Eorling Mead Hall

[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?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas smiled sadly at Lèoðern, wondering for a moment what it would be like if she were his own. He'd always liked children and already missed Feo's presence. He started at the thought and pushed it away.

"I do not know what happened to them, m'lady, for their story was not finished before the song was completed."

[Celuien]

If Degas knew the beginning and middle to the tale told in his song, surely he would know the end, if ever it were to be written. She shook her curls and smiled softly, still puzzling over the unfinished story.

"Someone has to know what happened to them. Will you tell me the end, if you hear it? And will you sing me another song? Please."

~*~

Garstan and Garmund stirred inside the Hall. The latter was eager for the day to begin, already anticipating games with Cnebba once chores were finished. But Garstan feared the new day, not knowing how to behave to Linduial after their scene the evening before. He knew, after a night's rest, that he had most likely overreacted and caused her unnecessary discomfort. He hoped that Linduial would understand.

[JennyHallu]

Lin stood silently in the doorway to the stable, heart full of an emotion she did not yet know how to handle. She had run out with a saddlebag she'd forgotton had been stashed under her bed, and heard the whole of Degas' song. Now she watched Degas smoothing Lèoðern's pretty hair, and listening to their conversation, unwilling to break the spell by speech. Farahil was in the stall with her mare, and Lin wondered fleetingly if Garstan had spoken to him yet, and what he thought.

But not even the looming threat of that particular conversation could spoil her joy right now, and as Degas straightened up she met his eyes with her own starry ones, as eager as the child to hear his answer.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Of course, my lady; you shall be among the first to know. And what sort of song should this be?"

"A happy song."

"Oooh," he nodded, looking past Lèoðern and into Lin's wide eyes. He wished he could read her thoughts. He wished he knew what emotions, if any, had been stirred by his song; if she had even understood its significance past the sleepiness of dawn. He wanted to go to her, to hold her close, and whisper into her ear what he had said in song, but now could not be the time. "A happy song. That I can do."

He looked back down at Lèoðern and tapped out a beat on his knees, one hand twice as quick as the other, and smiled to see the little girl before him mimicking the motions with limited success. He let Lèoðern take up the beat when she had mastered it and chanted softly and slowly, rather than singing, playing a few notes with one hand as he spoke the light rhyme and snapped his fingers lazily on the downbeat.

She flaps her wings
And lands on things
With painted gown
And blackened crown.

The flowers of fall,
The grass so tall,
They call her name;
She plays her game.

Dancing swift,
Her feet she'll lift
In thoughtful care
Into the air.

When winter's here,
Sleep 'til next year
And wait to see
What new there'll be.

In spring she wakes;
First flight she takes
To greet the sun
And everyone.

Wings whisper song;
She floats along
Up in the sky...
Look, she goes by.

By lucky chance, a beautiful butterfly chose that moment to flutter through the courtyard, and Lèoðern's delighted laughter danced through the air. Farahil came to stand behind Linduial, and she did not see him. He watched Degas as he pointed to the butterfly, seeing the child follow his finger and watch the delicate creature cast a magical spell over the girl. Degas wondered at what luck had made the butterfly come just then, as if planned, to punctuate his words so beautifully.

He smiled and looked at pretty Lèoðern, laughing with her. She would have a story later, that he could be sure. He set his instrument carefully upon the ground, leaning back against the great stone Falco, and wondered if Lin was still watching. Hesitantly, he stole a look, and Lèoðern followed his gaze.

She jumped to her feet and ran to Linduial, speaking excitedly.

"Did you hear 'egas talk about the pretty butterfly and then it came! Did you see it come? It flew by! And he sang about a harper that promises to wait for a lady but he says he does not know the rest of the story. Did you hear him sing about the harper? And the butterfly came!"

As Lèoðern spoke, Farahil silently went back to his work, and Degas saw him. He wondered at the man's thoughts, and knew that he would never ask him what they were. But now Lèoðern asked Lin if she had heard... perhaps she would speak and Degas could hear what she would say.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine woke to the sound of a lute and voice. "Do you hear that, Ké?" He turned over; she was not there, only in his dreams. He sighed.

a man still haunted by his past

He peaked out the window; the sun was just rising above the plains of the East Emnet. He got up and stretched, donned his clothes, and washed his face from the bucket he had refilled last thing before abedding. He wondered how Saeryn had slept.

I would not have my sister taken into courtship

He wondered more what she thought.

...it is better that you refrain from the asking

But Linduial was leaving this day, and he must speak with her. There had been no chance earlier between her own healing and his court duties. He hoped catch her before they left. Fool, all you needed was to have Marenil ask her to wait. Why had he not thought of that? Oh, he knew why. He passed through the kitchen, bidding Kara a quick good morning and snatching a bite of bread from the tray she kept out. Many a friend had told him that once he got a thing in his head, all else flew away on the wind.

I hope you find what you seek

He wondered what that was, and knew the answer quick as that: peace of mind. He needed to know whether Ké was alive or dead. Yet the finding out must wait, no matter how it gnawed at him, no matter how she haunted his dreams. Are you real, Ké, or just me wishing in a vain dream?

I hope all three of us do.

Or something like that. ...find what we want ... He wondered what Degas wanted.

He heard a child's excited voice. "Did you hear him sing about the harper? And the butterfly came!" It was Lèoðern asking Linduial. Good. He was not too late. He held back just shy of the stables, choosing to wait a moment.

[JennyHallu]

JennyHallu's post


Lin looked down at Lèoðern with an effort, grinning easily. "I saw the butterfly, you little squirrel. A lovely thing, don't you think? I heard both songs actually, and I must admit my favorite is the first. I myself am rather curious to hear the ending." She looked again to Degas, eyes shining with hope.

Lèoðern looked back and forth between her friends with confusion, aware somehow that something was going on between the two. The silence was full of expectation, and Lin began to wonder whether she had perhaps been forward in thinking the song was for her. Would he say nothing to her?


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Taralphiel's post


Lys looked up worriedly. The morning had wrung out sunshine through the cold for some hours, and Lys had woken startled. He had expected to be woken the night before! Had Thornden forgotten to collect him?

Lys tried to sit up, holding at his waist gingerly. He looked to the corner of the room, and saw Thornden slumped in the chair by the door. He had likely snuck in later that night, and Lys did not wish to wake him. He sat and watched him carefully, smiling at his steady breathing and calm expression. Lys saw him most often with creases of worry lining his brow, and Lys felt guilt for being the cause of those lines.

Thornden stirred and lifted his head. His eyes opened and his chest expanded as he drew a deep breath of air.

“Oh, Lys! You are awake,” he said, noticing the boy at once.

“Yes,” Lys said softly. “Thornden, why didn’t you wake me? We did not go to eat dinner in the Hall, like you promised.”

Thornden had forgotten, until that morning when he woke up, and he felt sorry for it. Lys saw it immediately as the familiar wrinkles of worry returned. Lys quickly muttered a few apologies, until Thornden got up and walked to his bedside. He gently laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Now, now, Lys! Do not be sorry. I’m the one who should ask pardon. The court of yesterday turned bitter-sweet. Our Lady Linduial is leaving this morning for home, and there were some changes,” he paused slightly. “I am not to be appointed to Lord Eodwine’s side in the rank you supposed. I did not wish to disappoint you...”

Lys shook his head thoroughly at Thornden’s words. “I could not be! You have taken care of me all this time. I am no blood to you, nor have I any thing or promise to serve you benefit for being so kind. You have given freely, and nothing you could do would make me feel disappointment. You are all at the once my family, and, mayhap, my Father…”

Lys stopped after this, and lowered his head. In all of the healing his body was yet to endure, Lys knew he could feel safe in the care of Thornden. And with no family in his free memory, Thornden was all he had.