Eorling Mead Hall

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

If any of the small village in the Folde had cared to look toward the morning sun, they could have seen the wilted outline of Degas lit by it. They could, perhaps, have made out the broken harp in his hands; the glow of the strings flashing like infinitely small whips of fire might have given it away. He'd dropped it by accident in a fit of annoyance and watched in horror as a crack split the fine frame and snapped several strings, fraying many others. He walked, a ghost, out the front doors of his family home, his hands curled around it, staring blankly.

Everything is broken in my life.

He pushed the thought away. He did not want it. To admit to problems made it so much harder to qualify doing nothing about them.

"She's to return."

Degas glared at his brother. Fenrir was two inches taller than him, was heavily built; most chose not to pick fights with him... they'd lose if only to his temper.

"What's it to do with me?"

"You know where she is."

"So do you. If you want her back so much, go get her." He felt like he was betraying Saeryn. He should have known... Fenrir did not live far from Edoras. Perhaps a day's ride. If he had not heard before then, he'd learned for certain through the city gossip that his youngest sister was the lady of a man she had not wed.

"You will bring her back."

"I'll do no such thing." Fenrir took a step forward.

"Go ahead, brother, do it. You know you want to. I know you want to. What stops you, brother? That the village can see us? Be a man and pick fights where the world can see. Punish me all you like. I will not be your slave or your messenger. If you want Saeryn back, go and grovel."

"I do not grovel."

"Then you do not deserve her." None of us do. She is the only worthy one of us.

"You will cleave to my will or you will be removed from that of our parents."

"You'd never dare." His words were acid. Careless. What had he to lose? Father would never approve of a rivalry of his children's wills. Father was gone. Mother; she would take them aside in private and share her displeasure with a look of disappointment. Fenrir would wilt. Degas would have already apologized. Mother was gone. Their displeasure meant little. Only the here and now. Here and now, Degas stood alone with his brother in the morning sun, and he had no Linduial to take for evening walks, to write music for, to treat like his very own queen. He had no parents to disapprove. He had no Saeryn to take his hand and calm him, to make him think sense. When had she become the calming force in his life? She'd had the temper as a child. He'd been pushed into watering troughs often enough to know it. When had she changed? Why hadn't he been there for her?

"I can do it without question. You left home with little warning and no regard for the state of your lands or your people. You left their well-being to another while you frolicked in foreign lands living upon the purse of another. Is that the responsibility to hold lands? You allow your youngest sister to live in the house of a man not her husband, to be his lady out of wedlock. You allow rumors to garner about her, cutting her hard earned reputation to ribbons, and what do you do of it? You care nothing for your land or your family. Your inheritance is undeserved."

"You dare!" Degas stepped forward, his harp still in his hands.

"You will bring Saeryn home or the matter will be taken before the king and he will learn more even than the little I've said."

"You have nothing."

"I have everything."

[Formendacil]

Náin woke for the first time in a very long time rather later than usual. And grumpier. He hadn't been this grumpy since...

Oh, right.

Not since the day after Eodwine's first court day, when he had faced the unpleasant task of apologizing to Degas, Saeryn, and Eodwine. What a mess that had been! Degas had done nothing to endear himself to Náin, and had told him that if Saeryn forgave him, then he would. Saeryn had been nicer about it than Degas, but had not given Náin a formal statement of accepting his apology, but had told him that if Eodwine would forgive him, then she would as well.

What with having been in the middle of Edoras at the time, away from the Mead Hall, and escorting Saeryn in search of -of all people- her brother Degas, Náin had not had the opportunity to seek out Eodwine until evening, when Eodwine had again sought his chambers- the same place Náin had blown up and gotten himself into such a mess in the first place.

What had passed between Náin and Eodwine that night, nobody knew. They seemed to have come to terms, anyway, and the consensus being that Eodwine was a just and kind man, the general feeling was that Náin had gotten the forgiveness he'd been looking for, and all was well.

Whatever the case may have been, that was a good month ago. Since then the statue of Falco had been given a proper unveiling, and Náin had busied himself with several smaller projects around the Mead Hall, including the chimney and fireplace for the new kitchen with Garstan and Stigend. Working with the two practical labourers, Náin decided that, as far as most things were concerned, he much preferred to spend his time with commoners than with nobles. Among other things, they tended to have a greater appreciation for Dwarven practicality.

Which brought Náin back to why he was in a foul mood. The sandstone block that had taken him three weeks to have hauled in from Dunharrow's quarries, and which was supposed to have been the basis for his next statue, a smaller-than-life statue of the late King Théoden mounted for battle, to be a gift from King Éomer to his sister Lady Éowyn, had arrived cracked right down the middle. Just about any way Náin looked at the thing, it was not going to be possible to turn out the statue he was intending from it. He needed to get another block from Dunharrow- something that Éomer's treasurer would be displeased about, and he needed to find a use in the meantime for his flawed block.

Tired and grumpy from a night dreaming about the cracked sandstone, Náin dressed and went in search of breakfast.

[Kath]

Kara was happily kneading dough when Náin entered, searching for food. With all the renovations going on at the moment she and Frodides were often unsure where exactly they could work at any one time, which was not always conducive to good relations. It was for this reason that the Hall had been swamped with large amounts of bread in recent days, as the making of it calmed frayed nerves and nasty tempers as well as any fight or rant did.

The Dwarf didn't look entirely happy, giving Kara a rather surly sounding greeting as he took a plate and began to fill it. He hadn't been in a good mood since his latest project had been scuppered, and Kara doubted things would improve until he had something worthy of his talents to work on. Still, there was nothing to lose by trying to offer friendship. Opening the oven door she removed the tray of just finished rolls, and called to the Dwarf before he could leave the room.

"Náin? Would you like a fresh roll to go with that? Still warm from the oven."

[Celuien]

"Is anything the matter?"

Garmund felt Thornden's glance searching his face and looked to the ground. Anything the matter? Of course there was something the matter. Everything, in fact. His sister liked a new, strange boy more than she liked her own brother - a brother who had been her best friend and playmate for her whole life. Until now.

Frustration and annoyance burst out in a single question.

"Do you have a sister?"

[Firefoot]

As Léof walked down the stable aisle, he paused at Æthel’s stall to watch her much contentedly at her morning meal. “At this rate,” he commented with a smile, “you are going to get fat.” He said it in jest, but there was a seed of truth to the words. She did not get enough exercise; few of the horses did. To this fact Léof was growing ever more aware, and while he tried to remedy it, there was little he could do. Walking the horses up and down the stable aisle could hardly be counted as exercise, but the only other alternative would be to either ride or walk the horses through the streets of Edoras. What the horses really needed was a paddock, however small, where they could be let out of their stalls for even just a little while each day – but Léof did not know how to give voice to this idea.

He figured he ought to, though, and sooner rather than later. Later that day, he decided, or sometime after Eodwine gets back from whatever it is he’s doing.

He couldn’t do anything about it now, though, so he turned away from the stall with a soft sigh and continued down the aisle. He had seen to the horses’ larders, and now he was ready for some breakfast of his own.

Hardly had he left the stables, however, when he saw Trystan and felt obliged to say good morning. Léof was almost surprised that he had stuck around this long; he had been so sure that horse theft had been the other’s goal, and that with that not being achieved he would have shortly left. But there had been no further such attempts, leading Léof to wonder if he had imagined the whole thing in the first place. What was more, the knife had remained on the stable shelf, an enigma whenever he took the time to think of it. So Léof’s naturally trusting personality had eventually taken over, and his smile was perfectly friendly as he said, “'Morning, Trystan. Had breakfast yet?”

[Folwren]

Medreth beamed a brilliant smile as Lèof came out and introduced himself. A right fine lad, she decided. She handed the reins over to him as he extended his hand to take them and stepped out of the way of the horses.

“If you’re hungry, I’m sure the cooks would be happy to find you a meal, and if you’ll be wanting rooms or aught else, the Lady Saeryn can help you.”

“Thank you, I don’t think we’ll either food nor room just now,” Medreth said. “But where could I find the Lady Saeryn that you mention? Is she the lady of the hall?”

“She’s coming here now, ma’am,” Lèof answered, nodding his head towards the hall. “She’ll take care of you.” He smiled and left, leading the horses into the stables. Medreth turned and saw the lady walking towards them, a small, welcoming smile on her face. She extended her hand as she approached.

“Welcome! I am Saeryn. We are pleased that you join us for a time. How may I assist you?”

“I am Medreth,” Medreth replied. “This is my youngest brother, Javan. We’ve come for a visit. My brother Thornden lives here. I wrote him a letter a few weeks ago, informing him of my coming. Is he around any place?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"I am afraid he's only recently gone, Medreth." Saeryn responded quietly. "He's off on an adventure with a halfling and a young boy, and may indeed miss lunch of all things, but with the bellies of a boy, a man, and a Falco Boffin, you can be sure they will return in time for dinner."

Saeryn smiled and hoped that Medreth would prove amiable. It seemed a certainty with the sorts of people that found themselves guests here, but the man and woman yesterday... Saeryn sighed at the memory. A lord and lady, visiting their Eorl. Their glances had been shrewd, sizing. They'd looked her top to toe, and Eodwine the same, and Saeryn had not missed the glances they'd shared. Tongues had been wagging in both the city and countryside, that was certain. But no, best not to think of it. Medreth was Thornden's sister, after all, and Javan his brother. Surely folk of the same stock as a good man such as Thornden would not be so... so wretched and assuming! Saeryn fumed and knew that nothing she could do could save her from gossips.

She'd briefly considered ways to protect Eodwine's honor, but her leaving was no such way, and nothing she could think of in staying would fix matters either. She sighed again before forcing her mind back to Medreth.

"I am sorry, my mind wanders. Please forgive me. Might I have the honor of finding you lodgings? Perhaps a meal? Breakfast is long over now, but Kara and Frodides will surely have something delicious on hand. Perhaps midday is even ready."

[Folwren]

Gone! Medreth couldn’t help the look of surprise that sprang into her face. Her eyebrows shot up and her lips opened partially. But in a moment, when Saeryin sighed quietly, Medreth came back to herself. A slight blush rose to her cheeks as she sincerely hoped she hadn’t offended the young lady. But a swift glance told Medreth that Saeryin’s attention wasn’t on her at all and the sigh probably had not been connected with her sudden, obvious expression of displeasurable surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Saeryn said after a moment. Her eyes again came back up to meet Medreth’s. “My mind wanders. Please forgive me. Might I have the honor of finding you lodgings? Perhaps a meal? Breakfast is long over now, but Kara and Frodides will surely have something delicious on hand. Perhaps midday is even ready.”

Medreth smiled merrily. She took a liking to this girl, just a couple years younger than herself. “Don’t worry yourself!” she said brightly. “I’m sorry to hear they’re gone, and I hope they do return before dinner time - I don’t want to stay that late. But for now, I would be delighted to go inside. I’m not hungry now, thanks, but perhaps later, when the rest of you gather for the noon time meal.”

As Saeryn turned, Medreth fell into step with her. She gave a side long glance at Saeryn, her curiosity roused by this young woman. The boy who’d come for their horses had said ‘Lady Saeryn’. Medreth’s mind, quick to pick up on this sort of thing, instantly connected her with lord Eodwine. But somehow it was wrong. Eodwine, she had heard, was not a young man - he had fought in the wars some years ago. But Saeryn was scarcely twenty! Not that is mattered too much, Medreth decided in a side thought, but how odd. Were they indeed married? If not, were they intending to? If that were not even being considered, it gave Thornden a lovely chance. A secret smile played on Medreth’s lips and she turned her head and face away briefly. She just had to know. But she couldn’t be too obvious. A question about Saeryn and lord Eodwine surely would be considered an innocent one, considering their titles, and it appeared to be the best place to start.

“Medreth, wait a moment.” Javan’s voice broke into her thoughts before she could address Saeryn. “If you’re just going inside, could I stay out here and go in and talk to Lèof?”

“Lèof?” Medreth repeated.

“The ostler chap.”

“Oh, yes. Go ahead.” Javan turned and trotted to the stables, disappearing within. Medreth turned back towards Saeryn when he had gone. They walked forward. “The ostler - Lèof, I guess - told me you were the lady here. Are you married to lord Eodwine?”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Saeryn froze in thought, not pausing at all in stride. Surely not another? Surely not again?

"No, madam, we are not wed. It is a common mistake. I am aware it may seem fairly confusing, but my position as lady of this hall is nothing more than an apprenticeship of sorts. The lord has sworn my protection and he gives me work befitting my station while I live within his home. It does not keep minds from wandering or tongues from wagging, but that is our arrangement nonetheless."

[Folwren]

“I would not have the sons at war when their fathers are friends.”

Thornden looked from Garstan to Stigend and back again. This certainly was a problem He considered it mutely a moment and then he opened his mouth slowly. “I…” he paused and then continued. “I am not a father and I know really very little about how to truly fix it. I think whether or not the fathers are friends, the sons who once were friends should not be enemies.”

“I don’t know if we can be absolutely certain that they were ever enemies,” Garstan said.

“Oh,” Thornden said. He blinked and drew a great breath. “I see.” He paused again, and then he spoke abruptly, “Garmund is jealous.”

Garstan sat forward almost eagerly. “What do you mean?”

“This morning. . .before I left, I was coming across the yard and I met up with Garmund and he was looking a might sour. . .” Thornden told the two fathers what had passed between the him and Garmund that morning, how Garmund had said that Cnebba had taken his sister’s attention away from him and that they were always playing together – without him.

“He said that now it is as though Cnebba were her brother and he was not. He asked me why it couldn’t be like it used to.”

“What did you tell him?” Garstan asked, his voice quiet.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell him anything. That’s when Falco walked by. When he heard what the problem was, instead of answering Garmund, he suggested we go on an adventure, and we did. I can’t say now that it was such a bright idea,” Thornden admitted somewhat shamefacedly. “Falco said something to the affect that it would make Lèodern and Cnebba jealous of us three. I am sorry I did not tell you at once. I thought it was a passing mood or fancy of his and that today’s adventure would drive the trouble out of his mind. I’ve got several siblings of my own and we always were able to hammer out our disagreements. When father had to step in, as you did this evening apparently, we usually were able to figure it out even faster, with his help. But Garmund seems more upset than that.”

[Nogrod]

"Maybe it wasn't so bright idea, looking at our children here, but..." Stigend opened his mouth at last. He had been listening and thinking both about their children and about the wonder-twins, as he called them in his head. He looked at Thornden and then to Garstan and continued: "But maybe it was better in the end."

Garstan looked surprised and turned to face his friend, questionmarks flying from his eyes.

"Well, I've been thinking about this almost all the evening now. I mean after I saw that one...erm... those two". Stigend made a pause as if he was trying to find the right words.

"What I mean is. We, me and my family, have had it the rough way most of the time, just trying to get along in this life because of Modtryth's blood. But how tough it must have been for those two? And what would have awaited them if people from this Hall would not have been the ones to find them?" Stigend shook his head slowly, staring now downwards and fiddling with the button of his skirt. He looked somewhat distracted.

Garstan landed his hand on his shoulder. "I can see what you mean, Stigend."

Stigend raised his head and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his skirt. "Sorry my friends. I tend to get a bit carried away with these things." He reached to the table and picked a jug of ale. "But the kitchen is getting ready, at least what comes to masonry. Now isn't it, master Garstan?" Stigend smiled and raised the pint after which he took a good draught from it.

"And I'll be needing a few steady hands on my site in day or two. The logs are soon hewn and we must start bringing the thing together. My friend Garstan has already given his word to accompany me with it. How about you master Thornden? Any interest in that kind of work?"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas found himself in a dark space and a small fire lit his strong features, bronzing his light skin and fading the few freckles, the remnants of his youth, into obscurity. The dancing light made his dark red hair show golden at times, darkest black at others. It was the bright of late morning out of doors, yet the shutters were closed and only sickly cracks of light fought their way through.

He sat back in an old wooden chair, feeling the carved knot work dig into his left shoulder. He shifted, spilling a little of his wine. He clenched his jaw a little and wiped his hand on his breeches. The small wooden goblet he held had been emptied a few times since he'd walked away from Fenrir.

"Boy, you'll want to stop this foolery."

Degas glared and his eyes burned hot with angry tears. The old man had greeted him silently, opening the door and stepping to the side, letting Degas come past him. He'd poured wine into his own cup and handed it to the young man now sitting, head in hands, in the chair his son had made him long before Degas was born. He'd silently poured more wine as the cup emptied, waiting.

And his first words to Degas were those. Degas felt his cheeks flush in shame.

"Faesten, how? What do I do?" The old man had not heard such desperation since the red head was barely into manhood, trying to find the will to leave a home in which he could not stay. He'd listened then, just as he did now, hearing everything that was not said.

"It would be a good beginning to set the cup down." Degas laughed hollowly, but he did it, looking into the shadows toward the aged voice.

He saw the heavy outline of a cloak. He hadn't been so frail the last time, had he? It had been several years... The fire was warm... or was it the wine? The old gravel of his voice was still strong, his hands were still calloused. But he seemed thinner.

"You've grown." the old man commented wryly, seeming, as always, to read Degas's mind.

"Were you always so small?"

"Watch your tone, boy. I'll lay you flat as I did so long ago when you thought to play Riders and Orcs with yourself as orc and my wife's fresh pies as plunder."

Degas laughed legitimately this time, though his tone remained distant.

"Faesten, he'll deny me my inheritance. You know as well as I that he has the means."

"Does it mean so much to you, money and land? I thought you were to be a travelling musician. I thought you were to wander happily, all your days, paying room and board with news and song from faraway lands. Has the romance left it? Have you felt the cold bite of wind alone on distant roads with no warmth in sight and no thought for comfort but far away dream?"

"She's a princess."

"A she. A princess. The queen's lady cousin?"

"You know too much."

"Old ears hear clearly when folks forget them."

"I cannot hope to woo her with no copper to my name. How can a man raise a family with no inheritance when all that he knows how to do, all that he's ever done, is no life for any lady, but most especially not one such as her.

Linduial, Linduial,
Your skin so Elven fair,
Linduial, Linduial,
With starlight in your hair,

You travel long, you travel far
Across so many lands
And with you, though you know it not,
My heart... 'tis in your hands..."

Faesten looked at Degas with pity, stepping forth from the shadows, placing an old, gnarled hand upon his shoulder. Degas placed his hand over it and wept for a time, and they were silent.

After a time, Faesten spoke again. "Degas, you have been as a son to me for many years. A choice is before you: will you make it?"

Degas met his friend's eyes levelly, and though his hands shook, and his voice with it, he spoke honestly. "I will not sacrifice my sister's love for my own. She will not return home by me. Though I should have nothing save my body, I would not ask her, nor even ever mention it, to return to Fenrir. I will bid my farewell to the lady in my dreams, the white lady of my heart, and I will play for her when she is wed to a better man, if she will consent to have me as her humble musician."

"You do what you think is right."

Degas looked startled. He stood now, swaying only slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean only that you can do only so many things before you must let things to the winds and hope the storm dies down quick, boy. Did you think, mayhap, that the lady may have a thought of her own on the matter? Did you think, mayhap, that you ought to share with your sister your thoughts? I doubt it much, but that is your own business. You have chosen, and it is a noble choice, but its rightness may only be seen in time."

"Faesten, I would have you tell me what to do. I cannot do it alone."

"No. You cannot."

[littlemanpoet]

"What should we do?" Garmund asked eagerly.

Falco puffed on his pipe, thinking a moment about the possibilities. He eyed Thornden briefly, who seemed to be about as eager to find out what Falco had in mind as was Garmund.

"Well, you see, Garmund, there's this old ruin just outside of Edoras proper that I'd like to go see again, and it's no good going to such places alone because who's there to share it with then? But if the three of us go, we can share our finds and keep safe into the bargain."

Garmund's eyes had been widening with eagerness. Any child loved ruins. Thornden's brow rose but he kept his peace for the moment.

"So what we need is to go find your pa and ask him if I can take you with Thornden and me, and we need a couple of mounts too. So I was thinking that Thornden could get Léof to ready the mounts while you and I, Garmund, go talk to your pa. What think you?"

[Celuien]

"What think you?"

"I think that I can't wait to go and see the ruins. Let's go and find my father now." Garmund started to the door, so excited that he forgot to mind his footing and nearly tripped over a low bench.

Falco's arm darted out to catch the boy by the arm. "Steady there, Garmund."

Garmund laughed and began to ask Falco question after question about the ruins. The change from sadness a few minutes before to eager good cheer was striking.

They soon found Garstan, already at work in the new kitchen. Garmund and Falco quickly outlined the plan to visit the ruins.

Garstan put down his tools. He noted his son's excited face with no small relief. Garmund's spirits had seemed low of late, though Garstan had been unable to find the cause of the trouble. Whatever the reason, this trip with Falco and Thornden looked to be a cure.

"Of course you may go," said Garstan. "I ask only one thing."

"What is that?"

"That you, Falco, and Thornden tell all of your tales from the day over supper tonight."

[Formendacil]

"My thanks, Kara," said Náin, accepting the roll. Now that he had someone to talk to, he showed no signs of departing immediately, but appeared in a mood to chat, if not to be shiningly cheerful. Over the course of two months, he'd grown familiar enough with Kara not to get too flustered in her presence, and he enjoyed the company of Frodides, whose no-nonsense and authoritarian approach to running the kitchen appealed to him.

"I envy you," Náin told Kara, taking the roll. "Able to work at your craft every day, producing these things of beauty- doing something useful and praiseworthy. I chafe at the delay between projects to occupy me, and Garstan is a worthy mason who needs little in the way of assistance."

"It's hardly all fun and games feeding the Mead Hall," said Kara, working at doing just that, flitting around at various tasks while talking. "People never stop being hungry, you know."

"I do not know how it is for Men," said Náin, "but Dwarves, for the most part, would rather put their hands to steady labour that taxes them, even taxes them overmuch, than to sit idle day in and day out. We need things to occupy our hands and our minds."

"Surely not only work can do that," said Kara, pausing after wiping off a counter. "Surely you can occupy your hands and minds just as easily at work as at play."

"Under normal circumstances, yes," agreed Náin. "But I have had more play and less work than usual, and I prefer to be productive. And there is only so much in the way of play to occupy a strange Dwarf in this city. Even after two months, I'm still a stranger to most of the city and lands outside this Mead Hall. The people and places that would entertain a local such as yourself are unknowable to me- at least without a guide. And, it irks me to say, most of those around me are better occupied with work than I am."

"Well, I would envy you rather than pity you," said Kara. "You're willing to help bake and cook, as far as I'm concerned- though you'd have to do exactly as Frodides told you, lest you find yourself boiling with the vegetables."

"No fear there!" Náin held up his roll-filled hand. "I have no talent in the culinary arts. Merely a great appreciation and taste for the craft." He bit into the roll as a demonstration.

"And this, I might add," he continued, "is most definitely beyond my abilities."

[Folwren]

Garmund seemed to struggle inside himself for a moment after Thornden asked his question. A clear expression of anger passed over his face for a moment. His little jaw tightened and relaxed and his eyes darted away briefly. But then he looked back at Thornden and asked a question the man was not at all expecting.

“Do you have a sister?”

“Well, yes, I do actually,” Thornden said, smiling a little. “Three, in fact. You have one, too. . .” Garmund nodded shortly. “Has she been causing you trouble?” Thornden asked. He kept his face carefully straight, not allowing any of his amusement to show. Siblings’ quarrels were not uncommon, as he well knew, but he figured it would be easily sorted out.

[Kath]

Kara had wondered whether Náin would be willing to talk, but once he'd settled himself onto a stool he had opened up. He spoke of his troubles finding something worthwhile to do, especially since his true skill was not much called upon here. In fact, for all intents and purposes, the Dwarf was bored.

Smiling in delight at the compliment he gave her, Kara dropped another roll onto his plate in thanks.

"Frodides is a good teacher, if you did turn your mind to becoming a cook I'm sure she would be able to whip you into shape soon enough. But lack of material or opportunity shouldn't cause you to turn away from the craft you excel at."

Náin nodded in agreement, mouth full of roll, and then swallowed to reply.

"Yet what is there for me to do?"

"Maybe you just need to find some inspiration. You say you want to explore this place, but you need a guide. Well, I can offer myself if you will have me. Frodides is back to full strength now, and the Hall is not so busy at the moment. All the building work has people looking for simpler meals, so I think my dear mentor could spare me a few hours of the week. What do you think?"

[Formendacil]

"What do you think?"

Náin had little hesitation in responding. If someone was willing to occupy his mind during his doldrums, he'd not be the one complaining. It was an unexpected gesture, from the Dwarf's point of view, though.

"I would gladly have your company and assistance in seeing and exploring Edoras and the close countryside," replied Náin, "provided that Frodides is as agreeable as you say. I would not upset so fine a cook! Nor would I wish to face the men of this hall were I to do so!"

Kara laughed. If anyone in the Hall knew Frodides well, it was her.

"Don't worry," she told him. "I'm equally willing to let Frodides get the same rests on the days when I'm working. And when there's not enough work to satisfy two cooks, things can get tense."

"In that case then," said Náin, with a grand bow, "I accept your offer with a good will. But I would be sure that you are as willing as you say! Surely, there are other things you could be doing in your spare time. Any family? Or interests other than the cooking which occupies you? Or a perhaps a young man? I would not have you spend your time on me if there are others with a better claim."