Scarburg Meadhall

[littlemanpoet]

"Lithor," Eodwine said, having caught his breath, almost sure that his wobbly legs would hold him up now, "give me a moment. I want to see if I can round up a partner for the three legged race."

"Well, lord, we don't want to keep the others waiting too long now, do we?" Lithor winked.

Eodwine smiled wide, enjoying Lithor's tease, and teased back. "Consider it a command then," he winked. "On your honor as a lord's man!"

Lithor looked like he didn't quite know how to take the jest, his mouth grinning but his head tilting with confusion; it was unusual for anyone to get the better of him, but Eodwine felt a little guilty, wielding his authority for a tease. "I'll just be a moment, my friend!"

He trotted back across the Scar, past the paddock and stacks of stones and lumber, and found what he was looking for. Saeryn and Rowenna were sitting on a bench, chatting. He approached.

"Ahem!" They looked up. He bowed deeply, holding their eyes with his own (which was a bit of a trick, actually, since he could only look at one of them at a time). "My lady," he said to Saeryn, "I request that you allow me a three legged dalliance with the lass Rowenna here. Would you be so kind?" He was trying to use his most ridiculously flowery court Gondorian on her. She grinned, aware that he was honoring her as the one who had all rights to him.

"I could not possibly refuse," she said, and turned to Rowenna. "You really must! I want to watch!"

Rowenna smiled. "If you allow it, then it would be a pleasure."

"Excellent!" Eodwine cried. "Let us hurry, for the race is soon to start!"

[Groin Redbeard]

Lithor watched for a moment as Eodwine nimbly crossed the Scar and back to camp before he dropped the case of stakes that he had used for the foot races. One by one he drove them into the ground until a perfect circle was formed for the rope-tie race. As he knelt and tied a red piece of cloth to one of the poles, marking the starting point, he was aware of a shadow that had passed over him. Lithor turned around, wincing at the light of the sun, to see Wilcred standing over him with his arms crossed.

"Ah, you startled me, Wilcred," Lithor said while rising to his feet, "the day seems to be going well, eh?"

"Yes, it has," said Wilcred, very dismissively, "Lithor, I've come to ask you a favor. The boys and I (referring to Osmund and Aethelstan) need to start setting up the archery range and taking out the swords and javelins from the armory, do you think it would be too much trouble if we could postpone the next race for a while?"

Lithor shielded his eyes with his hand and looked up into the sky, the sun was just above their heads.

"Sure thing," said Lithor looking back at Wilcred, "It's around lunchtime anyway, I'm sure that nobody will object for a chance to eat." Wilcred gave him a thankful nod and departed with Osmund and Aethelstan.

Glancing back at the Scar Lithor saw Eodwine coming back helping Rowenna across. It seemed that everyone had found their partner, even Degas had taken little Léoðern as a teammate. Eodwine came running back up to Lithor.

"My lord," Lithor said in an over dramatic tone, "I have done as you commanded and stalled the race, but I'm afraid that all this waiting has made me very hungry, why don't you say we brake for some grub?"

There was a twinkle in Lithors eye that Eodwine caught. The eorl guessed that there was some other activity of importance going on to prompt Lithor to stop the festivities.

"Very well then," Eodwine responded, "Lunch it is!" The call was automatically taken up and before too long everyone was swarming across the Scar and back into the camp.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Much of the day's meals had been prepared the night before, and Frodides and Kara had put together a venison stew near dawn which had simmered all morning and would continue to cook slowly until the feast near nightfall, after which the riddle game was to begin.

For lunch the women had prepared a light meal of cold spiced chicken served with clover honey, and carrots, beans, cheese, bread and, Frodides's secret contribution: apple pastries for all. Many were forced to wonder how and when she had made them with none the wiser and it was decided, amidst shouted compliments, that she was a goddess among women, all-powerful, beautiful, wise, and, above all, generous.

Frodides harrumphed and grumbled, her hands firmly on her hips, and suggested with an all together satisfied smile to herself that perhaps the cider had fermented a bit more than previously suspected.

Before long, not a crumb bespecked any plate and when the women moved to collect the dirtied tableware, the men shushed them and made them sit while, laughing and joking all the while, they cleared up the mess from lunch, leaving each plate, cup, fork or knife washed, dried, and neatly stacked where it could be easily put away.

It was then that little Léoðern stepped forward and asked excitedly, "Can we race now?"

And all made their way back across the scar to the fields where the races were held. Each team prepared in hushed voices, planning strategies.

---

Degas smiled at Léoðern as she clung to his left leg, her little feet planted firmly on his boot. He wrapped a rope around her whole body and his leg, taking care not to tie too tightly, but tightly enough that she could not fall.

She giggled and smiled and Degas wished Linduial could be here to see. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow I will see my lady love and all will be decided.

"Are you ready?" he asked Léoðern.

"Yessir." she giggled. "Will we really win?"

"I hope so," he grinned, contorted as he knotted the rope securely. She was heavy on his left leg, weighing him down awkwardly, but he could walk without much difficulty.

He looked around to see if any were watching them, and caught his sister's eye. Saeryn laughed aloud when she saw Léoðern's entire tiny body tied to Degas's long leg. Léoðern smiled happily and hugged Degas's knee.

Degas dreamed of the children he would one day, perhaps soon, have.