Eorling Mead Hall

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas was abashed. He refused to let Saeryn's words hurt him, though his refusal was weak. He had provoked her and would not blame her for anything that she said because of it. Still, he should have known that her clear-sightedness would betray uncomfortable thoughts he had not yet allowed himself to even address.

"Please, Lord Eodwine, forgive me. I will not say forgive us, as Saeryn's behavior was directly influenced by mine." She sat up a little straighter and looked to say something, before wiping her eyes and deciding against it, wilting slightly once more. "I came to address the matter of courtship.

"Saeryn made mention of my stay in Gondor... my views of such things as asking leave of a woman's menfolk have been encouraged by Gondorian customs, yet these same customs have strong tradition in Rohan also."

[Formendacil]

Náin did not return to his bedchamber. He was in far too much of a temper for that, and certainly wasn't going to be sent to his room by Eodwine. Instead, he wandered to the part of the Mead Hall property that had become most familiar to him: the courtyard where the statue of Falco now stood, almost finished.

The chill April air soon chilled Náin's temper, and his mind fully awake again now, he began to ponder his actions in a more rational manner.

Shaking his head and shivering somewhat, he picked up his hammer and chisel, and began to put some of the finishing details on the statue. It was a clear night, and the moon illuminated the courtyard, but Náin needed little light for sculpting. A month of work had left him intimately familiar with the statue, and he could work as much by feeling as by sight.

The work was soothing, and just strenuous enough to keep him warm, so that the bite of the spring air did not leave him shivering. And a Dwarf, in any event, is resistant to discomfort.

As he slowly tapped away the final features on Falco's left calf, he admitted to himself just how utterly foolish it had been to go barging in on Saeryn and Degas. First of all, it was the Eorl's private chambers, and if Eodwine wasn't setting things right, it was hardly the part of a guest such as himself to do so- and calling the Lady of the Hall childish was rude in the extreme.

A fine example of Dwarven chivalry was he! Eodwine wouldn't kick him out- he was a guest of the King, and a representative of Thorin, but he was hardly promoting good will between Dwarves and Rohirrim. And having finally settled into the Mead Hall's routine, Náin was hardly eager to put a difficulty between him and its inhabitants.

He chipped away at the stone, it's hard, cool surface a comfort. Mahal's work was a beauty, a delightful mixture of texture and strength, gleaming when revealed. His own art was as much as display of Mahal's bounty and Falco's inherent beauty as it was any sign of his own skill.

If only he had the talent to sculp himself in such a manner, to chip away his imperfections, and leave a person that was a display as flattering to his maker Mahal as this piece of stone. Not that he need lose himself completely, for just as the stone displayed its own character as a part of the statue's design, so too should he be able to display his own personality as a part of a beautiful whole.

His mind calmed and introspective, Náin stepped back finally to view his creation. It was finished. He had no idea what the hour was. His last thought, before putting away his tools, was that in the morning, he should definitely go and apologise. To Eodwine, to Saeryn, to Degas- to Garstan too. He had been quite rude to his fellow stone-shaper. Yes, he thought, as he finally drifted asleep, chipping away imperfections was sometimes a humbling experience.

[Nogrod]

They had run into Garmund and Lèoðern on their way to their chambers. Although the situation might be better described by saying that Garmund and Lèoðern had run to them.

“You must first come and see where our home is dear”, Modtryth tried to reason to Cnebba as he was intensively asking for a permit to go play outside with Garmund and Lèoðern still for a while. “How could you come home if you don’t know where it is?”

“You could come and get me, ... if you’d find me!” Cnebba had answered, looking at the siblings as conspirationally as an 8-year old is capable of. “Or we could sleep outside? We could play that we are great heroes on a dangerous journey!” he continued with his eyes flashing. Garmund and Lèoðern seemed to appreciate Cnebba’s zeal.

“I have a solution”, Stigend had broken in. Then he turned towards Garmund and Lèoðern, kneeling a little to be nearer the level of their faces and asked: “If your father and mother let you stay up this late, would you like to come with us to see our chambers? You could keep company with Cnebba and we could all see our new home. Okay? I think the Lady here would have other things to do than follow our discussions about who is to come home and when and with whom.” The last bit of his speech had clearly not been directed to the children only. They had been so well received that Stigend was somewhat worried not to cause any unnecessary troubles or inconveniences to their new masters because of them.

The children had looked at each other, smiled and nodded enthusiastically in chorus. Lady Saeryn had smiled at the kids and after nodding gently to Modtryth and Stigend, she turned to lead them to their quarters.

The room was clean and cosy. By their standards it was almost luxurious. Clean linens on beds, a table and chairs of well made handicraft, even a wardrobe and a rocking chair! And it was clean. That last one really impressed the three. Yes, it also impressed Cnebba.

“I hope to see you all downstairs in the morning to have breakfast and to discuss your duties”, Saeryn had addressed them from the doorstep. Noticing Cnebba’s little shiver when he heard the word ‘duties’, she added kindly, smiling at him: “Yes, you too Cnebba. You will have a duty to play with Garmund and Lèoðern everyday so that all your parents can do their work undisturbed by you three.” She had smiled at Stigend and Modtryth and left with the wishes of good night.

After Stigend and Modtryth had carried all their belongings to their room and Stigend had been shown where to take their horse and the cart, they both felt happy and tired. The children clearly were happy too, but unfortunately they seemed not to be tired at all. When in the game of ‘orcs and knights’ Cnebba and Garmund fell together over a pile of newly pleated clothes, Stigend and Modtryth realised, that the room wasn’t so big at all, at least tonight.

“You still would like to play outside?” Modtryth asked with a bit sarcastic tone that the children wouldn’t understand, but which Stigend enjoyed so much, when the point was not directed to himself. The children almost froze hearing her words. “Outside?” they yelled in chorus and were about to set out immediately.

“Hey!” Stigend called them loud enough to stop them at the door. “Cnebba, not for a long time. You’ll have to sleep tonight and you have all the days to play together. You’ll come back in an hour.” During his last sentence the kids had already turned around and run off. “You forgot the ‘no foolery’-part”, Modtryth said to her husband, smiling heartily. Stigend just smiled back and whispered in a laid-back tone “Nobody’s perfect...”, and winked an eye to her.

The two had taken each others hands and just felt happy. “We have been blessed today”, Modtryth whispered softly. “At least being fortunate”, Stigend answered quietly and ran his fingers through her hair. “We might even get these washed one day” he noted jokingly after a while, still smoothing her. Modtryth tugged him so hard that he fell flat on his back to the bed. “Oh, you!” she had protested, but they were both laughing. The first thoroughly happy laughs they had had in years.

~*~

They arranged their belongings to their new quarters and discussed this and that, but soon they felt really tired indeed. It was late and Cnebba hadn’t yet come. In the end Stigend took out to search for him. As soon as he got to the corridor he heard the door banging and then the joyous shrieks of children coming towards him from the downstairs. He settled himself to the upper end of the stairs and waited for the children to come up.

“Daddy, daddy, look what we found!” Cnebba shouted eagerly. All three gathered around Stigend as Garmund showed him the find. Stigend kneeled to see it better. It was a caterpillar, that much Stigend knew of it, but he had never been very knowledgeable with these things.

“It’s called a caterpillar. It will change into a butterfly one day.” He said to his keen audience. The children looked at him in disbelief. “This yacky thing will be a beautiful butterfly one day?” Lèoðern asked, hardly being able to hold back her disbelief.

“Yes it will my little ones” said the voice from behind them.

“Daddy!” Garmund and Lèoðern shouted and ran to him, Garmund still carefully treasuring the newly found wonder in his hand. Stigend rose up and greeted the man.

“You must be Garstan, the stoneshaper. My name is Stigend, I’m a carpenter.” They shook hands in eorling fashion, taking hold with their right arms of the others right arm just someway below the wrist and looked each other in the eye.

Stigend felt good with this man. His eyes were honest and open, revealing a kind of person he had used to appreciate. His grip from his hand was firm and strong, yet he seemed not to be one of those who wanted to impress others with too much force – or one of those whose hand felt like a cold dead fish.

[Celuien]

"I am glad to meet you, Stigend," Garstan said. "And thank you for taking care of my children tonight." Glancing down at the children, he added, "You have a good son," before bringing his eyes to meet Stigend's again.

"Thank you, but it was a pleasure... at least for a while." Stigend smiled openly and Garstan seemed to have gotten the intended idea and was smiling back to him knowingly. "But really, I think part of our warm welcome here is due to your lovely children. And I truly am happy about it," he continued "If we will get along as well as our children, we will have no problems here."

The men looked at each other for a short while. Garstan studied the carpenter and his son, taking in the details of their faces, their look, running through his impression of Cnebba's behavior earlier. Then he broke the silence with a relieved, welcoming tone. "I can see no obstacles to that. I look forward to working with you."

"As do I," Stigend answered, and with that they let go of each others hands.

Garstan moved toward the stairs. "Lèoðern. Garmund. Come. It is late, and you should be abed."

The children hung back for a moment, still whispering and laughing to Cnebba. Then they somewhat reluctantly said their good-nights and walked after their father. Garmund and Lèoðern's soft laughter and whispers echoed over the sound of their feet against the wooden floor as they followed Garstan back down the steps to their room.

[littlemanpoet]

"Saeryn made mention of my stay in Gondor... my views of such things as asking leave of a woman's menfolk have been encouraged by Gondorian customs, yet these same customs have strong tradition in Rohan also."

"Yes, they do," Eodwine responded, relieved to get to the heart of the matter at last. "Yet I will not ask for your favor-"

"But-" Degas reacted, but Eodwine raised a hand even as Saeryn, eyes widened, her interest keen.

"-because I do not seek to court your sister."

All three were silent. Degas tilted his head. Saeryn frowned and her face worked, whether with relief or regret Eodwine could not tell. He waited for one of the two to speak.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Of all of the responses Eodwine could have given, none could have surprised Degas more than this. Saeryn looked at Eodwine, an unreadable gleam in her eye. Eodwine looked back and forth between the twins and waited for a response.

Degas waited patiently for one to come to him. Saeryn, still embarrassed over her earlier outburst, quietly hoped for somebody to speak and hoped that it wouldn't be her. Finally, Degas replied in a most repetitive fashion:

"You... do not... wish to court my sister?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine smiled. "No, Degas. Not now. You see, I have had dreams. Dreams of my wife, whom for fourteen years I have thought dead, killed by marauding Dunlendings. But these dreams, Degas-" Eodwine's eyes glistened and his face became taut with sudden passion. "-she comes to me in my dreams not as I knew her, but as one who has aged as have I!" Eodwine stopped of a sudden and stared earnestly at Degas, then relaxed a little, shaking his head and chuckling ruefully.

"Lord?" Degas prompted.

Eodwine met his eyes. "It is not proof that she lives. Well I know it. Therefore I must go to Dunland. Not yet, but some time soon. I must go there anyway to see to the case of Manawyth, but now I have the greater urge to go. So go I shall." Eodwine turned to Saeryn, allowing the warmth he felt for her to show on his face. "Yes, Degas, your sister is-" he paused "-dear to me. In a way no woman has been in many a year. If not for my dreams, I would seek your favor. But for now I cannot." He faced Degas again. "Not until I know my wife is dead-" he paused again and tears appeared ready to spill, and his voice trembled "-or if my dear Kéðra lives."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas sat pensively for a moment before responding, and though now words came to him with more ease, he still spoke slowly, cautiously.

"If that is how you feel, it is better indeed that you refrain from the asking. I would not have it that my sister is taken into courtship by a man still haunted by his past, though my words perhaps do not express it how I would have them do so." Degas breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. He wondered what Saeryn's thoughts were, but her face was unreadable. He hoped that she would share later, but held no delusions that her anger with him had waned. She had checked herself, silencing herself with no small amount of effort, and had schooled her emotions, but her outburst spoke of thoughts that had doubtlessly lingered for quite some time. He wondered how long she had been annoyed with him, perhaps not even realizing it, before she had lost her patience. He looked at her quickly, wondering where the red headed girl he had left behind had gone.

He'd seen her, certainly, since he'd left. He'd returned home many times, and had written every few days. But he had not been there to see his sister turn to the young woman that sat quietly before him. On a day long ago, she'd have exhausted herself wrestling him into a water trough, would have laughed as he, sodden, pulled himself up by the rim, and would have danced away with a grin, forgetting her anger and playing chase through the long grass after. On a day long ago, she'd have come to him immediately to share her secrets, would have expected the same from him.

Degas realized then that she had not sought him out to share her thoughts at all since he'd returned. She smiled and laughed and teased him with the same enthusiasm as she once had, but she was not the girl he knew any more. He thought of Linduial... he had not spoken to Saeryn of her. He had not even told Saeryn of his trip to Lin's home, excepting that he was back and had brought Farahil. They did not talk now... he couldn't remember when it had happened. Was she even interested in courtship? He had taken it for granted that she would be... but he had not asked. He knew that she was unhappy in their childhood home, but had he asked her why she had left? No... he had left it to her to come to him, and hadn't questioned it when she did not. He wondered at himself how he had not noticed before, and looked sadly at Saeryn before looking back to Eodwine.

"I wish that you should find whatever it is that you seek, Lord Eodwine. I wish that we, all three of us, should do so." With a few more words, he bade the lord of the hall goodnight and smiled questioningly at Saeryn before leaving. He would find a way to make it up to her... he did not know how, but he would get to know his twin again. He would win her back, and things could be as they once were. A few short moments later, Saeryn followed Degas's example and left Eodwine, making her way in the dark to the kitchen. She prepared herself a cup of tea and fell asleep where she sat, head resting on her hands on the table, the unsipped tea growing cold beside her.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas stretched beneath the statue of Falco, leaning lazily against its base with a lute in his hands. He strummed it, tuning it quietly, and hummed a little for a moment. He had not sang in Eodwine’s Hall and was uncertain as to what the reaction would be, yet it was a beautiful day.

It was early yet; the sun was just breaking the horizon. Farahil and Leof readied mounts inside the stable. Saeryn slept still, having woken suddenly in the middle of the night and relocating herself to her room after the initial confusion of her whereabouts. Lèoðern had met Degas coming from his room with the instrument and had taken his hand sleepily, a thumb in her mouth. He smiled and now she sat in the dirt before him, watching his fingers caress the lute strings.

“Sing me a song, ‘egas?”

“What song would you have me sing, little lady?”

“A pretty one.”

“Ah, a pretty one…” He pretended to think for a moment, running his fingers practicedly over the lute to make it hum. Lèoðern giggled, as he’d known she would. He took a sip of the water he had brought with him and coughed lightly to clear his throat before plucking a few short practice chords. Quietly he began, not wanting to wake anybody, and his voice grew as the song went on. It started slow, with soft notes, and he sang as if to Lèoðern.

A heart beat ever heavily,
Its feet to tread the world alone;
It asked its master pleadingly
To find a lass and make a home.

It wandered hills with only song
As comfort for its loneliness
Begging softly all along
To settle down in happiness.

The master heard the heartfelt plea
And begged his heart to hear.
Wouldst thou, heart, please wait for me?
‘Til settling I no longer fear.

The heart spoke back to master’s words
And softly it did say
I’ll wait for you, loyal to you,
Until our dying day.

From hill and field the harper lad
Sang for his bed and mead
But ever onward thought he had
Of what his heart did plead.

With laughter then he met a lass
And thought of her as fair
And so a time did come to pass
That none other could compare.

Her voice and laugh was its own song,
Her heart the beat he cared for best
And finally time did come along;
He wished to stop and rest.

His wandering days he left behind
But cared less than he’d guessed.
But time now came to try their minds
And put devotion to the test.

The lady made a heartfelt plea
And hoped his promise true:
Wouldst thou, love, please wait for me?
‘Til I return to you.

The harper spoke to lady’s words
And softly he did say
I’ll wait for you, loyal to you,
Until our dying day.

[Celuien]

The last notes of the song faded, mingling into the soft rustle of the alder leaves in the breeze and the warbling of the finches. Lèoðern's eyes were wide as she looked at the singer, now silently running his fingers over the lute once again.

"That was pretty, 'egas."

"Thank you, my little lady." He gave a bow from the shoulders, sending Lèoðern into giggles again. She quieted herself and sat still, her elbows on the ground, propping her chin in her hand. Degas absently strummed a few chords in accompaniment to the songbirds. The birds redoubled their singing, seeming to understand the sympathies of the human musician and to be eager to join him in a duet.

Degas' song was pretty. But the words were so sad for an early morning in the springtime, with the sun shining through the trees and casting the shadows of the merrily waving leaves on the ground. The poor harper and his lady didn't seem happy. Lèoðern glanced upward again, tilting her head to one side in a question.

"'egas?"

"Yes?"

"I like that song. There's a story. But it's a sad story. Did the harper really die? And the lady too?" Lèoðern's face was frank and open in its curiosity, unsuspecting of the song's significance to its singer. "What happened to them?"