Scarburg Meadhall

[Folwren]

“Well,” Quin stammered, “I had been looking for Tyrdda here. I had no idea. . .” He looked from Hilderinc to Tyrdda. Hilderinc hadn’t even known there was a dance going on and he still got a dancing partner before Quin. He grinned drily, trying to put a cheerful face on it. “Well, perhaps I can have the next dance, then,” he said, with little conviction.

They went into the hall through the main doors. Hilderinc led Tyrdda towards the dancers, and Quin slunk back to where he had sat with Léof. He expected erroneously to find Léof there waiting for him. Surprised, Quin looked around for his friend, and then spotted him, dancing with Rowenna.

Quin’s mouth gaped a moment before he could recover himself. He sat down, shut his mouth, and looked away, and he laughed at himself. “Haha! Afraid he might steal Tyrdda from you?” he chuckled, the humor building. “Some people just get all the luck. Well, I’ll have the next dance with Tyrdda, see if I won’t!”

[Firefoot]

Léof had begun to enjoy himself very much; he’d forgotten just how much he enjoyed dancing, and Rowenna was a fine partner.

“So you have opinions? Tell me one!” she said.

Gratified at her interest and already forgetting his caution to Quin about Rowenna’s “womanly wiles,” Léof said, “Well, I think that most of Athanar’s soldiers think far too highly of themselves. And until you asked me to dance, I was also thinking that they were getting all of the women to dance with, which is hardly fair since they didn’t bring any of their own.”

[Folwren]

Thornden and Saeryn danced for some little while in silence. It frequently is easier to dance in silence and just take enjoyment in the movement and the interaction between couples. The fast pace of the tune and the lively mood of the dancers called for quick feet and many steps, and Saeryn felt herself soon tiring. Thornden sensed her premature weariness and to help her to not to feel awkward in dancing slower than the rest, he began a conversation to draw her attention away from how he slowed down his own dancing to match her ability.

“I give you joy for Eodwine’s return,” Thornden said, smiling at her as they turned by two hands. “Things may be easier for you, now that he is back.”

“I hope so,” Saeryn said. “But. . .” she paused. Thornden looked quizzically at her but they had to turn away from each other for the dance. When they rejoined again, her forehead was knit. “I don’t know,” she said, clumsily amputating the sentence she was about to say.

“I think perhaps you expected things to be different than what they ended up being after his return?” Thornden ventured. Saeryn nodded. “You hoped that Eodwine would take something close to his old place as eorl, and that the men would treat him with more respect.”

“Yes,” Saeryn answered. “I can accept Eodwine’s will to give up his place as eorl to Athanar, but I cannot – I will not accept an insult to my husband.”

“Generally it is the husband’s duty to protect his own honor,” Thornden observed mildly.

“Don’t start,” Saeryn snapped.

“I was just saying-”

“That’s what he thought, too, which led into him believing that Eodwine had sent me instead of coming himself.”

“Scyrr?” They parted briefly again. “What did you even get into it about?”

“I was tired of him insulting Léof and I went to tell him so.”

“You should have left that to Eodwine, too,” Thornden said. “Or to me.”

“Did you ask me to dance to call me to task?” Saeryn demanded.

“No. I’m sorry. I am glad that everyone has turned so quickly from the fight and to dancing. Everyone is very lively tonight.” He smiled, and Saeryn rolled her eyes and chuckled. Their talk flowed on and as they danced slowly down the line and back up, they continued to smile and laugh in merry discussion.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

“Well,” Quin stammered, “I had been looking for Tyrdda here. I had no idea... Well, perhaps I can have the next dance, then.”

Hilderinc did not let it show, but truth be told, he was about as bemused as Quin was. He had not actually asked Tyrdda to dance with him, but apparently both her and Quin had interpreted it that way. He felt slightly sorry for the young Rider, but promised himself that he will give him the chance to have the next dance with Tyrdda after their dance.

For now, mustering all his rusty knowledge of dance, he led Tyrdda to the crowd of others. Inside the Hall was warm, lit, merry and full of music. He spotted Eodwine sitting with the rest of the musicians and marveled briefly at his skill with the harp; he also noticed Thornden dancing with Saeryn, and Fearghall nodded at him from next to Lilige, mimicking the words with his lips: “About time.”

Then Hilderinc caught the glance of Léof dancing with the young woman who came with Eodwine, and Hilderinc briefly smiled and gave a small, inconspicuous salute to the “stablemaster” as the woman turned her back to them.

He felt suddenly rather happy. However falling out of the rhythm and messing up a several times, he enjoyed dancing with Tyrdda, and as far as he could say, despite his clumsiness, she enjoyed it too. It must have been, for sure, better than being outside or in the kitchen. When the dance ended, however, Hilderinc felt that it was enough for him, bowed courtly to Tyrdda and led her towards Quin who had been already waiting on the edge of the ring of dancers.

He followed the two young people with his gaze and then, after a while, slowly left the room without anybody noticing. He was in a good mood, but felt like he could go to sleep, too. He headed towards the Riders' quarters, passed over sleeping Scyrr who was snoring with his mouth open just by the door and reached his own sleeping spot.

He had a good feeling about the day, despite its strange beginning with Crabannan and building the sheep pen. And despite the somewhat awkward air of Eodwine's return, he had felt that in the end everything was all right. The people dancing in the Hall seemed happy and undisturbed. Hilderinc crawled into his bed, not remembering when he had last felt this great. It was as if there had been no trouble whatsoever, he was pleasantly tired, the place was warm and before he knew it, he fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.

[Folwren]

Saeryn woke slowly. She was comfortably warm – warmer than she had been while waking for a long time. The room was still dark, but she could see a dim outline of Eodwine’s face on the pillow beside her. She smiled sleepily, wishing she could lie there all day. It could not be. There was work to be done – more work than all the ladies of Scarburg could keep up with, even with Saeryn’s help. But she didn’t have to get up just yet. She allowed herself the luxury of waking slowly in the dark warmth, looking at her husband as he slept on. Then she lifted herself up on one elbow and leaned over to kiss him once before slipping silently out of bed and then dressing herself in the dark.

She shivered as she hurried down the dark stair and into the kitchen. One of the men was just leaving, a roaring fire built in the fireplace behind him. Frodides was busy mixing some flour and Ginna and Kara came in through the door with water, flushed and puffing with cold.

“Good morning,” Saeryn croaked. She coughed and cleared her throat and tried again. “Good morning. I see you are all hard at work already.”

“We didn’t expect to see you so early,” Frodides said, glancing up. “We thought you’d stay abed longer.”

“I wanted to stay abed longer, I assure you,” Saeryn said. “But I wasn’t going to leave you all the work.” She went to the barrel of salted meat and took out several large pieces.

Ginna and Saeryn

Ginna had already filled a basin with water, and together they rinsed the meat first in a bucket and then laid them to soak in the basin.

As they bent over it together, Saeryn said, “I saw you and Harreld dancing last night. I noticed you two seemed. . ." how could she put it? They had been more companiable, happier, even joyful. "As though you were celebrating something."

"Yes, Saeryn. We were finally able to talk last night. It went well."

Ginna tried, she really tried, but she failed to suppress the wide smile that threatened to form in her lips. She knew she was holding much back, and felt a slight pang of guilt for doing so (especially to Saeryn, who had always been there for her!), but Ginna was in such a good mood that she couldn't help being a little mischievous. And, she thought, it would make for better storytelling to give details a little at a time, as they were demanded.

Saeryn waited expectently a moment, and then seeing that Ginna was not going to open up without prodding, said, "So. . .what did you decide?"

"I did not decide on anything," Ginna said as she carefully dropped a strip of meat in the basin. "Well, nothing new, anyway. You know what I wanted to happen all this time. Harreld, on the other hand..." And she stopped there, letting a grin fill out the missing words.

Saeryn stared at her, her eyes wide. "You mean, he changed his mind? He is going to pursue you, despite what your father said?"

"Yes!" Ginna exclaimed, breathless with joy. "Harreld did not tell me what Eodwine had said in its entirety to help sway him, but it seems I owe much of this to your husband. I do not know what I would do without you two. Thank you, Saeryn."

Saeryn almost put her arms about Ginna in an impulsive hug, but she stopped herself from using her cold, wet hands, and instead just flashed a huge smile that said more than words could about how she felt.

"Eodwine's return will set to right many things, I hope," she said. "I am so happy for you, Ginna! Will you write your father? When. . .did you talk about when you might marry?"

The smile did not leave Ginna's face, but she felt that her happiness was tempered by a sense of sobriety. "We have not gone that far. I guess we are taking things a step at a time. But you are right, I do have to tell my father about this."

Saeryn gave her an encouraging smile. "I think your father will understand, especially if Eodwine sends a letter to tell your father that Harreld is a noble young man and that he approves of your choice."

"He does not have to do that," Ginna replied. "Eodwine has already done so much for us. I shall inform my father myself. Whether or not he understands, Harreld and I have already decided and it will not change."

Saeryn looked admiringly at her, but also with a little sadness. It would not be easy on Ginna if her father did not change his mind. His disapproval could cause the marriage to go forward with difficulty, or perhaps not at all.

They finished putting the meat they needed to soak and as they washed their hands together, Saeryn said, "I will still have Eodwine write. I think it will be best."

[littlemanpoet]

Rowenna washed and dressed. It was chilly, she could see fog from her breath. She threw on an extra shawl and went to the kitchens. Frodides and Kara was already there.

"Glad you're up and about at last as you had more fun than is good for a gal last night," said the head cook.

Rowenna merely smiled. "What needs doing?"

"Ready the place for breaking fast. Ginna and Saeryn are readying the bacon. Go get eggs."

Rowenna nodded. She exited the kitchen with a large basket, walked past the roaring fire, and clutching the shawl around her shoulders, went outside. Why did the hen house have to be so far away from the kitchen? Well, because of the stink, of course. Frodides was not doing her an unkindness by sending her to the hens, it was the last job and Rowenna was last up.

She wondered when the men would be getting up. It would be a good hour or more from now, she supposed. They drank more and ate more and stayed up later than the women, at least those who could hold their mead. She wondered if Nydfara had stayed up late. When would he be to breakfast? When would she have time to talk to him? Did she want to talk to him? If she did, what would she say?

She went into the hen house and found a couple dozen eggs. This was going to be a good day. They needed more hens. Frodides would have to spread the eggs pretty thin, as usual.

By the time she got back to the Hall, she had not seen any of the men up and about. Of course not. There was no reason to expect Nydfara up this early. Why had she even bothered to look for him? Silly. She went inside.

[Firefoot]

Léof roused as early as ever, though for once he wished he had not. He cracked open his eyes and could see out his small window that the sky was just barely beginning to lighten. He shut his eyes again, flipped over to face the wall, and burrowed deeper into his blankets. Just for one morning, the horses could wait… why did they have to eat so often, anyway?

But there was no help for it. This was the hour his body was used to waking up at, and though his scratchy eyes begged otherwise, Léof soon gave up on trying to go back to sleep. Bracing himself for the chill, he threw back his blankets and jumped out of bed before he could change his mind. He splashed some water on his face from his small basin and got dressed, his movements somewhat more sluggish than usual. After a moment of fumbling with his breeches, he realized that he'd pulled them on backwards. Ugh, he really was tired. How late had he stayed up last night, anyway? He wondered as stripped them back off to put them on right, then sat down to tug on his boots. It hadn’t seemed so late at the time, with laughter and tales in his head, mead in his veins, and dancing in his feet.

All of his clothing properly in place, he stood up, unlatched his door, and let himself out into the stable aisle. He drew in a deep breath, smelling the wonderful mingled scents of horseflesh and cold, crisp mountain air – and breakfast beginning to cook. He shivered, and wondered if the women might oblige him with something warm. He could sure use it this morning.

The horses were only just beginning to stir; they could wait a few more minutes. His mind made up, he set off for the kitchen. As he emerged from the stables, he saw the kitchen door open and shut as someone went inside, briefly splashing the yard with a rectangle of light. He made his way quickly over and opened the door wide enough to stick his head in. “Good morning, ladies,” he said. “Might I bother you for something warm before breakfast?”

[littlemanpoet]

He had walked through the night. The stars had been clear in the sky all night. One could see from horizon to horizon on these rolling plains.

He was used to trees, tall as towers, his vision limited by them, and that was home. He had known that it would be different, and had not been sure he would like it. So he was glad when he could see them arcing across the sky in their nightly dance.

The sun had risen. There was smoke rising in the distance, just beyond an abrasion in the land. It was not a rolling hill, but a scar on the land, something left behind by the first Dark Lord, perhaps, ages ago. There were humble trees there, too, beyond that rough and rocky terrain that seemed to stretch as far as even an Elven eye could see. He was reluctant to go there.

You have meant to see humans. This is your first chance. Why skirt it?

There were many reasons. But the purpose of this journey had been from the first to transcend those many reasons, to see these Fourth Age humans as they were, foibles and failures and weaknesses and all. He turned toward the scar.

He came to a stop at the crest of the first rise. They will think it cold. The mist of his breath sped on the wind south, away across the rough rises. There was a woman trudging from a hen house to the great room from which the smoke rose. She was fair to look upon. He allowed a sad smirk. No, he would not be tempted to play at bringing Half Elves into the world. That had been done, and no need anymore.

He walked down the slope, up the next, down, up, and came to the final crest. He knew he could not be seen because of his cloak. He parted it and cast it back over his shoulders, and doffed the hood from his head. Let one see me first. Then I will go in.

[littlemanpoet]

He woke up, opened his eyes. The sun's light was shining in through the small window. Eodwine watched the dust particles floating in the air. He yawned and stretched, and could see the vapor from his own breath. Brrrr!

Get up? You must be joking. He sighed. He threw the covers off, hopped around the bed, splashed icy water on his face, felt completely awake, and hurried into his breeches and tunic. And vest. And woolen socks. And shoes. And overcoat. And cloak.

He hurried out of the room, his teeth chattering, down the stairs, to the Hall, and in, and stopped.

"Ahhhh!"

Warmth.

He shuffled over to the hearth and held his hands out in a silent benediction to the fire. Finally he could think about something besides being cold and wanting warmth.

"Drat," he murmured. He had just remembered that buffoon, Scyrr. He would have to go to the Eorl and discuss redress for the injury sustained. It almost put him in a sour mood. He would just have soon forgotten the whole thing if it hadn't happened before them all. Ah, the pains of leadership. He griped to himself, went to the kitchen, bid a quick good morning to all the women working there, grabbed some bread and a wooden cup of water, and made off to see Athanar.

[Folwren]

Morning always came earlier than Javan wanted it to in the winter. In the winter, morning came before it was light. It meant getting up in the dark and clutching around in the twilight trying to find your clothes before you froze to death. It meant a sore jaw from trying to keep your teeth from chattering together to breaking point.

He tumbled out of the room where he slept with some of the other boys and men of the hall and stumbled to the fire made up by some blessed person. Eodwine was walking away as he came out, and it took too much effort to force a good morning between his tense jaws. So instead he replaced Eodwine before the fire and rubbed his hands up and down his arms until he felt warmth flowing back into his limbs.

Another thing Javan disliked about mornings in the winter was performing outside duties. He turned his back to the flames and stood thinking about the empty wood-box in the kitchen that had to be filled. And the buckets of water in the stables that Léof would need help breaking the ice in. He shivered with the thought, but there was no escaping it. So he reluctantly left his station at the hearth and went to the kitchen.

He entered just as Léof was coming in through the outside door and he stood to one side, hoping that if Léof got something warm to eat, he could share in the bounty. But all that was offered was a bit of bread from last night. Kara handed Léof a piece and when Javan stepped forward, she gave him one, too, and holding it in both hands before him, he hurried outside to bring in the wood.

He stuffed the piece of bread into his mouth and then began stacking wood into his arms. When he turned away from the pile, he paused, his eyes attracted to an approaching figure. He stopped chewing the chunk of bread and he squinted to see clearer in the growing light. It was a stranger, certainly, and like one he had never seen before. He walked bareheaded, with his cloak thrown back over his shoulder, ignorant of the cold. He had dark hair, like Modtryth and Cnebba, but his skin was pale and fair as the Rohanians’ and he was taller than any man Javan had seen before, except, perhaps, Thornden.

As he drew nearer, Javan waited for him, stamping his feet and shifting the wood in his arms. He swallowed the last bit of bread as the stranger came within speaking distance, and then greeted him.

"You must be freezing! Will you come inside? There's a fire in the Hall and in the kitchen."

[littlemanpoet]

Laerdil saw a boy come into view. As he slowly approached the settlement, he watched the boy work. He wondered what this boy perceived of Arda; no doubt far less than a boy of the Eldar. The edges of Laerdil's mouth turned down as sadness rose like evening tide in his chest: there had been no children, boy or girl, among the Eldar for hundreds of years now, and there would not be any now.

He came to a stop. The boy was staring at him, chewing on something, and swallowed.

"You must be freezing! Will you come inside? There's a fire in the Hall and in the kitchen."

He smiled gravely at the boy. "A fire would be welcome. I give you greeting. I am called Laerdil of Lorien. How are you called?"

[Folwren]

“My name is Javan, son of Thaldon.” There was a momentary pause while Javan wondered if there was some other form of polite greeting he was supposed to give. He could think of nothing while he felt the wood in his arms grow heavy, so he instead turned while saying, “Come on in,” and led the way into the kitchen.

“Lady Saeryn,” he said as he pushed open the door. “There’s a guest who’s come.” He edged towards the woodbox, keeping his face towards Saeryn as he went and indicating the door where Laerdil appeared a moment later. “His name is Laerdil, from Lorien.”

Saeryn straightened. She had a large knife in one hand and her other was holding a slab of meat she’d been cutting into strips for frying. She laid the knife down and wiped the cold blood on her apron as she stepped around the table.

“You are welcome here, Laerdil of Lorien,” she said, making her courtesy. “I would offer you something to eat, but as you see, breakfast is only half prepared.” She indicated the work in process. “My husband, Eodwine, and the other men are probably in the hall. If you wish, Javan can show you the way.”

[littlemanpoet]

"Lead on, Javan," Laerdil replied, and said his thanks to the human woman called Lady Saeryn. He noted that, at least at this moment, in this human habitation, this high born lady chose to humble herself with servant's work, and she did so with child. She must be young, for she was fair as an elf woman. The other women were glancing at him as they worked, but the one that he had seen while outside was off in the corner, watching him openly with unhidden curiosity. He nodded to her and left the room.

There was a large fire in the hearth, but there were as yet few others in the Hall. Laerdil thanked Lady Saeryn and sat near the fire. He took out his harp and began to play a song from Lorien.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine

The door to Athanar's rooms was closed. Eodwine stood before it, pondering. After a few moments he decided not to waken the eorl for the silly matter of the buffoon. Time enough for that later. Besides, the bread was gone and his wooden cup empty, and he was hungry. He made for the hall.

When he came into the hall he heard a harp, playing a song he did not know, coming from over by the hearth. There was a man there, with long dark hair, sitting before the fire. The music was dreamy and sad. The stranger knew well how to play. He was doing things with that harp that Eodwine wanted to learn. He was about to walk over when Rowenna came out of the kitchen and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Who is that?" she asked, wide eyed.

"I do not know. Let us make his acquaintance."

They walked over to him, Rowenna keeping behind Eodwine, as if she were bashful. Odd, coming from Rowenna, he thought. They stopped by the fire and stood listening. The stranger looked up and nodded with a kindly smile, then looked down again, continuing to play. Eodwine sat down and Rowenna followed suit.

Rowenna

Listening to the music, Rowenna felt coarse, as if she were not well born, not beautiful, not clever or refined in any way. This music, coming from those long, sensitive plucking fingers, was at once complex and imbued with simplicity. There was something about it that pulled at her heart, and she could not understand it. The stranger was so quiet, so at one with his playing, with his music, so .... she did not know how to name it! .... 'full of mystery' was as close as she could come.

The song came to an end, and glad as she was to be able to speak to the stranger, she was sad that the song was done.

"I greet you," Eodwine broached, "I am Eodwine of Scarburg, counselor to the eorl here. How are you called?"

"I am Laerdil, from Lorien. I go to the sea, to cross over, but before I do, I am walking in the lands of Men to see to whom Middle Earth is bequeathed." He turned to Rowenna.

"And how are you called, fair maiden?"

Rowenna blushed to be addressed so kindly by an Elf. Take me with you! Teach me! Let me bask in your presence! Such thoughts and others like them flitted through her mind. "I am Rowenna of the Folde. I am the ward of Eodwine."

"How have you found us to whom you have bequeathed Middle Earth?" Eodwine asked.

"In truth," smiled the Elf, "you are the first I have seen since I left my home. Though it is early to say anything of worth, I am welcomed warmly."

"How old are you?" Rowenna asked, then put her hand to her mouth, coloring. "I am sorry, I am being rude."

"No, child, you are so young, I would expect nothing else from you," Laerdil smiled sadly. "Indeed, you are both so young. I am old. I have lived in Lorien all my days, and seen little of Middle Earth; but I was old when Numenor sank into the sea. Indeed, I was old when the Kingdom of Numenor was founded."

"The First Age, then," Eodwine breathed in wonder.

"You do not look old at all," Rowenna said.

"We do not age as you," he answered. "It is said by your kind that our age is seen in our eyes. When I look in your eyes, fair maiden, I see the brightness of youth. It gladdens my heart that there is still such youth in this old world, and that it ever will be so. But not for me, nor for my kind."

The sadness in the Elf's eyes was so profound that Rowenna felt tears coming to her eyes, and blinked them away. What was this that was happening to her? She felt as if she were undone by merely being in his presence, but in a completely different way than in her dealings with Nydfara. He was a challenge between equals. This Elf was far beyond her. She could not take her eyes off him.

"I also play the harp," Eodwine said, "but your skill is great and I feel a simpleton with it after hearing you play. Would you show me what you do to make the sounds you make?"

Rowenna listened in silent awe as the Elf taught Eodwine a smallest piece of his knowledge.

[Firefoot]

Scyld roused with the rest of hall, neither early nor late. He stretched and dressed, mentally reviewing the night before and planning ahead for the day, as he did every morning.

Unlike every other morning though, his review did not begin with a larger survey of the hall but jumped straight to the personal details. He still was not sure what Rowenna had meant by leaving him to dance with Léof, if she meant anything at all. Somehow she must have read in his tone or face his less-than-honest intentions. He did not like being so easily read. It was unnerving. Dangerous.

Perhaps he ought not to spend so much time in speech with her.

But he had no will to follow through with such a plan. If he simply said nothing of his past, she would hardly guess it.

These thoughts were driven from his mind as he descended the stairs by the sound of harp music. Nor was it music such as Eodwine played; it was fairer, deeper, sadder somehow. It made Scyld feel as though maybe there was hope for him yet, as if a promise was hidden in those fair notes.

The music ended, the spell was lifted, and Scyld realized that he had stopped on the stairs. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear the queer mood from his head. Unsettled, he made his way to a table near the harpist.

“Who is he?” he asked the men seated there.

[littlemanpoet]

The women in the kitchen were well aware of events in the hall. Scyrr had been punished, lightly, and both Athanar and Eodwine seemed satisfied. Rowenna wondered if the same could be said for Saeryn.

It was the time between breakfast and mid-day meal, so Rowenna took a pail full of hot water, and soap, and rags, to wash the tables and floor in the hall. It was mostly empty now. The Elf had left the hall, too.

While she was about her task, she saw a shadow of someone standing by the door. She got up and went to see who it was, and if something was needed.

She jumped, startled, when she discovered it to be Nydfara. He did not seem startled himself, but regarded her with studied indifference.

"Is there something you need, Nydfara? Food? Drink?"

[Firefoot]

Scyld had lingered outside the hall during the trial, as had a great many of the hall’s other denizens. Upon its completion, word quickly spread about Scyrr’s punishment, and Scyld heard no one say that they thought it too harsh. In Scyld’s mind, that meant that perhaps it was too soft – but he found that the thought meant little to him.

Scyrr emerged from the hall with a sneer and soon wandered off with some of his cronies. It was not long before the yard was wholly emptied out - it was, after all, rather cold, and everyone had their chores to attend to. Scyld rarely had an assigned duty but usually kept himself busy at whichever task for the day seemed most interesting or whose workmates would have the most interesting gossip. For once though, he found that he did not care for the intrigue. Perhaps he would go for a walk – he highly doubted anyone would miss him for a while.

First, though, he supposed he ought to fetch a warm cloak. He tried to tell himself that he had no other ulterior motive for returning to hall, and that the idea of seeing Rowenna again would be dangerous for him. It was not so cold.

He pushed open the door to the hall anyway. It was empty of everyone but the one person he most hoped and feared to see. He stopped in the doorway without thinking to watch her. Seeming to sense his presence, she stood up from her washing and turned around.

"Is there something you need, Nydfara? Food? Drink?" she asked. She looked startled, and Scyld wondered whether it she was startled because someone was there, or because he was there.

“No, no,” he said, leaning against the doorway. “Nothing like that.”

[littlemanpoet]

Then why are you standing in the doorway, letting in the cold? Rowenna kept this query to herself.

"Is there something else?"

She tried to maintain the same indifference she saw in him, despite the sudden racing of her heart. Why did this have to happen? Because you find him no end of interesting, silly.

He did not answer immediately, as if turning the thought over in his mind. "Come in out of the cold, at least."

[Firefoot]

“Of course.” He stepped all the way inside and closed the door behind him. Foolish to stand there letting all of the warm air out anyway, but he hadn’t noticed until Rowenna had pointed it out. He suddenly felt less comfortable with the door closed, as if he had lost his way out.

He took another step into the room and felt even more exposed without the wall to his back. The hall seemed so large when it was empty. Rowenna was still watching him. All the surprise was gone from her face and had been replaced by polite detachment. Scyld wondered if he was bothering her.

“I just came in for my cloak,” he said, feeling as though he needed some excuse for being there and that the honest one would do. “I would not want to keep you from your washing up,” he added, in a tone that slightly implied just the opposite.

[littlemanpoet]

"I think that most of Athanar’s soldiers think far too highly of themselves," said Léof. "And until you asked me to dance, I was also thinking that they were getting all of the women to dance with, which is hardly fair since they didn’t bring any of their own.”

Rowenna laughed. "I am graced with two opinions instead of just one!"

By extension, Léof was saying that Athanar's soldiers had too low of opinion of him, which did not surprise her. But the second opinion had carried an unopened insight. Why had the soldiers of Athanar had no women? Had they no wives? Where were their families? Were they all orphans? What of sisters?

"And when you came you did not bring a young lady with you either," she winked. "Indeed, there must be a story to tell there. You are young to be the head of stables, though surely able enough! How did that happen?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he had played his harp. The slow song that he knew so well had been a good beginning, and as he played with the others the old skills came back little by little. It helped that the others were quite good at the rhythm and melodies, leaving him to add harmony as he found his fingers.

He became comfortable enough with the chord repetitions to look up from his fingers at the dance. Thornden had Saeryn out on the dance floor. Eodwine smiled. They make a good couple. Now where had that thought come from? Mildly chagrined, he watched them, wondering if he had taken a woman away from a likely match. But no, they talked like brother and sister.

There was Rowenna with Léof! Eodwine couldn't help smiling, at first at the seeming incongruity, then at the surprisingly good dancing partnership they made. And somehow they were able to talk and dance without missing a step. He shook his head in mild wonder.

That was nothing compared to his surprise when into the hall walked Harreld and Ginna, arm in arm, looking at each other as if nobody else existed. Out they walked onto the dance floor and started dancing in a rhythm of their own, a good deal slower than the 'reel' the musicians were playing. Apparently they had made up. From the look of it, they had far more than made up. Eodwine broke out in a broad grin.

Eodwine looked to the other musicians and mouthed, "How about a slow one next?"

[Firefoot]

Léof did not particularly care to share his story with Rowenna, and fortunately he was given a moment of reprieve to compose his answer when Rowenna twirled away from him.

When they had danced their way back together, Léof replied, “I fear that it is too long of a tale for the dance floor.”

“Some other time, then,” Rowenna said, flashing him that smile of hers.

“Perhaps,” Léof replied, and he could not help but smiling back. They finished the rest of the dance without conversation, just concentrating on the rhythm and steps of the dance. Before too long, the song drew to a close and the pair stepped apart. Léof sketched a bow, and they parted with friendly words. Léof made his way back over to the wall, feeling much more kindly inclined toward Rowenna than he had before the dance. Perhaps he had misjudged her; she really was quite fun, and a talented dancer at that.