage without me for a while if I write and tell him I could be useful here. I hope I could be useful here... especially if I wasn't under Wilheard's control... " he grinned at Thornden, "Though he spoke barely a handful of words to me all the journey through. There might be advantages to such a master" he added mischievously.

"It isn't the end of the world about the horse. Only I have a half-broken colt at home on the farm and I was schooling him myself...." he wasn't sure his mother would have resist the temptation to finish the job herself. It wasn't that she would do a bad job rather that she might do it almost too well and he dreaded the mirth it might provoke if his "pony" were replaced by a palfrey.

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn heard the footsteps of someone coming up behind her; the sucking, squelching mud made a stealthy approach difficult. She pulled the hood of her cloak further over her face and moved to the side of the road to let the traveler pass. So far on her journey this had worked well. Travelers on horseback had rode past with little more than a wave and a greeting, as had those coming from the opposite direction. This was the first person on foot to come up behind her, and she stiffened when he called out a greeting. Surely it was too soon for someone travelling on foot to catch up with her, if they had been sent out after her from Edoras? One on horseback might have made such good time, but surely not on foot – unless she missed her guess, she’d had nearly a full day’s head start before she would have been missed. She couldn’t be too careful, though. She reached up to make sure her hair was tucked away. Hopefully he would quickly pass her by, none the wiser.

“Hoy there, lad! You have walked far this morning,” the man said. She slowly turned, and saw that he was nearly upon her. He was older than her – none of the boys her age could grow a full beard like that yet. He had a kind face, she thought, and a nice smile.

“I have,” she said, trying to keep her voice even and low but wondering how he knew that. Had he been following her? Was she already found out? “The quicker I can finish my journey on this road, the better.”

[Thinlómien]

Someone was shouting his name. Loud. And near. His blanket was gone. He was cold, so cold. He wondered if they'd made him sleep outside, like Father had once done. Or maybe he'd fallen off his horse and fallen asleep in the snow on the Scar. Had they come looking for him then?

"Eorl Eodwine will hear about it first thing!"

"Eorl Eodwine be damned!" Wilheard said. His voice sounded very weak to his own ears. He wondered what was wrong with him. "Bring me..." he croaked. "Please bring me my brother."

Wulfric could fix this. Wulfric had always fixed everything. He'd know what had happened, too.

"Wulf, why am I so cold?" Wilheard muttered, groping for the blanket that was not there.

[Thinlómien]

The great hall was always so full with breakfast time! And it was the same struggle every morning, too. The fist morning she had sat with Fréa and Caranthir, the second she had been kindly accepted to sit with Modtryth and Leodthern and they had later been joined by other household women. Now she was again wondering who could she sit next to.

"Westu hal, Lady Brithiel."

Brith turned her head quickly to see she had been approached by Ledwyn. She nodded, and smiled.

Ledwyn went on in Rohirric: "I something you our bread and mead. You are our something something, but this is more than something. I something to ask for your something. I something you something not something the rest by my doings and something. My something is something, but the something of the Hall is something. If there is a something I can do to something your something, you must name it to me."

Oh dear, Brith thought, keeping the smile on her face. What can I say? It didn't help that Ledwyn looked dead serious, and Brith sensed that whatever the other woman had just said had a great importance to her.

"No, no," she said a little uncertainly, in Rohirric. "Everything is good. Thank you, Ledwyn."

She swallowed uneasily and smiled. She hoped she hadn't just made an even bigger mess, and even more she hoped it was all settled now. If not, someone who spoke Westron had better rescue her soon.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was not too keen on the free cuss coming out of Wilheard, but it was his own fault for playing at not being himself. And the poor - er - cuss looked unwell, now that he had a good look at him.

Ah, he had mentioned Wulfric. Eodwine lost his grin and shook his head sadly. The brother who had been killed in battle. Eodwine remembered him, the one on whom his brother and father had depended.

"You are unwell, Wilheard," Eodwine said kindly. "Feverish, by the looks of it. I will see that you are cared for." He reached for the blanket and covered the shivering man, then bent over and fetched his pillow. "Here. Take this."

Wilheard opened a bleary eye and took the pillow, holding it as if it were a toddler's doll.

"We shall talk when you are well." He left the room and found Saeryn. "Wilheard has a fever."

[littlemanpoet]

"There, that's enough," Rowenna said quietly. "We know where this came from, and that it should go back where you found it."

Ruari did not argue. She felt herself fortunate so far and did not think she should press her luck. She leaned forward a little. "Will you put some on my porridge first?" she whispered.

Rowenna allowed herself half a grin. She remembered herself when she was this age. She had been the little ruler of the house, herself. And then everything had changed. Her smile disappeared. She had had to learn late and through great anguish how to survive. It should not be so for Ruari. She would not be harsh with the girl, but she had to know that she would have to work at getting what she wanted instead of just thinking it would come to her.

"No. I already gave you your treat. This needs to go back and must not have too much less in it than before."

Ruari shrugged a shoulder and lowered her head, a slight pout coming across her face. She considered how effective a show of temper would be, and decided a full blown protest would not be well accepted. She settled for stomping her feet unnecessarily in the mud - after Rowenna had turned her back and begun leading the way back to the kitchen.

Rowenna had good ears and heard the stomping. She couldn't help smiling. The little cut up was a little version of herself. This could be fun. She stopped with a pleasant smile and held out her hand. "Take my hand, Ruari. Let's go back inside. It looks like rain."

Ruari crossed her arms and became quite still in the mud. Her pout deepened until her eyebrows were lowered crossly.

"I won't go in until you promise to give me some," she said.

Rowenna turned around and looked at the girl, tilting her head, her eyes narrowed. A dangerous smile came to her face. "Do not pick a fight with me, little girl, you will not win. So what will it be?"

Ruari almost backed down. She probably would have, if Rowenna hadn't been smiling, even if it was the wrong kind. Briefly, she weighed the possibilities. She decided to try her luck.

"If you don't give me some in my oatmeal, I will tell Mama that you stole some, too."

Rowenna's brow rose. This girl had spunk. Rowenna bent down and got eye level with her, holding the jar of honey close to her chest, to put it out of reach but within range of her eyes so as to be a useful bait. Rowenna stared into her eyes, her own eyes hard as stone and her own smile as threatening as cut crystal.

Ruari withdrew the tiniest fraction, though she did not step back. She flinched as Rowenna continued to stare, and she began to question the wisdom of holding her will against this woman. Then she squared her shoulders, remembering that Rowenna was not her mother, and could not do anything to her.

"You're a spunky little thing, aren't you." Rowenna reminded herself that she was choosing not to be harsh with this girl. "You are like I was when I was your age. If you were to tattle, you would make a foe of me, and I do not think you want to do that. It would not serve you well, for I have much I could teach you, that no-one else here knows. Do you understand me, Ruari, Saeryn's Daughter?"

Ruari didn't understand, but her curiosity was piqued. "What kinds of things?" she asked.

"I can teach you to make others want to do what you want them to do."

This was still a little above Ruari's understanding, but it sounded like it would be useful. She nodded her head slightly. "Alright," she said. "I won't tell Mama, then."

"Very well. You must trust me to teach you when the time is right. In the meantime, we can be friends. Take my hand."

Ruari took it and together they went back into the kitchen. By now they were quite wet, and while Rowenna put the pot of honey back on the shelf, Ruari stood by the fire. She watched Rowenna and inwardly promised herself that later, when the time was better, she would get the honey, and even Rowenna wouldn't know about it.

[Firefoot]

“Don’t worry over your colt,” Léof assured Elfthain. For a while, when Athanar had still been Scarburg’s lord, the stable had been full – overfull, even. There had been talk for a while of expanding the stables and building more stalls. Since Athanar had left, however, there had always been some empty stalls. “Once the caravan leaves, a lot of space will open up.” He smiled. “I’d also be curious to see how you’re handling your colt. I’m thinking about bringing along my yearling filly rather than sell her.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud to anyone, but the thought had been growing on his mind for several months now. He liked the idea of having a second mare to continue breeding when Æthel grew too old, and he was steadily growing more attached to Æthel’s daughter, whom he had called Wren after the small birds who had hatched in their nest under the stable eaves the week the filly had been born. If a more promising filly were to come along, he could always sell Wren later, but it was certainly possible that the rest of Æthel’s foals would be all colts.

[Folwren]

Saeryn shifted the basket in her hands to her hip and wiped her forehead. She glanced around the room, taking mental stock of what needed to be done that day. She turned to Eodwine.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"In his quarters. He did not rise this morning."

"I will see to him." She turned and went back to the kitchen. She found Ruari and Rowenna there. "Heavens, I forgot your breakfast! Why didn't you go out to the hall with the others? Rowenna, poor me some hot water for tea." She set the basket down on the table and reached for a dried bunch of herbs. She set them on the table and began snapping off dried twigs. Her hurried glance fell on her daughter again. "Why are you wet?"

Rowenna set a brimming mug on the tabletop next to her and drew back to the stove. Saeryn absently dropped the leaves into the water while staring down at Ruari.

Ruari looked back, wide-eyed. "I went outside," she said.

"Well, I guess you did! You probably got your dress all..." she glanced over the edge of the table and saw the muddy hem and shoes clotted with mud. "Ruari, you should be more mindful!" She turned away and went to the shelf to take down the honey. Ruari's eyes widened with eagerness, but Saeryn took no notice.

"Go on out and find your brother. Sit with him. Kara will get you some porridge. Rowenna, you may go get your breakfast as well."

"Can I have some honey, Mama?" Ruari asked.

"No. Run along." She did not glance up as she carefully spooned some of the honey into the tea and mixed it. Ruari and Rowenna quietly exited the kitchen. Saeryn glanced in the basket she had brought in. There was still some bread left. She doubted that Wilheard would have much appetite, but in case he did, she took a couple slices to accompany the tea.

She found him only semi-conscious, lying in a crooked, uncomfortable looking position. She placed the victuals she had brought on the ground beside his bed and touched his forehead. He was hot, sure, but she had seen worse.

"I've brought you some tea and bread, I'd like you to try to eat and drink some of it."

[Mithalwen]

“I’d also be curious to see how you’re handling your colt. I’m thinking about bringing along my yearling filly rather than sell her.” Elfthain smiled at Leof's words. It was good news and he was only too happy to talk horse.

"You will have to show her to me later. I haven't ridden my colt much yet.. but he is home-bred so I have known him since he was foaled and he only became my own a few weeks ago. We take things very slowly with the youngsters. We get them used to the halter and being handled from the start. They do some long reining as two year olds but we don't usually back them til they are at least three, then turn them out again to let them develop before starting to school them seriously the next summer . By five they are ready for anything.

" Some people go quicker but most of our home-breds go as remounts for the muster of Edoras so they need to be strong enough to carry a full grown rider in mail. However my colt was a late summer foal and so he is rising four and well grown so I don't really want to wait another year. But I wouldn't want to be riding him a lot, or in armour yet so I still need Saff. I had planned on breeding from her next year but her devotion to wallowing in mud makes me worry she will have piglets rather than a foal." He grinned and grimaced as he thought of his beloved mare still more covered in mud than not. "Sorry, you won't want me to stay if I keep rambling on" he added realising he had let his tongue carry him away again having started on one of his favourite topics.

[Folwren]

Elfthain's comment about piglets caused Thornden to chuckle. Then the lad's suddenly self-conscious expression and mumbled apology made him laugh outright.

"Right, then," Thornden said, still chuckling. "The problem of the horses has been resolved - there is plenty of room - and I will speak to Eodwine. You, Elfthain, do wait until you hear if he says yea or nay. The letter to your master will best be written either by Eodwine himself, or by me, I should think."

He paused when he saw Ruari coming towards them. She made a direct line for their table and Thornden guessed she was come to eat. He made room so she could sit between him and Eoghan. As he helped her climb onto the bench and get settled, Javan addressed Elfthain.

"So you plan to have your colt sent for?" he asked. "He sounds like a nice 'un. I'd like to meet him."

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain answered slowly "Well until a few minutes ago I was planning to go back with the convoy but yes I would like to get him out here if I can, he is more than nice... and I could use more of my own gear. I only brought what I expected to need for the return journey which wasn't very much."

He thought how it could work, "So if Lord Eodwine agrees to my staying ... I better ask my mother to arrange it - I will write her a letter to go with the one to Elwin. He will get it to her, I know" - in fact he will almost certainly deliver it personally thought Elfthain, realising that this would also mean it didn't matter so much that the Eorl or his Steward would be writing to his uncle; he was sure that the siblings would confer, "So it will take a while even if she is agreeable. There is a chance she might deliver him herself: I wouldn't put it past her to take the opportunity to check up on me, but it is a risk I will have to take" he added with a grin. "And now she has Poppy to look after she may not be able to get away so long." he added thoughtfully.

[Thinlómien]

His pillow was back and so was his blanket. There had been a kind voice, then another. Surely he must have been imagining? He was still in Scarburg. Or had they moved him? Maybe they had sent him home because he'd been so useless. The voices had been familiar, now that Wilheard thought of it, even though he had trouble putting faces to them. I was never good with people. It was Wulfric who was good with them, I was always better with horses, yes, and hawks and hounds...

Wilheard wondered if Eorl Eodwine would let him have a puppy. His father had never let him - he'd always said Wilheard could have one when he was a respectable young man. He guessed he'd never been one. Too wild, too reckless, too disinterested.

"Tea?"

Oh, the woman was still there. Wilheard opened his eyes, then touched his face. It felt damp. His eyes focused on the form of the woman by his bedside. Saeryn. Lady Saeryn. That was her. No friend of mine, Wilheard reminded himself. Usurper, and mother of another. Adopted by Lord Athanar, to succeed him in place of his own son. After all these years, after Wulfric was gone, it was still a bitter thought, but not entirely without amusement value.

"Tea? Yes, please. Sister."

[Folwren]

Sister! Where was this coming from, Saeryn wondered. Did he mistake her for his younger sister? She glanced at his face, then narrowed her eyes. He was not so delirious as all that, she decided; there was too much recognizable dislike in his eyes. She pressed her lips together as she leaned over and helped him to sit up.

"The tea's still hot, so be careful," she instructed, carefully handing the mug to him with one hand while she guided his other hand to wrap around the mug. She stood by, watching as he tentatively sipped the hot brew. She regretted that she had not brought a cloth with cool water.

The tea lowered from his lips and drooped dangerously towards the covers. Saeryn gripped the rim and carefully removed it from Wilheard's hands.

"Try eating some bread. I will be back." She placed the plate with the bread on his lap and left him to get a bowl of cool water and a cloth.

She reflected on what may be the cause of his fever, an she began to fear that whatever it was might spread. As she passed through the hall to the kitchen, she looked anxiously towards her children. So soon after a period of near starvation, she was not sure they nor anyone else would be able to stay well in the face of sickness. She suppressed her thoughts and went into the kitchen to fetch the water.

Wilheard was still sitting up, but he had apparently not been able to eat much. Saeryn placed the bowl of water by the tea and wrung out the cloth. She began to sponge the sweat from his face.

"Do you have any pain?" she asked.

[Folwren]

Javan opened his mouth to ask who Poppy was, but Thornden cut him short. "We'll sit here all day chatting like women at this rate," he said. "There's work to be done. Javan, you can help Elfthain finish grooming his horse." A smile tugged at his lips. He had considered calling her a sow, but thought that perhaps Elfthain, who sometimes seemed quite serious, would see it as a liberty and may not appreciate such humor. He went on. "Léof, do you want to look and find if we have what you need for your leather soap? I will go and find Eodwine and put our question to him."

He stood up, and the others followed his example. Even Eoghan scrambled to his feet. "I need to find Papa, too," he announced.

"What about me?" Ruari cried, not one to be willingly left out.

"You've hardly begun eating," Thornden told her, pointing to the porridge Kara had just a moment given her. "Finish up."

[Mithalwen]

Having emptied bowl and cup of their last contents, Elfthain rose and left the Hall with Javan who, no longer stymied by his brother's presence, asked who Poppy was.


"Poppy? She is a little girl my mother is fostering. We don't really know anything about her, not even her right name. A traveller was found dying in the snow near where I live. The child was with her, we don't even know if she was the mother.. they didn't look anything alike and the girl was too young to tell us and the woman never spoke before she died. So she is a bit of a mystery but she is a sweet little thing really and my mother adores her."

They reached the stables again and Elfthain apologised to Javan "Sorry you have got lumbered helping with this. She is a disgrace; aren't you Saffy, my dear?" He pulled the little mare's ears affectionately and she whickered drawing attention to her depleted supply of hay. "She is usually fine about being groomed but she can be a bit ticklish when her tummy is brushed so you might want to leave that to me. Though if we give her more hay she probably won't care what we do with her". He sighed as he took in the amount of work left and looked around for his brushes.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna strode through the growing puddles to the smoke house. The rain came down steadily and she was soaked through. The smoke house would be dry and warm. And overpowering with the smell of smoked meat. She wondered if Nydfara liked that smell. Surely he did, as it was meat and men liked their meat. She shook her head. What matter? Silly thoughts. She did not matter to Nydfara, nor he to her. It angered her that these thoughts came upon her unawares, as if something deep inside betrayed her.

She opened the door to the smoke house and went inside. She liked it in here. It was warm and dry. She wished she could stay here much longer than need required. She took a cut of wood from the dry-store and placed it carefully in the oven.

That little Ruari was not really the same as she had been at that age. She had been happy and carefree and full of dance and play. She had been so until the brigands had come and destroyed her life. She had learned to be tough and skilled in surviving, learned how to make others want what she wanted; or at least, what she said she wanted.

Ruari was different. She could see it in her eyes. That little girl's thought was already the way she had had to learn to be. "You're a silly fool," she whispered. The knot in her stomach refused to go away, and only seemed to tighten the more she thought about her past, the little girl, and that troublesome Nydfara.

How would she have handled him among the brigands? She would have listened to him until she had learned what he most desired, what he craved, and then would use that knowledge to bait him into giving her what she wanted, or doing what she wanted, or, in Nydfara's case, telling her what she wanted to know.

So she had better go find the cur and find out what drove him. She grabbed a side of deermeat and walked back into the rain.

[Firefoot]

Scyld set off down from the Scar quickly, hoping to make it back to the Hall before the worst of the rain came. It was not to be: the drops soon started hitting harder and faster, and more than once he nearly lost his footing on the muddy, rocky ground. It had been foolish of him to come up here before a rainstorm, he realized. He slowed his pace; better to return wet and whole than to turn an ankle in the muck and be unable to return at all.

By the time he reached the fields separating the Scar from the Hall, the drizzle had turned into a downpour. Between the snowmelt and the constant rain, the soggy ground could hold no more water and the puddles in many places were up to his ankles. No point in running then: the water would only splash higher. As he came up to the Hall, even his thick wool cloak was soaking through, which felt thoroughly unpleasant, not to mention heavy. Squinting through the rain, he saw another figure approaching the Hall from the opposite direction, seemingly bearing a large burden.

It was Rowenna, he realized, as she drew closer. Her clothing was drenched, and he could not help but notice that the way the wet fabric clung to her was not unflattering. He shook his head of the thought. He had to keep his mind sharp if he was to have any hope of understanding how he had managed to irritate her so. At least now if she had something to say to him, it would be out of Eodwine’s hearing.

He reached the door just before she did. “May I hold the door for you, or would you prefer to have another reason to glower at me?” he asked as he held out the door with his free hand.

[Galadriel55]

Lady Brithiel appeared somewhat bemused while Ledwyn spoke. Her response confirmed Ledwyn's doubts.

"No, no. Everything is good. Thank you, Ledwyn."

The lady's face said that everything was definitely not good. Was she too polite to accept Ledwyn's offer? Did she understand what Ledwyn said? Ledwyn knew that the newcomer knew some of the Eorling speech; more than she knew Westron. She ought to make her understand something.

"My lady, I fear I have not made you feel welcome here as I should have. There must be something I can do to amend that."

Ledwyn prayed that the lady would understand.

[littlemanpoet]

Well, this had turned out to be easier than she expected. Here came the rogue now, from the Scar, walking slowly in the rain as if he reveled in it. He glanced her way and made it to the door to the Hall just before her. He gave her that typically sardonic look, which at this moment she found most annoying.

“May I hold the door for you, or would you prefer to have another reason to glower at me?”

A verbal attack. Why did it have to hit so close to home? She was unable to remove the frown from her face, and knew that she did not have the self-control she needed, so she must say only what was needful.

"You may," she nodded. "Better than standing here in the pouring rain debating the matter." Now, why had that come blurting out of her?

[Folwren]

Thornden split ways with Léof and the others. Eoghan followed at his side as he walked across the hall to Eodwine.

"Eodwine, have you met the lad, Elfthain, who came with the caravan? He is about Javan's age."

"I do not believe so."

"Oh." Thornden turned and glanced about the hall quickly, but Elfthain and Javan had already gone outside. He realized that to best put his query, he should have brought Elfthain with him. "He came with Wilheard in the caravan. He has expressed interest in staying here with us and being a squire here, instead of returning to his master when the caravan leaves. I told him I would put the question to you. I find him to be humble, and he has a good wit, and I think he would be a good addition to our hall."

"Does he owe anything to his master? Is he sworn to him until any fixed time?"

"That I do not know. His master is Elwin, Captain in the King's Guard, and was his father's friend. Elfthain says he was sent with the convoy to give him experience, and he thought Elwin would not be against his staying here longer, if you were willing to let him stay."

Eodwine nodded. "I will be holding court later today. Have him come. You may speak for him at that time, but he will need to speak for himself. Tell him so. Then tell me how he receives this."

"I will do so," Thornden said, and departed to find Elfthain and his brother.

Eoghan tarried behind and once Thornden had left, he approached his father with a hopeful smile on his face.

"Papa, Leof says I may ride his horse when the weather clears, but that you must first say I can. May I?"

Eodwine smiled at his son's excitement and interest. This was to be expected, and encouraged, but in the right time and way. He sat down. "Come here, Eoghan. Sit on my lap."

Eoghan trotted over to him and clambered up onto his knee. He faced his father, laying one arm across Eodwine's, with his hand resting on his shoulder. His bright eyes shone with eager expectation as he looked up at his father's face, waiting.

Eodwine gave the boy a hug and kept his arm behind his back, smiling. "Did you get to ride a horse today? Tell me all about it!"

"No, Papa!" Eoghan said, somewhat reproachfully as he knit his eyebrows together a little. "I couldn't ride today - it was raining! Leof showed me Cinderfoot and said she is almost ready to have her baby. I asked if I could have the baby, and he said, no, I wasn't big enough yet, but maybe I could ride his horse, when the rain stops. But I must ask you if I may." Eoghan looked solemnly up at his father. He cupped his two little hands around Eodwine's face, beginning to be impatient for an answer. "Can I?"

"Of course you may, as long as Leof or someone he trusts is with you. You are high up on a horse's back, and I want you to be safe just as much as I want you to love riding."

Eoghan's face beamed with excitement. He wriggled free from Eodwine arm and jumped down from his lap. "I'm going to find Leof and tell him straight away!"

Eodwine was tempted to tell his son to wait, that he would go with him; but he judged this a moment to allow him a small amount of being in charge of himself. If anything happened, he was sure that he would hear of it soon enough.

[Firefoot]

“Indeed,” said Scyld, cocking an eyebrow. So now she chose to be civil with him? Well, if she wished to pretend that nothing had happened that morning, he could play along, but he would not forget.

He followed her inside, pushing back the hood of his cloak. As he stepped down on the wet floor, his foot slid out from under him. His arms flailed as he strove to catch his balance. He managed not to fall, but the pouch that had made it clean and dry all the way down the trail dropped and landed in the mud skid with a clatter. Feeling both foolish and irritated but wishing to show neither, he quickly knelt to collect his pouch and began wiping it off with the edge of his cloak. It had fortunately stayed closed, saving him the further embarrassment of scattering his tools across the floor. “It seems my boots were muddier than I thought,” he said.

[Folwren]

Thornden went towards the door in thought. He was drawn out of his reverie when he opened it and found water streaming down just outside. He turned back around, went to the guardroom and fetched his hooded cloak.

The raindrops had become large and fast by the time he exited the hall, and the cloak did only kept him partially dry. He stopped inside the stables to shake the excess water from the folds of cloth and to try to scrape some of the mud off his boots before he went on to find Javan and Elfthain.

They were working out back behind the stables but still under the awning. They had not made much progress by the look of things.

"Elfhain!" Thornden hailed as he drew near. "I spoke with Eodwine, and he said he would like to hear more of you. He plans to hold court today and he wishes to decide on the matter then. He will ask you about your master and how long you are bound to him, and why."

[Folwren]

Eoghan trotted away from his father, brimming with excitement. He passed down the long hall towards the kitchen, and as he did, he went near where Ruari sat, still eating her stew. He could not resist bragging to her about riding. He veered off course and went and leaned with both hands on the stool, bending close to her and saying quietly, but triumphantly,

"Papa has said I might ride, when the weather is clear!"

Ruari's hand was arrested half way up to her mouth. She returned the spoon to the bowl and said, without turning her head, "I can, too."

Eoghan stood up. "No you can't! Not till Papa or Mama says you can!" He scurried away without waiting a response, but several paces away he turned his head to glance at his sister over his shoulder. He was gratified to see a look of sour envy on her face.

He entered the kitchen and found, as he expected, Léof standing there. He went to him and threw his arms about Léof's waist. "Papa says I might ride! You must be with me when I do."

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain nodded but puzzled a little over the "why" - was it not usual for squires to be bound to their knights? It was just a variant on the normal apprenticeship - a commitment to serve in return for training. He had never given the matter much thought, the legal bounds being a formality in comparison to the ones of blood and affection that had held him all the days of his life. He decided that there was nothing to worry about - the worst thing that could happen was that he would be sent home and maybe Javan could visit. He knew he wouldn't lie but was uncertain how much he would volunteer beyond that which was asked.

"Do you know when it will be? I should change my clothes and will it go on long - I mean should I try to exercise Saff first or will there be time later?".

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna heard a thump and clatter behind her. She turned. Nydfara had slipped and fallen, but had recovered himself quickly, and wiped at a stain on his pouch.

“It seems my boots were muddier than I thought,” he said.

She had not seen him fall, it had happened so fast. "You are all right?"

"Well enough."

"I will bring this side of deer to the kitchen and come back with clean water and rags. Stay here and keep others from falling."

She left him and hurried to the kitchen.

[Firefoot]

Léof set off for the kitchen, knowing that several if not all the supplies he would need for soap could be found there. He may have to go to the storeroom for some, but even then he wanted to check with the women before taking off with the supplies, in case they were low in stock or needed elsewhere. He’d made the soap so many times he had the recipe memorized, and as he walked he mentally reviewed the ingredient list: six parts tallow, one part neatsfoot oil, two parts beeswax, three parts water, and one part lye.

He found Kara in the kitchen and recited this list to her. She told him to help himself to what he needed, and to let her know if he needed help finding anything. He headed for the shelves where the supplies were usually kept and scanned the labels of the items stored there. He quickly spotted the jar of lye flakes and pulled it down, followed by the beeswax and tallow. The neatsfoot oil he did not see, and suspected it would be found in the storeroom instead – they had little use for it in the kitchen.

As he took one last look, Eoghan found him and wrapped his arms around Léof’s waist, saying: “Papa says I might ride! You must be with me when I do."

Léof tousled the boy’s hair affectionately. “I’m glad to hear it. We will go as soon as the rain stops.” As he spoke, Rowenna came into the kitchen with a large slab of meat. She seemed pre-occupied as Léof and Eoghan ducked out of the way, and Léof said, “Come, Eoghan, we are in the women’s way. Will you help me carry a few things out?” He held out the box of tallow cakes, which was both safe and non-breakable.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna entered the kitchen, her thoughts all akilter. Why could she not be as she wished when near Nydfara?

She almost bumped into Léof, who said, “Come, Eoghan, we are in the women’s way. Will you help me carry a few things out?” He held out the box of tallow cakes, which was both safe and non-breakable. The boy took the box and followed the ostler out. That was good to see.

Now, where were the supplies she sought? Bucket, rags, broom. She gathered them and hurried out to Nydfara. He was standing where she had left him, watching her with that distant, measuring look in his eye that made her heart beat more rapidly. What did he think when he looked at her that way?

"Here," she held out the broom. "I'll wet and scrub while you push the mess back out the door."

[Firefoot]

Scyld watched a moment as Rowenna hurried off before turning his attention back to his pouch. He’d gotten the worst of the mud off; the rest could wait until later when he had something better to clean it than his wet cloak. He set the pouch aside, then took off his cloak and hung it up to dry nearby. He felt a bit foolish then standing there with naught to but guard the mud puddle, but it also gave him a few moments to collect himself before Rowenna came back from the kitchen.

She returned soon enough, laden down with a broom, bucket, and rags: a somewhat unwieldy combination, but she managed well. It occurred to him that he never seemed to see her at ease: she always seemed burdened down, or to have taken on some particularly difficult or unpleasant task. He’d not paid much attention to it once, but now having spent much time with his sisters and his brothers’ wives, it struck him as odd. His sisters, though hard working, were forever asking each other or the older children for help, not because they were unable to do without it but because (he supposed) they valued the companionship and sought to ease everyone’s burden by sharing the work around (though he was unconvinced of the efficiency of this way of thinking). Rowenna seemed to act far more independently, almost as if she felt she had something to prove.

He did not have long to think on it as she walked up and handed him the broom. He was a little surprised but did not mind, and he set to sweeping out the muck. He changed his mind about letting go of her ire and decided to try again. “So did you learn what you wished to know this morning?” he asked dryly.

[Galadriel55]

Balan winked at the lad. He thought the young man would refuse his offer, but it was worth a try.

"A road shared by two is only half as long. I have food enough for both of us, and a canvas sheet to cover us from the rain while it is heavy. You look tired; let us rest a while, and continue our journeys with double speed when the downpour stops. Quicker steps do not always lead to a quicker finish, you know."

Cerwyn hesitated. If this man had been sent after her, he would be seeking a young woman, not a lad, and his offer might be just as it seemed, if she could keep up her disguise. Nor was he wrong: her stomach rumbled at the mention of food. Her own fare on the road had been basic, and all she had left was some dried meat, which would be plenty sufficient if indeed she were to reach Scarburg today. Sufficient, but not satisfying. As she stood there deciding, the rain suddenly picked up, and, with that, physical discomfort won out over caution. "Your offer is much appreciated," she said. "Thank you."

Balan nodded. "Then let us find a place to sit," he said with a smile. He soon located a log that could serve as a bench, and draped the canvas sheet over a pole above it to make a tent. The alcove did not shield all the water, but at least it lessened the amount of rain over their heads to a few droplets. While taking out the food, Balan observed the young man. There was something odd about him. He seemed wary and slightly uncertain in his actions. But maybe that came from being small and soft-featured, not seen as a man yet.

"And where does your journey end?" Balan asked as he passed the bread over.

Cerwyn thought it seemed like a harmless enough question. "Scarburg," she answered. She wondered if it meant anything to him; it hardly meant anything to her - just a name, with a slim thread of hope attached to it. "And yourself? You seem well-used to traveling." He was certainly better equipped than herself, between the canvas shelter and the moderately fresh bread, both of which she was extremely grateful for at the moment.

Balan chuckled. "My journey ends ever yonder, across the distant fields, and down the flowing rivers, and beyond the farthest mountains. Aye, I suppose I am well-used to travelling," he added as an afterthought. "But Scarburg..." The name rang in his head with a dim echo. "It cannot be the new Mead Hall here in the Middle Emnet? The young one, built only a handful of years ago?"

He spoke oddly, Cerwyn thought, like a character in a song or tale. Fanciful, her father would say, though he seemed sane enough. She wondered what it would be like to have that sort of freedom, to go where she wanted when she wanted. Then she thought of the miserable rainy road, and her envy tapered.

"Yes, I think so," she said. "It is close, I believe. I hoped to reach it today. Do you know it?"

"I have passed by it once. It was like a sapling - a young place, still fragile and growing, but with firm roots." Something in the lad's voice was too hopeful, too eager. Too afraid. "Yet it seems to me that you hope to reach more than the Mead Hall today."

Balan stopped himself. If this boy - Balan thought of him more and more as such rather than a man - has indeed a deeper hope, that is his story to share. All men have their own stories; Balan respected stories, and he respected men. Stories should never be forced out of people; they will come in their own time. Watching the lad's face closely, Balan realized that he was right not to press more questions.

"But that is your own affair. I am sure it would make a thrilling tale, should you choose to tell it, and I would gladly listen to it, but it is yours alone to give or to keep. As for me, I must stop for the night in the nearest village to gather some food for the next days. I do not usually stay long so as to not be a burden on the village folk, but I could linger for a few days in a Mead Hall." It would be nice to stay awhile in one place, to know its folk and see its life, Balan thought.

Cerwyn eyed the man suspiciously from under the hood of her cloak. She had a hard time believing he was merely being respectful of her privacy, and that he was not backhandedly asking for information. She was not ready to give it to him yet. She must at least reach the Mead Hall. After that, either Leof would help her or she would have to return to Edoras anyway.

"It seems we are going the same direction then," she said. The conversation lapsed briefly, as they chewed their bread and listened to the rain pattering against the canvas. She swallowed, then said, "If you don't mind my asking, what is it you do at all these places you travel to?"

What a curious question. Some people would think he did nothing. Others would think he did everything.

"I watch, I listen, and I tell." Balan did not like to speak too much of himself. He preferred to let people wonder. But he did not ask this lad to join him to sit in secrecy and silence, so he continued. "Every thing has a tale. Some people believe that there is only one true tale - an account of this thing's life, a history. There are men who spend their years learning the lore of the past, following the thread of this tale into the depths of time, trying to unravel it where it knots and intertwines with other threads or disappears from sight completely, or else spinning the thread of their time, making it strong and clear, that ages hence it would still be visible. Theirs is a noble and laborious task. My task is lighter, for I am not bound to a single truth, but rather speak of many truths. I tell stories. I rarely speak of things that are, or that were; that is for men more learned than me. I speak of things that could be, and might be, and would have been. These are tales that cannot be true, and yet are no less true than any other. I believe that each thing can have many tales, all of them possible - though perhaps not here and not now. I can see the tales floating around the objects like the seeds of a lion's tooth flower. I capture the seeds, and let them grow and blossom, and then pick a spray and make a gift of it in hope that some of these flowers would give more seeds that would now grow and bloom in other gardens."

Balan spoke for longer than he intended to. Before he could catch himself, he was swept off his feet in the telling and carried off by a current of words. I cannot say even a simple thing without making it into a story. The thought, though warm on the whole, had a sour echo of a bad jest. Balan pushed it aside. Now it was the lad's turn. He decided to surprise him into speech, not so much to learn his business as to see his character.

"And you? Do you believe that a tale - a thing that to most has no substance, truth, or use - can be a gift?"

"I - I suppose so," answered Cerwyn, startled by the question at the end of the man's poetic philosophizing. She had tried to follow his speech, but, by some combination of lack of context and lack of interest, she had gotten lost in his metaphors.

She liked tales; all of her small village would show up when a wandering storyteller or minstrel came through town. She supposed he must be one of these, though why he had not just come out and say it, she did not know. She considered his question again. Many tales were untrue, of course - legends and fables that may once have had a basis in fact but had become exaggerated or confused over many years of telling. "But tales may have many uses - to teach, or enlighten, or entertain, or distract..." she trailed off. Maybe she had answered over-hastily. "The sort of tale you describe seems like a rather poor gift."

Balan smiled at the lad. "Yet a gift is neither poor nor rich. It is merely what it is. It is the people who give and who accept that make the gift useful or useless. A seashell may be worth more that a dragon hoard, and a feather way more than an iron sword. A word is at times the most useless gift of all, and at times the best gift one can give, but there is no difference in the word itself, only in what people make of it."

Cerwyn made a polite noise of acknowledgement. In truth, she was quite irritated: he'd asked her opinion, and, when she tried to give one, he'd twisted her words around and told her she was wrong. What was she doing here anyway? This was getting to be a waste of time. "I think the rain is letting up," she said, and indeed it was. The downpour had been as brief as it had been fierce, and was now settling into the sort of steady drizzle that could keep up for hours. They'd be sitting here all day if they waited for it to stop. "Thank you for the bread," she added as she reached for her pack.

Balan could sense interest cool in the lad's eyes, replaced with mild annoyance. Balan felt a tinge of disappointment, though he knew he should not have. People were busy with their own lives, he kept reminding himself; not all have time for words and wonders, and it is not always an ill thing.

He nodded in acknowledgement to the lad, who bent down for his sack, preferring not to speak. In that moment, the boy's features appeared even more childish, almost feminine, an illusion heightened by a stray lock of hair falling over his cheek. But in a moment, he brushed it aside, and the vision was gone.

Balan did not need long to bring down the simple tent. He joined the lad on the road as both resumed their trudge northward, towards the shelter of walls and roofs.

[Firefoot]

They were silent for a time as they walked along in the rain, and Cerwyn began to feel awkward with the lack of conversation. However, she wished neither to speak of herself nor to be drawn into another of the man's odd and frustrating conversations.

She also thought it awkward that she did not know his name but as she did not wish to volunteer her own, she did not ask.

Finally, she said, "Might you be willing to tell a story? It would make the road go faster, I think, and the rain seem less dreary."

[littlemanpoet]

Nydfara finished pushing the mud out the door and Rowenna got on her hands and knees and set to scrubbing the floor to rid it of that which the broom could not.

“So did you learn what you wished to know this morning?” asked Nydfara.

What was he asking? Rowenna paused, sitting back on her heels, and stared at nothing. Oh ... his talk with Eodwine. She looked up at him. His head was cocked in that way he had, looking down his nose at her, as if he were above her in more ways than mere height. It annoyed her and her face tightened into the beginnings of a frown.

But he was baiting her and she was not to be baited. "No, of course not." She began scrubbing again. "For you are full of untold stories. But your secrets are yours and I will not pry. If you bring the broom back to the kitchen you may get on with whatever it is that you have to do."

She kept scrubbing.

[Firefoot]

Despite her obvious dismissal he did not immediately leave. “You will not pry, but you will eavesdrop?” he said. There was no accusation in his voice; he was himself far too accomplished of an eavesdropper to find the habit distasteful. “But no matter. It seems everything I told Eodwine shall soon become public knowledge anyhow.”

She continued scrubbing. Frustrated, he bent to pick up his pouch from where he had left it. She was angry with him, it was clear; what was less clear was why. He realized he did not like having her angry with him, something of a novel feeling. He liked aggravating people, figuring out what bothered them and then using it. Well, this time her irritation was not his intention, and he did not know how to make her speak to him.

An image of his brother and his wife popped in to his mind, of them making up after a fight. Apologize. It galled him. He didn’t even think that he had done anything wrong, but he somehow knew that it was what Bedric would have done, though, and his brother seemed to have women figured out far better than him.

“I am sorry if I have somehow offended you,” he said stiffly, and turned to take the broom back to the kitchen.

[littlemanpoet]

She stopped scrubbing. His apology had come out stiff and curt, but it had been an apology.

"Nydfara! Stop!" He slowed but kept walking. "Please!" He stopped and turned.

"Answer me this and I will leave you be. Why did you come only to leave again?"

[Firefoot]

When Scyld turned around, there were many things he thought Rowenna might say, but this was not one of them. Who told her that he was leaving? He certainly had never said so. He did not try to hide his confusion.

"I have no plans for leaving," he said slowly. "Lord Eodwine has agreed to take me on for a year and a day, as a trial, and save that he cast me out or I find myself wholly unwelcome, I mean to stay." Amused, now, he asked, "When and to where had you heard that I was to go?"

[littlemanpoet]

"I - I thought I overheard..."

She must have heard wrong, or, miscast in her thought what she had heard. He had no intention of leaving. Her shoulders were relaxing and her face, which had been taut with pained anger, softened. The knots in her stomach untied and she felt elated. Why does this man mean this much to me? She needed to have a care.

"Well. I misheard." She put a smile on her face. "It is my turn to apologize. I am sorry for misreading your ... your ... you." She wanted to ask him if he had come back because of her, but to ask such a question would put her heart in his hands, and that was more than she could dare. For now. Not until she knew more of his purpose. If even then.

She allowed a smirk. "That broom is not going to walk itself back into the kitchen."

[Galadriel55]

They walked a long time in silence. After a while, the lad spoke. "Might you be willing to tell a story? It would make the road go faster, I think, and the rain seem less dreary."

“Then I shall tell you a tale of a land as dry and hot as ours is filled with rain and chill of late,” Balan responded smoothly. He did not yet know how the story would end; he only had a seed, and he would let it grow.

And so he told his companion of the Wraith of the Desert, cursed to live in endless thirst. Once the guardian of a bounteous land, he was charged to stand watch over its people and treasures, and for that he was honoured. He was the warden of the land’s tall towers, and of its lush shady trees, and its round silver pearls, and of its colourful blossoms. Yet, as the time went by, he forgot his duty, and disobeyed his task. With little thought for his people, he cared mostly for his own affairs. He tried to gain new treasures and new power, and sought them where one ought not go. He was hopelessly lost in broken promises and trickery, until finally, when hoodwinked by a black wizard, he traded him all of the land’s treasures for the greatest knowledge that there was. But the wizard deceived him, and escaped with the riches, and hid them in the four corners of the world.

Gone were the pools filled with glittering pearls. Without the shade of the trees, the sun scorched the land. Its towers crumbled to dust, and its blossoming fields were replaced by colourless mounds. And a great wrath rose from the people of the land, and they cursed the wayward guardian with a curse of great power, for so great was their grief and rage; never shall he part from this land, and suffer always the loss that he brought on it. Any towers that he builds shall scatter like sand on the wind; any colour that he paints shall starve and fade beneath the blazing sun; no roof shall shield him from the burning rays; no wealth shall he have to trade for the meanest harvest. The spirit of the land, he shall be what the earth is, and feel what the earth feels, until a child of this land entrusts him once again with the treasures that he so irreverently relinquished. Cursing him thus, the people left, homeless, hopeless, and bitter, to seek a place where they could live. Some went east, to the far mountains; others went west, to the restless sea; yet others went south, where the wetlands rule; and some went north, to the hard hills and gnarled pines; and none of them came back to their land, and it became truly desolate. Men shunned the place, for only thing that awaited them there was death.

For many years the desert grew, ever drinking up any moisture, ever thirsting for more. No amount of water that rare travelers brought with them could quench its thirst. The desert swallowed them all – the travelers with the water. Thus this land became known as the Thirsty Desert.

And Balan told the boy of the fate of the exiles, how their numbers dwindled, and their rage abated, and their hate was replaced by sorrow. He spoke how the last of the descendants of these people came together, men and women, old and young, to find the lost treasures that the black wizard hid on the edges of the world. Long was their search, and many died along the way. Balan gave each a name and a fate, and spoke long of their toils and adventures. By the end, only five of them remained, sailing eastward on a ship with the lost treasures. But the wind was treacherous and the shore was hostile; a storm seized the ship, carrying it away from safe havens, and broke it against the rocky cliffs, and drowned the gathered treasures. Only a young lad survived the storm, carried onto the shore by a wooden splinter. For a day he searched up and down the coast, calling the names of his companions, but all he heard was the dull roar of the diminishing waves and the mocking cackles of the gulls. Yet, when he was about to lose hope, he heard the sound of a human voice. He ran towards it and found the eldest of their crew, washed up ashore. The boy was glad, but the old man stopped him: he did not drown, but he was the last to live, and his bones were smashed against the rocks on the coast, and he would not live until sunset. He bid the boy to remember their quest, and find the wasteland that was once their home without delay, and give it all that he has yet to give, for the treasures were lost and this boy was the last of their people. But the boy stayed until the old man passed beyond this life, and wept for him, and built a cairn over him as best as he could. And with a mad despair in his heart, he set out to the Thirsty Desert. Onwards he went, though his food pouch emptied and his water flask dried. He did not stop at the edge of the desert, but toiled onwards to the heart of the desert, sinking in its colourless sand and choking on its hot dust.

Balan watched his companion during the telling. Now, the lad was looking straight ahead, but his eyes were clearly seeing sand dunes instead of puddles.

“And when the boy could walk no more..." Suddenly, a new path for the story occurred to Balan. "...he took off the hat that shielded him from sun and rain alike, and long locks spilled onto her shoulders, for this was not a boy but a young maiden.”

Balan looked at his companion with a hint of a smile and a mischievous spark in his eyes, waiting to confirm his suspicions or put them to rest and continue on with the story.

[Firefoot]

"Indeed it will not," Scyld agreed, and turned from Rowenna for the second time to take the broom to the kitchen. He felt exasperated and amused, and still not wholly sure he understood her.

All of that anger, over something she’d only thought he’d said? Maybe he ought to be more annoyed than he was, but he was much more amused at the memory of her flustered. Even when he tried, it was difficult to catch her at a loss for words. He liked seeing her so, with her defenses stripped away, if even for a few moments. Even more, it pleased him what he saw in those moments: that she would have been upset at his leaving and was now glad of his staying.

His good mood was tempered though, by the knowledge that she did not yet know everything. Wait until she heard the rest.

[Firefoot]

Wrapped up in the story, Cerwyn forgot the drudgery of their trek, her irritation at her companion, and even her fear of being found out. So when it was revealed that the lad in the story was actually a maiden, she was caught completely off guard.

She stopped and whirled around to face the storyteller. He had (what seemed to her) a knowing smirk on his face. “But how – when –” she spluttered. Her heart was racing and her stance wary, but he seemed no more threatening than he had when he thought her a boy. “What gave me away?” she asked.

[Galadriel55]

Balan watched as his companion staggered in surprise. He waited for her to regain her composure before he spoke.

“What gave me away?” she uttered finally.

“It is hard to tell,” Balan told her. “A bit of this, a bit of that. The way you reacted to some of the characters and adventures of the tale. The way your face looked when you were eager or anxious for what was to happen next. But I was not certain until now.”

The woman did not say anything at first, so Balan gestured to her to start walking again. “I see you would rather be a lad than a lass on this road,” Balan told her, “and I do not see why you should not remain such to others. If you do not wish it, I will not reveal you to the first passing stranger that we meet – if anyone else has the bad luck or bad sense to be on the road this day. But beware that you do not overstep yourself – I will not lie to other men to get you out of trouble. This is hardly your deepest secret, but I would grant you silence, if you so wish, in return for your friendship. Do you accept my offer?”

[Firefoot]

“I have committed no crime,” she said, irritated at his implications. “My brother is estranged from my father, and I wish to find him. I believe him to be at Scarburg, so if we are as close as I think, it hardly matters whether my gender is known or not.”

She sighed. “Nevertheless, it seems I have no choice. I will accept your offer, as long as you will finish the story,” she said, smiling slightly. “My name is Cerwyn.”

[Galadriel55]

“And mine is Balan,” he replied. “But I fear you mistook me: I never thought you had committed any crime, but I feared you might do so in the future. When desperation is great enough to make such a small secret matter so much – think of the deeds done by desperate men. And seeing how loathe you were to let go of your secret, surely it is not as unimportant as you make it sound.” Balan sighed. “But I will leave that for you, and finish the tale I began.”

So Balan spoke of the maiden, the last of the people who once dwelt in the land of the Thirsty Desert. ”O Wraith of the Desert!” she called, “Guardian of the Land-That-Once-Was! Come forth and accept these gifts into your keeping!” Her hands burning, she built a round mound from the heated sand. “Wraith of the Desert, I bequeath to you our tall towers!” With her knife, she pricked her thumb and let the blood stain the sand. “Wraith of the Desert, I bequeath to you the colours of our fields in bloom!” She spread her arms, shielding the mound from the sun. “Wraith of the Desert, I bequeath to you the shade of our mighty trees!” A silver tear rolled down her cheek and sunk into the thirsty ground. “Wraith of the Desert, I bequeath to you our glittering pearls and flowing rivers!” And with those words her last strength left her, and she fell onto the mound. “O Land-That-Once-Was,” she whispered, “I bequeath to you our quest and my life.”

She never left that mound, but around it an oasis grew. The maiden’s gifts were not powerful enough to restore the land to its former glory, but they were enough to change the desert. The rare travelers who braved that country noticed an island of green at the heart of the yellow wasteland. Thick grasses carpeted the ground, and leafy trees threw out their branches high above. Scarlet flowers bloomed all around. A creek flowed over a bed of while pebbles, until it was sucked in by the dry sand of the desert. The creek flowed from a small round well at the heart of the island, rimmed with sandstone and filled with sweet water. No matter how much the Thirsty Desert drank, the well never emptied. But men who would drink from that well said that as they leaned over the rim, they would hear a girl’s voice whispering to them; and they would say that the maiden never died, but became the guardian of the Green Island. They say also that every day the Wraith of the Desert comes to drink from her well, and he hungers not anymore for the lives of wayfarers. At the Green Island he quenches his thirst, and day after day marvels at the great depths of selflessness.

[Folwren]

"Do you know when it will be?" Elfthain asked. "I should change my clothes and will it go on long - I mean should I try to exercise Saff first or will there be time later?"

Thornden shook his head. “You’ll have time to ride her before court, I’ve no doubt,” he said hesitantly, “but with the rain coming down like it is, and the state of the roads, I would not exercise her today. But you are free to do as you please,” he added. He addressed himself to Javan before departing. “When you have finished helping Elfthain here, lend a hand to Léof.”

After leaving the young men at work on grooming Saff, Thornden went to find Léof.

“I was wrong, Léof,” he said when he found him hard at work mixing the soap for the leather. “There is to be court today after all, so there is probably not enough time to clean all of the leather. However, if you still wish to at least begin, Javan will help. I will, too, as I have time. I must make preparations for this afternoon. You have until the noon meal.”

He left Léof for the time being and spoke to Saeryn about getting dinner set early. He saw to it that the men and women knew that court was to be held that afternoon and to see to their daily tasks early and quickly.

The people of the hall were not idle that morning. Each worked quickly to accomplish as much as possible before the dinner at noon. After their meal, the tables were pushed to the sides of the room and the benches and stools pulled and arranged in a sort of semicircle facing the head table, which remained in place. A free space was left clear before the table.

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn enjoyed the rest of the story well enough, but the spell was broken. When it was over, they trudged along in silence for a time. Cerwyn’s mind wandered as she considered in turn the tale, her irritation at herself for having revealed herself, her even greater irritation at Balan for discovering her secret, and a certain level of resentment at the way he’d spoken to her regarding her secret. He kept talking about her “secrets” as if he knew better than she did, but he’d hardly listened at all when she tried to explain herself. He didn’t know her at all – who was he to give her advice?

Well, she had been doing just fine before he came along. Hadn’t he said, too, that he never stayed in one place long? Likely she would never see him again after a few days. The thought made her feel slightly more agreeable.

She walked with her head bent against the ongoing drizzle, but at some point she looked up and saw a rocky ridge rising before them. It might be pretty, she thought, in more pleasant weather. Now, though, a few ugly, half-melted drifts of snow were still clinging to the earth, and the low-lying fields around them were beginning to resemble small ponds. Rain ought to make the land feel clean, but instead it had created a dreary, muddy mess.

The road was following the base of a few small hills, and as they came around a bend, several buildings suddenly came into sight – much larger than the many small farmers’ crofts they’d passed. A curl of smoke was rising from the chimney. Cerwyn’s breath caught in her throat. “Is that it?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Balan. “It has changed a bit, but it is much as I remember.”

With their goal in sight, their pace quickened. When they drew near, Cerwyn said, “If I know my brother at all, he will be in the stables. I would look for him there first, but I will see you inside, I suppose.”

[littlemanpoet]

The rain pounding on the roof of the Hall made a dull roar. Eodwine sat at the head table and thought how humble this Hall was compared to other Mead Halls he had been in. Meduseld was the king of Mead Halls, and well it should be. It had length of days in its very feel. It was as if you could feel the presence of old dead kings and their eorlings right there in the hall with you. Here, it was just a big room with tables and chairs and all the earmarks of daily bustle. Eodwine smiled. He liked this. It was right for him.

That he was Eorl of this place seemed too grand a title, but he had learned to accept it. The folk gathered and sat in chairs. The tradition was that those with business at court lined up opposite the Eorl, and waited patiently until it was their turn.

Eodwine had done that his first few times, but it seemed unnecessary to him for folk to have to stand and wait. He had had small rocks that could fit in one's palm, gathered from the Scar, and had numbers chiseled in them. Thus, each of the wights who had business at court was given a place in line and could sit or stand where they wished. It was more comfortable.

Almost all had gathered. Just a little more time and they would begin.

[Firefoot]

Léof had spent most of the morning inside the Hall cleaning leather, as planned, and had just a few things to take back to the stables before Eodwine held court. He stowed them in the tack room, but as he was coming out he noticed a strange lad standing in the aisle, facing Æthel’s stall.

“Can I help you?” he asked, frowning and walking toward him.

The stranger turned toward him and laughed, a shockingly feminine sound. “It seems that Æthel has recognized me quicker than you have,” she said.

For a moment, Léof did not understand. Then: “Cerwyn? What are you doing here?” But he did not wait for an answer before sweeping her up in a hug. For a moment, Cerwyn felt years younger, remembering a time when her older brother’s hug had reassured that somehow everything would turn out alright.

“You’re soaking wet!” Léof laughed, stepping back and taking another look at her. “Are you wearing my clothes?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

Léof laughed again. He could still hardly believe she was here. “But what are you doing here?” he repeated. “And how?”

“I came to find you, of course,” she said. “You said you’d come back for me. I was tired of waiting.”

Léof flushed. “I never forgot about you.”

“So when were you planning to do something about it?” It came out more angrily than Cerwyn had meant, but in that moment she felt justified.

“I didn’t know how!” said Léof. “And I still don’t know what you think I can do.”

“Come home,” she said.

“You know I can’t do that,” he said.

“Maybe you can! Father is changing, I think. He’s going to remarry.”

“What! To whom?” If anything could startle Léof more than Cerwyn’s mere presence here, it was this piece of news: that his drunkard father could find someone to marry him.

“Everild – her husband died, a few years back,” she said. Léof recalled her – she had been kind to them, after their mother died.

“So he managed to put aside his drink long enough to go courting, did he?” asked Léof bitterly.

“At least a bit,” said Cerwyn. “She’s good for him, I think. He let me go to Edoras with her and her daughter and son-in-law, for tools and goods we could not buy nearby, which is more freedom than I’ve had in years.”

“And then you ran off from Edoras?” asked Léof incredulously. “He’ll never let you out of sight again.”

“It would be worth it, if you would just come home with me.”

“No.” Léof did not hesitate. “This is my home now.”

“But…” It had not occurred to her that Léof would not want to return with her. What about your family, she wanted to say. What about me?

“Father made it quite clear I was no longer welcome in his household. If he wants me back, he can come and tell me himself. Maybe then I would come to the wedding – but I would not stay. I belong here.”

“You’d rather play stableboy for some lord than be with your own family?” said Cerwyn, hurt creeping into her voice.

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Look around, Cerwyn! I run these stables, and I’m good at it! I don’t want to farm. I don’t want to work for Father. At least here I give my loyalty and service freely to a man who is worthy of it.”

“You’d send me back alone?”

“If Father’s changed so much, I don’t see why that would be such a problem.”

“Don’t you see? Now that he’s taking a wife, he won’t need me to keep house. He’ll marry me off, and he’s estranged so many of the men nearby with his tempers. He’s had a few men come by – possible suitors, I think. And they are all so old, or poor, wanting me only for my dowry and my housekeeping skills.”

“And what do you think I could do for you, by coming back?” asked Léof. “Just because Father might let me come home does not mean he would suddenly listen to me.” He held up a hand to cut off her angry retort. “Let me think, alright? Come on, you should change into some dry clothes. You can use my room for now.”

He led her to his small room in the stables. She went inside and closed the door behind her, looking around curiously. It was a simple, functional space, without much to decorate or personalize it. It did not look like the sort of home that her brother would claim to be so attached to. She would have to think of another way to convince him to come home.

She quickly stripped off her wet clothes and hung them to dry. There was a small towel beside a wash basin that she helped herself to, drying herself and rubbing away the worst of the mud and grime. Then she dug into her pack for a dress, relatively clean and dry.

Outside the room in the aisle of the stables, Léof paced anxiously. He was thrilled to see Cerwyn, of course; he and his sister had always been close. Nevertheless, her appearance complicated his life rather thoroughly. He would not leave Scarburg, but his sister could not be sent to make the journey home alone. She would have many people worried and angry with her; it would be best to at least send word quickly, if the roads were at all passable. Of course, he did not wish to force her to leave, if she would rather stay with him, but then they would have to speak with Eodwine…

Suddenly he remembered the court, which he was almost certainly now late to. Which it now seemed he had business to bring to. He nearly called in to Cerwyn to hurry, when the door opened and she came out, looking much more like herself in her own clothing – but also much more like a woman than the girl he remembered. She’s changed, he realized, and in more ways than one. He would never had dreamed she would have run off like she did; once, she had been the obedient one of the pair.

“We need to get inside,” he said. “Lord Eodwine – the Eorl – is holding court.”

Cerwyn didn’t fully understand what this meant, but she hurried to keep pace beside her brother.

“Look,” Léof said, thinking aloud. “I won’t move back home, but maybe you might come here. If it’s marriage father wants for you, there are many promising young men here of good standing.”

“I do not need you to marry me off, either,” said Cerwyn sullenly.

Léof smiled at her. “Sister, I do not care if you choose to stay unwed until you die, if that pleases you. You still need a good reason for Father to let you stay here, though, and I’m afraid you made it all the harder by running off from Edoras.”

Cerwyn nodded slowly. Yes, Father might see the sense in this plan, if she had not over-estimated his willingness to reconcile with Léof. But did she want to live here? She’d known one home all her life, and she did not know if she wished to leave it. “I will consider it.”

“Well, then,” said Léof. “I guess you ought to meet the rest of the Hall.” And they slipped quietly inside, not wishing to interrupt if court had already begun.

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain waited with an unexpected sense of mild anxiety. He fiddled with the numbered stone, passing it from hand to hand or shaking it like a die in his closed fist. He wasn't sure why he was nervous. Either he would be allowed to remain he would be sent back and he wasn't sure that wouldn't be a relief. Certainly Scarburg and it's environs compared unfavourably with Edoras and the Harrowdale.

This had been brought home to him on his ride. Thornden's words of discouragement had reminded him that his time might very soon be at another's disposal and having been raised that his horse's welfare was more important than his own comfort, he had decided to venture forth. He had reasoned that after a certain point it you couldn't be any wetter and there was no way he was going to turn Safran out in to the mudbath created by the heavy rain. It had taken the combined efforts of himself and Javan ages just to get her clean enough to saddle and she was a long way off the standard of grooming expected in his Eored.

Safran had been pleased to escape her confinement but even she found the conditions dismal, despite her master's cloak probably affording her as much protection as it did him. They sploshed their way to some woods a couple of miles East of Scarburg which Elfthain hoped would provide some shelter for him to school the mare but many trees had clearly been sacrificed during the Winter and the cover was inadequate. So after some perfunctory exercises and a very short canter on a drier stretch of track they had sploshed back.

It had been more an airing than a ride and Elfthain had been hard pushed to do all he needed to before the court. Safran had been rubbed down and reunited with her hay net. His tack was not too bad having been well cleaned the day before but his own cleanliness was a different matter. He had swilled as much dirt as he could off in the yard and then begged some warm water from the ladies in the kitchen and was again grateful for his mother's considerate gifts that may have induced them to grant this favour in the midst of their other tasks. Washed and dressed in his cleanest garments he was at least presentable. It might not be the level of dress or grooming he would have chosen for such a formal occasion before the king's representative but it was the best he could muster.

A slight creak from the door drew his attention and he turned to see Leof enter with a girl. A faint smile quirked Elfthain's lips as he wondered where the ostler had been hiding her up until now. Not that he blamed him for so doing: she really was very pretty.

[Folwren]

The people were gathering for court. The hall was filled with a polite buzz of conversation. Eodwine sat at the head table, patiently waiting until everyone was present. Thornden approached and leaned on the table, bending towards him.

"The lad Elfthain is here, as you wished, Eodwine. I told him you would hear him here at court. I watched him, as you bid me, and he was a little surprised, though not unduly so." He turned and looked behind him at the gathering people. "That is him, sitting there by Javan."

For a moment he considered him, and then turned back to Eodwine. "It looks as though he rode his horse today after all," he observed. "In truth, when I spoke to him of court, he seemed more concerned about whether it would interfere with his exercising than about appearing before you here."

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine nodded, spotting Elfthain.

He gazed around the hall. The folk were huddled for warmth, even with the hearth fire happily roaring; it did not drown out the rumbling of the rains on the roof. Eodwine shook his head. He hoped the rain what stop soon, or else there would be hard days.

"Let us get started. Who has the number one stone?"

Eodwine heard some matters of minor disagreements; news from near and far. There was a case of a couple who had lost their children, and a child who had lost his parents; they had already found each other; it was Eodwine's happy duty to 'say them yea' for a year and a day.

"Who is next? Who has the number five stone?"

[littlemanpoet]

Scyld stood up from his seat. "I do," he said, stepping forward to stand before the Eorl.

Eodwine had thought somewhat about how best to do what was needed about Scyld. He had settled his thought on two things. First, his own friendship to Scyld, so that others would see that his own choice was already that of welcome. Second, surprise to make sure that all were heeding. Eodwine stood; this was itself unusual, and it garnered the heeding he wanted.

"First, welcome back. You have my friendship already." Eodwine paused, glancing here and there among those gathered, gauging their hearing, how open or closed they seemed. He did not see anyone appearing ill disposed to Scyld.

"Now, name yourself ... and tell us somewhat of your story, both of your time away from us, and also, somewhat ... of times before." Eodwine sat.

Scyld had hoped not to speak much, that Eodwine might say what needed to be said and that he would be spared the necessity of telling aloud his story once more. There was nothing to be done for it though, and he began: "Many of those here know me as Nydfara, but this is only a name I took for myself. My right name is Scyld."

For her part, Rowenna had sat up straighter the moment Nydfara stood. Upon hearing his right name, her eyes opened wide and she looked upon someone whom she had not known. To her he was both a stranger, and familiar; perhaps more than familiar.

Scyld continued steadily, "I came to you as Nydfara, thinking myself a fugitive of the law, for I acted as Sorn's servant and jailor during the kidnapping of the Lady Linduial. In the end, Sorn would have killed her, but I helped her escape. I did not wish to also be party to murder. For my help, the Lady Linduial in turn did not lay a charge against me, though I did not trust her word at the time. I also wished first to know the people she had spoken of so highly. I came to you then full of doubt and mistrust, but in time found that Lady Linduial had spoken truly. I stayed longer than I planned. I left when I felt my secret was no longer safe."

So this, thought Rowenna, is what he had kept hidden all this time. This was how they were alike. Her heart beat fast and she listened for more.

"Two things have I done in my time away. First, I sought out the Lady Linduial, and gained from her a letter in support of my story. Second, I have gained some skill as a leatherworker, and I now offer my services as such."

"My thanks, Scyld. Before all these folk, I honor my word given earlier. You shall serve as one of our folk, as leatherworker, for a year and a day. At that time we shall meet again, and all those who would speak yea or nay at that time, will be given their chance. Is there anyone in this Hall who wishes to speak before I set my bond for a year and a day upon the man called Scyld?"

[littlemanpoet]

Having slipped in at the last moment as they had, the number on Léof's stone was quite high - they would be near or at the end. He was glad of it; he'd thought it would give him time to plan out what he meant to say. As it turned out, his thoughts seemed to run in muddled circles. He spoke so rarely of his life before; he wondered if Eodwine even knew he had a sister. How to explain - and how much?

Cerwyn was oblivious to her brother's turmoil. At first she was interested in the proceedings, but she quickly realized that the Eorl's court was the most boring possible event she could have arrived in time for. Even the kidnapper's story, which she thought might have been perfectly thrilling if he'd told it the right way, had been too flat and factual. Just as she was thinking it could go on no longer, Lord Eodwine called yet another number and Léof stood up.

"We are next," he said and gestured for Cerwyn to stand with him.

"Wait, what?" she hissed at him, but he just gave her a look and guided her forward.

"Lord Eodwine, this is my sister Cerwyn," he said. "She has... just arrived. I've not spoken to her long yet, but I wanted to ask if there might be a place for her here, if she wishes it."

Eodwine's brow rose, but with a smile said, "I greet you, Cerwyn." He paused. It seemed that Léof was unsure whether she wished to stay or not. "Did you come here, hoping to stay, or was there another reason?"

"I came to find Léof," Cerwyn said. "I thought he might come home with me. I did not know he would not want to."

Léof held his tongue. The less said, the better, it seemed to him, but he could not now tell Cerwyn what not to say without raising more questions.

Eodwine glanced at Léof, who's expression was as middling as he could make it. Eodwine could tell that he was ill at ease, stepping from foot to foot like a horse in the stall wanting to run in the fields. "Is Léof needed at home?"

It briefly occurred to Cerwyn to lie, that maybe then the Eorl would insist Léof go home with her. But no - too many ways for such a scheme to go wrong. "No," she said. "Just missed."

Eodwine smiled, and his heart went out to the girl. He leaned over the table and folded his hands, meeting her eyes. "I think it is too soon for you to bond yourself to Scarburg, surely not for a year or more. You are welcome to stay as a guest as long as you wish, and should you choose to bond yourself here, we can speak of that later. I am sure a place can be found for you. Is there anything else you wish to say?"

"Thank you," said Cerwyn, but Léof interjected.

"One other thing," he said, suddenly remembering. "Maybe I should have brought this up sooner. It seems that Cerwyn... neglected to tell anyone where she was headed. I think the roads will be impassable for several days, but perhaps it could be arranged to send word to our father when the caravan leaves? Or, if she prefers, to be accompanied home?"

Eodwine nodded. "Once the roads can be used again, we can arrange either to send word or see Cerwyn home safely."

“Thank you, lord,” said Léof, and they returned to their seats.

[Folwren]

This day of court was turning out to be more interesting than Thornden had anticipated. Everyone had known the outcome of certain questions – as the parentless child and the childless couple that were joined – and other small, predictable troubles of the Hall, but Nydfara’s confession was surprising.

Thornden watched him with mild interest as he first stood before the eorl. His eyes became a little steely, perhaps, when Nydfara told his story and revealed his true name and identity. He couldn’t help feeling Scyld had played upon all of them – had taken advantage of their good will and trust.

He glanced quickly at Eodwine. It was clear Eodwine had heard Scyld’s story already, and was having the man repeat it for the sake of the men there. He had already made his decision. When Eodwine asked if any wished to speak, Thornden held his tongue. He would give the man a chance, if Eodwine deemed him worthy.

He paid little heed to the next case as he recalled to mind the entire incident involving the Lady Linduial. He did not remember Scyld from that time.

He lifted his head again when the next number was called and Léof stepped forward with a strange young lady. He listened with interest and watched her keenly as Léof and Eodwine spoke. As Léof finished, Thornden smiled, amused at the girl’s apparent strong will. She was truly a girl of spirit of she left home without permission from her father and without his knowledge. He looked forward to knowing her better.

[Galadriel55]

Balan did not follow Cerwyn. Instead he wandered through the grounds, looking around. He noticed some structures that he did not see before. But he also saw sections that were taken apart. He wondered what could have been the reason for that.

He realized suddenly that there were no people around. Straining his ear, he traced a faint voice to the Great Hall. It seemed that there was a court. Balan stood at the back, not wishing to disrupt the proceedings, and watched with interest as the last people came forth to bring their queries to the Eorl. At the very end, when the Eorl was about to stand and close the court, Balan raised his voice.

“My Lord!” Heads turned towards him. He walked slowly to the middle of the Hall, as did the petitioners before him. “I give my greetings to you and your people. I am Balan Bard, traveling northward through this country. I ask your leave to share your roof and your bread for five days, or for as long as you will have me, and I will earn my stay with my tales.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Ho!" Eodwine smiled. "A teller of tales! Welcome, Balan Bard. Do you play tunes?"

"Alas, I do not," Balan replied. He had tried to make music several times in his life, but his hands were too clumsy and his hearing too coarse. "I admire greatly the talent of musicians, but my skill is in words alone."

"Maybe you can spin a yarn for us tonight by the hearth, if you are able and willing."

"I will so with your leave, Lord. There is always a will, but as for ability, that you and your folk shall judge for yourselves."

"So be it! I would have you sit at my table for our evening meal." Eodwine rose. "Unless there are any other matters to be brought before court today, we are done. Speak now or hold your peace until the next moon."

Balan bowed to the Eorl and followed the crowd outside.

Rowenna

Although Rowenna heard the rambunctious bard interrupt the proceedings, which the Eorl seemed to take in stride, her eye was on Nyd- Scyld. It would take some getting used to. She supposed that she should be offended that he had hidden so much from her; but he had done this to all, and now she understood. She knew that, had she been in his place, she would probably have done no differently. So they were alike. Oddly, she felt that she liked him more than she had. There was much about him that was still a mystery, but he had removed a wall between himself and all of them. She was glad of it. He glanced her way, once, and she knew that what he saw on her face was a smile and interest. He looked away, but she did not.

[Firefoot]

With the court over, folk began to disperse. Cerwyn turned to Léof. “Why didn’t you tell me we were getting up to speak?” she asked.

“I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Léof said. “There wasn’t much time, and I’m just trying to figure this out as I go – your being here, I mean. It’s still a bit of a shock.”

“Hmm,” said Cerwyn, not wholly satisfied.

“Court went well though,” said Léof. He felt terribly relieved, though rationally he didn’t know why he should have been so nervous. When had Eodwine ever been anything but good and fair to him? Still, suddenly forced now to worry about his family and his past again, Léof had felt as he stood up there as though he were sixteen again, anxiously wondering why a lord would take in a homeless, penniless lad of unknown origins to be his ostler.

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Cerwyn.

“And if you are to stay for a few days at least, we had best get you settled. Come, let me introduce you to the lady of the Hall.”

Cerwyn followed as Léof threaded his way through the people still milling about, talking or working to move the tables back to their usual configuration. They approached a woman much younger than Cerwyn expected, and she wondered briefly if the Lord Eodwine was a widower, and this was his daughter taking her mother’s place in the Hall. Or perhaps a daughter-in-law – she seemed too old to be unwed.

“Saeryn, this is my sister Cerwyn,” Léof was saying. “Cerwyn, this is Lady Saeryn, Lord Eodwine’s wife.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Cerwyn said, rapidly rethinking her theory. An arranged marriage then – in light of Cerwyn’s own fears about her future, the alternative did not occur to her. She wondered if the lady regretted her fate, or if she was pleased with her fortune. If one was to be forced to marry, she supposed one could do far worse than an Eorl, especially one who seemed to be fair and kind.

“Could you show Cerwyn where she can stay?” Léof asked. “I’ll bring in her things from the stables.”

[Folwren]

Saeryn smiled at Cerwyn and extended her hand in welcome.

“We are glad to have you here,” she said. “Any friend of Leof's is welcome here at the hall.”

The girl took Saeryn's hand and as Saeryn pressed it in welcome, their eyes met, and Saeryn thought she would like her.

She turned and began to lead her towards the room where the women slept. “We do not have as much room as we did before the winter,” Saeryn said. “Most of the women share this room.” The door swung open and Saeryn led way in. The room was full of the beds. There was not much space left, but it was orderly and neat. The beds were all made-up, the corners tucked in. A few chests of wood stood against the wall between some of the beds.

Saeryn led her down between the rows until she had gone nearly to the back wall.

“You may stay here,” she said. She looked a moment at the quilted cover on the bed. The woman who had slept here and who had sewn the quilt, had been one of those who died during the long winter. For a moment, her lips pressed a little tighter together, and then she turned back to Cerwyn.

“You may put your belongings into that chest,” she pointed.

They stood still for a moment. Cerwyn looked around and Saeryn looked at her.

“I hope you are not very disappointed if Leof decides not to return with you,” Saeryn said at length. “He has a home here, and he has made a place for himself. That means a lot to a young man like your brother.”

[Firefoot]

Having lived alone with her father for so long, it was a bit of a shock to Cerwyn to see so many beds lined up in the same place, to imagine sleeping in the company of so many other women. She supposed, though, that it seemed as comfortable and homey as such a place could be – clean, with small touches of decoration near some of the beds hinting at the tastes or personalities of their occupants. Her study of the room was interrupted by Saeryn’s comments about her brother, which eerily echoed his own words earlier.

Cerwyn shrugged, trying to pass off her disappointment. “It was a slim hope anyway - it's good just to see him. And even if Léof wanted to come, I’m not sure Father would let him.”

[Folwren]

Saeryn looked closely at Cerwyn. Over the years, Léof had not spoken much of his family, but Saeryn had heard enough, and read enough between the lines, to know that his father was not a kind man. Her own experience under the hard tutelage of her eldest brother gave her the ability to see behind some of the words said, or in many cases, to guess at what was unsaid.

“So Léof was serious when he said you left without telling anyone. I thought perhaps he was heightening the tale to add urgency to his request. Your father does not know where you have gone? What do you think he will say when you go back?”

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn shrugged again. “There’s not much he can do to make things worse than they already are,” she said. “I was rarely allowed to leave the house, and he already seems to have plans to marry me off. He keeps parading suitors through the house, each one poorer or uglier or older than the last.”

She hesitated, and seeing nothing but kindness and compassion in Saeryn’s face she asked the question that had been bothering her. “Was your marriage to the Eorl arranged?”

[Folwren]

Saeryn laughed, surprised at the question. "Heavens, no!" she said. "There was no one to arrange a marriage between us!" She laughed again, and her expression grew a little distant as she recalled to mind the time before their marriage. "We loved each other," she said. She looked back at Cerwyn. "That's why we married."

Saeryn looked at her, wondering what her thoughts were. "Is that really why you came here, Cerwyn?" she asked. "To get away from your father? Were you afraid he would decide for you one day and force you into a marriage?"

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn, surprised at Saeryn’s response and embarrassed now about her question, was relieved that Saeryn did not seem offended. At the same time, she found herself slightly disappointed that her guess was wrong; Saeryn seemed so understanding.

“I am afraid of that, yes,” said Cerwyn, “and I hoped that somehow Léof could help. Maybe that sounds silly… Léof already told me he doesn’t know what I thought he could do. I’ve never left my village before, so when Father said I could go to Edoras, I knew that I had to try and find Léof. I didn’t know if I’d ever have the chance to get so close again.”

[Folwren]

Saeryn nodded, understanding. She reached out and touched the girl's shoulder companionably. "I will speak to Eodwine of your matter, if you wish, and we will see if we can help you. Until then, and at least until the rains have passed, you will stay here with us. Would you like that?"

--

Eoghan and Ruari

The children were not required to stay during the court proceedings. They wandered in and out of the hall, checking to see how things were going, and wondering how soon all the grownups would be done with their dull goings-on, and when they would turn their attention to more important things, like preparing the next meal. Normally, it was not as extremely dull as today. It was common for the children to spend the hours outside, but today, the rain poured incessantly, and it was too cold to withstand the wet. So the children were forced to remain inside.

They amused themselves for a while by walking through all the rooms of the house. They found Wilhearrd lying quiet and still on his bed. Eoghan and Ruari stood for a moment contemplating him. Then Ruari said to Eoghan he must be feeling very ill, if he was not moving at all, and Eoghan agreed. They turned and walked out.

The hall was brighter and cheerier than the dark room and for a while, they sat by the fire and drew shapes and pictures in the ashes that lay on the hearth. The court went on unheeded behind them. Ruari began drawing the shapes of letters she knew and pointed them to Eoghan. Eoghan wrote his name and whispered it to Ruari. Ruari wrote her name, and whispered it to him. A few moments of silence followed while they both busily wrote in the dust. Then Eoghan said he had spelled a word, and Ruari said he hadn’t, for he didn’t know how to write. They bickered back and forth, and then Ruari smudged his word out with her hand. There was almost a fight, but Ledwyn came over and told them to hush.

They stood up, brushed the ashes from their hands and knees, and searched for a new form of pastime. They went to their parents’ room and found their father’s sword. With some difficulty, they picked it up and laid it on the bed. They did not try to draw it out of the sheath, but they admired the carved hilt. Ruari stroked the leather of the sheath.

They heard some hubbub in the hall. They glanced at each other quickly and then hastily put the sword back where they had found it. When they returned to the hall, they found it had been a false alarm and that the court was still proceeding. They sighed, and looked for something else to do.

At long last, everyone had had their say before the eorl. The meeting was breaking up. The children ran to the kitchen, shouting with excitement now that no one would chide them for being too loud. They knew the women were often easy to wheedle something out of. They climbed up the bench and knelt with their hands on the table and their eyes bright and expectant as they glanced around. Already there was preparation going on for the evening meal, and at first, no one paid them any mind.

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn smiled. “I would appreciate that very much. Thank you,” she said.

Just then, Léof showed up in the doorway with Cerwyn’s pack. He hesitated a moment. It felt strange to him to come into the women’s bedroom, but he saw no rational reason why he should not bring it in to where Cerwyn and Saeryn were standing.

“Here you are,” he said. “I’ll let you get settled. If you’d like to come find me after, I’ll be in the stables until supper.”

[Firefoot]

Scyld had been careful not to meet anyone's eye after giving his account. Thankfully, no one had objected out loud, but Scyld suspected this had more to do with the people's trust in Eodwine than with any kind of goodwill toward him.

He would have to face them eventually, of course. He wasn't even sure what he was so afraid of: it was not as if he had ever been much liked before. What did the opinions of others mean to him?

But they did matter, however much he wished to deny it. Eventually, whether he felt the stare and needed to meet it, or just wanted to see if there was any chance that he still had something like an ally or friend here, he looked up.

Rowenna was watching him. He studied her face carefully but briefly and saw no trace of anything false in her smile. Confused, he looked away, but he did not forget.

[Folwren]

“I will leave you to unpack and freshen yourself,” Saeryn said. “I will have fresh water brought to you so you can wash. If you have not eaten, come to the kitchen when you are ready and have something.”

She followed Léof out of the room, picking up the wash bucket as she left. She took it to the kitchen, where she found several of the other ladies already hard at work, and her two children sitting expectantly at the table.

“Mama!” Ruari called when she saw her. “We’re hungry!”

“You can wait till supper,” Saeryn said. She opened the kitchen door and flung the old water from the bucket out into the muddy yard. She closed the door again and poured some water from one of the full buckets that had been brought in that morning. “In the mean time, you two take this to the women’s chamber. Cerwyn is waiting for it.”

“Who’s Cerwyn?” Eoghan asked as he slid off the bench.

“Léof’s sister!” Saeryn said cheerfully. “You shall meet her. Come, Ruari, and help your brother.”

Ruari climbed down reluctantly and took the other side of the handle and helped Eoghan lift the water. Saeryn held the door open for them and they carried the bucket out into the hall. She watched them until they knocked at the women’s quarter’s door, then she turned to the ladies in the kitchen. “How are things coming along?” she asked. “Has anyone checked on Wilheard since court ended?”

[Firefoot]

Left alone, Cerwyn took a moment to more closely inspect the small space that had been given to her. She sat on the bed and thought it seemed comfortable enough. The quilt was soft and made from earthy-colored patches: rich browns, reds like clay, and golds that put her in mind of wheat fields at harvest time.

She stood and went to the chest at the foot of the bed. No adornments marked its lid or front, but it opened quietly and smoothly, giving testament to excellent workmanship and good maintenance. She had hardly opened her pack to begin moving her possessions to the chest when there was a knock at the door.

She looked around, despite knowing that she was the only one there, and called out, “Come in!”

In came a pair of youngsters, lugging a bucket between them.

“Are you Cerwyn?” asked one of them.

“I am,” she said, “and who might you be?”

[Folwren]

“I’m Eoghan,” the lad responded.

“And I’m Ruari. Lord Eodwine’s our father.”

“We brought you some water,” Eoghan said as they placed the bucket down before her.

They stood for a moment surveying her from head to foot, grinning a little. When they spoke again, they both spoke at once.

“Are you older or younger than Léof?” Ruari asked, and Eoghan said, “Léof is going to teach me to ride.”

There was a short pause, and Ruari looked at Eoghan and then back at Cerwyn. “Me, too!” she said. Eoghan turned his head to her.

“Not so! You haven’t asked Papa.”

Ruari tossed her head, deciding that moment that she would ask him as soon as they were through here. She turned back to Cerwyn and smiled conspiratorially.

--

Saeryn

No one had looked in on Wilheard. Saeryn nodded. “Ledwyn, would you mind very much going in and seeing if he needs anything? I would, but I have a matter I would speak about with Eodwine.”

“Certainly,” Ledwyn agreed.

“Take him more tea if nothing else,” Saeryn said as she departed from the kitchen.

Eodwine still stood by the table. Thornden was in discussion with him, but when he saw Saeryn approaching, he drew away.

“Eodwine, I need to talk to you, concerning Léof’s sister.” She sat down in the chair by his and he resumed his seat. She faced him, and leaned in slightly, resting her arm on the table and folding her hands together.

“Cerwyn did not just come here to find Léof. She came because she was frightened to stay at home any longer. She believes that her father has intentions of marrying her to any one of his numerous friends. She has no desire to be married, and from the description of the men whom her father has found for her, I do not blame her. She received permission to go to Edoras, it seemed, and instead of going there, she traveled on and came here instead. She said she did not believe she would find opportunity to leave home again before it was too late.

“I fear for her safety, Eodwine. If she is sent back, I do not think her father will treat her well. Once she is back with him, he will not soon allow her out of his sight again, and he may well seal her marriage to someone old enough to be her own father.”

[Firefoot]

On his way back to the stables from the women’s quarters, Léof turned a corner and nearly collided with someone. “Sorry, not watching where I’m going…” he trailed off when he realized it was Nydfara – Scyld.

“Indeed not,” said Scyld. Léof fought to keep his features even; after all, had not Scyld been equally not watching his way? The man was truly irritating. Léof wished he understood why Eodwine had taken him in. Any other leatherworker in all of Middle-earth and Léof would have been thrilled – it was so much more convenient to have someone in the Hall when tack needed repair or replacement.

“Sorry,” he said again. “Anyhow, when you’ve got a few minutes, would you mind coming to the stables? I’ve a few bridles and a saddle that need some work.”

“I’m free now,” said Scyld, glad for something productive to do. He’d helped restore the tables in the hall to their right position after court ended, but that hadn’t taken long and he’d found himself at a loss for something to do.

“Very well,” said Léof. He had plenty to do, but this wouldn’t take long. He led Scyld to the stables in silence.

“Mostly it should be pretty easy work,” said Léof as they entered the tack room. Léof was glad of this; he was still skeptical of Scyld’s claims about himself and Léof was glad to have the chance to the quality of Scyld’s work on a few simple tasks before entrusting him with anything more complex.

Scyld nodded and took mental notes as Léof began to show him what needed to be done. As Léof had said, it would mostly be easy work: re-sewing a couple seams, replacing one of the straps on a halter, and the like.

“Last one,” said Léof, holding out a bridle. “A mouse got to this one.” Scyld could see where one of the reins had been chewed nearly all the way through close to the bit. “Normally the cats do a good job with the mice, but one seems to have gotten past them,” Léof was saying irritably.

“Have you tried using mint?” asked Scyld absently, still studying the bridle.

Léof frowned. “No, how do you mean?”

Scyld looked up. “Either mix just a little bit into your leather cleaner, or rub the oil from the plant around the tack room. Should keep the mice away.”

“I’ll try that,” said Léof. Certainly couldn’t hurt. Maybe put some in the hay loft as well… no, best to wait and see if it worked. It took a lot of mint to make a fairly small amount of oil.

“The easiest way to fix this might be to just shorten the rein, rather than replacing it entirely,” said Scyld, referring again to the bridle in question.

Léof considered. “Yes, I think that would be fine,” he said.

“Good,” said Scyld. “I have the tools but not the raw material to fix most of these things. With the roads as they are, I’m not sure how long it will take.”

“Of course,” said Léof. “Thank you.”

“At your service,” said Scyld, and Léof couldn’t tell whether or not he was being mocked. He watched as Scyld left, thinking that overall that hadn’t gone so poorly. Well, anyone could behave themselves on the first day. Scyld would have a whole year to prove his mettle – or show his true colors, as the case may be, and Léof wasn’t the sort to take bets.

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn glanced back and forth between the children, unaware of the undercurrents at play but sure that Léof would have his hands full with the pair of them.

“Well,” she said, “Léof is my older brother, by three years, and I’m sure that he’d be happy to teach both of you to ride if your father says he can.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine frowned and nodded. He knew what was going on in his wife's thought when she spoke thus. Her eyes were intense and focused, her face set in that determined look she had when there was nothing that could possibly stand in her way ... except for her husband. However, this time his thought was much as hers once she gave him this news.

"She is under my protection while she is here. And she is in our care. Do you think that she wants to stay for a while? What would you do?"

[Folwren]

Immediately, the knot of worry in her stomach relaxed slightly. Her face softened into a small smile. “I think she would be relieved to stay here, at least for a while,” she said. “I fear that she is going to be disappointed: I don't think that Leof will go home with her. Maybe when he makes that decision, she will want to stay.

“If that is her choice, Eodwine, I think she would do well here. If she is anything like Leof, she will be kind and hard working, and we will not be sorry for her presence here. Now that the winter is passed, and we have had supplies from Edoras, we can take on another member of the household.”

She did not feel the need to mention that their company was much depleted after the winter, and Cerwyn would fill in at least one of the vacant places. She knew Eodwine felt the loss of his people more keenly than anyone. She only hoped he would agree that Cerwyn would fit well there.

--

Ruari and Eoghan

Ruari beamed with perceived victory in the situation, and Eoghan squirmed, but he kept his mouth firmly shut, having the sense that it would be impolite to contradict the lady. He was not so sure at all that his father would allow Ruari to join him in his lessons to ride. He did not want her to join him. He wanted to learn on his own.

They stood for a moment in unbroken silence, and then Ruari turned and ran off, the first, as always, to move impetuously.

“'bye,” Eoghan murmured, and turned to follow his sister.

They had not even opened the door again before Ruari began speaking as though Cerwyn were not there. “I am going to ask Papa right away,” she said.

“No, you're not!” Eoghan replied.

They struggled to get out the door first, and Ruari won, only because she had reached it first by the fraction of a second. She tore across the hall with Eoghan close behind. “Papa!” she cried, scrambling up the side of his chair opposite her mother. “Papa, can I learn to ride with Leof like Eoghan?”

Eoghan appeared at his other elbow, and he stood, glaring darkly at his sister. He even looked a little hurt, as though he knew what his father's answer would be, and he already felt disappointed.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine picked up his daughter with both hands, catching her under her arms, closing his hands behind her back; the he swung her round and round in the air, her little body straight as a flag in the wind. She started giggling with glee.

"Me next!" shouted Eoghan, jumping with excitement.

Eodwine put Ruari down and picked up his grinning son and had him up in the air, whooping with glee. After a while he put his son down.

"Again!" cried Ruari.

Instead, Eodwine fell to his knees (half dizzy) and looked his daughter in the eye. "When did you suddenly want to ride a horse? Was it not when you found out that your brother would? Do you really want to ride a horse, or is there something else that you want more? Choose with care, my lovely lass." He held her eyes with his own, hard glinting. He knew his daughter had a will like few he knew. It needed refining like a sword. This was a chance to do just that.

[Folwren]

Ruari looked at her father, her eyes glinting. A smile played around her lips. From behind Eodwine, Saeryn saw her look, and she raised her eyebrow. That expression always preceded trouble.

Ruari flashed Eoghan an look of triumph. She had her father in her pocket, and she knew it. Eoghan lifted his chin defensively, waiting for her reply.

"I want to ride," she confirmed. "If Eoghan gets to learn, then I want to, too."

"Papa, it is not fair!" Eoghan burst in before Eodwine could reply.

Saeryn opened her mouth to rebuke Eoghan for interrupting, but she shut it again. Eodwine was right there. He was the one who was interrupted. He could handle them. She watched, curious to see exactly how he was going to answer.

[littlemanpoet]

It was like dealing with a fractious man at arms, ambitious and wilfull; and a defensive fellow man at arms who felt his advantage slipping.

"Eoghan, your mother and I will decide what is fair and right. Ruari, you do not want to ride, you want to win and see your brother lose. Your mother and I will choose what you get to do and what not. We two will talk. Now go play."

[Folwren]

His answer was not truly satisfying to either child. Eoghan still felt his opportunity to learn something without his sister tagging along still in danger. Ruari was no longer as certain of her victory. The disappointment showed in both their faces, but neither contradicted him. They stepped away and turned to go play.

Saeryn watched them go, shaking her head when she saw them already beginning to compete again. Their walk turned into a trot, and then into a run, as though they had somewhere important to go.

“You'll have to give them an answer before the day's done,” she said.

"No, my dear, we will have to give them an answer before the day is done." Saeryn grinned, thinking she already knew what she thought the right answer was. But she also knew Eodwine would wish to give it more time and thought, so she turned the conversation back to Léof's sister.

“As to Cerwyn, what say you? Shall I invite her to become a part of our household here?”

"I say yes. The choice is still hers whether or not, and for how long. Now, what say you of Ruari's sudden wish to ride a horse? Think on it, and let us talk away from all other ears."

"I will think on it. Let me see how things go in the kitchen, and I will talk to Cerwyn, and then let us decide."

Eodwine agreed, and Saeryn went towards the women's chamber to speak to Cerwyn before taking her to the kitchen and introducing her to the other women.

[littlemanpoet]

As Saeryn went to Cerwyn, Garreth Smith came into the Hall, dripping wet and baleful in the eyes.

"Ho Garreth!" said Eodwine. "How are things at the smithy?"

"Well enough, toasty and smelling of metal and sweat, as always. But it'll be smelling of dung and so will this place afore long. The dung pit's overrun its bounds. He lifted one muddy boot. Eodwine realized with a wrinkle of his nose that it wasn't just mud on that boot.

"Oh for the love of..." he muttered. "I had better go see."

"You won't have to travel far."

Eodwine sighed and followed Garreth out the door.

[Firefoot]

Having already refreshed herself briefly in Léof’s small room, Cerwyn did not need long to wash up. Further, the promise of something to eat kept her from dawdling. The swirl of events since she had arrived had driven the thought of food from her mind, but she now realized her last meal had been Balan’s bit of bread and the last of her dried meat on the road, and she was now ravenous.

So, once she had washed, she took her entire pack and placed it in the chest without unpacking anything. It did not fit quite right that way, and the lid did not shut by about a finger’s width, though she suspected that if she were to stow her possessions properly, they would scarcely fill half the chest.

Hunger won out; she would fix it later. She left the room and was just beginning to wonder which door might lead to the kitchens when she caught sight of Lady Saeryn. Cerwyn walked up to her and said, “I would gladly take your offer of something to eat now.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine

It did not take long for Eodwine to survey the problem and the damage.

"How many spades do we have in Scarburg, Garreth?"

"Not enough I'll wager."

"Go and find all you can while I rouse the folk."

"I'll get Harreld's aid."

Garreth turned and jogged toward the smithy. Eodwine ran to the stables, where he found Léof. Did he smell mint? Odd. "Léof! Help me gather the folk, all able bodied men and women. The dung pit has overflowed and we need to get to work! You go to the Hall and I'll see who there is to round up elsewhere!"

Garreth

Garreth threw the door open. "Harreld! How many spades do we have?"

"What would you want to dig in this miserable rain?"

"The dung pit's overflowed. Probably trenches. What do we have?"

"No wonder you stink! About a half dozen if we're lucky."

"Bring them to the dung pit then check the armory. I'll check the Hall."

Garreth left the smithy, knowing his brother would do what needed to be done.

[Firefoot]

Leof could not keep himself from grimacing at Lord Eodwine's announcement. Just when it seemed that an already full day was winding down and he might figure out what to do with Cerwyn and what he was supposed to write to his father... which was nearly as undesirable a task as tending to overflowing human waste. He'd choose a stable full of stalls to muck over either task any day of the week.

Nevertheless he hastened to the Hall where people were milling about, talking before supper or tending to any number of small indoor tasks that never seemed to end, no matter how many rainy days kept them in.

He hesitated; it was unlike him to bring all the attention to himself but it would be far quicker to make the announcement to everyone at once. He needed their attention; he put his fingers to his lips and whistled, the sort of whistle that brought horses from the farthest corners of their pastures in for their dinners. Silence fell.
"Lord Eodwine has just told me that the dung pits are overflowing from the rain." A ripple of disgusted murmurs ran thorough those assembled. "And all who are able are to join him outside."

~*~*~*~

Folwren's post - Saeryn

Saeryn turned from Eodwine to go find Cerwyn who met her halfway across the hall. “I would gladly take your offer of something to eat now,” the girl said.

Searyn nodded and smiled. “I thought you would be hungry after a journey like that! Rain and mud takes it out of a body. The kitchen is this way.” She led her towards the kitchen as she spoke. She saw Eodwine speaking with Garreth, and she took a second glance when she saw Eodwine’s face wrinkled in disgust and displeasure. I wonder what is amiss, she mused inwardly just before pushing open the kitchen door.

“Rowenna, Frodides, Kara,” she said, entering. “Meet Cerwyn, Léof’s sister. She will be staying with us for a while.”

The women accepted Cerwyn into their midst and as they carried on conversation, Saeryn cut her some bread. She looked into the pots boiling over the fire. A thick healthy steam rose out of the first one she opened. She reached for a spoon and fished out some of the vegetables. They were not boiled to perfect softness yet, but they would be enough to tide Cerwyn over until the evening meal.

“I am sorry we have nothing better yet,” she said as she laid the bowl on the table. “Tonight we shall have a fine spread.”

Ledwyn entered the kitchen as Cerwyn sat down. “How is Wilheard?” Saeryn asked.

“He was asleep. I left him some brewed herbs,” Ledwyn replied, quietly.

“Thank you.” Saeryn looked away, but she watched her covertly as she walked across to the washtub and resumed her work of washing the remaining pots and utensils from the noon meal. Saeryn knew Ledwyn still grieved for her boy’s loss, but Saeryn did not know how to comfort her or what to say. She felt, sometimes, that the presence of her two, healthy children must be a bitter reminder to Ledwyn of her own child. Saeryn’s heart ached for the woman, but she did not dare try to express it.

Léof’s whistle from the hall interrupted her thoughts. She lifted her head towards it. She remembered Garreth speaking to Eodwine, and Eodwine’s grimace. She sighed. Something was wrong. “We’d better go out,” she said. “Stay here and finish up,” she told Cerwyn, laying her hand on her shoulder as she passed. “If it concerns you, I will let you know.”
She came back a moment later, her lips pursed in thought. “We have work outside,” she said in answer to Cerwyn’s questioning look. “The dung pits have over flowed.”

“May I be of service?” Cerwyn asked, rising.

Saeryn shook her head. “No. Stay here. You are tired and worn and have had more than your share of wet and mud today. If you are not too weary, you can see after our supper.”

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn had no case to bring before the Eorl. She sat silently in the back and let her mind wander. The court was long, and her interest waning. She used to have a cause for worry, and for planning, but she did not have one anymore. Let the others do what they must; it was of no importance to her. As her mind wandered deeper into itself, she saw small feet splash through puddles. They slowed down and stole around the yard. Then, noticing her, they leapt up and disappeared behind the corner. She chased after them, but, rounding the corner, she did not see anything. She looked back: no, she did not pass them. She gazed around her, searching for a trace. Then she knew they were on the roof. She looked up, and there they were. Now he will climb down to me. But what's that? The feet tripped and tumbled over each other, going over the edge of the roof where she couldn't see. No! That is not what happened! she was about to cry out, when something soft and grey flew into her face and she woke up with a start.

It seemed that court has just finished; people were still standing up from their seats. Ledwyn felt her cheeks colour as she realized she fell asleep in court. It was her good fortune that she took her seat in a back corner, where not many people would have seen her doze. Looking down, she realized she was wearing the same shawl that was carried by the wind. She was not sure if the boy in her dream fell or flew. And he never tripped at all in the first place, she thought angrily, but she took off her shawl nonetheless. She shivered slightly, but she did not put it back on.

Ledwyn again fell into step with the household routine, doing what she did everyday. When Lady Saeryn asked her to check on Wilheard, she obliged silently. The young man was asleep, his brow still feverish. It was just as well, for Ledwyn had little love for him and had no wish to speak, but she fixed his covers and left a cup of brewed herbs on a nearby chest for when he would wake.

She just began to clean a pot in the kitchen when she heard a shrill whistle. She put the pot away and stepped outside to hear the announcement. She saw Kara beside her wrinkle her face in distaste, and heard a few not too kind things among the mutterings of the men, but some sour jokes too. She didn't feel either way. What ought to be done must be done, however little you like it, so there is no advantage to disliking it. That was how her life always worked.

She asked Kara if she may borrow her spare shawl to go outside. Kara nodded impatiently, and Ledwyn walked briskly to the women's room to get it before stepping outside into the rain.

[littlemanpoet]

Garreth and Harreld came from the armory to find a crowd gathered near the dung pit on a patch of ground still above the flood. Eodwine was walking the perimeter. They had found two more shovels, making eight altogether, not nearly enough for this crowd. They came to Eodwine and told him the bad news.

He nodded grimly. "You two go back to the smithy and make two dozen shovels. They need not be pretty nor refined, just useful for slinging dung and dirt. I care not what you use to make them. I want them made before supper."

They looked at each other, hearts sinking, for that would usually be a three day project, and to make shovels that fast meant cutting corners. Shovels they would be, but unpretty things still looking like what they had been before. "We will need two people to handle the blower and to fetch for us."

"Take whom you will."

They headed into the crowd, Eodwine overhearing Garreth mutter to Harreld, "No women."

He went to the bedraggled gathering. "We have only eight shovels. The smiths will make two dozen more by supper, and the first of them should be ready to use as soon as they are made; I care not whether the dung steams on your shovel or not. In the meantime, gather whatever scrap of flat anything you can find, or use your hands if you must, because a trench must be dug. I will show you where." The folk looked at him in dumb and unwilling disbelief. "If we do not do this, we will sicken and have death among us in a matter of days! Go find some tool if you will not work with your hands. Now!"

The crowd broke apart into scurrying groups, except for eight men wielding the prized shovels.

"I will show you where to start digging."

[Firefoot]

Scyld by chance had been standing near the shovels when Eodwine made his pronouncement, and he was not shy about taking one. The thought did briefly cross his mind to return to the Hall with only the pretense of finding something else to dig with, but he could only hide out for so long. If he was to dig he would rather have a proper shovel.

He followed Eodwine, sinking up to his ankles in mud and worse things. At the designated area, he set his spade to the earth. It dug in easily to the soft earth, but he felt the strain in his back when he tried to lift the first shovelful of heavy wet earth. Smaller scoops, then. The hole seemed to fill immediately with water.

Scoop after scoop and he felt as though he was hardly accomplishing anything. He tried to ignore the smell, the soaking rain, and the grime that was slowly coating his clothes and exposed skin.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna had come out with everyone else. Not enough shovels, she thought. What could she possibly use? Ladles? Pots and pans? They would have to do, and could be cleaned later. She had a hunch that the cooks and kitchen maids would say her nay, but she would give them a talking to, if it came to that.

She was pleased with Eodwine's forcefulness and quick action. Of course, quick action was what was needed. If he had not gotten them to do what was needed, then there would be little use to staying here.

She looked over her shoulder at the Scar. Would it not be better to build a settlement on those heights? What had possessed that fool brigand lord to build in a virtual swamp?

She passed through the Hall to the kitchens, and found a pot that she regarded to be just her size. It would be back breaking work, but she would heal.

"What are you doing!" came the inevitable cry. It was Frodides.

"I'm taking this pot to dig a trench."

"But you will get it dirty!"

"If I do not, we will not be able to live! Now find a pot yourself, or at least a ladle if that is the best you can do, and come help!"

She took her pot and without a backward glance, headed off to the digging.

[Folwren]

Thornden seized upon a shovel and found himself working side by side with Scyld. They flung the muck and filth into a heap on the far side of the would-be trench. He noticed, just as Scyld and all the other diggers noticed, how progress seemed impossible and new water and mud filled the trench with each shovelful taken out.

“If the mud continues to flow like this, we may need to brace the sides with boards,” Thornden said aloud, but more to himself than to Scyld. The trouble would be finding boards. “Stone would work, too,” he added after a moment’s consideration. They had stones in plenty. But further reflection caused him to realize that stones would sink and would not be as useful. Hopefully they would not need to use either. Some progress was being made, and more and more people were joining them with makeshift tools to scoop away the sludge.

He spotted Ruari and Eoghan some way down the line. He only recognized them from their short stature. Most of the people were indistinguishable in the gray, streaming curtain of rain. Every head was bent, every back stooped. He turned his eyes and attention back to the end of his shovel.

The twins thought they were helping with the task at hand. They had not asked for permission to come out, they had simply followed the general crowd. They immediately grasped understanding of the situation and had gone to find something with which to dig. They returned and squeezed in between members of the line and squatted down and began to dip and fling the muck. No one paid them much mind, as they did no harm, and if they were in the way, they were asked to move down the trench.

The trench was slowly taking form. It never was empty, but the thick muck that was being removed was replaced by water, presumably flowing down from the dung pits. The quiet drudgery, endured in silence by most of the people, was broken by a quarrel between the twins.

Ruari’s shoveling implement – a piece of thick bark fallen from one of the logs brought by the supply wagon – broke off and fell into the trench. She fished for it with her hand a moment, but the water was too murky for her to see, and too deep for her to reach to the bottom. She turned to Eoghan.

“Give me your stick,” she said. “I losed mine.”

“No,” Eoghan answered, shortly. “Go find another.”

Ruari stood up and moved away. She came back a couple minutes later, unsuccessful in her search. “I can’t find anything. Let me have a turn.”

Eoghan pretended he had not heard and continued shoveling. Ruari moved nearer and tried to reach for the stick. Eoghan held it out of reach and pushed her off with a raised elbow. She began to holler for it. Eoghan, still staving her off with his arm, turned his head, scooped out a blobful of muck and catapulted it at his sister.

Ruari howled with indignation, and immediately used both her hands to shove Eoghan's back. He toppled straight into the trench.

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna was not so close to the children, but was closer than Eodwine. She looked his way and saw him stop in the middle of shoveling a load of dung. She meaningfully pointed at herself and then at the two children, Eoghan now hollering in doubled indignation. Eodwine nodded and watched her head off to the children before continuing with the work.

Rowenna trudged over to Ruari. With two hands she lifted her up, carried her ten feet back, and placed her on her feet.

"Stay here," she grated. "If you do not, you will feel worse from me than dung on your clothing."

Without a backward glance, she trudged back to the now screaming Eoghan, who had been fished out of the trench by one of the men at arms. With a quick thank you to him, Rowenna took Eoghan by then hand and trudged back to Ruari, who was standing precisely one step away from where Rowenna had put her, and one foot raised to take another. Rowenna grabbed her hand.

"Come!"

She walked at a splashing pace fast enough to make the children struggle to keep up, back to the Hall. Saeryn would be in a fit once she saw these two.

[Folwren]

Saeryn had gone out momentarily to see the flooding and hear the plans that were made. She returned to the hall with the others searching for objects and implements to dig with. She followed behind others when she found something, but she stopped halfway across the muddy yard. In time, people would come in from their task, wet through, cold, and covered in mud and dung. She grimaced at the thought and turned her steps back toward the kitchen. She was relieved to see that the buckets of water drawn earlier from the well still stood by the door.

“Cerwyn,” she said, seeing that the young lady still sat there. “Set some pots over the fire. As many as you can find. I’m going to fetch more water. We’ll get water ready for everyone when they finish the task.”

Together they stoked up the fire, moved the stew for supper over the direct heat, and put a cauldron of water on the boil. Saeryn hauled in from outside a large wooden tub used for bathing.

“Keep water on,” she said when she had finished. “When it gets hot, pull it aside and put it by the stew, and put another pot on the hook. I’ll bring in more before going out to help on the trench.” She picked up her shawl and tied it over her head and picked up the two buckets. She turned towards the door and stopped as it swung open and Rowenna, towing the twins behind her, entered. Searyn froze, rooted to her spot, and she surveyed their condition. Both were wet, but only Eoghan was soaked through and through and covered almost head to toe in mud and muck, and though Ruari looked black as thunder, only Eoghan was screaming.

“Stop that noise,” she said sternly. Eoghan cut short his shrill cry, but he did not cease the noise entirely.

“Ruari pushed me in!” he accused loudly.

Saeryn’s eyes flashed towards Ruari. She did not even need to ask if this was so, for the impetuous girl immediately began to defend herself. “My shovel broke, and Eoghan wouldn’t give me-”

“Hush,” Saeryn said, quietly. Ruari and Eoghan became silent, and for a moment all that was heard was the crackling of the fire and the drip, drip of water from Eoghan’s clothes, punctuated with an occasional sniff from him.

“We’ll get you cleaned up, and then we will discuss this. Take your clothes off. Rowenna, help Ruari there.” The two women got the children undressed, their soiled clothes dropped in a heap. “Rowenna, see if you can find any rope. We’ll string a line outside and hang these clothes. The rain can do some of our rinsing for us until we can get to the wash.” Rowenna went outside without a word.

Ruari crept towards the fire, shivering. Searyn stopped her. “Stay where you are until we get this tub filled.” Ruari looked like she was about to protest, but a look from Saeryn warned her not to speak. She subsided into silence and waited by her brother, who looked colder and more dejected than she. It seemed to the two of them that Saeryn and Cerwyn worked as slowly as was humanly possible, but it was really only a couple of short minutes before the tub was filled with lukewarm water and Saeryn called Ruari over. She washed her arms and legs, toweled her dry, and then told her to stand by the fire while she attended Eoghan.

In a few minutes they were cleaned and dressed. Rowenna had the line strung outside and the children’s clothes taken and hung there. Saeryn sat the two children on the bench by the kitchen table.

“I will go out and see how things go outside. Cerwyn, is it too much to ask that you keep an eye on them until I return?”

[Firefoot]

Cerwyn gladly handled each of the tasks that Saeryn asked of her. She was relieved not to be asked to help dig, but even more so not to sit idly and awkwardly by while everyone else worked. In the kitchen, she could still be useful without getting filthy.

Already, though, she began to understand: if she decided to stay, she would work no less hard than she did at home. On the other hand, the easy conversation among the women in the kitchen before most of them had left to dig made the work seem less onerous.

Then Rowenna marched the twins into the kitchen, and Cerwyn felt caught between horror at their state and admiration at how well Saeryn managed them. Little spitfires, they were. She followed Saeryn’s lead as best she could as they got the pair cleaned up. Then Saeryn asked her to watch them.

She eyed the twins. “I think I can handle them,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

“Thank you,” said Saeryn, and she left.

Alone now with the twins, Cerwyn first returned to the task that Saeryn had originally set her: making sure that water continued to heat on the kitchen fire. It took only a few moments to hook a new pot of water over the fire (the first having been used for the twins’ bath water). Knowing of nothing else that needed doing, she then sat down across from the twins at the table.

“Feeling better now that you’re warm and dry?” she asked them.

[Folwren]

Saeryn sloshed through the mud and water to Eodwine. In the general dimness caused by the downpour, she could not tell how much progress had been made nor how much further they would have to go. She reached out to touch his shoulder and then drew back, hoping that the wetness on his sleeve was just rain. It was hard to tell; everything stank over here.

“What are your plans, Eodwine? Will this take a long time more? How much time do you think? If it is a long time, I will join you.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine stopped a moment to think through Saeryn's questions, then continued his work while puffing out his thoughts as they came.

"We have much to do." He dug and straightened. "This trench must be deep enough..." he tossed his load toward the growing lined heap. "... to hold all the water that floods into this lowland." He dug again and straightened. "Then we need to dig an outflow trench to take the water to the swamp so none of this area floods again."

"It will take until sundown and later, then," Saeryn replied.

"Yes. Rowenna took the children in for me. You took care of them?"

"Yes. Cerwyn watches them now."

Eodwine nodded. "Not all work is out here. I am sure much must be done in the Hall. But could you check on the Smith brothers and see if they have some new shovels for us?"

[Folwren]

“I will do it,” Saeryn replied at once. She turned and hitched her skirts up above her ankles and waded across to the smithy. The door stood open and clouds of hot, steaming air came billowing out. She peered in to see the two smiths bent over their work. Two or three other men worked in the hot, cramped space.

“Eodwine asks if you have any shovels completed yet,” she called.

“A few,” came the short response. Garreth nodded to a large bucket of water. Osmund crossed from behind him to lift out several crude but serviceable shovels and brought them to Saeryn.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Take care, lady,” he said. “The metal may still be hot.”

“Thank you,” she said. She went out into the rain and back to the trench. She found men without shovels and dispersed those she had and returned to Eodwine.

“I have given the new ones out. Garreth and Harreld are still at work. I will have supper ready and waiting, and there will be hot water to bathe in. I will bring out something hot to drink soon, too.”

[littlemanpoet]

Once she had the line strung up and the children's clothes hanging, Rowenna considered her responsibilities in terms of the children complete. She waded through the rising waters toward trenches. She saw that the waters were rising, in part, because the pile of smelly muck being dug out and evenly spaced at Eodwine's direction, was now keeping all water except for the continuing downpour from entering the dung pit; and thus, the water rose like a sea around it. It would not be long before the floor of the Hall was awash in muddy water.

She climbed over the filthy dike, hiking her skirts high enough to keep them from getting stuck in the mire. She was mindful of a few of the men's eyes flitting toward her uncovered legs, but she did not care. There were more important things to think about.

She stalked toward Eodwine, got close enough to his ear, and said, "That Sorn was a fool, building his house and outbuildings down here. When this has passed, we should rebuild this settlement on the Scar itself!"

Others nearby pricked their ears to hear, and Rowenna realized that this would be considered very forward of her, and that she was maybe out of her depth, and even insubordinate. She did not care. Eodwine needed to hear this, and if this was not the best time, little damage.

Eodwine stopped a moment from digging. He looked at Rowenna, the fierce expression on her face, then turned and looked through the downpour at the Scar. It was full of stone and it was the highest land for miles. Why had Sorn now built there? Maybe because he was indeed a fool. Why, thought Eodwine to himself, had he not thought of it himself before today? Maybe because was himself a fool, or maybe because he had not foreseen how bad this flooding would be. Either way, it was a good idea, even if it would require a great effort.

He faced her. "It is a good thought, but it will have to wait for further thought until the needs of the moment are dealt with. Go to the Smiths and get whatever new shovels they have ready."

She nodded, satisfied that he was not ignoring the good sense of her words.

"And make sure to keep one of the shovels for yourself!" came Eodwine's words as she walked away. She smiled as she sloshed through the mess.

[Firefoot]

Scyld was not working near enough to the Eorl to hear what Rowenna said to him, but word spread quickly enough down the trench. The man on Scyld's left repeated the gist of the conversation for them; it seemed to Scyld that the man had more he wished to say concerning Rowenna's behavior but refrained, perhaps because Thornden stood so near.

"Well, Sorn was surely a fool," said Scyld, "but I've lived here nearly my whole life, and my father and grandfather before me, and I've never heard of such flooding. I don't see how Sorn, or Lord Eodwine for that matter, could have planned for this."

~*~*~*~

Leof

When the digging began, Leof had hurried back to the stables, hoping that Harreld and Garreth would have missed the one of the two shovels there, but the smiths had been thorough. With a sigh, Leof had grabbed an empty feed pail for a scoop and returned to join those already shoveling. He had not yet decided whether he would ever get it clean enough to put feed in again. Of course, he'd seen some returning with pots from the kitchen, and that thought made his stomach turn even more than the dung stench in the air.

Slowly, they seemed to be making progress, and he was heartened to look up and see Rowenna coming his way with a few of the new shovels. "Look," he said to Elfthain and Javan, who were nearby. "I think it's our turn to get some shovels."

[Folwren]

"No," Thornden spoke up after Scyrr had finished, but not pausing in his work. "Though it may not have happened before, it is something we could have planned for." He looked up briefly and glanced around. "If we had thought about the future at all, we might have known better than to rebuild the hall here, in the low land. We should have taken our opportunity and built on the scar, but none of us even considered it. It is something we will think about when this is over."

He did not blame Eodwine at all for rebuilding the hall on top of the ruins of Sorn's house. Many other men, himself included, had been there to help and advise their eorl, and no one had considered Rowenna's thought. Not even Rowenna herself, who had been there when they made the move from Edoras to Scarburg, had thought to move the location of the hall.

Javan

Javan accepted a shovel gratefully. He had searched everywhere he could think of for some implement to use for dinner and had come up with nothing. He made an unsuccessful attempt at creating a makeshift shovel by splitting a log and trying to use the flat side of it. Having found it of almost no use at all, he grit his teeth and followed orders and used his hands. Crouching by the trench, he dug out loose sediment that the others had loosened with their pails and pots and sticks. Much of it was rough, pebbly soil, and he reflected that this task would have been nearly impossible in dry weather.

Now, with a shovel, he felt he proceeded in work much faster. In fact, as he paused for just a moment to look up and down the trench, he realized that now, with seven or eight new shovels in use, the work was progressing at almost twice the speed. His heart rose a little and he began to think of going in and cleaning off and eating something hot.

But then word trickled down the line that work would probably continue until past sundown. Javan felt his heart sink as he looked up. Who could tell when the sun sank? he wondered. There was no sight of her. They were already working in deep gloom. He guessed they meant the work would probably continue until they couldn't see the shovels in their hands anymore.

He bent drearily back to his labor. After several more shovelfuls, he straightened and turned to find Leof. "How far do you think we have to dig?"

[Firefoot]

The twins remained perfectly still and stared across the table at Cerwyn, their eyes baleful and their lips tightly pressed shut. They both knew their silence was disrespectful, and Eoghan felt a little guilty for it, though Ruari had no qualms about making Cerwyn feel uncomfortable. Cerwyn looked from one to the other, and Eoghan saw her confidence slipping. He felt even worse.

"Yes," he finally said. A pause, and then, "I wouldn't have fallen in if Ruari hadn't pushed me."

Ruari's eyes narrowed. She did not look towards her brother, but her head did tilt slightly in his direction. "I would not have pushed you if you had given me a turn," she reminded him.

"It's never alright to push someone," Cerwyn chided gently. "And just because your shovel broke, it doesn't mean Eoghan must share his with you. You should have gone and found one no one was using."

Ruari looked at her, trying to express with just her eyes how much she thought Cerwyn should not have put her opinion out. Eoghan smiled at her, liking very much that she took his side of the argument.

"Well," Ruari said, putting on as much haughtiness as she knew how, "you don't know. There aren't shovels for everybody. I couldn't find another one."

Cerwyn had not known till now that such a small child could produce such an evil look and did not know whether to recoil or laugh. "That still does not give you a right to your brother's," she said. "And if there aren't shovels for everyone, what are the others who have no shovels using to dig?"

Ruari huffed and looked away.

"Actually," Eoghan said, spreading his hands in a conversational manner, "there are not very many shovels at all. Many...no," looking serious and thoughtful, "I would say most of the people don't have any yet. But Papa has told the Smiths to make more. Ruari never had a shovel. It was really some bark from a log. I had a stick, so mine was stronger."

"Was not," Ruari muttered.

"Was so."

Cerwyn wondered if there was anything these two didn't squabble about - Ruari especially seemed to enjoy it. Had she and Leof ever quarreled so much? She did not think so. The Leof of her early memories was her leader and her protector, rather than antagonist - perhaps it was only natural for a younger sibling to feel so about an older. What fun they had once had. A memory long forgotten came then unbidden to her mind, of how they would make up and enact the most outrageous stories, and she grinned.

"Well, never mind the shovels now," she said. "Why don't we play a game, hmm? I'll tell you about one Leof and I used to play. You take turns making up parts to a story. Anything can happen that you want, but the only rule is that you can't disagree with anything someone else says. This story can be about... a pony, who lives in a land far away from here where the sun always shines. Now it's your turn, Eoghan; tell us something about the pony."

Eoghan paused a moment, looking at her as he considered this sudden turn in the conversation. After a pause he seemed to accept the idea as a good one, and at length, he began. "The pony...belonged to an eorlinga," he said. "And her had to go to war," he ended with a grin and turned to Ruari.

Ruari frowned thoughtfully. "They were going to fight in a place where the moon always shone," she said. Then her face lit up excitedly. "And the sun was the leader of the pony's army, and the moon was the leader of the enemy!" Eoghan looked as though he were about to object, probably to point out that neither the sun nor the moon could lead armies, but Cerwyn continued the tale.

She said, "Well, the pony was very scared of the fight, because he did not like the dark, and the moon was the ruler over all the dark places of the world. The moon's soldiers were creatures of the night, and their faces were black and terrible."

Eoghan's and Ruari's eyes grew large and they stared at her. The story had taken an unexpected and sinister turn. They paused, breathless, waiting for her to continue. She nodded and prodded Eoghan with a gentle, "Your turn."

Eoghan drew a breath, and an apprehensive smile slowly spread over his face. He shifted on the bench, lifting himself up to sit on his knees. "They had...long snouts that pointed, and long teeth like this!" He curved his fingers by his mouth and leaned towards Ruari. She screamed and skidded away to the edge of the bench. He imitated the moon army's snarl and bared his teeth as he continued, "And when they attacked the pony's army, they were going to eat the pony!"

"No!" Ruari cried. "They can't eat the pony!"

"Your turn!" Eoghan said, his face returning to its accustomed cheerfulness.

"The pony ate the moon's army!" Ruari shrieked with laughter.

"That doesn't make sense," Eoghan said. "The pony can't eat things like that."

"Alright," Ruari agreed. "The pony's eorlinga picked up his sword and started chopping off their heads." Ruari raised her hands in fists, imitating a knight with a double-handed sword, and made several wild swings over the kitchen table.

Cerwyn laughed. "And when the pony saw how brave his eorlinga was, the pony felt braver too. He kicked and bit his enemies, and the moon's army fell back in fear of the pony and his eorlinga."

At that moment, the door opened and Saeryn entered. She pulled the shawl from her head and wiped the rain from her face with it. She walked towards the fire and draped it on a chair nearby before turning and surveying her children. "Did they behave alright, Cerwyn?" she asked.

"They were just fine," Cerwyn said, smiling at the children.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine paused to take stock of their progress. He noticed Rowenna coming out of the Smithy with four more shovels. That was good. It was now time for the next step.

"Folk of Scarburg!" he called. "The trench is well nigh knee deep and wide as my finger tips to elbow. It will do. Now we must dig a spillway from the trench to the swamp."

He heard some groans and coughs. He grinned. "Fear not, thought it is to be much longer than anything else, it need not be as wide nor as deep. It needs only to be deep and wide enough to carry water away from the dungpit as well as from our home. We should be done before the sun goes to sleep! Follow me!"

Eodwine led them to where he had decided to begin, and showed them the path, more or less straight, that the spillway would take. Luckily, the land was generally flat across all of the holding, so it was not going to be such an odious task. Still, he had no doubt that not a few of the folk would be sick in the morning.

[littlemanpoet]

The long trench to the swamp had not yet been started when, in the very middle of the dung pit, Eodwine noticed a movement. It was as if something was turning over. Could the amount of rain have made the pit unstable? The movement had been as big as one of the Mumakil. Then Eodwine's shovel became limp in his hands as he watched a long slimy tendril grow out of the pit, reaching up like a thing with a mind of its own. Scyld was the second to look away from his trench work to see it: his eyes went wide and in the nick of time he dove out of the way. The tentacle encircled the waist of his neighbor instead. The man howled as he was lifted into the air above the pit, then lowered into the waiting maw below. Then he was gone. More tentacles reached up in every direction. The folk screamed and ran. Surely they had not dug the pit too deep!

Eodwine shook his head. What a waking dream. Thankfully, the trench to the swamp had been dug, and his swooning thought was apparently in a playful mood. One by one the folk leaned their shovels against the smithy, most to be recrafted into some other useful implement. The invisible sun had long since set, but the rain poured. At least the trench was working. And the "dung pit monster" lay quiescent in its stinking home. He chuckled to himself, the last to enter the Hall.

[Folwren]

Saeryn worked steadily from the time she spoke with Eodwine to when everyone finally came streaming inside. She dismissed her children to go play, warning them to be good. She had intimated to Ruari that she had more to say concerning the incident at the trench, and she wondered if that kept the girl in line, for she did not hear a peep from either twin until supper time.

The trouble was preempting the time when everyone would come inside. They would be filthy and wet, and she wanted neither the wet nor the filth in the hall. Then, about half way through the trying afternoon, water began to seep in under the door. There was not much that could be done about that besides making sure all the grain and anything else that could be destroyed by water was lifted off the floor. Thankfully, before the sun had set, the water had begun to recede again. Saeryn and Cerwyn opened the doors and swept the water back out and mopped up what was left.

When they were finished, they still had the trouble of what to do when the people returned to the hall.

“We will have the women take their outer clothing off and leave it in the passageway there by the kitchen,” Saeryn said as she and Cerwyn removed another large pot of boiling water from the fire and dumped it into the tub. “They can bathe in here. The men can have the hall.”

By the time the trenches were completed, Searyn had every available pot, pan, bowl, caldron, and tub full of hot water. She had soap and towels prepared, too, and when she met them at the door, she began giving orders.

“The men will stay in the hall,” she said. “Take your clothes off here in the entry – I don’t want any of that muck inside the hall. There is water there by the fire.” She pointed. The hearth was crowded with various vessels full of steaming water. “Throw your clothes outside the door. Women, you’ll come around back to the back kitchen entryway.”

The people moved as quickly as they could through their baths, throwing out old soiled water. Cerwyn worked inside, heating more water when any container became available. Saeryn went outside and began gathering the soiled clothing and hanging them on the lines Rowenna had strung earlier.

[Firefoot]

Leof had excused himself early from the digging to feed the horses - other tasks may wait but hungry horses would not, and he was met with whinneys even as slightly late as he was for their evening meal. He had stripped down and cleaned off first, though: he no more wanted that sort of filth in the stables than Saeryn wanted it in the Hall.

He finished with the horses about the same time as the Hall folk were making their procession inside, and so it was that he arrived rather cleaner than most to dinner (he smelt of horse but he scarcely considered that cause for a wash). He joined those few sitting at a table who had been first to wash and were already freshened for dinner.