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Old 03-01-2004, 01:36 PM   #6
mark12_30
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SnowedInn part 1

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-14-2003 08:53 PM:

The slender, darkhaired, grey-eyed young man stood in the street, watching a small horde of Rohirric children engaged in a snowball war. Their laaughter was soft and distant as if he was in a dream. He wondered where he was. And he wondered why he was here. It did not seem familiar at all. He decided to ask someone. But first, he thought, he would join in the festivities.

He knelt down in the snow and scooped up two handfuls. Contrasting thoughts of forge-fires and bellows and dire heat made him laugh as he molded two snowballs, mushy and soft. He came into the circle of frolicking children, and tossed one of the soft snowballs near several of them but not hitting any.

"Get him, Hamanullas!" cried one of the children, and another child immediately plastered Mellondu in the nose with a very hard snowball. In moments, Mellondu was the target of every child's aim, and his green tunic became whiter and whiter. He fought back with snowballs that were very soft, and he was careful to always aim at their feet.

Posted by Imladris on 12-14-2003 09:22 PM:

Fellwyne leaped from her window and landed with a muffled plop upon the soft snow. Of course she missed her feet and landed upon her bottom, but it didn't really matter after all.

The ten year old girl rubbed her bare hands briskly and plastered her black, loosely curled hair with snow. Without a parting glance at the house and with a malevolent laugh at her knitted mittens and scarf that were still left neglected in her room she dashed (more like stumbled through the white drifts) through the snow and neared a group of children who played with laughing vigour.

The children threw whistling snowballs through the air. One caught Fellwyne upon the ear. With a disdainful sneer, the girl wiped away the remnants of the ball.

A lone man stood by himself the target of every child. With a shrill shriek, Fellwyne skipped towards him and allied herself with him. He will not stand alone! she thought fiercely as she finely molded a snowball and hurled it into the midst of children. She noticed that he aimed at their feet, well, she would not be kind. Noses were the prime target.

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-14-2003 10:20 PM:

The darkhaired young man looked down at the feisty, blackhaired girl. "Your aim is very good, " he said, wincing as a snowball hit him on the neck. "Thank you for joining me."

"Why are you aiming at their feet?" she challenged him.

"Because I'm the tallest. What's your name?" he said, trying to shake the snow out of his shirt.

"Fellwyne. What's yours?"

"I-- well-- call me Mellon."

"Friend? What kind of a name is that? Ooo! Got him!"

"Nice shot!"

"What's your real name?"

"Everybody calls me Mellon. Sort of."

"You're strange." She threw another snowball. "Missed! I'll get him this time!"

She did. "Impressive, " said Mellon. "I'm glad you decided to be on my side."

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-15-2003 07:36 AM:

More children joined the fray, and soon the fight had four groups. Mellon was glad that the pressure had abated; he was cold and getting colder. Fellwyne continued on as an army of one while Mellon stepped back and shook the snow out from under his tunic.

He slapped his pockets. Good; he did have some coin. He would look for some hot food at an open Inn. He wondered if he had enough to buy a cloak.

Posted by Bêthberry on 12-15-2003 09:23 PM:

The grey-haired woman limped a bit more with winter stiffness, and pulling her little cart was harder in the loose, slippery snow, yet she too was caught up in the infectious spirit brought by the new-fallen snow.

She was too old to play, but she could make sure that everyone had warm, dry gloves, scarves, cloaks and sweaters. She had accumulated a largeish pile of handmedowns and second hand goods and often in the winter she found there was a need among those who had not foreseen cold times or troubles. Today, however, it was the little fingers of children that would benefit from spare mittens in her waggon.

And a strange young man who the children called by the unusual name of Mellon. He seemed to shiver as the play went on, his green tunic inundated with incoming volleys.

"Hey there, fellow. You have the look of a future snow wraith about you, so covered you are now. Would you welcome a spare cloak? I have some old ones here you might wish to try."

Ruthven wrapped her woollen scarf more tightly around her neck and pulled her toque down over her ears. Yet her honest gruff manner was accompanied by a genial look and the fellow warmed to her at once.

Posted by mark12_30 on 12-16-2003 12:28 AM:

Mellon turned to the kind woman.

"Yes, please, Miss Ruthven, and thank you. You are very kind. A cloak would be most welcome." She was already reaching out to him with the heaviest she had.

Relief shattered his defiance against the cold, and she tsk-tsked as she watched shivers convulse his slender frame. He cocoooned the cloak about him and clearly was not quite satisfied, wanting to burrow deeper into it. Ruthven tsk'ed again. "I'll not ask how you came here without a cloak, lad."

"Bless you, madam. And thank you again."

"Mulled wine can be had at the Inn, lad. And tea. And there'll be a fire going." She nodded in the direction of the Inn.

He could rejoin the children after a mug or two. Emdir had distracted the shieldmaidens, he noticed gratefully. He headed for the Inn, promising himself that he would return as soon as he was warm and dry.
Posted by littlemanpoet on 12-16-2003 02:50 AM:

Ædegard tried to open the front door. It did not budge! He pushed hard, and it gave a few inches. Snow spilled into the cottage. Snow! Four feet deep! Maybe it was a drift in front of their place. He pushed again, and had enough room to squeeze through. Walking would not work. It was either shovel it, or tunnel through. A big smile grew on his face. Ædegard loved making tunnels in the snow! The hard part was starting it, because he didn't want Mama to have to change the thresh before the door. So it would have to be throw the snow up and over, and maybe with luck he would give someone a surprise shower! Not likely.

He spent a half hour digging. He found that the snow was soft enough that he could take it from in front of him and plaster it to the walls of his tunnel, strengthening them. It was quite dark after a half hour, and time he dug upward. To his surprise, his head popped through before he had reached waist height.

"Hey look! Over there! It's Ædegard! Hit him!" Next thing, he saw nothing but white, then black and cold. Ouch! He ducked and wiped his face from the snowball. He knew that voice. It was Evrett! Ædeward worked furiously, making a pyramid of snowballs at his feet. Then he took one, and slowly, carefully rose, until his eyes were just over the lip of his makeshift fox hole.


Posted by mark12_30 on 12-16-2003 03:28 AM:

"Something hot, please, ma'am." He shivered as he headed for the fireplace.

"Anything in particul--" she said to his retreating back, and then shrugged. "Soup and toast, " she ordered, and set about making him some hot tea.

"Many thanks, " he said, hanging his cloak near the fire, and sitting as close to it as he could. The shivering did not slow down until Bethberry arrived with his tea. He turned frequently, and then shrugged, removed his drenched tunic and hung that before the fire as well.

The soup and toast arrived, and he set to with a will; his shivering finally stopped, and his shirt began to dry.

"You're new around these parts, " Bethberry said.

"Yes, ma'am, " he replied.

"What part of Gondor are you from?" she asked. She was somewhat dismayed by his blank stare.

"I'm a blacksmith, " he replied hesitantly. "People call me Mellon."

"Sounds like the cold has you in its grip." She refilled his tea. "Would you like more soup?"

He hesitantly nodded, squinting; she wondered at his lapse in manners, until he turned aside and a sneeze roared from him. Another followed. Bethberry called for more soup, and refilled the teakettle.

"Yes, please, mba'amb, " came the belated, stuffed-up mumble. He inched still closer to the fire. The children were expecting his promised return, he reflected; best not to get too comfortable here. Perhaps after some more soup...

He turned his other side towards the fire, and drank some more tea.



Posted by mark12_30 on 12-16-2003 01:06 PM:

It only took a half an hour for the cloak to dry, and another fifteen minutes for the tunic. He was warm after three bowls of soup and forgotten quantities of tea. And the children were waiting.

He stood, and brought a generous portion of his coin to the Innkeeper. . "Thag you, bi lady, for takig such good care ob be. "

"This is more than the food was worth, " she replied, frowning.

"I mbay be back, I exbect," he said.

"You're not going back out into the snow?" she said. "Have you remembered where you are from?"

"Goddor. I'm a blacksbith," he replied cheerfully, wrapping himself against the cold. At least, thought the Innkeeper, he was belting his cloak tightly against his body; he wasn't that addled.

"Well, here. Since you're coming back, have a scarf." She handed him a tattered scarf someone had forgotten, and that she had been holding for Miss Ruthven.

"Oh, thag you, bi lady. Thag you very buch."

Scarved and cloaked and sneezing, he happily returned into the glistening whiteness outside. Little had changed. Children abounded; the tall Rohirric lad was there too. He walked towards the melee.

"Hey! Watch where you're going! You wrecked my fortress!"

"I'b bery sorry, " Mellon replied. Immediately he set about patching the broken walls, while the lad fought against his numerous attackers.

"You are bery well defedded, champiodd, " Mellon marveled at the tunnel and the walls. "What is your dabe?"

"Eh? What's that?"

"What is your ndabe? Mbide is Mbellodd."

"Oh. I'm Ædegard. Gah!" he dodged an incoming snowball, and it hit Mellon instead, who was immediately grateful for the scarf.

"Would you like sombe mbore allies?"

"Eh? Sure, ah, Mr. Bellod."

Mellon stood and cried aloud. "To mbe, shieldmbaidedds of Rohadd! To mbe! For Rohadd add for Goddor!"

Several shrill voices cried in response. But the young boys pelted him, and he sat back down in the fortress, appreciative of its solidity. "This is abazig, " he muttered. "What did you mbodel id after, Helmb's Deeb?"



Posted by mark12_30 on 12-18-2003 01:58 PM:

In quick succession, six more sneezes erupted from Mellon. He was cold and wet again. The battle had raged on for quite some time. Ædegard had proven a capable leader, and the shieldmaidens had proven themselves doughty in battle.

It was time for him to prove that he had the wits to come in out of the cold. How his sister would have laughed, he thought, as he excused himself from the children; they hardly noticed, having rallied behind Ædegard. Ædegard nodded, and said, "Before you get really badly sick, hmm?"

With a sinking feeling that it was a bit late to prevent that, Mellon headed back to the Inn.

As he walked through the door, the innkeeper tsked at him, sounding just like Miss Ruthven had. "I've kept the teakettle hot. I assume you'd like some more soup?"

He nodded, and then regretted it, putting a hand to his head.

"Don't dally with that soup," the innkeeper admonished the staff, and muttered,
"Young fool. Why do teenage males always think they are immortal and invinceable?"

Last edited by mark12_30; 03-01-2004 at 01:47 PM.
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