Eorling Mead Hall

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine saw the first bucket of water - half filled only, grabbed it and sloshed it at the father. The fire hissed, recoiled momentarily, and shot out a head of flame, like a serpent, toward the nearest rafter. Eodwine shook his head. He ran out of the stables, bucket still in hand, along a makeshift, straggling line of bucket passers, back to the well where he found Thornden.

"It's no good, Thornden! Not enough buckets and the stables cannot be doused! It's the guest rooms I'm worried about! There's nothing to stop the fire from spreading along the building. Better take axes to the stable's walk-through and then soak the area between. I'll find axes and hammers and able bodied men, and you command the water!"

With a brief nod from Thornden, Eodwine ran off to the armory, hoping to catch as many folk, men and women, as he could, to destroy the stable walk-through. He hoped he had enough time. He looked up at the sky, hoping against hope for a hint of cloud cover and possible rain. The sky was brazen, not a cloud in the sky. The sun watched from just above Edoras in the west: a couple hours remained before dark.

There was no one left in the Hall. Many plates of food had been left half eaten. Eodwine shifted to the courtyard where he found a few gawkers and other folk trying to make a pitiable difference. He collared one or two men and ordered them to the armory with him to grab anything that could be used to break down the beams of wood.

[Firefoot]

As Léof plunged into the stables a third time, he could see that it would not be much longer. A stable, he knew, was one of the worst possible places for a fire, since it was built entirely out of wood and kept dry so that the hay would not grow rank – a fire could not help but easily catch and spread rapidly in such a place.

There was a flash of light and a whoosh just behind and above him – the hay in the loft had caught fire! He quickly checked each of the stalls as he passed for horses still remaining; unless he missed his guess, one or two still remained. He found one of them about half way down the aisle, a normally placid gelding now worked into a frenzy. As well as he knew the horses in this stable, none of them trusted him so well as Æthel, and as with the second horse he had brought out this one was not so easily calmed as Æthel, even once he had managed to clip a lead rope he had grabbed on his last trip to his halter and swing his shirt over his eyes. Too much time, this was taking too much time!

He heard a crash somewhere outside the stall, further spooking the gelding. Léof finally abandoned his attempts at calming the horse enough to follow him and gave him a good smack on his hindquarter; the horse plunged forward, nearly ripping the rope from his hand.

Now that the horse was outside the stall, Léof could see the source of the crash; the boards in the hay loft were beginning to give out. The aisle was no longer clear enough for him to lead the horse out by the shortest way; he would have to go around, wasting even more time.

His eyes were watering and his throat burning from the smoke. When he finally emerged into clear air, he took great gulps of it, only to begin coughing violently. He couldn’t stop, though; not until all the horses were safe. He led the gelding around to the paddock where he took stock of the horses there. It took him a moment, but it suddenly hit him: Herefola was still inside!

Even though his chest was burning, he again broke into a jog, rushing past the men who were trying to halt the fire’s progression to the residential wing. Someone shouted after him, “No, Léof, it’s too dangerous!” But he did not heed him, rushing for the last time into the burning stable.

[Folwren]

The stables walls were falling quickly with men hammering them down. Men worked in feverish hurry to break through and clear away the plunder. And the smoke billowed out through every crack, the fire roared within, and the heat grew more and more intense.

Thornden worked still with the line of men and the buckets racing up and down the chain. They soaked the ground and then, when there was one, the gap between the stables and the residential wing of the great hall.

Out of his eye, he saw Léof leading a horse past them. Good, Thornden thought to himself as well as he could, that should be – hopefully – the last one. But then saw Léof running towards them again, a rope in his hand and an intent look in his eyes as he fixed them once more at the entrance into the stables.

“No, Léof!” Thornden shouted, turning swiftly about. “It’s too dangerous!”

If Léof heard him, he didn’t make any sign, and almost immediately he had plunged again into the dark, grey entrance of the stables. Thornden turned again, panic attacking him suddenly. He spotted Eodwine near, striking at the remaining beams with an ax. He ran to him and grasped his sleeve. “Léof has gone back in, Eodwine!” he cried.

Eodwine’s paused, his arm lifted in mid-swing and he looked at Thornden. Then they both glanced at the door of the stables.

“Should I go after him?” Thornden asked. Now was not the time to ask permission or advice. Go after him? To what end? Léof had gone in to save another horse, and that would mean time spent fumbling with the latch, catching the horse, calming it enough to come out - Léof could be minutes in there, provided he did not collapse from lack of air to breath or from heat. Of course Thornden had to go in after him, to bring him out - willing or not.

"Never mind," he said to Eodwine almost as soon as he had asked his question, and he turned away and ran after Léof.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine stopped his arms in mid-swing and watched dumbstruck as Thornden raced into the maelstrom. Almost, he reacted on instinct and dropped his axe to chase after Thornden, throwing himself into the self-same impending doom, but he caught himself.

"I've two fool heroes in my keeping," he muttered, and swung his axe again and again, watching the progress of the intentional destruction of the stable walk-through. At least that much was going well.

It was also helpful that there were five other wells not too far distant from the Mead Hall: one in the holding of their neighbors to either side, and to three directly across the road. More and more townsmen and women were arriving with buckets and others were taking the lead and forming lines to other wells. It would be too late to save the stables themselves, but everywhere else was getting quite drenched. So it was beginning to look like the guest rooms would not burn.

Eodwine looked back at the stables moment by moment, fearing the worst for Léof and Thornden.

[Firefoot]

Inside the burning stable the very air seemed to be alight with flames. The fire had by now reached the roof of the building; at any time it could come crashing down on him. Briefly Léof considered turning back but recklessly decided against it. He could not leave Herefola here to burn alive.

He could hardly see; the smoke stung his eyes and burned his throat. Had he been relying on sight alone he might never have found her stall but as it was he went nearly straight to it, coughing all the way. The flames licked at Herefola’s walls, further terrifying the panicked horse. Léof searched for an opening amidst her flailing hooves, hoping he could get her out before the entire stable collapsed on them.

Before he could even get a hand on her halter, however, he heard the shouts echoing down the aisle. “Léof! Léof, where are you?”

“In here!” Léof replied without thinking, and shortly Thornden came into sight.

“You’re going to get yourself killed! We have to get out of here!”

“I’m not leaving without her!” Léof answered stubbornly, turning his attention back to the horse.

Thornden laid a hand on Léof’s shoulder. “Now, Léof! It’s just a horse!” Even as he spoke there was a great moaning and creaking of wood outside the stall. “You’re wasting time!”

“You’re the one wasting time!” Léof snapped. “Either help me or let go of me!” And with a violent twist he jerked from Thornden’s grip into the raging horse’s stall.