Hard Winters RPG

[Mithalwen]

Elfthain left the kitchen to find Safran where he had left her, eyes closed seemingly dozing and resting her white hind foot. "Wake up Saff, he said softly "let's get you sorted out". The mare flicked an ear and blinked at him as if to say that she hadn't been asleep, merely resting her eyes. It was only when he had unhitched her and retrieved his helm from the waggon seat where he had abandoned it before he had started unloading that he realised that no one had actually told him where the stables were. Deciding he couldn't go back and ask yet again, and that they couldn't be so far away he let the mare around the Meadhall buildings and before long found the stable yard. He paused to allow Safran to drink from a trough and caught fragments of a less than cordial discussion. One voice he recognised, that of Wilheard. The other was strange to him as was the name he thought he heard, Jan or something like it.

Saffy finished drinking and spattered her master with water. resigned that I was hardly going to mar his appearance at this stage he led her on in to the stables talking to the mare so as to give warning to the men lest they prefer their discussion unwitnessed.

He acknowledged his commander as military discipline required, then turned to the other, who was a perhaps a little more than him in age though a little less in height .

"I seek the ostler, Leof, the Lady Saeryn bids me tell him and any other here that food is now ready... and I also need to know what to do with my mare". He though he heard a stifled snort from Wilheard though maybe he imagined it. He knew some of the older knights laughed at his "pony" though he couldn't imagine why Wilheard had any cause to sneer. Saffy might have the soup-bowl feet, abundant mane and sturdiness inherited from her cob ancestor but she was brave and enduring and wise, while it seemed to Elfthain that Wilheard's mare was simply the most malevolent thing on hooves he had the misfortune to ever encounter. "where to stall her I mean.. or she could be turned out if that is easier.. she is very well tempered" he said pointedly "but I need to rub her down first .." his voice tailed off and he wondered if they would realise that he must have heard their conversation to know that Leof wasn't present. Saffy bumped his arm with her nose... she was ready for a bite of hay now and ideally a nice bit of mud to roll in. Her winter coat was starting to shed and it itched.

[Thinlómien]

Wilheard

"If by strict you mean he does not take offense at the slightest provocation, then yes, Eodwine may be less strict, but at least he doesn’t overlook the misdeeds of people close to him, or treat men in his household differently than others outside of it."

Genuine disbelief washed over Wilheard's face. For once, his words failed him. He had his own grievances with his father, and his own misgivings about his nature, but Javan's view was so badly skewered he wouldn't have known where to start.

"Lord Athanar disinherited his own son for the benefit of the unborn babe of another man, yet you accuse him of favouritism," Wilheard said quietly. That old wound still hurt. Everything still hurt that had to do with Wulfric.

As he was talking, he almost missed another lad entering the stables and greeting him curtly. This one had been with them from Edoras, and Wilheard would have barely noticed him if not for his ridiculous mountain pony. It was no steed for the rolling plains of Riddermark.

"I seek the ostler, Leof, the Lady Saeryn bids me tell him and any other here that food is now ready... and I also need to know what to do with my mare," the newcomer announced. Wilheard suppressed a snort and turned back to Bolt. She was what you would call a mare, not the shabby little thing the boy rode, however sturdy and reliable the pony was.

Wilheard let the peasants sort out the care of the pony while he finished grooming Bolt, then made his way out of the stables. He wouldn't mind something to eat and drink.

[Folwren]

Ruari scampered off to wake her father, barely listening as her mother called after her, “Do not wake Eoghan!” She ran to their room and paused at the door. She reached up, hanging on the handle a moment before slowly letting her weight push the door open. It swung in silently on its hinges just enough to let her slip through. She pattered up to the bed and peered over the edge, right into Eoghan’s face.

Ruari squinted her eyes and frowned and then carefully made her way to the other side of the bed. She climbed up and crawled across to where her father lay, his back to her. She leaned across him, resting her arms on his shoulder and bending her head over his, and her red hair falling in his face.

“Papa,” she whispered, stifling a laugh. “Papa, wake up. Mama says there is something to eat!”

[littlemanpoet]

Something interesting or funny? He walked by her side. Her eyes were on the sack she carried, a small smile on her face. He walked beside her, hugging the crate to himself. Little had happened that could be called funny, and it was not her way to have such thing ready to mind. There was the other thing, and she had already promised herself not to brag of it. She did not mean to leave him hanging, waiting on her words. They were back to the kitchen door when she finally spoke.

"We were attacked by Easterlings."

She opened the door and let herself in, holding it open for him.

Eodwine

His eyes fluttered open. Red hair hung over his eyes. The sweet giggles of his daughter floated by his ears. He kept his voice quiet for Eoghan's sake.

"Something to eat? Are you playing make believe, Ruari?"

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine took the letter from Nydfara, looking him in the eye. The man seemed ill at ease, to say the least. Anxious. He opened the letter and read it.

Greetings, Eorl Eodwine

I hope this missive finds you well.

It is with mixed feelings that I write this, for I do not relish the memory of my kidnapping. However, I remember with fondness the hospitality afforded me at your warm, if plain, Mead Hall. I also remember with gratitude he whom you know as Nydfara, whose real name is Scyld, for it is through his kindness and skill that I am alive today.

I was imprisoned by the dastard Sorn for ransom, and Scyld was at first my jailor. However, he did not like Sorn nor relish the evil man's ways, and helped me to escape, and protected me from murder at the hand of Sorn.

By the time you arrived at Scarburg, with the assistance of Scyld I had accomplished my freedom. I offered, at that time, to defend his innocence and honor, but in his natural humility he requested that I not do so.

I invited Scyld to stay on at Dol Amroth, and would happily have placed him in a good situation. However, he was determined to return to Scarburg, though why he would wish to live in such a backwater, I have no idea. I mean no disrespect to you for living there Eodwine, as you have been assigned to the place and would no doubt prefer a better.

Since Scyld is indeed determined to return to you, with full pleasure, I take it upon myself to do as I offered then, and swear to his uprightness, faithfulness, decency, honor, good heart, and above all, innocence. I hope that you will accept this letter in its intent, and declare Scyld to be not guilty of any crime, but instead a hero and a man of honor.

sincerely, Princess Linduial of Dol Amroth

Eodwine looked over the letter at the man, eyes narrowed. "Scyld. That is your name?"

"Aye, Eorl."

"Of what crime are you accused? Being Sorn's jailor?"

[Firefoot]

As unendurably suspenseful as it should have been to stand there as Eodwine read Linduial’s letter, Scyld found himself oddly at ease. He had borne the burden of that letter for so long, carrying it across the long leagues of Gondor and the Mark both, considering its contents, contemplating its delivery. The decision was made; the consequences largely out of his hands.

He was also grateful for the moment to collect himself before being addressed. He had been caught by surprise, not expecting to find the Eorl here, and had been less composed that he might have liked. By the time Eodwine had finished reading and turned his attention back to Scyld, Scyld met his gaze calmly.

"Scyld. That is your name?"

"Aye, Eorl."

"Of what crime are you accused? Being Sorn's jailor?"

“No one has accused me of any crime,” Scyld answered carefully, “though I have long feared it. Rather, I freely confess to you that I was Sorn’s jailor, in hope that my later deeds might earn my pardon, with Lady Linduial as my witness.”

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine's eyes narrowed further a moment, then he relaxed his face.

"Come inside, Scyld, and let us break our fast."

Eodwine's thoughts sped like a stream coming out of the White Mountains, crashing and splashing over rocks and around sharp curves. For months, this Scyld had claimed to be someone he was not, and now he came clean with a letter from someone of high repute ... whom Eodwine did not particularly like, which should not really matter, and didn't so much; Scyld could not help that his captive was an overbearing, arrogant princess whose personal business seemed to extend well beyond her realm. But Scyld. He had been lying to them all. Duplicity. Deceit. Eodwine hated it. And now.

He gestured for Scyld to sit opposite him, and raised looked around to see who might serve them. Rowenna happened to be just inside the kitchen. He called her name and waved her over.

"Good morning Rowenna, please fetch Sc - Nydfara and me some food and drink."

The serving woman raised a brow and then a furrow appeared between her
brows, then she nodded, and glanced at Scyld before hurrying off to get them food.

"Why did you wait, Scyld?"

[Firefoot]

It was difficult for Scyld to discern the Eorl’s thoughts. His tone, so far, had been measured and thoughtful, though Scyld would have expected little else. Scyld could not tell what lay underneath that though, whether his admission was being received well or poorly.

When Eodwine called Rowenna over to serve them breakfast, Scyld felt his anxiety rising again, and began to second-guess his decision to say nothing to her. She would be angry at him, he felt suddenly. But why should she be? He still had not been able to figure out what that first conversation they had exchanged at his arrival meant, and since then he had not spoken to her much. Maybe he overestimated her regard for him, and she would not care at all, save to be glad to finally have discovered his secret. Who could tell?

He knew that she did not miss Eodwine’s near slip of calling him by his right name, though she said nothing. Again, what was there for her to comment on, though? She was only here now to serve them breakfast.

He was jerked back from his trailing thoughts by Eodwine’s question. Why had he waited? The question seemed almost absurd at first, to him who had for so long not even considered saying anything at all. But sensing the seriousness of the question, he did not smile as he might have had someone with less authority asked.

He thought, I could have stayed Nydfara forever if I never had to fear being caught. But he did not think that saying so would endear the Eorl to him; nor was he sure if it was true.

Instead he said, “The only master I had ever known was Sorn, who was neither kind nor just, and the other lords nearby are cut from much the same cloth. I did not believe Lady Linduial when she said she would support me, and I did not believe her descriptions of you and your people. I believed myself a hunted man, and I feared what would happen if I stepped forward nearly as much as I feared being found out.” He might have stopped there, not naturally being prone to long speeches and still feeling reticent to speak honestly about himself after hiding for so long. He suspected, though, that his answer so far would not satisfy the Eorl. “In truth, I was not waiting to confess, because in the beginning I never meant to make myself known. Curiosity brought me back to Scarburg when you moved in, and I stayed longer than I ever thought I would. It was only when I ran into a farmer whom I have long known and he started asking questions – to my mind, the wrong sort of questions – that I knew I could not hide here forever. Eventually someone would figure it out. I left shortly after, to find Lady Linduial and ask her to write that letter for me.”

He was partly relieved to see Rowenna approaching with their breakfasts, for it put an end to what felt like rambling to him. It was all so complicated; maybe it had been foolish to think he could make Eodwine understand, but it was too late for second-guessing now.

[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine thanked Rowenna for their breakfast served.

"Let us eat for a bit while I think over what you have said." Eodwine began to eat and gestured for Scyld to do likewise.

So Scyld had not so much been waiting, as had changed his mind. He had tried to control his circumstances by means of a false persona as he tested his experience of Scarburg against what he had heard of it, and apparently his fears of the worst had abated. Or, not quite so. Rather, his fears of being found out a liar had become stronger than his original fears of being mishandled by unjust rulers.

And so he had come back, with a letter of good report, which would be of little value with an unjust ruler. And this spoke volumes about Scyld's opinion of himself, thought Eodwine, and of Scyld's hope.

Well, he thought, I shall be just. And I do lean toward mercy, all here know that. There is no reason why it should be any different now, with this man, just because his crime is duplicity rather than some other wrong like fighting or drunkenness so such.

He swallowed, looked up at Scyld, holding his hands over his plate, and allowed a not unfriendly smile. "What do you hope for, Scyld?"

[Galadriel55]

Ledwyn was the first one in the kitchen. This was odd; Frodides or Saeryn were oft the first to arrive and take charge of the work. But the rough winter and the sudden, though long-awaited, gift of food have upset the regular duties, and the people of Scarburg were just beginning to return to their former lives. Ledwyn started the fire and laid out the supplies. Soon, Rowenna joined her and took charge until Frodides came with the others.

Stefnu was singing softly as she worked. Her voice was beautiful, but her manner too assuming. Work is a time for work, Ledwyn thought, not for song and dance. And the woman’s cooing over Ruari made Ledwyn scowl. Ruari was a bright lass, wild and lively, as fiery as her locks, but her quiet serious brother deserved no less than her. Stefnu seemed completely charmed by the girl, while Eoghan went unnoticed. And even so, these children have a mother. She may be the Lady of the Hall, with little time to spare, but she is not dead or gone. Leodhern needed a mother, and so did Garmund, yet Stefnu chose to occupy the place of a living woman. Ledwyn held her displeasure in hand; it was not her place either to pronounce judgment on Stefnu. During the winter, when living was the purpose of each day, much was forgiven, and much more was not noticed. Now, if Saeryn finds fault with aught, she will be the one to upbraid.

Lord Eodwine called to break his fast, and Ledwyn followed Rowenna out as she brought out the first tray. Rowenna went to serve the eorl, while Ledwyn took hers to the first men to arrive.