[Laiudanama]

The sun rose slowly towards her pinnacle, stretching her rays brightly as she awoke from a night’s slumber, beaming benevolently down upon every corner and creature of Middle Earth as midday approached. The day was indeed turning out to be a nice one: beautiful weather, a clear sky stretching away infinitely, and the heat rising pleasantly to a temperature that would surely have every Man in the Mark looking longingly out of his window – and sure, if there was no other urgent business to attend to, midday would surely see a fair number of men reaching for their walking staffs, the fine Ladies of Gondor and Rohan changing into their summer hats, scores of children racing out of their schoolrooms into the bright yards beyond…

Trystan glared at the sun furiously, wiping a hand over his perspiring face and, disgusted, spat to one side, trying to clear his dry mouth of any filth which may have got in. The very idea revolted him, and the boy spat again, just for good measure. Though he was without both food and drink, Trystan decided that, after several hours – how long? He was losing track of time, beginning to measure it in terms of monotonous shovelfuls of filth – now would be about as good a time as any for a lunch break. And why not: here, less than a hundred yards from the Ravine, a pit of household waste, sewage and other the gods only know what other forms of filth and waste, who would be watching him? Not Lord Eodwine, that was for sure, and probably none of his lackies, either. Trystan grinned to himself suddenly, remembering Garwine’s face as he had tactfully paused just outside the privies, safely out of stinking distance. He didn’t even come in, where I’ve spent my morning practically up to my elbows in…well. He snorted derisively at Garwine’s words: “Carry the filth out a back door. And be discreet…”

Still, he was almost done now: say one more trip, maybe two at a push, and the whole arduous task would be finished. Trystan stabbed his shovel into the ground, although his venom was now fading, as he leant back against the shade of a nearby tree, although as a gentle breeze ruffled it’s branches, even the tree seemed to recoil from the stench which pervaded the boy’s very being. He smiled at the thought, reaching into his back pocket for his pipeweed…and cursed viciously when he found the pocket empty. He must have dropped it! Somewhere between here and the privies back up at the Eorling Mead Hall – either that, or… Trystan glanced distastefully towards the peacefully steaming Ravine into which he had been slogging waste all morning. Attached as he was to his pipeweed, he sure as knives wasn’t going after anything in there.

Although if he hadn’t dropped it around the Mead Hall, it could be anywhere between here and, well, Dol Amroth for all he knew. And going back in that direction any time soon was about as appealing a prospect as diving headfirst into the Ravine.

The youth settled back into the tree, his skinny shoulderblades digging into the trunk, loosening his shirt a button or two further, having already removed his jerkin. Yes, perspiring in the heat, doing the filthy oddjobs of some pompous Lord in what constituted to his first day of honest hard work in memory, and stinking, frankly, of everything that had passed through the bowels of the honourable denizens of the Mead Hall in gods only know how long…well, it could be worse. He could be hot, tired, stinking and being chased the authorities of Dol Amroth, not to mention a hardened thug who wanted to kill him, preferably via as much pain as possible.

Oh wait – that was the current situation.

Trystan closed his eyes wearily for just a second, but all he could see imprinted on his eyelids was that house, dark, gloomy, the dust motes still spinning in the air where the old woman’s scream had disturbed it. Her scream and her fall…

He started up, his eyes wide. No. No, he wouldn’t – couldn’t – dwell on those thoughts for any longer. Groaning softly, he fell forward to his knees, then struggled up to his feet, grabbing the shovel and buckets and started the long trudge back up to the Mead Hall. Trystan would never be the lacky or minion of anyone who judged themselves superior, but currently, he could do with a little protection – and with not making any more enemies…