Eorling Mead Hall

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild let self-pity and fear wash over her as she struggled bitterly with the memories of that last night in Minas Tirith vainly trying to convince herself that she had acted only in her own defence and that none of what had befallen was her fault, but the image of a cold dead stare haunted her. He had come to help her, it was her fault he was dead! Visitors were forbidden and there would be recompense if her uncle found out all this she knew but still she let him come, it was her fault she should have told him not to come ..no she should have insisted!

Much of what actually happen that night was a blank to her. Finding them together in her fathers study her Uncle had flown into a mad rage turning on her childhood friend, demanding to know what he was doing in his house with his niece, as though she were his possession and Halfric some roguish ruffian.

She had stepped between them hoping to reason with her uncle only to earn the back of his hand as she had so many times before hard across her face which sent her to the floor where she must have banged her head on something hard, for the next thing she remembered was waking up next to the unmoving form of her dearest friend, his glassy dark eyes staring out at her cold and empty.

She shuddered at the memory letting her tears fall even more uncontrollably. For there was more, more that she hoped the others, those within who had shown her not only kindness but had given her work and a place to stay would never discover a horror that she herself wished she could forget.

Gárwine's words echoed over and over in her mind… an outlaw… an outlaw… an outlaw… Fear turned quickly to guilt as she thought on what price the goodly Lords kindness would undoubtedly cost him if what she had done were to be uncovered or worse still if they came for her.

She was still debating this and weighing if truly anyone would still be searching for her after so long , it was almost a year since, and she had passed through several towns and villages without so much of a murmur of pursuit, when suddenly she heard a distant voice calling her name.

“Æoel, Æoel!”

She stood quickly wiping away any trace of the tears that had just fallen, dabbing her puffy eyes with the corner of her apron.

“Æoel, Æoel!” the voice called again this time closer and seemingly with a sense of some urgency.

Saeryn she thought now recognising the voice, quickly taking a deep composing breath she stepped out from behind the small out building and walked towards the young woman.

[Alcarillo]

Gárwine leapt out the door at Eodwine's command and ran into the stables kicking up hay and dust. Léof was tending to the old man's and the girl's horses.

"Léof! The old man's fallen on the floor! I need a horse; I'm going to Meduseld to find a healer." said Gárwine. He found Herefola's stall and was already unleashing her when Léof told him to stop.

"Take Marenil's horse. It's still prepared for a rider. I haven't taken off the saddle or reins yet; I've been tending to the girl's horse since they arrived."

Gárwine nodded his thanks and leapt upon the horse. With a crack of the reins they were out the doors and onto the streets of Edoras. The smaller, narrower streets were fairly clear of crowds, giving Gárwine long clear stretches to gallop through at top speed. But once Gárwine reached the great road that wound its way up from the gates to Meduseld on the hilltop, the way was blocked by crowds shopping in the market, which was apparently held on this day. Gárwine slowed his horse down to a trot and weaved his way through the people. Time was precious; every moment spent in the crowds was another moment the old man spent stretched out on the floor. Gárwine became agitated. He sped up the horse and darted between groups of people.

"Out of the way! There's an emergency!" He shouted as he rode. The people, though irritated, had no choice and moved towards the sides, letting Gárwine gallop through. With little delay he was at the foot of Meduseld's steps, where he gave the horse over to a guard for safekeeping. He rushed up the stone steps and for the second time that day entered Meduseld.

The air was cool inside and stirred by light breezes around the hall. The light was less dim than in the morning, but it was still rather dark. The windows high up the walls were the only sources of light. The throne at the opposite end of the hall was empty. The only occupants of the hall were a few guards in a corner, speaking in whispers, and a few servants who crossed through the shadows where the light failed to penetrate. Gárwine, not sure where to find a healer, stopped a passing solemn-faced attendant, arms piled high with linens.

"Sir, there's an emergency at the former White Horse Inn, and I have come seeking a healer." His words were quiet and calm. It was the tranquil feeling of the hall already calming him.

The attendant only nodded towards a corner and walked away. In the corner was a group of servants and other attendants, quietly talking among themselves. One of them saw the attendant's nod and approached. He was an aged man, with grey, wispy hair curling around his head and a thin and scrubby beard. His face was tanned and wrinkled by his many years out in the sun. He walked with a slight limp but he seemed untroubled by it.

"They call me Hrethel," he said, shaking Gárwine's hand, "What can I do for you, young sir?"

"There's been an emergency down at the mead hall," said Gárwine, but Hrethel shook his head. "The White Horse Inn, it was called," he clarified. Now Hrethel recognized the place. "Anyways, one of our visitors has collapsed upon the floor, and we need a healer quickly. Do you have a horse you can ride?"

"What do I look like, a rider of the Mark?" said Hrethel, "I'm a healer. I don't care much for horses."

"Well, you can ride mine," Gárwine said, noting the man's limp, "I can run. Do you know where the place is?"

"Certainly. I've been there once or twice back when it was ran by Bêthberry. I've heard she's gone east. Is it true?"

"I wouldn't know; I've never met her. Now come, time is passing!"

They exited the hall and ran down the porch steps. Gárwine handed the reins of Marenil's horse over to Hrethel, who mounted the horse with a wheeze. "I'll see you at the inn," Gárwine said, and Hrethel galloped down the hill with Gárwine running after him.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Spotting Æðel, Saeryn hastened to her, her gait a long-legged combination of run and stride.

Æðel looked at her in surprise and moved more quickly to meet her.

"What is it?" she asked quickly.

"A man, a visitor. They've only just arrived, he and a woman." Æðel's mind raced at possibilities, her still puffy eyes a reminder of her plight. Saeryn caught the fleeting look on her companion's face and set it aside for another time's thought. "The man has collapsed. You've experience, you said?"

Æðel blinked at her, taking in her words... or trying to. Saeryn paused now, taking a moment for a deep breath, composing herself, if she had known it, the very same way Æðel just had. She clarified. Little dust devils swirled about their motionless feet as the breeze picked up. A storm moving in, perhaps, though Saeryn recalled this sort of promising weather to be tricksome to predict.

"I have no healing experience, nor does Eodwine. Perhaps some of the newcomers do, however we do not know and have no time to learn. I remembered that you spoke of the houses of healing... Eodwine bade me to find you. Will you come?"

[Nerindel]

Æðelhild quickly nodded that she would, not missing the sense of urgency in the other woman’s voice, though she knew not yet how much help she would be. Yes, she had help tend the sick and the wounded of Gondor during troubled times, but only in an assisting capacity and although she had learned much from the healers she had always worked under their strict supervision and instruction, she had never had cause to test her knowledge on her own, not that was until now!

As they hurried back to the hall Saeryn described to her what had happened, from their guests seeming shortness of breath to him finally collapsing to the floor grasping at his chest, A troubled frown creased Æðelhild’s brow as she recognised the signs that Saeryn described. It had been the same for her grandmother only by the time the healers had arrived the seeds of sickness had taken root and claimed her life, so that now she knew that this mans life might very well be placed in her hands.

With this realisation all of her own fears and doubts suddenly gave way to the urgency at hand and she quickened her pace considerably. She did not pause as she entered the hall, but strode to were Eodwine and a few others were gathered about one of the large tables upon which the stricken guest now lay. He was not young and instantly Æðelhild noted the weakness of his pallor and the beads of sweat upon his forehead and her concern grew somewhat though she tried not to let it show.

“ Æðel, Saeryn tells me you have some knowledge of the healing arts, can you help?” Eodwine whispered as she came beside him, bending over her patient to lay her hand on his brow.

“I shall do what I can,” she replied glacing up momentarily, taking in his worried expression, knowing that she could promise no more. Then turning to Kara she bade the young woman bring her cloth and water.

Turning back to her patient she loosened his tunic and lowered her ear to his chest. It was as she had feared the rythmatic drumming of his heart was slowed and beat with a distinct irregularity that made his breathing sharp and shallow. “Hagedorn,” she Murmured, A food for the heart she recalled being taught.

“My Lord!” she said turning again to Eodwine, “His breath grows shallow and his heart weak, he requires immediately a tonic made from the juices of the Hagehorn berry!”

[Kath]

Kara had stood back from the commotion surrounding the ill man, not wanting to get in the way. She watched as Saeryn left and then reappeared with another woman in tow, who went straight to the fallen arrival and bent to his chest. Kara could see the worry on her face as she turned towards her and gave directions to bring a cloth and water.

Doing as she was told, Kara ran back to the kitchen she had been working in all morning, unable to believe the speed at which everything had changed. As she entered she saw Frodides still working at the midday meal. Still unsure as to where everything was Kara began to pull open drawers and rummage through cupboards, trying to find a good size bowl to fill with water. On her knees halfway inside a large space filled with crockery she found a suitable one and pulled it out. As she did so the remaining contents of the cupboard fell down around her with a crash, making Frodides jump. The cook turned with a reprimand half formed on her lips, but took one look at Kara and quickly wiped her hands on a cloth before taking her by the shoulders and pushing her towards a stool.

Kara struggled, knowing she needed to get back. Frodides kept her there, and continued to ask what was wrong. Her calming influence allowed Kara to settle down enough to get the words out, and once she had spoken the cook let her go, with instructions to fill the bowl while she found a clean cloth.

Moments later Kara was hurrying back to the main hall, trying to keep the water in the bowl while going as fast as she could. The cloth and her clothes were already damp by the time she reached the little group in the doorway, but the woman who was tending to the man on the floor seemed pleased with what she'd brought, sending a smile her way as Kara handed over the bowl and cloth before turning back to her patient.

Kara moved back a little, though stayed close in case she was needed to fetch anything else. She stood in the doorway in the hope that the sun shining down would dry her out a little and waited.

[JennyHallu]

As Æthelhild leaned over Marenil, Lin released his hand, moving back and away, trying to contain her fear for the older man. It was not easy. She curled into herself in a chair in the corner where her view of first Æthel and then a confident healer from Meduseld working quickly over Mar’s still form was unobstructed. She didn’t notice when a mug of warm honeyed ale was pressed firmly into her hand by—someone—and she drank it without noticing the taste. She didn’t notice the silent tears pouring down her face, dripping off her chin to add their saltiness to her drink, her eyes locked on Marenil; her thoughts locked on each memory she had of him.

Linduial had two older brothers, and an older sister with a son of her own. The boys, now grown into strong and good-hearted men, were dear beyond words to their father, and while he loved the pretty, delicate, witty little woman who was his youngest child, it had always been a source of almost wonder to him that he, a rough-and-ready warrior, could possibly have produced her.

He treated Lin as though she were a rose made of glass, exquisite and perfect. He’d gotten her the best tutors he could find, a dancing, dainty chestnut mare from Rohan, the finest silks and wools and brocades from all over Middle-Earth for her dresses. Her brothers were much like him; they were rough and rude and crude, excellent fighters both, but around Lin they were courteous, nervous, trying desperately to speak of things they thought would interest the lady-like little girl (she always seemed so tiny beside their tall muscular frames) who gazed up at them with such big, fascinated grey eyes. They brought her presents from all their adventures, and as they never really knew what to get her, her rooms filled slowly with a delightful mix of delicate treasures, exotic sweets, and completely random things the boys had seen and thought she might like.

The only reason she knew any weaponry at all was because they had found for her a delicately and elaborately carven bow—they’d traded their pack-horse for it, far from home, though they never told her—and had nervously taught her the use of it, flinching with her when she accidentally snapped the string against her knuckles, competing for her smiles, and, both of them, staring at her in shocked admiration when she hit the bulls-eye within her first ten shots. Since then the younger brother had taken to bringing her colorful feathers and fletching her arrows with them. Sometimes they flew a little unpredictably, but her quiver was a riot of reds and blues and greens.

Always, Marenil was there. As steward of her father’s household, his duties were many and never-ending, but he had seen the danger her father ran of spoiling the little girl. Once, when the Lord and his sons had been gone for a long time, little Lin had taken to following him around, lonely and bored. He’d quietly encouraged her, teaching the clever lass accounting and book-learning, and sending her off on little errands. It became a fond joke among her father’s men, the little Lady trotting cheerfully behind the Steward, running her little errands with such earnest concentration, brows furrowed as she worked. When the Lord returned, Marenil somehow convinced him that such an education was necessary, that she must learn how to run a household so that she need never be dependent on her servants, and from then on it was settled. Linduial became Marenil’s special charge.

Her father bought her a fine horse—but it was Marenil who taught her how to ride it, how to fall off and get back on. Her father sent her to learn from many different tutors—but it was Marenil who confined her to her rooms until she worked at her lessons. Her father bought her fine fabrics—but Marenil gave her a few sheep, and despite her father’s protestations, put her in the charge of his wife until she had learned how to spin the wool into cloth. After that her father never questioned Marenil’s treatment of her, for the pride in her eyes as she showed him the rough-woven cloak she had made hushed anything he could have said. As she grew up, she loved and respected her father—but Marenil she adored.

And now, he, her rock, was lying there helpless…and she could do nothing.

[Folwren]

Æðelhild and the Healer from Meduseld bent together over the ailing man. Eodwine paced at the head of the table, looking rather anxious himself. As for the girl. . .the young woman, she had retreated to a corner and a chair, looking badly frightened. Thornden glanced at her briefly and turned towards Kara.

“Run to the kitchen, lass, and fetch some warm ale with honey. The lady yonder needs it.” Kara looked up at him briefly and he nodded towards the kitchen. She immediately turned and went off at a pleasingly swift pace, coming back in little time at all with the desired drink. Thornden took it from her hand and went quietly to young stranger.

Without speaking, and without breaking the line of vision to where the man lay, he gently pressed the cup into her hand and curled her fingers about it so that she was aware of it before he let it go. Numbly, she drank it, and not once did she look up, nor was she aware that Thornden stood watching her and the tears which escaped unconsciously from her lashes.

“He’ll be alright yet, lady,” he finally said. She gave a start, suddenly aware of him, and looked up. “The Healer is a greatly skilled man and I have seen him heal many wounds and sicknesses. Your friend could not be in better hands. Take heart. He’ll see through this day and many more after it.”

[littlemanpoet]

The sun had fallen more than halfway down to the western slopes. It now hung a fist's width over the Golden Hall, making that slated beacon glimmer with a sheen that made the spring thaw seem the more promising. There was quite a racket going on outside, the pounding of hammers, saws grinding, voices calling out for help or orders. The makeshift tent would be up by the end of the morrow. Then the builders could start dismantling the roof and hearth.

Eodwine sat by the fire, nursing a cup of mead, feeling just a little light in the head. He had become so of a purpose; this day had had more than enough adventure and new faces that all took some getting used to. Not that he didn't enjoy people, far from it! But the wildness of the day had taken its toll. Besides, he had to get himself ready for the advent of the Smith brothers, Garreth and Harreld. There was no knowing what kind of great blithering and blathering they'd make of all that had happened at the Hall this day. Eodwine's mouth lifted in a slow grin. It was going to be fun.

"What're you grinning about?" Falco asked after uncovering half his face from the large mug he'd been drinking from, licking his lips with deep satisfaction.

"Garreth and Harreld will be coming by soon for their suppers."

"And that's a good thing?" Falco gave him a skeptically raised brow. "You know what a cantankerballyhoo they'll make of things."

"A canta - what?" Eodwine asked, giving Falco a double take.

"Never you mind. I made it up." He drank another swale of his ig.* "How's the old man doing?"

Eodwine sighed. "Better. Marinel is resting abed. His daughter, Linduial, however, is a wreck. Have you seen her hands?"

"Aye. Never stop moving, all the while doing nothing but fidget. But you're a wreck too for calling her his daughter, if I heard it rightly. He's her guardian not her father."

"Ah! Right you are. That is the way of it on both scores!" Eodwine smirked as he watched Falco's befuddled face as he tried to work out what 'both' Eodwine meant. "Thornden has been kind, however, which is very good."

"You haven't failed of kindness yourself, Lord Eodwine of East Emnet."

"Well maybe I haven't, but it's still good to have a right hand man to go along with my left hand hobbit."

"It's left, now, is it?"

"If I had two right hands, you'd get one too. But you won't be paid, nor would I have you as anything but a guest in my house, so left hand hobbit it'll have to be."

"Very well!" Falco grinned. "A guest I'll be. I'm glad to see you've warmed up to Manawyth the Minstrel, or whatever you'd like to call him."

"He plays well enough. I'll need more than music from him, though, and I think he knows it."

Eodwine looked around. There was Manawyth still near the hearth with the harp, running through song after song, his ale mug never empty nor food from his plate; Eodwine had made sure of that. He wanted his men loyal, and any lord knew that the best ways to breed loyalty in a man was through gift, praise, and respect. Not in that order, but as occasion allowed.

There was Æðelhild, speaking with Gudryn and Saeryn, probably discussing the situation of Marinel and Linduial. Léof was in the hall, seated with Gárwine at a table close to the wall. Both were apparently watching and listening to Manawyth.

The front door opened with a bang. In walked two large men with blonde hair flowing to their shoulders, and scruffy beards covering their collarbones. Their faces were beet red - as always - and the first one in spoke quickest.

"What is going on here, Master Eodwine! Are you putting up a circus next to your inn?"

"Nay, Garreth," Eodwine smiled, rising. "'Tis a tent to serve as meeting place whilst this room is changed to serve as my Mead Hall, for this is not longer the White Horse Inn."

"Oh! I forgot!" Garreth's eyes flitted across the room and stayed at the promising vision of three young maids, all three of whom he and Harreld had seen on previous nights. Garreth rubbed his hands and grinned. "I'm ready for food and drink and talk and - and -" he suddenly looked confused.

"-and dance," Harreld supplied as if by way of reminder.

"That's it! And I see we have us a minstr-" Suddenly Garreld's brow furrowed darkly. "What's a Dunlending doing here?"

*the reversed letters are not a mistake.

[littlemanpoet]

"I've never actually washed dishes before...and if I break something, remember I warned you in advance," Linduial bantered.

"Then you shall learn!" Eodwine replied with a smile. "And I'll not take ill to a broken dish or two if you are willing to put two hands to it. After all, pretty broken plates can make a cheery footwalk." Eodwine cast his manner brightly, partly because he had enjoyed retelling the tale of Gob and Twiddle; another part was that Linduial was a cheery enough sort; yet another part was that a man lay abed with a sickened heart, and cheer might not hurt.

"I'll wash. You rinse and dry," he said, and set-to, noting Æðelhild's reproving expression that a lord should do drudge work. He grinned. "I was not always a lord, young lady! Some habits are hard to break!"

Æðelhild blushed, grinned, and left the kitchen after depositing a share of crockwear.

"And now," Eodwine said, tilting a glance toward the Gondorian princess (who held the drying towel like a kerchief rather than a weapon against wetness), "now's the time to tell me a bit about you and your guardian. I'm all ears."

[JennyHallu]

Linduial blushed and dunked the earthenware dishes Lord Eodwine handed her in the rinsewater, then dried them, not quickly, but carefully, as though they were finest porcelain. "My father allowed me to make this journey on the condition that I did not travel alone, and his steward, Marenil, was sworn to my guardianship. He was happy to come, but he was to exact an oath of you that you would protect me and my honor as my father and my brothers might, and then return home."

She paused to carefully stack the plates on a counter, thinking through her words carefully. "But now he is ill, and the healer my cousin sent from Meduseld says he must stay in bed for at least a week, and mustn't think of travel for six months. I have written a letter to my father that I need to post, telling him what has happened, but Marenil cannot discharge the duties of his oath, and I would like to tell him that someone has taken his place as my guardian." She paused.

"And in a more prosaic tone, my trunks should arrive with a merchant caravan from Minas Tirith in the next week, and I would like the advice of you or the Ladies Saeryn or Gudryn on a suitable gift to send to the healer in thanks for Marenil's care."

[Folwren]

While the dishes and food was cleared off the table by many willing and helping hands Thornden quietly got up and drew away. He had listened with great amusement to the telling of the tale of Gob and Twiddle. Having been part of the populace of the Hall for an entire day, Thornden found the company very likeable, and their lord and Eorl, Eodwine, even more so. A man of many characteristics, generous and kind in nature, willing to help everybody. Everybody. . .even a Dunlending. . .a man who at first, he appeared to dislike for his home land.

With the thought, Thornden turned to look for this newcomer. He had not sat with the company at the large table, but was withdrawn several places, still near the fire and in the long shadows cast by it. Saeryn was just carrying away the dishes that he had used and Manawyth sat back, crossing his arms and sticking his feet far forward, prepared to sit and watch the evening unfold.

Thornden approached him almost warily, not knowing exactly what sort of welcome he would receive.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, grasping an empty chair as he spoke. With or without permission, he sat down a couple feet away and looked at him. Manawyth sat up instantly, and Thornden, bowing his head to hide his smile, was reminded vividly of himself being told sharply to ‘sit up and not slouch’ by his mother. The next moment, he looked up again, quite serious again. “You played well today, friend,” he said. “How did you learn the art of singing and harp playing? Is it a widely known talent in your land?”

[littlemanpoet]

The odd things being an Eorl put one in for! An oath of guardianship did not surprise Eodwine. A query as to a gift for a healer, now, that was unexpected! He'd spent his time among men at war for the first years of his grown life, then married and had son and daughter, but Minna, his late wife, had taken care of all such worries. They addled Eodwine's head and she had known it.

"Best see Saeryn on such as that. Gudryn would be flustered, I fear, though she'd try hard enough."

Eodwine finished the last of the platters and moved on to the mugs.

"I will guard you as long as Marinel is abed, for you are a guest in my house and I would do no less for anyone. Once he is up and about, we shall talk of this again, but for now there is no need.

"Tell me, Linduial, a father's blessing may be extracted easily enough by a loved daugher, but why would a princess of Dol Amroth leave the comforts of such an abode filled past full with luxury and servants at every beck? Why come here?"

[Anguirel]

Manawyth nodded simply as Thornden sat down opposite him. He did not smile-apparently not yet fully used to going through the expressions of joy-but his eye showed respect, mixed, admittedly, with not a little surprise. He listened carefully to the Horse-lord's questions, and paused before answering, clearly considering his reply.

"The harp...is the instrument of the shepherd, the herdsman, now? For in winter and the cruelness of climes before...blodwyn...flowers...spring...aye, then the wind is cold and fierce, and only music can warm the gut, the heart."

He seemed to be drawing on a memory or a concept that rose him to a state of passion he had not yet reached in the evening. Perhaps he was unused to the mead; but he had drunk but sparingly so far.

"The harp is what our fathers and grandfathers played, but now is...used...by too few. For war is constantly upon us. Unhappy times, unlike here, did not end with the Dark King...no, few think much of harp strains now. For the shepherds are dead and the flocks are wild and dispersed...or herded east and south, here...horns ad drums are played by the warbands of the chieftains, and an old art has died."

Manawyth stopped, as if realising how his voice had risen. "Forgive...my mood is...too sober. It is a grim tale to me, though. I am but the least of harpers...my brother taught me all I can play now. But he was no good with an axe, and so..."

Manawyth shrugged, his meaning all too clear. He shook his head, driving unwelcome thoughts from it.

"Perhaps here I shall find memories that will make me glad. For now...I would like yours. Do you..." he paused again, thinking, "are you wedded? For indeed I have noticed that this marriage seems to...disturb the women here..." he finished wryly, in clear reference to Saeryn and the Gondorian newcomer, whom he had overheard earlier.

[Firefoot]

“A fine horse, isn’t he?” responded Léof. “This is Flithaf, Eodwine’s horse – his old charger.” Léof laughed. “Don’t tell him that he’s getting older, though. He still has enough spirit for a horse half his age.” Thornden chuckled along with him, although the horse seemed to hold himself above such jokes. Léof gave him a final pat on the withers before letting himself out of the stall. He had been about finished, and would leave Flithaf to finish his breakfast in peace.

The past week had been good to Léof. Though his contact with many of the people around the hall had been fairly minimal, he had quickly developed an easy confidence around the stable and its horses. He knew from painful experience which one bit and which one was a picky eater, and which ones he could be comfortable with inside their stalls. His old comfort with horses had been coupled with a new level of security, and while he had not lost sight of his determination and past experiences, he felt that he had found a freedom that he had never quite known before. Sure, he had three weeks yet to prove himself, but he saw no reason why this should be a problem and, wisely or not, some corner of his mind had already asserted itself as master of the stables. Safety was here; he need not fear as at home that his father might come thundering in after him.

He looked to Thornden, curious now as to what had brought him out here. Léof did not particularly recall seeing him around the stables at any point during the week. He supposed that if Thornden were to be Eodwine’s steward, as he had heard, then he would need to be familiar with all parts of the Mead Hall. “There isn’t anything I particularly need to be doing right now – would you like me to show you around the stable?” Léof offered. Thornden agreed, and the pair moved down the aisle with Léof comfortably but respectfully answering any of Thornden’s questions.

They were interrupted after a bit by the arrival of Linduial in out of the rain. In the dry warmth of the stables, Léof had all but forgotten about the damp outside and was now all the more grateful for its snugness. After all, a stable had to be kept dry because if the hay became wet it would rot, which could cause all kinds of problems.

His focus drifted back to Linduial; he had little idea as to why she might have come out here. She may have just come out to see her horse, as the apple in her hand might suggest, and take advantage of the dry stable, opposing the construction going on with the roof in other parts of the hall. And the weather was certainly unpleasant for a ride – unpleasant for going anywhere. But obviously she had some business out here.

“Good morning, Linduial,” he greeted. “Can I help you with anything?”

[JennyHallu]

Lin was at first surprised to see Thornden in the stables, but it quickly occured to her that she was undoubtedly not the only one eager to escape the bustle of the main hall today. She nodded a formal greeting to both men, and walked lightly through the straw to the door of her horse's stall, offering the apple gingerly and smiling when the mare took it, whuffling breath tickling her palm.

"Actually, Leof," she began, suddenly realizing that her title and formal address had become less and less common over the last few days, and deciding quickly that she didn't mind a bit, "I had a favor to ask of you, if you have a moment later today." She explained her desire to hang her things on the wall.

"I expect to be in Edoras for a good long while, and I wanted it to feel a little bit like home." Suddenly she was homesick for her dainty lady's bower at home. Unbeknownst to her, she proved what a relaxing effect a week in Rohan had had on her formal manners, (though were she concentrating the ice-maiden was still there if she needed her) for her loneliness showed on her face for a split second before her usual friendly-but-closed expression washed it away.

[Firefoot]

The request was certainly unexpected, if bordering on unusual, and for a moment Léof did not respond. “Yes, I suppose I could help you with that,” he answered, still not quite sure how to take the request. If only she wasn’t so hard to read. Her expression always seemed somehow muted – always, every time he saw her. Léof could not understand her. Were all Gondorian nobility like this? He thought that he should get a headache being surrounded by such people.

And he was struck by another difference – wall hangings? Although there was a perfectly comfortable cot in the room adjacent to the tack room, Léof had been perfectly happy on one or two nights to bed down in the empty stall next to his Æthel’s – never mind anything so frivolous as wall hangings. Comfort, he was coming to realize, could mean so many different things to different people. He did not need much to be comfortable, and was all the more content for it. But she was a guest here, and a wealthy one at that, so he reckoned if she wanted wall hangings, she would have them. It would not be so difficult a thing, and he honestly did not mind helping.

“I’ll stop by in a little bit,” he added. “Do you want me to come directly to your room, or will you be out and about?”

[JennyHallu]

"I'll be there. I'm trying to get my things organized indoors, since it's so rainy without, and unpacking a little so I'm not living out of a trunk." She smiled sweetly and gave the horse a final pat on her velvety nose before turning fully to face the young ostler. "You do a wonderful job, Leof. I love how sweetly it always smells in here. I didn't know a stable could smell so good. And thank you so much for your help!"

She threw the shawl back over her hair and had left the stables before Leof could say another word, running cheerfully back across the courtyard, pushing any thoughts of homesickness to the back of her mind. She arrived in her room damp and slightly rumpled, and started pulling clothes out of her trunks and putting them away, alternately singing and humming to herself as she worked. Her winter and summer cloaks went on hooks by the door, riding boots and various pairs of court slippers under the bed. Three exotic silk scarves in vibrant colors and a tapestry with an elaborate maritime scene embroidered on it were tossed on top of the bed, ready for Leof. The room was large and well-furnished, though the furnishings were rougher than what she was used to, and she hung her dresses in a tall wardrobe against the wall. This freed enough room in her trunks to sort the various underthings, jewelry, and other items neatly, and she pushed one, containing such everyday items as these, against the foot of the bed, and the other, holding the personal toys and trinkets she'd stuffed into corners and odd spaces in both trunks, against the wall.

She opened that last on a whim, and rummaged happily through the contents.

A box of wonderful and clever things her father had collected through his travels over the years, meant for gifts as she needed them. Luxury, her father had taught her, was a tool, rather than a right or even privilege. "It backs up everything you say or do," he'd said. "It draws the attention of others, and then your talents and your manners have more power in high circles." She'd realized then that that very thing meant luxury was also a danger. She had to always be aware of herself. Marenil had tried to teach her that she could really relax, at least more than she did, but the lesson hadn't yet stuck.

A small wooden basket filled to overflowing with threads in a myriad of colors, with a paper package of needles underneath it, for embroidery

Five books. One was poetry, one an atlas. The other three were histories. Two smaller volumes, hidden underneath these, contained a ledger and a diary, respectively. A lockbox contained her's and Marenil's funds.

She turned over a sheaf of paper intended as a gift for Queen Lothiriel. Despite how much of it she carried, fine paper was precious. Underneath was a package neatly wrapped in sailcloth. She couldn't remember putting it there, and lifted it out curiously. A note, written cross-ways on an old letter, slipped out of the top. She read it quickly: "A gift for someone far away from home" and her brothers' signatures. She unwrapped it and delightedly found it full of sugar candies and chocolates, wonderful delicious sweetmeats that she had a horrible weakness for...she reached for one, then had a sudden idea.

Saeryn's room was next door...she'd surely be able to hear Leof when he came. She closed and relocked the trunk quickly, then re-wrapped the package, almost skipping out of her room and to her neighbor's. She knocked twice, and entered at a muffled invitation from within. Eyes sparkling, she walked up to where Saeryn sat, opened the package ostentatiously, displaying its toothsome contents. "A gift from my brothers," she explained happily. "Doesn't it just look lovely? Much too nice not to share..."

[Folwren]

Thornden stood by and watched the short interchangement of words. He smiled slightly at Leof's rather surprised look at the lady's request before he responded to her. Thornden himself only wondered a little why she had come out to ask Leof's assistance, but he didn't trouble his head much about it.

"Well, Leof," he said, once the matter had been decently settled. "I guess I'll leave you, as you're about to be busy. Thank you for showing me the stables. I think you're doing well with everything and you may be sure that I'll tell Eodwine as much." He nodded as he prepared to leave and Leof thanked him. "Don't take the trouble to thank me," Thornden said, smiling again. "I can appreciate good work when I see it. So long, then. "

A breath of cooler and wetter air met him as he opened the door. He had almost forgotten the rain and he grimaced as he stepped out into it. How his sisters would laugh at him - a recent Guard of Meduseld in dislike of rain! Well, it didn't matter. He ducked his head and hurried across the open ground as quickly as he could without appearing ridiculous.

"Well, my lord," he said, approaching Eodwine. "When do you suppose this wretched rain will quit and we can be back to work? I can't tell you how anxious I am to get my hands back to work again. It's quite vexing, you know, having nothing to do with so much to be done." He took a seat beside Eodwine and looked around himself. "I've just come from the stables," he went on in a moment, looking back at Eodwine. "Leof showed me around a bit and he's doing an excellent job keeping everything, including the horses, clean and in good order."

[Folwren]

Thornden was crossing the hall right before the door leading into the Mead Hall when the catastrophe occurred. Instinct caused him to step back and stand with his back against the nearest, steady wall, and this he did, until the falling crash had ended. But even before those few seconds were through, his mind was racing as quickly as his heart about the others outside. He had no idea what exactly had fallen, only that it was big, nor where it had fallen, except that it was awfully near where everyone was sitting together.

He carried in his hands the small chest that Eodwine had sent him to get. Turning, half blinded by the dust that had invariably risen, he hurried down the hall away from the hole that was now rent in the building, with the hope of setting it somewhere where it would be safe. He set it on a chair near the corner of it and hurried back the way he had come, nearly at a run.

He came out into what was now the open. From where he stood, he could see where the wall had fallen and how much damage had been done. He looked around him quickly, squinting through the white, dusty fog that was rising he noticed out in front, the group of would be story tellers, crouching in the drizzly, incessant rain. No one was hurt, but they all looked considerably dazed. He nodded in satisfaction and turned his head about and looked the other way. That, he saw, was where the trouble would be. The door of the kitchen was half covered up with stones and wood. The bottom of the wall was rammed in, though it didn’t fall, and Fordides was caught inside.

With one more glance towards the others, he began to pick his way as quickly as possible through the rubble towards the kitchen door. Through his mind he tried to think of someone who could help him to clear the door and get Fordides out. He hoped that she wasn’t hurt, but from where he was, he could not tell if it was likely or unlikely.

A thought struck him at a happy moment. Two people had not been present when they gathered in the makeshift hall. “Léofric! Gárwine!” he shouted. He hoped his voice was carry into the stables where they both were. “Léof! Gárwine! Come out here, quick, I need your help!” He stopped before the kitchen door, as close to before it as he could get, and tried to look in. “Fordides?” he called. “Fordides, are you alright in there?”

“Oh, aye, I’m all very well and good,” came her voice, but it was sounded strange, and somewhat broken. “But my poor kitchen’s all busted in from the outside.”

Thornden drew back and knit his brows, shaking his head at the mysteries of women. The poor cook was bewailing her wounded kitchen.

[Firefoot]

“We’ve had Æthel since she was old enough to be broken to the saddle, and that was when I was seven or eight – just old enough to be the one sitting in the saddle,” added Léof with a wince. He had certainly learned something about being dumped from this experience. Æthel had been about as young as a horse could get for riding, and his father had not wanted to put his own full weight on her back, while Léof’s scant frame had been ideal. “But she was the product of a local breeding, so if our horses were related, it would have to be further back than that. I know that Æthel’s sire came from somewhere close to Edoras; he was the foal of Therlaf and Merufel. But beyond that I can’t say that I know. It was hard for me to get information.

“As long as I’m moving Æthel around anyway, why don’t you bring Herefola out? I wouldn’t mind having a close look at the two of them side by side,” said Léof.

Gárwine agreed and led Herefola out of her stall. They lined the two of them up and Léof handed Æthel’s lead rope to Gárwine. Léof marveled now at how very close the two of them really were, not only in markings but also in stature and build. Æthel was perhaps half a hand shorter and somewhat slighter, but besides a few other subtle differences, it would be easy to believe he was looking at twins.

Suddenly there was a creaking, then a cracking, then a loud crash. Both horses snorted and tugged at their ropes; Léof could see the whites of Herefola’s eyes, and Æthel looked ready to rear. Many of the other horses in the stable had also become agitated, but Léof was much more concerned about these two. He was taking Æthel’s lead from Gárwine when he heard a shout, “Léofric! Gárwine!” Léof felt a brief flash of fear and anger, not at Thornden but because of the connotations his shouted full name carried, but he had no time to dwell on it in the ensuing chaos. Somewhere down the shed row he heard a bang, as if one of the horses had kicked the stall wall. “Léof! Gárwine! Come out here, and quick!” The shout and bang were the last straws for the panicked horses. Æthel reared, and Léof could feel the rope sliding through his hands, burning them. He had enough sense not to let go of the rope, but he also was not about to let himself get hauled from the ground. From the side of his vision, Léof had the impression of Herefola struggling; he could not tell what was happening to Gárwine. But he could do nothing until Æthel was under control. She had reared up again, and her flailing hooves were uncomfortably close to his head. He backed up, giving the lead a slight tug and talking to her in a soft voice. Inwardly, however, he was starting to panic, not for her but for Herefola. Gárwine seemed to be having a hard time with her, and she didn’t seem to be getting any calmer.

To make matters worse, Léof could hear more shouts coming from the courtyard. Æthel’s ears, which had been slowly flicking forward in attention to him, snapped back again and she lunged. Léof jumped back, but not quite quickly enough to avoid having his foot stepped on. He felt his throat contract and he gasped in pain. He clenched to the lead rope, trying to find words to speak to Æthel. But for her, at least, it seemed the crisis had passed. Her front feet lifted a few inches from the ground once more before her ears flicked forwards and she stood still, quivering slightly and snorting, but calmed. Now, he knew, Gárwine would need help…

[JennyHallu]

Linduial watched in horror as the Mead Hall walls collapsed, a shriek escaping her lips as she spun around and instinctively crouched down beside her chair, hands over her head. She felt the shock-wave of the collapsed wall as a wind pushing against her, tangling her hair and coating her in wet and muck and dust. She stayed frozen, arms protecting herself, for a few long moments, panicked, but as no further sounds warned her of impending doom, she carefully stood, hoping that noone had been hurt.

She glanced over at Marenil and their eyes met, both remembering a bad storm that had blown up off the bay and completely flattened an entire city block in Dol Amroth the autumn past. Such storms were not unknown, but this one had been particularly bad--and even Lin had pitched in to help in the frantic search for survivors, pulling old shirts and sheets to shreds and bandaging the injured. The images of that storm were imprinted painfully on both their memories and each was frantically trying to figure out who might be in there. Shouts and faint figures working their way through the dust let them know that Thornden, Lèof, and Garwine at least were safe, but as they began digging through a seemingly impossibly huge pile of rubble and the rest of the company began to compare the scattered beams and stones to mental maps of the grounds, most came to the same conclusion at once: Frodides.

Eodwine and Degas immediately started sprinting through the rubble to the pile of debris blocking the kitchen door, with Marenil following behind only slightly more slowly. Aedhel was running for her room (the wing of the building that housed them all seemed, thankfully, to be standing) for her healer's kit, and Linduial, Saeryn, and Kara were left watching rather helplessly as the men worked to free the trapped woman.

Suddenly Lin laughed out loud, gaining her the instant attention of the other two women. She quickly sobered and turned to them with a smile. "Those ridiculous men. It will take them half the day to shift that rock. But I just thought of something...Kara, isn't there a backdoor into the kitchen, in the back wall beside the summer hearth?"

Kara nodded, slow to realize what Lin was getting at in the shock of the collapse. Lin laughed again, but sobered quickly. "Frodides must be hurt, or she'd surely use the door. But if we run, we can rescue her before the men even realize what fools they're being."

Saeryn and Kara smiled as they realized what Lin was saying, and seemed willing to go along with her, so Lin, with total disregard (for now) for her ruined dress, filthy skin and tangled hair, led them at an easy run around the back of the kitchen, all three girls giggling quietly at the sound of the men calling to Frodides not to worry, they'd get to her soon enough.

The back walls didn't seem damaged at all, but the three immediately saw why Frodides hadn't emerged. Lin shook her head slowly, for the first time realizing that the Rohirrim, not being terribly familiar with the material, used no mortar: the force of the collapse had caused the tall stone chimney to collapse, and the back door, while not blocked as thoroughly as the ones into the Hall and inner courtyard, was certainly not easily accessible. She experienced a brief stab of frustration, but quickly realized a solution was still at hand. On the same wall, to the other side of the collapsed hearth, the window was wide open to catch early morning breezes and birdsong.

Lin continued to play ringleader, standing to one side of the window, and gesturing for Saeryn to do the same. "Look at us, we three. That window is fairly wide, and none of us are. Nor is Frodides for that matter. If two of us could give the third a boost up, and then help to lift Frodides out, we could rescue our cook without the boys even realizing we'd done so. Kara, you go in, you're most familiar with the kitchen, and it's like to be dark and rather cluttered in there."

Kara nodded, and Saeryn and Lin made steps of their hands and lifted her up and over the high windowsill. "And don't make more noise than you have to!" Lin instructed cheerfully. "It will be loads more fun if the men don't realize Frodides has been rescued!"

[littlemanpoet]

"Step away, Thornden and Degas. Let Falco and me have a go!"

"I would like to lend a hand also," offered Marenil.

"And you just up from bed rest?" retorted Eodwine.

Eodwine and Falco laid hands in and pulled chunks of broken stone and wood away from the pile blocking the way to the kitchen.

Some lord I make, Eodwine thought. I was a fool to take the title. Ill luck's with me, clear for all to see. I ought to bring the title back to the King and have him hand it to another. 'Lord, just let me be a humble innkeeper; charge my guests a fair rater for room and board, live the life of a simple man as I was born to be.' He could imagine the reply: 'Do you question my command? Did I not choose the right man to rule this piece of my realm?' No, lord, you chose wrongly this once, though I thank you for the kindly thought that intended better than I've done with it. Have you seen the wonder of my mead hall? I started out with a homely inn and now I've a ruin. So well I've done with your charge, lord! In fact, I daresay you should give me that Wardenship of the Dunlending Marches after all! In a month and a day I'll have handed the whole of it back to the Dunlendings without having meant to! Better yet, make me king! In a year and a day all Rohan will be divided up between Gondor, Dunland, the Fangorn Ents, and any other kinglet who seeks a realm to be ripped from a luckless churl like me!

"Whoa there, lord," said Degas, "toss those rocks any harder and I'll have a broken leg to show for it."

"Sorry, Degas," Eodwine grunted, "just working with a will. I suggest you step back."

[Firefoot]

Busy inside of Linduial’s horse’s stall, Léof did not notice anyone entering the stable. He thought he heard a quiet voice, but attributed it to Farahil two stalls down. Even so, he could not quite shake the feeling that something was not quite right… perhaps because the voice didn’t quite sound like Farahil’s, perhaps because the sounds of horses that he was so used to weren’t exactly right, or perhaps it was simply intuition. Whatever it was, after a few minutes Léof was sure he heard something drop and decided he ought to go check and make sure everything was all right.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to Farahil. He glanced up and down the aisle; nothing seemed amiss. You’re just imagining things, he told himself – but he didn’t believe it. He walked slowly down the aisle, checking the horses; and the farther he went, the more stirred up they seemed to be: pricked ears and alert expressions, one or two had ceased eating and poked their head out of the stalls. That’s funny.

Then when he was nearing the end of the aisle, he spotted a knife on the floor. He immediately frowned. Not only was it not safe, but he had no idea as to why anyone would have a knife out here in the stables – much less drop one. He stepped closer to pick it up, then jumped back in surprise when he realized that someone was actually occupying the empty stall nearest the knife. “Hey! What are you doing here, sneaking around the stables?” Léof’s surprised expression turned to a scowl as he contemplated the options. The young man in the stall was scruffy and roguish looking, crouched and hiding there in the stall – and not from Rohan, by the looks of him. Léof glanced over his shoulder quickly, not trusting his back to the stranger – the horse in the stall was none other than Eodwine’s Flithaf, an appealing horse to any thief… His glance also showed that Farahil was coming to find the source of the commotion. “You had best explain yourself.”

[Nogrod]

Stigend and Modtryth woke up early but didn’t want to wake Cnebba too soon. Modtryth went on with an inventory of what they were lacking. If they were to live here now, they might need a few items to make it their home, she told Stigend. They should have fresh flowers beside the window and so they would need a nice little vase for it, the rocking chair absolutely needed a rug on it...

“But you heard what the Eorl said. It’s just a month now, and only then will our fate be decided. I think you should worry about the vases and rugs then. Nothing’s certain yet”, Stigend tried to argue, but to no avail.

“C’mon now dear, surely we have savings enough to buy some essential things”, Modtryth looked at her husband half-challengingly. Then her face lightened and she said with a triumphant tone: “Remember, we don’t have to pay for our quarters or the food here, so we have at least a month’s expenses saved already.”

Modtryth was right as always. Lord Byrthold had paid him handsomely for his job and they had some left from the horse fair earnings too. And then there was Stigend’s secret “reserve” he had never mentioned Modtryth about. That meant the golden ring and the ornate silver necklace with two small gems on it he had been given by his Great aunt, the only person who somewhat approved of their marriage. She had given them to him when they were leaving their village. “I don’t have any eye for beauty anymore as I’m almost blind now, and I will not be suffering poverty on my last years. So take these and change them to silver to get you a living in times of despair.” Stigend had tried to decline the offer but his Great aunt had been resolute enough. And surely Stigend had appreciated the gift. He still appreciated it.

So Stigend had calculated that with a scanty living they might get on almost half a year with the money they had. And with the Great aunt’s gifts something more. Stigend didn’t have a clear idea of their worth. But he always wanted to be rather safe than sorry. He never wanted to use more money than was necessary as one never knew what the fate had in store. They had discussed this issue of using money during the years. They surely had.

It was not unexpected then, that when Cnebba finally woke up and Modtryth got something else to think about, Stigend was quite relieved.

After Cnebba had made a detailed account of his dream where he, Garmund and Lèoðern had adventured in the halls of the great King, tightly escaped a couple of dragons into a dead end and meeting there a horse-sized caterpillar that had turned into a butterfly and carried them to safety, they decided to go down and see whether there were breakfast still on offer.

As they opened the door the somewhat melancholic tune reached them. They just stood and listened to the melody. They didn’t hear well enough to make out the words but the player succeeded in getting the emotions through. As the song ended, Modtryth turned towards Stigend, almost whispering “That was so beautiful, wasn’t it?” Stigend was quiet for a second, just coming back from the world into which the melody had carried him. He couldn’t play any instrument and was quite bad a singer, but music sure was his weak spot, something that carried him away from the here and now easily and effortlessly. He looked at his wife smilingly, touching her cheek tenderly with his palm. “If we are going to be welcomed like this every morning to the breakfast, we sure are in the land of the dreams”.

“C’mon! I want to see it!” called Cnebba, already running towards the stairs. A new song had begun. Modtryth took Stigend by the hand and they both followed Cnebba downstairs and out to the courtyard.

Cnebba had stopped some ten yards away from the young man that was singing and playing. Even as he would so much have wanted to go and listen to the song beside Lèoðern, the stranger made him stay a bit farther away. Cnebba didn’t quite understand what he felt. It was something new. The man sang nicely and he admired him for it, but still he felt a bit disappointed to see Lèoðern being so deeply drawn into him and his song.

But then there was the butterfly! Cnebba’s eyes went round and the others might as well have heard how his jaw dropped from amazement and wonder. Wor a while he couldn’t say anything but just follow the butterfly as it danced around the singer and Lèoðern and then gracefully got farther, going up and down, left and right.

When the music stopped, he just couldn’t hold it any longer. He turned around to see his father some yards behind him and ran to him. “Daddy! Daddy! Did you see that! Was that the caterpillar we found yesterday?”

Stigend took the boy into his arms and answered, pretending to be serious “Well, it might have been. For that you must ask Garmund. But more probably that was the butterfly that saved you last night, don’t you think?” Cnebba looked into his father’s eyes intently for a moment and then bursted into laughter. Stigend laughed too and just couldn’t resist the chance and threw Cnebba high up, catching him only at the last moment before his feet would have touched the ground. They both laughed.

Only after he had let Cnebba to the ground did he realise that there were other people on the yard too. He hadn’t seen them the last evening, but they had to be people of the Mead Hall. He straightened his back and met some curios faces looking towards him and his family.

“Good morning to you sirs, mylady.” Stigend said a bit hesitatingly. He had no idea who these people were or how to address them. But they seemed to be of higher class. Still at least Lèoðern seemed to be in very close relation to that young man.

“My name is Stigend and I’m your new carpenter. This in my wife Modtryth and this is my son Cnebba. Nice to meet you all, in a good morning like this accompanied by the beautiful songs of you good Sir.” He bowed slightly and Modtryth followed his example.

[Laiudanama]

Trystan thought fast, skimming through the options, but he was already so tired that it was almost like thinking through mud. The boy who stood in front of him looked at least a good few years younger than him, and was even slighter in build than him. His eyes flickered to the knife on the ground, which was almost within reach of his long legs, if he stretched to it – but then again, even if he couldn’t, he could overpower this boy, surely…

“Oh no you don’t!” The boy had seen Trystan’s eyes move towards the weapon and he kicked it quickly out of reach. Trys’ eyes narrowed, and he was about to rise, before pausing, frozen mid-motion and Leofric looked nervously to the side, nodding to another who was just out of Trystan’s line of vision, sprawled rather awkwardly on the floor as he was. Just my ruddy luck – not just one, but two of them… His heart sank, too, when he saw this next new stranger, and the thought of fighting flashed only briefly into his mind before disintegrating. Two stable-hands, nervous and probably less experienced in fighting than Trystan, he could have dealt with: but this young man was rather more sturdily built, broad across the shoulders and with obvious strength – besides which he was probably an inch or two taller than Trystan. He hesitated, trying to think of some plan of action, but before he could say anything, the younger lad spoke again.

“Here, you’re Gondorian, aren’t you?”

Panic seized Trystan. He tried to tell himself it was his accent, or his distinctive colouring, dark hair and grey eyes, but his mind was running away with itself. They’d heard about it, they must have done! He could imagine the line on the wanted poster: Gondorian criminal wanted for murder and robbery, young man likely on the run or in hiding… He tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to have dried up completely. The other man frowned, his arms folded across his chest, and seemed about to speak, but Trystan pulled himself together, determined to get the next word before they said anything else. “Why do you say that, friend?” he replied, trying to keep his tone light. Bother. Too jovial. He tried again. “I am indeed from Gondor – bit of travel never hurt anyone, right?”

“Not if they’re travelling purely for the sake of travel, no…” The older man spoke for the first time, slowly and deliberately, watching Trystan carefully with a look that made the boy feel like he was under examination – a feeling he usually associated with soldiers and guards. Now that really would be just his luck, seeing how the last few months had gone – to get miles from Dol Amroth and run straight into a soldier!

“And why else would I be travelling?” he replied, his voice carefully neutral. It wasn’t quite a challenge, but was coming close. He tried to relax slightly, but his sinking feeling was increasing as the man spoke, and what is more, he was looking more familiar by the second. “Your accent… You are from Dol Amroth?”

“Aye. And I take it from yours that it is from the same that you yourself hail from?”

Should have spoken less, Trys… He forced a smile. There was no point in denying it at this point. “I am – and a pleasant surprise it is indeed to run into a kinsman this far from home.” He was rewarded with a wary smile from the man, although his expression remained guarded, and although the younger lad had been watching the exchange with his head jerking from one to the other, as if watching a sport, he still looked utterly unconvinced. Shaking himself out of silence, he gestured towards the beautiful horse behind him, scowling down at Trystan. “Well, that may be all well and good, but may I ask what you’re doing in lying in a horse stall, miles from Dol Amroth, with your eye on one of the most beautiful horses this side Edoras? Like I say, you’d best be explaining yourself!”

Trystan was getting into his stride now, and instead of showing the panic inside, he allowed a smile to slip onto his face and looked away, nodding slightly. Looking back up at the boy, he grinned ruefully and put his hands up as if caught red handed. “Fair enough, sir, a good point – I can see how that might look. But I promise you: I have only just arrived, and was making my way around to the front of the Inn when I was distracted by this beautiful creature. I have a fondness for horses – although not, of course, in that way!” he added, grinning amiably. Just a little white lie: as one who had grown up all his life in a city, he didn’t know the slightest thing about horses, but it was about the closest he could get to the truth as possible, and at this stage, the truth was just about acceptable. But the charm worked, or at least melted the boy’s defences slightly, so Trystan decided to seal the blow by putting himself right out there, showing (oh, the irony) that he had nothing to hide. Wiping a hand quickly on his trousers, he held it out to both the boy and the older man, open to either. “My name is Trystan, sir, traveller and general no-good, I believe would fit the bill?”

His tone was relaxed, the last comment even slightly tongue in cheek, though his heart was beating furiously as the boy hesitated. After a second of silence, though, it was the boy who answered, smiling and grasping Trystan’s hand and pulling him to his feet, where he did indeed stand an inch or two taller than the boy. “And I’m Léofric, and this here is Farahil; I work as ostler here at Eorling Mead Hall – and anyone who likes horses is fine with me, I suppose. But…I don’t suppose this knife is yours, is it?” So the suspicion remained. Trystan didn’t even hesitate, allowing a puzzled expression to address his features as he tipped his head slightly to one side. “Why….why would I have a knife out in a stable?”

Léofric nodded slowly, digesting the reply and seeming to accept it. “Just thought I’d check, y’know. Although I can’t think why it is in here; must have been dropped by someone or other… Never mind, anyway, you looked like you could do with a good drink – you haven’t been travelling all night have you?” Léofric’s tone was now far friendlier, chatting to Trystan, but the thief doubted he was entirely taken in. And as he followed him out of the stables, he noted that the other man, Farahil, did not immediately follow. Instead, he could feel narrowed eyes watching him leave, as if he was familiar but couldn’t quite be placed, before Farahil too followed them.

[Firefoot]

“Wait a second,” said Léof as they exited the stable; he had forgotten the knife on the ground. He would not have that laying around for someone to step on – human or horse. He set it up on a shelf containing a few other odds and ends that hadn’t been properly put away, making sure it was easy to access. Whoever it was that had dropped it would surely come back for it – and Léof wasn’t so sure that it wasn’t this Trystan – he had been looking at it mighty keenly before Léof kicked it away. Léof had no proof that he was not who he said he was, and so did not want to judge him by his appearance. Indeed, had he not been hiding in the stall, Léof probably would not have been very suspicious at all – but if his motives truly were honest, he should not have minded being found there in the stables.

“So what brings you here?” asked Léof. “It’s a fair way from Gondor, especially on foot.”

“Just traveling,” Trystan replied easily, but Léof thought he saw a hint of something – worry, perhaps? – in his eyes.

“Just traveling,” Léof repeated curiously. “You travel much?”

“Some.”

Léof nodded, still not wholly convinced. Trystan obviously was not telling him some things… but who was he to blame people for carrying secrets? Léof’s place was not to judge people on what they had done; Trystan ought to at least be given a chance. “Well, you can go ahead and sit down; some breakfast should be brought out soon. I’ll let the Lord Eodwine know you’re here, and then I’d best get back to the stables.”

“Thank you,” said Trystan, and Léof just nodded in acknowledgment. He walked over to where Eodwine appeared to be watching something in the courtyard. “Sir?” Eodwine turned. “A traveler just arrived – said his name was Trystan from Dol Amroth. Or, he didn’t say he was from there, but Farahil recognized the accent. Anyhow, I probably wouldn’t have said anything, except that I found him, well, hiding in an empty stall… he didn’t seem too happy to find me and Farahil in the stables with him. I can’t prove anything by it… but I thought you ought to know.”