Eorling Mead Hall

[Firefoot]

An awkward silence followed Léof’s words. “Well, you could be right. He does know our language well enough and rode here upon a horse. But . . . still, he's a Dunlending. I still don't trust him,” responded Gárwine after a bit. His words and tone were both neutral enough that Léof could not quite be sure whether Gárwine really did agree with him or whether he was only saying it to not explicitly disagree with him. Since he did not know the intent of the words, he was having difficulty formulating some kind of response, and once again silence settled over the table.

Fortunately, Léof happened to look up and see out the window a pair of riders stop their horses in the courtyard. He excused himself from the table, relieved at being saved from continuing this conversation. But as he stood up, he noticed a strange thing: the maid he had fleetingly noticed before was slipping outside, and something about the way she moved reminded him strongly of his sister when she was trying to hide that something was wrong. He frowned. She had definitely been disturbed, and he could not help but wonder about it. He could do nothing about it – at least not now. He had to attend to these people in the courtyard and their horses.

He hurried outside, trying to put the maid from his mind. He looked the travelers over curiously. The dark-haired young woman and a rather old man – her grandfather or some other relative? Simply a friend, an escort? – did not look like Rohirrim. She certainly looked wealthy, noble, if her appearance indicated anything. He was painfully aware of his own disheveled appearance.

“Welcome to the Mead Hall,” he said, smiling. “My name is Léof – Léofric – and I am the ostler here.” How wonderful those words sounded! “I can take your horses, and if you have any questions, I can try to answer them.”

[JennyHallu]

Linduial almost didn't notice the young ostler approaching them at all, so engrossed was she in looking about herself at the somewhat chaotic courtyard of the Hall. Only at Marenil's sharp surreptitious elbow did she jolt back to reality. "Really?" she asked, with her usual habit of jumping into a conversation with no preambles or introductions. "Doesn't look like much of a hall, now. Looks like..."

Marenil interrupted her smoothly by treading on her toes, preempting the hurt look on the lad's face. He had seen the expression of pride as the boy Léof had introduced himself...it reminded him of himself, many years ago.

"What my lady Linduial of the House of Dol Amroth means to say is that it looks like it is in the process of growing from a fine Hall to a great one, and she wonders if it is ready for us. But your warm welcome tells us all we need to know. We would be happy to let you care for our horses." He threw a significant glance at Lin, pleased to see by her face that she had realized her error and was sorry.

"Oh! Yes!" Hastily Lin rummaged in the dainty, lady-like purse Marenil had insisted she keep out of her trunks and produced a few coins, which she pressed into Léof's hand with an earnest and sunny smile she hoped would make up for her rash statement. When will you learn to think before you act...? she berated herself, surrendering the reins of her tired horse.

Marenil chuckled to himself as she tipped the lad. He knew her every expression. After all, hadn't he served her family since before her father had wed? Served her right to realize she was wrong now and again. "Off with you, girl," he scolded her. "Go ahead and wait for me inside. I'll just be giving the ostler here a bit of a hand."

He took the reins of his own horse, and gestured the boy to lead the way with a smile. As they turned away from Lin's slim form pouting in the doorway he looked down at Léof with a wink. "Never mind her, Léof, lad! She's just a silly girl lets her tongue run off and leaves her wit behind. She means no harm. It's as plain as the nose on my face that this is likely to be the finest hall in the Mark." His tone was kind, and not condescending. He had helped his lord enlarge his own home with every child, he certainly recognized the signs of construction, although he missed the grey stone they built with in Belfalas.

He paused a moment, reminiscing. "And to be part of it at the beginning...I remember my own first job, lad. It's a proud thing."

[Firefoot]

“Never mind her, Léof, lad! She's just a silly girl lets her tongue run off and leaves her wit behind. She means no harm. It's as plain as the nose on my face that this is likely to be the finest hall in the Mark,” explained the man. Léof nodded. He had not really taken offense at the lady’s words. But there was a one who had never had to work for much in her life, who had never had to deal with the death of a mother and a careless and sometimes cruel father, who had not grown up having to look out for herself and a younger sibling besides. No, he did not feel offense, nor even resentment. But if hard times came her way, he thought she seemed more likely to break than flow with it and make it through. Though she might be several years older than him and probably had a much better education, he could not help but feel that she was mostly naïve and inexperienced. But who was he to judge? He was charged only with the care of her horse.

“And to be part of it at the beginning...I remember my own first job, lad. It's a proud thing.”

“That it is, sir, and thank you,” responded Léof. He could already feel the beginnings of respect and liking for this old man. Léof did notice, however, just how much he was being treated as a lad – even if not unkindly so - and this bothered him. He knew that he looked rather young for his age, but he was not a boy in either age or experience. His mind was immediately set to trying to figure out how he might avoid this. His first thought was to get himself cleaned up – before he went back to the mead hall, in fact. Other than that, he supposed he would simply have to prove by his actions and speech that he was not just the young stable boy.

His thoughts returned to the matter at hand. He had noticed that the horse he was leading was still quite warm from the ride – whether because he had been ridden particularly hard or had simply been pushed along at a fast pace recently, he could not quite tell. “I’d like to walk this horse around a bit more before putting him into a stall,” he told the man. The other horse did not look so tired, leading Léof to think that the man had ridden along at a more sedate pace. “If your horse is fine, if you could tie him up out here in the aisle? I can take care of it, if you’d like to head on inside,” Léof offered. He honestly was not sure how much help the man intended to give. “Or if you prefer, there is a tack room just down the aisle where you could put the saddle and bridle. And might I ask the horses’ names? And… I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name, either…”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn listened to the soft and slow melody that danced across the Dunlending's harpstrings. She could feel her heart still beating heavily, pounding out a strong rhythm that she smiled to note matched the beat of the music. Others in the hall went about their business, this interlude unnoticed. She looked down modestly and, eyes wide, back up to Eodwine. He met her eyes squarely and she murmered, her soft voice caressing the already gentle vowels of the land.

"I am undeserving." Eodwine began to speak and Saeryn stopped him with a hand placed on his. "You have treated me as a daughter, keeping me safe from the moment we met. I have hardly been fair to you, taking advantage of your friendship without trusting enough to share why I needed such safe-keeping.

"I feared... I fear to swear an oath. I cannot be committed to one land, to one hall... to one lord. I cannot swear to you as you have sworn to me." Her hands shook and she withdrew them from his, hoping he did not notice and knowing that he did. "I can give you nothing more than the love of a daughter... I cannot swear to you a proper oath of allegiance. I will understand..." Her voice broke. "If you choose to protect me and fulfill your oath... by sending me away."

[JennyHallu]

“Or if you prefer, there is a tack room just down the aisle where you could put the saddle and bridle. And might I ask the horses’ names? And… I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name, either…”

"My name is Marenil," the older man said cheerfully, affectionately stroking his horse's nose. "And as for the horses, I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what their names are. They were gifts from friends of my lord in Minas Tirith, and he was so proud of the oddity of living in Minas Tirith and owning a horse he gave the poor dears the most ridiculous names. No beast needs to live with a name like 'Son of Nahar'...I've been calling Lin's mare Pansy, and my gelding here Apple, and they seem not to mind."

He winked cheerfully at Léof. "I've got a grandson about your age, you know. As a matter of fact, he just entered the service of my lord, as a page. (Which makes me wonder if perhaps I've made an error in calling you 'lad'; but you can't do anything about it. It's healthy to have respect for your elders.) I'll tell you the same as I tell him...I'm sure it wouldn't hurt me to care for these beasts myself, but my bones are old, and frankly, I don't want to. I'll just leave this lad here..." he looped the reins over the boards of the stall. "...and let you do your job."

He felt suddenly particularly old. It had not occurred to him until just now that his son, now head groom back at home, had been a full grown man for quite some time, and that the people he'd seen as boys for years were working becoming men...He sighed, and left the stable feeling slow, and bent over, and tired.

Linduial was still waiting for him in the doorway, holding her saddlebags. "My trunks should get here in...what? A week?" She'd left her things in the hands of a merchant train travelling from the City of Guard slowly and steadily. "Marenil? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, dear. Let's just go in and speak to the lord of this Hall. Maybe I can get off these old feet for a while and rest."

Linduial laughed, a sunny, clear sound, that cut deeply through his self-pity. "Old, Mar? You? You'll never get old." She slipped a slim arm through his. "You know you're like a father to me. I'll miss you when you head back home, but with your son's Filië expecting again, I won't hold you." She kissed him softly on the cheek. "As long as I have to reach up to do that, you're not old. Now come on, you're supposed to be taking care of me. What would my father say?"

For a moment, Marenil understood perfectly why Lord Farlen allowed this slip of a girl around him so easily. He couldn't help it. Men had no natural defenses against youth, beauty, and sweetness, combined in such a perfect triple threat. Then Lin poked him ornerily in the ribs, muttering "Posture, posture! Don't sag!" in such a perfect imitation of her deportment tutor the budding realization was completely lost.

[littlemanpoet]

"I can give you nothing more than the love of a daughter," Saeryn said in a nigh whisper. "I cannot swear to you a proper oath of allegiance. I will understand-" Her voice broke "-if you choose to protect me and fulfill your oath... by sending me away."

She was not looking at him, so did not see the slight flush he felt upon his cheeks. He was old enough to be her father; it was well worth remembering, considering that his arms ached to crush her to him, to dry her tears, to . . . . . well. Just so. He kept his hands folded in his lap.

"Send you away! How could I stand as he who speaks for you and stands against all comers if you are not here? Silly child." Her head still bowed, she looked up at him with questions in her blinking eyes.

He looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. It was thus that he saw two visitors come in, arm in arm, well to do by the look of them, the young lady brimming with life, the somewhat elderly man stooped and tired.

"No more of this!" Eodwine bantered, tapping Saeryn's knee. "We have guests and you are my hostess! Dry those tears and snap to it! You have nothing to fear from me. Nothing at all!"

Eodwine stood, and caused the frowning and confused Saeryn to stand too. He wiped her tears with both his hands again, and gave her a peck on the forehead, which made her only more confused. He gave her a gentle push toward the now waiting pair, and watched as she walked toward them, back straigtening.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Welcome." Saeryn said, holding her hands wide and with a smile. She stood tall, confident but wondering, trusting that Eodwine's loving hands had well-cleared her cheeks of tear-stains. The old man smelled comfortably of horse with a light touch of something spicy... perhaps pipe tobacco. A light floral scent lingered about the woman. "Do you require lodging? A meal? Certainly a drink to ward off the unwelcoming dust of the road. As you can see, we are in the midst of change, so things are not quite as they will be. However what you need can be acquired, if only you ask."

Saeryn spoke clearly, her voice stronger and more sure than it had been for days, even when she had impishly informed Eodwine of her role in his hall. A light shiver danced upon her shoulders and she wondered at the warmth in Eodwine's hands. She could still feel his fingers upon hers. Blushing slightly, she thrust the sensations to the back of her thought to reflect upon another time. Had she known about the new light that danced almost hidden in her eyes, she'd have blushed all the more, wondering at its existence and meaning.