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Eodwine
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.
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